The Viking's Conquest

by Felicity Brandon

  “Good,” says the man who had received Anders’ instructions. “Now raise her up and parade her through the streets on her way back to your prince!”

  I moan through the gag, meaning to protest, but of course my voice only comes through as a loud mumbling sound. The men laugh at my response, before taking their places—one at my head and one behind me. Slowly they lower their bodies to take the weight of the ends of the pole and then with no further warning, they lift it upward—with me attached.

  Chapter Nineteen: Displayed

  I feel the wood press against the binds that hold my ankles and wrists in place and then slowly I am lifted from the wooden platform. A rush of discomfort rips through the tired muscles of my shoulders and knees, which appear to have taken the brunt of my weight. I moan out loud, needing to vocalise the distress, but the noise is met with more laughter from the Vikings, who push the poles up onto their shoulders and leave me—literally—hanging between them.

  “Yes,” says the first man as he drains his goblet and rises again. “Let us proceed!”

  The soldiers move slowly down the ramp. From my new vantage I get a clear view of the back of the leading protagonist as I swing miserably behind him. Never in my most heinous nightmares had I imagined being treated this way—worse than an animal—like a piece of meat. As we pass down the pathway, the noise of the remaining crowd begins to swell at the sight of me. One large man makes a dash for me from the left hand side. I eye him like a frightened animal as he strides toward my bound and helpless body, his large palms already open and reaching for my displayed left breast.

  He makes it to within a few inches of me before two guards charge him, one from the path beyond and the other from his rear. He is hustled to the ground as a surge of emotions wash over me. Relief couples with my fear and frustration, producing low sobs from behind my gag and large, sad tears, the weight of which carry them south as I am passed over the cold hard earth.

  The walk is endless. I am flaunted through side streets and past circles of men eating and drinking around campfires. As if the ordeal of being treated this way isn’t bad enough, the soldier in front of the one carrying me stops to announce us as we near a new gathering, creating a fervour of excitement and jeering from the men. My arms, twisted backwards by the unforgiving bondage are sore, and my body feels cold as the light continues to fade. I have become nothing more than a bound, miserable creature, both dejected at my treatment and yet still—even after all of this—aroused by it. The fact that I am literally helpless does the most unexpected thing to my wet sex and I can feel the needy throb between my thighs. Exhausted, my head falls forward and I close my eyes, shutting out the faces of the jeering men. I imagine Anders keeping me this way in his chambers, hanging me there for his own amusement and fucking me whilst I am kept in the confines of the bondage. In my mind’s eye I see him towering over me, sliding his manhood in and out of my open legs. The thought is warming, sending pulses of excitement through my bound body.

  A bizarre need to be close to Anders fills me and I find that I am desperate to be back with him, despite the knowledge that he will seek only to punish me further for my intimacy with Magnus. I flex my wrists against the binds as I muse on this latest twist of fate. Whilst I was aroused by the marauding Viking and did ultimately consent to the act, I struggle to see how I can be held accountable. I was after all bound tightly to the punishment post at the time and completely under Magnus’ control. I was his responsibility and he chose to manipulate and use me, and yet it seems I am the one to be punished for his choices. The sense of injustice swells in me. It mingles with my frustrated arousal and brings a level of energy back to my sore and aching limbs.

  By the time I open my eyes again and raise my smarting neck, I see the large pavilion looming into view. My stomach twists in anticipation and yet unbelievably a sense of relief washes over me. Soon I will be back with Anders! My craving for him, it seems, is boundless…

  We enter via the far entrance again, making our way past the amused-looking sentry, who appraises my constrained body with interest. The guards take me onward, pausing at Anders’ private quarters. I hear heavy footsteps approaching from behind the heavy drapes and my muscles clench in a reflexive response. I cannot make out the man who welcomes his comrades, but recognise his voice in an instant: Magnus.

  “Thank you, gentlemen,” he says, voice full of unrestrained glee. “Please bring my Lofðungr’s property in and leave her on the rug in the centre of the room.”

