The Viking's Captive(30)

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.