The Viking’s Conquest by Felicity Brandon – Extended Preview

Magnus presses me forward toward Anders, who has now re-seated himself on the throne. I come to stand to his right, looking out into the crowd for the first time. A sea of pink, excited faces looks back at me, all drinking in my curves and leather adornments. I shift my weight, feeling the intensity of their stares and wishing desperately that I could hide myself somehow. However, with my arms bound behind me this is completely impossible.

“Kneel before your prince!” Magnus shouts from behind me.

I hesitate, initially unsure if it’s me he is addressing. I turn my head toward him and seeing the look on his face I obey, moving to one and then a second knee on the platform between them. From here the sun beats down heavily over the wooden elevation and I welcome the warmth on my cool, exposed skin. Anders raises his right arm and from either side of us there comes a loud fanfare. I twist my head to see two men, dressed in fine red livery with long yellow horns of some type at their lips. They play their dramatic salute to their prince and then bow evenly as they conclude. At this point Anders rises from his chair and stands in front of his people, his arms raised in the air.

I do not understand any of the words that come from his mouth, though they are loud and clear. He holds the crowd’s attention completely. Every pair of eyes is on him, and as he speaks he waves his hands around, making dramatic gestures that somehow help to illustrate his points. The crowd is in awe of him, gasping and cheering almost on command. I watch from my position kneeling at the back of the stage, Magnus towering over me to my right, transfixed by his performance. For the first time I wish that I could decipher his native tongue and understand his words, although I know it is the demise of my home to which he refers.

After some moments, Anders pauses and turns toward me. He looks at me kneeling by Magnus and when he speaks again I have the feeling that I am now the subject of his speech. My head falls, feeling the weight of his stare on me and beneath me my legs begin to tremble. As though he is keen to reinforce this point, he resumes his dialogue, but this time I see him gesturing toward my body. I watch him from under my lashes as his words hang over me. His pace has slowed and his voice is somehow much deeper and richer. Then between his native words there are three that are unmistakable and send my heart pounding against my ribcage: Aurelie of Donrose.

He concludes, sending the crowd into a roaring cheer, before turning to me.

“Crawl over here, Aurelie,” he shouts over the noise of his people. “Let these people get a good view of my captive!”

I blink at him and do not move. It’s almost as though after everything he has asked from me in the last day, this latest request is just too much to process. From beside me, Magnus crouches down to my head level. He pulls at my bound wrists, releasing them and suddenly my hands are free. I move them, still encased in their leather binds down to my sides.

“Move your pretty behind now!” he sneers.

I do not look at him or respond. Taking a deep breath, I look once more to Anders. His widening blue eyes sear into my skin and I know I have no choice: there is no way out of this ordeal. Pressing my palms forward against the wooden floor, I fall to all fours, allowing my breasts to hang beneath my body and make the slow crawl to where Anders stands waiting. As I move, the volume of the crowd raises audibly.

I crawl to Anders’ left foot, raising my head tentatively to look up at him once I am there. From this angle he is so tall, standing over me like some sort of god, but I am pleased at least to see a reassuring smile there waiting for me. There’s something else in those eyes too that I can’t quite make out; another emotion mixed with his appreciation of my obedience, perhaps something akin to pride. I let my head fall back to the wooden stage, allowing my hair to fall over the sides of my face and refusing to make eye contact with any of the audience. From above me Anders reaches down and takes the leather at my throat in his left hand. He yanks it toward his hip, forcing my body to comply to his will. I am pulled unceremoniously to my right and find myself literally against his leg, my right breast pressed into his chainmail.

Gasping at the force he has used, my eyes widen as they absorb this latest ignominy. I regroup, finding space for my knees on either side of his left leg. Unsure what to do with my arms, I leave them hanging by my sides. Suddenly he breaks from his native tongue and begins to speak words that he knows I will understand—this I am certain is only to reinforce my humiliation at his hands.

“This is Aurelie, formerly Princess of Donrose!”

The crowd roars at his words, apparently either able to comprehend them or just too excitable to care.

