His Saxon Slave
By Danielle Fonda
Smashwords Edition, His Saxon Slave
published by Danielle Fonda/ Allure Books at Smashwords
Copyrighted©2004 by Danielle Fonda.
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.
Blurb: erotic medieval m/f : Lord Bonar De Sky lays siege to a Saxon stronghold. Kiana is captured helping Welsh bowmen escape and Bonar's second in command, Goth, wants her strung up and whipped as the enemy. But Bonar decides to keep the blond-haired wench as his slave.
His Saxon Slave
By Danielle Fonda
“You will kneel before your Master,” Goth growled as he shoved the Saxon girl onto her knees.
Bonar looked down upon the wench. She was young, not yet nineteen summers, he would guess. She was youthful and fully ripe at her bosom, belly, and hips. A wealth of yellow hair adorned her, falling to her slender waist. Yet, he could not truly see her face for she gazed downward and her hair covered most of her features. Still, he could tell her features were fine boned, and the roundness of her bosom drew his eye again. The brown shift she wore, spoke of modesty, yet not outright poverty. He wondered instantly if she be a virgin. He'd not taken any slaves as his own, in this campaign to break the Saxon stronghold of Garth, preferring to give the bounty to his men.
Still, this one perplexed him, even as she angered and intrigued him. This one would be a pleasure to conquer into submission, he thought, as he looked askance of Goth. “Is she the one that led the Welshmen to safety on the cliffs?”
“Aye,” Goth answered curtly. “She deserves the lash! Those Welshmen killed ten of our men, if not eleven, before they escaped with this one's help.”
“Nay,” Bonar expelled sharply. “She will not be marred that way, unless it is by my hand for her disobedience.”
Goth appeared surprised, and it was an unlikely occurrence upon his grisly face. “Then you will keep her, my lord?”
“Yea,” Bonar responded. “I will bridle her as my slave. The looks of her alone will be worth much in the future.” Bonar looked to the east from the hill they stood upon, before he turned his gaze back to Goth. “Take her to my tent now and bind her against escape. We have yet to break through the Saxons wall this night. I would have done with this place and be onto the next.”
Kiana saw the Norman lord’s hide boots stalk away as the barrel-shaped brute named Goth hauled her to her feet. She had been too frightened to lift her head to view the Norman lord’s features, but her impression was that he was a large man. All of the Normans loomed largely, and if this Norman lord appeared at all as Goth’s gnarled face, she was sure to vomit if he laid his hands on her. Yet touch her he would, of that she could not be mistaken. The fear of it made her sickly as Goth pulled her roughly into a tent.
“Were it left to me, I would beat you!” Goth boomed as he shoved her away from him and Kiana stumbled, landing on her knees yet again. “Now strip bare, slave,” he vented harshly.
Kiana caught her cry of denial in her throat as she heard the sound of Goth’s sword being lifted from its scabbard. Would he ravish her? Terror was tight in her belly as her hands shook reaching for the bottom hem of her shift. She dared not to glance upward at the menacing Goth as her trembling hands pulled the shift over her head. She had given all of her under clothing as bandages and she had nothing left on underneath. As soon as its cloth left her fingertips, she shielded one hand between her thighs and her other arm across her breasts. In this moment she was thankful for her waist length hair.
“That will do you no good,” Goth’s rough voice told her. “For tie you I will, with your arms behind your back and I surely hope that they pain you. Now lie down on your stomach!”
Kiana could bear it no longer as she cried out her fear and denial. Goth must have expected this, for he was upon her in a trice. He grabbed her wrists harshly and forced her onto her belly with his brute strength. The air was knocked from her lungs, and she lay grasping as he tied her wrists and ankles, even taking her sandals from her feet.
“Now see if you can escape,” he muttered.
“I beg you, do not ravish me!” Kiana cried desperately.
The angry growl that came from Goth made Kiana flinch as he pulled her onto her back, while he knelt beside her. “What?” he blurted, looking down at her. “I have daughters as old as you,” he hissed, rising lugubriously to his feet. Then he bent and plucked up a large fur from the pallet beside them. “I leave you to the younger and better man!” he spat, dropping the fur over her nakedness as he turned to leave. “You just dwell on that, damsel, as you lay naked and tied, waiting for your lord. And, I hope that it pains you I do,” he continued to mutter as he left the tent.
