He was surprised when she took one of his feet in her slender fingers and began to splash water over it. Some of the water rolled down her high breasts, clinging to her nipples. The water was tepid and would have been better heated over the cook fire, but he doubted she knew how to start a fire. No, she’d started one in the dining room when she’d crashed into the table filled with candles. It was probably best she avoid flammable things.
After rinsing his feet, she massaged them with oil, working the strong-scented, golden liquid into his soles.
“Very good, Freya, anticipating my needs.” He would give credit when it was due. The massage was nothing like he’d had from some accomplished whores or the sexual slaves of other men, but there was time to train her. She was trying. He’d never had a slave but had always wanted a woman who might be one for him when they were alone. Julia hadn’t enjoyed it as much as Siegfried had, but she’d done it for him. If he were going to have this unpleasant woman as his slave, she’d eventually see to all his needs. He would train her well. It was a fitting punishment for someone who was encouraging Romans to take her people as slaves. But she wasn’t really unpleasant, was she?
Perhaps she was so willing because she needed someone to follow. He hoped she’d come to the conclusion that Rome and its minions were not worthy of allegiance. But she was not obedient if she had planned on turning Etainen’s affections away. He would enjoy a little disobedience from her.
The heavy collar was all she wore, such a lovely contrast with her nudity. The freedom of nakedness juxtaposed with a blatant symbol of captivity. He grew harder under the cloth wrapped around his loins. She was becoming less and less unpleasant with each passing second.
“Do not think I will ease up on you if you do things like this. This is expected of you. You’re already forgetting. What did I say earlier about how you are to be when we are alone?”
“Oh.” She jolted and jerked her knees apart. Her knee hit the water bowl, but she caught it before it spilled. “Sorry, Master.” Her small breasts rose and fell slowly.
Now that she’d spread her legs, he could see her pink pussy. She shaved it clean, giving herself no protection from his view. He stroked the iron leash in his hand. She was completely vulnerable and wet. Very wet. Her juices were smeared on the insides of her thighs. Perhaps she found danger exciting. He’d take her a bit further in this initiation.
“Managed to handle something sharp without cutting yourself,” he said, letting her know where he was looking.
“No. I use hot wax. It burns though.”
“And why would you choose to be hairless?” He was personally glad. He preferred to have a woman exposed to his view, especially with her piercings.
“Cleanliness,” she said. “I’d heard the men in the barracks say they like it, too.”
He barely heard her, his gaze was again on her labia piercings. The two gold rings were clamped with a small lock, sealing off her sex. “You’ve Romanized the piercing.”
“Huh?” She tilted her head as she dried his feet with the clean, leather breeches. They were no longer clean, but saturated with the oil she’d used on his feet. The water for ablutions was cloudy, so Freya wiped her own dirty feet with her breeches, too.
“When I was a gladiator in Rome, I was pierced,” he said, leaning back on the furs, admiring the view of his exposed little slave. “My foreskin was pierced with two iron hoops that locked together. So I wonder why you chose this.”
“Master,” Freya said with a horrified expression.
“That
is
barbaric. Didn’t they give you women when you were a gladiator?”
“If I earned them. That was one of the first things removed when I earned my freedom. Now, as to your lock?”
She blew a lock of pale hair from her eyes. “I have the key. I think. I lose things a lot. I was relying on myself to lose that before my wedding night. I forgot to toss it when I was with Enbarr. What if I lost the key?” She was beginning to panic while he laughed at the thought of real Etainen trying to force himself to be with a woman, then finding Freya—uncivilized and locked away.
She ran to her clothing, finding the little satchel she’d worn on her hip. The garments ended up tossed in several directions. “Freya, how is it you used your magic with human metal piercings?”
“Hedwig was kind enough to give me replacements,” Freya said. “But, I can’t find it. The key. Oh, gods. We’re going to have to go to a smith. How can I explain this to a stranger? The smith will be touching me there and probably won’t have a key small enough, so we’ll have to wait for him to make one while everyone starts whispering about this, and—”
“Come here, Freya.” He chuckled. “Kneel in front of me and spread your legs.” Was she secretly eager for this induction into darker desires? He’d read that Beasts were lusty.
