Chapter Eleven
Duna peered around the rock. He’d told her to go to the longhouse. And she’d taken several fast paces there, wincing as her undergarments rubbed on her pained behind and the ginger had shifted inside her ass, but then he’d spoken and grunted, and there was something unique in his tone—something she’d never heard before and was compelled to listen to again.
So she’d stopped behind a rock that was half under the cover of a hawthorn bush, and turned to see what he was doing.
And now, watching him yanking his big, hard cock, she wondered if it had been wise to pause.
Sure, she’d seen his manhood when he’d risen from the bathtub, but now… now it had grown to an enormous size.
Is this what happens when he punishes me? When he touches me? When he puts a ginger plug inside me?
He had his manhood in his fist, pumping his hand along the length over and over. Judging by his moans she wasn’t sure if he was enjoying himself or in agony.
A crescendo was quickly reached. And in that moment she found him beautiful. His body was pure power and strength. Virility oozed from him and flooded the air around him.
She cupped her breast, squeezing her nipple through her tunic in a way she liked—in the way he had with his mouth. Her ass was so full, so hot, her cunny damp and trembling. Shame filled her the way the ginger did, but she couldn’t deny there was something pleasing about the heat around her most intimate hole.
Halvor’s shoulders hunched forward and liquid released from the end of his cock. He roared, a pleasure-soaked yell that caused a flock of water birds to take to the sky. More liquid landed on the shoreline, the sunlight catching its arc through the air.
Duna squeezed her nipple harder and clenched her ass. A full body tremble attacked her, starting in her cunny and winding up her spine to her scalp.
Halvor suddenly sat back on the ground, ran his hand through his hair, and said something she didn’t catch.
A sudden shard of fear went through her. She’d disobeyed him again by not going directly to the longhouse. And something deep inside her knew he’d be unhappy to know she’d watched him taking action with his cock.
Silently she stood, picked up the hem of her dress, then weaved her way back along the narrow path to the house. Her heart was thudding, her ass stung, and her head was filled with the image of Halvor’s big cock.
Luckily her new boots were soft and quiet, and she made it indoors feeling sure he wouldn’t find out about her most recent disobedience. Her ass would never cope with another spanking; two in two days was enough for anyone’s buttocks. And to get spanked with the damn ginger in place. Would she even survive that?
She bent over the table and pulled up her dress. The cool air washed over her hot buttocks but she ignored that; the invasion in her bottom was the more pressing matter. After carefully feeling for the ginger she located the bar that she guessed would remove it. Pulling it a little, she was aware of a thrum of need in her cunny, right over the point Halvor had rubbed her the day before.
Quickly she shoved her fingers to that spot. It was instinctual to copy his actions and she rubbed gently but swiftly.
She caught her breath. The movement served only to increase the want inside of her. It was as though a pressure was building, a desire for something but she didn’t know what.
Clenching around the ginger, she held in a small moan. Was it supposed to feel this good? She had been claimed, spanked, and taken Halvor’s hot plug into her ass. Surely she should be pulling it out, storming about the room, raging at his dominance over her and her body.
But she didn’t want to do that. The sensation was mesmerizing. She upped the speed over her special place, her fingers skimming over the hair that grew near there. She pulled the ginger out a fraction then pushed it back in, enjoying the way her ass filled and the heat of it spread over her tingling buttocks and to her cunny.
Soon the sensation was all-consuming. Sweat popped on her forehead and in her cleavage. Her wrist ached but still she continued.
It was then everything changed. Whatever was happening to her body was growing so big. Suddenly it felt frightening. What if her heart gave out? It certainly felt as though it was trying to burst from her chest. Her knees were weak, and her breaths hard to catch.
Making a sudden decision, she pulled the ginger from her ass and tossed it onto the fire.
Without it she felt empty, though still the heat from the spice burned.
She straightened, adjusted her undergarments and dress, and wiped the back of her hand over her brow.
