Claimed by the Kings by Loki Renard – Extended Preview

The moment the door to her chamber opened to reveal two masculine figures standing side by side, Elizabeth knew she was in trouble. There was something stern and staunch about their demeanor, something that suggested an intent she would not enjoy.

Milo’s handsome face, which usually carried at least a hint of good humor, was entirely devoid of any merriment. And Ragnar, he looked as fierce as any barbarian could. Twin trickles of fear and arousal raced through her body as she sat up in bed, wrapped her arms about her knees, and watched them come closer with no small measure of trepidation.

“Remove your dress, princess,” Milo ordered. “You will be punished nude.”

“Punished? For what?”

“Attempting to manipulate us.”

“Attempting?” She let the question hang in the air. There was little point playing innocent now. She had not been subtle and clearly they had worked out their differences before coming to her. Now there were two very large, very capable, very determined men, one of whom was holding a thick leather belt, the other who picked up one of her satin slippers on his way in.

“I don’t think that will fit you, Ragnar,” she said with a smile that was a little too bright. “But I’d like to see you try to put it on. Pink is your color.”

“Red is yours, princess,” Ragnar growled at her. “Bright red.”

“You’re indulging in rather a lot of attitude this evening,” Milo observed calmly. He was very composed; they both were, actually. Elizabeth did not know how they had discharged their earlier anger, but it was entirely absent. She wasn’t sure that was a good sign for her. “Remove your dress, princess,” he repeated.

“Why? Do you want to wear it? Will you wear my dress and he my shoes?” She was far past the point of simple rudeness, but what did it matter now. “The two of you will not make very pretty sisters, but perhaps better ladies than kings.”

Milo’s calm might have been unassailable, but Ragnar’s patience came to an abrupt and dramatic end. The barbarian laid hold of her, pulled her onto her stomach, and flipped the dress up over her head in one easy motion, revealing the length of her squirming thighs, the rounds of her bottom, the neat curve and flair of her hips. He wrapped his powerful palm around one calf and tugged the dress further, peeling it off her squirming body in one swift motion.

Now entirely naked, Elizabeth defended herself from punishment by hurling the first pillow that came to hand. It did very little to weaken Ragnar’s grip on her leg, and absolutely nothing to stop the sudden sting that blazed across her ass as the sole of the slipper met her bottom. Elizabeth shrieked, took hold of another pillow and did her best to curl up on herself and beat Ragnar with the soft weapon. He still had hold of her leg, but she was able to twist and wield the pillow several times, a soft flumph sound emitting with every direct strike to his broad body.

“Unhand me, you vile barbarian!”

“Settle, princess,” Milo censured her, snatching the pillow from her hands. “You are being punished. I expect decorum from you.”

Elizabeth stuck her tongue out and thumbed her nose. She owed these men no respect, no decorum, nothing at all. They would have to wrest submission from her, much like Milo had wrested the pillow.

Ragnar bought the slipper down twice more, once to each cheek. Even with relatively little force it stung like blazes. She would have kicked him if he didn’t have one leg in his hand and if the other had not been tangled in the sheets of her bed. Even the furnishings were against her, so it seemed.

“Settle down,” Milo said, clamping his large hand on the back of her neck. She was pinned against the bed, unable to move thanks to being held down by both of her lovers. In that position she was kept and spanked with the slipper well over a dozen more times, her flesh heated sharply with each and every slap.

She whimpered with the unfairness of it all. Did they truly expect her not to give them any resistance at all? Had her words been worthy of being held in place and punished like some errant maid? It was all deeply embarrassing for Elizabeth, from the indignity of her position, to the pain in her bottom, to the growing response between her thighs.

“You will speak respectfully,” Milo lectured as Ragnar thrashed her. “You will mind your tongue and you will accept that there are consequences for disobedience. You are ours, princess, and we have expectations that will be enforced in ways you will not enjoy.”

It was rather a redundant statement, given that her bottom was being soundly and relentlessly belabored with her own footwear by a barbarian more than twice her size.

“Naughty girl,” Ragnar added, standing erect to survey the results of his handiwork. Elizabeth didn’t know what her bottom looked like, but it felt hot and swollen and she could feel the sting somehow still singing on even though Ragnar had put the slipper down—and picked up the belt.

“No!” she squealed. “Not the belt!”

Ragnar doubled it over, snapping the leather against itself with a loud crack that made her cringe. His dark eyes were lit with purpose that would not bend to her pleas. Elizabeth reached back to cover her bottom with both hands and simultaneously squirmed up onto her knees so she could face them.

“This isn’t fair,” she said. “I mean, it’s not, is it?” She looked at the two kings with a desperation in her eyes that did not do a thing to dissuade them. “What are you punishing me for? What did I do that was so wrong? I went to the market, I returned…”

“Bend over and present your bottom,” Ragnar snapped.