It was then, Kiana cried out her fear in choked sobs that continued into helpless weeping. She was a slave now and the imprisonment of it was agony, upon her cringing soul.
It was in the blackest of night when the Norman lord came into his tent, and Kiana had such terror inside of her that she never closed her eyes once in all the long waiting. The Norman carried a torch with him and Kiana forced herself to gaze upon him. What she saw made her suck in a tight fearful breath. He was so huge. He was armored yes, but still brawny with strength nonetheless.
His shoulders were weighty and his thighs were thickly laid. He was taller than other men she had seen, with a wild mane of black hair. It was wavy thick hair and it laid in a blackened tangle down his back. But it was his face that arrested her the most. This was no fair skinned Saxon man, but a rough-skinned, masculine warrior. The word, warrior, breathed in every harsh angle of his strong features from the dark shadow on his jaw, of a beard not scraped in days, to his blunt, slightly crooked nose. His eyes were shards of brilliant light blue gazing down at her as she shivered in unconscious rebellion upon what they were asking, before she turned her gaze hastily away.
She should never have looked upon him so boldly. He would misconstrue her look for an invitation that she would never give him. Even as this thought entered her mind, she was flinging out her denial. “Nay!” she cried.
Yet, he was already upon her, down on his knees beside her, tugging the fur away from her nude body underneath. “You will not deny me, Saxon slave,” he growled, as his fist tangled into the hair at the back of her head.
Then he pulled the long tresses, forcing her neck to arch backward, bowing her naked body toward him. She was supine beneath him and completely powerless “Do I have the need to take a lash to you?” he asked coarsely, shifting his intense gaze over the nakedness of her pitching breasts, down over her belly, to then halt on the exposed blond mound between her thighs. His gaze remained focused there, on her defenselessly bared sex, as he shook her head using the hair he held, and he hissed, “Answer me!”
She was a coward, Kiana judged with agony, she was naught but a weakling coward, even as she cried out in terror and confusion. “Yes, beat me, for I will never willingly be your slave!”
“You would never hold against the pain. Your mere fragileness will defeat you,” he muttered angrily, still holding her body arched to his rabid gaze. “Yet if you insist to test me, I have no choice, but to prove it to you.”
Kiana would have sobbed out her surrender, but her voice was too tight with fear as the Norman lord hauled her up onto her knees before him. He towed on her hair again, forcing her head backward, with his gaze fiercely laid, as he watched while she frantically twisted her wrists against the bonds holding her prisoner. Her chest pitched fitfully, jostling the firm hills of her breasts as though leaping them to attention, while frightened puffs of breath escaped her throat.
“You are so frightened now, pagan Saxon, that you pule near to fainting,” the dark lord muttered as his free hand rose upward.
Kiana quelled at its threatening and widespread mass looming toward her. Then the sweeping grasp of his powerful fingers clasped over the column of her throat, forcing a whimper from her lips. Kiana thought surely he would choke her unto death, but his wide hand, while rough-skinned with callouses was gentle in its touch. He held her there, so vulnerable, so frightened, while the edges of his fingertips stroked her exposed throat. His thumb circled the hollow above her collarbone, while he caught and held her gaze with eyes so vivid, she felt as if they spoke secrets to her. Secrets of her fate and the surety that she was now his and nothing of this earth would change the power with which he would hold her enslaved to him.
“Yea, pagan, . . . but say to me you are my slave and you will obey me, and I will not take you from my tent to lash your fair and naked body for all my men to see,” he claimed quietly, as he ran his fingers downward between her heaving breasts. Kiana shuddered, but this time with more than fear inspiring it. “You would never last, pagan nymph, and I would despise to mar your milky buttocks so.”
Would that she could speak, Kiana thought in agony, but her throat was as tight and trembling as her body. She could do naught, but look up at her dark master, helplessly.
Suddenly there came shouts outside the tent, with the nearest voice yelling, “Milord, they have broken through the wall!”
The dark Norman lord glared toward the tent opening, yet no one appeared as he raised his voice loudly, “Yea, I will be there at once!”
