The Viking's Conquest

by Felicity Brandon

  “But first—before the pleasure—there must be pain.”

  He regards me with dark eyes, somehow waiting for my consent on the subject. I pull my eyes shut briefly, taking a deep breath. “Then please continue my punishment, my Lofðungr,” I say quietly. “For I do submit to you and I do so want to be yours!”

  His lips are on mine almost as the words leave them. Hungrily his mouth finds me, possessing me and soaking up some of my frustrated fear. Then he is gone, leaving me with one further chaste kiss to the lips.

  “Relax then,” he says, “and go and stand by the bedpost, my captive.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two: Ravaged

  I wait for Anders, having followed his every instruction to the letter. My arms are outstretched and holding onto the right wooden post of his canopied bed. The sturdy wood is more than my small fists can manage, but it takes the burden as I lean forward from my hips. I shift my weight between my spread-eagled legs, demonstrating some of the nervous energy that is whipping around my body. There are no binds holding me in place, just my desire to submit to this man’s will.

  Behind me I hear small noises, the sounds of movement as Anders makes his way around the space. He has promised to thrash me against the post and the idea is utterly terrifying. I have never been thrashed with anything before in my life and a bitter mixture of resentment and arousal encircles me at the prospect. I clench the muscles of my sex together and try to control my breathing, but there’s no hope for it; the promise of what’s to come is just too daunting.

  Finally, I hear his footsteps behind me, but for the longest time he stills and there is no action and no communication. I want desperately to be able to turn and regard Anders, but he had made his feelings on that subject quite clear to me, advising me that any look at all will earn me another ten thrashes. I realise in frustration that he must be watching me—just standing there behind me and watching my twitching, outstretched nudity. The thought sends a new shiver of excitement through me, knowing that all I can do is wait. Wait to be instructed and wait to be punished.

  I rest my head against my right shoulder as I stand here in anticipation of what is to come. All I can hear are the sounds of my own frantic breaths and the faint noise of shouting and festivities from beyond the pavilion. Anders’ voice breaks through the now tangible silence in the room.

  “Arch your back, my captive,” he purrs from behind me.

  I jump at his words, but do my best to comply at once, sticking my reddened ass out as he has requested.

  “Better,” he says and his voice is louder this time. “Keep it that way whilst I punish you.”

  I mumble my intention to do so as I hear his footfall moving around to my right. He arrives at the side of my bedpost and finally into my eye line.

  “I have a gift for you,” he says gleefully, “Or more precisely, I have two gifts for you.”

  I turn my head to face him, watching as he reveals his open palm to me. Inside are two pretty looking cloak pins, rather like the ones I had worn previously myself in another life. They look rather expensive, the metal formed into an exquisitely designed ring; a near complete circle with two small flat ends not quite touching at both sides. There is a length of the same metal running down the middle of the ring.

  “Cloak pins, my Lofðungr?” I ask, unsure of what to make of this new development.

  “Yes,” he smiles, clearly enjoying my response. “Cloak pins, but this time to decorate you and not my cloak.”

  He moves closer to me and leans in to my body from around the side of the post.

  “Take this one in your mouth whilst I fasten the first,” he instructs, pushing the cold metal toward my lips. I open for him, pressing my mouth down on the hard foreign object, whilst I watch what he does with the other. My fascination is soon turned to horror as I begin to realise just what he has in mind.

  “This pin will decorate my favourite breasts, making them even more delightful!”

  He reaches for my right breast, hanging in front of my body and immediately begins to manipulate the bud, lengthening and squeezing the nipple.

  “No!” I gasp around the pin, fully acknowledging his intentions, but knowing it’s too late. With my arms outstretched to the post there is little I can do to protect my nipple and even before I can think clearly, he has begun to push my beaded bud through the ring. I feel the cold metal encircling it until there is no more space, and even then Anders moves it onward. The straight length of metal is now pushing hard against the edge of my nipple whilst the circle of the ring embraces higher up the bud. It feels tight and intrusive, pinching the very delicate area of skin around my areola.

