tagBDSMÆgir’s Bride Ch. 02

Ægir’s Bride Ch. 02


"Why?" Mikael could not stop himself from demanding. Last time he had known. She thought he was the weakest link, wanted to try and manipulate him into helping her escape. But he was certain after his little lesson with knife play and edging, she would never again call him to her bed. And that was fine by him, he allowed that little voice to lie.

The thing was...the way she said it. So loud. So clear. It was as if she had actually meant it. As if he really was her choice. But he knew that was not possible. Or was it?

He covered the distance between them, until he loomed large over her. "What? You want to taste more of the bad boy, Kirsty? Feel my knife drawing patterns on that damned ivory skin? Or maybe you need me to edge you a bit more this time? Push you higher and higher, closer and closer, but not let you quite get there...until I am ready that is?"

He loved the way her cheeks and neck could flame as brightly red as her hair. "What? Is baby brother's knight in shining armor routine wearing thin? He not spending enough time with his pretty face buried between those soft thighs?"

Her quick intake of breath, the way she shifted her weight from foot to foot and steadfastly stared at the floor gave him his answer. "Of course, we both know big brother only has one thing on his mind right now. Breeding his baby into your fertile little cunt," he allowed his hand to drift lightly over her lower abdomen.

"Don't worry though. I have no interest in joining my brothers in sperm wars. One child is enough for me." This time he did not allow her to hide from him as he lifted her chin until their eyes met. "I have other things in mind for you, dear wife," he spat the words with all the vitriol he felt. "Strip!"

She shook her head or tried to as much as his fingers upon her chin allowed. "No is not an option now. You chose me. You follow my orders this night." That thought alone should be enough to insure that this was the last time she called him.

But he was not ready to keep things so simple, "You have two choices now. One you strip like I told you." He trailed the finger of his other hand from her cheek down her neck to the deep V of that damned jumper that plunged so fucking low to reveal the soft swell of her tits. "Or I cut them off you," he whispered almost against her lips. "And you know I will too."

His hand trailed lower to the underside of her breast. He cupped it a squeezed firmly. She gave a sweet gasp and jumped just a bit, enough to tell him that he had her full attention now. "Of course, I might not want to play 'daddy roulette' with my brothers, but that does not mean I won't enjoy the fruits of their labors. These tits will be absolutely mind blowing once you get pregnant. And nursing their son? Fuck woman, with these...well, I am sure the little one won't mind sharing every now and then."

He chuckled at how wide those expressive eyes could get. So he had managed to shock her, he liked it. He wrapped his arm about her waist and bent his head. He used his tongue as he would his knife to draw a winding trail across her alabaster skin. He could spend hours playing connect the dots with those freckles and his knife.

He shook his head, reminding himself that was not the point. If her first taste of the bad boy had not been enough to scare her off, then her second would surely be. And that was what he wanted, right? To be left the fuck alone. As long as she was good to his child...what the fuck did he care about light brown dots that cried out to his warped mind to find patterns in their starry skies?

Had he not learned anything the first time? Marriage was not for him. If he could not be enough for Greta in a 'real' marriage, what kind of fucking chance did he stand in this fucked up 'tradition' that passed as one in his family? No, it was not a game he wanted to play.

He had enough trouble just stepping out of Sven's shadow on Ægir's Captive...with his father and their uncles. Of course, baby brother had always been the ladies' favorite whether with their mother or in the clubs they sometimes frequented. What would it take for him to learn? Hell, he could not even manage to earn his own child's love and affection. Let alone this woman's...any woman's.

He released her and stepped back. No, better to keep his distance. To make sure that she was never again tempted to 'choose' him. "I said strip and if you are not naked when I get back, then I hope you do not like that outfit. You have already cost Bjorn his favorite shirt." He reminded her of how he had cut his brother's shirt off of her the last time. He left the rest to her imagination...a mind fuck...as he turned his back to her and walked over to the trunk against the wall.


Kirsty's fingers trembled as she reached for the bottom of her jumper. Why did this man demand so much? Why the naked thing with him all the time? Sure, she had ended up naked in Sven's bed that first time, but considering the man's penchant for corsets and stockings, that had probably been more about making it harder for her to run away.