“As you can see, she now belongs to your prince and will serve me any way I see fit!”

He holds me tightly at the neck, ensuring that I am compelled to look up toward the ocean of eager faces beyond us.

“My captive still has many lessons to learn and I intend to be a fair master and help her to learn each and every one of them…”

My belly twists at this news, recognising his tone and its likely intent.

“My captive’s first lesson is that my words are her law. She must listen and take heed of each and every one of them.”

A chorus of voices springs from the crowd, agreeing with Anders and encouraging his thinking.

“This morning I found that she was not able—or willing—to pay attention to her prince, and this disappoints me…”

The crowd hushes, its tone low and yet excited. I wonder if they too can sense what Anders has in mind for me. Unable to really move my head, I try to look to his face and catch his eye, yet it seems he is too enraptured by his onstage performance to take note of me.

“What is a master to do with a distracted slave?”

Anders shouts the question to the crowd, his right arm held out in a gesture of openness. I recoil silently as I realise the significance—he is accepting suggestions from the crowd! Several men shout from the throng of people, but I do not understand their words. The response of the crowd however sends a new wave of panic through my body. The people are visibly excited by what they hear, many clapping their hands at the advice. Then from somewhere on the left I hear a male voice in my own tongue.

“My Lofðungr should punish the slave!”

I shudder as the crowd cheers the suggestion. I recall how Anders had promised me a spanking later today and assured me that I would indeed be sorry for my actions. Was he now really going to spank me in front of all of these people? Surely the ordeal would be too much? As I consider the prospect, my nipples harden once again, betraying my own desperate need for the punishment. Anders moves my head forward, rolling me against his left leg and in toward his groin. I gulp as I notice the growing bulk at his thigh, realising then that he too is aroused by the prospect of punishing me in public.

“Yes!” he cries from above me. “A good master should punish his slave to show her the consequences of such wilful disrespect!”

The crowd are overjoyed at this prospect, the sound now thunderous. Anders releases my collar and I fall back by his feet, looking up just in time to see several of his guard having to restrain those who wish to climb the platform and help their prince with his task. Behind us I hear movement on the stage and I turn, my hands clutching my neck where Anders had been holding me. Two large men approach from the opposite side we had climbed. Between them they are carrying a large, wooden box, similar in size and shape to the chest in Anders’ quarters. A rush of nervous energy flies through me as the reality of what is about to happen finally dawns on me. He does indeed intend to spank me—as he has done twice already—but this time in front of all of these people; his people!

Anders moves behind me and to my left I hear Magnus directing the men as to where to leave the new addition to the platform. The crowd to my right continues to roar with enthusiastic appreciation of the show being set for their entertainment. I see and hear everything that is happening as though I am to be a witness to the event, not the sorry star of it. It’s the most surreal feeling, as though I am not party to my own fate. I am reconciled to the fact that in so many ways this is now the case; Anders now has control over my physical, mental, and emotional safety and well-being. The thought is terrifying, yet sends shivers of excitement shooting through my body, culminating in my aching sex.

Anders’ palm settles in my hair, massaging it between his long digits. He towers over me as I kneel passively at his feet. I inhale deeply—the first breath I can remember for a long time—and a strange sense of calm falls over me as we watch the scene for my punishment being set up. Gently he guides my head toward his body with the other hand. I look up to him, amazed at the contrast with the aggression he had shown just a moment earlier. Those blue eyes are swilling with emotion. I sense excitement and desire there, as well as that sense of pride again.

“Do you know what is going to happen to you, Aurelie?” he asks, barely audible over the crowd.

I swallow hard as I reply, “Are you going to spank me now, my Lofðungr?”

The words leave my lips as though I am in a trance.

He smiles. “Yes,” he says, ruffling my hair again. “I will punish you now—in front of my people—and later I will take you and ravish you in the privacy of my chambers. Know that you are mine and I can do to you as I please—wherever I choose.”

