Her Lord and Master (8 page)

He laughed, and held out the soap to her, just out of reach.

“Kom,” he teased. Come.

Elizabeth shook her head forcefully. Their eyes met.

“Kom, Elizaveta,” he coaxed.

Again, she declined.

He strolled towards her from behind the curtain, eyeing her body blatantly as he moved. He stopped directly next to the tub, slightly behind her. He knelt down close, leaning over her shoulder. Teasing, he held the soap in front of her, and she tried to grab it. She clutched at it frantically, but he held it away, smiling.

Finally, he dropped it.

Straight between her knees.

“Sorry,” he said in English, with a boyish shrug.

She knew he was anything
but
sorry. His eyes flashed mischievously.

Elizabeth groped between her legs, searching for the slippery soap, while at the same time, trying to cover bobbing breasts from his sight. The comical display only aroused Ragnor further. She was a lovely vision, a water nymph, a kelpie, or a captivating siren, he thought. She was the most mesmerizing thing he had ever seen.

He reached between her legs, and caught the soap easily.

But he didn’t remove his hand.

Elizabeth froze. Her breath stopped. Her eyes went wide.

His hand was touching her. In her most private place.

Fire emanated from her loins. The soap pressed against her outer labia, the last flimsy barrier between his hand and her flesh. He moved lightly, and began to make long, slow circles, lathering her womanhood with the soap. For what seemed like an eternity, he teased her this way, never touching her with his hand, letting the slick soap arouse her into a state of abandon.

Slowly, the pressure increased, and he glided the bar between her nether lips. Up and down he rubbed, the soap growing smaller and smaller as it dissolved against her, his fingers now brushing her lips.

Unhurriedly, he circled her button of pleasure with his thumb. He continued making spherical motions around her core with his hand. Closer and closer he moved to the entrance of her cavern, until the image flashed in her mind of his fingers diving right into her cave.

She gasped, mortified at her own shocking thoughts.

Ragnor’s free hand came about her left shoulder, and cupped her left breast. Languorously, both hands moved in unison, drawing slow circles of pleasure on her body, above and below, eliciting soft mews of desire from her lips. Meanwhile, his mouth lowered upon her skin, searching for the most sensitive spots on the back of her neck. Her floppy knees fell apart loosely, like butterfly wings. She tried to draw them back together, but they were made of sap.

The sliver of soap floated to the surface.

Elizabeth’s hips moved instinctively against his hand. He dipped the tip of one finger just into the mouth of her cave. It darted in and out like a little fish, returning to swirl around her sensitive nub. 

Tension rose inside her. She felt like she was running down a hill too quickly, faster and faster, like she had done as a child, until she was flying out of control. The sensation was frightening, yet it was so thrilling, she couldn’t stop herself from running headlong into it, seeking the prize she knew, instinctively, awaited her ahead.

Sensing her impending release, Ragnor pulled himself away.

The time wasn’t right. Not yet.

But it was a herculean effort. His balls ached, and his mighty little soldier was marching so strenuously, he felt like the thudding head would pop right off. 

Ragnor held out the bear-skin robe, and she stepped quickly into it, scandalized by her own body’s response to him. The robe was warm and incredibly soft. Every inch of her finely-tuned flesh tickled pleasantly where it caressed her. He held her from behind for a long moment, his arms ensconced in the fur of the robe.

Dragging himself away, Ragnor pulled the chair nearer to the fire, setting it conspicuously close to the tub. He raised her feet up on to the pile of drying cloths, situating them comfortably, and planted an affectionate kiss upon her mouth.

She wanted to grab his head, and draw his mouth back down upon hers, to beg him to allay the prickly pain between her legs with his hands. But she clasped her fingers together tightly instead, and twiddled her thumbs to stop her hands from shaking.

Ragnor disrobed unhurriedly, knowing full well the affect it would have on her. He was not vain, but he knew woman enjoyed viewing his body. Even better, Elizabeth was a virgin, whose innocent eyes had seen no man unclothed. Knowing he was the first - and only - man she would see naked did nothing to ease the uncomfortable condition of his stiff, rigid manhood.

