The Viking's Conquest

by Felicity Brandon

  “Ah, yes,” he says, his hot breath vibrating down my pubic bone. “I think you like this rather a lot?”

  I catch him winking at me just before I snap my eyes closed, absorbing the feeling of Anders inside me. I am so remarkably wet that his finger slides effortlessly inside me, deeper and deeper.

  “Aurelie.” His voice brings me back to life and I glance down at him again. “Do you like this?”

  I cringe inwardly at his need to vocalise everything, but swallow down the emotion. “Yes, my Lofðungr!” I sound somewhere between desperate and outraged.

  “Good,” he purrs, and then to my utter dismay he withdraws the finger.

  I want to protest, but simply do not have the words, so I hang here, fraught with tense desire. He moves in front of me, his mouth reaching my breasts perfectly. I consider pushing my right nipple into his half-open mouth and even contemplate the spanking it might earn me. Before I can act on this impetuous need, I watch as Anders raises his right hand to his mouth and to my horror, pushes the digit that had just been inside me into his waiting mouth. Never have I witnessed such a brazen act and for a moment I do not know what to think. Then I see the look of sin on his face.

  “You are delicious,” he says, that wicked smile plastered all over his face again. “I want you to taste yourself. Will you consent to my kissing you?”

  He rises again, into a half crouch and finds my face, holding it between his palms. I barely process his words, feeling as though I have consumed too much wine, despite not taking in a drop. I watch him before me, feeling the heat and hardness of his body pressing against my bound frame. Arousal swells in me and the word is out before I even consider it.

  “Yes…”

  Anders does not wait for a further invitation. There’s just the tiniest change in his face as desire overcomes him and then his mouth is on mine. His tongue flicks over my bottom lip; the hot muscle caressing it, willing my mouth to open more for him. Instinctively I do so, allowing him inside my mouth, the way he had just explored my other lips. He masters my mouth with little effort, possessing me with a calm authority. I am insane with the intensity of the whole experience, certain that my legs have abandoned me and my bondage is now holding me in place. He draws away slowly, never breaking eye contact with me. As he reaches an inch or two from where I am bound, he licks his lips in an act of unabashed debauchery.

  “Delicious…” The word hangs in the air between us, delivering a slow and sensual threat of what my fate may become. I open my mouth, but still I cannot find the words. He tilts his head as he assesses me with care. “It does seem as though my captive has rather warmed to me,” he muses out loud.

  I cringe inwardly at his words, knowing he is right and that I can hardly protest.

  “This is pleasing, Aurelie,” he says. “I never expected you to acquiesce so quickly. Let me sleep on this news and tomorrow I will decide how you will best serve me.”

  With that he drops to his knees and falls back onto the soft bedding. I watch him in disbelief. How dare he get me this excited! To touch and caress me, to even kiss me, and then to leave me here like this… It seems more than cruel. I feel like a new pet, to be caged until Anders is ready to play with me. The thought is as arousing as it is infuriating and a new swell of emotion rises in me. I strain against my ropes as he settles under his covers, eyeing me with an amused expression on his face.

  “There’s little point fighting,” he smiles. “The ropes will hold you secure until the sun rises and there’s nothing to be done about it. I suggest you try to rest, Aurelie. You have no idea what tomorrow may hold for you.”

  “Rest?” I snort, as the emotion finally hits the back of my throat. “How can I rest like this?”

  I practically spit out the final two words, expressing the utter indignation I am feeling. His smile widens as he listens, as though I have just played the hand he was expecting.

  “Ah, does my captive feel that she has been callously treated?” His voice oozes that sardonic tone of earlier. “Should I rather have found a suitable cage for you, or have tied you to the public punishment post in camp? Would you have preferred either one of those places to rest?”

  My mind fills with the horrific images of the things he suggests and my throat dries at the prospect. “No!” I gasp. “No, my Lofðungr!”