  His giant frame steps aside and we move past him. I avoid eye contact with him easily from this position and yet feel riled that he has to see me this way. I am carried within the space as instructed and placed abruptly on the rug next to the fire. The power of its flames is a welcome sensation against my cold and bound body. Back on my belly again, my breasts pressed against the animal skin on the floor, I catch sight of Anders beyond me. He is seated proudly at a tall chair, now placed next to his bed and watches me closely as the guards show their respects and exit the quarters.

  For a time, the room remains silent. I drop my eyes from Anders, unable to manage the intensity of his gaze or the pain in my neck any longer, but still I can feel the weight of his ever-present stare on my bare flesh. Eventually it is his voice that breaks the near palpable tension.

  “So my captive returns?” he asks, his voice a low, husky tone.

  “I hope she enjoyed her special transportation?” sneers Magnus from somewhere behind me. “She really is quite the spectacle, my Lofðungr!”

  My muscles come to life at the sound of his voice and I curl my hands into fists against my binds.

  “Enough, Magnus!” says Anders, his voice raised, but his tone still thoughtful. “You and I have spoken at length this hour, and now I will speak to my captive.”

  I lift my protesting neck again and catch the look on Anders’ face. An intriguing combination of fierce and tender is somehow etched into his skin. Our eyes lock for a long moment as he shifts his weight to his left elbow.

  “Of course, my Lofðungr,” continues Magnus. “I was merely wanting to compliment your concept for transporting her here to you.”

  Anders raises his right hand, showing Magnus his palm in a gesture that is clearly intended to halt his words.

  “I said, enough, my friend,” he states flatly. “Now please cut open the rope at her wrists and ankles and then you can leave us.”

  “Yes, my Lofðungr,” comes the reply, and I hear his heavy footsteps approaching my body.

  I sense him crouched next to me and feel his rough callused hands at my wrists. My limbs ache so loudly as he manoeuvres them that I feel certain both men can hear them.

  “Careful now,” warns Anders from over us both. “Remember to whom she belongs…”

  His words hang over us, and Magnus deems it sensible not to reply. I feel hard tugs at the binds holding my limbs, but fortunately the blade he uses does not make contact with my skin. After another moment, the binds fall away and the pole is slowly drawn away from me. Finally freed, my arms and then legs fall unceremoniously against the soft pile of the fur rug. My liberated knees slowly straighten my legs, which scream with combined agony and relief, and likewise, my shoulders and wrists smart loudly at their treatment. I am grateful to be free and yet somehow the intensity of the pain seems even worse now that I am.

  From behind me I hear Magnus retreating with a final farewell to Anders and then I am once again alone with the Viking prince.

  Chapter Twenty: Atonement

  A calm falls over me. I can finally move my tender limbs and yet I remain outstretched on the rug, allowing the warmth of the fire to revive me. For a time, Anders permits it, sensing my need to recover from the latest trauma he has put me through. When he is ready, he rises lithely from his chair and walks over to where I lay.

  “Can you move?”

  His voice is warm yet severe, and I know the tone is sending me a warning.

  I test my arms, wiggling my fing
ers and the toes of my feet, and then rolling onto my side slightly, I acknowledge him with a nod of my head. He reaches his left hand out to me.

  “Rise then and let me look at you properly.”

  Slowly, I prise myself from the comfort of the fur, raising myself first onto all fours and feeling the protest in my muscles, before taking his hand. Eventually I make it onto one and two legs, standing unsteadily in front of him.

  “Look at me,” he orders sensually.

  I force my reticent eyes to meet his, recalling in an instant just how much bigger than me he really is. Those blue orbs flash in front of me, alive with passion, although whether it is for me or the day’s excitement, who can say?

  “You have had quite a day, my captive,” he says, an amused smile arranging his full lips.

  I blink up at him, pleased suddenly for the gag as I have no idea how to respond. He squeezes the fingers of my right hand gently, encasing my fist in his large palm.

