Her Barbarian Master

by Maggie Carpenter

  "That was one turn," he declared. "You'll have a moment then I shall resume."

  Opening her eyes, she looked around and discovered he'd stopped where he'd started; a turn was a circle of his room.

  "Two more? No, please, no. I can't bear it."

  "You must. You have no choice, but the second turn I will be using my hand."

  He moved the few steps to the table and set down the paddle, and though she felt a shred of relief, it was short-lived. To her horror he began sliding up her dress.

  "NO! Do not bare me, please, no, sir, no."

  "Sir? The wench is learning, but when I punish, you must call me Master."

  "Master, please don't expose me."

  "Had you not been so rude and difficult, I wouldn't. You deserve it."

  He flipped the skirt over her waist, and as she felt her searing skin kiss the cool air, the thin fabric fell around her head. To her surprise, being lost in its folds offered an odd comfort.

  "We begin," he abruptly announced, his hand hitting with a hard slap on her right cheek.

  His palm didn't carry the fiery bite of the paddle, and as he walked he alternated cheeks, which also allowed a smidgen of respite, but her fingers were soon grasping his shirt, and she was once again squirming in his strong hold. The walk around the room felt like forever, but when he finally stopped he began rubbing away the soreness. His soothing caress was unexpected, and she let out a long breath.

  "You are settling," he muttered. "Good. Now for the third turn."

  She assumed her poor bottom was to be scalded anew, but he did something else, something utterly unexpected; his long thick fingers slid into her pussy and began to explore.

  "NOOOO, Master, don't."

  "You're very wet, and you've laid with men."

  "STOP!"

  His hand suddenly blasted her bottom with a volley of stinging smacks.

  "You dare tell your Master to stop?"

  "OWW! Sorry, Master. I won't again, I won't, I promise," she said breathlessly, "you just took me by surprise."

  "That's an excuse. You pretend modesty, but you have been with men."

  "Just a couple."

  "I don't wish to know more," he grunted, pushing his finger back inside her. "Now I will begin the third turn."

  She braced herself, waiting for his spanking hand, or worse, the paddle, but she quickly realized the third turn was his finger plunging in and out of her channel and rubbing her clit. She bit her lip as the humiliation flamed across her face, but in spite of her instinctive resistance, she found her body responding. His rhythmic fingering and his method of agitating her tiny nub was like nothing she'd ever felt, and they weren't even half way around the room when she was on the verge of an orgasm, but he denied her, paused his step, and returned his warm hand to rub her scalded cheeks. His fondling was divine, too divine, and it was making her yearn for more of his erotic attention.

  "Master," she whimpered, "please may I ask, why didn't you let me have my moment?"

  "You are being punished."

  She let out a plaintive moan, and a moment later he began to walk again, and resumed his tantalizing torture. If she'd thought the last turn took forever, this one was interminable. His strides were slow and short, and she was brought to the brink of her climax several times before the turn was completed.

  Serenity was beside herself. Her bottom was burning, and her pussy was craving, yet in spite of the humiliating ordeal she wanted to lay with him, but she had little time to ponder her extraordinary situation. She was being lifted off his shoulder, and rather than set her on the floor, he placed her on the large table and ordered her to kneel.

  "Hands behind your back, spread your legs, and lower your eyes."

  The table was hard, but she shuffled her knees apart, and as she locked her fingers together and dropped her eyes, without meaning to, they fell upon his crotch. His manhood was clearly visible beneath the thin cloth that hung low on his hips and fell only to his upper thighs. Unlike the villagers who dressed properly in long pants and tops, the barbarians wore minimal covering.

  "Serenity, you have been punished, your slate is clean, but should you break our rules again your discipline will be more severe. You committed three crimes, so you suffered three turns. The first, and most serious, was climbing through the gate and entering our domain. Villagers are strictly forbidden unless granted permission or invited. For that, you received the punishment paddle. Your second crime was interfering as my father was punishing your friend. She had tried to steal from us, her discipline was warranted, and you had no right to meddle. Your third crime was being rude to him, questioning his authority as both the leader of the tribe and a man. Your bottom has been paddled for breaking in here, then you were spanked as your friend would have been, and you have learned the power a man has over your body. If I laid you on my bed and devoured you, it would make you very happy, would it not? Before you answer be warned; if you lie you will be spanked again, and barbarian men know when a woman is being untruthful."

  "Yes, Master, it would, I'd enjoy that very much."

  "Lift your dress."

  Though her face was still hot from embarrassment, she knew she had no choice, and swallowing hard she raised the hem of her skirt to her waist. As he reached out and placed his finger between her pussy lips, she focused her eyes on his crotch. The outline of his swollen cock was so easy to see he could have been naked, and as he began to agitate her clit, she found herself wondering what it would be like to have such a monster thrusting inside her. Jakari, the young man in the village she'd been seeing, was half the size.

  "My manhood would take your breath away," he murmured as if reading her mind. "It would leave you weak and powerless."

  His voice fed the carnal fire rising up through her body, and she whimpered as she felt her climax nearing yet again.

