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From: beenabadgrl <beenabadgrl@comcast.net>
Newsgroups: alt.stories.erotic
Subject: M/f Story The Viking
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Date: Sat, 17 Jul 2004 05:48:29 +0000
===================
Svend kicked open the door to his hut, not because he was angry, but because
his hands were full. Thrown over his shoulder was, without a doubt, the
feistiest
blonde-headed wench that he'd ever had the privilege of capturing. She was
kicking and flailing and cursing him at the top of her lungs, and just
generally looked so
adorable in her flashing-eyed, red-cheeked outrage that it was all he could
do not to laugh at her.
"Lumbering oaf!" she shouted, beating her fists upon his broad back. "Swine!
Son of a coward and a rutting sow!"
That wasn't quite so humorous and Svend gave her upturned bottom a sharp
smack before dumping her from his shoulder onto the bed. She bounced on the
downy
mattress and came up again spitting and fighting mad, one hand ducking
behind her to rub the sting from her affronted backside just before she
punched him in the
chest. Now he did laugh. She was at least half his size and a female, and
still intent on battling him. Her persistence was very pleasing to him.
"You may as well content yourself to my service," he told her. "I have taken
you as my ambatt. You now belong to me."
Her cheeks flushed even hotter and she snarled, "I would sooner slit your
throat!"
He arched his brows. "I have known women to be executed for far lesser
insults than the one you've just dealt me. Mayhaps you should pay heed to
care and
consideration where your tongue and I are concerned."
"I would sooner bow down before Hel in Niflhel, the ninth underworld, than
to serve the likes of you!"
Svend merely nodded acknowledgment of her preferences and, tucking his
thumbs into his wide belt, said, "Be that as it may, until the happy day
when you might
see that wish fulfilled, you shall attend my hearth and you shall do so with
cheerfulness."
The gaze of her snapping blue eyes shifted from him towards the door.
Svend smiled. "If you attempt the sin of running away, I shall have no
choice but to beat you. Come, woman. Do not force my hand into
unpleasantness. Instead, to
the cook fire with you. It has been a long day and I would have my supper."
She looked from the door back to him, and then across the room to the unlit
cooking pit in the middle of the floor.
"Go," he said again cheerfully. "I would have my supper within the hour."
The look she gave him plainly said she'd have preferred to serve his own
head up to him, but with one last wishful glance in the direction of the
door, she turned and
stalked back into the kitchen.
Knowing better than to put his back to her, at least not without removing
all knives from her reach, Svend seated himself at the table and watched as
she knelt down
to start the fire. She was quite capable. She built the fine tinder quickly
and, within only a few strikes upon the flint, bent all the way down to the
ground, tucking her
hair back from her fair face with both hands to gently blow the spark until
it became a hungry flame.
His eyes followed her down, not minding a bit when the neckline of her tan
woolen dress peeked away from the lucius curves of her pale breasts. He
smiled when
she sat up, completely nonplused when she only glared fiercely back at him.
He had all night and even longer, if need be, to soothe the buxom maiden's
wounded
pride. And whether she be won by a length of pretty ribbon, or a bolt of
soft cloth, or fresh food upon the table, doubtless it wouldn't take him too
long to find her
weakness. After all, she was only a woman and the prize of his latest raid.
How difficult could it be?
* * * * *
She was going to gut him like a freshly flayed rabbit. Eldrid set his wooden
trencher plate on the table before him. She was going to burn down his home
and roast
him alive in the flames. She turned away to get the soapstone pot off the
fire before her itching hands were tempted to grab up the knife that lay
before him and turn
her murderous thoughts into a gruesome reality.
And while she was lowering her eyes lest he spy the direction of her
thoughts, seemingly oblivious to her outrage, Svend said, "Slavery is good
for some women. It
teaches them obedience."
Eldrid nearly dumped the stew she'd spent the last hour preparing over his
head. Her hands trembled to do it. Sheer force of will alone made her set
the pot on the
table and turn and walk away.
"You should be happy that I've made you my ambatt." He took hold of the pot'
s ladle and began to transfer a heft portion of stew into his trough. "Yes,
you have
lost your freedom. But at least you will not starve. And so long as you work
hard and remain obedient, then I shall not beat you too often."
She spun back around to face him, but his eyes were twinkling in a way that
suggested he might only be teasing her. Still, she did not appreciate his
humor, and she
all but bit off her own tongue with the effort it took to keep from telling
him so. Instead, she grabbed a loaf of hard bread and thunked it onto the
table beside him
before walking past him to get the wine pitcher down from a wall shelf.
"You might also do well to rid yourself of all that extra spirit, my high
tempered one," he noted, picking up the bread and breaking off a chunk.