What the hell had just happened? God would surely consider it a sin. She’d have to explain herself to him one day.
She grabbed a cask and filled it with spring water from the pail. She drank deep, quenching her thirst but not the need in her cunny.
With her knees wobbly and a tremble in her spine and shoulders she sat. No sooner as she did, she leaped up again. “Damn it.”
Her buttocks were so tender, sitting had been like another swift spank. And her hole, it was tingling and aching, the ginger juice still working its wicked magic.
The only thing for it was to rest over the table, her elbows bent and wait for the burn to ease and try her best to catch her breath and slow her thudding heart.
Fifteen minutes later, she heard Halvor approaching, his big boots crunching on the gritty pathway.
Quickly she stood then picked up Misty and cuddled him close.
Halvor wandered in, holding the gutted fish. “Try and do better with this one,” he said, setting it in the cleaned pan.
“Yes, Master. Shall I cook it now?”
He kind of grunted, then reached for his cask and filled it with ale.
“Are you… quite well, Master?” she asked. She felt better, more in control, but he looked flushed, as if he too had been affected by their time at the lake.
“Aye.” He drank deep. “And I’ll be even better if you learn to behave as a slave and I do not have to punish you again.”
* * *
One week later, Halvor announced they were going to his friend’s farm together. It was time to collect the rooster they needed.
Ivan was hitched to the wagon, and several empty baskets and earthenware pots were stacked upon it should they see anything worth foraging on the way.
Raven was left in charge of the sheep, though Halvor had insisted the hens be locked away while they were gone.
Duna had left Misty with a full bowl of buttermilk, but couldn’t help worrying about leaving him. His tiny meows were pitiful when he wanted holding and she was too busy to pick him up.
“We will not be long,” Halvor said, grasping her around the waist and lifting her onto the cart in one quick movement.
She sat and pushed her hair over her shoulders, still able to feel his grip on her.
He jumped on and retrieved the reins. “Hy, hy.”
The horse moved forward.
“I’m looking forward to seeing more of these hills,” she said. “Of this land.”
“To plan your escape route?”
“Would I tell you if that was why, Master?”
He tipped his head back and laughed.
Duna gazed at him. She hadn’t heard him laugh before. She found her own lips stretching into a smile as she looked at his neck and the angle of his jaw.
“You are an insolent wench,” he said, still chuckling as he urged Ivan to go a little faster.
“You make that sound like a good thing.” She gripped the seat as they jostled through several potholes.
“It is. With you around, life will not be boring.”
“Until I make my escape.” She raised her eyebrows at him, surprising herself that she was enjoying their banter.
But his smile fell. “Do not leave the farmstead. I fear it would end in your death.”
She tipped her head and studied him. “How do I know you’re not just saying that, to keep me bound to you?”
“Is that a theory you want to test?”
She thought about it. If she were right, she’d be able to get to a port and possibly secure passage home, but if she were wrong, her fate would be death.
“You heard the wolves, you’ve seen the boar prints,” he said. “And while there are, I’m sure, worse creatures in the world, there are none worse than a band of Viking warriors, hungry for a woman, hungry for a slave.”
“Like you, Master.”
“I wasn’t hungry for a slave… you were just there.”
“Just there for the taking.”
“I saw you.” He turned to her. “And I wanted you.”
There was something in his eyes that spoke to her of desire. He was seeing her as female, not simply a thrall to perform household tasks.
“And when I want something, I, Halvor Stein of Gorstein, take it.” He banged his fist on his chest. “You should learn that about me.”
She stared ahead. Remembering his big cock and knowing if he decided he wanted to stick it in her, the way he had the ginger root, there’d be nothing she could do about it.
An image flashed through her mind of him naked, over her, making those guttural noises as he pumped his seed into her, not onto the shoreline. A shiver of something, she wasn’t sure what, wound its way up her spine. She didn’t abhor the image, as she probably should.