  "Your breasts are quite lovely," he continued, his voice oddly soft and warm as he raised his other hand and began to gently knead them through the thin fabric of her dress. "Breasts are also punished when necessary. I have a device that I can place on your peaks to squeeze them—like this."

  His thumb and forefinger closed over a nipple, slowly applying pressure as his long thick finger between her legs thrust inside her. The pain in her breast was like a delicious ache, his finger was stroking her pussy, and his thumb was agitating her clit. She was on the precipice of her climax, and she sucked in her breath, readying herself for the explosion.

  "Do you surrender to your barbarian master?"

  "Yes, yes," she panted, "I surrender to you Master."

  A sharp pinch of her nipple sent her tumbling into her orgasm, and as she wailed through her euphoria, she fell against his powerful chest, resting there until the last spasm ebbed away. She felt his mighty arms engulf her, and as she melted into him, there was only the two of them in the whole world.

  "You have been punished, you understand what you did to earn the punishment, and you have learned your place. You may look at me."

  His voice had been firm, but not strict, and as much as she hated to break from his hold, she raised her eyes to meet his. He appeared different from the barbarian she'd met in the garden. His features were softer, his skin pinker, his eyes were a soft brown color, and kind, not cold and judgmental.

  "Tell me what you are feeling," he murmured, smoothing her hair off her face.

  "I, uh, it's difficult, I am slightly overcome, and grateful. You let me climax. Thank you."

  "Good, you told the truth, and you appreciate the mercy I have shown you. This pleases me. I have a fondness for you, Serenity."

  "I like you too," she replied, surprised that she meant it.

  She did like him, and gazing at his handsome face, she realized, in spite of her harrowing ordeal, she liked him very much.

  "Now it is time for you to leave, but I will send for you soon."

  "Send for me?"

  "I have several women, but I have a particular liking for you."

&n
bsp; "I, uh, don't understand."

  "It's quite simple. When I want to see you, a young barbarian will call at your house and tell you I'm waiting. You will stop what you're doing and come here."

  "But uh, that doesn't seem right."

  "You surrendered to me. You said you like me. I am your Master now and you will do as I command, unless…did you not mean it?"

  "I did, yes."

  "Then you will come here when I send for you."

  She stared at him, trying to process what he was telling her. He had several women, and she was to become one of them?

  "I have surrendered to you, but I'm not going to be part of some group of females you keep around for your entertainment."

  Abruptly he stepped back, and stared at her in astonishment.

  "Then you must leave, and I will not bother you again, not ever. If you should be foolish enough to return, my father or another barbarian will punish you."

  His features were changing, turning hard and chiseled, and his eyes were becoming dark and cold. Suddenly frightened, she jumped from the table and scurried from the room.

  "Don't come back here!" he shouted, charging after her.

  "Don't worry, that won't happen," she yelled back, "and I hope this is the last time I ever see you."

  She was running down the wide hallway, tears brimming in her eyes, her throat was unbearably hot. What had just happened? She had no idea, but she wanted to get as far away from him as she possibly could.

  CHAPTER THREE

  It was early evening, and at the barbarian's compound the tribe had gathered for the evening meal. Unless it was a celebratory event, the men sat at one long table, the women and children at another. It was when important matters were discussed, and Bastian would share any special news of the day.

  The preparation of the food was the women's responsibility, and though Bastian's wife, Marian, was the authority figure for the females, the kitchen was ruled by Hermione, a robust redhead who possessed great cooking skills and governed her domain as fiercely as Bastian dominated the tribe. No-one except Bastian dared to cross her.

  As everyone settled into their chairs, Bastian watched his son march through the arched door towards him. When angry or aggressive, a barbarian's eyes would darken, often flashing red for a brief instant, and their features would sharpen. They were warriors, and the transformation made them appear ferocious, aiding them in battle. Bastian sometimes saw it as a curse, but as Killian approached Bastian was grateful his son could not hide his feelings. Something serious was troubling the young man.

  "What has you so unsettled?" he asked quietly as Killian sat next to him.

  "It's nothing."

  "Nothing does not make your eyes turn black and your nose appear like a gull's beak. You must tell me. I cannot help you if you don't."

  "I'm not comfortable talking about it," Killian mumbled. "You'll think me weak."

  "Ah, the village girl."

  "How did you guess?" Killian asked, amazed his father could know such a thing.

  "When you took her in to punish her your mood was bright, you were in balance, but now look at you. You have bleakness and rage written across your face. How is it Serenity has turned you upside-down?"

  "It isn't right that she's affected me like this," he answered evasively. "It isn't right at all."

  "Tell me what happened."

  "She's…different. I don't know why, she just is."

  "I agree. When we settled here I met her as a child. She was different even then. I knew she would become a beauty, but I also knew she would be troublesome. You'd best steer clear."

  "I don't think that will be a problem."

  "Explain."

  "She rejected me," Killian whispered, not wanting anyone to overhear. "I still can't believe it."

  Bastian saw Killian's eyes flash crimson. It was a bad sign. His son was deeply upset.