And while Bjorn might have softened his command to put on his shirt that first night with the reminder that she would not go naked to any other first date, some part of her still could not help but see it as a rejection of her plus-sized body...especially from him. Hell, that shirt had stayed on the whole rest of that night...even when he...when they...

But time was ticking away as she watched him rummaging through that 'pirate's chest.' And she had no doubt that he meant what he said. So why did her nipples get painfully hard inside her bra at the thought of his knife cutting it away? Of its blade trailing across her breasts...she tossed the jumper on that chair, which looked more like a throne. Her bra followed quickly.

Her breasts felt painfully tight as she remembered his words earlier. How the hell had he managed to make something like pregnancy and breastfeeding sound so fucking erotic? Oh, she knew that it was to some men. Hell, she had cruised the fetish list at that site. Of course, that was one that she would have categorized as...your kink is not my kink. Until she saw the look in those eyes. For a moment they had even softened to that wispy grey of a partly cloudy day.

Her fingers fumbled with the button on her denim mini-skirt. Maybe he was one of those types? Maybe he had acquired a taste for such things when his wife was pregnant with Monika? But still how could he find a pregnant woman sexy if the baby was not his?

And why did his assertion that he would not be joining the 'sperm wars' as he so indelicately named it bother her? Wasn't she having a hard enough time with the concept of just contemplating whether or not she might be pregnant? Let alone the burning question of Sven or Bjorn? What was wrong with her that some part of her felt bereft that the child could not be Mikael's?

She tried to push those thoughts away as easily as she pushed the skirt and her tights down her legs. She saw him rise from where he had knelt upon the floor. His hand was behind him so she had no idea what was in it as he walked towards her. She quickly tossed the skirt and tights towards the 'throne' but they fell short and landed on the floor at its base.

Her eyes widened as she noticed those same thick metal rings through the mouth of dogs which curved upwards at the end of each arm. And another at the top of the damned thing. The roughhewn furnishings and dark panelling as well as the low lighting gave this place the feel of a... But what did she know? She had only read about such places in her books.

He laughed and the sound reverberated around the room. "How the hell did you ever survive out there in the real world? Anyone could read you. Every fucking thought you have, it is all right there in your face. In those eyes," he said as he came to stand once more in front of her.

"To answer that question...yes. An ancient and probably priceless one. Hell, big brother could quit worrying about fishing if we ever decided to put this furniture on the market. None of us even know how old the damned things are; hundreds of years old for certain. But yes, those rings are meant for one thing and one thing only...to tie our captive brides to us."

Kirsty gasped then, "Oh that one is truly priceless, Kirsty. Yes, as much as my beloved brothers want to ignore it and pretend that it is not so, the way that my father looks at her sometimes leaves me very little option when it comes to overlooking the obvious truth. That our beloved and saintly mother was...or maybe still is...just as kinky as you are, my dear wife."

Kirsty shook her head. So she and Petrine had spent the afternoon discussing the 'facts of life' or more accurately the basics of polyandry. How it was possible for one woman to love more than one man. And while the topic of conversation itself had not been easy, considering her own mother's idea of 'the talk' had been to hand her the standard, NHS approved leaflet on puberty, menstruation, and how babies were really made with a healthy dose of how not to make them thrown in for good measure.

She knew that Petrine sensed her discomfort a couple of times, she even commented on it once...something about she would keep it to the PG-version. They had certainly not talked about... About BDSM. About bedrooms that looked more like dungeons. Or anything of the kind. So perhaps like Sven and Bjorn, she could hope...believe...

But the twinkle in the woman's eye when she looked across the table at Olaf sometimes. Of course, the hardest part for Kirsty was reconciling the strong, stalwart woman with submissive. While the two women had taken markedly different paths and Petrine had a true warmth and openness that Nancy Dickens never would, her mother and mother-in-law were more alike than she wanted to think about. She simply could not imagine the woman kneeling for any man...no matter how handsome or strong her Norse fishermen might have been.

"No," she shook her head and whispered.