"Spirit is an
admirable trait in a warrior woman. Not so admirable in an ambatt."
Pitcher in hand, Eldrid squared angrily against him once again. Her eyes
flashed, her nostrils flared. She slammed the pitcher down almost upon his
hand, and would
likely have pinched his fingers beneath the clay pot had he not, in a moment
of clairvoyant foresight, moved them out of danger.
"Is there anything else you'd like?" she asked, her voice trembling as she
strained to remain civil.
"Companionship while I sup would not be unwelcome," he said and patted the
space on the bench beside him. "You may even share my plate."
Her blue eyes flashed. "I'd rather sup with the pigs."
"And you may yet," he stated, agreeable to a fault, "unless you sit yourself
beside me, share my meal, and offer up civil conversation, as has been
requested of you,
my brash young slave, by your long-suffering master."
She glared at him, clenching her jaw repeatedly. But after only a moment,
she stiffly lowered herself to sit upon the bench beside him.
Svend pushed the trough closer towards her. She'd have sooner dined on
poisonous mushrooms, but when he broke off a piece of bread and forced it
into her
hand, Eldrid gave up on useless resistances. Going to bed hungry, she told
herself, wasn't likely to have disturbed him as much as it would herself
anyway. But still
the stew, although good, left the bitter aftertaste of defeat in her mouth.
It was a difficult taste to swallow.
"Now, what shall we talk about?" he asked.
"The life-taking hunting accident that, I pray to the gods, shall occur on
your next foraging trip?"
"Hunting it is," he said, and cheerfully ignored her reference to his
demise. For the next four hours, he regaled her with heroically exaggerated
accounts of past
expeditions. It was during this oration that Eldrid came to the conclusion
that there were no gods. For no matter how hard she prayed, a rope never did
magically
appear so that she could end it all by hanging herself from the rafters.
After six wild boar--not to mention two crafty elk, an assortment of
fearsome bear, and the occasional odd rabbit--stories, he ended his boastful
tales by saying,
"And, speaking of hunting, I will probably take my leave of you tomorrow to
do just that. I'm sure it will hurt you terribly to be left to your own
devices for much of
the day, but I'm certain I can find enough mending to keep you busy until my
return." Bracing his hands upon the table, he then stood up. "Well, shall we
to bed?"
Eldrid stiffened. "I would prefer to sleep upon the floor."
"Ah, but what good is having an ambatt if she does not keep me warm at
nights. You will sleep with me." He held out his hand, but she ignored it,
turning her face
away. He smiled as he said, "If your legs have lost their strength, I could
pick you up and carry you."
Eldrid snapped back around to glare again, and then stood up without his
assistance and walked to his bed on her own.
As she had periodically throughout the day, she cast another longing look at
the door as she passed it, but Svend was right behind her and she knew she
didn't have
a chance at getting away. Not yet anyway.
Standing in front of the bed with nothing else to do but prepare herself for
the worst night of her life, reluctantly Eldrid reached behind her to
unfasten the lacings of
her dress. She had only pulled loose the first set of strings when her
fingers encountered Svend's.
"Let me help you," he said.
She would have liked to say that she hated every bit of what he did to her,
but to her eternal shame, with gentle hands he whittled away at her anger
and loathing
until she softened to his touch. Until she arched and writhed beneath him,
and cried out both in pleasure and dismay for how easily he left her traitor
's body shaking
upon the brink of passion's madness. He took great delight in pushing her
over that edge, not once but three times before he finally tied her wrists
to the head of the
bed, rolled over onto his side and went to sleep.
* * * * *
It was noon the next day before Svend finally left the house to hunt. Eldrid
waited for what felt like forever with her heart in her throat, until she
was sure he had to
be well and truly gone. Then, using a knife she'd swiped during their
morning fast, she cut through the ropes that bound her once more to his bed.
She stole a piece
of fruit from his hearth and a hunk of stale bread, stuffing both down deep
inside her skirt pockets, and fled the cabin. She had no place to go and it
might take days
before she found a sanctuary, but anywhere had to be better than living out
the rest of her life as a slave for that pig-headed brute of a Viking.
Eldrid let the door slam shut behind her and was just coming down off the
porch when she glimpsed a flash of movement from the corner of her eye. Her
head
snapped around just as Svend stepped out of the smoke house, a haunch of
meat in his hands.
Eldrid froze in shock, and for a moment they simply stared at one another.
Then his eyes narrowed and turning on her heels, she fled around the side of
the house,
running for all that she was worth for the forest and the mountains beyond
them.
