His hand, cradling my left cheek, dips around my face and moves to beneath my chin, propping it up with one finger and a thumb. “Aurelie?”
There’s that low, alluring tone again, hell-bent on enticing me into some fate even worse than that which my father’s kingdom has endured.
I nod, giving him what he desires, but trying to break the spell he appears to be casting over me. “Yes… Please,” I whisper.
This time he nods his assent at me.
“Then I will do the courteous thing and see that any wounds are treated, but you, my lady, you must also do the courteous thing.”
I blink at him, unsure how I should respond.
“I hope that from this point on we understand one another?” He pauses, ensuring that he has my full attention. “As a sign of my goodwill, I will introduce myself to you. I am Anders, Prince of Norse. As a sign of your goodwill, you will now refer to me as your Lofðungr—or prince. Do so now, please.”
I swallow again, barely able to process this strange, foreign word. It sounds crude to my ears, an audible demonstration of how this man has plundered my father’s kingdom.
“I can’t…” I begin, tears welling in my eyes, “I—”
I am silenced by the look in those deep blue orbs. His eyes are powerful and show no compromise. “Do not defy me, Aurelie,” he warns in a deep, breathy tone. “Your courtesy… Please?”
I take a long breath, pushing back the surge of emotions that threaten to overtake me. In that moment I contemplate what he asks of me. By deferring to his native title, am I somehow becoming less of who I really am? Am I demonstrating a disloyalty to my own kin? What would Bowen say? Would he bend and scrape or suffer the consequences, and would he expect his little sister to do the same? Realising I have no time for this thought process, I resign myself to concede. For the time being at least, keeping this man on my side will serve my own interests and those of Donrose.
“Yes, my Lofðungr,” I say, in almost a whisper, hoping that my no doubt poor pronunciation will suffice.
His expression softens a little, regarding me in an almost paternal way. “Thank you, Aurelie. I appreciate that was not an easy thing for you.”
I nod, still struggling to keep the tears at bay.
He takes a stride away from me and moves back to the entrance to the main section of the pavilion.
“Mikkel!” he cries, the volume of his voice drawing me from my thoughts.
I hear footsteps and another tall, monstrous man appears before us.
“My Lofðungr,” he says, bowing low before Anders.
“Bring a handmaiden to attend my guest. She has injuries that will require attention.”
He glances in my direction for the briefest moment, before bowing again and dashing away. Once Mikkel has departed, Anders pulls a long cord to his right. I watch as the partition between us and the rest of the pavilion is closed with a long and heavy material. He then turns and closes the gap between us, that intensity loaded back into his stare.
Chapter Five: Aurelie’s First Punishment
“I am pleased that you have shown yourself willing to comply with my expectations, Aurelie.” He speaks as he walks toward a low trunk away to our right. It looks solid, presumably made from some type of wood, but is draped with a number of animal furs. “Yet your hesitation disturbs me.”
He seats himself on the centre of the container as he concludes, drawing those demanding eyes back to me in an instant.
I stand there, my arms still bound, watching him, wondering where this may be going and yet, somewhere deep inside of me I think I might already know. I pause, certain in the knowledge that whatever I say now may ultimately come at a price.
“I am not used to being treated this way,” I begin, trying to quell the swelling indignation in my voice. “Please understand, I have fought to defend my home this night. I have seen it invaded by strangers.” I meet his eye as I spit out this word, and then quickly my gaze falls away again. “My father’s castle has been overrun, my kin slaughtered, and now I am abducted to be… What am I to be?!”
My whole body implores him as I speak, my arms rising to try to express my feelings, but unable to do so in their current bondage.
“You are mine, Aurelie, for the time being at least, and whilst I have pity for your personal plight, these emotional outbursts will not be tolerated in my court. Do you understand?”
I exhale, utterly exasperated. “Yes, my Lofðungr,” I reply, hoping that I have remembered the term correctly.