Mikael chuckled more softly this time. The sound brushed her cheek as he leaned in, "I have no desire to talk or think about my parents' kink or what they might or might not have done in this bed right now either."

Her eyes grew wider as she caught the glint of the pale light on his knife. Her heart pounded and her nipples tightened so painfully that she bit her lower lip as he ran the tip across her bare shoulder. "Someone does not understand what the word 'naked' means." Before she could open her mouth to protest, the edge of the blade was between her skin and the sheer lace of the knickers which matched her bra.

With a quick jerk the materials fell lose. He repeated the action on the other side. "Spread your legs, slut."

Kirsty had begun to realize that Bjorn might be right, that she might need to add 'dirty talk' to her fetish list. Although something told her that profile would be or maybe even had already been hacked. It would disappear from that site as surely as she had from her old life.

But she was not prepared for what that word did to her. Neither Bjorn nor Sven had used that terms. But if pussy, cunt, cock, twat and their vivid descriptions of all the very naughty things they were going to do to her made her wet...that word practically made her knees buckle. She knew that she should be offended. Perhaps even a tiny corner of her brain still was. But the way he said it.

He sighed as he leaned in even closer. "Is something wrong with your hearing, slut? I said open those sweet thighs. From now on panties...knickers, you call them? They have no place in this house. Your cunt will be open, bare, for us. Do you understand me?"

Kirsty swallowed the knot that was choking her as she obeyed. The scrap of lace and elastic fell into his hand. He brought it to his face. She held her breath and the room began to spin as he placed it over his nose and inhaled. "Wet and ready already, my sweet whore wife?"

He tossed the scrap away without even looking where it might have landed. He shoved her back onto the bed. Those eyes were once again as dark as the blackest storm as he leaned over her. Her heart thudded with fear...and excitement...as she climbed on to the bed and scooted backwards until her head hit the solid wood of the headboard.

But he simply followed her, crawled inch by inch across the mattress, looming larger than life, his eyes holding her gaze the whole time. She put up her hand then, reaching for his chest, thinking that perhaps she could try talking...reasoning with him...somehow. But suddenly the rope that had held the curtains back was about her wrist as he cinched it tighter, drawing her arm back to rest against the headboard.

She shook her head and tried to reach for it with her other hand, to loosen the bond. But that only made it worse as he captured that hand as well. He wedged his large body more fully between her thighs, spreading them apart...though not as indecently as the spreader bar that he had that first night. "Mikael, please..." she began.

His knife blade lay flat over her lips, "Too late for talking, Kirsty. The only words that matter this night you said already...'I chose Mikael.' Everything after that is no longer yours to decide. Did my sweet mother forget to mention that part of this warped tradition? Oh, she likes to think that choice is some kind of special gift, but the truth is...it is just a matter of to whom you surrender. But you very much surrender...submit...with those words."

"And tonight...if never again...you choose to submit to me and I intend on pushing you beyond any limits you ever imagined. Make this a night that you will never fucking forget, dear wife." Kirsty wished with all of heart that her hands were not tied then. Not for the reason he might have thought. Though his words were harsh, his tone guttural, she was almost certain the man had no idea how much of his pain he truly revealed with them. If he had, he would have never said them.

'If never again' alone told her all she needed to know about this man...and come what may...no matter what his worse was...no matter what...she promised herself that she would not prove him right again. Not this time, not with her.

She sighed and there was only one way to accomplish that. Surrender. Fully. Completely. Totally. Not just the easy part of her. Not just for her pleasure. Not out of curiosity about this lifestyle that she knew next to nothing about except what she had read in those books. No, her submission was the only way. And slim hope that it was, it was still better than none.

She closed her eyes for a moment. She sought something deep inside of her. A place she had never gone before...not with Sven...not even with Bjorn. A place that was frightening in and of itself. A place where she was even more vulnerable than her naked body on display for this man. She willed herself to fight through all the doubts, all the insecurities, all those voices that warred in her mind.

She willed them quiet. She found the peace in surrendering herself. It was strange...odd did not begin to cover it...but the words that flitted through her brain were those that the priest would say as she knelt for assembly on Friday mornings... 'Not my will, but thine be done.'