  “Then why,” he asks, leaning up on his elbows to reveal his toned chest and rippling abdomen. “Why do you insist on complaining? Is my bed not a suitable place for you to reside?”

  Reside? I think to myself. More like dangle!

  “I’m sorry,” I say, still meaning to protest, but realising that he has all of the cards in this game. He is right; he could do with me whatever he wishes. Perhaps his choice is not so awful after all?

  He considers me for a moment, before swinging his bare feet back out of bed and onto the soft rug below him. I watch as he pads past me, hearing him moving about behind me. I twist my head, seeing him reach his small desk, but to my frustration I am unable to make out what he finds there. As he spins around to return, I also look back, not wishing to aggravate him any further.

  He returns to the bed, mounting it with one step and all of a sudden he is right there in front of me again. His close proximity takes me by surprise, but the stern look in his eyes silences me.

  “Since it seems you cannot control your mouth and stop yourself from complaining, I will have to do so for you.”

  He waves another piece of small orange fruit in front of me with his right hand and I understand his meaning all at once. He means to gag me with it again. I look to him and see his eyes loaded with emotion, as though they’re daring me to protest the point. Knowing that I cannot win this game, I sigh, resigning myself to this latest indignation.

  “Open wide, my captive,” he says quietly.

  I inhale deeply through my nose and then slowly open my lips for him. He wastes no time, pushing the soft flesh of the fruit into my mouth with urgency. I watch him and then feel the intrusion, re-familiarising myself with the size and shape of the new addition to my body. As I acquaint myself with the impromptu gag, he produces a black piece of material from his left hand. It is dark and long, and smells as though it is made from the hide of some animal. Anders takes a step closer to me and then, without explanation, he wraps it over my fruit-filled mouth, stretching the ends behind my hair. I feel him securing the ends behind my head, and as he moves away I realise just how completely gagged I am. The leather holds the fruit in place perfectly, preventing me from dropping it even if I wanted to. I move my face to the left and right, testing the material and find that it barely moves, the smell goading just below my nose.

  “That should keep you quiet whilst I sleep!”

  He smiles in triumph as I moan behind the fruit in frustration, and he resumes his comfortable position in the bed. Blowing out all but one of the free-standing candles next to the bed, Anders lies there on his back, watching me. The majority of the light now comes from the fire, still raging to my rear, and so he is cast into shadow. I can just make out his expression as he watches me fighting the urge to pull against my binds. Soon after I hear the sounds of restful sleep coming from the bed and I am left here, dangling for his viewing pleasure, long after the prince is asleep.

  Chapter Twelve: Rising Passion

  It is a long night. For an age I wrestle with my consuming emotions. The frustration of the gag, the bondage, and my impending life as Anders’ prisoner all overwhelm me. Alongside this trail of negative feelings, I struggle also with the new escalating desire within me. My body still aches with the need he has ignited and I know with some shame that had he chosen to lie with me earlier I would have accepted his offer gladly. With no conception of time and little to see in the gloom of the pavilion, I soon tire. Resting my head on alternating shoulders I manage a little sleep, dozing between my surreal consciousness and a number of disconcerting dreams.

  * * *

  I find that I am still naked, but no longer bound
to Anders’ bed. Instead I am paraded in shackles around Donrose, Anders leading me like an animal by a small chain connected to a collar at my neck. My hands are shackled in front of me and I know there are also chains at my feet. As we make our way through the village, crowds of peasants line the streets, cheering for the Viking invaders and jeering at my humiliation.

  My face burns with shame as I realise that these are my people—the people of Donrose—welcoming Anders as their sovereign and worse, enjoying my ignominious show. The men of my father’s kingdom ogle my nudity, the curve of my belly and the soft bounce of my breasts as I skip to keep pace with Anders. Several shout obscene comments about what they would do to me if they were given the chance. I spin to look at them, recognising their gnarled faces and mean to protest, but realise that I am still gagged, although with what I cannot be certain.

