“Good,” Anders purrs. “Open your legs; remember what I told you.”
I sigh, drawing my thighs apart and waiting. I am grateful at least for the support of the bed. Anders moves behind me, striding from one side of the room before returning to where I am half lying. I follow him with my eyes. He has a pot of something in his hand that reminds me of the tincture Brigida had used on my side when she had bathed me earlier. I realise that I have had very little pain from the area ever since.
“Your behind looks extremely sore,” he says, addressing the upturned and exposed area of skin directly. “I will apply this extract and aid the healing process for you.”
His words shock me, but I manage to contain my surprise. Why is Anders—the prince of these people—choosing to tend to his prisoner? I muse on the concept as the first cold application is placed carefully onto my hot skin. I gasp at the temperature, but cannot deny the instant relief that the extract brings.
He applies it with his hands, liberally placing it onto my skin, before massaging it into the area. His moist fingers dip south between my separated legs, halting before they reach my most intimate lips, but nonetheless folding and rubbing the sore orbs of my behind. I realise I am panting again at this unexpected close attention. My nipples bead below me and the now near-constant throb between my legs surges once more. It takes every ounce of my will power not to push my hips forward into the bed, but almost as soon as the experience has begun, it is over. I shift my head, watching as Anders moves to the corner in front of me and pours some water from a jewel-encrusted jug into a small, coloured bowl. Cleaning his hands, he turns to find me eyeing him. My face colours again in an instant, but he says nothing, merely smiling as he makes the return journey.
Chapter Eleven: Adornment
“My Lofðungr!” A voice from the entrance behind me takes both of us by surprise.
“Ah, Mikkel,” replies Anders.
I twist again and find him speaking to his guard.
“I have the servants you’ve requested,” he says respectfully.
“Good, good, send them in,” answers Anders, “and please bring some fresh water to drink.”
Mikkel nods and retreats, followed soon after by one male and one female servant, dressed in long light brown tunics. They enter the pavilion and drop into a low bow.
“How might we serve you, my Lofðungr?” asks the man.
Anders approaches them, gesturing for them to rise. Slipping into a soporific state for the first time in what feels like a long time, I watch him from the bed. The balm he has applied has calmed my skin already and the comparative comfort of this new position on the bed feels like bliss.
“I will need help moving my guest here. She will be used to adorn my bed for what remains of this night, and will be secured to the wooden posts at the far end. But first she will need refreshment—Mikkel will arrive with this imminently.”
I listen passively as he talks, running his words through my mind as though they mean nothing. It takes until the guard has returned with a large jug of water for the consequences to actually dawn on me. Anders is referring to me! He wants me to adorn his bed! I intend to rise from my place, but then remember myself—and the likely implications if I do. My cosy feeling of relaxation evaporates in a second, my heart banging hard in my chest as I watch the woman approach with a goblet.
“Rise, Aurelie and drink. It may be your last chance for some time.”
Anders’ voice echoes from behind the servant and acknowledging the sense in his words I do so, clambering slowly to my feet and taking the goblet from her hands. I ignore the look on the woman’s face, instead casting a look inside the goblet. Seeing Anders watching from his writing desk behind her, I put the wood to my lips. The cold water laps at my mouth and I take a large gulp, appreciating the cool refreshment at once. I soon finish the drink, offering the goblet back to the silent, waiting woman.
“Now back on the bed, Aurelie,” says Anders calmly, rising from his chair.
As though I am in a dream, I find myself scrambling back onto the soft covers, anticipating his approach. He returns to the end of the bed, and stands between the large wooden posts to my left. With a few Norse words he directs the man to one side of the bed on Anders’ left, and the woman to a place on his right. Not knowing what is about to happen fills me with fresh anxiety. I know Anders has chosen to use a language I cannot understand and his reasoning concerns me.
“Stand now, Aurelie,” he says in little more than a whisper.
I turn my head to the left and look at him; those blue eyes are burning with desire for whatever scheme he has in mind. I look for some reassurance in them, finding only his expectation of my obedience. Slowly I comply, listening to the Aurelie of old protest inside my head. I hear her screaming at me not to conform, and yet I barely recognise her logic. Something has changed in the last few hours and it’s not just the physical ordeal I have endured. There is something different about the way I am thinking. Maybe it’s just the strain of the situations of late or the sleep deprivation, but I feel different. Now, despite the shame and the trauma I have processed, there are new burgeoning feelings. There is a yearning, a simmering desire and outright arousal. For the first time I have enjoyed the sensations of my own body and there’s something else; I actually want Anders to enjoy my body too. The thought is derailing and its ramifications are almost too much for me to comprehend. This new awakening compels me to do as he bids, to please him—apparently whatever the ordeal.
The female servant helps to steady me as I rise into a standing position and move toward Anders. He watches me, smiling. I take in his strong jaw and his handsome, weathered face. That dark golden hair, so uncommon in Donrose, and those compelling eyes. All of a sudden I can barely catch my breath, the heat of my body and the exhaustion of the day threatening to floor me. As though he senses my apprehension at the enormity of the situation, he also reaches out for me.