  “You are weary no doubt and in need of refreshment. Come…”

  He strides forward, pulling me around the fire to the small table and chairs by his desk. The table is positioned in a comfortable far corner of his chambers and surrounded by various soft-looking blankets and material in deep warming hues. On the table are large jugs of water and what looks to be wine, situated beside fine-looking goblets and plates of fresh breads, meats, and fruit. I dash after him, still a little shaky on my feet and see him taking the seat on the left hand side of the table. I stand in front of him, suddenly very aware of my nakedness and vulnerability. He watches me carefully, before smiling.

  “You seem very awkward, Aurelie. Have you forgotten how to be in control of your limbs?”

  I blush at his words, pleased to hear my name back on his lips. He beckons me forward with one finger of his right hand and I move even closer to him.

  “More.”

  It’s only one word and yet somehow it holds a world of carnal promise for me. I swallow hard behind the leather forced between my lips and inch myself ever closer to him, until my legs brush against the cloth of his garments.

  “Good,” he says soothingly. “Now place your hands on the arms of my chair and lean forward, toward me.”

  I do so, moving my left and then right arms into position before moving my torso toward the smiling prince seated next to me. He watches every nuance of my body as though he is spellbound by my very essence. His eyes move from the length of my arms to the curve of my breasts now hanging over his body, and up to my face. Here he pauses, raising his own right hand and smoothing back my hair from my face.

  “So beautiful, Aurelie…” he says quietly, as though I am not supposed to hear the words.

  Our eyes meet again and for a moment all thoughts of my abduction, bondage, and punishment are lost to those pools of desire. I remember the heat of his body against mine the previous night and how masterfully he had taken my maidenhead. I feel a slow blush rising north to my cheeks as the intimate details of our liaison fill my mind and I wonder if he too is recalling our combined passion.

  The hand at the side of my face strokes my left cheek as he appraises me thoughtfully and then without warning ducks to the leather at my mouth. One finger dips between it and my skin before leveraging it out of my lips and stretching the leather down to my neck where I feel it land. The same fingers trace a silent line over my lips, although those fierce blue eyes of his never leave my own.

  “I have missed that naughty mouth,” he says, winking at me.

  My face flames at his words and I can feel the heat searing through me. Anders has missed me—the thought is exhilarating.

  “Thank you, my Lofðungr,” I reply softly. It feels strange to be able to speak again.

  He nods as he answers. “I am going to punish you, Aurelie.”

  My eyes widen at this, as though the tenderness of recent moments had lured me away from the harsh reality of my predicament.

  “Would you like me to explain why this punishment is due?” he asks. I notice that his voice is tender, despite the message it conveys. It has taken on that hypnotic quality again and I feel myself yielding to it as I nod my assent.

  “Yes, please, my Lofðungr,” I whisper in reply.

  “Your behaviour with Magnus has shocked me, Aurelie.” He pauses, surveying my face for a moment before he continues. I squirm at his words, but say nothing in response. “More than that, I find that your enjoyment of Magnus’ act has hurt me, and caused me more pain that I care to admit.”

  My belly lurches at his admission, and the realisation that I had caused him some type of pain both startles and disconcerts me. I gaze at his face, looking for the insincerity or jocularity that I have come to expect, and yet for once, I see nothing but earnestness. I open my mouth to reply, perhaps to offer an apology, but he raises his finger to my lips, pressing against them softly and silencing me.

  “It seems that I have come to develop a deep affection for you, Aurelie,” he continues. “And seeing you pleasured by another man affected me profoundly.”

  As he speaks, his hands move to my breasts hanging in the space between our bodies. He massages them both roughly, and I arch my back automatically, feeling my nipples bead at the sudden attention.

  “I did not ask for his attention,” I implore him as he kneads my hungry mounds, “please, my Lofðungr—he threatened to turn me over to the crowds if I did not consent. What could I do—bound to the post as I was? I could not defend myself!”