When he turned his gaze back to her, Kiana saw triumph lighting his startling blue eyes, and whence he spoke, his voice was a deep tenor. “You have been rescued, pagan, for the moment. Yet, while I leave you for this time, think upon my command. You will never have the hope of defying my determination for any length of time.”
His knuckles, hot and weighty on her flesh, strayed between her breasts, then shifted lower to graze hotly over her belly. Then downward still they moved, as she quaked at their arrival to brush over the tuft of hair between her thighs. She flinched away from his touch with a frightened pant, yet he released her saying, “Lay down again, pagan slave, and I will cover you.”
It was so awkward, but she wanted nothing as much as that mere fur to cover her nakedness. So she managed, and he remained true to his word, placing the fur over her before he stood.
“I would care for nothing better than to fuck you the first time in the lord’s chamber of Garth,” he stated arrogantly, before he turned and left the tent.
Chapter Two
The stronghold of Garth fell that night as the dark Norman lord, who was now her master, had predicted. Kiana learned his name was Lord Bonar De Skye, known as Black Boar to his men. She thought the naming apt, for when he returned to the tent in triumphant, he was wild and savage in appearance. Sweat and other men's blood spotted and tangled the knotted mass of his long raven-black hair, while his eyes blazed with a brilliant blue fever in them. When his blazon gaze swooped down on her, Kiana cowered beneath the fur wishing desperately that she was able to flee, while she struggled vainly against the ropes binding her ankles and wrists behind her. She watched with horror-filled trepidation as the dark lord began to undress.
He would rape her now with the fever of victory pumping hotly through his veins. She had seen this before, when death was cheated and the battle was won. “Berserkers,” her people called men so crazed. Still in her consuming fear and anxiousness she sought to try.
“I am but a maid!” she wailed.
The dark lord merely sneered with a forceful lift of his firm lips and a flash of clean white teeth. Kiana watched helplessly as he pulled his bloody tunic up over his head and she saw his naked chest for the first time. He was so large, so deeply muscled, with thick black hair covering his chest from shoulder to shoulder, and then more from his neck to his rigid belly above his braes. It was wholly uncommon for her to see so much hair over bronzed, thickly muscled flesh.
She gasped at his power and his raw maleness as her body shook nakedly beneath the fur covering. He shoved his braes down swiftly, tugging off his hide boots, and her gaze became instantly riveted to the ruddy coarse appendage between his sinewy thighs. A male cock. So bold and engorged it was. It curved rigidly, thrusting outward above his heavy male sacs.
“Nay!” she wailed, even as he stalked toward her, with his male cock poised at her stoutly, like an angry villain. Then he was beside her, dropping to his knees as he tore the fur away from her nakedness. “Nay!” she shrilled again, trying to jerk backward away from him. Yet, with her wrists tied behind her and her ankles lashed together there was no place for her to flee.
“You will not deny me, slave,” he growled hotly, grasping the rope between her ankles with his extensive hand, and then he lifted with the strength of his muscled arm. The motion pitched her onto her back with the dark lord lifting her legs and forcing her to bend at the waist, leaving her body shaped like a corner and her bare legs straight before him.
“Mercy,” she panted uselessly, while she twisted and tried to thrash her bare legs to freedom. Hopeless. It was hopeless, as the dark lord’s upper arm muscle bulged tightly with the strength he used to pull her to him, until her naked buttocks butted against the tops of his knees. Her toes were under his chin, with her ankles on his collar bone, while her heels clipped the thick black hair over his right breast muscle.
Still, he lifted her ankles upward past his shadowy jaw, his arrogant nose, and then he pushed his head between her lower calves, until she hung around his neck like a hapless pagan charm. Her cries were choked as she thrashed her nude buttocks against his upper thighs. Yet then suddenly . . . horribly, she felt his male cock slide between the lips of her exposed sex. She stilled instantly at the foreignness of this newest assault, and it was then she sensed his male sacs lying deeply in the separated crease of her behind.
She shot a frenzied look at his crazed eyes and she saw her fate sealed in his red-rimmed eyelids, with his blue irises sparking fire. Her breasts jiggled erratically with her labored breathing, bringing the devil lord's gaze down to them. His hands stretched forward quickly to seize each of her breasts into the grip of his roughly calloused hands. She whimpered against the onslaught, bucking vainly against him. The abrasion and heat of his hands filled her, as he squeezed the swelling mounds of her breasts between his demanding fingers.