What does that say about me?
“I know you hate me,” he said, “and think me a man of no morals, and that I’m a harsh master. But you would see, mark me, that another Viking would not be so kind to you.”
“Kind, my bottom was bright red for days and that ginger root burned a part of me that shouldn’t have had your attention.”
“I own you, all of you. No part of your body is undeserving of my attention.” He paused. “And remember, you have food in your belly, a warm home, we are preparing for harsher weather, and you have my word I will fend off anyone or anything that tries to hurt you.”
“And I am thankful for the food and shelter you provide.” She hesitated. “What else, Master? What else would another Viking do that you would not?”
He navigated through a small stream and past several boulders. She hadn’t thought he’d answer, but then, “He would have forced himself on you, done what every man carnally desires should the mood have taken him.”
“Yet you have not.”
“No.” He paused. “I prefer to have my women willing.”
For a while they traveled in silence. She mulled over what he’d said and it started to make sense to her why he’d worked his own cock. It was to take his pleasure without taking her.
A strange emotion grew in her chest, one she tried to beat down, but couldn’t. It was gratitude that he hadn’t taken her virginity, and also, with it, a whisper of respect.
A virile man like Halvor must have struggled to control himself. Especially with her offered up to him, her ass red, squirming with the heat of the ginger and for some reason, her cunny damp as if to ease his way into her.
“Ah, look.” He pulled Ivan to a halt. “Wild celery, let’s take our fill.”
She shook the erotic thoughts from her head and reached behind for a basket, glad of something to do other than think of Halvor, his need for a willing woman, and her virginity.
Will I ever be his willing woman?
They filled the basket. Duna also spotted horseradish, which seemed to particularly please her master and they loaded a basket with that too.
An hour later and after following the meander of a fast flowing river, they came across farmed land and another longhouse.
“Asmund was friends with my father,” Halvor said. “For many years.”
“What happened to your father?” Duna asked, for she knew nothing of his family.
Halvor raised his eyes to the sky. “He died a warrior, on foreign shores, and is now with the Valkyrie in Valhalla.”
“I am sorry you lost him.”
“My loss was the gods’ gain.” He drew Ivan to a halt, and then jumped down. Instantly he turned and reached for her. Gripping her waist, he lowered her gently to the ground.
She clasped his tunic, aware her weight was nothing to him. “Thank you.”
He didn’t release her; instead he stared down at her with gentleness in his eyes as his hands spanned her waist. “I’ve enjoyed our journey here together. The hills are beautiful, and the sun warm.”
She studied the ink around his right eye—the ends of the swirls were shaped like tiny spearheads—and the darker blue lines around his irises, and the shape of his nose and lips.
He lowered his head.
Duna pulled in a breath. He was so close, and there was something softer and more courteous between them, something she hadn’t felt before.
“Halvor!”
He released her and stepped away. “Asmund.”
It was strange, but she missed his closeness.
That is foolhardy, he’s your capture.
Asmund was elderly but still tall and broad. He had a thick gray beard and wore brown leather breeches held up with a thick black belt. His top half was bare and his muscles still evident despite the wiry patch of silvery hair on his sternum.
Halvor spoke in his native dialect.
Asmund replied, smiled, and studied Duna.
“Come here, slave,” Halvor said. “Meet my old friend.”
Duna walked over the graveled ground.
Asmund was smiling broadly and showing off a mouth that had only a few top teeth. He took Duna’s hand in both of his and spoke words she didn’t understand.
“He says you have hair the color of a crow, and eyes the color of chestnuts,” Halvor said.
“I suppose that’s true.” She smiled at Asmund.
Asmund’s grin widened and he spoke again to Halvor, gesturing to the longhouse.
Within minutes they were sat beside a waning fire, and drinking mead with Asmund and his wife.
To Duna’s surprise, his wife, Nadir, spoke reasonable Celt. Enough for Duna to have a conversation about her new clothes and her boots.