He knelt between her trembling thighs to examine the dainty metalwork, gleaming between her slick folds. Her lips parted when his knuckles touched the heated, pink flesh. As he worked the small pin in the lock, his knuckles brushed her clitoris. She moaned, hips bucking softly.
“Now, now, control yourself, Freya.”
She whimpered in frustration, biting her bottom lip as Siegfried gave the pin a last twist. The lock fell away. He dipped his fingertips into her hungry sex, then withdrew them, watching her as she took deep breaths, eyes closed.
“I had to pick the lock on my own piercing,” he said. “I did yours without damaging it.” He carefully removed the lock from the rings and put it aside.”
“I hoped Etainen didn’t know how to pick locks.”
He gave her a wry smile to cover his confusion, then sat on the stool and patted his thigh.
She positioned herself on his leg, her hair hanging over her red face, concealing her injuries. Her spine was stiff. The juices from her sex dampened his thigh. The metal rings between her legs were cool in contrast to her heat. He groaned, wondering if she’d been wet like that when he’d had her on his lap in the barracks.
“What are you forgetting again?”
“Where I put my left sandal that my father gave me?” Freya said after a long pause.
Siegfried gave her thigh a light slap.
“Oops.” She spread her legs again.
“You’re doing very well except for that. I am impressed. Be that as it may, you need to be punished. Twice you forgot. I didn’t want you to sit on my lap. I want you over my knee.”
There was not a sound from her as she obeyed. Her hands balled into tight fists, white-knuckled. He grabbed her wrists and placed them at the small of her back. “Hold them there. This makes three times you’ve forgotten about your legs.” They were tight together. Why did she have to forget three times? He was trying to get her after two transgressions, a nice, even number. “I am going to spank you eight times.” Eight always counteracted bad numbers. “You are going to remain in position with your legs spread as wide as you can. I want to see your pussy while you squirm.” Was that a moan?
He brought his hand down on her round ass, earning a satisfying yelp. Her hands started to loosen, but she held them tighter. A spank on the other cheek and another yelp. After three more, her tender flesh was red. She was writhing, struggling, but keeping those legs nice and wide. Her pussy was soaked, her slick juices dripping onto his leg. She obviously had a liking for danger.
He finished the last three quickly, getting her on the tender flesh on the underside of her ass. She squeaked and squirmed, rubbing her pussy against his thigh.
He placed a palm between her shoulder blades. “Stay just as you are. We are not done here. You’ve been a good girl, and I will reward you.”
****
Freya had never felt such lust before. She’d give almost anything for time alone. What must he think? He could see everything from his vantage.
Thought ended when his fingers touched her clit, roughly massaging. She groaned, unable to keep from rocking her hips against his hand, a silent plea for more.
Then a long finger slipped easily inside her slit while his thumb continued its work on her clit. Release would come quick and easy with him doing this to her body. His erection prodded her hip, and she wondered if he’d take her tonight. It had to be very late by now. Yet, she was not tired at all.
“How does it feel to want your enemy, Freya?” he asked. “The King of Outlaws, as you call me, makes you wet like a little cat in heat. Believe it or don’t, but I probably wouldn’t do this if you were completely unwilling. Obviously, you’re not.”
Wait, is he saying he wouldn’t do this if I didn’t want it? So he was bluffing about using me as his whore? Principles. He’s not going to just screw some woman who doesn’t want him at all.
“Well, Loreley?”
“You make me feel so…aah. It’s difficult to talk or think.”
There. That “aaaah” could mean so many things.
“Overwhelmed, Master, completely overwhelmed.”
Then those fingers picked up the pace, pulling away, delving deep. Her body was naught more than a puddle of sensation, all concentrated in her core. Eyes closed, she spread her legs wider to receive more of the sweet torture. She’d come soon, so close.
Then he stopped. His fingers remained within her body, spearing her, but did nothing.
“I want you to show me how pleased you are to be my slave,” he said. “Work yourself on my fingers until you cream. Keep those hands where they are. Aye, there will be no pride for you, Freya.”
