The Viking's Conquest

by Felicity Brandon

  “Better,” he says, ducking down toward my feet again. I watch as he pulls the ankle chains tight, before reattaching them to their original anchor. After both ankles are secure, he stands and I try to get accustomed to my new positon.

  I am stretched out from top to bottom, my arms held high above my head and my legs now secured wide apart below me. Worse still is the angle he has made me assume. The step backward has left me leaning forward, as though I am resting over a table, except there is no such implement to support me. Now that I am anchored this way, I can barely move my feet more than an inch in either direction and my lower back is already feeling the pressure. Of course the other—most intentional—effect of this position is that my punished behind is now stuck out for all of the crowds behind me to appreciate. From this angle they can probably also see the slick folds of my hungry sex beneath the soft hair.

  I twist my head to the right and get a small glimpse of the people there. There seems to be literally hundreds of them and they are all shouting and clambering over one another to get a good view of me, baying for my continued humiliation. I drop my head forward, realising that my fate is sealed and catch sight of my full breasts hanging freely in front of me. There is nothing I can do to cover or support them. As though Magnus senses my thoughts, he moves to my right and reaches under my body, grabbing my right and then my left breast and squeezing them in his large hands.

  “Do not!” I yelp, somehow my pride more wounded by his groping than by my stance here.

  He smiles, every inch the predator.

  “Hush, woman!” he says, raising his voice so that those in the front can clearly hear his words. “You’re here to be punished and displayed. I have my Lofðungr’s permission to toy with you, whilst he is otherwise engaged.”

  I twist my head left again to the platform, eyeing it for the presence of Anders. I scan the area, but fail to find the prince. My heart falls in disappointment, and next to me Magnus laughs at my dumbstruck expression.

  “Come now,” he chuckles, caressing my collarbone, before allowing his hand to fall back south and tug hard on my nipples. “I am certain I can also entertain you in my Lofðungr’s absence?”

  Desire pools immediately between my legs and my exposed folds. I gasp at the sensations coming from my breasts, humiliated and yet so utterly aroused. I say nothing as Magnus continues to tease and torment my hard buds. My head drops, giving into the ache in my neck, and I watch him playing with them. I am powerless to prevent him from doing as he pleases; a fact that both frustrates me and drives me crazy. Above me my outstretched arms are beginning to twinge and the low ache from my body is also building. I can do little to alleviate the growing agony, shifting only a few inches in either direction, which does little to remedy the pain.

  Without warning Magnus moves his hand to the left side of my face, directing my cheek back to where he is standing.

  “Look at me,” he purrs, dropping his tone. “My Lofðungr is busy and will not be requiring your service for the time being. Why don’t you and I get to know one another a little better in the interim?” His blue eyes flash as he speaks, the desire inside him lighting them. “We can put on another show for those that have assembled to celebrate?”

  I baulk at his suggestion, drawing my head away from him. “No, Sire,” I spit out the words, as though they are venom on my tongue. “I do not belong to you.”

  His fingers drop to the base of my neck and tighten around it for a fraction of a second. I freeze immediately, desperate to catch my breath.

  “Why do you persist in this resistance?” he asks mockingly. “We all know how much you enjoy being treated this way, don’t we?”

  His hand has relaxed, but still stays at my throat. I swallow back the rush of fear and arousal that travels through me. The truth is that I have been fascinated by the physical prowess of Magnus ever since he was tasked to bring me to Anders, and yet in all that time I have never allowed myself to admit how this man really makes me feel.

  “No,” I whisper, dropping my eyes from the intensity of his gaze. “I do not consent.”

  He shakes his head at me. “Fear not, my lady,” he says casually. “I can still use this time to entertain you. We both know how much you will enjoy being degraded—in front of so many red-blooded Vikings!”

