Irina came to beneath a pile of furs that was so heavy it nearly prevented her from moving; then she realized that her hands were bound in front of her, making it doubly hard to maneuver. Try as she might, no amount of pulling loosened the stiff leather bonds. Naked and vulnerable, she tried to hurry; deep, male voices drifted into the tent from just outside and she knew she didn’t have long before… before… Struggling frantically, she could not complete that thought. That ending was just too unbearable to think about.
Oh, why hadn’t she listened to her mother when she said not to stray to far from the Keep? That there were dangerous marauders in the area who would think nothing of kidnapping her and selling her into slavery? She always lost her head when she was in the forest, gathering the herbs she used in many of the healing potions she was famous for. Her reputation as a healer was known all over the Southern Province, and it was well deserved—some of her successes still sent annual tributes that contributed to the family coffers that had dwindled alarmingly since Papa’s death.
But no healing powers were going to help her to escape. And it was too late to lament her pitiful lack of attention while her brother Brian was trying to show her the finer points of swordsmanship he’d learned while training to be a knight.
She’d just rolled onto her stomach, trying to shinny out from under the primitive covers, when the tent flap opened.
He’d waited all day for this—knowing she’d be helpless in his tent when he got to her. Even if she’d recovered and somehow managed to get as far as the door, the guards he’d posted there would have made sure she stayed put. He’d wanted her for longer than he’d ever wanted any woman; females were ripe for the pickin’ and he took them whenever he felt the urge—which was frequently—but not this one. This one was special for her extraordinary medicinal abilities.
Bryce de Keive wasted no time in divesting himself of his leather jerkin, sword belt and breeches as his eyes settled on the makeshift bed. He couldn’t see “the angel of Sudden Hill” under the furs, but he knew she was there, every softly rounded inch of her. Six-foot-three and gloriously naked, his heavily muscled body still glistening with sweat from the recent raid, Bryce watched avidly as the pile writhed, and soon one pink toe peeked out into the cold air. He smiled to himself. She was obviously trying to get up. This would be fun.
Her back to him, she levered herself off the bed, standing unsteadily, then hunching over when she realized that she was naked for all to see. There was no one but him to notice and he was nothing but appreciative of the site of her creamy white skin, sleek, slim back, and amply rounded bottom. When Irina turned to try to make her way out of the tent, she walked right into his bare, broad chest and found herself trapped not only by her bound arms, but against the immovable mountain of huge, naked male.
Before she knew it, she was flat on her back beneath him on the bed, her wrists held above her head, out of the way, useless. A hot, wet mouth descended on hers before she could utter her first plea for mercy, his tongue violating her mouth boldly as his hands helped themselves to her high, full breasts. Shrieking, Irina rocked herself back and forth, trying in vain to avoid that rough hand, but there was nowhere to go. His grip on her wrists left no doubt that his strength was triple hers, and she could see the play of muscles beneath his skin as his bicep flexed and strangely tender fingers cupped a virginal breast, squeezing gently but firmly.
When he left her mouth to kiss wetly down the side of her neck, Irina breathed, “Please, please don’t—I’ll do anything you like—I have healing powers—I’ll cook for you—clean!” His mouth had captured a ripe pink berry of a nipple, taut and proud in the cool night air, suckling it strongly into his mouth, flicking it relentlessly with his strong tongue.
“Please- no!” Although she knew her struggles were useless, she couldn’t seem to stop, not that he was paying any attention to her at all. That dark black head moved from swollen tip to swollen tip, leaving a trail of wet kisses between, strong fingers plumping each breast in turn so that it presented itself to him as if she was begging for his sensual attentions rather than desperately trying to avoid them. To her deep, eternal shame, Irina felt her body blush pink from his ministrations, then flush hot and prickly at the strong tugging. He wasn’t hurting her, but her body pulsed with an unfamiliar ache that built with every brush of his lips over those tender bits of flesh, and it added to her fear of being manhandled by this behemoth of a man, a man whose name she didn’t even know.