My heart pounds inside my chest at his words and between my thighs there is a new rush of arousal at the prospect. “Will you harm me?” I probe, my voice so small even I can barely hear it. Somehow he makes out the question and looks me directly in the eyes before he answers.

“Aurelie…” His voice washes over me like a warm summer breeze. “I may cause you pain, but I swear I will never cause you any real injury. You belong to me and so it is not in my interest to damage you.”

I blink up at him, still uncertain about my fate. In the centre of the stage I notice that the wooden box is now being dressed with fur and other rich-looking materials, but still it is this Viking—this man who has turned my world around—who dominates my attention. Sensing my enquiring eyes, he looks down at me once more. His hand leaves my hair and slips gently down the left side of my face and under my chin. He caresses my skin as he speaks again.

“You must trust in me to judge when you need to be punished and when you have been punished enough.”

I nod, but his attention is already elsewhere, drawn back to the scene that now appears to be set.

Anders offers me one last fleeting glance before striding toward the box, leaving me kneeling alone. The guards, having now finished their duty, fall back to either side of the stage by both staircases and Magnus stands away to the left. As Anders seats himself on the fur-lined wood, all attention turns to me, the kneeling, trembling naked woman.

At this moment there must be more than one hundred pairs of eyes on me. Each and every one of them scans my nudity, sensing the tension in the air and wondering—hoping—about what will now transpire. Now apparently comfortable, Anders beckons to me with his right hand, gesturing for me to join him. My knees, pressed hard into the unforgiving wood of the platform, scream as I lurch forward onto all fours. I move in the most undignified way a lady can—crawling over to Anders—until I again reach his boots. A memory of yesterday flashes through my mind and I recall how those feet had felt upon my back when he had used me as his own personal footrest. I simmer with arousal at the thought, glancing up to him and wondering if he too is considering the memory.

He directs me to his right side and obediently I go, falling into the same ready position that he has spanked me in twice already. I sit on my haunches as he addresses the crowd, watching his right hand as it falls to my left breast and plays casually with my nipple.

“I will now punish my captive with an over-the-knee spanking!”

As expected, the noise of the crowd swells in response to this proclamation and the excited tension in my belly twists, sending a bolt of desire through me. The air between Anders and me is somehow palpable. I am torn between the need for his reassuring glance and the mortifying knowledge of what he intends to do to me. My nipple beads in his fingers and he turns to me smiling.

“Over my knee,” he says simply, removing his hands from my bud and patting his lap.

For a split second I want to protest; to refuse him. I want to remind him who I am and that I cannot be treated this way. The rebellion rises in me, reaching my chest and threatening to choke me. I wonder if it also reaches my eyes, as there’s a flash of enquiry in Anders’ as he appraises me. I take a long, deep breath and close my eyes for a moment. Under my lids in the darkness the memory of last night consumes me. I remember how Anders had made me feel as he had worshipped my body with his own hands, mouth, and manhood. I recall how tender he had been, and how he had comforted me after my tumultuous dream. I exhale loudly, knowing already what I must do, and am moving forward over his body even before I have reopened my eyes.

Anders is seated along the box to the right side and as such I find it easy to leave my legs hanging over this end of the wood, whilst my torso and arms are pressed into the fur at the other end. I turn my head away from the crowd and close my eyes, pleased to have this element of control over proceedings, however limited it may be. Seemingly content with this arrangement, Anders says nothing, but runs both of his hands up and down my pimpling flesh, pushing my thighs apart.

“I would like for your arms to be bound, Aurelie,” he says eventually. “Place your hands into the small of your back, please.”

I sigh, moving my hands from their comfortable place at my head and positioning them as he has said. It is not a painful stance to be in, but there is now much more stress on my head and neck and I am immediately grateful for the protection of the fur. There is some pressure at my wrists and I know that he is securing them together again. Gently he moves my now bound wrists up my back and then returns to his exploration of my body. He scans the left side of my body with his hands, inspecting the tender areas where I had fallen during battle.

“These need tending to again,” he muses out loud. “I will ensure you are healed soon enough.”

