Viking romance

The Viking's Possession by Felicity Brandon

Felicity Brandon has a new book out and you know what that means – a sizzling new romance! Today The Viking’s Possession is in the spotlight.

War captured her, desire captivated her, but can her Viking captor truly possess her?

Blurb:

After she saves the life of Prince Anders, the Viking warrior who took her as his captive and tamed both her body and her heart, nineteen-year-old Princess Aurelie of Donrose knows that she can never return home again. She will belong to Anders forever, as his bride and his possession, destined to be used and enjoyed as thoroughly, shamefully, and often as he pleases.

Though Anders has proven many times that he is more than willing to punish her bare bottom harshly for any disobedience, with war fast approaching between her brother and her husband, Aurelie puts her own life in danger in the hopes of making peace. But when her reckless gamble goes wrong, can Anders rescue his headstrong young wife before any harm comes to her?

Publisher’s note: The Viking's Possession is the sequel to The Viking's Conquest, but can be read as a stand-alone novel. It includes spankings, and sexual scenes, including some scenes of sexual humiliation. If such material offends you, please don't buy this book.

Buy link: Amazon

Excerpt:

Ignoring me, Anders presses on, pushing the phallus inside my ass. I buck against my bondage as it invades me, utterly conflicted by the experience. The ropes make it impossible to prevent this intrusion, and we both know it. This is why Anders has chosen to secure me in such a bizarre way. My sex and my ass are totally exposed, and vulnerable to his every dark desire.

“Feel my phallus claim you, my sweeting.” His voice floats from down between my legs. “You will take this for me for the rest of this punishment, and whilst you do, you’ll remember who is in charge. You’ll remember who can touch, claim, and explore, and who must yield, receive, and endure.”

I groan again, my head now flat against the bedding as the stone fills my ass. It’s not the largest implement, and Anders’ manhood is certainly longer, but the hard, cold stone is different to what I’m used to. It’s odd and unsettling, reinforcing Anders’ point with perfect clarity—he is in charge. He is in control. All I can do is take it, take the phallus and take my punishment.

Once he is finally satisfied that I have taken the length of the stone, Anders swats my ass playfully. “Good girl,” he says teasingly. “You will keep that phallus in place until I tell you otherwise.” His body shifts and his face comes into view over my bound body. “Do you understand?”

I’m nodding even before I’ve had time to process his question. This is what Anders does to me. He takes my usual clear-headed wilfulness and turns it to mush. I can argue, I can push and protest, but in the end, I know I will always submit to this man. “Yes, I understand, my Lofðungr,” I murmur.

He nods, smiling as he leans down to plant a chaste kiss on my panting mouth. “Now, let me pleasure you some more…”

His body slips from view and I squirm needlessly in my ropes. It’s like I cannot keep still because I know now what he has in mind. He doesn’t want to pleasure me at all, he only wants to build me up to the brink of ecstasy, before abandoning the pursuit. He wants to torture me with denial—that is my punishment. As his mouth descends to my pulsating sex once more, I’m overwrought with misery. His ministrations are amazing, his tongue flicking over my excited nib at perfect intervals, whilst the phallus fills my ass in its hard and denigrating way.

Within a moment I am right there again. My mind reels, and I consciously try to control my breathing, reasoning that I can fool Anders. Perhaps if I don’t make my burgeoning pleasure so obvious, I can trick him into thinking I am not at the brink. Perhaps I can achieve my orgasm after all? The idea gives me a glimmer of hope. I close my eyes, willing myself to remain as calm as I can in light of his merciless pursuit of my suffering, but oh, Gods, it’s just too good. Before I know what is happening I am panting again, my nipples beading painfully as Anders takes me right to the brink, before—inevitably—stopping short of allowing me to climax.

This time I screech in frustration, not caring what the consequences of my outburst will be. Damn him! Damn this man who has captured me in just about every way possible. It’s as though this Viking can read my mind, and he knows instinctively when I am about to explode. He is the only man who has ever known me carnally, and it seems he is truly at one with my body.

“Now, now, Aurelie,” he tells me, admonishing me in a gleeful way. “What did I warn you about that pretty little mouth?”

My eyes fly open, and I moan out of instinct, my hips—still rolled forward by the bondage—struggling desperately for some stimulus as Anders shifts from the bed. I’m vaguely aware of him stripping beside me, and then he disappears from my view, striding to the other side of the room. By the time he returns, I’m desperate. The weight of the contradiction afflicts me. The same things that irritate and repel me—the strange bondage, the phallus shoved inside me, and the unrelenting denial of pleasure—also arouse me. I know without needing to check that I am soaking with desire. Anders is playing my body like an instrument.

“Open up, my sweeting,” his voice coos from my left side.

