Vengeance

She'd been bleeding mad, that's what. Then she'd turned his back into a bleeding mess, though she didn't whip him half as hard as the Viking warriors who'd made it their business to break all their captives. She'd stopped too quickly too. Probably didn't want him to be useless to her, from the way she'd looked at him as he dressed. Instinctively, he'd known that she wanted to ride him the way she'd seen Fastvi fuck him. All it would take was one word. Please. But that word wouldn't drop from the mouth of the likes of her. Nor him.

The rest of the day had been a blur of activity. He'd been made to perform the hardest of chores, always under her watchful eyes. Now that she'd caught on, he knew he’d have a much harder time of it... He was prepared to walk around with his cock hard and unsatisfied, that was all there was to it.

Easy to say during the day. Harder to live by at night.

If the days wrung every bit of his energy out of him, the nights were worse… so much worse. He wasn’t allowed any physical activity, nay… except for the bleeding ‘cock-lifts.’ That woman put him through his paces night after night. Tied down, or ordered not to move, he was forced to watch her womanly tricks… watch until his cock lifted … until it ached and seeped. And even then, there was no relief. It was as if she had a second sense about her… she’d wake the instant he grew soft, and it began all over again.

In the mornings, he would wake with a boulder between his legs. Little did she know that what made it worse was not her laughter, but the hunger in her gaze. So many times, that brought him close… so close to doing as she asked, pleading with her for his release… begging. Bah… he wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction.

So he threw himself into the chores he was given, working twice as hard as any man, hoping the activities of the day would make his body useless for anything other than sleep. But God had cursed him with a cock that had a mind all of its own.

Gritting his teeth because he felt that very part of him stir and knew it had to be because she was somewhere close, watching him. The bitch. He strode toward the other end of the settlement, but stopped cold at the sight of snow tainted with blood. Had they slaughtered an animal? But that made no sense, the slaughter house was in the other direction. Had they brought more slaves? That might be it… the blood was close to the whipping posts. About to leave, he heard a low moan.

Come on Spike, not your business. But apparently his cock wasn’t the only part of him with a mind of its own.

Following the sound, he walked around the side of a building and abruptly stopped again. What was that thing? God almighty…. He the face and body of a man but….

“The blood eagle, the blood eagle….” A group of children ran past, pointing at the ghastly sight.

Blood Eagle. He made out the shape that was carved on the man’s back… an eagle. The wings…. The Vikings had somehow pulled the man’s ribs out of his back and broken them so they looked like the wings of an eagle in flight. He’d been gutted too. When Spike looked closer, he saw that it was only the man’s lungs that were exposed… “What… why?” he was gagging as he asked.

The dying thing… nay man… answered. “Free. Run away.”

“Stupid bastard… it’s winter.” One hand on the wall of the building, Spike retched his breakfast. The expulsion of the contents of his stomach was so violent that he tasted his own bitter bile.

Hours later, he was digging a trench near the bathing pond, when he saw that same group of children, singing and playing ‘chase the thief.’ He’d been young once. Played once. Come home with shoes completely covered by mud. Back then… they’d played ‘catch the dirty Viking.’ It didn’t hurt anymore that he’d always had to play the Viking. Made him that much the faster and stronger for it. Yeah.

A piercing silence brought him out of his reverie. The children had stopped singing but were looking into the pond, their faces frozen in expressions of horror. There were other slaves around, but none paid any attention.

Dropping his shove, Spike headed for the pond. All he could see was long blond hair floating around a thrashing figure, just below the surface. Bending over, he reached down and caught the child by her hair and the back of her shift and pulled her out. She looked to be about five or six and was coughing, but fine.

As casually as if he’d retrieved a child’s toy, he left them and went back to his chores.

*

Bjuffa hid, and was ashamed. She’d caught only the barest glimpse of Spike saving the child before she’d ducked back behind the outbuilding, but she’d seen enough to know of a certainty that Spike hadn’t had to do it. No one but slaves had seen him, or the accident. And accidents happened with great frequency, here. The land was rough and untamed, brutally hard to wring a living from; it was why they raided, to get what could be neither grown nor bartered.