“Wonderful, Aurelie, closer now… That’s it.”
I take small, baby steps toward the edge of the bed, and as I clasp his large palm I am reminded of my spankings and the undeniable pleasure that hand has brought me.
“Now turn around,” he instructs me, his voice sensual, yet predatory. “Face inwards, toward the bed. As much as I love this ass, it’s your pretty face I want to be able to see.”
I flush, amazed that there can be any embarrassment left in my body. I turn as he suggests, finally pausing with my head toward the place he sleeps, and then to my astonishment I feel his strong arms slide around my hips and then north to my chest. They snake to where my breasts sit and hold me securely in place. The act is both reassuring and ominous, but inevitably his close proximity sends a wave of excitement rushing through my tired body.
The two servants stand at either side of me, by the strong wooden bedposts. As though they have been prompted by an unseen gesture, they move toward my ankles and seem to set to work. Long strands of what looks like silken rope are produced from their tunics and tied initially around my ankles. I watch them, as if in that dream again, alert and yet unable—or unwilling—to do anything to stop them. Behind me I feel the heat of Anders’ breath at my back and the strength of his arms, assuring me. Once the knots at my feet are in place, both lengths of rope are secured to the bottom of the wooden posts. There is no pain from the bondage, but my legs are stretched wide apart, displaying my thighs and wetness to the currently vacant bed.
Both servants complete the tasks at almost the same time and move seamlessly north, collecting my hands on their journey upward. With my wrists in their hands, they begin binding my arms with fresh pieces of rope. I watch them working, my head shifting from left to right, hypnotised by their silence and my impending bondage. As my arms are pulled north and stretched loosely to either side of the bed, Anders releases his grip a little, his hands snaking to the underside of my bosom. I groan as he massages my breasts, his fingers teasing my nipples as they again form into tight little buds. The feel
ing is exquisite and now that there is nothing I can do to stop him, the sensation is all the sweeter.
Soon after the task concludes and I am left spread-eagled, yet secured to the end of Anders’ bed. The binds are strong enough to keep me from falling, and yet loose enough not to be too restrictive. I feel hypnotised by the bondage; suspended in my own awakened arousal. The two servants move away and Anders’ arms retreat from me. I moan softly, bereft at the sudden loss of him. His sensual teasing is, as it turns out, every inch as stimulating as his ability to use and humiliate me. Behind me he speaks to the two of them. Although I cannot understand the words, I get the sense that he is dismissing them. I strain my neck to the right just in time to see them stoking the fire before they depart. I rest my head against my right outstretched arm, breathing hard and trying to get even the smallest level of control back over my own body. It’s futile though, for as soon as I can assert my will, Anders returns, seating himself on the bed in front of me.
He lies down, stretching out his long limbs and places his hands behind his head. Assessing me, he smiles and then excruciatingly his eyes trace every single inch of my exposed and naked body. I am now fully on display for him, with very little movement of my own and no hope of preventing him from touching me. I gulp at my vulnerability, terrified and thrilled in equal measure.
“So Aurelie, now I truly have you.”
His voice is deep, dark, and measured. I breathe hard as he watches me, those eyes loaded with delicious yet no doubt wicked intent. I say nothing, unable to deny his claim and yet too afraid to acknowledge it. With lightning fast speed, he shifts, crawling across the short distance to where I am bound. I hold my breath, watching him approach until his face is in line with my trembling midriff. Here he pauses, his lips less than an inch from my skin as he looks up at me. Those big blue eyes burn into my face, every fibre of my body begging the question: What will he do next?
Slowly and without taking his eyes from my own transfixed orbs, he rises to a kneeling position. His hot breath caresses my breasts, my beading nipples desperate for his attention. I pull against my binds in some futile attempt to move, but in reality I wonder if it is not the binds now supporting, rather than confining me.
“How is my captive?” he says, his eyes lowering from my flushing face to my chest.
I pant, my throat drying as I watch him, knowing full well that he is tantalising me on purpose and yet still eager for his attention.
“Well?” he says, one blond eyebrow raising. His tone has changed ever so slightly. Something edgier lies there now and it’s just enough for me to find my voice.
“I cannot say, my Lofðungr…” I reply, my voice a husky whisper as I contemplate his hot mouth burning against my aching breasts.
He looks surprised by my answer, straightening his body so that his face now reaches my collarbones. “Really, Aurelie?” he asks quizzically.
He leans toward me and places three chaste kisses on my hot skin just north of my right breast. I watch him, mouth open, unable to articulate the way he is making me feel.
“Yes, I…” I begin as he shifts to my left side and caresses my skin with his lips again. “My feelings are… unexpected.”
I do not know if it is right to convey such honesty to a man who has taken me prisoner and enjoys humiliating me, and yet he has also shown me care and kindness, and without him I am certain Magnus would have slain me in the battle in Donrose.
He pauses his analysis of my chest and looks up into my eyes. His stare holds me there for a long moment and I realise I am succumbing to his will whether I like it or not. He is the predator—he has been all along—and I am his prey. Aurelie of Donrose, it seems, was no match for this invader from the northlands.
