The Viking's Conquest

by Felicity Brandon

  “Look up, Aurelie!” he cries, and shamefully my face rises to meet his excited blue eyes. “You were warned what would happen if you disobeyed, were you not?”

  I nod. “Yes, my Lofðungr,” I say, fighting back tears of embarrassment.

  “And so now, to ensure your compliance, you will hold this in your mouth whilst we drink!”

  He crouches next to me and waves a small piece of orange fruit in his left hand. I have never eaten it before, but it resembles some soft apple, although thankfully smaller in size.

  “Open,” he instructs.

  Behind him, Magnus shifts to get a clearer view of my ordeal.

  I eye Anders miserably, knowing he is serious and can do much worse to me if I refuse. Slowly I comply, opening my mouth for him.

  “Wider,” he laughs, “much wider than that, Aurelie!”

  As my lips stretch out, the small fruit is shoved inside my mouth, filling the cavity completely and preventing my mouth from closing properly. I seal my lips around its soft flesh, feeling a line of tears running from my eyes. This indignation feels too great for me to bear.

  Anders rises and returns to my right, and I hear laughter from all three of the men above me.

  “That is much better, my Lofðungr,” chuckles Magnus as he examines my fruit-filled mouth in detail.

  “Good, now back up on all fours, Aurelie. You were too low to hold the tray as you were.”

  Slowly, ever so slowly I move from my forearms to my hands, pressing my palms deliberately into the floor. I sense Anders next to me, but have no inclination to see him. He stoops again, assessing the height of my body. Then without warning he runs one long digit from my shoulder down to the small of my back.

  “Beautiful,” he concludes, and then addressing the guard, Mikkel, “Leave the tray as instructed and then you may go.”

  To my left I see the man lowering the tray toward me. I squeeze my eyes shut, even now not quite able to believe what is actually transpiring. This man is really going to use my naked body as a table. The thought is preposterous! At the first touch of the tray I flinch, feeling its cold, hard surface. As the temperature warms against my hot flesh, I relax a little, realising that despite its contents I am able to manage its weight efficiently. With the tray in place the guard turns to leave. I open my eyes, watching his legs and then his feet moving away. I have to remind myself to exhale through my nose in the meantime, my lips still clinging to the soft fleshy thing stuffed into my mouth.

  “Needless to say, Aurelie, tables do not move.” Anders’ voice has taken on that hypnotic quality of earlier. “Remain still and obedient and you will pass this test. If, however, a single drop is spilled, you will be severely spanked. Do you understand?”

  Unable to speak now, I try to nod my head to show my affirmation, but concern that the motion will inadvertently spill the drinks fills me. Instead I make a sound from my throat, which comes out as a stifled moan around the fruit. I see Anders, still to my right, smile at my response and then move back to his place on the large bed.

  “Let me pour for you, my Lofðungr,” Magnus says, jumping eagerly from the chest and approaching my nudity. He passes in front of me and then round to my left, dipping to one knee to reach the correct height at which to serve the drinks. I hear liquid being poured from one vessel to another and after another moment, he rises, passing behind me to offer Anders his drink. “To your health and success, my Lofðungr!”

  “Thank you, my friend!” exclaims Anders, as the sound of goblets clinking together fills the air.

  Both men take what sounds like large gulps of the liquid before Magnus returns to the chest, eyeing me excitedly as he does so. His gaze is intense, almost as much as the prince’s. He watches the soft swing of my bosom and the curve of my midriff and I know he is imagining how both would feel to his touch. Incredibly I find cause to blush even now, and I feel a new heat spread from my chest to my face.

  “This has proved to be a fine day’s work, Magnus,” says Anders.

  He sounds relaxed and I imagine him stretched out on the bed. Resentment at his comfort and my own humiliating position resonates through my tightly wound body.

  “Indeed, my Lofðungr,” replies Magnus, raising the metal goblet high into the air. “With your astute leadership, we shall conquer these barbarians in even less time than we had planned!”

