The Viking's Conquest

by Felicity Brandon

  My heart pounds inside my chest at his words and between my thighs there is a new rush of arousal at the prospect. “Will you harm me?” I probe, my voice so small even I can barely hear it. Somehow he makes out the question and looks me directly in the eyes before he answers.

  “Aurelie…” His voice washes over me like a warm summer breeze. “I may cause you pain, but I swear I will never cause you any real injury. You belong to me and so it is not in my interest to damage you.”

  I blink up at him, still uncertain about my fate. In the centre of the stage I notice that the wooden box is now being dressed with fur and other rich-looking materials, but still it is this Viking—this man who has turned my world around—who dominates my attention. Sensing my enquiring eyes, he looks down at me once more. His hand leaves my hair and slips gently down the left side of my face and under my chin. He caresses my skin as he speaks again.

  “You must trust in me to judge when you need to be punished and when you have been punished enough.”

  I nod, but his attention is already elsewhere, drawn back to the scene that now appears to be set.

  Chapter Sixteen: A Public Chastisement

  Anders offers me one last fleeting glance before striding toward the box, leaving me kneeling alone. The guards, having now finished their duty, fall back to either side of the stage by both staircases and Magnus stands away to the left. As Anders seats himself on the fur-lined wood, all attention turns to me, the kneeling, trembling naked woman.

  At this moment there must be more than one hundred pairs of eyes on me. Each and every one of them scans my nudity, sensing the tension in the air and wondering—hoping—about what will now transpire. Now apparently comfortable, Anders beckons to me with his right hand, gesturing for me to join him. My knees, pressed hard into the unforgiving wood of the platform, scream as I lurch forward onto all fours. I move in the most undignified way a lady can—crawling over to Anders—until I again reach his boots. A memory of yesterday flashes through my mind and I recall how those feet had felt upon my back when he had used me as his own personal footrest. I simmer with arousal at the thought, glancing up to him and wondering if he too is considering the memory.

  He directs me to his right side and obediently I go, falling into the same ready position that he has spanked me in twice already. I sit on my haunches as he addresses the crowd, watching his right hand as it falls to my left breast and plays casually with my nipple.

  “I will now punish my captive with an over-the-knee spanking!”

  As expected, the noise of the crowd swells in response to this proclamation and the excited tension in my belly twists, sending a bolt of desire through me. The air between Anders and me is somehow palpable. I am torn between the need for his reassuring glance and the mortifying knowledge of what he intends to do to me. My nipple beads in his fingers and he turns to me smiling.

  “Over my knee,” he says simply, removing his hands from my bud and patting his lap.

  For a split second I want to protest; to refuse him. I want to remind him who I am and that I cannot be treated this way. The rebellion rises in me, reaching my chest and threatening to choke me. I wonder if it also reaches my eyes, as there’s a flash of enquiry in Anders’ as he appraises me. I take a long, deep breath and close my eyes for a moment. Under my lids in the darkness the memory of last night consumes me. I remember how Anders had made me feel as he had worshipped my body with his own hands, mouth, and manhood. I recall how tender he had been, and how he had comforted me after my tumultuous dream. I exhale loudly, knowing already what I must do, and am moving forward over his body even before I have reopened my eyes.

  Anders is seated along the box to the right side and as such I find it easy to leave my legs hanging over this end of the wood, whilst my torso and arms are pressed into the fur at the other end. I turn my head away from the crowd and close my eyes, pleased to have this element of control over proceedings, however limited it may be. Seemingly content with this arrangement, Anders says nothing, but runs both of his hands up and down my pimpling flesh, pushing my thighs apart.

  “I would like for your arms to be bound, Aurelie,” he says eventually. “Place your hands into the small of your back, please.”