When she opened her eyes, they boldly met his as she whispered the two magic words he needed most then..."Yes, Sir."


'Fuck her,' his mind scream. That was not the response he wanted. Fear. He wanted to see that fear in her eyes again. That he could handle. Not this. This...willingness. But she would not get off so easily this time.

"Kirsty, you know there are other options, things I can do to that responsive little body of yours," his eyes held the challenge. "Last time I edged you. Pushed you right to the point and then denied you."

He bent lower and took one of those impossibly hard nipples between his teeth. He bit down upon it to test the lengths to which this woman was prepared to go. While she jumped and squealed at first contact, he felt her body go limp beneath his, the fight drain from her. He wanted that fight, so he fought back harder, pushed more.

"Maybe this time instead of edging you, I'll try forced orgasms. Making you come over and over and over again until your body cannot take anymore. Would you like that, dear wife? Would you like me to play this sweet body," his hand trailed over her soft skin. He watched tiny hairs stand upon end and felt her shiver. But when he looked back in those damned expressive eyes of hers, it was not fear that he saw but need...pure lust.

"You would. You would like to come and come all over my face, wouldn't you? You loved having that sweet pussy eaten, didn't you?" There it was, that look, maybe not fear, but embarrassment. She even started to turn her head in denial, but she could not. Instead she dropped his gaze and whispered, "Yes Sir," once more. It fuelled his fires.

"That is not enough though, I want more this time. I am going to make you come so fucking hard that you squirt." That did it. Those eyes snapped back to his and blazed...that fear...and its light twin excitement. "Oh, I see you have been exploring the dark side. Reading Popular Kink, were we? Heard all about women who come so hard that their pussy juice gushed like a river from their cunts?"

He reached up and laced his fingers through her hair. He pulled hard until her head banged against the headboard, "You would not mind seeing me drowned, would you? Go ahead, I dare you, wife, drown me in your sweet cunt juices." He could see her chest rising and falling so quickly that he doubted that any true oxygen exchange was possible.

"Why wait? It is not like you need me to play with my knife to get you warmed up now is it? I bet that if I put my hand between your legs you would be soaking wet already? Aren't you, my sweet slut wife? You can't wait for the bad boy to use you, can you?" he demanded, not expecting a response.

"No Sir. Use me. Take me. Do what you want with me," she whispered breathlessly.

It was a challenge, like waving a damned red cape in front of an angry bull. She had no idea what he wanted. But before this night was over he would show her.

"Open your fucking legs for me, slut," he savored the tiny hesitation. Was it because she was embarrassed at how accurate his assessment was? Or was it that word?

Honestly, he had been surprised that she had not objected to it. But he recognized the slight cringe each time he used it. He knew he probably should not. Knew that she was not one of his whores, or the wizened subs that he met online or in the clubs. They were easy. Safe. This woman was neither. But perhaps if he used that word often enough, he could make himself forget that.

But she did not hesitate long as those sweet thighs spread open to him like doors opening on a palace. He matched actions to words as his fingers found the slick folds of her cunt. She was most definitely wet. But not wet enough.

He pushed his fingers deep inside of her and watched those eyes widen as a soft moan escaped her throat, then they shut. Those expressive blue pools were denied him. He pressed the heel of his hand hard against her mound. He could almost feel her clitoris throbbing beneath his touch. It was not his main interest at the moment though.

It did not take him long to find the thick ridge of tissue, the nerve center of her sweet pussy, her G-spot. He was not gentle, that was not what this job needed, as his fingers lunged against it, putting pressure upon it. Pressure, release, pressure, release. But this one did not need a huge warm up. Her body knew what it wanted as her hips arched up off of the bed.

"That's my good slut. Come for me. Come harder than you ever fucking have," he was tired of the games with this woman. He knew what he wanted. He shifted position on the bed so that he lay on his stomach between those soft ivory pillows. He did not allow her to come down from that pinnacle though as his fingers plunged in and out, out and in.

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byTara_Neale© 11 comments/ 31664 views/ 29 favorites

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