  I stare at him, even now barely believing the incredulous words that come from his lips. Catching my look, he smiles at me, his eyes landing on the impromptu gag inside my mouth and the drool collecting around its edges.

  “I think your table has something to say!” he jokes with Anders, and again the sound of their deep laughter fills the air.

  “The table will learn its place,” replies Anders, his voice resolute.

  At that point their conversation turns to strategy. Obviously done with taunting me for the time being, they slip back into their Norse tongue, leaving me motionless on the floor. I try to take a deep breath, which is almost impossible to do when you cannot fill your chest with air properly. As I do so, I notice that a small amount of my own spittle leaks from the side of my mouth. I squeeze my eyes shut, not willing to acknowledge this latest ignominy.

  Time passes and I concentrate on staying still and maintaining a flat surface for the tray with my back. By now my wrists and knees are screaming at me for relief, but I know there is none forthcoming. My jaw is tiring of the intrusion in my mouth, and I want desperately to be able to swallow properly again.

  I notice that I am not chastised for keeping my eyes closed, so I choose to do so. I imagine myself back in the castle of Donrose; my father on the throne, exchanging jokes with my brothers. I picture how the lands look in the spring; the colourful flower beds bursting into bloom and the beginning of those long, warm days. How I would miss them if I am taken to the cold north. I am not used to the cold and wonder how I will cope. As my mind drifts I tune out from their conversation that I do not understand, and continue to daydream about life as it once was.

  It’s then that I feel something on the tray moving above me. I tense, more than aware of the peril, but unsure how to best rectify it. By now the object is definitely moving and it seems there is little I can do to stop its path. In a split second I feel a bump as something falls in the small of my back, and then the wetness as some sort of liquid pours down between my legs. As if in slow motion, my eyes fly open in panic. I see Magnus regarding me with amusement and then hear the sound of Anders’ voice:

  “Aurelie!”

  He sounds more than angry and I want to apologise, but still cannot say a word. Anders jumps from the bed and assesses the mess my actions have caused.

  “Magnus, arrange for this to be cleaned, please. I must attend to my disobedient property.”

  He sounds calm again and somehow that’s even more ominous.

  “Of course, my Lofðungr,” says Magnus, rising from the chest and striding toward the exit.

  Anders removes the tray from my body and stands in front of me.

  “Kneel up. Now!”

  Gingerly I do so, on the one hand relieved to be able to move my arms and stretch out my back, but also petrified of what penalty is to come. I rise up, my arms by my side, fruit still in my mouth and look up at him with frightened eyes. As I move, another puddle of drink falls south, between my buttocks, and hits the backs of my legs.

  Anders grabs what remains of my braid in his left hand and tugs my head back. The act is unexpected and although it is not painful, his aggression startles me.

  “You. Were. Warned.” His voice is almost a snarl and I can barely catch my breath. “Up.”

  He pulls me north by the hair and I move as fast as I can to avoid the hurt. He moves a large pace backward, his legs hitting the chest before he seats himself there. I am pulled along with him, my ankle still chained, bringing the metal crashing against the wood as he pushes me down over his lap. I know he is going to spank me again and I know I will suffer for it. Excited butterf
lies flutter in my stomach, overpowering the fear that also resides there.

  Chapter Nine: Pleasure in the Pain

  After the fast-paced, unexpected motion of the previous moments, the still in activity calms my darting emotions. Anders lays his large palm against my cool skin and rubs the area in a gentle caress. It’s almost as though he has forgotten my mistake or his hot-headed reaction to it. My flesh tingles as he explores it, my nipples beading hard beneath my body and the near-constant ache between my legs growing with each stroke of his long digits.

  “I am going to punish you now, Aurelie,” he says, his voice now almost as serene as the motion of his hand. “Do you understand?”

  I nod my head frantically, wanting to make my communication known despite the fruit filling my mouth.

  “Ah, yes, your mouth is still rather full, isn’t it?” he asks sardonically, whilst his fingers dip between my hot thighs, stroking the tense muscles there.