He could have let the child die. An enemy’s child, the spawn of his masters. And he hadn’t. Wondering at the strange act, she went about her daily round of chores, back-breaking work that had made her strong. Managing the men and women of the settlement; heartbreaking work that had made her tough. And she wondered, throughout the day, why he had done it. What sort of man would save a child who would only grow to bring more pain to his own people?

A very remarkable one, she concluded at last. A man with more to him than mere defiance and hate. A man with a soul behind those blue eyes and that sulky, sensuous mouth. A man, she realized, whom she was utterly unwilling to share, with anyone. Not because he was hers to take vengeance upon for killing her brother. But… because he was hers.

She shook her head violently. Where had that come from? He was her slave, not her lover!

But Bjuffa knew one thing for certain. Bjorn would not have saved the child of an enemy.

*

The large bathing barrel he'd filled with hot water his own two hands was steaming in front of the fire. The door opened and shut with shattering force. His heart slammed into his chest.

"Kneel," Bjuffa told Spike imperiously, gesturing toward the wall where she'd rigged ropes and makeshift pulleys to confine him in any position she might care to choose. His punishment, had he but known it, had only begun. And her attitudes, had she but known it, had undergone a subtle change, wherein having this Saxon as a slave was becoming as important as wreaking vengeance for the death of her brother Bjorn. His blue eyes flashed with that defiance that she loved to see; it was a far better sight than bland indifference, and one she intended to provoke again and again until he was mad with need for her. Then, and only then, might she grant him relief with her body. No one else's. Not ever again.

"Strip, and kneel," she clarified, her green eyes glinting with pleasure and anticipation. This would be a worse punishment for him than any whipping she might deal out... and she fully expected to make him nearly mad with need for her.

He rose back up to take his clothes off. Whatever she had in store for him... it was making her blood hot. He could read her quite well now, and he had to admit a part of him was scared of what was in store.

As he pulled his shirt off, he felt the weight of her stare. His stomach clenched... his skin felt too tight. Swallowing hard, he pushed his breeches down over his hips, freeing his cock. One step forward, and he was on his knees, looking up directly into her eyes... breaking her rules already. "Go on then, give it your best."

She gave him a smile that was a bit too predatory to be tender, although it came close, and cupped his chin in her hand briefly. "Pretty Spike," she purred, and hooked her ropes to the collar and his wrists, giving him time to stand before she secured them, allowing him that brief moment of dignity before she took it all away again, stepping gracefully to her tub of hot water, and stripping away her clothes with a slow sensuality and an air of ceremony, preparatory to one of the most rare and luxurious moments of her life: a hot bath. The fact that it would be used to torment Spike with her nakedness and beauty was a considerable addition to the attraction.

That was a first. She had to be mocking him because no compliment would ever drop from those lips. His gaze was locked on her as she took off her clothes. The instant her pert breasts were bare, he sucked his breath in. Already, his body was stirring... and he'd had no relief... even by his own hand, which didn't bode at all well for him.

Bjuffa smiled over her naked shoulder at him, and let her eyes travel along his compact, muscular form to the stirring shape of his manhood. Tauntingly, she licked her lips, and perched on the edge of the tub, facing him, then lifted one leg high to slide into the water, giving him a tantalizing glimpse of her sex, like a pink flower between her legs. "Mmmm," she groaned with pleasure as she slipped into the water's heated embrace, sliding low to dunk her head and emerging with her hair slicked back before she took up a sea sponge and began to wash herself in leisurely, luxurious fashion, incredibly aware of Spike's eyes on her every move.

His blood drained from his head and rushed to his groin... all of it. His thoughts were a jumble of desires and needs, some so dark, he'd never admit to them. There was no pretending now... he couldn't give her that bland look of disinterest on pain of death. And the bitch knew it... reveled in it as she gave him tantalizing glimpses of her womanhood... of her nipples darting in and out of the surface of the water.

Cas: His eyes grew dark as her hand moved the sponge betwixt her legs. Licking his lips, he strained against the ropes... needing... wanting... aching.

Deliberately, she turned her head to meet his blue eyes with her green ones, and let her gaze travel up and down his muscular, beautiful body, lingering on that proud, desperate arousal... and this time, it would be all hers. All of his heat, all of his desperation, all of his hunger and need, poured into her. As it should be. "What do you want," she prodded, resting her head on the high back of the wooden tub.