Elizabeth almost swooned, when he began to doff his clothes. What was he doing? Surely he didn’t intent to become
naked
right in front of her. She was seated less than three feet away from him!

She squeezed her hands into fists, and tried to avert her eyes. She stared straight ahead at the fire, as he stripped off his shirt. She knew his chest was splendidly wide and broad, swelling and rippling with muscles. She would not look at it, nor at his bulging biceps, banded with thick gold rings, and painted with blackened warrior tattoos.

He removed the leather wristlets that covered his forearms, setting them aside, along with the gold arm bands. She noticed the thick tendons that corded his arms, and the pulsing veins that covered that back of his hands. The sheer vitality of him was magnetic.

When he turned away from her, and bent over to remove his boots, Elizabeth nearly fell off her chair.

His buttocks were mere inches away from her!

And he wore no undergarment.

Feigning oblivion, Ragnor slid his leather pants slowly down his hips, over his butt and down his legs, smirking to himself with every inch of naked skin he revealed to her. Behind him, he could hear Elizabeth’s shocked breath growing more and more ragged, and he could envisage her pale, chaste face turning burgundy with shock. She was squirming in her chair uncomfortably, seeking release for the secret little ache that she didn’t think he knew about. Ah, she had reacted to his nudity precisely how he hoped she would. She liked it.

He’d better cool things off before she came right there in her chair, he laughed to himself.      

Ragnor eased himself into the water, now barely lukewarm. He had been thinking of a hot bath since he first saw the jumbo tub at the convent that morning, but tepid water had certainly been worth the price to let Elizabeth bathe first. Seeing her in the water had only whetted his appetite for her. Her body was even more flawless than he had imagined, and he was burning with yearning for her. The big, brown nun’s habit did her a grave injustice, he thought, submersing himself in the half-cold water. He would have it burned tomorrow, he decided. She deserved to be clothed like a queen.

While the tub had been large and ample for Elizabeth, it was not nearly adequate for Ragnor’s large frame. He lounged against the metal, leaning his head against the back, and resting his arms on the rim. But the situation was far from ideal. If he reclined his head, there was no room for his long legs. If he submerged his legs, he had to sit awkwardly upright, which completely defeated the purpose of taking a bath in a tub in the first place. Ruefully, he let his legs dangle outside the tub. At least they were warm by the fire.

Elizabeth giggled at his predicament, and he laughed too. Oh, how they would banter and joke when she learned his language, he anticipated cheerily. Six months immersed in Denmark, and she would be just as fluent as Jordan was, he predicted.

He could tell she was keenly intelligent, and her regal bearing revealed she was a certainly someone of high stature in these lands. It would not do for him to keep her as a slave once they reached his home. No, he would have to make her a freewoman. Once he had tamed her that was. He smiled, and she smiled back.

But now was not the time for friendly repartee, he thought, shifting in the water. It was time to teach Elizabeth why her god had blessed her with such gorgeous lady parts and subtle feminine charm. And it was time to put them to use. He scrubbed himself quickly with the sliver of soap, and rinsed rapidly.

“Bringe mig dem,” he said in Danish, pointing to the pile of dry towels. “Please,” he added.

She shook her head. If he got out of the water, she would have to see him again. All of him. Naked.

“Please?”

She shook her head again.

His eyes held hers, challenging her. She returned his gaze boldly. So, she was going to be stubborn, he thought. Two could play at that game. He would enjoy every minute of it...So would she, he would make sure.

“Suit yourself,” he said in Danish, shrugging.

If she wanted to play hardball, he could play too.

Ragnor cocked a sardonic brow, and slowly took his manhood overtly into his hand. He looked over the rim of the tub at Elizabeth, locking eyes with her. When she realized what he was doing, her eyes went wide, and her face invented a new color of red to blush.

He lathered the soap between his palms, until it was white and frothy. Audaciously, he pulled on his spear until it grew longer. Elizabeth gulped dryly.

He was touching himself!

Ostentatiously, he skimmed his hand all the way down the shaft. She gasped. It was so big it stood clear out of the water. He ran his hand back up to the top. She couldn’t pull her eyes away. It grew thicker, and seemed to dance, as she watched. Once, twice, again, he repeated the vulgar motion, his eyes never leaving her.

