The Viking's Conquest

by Felicity Brandon

  “To ensure you keep a good and even pace, I will be using this as a motivator.”

  He reaches into the bridle of the horse and pulls a long, dark implement from the other side of the tackle. It is very thin, initially reminding me of a riding whip, but I notice that the far end is broader than the rest of its body, fanning out to a long rectangular piece of leather. I stare up at him, uncertain of his meaning and yet that low feeling of dread has already settled in my stomach.

  “Do you understand?” Magnus barks from above me.

  I watch him, a wave of nausea washing over me at what is about to happen. “Yes, Sire,” I mumble by means of reply.

  He smiles, waving his free hand for me to move into position. I walk between his and Anders’ horses, feeling totally dwarfed by them. As I do so, another horse trots past, coming to rest in front of Anders and the remaining two move into position either side of me. The men riding them glance down at me, grinning and shouting comments at each other. I flush, knowing that it’s to me they refer and lower my head to the hard ground, not wanting to make eye contact with any of them. From in front of me Anders turns his horse in my direction.

  “Enough!” His voice is shrill with irritation. “This captive is my property and any man who disrespects her, disrespects me also! Have I made myself clear?”

  The men on either side of me glance at one another, nodding their assent.

  “Yes, my Lofðungr,” says Magnus from behind me. “We all understand you.”

  I look briefly to Anders, wanting so desperately to be up there with him instead of down here, vulnerable and alone. His eyes fall over me and there’s just the faintest smile on those lips. My mouth parts of its own accord as I recall just were those lips have been…

  “Are you ready?” Anders asks, addressing us all at the same time.

  “Yes, my Lofðungr!” shout all of the men around us.

  I look to him again, imploring him for humility with my eyes. I wonder if he sees the fear in them, but he leans a fraction forward on his saddle before he speaks to me.

  “This parade is a celebration of my victory, Aurelie and you are one of the greatest prizes. I want to show you off to my people!”

  I lower my eyes, unable to meet the look in his eye. “Yes, my Lofðungr,” I say miserably.

  “Head up now and behave. Make me proud!”

  I raise my head and look back to him, wanting to cry with frustration, but refusing to give into my desperate emotions. He nods at me, before pulling his steed back into position.

  “Onward, gentlemen!”

  His voice cuts through the air around us and all at once all of the horses around me begin to move. The noise of their hooves is deafening and fills me with panic; what if I am too close to one and they collide with me? I move forward, full of uncertainty, remembering Magnus’ warning to stay back from the horse in front.

  The procession moves onward at speed. I am almost forced into a run to keep up with the horses around me, and feel my breasts bouncing out of control in front of me. With my wrists secured behind me there is no way to support them, so I reluctantly accept this latest humiliation. We turn as the path curves in a number of different directions. I watch the back of Anders’ horse and follow him as keenly as I can, aware also of the sounds and smells of the three other horses around me. My bare feet pound the hard earth below, although I have little time to contemplate their condition—all of my attention is now on following the steed before me.

  After we have been moving for a while, I begin to tire, feeling my legs ache below me.

  “Keep up, Aurelie!” The voice of Magnus barks from behind. “Head in the air and get those knees up as you run!”

  I baulk at his suggestions, realising in an instant that moving this way will make me look more like a pony and less like a person. My hesitation serves only to irritate him further.

  “I said knees up!” he shouts and all of a sudden a sharp pain resonates from my buttocks.

  I spin my head to assess what has hit me and see with horror that it’s the riding crop implement he had threatened me with before!

  “Eyes forward, woman!” cries Magnus, swerving Agneta out of my way as I regain my sense of balance and place in the procession. Flustered, I continue onward, trying to move the way he has commanded, but finding that running with high knees is even more exhausting than running in the usual way.

  We round a corner to our left and suddenly the space opens up on all sides around us. The volume of noise soars and I realise with shame that there are now people lined along both sides of the path. I peer through the space between horses and see their excited faces, cheering at Anders and waving their Viking flags. My attention now taken with my looming ignominy, I begin to flag again, and soon receive another swat from Magnus’ crop. The strike sears across my behind, narrowly avoiding my bound hands. Pain fills the area, but more than anything I feel dehumanised; little more than a new mare for him to break in.

  “Eyes forward and knees up!” he commands over the roar of the crowds.

  Those who hear him cheer even louder and I feel my face burning with new embarrassment. At that moment the horses to the left and right of me move off in either direction, exposing my bound and naked frame to the many Nordic people who have come to witness the victory parade. The horses remain a barrier to the crowd, yet allow the people to eye me without constraint. I hear shouts from men all around me, and although thankfully I fail to understand their words, their meanings are quite clear. Flushed, I concentrate on my form, keeping my knees up as I race on behind Anders.

  The crowds seem to swell as we move forward. The air around us is filled with the sounds and smells of these people and still the noise of the horses threatens to deafen me. By now I am feeling weary, the exercise and the sheer onslaught of the experience threatening to overwhelm me. Finally, the horses in front of me begin to slow, and the two on either side fall back in line with me. Ahead Anders comes to a halt and two grooms run immediately to aid his dismount and take his steed. As he turns to see how I have survived my ordeal, Magnus comes to stand behind me. I am sandwiched between both men and their horses, exposed and utterly vulnerable.

