The Viking's Conquest

by Felicity Brandon

  “Do you deserve to be punished, Aurelie?”

  I swallow hard, acknowledging his blue eyes, which penetrate me like a blade as he speaks. He looks so fierce and full of authority that a new swell of arousal is soon dampening my needy sex.

  I nod my head slowly, afraid of his foreboding tone, and yet now so very excited by the prospect of my spanking. As I look into his eyes I am also aware of a part of me that is remorseful and rueful to have upset him on any level. Perhaps the penance to come will be cathartic for us both and bring us close together again. At this moment I desire to feel the same connection that we found last evening more than anything else; maybe even more than my own freedom.

  “Yes, my Lofðungr,” I squeak, hearing the tremble in my voice as I reply.

  His full lips break into a small smile at the admission that I do deserve this punishment. “Why, my captive?” he asks. “Why do you deserve to be punished?”

  I watch him, feeling the desire increasing within my womb as he probes me for further clarification of my guilt. “I was not true to you—in thought—or deed…”

  My eyes lower and my voice trails away, and suddenly the emotion of everything that has transpired in the last few days hits me. Tears gather in my eyes as I acknowledge finally what has become of me. As quick as a stallion Anders leaves his seat and is crouching next to me, both hands in my hair again. He draws my head back gently, exposing the nape of my neck, which he leans in and kisses with exquisite perfection. I am quite taken aback by this show of intimacy and blink away my tears as the sensation of his lips at my throat begins to overwhelm me. He trails kisses down my neck and finally back to my chin and lips, before pausing and eyeing me again.

  “I must ask, Aurelie,” he whispers in a low tone, “is it Magnus The Strong whom you truly desire?”

  I stare at him, open-mouthed, as though I can’t quite believe he has asked the question.

  “If it is the case that he has captured your heart, then I will ensure he becomes your master. I am not so arrogant that I would stand in the way. And yet,” he pauses, resting his temple against my chin, “and yet I hope that this is not the truth and that in your heart you desire to belong to me?”

  He raises his head and looks to me again, this time expecting an answer. For the second time in just a few moments, this man who had come breezing into my castle and turned over my life, shows true vulnerability in his eyes. I realise that beneath the steely exterior, Anders truly does have warmth for me.

  “I do not deny that I desired Magnus to know me carnally, but there is no warmth in my heart for him, my Lofðungr. If I may say so, I do not think he cares much for me either. The feelings with you are… different.” I squeeze my eyes shut as I reveal my true state of mind. “I want more of them—more of you.”

  He dips his head slightly to the side at my words and that unmistakable smile decorates his face again. He looks devilishly handsome in this moment.

  “Then from now you will be mine—and mine alone—do you understand?”

  His tone has changed back to that hard, authoritative tenor of earlier and it rouses me.

  “Yes,” I gasp, as he stands again, towering over me. “I understand.”

  He looks down at me, his face glowering like thunder. “Then it is time you were punished for your disloyalty.” He strides to my right, finding the large wooden chest that has so often already been the seat of my humiliation. “Join me please—on your knees.”

  Leaving my empty goblet, I slide from the soft pile at his order. I can already feel the desire bursting from between my thighs as I fall to all fours and begin my crawl to where he has seated himself.

  “We will begin as before—you will be spanked over my knee—but this time there will be little pleasure in it for you, my captive. I intend to hurt you—to mark that pretty little behind—and make you unable to sit properly for some time.”

  I am back by his feet as he concludes and warily, I raise my eyes as he finishes the sentence. I know I am not hiding the terror in my face and yet still I am compelled to carry on—submitting myself to him in this way for our mutual need. He catches my hair in his left hand and pulls it into a rough ponytail, again drawing my head back.

  “When my hand is aching from tanning your backside, I will bind you to the bedpost and continue to thrash you with my strap. Do you understand?”