  "Let me understand this. Did you tell her you would send for her and she denied you?"

  "She did, and she even dared to yell at me. Can you believe that? I could have snapped her in two. A slip of a poor village girl didn't want the honor of being one of my women, then she dared to yell at me, and this was after I'd punished her. I have been pacing since she left. How could such a thing happen?"

  "You must settle. She is not worthy of your anger. She bruised your ego, that is all. Demonstrate your maturity by not even thinking about such a trivial matter."

  "It's difficult," Killian grunted. "It's as if she's weaved a spell, as if she's haunting me, as if she has found her way into my brain and won't leave."

  "Think about your other women, think of their visits when the moon is high. It will help banish her from your thoughts while we eat. Isn't Biddie one of your favorites?"

  "Yes, Biddie is excellent at favoring my member with her mouth."

  "Then look over at her, enjoy watching her eat, then later tonight send for her."

  Glancing across the room, Killian spied Biddie seated in the middle of the women's table. Her dark long locks were flowing around her face, and as she brought a bird's leg up to her lips and began to lick off the sauce, he could feel his cock stirring. It reminded him of how he would gather her hair, then grasp it tightly to guide her movements as she sucked.

  Seeing his son's face begin to soften, Bastian nodded with satisfaction. Killian was properly distracted and calming down. Though his son was in line for the leadership chair, there were no guarantees. The head of the tribe was based on physical toughness, mental prowess, and emotional stability. If Killian was seen to be upset by a simple village girl it could be viewed as a sign of weakness, and if another challenged him, he would have to prove himself. It was a battle Bastian wanted to avoid. Challenges could be vicious, sometimes fatal.

  Every evening as the meal began, Bastian would stand up and address his people. He waited several minutes until Killian had fully regained his composure, then rose to his feet. The tribe fell quiet, his tall powerful body commanding their attention. When all eyes were staring at him with rapt attention, he began to speak.

  "Two important announcements. First, I caught a village girl here this afternoon stealing apples. She managed to get away before I could punish her, but I will be going to the village tomorrow to speak with the family. This is a delicate matter. I do not want the balance we have with them to be upset. I learned the family is suffering because of some pests that ate their crops, and while that is no excuse for the girl to have stolen from us, I fear if we treat this matter too harshly there may be unrest, but I cannot let it be. It might embolden others. I will order some new knives and take some provisions for their payment to show our generosity and fairness, but I am still considering the young woman's discipline."

  "I would like to suggest something," Hermione declared, abruptly standing up from her chair.

  "Yes, Hermione?"

  "I need some help in the kitchen. Portia's wrist is still bothering her and I need my floors scrubbed and my counters cleaned. There are other chores as well. I'll make that village girl work for those apples, and take my stirring stick to her bottom if she slacks off."

  "I like that suggestion, Hermione. I will see to it. Now to my other news. Our friends on the other side of the mountain will be here soon for our annual event. As usual, those looking for partners can mingle. Last year there was too much cavorting and not enough serious conversation, so I have decided the fermented berry drink will be limited. One goblet for each young person each night, and no more. This must be strictly enforced."

  There was a murmuring through the tribe and many nodding heads, though Bastian could see the looks of disappointment on the faces of the young adults.

  "The festivities will be better for the control, and I am sure it will be a successful event with many pairings. That is all. You may begin your meal."

  As he sat down he glanced at Killian. He was better. It was a relief. He was determined his son would be head of the tribe. It was imperative Killian be seen as nothing sh
ort of strong, unruffled, and resolute.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  It was also mealtime in the modest home where Serenity lived with her parents and two younger brothers, Simeon and Galway. Though a few hours had passed since she'd felt the heat of Killian's hand on her backside it was still uncomfortable to sit, and halfway through their meal her mother commented on her fidgeting.

  "Serenity, what is wrong with you? Why can't you be still?"

  "She's been in a mood since she came home," Galway, the younger of the two brothers declared. "She snapped at me just because I said something about her face being red."

  "And she yelled at me too, for no reason at all," Simeon added.

  "No reason? You were being annoying," Serenity retorted. "I told you I wanted to be left alone and you kept hanging around."

  "Enough bickering," her father said sternly. "You do seem out of sorts, Serenity. Are you unwell?"

  "I'm fine."

  "I heard that Layla was inside the barbarian's compound earlier today, and she managed to sneak out some apples. Is that true?"

  "Uh, why should I know about that?"

  "You're her best friend, that's why, and you were gone for while. Were you up to the same mischief?"

  "I'm glad she got some apples," she said evasively. "Her family needs them."

  "That may be, but you still haven't answered my question," her father pressed. "Were you inside the compound with her? Did something happen? Is that why you're in a mood?"

  Serenity inwardly groaned. She couldn't lie, her father was bound to find out, he always did, and then she'd be in even worse trouble.

  "Yes, I was there."

  "Serenity!" he barked, alarmed by her confession. "You know you must absolutely never enter the barbarians' compound."

  "What were you thinking?" her mother scolded. "You cannot defy those people. My goodness, you foolish girl."