Chapter Thirteen
Three weeks later
“Oh, you clever boy, you found the little critter.” Duna clapped as Misty shoved his tiny paw between two barrels and prodded a mouse. “You’re growing up to be so clever.”
He’d almost doubled in size, he chewed everything and had just about learned not to jab his claws into Duna as she held him—for each time he did, she yelped and pushed him aside.
“That’s it, a bit more,” she encouraged. She had jobs to do, but playing with Misty was too tempting.
He flattened his small furry body to the stone floor and stretched to reach the mouse.
But it must have found an escape route and made a run for it toward the stack of grain.
“Misty!” she called, laughing. “This way.”
He raced after it, going so fast he was almost a blur.
Duna followed him, tugging the sack of grain away from the wall to make his job easy. The sooner the mice population was extinguished the better. Halvor was anxious not to have their winter stores depleted.
“Duna! Why in Odin’s name are the hens still out?”
She gasped. The harsh tone of Halvor’s voice told her he was most displeased.
Glancing out of the propped open window, she realized darkness had encroached without her noticing. With the fire blazing and caught up in her game with Misty, the time had slipped away.
“Slave wench! Get out here.”
She jumped up, her heart tripping over itself.
How could she forget the hens? She was dutiful in her responsibility to them. Not only that she was quite fond of them, they were prettier than the ones back home, cluckier too, as if they had conversations with each other and her.
She left Misty to his hunt and raced outside. The chill of the evening wrapped around her.
“Duna!” Halvor shouted again. “Where are you?”
“I’m here, Master.” She rushed to the hens that were pecking around the edge of the vegetable patch. “Come on, come on.” She ushered them to the barn, but as she went she spotted several fluffy white feathers catching on the breeze. “Oh, no. Not that.”
Looking into the shadows, she searched for an injured hen, or a fox, or maybe a big bird of prey feasting on one of her livestock.
But there was nothing.
More feathers fluttered past her, each one evidence of a struggle.
“Quickly, quickly.” She ran this way and that, sending the hens into their coop.
Raven was barking; something had set him off.
Halvor appeared at her side, wearing just his breeches, for he’d been working in the field all day. “One of them is missing.”
“We don’t know that for sure.”
“There are more feathers on the breeze than a bird can lose.” He slammed the door of the coop shut, trapping the clucking hens safely inside for the night.
The sheep were quiet, having been put away a few minutes ago and feasting on meadow grass Duna had collected earlier for them.
“It’s your one eve job.” He slammed his hands on his hips and glared down at her. “How can I plow, drive in the sheep, and see to the hens?”
“You can’t, I’m so sorry.” She clasped her hands behind her back and hung her head.
She hadn’t had a spanking since the day at the lake. She’d worked hard, obeyed, tried to make the best of the situation she’d found herself in.
But now she feared a bare-bottomed spanking was in her near future.
“I am sorry, Master,” she said again. “Perhaps you will allow me to search for the hen.”
“Raven can do that.” He turned to the dog and spoke in his native dialect. Raven began scooting around, with his nose to the ground. “At least it wasn’t the rooster.”
“Yes, Master.”
“Get in the longhouse, wench. I will see to you in a moment.”
See to you.
She knew what that meant.
She scurried into the longhouse, perspiration popping in her armpits and cleavage.
Misty had been successful and was snacking on his catch.
She left him to it, then rushed to the fire and threw on two stumpy logs, poked at it to bring it back to life. She’d neglected the flames while she’d been playing with Misty and that would double her spanking, for another of her jobs was to keep it burning.
Perhaps if she quickly made Halvor’s supper, he’d go easy on her. Food would maybe mellow his mood.
She grabbed two carrots, a parsnip, and some salted mutton.
“Put that down.”
Her belly clenched, and she tensed all over, especially her buttocks.
“Now!”
She tossed the food back into the basket. “I was making—”
“I do not care what you are making. I care about a lost hen which I paid good coins for and still had another year, at least, of laying.”
Again she hung her head. “I wish it had not happened.”
“What were you doing for it to happen? How can you not notice the sun slipping from the sky?”
“I was…” She could hardly bring herself to give the explanation. She feared it would mean her ass was tanned more severely.
“Spit it out, Duna.”
“I was playing with Misty. Well, not playing, Master, teaching him to catch mice. And he was successful, look.” She pointed at him.
Halvor didn’t look. “He is a cat, he can teach himself to catch mice, which means you were wasting time when you had duties to perform.”
“Yes, Master.” She paused and swallowed a lump the size of a crab apple, which had formed in her throat. “I understand that I’ve disappointed you.”
“You have. And when you’d been doing so well at carrying out instructions, slave. I haven’t had to spank you for a long time.”
She could hear the disappointment in his tone. It made his voice deeper, dragged out the last few words of his sentence.
Staring at her feet, she wriggled her toes within her boots.
“Bend over the table,” he said.
“I do not understand.”
“I think you do, bend… over… the… table.”
Nerves swirled within her belly, memories of her previous spankings filling her mind. She was glad there was no ginger root in the house.
“Now!” he commanded, his tone sharp.
She started, her eyes misted. Rushing to the table, she pushed a small wooden board used for slicing bread aside and bent over. Her breasts pressed against the surface, and she went up onto her toes.
“Pull up your dress.” He strode to the fire and held his hands to it, as if warming his palms. “Quickly.”
Reaching behind herself, she dragged at the material of her dress, her fingers fumbling in the folds. All the time she had one eye on him, watching what he was doing, wondering how he would spank her. With his shoe? His heated palms? Or did he have some other implement in mind?
“Right up.” He turned to her, his muscles rippling beneath his skin. “You know full well where your punishment will be delivered.”