  He eyes me wildly and for a moment I am too afraid to even respond. I have to swallow hard again to find my voice.

  “Please, my Lofðungr,” I say shakily. “I do not know if I can bear such a punishment?”

  He never takes his eyes from me as he answers. “You can and you will, my sweeting,” he says. “You will submit to me in this way as a sign of your true desire to be mine.”

  I close my eyes at his words, understanding for the first time his real intention. He means not just to punish me, but to mark and possess me in some meaningful way. To make me his again in the way that our coupling had done before. As I open my eyes again and see him standing over me, there are tears but also a new acceptance.

  I nod my head as best I can whilst he is still holding my hair in his fist. “I will bear it,” I say, my voice breaking.

  He leans in toward me, his face just an inch from mine, those blue pools burning into me. “You will bear it,” he replies, his hot breath against my face, “and I will love you for it.”

  We remain there for a moment—suspended in time—my breathing hard and fast as I crouch at his feet. Then slowly, he moves away and, releasing my hair, he settles himself on the wooden chest, before beckoning to me. I crawl the few inches to where he now sits, before rising to my knees and then finally my feet. I contemplate my fate as his left hand pats his strong legs, showing me where I should now reside. Then wordlessly I drape myself over his lap as I have done before, my head and arms falling forward over his legs and the edge of the chest, leaving my rump deliciously exposed to his right hand. Instinctively I open my legs wider as I gather myself, already feeling his fingers tracing their invisible lines over my still smarting behind.

  I catch my breath, wishing absentmindedly for a distraction or for the ordeal just to begin and be over with. Based on his warnings I have no expectation to actually enjoy this spanking, but I know in my heart that it will help to heal the bond between us. After some moments of teasing and caressing my behind, his hand stills. My body tenses even before his words fill the air.

  “Let us begin then…” he says sternly.

  Chapter Twenty-One: Mastery

  His hand leaves my bottom and returns there with some force. A gasp leaves my open mouth as the sound of the impact fills the space. It had been harder than I was prepared for and already smarts against my previously spanked skin.

  “I want you to count the strikes, Aurelie,” he calls from above me. “Count each and thank me.”

  I ready myself to speak, still consumed by the pain reverberating from my behind. “One, and thank you, my Lofðungr,” I say, my voice already husky from the sensation.

  “Good,” he replies as the second spank lands between both of my cheeks.

  I exhale again at the force he has used and know that my ass must be flaming red already. I number the strike for Anders, thanking him for the punishment and then squeeze my eyes shut in preparation for the next. A torrent of blows rains down on me, hard and yet fast, giving me very little time to speak before the next. By the time I am naming the eighth strike I am choking back fresh tears. As he had warned, this spanking really does hurt and instinctively I want to hide from the pain, even if I might deserve it.

  As the ninth spank finds my exposed cheeks, my right hand moves reflexively to my behind to try and block the torment. Anders’ left hand, which had been resting gently on my back, is there in an instant and grabs hold of my wrist.

  “You will not prevent your prince from exacting your punishment!” he hisses at me with indignation.

  “I am sorry,” I sob from over his lap, “but it is too much!” />
  He moves my unruly wrist and places it into my lower back, holding it firmly in place.

  “Is it not what you deserve, my captive?” he goads. “Is it not what you deserve for desiring another man whilst belonging to me?”

  A new wave of misery falls over me as he speaks and simultaneously lands the tenth strike.

  “Well?” He is shouting now, clearly beyond irritated with me. “What did you expect?”

  “I do deserve it,” I whimper after I have numbered the strike. “Thank you, my Lofðungr!”

  “Yes—you—do!” he cries, punctuating each word with a new strike against my fleshy rump.

  I sob openly as I try to keep up with the numbers.

  “You have shamed yourself with Magnus at my celebration feast, humiliating us both and threatening these growing feelings we share! You will be punished, my captive—until I am satisfied!”