  He considers me for a moment, watching the growing arousal etched into my features at his touch.

  “I know this to be true,” he says finally, “and I hold Magnus to account for the act itself. Believe me, there will be consequences for his actions. Yet I was certain that only last evening you implied a carnal desire for me—and for me alone. Am I wrong, Aurelie?”

  I drop my gaze for the briefest second, considering the conversation to which he refers and remembering that I had indeed inferred this. I most certainly did not reject the notion when Anders had suggested it. I recall the desperate need I had felt after the nightmare, and how the idea of belonging only to Anders had reassured me. He’s right; I had wanted to be his alone. I had relished the idea just a few hours ago. As I look up again, I know my eyes have revealed my guilt. I have let him down, and in this moment an unexpected wave of remorse washes over me.

  “No,” I murmur, feeling tears beginning to well. “You are not wrong…”

  His fingers move down my breasts at the same time and he pinches my throbbing nipples, causing a small yelp to escape me.

  “Look at me, Aurelie,” he commands. Once again I look into his eyes, seeing a swarm of emotion there. “You do not deny then, that this was your intention yesterday?” he asks again. “You intended to be mine—to belong to me only?”

  Looking into his eyes, I realise that he already knows the truth. The hurt I find in those orbs startles me. After everything that has transpired it seems that my Lofðungr really was wounded by my experience with Magnus. I shake my head at him sullenly, knowing my fate is sealed.

  “No, my Lofðungr,” I reply. “I do not.”

  He smiles at my admission, but the sadness is still there in his eyes.

  “Then you leave me no choice, Aurelie, I must punish you. Even though you were not culpable for the deed, your thoughts were indeed for Magnus and not as you had promised, true to me.”

  He releases my nipples, leaving that warm dull ache pulsing from them to my wet folds. I watch his face as his hands find the sides of my head, pulling me down to his mouth. Gently he leans upward toward my lips. Our flesh connects, my lips parting to meet his, welcoming the energy that spirals through me as his tongue snakes inside my mouth. The kiss is fleeting, yet intensely intimate and as he pulls away, I miss the contact immediately.

  “Sit now,” he says quietly as he gestures to the soft pile to his right.

  Reluctantly I draw backward and away from him, coming to rest in the place he has indicated. The
hill of emerald and ruby blankets is soft and comforting, but still I miss his physical presence in the most disconcerting way. I watch from the floor as he turns toward the table to his left, pouring two goblets of water, and one of wine. He offers me the water-filled vessel with a smile, and I take it gladly, finishing the contents almost at once. The last few hours had seen me bound and gagged with very little rest and no refreshment at all, and the chilled fluid tastes delicious as a consequence.

  Anders chuckles at my response, before bringing the jug to refill the contents for me.

  “Thank you, my Lofðungr,” I say, quickly taking the goblet back to my lips.

  “You’re welcome, Aurelie,” he says, his eyes twinkling. “You are my property and I intend to nurture as well as punish you.”

  I watch him from over my goblet as he pulls a chunk of the fresh bread apart and offers me a handful. I move the goblet to my lap and open my mouth, receiving the food like the obedient little pet I appear to have become. As I close my mouth around the bread and begin to chew, I marvel at how easy it is to submit to Anders. Sitting here naked by his feet whilst he feeds me small pieces of food feels like the most natural thing in the world. I squirm as I acknowledge again how aroused it makes me feel to be treated this way. By the time his hand returns with a small piece of meat I can barely keep still. He smiles, that knowing look in his eye and yet thankfully he says nothing on the subject.

  Anders feeds me for a few more moments, allowing me time to eat a good quantity of meat and bread, before finishing my second goblet of water. His right hand moves toward me whilst I chew, smoothing back my hair and then gently running his digits through the tangled strands. He eyes me intently as I sit there, pausing only to take a drink of wine on the table next to him. Once my impromptu meal has concluded and he is satisfied that I am nourished enough, that right hand ducks down my face and under my chin. He tips it up toward him.