  His hand slides down from my throat, past my engorged nipples to my midriff, caressing my belly before moving south again. He dips around my hips, forced backward by the bondage and then moves down between my legs, nestling his fingers into the soft, wet hair there. I force the air from my lungs, not daring to take another breath. The fingers at my pubis delve deeper, past my soft hair and slide between my wet folds. I gasp as they make contact with my hard little bud there, my gaze returning back to their owner.

  “You are so wet already,” he remarks as he explores me. “You really do love to be spanked and displayed, don’t you?”

  I open my mouth to protest, yet the feeling of his large digits probing me sends chills of desire to my very core and I cannot manage a word. My mouth hangs open, suspended in the conflict between the ecstasy of his stimulation and the agony of the very public humiliation.

  “They would all like to conquer you, you know?” Magnus says, moving his head to within a few inches of my face and gesturing to the crowd at my rear.

  I strain my face to the left, but am barely able to see the crowd. I can hear them though—their volume growing noisier and more raucous by the moment.

  “I could turn you over to them, if you prefer? Leave you to the whims of the masses?” As he speaks his fingers massage my wetness and one pushes deep inside me. I gasp, eyeing him intently as I pull against my chains. He chuckles, watching my expressions as I clench myself around him. “Would you like that?” he asks again.

  I can just about process his words over the intensity of the sensations I am feeling. The look in his eyes says he is jesting with me and yet the image of me chained here whilst every man who seeks to grope and finger me is allowed to do so fills my head. Memories of my nightmare come flooding back to me and I gape at him, knowing that I must answer.

  “No,” I manage after a moment. “Please, no!”

  He smiles again, satisfied that he has my attention and presses his large frame even closer into my body.

  “Alternatively, I can use my hands to explore you and bring you pleasure? I can bury them deep inside this wet little cunt, in front of everyone?”

  I swallow again, feeling the heat from his body. As I watch him I consider his words and for a moment I imagine them. I think about him probing and stimulating me whilst I am helpless to stop him, chained as I am. He could continue to toy with me, and there’s not a thing I can do to prevent it. Despite my desire to belong only to Anders, there’s no doubt that the idea arouses me. I would have no choice after all. Absolved of all responsibility, I could simply enjoy Magnus’ attention and not concern myself with the consequences. The thought makes me even wetter.

  “Well?” he asks, fingering me mercilessly. “Your cunt says yes, but what about the rest of you?”

  I gasp again, acknowledging the exquisite yearning he is building inside of me. I do so want to be used by this giant of a man—to submit to him.

  “Yes,” I squeak breathlessly.

  His grin widens at my words and in an instant he has moved his body even closer toward my right side, positioning himself as best he can between my outstretched limbs and the wooden post. His fingers never leave me, gaining pace as they slide effortlessly in and then out of my wetness. I lift my head to see him just as his other hand reaches again for my vulnerable nipples. He tweaks and then pulls hard on one, pausing to assess its size before moving to the other. The act sends sparks of desire through me, travelling to my core and driving me onward, and toward some unstoppable pleasure.

  I try to speak, perhaps to offer some small protest, but no words form. Instead my mouth hangs open, a testament to the ecstasy Magnus’ hands are creating within me. I catch th
e knowing look in his eyes, and the realisation that this is what we have both wanted all along dawns on me.

  “You are quite the slave, my lady,” he calls from ahead of me. His own voice is thick with need and as my gaze falls south, I see his arousal is evident from under his tunic. I watch his body, contorted with tension as he concentrates on using me this way. All I can feel are his fingers, inside of my core and clawing at my sensitive skin. He is all around me somehow, consuming me whilst I remain here, chained and exposed for the crowds.

  I lose track of time and reason as his fingers devour my desperate sex. My breathing is hard and laboured, and my aching body is caught thoroughly in the contradiction between the pleasure and the degradation. I exist only in the sensation of this moment; in the absolute carnality of Magnus’ dominance. His performance seems to have well and truly enraptured the crowds. Their noise is a constant and seems only to push him deeper and deeper into my folds. Lost in the passion of the act, I feel my hips begin to roll toward him, as they had done when Anders had taken my maidenhead. The friction against my hungry little bud is incredible, and soon I hear myself panting as the need begins to overflow. At some point the growing intensity of his fingers peaks and I cry out as the fingers at my right nipple squeeze down hard. The muscles surrounding him spasm, clenching around him in a frenzy as the pleasure rolls over me in waves.

