Kirsty could still feel the slight tingle of the raised pattern of pink welts like some perverse map that he had drawn on her body. A map that led to this. Of course, she had read about knife play. Admittedly, it had even turned her on. But it had been the final scene in the book, not the first. Why then had she been more excited than frightened?
Of course, logically, the men had told her what they intended to do with her. So, why would one of them then wish to carve her up like a Sunday roast? Maybe, they could have lied, but something deep in her gut told her they had spoken the truth.
But it was more than that. And that was what Kirsty did not want to think about. When he stared into her eyes, something had happened. She had seen past the confident, even arrogant demeanor to the pain. And pain rolled off this man like a tidal wave.
Maybe she just imagined it all. Perhaps she had read one too many of her stupid books. Maybe, more than likely, she had even lost her mind. But when she looked into Mikael’s eyes, it was as if she heard him pleading…trust me. Until it made her so uncomfortable, she had had to look away.
Kirsty tasted the coppery sweetness of her own blood as she chewed upon her injured bottom lip to keep herself from crying out. It was not the pain of his teeth, imprisoning her clit. Honestly, he was not biting that hard. If the whole damned thing were not so fucking uncomfortable, it would probably be quite pleasurable.
But it was uncomfortable. Well, embarrassing mostly. This act was much more intimate than she was comfortable with. Hell, she had been with Raj for years, and they had never gone there. Oh, sure, a few times, she had licked or sucked his penis a bit to get things started, especially towards the end when sex became such a rare commodity and then only when she investigated it. But he had never…gone down on her.
All Kirsty could think about was hygiene. Perhaps it was her medical training. More than likely, it was her puritanical upbringing where certain areas of your body were simply not discussed. Despite being medical doctors, her parents had dealt with the whole issue of puberty and sex by handing her a leaflet. A leaflet that had emphasized cleanliness and purity. Now all she could focus on was…had she cleaned herself well enough during the shower?
She tried pulling and fighting against her bonds, but the metal bit into her flesh more painfully than the rope had. As for dislodging him from between her thighs, the spreader bar immobilized her too effectively. In the end, her only choice was to use her words. Ironic, considering how many times she had encouraged, almost forced her kids to do just that. “Please, please stop,” she pleaded.
His only answer was a polite shaking of his head, his remarkable blue eyes remained closed, and her tender flesh still captured between his teeth. If that was not bad enough, the way that his tongue began to flick back and forth across the bud was torture. Torturous pleasure that even her embarrassment found hard to overcome. So, she went back to biting her lower lip.
She tried hard not to let her body betray her with this man. She did not want this. She had not wanted to be kidnapped, ripped from her job, her friends, and her family; taken to heaven only knew where. She had not wanted to be ‘raped,’ okay, forced by Svein earlier. Despite how her body had betrayed her. And she sure as hell did not want to be their wife, shared between the three brothers.
Oh, yeah, some tiny voice in her mind retorted, who are you trying to convince? Why do you have to fight off your body’s reaction to this man? And come on, princess, that was the best sex of your life earlier, and you know it. It was hotter than all those dirty books you read all the time. Oh, and isn’t this whole scenario just like those books? Just what you have been fantasizing about for months?
She whimpered, but she was not sure whether it was from self-loathing at how accurately that voice in her head analyzed the situation or the way that the Viking god between her legs had intensified the erotic sensation as his fingers joined in the fray, teasing and stretching the opening to her vagina.
Kirsty shut her eyes even tighter. Her vagina? Even in the middle of the most intimate sex act she had ever engaged in, the echoes of her parents’ Victorian attitudes still reigned in her mind. Vagina? She supposed it could be worse. Who-who. Dirty place. Down there.
But was now the time to assert her independence? To try and break free of their staid influence? Wasn’t that what got her into this position, to begin with? Reading books that she should not, simply because no one would ever know what was on her password-protected tablet. Joining websites that no ‘decent’ person would. Meeting strangers, rough fishermen that she knew nothing about. Hadn’t her little rebellion gotten her into enough trouble? What was to be gained by using words like…pussy, cunt, and twat? Honey pot?
“Oh,” she moaned as he slipped a single finger just inside that very body part. Her nipples hardened, but she insisted on blaming the frigid temperature in the cabin. It certainly could not be the gentle way that his tongue was lathing her clit as if it was the sweetest, coldest ice cream cone on the hottest summer day. Almost as if he could never get enough of it.