"Free." Freedom to fuck you push inside you, to fuck you so hard you'll learn to never taunt a man to excess, take you again and again until you forgot your world... your station... your very name.

"Liar," she laughed, and rose to sluice water over her golden body from a cup, dipping and pouring, bending and swaying, letting the water pour down over her body like a heated caress. Steam rose from her flesh, and her nipples pebbled in tight buds of arousal and chill. "What do you want? If you were loose... what would you do?"

His gaze locked on her ass, then when she turned, on her belly... her breasts. He balled his fists, tugging against the ropes, snarling at his inability to free himself. What a sight he must make, thrusting his hips... fucking air... how she must be enjoying his torture. His defeat. She wouldn't have it... not that easily.

He licked his dry mouth and raked his gaze over her. "You want to be fucked," he pointed out... aware of what it was she needed from him. What he'd kept from her even last night when she hadn't been able to bring him alive like she had the man on the anvil.

She snorted a laugh at him. "Know what I want. And good that you know, too. A slave should know his mistress' desires. But I asked... what do you want?" She slid a hand along the wood of the tub, and used her other to illustrate her points on her own body.

"To taste my breasts?" She stroked them, and pinched her own nipple hard enough to send her eyes rolling back in her head with the pleasure of it. "To lick my cunt, hot and slick for you? Taste my honey?" She ran her fingers teasingly through her curls, fiery gold in the light from the hearth. "Make me beg for a change? Ride me for hours? Ride me until I scream?"

Brilliant blue eyes flared and smoldered in turn as he imagined just that. His hands... hand prints leaving white marks on her flushed body. His mouth claiming every part of her, showing her who was the master and who was the slave. His cock, pounding against her, inside her, uncontrolled, revenge for the hours of torture she'd heaped on him... hours of whipping him up to a desperate state, only to leave him.

"Beg... yes," he managed to grind out as he struggled again to free himself. That appealed to him the most.

She withdrew her fingers from between her thighs, and licked them sensually, her eyes never leaving his. "Begging," she repeated, her own eyes flaring like gems with her sudden movement as she stepped from the tub and moved to stand before him, just out of range of his raging cock, no matter how he struggled. "You... are begging to make me beg?" She rested the fingers she'd just licked along his cheek, letting him scent her arousal, and trailing the dampness along that knife-edged cheekbone.

"Interesting," she drawled, her eyes gleaming, and dropped to her knees to take his arousal in her mouth, sucking hard for a fleeting instant and then rising to return to her tub, narrows waist and supple rear swaying enticingly.

The loud groan that broke from him when she withdrew shamed him. She knew what she was doing to him, knew what he wanted... same as he knew what she needed from him. But validating her power in that way angered him more than the rest. "Bitch," he bit out... knowing he had no prayer of relief, not this night.

She bent over the tub, one leg extended for soaping and her ass pointed at him, the pink flesh of her sex exposed. "Have to beg better than that," she warned him, steel creeping into her voice. This might take longer than she had expected... but she could pleasure herself, if she needed to... and he couldn't. There would be no relief for Spike except what she gave.

His gaze clinging to every provocative move she made, he shuddered with need. She had him on edge... so close to giving her what she wanted. In truth, if she'd mounted him, she would have gotten exactly what she wanted.

He struggled to keep his whimpers to himself and his groans behind teeth stubbornly clamped together. But as the night wore on, his efforts were less and less effective.

For hours, she played with him... forcing him to watch as she pleasured herself... or made the motions of pleasuring herself. Reality made no difference to him, not when his body was covered with sweat... not when he was all but delirious with need. He'd never known a man could be made to be so worked up, but the Viking Witch had taught him better.

His breathing was finally under control now, but he knew it was only a matter of time. She'd wake again... and if his cock was relaxed she'd do everything in her power to work him up again. He hated her. Hated what she could do to him. Hated wanting her the way no man should want an enemy.

Bjuffa woke again, and glanced over to Spike, who this time was still hard. She must have dozed off for only a moment this time, furs sensual against her naked skin, and she rubbed against them with taunting moan to let him know she was awake and ready for more torment, laughing to herself at the sharp intake of his breath.

She strolled over to him, and ran her fingers along his hardness, from chest to belly, and below. His cock leapt in her hand, and she smiled up at him, her eyes hungry and triumphant. "Want your tongue," she said idly. "Up inside me, hot and wet. Still want to make me scream?"