  I sigh, moving my hands from their comfortable place at my head and positioning them as he has said. It is not a painful stance to be in, but there is now much more stress on my head and neck and I am immediately grateful for the protection of the fur. There is some pressure at my wrists and I know that he is securing them together again. Gently he moves my now bound wrists up my back and then returns to his exploration of my body. He scans the left side of my body with his hands, inspecting the tender areas where I had fallen during battle.

  “These need tending to again,” he muses out loud. “I will ensure you are healed soon enough.”

  “Thank you, my Lofðungr,” I whisper, the fear and excitement I am feeling already etched into my voice. It seems odd that this man who intends to hurt me is also so concerned with my health and general well-being.

  Beyond us the Viking crowds are restless, shouting and cheering from behind the line of guards protecting the stage. I open one eye and make out Magnus hovering behind Anders. Fleetingly we make eye contact. He wears his usual arrogant smile, but behind it I can also see desire in his eyes. Anders runs those long digits down the line of my thighs and I wonder if Magnus can imagine himself in his Lofðungr’s place, with me over his lap—submitting to his own dominant needs?

  Anders’ hand leaves me and the crowd hushes in an instant. I snap both eyes closed before the first impact. It lands on the roundest part of my behind, catching both cheeks and a little of my upturned folds. Despite my expectation of its arrival I still find myself gasping at the strike. The sound resonates in the air around me and is met with another roar from the crowd. He lands another three strikes in swift succession in almost the same spot. The sting of the strikes is consuming and I want to move my bottom away, but of course there is nowhere for it to go, trapped as it is between his arm and the unforgiving wooden box.

  Anders delivers a further three spanks and I hear myself moan. I feel his other hand moving the unruly strands of my hair from my face as the next strike hits. It catches me solely on the right cheek and the impact aches beautifully. I exhale, yearning to push away the pain and find solace in the pleasure I had found in my previous punishments. The crowd of people are still yelling at my ordeal, although I am more and more tuning out of their noise and finding that place inside of myself again.

  Anders spanks me again, and I can just make out the tension in his voice as he speaks. “Why are you being punished, my captive?”

  I wonder if he is struggling with his own arousal and consider for a moment how strange it must be for him to feel this way in front of all of his people. I push away my enquiry and focus on his question.

  “I am being spanked for not paying attention to you, my Lofðungr,” I say breathlessly.

  He swats my ass another three times, catching me again in the very centre of my exposed bottom and suddenly my responses tip from pain to pleasure, that tingle in my throbbing sex allowing the wetness to gush from my folds. He notices the change immediately and draws a finger down my wetness. I gasp at the sensitive contact, loving the feeling and yet somehow absurdly embarrassed to be this aroused in front of so many people.

  “So wet for me, already?”

  His voice is hushed and clearly he intends these words for my ears only. I groan a response, wishing that we could be alone again in his chambers.

  His right hand resumes my spanking, delivering each strike at a rhythmic pace, allowing me a moment to catch my breath between each impact. His left hand tightens in my hair, betraying the tension also ricocheting around his body. I open my eyes, looking for him. As though he senses my need, he turns his head to meet my stare as he delivers the next strike. Beyond us the crowd cheers excitedly at my denigration, and yet increasingly they mean nothing to me. I am tr
ansfixed by his eyes, like two ocean pools, drilling into me.

  I pull against my bonds reflexively, pressing my beading nipples into the fur below me. He smiles, striking me again. As he punishes me I watch him, realising that this is the first time I have ever seen him administering my spanking. I feel the heat rising from my behind and relish it. I have no idea what has happened to the spirited, but polite lady of Donrose I once was, but I am now this new woman; an improper imp, unleashed and abandoned to this ritualised public humiliation. I could never have known the glory of it, the simmering joy of the shame or the priceless pleasure in the pain—but I know now. Lying bound over the lap of this Viking, I wonder, can I ever hope to give up this carnality?