Kirsty felt her body slipping further under the man’s erotic spell as his teeth, tongue, and fingers worked in tandem to excite her senses. But she was in no mood to surrender to another of the brothers. To have them…what? Force pleasure upon her body? Was that even possible?
But it certainly seemed that way as her body spiraled closer and closer to another powerful release, despite the mind-blowing ones that Svein had given her just hours before. Damn, she had had more orgasms since stepping on board this boat than she had in all her years with Raj. But she seemed powerless to stop her body from doing what came naturally to it.
Just as she felt her toes curl, her whole body tense and arch up automatically to meet this man’s caress, he slowed the pace. His tongue gave long, slow laps across the hard nub. Kirsty found herself whimpering like a wounded puppy, begging and pleading for what just a moment before she would have sworn she did not want. Now she seemed to crave it like a man lost in the desert thirsted for cold, refreshing water.
Kirsty opened her eyes reluctantly. She did not want to see the man, kneeling, full clothed between her indecently spread legs. His full lips pursed around her swollen clitoris. She especially did not want to see the self-satisfied smile that played at those lips even as he worried her tender flesh. And she most definitely did not want to meet the heated silvery gaze of those eyes. She was powerless to look away as he played with her like a cat with a mouse it had cornered and captured.
Her mouth opened. Formed a perfect ‘O.’ Njörður’s Captive. The very name of their boat suddenly took on a new and more powerful meaning. She was not sure who Njörður was, but she knew that she was their captive. In more ways than one. And at the moment, she was powerless…even to control her body’s reaction as she felt it once more climbing towards the powerful release that it had been denied just a moment before.
She worried her lower lip again as she fought to control the tiny thrusts that her hips seemed to make. Up and into this man’s determined lathing. She would not moan. She would not give him the satisfaction. She would not come. She would not.
But the more she fought it, the closer her body came to that same heaven it craved. She loathed herself as much as them. None of it made any difference as she soared once more closer to the sun. Close enough that she could feel its heat singeing her skin as she reddened from pleasure as much as embarrassment.
Then once more, the man slowed the pace, and she felt the frustration rise like bile in her throat. What was his problem? Did he need an anatomy lesson? He had managed to find her damned clitoris without a road map, which was more than she could say about Raj. For a doctor, the man had been surprisingly stupid about female erogenous zones. This one knew where they were, just not how to use them. Perhaps he needed an instruction manual?
That did not seem quite right, though, as he returned once more to the exact combination of teeth, fingers, and those damnable slow circles of his tongue across her love button. Love button? She chuckled. She was losing her mind. She had read too many of those damned erotic ebooks. Perhaps this was all just another of her erotic fantasies that she used when she masturbated. Damn, but it was the best.
The Nordic god between her obscenely spread legs was certainly female fantasy material. She wondered if he would be as delicious naked as he was with his broad shoulders and arms straining the soft material of his shirt that seemed to augment the work of his tongue as his fingers caressed the back of her thighs when he lifted her bottom to meet his tongue. And the way the man filled out his jeans was indecent.
Fully clothed? Damn, Svein had remained mostly clothed too. What was it with the brothers? They were always commanding her to ‘get naked.’ But never them? Was that some of the control too? Did it matter?
Kirsty tried to focus upon that thought rather than the pleasurable pressure that was once more building in her lower body. She tried to deny it. Maybe if she just thought about something else. Hadn’t she read somewhere that men with premature ejaculation problems would think about other things to prevent orgasming too quickly? Maybe if she did that, she could keep herself from responding all together?
But when he slipped a second finger to join with the first as it slowly massaged and stretched her opening, she found she could not stop the tiny whimper of pleasure. But it was only a little one; perhaps he would not hear it. The bold and determined way that he increased the pressure of his tongue across her clitoris told her that he had heard, though. She reddened as she once more felt herself spiraling towards that bright ball of red hot gasses, towards heaven itself.
This time it was not just her skin that was singed but her very soul as she felt the will to fight draining from her. Who was she fighting anyway? Him? Unlike Svein, he was not using her body to take his pleasure. Instead, he was giving her pleasure. Forcing it on her? That seemed almost more indecent somehow?
Before she could unravel the mystery, she was once more jerked back from the red hot flames of her orgasm as he slowed the pace for the third time. She frowned. Perhaps it was not that the man needed an instruction manual. Maybe he was doing this on purpose? Getting her hotter, wetter, and more wanton than she had ever been before, pushing her right to the edge, then pulling her back? But why?