She focused the entire intensity of her dismay upon him, her green eyes filling with tears. “Please… Ragnar… I have done all you asked of me.”

“You have fought us from the moment we walked in here,” Ragnar said mercilessly. “Bend over, princess.”

“Very well,” she said with a deep sigh. “I have no choice.”

She hoped her feigned obedience would earn her some mercy as she turned around and bent over so that her bottom was high and her head was low.

The first crack of the belt against her bottom took her breath away. Ragnar wielded the thing with what felt like the full force of his arm and to Elizabeth’s senses it was as if cannon fire had burst across her cheeks in a blazing salvo that made a cry burst forth from her lips.

He laid several more like it across her cheeks, striping from the top of her quivering bottom to the top of her thighs. She lost the ability to retain position within a stroke or two and thereafter simply writhed upon the bed, her legs scissoring and flailing in a futile attempt to discharge some of the heat and sting.

By the time Ragnar was done with her, her hips were dancing in desperate fashion, her pussy grinding against the bedding, not out of any arousal she was aware of, but out of necessity. The only way to escape the belt was to move away from it. The only way to move away from it was to press her squirming body against the bed.

“She’s wet,” Ragnar declared suddenly, tossing the belt to the side.

“Soaking,” Milo agreed.

On the verge of real tears, Elizabeth was sure the both of them were utterly mad—until the barbarian ran his fingers between her thighs and she felt the slickness of her lower lips for herself as he thrust two thick digits deep into her clenching cunt.

“Oh, my…” Her fingers clutched at the sheets in erotic desperation as Ragnar pushed his fingers deep inside her and twisted them slowly, making the most of her wetness.

“She likes this too much,” Ragnar said, talking to Milo almost as if Elizabeth were not even there, certainly as if her tender pussy were not stretched around his thick fingers. “This will not do. She will come and what will she learn?”

“Hold her there,” Milo said. “I have something which will help.”

Elizabeth was held there on the bed, squirming with a very sore bottom as Ragnar slowly pumped his fingers in and out of her. Milo was gone for several minutes, during with the barbarian seemed to lose patience with the wait. His fingers slid out of her body, his impressively powerful bulk eclipsed the light of the moon as he rose over her prone form, and his hard cock pushed deep into her tender depths in one long, mutually satisfying stroke.

She let out a gasp of pleasure pain, for her bottom was still very sore, but Ragnar’s cock felt wonderful inside her.

“Don’t you dare come, princess,” he growled in her ear. “This is not for your pleasure.”

It may not have been for her to enjoy, but there was no way Elizabeth could not feel good as his cock slowly sluiced in and out of her tight, wet cunt.

Milo re-entered the room just as Ragnar started to pick up the pace. He picked Elizabeth up too, denying her the chance to rub her clit against the bed. Instead he stood upright and fucked her facing away from his body, his strength impressive as he lifted her up and down on his thick root time and time again, displaying her to Milo as he did.

Elizabeth found herself moaning and writhing on Ragnar’s cock as Milo gave her his sternest look, reminding her that this was punishment and she was not supposed to be getting pleasure out of it. He couldn’t stop the way her body responded though. Her lower muscles were tightening, she could feel the tingling in her clit start to escalate, she was on the verge and…

Ragnar pulled her from his cock and set her on her knees on the bed, facing him.

“Open your mouth,” Ragnar grunted.

Elizabeth did as she was told and he pushed his cock into her mouth, taking her head in his hands as he took the last few thrusts toward climax over her tongue and spilled his seed in several spurting torrents over the back of her tongue and down her throat.

She swallowed eagerly, her arousal making his cum taste delicious. Her pussy was wet and willing for more and she looked at Milo in the hopes that he would be overcome by his ardor and wish to take his turn.

Unfortunately, it was not so. He was holding something in his hands. Something shiny and made of metal, something…

“No!”

“Before you think of rubbing that little bud to climax when you are alone, this should remind you that you are being punished,” Milo said firmly as he stepped forward and slid a silver belt about her waist.

It was made of a light chain mail that was about an inch wide. That was not too concerning alone, but the piece of molded silver on the front gave her more cause for concern as Milo pushed it between her thighs and fastened it at the back. She was now wearing a chastity belt.

“No,” she said. “Please…”

“The next time you climax, it will be as a reward for good behavior,” Milo informed her. “Now, go to bed and get some sleep. I will expect you to have a much more pleasant and considered demeanor in the morning.”

Milo and Ragnar left her abruptly with her mouth still hanging open in surprise. She heard the door to her chamber lock from the outside. Elizabeth realized then that her plan could not have gone more awry if she had tried. Not only were Milo and Ragnar not at one another’s throats, she was utterly alone, totally unsated, and wearing a piece of hardware that denied her access to her own genitals. Any one of those things alone would have disturbed her, but together they left her utterly infuriated.