“Thank you, my Lofðungr,” I whisper, the fear and excitement I am feeling already etched into my voice. It seems odd that this man who intends to hurt me is also so concerned with my health and general well-being.

Beyond us the Viking crowds are restless, shouting and cheering from behind the line of guards protecting the stage. I open one eye and make out Magnus hovering behind Anders. Fleetingly we make eye contact. He wears his usual arrogant smile, but behind it I can also see desire in his eyes. Anders runs those long digits down the line of my thighs and I wonder if Magnus can imagine himself in his Lofðungr’s place, with me over his lap—submitting to his own dominant needs?

Anders’ hand leaves me and the crowd hushes in an instant. I snap both eyes closed before the first impact. It lands on the roundest part of my behind, catching both cheeks and a little of my upturned folds. Despite my expectation of its arrival I still find myself gasping at the strike. The sound resonates in the air around me and is met with another roar from the crowd. He lands another three strikes in swift succession in almost the same spot. The sting of the strikes is consuming and I want to move my bottom away, but of course there is nowhere for it to go, trapped as it is between his arm and the unforgiving wooden box.

Anders delivers a further three spanks and I hear myself moan. I feel his other hand moving the unruly strands of my hair from my face as the next strike hits. It catches me solely on the right cheek and the impact aches beautifully. I exhale, yearning to push away the pain and find solace in the pleasure I had found in my previous punishments. The crowd of people are still yelling at my ordeal, although I am more and more tuning out of their noise and finding that place inside of myself again.

Anders spanks me again, and I can just make out the tension in his voice as he speaks. “Why are you being punished, my captive?”

I wonder if he is struggling with his own arousal and consider for a moment how strange it must be for him to feel this way in front of all of his people. I push away my enquiry and focus on his question.

“I am being spanked for not paying attention to you, my Lofðungr,” I say breathlessly.

He swats my ass another three times, catching me again in the very centre of my exposed bottom and suddenly my responses tip from pain to pleasure, that tingle in my throbbing sex allowing the wetness to gush from my folds. He notices the change immediately and draws a finger down my wetness. I gasp at the sensitive contact, loving the feeling and yet somehow absurdly embarrassed to be this aroused in front of so many people.

“So wet for me, already?”

His voice is hushed and clearly he intends these words for my ears only. I groan a response, wishing that we could be alone again in his chambers.

His right hand resumes my spanking, delivering each strike at a rhythmic pace, allowing me a moment to catch my breath between each impact. His left hand tightens in my hair, betraying the tension also ricocheting around his body. I open my eyes, looking for him. As though he senses my need, he turns his head to meet my stare as he delivers the next strike. Beyond us the crowd cheers excitedly at my denigration, and yet increasingly they mean nothing to me. I am transfixed by his eyes, like two ocean pools, drilling into me.

I pull against my bonds reflexively, pressing my beading nipples into the fur below me. He smiles, striking me again. As he punishes me I watch him, realising that this is the first time I have ever seen him administering my spanking. I feel the heat rising from my behind and relish it. I have no idea what has happened to the spirited, but polite lady of Donrose I once was, but I am now this new woman; an improper imp, unleashed and abandoned to this ritualised public humiliation. I could never have known the glory of it, the simmering joy of the shame or the priceless pleasure in the pain—but I know now. Lying bound over the lap of this Viking, I wonder, can I ever hope to give up this carnality?

The spanking continues and I am lost to it, consumed by the beauty of the ache his relentless hand delivers. Our audience is now a dull noise from beyond us, which neither concerns nor excites me. I know there are guttural sounds coming from my mouth and yet I know not what they mean. My throbbing bud receives fresh stimulation with each strike and the tension in my body tightens to breaking point. Knowing full well how aroused I am, Anders moves his left hand to where my breast is crushed against the fur. Without ceremony, he manoeuvres his hand between the two, cupping and then tweaking my nipple. The intensity of this sensation nearly sends me over the edge, the ecstasy of it etched into my face.