I blink up at his towering naked form. His body is hard, chiselled perfection, and his cock juts out eagerly in front of him. My eyes dart to his hand, which he presents to me. Between his thumb and forefinger is one of the small orange fruits he had taunted me with in the Viking camp. My belly knots in anxiety. I know what is coming next.

“Now, Aurelie,” he tells me, his tone increasingly insistent.

My lips part slowly, my breath shaky with apprehension as I comply.

The expression on Anders’ face is pure lust as he appraises me. “I warned you, my sweeting,” he purrs, and I watch as the fruit moves into view, descending slowly toward my waiting mouth. “I asked for silence, and since you cannot comply, instead I offer you fruit. I’m sure you remember my favourite fruit, Aurelie.” He chuckles at his own words. “I always keep a bowl of fresh fruit in my chambers.”

If he expects a reply, then he gives me no time to offer one. The orange fruit slides perfectly into my mouth, capturing my teeth around its soft flesh. He grins down at me, satisfied with what he sees, and I do not try to resist. The fruit, I suppose, is inevitable. He must have known I would never be able to contain my responses during this penance, even if I hadn’t. This is what Anders had planned all along.

The realisation makes me wretched, or at least it would do if I wasn’t so intolerably turned on.

More about Felicity Brandon:

Felicity is a #1 international bestselling, and award-winning writer of dark, spanking romance. Head in the clouds, you can usually find her either plotting her next book, hitting the gym, or rocking out to her favourite music. She lives to write though and is happiest creating desire and kink at her keyboard.

Connect with Felicity Brandon:

Website and blog: https://felicitybrandonwrites.com/

Subscribe to her sexy newsletter here and receive links to download a FREE BDSM short story: https://www.subscribepage.com/FelicityBrandon

Facebook reader group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/FierceAF/

Amazon author page: https://www.facebook.com/felicitybrandonerotica/

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/felicity-brandon

 

Her Celtic Captor by Ashe Barker

Ashe Barker is back today with more of her deliciously wicked erotic fiction. Her Celtic Captor is a rich tale set in the times of the Vikings. The fact that scientists have recently confirmed that one Viking warrior originally assumed to be a man was in fact a woman, makes Ashe Barker’s story of a powerful Viking chief.

"If you require a demonstration of my power over you I shall be delighted to oblige you. A few strokes of my belt should do the job."

Blurb:

As the sister of a powerful Viking chief, Brynhild Freysson is used to giving orders and having them obeyed, which makes it all the more difficult to accept when she suddenly finds herself at the mercy of a Celtic warrior intent on bringing her back to his village whether she likes it or not.

Taranc was a leader of his people before he was taken captive by Viking raiders, and now that he is a free man once more he has no intention of allowing a headstrong Norse woman to slow down his journey home with her stubborn disobedience. When Brynhild refuses to do as she is told, he wastes no time in baring her bottom for a thorough switching, and he makes it quite clear that she can expect even more painful and humiliating punishments if she continues to defy him.

Though her hatred of the Celts runs deep, Taranc’s stern dominance awakens desires in Brynhild that she thought she would never feel again, and when he takes her in his arms and claims her properly it is more pleasurable than she would have thought possible. But though her passion for him grows by the day, can she ever truly love a man whose people are enemies of her own?

Publisher’s Note: Her Celtic Captor is a stand-alone sequel to Her Rogue Viking and Her Dark Viking. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

 

Buy Links: Amazon USAmazon UK:

Read Chapter 1 for free

Excerpt:

With his free hand he swept the length of her pale blonde hair back from her face and offered her a tight smile.

"Let me go. Do not touch me..." Her voice hitched, panic starting to bubble forth.

He had expected as much. Taranc softened his features. "You are safe, lady, apart from the whipping you have earned, naturally."

Her eyes widened. "Wh-whipping. What do you intend to do?"

"We are at eight strokes, I believe, by my reckoning." He glanced over his shoulder. "We shall use the mast, I think..."

"The mast? What? You cannot—"

It was time to be firm, to assert his authority if they were to have any peace on this voyage. "Lady, you do not command here. I do, and I have already warned you of the consequences if you disobey or otherwise vex me. Eight strokes. Now, get up."

He released her wrists and rose to his feet. He did not miss the startled widening of her eyes when she found herself staring at his semi-erect cock, the darkening of her pupils as the implications of his arousal sank in. He could not help his response to her and was not about to apologise for it, but he did not need her to succumb to panic now. Taranc grinned at her as he retrieved the blanket and tied it around his waist again then offered her his hand to assist her up. She was not reassured. Brynhild shrank away from him, shaking her head. "No, please do not do this. I am sorry, I—"

"Up. Now." The sudden evaporation of her previous belligerence was not lost on him. Neither was her shock at the sight of his erection but Taranc was not entirely convinced. He would not put it past her to dissemble, to seek to manipulate him even now. He deliberately hardened his tone. "You may submit willingly, or not, but the end will be the same." He leaned down to offer his hand again.