She vowed vengeance on both of them, not just for spanking her so soundly, but for leaving her so wet and wanting. Ragnar had spilled his seed and taken his pleasure, but she was still burning with desire and there was no way to satisfy herself thanks to the metal ensconcing her mound.

But what could she do? What rebellion was possible when one was locked in a tower room with a chastity belt making finding her own climax impossible? She paced in circles, her ire rising with every circuit of the room… and then she remembered what she had forgotten. As the silver moon rose high in the sky, casting an ethereal light over her room, the vial still secreted in the folds of her day dress seemed to call her.

Elizabeth plucked it out between her fingers and held it up, the contents dark and mysterious. What was it the old woman had said about the brew? She could barely remember anymore. All she knew was that it was guaranteed to have some effect, and perhaps it would take the edge off her irritation. Milo and Ragnar had left her without so much as a drop of wine to sup upon. An argument could be made that she utterly had to drink the brew. It was the only logical thing to do.

With tentative fingers, she removed the cork stopper and immediately thrust the little vial away from her. A pungent stench was emanating from it, something earthy and rotting and foul. Under any other circumstances, Elizabeth would never have considered drinking such a concoction, but this was her one opportunity for rebellion and she was motivated through sheer bloody mindedness to take it.

Pinching her nose with the fingers of one hand, she brought the vial to her lips. It was a very small amount of liquid, and if she drank it quickly enough she was sure she would not taste it at all. Gathering her courage, she tipped her head back and let the dark brew flow over her tongue.

That was a mistake. She should have tossed it all directly to the back of her throat. The taste was even worse than the smell, so much so that barely half of the vial made it down before the disgusting taste made her entire body shudder so forcefully that the vial fell from her fingers, shattered on the flagstone floor and cast the remnants of the liquid across the stone.

“Oh, my…” Elizabeth put her hands to her head. Already she did not feel well.

The effects seemed to compound on themselves by the second. Within minutes of drinking the brew her stomach was churning, her knees were weak, and her body was beginning to sweat from every pore. Elizabeth let out a groan as she collapsed onto her bed and began to writhe. Her mind was hazy, filled with disjointed thoughts and heated visions that made everything she looked at seem to swim and grow teeth. She looked out the window and did not see the moon, but rather a great silvery dragon with mouth open wide, poised to consume her entirely.

“Help!” she cried out in terror. “Help! I shall be eaten!”

The dragon drew back and then surged forward, lunging toward the window. All around her the walls seemed to shake and tremble, each of the flagstones of the floor were moving, sliding around one another in some great maze of motion her befuddled gaze could not begin to follow.

The bed was the only safe space in the room—until the silken coverlets began to turn to water and she started to splash among them. There was something around her waist, she suddenly realized with a high-pitched shriek, something that seemed to be consuming her with great metal teeth…

When Elizabeth began to yell not a quarter hour after they had left her on her own, Milo’s first impulse was to ignore her. She was trying to get his attention and he was quite determined that she should not have it. The spoiled princess needed to learn a lesson about who was in control and who was not.

He opened his door and stood in the hall, listening. Ragnar came up the stairs and did much the same thing.

“Help! I am dying! I am done for! I am already dead!”

“Either she is actually dying, or she is the best actress in Ammerdale,” Ragnar growled, starting for the door. Milo followed in his wake, quite concerned by the desperation in her cries.

It was Ragnar who burst through the door first, Milo following after him. They found Elizabeth quite delirious, tossing and turning on the bed. The sheets were sticking to her with the excess perspiration, winding about her limbs and increasing her panic as she flailed at her waist.

“It’s eating me! The dragon has me in its mouth! It has me!”

Her fingers were red from scrabbling at the chastity belt, which she had clearly mistaken for some kind of voracious creature.

“Shhhh…” Milo went to her side. She looked at him with glassy, unfocused eyes.

“A golden angel! Save me, golden angel!” She clutched at him most desperately and implored him for help from the very bottom of her soul.

“She is ill,” Milo said grimly as he began to remove the belt that was causing her such distress. “Shhh, princess. I am taking it off.”

“The dragon ate half of me!” Elizabeth cried. “The good half!”

“Shhhh,” Milo repeated, attempting to calm her. “You are in one piece, lie still now.”

“I cannot! I will drown!”

Her cries would have been comical if she were not so distressed. She had utterly lost touch with the reality of the world about her. Milo had never seen a person so very ill before. Seeing Elizabeth in such a state disturbed him to his very core. He did not know what to do with the writhing young lady who seemed to be so ill. In that moment he would have given anything to have her back to her old insolent self.

“There are little dragons swimming in the water,” Elizabeth burbled. “Or are they crocodiles? Will they smile at me? Do not smile, crocodiles, I do not trust you at all.”