It was a venture doomed to failure from the start. Svend caught her before
she cleared her first twenty yards of freedom, and tackled her to the
ground. The minute
she felt his hands fasten onto her, Eldrid became a screaming, clawing,
bucking, scratching wildcat in his arms. He wrestled her onto her back,
catching her wrists
before she caught his face with her sharpened nails.
Incredulously, Svend began to laugh. "You don't give up. I like that."
There were no words to describe Eldrid's outrage. She spat at him instead,
and his smile abruptly disappeared.
"I can see we shall have to do something about all this extra spirit."
He got up, pulling her to her feet by her arms. Before she could even catch
her balance, he bent and his shoulder hit her stomach. She shrieked as her
feet abruptly
left the ground and she was hoisted into the air, thrown across his back
like only so much bagged and unwieldy grain.
He carried her back inside the house, shrugging her off his shoulder and
dropping her onto his bed before turning around to shut and throw the lock
on the door.
Though she scrambled to get off the bed, he was back before she could manage
it, catching her by the scruff of her dress and pulling her, off balance and
tripping
and stumbling on her own feet all the way to the table.
"No!" she pulled back stiff-armed when he sat down upon the bench, but one
strong jerk of her arm and she fell sprawled across his thighs, still
spitting and fighting
but with a tinge of franticness beginning to taint her cries.
"You need to resign yourself to your new place in life, woman," Svend told
her, catching her flailing wrists and pulling them behind her back.
She tried to roll off his lap, but he leaned on top of her, pinning her down
until all she could do was kick her legs and drum her feet uselessly against
the floor.
"I would have your obedience," Svend said, "as well as your respect."
"When you are dead and with the gods!" she spat back.
Some of his good humor returned at that, and he actually began to laugh. But
then he caught the back of her woolen skirts and suddenly Eldrid felt a cool
rush of air
as he pulled the fabric up her naked legs and tossed them over her hips. She
gasped and, for a moment, the shock of having her bottom suddenly bared to
her
Viking captor stilled her kicking.
Svend wasted little time in locking her legs between his own, securing his
clenching target in the proper position to receive a dose of well-deserved
discipline.
Her eyes widened and her jaw dropped. "Don't you dare!" she declared,
twisting and pulling to free her pinned wrists and jerk her skirt back down
to cover herself
again. "No!"
"You have an unruly tongue," Svend said, amicably good natured, even now.
"And if you will not mind it, ambatt, then I will mind it for you."
His strong right arm rose over her, his rough hand held high to deliver the
first blow.
"No!" she cried again, but his palm came crashing down anyway, catching the
under curve of her right buttock, his hand molding and flattening the soft,
springy flesh
with the strength of his arm and leaving behind the pinkening imprint of his
fingers and palm on her otherwise pale and unmarred skin.
Eldrid gaped in reflex, although the real discomfort didn't sink in, it
seemed, until he took his hand away. Warmth flared through her buttock and
the sharp sting
intensified in that split second before his hand came crashing down again.
Eldrid jerked, every muscle in her body tensing hard as he began to spank in
earnest.
Every slap of his hand sounded as loud as a thunderclap in the close
confines of the room, and with each new flat-palmed crack, the heat in her
belabored bottom
grew. So did the sting, increasing and intensifying until the ignominy of
her position across his knee became a secondary consideration when compared
to the fire he
was rapidly igniting in her hinds.
And it wasn't just her bottom that paid the price for her attempted escape.
With a hand that felt as hard as iron, he spanked so ferociously down the
backs of her
tender thighs that all sense of indignation turned instantly into
self-preservation. She wrenched at her arms, but his grip was inflexible.
Her toes scraped the ground,
but she could neither push nor pull nor jerk nor squirm her way off his
knee. She couldn't even roll over, and the sting was turning into pain.
Without the slightest pause, his hand continued to rise and fall until
everything behind her burned like fire, from the tops of her hips all the
way down the backs of her
legs almost to her knees. And along that smarting, aching seam where her
bottom melded into her thighs, the smart of each thunderclap whap left
Eldrid screeching at
the top of her lungs and shimmying her bottom in a desperate effort to shake
off the hurt. That's where Svend suddenly turned his attention. He spanked
her there
until the surface of her skin felt swollen and scorched and mere pain seemed
no longer adequate to describe her suffering. This was agony, and it broke
her.
Her defiance crumbled beneath a wave of tears as she suddenly cried out,
"Stop!"
Svend paid her no attention and his arm seemed tireless. Just when she
thought she could bear no more, his focus shifted again to the backs of her
thighs. First one
leg and then the other, he spanked back and forth, relentless and merciless,
and leaving Eldrid was shrieking her pleas.
"Stop, my lord! Stop, I beg you! Please, by Thor's mighty hammer, I'll never
speak another word against you! I'll hold my tongue! I'LL HOLD MY TONGUE!"