  He moves backward, admiring his handiwork and smiling before he darts behind me and reaches for my left breast, pinching the nipple hard. I groan against the ring in my mouth and Anders smiles. He reaches for it, tugging it from my lips and working it onto my left nipple as he had done with the right one. Within a few moments both of my breasts are dressed with Viking cloak pins, the metal maintaining a constant pressure on my aching buds. I want to recoil at this latest indignation, feeling once again like the hog about to be presented at a banquet, and yet the low-lying tension at my breasts begins to stir and swell the desire in me. My nipples are throbbing and sending pulses of arousal through my core to my womb itself. There’s no doubt, these adornments will drive me insane in the most exquisite and sensual way.

  “I knew you’d like them!”

  Anders’ voice comes from behind me again and I realise he has made his way back to my rear. I lean forward, again resting my head against my outstretched right arm, trying to manage my accelerated breathing.

  “Now it is time, my captive.” His voice punctuates the silence once again. “Time to resume and conclude your penance. Time to make you mine.”

  I take a deep breath at his words, drawing as much air into my body as I can. Behind me there comes the faint swishing sound of something moving fast through the air and then the crack as that something impacts against my skin. I actually jump at the delivery, my body raising at least an inch from the rug at my feet and I feel my newly decorated nipples bounce against their own bondage. This time the strike lands at the very top of my waiting thighs, where my legs meet my bottom. The pain is quick, yet intense and feels like some type of large sting, whipping across me in an instant. Despite all of this my hands remain steadfastly attached to the bedpost.

  A loud moan leaves my lips as I acknowledge this new punishment. My mind reels as I consider what he may be using to lash me with. The impact was fast, yet the implement felt flexible somehow, unlike a conventional cane. It takes every ounce of my willpower not to sneak a look at whatever he is holding, but I remember his warning and keep my face where it belongs—against my trembling arms. Anders says nothing and appears to wait for me to catch my breath again before he resumes.

  The second strike is harder, but this time I am braced for the type of pain and I expect it. I manage to keep my feet on the floor, although I seem unable to prevent the noises coming from my mouth. I grip onto the wood in front of me, using it more for support than bondage now.

  “Do you like to be whipped this way, Aurelie?”

  I can hear the tension in his voice and I realise with some relief that he too is struggling in his own way, although presumably more with arousal than torment. I understand enough about my own peculiar desires now to know that my own arousal will be inspired by this treatment too.

  “I—I’m not sure, my Lofðungr,” I reply breathlessly.

  He lands the third strike, which catches me swiftly across the underside of my thighs and my out-turned sex. I wince at the pain, drawing in air between my teeth, before allowing it to wash over me.

  “How so, my captive?” he asks, his question cutting through my mind, which is still spinning from the latest impact.

  “It hurts!” I whimper, almost pathetically, “and yet… I cannot say that I do not enjoy its contact.”

  I feel my face colour
at the admission. It’s the first time I have confessed to enjoy my punishments since he had me in a frenzy over his knee yesterday and that now feels like an age ago. As I consider my wilful submission, I hear his footfall moving around to the right of me. Instinctively I move my face just a fraction, but it’s enough to make out his physique towering next to me and what he is holding in his hands.

  He eyes my body, seemingly aligning himself for his next shot and appears unaware that I am watching him. He raises his right hand and for the first time I get a good look at my latest implement of derision. To my shock it appears to be nothing more than a medium-length piece of leather, like the sort I had been gagged with. The item itself is a few inches wide, black in colour, and hangs limply in his hard grip. Then without warning he strikes me with it, sending the thing whipping through the air with speed until it makes contact with my waiting body. This time—deliberately—he has chosen to land the strike solely on my needy wet folds; the impact of which makes me yelp out loud and momentarily squeeze my eyes shut. Then as I soak up the initial sting, that miraculous thing begins to transpire and a new, strong shoot of arousal spikes from the pain. My sex, already aching with unspent desire absorbs the hurt and takes it, using it to create something pleasurable. In its place, where the agony had been, a sinful arousal is created, and I actually feel my thighs dampen.

