by Loki Renard
The journey seemed to be taking quite a long time, much longer than the hour Mara had proposed. Then again, perhaps it was not entirely an hour. One had little in the way of marking time aside from the sounds of the donkey’s hooves beneath them. Aisling was starting to feel very uncomfortable on the donkey’s back when they came over a ridge and saw their destination laid out before them. It was even better than Mara had described.
A light mist hung over the pool, which was surrounded by rocks and the occasional grassy incline that led right down to the water. Aisling forgot all her concerns the moment she dipped her toe into the water and discovered that it was indeed warm. Hot, even.
“Ohhh!” She grinned. “This is going to be nice.”
“It’s going to be better than nice,” Mara said. She unpacked her little pouch, revealing two bottles of mead and a bar of soap. “We will wash ourselves and drink. By the time we’re done, we’ll be tipsy and clean.”
Mara knew how to plan a nice afternoon out, Aisling gave her credit for that. They went to the far end of the pool near the foot of the hill where a nice flat rock provided a place to leave their clothes and place their mead bottles.
Quite naked, both women slipped into the water. Sighing with contentment, Aisling washed herself first while Mara took eager sips from her bottle. The time passed in a languid haze of mead and warmth. Aisling completely abandoned her cares and drank deeply of the liquid, which Mara told her was brewed just outside the village from the finest honey and spices.
“You will marry Rikiar soon,” Mara said, swimming about the pool.
“I will.” Aisling smiled as she sat with her back to the rock, watching her toes bob about under the surface of the rippling waters.
“You are no longer a timid little mouse,” Mara said. “You have come into your own.”
Aisling did not know whether to be insulted or glad. She decided Mara was probably just speaking idle words, as she was so wont to do. Half of what Mara said was to be immediately discarded. The other half should probably be reported to a higher authority. Aisling giggled to herself as she drank her mead, enjoying her private thoughts almost more than she enjoyed Mara’s company.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here.”
Rough voices interrupted the pleasant afternoon. Through the bushes came two rough-looking bandit types. Their clothing was torn and rumpled, covered in filth. Their weapons looked ill-kept. Helsa would not have approved of the state of their scabbards for sure.
Mara swam a quick retreat back to Aisling, but then they were stuck. They could not leave the pool without exposing themselves. Staying in seemed like a better idea, but they were still naked and at the mercy of two strange men.
“Leave us,” Aisling said, finding her voice. It came out a little more strident and high-pitched than she would have liked, but the message was clear.
“Leave you?” The taller bandit with the big shiny buckle at his waist leered at them. “We’ll not leave until we’ve had our fun.”
“Oh, dear,” Mara murmured.
“Stay back!” Aisling ordered.
The bandits guffawed with laughter.
“And how will you make us stay back? You with your pink-tipped breasts?”
“Do not look at me!” Aisling said, outraged. “I am a princess. I am Rikiar’s bride.”
“Rikiar’s bride, eh?” The bandit’s gaze became shrewd. “Well, ain’t that a funny thing. We just lost one of our own to Rikiar. Maybe you can take his place.”
“No, thank you,” Aisling said politely.
“It wasn’t an invitation. Out of the pool, wenches.”
Mara and Aisling looked at one another.
“You will not come out? Then we will come in!” The men started shedding their clothing. Their bellies were marked with all manner of pock scars and dubious growths which made them quite unappealing. “Come here, pretty,” the lead bandit growled, stepping into the water, his semi-flaccid manhood bobbing obscenely until it was covered by the water. He approached at a fast waddle, closing in on Aisling. All seemed to be lost—but for the fact that Aisling had thought to bring her blade. She reached for it swiftly, took it down into the warm depths and jabbed it forward so the tip made contact with some delicate and unmentionable part of the bandit’s anatomy. He stopped dead.
“Leave us,” Aisling said with soft menace. “Or I will leave you less of a man.”
The bandit snarled. Aisling pressed the blade forward just a fraction. He backed away, slowly.