She pondered that idea while he went back to more aggressive torture of her tender flesh. She toyed the idea that this was some silly game of chicken, seeing how close he could get her without actually making her come. Wasn’t that what she wanted, though? Not to come for this man?
So, why was her body once more, screaming out for that very thing? She felt all the muscles in her body tighten, straining towards the powerful release that she knew would not come. Like a rider on a horse, putting on that last burst of speed as he approached the finish line, but someone kept moving the damned finish line. Pushing it back further and further. She felt the frustration growing as she shook her head from side to side.
As he backed off once more, denying her the very thing she did not want, she knew. She knew. He was doing this on purpose. But to what purpose? That she was not sure. But whatever the reason, she was tired of playing his game. If he was not going to make her come, what was the point? If she were the cornered mouse, she would simply stop running. The cat would either tire of their game then and go away. Or go in for the kill.
Kirsty withdrew deeper into her mind. Instead of focusing upon the way that his tongue and fingers seemed to work in perfect harmony to torment her, she focused upon why. Why was he doing this? What was the point of taking her right to the edge of a powerful orgasm only to pull her back from it at the last moment? And each time he seemed to push her further, take her closer, pull her back later. Why?
She tried to hold onto that line of thinking as he slipped his fingers just slightly deeper inside of her. She would not be his little mouse to toy with again; she promised herself even as she felt more moisture flood her body, easing the way of his thick fingers, making them slip a tiny bit deeper. She moaned before she could bite her lip. Damn him. Damn, this man! She would not play his game anymore.
Why? She forced her cloudy brain to think. Orgasm denial. She had seen it listed a fetish on a couple of Dominant’s profile. But it was so far beyond her comfort zone of rope play and light spanking that she had not done much research. She supposed the point was that by denying someone something they wanted, you had a higher level of control.
Well, the joke was on him. Because no matter what that traitor her body thought, she did not want to come. Not for him. Not for any of them. So, let him play his little games, he was helping her without realizing it. With this newfound revelation, she felt buoyed and elated. She had found some safe corner of her mind into which she could allow herself to slip, confident that he posed no real danger.
As he began to push her body, stimulate her clitoris a bit faster, his fingers starting the slow erotic dance of parry and thrusting, sawing in and out of her tight channel, she smiled. She could allow herself to simply enjoy the sensation for what they were, knowing that she did not need to fight him. Did not need to confront her own body’s reaction to him.
And it was pleasurable. Not unlike all the times that she had had sex with Raj. Even knowing that she would almost certainly not reach an orgasm with her boyfriend, she still desired sex. She thrilled in the stimulation, enjoyed the game. Then after he had fallen asleep, she would finish off what he had started. This was no different.
She sighed and did not even try to stop the slow circular motion of her hips that sought to bring her closer to his sweet kisses. She moaned and whimpered a bit as she felt those movements supplementing the ones of his fingers. She felt his fingers slip deeper, brushing momentarily across a bundle of nerves that drew her into the flames, but it was fleeting as if he sensed what she was doing and pulled back just far enough to keep her from taking what he did not want her to have.
Kirsty wished her hands were free. Her nipples were painfully hard. Her breasts seemed to pulse and throb in tempo with his tongue and fingers. She always played with her tits and nipples when she masturbated. Without breast stimulation, she could not come. But that was the point. Not to come. It was what he wanted. What she wanted too. Right? Still, she found herself wishing in vain that she could softly pinch and pull at the turgid peaks.
She felt herself rushing through the darkness of space once more, barreling towards the brilliance of that sun. She did not care. Why should she? She embraced it. Knowing that he would only jerk her back at the last moment. She might as well enjoy the trip.
She arched off the bed as much as the spreader bar would allow. Once more, his fingers caressed that bundle of nerves. She moaned even louder as they played longer on that sweet spot. It was not like she had anything to worry about. There was no need to fight her body’s responses when he was not going to allow her the release it wanted, needed, anyway.
She undulated her hips like some lewd belly dancer. His teeth clamped down once more on her clitoris, capturing it so that his tongue could torture it with firm, sure strokes. He added a third finger. She sighed at the increased pressure of being filled. It was almost as satisfying as his brother’s thick cock had been pounding away at her. A deep moan escaped the back of her throat at that thought.
She knew that she should feel violated, dirty, that it was wrong to want these men. Brothers. It was every taboo she could think of. Fucking Svein then just hours later, Mikael eating her out like a wild bear feasting upon its first spring meal after a long winter’s hibernation. Gorging and filling himself upon her flesh. And she loved it all. Her body responded to these men as it never had to the clumsy love makings of her gentle Raj.
