The Viking's Captive(17)

“Master. What are you doing, Master.” He looked at her. “Do not make it worse for yourself than it already is, Duna.”

She swallowed. Her throat had become dry. There was an iron strength to his tone. He would not be dissuaded from whatever it was he planned.

After removing his shoe and setting it on the table at his side, he beckoned her by crooking his finger. “Come hither.”

“Why… Master?”

“Because by willfully burning the fish I caught for our dinner, you have earned yourself a punishment. I need you here to do that.”

“Do what, Master?”

“You are soon to find out.” He paused. “And if I have to stand to get you, that will double your pain.”

Pain. She didn’t like the sound of that.

“Duna.” He flattened his palm as if offering her to take his hand. “We must live together, and understand each other. It’s clear you need training in this. Consider what’s about to happen just that… training.”

She gulped and took his hand.

His palm was callused, and his big fingers wrapped around hers.

He tugged her close, her bare feet slapping on the hard ground as she took a couple of fast steps.

“Over,” he said, nodding at his lap. “Bend over my legs.”

She stared at his thick thighs encased in dark breeches. She had no idea what he meant to do to her for this punishment. Was he going to rape her, as she’d heard many Vikings did? Was he going to bind her, shackle her so she couldn’t move and was rendered helpless?

“This first lesson is important, and you have to remind yourself that it’s all your doing. I have no wish to punish you, Duna. It’s you who’s made it this way. You have as good as asked for it.”

As he’d spoken he’d drawn her closer still, so her legs pressed up against the side of his left one.

“Like this.” He pulled her arm, forcing her to bend.

Suddenly she was over his lap, her ribs pressing against his solid leg muscle, and her hair falling over her face.

He pressed her lower, so her ass was the highest point of her body and her toes had lifted from the ground.

Gasping, she reached for something to hold and found both his leg and the chair leg. “Get off me.”

“Hush, for that kind of talk is forbidden. You are mine. You will not tell me to ‘get off you’ when a punishment has been earned.”

Her mind was swimming. What did he have planned for her? Her cheeks reddened as blood rushed to her face. She wished the smell of burning fish would weaken, for it reminded her of the rash decision she’d made to spoil their meal.

“Like this,” he said, dragging up the lower half of her dress. “I need to get to you.”

“No, please, don’t rape me…” Fear gripped her as cool air washed over her naked thighs. She battled to get up, get away from him. She’d run into the hills, take her chances with the wolves and the boar, anything was better than Halvor forcing himself upon her.

“I’m not raping you, Duna.” He placed his hand squarely between her shoulder blades, keeping her in position. “Now keep still.”

She huffed out a breath. He’d well and truly trapped her.

He continued to hike up her clothing, until she was aware of it bunched around her waist.

Her undergarments were old but clean, and as he dragged them downward, exposing her bare buttocks, she suddenly realized what he had in mind.

I’m going to get spanked.

She hadn’t been spanked since she was a child, and then only once for going to the other side of the island without telling her mother and creating a day of worry for her parents.

“Keep still,” he said, rubbing his work-worn palm over her naked flesh.

She tensed and clenched her ass cheeks. His touch was so intimate, on a part of her that she kept covered and unseen.

Yet here she was exposed and vulnerable before this Viking.

A sob bubbled up from her chest; it was part humiliation, part regret for her actions.

He chuckled. “I haven’t even started yet, Duna, surely you’re not crying already.”

She writhed within his hold, finding a new strength she hoped would mean escape. But she barely moved. His strong grip on her seemed effortless. “Leave me alone.”

“We’ve already established that’s not going to happen.” He leaned, reaching for something.

It was with horror she realized what.

His shoe.

“Now this will hurt, as it’s designed to. For what would be the point of a master reprimanding his slave if it wasn’t painful?”

She didn’t answer. It was another one of his stupid questions.

“But if you relax,” he continued to stroke her buttocks, as if learning their shape, “it will be less so. There’s nothing I can do about that, slave; you can choose or not choose to make this a whisper easier on yourself.”

She closed her eyes and curled her toes.

“Answer me.” He pinched the skin on the roundest part of her left buttock.

“Ouch!” She jerked. “Yes, Master. I understand, Master.”

“Good. Now you will receive one dozen strokes to each side. You may cry out, for there is no one to hear.”

She gripped the chair and his leg until her knuckles paled. All she could do was brace for the impact.