“That was a mistake,” he growled. “That little knife will do nothing against my sword.”
Aisling and Mara scrambled for their clothes while the bandits scrambled back over the pool for their weapons. It was a race neither of them won, for just as Aisling was sliding her skirts over her hips, and the bandits were drawing their sheathed swords, a fresh party arrived in the clearing. They were not riding on donkeys or tramping on foot. They were riding tall horses and they were accompanied by large dogs, and they were Rikiar, Helsa, and Berner.
“Put your weapons down.” Rikiar growled the order in a dark baritone so threatening that the bandits actually did as they were bade. Helsa and Berner dismounted and rounded them up, tying their hands behind their backs with practiced knots.
“Stop dressing yourselves,” Rikiar snapped across at Aisling and Mara.
Aisling and Mara exchanged glances as Rikiar dismounted and strode toward them, completely ignoring the bandits. They had been as gnats to him, not worthy of so much as a glance. Aisling understood why the men had chosen not to fight. Not only were they outnumbered, but they were outweighed. Rikiar stood several full heads taller than the tallest bandit, and his shoulders were twice as broad. A beast of a man, he looked dangerously feral as he stalked toward them.
“Are you harmed? Did they touch you?”
“Nossir,” Aisling murmured.
“Good.” Rikiar drew her up into a tight hug, held her for a moment, then slapped her bottom with the powerful flat of his hand. Aisling squealed, but knew it was no less than she deserved. Even the most naive princess knew that wandering the countryside alone was potentially dangerous. She clung to Rikiar, her arms wrapped around his neck as he spanked her against his body.
Nearby, Berner was already disciplining Mara. He had grasped her without permission, ignoring her cries of dissent. Apparently his claim was not up for debate as much as Mara pretended it was. Her skirts were soon up around her waist, her bare bottom exposed to the elements as he thrashed her with all the concern and relief of a man who has almost lost his love.
Helsa stood with the bandits in tight custody, looking at the sight of the punished princess and her friend with an expression of satisfaction while Mara wailed loudly, protesting each and every slap being dealt to her. Her bottom wriggled appealingly, her hips rising and falling with every well-deserved blow. Berner did not say a word, he just held her squirming frame across his hard thighs and spanked until her bottom was brighter than the berries clinging to the nearby brambles.
As for Aisling, her punishment was not any more gentle. Rikiar’s left arm was wrapped firmly around her slim waist, pinning her to his hard body as his hand fell on her wet bottom over and over. Aisling’s skirts did nothing to mute the sting. Each time his hand landed, she squealed an apology and a promise not to leave without his permission ever again.
“That one needs more than a little swatting,” the lead bandit grunted. “She’s a vicious little wench.”
“Take those men back to the village,” Rikiar ordered Helsa. “They do not need to witness what will be done here.”
As Helsa led the men away, Aisling was left to her own devices for a minute while Rikiar cut a switch from a nearby tree. “Bend over and touch your toes,” he ordered.
Aisling wanted to argue, but his thunderous expression told her it would be best not to. With a hot bottom and flushing cheeks, she obeyed his order and was quite mortified when he threw her skirts up over her hips, baring her
completely.
The concern over her nudity did not last past the first cut of the switch. The thin, whip-like branch cut a path of hell-fire across her bottom like none she had ever felt before. Rikiar laid another one after it, and then another, giving no quarter and showing no mercy at all.
Aisling’s eyes soon clouded with tears, but she could still make out Mara next to her. It looked as though Berner were doing something quite unspeakable to her bottom. He had produced something from his vest. It was something wood and polished, something rounded but with a flared base. A wooden plug.
“No!” Mara squeaked. “Not in my bottom!”
But it was going into her bottom. Aisling saw Berner press it against Mara’s tight little bud, which winked and wriggled, then welcomed it inside. He then spanked her with the plug inside her, which seemed to cause Mara a great deal more consternation than the earlier punishment.