  “Drop the fruit. I want to hear your voice whilst you’re spanked.”

  In a moment of uncharacteristic obedience, I widen my mouth a fraction and release the soft flesh of the fruit. I watch as it falls the short distance to the floor underneath me, along with a humiliating quantity of my drool. Relief washes over my jaw as it can now finally relax, although I wonder what Anders will have in mind for me next.

  “Good,” he says from over me. “Now tell me, do you know why you are to be spanked?”

  I flinch as he vocalises my predicament, as though hearing it out loud somehow reaffirms the sheer ignominy of it.

  “I…” I pause, trying to make myself say the words. “I am to be spanked because I spilled your drinks, my Lofðungr,” I say eventually.

  “True,” Anders replies, slapping the cheeks of my behind. The impact is not hard, but is just enough to wake the flesh around the area, summoning the blood there and sending the message to me: this is mine. “And why did you spill the drinks, Aurelie? What function were you serving?”

  I cringe inwardly, knowing he intends to revel fully in my disgrace. “I was your table,” I say in the smallest voice possible.

  “My what?” he asks, raising his voice. “I have never known the lady to be so coy before this moment!”

  “Your table, my Lofðungr,” I reply, pushing back the humiliated emotion that threatens to surface.

  “Yes!” he cries, finally satisfied with my answer. “A table for holding my refreshments. You had one purpose only: to hold the tray of drinks and Aurelie, you failed, my sweeting. You failed in the most spectacular fashion!”

  The old indignation rises in me. “I am no table!” I spit, my voice now full of venom.

  He lands a hard smack against my upturned cheeks, the sound swilling around my head before the sting of the impact even registers.

  “You are mine!” he says evenly. “Mine to do whatever I please with. The sooner you come to learn this, the easier your new life will be, my lady.”

  He smacks me again; not full-throttle this time, but I know he means it. I take a sharp intake of breath at the impact, willing the pain to be done so that I may experience a little of that odd arousal the previous spanking had produced. A further three smacks ensue. The loud sound of his palm connecting with my flesh echoes through the confines of his quarters. I lie here over his knee, forced to accept this new dynamic: Anders, the foreign invader, now apparently the master of me. A man who can chain me up, and use me as furniture at his will.

  I push against the pain as he spanks me again. The sheer force of my own obstinate pride somehow makes the process easier, although there’s no denying it does hurt. My behind feels red and inflamed already and I have no idea how long Anders intends to keep me here.

  “Are you beginning to understand?” His voice booms from someplace over my head. It sounds oddly distant to my ears.

  “Yes, my Lofðungr,” I say through gritted teeth as yet another smack lands across both cheeks, but even as I speak I know I do not mean it.

  “Tell me then. Let me hear your learning, Aurelie. What are you?”

  He pauses the spanking, perhaps to allow me to speak and I take a deep breath. Can I really say these things just to appease him? I consider my position: naked, chained, and over his lap. What choice do I have?

  “I am yours, my Lofðungr,” I say, trying to detach myself from the words.

  “My what?” he says, stroking the hot area he has punished.

  I bite hard on my lip again, despising him for reducing me to this. “Your property!” I spit the last word out as though it threatens to choke me if I keep it inside.

  “Hmm,” says Anders and I swear I can hear him smiling. “Better—but I do not believe that you mean it. Not yet anyway…”

  He draws my body back a few inches from the hips, so that my aching core rises from his hard body and I am effectively bent over him from the waist.

  “Spread your legs,” he says softly.

  With extreme reluctance I move myself into this new, even more humiliating pose. My breasts, previously crushed under my weight, are now freed and swing softly beneath me. My face is also now less concealed and I unwittingly catch his smiling gaze in my peripheral vision. I look away at once, but not before he has noticed my error. Leaning forward, he wraps my unruly hair toward my right shoulder, exposing my face, now burning with the shame and excitement I am feeling.

  “Look at me,” he commands sensually.