  The women, envious of the interest shown by their husbands, throw other insults at me. “Whore!” cries one from the crowd, before hurling something at me. It hits my right breast with a hard thud and I wince at the sudden hurt. As it falls away I see that it is some type of decomposing vegetation, the remnants of which are now left on my skin, like a tattoo of my shame. The crowd cheers at this new humiliation and suddenly several other things are tossed from various points in the crowd. I try to dodge what I can see coming, but the chain between Anders and me leaves me little room for manoeuvre and invariably many of the missiles hit their target. One green vegetable catches the left side of my face, bringing tears to my eyes.

  Thankfully this ordeal is halted as Anders reaches the centre of the marketplace. He mounts the wooden stage erected there, forcing me up with him. The noise of the crowd reaches its climax and Anders silences them with his right hand. He surveys my marked body without a word, gesturing to two servants, who move from behind me. One takes the chain linked to my neck and secures it to an upright wooden post mounted to one side of the platform. I am forced forward, to within striking distance of the post, my arms raised upward as the chain holding them together is linked to the same point that now secures my head in place.

  As the servants move away, the noise of the crowd rises again and I see Anders take a large seat to my left.

  “Good people of Donrose!” he exclaims, again reducing the crowd to a whisper. “Thank you for making me so welcome in my newest parish!”

  A cheer erupts from around us. I cannot believe the excitement of my people at being conquered by Anders and his men from the north. I peer into the sea of excited faces. Anders appears to be nothing short of a god to them now.

  “To celebrate my inaugural visit as Prince of Donrose, I offer this concubine—daughter of your former king—to my people. For today only, she can be used, fucked, or punished however you see fit!”

  He waves his hand in the direction of the post and for the first time the reality of his proposition hits me. Anders is offering me to the townsfolk! I move backward from the post as best I can, straining against the metal that holds me in place. Unable to protest, I begin to screech against the thing that has been wedged into my mouth. Loud, unintelligible noises come from my mouth as I struggle to be heard over the swelling cheers. My mind is reeling; how can Anders do this to me? Why have my people forsaken me?

  “I ask that you form an orderly line and wait for the opportunity to administer your own punishment upon this woman. Each man or woman who chooses to will be given the chance!”

  No matter how hard I yank, I cannot break the chains that hold me in place to the post. I choke back on my emotion as I see the first people lining up at the bottom of the platform. The man in front is already loosening his trousers and revealing his half-erect manhood. I freeze, like a terrified animal, as the full gravity of my fate dawns upon and then overwhelms me. From the corner of my eye I see the man approaching, a wicked grin spreading across his chubby face as he appraises my naked body properly for the first time.

  “No!” I scream through the gag, again pulling on my chains like a desperate animal. “No!”

  * * *

  I wake with a start, my heart pumping my life blood around my body at record pace. Hanging limply against my binds, my limbs feel like heavy apparatus—barely even part of my body. Sweat is tricking from my hairline and I can feel the tears in my eyes, a legacy of my consuming nightmare.

  “Aurelie?”

  It is Anders’ voice I hear from the darkness. It’s now completely black, save for the one small flame next to the bed; the fire having presumably burnt itself out some time ago. Muted sounds rise from the shadows and I make out Anders using the existing candle to light one, and then two wicks to his left. He secures one candle in his fingers, and peers into the darkness at his bound and miserable captive.

  “Aurelie, are you in pain?”

  I stare into the shadows, making out his long hair and strong jawline. Shaking my head miserably, I groan into my gag for dramatic effect, wanting to let him know how I am feeling, but unable to articulate a single word. The emotions of the dream are still swilling around inside my head and waking to find myself really bound and gagged has done nothing to quell my pounding heart.