“I am the master here and I cannot accept hesitation, defiance, or wilful disobedience.” He pauses, drawing his body forward in his seat and eyeing me even more intently. “I know this is all new; you are a princess and more used to giving orders than receiving them. However, I feel you can learn to embrace your new role—as my willing captive—and flourish in your submission to me.”
I process his words, fighting hard against the urge to protest each and every point. I am no willing captive, after all, I was bound and taken from my home, and as for the notion of my submission! My pride baulks at the very idea.
“With respect, my Lofðungr,” I begin with caution. “I can never submit to you, or any other of your men. Submission is a sign of weakness and weak I am not!”
I hope I have relayed my feelings on the subject with adequate respect to both of our positions, but to my frustration, he smiles at my words.
“In most circumstances you would be correct, Aurelie,” he muses, “and yet if you choose to willingly surrender yourself to me, I promise that you will find great strength and reward in your actions.”
I shift my weight awkwardly, feeling exposed and vulnerable in his presence for the first time since Magnus delivered me. My mind rejects his words utterly, and yet there’s a feeling deep inside of me that marvels at them. What would it be like to submit to a man like this? It’s a notion so entirely foreign to my upbringing and position, and yet one that stirs a passion in me I had not known even existed. He watches me, his eyes seeming to understand my own confusion.
“Think on what I have said, my lady. I realise I must help you to accept your fate and this I fully intend to do. Come here, please.”
He beckons to me with one hand. I take a small step forward toward the place he is seated. For some wordless reason I feel my breath quicken as I approach him and I can feel my relentless heartbeat, like a drum, bursting to be free of my chest.
I reach the edge of his black boots and stop, cautious and yet undeniably excited. He studies me as I stand before him, those blue eyes burning through my clothing.
“I am going to spank you now. A short, sharp spanking designed to remind you who is in charge and what fate will befall you if you choose to resist me. Do you understand, Aurelie?”
I stand there, agog, hearing, but barely processing his words. He is going to spank me? The years of Donrose education and superiority surface in me again, disgruntled and disgusted by his crude arrogance. How dare this stranger speak to me this way! I take a deeper breath, absorbing the intensity of the emotions and there, underneath all of my shock is that other feeling. The intuitive, excited woman who had known and secretly hoped for this.
I look to him, the dark intensity in his eyes almost ready to burst into flames. For one moment I feel unsteady and fear that I am about to lose consciousness. Sensing my discomfort, Anders reaches for my right arm and steadies me.
“I said, do you understand, Aurelie?”
My mouth is dry as I answer, “Do as you will, my Lofðungr!”
The defiance is back and it sounds almost like a sneer as it meets my ears. I regret my tone in an instant and yet it is too late. Anders’ eyes narrow and he smiles as he guides my body to his right side.
“My lady, I will!” he informs me, not even trying to suppress the glee in his voice. “Now down here over my lap!”
There is a split second where I stand here on wobbly legs wondering if I am really going to do this. Am I going to enable hi
m to do this to me, empowering him with my consent? And yet even as my inner personas argue, I already know the answer. I fold myself down over his hard legs, even allowing him to aid my transition as I go, and before I know it I am face down over his lap. I feel his touch at my left side, stroking my wounded flesh gently, as though he is acknowledging the care that the injury will require. The sensation is unexpectedly reassuring. Despite my defiant outburst, it seems he still intends to treat me with some care. I relax a fraction, allowing my bound arms to fall awkwardly in front of me, my fingers grazing the fur-lined floor beneath the wood. My hair—once braided—now lies in a tangled heap on the floor.
His right hand moves to caress my back, pressing against the linen of my doublet, exploring the cut and fabric. I try to catch my breath and reassure myself that I am okay—I can survive this ordeal—and yet shamefully, as his exploration takes him down the line of my back to the top of my behind, I am almost panting with some absurd anticipation. He tugs at my tunic. I feel the material being pulled back over itself and his hand grazes my hosen beneath. He starts at the base of my spine, stroking down over my cheeks and all the way down to the backs of my knees. I shudder at the intimate contact, hearing my breath coming as short, raspy sounds. At the same time my mind reels; what is this person—my captor—doing to me?