“Don’t you mind Mara,” Rikiar growled, leaning down to grasp Aisling’s wet hair at the base of her neck. He pulled up gently, but firmly, making her arch and hold position for his lash. The punishments being handed out were unashamedly sexual in nature; evidently Rikiar and Berner thought nothing of sharing certain intimacies with one another, or at least within sight of one another.
“It hurts!” Aisling cried plaintively. “It burns!”
“Good,” Rikiar growled as the lash cut across her wet jiggling cheeks. “You will remember this next time you think about leaving the village without my permission.” He slapped the whippy switch across her bottom mercilessly, back and forth until Aisling felt as though her cheeks had been stung by a thousand hornets. She danced where she stood, her toes curling into the mud as her bottom bounced with the movement.
Finally he cast the switch aside and she thought that it was over. But it was not. With his grip still firmly locked at the back of her neck, he propelled her to a fallen tree where he pinned her over the rough bark, her nipples and bare stomach grazing against the trunk as he opened his britches and thrust his cock inside her with rough possession, filling her completely.
“You are my bride and you will obey,” he growled, sinking his hot hard flesh deep into Aisling’s quivering quim. She had little to say in protest or apology, all she could do was pant and moan as her mate ravaged her tender body with rough strokes.
In the middle distance, she could hear similar sounds to the ones she was making emanating from Mara. They were both being thoroughly fucked, hard masculine hips slapping against red hot bottoms as the disobedient maids made amends.
Aisling clasped the trunk of the tree and lifted her hips. Better to submit to Rikiar’s desire than be found disobedient again, and better to feel his hard flesh pressing down against the sensitive front of her inner walls than to be bounced roughly against the wood.
There was a grunt of something like pleasure and she felt his grip move from the back of her neck to under her body. He cupped her bare breasts, pulling her back against his hips as he pounded her tender slit with rough, punishing strokes. Before Aisling could reach her climax, he came, grinding his cock hard inside her and coating her cunt with his seed. Then he pulled out, slapped her bottom, and told her to get dressed.
Whimpering, Aisling obeyed. She had never experienced sex without climax before and she did not like it at all. Her lips and bud were burning with desire as she dressed, quite ashamed of both her behavior and the resulting punishment.
She was dressed just in time to see Berner pull out and spill his seed not inside Mara, but all over her very red, very plugged bottom. The sight of his juices coating her heated round flesh only served to further inflame Aisling’s frustrated desires, but she did not dare let on how badly she wanted to cum.
“Time to return home,” Rikiar said, leading her across to his horse and helping her up into the saddle. With her legs spread, her bottom pressed against Rikiar’s groin when he too mounted, Aisling found she could grind herself a little as they began to move, getting some small measure of satisfaction from the rolling gait.
Poor Mara was sniffling all the way home, for she was still plugged and Berner refused to let her take it out even when she asked very nicely.
“You will go straight to our bedchamber when we return,” Rikiar growled behind her. “Do you understand?”
“Yes, m’lord,” Aisling said softly. She would have obeyed any order he gave her in that moment; she wished he would smile at her again, speak to her softly the way he did when he was pleased. She knew she had been terribly naughty and she knew that she had not yet fully atoned for her behavior.
“You will clean yourself. You will kneel beside the bed, and you will think about what you have done while you wait for me,” Rikiar added. “And when I come for you, I will decide if I will punish you further or not.”
Aisling grew tense at the idea of more punishment. Already riding was almost unbearable, though she knew better than to complain about a sore bottom after a well-deserved punishment.
When they arrived back in Ravenblack Village, she made straight for the bedroom as he had ordered. She cleaned herself, then knelt beside the bed and thought about what she had done. She thought about it for all of three seconds before her fingers slipped down between her thighs and began toying with her pleasure bud.
Heavy footsteps made her pull her hand away before she could reach even the smallest peak, leaving her a bundle of nerves as her lord and master entered the room.
“Come here,” Rikiar said, beckoning her across the bedchamber.