He wanted his cock inside her... he wanted to make her scream... scream the way she'd made his body scream and weep all night long. "Yes," he said eventually, forcing the word out. Anything was better than this... anything.

"Make me scream," she said, eyes bright with challenge, "and then... maybe you get something else you want." She waited as calmly as she could, wondering if he would take the dare. The offer. It would be dangerous to let him loose, but... worth it. So worth it.

"Yes," he nodded, not at all fooled by her lies. She hadn't given him satisfaction on the anvil, she hadn't even after that ... she enjoyed seeing him in this state, and knew it. For him, release could only come from other source and she'd already seen to it that they were no longer available.

"Free me." In a rude gesture, he stabbed his tongue out a few times, showing her what he could do. "Make you scream..." His eyes shone with an odd light, a predatory gleam entering them as he made a promise to himself even as he told her what she wanted to hear.

She nodded, feeling renewed wetness between her legs at the thought of him willingly at her service, and went to release the ropes from their hooks, giving him freedom of movement. Freedom to serve her. Freedom to make her scream.

The instant the ropes were released, thought still binding his wrists and ankles, he stepped forward, his cock pressing boldly against her belly. Anger... arousal... desperation... he wasn't thinking straight, not anymore. He as the animal she'd turned him into. The lion that mastered its lioness, the dog that forced its bitch to its bidding. He was that, and every other male creature driven to dominate, to show who was the master. He used his body to force her back, one step at a time... crowding her, implacably guiding her backward toward her bed as surely any predator pinning its mate into place.

Bjuffa gave ground, watching his eyes warily. This was... strange. The fire in his eyes was an unfamiliar one, and she decided that a reminder was in order, striking him across the face with an open palm, not nearly so hard as she had sometimes hit him. "Tongue," she reminded him. "Use your tongue."

His cock swelled, even as his cheeks... and his pride took another stinging blow. He pushed her onto her back, and followed her onto her bed. He would follow the letter of her demands... but only a whore of the lowest order would enjoy this, or perhaps her paying customer.

He forced her knees apart, and opened her to his gaze. Every woman felt vulnerable with a man clamping her thighs down and staring at her most private parts, and this Viking was no exception. She might want him... might want his tongue inside her... but she squirmed as surely as all the rest as he stared at her.

What was he waiting for? He should be beyond eager to please her by now, grateful for the chance to pleasure her with his mouth, and yet he loomed above her, just... watching. Had he never done this before? She snapped at him, impatient and hungry to feel his mouth, "Works better with tongue," she taunted, as though he needed lessoning.

"Aye." The single word hung between them for too long. Then he lowered his head, licking her with the broad, flat part of his tongue. Again, and again, he stroked and played with her, feeling her arch... knowing she wanted more pressure... more penetration. All those hours that she'd tortured him had affected her as well. She wanted release... wanted it now.

He started to point his tongue, stab it, make it vibrate over her clit. Always, he teased her opening, giving her only half of what she craved... running his thumbs over it as his mind foisted other images on him. He wanted to rape her... the blood pounding in his head... in his surging cock was making it hard for him to resist... but if a man could rape a woman with his tongue, that was what she was going to get from him.

Better with tongue, indeed. He was... masterful with that appendage. Skilled, tormenting, arousing, and more than likely to wring that scream from her from need as much as arousal. She arched against his mouth, demanding more; she spread her thighs in silent command, insistent and hungry. And more than anything, she wanted him inside of her... but that wasn't what she'd commanded. Damn it!

When he had her mindlessly writhing under his mouth... when he knew she'd not be capable of issuing anymore of her imperious commands, Spike got up onto his knees. Before she could protest, he wrapped his arms around her legs up to her knees, then forced them all the way back. Each of her knees was now next to her ears, her womanhood and ass open to his vulgar looks, and there was nothing she could do as he lowered his head and fucked her with his tongue. It was violent, and hard, and uncomfortable for her... the ropes that burned his arms rubbed against her legs. Her cries, a mixture of protest, pain and desire, merely pushed him harder. She would scream... he didn't care what she screamed... but she would scream.