  I open my eyes to find him there watching my responses carefully. He smiles as I acknowledge him, reaching forward to remove my hair, which has taken to clinging to my hot face.

  “And how is the contact now?” he asks me, although the look in his eyes suggests that he knows the answer already.

  I swallow hard. Somehow admitting these things out loud is more difficult than confessing them to myself. “Better, my Lofðungr,” I murmur, too embarrassed to maintain eye contact with him, but I see his smile widen to a grin at my answer.

  He raises the piece of leather and whips me with it again. This time he moves to the front of my body, aiming it between my legs. It impacts against my wetness and catches my pulsing bud in the most agonisingly sweet way. I draw the air in between my teeth again, relishing this new pain and indignation. Unbelievably the pain there is so good I imagine it would only take a few swift strikes to bring me to a shattering climax. I marvel at myself; this objectified mess, dreaming of this piece of leather whipping me into the peak of pleasure. I barely even recognise who I have become.

  Again the leather strikes me between my legs and now, instead of a yelp of protest, a low moan escapes my lips. By the seventh strike my hips actually move forward as he releases the leather, bucking to receive their punishment. I stand, legs spread wide and still grasping onto the bedpost, almost unable to believe how my body is responding to this situation.

  The right hand that had adjusted my hair falls south, caressing and then squeezing my pinned breasts. I moan shamelessly at this new, exquisite contact, silently begging him for more by lifting my head upward and extending my body; pushing my bosom out to meet his palms. Anders moves his body closer to mine until I can feel his heat and that warm breath at my face. I turn my face to the right and see him just a few inches from me. Instinctively I open my mouth at the proximity, willing him to kiss me. As though he is reading my mind he does so, leaning in close to me before taking my mouth in that quiet, dominating way. His lips are on mine before I can take a breath, his tongue darting inside my mouth and claiming me. By the time the kiss concludes I am utterly desperate for him, a fact I am certain my eyes reveal.

  “Aurelie,” he whispers darkly, leaning over me and resting his temples against the top of my head.

  “My Lofðungr,” I gasp, feeling myself panting yet again.

  His left hand moves slowly from the back of my neck, down my trembling skin to the curve of my inflamed ass. I wince reflexively as he makes contact there, but relax a little as his fingers sweep over my orbs and down into the wetness of my folds. I feel one and then two of those long digits claim me, plunging into my desire and pleasuring me. I know I am groaning again as I grip onto the post for dear life.

  “You are so very wet, my little captive,” he chuckles as he explores me.

  I writhe uncontrollably in front of him. Whilst he fingers me from behind, his right hand continues to manipulate my breasts, which are still decorated with his large metallic cloak pins. I squirm futilely between both of his hands, loving how helpless and wanton I feel. With no bondage at all I feel like a small animal caught in his devious trap, all too aware that he will want to eat me up at any moment… And how I desire to be devoured!

  His fingers maintain a perfect rhythm, winding up my body and making it a thing existing only for Anders. I pant as I try to absorb all of the sensations at once: the ignominy and pain of the punishment, the pleasure of this new intimacy, and the swelling joy of the metal encasing my engorged nipples. I feel Anders’ hardness straining against my right thigh and I want him inside me. Soon I find myself pushing back onto those digits, willing them to be replaced with his own masterful erection.

  “It is time, my sweeting,” he says, whispering directly into my right ear.

  I turn my head to face him again, daring to open my eyes and see him. His own eyes are cloaked in desire, the usual deep blue now much, much darker.

  “Stay right there. I am going to fuck you just the way you are and ravage your sweet, juicy sex.”