  His words rain over me like hailstorms as the spanking continues, inflicting their own pain and ignominy. By number eighteen, Anders raises his right leg slightly, tipping my hips backward and enabling the next strike to hit my now sodden folds. I yelp at this new and unexpected hurt and he laughs, pausing for a moment to drag a digit down my wet lips.

  “So you do enjoy your punishment?” he asks sardonically.

  I choke back another sob, trying to inhale. There is little point in denying my arousal at the pain he delivers.

  “Yes,” I whimper, silently pleading with him to continue his investigations and allow my ass a reprieve. Acknowledging my desperation, he dips one and then two digits into my wetness and fingers me leisurely. The feeling of him owning me in this way is incredible and after a moment I am squirming over his lap, willing my body a little more friction to bring my own release. Sensing my frustration, I hear him laugh.

  “There will be little pleasure for you, my captive—remember?”

  And then without warning he withdraws his fingers from my needy core and resumes my punishment with three further unforgiving strikes to my flaming rear. I groan in frustration and pain, but know I must accept my penalty.

  He presses the wrist he had been holding in place into the small of my back. “Do not move this or I will add another twenty strikes, do you understand?” he hisses.

  As I respond in the affirmative, his left arm rises up my back, finds the ends of my hair and grabs a handful of it. He tugs at the hair in his hand, forcing my head back and up at his command.

  “Keep your head up,” he barks over me. “I want to hear you.”

  As he continues I number the blows, and by the time we reach number twenty-five I am really starting to mean it when I thank him. With my head, neck, and chest forced up, my legs still spread apart, and my ass punished over and over again, that strange feeling is beginning to come over me again. I begin to feel little more than a thing—his thing—a thing to be used, fingered, and punished as and when he chooses. A thing with no will of its own—existing only to serve his desires. The acknowledgement of my objectification fills my mind, sending me into some sort of dreamlike reality. I can still feel the impact of his hand against my flaming skin and I hear the correct words rolling from my own mouth, and yet somehow I am not really present during the deed.

  In my mind I picture us and how we would look if someone were to enter Anders’ private quarters. The sounds and smells of my punishment and my unrelenting arousal fill the air around me, consuming me and fuelling my own desire. I reach some kind of epiphany moment; an acknowledgement that I truly desire to belong to Anders. This is a side of myself I had never dreamed existed. Feisty little Aurelie, the only surviving daughter of King Harold—a worthy swordswoman by ten—actually enjoys being manhandled and punished at the whim of this Viking! The thought sends new shivers running along my spine.

  I have just numbered thirty-eight strikes when his left hand finally relents, releasing my hair and allowing me to fall forward over the edge of the box again. I feel the pressure of his body as he doubles over me and then the soft sensation of his lips as they make contact with my punished and sore behind. Even this gentlest caress is sore and a small yelp leaves my lips before I can contain it.

  “Aurelie,” he whispers, his own voice now a husky growl. “You are delectable—sent from the gods to please me.”

  A sound leaves my mouth in response, although I cannot decipher any words. My breathing is laboured and hampered by the low sobs that still catch in my throat. He kisses my rump again, spreading small caresses all over the area. I can feel the unbelievable heat rising from my skin and imagine how it must be warming his face.

  “Up now,” he says softly.

  It takes me some seconds to react to the request and then slowly I rise, still feeling dazed. I pause in a kneeling position by his side, watching his face through tearstained eyes and wondering if my punishment is really over or—as he had promised—if there is still more to come.

  For his part Anders watches me in return and as he rises to stand once more, he turns and rubs away my tears with his large thumbs. He lowers one of them to my mouth and I kiss it, tasting the saltiness of my own misery. It’s a small act of gentleness after the recent onslaught, but it helps to calm me.

  “Present yourself to me, my captive,” he whispers seductively. “Put your hands behind your head and show me those fabulous breasts.”

  I comply almost immediately, ignoring the ongoing protests from my arms.