She went to him even though she was afraid that the future might hold more in the way of punishment. He seemed even larger in that small space, his broad, strong arms ready to whip her again at a moment’s notice. Rikiar gazed down at her, his expression stern.
“Do you know why you were whipped today?”
“Of course,” Aisling said. “It was because Mara and I sneaked out of the village.”
“Yes,” Rikiar said. “It was for that, but it was also because you made me fear for your life. That feeling is not something I would wish on anyone.”
He led her to the bed and lay down, resting his hands behind his head while Aisling toyed nervously with the dark hairs on his chest. Her bottom and thighs were still feeling the effects of the discipline Rikiar so casually mentioned. She suspected she would continue to feel them for some time. A slippery feeling was still present between her thighs, along with the warm, swollen sensation that accompanied sex.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “Truly.”
“Are you?” Rikiar drawled the question. He seemed unconvinced, but he also did not seem inclined to thrash her in that moment. His orgasm had curbed his ire, but Aisling was still suffering with unrequited desire.
She pressed against his body and rode her groin against his thigh. He raised a brow, but did not stop her. Aisling blushed as she realized she was more or less humping him as a needy dog might, but she could not stop herself. His stoic silence only served to enhance the feeling that she was a wanton little slut, desperate for the relief only he could give her.
“Please,” Aisling whispered.
“Please, what?”
“Please, may I cum?”
A low rumble emerged from his throat. “You ask so sweetly, but I am not sure you deserve it. Running about outside the village with servants,” he censured. “If it had not been for Helsa spotting you, who knows what might have happened.”
“I know,” Aisling said, breathless and apologetic. “It was foolish of us. You were right to punish me.”
Rikiar narrowed his eyes slightly. “Do you mean that, or are you so desperate to have your cunt filled that you will say anything at all?”
“I mean it,” Aisling panted, moaning when he squeezed her nipple lightly. The action made pleasure zip from her breast to the quivering lips of her pussy and she pressed herself against his thigh harder still, spreading her wetness across his leg.
After watching her grind for several more minutes, he took some pity on he
r, drifting his hand down her back to her bottom and pressing his fingers inside her from behind. He stirred her cum-filled quim while she rutted herself to a desperate climax, panting and gasping against his lips.
“Horny little witch,” he drawled affectionately as he lifted a lazy hand and let his fingers drift through the dark curtain of Aisling’s hair. He was tender now, almost soft. She rested her head against the muscular plane of his abdomen and half-closed her eyes.
“Promise me you won’t make me feel that way again,” he murmured softly.
“I’ll try not to,” Aisling promised. She did not then know that it was a promise she would not be able to keep.
Chapter Eight
Three days before the wedding, the weather closed in around Ravenblack and with it brought an ill omen, one Rikiar was very glad to see, but one he knew would bring grave tidings. Merla Ravenblack graced the village with her presence at noon, her slender form wrapped in a dark velvet cloak, her thin pinched face devoid of a smile. Rikiar greeted her warmly and before his arms had released her from the filial embrace, Berner was at his side with bad news.
“Scouts have sent word. The king of Claddaugh has declared war. His forces are already entering the ranges. They will be upon us in less than a week.” Berner was not given to worry, but he looked concerned.
Rikiar swore softly under his breath. It was not unforeseeable that the king would want revenge for the loss of his daughter, but he had hoped it would take the form of a demand for reparations, not all-out war.
“How many men do the scouts say are on their way?”
“At least five hundred.”
Rikiar cocked his head to the side, doubtful as to the truth of the report. “Claddaugh barely has the men to defend its castle and keep. And you tell me that there are five hundred men making their way over the ranges?”
“I hear Claddaugh sold its silver, gold, and jewels, hired mercenaries. The king intends to reclaim his daughter at all costs.”
“I told you this would not end well,” Merla interjected in raspy tones. “This wedding is ill-fated. You must return the woman,” she said. “Otherwise I see great suffering for our people.”