“You will not climax,” he growls from over me, cruelly waking me from my blissful hedonism.

My mouth opens to respond and protest, but as the next strike hits me, I am consumed only by the new wave of hurt and desire it brings. The yearning pools between my thighs and my eyes open, searching for him again, a silent plea for release.

“Do you understand?” he demands, his voice louder this time.

I gasp as his fingers slide down the wet folds of my sex between my flaming ass.

“Yes,” I pant, biting down on my lower lip to stop myself from saying anything that will land me in more trouble. “Yes, my Lofðungr, I understand.”

His expression looks fierce as he spanks me again, those eyes moving from my desperate face to my bound and punished body. He pauses, examining my now reddened behind and then caresses the skin there, before once again addressing the crowd.

“My captive’s punishment is concluded… for the time being,” he announces. “She will remain bound and displayed for you all to see whilst we feast!”

I hear his words, watching those full lips delivering the next instalment of my ordeal and yet I cannot quite process them. I am to be displayed? Where? His eyes fall back over my face, acknowledging the confusion there.

“Yes, my captive,” he says softly. “You will be on full display for all of my men to enjoy whilst they celebrate.”

I writhe over his lap, rubbing myself against him like an untamed animal. “Please, no…” I whisper. “I want you!”

He swats my bottom hard, stinging the already inflamed area. I still at once and he smiles.

“I know you do, Aurelie. I can feel how tightly wound your punishment has made you. By the gods, I can even smell your arousal!”

At this point he laughs and from over his shoulder I see Magnus smiling.

“You will remain wet and wanting until I decide it is time. Then—and only then—will I bury myself into you again, once more claiming what is rightfully mine!”

He pulls his hand from under my bosom, gesturing for help. Magnus arrives at my head at once and moves slowly to my rear and then round to the other side of me. They each take one of my shoulders and slowly they ease me upright back to my feet besides Anders, before pushing me back down to my knees. I sit back on my haunches, my bound hands grazing the hot skin of my behind.

“Keep your legs apart,” says Anders casually. He sweeps the hair from my face and looks into my eyes. “I will know if you pleasure yourself and the consequences will be severe.”

I hang my head, my hair falling around my face again as I literally pant on the platform next to him. As the mists of arousal clear a little, I wonder what has happened to me. How can I ever escape if I want to be used and abused this way?

“Take Aurelie to the punishment post and chain her there,” Anders tells Magnus, who is still to my right. “Make sure her pretty little punished behind is well displayed for everyone to enjoy.”

I squirm at his words, still wanting him to devour me and yet, secretly terrified—and thrilled—at what he now proposes. Magnus takes a step toward my right knee.

“Come,” he commands softly. “Kneel and then rise.”

I take a deep breath before complying. Clumsily I rise to one knee and nearly lose my balance. Anders reaches for my left arm, steadying me.

“Maybe it’s better if you give her a lift, my friend?” he asks Magnus, voice loaded with a strange mixture of both concern and glee.

I look up in time to see Magnus nod in agreement. He spins to face me again and moves closer, to within a couple of inches of my body. “I am going to carry you, as I did before. You remember, I assume?”

His large eyes drill into me. They are much lighter in colour than Anders’ and yet seem all the more perceptive. I swallow, physically pushing down the shame I feel about this mode of travel.

“Yes, Sire,” I reply, lowering my eyes a little, but still having time to see his smile widen at my deference.

A new gush of arousal floods my folds and I wonder if the two men notice. I have no idea why I am so turned on by willingly submitting to Magnus, as well as Anders, and yet my excitement is undeniable. Before I can consider the matter any further he bends his knees and reaches down for me, taking my body at the thighs and lifting me effortlessly upward. I fall over his right shoulder. My arms, bound behind me this time, sit just above my lower back, which is now directly next to his face. He holds me at the lower part of my thighs, pressing me securely into his cooling armour. My red, flaming behind juts out perfectly in front of him, so that everyone can bear witness to the effects of my most recent spanking.