His touch disappears at my knees and I strain futilely for him, wanting to regain that intimacy. For a while there is no sensation. I feel nothing except his hard legs underneath my torso and there is no sound, apart from the low, breathy noises from my mouth. I strain my body further, listening for noises beyond this pocket of the pavilion. My mind races; what if Anders’ servant returns unexpectedly or sooner than he’d anticipated when he’d sent him away? Or perhaps this was what Anders had planned all along, for his people to return and find him punishing his new ‘property’ in this most debase way? I flinch, all of a sudden unable to keep still over his lap and it’s now—at this most unsettling moment—that his hand makes a hard impact against my scantily covered behind.
The first thing that I notice is the sound it makes—like a small clap of thunder has erupted inside the tent. The impact itself does not really hurt, but with only my hosen for protection, the sting is still sharp and a low burn begins to warm the area. He spanks me again. This time I am tensed in anticipation and I feel his entire palm landing on my upturned bottom. At the third strike I can’t help but let out a small yelp, as though his hand is somehow knocking the sound out of me.
“That’s right, Aurelie,” purrs Anders, “you belong to me now.”
As he pauses, his hand strikes me again, catching my rump just where my bottom meets my legs. The indignation of what he’s doing hits me much harder than his hand. For the first time in many years I am being spanked like a naughty child. I am disgusted at him and more riled with myself for permitting him to do so. I should have refused and fought him at the mere suggestion… and yet, I hadn’t wanted to do so. Why?
“If you learn to be good and obedient then I need never have to punish you this way again…”
The fifth spank catches me in exactly the same place as the previous one and as the impact falls on me, my body is moved up and across his lap just a fraction. That movement creates a friction between my legs that I have never felt before. It warms and tingles, making me more and more breathless. As he strikes me again, the realisation occurs that despite the stinging, burning humiliation, I may actually like this. I squeeze my eyes shut as I try to process these bizarre thoughts.
“Do you understand, my lady?” he asks me from over and above my head.
The next strike lands, inflaming the already warmed skin beneath my hosen.
“Yes,” I rasp, my voice catching in the back of my throat. I feel like all of my focus is being drawn toward the burning at my rear and the tingle between my legs. The impact of his hand begins to centre me somehow.
He strikes me again—much harder this time—and despite the growing pleasure between my thighs, the force is unexpected and takes my breath away for a moment. I moan out of instinct, finally forming my complaint into words.
“Ouch!” I shriek, barely able to recognise my own voice. “That is too hard!”
In an instant he folds the weight of his torso over my body, leaving me effectively pinioned between the two halves of his body. I feel his heat and the pressure of his chest pressing into my back.
“You do not get to decide if it’s too hard,” he hisses into my right ear, “you—Aurelie—are my property now. I will try to make things easy on you, but what I cannot abide is disrespect.”
This move totally floors me. The pressure and proximity of him is astonishing.
“I… I have not been disrespectful…” I stammer beneath him.
“Really?” he muses, moving back a little, allowing my chest some space to expand. “Then how did I ask you to address me, Aurelie?”
I blanch as I realise my mistake. “You asked me to refer to you as my Lofðungr,” I say with a low sigh. “I… I forgot. I am sorry.”
I offer an apology because I genuinely feel remorse for my mistake. I had not intended to offend him, not at that moment when I was just beginning to enjoy my impromptu penalty. His palm touches me again, and still leaning over me, he strokes my warmed behind as he speaks.
“Very well, Aurelie. That was your one opportunity to displease me and now it has passed. Let there be no further incidents.”
“Yes, my Lofðungr,” I reply in haste, almost missing the contact as he draws back to his original seated position.
“You have two more strikes remaining, my lady… I will deliver them hard and fast.”