  Anders yawns and I see the outline of long limbs stretching in the darkness. Then slowly he pulls back his soft, inviting covers, settles the candle into a holder, and moves toward me. I watch through tearstained lashes as his body appears in front of me, drawing itself up to his knees, his face now at my chest height. The heat coming from his torso is now only a few inches away and I shiver, realising suddenly how cold my naked flesh has become. Wordlessly he reaches up toward my head. I freeze as he tugs at the leather secured there, his fingers tangling in my limp, wet hair. In a matter of moments, the piece of material that has effectively been gagging me is removed. Despite the fact that my mouth is still filled with the fruit that he chose, the relief I feel is palpable.

  His body weight shifts, obscuring most of the limited candlelight, and in the darkness I feel those fingers caressing the sides of my face. They push my hair back, away from my eyes and trace the wet path my tears have left. Moving to the side, they draw a line past my nose to my outstretched lips, and then in silence, Anders traces an outline around those lips. This small act seems absurdly intimate and my body responds out of instinct. I strain toward him, feeling myself beginning to pant at the close proximity of his body heat.

  “Spit out the fruit,” he whispers.

  The sound comes from higher than I’d anticipated and I realise he has moved to a crouch and is now leaning over my bound body. I feel his hand at my chin and not wishing to have the thing shoved in there any longer than I have to, I willingly aid the fruit’s departure. The drool-covered fruit falls in front of me, presumably into Anders’ waiting hand. I hear it hitting the floor away to my left a moment later.

  I take a large gulp of air through my mouth, flexing my tired jaw and enjoying its sudden liberation. Then relaxing a little more, I try to make out the shape of Anders in the dark.

  “Thank you,” I reply, my voice shaky with emotion.

  As if from nowhere, one of his hands appears at my face. I feel the heat and the roughness of his skin as he makes contact with the hair at the back of my head. He draws my head backward in the gentlest way, gradually exposing my throat.

  “Why have you woken your prince?”

  His voice is dark and has taken on a mysterious quality in the obscurity of the night.

  “Apologies,” I reply, unsure if he is displeased or merely playing with his captive. “I had an awful dream—a nightmare—and awoke filled with terror. I did not mean to rouse you.”

  I feel him move into a full standing position, the soft hair on his face grazing my skin as he goes. His hand still holds my head in place as he towers over me, his body just inches away in the darkness.

  “What was this dream?” he asks, his voice thick with some unspoken emotion. “Was I present?”

  I wonder fleetingly if he is drawing me into yet another game I can never hope to win, and realise
soon after that I have little choice either way. I have to play.

  “Yes,” I whisper in response. I sound small compared to his own authoritative voice, somehow reinforcing the fact that I am truly at his mercy.

  “Well,” he says, pressing his body against me for the first time since we awoke. “You must tell me more about this… nightmare.”

  I gasp, feeling his manhood erect and pushing at my midriff. I know he had fallen asleep clothed in breeches and had no idea that he had freed his organ. In a moment of unconscious action, I roll my hips toward him, wanting to be closer to his heat and hardness. He chuckles lightly at my reflexive display, sliding his free hand down the curves of my body and swatting my behind gently. The strike, though soft, reignites the remnants of my previous punishments, sending a pulse of excitement through my core.

  I open my mouth, allowing a small moan to escape. I can feel that need between my thighs building again, swelling into desire for Anders. I push myself closer to him in desperation, pressing my breasts into his hot body.

  “Au-re-lie.”

  He pronounces each of the three syllables in my name, his voice somewhere between bemused curiosity and irritation.

  “My Lofðungr?” I ask, trying to suppress my ever increasing fervour.

  “The dream?”

  I take a deep breath, really not wanting to revisit the mental image of me in the market square, but apparently having little choice about the matter. I flush as I try to articulate the words.

  “You had offered me to…” I pause, not wanting to express my deepest, darkest fears to my captor.

  He pulls my hair slightly harder, forcing my head back again and his mouth finds my neck in the darkness.

  “To what?” he whispers as his lips graze the sensitive area.

  “To your men…”

  My voice trails away as he nips behind my left earlobe, finding his way round to my mouth in the darkness. I deliberately choose not to elaborate on the real mob in my dream, the thought of being abused by my own people somehow being my bleakest fear.