  Magnus remains still, watching me with fervour. As the intensity of my climax finally begins to subside, he slowly withdraws his fingers. Bringing his hand to his face, he waves it between our mouths. I catch a waft of my own musky scent, the ignominy of it making me want him even more. He watches me carefully, before slowly slipping one and then two of his fingers into his large mouth. I begin to pant again at the sight, acknowledging the mischievous look in his eyes.

  “My Lofðungr’s property does taste good,” he chuckles and from behind me there are a number of loud jeers as the crowd recognise his action.

  Once more I open my mouth to speak, but yet again I find there are no words for this experience. Magnus’ smile grows. “This is the most receptive I have known you, my lady,” he asks, clearly bemused. “Perhaps you should be punished and manhandled more often?”

  He moves away from me toward the restless crowd, leaving me breathless and suspended in the hard bondage of the chains. I hear him addressing the people in their native tongue and can only imagine what he may be telling them. I close my eyes, the scintillating mixture of the pleasure and the disgrace still washing over me.

  “Well, well, my captive.”

  A voice beside me breaks my silent trance. I recognise it instantly as Anders’ dulcet tones. My eyes spring open to find him leaning nonchalantly against the post to which I am chained. He assesses me with a quiet judgement, watching the rise and fall of my breasts.

  “I see you have taken good care of my prize, Magnus The Strong?”

  Anders addresses Magnus directly. I can’t tell if there is admiration or admonishment in his voice. Magnus appears from behind me, already answering his prince.

  “My Lofðungr,” he says, falling to one knee at the feet of Anders. “Forgive my impertinence—the woman begged for me to use her—there seemed no other way to quiet her!”

  My mouth falls open at his words and rage whips through me. “You lie!” I accuse him. “You told me you would allow the crowd to have me if I did not permit you!”

  I bend the truth to my will, just as Magnus has done, not wanting to admit that in the end, I had indeed desired him. Magnus rises, turning his head to regard me.

  “See how the invention falls from her mouth, my Lofðungr?” he says. “Perhaps it is time to see it gagged once again?”

  “Perhaps,” agrees Anders, still propping himself up against the post. His eyes move from his servant to his captive. My face burns at his attention and I wonder if he can already decipher where the truth lies. “But perhaps you could have used this logic earlier—to silence her?”

  The colour drains from Magnus, as he realises that his prince may still find him culpable.

  “For the time being, I concur. See that she is gagged and bound and brought to me for the feast.”

  Magnus nods and Anders turns to me once more.

  “We shall discuss this after my celebration.”

  His tone is curt as his eyes drill into me. The fierceness of his face is deeply foreboding. Before I can answer, he turns on his heel and is gone, striding back toward the second, higher platform where the long table is now laid out for the banquet.

  Chapter Eighteen: The Feast

  After the abrupt departure of Anders, Magnus releases my chains at the punishment post and quickly re-secures my wrists behind me. He says nothing to me as he works. There are no words about our recent intimacy, and none about his behaviour in front of Anders. I watch him when he comes into view, utterly shocked at his performance and wonder if his intention had always been to get me alone and then use me. Worse still, he seems happy to throw me to the prince’s mercy after the deed, accepting no responsibility for his actions whatsoever.

  A sense of rejection falls over me, cutting me more deeply than I would have imagined. Eventually I am allowed to stand, feeling the relief in my back and shoulders as I shift the weight from my flaming buttocks.

  “Walk,” he orders, grabbing my left elbow and pulling me back along the route to where the feast is now taking place. His demeanour leaves me cold and hurt, dampening any flames of arousal that still burn within me.