Suddenly, she didn’t even
want
to look away. She wanted to get closer. He pulled the skin all the way down, revealing a smooth, shiny head. She wanted to watch; she wanted to touch it. He pulled upward, and the head disappeared. She wanted to hold it and caress it, just like he was doing. He continued rubbing himself up and down with long, smooth strokes. She couldn’t move forward, yet couldn’t flee either. She stood spellbound.

A bead appeared at the tip, and her mouth watered.

“Kom her, Elizaveta,” he encouraged her.

Elizabeth came shakily to her feet. She took one step towards the tub. He knew she wanted to join him. It was written all over her body. Her neck flushed prettily, and she exhaled in charming little puffs. She just needed him to tell her what to do, to teach her heart what her body already knew, to seduce her so she would not feel culpable for what was about to transpire.  

Ragnor continued his lewd show, guessing correctly her curiosity would soon override her caution. He pumped faster, just enough to arouse her interest, but not enough to frighten her. His mission was to calm her fears and pique her curiosity, not scare her entirely out of her wits, he thought. If she saw him roaring like a lion, shaking like an earthquake, shooting his cream like a geyser, she would run out of the tent shrieking.

At least right now she would. Later, she would be doing precisely the same herself, he laughed.

Another spurt of cream trickled from his manhood, and he saw her actually lick her lips.

“Elizaveta.”

This time, she came right up to the edge of the tub. He was close enough to touch her, but he didn’t. He wanted her to come to
him
.
He wanted to know every action she took this night was of her own accord. Well, that was not exactly true, he thought. The fact that there were six berserkers outside the door, and two hundred of the world’s most fearsome Vikings just beyond them, might bias her slightly to give in to his cause. Nonetheless, he wanted her to find pleasure of her own volition to the furthest extent possible. She was already well on her way without need for coercion, he knew.

He thought about giving her the soap, so she could wash his chest and shoulders. He knew her hands would feel wonderful on his back. Maybe she would even be courageous enough to touch his member, perhaps even give it a squeeze. Mayhap she would climb right into the water with him, and ride him like a stallion, he thought. The vision it conjured in his mind almost made him spill his seed right in the water like a novice. But he was no novice when it came to women. He was an expert in every way.

Instead, he stood and stepped out of the tub, directly in front of her. This was not time for haste; it was a time for patience. He knew his efforts would pay dividends tenfold, when she went mad with pleasure in his bed, and begged him for more, day after day, year after year. He spread out his arms for her to dry him.

She hesitated.

“Do it,” he commanded in English.

Shaking, she obeyed.

Elizabeth started with his back, and dabbed him dry tentatively. She wiped his magnificent shoulders and sleek sides, avoiding his tight, round buttocks, even with her eyes. They looked like two golden, delicious honey buns, waiting for her to sink her teeth right in them.

When she could postpone it no longer, she returned to the front of him, her aroused senses prickling with awareness that his most dangerous weapon stood, cocked and ready, right between them. She rubbed his chest and his neck, his arms and hands. When there was nothing else to do, she stopped.

“Down,” he said gruffly.

Quaking, she went to her knees before him, and patted his feet. She daubed his toes and ankles, stalling the inevitable necessity of going higher, buying herself time, before making unavoidable contact with the thing she feared most. She dried his knees, front and back, and shins, on both sides, until there was no other way to put off her task.  

Still kneeling, she finally accepted her vocation, and confronted it face-to-face, valiantly. With both hands covered by the towel, as if to shield herself from it, she touched his thighs, and faced his phallus head on.

It stared at her, like a snake, with a little, white forked-tongue drizzling from its mouth. When she moved, it followed her, shifting and throbbing with a life of its own. Her heart raced, waiting for it to jerk out and bite her, or spit it’s pale venom all over her face.

When neither event came about, she continued her exploration of his anatomy. She looked curiously at his bollocks, like two large, shriveled apricots dangling between his legs. They looked delicate, like the fruit, and they were speckled with pale, soft hairs, just like the real thing. She wondered if they tasted the same, too.