Brynhild groped behind her for the blanket and managed to snag a corner of the fabric. She clasped it around her once more as she scrambled to her feet, ignoring his offer of assistance. Her chin tilted at a defiant angle as she glared at him, then eyed the mast with distaste. So much for her nervous apprehension and apparent contrition.

Taranc gestured to her to precede him to the mast where Eileifr waited with a length of narrow rope. Her steps slow, Brynhild did as he instructed, coming to a halt below the billowing sail. She looked up, then back over her shoulder at Taranc. "Shall I lean against it, then?"

"You will hug the mast, lady, and Eileifr if you would be so good as to secure her wrists? Not too tight, but we must be sure she will not shift at an inopportune moment."

"That will not be necessary, I—"

“Eileifr." At Taranc's curt command the karl stepped forward and reached for Brynhild's wrists. She stepped away from him, her eyes blazing.

"Keep your hands off me. I will not permit this." She tucked her hands further within the folds of the blanket.

Taranc had heard enough. He leaned forward to murmur in her ear. "Ten, lady. And the count will increase with every act of defiance, every refusal to obey. Are you really so set on adding to your punishment? You will spend a great deal more time than you might care to imagine lashed to that mast if you do not have a care."

More about Ashe Barker

USA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker has been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research.

Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.

Ashe lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontë moors and enjoys the occasional flirtation with pole dancing and drinking Earl Grey tea. When not writing – which is not very often these days - her time is divided between her role as taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises.  And a very grumpy cockatiel. 

At the last count Ashe had over forty titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and several more in the pipeline. She writes M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. Ashe’s books invariably feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe likes to read about complex characters, and to lose herself in compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too.

Ashe has a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keeps thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from her.

Her Dark Viking by Ashe Baker

Turn up the air conditioning, Ashe Barker has a new book out. Her Dark Viking is another installment in this historical series.

He saw her. He wanted her. So he returned to take her

Blurb:

After she is captured by Viking raiders, twenty-five-year-old Mairead is left with no choice but to depend on Gunnar Freysson, the battle-hardened leader of the Norsemen, to protect her and her young children. Though he makes it clear that she is his property to do with as he pleases, Gunnar shows remarkable concern for Mairead’s wellbeing, and when she risks her life in a dangerous attempt at escape he does not hesitate to strip her bare and spank her soundly.

The strict punishment leaves Mairead thoroughly ashamed yet helplessly aroused, and when Gunnar takes her in his arms and claims her properly she cannot deny her body’s response to his dominant lovemaking. As the days pass, Mairead realizes that Gunnar cares for her deeply, and despite her situation she finds herself falling in love with the stern, handsome warrior. But can she truly give her heart to the man who took her from her home?

Publisher’s Note: Her Dark Viking is a stand-alone sequel to Her Rogue Viking. It includes spankings and sexual scenes. If such material offends you, please don’t buy this book.

Buy Link: Amazon

Excerpt:

Would a spanking hurt as much as his belt had? Did he perhaps intend to use his belt again? He had not said, she simply assumed he would--

"Lie across my lap and lift up your sark."

He interrupted her musings with his curt instruction. Gunnar had seated himself on the edge of the bed, where just a few moments ago Donald had sat. The Viking regarded her over his shoulder, his eyes as dark as she had ever seen them and his expression stern.

She had questions, her head brimmed with them, but she supposed all would be answered soon enough. He kept his belt on, which was a relief she supposed. Mairead slipped from the bed and came around to stand before him.

"Shall I take this off?" She plucked at the fabric at the front of her undershirt.

"No. I want you to get in position then raise the sark for me. You will get yourself ready, bare your bottom for me to spank."

Oh, sweet Jesu. Something coiled and tingled between her legs, and she sensed a fluttering within which she could not quite name but she knew her most private places were dampening at his words. It would have been difficult to remove her clothing for him, but she had done it once and could manage again. This different approach of his was more intense, more humiliating. She was to aid in her own punishment by arranging herself just so.

"Mairead, do not keep me waiting."

"No, Jarl." She almost flung herself across his thighs, her head dangling down by his boot and her hair sweeping the floor. She dreaded what she must do next but wanted to get it over with so she reached back to grab the hem of her linen shirt and hastily pulled it up to her waist, then tucked the bulk of the material under her stomach to ensure it remained in place. She was horribly embarrassed, prayed that no one would see fit to open the curtain and see her thus. Had Aigneis managed to get Donald out of the longhouse in time?

