Page 32 of Her Rogue Viking
“Six strokes then, my sweet slave. You will count.”
He flicked her sensitive nubbin, just once, but it was enough to make Fiona writhe on the mattress. Now she lifted her bottom, almost eager for the pain he would inflict. How could this be? What had she become that she would welcome his punishment, count the strokes until he would touch her again and bring her to the pleasure she craved? Maybe he would fuck her again. Perhaps, if she asked him. Begged him…
He straightened. There was a low whistle as the switch parted the air again and an instant later pain snaked across her right buttock.
Fiona yelped, but managed not to scream. She would not afford Brynhild that concession.
She waited for the next burst of pain, but it did not come. Then she remembered, she was to count the strokes.
“One,” she breathed. “That was one.”
Another whistle, and this time the switch landed full across her left cheek. Fiona jerked hard but managed to remain silent.
“Two,” she gasped.
The strokes continued, Ulfric alternating, first one buttock, then the other.
“Three. Four.” She could no longer contain her cries as the pain built, bloomed, set her bottom afire.
He paused and thrust his hand between her thighs again. Fiona spread to welcome him, not even requiring to be instructed this time. He plunged two fingers deep into her tight entrance, twisting them within to reach that spot inside her where it felt so good to be touched. So. Very. Good.
“Ah, my sweet slut. Soon, little Celt. Very soon…”
He swung the switch again, this time catching the backs of both her thighs. Fiona cried out. Tears sprang to her eyes and streamed unchecked across her cheeks.
“F-five,” she stammered.
He shifted to the other side and lifted his arm to deliver the final stroke. Fiona held her breath, then screamed at the top of her voice as fire streaked across her thighs again. Brynhild would hear her, the entire settlement would know what was happening to her but Fiona cared not. She lay, panting, hurting, her pussy convulsing as her need blossomed.
She moaned at the first swipe of Ulfric’s palm across her swollen, sensitive folds and lifted her hips higher. Wordlessly he caressed her pussy lips then parted them to probe inside her entrance. Fiona mewled, her voice breathy as arousal curled and gripped at her core.
“Viking… I?—”
“You did well, wench. Now enjoy your reward.” With his free hand he took a fistful of her hair and turned her face toward his. Fiona peered up at him, her lips parted on a hoarse gasp as her release rushed to greet her. Ulfric bent to brush her mouth with his, then lingered to slide his tongue across hers.
Fiona’s breath hitched. She was lost, drowning in a chaos of pain and pleasure. Her inner walls clenched around nothing and she longed for his cock to be inside her, wide, stretching, breaking down all barriers so that there was nothing left between them but pure sensation.
“Please… I want…”
“Tell me what you want, girl.”
“I want you to fuck me.”That is why I am here, just a wench to fuck…
He released his grip on her hair but continued to stroke her quivering sex. He tormented that plump, throbbing nub againand Fiona started to convulse as waves of pure pleasure bathed her. The bed dipped as he knelt on it, his knees between hers, and suddenly his cock was at her willing, needy entrance.
“Yes. Oh, yes, that. That!” She pushed back against him as though she might impale herself on his thick erection but Ulfric’s palms on her smarting buttocks put a stop to that. He took control, as she knew he always would, and drove the full length of his cock into her channel.
Fiona let out a sharp, keening cry, bucked her hips then rolled them to increase the blessed friction.
“Oh, sweet mother of God,” she intoned, then could find no more coherent words as her senses splintered and her climax sent her soaring.
Ulfric thrust his cock deep, hard, demanding her subjugation and winning it with ease. Fiona collapsed forward onto the furs as he let out a guttural oath in her own tongue and his hot semen filled her.
Again,he did not linger. As soon as he was spent, Ulfric rose to his feet and adjusted his clothing as he made ready to leave.
Fiona remained face down among the bedclothes, only now starting to wonder how she might manage to show her face out in the main room again. All would know, not only that she had been punished and how, but what had happened after. There was no privacy here, she was to be afforded no dignity. It was as Ulfric said, as his sister took such pleasure in reminding her—she was nothing but a worthless bed-slave, a female body for her Viking captor to fuck as he pleased.
“I have a gift for you, little Celt.” His voice was soft now, no hint remained of his earlier anger.