  The spanking continues and I am lost to it, consumed by the beauty of the ache his relentless hand delivers. Our audience is now a dull noise from beyond us, which neither concerns nor excites me. I know there are guttural sounds coming from my mouth and yet I know not what they mean. My throbbing bud receives fresh stimulation with each strike and the tension in my body tightens to breaking point. Knowing full well how aroused I am, Anders moves his left hand to where my breast is crushed against the fur. Without ceremony, he manoeuvres his hand between the two, cupping and then tweaking my nipple. The intensity of this sensation nearly sends me over the edge, the ecstasy of it etched into my face.

  “You will not climax,” he growls from over me, cruelly waking me from my blissful hedonism.

  My mouth opens to respond and protest, but as the next strike hits me, I am consumed only by the new wave of hurt and desire it brings. The yearning pools between my thighs and my eyes open, searching for him again, a silent plea for release.

  “Do you understand?” he demands, his voice louder this time.

  I gasp as his fingers slide down the wet folds of my sex between my flaming ass.

  “Yes,” I pant, biting down on my lower lip to stop myself from saying anything that will land me in more trouble. “Yes, my Lofðungr, I understand.”

  His expression looks fierce as he spanks me again, those eyes moving from my desperate face to my bound and punished body. He pauses, examining my now reddened behind and then caresses the skin there, before once again addressing the crowd.

  “My captive’s punishment is concluded… for the time being,” he announces. “She will remain bound and displayed for you all to see whilst we feast!”

  I hear his words, watching those full lips delivering the next instalment of my ordeal and yet I cannot quite process them. I am to be displayed? Where? His eyes fall back over my face, acknowledging the confusion there.

  “Yes, my captive,” he says softly. “You will be on full display for all of my men to enjoy whilst they celebrate.”

  I writhe over his lap, rubbing myself against him like an untamed animal. “Please, no…” I whisper. “I want you!”

  He swats my bottom hard, stinging the already inflamed area. I still at once and he smiles.

  “I know you do, Aurelie. I can feel how tightly wound your punishment has made you. By the gods, I can even smell your arousal!”

  At this point he laughs and from over his shoulder I see Magnus smiling.

  “You will remain wet and wanting until I decide it is time. Then—and only then—will I bury myself into you again, once more claiming what is rightfully mine!”

  He pulls his hand from under my bosom, gesturing for help. Magnus arrives at my head at once and moves slowly to my rear and then round to the other side of me. They each take one of my shoulders and slowly they ease me upright back to my feet besides Anders, before pushing me back down to my knees. I sit back on my haunches, my bound hands grazing the hot skin of my behind.

  “Keep your legs apart,” says Anders casually. He sweeps the hair from my face and looks into my eyes. “I will know if you pleasure yourself and the consequences will be severe.”

  I hang my head, my hair falling around my face again as I literally pant on the platform next to him. As the mists of arousal clear a little, I wonder what has happened to me. How can I ever escape if I want to be used and abused this way?

  “Take Aurelie to the punishment post and chain her there,” Anders tells Magnus, who is still to my right. “Make sure her pretty little punished behind is well displayed for everyone to enjoy.”

  I squirm at his words, still wanting him to devour me and yet, secretly terrified—and thrilled—at what he now proposes. Magnus takes a step toward my right knee.

  “Come,” he commands softly. “Kneel and then rise.”

  I take a deep breath before complying. Clumsily I rise to one knee and nearly lose my balance. Anders reaches for my left arm, steadying me.

  “Maybe it’s better if you give her a lift, my friend?” he asks Magnus, voice loaded with a strange mixture of both concern and glee.

  I look up in time to see Magnus nod in agreement. He spins to face me again and moves closer, to within a couple of inches of my body. “I am going to carry you, as I did before. You remember, I assume?”

  His large eyes drill into me. They are much lighter in colour than Anders’ and yet seem all the more perceptive. I swallow, physically pushing down the shame I feel about this mode of travel.

  “Yes, Sire,” I reply, lowering my eyes a little, but still having time to see his smile widen at my deference.