  We arrive at the long sturdy-looking table, packed full of meats and breads, and high spirits from other men in armour. Most acknowledge my arrival with interest, but I notice that Anders never even raises his eyes to look upon us. Fear begins to quicken within me at his response, soon to be replaced by envy as a bevy of blond-haired servants hurry to his side, draping themselves around his high-backed chair and offering him food and wine. Magnus leaves me on the floor next to Anders’ seat, securing my legs behind me, and binding them with tight ropes to the bonds that have so adequately held my wrists in place. Then, before he leaves to find his own spot at the table, he produces another length of leather, which he secures around my mouth.

  So I find myself gagged and more tightly bound then I have ever been. I am literally on the floor a few paces from Anders’ feet, whilst he is fed and entertained by his native women. With my limbs bound and my mouth gagged, I am propped up on my own ample breasts and my perspective is fairly limited. Unfortunately for me I have an unbroken view of the bottom of Anders’ chair and am forced to witness the close attention of his female servants. One unknown nubile blonde kneels to my left, offering her prince his goblet of wine and then holding it in place for him whilst he eats and talks to those around him. I strain my neck upward and catch sight of her. She is young and her pale robe has been lowered to her full hips, revealing her pert bosom, a fact that has clearly not been lost on Anders. He takes the wine from her again as I watch, complimenting her on her fine form. The ball of emotion within me twists as my jealousy resurfaces. I turn to him as best I can, eyeing him intently and wishing that he would use the tongue that I do not understand, instead of lauding events over me. Hearing his lustful exchange only adds to my frustration and accelerates the low drum of desire within my core.

  Despite my resentment of him and the beautiful women, I am spellbound by the look of the scene. They are all seemingly so beautiful, their honey colours so strikingly different to anything known in Donrose. As Brigida makes her way to him with a tray of more food, she pauses, noticing me bound just beyond her feet.

  “My Lofðungr,” she purrs seductively, “I see your whore is here, even after she has disgraced herself with Magnus The Strong?”

  I moan loudly at her comment, writhing on the wooden stage like a serpent. Anders turns to assess me for the first time and then laughs at my gagged response. “Do not worry, Brigida,” he replies. “I will see to it personally that she receives adequate punishment for her… behaviour.”

 
; I watch miserably as the small group share a laugh at the prospect, feeling the needy throb between my own legs. The pulsing need there seems palpable and I am certain that everyone around me can smell my desire at the thought of yet another imminent punishment.

  The feast goes on and the whole time I remain bound, gagged, and ignored. Huge quantities of fresh food are brought to the table by servants and endless jugs of wine are refilled and served. In a new twist to my misery, Magnus is permitted to fuck all three of the women who had been serving Anders, taking one over the table itself as the other men eat and cheer him on. I watch their climaxes with envy, pondering that there seems no end to my torment as I am forced to witness all of the pleasure, whilst I receive none. My belly by this time is almost as hungry as my folds are wet.

  Eventually as the light begins to fade, Anders calls a halt to proceedings. He rises, dismissing the women and thanking his men for their efforts in battle. They all raise a goblet of wine and toast their success, before draining the remaining jugs dry. He stands over me, one boot only inches from my face.

  “See to it that she is brought back to my quarters,” he orders the man in the next seat.

  “Yes, my Lofðungr,” comes the immediate reply, before his boots disappear from my view completely.

  I remain there for several moments, my body chilled from the diminishing sunlight, before the unknown man also rises. He calls for two other soldiers and gives instructions in the Nordic tongue. All three look to me before two dart away, returning shortly afterward with some type of long wooden pole. I watch its arrival ominously, fearing that whatever its purpose, it does not bode well for me.

  The soldiers move to my bound body and position the pole over me, so that it is laced between my body and my bound arms and legs. Once they seem happy they begin to bind me yet again—this time it feels like my limbs are being secured to the pole itself. I assess the situation grimly, the realisation of what they have in mind dawning on me. They mean to carry me this way—my wrists and ankles bound and hanging from this pole.