"You certainly will," he agreed, and returned his focus back to her bottom
with a vigor that felt much more angry than his tone. Suddenly all the
strength of his arm
was behind each pain-filled blow and there was nothing that she could do to
stop it. No direction that she could twist to evade his discipline, and no
plea that she
could shriek to stay his punishing hand. Not until he decided that she'd had
enough. And finally, with her face streaked by tears and no thought in her
head but for
the suffering of her flesh, the spanking ceased and his hand came to rest on
her hot and swollen flanks.
With a tender caress, he soothed the ache he'd created, letting her weep
while the hurt receded into a smoldering pulsating heat that totally
consumed her from
behind.
He released her wrists and legs, saying, "Sit up."
With ginger motions, she groaned as she pushed backwards off his lap. She
would have knelt upon the floor at his feet, but he stopped her and pulled
her back
towards his lap instead.
"Come to me, ambatt." He patted his leg. "Show me your newfound obedience."
Moving made the heat in her buttocks and thighs flare as hot as the
smoldering coals in the cooking pit, but to be seen as disobeying him again
already was the last
thing Eldrid wanted.
Laying her hand upon his shoulder, she gingerly lowered herself to straddle
his thighs. The tears started again the instant her hot bottom scrapped
against his britches.
"Shh," he murmured, as he kissed them from her cheeks.
She bent forward, pressing her forehead to his shoulder and moaning softly
when he cupped her aching bottom in his hands. He lightly squeezed, then
rubbed, and
that part almost felt nice. So much so that she didn't even protest when he
tenderly kissed her lips. In fact, sniffling softly, she even kissed him
back
* * * * *
Passion spent, they lay cuddled together in bed: he on his back, she on her
side, curled up against him with her head upon his chest. Her arm was twined
lovingly
around his waist and the fingers of her right hand were interwoven with his
own.
His chest rose as he took a deep contented breath and slowly let it out
again. "Damn, honey, I can't believe how hot you get over this Viking
stuff."
Her blonde hair tussled across his chest and down her back, her eyes
sleepily closed, the woman only smiled.
"Want to play something else?" he suggested.
"Nope," she said.
"Oh, come on, Cheryl."
"It's my birthday," she said, lifting her head to look at him. "You said I
could be anything I wanted to, even Eldrid. You said you'd plunder and
pillage me all
weekend. To my little black heart's content, you said."
"Yes, but it's a very scratchy hat. Now I know why the Vikings were so
fierce. I'd be fierce too if I had to wear a hat like that all the time."
"Well, all right." Cheryl sat up. Her lower lip protruded in a half-hearted
pout. "We'll play something else, but only if you'll plunder me just one
more time. Please?"
She walked her fingers up his stomach to his chest, deviating slightly to
the right to teasingly caress a loving circle around his nipple. "Eldrid
still has some naughtiness
to be spanked for. After all, a disrespectful ambatt is hardly a credit to a
strong Viking's household."
His muscles were tensing with every passing circle of her fingertip. "But it
's a scratchy hat," he protested. Not that it would do much good, he was
already
weakening to her request.
"Just wear it once more, and then we'll play something else I promise," she
coaxed. "We'll go down to the water and you can be the big, strong, sports
fisherman,
who catches a mermaid." She lay a path of teasing, coaxing kisses that
trailed in the wake of her fingers, all the way up his chest to his chin,
and then his mouth. Very
gently, she nibbled his bottom lip. "I'll even wear the tail fin."
"The iridescent one?" he asked, his resolve weakening even more as his
breathing quickened.
"With the drop-seat," she affirmed. "So everything will be nice and
accessible."
Svend smacked Eldrid's bottom sharply. "Up with you, wench," he said,
grinning. "I'm hungry and want some supper."
"Fix it yourself," Eldrid snapped back. She tried to get up from the bed,
but Svend caught her arm and pulled her, naked and shouting, back down
across the bed
and his lap. She bucked and wriggled, but he was still stronger and he held
her easily in place.
He grinned even as his hand began that familiar rhythm, smacking down again
and again, despite her shouted threats and cries for him to stop, across her
plump and
already blushing backside. All right, so perhaps his new ambatt's taming
would take a bit longer than he first thought.
Svend spanked her soundly, each juddering bounce of her naked bottom cheeks
and frantic kick of her legs flashing him peek-a-boo glances of the damp and
quivering folds of her femininity. In her struggle's desperation, she was no
longer even trying to hide that part of her from sight.
Oh yes, he smiled, it was going to be a long night. But she was nothing he
couldn't handle.
For this story and other, please visit: http://www.badgirlscorner.com