She did as instructed.
The dress was at her waist, her ass in the air, covered now only by her white undergarments.
He stepped up to her.
Resigned to her fate, she rested her cheek on the cool surface of the table.
A sudden yanking of her undergarments made her gasp and jolt forward.
Cool air slid over her ass cheeks.
The pose was familiar now, bared to him, but still a wave of humiliation went through her. She closed her eyes, trying not to think of how she must look to him in this position. So immodest, so vulnerable. He could, and would, do what he wanted with her.
An image of him working his cock by the lake besieged her. She snapped open her eyes, almost afraid he’d see into her mind.
He should have done it in private.
That thought replaced her last one. She’d touched herself, of course she had, but never when anyone would see her. Not that she’d truly understood what all the fuss was about. Her friend in the village had said playing with her cunny made her breathless and she struggled to keep her mind. Apart from that one time with the ginger, almost at this very spot, that hadn’t been Duna’s experience.
“You have added some meat to your bones,” Halvor said, smoothing his warm palms over her ass cheeks. “That pleases me for I was fearful for your strength and stamina come the winter.”
“I only want to please you, Master.” As she said it, she realized she did… mostly. Bringing a smile to his face with a good meal, making him laugh with a comment gave her a warm, mellow feeling inside.
But there was nothing warm and mellow about this moment—she was in for a good spanking, she knew that with every piece of her heart.
“You should be able to take your punishment better,” he said, “with more flesh. But do not fear, that won’t affect my treatment of you.” His work-roughened palms caught on her skin. She imagined his hand spanned her buttock entirely as he rubbed over each one.
“Thank you,” she said.
He set his hands on her shoulders, pressing her into the table. “I do not wish you to move from this position, slave.”
“I won’t, Master.”
“I want my hands free, not keeping you captive.”
“I will do my best.” Her ass was tingling already, as if the skin there knew what was coming. Her heart beat so fast she could feel her pulse in her temple.
“You will understand when I start.”
She bit on her bottom lip. She’d reached the point she just wanted him to begin so it would be over.
There was a small clunk to her right.
He’d picked up the bread board.
She gulped. It was made of solid oak, the surface flat and wide. She was sure it would deliver a wicked spank.
She didn’t have long to ponder the fact.
Whack.
“Ouch!” She jolted, but tried not to push too far up the table. Heat seared over her right cheek.
Whack.
She tried to hold in a yelp, but failed. Her left cheek had taken the strike this time. Now that was on fire, the same as the other one. The wooden board delivered such an even spread of pain.
He used it again, once on each cheek.
Her eyes welled with tears. She curled her fingers so tight her nails dug into her palms.
“This is a fitting punishment for your crime. A hen lost her life this eve.”
“I know. I am sorry.” She deserved this. She’d been so neglectful. Poor hen had done nothing wrong. It had trusted her to care for it. She’d let it down.
“Now remember, keep still, this is the start of the real punishment.”
The start?
“Oh, God.” She moaned and went onto her toes. How would she keep still if the smacks pushed her up the table?
The wooden board came down on her again, each cheek. He then set up a steady rhythm alternating between the two.
He wasn’t throwing his strength into it, the strokes were fairly light but the sheer number of them, layering up the heat had her groaning and twisting her head from side to side. Plus the size of the board meant so much flesh was punished on each spank.
After a minute he paused and rubbed over her buttocks. “You’re very red now.”
“Yes, Master, is it over?”
“No, not yet.”
He started up again.
She regretted asking. Closing her eyes meant two tears squeezed out and trickled over her face.
He owned her buttocks, they were his to do with as he pleased.
A sudden thought came to her as she suffered her punishment.
Is this making his cock hard?
She gripped the side of the table. A new sensation had seized her. It was deep in her belly and traveled to her cunny. The heat of the spanks seemed to add to it.
“You’re doing well.”
She groaned as moisture again formed between her legs.
What does this mean?
“Please…” she gasped.
“Please stop?”
“Yes… oh, Master, no more.”
To her surprise he did stop, though he kept the wooden board squashed up against her flesh, sending new tingles of pain sparking over her ass.
“No more, you say.”
“I am sorry. It will never happen again, for as long as I’m here.”
Whack.
She cried out.
“You will always be here,” he shouted. “You are mine.”
She was panting, the sensation in her cunny new and throbbing, her ass a furnace of pain.
He stepped to the side, the wooden board falling to the floor with a loud clatter.
She hoped that meant it was the end of her suffering and humiliation.
“Say it,” he said. “Say you are mine.”
“I am yours.” She held back a sob. Never had she felt so owned. So taken by anyone. Halvor filled her thoughts, her life, and took charge of her body.
She opened her eyes. His groin was level with her face.
Holding in a gasp, she stared at what was before her.
Behind the material of his breeches, it was clear his cock was as solid as iron. It confirmed her suspicions that spanking her made his cock hard, made him want to find pleasure.
A thrill went through her. It was similar to when she’d returned from the lake with the ginger in her ass and her buttocks reddened. It was a need for something. A wave of excitement. A longing that needed sating. But she didn’t know what she yearned for or how to satisfy the hunger.
Or did she?
She reached forward, stroked the tips of her fingers over the wedge of flesh. Mesmerized by the size and shape, she traced the outline of Halvor’s cock.
He hissed in a breath and tensed. “Thrall!”
She was emboldened, as if some kind of new bravery was filling her blood and whooshing around her body. Curiosity gnawed at her, adding to her brazenness.
“Master,” she said, her voice breathy. “Why does this happen each time?”
For a moment she thought he’d push her hand away, but he didn’t, instead he leaned into her touch.