  “Lovely,” he says and he sounds pleased. I relish the thought as I watch him disappear from my eye line back toward where we had been seated earlier. He returns a moment later, reseating himself and holding the plate of fresh fruits. I recognise it to be the variety that has been used as an impromptu gag for me. There are several slices of the fleshy fruit already cut and he picks one of these up in his large digits, before moving his hand toward me.

  “Open,” he commands.

  I open my lips just in time for the soft fruit to be dropped inside. I close my mouth and begin to chew, enjoying the delicious juice as it hits the back of my throat. I eye him as I eat, my elbows still wide at my neck and wonder what he has planned for me next. It feels as though one moment he is happy to spank me raw and then next he wants to look after me. He seems to enjoy switching from one character to the next, but I find the unspoken transitions almost impossible to keep up with.

  Anders makes eye contact with me and instinctively I look away, not wishing to offend him any further. “No,” he says, his voice calm. “Look at me at all times unless I tell you otherwise.”

  I drag my eyes back to his as I swallow the last of the fruit, feeling my nipples tightening again at the surging energy between us.

  “Good,” he says again. “Now open…”

  He drops another piece of fruit into my mouth and it continues this way for some time. Anders commands me with only a few words and no restraints. I remain passive, kneeling with my knees and arms wide, and my breasts pushed forward on display for him. My ass is inflamed behind me and I swear it must have at least tripled in size from my recent spanking, but I do my best to ignore its protests. I keep my eyes on this giant of a Viking at all times as instructed, only taking the next piece of food at his request.

  Once the peach-like offering has been finished, Anders offers me his large digits, which are covered in the sweet and tasty juice. “Lick them clean,” he instructs me, his voice still that quiet authority.

  I lean forward, still kneeling next to him and lap at the three fingers and the thumb. Obediently I lick the digits clean, continuing to watch him as I drag my tongue over and around them. His own eyes, alive with passion, never leave mine, as though they are transfixed by the act. Once they are clean, he moves his head toward mine, moving his thumb and one finger away from my mouth.

  “Suck,” he orders me.

  I watch his face moving ever closer as I wrap my hot mouth around the remaining fingers and draw them inside of me. Slowly I take them all in, before pulling backward to reveal them again. I draw them in
once more, relishing the act and recalling how I had taken his manhood into my mouth this way. His eyes remain focussed on me, although there is a growing look of torment about them and I wonder if he too is thinking about which other parts of him would feel good between my lips.

  I suck on those long digits until he pulls them out of my mouth and uses the same hand to prop my chin up again. The tension in my body is growing, heightened by my submissive pose and the intimacy of my recent feeding. The bud between my legs pulses with need and I realise with shame that my folds are well and truly sodden with my desire. I know Anders realises this and I also know he has promised to do little to sate my need.

  “We are halfway through your punishment, my sweeting.”

  His breath is hot and smells like wine. It feels intoxicating to me.

  “Is there anything you would like to say before we continue?”

  Anxiety leaps in my belly at this question. I know now that my ordeal is not over and the thought crushes me. How much more will I be able to take?

  “I am sorry for letting you down, my Lofðungr,” I sniff, trying not to allow the tears to resume.

  “I know,” he says soothingly, pressing his temple into my forehead. “I feel your contrition and I know it is real. Yet I cannot conclude your punishment so soon—I hope you understand that?”

  I nod my head against his miserably. “Yes,” I sob.

  “You will suffer for me and then once I deem it to be sufficient, I will take you again.” I raise my head slightly to look at him as he speaks. “I will claim every inch of you, Aurelie,” he says, those eyes drilling into me. “And I will claim your mind too. I want it so that no other man ever gets into there again. It will just be me, Aurelie. You will belong to me.”

  “Yes,” I reply again, feeling the fervour in my body responding to his words. I would gladly offer him anything to release this burning tension within me, even my darkest and now only virgin entrance.