“Unexpected?” he repeats.
He rises with care to a standing position, grasping the post to his left for support. His tall frame is now right next to me, his head skimming the silken canopy over us. He leans toward me and presses himself against my nakedness. I gasp, closing my eyes at the contact and yet relishing the physical closeness.
“Does that mean my captive is warming to her new master?”
I open my eyes to find his face right there, above me, that large mouth ready to devour its prey. “I… I don’t know,” I whisper, looking into his eyes. There’s an honesty about my answer that disconcerts me.
Anders shifts his weight slightly, snaking his right hand around my body and skimming my behind. Once there he grabs my left cheek and holds me, using my own body to pull me closer to him. My throbbing wet centre, already pushed forward by the bondage holding my ankles in place, nestles against his clothed right thigh.
“You are not sure, Aurelie, or you are just too afraid to say?”
I blush at his accurate analysis of the situation, dropping my eyes from his gaze. His hand rises north, leaving my ass and taking me by surprise. Anders uses each long digit to trace lines up the left side of my body, pausing at the curve of my bosom, and then finally reaching the side of my face. Once here, the hand tips my chin upward to meet his eye line, holding it in place once he is satisfied with the position.
He eyes me intently and I realise that he is expecting an answer.
“Too afraid…”
I just about force the words from my lips, praying to all the gods that this will be enough for him. His lips turn into a smile at my admission and the knot of anxious arousal in my belly twists.
“You have nothing to fear,” he says, those lips still just inches from my face. “I told you right from the start, I will never compel you to consort with me.”
I inhale, forcing the air into my body.
“…And have I made you?” he asks me.
“No, my Lofðungr,” I reply, and I know this to be true. I bite down however on the memories of all of the things he has forced me to do; the stripping, the crawling, the objectification, the spankings—and now, binding me here for his own personal entertainment! My hips move abruptly below me, as though they too are remembering my treatment.
“I told you,” he continues, his lips brushing my right cheek and dropping to the nape of my neck. He pauses to speak again. “I told you that you yourself would choose to share my bed and I would never force you. I still mean it, Aurelie. I am no rapist of women. I only have desire for those that desire me.”
His head moves away and I strain forward to be close to those lips again. Acknowledging this unconscious act, he smiles.
“If you do indeed now desire me, but are too frightened—or ashamed—to confess, then let me see for myself?”
I cannot decipher if this is merely a statement or a question. Those blue orbs drill into me again, looking perhaps for consent.
“What will you do?” I ask, trying to control my ragged breathing.
“Only examine you, my lady,” he replies, watching me carefully. “Together we will assess your responses and then we will know with some certainty, whether or not you want to lie with me?”
I watch him, temporarily unable to respond, but feeling my hips twisting in a relentless frenzy below me. I pant in frustration; why can’t I control myself?
Laughing softly, his hand leaves my face and reasserts itself on my behind.
“Shall we start here?” he enquires, a note of sarcasm in his voice. “Your hips do seem keen to have their say!”
I gulp down the ignominy of his statement, knowing it to be the truth. Without waiting for my reply he returns to his knees, his left hand now joining its peer at my backside. I watch, strung up helplessly as he massages my sore cheeks and gently prises the folds of my skin apart in front of his face. Unable to prevent this treatment because of my binds, Anders has somehow given my body permission to accept it, and despite my embarrassment, I am transfixed by his control over my virgin body. He rubs the orbs of my ass gently and then slowly draws his right hand forward, running an invisible line between the underside of my sex, past my soft pubic hair, toward my outstretched left thigh. Acting on instinct alone, I t
hrow my head back at the sensation, revelling in the pleasure of his tender touch.
“Well,” he says, surveying my reaction to his treatment of me, “it seems that you enjoy this much at least?”
My head flies back to acknowledge him and I know I am blushing, but also I register a small smile on my lips. Watching me, he manoeuvres himself slightly to my right and keeping his left hand on my bottom, he allows the right one to explore me. His head dips forward and he playfully nips the skin at my right hip, tilting his head to watch my response as he does. My own head is spinning at the multiple sensations. I watch as one finger of his right hand reaches inside my damp hair. Finding my hot, sensitive skin, it traces a line south, past the throbbing bud there and along my wet and hungry lips. I actually hear myself moan out loud.
“Oh, Anders!”
The words are out before I can even regulate them.
“Careful now, Aurelie,” he says, laughing. “Remember who is captive and who is master here. Who is tied to my bed and who should be addressed as your prince?”
I gasp, both excited at the contact of his fingers and concerned at his words. “Apologies, my Lofðungr,” I say breathlessly.
He kisses the hip he has just bitten and applies just a little more pressure with his finger. The feeling is impeccable. My legs are spread wide open for him, and unable to close them, I cannot hope to prevent his finger. Knowing this increases the desire in me, and I feel that need again, threatening to bubble out of control.
“How about this, my captive?”
He glances up at me just as he dips the finger within me. I welcome the digit, panting at the wonderful intrusion. All of a sudden I feel like I am an empty void, needing more than anything to be filled. I crave the thing I have never had before—a man to make me a woman.
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