Bent into a knot of flesh and hot, wet need, Bjuffa snarled and attempted to writhe, to no avail as Spike held her pinned with his body weight, his strong arms, and his wickedly cruel tongue, making her like the degradation and seek for more of it, if he would only keep on tasting her, fucking her with his tongue. The pain even added to her arousal, sending her into a place where her entire focus was on the things he made her feel, that he forced upon her. By her consent, true, but still... she was being forced. And she liked it.

Feeling her strain under him... fight him... sometimes for more, sometimes for release... and sometime just to fight, he became more relentless, more determined. Inching the lower half of his body closer, he dared to fuck his cock against her lower back, his movements as frenzied as her movements against his mouth. He violated her again and agains with his tongue, with the unorthodox position he kept her in, with his punishing pace. Her cries were growing louder... but not loud enough for him, not anywhere near loud enough.

He pinned her knees even more firmly down near her ears... she would shout, whether it was from pleasure or pain, he didn't care... but he'd have her at his mercy, and she'd know it. She started to buck... to curse him... to demand he let her legs go. His refusal to comply got him what he wanted, her thrashing and shouting under him... where was that cool Viking control now? He would have asked her... gloated, but his mouth was busy ratcheting up her need, and he was ramming his aching cock against her... getting the relief she'd cruelly denied him for so long. Fucking hell... come on Viking....

She clawed at his shoulders, at his arms, fighting for freedom to move and dominate as she’d intended, harder still to come, and screamed her pleasure and fury into the night.

One leg of the bed started to lift of the ground and strike it with increasing speed marking the growing desperation in their movements. Sheer will kept him going... kept him from coming until she screamed and convulsed... her thighs trying to press together as she lifted and rubbed herself against his face.

She was still making little sounds... little movements, when he got up on his knees and showed her his engorged cock. It took only on slide over her wet entrance for him to explode with the same fierceness as she had. His eyes locked with her shocked greens as he gave a loud groan of his own satisfaction, and dared to smile his triumph over her.

Limp and stunned at the power of her orgasm from his mouth alone, her legs unknotting painfully as they lay limp and spread around his body, nonetheless she nearly came again as he slid along her, and his hot seed splattered across her belly and breasts. Her nails dug deep furrows into his upper arms, drawing blood, and she was too stunned by both the limp satisfaction he'd given her with his mouth, and the massive disrespect he'd shown during and after, to strike him as she should have, hard enough to break out teeth.

"Slave," she snarled, and sank her nails into his flesh, trying to regain the smallest bit of superiority over her Spike, and finding it difficult indeed. "My slave."

The pricks of her nail were nothing. He'd gotten what he wanted, and she bleeding knew it. If she was to have her vengeance, he had and would give her reason. Cocking his head to the side, he emulated her tone as he flicked her clitoris. "Slave."

Bjuffa jolted violently, her watery muscles jerking and her stomach clenching as he did to her exactly as she'd done to him, slapping his cock dismissively when she'd denied him his pleasure and ridden him into sweating exhaustion, bound across the blacksmith's anvil just after getting his collar. The difference was, she'd had her pleasure. And she'd be getting more, too, without giving him a chance to spend all over her again!

"Yes," she agreed, dragging her nails further through his flesh. "You are." Shoving him to the floor, she rose from the bed and bathed the sticky evidence of his pleasure from her skin, his blood from her fingers, fuming inside. He had beaten her at her own game, this time... and he'd done it cleverly, without ever even disobeying her.

Even in a brother-murdering slave, she had to respect that.

Her words mattered not, she knew... and he had that satisfaction. He stood up, and watched her clean herself of him, dry herself and put on a shift this once, as if seeking some sort of protection. He waited, and waited for the punishment that never came. Maybe this was his punishment, he thought as he retreated to the furs near the fire. Maybe she wanted him to worry and wonder at what her retribution would be.

As he settled in, Spike rolled on his belly and rested his chin on his forearms. As the dying flames flickered, he could see her. For the first night in many, she wasn't restless and might even have fallen asleep already. What would it be like to climb into her bed, not an enemy, not a slave, not a rebel... but an equal? Would there be the same fire betwixt them? And why the bloody hell did a slave who would seek his freedom when the ice melted even waste time with such thoughts?

(A/N: Please comment and let us know how we're doing ::grins::)