Maybe she would have felt guilty or embarrassed, but there was no need. She did not have to worry about surrendering to whatever erotic naughtiness grew and darkened her soul. She was safe because this man did not want her to enjoy the pleasure of his touch any more than she did. So she could just relax and hurtle headlong into the sun. Knowing he would pull her back. His fingers slipped deeper, all three of them.
“Yes,” she cried out as she arched higher than she had thought she could. The metal of the handcuffs bit into her wrists, but they were no longer cold. Her body had heated them. Or perhaps the sun into which she soared was melting them onto her flesh. Her thigh muscles ached from the unnatural way that they were forced to remain open for so long. They began to tremble, whether from muscle fatigue or the intense pleasure as she soared closer to that sun than she had ever come.
Then he thrust his fingers deep into her. He arched them upwards against those raw nerve endings as his tongue increased the pressure on the other bundle of nerve tissue. And the white-hot heat of that sun consumed her. She cried out as the orgasm that she thought he would not allow her burst like a supernova in its final moments of glory. Her whole body tensed and arched, strained at the bonds that held her as the pleasure went on and on…and on.
She was hoarse, and her voice was barely audible as her body and mind began to coalesce into one once more. She opened her eyes though she knew that tears shone in their depths. She stared at the man as he began to rise above her. She was sure that, like Svein, he would now use her body for his own pleasure.
Instead, he stood up and walked silently to the table. Picking up a full glass of water that remained on the table, he brought it back to her. He lifted her head and bid her, “Drink.”
She obeyed because she felt the burning at the back of her throat and needed to quench it somehow. When she had drunk half of it, he turned back towards the table and sat it back down.
He walked over and pulled the keys to the handcuffs from his shirt pocket. He released her wrists and massaged them until she felt the sharp shooting pains of pins and needles as blood returned to her fingertips. When she began to clasp and unclasp her fingers, he seemed satisfied that no damage had been done and turned instead to the spreader bar between her ankles. He worked just as efficiently to unclasp it and massage life back into her legs.
But it was all so mechanical. As if what had just happened was not even real. Gone was the dying man thirsting for his last drink, instead was some cold, calculating machine. Not even a logical Mister Spock. More like Data, an android incapable of human feelings. The tin man. But he did not seem even to notice he lacked a heart, let alone search one out.
Kirsty could not stop the single word from escaping her throat any more than she could have those final cries of ecstasy. “Why?”
He shrugged, “Get some sleep.” Mikael picked up the cut shirt from the floor and pulled the duvet up to cover her nakedness.
Kirsty wanted to fight it. Fight him. Fight them. Fight sleep. She should be thinking about and planning an escape. But she was too tired. It was all too much as the darkness of exhaustion overcame her. She slipped into a deep, dreamless slumber.
The sun was barely peeking over the horizon in the east. Over their homeland, perhaps, thought Svein. The day should be glorious. One more closer to home. Closer to the safety of their world.
But still, the echoes of her cries filled his mind. More like cry. He supposed he should be thankful that it was just the one. Somehow that made it worse. As if all of the pleasure and pain were held back for as long as she could fight it. Fight them. Then released, suddenly as if a dike had broken and flooded their whole world.
Bjⱷrn had heard it too. Felt it more deeply, perhaps. As he tossed in the berth beneath him, he had cursed. “That should have been me.”
Svein watched as Mikael emerged up the stairs. For a man that had spent the night in the arms of a woman, he looked less than satisfied. Angry. Frustrated. More morose than when they had talked even. This was not good.
He watched his Mikael walked over to where Bjⱷrn worked at the nets, preparing to drop them deep into the sea, seeking out their catch for this day. Their livelihood. Their life’s blood. He threw something at him. It took a moment for Svein to recognize the pattern of Bjⱷrn’s favorite shirt. The one that she had been wearing when they left his cabin.
“Sorry. You may need to get another favorite shirt, little brother,” Mikael pronounced slowly as Bjⱷrn unfurled the shredded piece of material.
The look of fury on his baby brother’s face had Svein take a step automatically in their direction. But Mikael was smart enough to know when retreat was in order and walked towards the back deck as if nothing had happened.
But something had. Something deep and painful. “This was not a good idea,” Svein said quietly once more as Bjⱷrn rose from where he had crouched.
He walked to him and threw the shirt at Svein’s chest. “She is mine tonight. There will be no choice this time. Do you understand me?”
Svein felt his youngest brother’s pain and simply nodded. This had been a very bad idea.