Before I have time to even process these words, let alone respond, Anders provides the first of the two. True to his word, this impact is much harder—as though his hand personally desires to teach me this lesson. I suck up the blow, absorbing it and trying to ignore the sting as it reignites my flaming behind. Then he delivers the second blow and it’s by far the hardest to take, pushing me a good inch up his lap and providing the simultaneous pleasure and pain. For a split second my hips move on their own; an involuntary reaction to the sensations between my legs and I wish beyond all reason that my spanking was to continue. As the stark realization hits me, I am both startled and appalled with myself.
The feeling of my doublet being pulled back over my behind is the sign that for better or for worse, this punishment has concluded. I draw in a deep breath, unsure now how I should feel or what to say. Concluding that it is better to say nothing at this interval, I stay silent, brooding on the intensity of the moment. Gradually he draws me backwards. His left arm moves north to steer me back and up from his lap until I am returned to my feet. I want to rub my sore behind, but with my wrists still bound I am forced to wait for whatever Anders desires next.
He eyes me again, so intently that I feel I might just implode. The cheeks of my face burn, almost as much as I know my rear must. I catch his eye fleetingly and I swear I see a smile there. Does he know, I wonder to myself, that I actually almost enjoyed his humiliating punishment? My thoughts are interrupted by footsteps behind the partition and duly his pale-faced servant arrives, this time with a golden-haired woman in tow.
“My Lofðungr,” he bows low, gesturing behind him to his left. “The handmaiden you requested.”
Anders rises, reminding me again of his physical presence as he towers over me.
“Brigida,” he purrs, approaching the woman. She moves from behind the guard, a slim and fresh-faced thing and as ridiculous as it is, a deep stab of jealousy twists inside of me. Has she also been spanked by Anders? Does he call her to his bed? She falls into a low curtsey, kissing his outstretched hand as he arrives before her.
“My Lofðungr,” she replies demurely, “how may I serve you?”
I roll my eyes, astonished by the show of devotion and struggling to believe in its sincerity. Donrose has servants of course—a great many—and they are all loyal and hard-working, but t
his sycophantic display is almost nauseous.
“My lovely Brigida,” Anders says, exacerbating the situation, “my guest here has some injuries, to her left side. Would you please take a look?”
He nods to his right, to where I am standing and Brigida in turn moves her head toward me. Her expression is bemused, but changes swiftly to one of disdain.
“Your guest, my Lofðungr?” She nearly spits out the words.
Anders smiles at her, smoothing the side of one of her fair pigtails. “Yes, my child. Now do as I ask of you. And please help Aurelie to bathe and change after her injuries are tended to.”
She nods, clearly not wishing to upset her master. Rising from her knees, she turns to face me. “Follow me,” she says, trying to suppress her scorn.
I take one last look at Anders, this man who has captured and tormented me in the last hours and worse still, this man who has somehow started to crawl inside my head. He smiles at me, a knowing look in his eye.
“My lady?” he asks, questioning me.
His tone is suddenly dark again and a memory of my recent spanking darts through my body. I nod to him and scuttle after Brigida, not wishing for any further punishments at this juncture.
Chapter Six: Chained and Confined
Sometime later I find myself delivered back to Anders’ pavilion. My time with Brigida was an experience I would prefer not to repeat any time soon. In fairness, she had carried out Anders’ instructions and attended to my side. Some type of balm was applied and despite the obvious tenderness, the ointment has alleviated some of the pain.
A bath was drawn for me and despite my insistent refusals, Brigida vowed to stay as I bathed. I could feel her eyes on me, pawing over the curves of my breasts and midriff, as she poured warm water over my body. I am well used to my own lady in waiting, Anne, but Brigida’s glares were perturbing—caught somewhere between arousal and contempt. With my hands finally freed from their confinement at my front, I tried my best to shield my recently punished behind from her encompassing stares, but I have the feeling that she caught sight of it as I climbed into the large tub of water.
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