  Slowly I turn my head ever so slightly to the left and look unwillingly into those smirking blue eyes.

  “I have a feeling about you, Aurelie. Shall I share it with you?” he asks casually.

  I stare at him, unwilling to answer and play his game. I can feel the old defiance rising to the surface for just the briefest moment. When I say nothing, he spanks my behind again. It feels harder from this position somehow. The sound is different and the sting feels crueller. My previously fleshy bottom is now stretched into a new stance and unbelievably I think I miss the reassurance of his body heat. I am even more exposed this way.

  “Answer me!” he snaps, his hand connecting with my skin again.

  “Please share it, my Lofðungr,” I reply, my voice breaking ever so slightly as the fresh pain registers.

  There is a pause and I fear that he will choose to just continue spanking me like this, and then finally, he speaks again:

  “I have a feeling that you actually like being treated this way, my lady.”

  I look at him, my eyes no doubt sharing the indignation, resentment, and disbelief I am feeling as I register his words. How in Donrose can he know this about me? These are feelings that I myself had never known until this day!

  “You’re wrong,” I splutter, but we both know I don’t mean it.

  “Really?” he asks, spanking me again. I squeeze my eyes shut at the new impact, before opening them again. Anders has moved in even closer to my body in the interim. I notice for this first time that he too appears to be a little out of breath, and I wonder if this is exciting him as well. “So you don’t want me to touch your body then, Aurelie?”

  His hand moves to within an inch of my left breast as he speaks. Sensing his approach, my already hard buds contract even further, betraying my need.

  “No,” I say, continuing the reassuring pretence that I do in fact not want him anywhere near me.

  Ignoring me, his hand finally reaches my breast, cupping it gently at first, before moving his fingers south to the nipple. I gasp as he circles it and then grabs the end, tugging at it hard. Despite my veil of disgust, his touch feels astonishingly good, goading my body. My head falls forward, no longer able to contain the desire I feel. Wordlessly he moves closer, reaching for the right breast and repeating his treatment of the left. Both nipples tighten in excitement, silently begging him for more.

  A soft moan leaves my lips before I can contain myself. He laughs at the sound and I mean to chastise myself, but already my whole entity is fixed on where his hands will explore next. The left hand that had so ru
thlessly, yet beautifully, tormented my breasts, runs a line down my midriff, over my tense belly to the hot, damp patch of hair between my thighs. I take short, shallow breaths, my hands planted firmly on the wooden chest beneath us, as my mind races at the sensations he creates. Anticipation about what he will choose to do next courses through me. I gasp aloud, wondering how I can possibly permit these actions to continue. At the same time his other hand spanks me hard again, sending my body into a trembling mess. The reverberations travel through my growing wetness, to where his left hand waits. Slowly he presses his palm against my skin, pushing through the soft hair, into the moist folds trembling below.

  I inhale in a rush of panic and arousal. No man has ever touched me there and neither should they, and yet—I need this sensation more than I have ever needed anything before. The desire swirling within me is so great that it almost hurts, my womb itself seeming to ache with need. He does nothing more than feel me, pressing his hand a little more, adding pressure at the sweetest point between my legs. I am actually panting at this point, my head hanging and my eyes half-closed, willing him to carry on.

  He spanks me again, and this time the pressure pushes my pelvis straight into his waiting hand. Once again I gasp at the simultaneous pain of the sting and pleasure at the contact, completely lost to them both. A new sensation hits me; the feeling of his hot mouth at my left hip. He kisses me once, and then twice, his hands still capturing me in their sweet and agonising trap.

  “Your behind is very rouged,” he whispers.

  I open my eyes for the first time in a while, acknowledging his words and yet, still unable to answer them. After a moment, I catch my breath.

  “Yes, my Lofðungr,” I say excitedly.

  “Why?” he asks softly, dipping his head and kissing my hip again.

  I don’t even think, my mind filled only with this new, all-consuming need that has been revealed. “I was a bad table,” I say, barely recognising my own voice.