“There are few women in these parts,” Nadir said. “I feared Halvor would always live alone.”
Duna hesitated, then, “I am his thrall, not his wife.”
“I understand.” She glanced at Halvor. “And my feet have been on this earth long enough to understand men. I had five sons, you know.”
“You did? Where are they now?”
“Now I only have four.” She glanced away and her smile slipped, but after a sip of her drink she retrieved it. “They live with wives and children in the hills to the south of here. There they found a good inlet port to trade; sometimes they make the journey and bring me gifts.”
“That’s kind of them.”
“Aye.” She reached into the pocket of her red dress. “This silk ribbon came from Igor.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“Feel it.”
Duna took the length of white ribbon. She hadn’t felt such a thing before; it was soft like fur, but smooth as water on her fingertips, and so light she barely knew she was holding anything. “Thank you.” She passed it back.
“It would be pretty against your black hair,” Nadir said. “May I touch it?”
“My hair?”
“Yes, I have never met anyone with such a dark color.”
“Well, yes, if you want.” Duna sat still while Nadir curled a lock of her long hair around her finger.
Halvor paused in his conversation with Asmund and watched Nadir.
Duna felt a little embarrassed by the scrutiny.
When Nadir dropped the lock and leaned away, Halvor cleared his throat. “We should leave soon, Duna.”
“The rooster is ready for us?” she asked.
“Aye, Asmund bought it yesterday from the reverend who lives up yonder on the river’s edge.”
“Reverend?” Duna was surprised; she’d never heard of a Viking practicing Christianity.
“So he says,” Nadir shrugged. “He spent time in the land of Normandy, came back talking of one God and his son and all of the saints. Said he was now a reverend.”
“He did?” Duna had a lovely warm feeling rush through her. “He is?” That stopped her from feeling so alone. Perhaps this man would be of help to her.
“Why is that so exciting?” Halvor stood and pulled out a coin from his pocket.
“Because he is speaking of my God, of my belief.”
Nadir nodded. “I see.”
“It’s not the belief of this land, slave, here we have put our destiny in the hands of Thor and Odin.” Halvor placed the coin on the table. “Please pass this on to the reverend, and thank him for the rooster.”
Asmund appeared a little confused; he hadn’t understood a word of what Halvor has said to him.
Nadir translated.
Halvor chuckled and shook his head. “Thank you, Nadir. I’ve become used to the company of Celts, my tongue slips into what was an unfamiliar dialect with such ease now.”
“It’s good for us to speak both,” Nadir said. “That’s why the reverend taught me.” She leaned a little closer to Duna. “Though you have a kind of music to your words, Duna, why is that?”
“It’s the way of her people,” Halvor said. “The dialect comes with many nuances and accents.” He held out his hand. “Come hither, slave, it’s time to go back to the longhouse.”
She stood, placing her fingers in his palm. For a moment she paused and stared at his hand, remembering how it had slapped against her rump and the heat and pain it had delivered. Yet today, as each day since, he was gentle and kind with her, as if the punishment had never happened.
‘And when it’s over, it’s over, we are on a clean slate. You will have learned your lesson and I will have forgiven you.’
She remembered his words, and appreciated that he’d stuck to them. She also hoped she wouldn’t sully her slate again for some time.
After securing the rooster in a small wicker cage, Halvor lifted her onto the wagon.
“Goodbye, Halvor.” Nadir drew him into a quick hug. “I’m pleased you’ve returned safely, after the promise I made your mother you’re like another son to me.”
Halvor held her small hands in his. “I have no urge to go traveling the seas anytime soon, Nadir.”
“I’m sure you haven’t. Your last venture was fruitful, your thrall is quite a catch.” Nadir placed her hand on his cheek. “Now go, be happy, and don’t be a stranger, come and see us soon, both of you.” She raised her hand. “Goodbye, Duna, I enjoyed meeting you.”