  Before I can respond he withdraws his fingers from me, casually sucking them clean in front of my face, before moving behind me and between my legs. I feel his ankles wedging themselves at my own outstretched feet and then the pressure of his clothed body against my tender nakedness. His left arm snakes around my body, stroking my waist and the curve of my midriff before again finding my breasts. The other hand works on his own clothing, freeing his manhood and then manoeuvring my hips backward again.

  “Keep that punished little behind out for me,” he purrs into my ear as he positions himself behind me and I do so, pushing my wetness out to meet him.

  I feel the head of his cock at my entrance and I nearly groan with impatient desire. Never before have I wanted to be filled like this—never before have I needed to be fucked so badly.

  “Do you want me to fuck you, Aurelie?”

  The question feels more like a demand than a query.

  “Oh, gods, yes, my Lofðungr!” I exclaim and I mean it. “Yes, please—make me yours again!”

  He grabs my right hip in his palm and pushes himself into me, delving deeper into my core than ever before. I squeeze my muscles against him as he takes me, clenching and releasing them as he possesses me in a frenzy of lust and tension. The feeling of him filling and stretching me is simply wondrous and I try to capture the sensation in my mind so that I may never forget just how divine it is. Slowly he withdraws from my wetness before pressing back into me. I throw my head back over his muscular shoulder, relishing his proximity to my body. All of a sudden the feeling of his flesh against my inflamed ass is no longer painful and to be avoided, but a sensation of tenderness and intimacy to be sought and preserved at all costs. He caused the hurt as a penance, to absolve me, and this act of lovemaking will help to heal it. The act closes the distance that had opened between us and draws us back together; Anders the Viking master and me, little Aurelie, his wet and wanton woman.

  We remain this way for some time, locked together in the most intimate manner, him feeding my hungry desire and me calling out for more of him. Gradually Anders shifts his weight, moving back to his heels and taking my body with him. Then without warning, he withdraws from me altogether, leaving me wanting. I turn my head to look at him for the first time as he speaks.

  “Let go of the bedpost,” he says from behind me, his voice a breathless whisper. “Move over the edge of the bed.”

  I do as he commands without comment or complaint, skipping the few steps left to the waiting end of his oversized bed. I bend myself over the wooden skirt, leaning into the soft covers under the matching canopy. I hear him moving b
ehind me until I feel the brush of his clothing against the back of my calf.

  “That’s it, good girl,” he purrs. “Stretch out your arms onto the bed in front of you and spread those legs wide.”

  I move my hands down the cool cover, straightening my arms and widening my legs as instructed. There are no further words from Anders and for a long moment I remain there, bent over the cover, waiting. Knowing how he loves to tease me, I try not to allow my mind to wander too much and consider what he may now have in store. Instead I concentrate on breathing, drawing the air in through my nose and taking long, slow breaths out through my lips.

  All at once I feel his hot breath against the inside of my right thigh and feel his palms as they press against the backs of my legs. The unexpected sensations startle me, but I remain passive, now curious to know what will transpire. The feeling of his mouth on my out-turned sex registers and instinctively I gasp. Whatever I had expected him to do, it was not this! I feel the soft bristles of his beard and then the warm wetness of his lips as they caress this most sensitive area, tracing kisses from the top of my left leg, past the lips of my sex and onward to the right leg.

  “You are delicious, Aurelie,” he concludes thoughtfully after trailing a fresh line of kisses over my exposed behind. “Like nectar from the gods!”

  “Thank you, my Lofðungr,” I murmur into the bedclothes. I almost cannot believe the sensations his mouth is creating, especially after the recent brutality of my punishments. He switches from the savage invader to the tender master with disconcerting ease.

  “I am going to devour you, my captive.”

  I shiver as his breath sends a fresh chill of excitement through my body. Pushing my hips further against the wood, I force my body into a more extreme arch, presenting myself for him.

  “Do you understand?” he asks, his breath exhilarating me almost as much as his kisses.