She cried out in denial, yet this was not the worst of it, for she felt the blunt head of his male cock sliding through the damp lips of her sex. She panted as she was consumed with the heat and strength of him everywhere her body struggled against his unyielding body. She had never felt the sensations that were rushing through her before.
However then, the dark lord rasped her nipples, plucking the tips roughly with his fingers and a moan rushed from her throat against her will. The cleft of her buttocks wormed around his heavy male sacs, but the fight had changed somehow as an alien wetness surged in her sex smearing the shaft of the dark lord's cock. A cock that he used to thrust through the widely parted lips of her sex. Back again, then through again, with his weighty male sacs caressing her rear entrance on each return stroke. “Oh hh,” she puled senselessly above the dark lord's heavy rasping breath.
Bonar thrust the shank of his cock through the cleft of his beautiful slave's dripping wet cunt. So hot. So wet and tender. The wetness fed him, dripping over his shaft, clinging to the head of his hotly aroused cock. He thrust. Withdrew. Thrust again as his beautiful slave moaned and rode the staff of his cock, like a humping bitch in heat. He told himself that he did not care that she was engaged now. That she rode him heatedly, not fighting him any longer.
Save it was a lie, because the wetness she exuded quickened him deeply. He'd never felt the like of it before. And the scent. The scent of her dripping sex mingled with his sweat and steamed into his nostrils like a heady vapor. It excited him. It drove him as much as her handsome and shapely feminine body. The feel of her was exquisite in his hands. Her breasts were balls of firm flesh, her ribs fragile, and her waist smoothly indented. Her thighs were satin and her buttocks were round circles of creamy flesh.
He rocked on his calves and he thrust his cock between her cunt lips again . . . then again. He looked down to see the head of his prick engorged and red with arousal, sliding through her wet blond curls that tried vainly to cling to the fat head. The rage was upon him with victory and lust pumping hotly in his blood. He was the conqueror. The lord. The master . . . and he wanted to fuck a woman, hard and fast. Deep. He wanted this woman that he played with so carnally. She was beautiful. So shapely. Her face was exquisitely wrought. Her long hair was like golden fire, and he owned her in a way that men rarely took women. She was his slave.
He rumbled deep in his throat, grasping the top of her thighs, levering his hips backward, angling the bloated and dripping head of his cock lower, searching by feel for the virgin entrance he sought. He envisioned the tightness of this virgin haven as his raging lust drove him on. He had always craved a virgin . . . wanted to fuck one, and feel how tight they must be. The knobbed head of his cock fitted to the entrance. Heat firing heat. Wetness mixing together. Trembling female flesh that would be forced to yield. His gaze lifted to his beautiful slave girl and he saw the terror in her dark blue irises. His chest heaved and the air came so sharply to his lungs that it hurt. He would rape her, he thought, trying to goad himself, looking at her delicate and emotionally ravaged face.
“Hellfire,” he swore savagely, dropping forward to brace himself on his hands over her, and pushing the tops of her kneecaps to the taunt tips of her raspberry colored nipples. She grunted a stifled scream with the loss of air in her belly. But not because he had fucked her. Not because he'd raped her virginity. Nay, fool that he was, his cock now lay on her scrunched belly with his hairy balls covering her wet cunt.
Bonar cricked his neck to the side, gritting his teeth as he shoved his raging lust back to more normal bounds. Barely. He gazed down at his slave with her pouted lips and frightened blue eyes. “You will not deny me,” he commanded hoarsely.
“Nay,” she puffed with the backs of her thighs and buttocks quivering wildly against his chest and belly. Her blue eyes skittered fearfully over his face.
“It is well that you agree, slave,” he asserted, still goading himself into thrusting into her virginity. He would take it, there was no denying that, yet her feminine delicacy, so frightened of him, caused him hesitation. He'd never fucked a woman that he found as beautiful as he found this woman. It caused him unusual feelings. He wanted to rape her . . . he wanted to fuck her beauty hard, but at the same moment, he wanted to touch her and hold her close.