Two huge, tree-trunk sized legs worked their way between hers, forcing her to spread beneath him, his swollen maleness pressed intimately against her feminine secrets. He let go of her hands and, despite the deep confusion within her body, Irina was going to take advantage of every possible opportunity to escape. She was a good girl, and this man seemed bent on doing exactly what her mother had warned her about. With every bit of strength she possessed, she brought her wrists down on his head, but her action had the opposite effect from what she’d intended. The giant wasn’t even phased by her attempt to hurt him. He merely reached under the bed a little, barely shifting his embarrassing position at all, collected her wrists again in a humiliatingly easy move, and tied them with a leather thong to the top of the bed. Irina was well and truly bound, her hands secured well above her head, entirely at the mercy of a man she was sure didn’t possess any of that noble intent.
And she was right.
Once he had her pesky hands and arms out of his way, she watched in terror as an evil smile spread over his face. Those platter-sized hands, rough with calluses, teased their way down the insides of her arms and down her sides till his palms covered her breasts, then began to squeeze firmly, making her arch and struggle to get away from his deliberately painful grip. Fingertips found swollen, almost sore nipples—“Ah—ah—no!” and pinched, at first almost carefully, then harder, pulling at the same time, lifting her breasts away from her body using just her tenderized teats, rolling them slightly back and forth between the pads of his index fingers and thumbs. “No—please—that hurts!”
As he held her hefty globes up by their most sensitive points, Bryce leaned forward and licked around them, gently nipping at the vulnerable undersides that rarely received any attention at all. “Do as I say, woman, or it’ll go a lot harder than this for you.”
“P-please don’t hurt me!” Irina fairly sobbed, pulling uselessly at her bonds, feeing ashamed and afraid, but strangely achy at the same time.
Her nipples were beginning to burn from the weight of her breast pulling them down as he held them aloft, wiggling and jiggling his captives occasionally. Every once in a while, Bryce pinched a little tighter, or shifted his fingers a bit, making the pain take a fresh bite out of her, enjoying the way she caught her breath and moaned each time, arching to try to find some sort of relief.
But he didn’t allow that. He controlled the pain, and the pleasure. He controlled his women, until he decided whether or not to let them go, or, more often than not, pass them on to one or more of his men as a reward for their loyalty and bravery.
“Quiet, wench,” he whispered, the threat of retaliation should she disobey inherent in the soft command. Bryce enjoyed watching her struggling to suppress her natural need to vent her pain and frustration at him. “I like to see you like this. You’re naked and bound, as you were meant to be to keep you out of trouble, and beneath a man who will be your master, learning both pleasure and pain at his hands. What could be more natural for a woman of childbearing years? Soon you will find yourself spread wide and full of me, pleasuring me as woman has been meant to pleasure a man since the dawn of time. You’ll take all of me, every inch deep into your body, and what’s more, you’ll like it, too. I’ll haul your legs over my arms to get into every part of you before I spew myself deep inside you. I’ll do that to you any time I want, any way I want, and you’ll learn to crave it, I promise you.”
When he let go of her titties all at once, the blood flowing back into what had been tightly compressed areas brought her sobbing to a renewed level of pain, while he was free to do explore other interesting areas. Bryce scrunched a little down the bed, his lips level with her belly button. Irina saw another opportunity—however dismal—at escape, and tried for it, bringing her legs up quickly to twist over onto her stomach. But she still couldn’t get anywhere with her wrists tied to the bed. Bryce took advantage of her position, though, to give her a lesson she would never forget, laying a big arm across the small of her back.
He emphasized each word with a powerful smack to her upturned bottom, making her yelp with each one. “Naughty, naughty. I didn’t tell you to turn over. Disobedience, you’ll find, will always be swiftly punished.”
Irina’s father was the only person who had ever spanked her, until now. This man’s hand was making her father’s belt feel like a feather in comparison. He reduced her to tears within the first three swats, and never acknowledged either her tears or her screams of pain. He stopped only when he thought she had learned her lesson, and not before. If she hadn’t been crying so hard, Irina would have been surprised at the unusual gentleness with which he positioned her on her back again.
But that instant of tenderness didn’t last. Bryce watched her yelp and hitch her hips up in the air when her roasted bottom touched the rough skins, then he settled himself low on her, forcing the issue, enjoying her futile attempts to buck him off, letting her exhaust herself against him, rubbing her prickly private hair against him. “Please, let me go! Let me go!” she chanted.
Bryce reached up and pinched a bruised nipple tightly, warning, “Be quiet, or I’ll strap your bottom well and truly, little girl, instead of those little love pats I just gave you.”
If those were love pats, Irina didn’t want to think what he’d do to her with a strap—she knew she wouldn’t survive it. It was hard, but she closed her mouth, her eyes wide with fright as they pleaded with him silently.