  Anders lifts my chin and looks into my eyes. “Did you make me proud, my captive?”

  My heart pounds heavily in my chest from both the exertion and the intensity of his words. My throat dries as I realise he is expecting a reply.

  “I tried, my Lofðungr,” I say breathlessly.

  “How many times did you have to strike her?” he asks Magnus.

  “Just twice, my liege,” replies the giant behind me. “She did well.”

  The compliment from Magus is unexpected, but does little to quell the anxiety washing over me.

  “Good,” says Anders. “Bring her to my throne for the show.”

  He turns, walking away and toward a wooden elevated platform. It bears a strange and disconcerting resemblance to the place I had dreamed about, and a new sense of dread begins to creep over me. The area looks like a stage that might be used for entertaining. It is dressed in fine drapery, displaying the emblem of the north and in the middle is an ancient-looking throne, similar to the one in the main body of the pavilion. Magnus takes my right arm, guiding me forward. The ground beneath us is littered with stones and walking is suddenly quite a trial. I pick my way between them on my tiptoes, all too aware of my nakedness.

  The crowd around us gets louder still and its tone seems more aggressive. To our right two men push forward and lunge toward Magnus and myself. I gasp, watching in slow motion as they make a run for us, their large hands reaching out to take hold of what they find. Magnus shifts his weight in an instant, turning to face the new foe and pushing my body behind him. He is joined quickly by three further guards, swords brandished and ready. Magnus shouts an order and the men, realising their error, raise their hands in surrender. Two guards to my right move in and take them away. I watch, my heart racing as they are led before Anders and forced down onto thei
r knees in front of him.

  Magnus moves to my rear and guides me forward toward the smooth wooden staircase of the elevated platform. For the first time I am actually keen to go with him, fearing more the threat of the people than that of Magnus. I pass up the five steps, glad to finally be free from the hard and stony ground. As we climb I hear Anders address the men who had pushed through the crowd. Whilst I cannot understand his words, his tone and body language are stern and clear: He is not happy. The men, dressed in dark, rugged cloth, bow their heads and mumble what I assume to be apologies, before they are bound and carted away by two soldiers. Anders turns toward me, his face as fierce as I have ever seen it. I inhale sharply at the expression, unsure if his displeasure is directed at me.

  Magnus presses me forward toward Anders, who has now re-seated himself on the throne. I come to stand to his right, looking out into the crowd for the first time. A sea of pink, excited faces looks back at me, all drinking in my curves and leather adornments. I shift my weight, feeling the intensity of their stares and wishing desperately that I could hide myself somehow. However, with my arms bound behind me this is completely impossible.

  “Kneel before your prince!” Magnus shouts from behind me.

  I hesitate, initially unsure if it’s me he is addressing. I turn my head toward him and seeing the look on his face I obey, moving to one and then a second knee on the platform between them. From here the sun beats down heavily over the wooden elevation and I welcome the warmth on my cool, exposed skin. Anders raises his right arm and from either side of us there comes a loud fanfare. I twist my head to see two men, dressed in fine red livery with long yellow horns of some type at their lips. They play their dramatic salute to their prince and then bow evenly as they conclude. At this point Anders rises from his chair and stands in front of his people, his arms raised in the air.

  I do not understand any of the words that come from his mouth, though they are loud and clear. He holds the crowd’s attention completely. Every pair of eyes is on him, and as he speaks he waves his hands around, making dramatic gestures that somehow help to illustrate his points. The crowd is in awe of him, gasping and cheering almost on command. I watch from my position kneeling at the back of the stage, Magnus towering over me to my right, transfixed by his performance. For the first time I wish that I could decipher his native tongue and understand his words, although I know it is the demise of my home to which he refers.

  After some moments, Anders pauses and turns toward me. He looks at me kneeling by Magnus and when he speaks again I have the feeling that I am now the subject of his speech. My head falls, feeling the weight of his stare on me and beneath me my legs begin to tremble. As though he is keen to reinforce this point, he resumes his dialogue, but this time I see him gesturing toward my body. I watch him from under my lashes as his words hang over me. His pace has slowed and his voice is somehow much deeper and richer. Then between his native words there are three that are unmistakable and send my heart pounding against my ribcage: Aurelie of Donrose.

  He concludes, sending the crowd into a roaring cheer, before turning to me.

  “Crawl over here, Aurelie,” he shouts over the noise of his people. “Let these people get a good view of my captive!”

  I blink at him and do not move. It’s almost as though after everything he has asked from me in the last day, this latest request is just too much to process. From beside me, Magnus crouches down to my head level. He pulls at my bound wrists, releasing them and suddenly my hands are free. I move them, still encased in their leather binds down to my sides.

  “Move your pretty behind now!” he sneers.

  I do not look at him or respond. Taking a deep breath, I look once more to Anders. His widening blue eyes sear into my skin and I know I have no choice: there is no way out of this ordeal. Pressing my palms forward against the wooden floor, I fall to all fours, allowing my breasts to hang beneath my body and make the slow crawl to where Anders stands waiting. As I move, the volume of the crowd raises audibly.