He could well see that her wrists tied behind her back pained her in this position and he did not like that look upon her lovely face either. He grunted in disgust with himself as he pushed his big body to a kneeling position over her again. The motion dragged her bound ankles upward by the rope slung over the back of his neck. The view was more lustful than any he'd ever engaged upon. Her pink cunt so inviting beneath the strut of his aroused cock poised above it. His hands ended up on her rounded hips with his fingers spread out over the pliable mounds of her buttocks. The feel of her was carnal. She was firm, yet made of supple warm flesh for him to shape in his large hands.
“You will call me Master,” he muttered, letting the power of those words and certainties wash over him, before he blurted, “Say it!”
“Master!” she cried out, arching her buttocks upward at the groping of his hands on her creamy flesh. He could fit her tightly rounded ass into the palms of his hands. Her breasts thrust upward beneath his gaze as her blue-black irises gazed at him anxiously over the taut buds of her reddened nipples. She was helpless beneath him, completely within his power as he kneaded her ass, making her buttocks squirm in his wide palms.
“Have you ever taken a man’s cock into your mouth, wench?” he demanded.
Yea but his lovely slave’s anxious gasp answered his question, before she stuttered.“N-Nay, Master.”
“You will worship mine,” he stated boldly. “Now look at it!” he demanded sharply, groping her quaking buttocks deeper. Her trembling gaze hastened downward to his massive cock, and then with arrogance, he twitched the beast beneath her horrified gaze. It was at that moment he decided that this beautiful wench would one day look upon him with appeal. She would worship his thrusting cock with kisses and sighs.
Chapter Three
Kiana peeked fearfully at the dark Norman who held her naked flanks in his wide calloused hands. She should be impaled unmercifully upon the weapon of his male cock by now. The one he bade her to worship. Yet, the Lord Bonar had withdrawn, and instead he only stroked her buttocks filling her with confusion. His deeply felt gaze was solely for her exposed sex, which began to beat warmly in the separated lips. The lips grew evermore flushed and seemed to fill, while puffing outward as more wetness dribbled from deep inside her.
“Hellfire,” Lord Bonar hissed above her as she groaned in shame and denial, not knowing what was happening to her. Then Lord Bonar’s blunt finger was there, dipping into the wetness that dribbled between her buttock cheeks. She yelped and writhed her buttocks upward and away from his touch. Yet, he did not chastise her for her struggling, he merely brought the finger to his mouth and sucked it inside slowly. He was tasting it. Tasting her wetness on his finger.
“Let me go! Please!” Kiana begged.
“Never,” he growled harshly. “Now you will watch my cock, slave, and learn how I expect you to worship it with your mouth.”
“I cannot!” Kiana bawled, turning her face away.
“You will,” Lord Bonar declared fiercely.
Smack!
“Ow!” Kiana shrieked, shocked at the stinging slap that burned across the width of her bare buttocks. He had spanked her! Lord Bonar had . . .
Smack! Smack!
“Oww! Ow!” she cried out, unable to hold back the sound as she wrestled her legs against Lord Bonar’s chest trying to evade punishment from his broad hand. But he held her useless efforts at bay with a strong arm wrapped over her thighs, which he used to twist her legs and turn her buttocks to the side. The shift in position exposed the two bare and squirming moons of her buttocks more fully to the swinging slap of his palm.
Smack! Smack! Smack!
“Owwww!” Kiana cried as tears burned hotly beneath her clenched eyelids.
“Yield!” Lord Bonar hissed.
Smack!
“Ow! Please!” Kiana begged with a wail.
Smack! Smack! Smack! “Yield!” Lord Bonar demanded harshly.
“Yes,” she sobbed. “I yield to you, Master! I yield.”
“Now open your eyes and watch me, wench,” Lord Bonar ordered.
Kiana forced her eyes open through her burning tears and Lord Bonar released her twisted body to relax against him. Then he spawned a provoked growling sound deep in his throat, and she hastily looked down at his male cock, which he now gripped in his hand.
Bonar held his fierce gaze for his beautiful slave, yet he was grinning on the inside. He had barely swatted the wench's ass and she had surrendered. She was too delicate and lovely to mar with harsher beatings or using a lash, but now he had a way to punish her when the need arose. He was well satisfied with his new slave as he guided the head of his cock to her wet cunt, feeling the steady throb of arousal in the base, which he gripped tightly.