Since her hands were out of the way, he leaned a little to the side, keeping those milky white thighs apart by the breadth of his body, but Irina kept her legs as tightly together as she could, despite him. Bryce touched her knee. “Open.”
She defied him, remaining still. His palm cracked rhythmically against her upper thigh, snapping down as hard as he could against her soft flesh. “By God, you will learn to do as you are told, woman—“
Sobbing, defeated and humiliated, Irina’s left thigh inched its way outward slowly. Still his punishing hand fell, until her leg was so far spread she thought she would come apart from it. Her privates were on lewd display for his eager eyes, and Irina thought she would die of shame. She had been raised gently, modestly, and nothing in her young life had prepared her for this degradation.
Bryce drew in a deep breath of her woman’s scent, reveling in it. A thought struck him—had she been aroused by his rough handling of her? Some women were, he knew. She’d been found wandering the forest all alone, unescorted, and the men he’d sent to kidnap her said she was known by some in the village as a witch because of her unique abilities. That scent was unmistakable—he knew a hot, wanton filly when he saw one, and this one was practically begging to be mounted and ridden—fast and hard, just the way he liked it and she needed it.
His sword hand traveled possessively down her body, squeezing here, pinching there, deliberately making her squeal, then reminding her to be quiet or feel his belt across her backside. He was only too eager to see that tempting bottom reddened further as she danced to his painful tune. His hand was so big he could measure the width of her hipbones between his thumb and the tip of his smallest finger. When his fingers descended below her bellybutton she began to keen wildly behind a clenched jaw, bucking and writhing with renewed strength when he cupped her hair covered mound. Bryce let her tire herself out, just as he’d let a wild mare expend all of her energies trying to avoid the saddle, only to find herself bridled and mounted and following the commands of her master’s hands and knees perfectly hours later, when she realized there was no choice. It was much the same with a recalcitrant woman.
This little one was no different—he’d break her to his hand just as easily. She was no match for him. To add to her shame and because he knew he could do it, he would make sure she thoroughly enjoyed it, every painful, pleasurable step of the way. She would learn to do exactly as she was told, or suffer the consequences.
His middle finger delved boldly between those exposed lips to the very heart of her, grinning broadly when he found himself baptized in her juices. “Ah, wench, your words lie but your body speaks the truth.” Bryce dragged his finger up, just a little, to discover an extremely swollen, fleshy button. That teasing finger rubbed with excruciating slowness up the side of that throbbing bundle of nerves, making her whimper and cry out unintelligibly, too tired anymore to struggle much, even as a second digit joined the fray on the other side, both sliding up and down and up again.
“God in Heaven have mercy on me, please!” Irina didn’t think she could survive the feelings that were building inside her. Every thought in her head, every nerve in her body seemed to be concentrated right where his hand was, right where his breath drifted hotly over the area that he was deliberately agitating.
Instantly, his hand was removed, only to smack down hard against the heart of her desire. Pain exploded where only pleasure had existed before, then again and again. Bryce spanked her pussy five times total, not going easy on her despite the loud screams each slap elicited. “When I say quiet, girl,” he whispered, his mouth near the top of her bruised delta, “I mean quiet.” In direct contrast to the now throbbing pain between her legs, his mouth was soft and gentle, the warm wetness soothing her well-punished flesh. As she was trying to recover from the horrifying feeling of being spanked in a place no one had ever touched in her life, he slid his lips and hands between her legs, his broad-as-a-barn shoulders naturally keeping her spread wide for him. Mouth opened as far as possible, he settled it over that puffy nubbin, holding her down as she arched up violently, a mindless moaning cry springing from her lips at the explosive pleasure.
Bryce brought his right hand to join his mouth at the juncture of her thighs, pressing an eager finger to the entrance of her womanhood, circling round and round, watching his captive grow more and more frantic—but carefully quiet except for the occasional whimper of frustration. Slowly, he advanced his fingertip into her moist cavern, watching her response avidly… watching her mouth form a rounded “o” of surprise… seeing her breath catch.
Then his fingers met an entirely unexpected, fleshy barrier.
He pressed again, a little harder. He wasn’t getting anywhere. Bryce added a finger, probing and pressing up into his little witch’s pussy, but the barrier held.
His mind could barely wrap itself around the thought, but there was no denying it: his little witch-healer was a virgin.