"What are you thinking?" His tone was soft, and she took courage from that.

"I am afraid someone will hear, or come in."

"They might, but there is nothing you can do about any of that now. None of what is to happen to you is under your control so you might as well let it go. Relax, if you can, and surrender."

"I do not mean to fight you, Jarl. Or to struggle."

"I know that." He laid one warm, solid palm on her bottom and rubbed a large circle around her left cheek. "I was thinking more of what is happening in your head. You need only to feel this, not think overmuch about it."

"I... I will try, Jarl." Her voice fell to a breathy whisper. Her bottom was still tender from yesterday and as he pressed her delicate skin those sensations returned. How much more punishment could she take?

"You know why this is happening." It was a statement, not a question.

"I disobeyed you."

"Yes, though I now rather think you misunderstood my instruction rather than deliberately disobeyed. You should have checked, asked me to clarify."

"I will, Jarl. Next time."

"I shall make sure of it. So, are you ready?"

"Yes," she breathed. "Yes, I am ready."

The first volley of spanks were light, teasing almost. Gunnar rained slaps down on both her buttocks, covering the sensitive globes and causing her to clench and writhe on his lap, but not to cry out. It was painful, but not overly so and there was pleasure in it too, especially when he paused to caress her smarting skin. Now she moaned, but in startled delight rather than pain.

"You like that?"

She nodded, but then realised he may not have seen her. "Yes, Jarl."

"Will you spread your legs for me?"

"Of course." On one level, she had no choice, he would make her do as he wanted though he did phrase the command most politely. But on another this was exactly what she desired, what she had hoped for. Punishment, submission, sensuality – these were a heady mix and she no longer knew quite how to separate them, or even if she wished to. So she parted her thighs and lay still.

"So pretty, and so wet." He slid his hand between her thighs and stroked her soaking folds. Mairead tensed under the sudden wave of lust which seemed to engulf her. "Did I hurt you?" His voice was soft now, and achingly seductive.

"No, it was ... more pleasant than I remembered."

"I see. And this?" Now he toyed with the pleasure nub he had awakened yesterday. Mairead stuffed her fist in her mouth in an attempt not to squeal out loud.

"Answer me. Is this nice."

"Mmmmm."

Her muffled response clearly did not suffice. He dropped two hard slaps, one on each buttock. "I expect you to talk to me, to answer if I ask you a question. If you do not understand what I want of you, you may tell me that since I know our tongue is still new to you."

"It is very nice, Jarl." She blurted the reply out fast, fearing another onslaught of slaps and craving them at the same time.

"And this?" Now he circled her entrance with his finger tip.

"That too, Jarl. It feels so good..."

"This?" His finger entered her, just to the first knuckle she thought. "Any pain?"

"No, it feels wonderful. Perhaps you might... I mean, maybe a little more?"

"Can I trust you to tell me if I hurt you?"

"You have hurt me. You are spanking me, Jarl. It is meant to hurt, is it not?"

"The spanking, yes. Not this." He swirled his finger between the swollen, sensitive lips. "You only gave birth a month ago."

"I am healed, truly I am. The birth was easy, and... oh! Ooooh." She let out a sob as he slid his whole finger into her.

"Tell me, Mairead. Is this painful?"

"No. No, it is ... wonderful. Please do not stop."

"Greedy wench. You will take your spanking; then, if I am satisfied you have learnt better manners, I will give you what you desire."

More about Ashe Barker

USA Today best-selling author Ashe Barker has been an avid reader of fiction for many years, erotic and other genres. She still loves reading, the hotter the better. But now she has a good excuse for her guilty pleasure – research.

Ashe tends to draw on her own experience to lend colour, detail and realism to her plots and characters. An incident here, a chance remark there, a bizarre event or quirky character, any of these can spark a story idea.

Ashe lives in the North of England, on the edge of the Brontë moors and enjoys the occasional flirtation with pole dancing and drinking Earl Grey tea. When not writing – which is not very often these days - her time is divided between her role as taxi driver for her teenage daughter, and caring for a menagerie of dogs, tortoises.  And a very grumpy cockatiel. 

At the last count Ashe had over forty titles on general release with publishers on both sides of the Atlantic, and several more in the pipeline. She writes M/f, M/M, and occasionally rings the changes with a little M/M/f. Ashe’s books invariably feature BDSM. She writes explicit stories, always hot, but offering far more than just sizzling sex. Ashe likes to read about complex characters, and to lose herself in compelling plots, so that’s what she writes too.

Ashe has a pile of story ideas still to work through, and keeps thinking of new ones at the most unlikely moments, so you can expect to see a lot more from her.

Ashe loves to hear from readers. Here are her social media links:

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www.ashebarker.com

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Or you can email her direct on ashe.barker1@gmail.com