With his passion deep and driving, he smeared his cock-head with the incredible juices from her cunt and she whimpered in denial, so he vigorously did it again. She kept her gaze on his prick as he had ordered, but he noticed that each time he pushed his cock-head through the lips of her creamy pink cunt, her eyes turned unfocused and she whimpered. It was a transfixing occurrence that kept him at it, then suddenly her pale white thighs peeled open wider and her hips raised as she moaned. Hellfire, she was beautiful.
He remembered then a whore that he had swived once. For two days straight he'd kept at her one winter, while he was snowed in, at a remote keep in the north. He'd even talked to the slut and she had talked back to him, telling him how she could feel intense pleasure if she rubbed her cunt enough. Climax, she'd called it and he'd not paid much attention at the time. He had just turned her onto her belly and fucked her some more.
Then there was Goth talking about his wife one night when they'd gotten drunk after a campaign. Goth had been melancholy, missing his wife, and he'd drunkenly mourned the loss of tasting her cunt. He told great tales of using his fingers and mouth on his wife’s cunt, until she screamed and shuddered beneath him. Goth had called that climax also.
Ahh, Bonar thought, beneath the sharp edge of his arousal, he was not one for paying much attention to the wench's he swived. An hour or so of good fucking and he was gone. Normally he squeezed their tits a bit and he never kissed them. But now with his beautiful slave’s reactions drawing his full attention the more he played the bulbous head of his prick into the swelling lips of her cunt, he found the power of her reaction was enthralling, because he knew it was unwilling on her part. Never would his comely slave have writhed against his cock, freely lifting her cunt to him in a begging and lustful way. The sight and feeling of it was towering and he finally took the root of his prick fully into his hand to stroke. Nonetheless, he kept his cock-head prodding deeply into her split cunt with each vigorous stroke of his hand, while her dark blue eyes joined his in watching every move.
The intimacy they shared together was riveting. He pumped his cock evermore lustily, while his voluptuous slave moaned uncontrollably, riding the head of his prick deep with the heat of her sopping cunt. Her cheeks turned rosy and her mouth opened as if pleading to be filled, while her breasts bounced firmly, until she was gasping. The sounds she made enthralled him as his own aroused sounds intertwined with her moaning. The blue of her eyes darkened to the depths of a stormy sea as his chest heaved and his belly drew inward.
Bonar pushed his hand faster, and his blond Saxon slave screamed with the sound of female pleasure. That sound and the visible ripples he saw shuddering through her lovely body, pushed him over the edge as he strained his sinewy hips inward. Then, his seed ejaculated, landing on her trembling dusky pink cunt. The belly-groan that erupted from him was uncontrolled at the sight and the intense feelings of his pleasure. This was a new height of ecstasy. He pumped his cock again groaning, and with each renewed stroke, he smeared his seed into his slave’s ripely throbbing cunt, until the pleasure finally ebbed after many long moments.
His breathing was strained with sweat dripping down his hairy chest and wetting his slave’s thighs, as he looked down on her pretty flushed face. Her eyes were still skewered to his now diminishing prick, but her irises were sated in a dusky blue coloring.
He reached to his left, drawing his knife from his belt tossed there. His comely slave’s breath caught as she tried to keep her gaze downward, yet she could not manage it. Her blue eyes widened as he brought the knife forward, yet of course he lifted it to the rope at her ankle and cut it. Her legs trembled as they landed freely on his sweaty chest. Then they slid down over his arms and hands, over his upper thighs, to the outside of his knees. She was splayed before her Master with her cunt gaped open and soused with his seed.
His chest heaved. “Roll over so I may cut your bindings,” he ordered.
His Saxon did this gladly, wishing to cover her cunt from his gaze, he was sure, but giving him the ripe view of her female buttocks instead. A lustful ass of plump creamy white flesh. He ignored it . . . mostly and cut the bindings on her wrists. She lay still on her side, waiting his next command. The feel of that obedience and his command over it, lifted his chest perversely as he bent to crouched over her, and he whisper in her delicate cup-shaped ear. “Go to bed, wench. In the morning I enter Garth as lord and master.”