  A new gush of arousal floods my folds and I wonder if the two men notice. I have no idea why I am so turned on by willingly submitting to Magnus, as well as Anders, and yet my excitement is undeniable. Before I can consider the matter any further he bends his knees and reaches down for me, taking my body at the thighs and lifting me effortlessly upward. I fall over his right shoulder. My arms, bound behind me this time, sit just above my lower back, which is now directly next to his face. He holds me at the lower part of my thighs, pressing me securely into his cooling armour. My red, flaming behind juts out perfectly in front of him, so that everyone can bear witness to the effects of my most recent spanking.

  Chapter Seventeen: Magnus

  My new view of the world is just as tiresome as I had recalled. From here I can make out very little and without the use of my arms, I feel even less secure than before. My raven-coloured hair falls downward toward the floor, and within moments my life’s blood is rushing in the same direction. Feeling giddy and disoriented, I sense Magnus taking a step backward and then dropping into a low bow in front of Anders. Duly he rises and begins to move forward. I hear others moving and strain my head to see long, dark laced boots marching just behind Magnus. Instinctively I recall how Anders had made me remove his boots the night before, and I flush as I remember the detail of my humiliation then, wondering how I will manage with my current plight.

  Magnus makes his way down the steps and then strides across the hard ground that I had journeyed over earlier. I bounce softly up and down as he walks, although he holds me tightly enough. From here I have no real clue in which direction we travel. I can just make out the near scene from my upside view and see little except the excited, cheering faces of men and women from either side of our path. After a few moments his pace begins to slow and from beyond his legs I can just make out another wooden platform of some sort.

  There is a giant step up and I know that Magnus has mounted whatever platform I had seen. Soon after, he drops me gently to my feet onto the smooth wood below. I blink as my hair settles around me, allowing the sensation of being carried this way to wear off as I regain my surroundings. We are indeed on some other raised level. This is lower than the previous one and scores of men stand little more than a few feet from the edge of the platform. I am relieved to see a group of the royal guard forming a line between these men and myself, but am still anxious that the excited mob seem so close.

  I notice that Magnus is releasing the clasps that have secured my wrists behind me and for a moment they fall free next to me. Relief radiates from my muscles, but as he circles me, the look on his face tells me that there is more to come.

  “Tur
n around,” he orders, his voice a low sensual growl.

  I oblige him, moving slowly as he indicates and am greeted by a tall wooden post, which is secured through the platform on which we stand and struts out high, several feet above my head. There are a number of metal loops and chains anchored to it at various points. My belly jumps as I assess them, wondering which will be the next to bind me.

  “Put your arms together and up here.”

  He taps the wood overhead and I look up to see where he has indicated. I glance at him, daring to look him full in the face, but do as I am told, raising my arms to well above my head height. He sets about work at securing me to the post, beginning with my left wrist, which is shackled against the cold metal, before my right wrist follows suit. My breathing increases pace as he binds me, the bondage somehow heightening my every sensation.

  I look to my left as he moves down to my right ankle, securing it into another shackle, which is held by a long metal chain, again anchored into the wood. My eyes appraise the original platform, acknowledging just how much higher it is than the one I am being secured to. Upon it I see various servants hard at work. A number of wooden chairs are being carried into the space and a long wooden table has been erected for the imminent feast. A hard tug at my left ankle grabs my attention, and I look down to see Magnus conclude with the shackle there. He rises slowly, checking the chains around me and smiling.

  “Take a step backward,” he says, watching my response as I carefully do so. I can feel the weight of the metal chains now attached to me, and the reality hits me all at once—I am a bona fide prisoner again, locked into metal shackles and secured for the pleasure of Anders.

  “And your legs…” purrs Magnus from my left. “Where should they be?”

  I sigh, realising that once again they have come to rest together. I stretch them apart, feeling the pull in my inner thighs and the sudden chill as the air around me reaches my wet folds.