  I crawl to Anders’ left foot, raising my head tentatively to look up at him once I am there. From this angle he is so tall, standing over me like some sort of god, but I am pleased at least to see a reassuring smile there waiting for me. There’s something else in those eyes too that I can’t quite make out; another emotion mixed with his appreciation of my obedience, perhaps something akin to pride. I let my head fall back to the wooden stage, allowing my hair to fall over the sides of my face and refusing to make eye contact with any of the audience. From above me Anders reaches down and takes the leather at my throat in his left hand. He yanks it toward his hip, forcing my body to comply to his will. I am pulled unceremoniously to my right and find myself literally against his leg, my right breast pressed into his chainmail.

  Gasping at the force he has used, my eyes widen as they absorb this latest ignominy. I regroup, finding space for my knees on either side of his left leg. Unsure what to do with my arms, I leave them hanging by my sides. Suddenly he breaks from his native tongue and begins to speak words that he knows I will understand—this I am certain is only to reinforce my humiliation at his hands.

  “This is Aurelie, formerly Princess of Donrose!”

  The crowd roars at his words, apparently either able to comprehend them or just too excitable to care.

  “As you can see, she now belongs to your prince and will serve me any way I see fit!”

  He holds me tightly at the neck, ensuring that I am compelled to look up toward the ocean of eager faces beyond us.

  “My captive still has many lessons to learn and I intend to be a fair master and help her to learn each and every one of them…”

  My belly twists at this news, recognising his tone and its likely intent.

  “My captive’s first lesson is that my words are her law. She must listen and take heed of each and every one of them.”

  A chorus of voices springs from the crowd, agreeing with Anders and encouraging his thinking.

  “This morning I found that she was not able—or willing—to pay attention to her prince, and this disappoints me…”

  The crowd hushes, its tone low and yet excited. I wonder if they too can sense what Anders has in mind for me. Unable to really move my head, I try to look to his face and catch his eye, yet it seems he is too enraptured by his onstage performance to take note of me.

  “What is a master to do with a distracted slave?”

  Anders shouts the question to the crowd, his right arm held out in a gesture of openness. I recoil silently as I realise the significance—he is accepting suggestions from the crowd! Several men shout from the throng of people, but I do not understand their words. The response of the crowd however sends a new wave of panic through my body. The people are visibly excited by what they hear, many clapping their hands at the advice. Then from somewhere on the left I hear a male voice in my own tongue.

  “My Lofðungr should punish the slave!”

  I shudder as the crowd cheers the suggestion. I recall how Anders had promised me a spanking later today and assured me that I would indeed be sorry for my actions. Was he now really going to spank me in front of all of these people? Surely the ordeal would be too much? As I consider the prospect, my nipples harden once again, betraying my own desperate need for the punishment. Anders moves my head forward, rolling me against his left leg and in toward his groin. I gulp as I notice the growing bulk at his thigh, realising then that he too is aroused by the prospect of punishing me in public.

  “Yes!” he cries from above me. “A good master should punish his slave to show her the consequences of such wilful disrespect!”

  The crowd are overjoyed at this prospect, the sound now thunderous. Anders releases my collar and I fall back by his feet, looking up just in time to see several of his guard having to restrain those who wish to climb the platform and help their prince with his task. Behind us I hear movement on the stage and I turn, my hands clutching my neck where Anders had been holding me. Two la
rge men approach from the opposite side we had climbed. Between them they are carrying a large, wooden box, similar in size and shape to the chest in Anders’ quarters. A rush of nervous energy flies through me as the reality of what is about to happen finally dawns on me. He does indeed intend to spank me—as he has done twice already—but this time in front of all of these people; his people!

  Anders moves behind me and to my left I hear Magnus directing the men as to where to leave the new addition to the platform. The crowd to my right continues to roar with enthusiastic appreciation of the show being set for their entertainment. I see and hear everything that is happening as though I am to be a witness to the event, not the sorry star of it. It’s the most surreal feeling, as though I am not party to my own fate. I am reconciled to the fact that in so many ways this is now the case; Anders now has control over my physical, mental, and emotional safety and well-being. The thought is terrifying, yet sends shivers of excitement shooting through my body, culminating in my aching sex.

  Anders’ palm settles in my hair, massaging it between his long digits. He towers over me as I kneel passively at his feet. I inhale deeply—the first breath I can remember for a long time—and a strange sense of calm falls over me as we watch the scene for my punishment being set up. Gently he guides my head toward his body with the other hand. I look up to him, amazed at the contrast with the aggression he had shown just a moment earlier. Those blue eyes are swilling with emotion. I sense excitement and desire there, as well as that sense of pride again.

  “Do you know what is going to happen to you, Aurelie?” he asks, barely audible over the crowd.

  I swallow hard as I reply, “Are you going to spank me now, my Lofðungr?”

  The words leave my lips as though I am in a trance.

  He smiles. “Yes,” he says, ruffling my hair again. “I will punish you now—in front of my people—and later I will take you and ravish you in the privacy of my chambers. Know that you are mine and I can do to you as I please—wherever I choose.”