She struggled to move her hips. From his words, she knew he intended it to be awkward, humiliating. He wanted to make the Roman-loving bitch make herself come on who he thought was her most hated enemy.
No matter that she wanted this, the feeling of surrender that washed over her when she began to move her hips was unexpected. This was not a story she could set aside or a fantasy while she brought herself to completion. This was her life now, altogether real.
Real, deliciously real.
He would not ask her to do something he found unattractive. The erection was a firm indicator, so to speak. He was right; there would be no pride in pleasing him, even though she wanted to do so badly. She gyrated, moaning at the penetration.
“Faster, Freya. Fast and hard.” His voice was hoarse, a good sign.
She obeyed, trying not to care how clumsy her efforts were. It was what he wanted. She’d promised. He’d taken so much abuse for their people. If this was what he enjoyed…
Who are you kidding? You are enjoying this just as damned much and want to swive that beautiful body of his.
She was thrust over the brink, her body pulsing on his fingers, her chain scraping the floor. The cold of the metal, the heat pooling in her sex, the dampness between her thighs, and his firm touch inside her melded together in one glorious rush of sensation. She screamed her release, body shuddering atop the taut muscles of his thighs.
When her flesh cooled, he withdrew his fingers and wiped them on his discarded toga. “Kneel in front of me, between my legs.”
She did so, being sure to keep her legs spread wide.
Seeing this, he issued his next command. “Undo my loincloth…with your teeth.” He added the last almost as an afterthought, more than a hint of smugness in his tone.
This was more difficult than his toga, requiring her to unravel the bindings from between his legs. At least he was standing. She moved around him on hands and knees until his thick cock was freed. It was still erect, inches from her nose, springing from a thatch of dark gold curls.
“Take it in your mouth,” he said, his voice husky, probably because her breath was brushing the length. “Carefully. Don’t let your teeth touch.”
She already knew what to do. She used her lips, taking him deep into her mouth, laving the head with her tongue. She bobbed her head back and forth, stroking her lips along his shaft. Again and again, she worked the proud cock, tasting the salty droplets of his seed.
“I’m going to come,” he said, sooner than she would have expected. So, she’d done a good job. There were no further orders. Fortunately, she also knew the best road to take. At least here she seemed to have a sense of direction. She took him as deep as she could, drawing her tongue along the rigid cock.
He groaned, hands fisting in her hair. She reached up, grabbing the lean muscles of his ass, fastening him to her. His cock jerked, hot seed filling her mouth in salty waves. She swallowed quickly while being cautions not to scrape him. She said a silent prayer of thanks to whoever might hear her that she hadn’t ended up choking.
****
“Gods, Freya,” he groaned, withdrawing his cock from her hot mouth. It had been so long since a woman had done that. Her legs were still spread, too. And she was wet again. Though she would have made a shitty ruler, she made a damned fine concubine. There had not been a single complaint. “You are a virgin?”
“Yes.” She looked away, lids lowered. Her hair was mussed, pulled away from her face by his eager hands. “I spent time in the barracks. That sounds bad. I mean I heard stories, what’s bad, what’s good.”
“That, that was good. Very good. You must have had practice.” Had she fooled around with one of the men?
She tugged at her hair. “I may have practiced on a carrot. Bertha always said vegetables were good for you.”
He laughed. As long as she wasn’t talking about Rome, she was tolerable. That mouth of hers, for all the filth it had said, had certainly paid homage to him.
He was glad she had not wasted all her efforts on Etainen. The chieftain, besides being a Roman stooge, also bore the Roman affection for young men.
But, there was one problem. “Why go through all these efforts if you knew you would one day wed Etainen?”
“You are very suspicious,” she said. “It was all part of my nefarious plot to torture you—sexually—and make you spill all your secrets. Um…that was a joke. I had my reasons for agreeing to wed Etainen, fey or not. I had hoped circumstances would change. They have.”
“Bed,” he said, climbing under the furs. The furs were thin and patched but better than sleeping on the ground or on a wooden pallet at the gladiator school.
She stretched out beside him. “Um, Master? Do I have to keep my legs spread when I sleep?”