Wanda waggled her finger. “Do not be so sure she will be chosen. Our king is unpredictable.”
“But she is beautiful, and rich.”
“I would not disagree, but are those the qualities King Njal wishes to find in his new wife?”
“Wouldn’t every man want that?”
Wanda shrugged and walked to a pot of steaming broth. She ladled some into a bowl, and handed it to Tove. “Here, eat, then you can bathe and dress. Tonight. your life may change forever.”
“I doubt that.”
Again, Wanda didn’t answer, instead walking to a young woman who was tending a green tunic with a needle and thread.
“Thank you for the broth,” Tove said.
Wanda smiled. “You look like you could do with it.”
The door burst open again, the wind pushing it into a stool and knocking a bowl to the floor.
A woman, flamed-haired, stood there panting. Her eyes were wide and her breasts almost spilt from her tunic.
“Gert!” Wanda turned to her.
“Arne, he is…” She spun to look over her shoulder. “He is furious with me.”
“What have you done this time?” Wanda asked.
“Naught…much.”
“That is for your husband and my nephew to decide.” Wanda pointed to a woven screen. “But you may catch your breath behind there.”
“Thank you.’ Wanda rushed forward, again almost bumping into Tove and this time nearly spilling her precious broth.
“Where is she?” The doorway filled with an ogre of a man. His wide shoulders almost touching the frame and his boots caked in mud. “Where is that wife of mine?”
Gert let out a yelp. “No!”
A deep growl rumbled from his throat and he lunged forward. “You. Wench. You will feel the wrath of my hand into next week.”
“No. Please.” Gert gripped the screen. “I am sorry. I beg you. Have mercy.”
He took no notice of her plea and grabbed her upper arm. They jostled and the screen half fell revealing a bed strewn with furs.
He pushed her to the bed and she landed on her belly. With a flick of his hand he dragged up her tunic to reveal her undergarments.
“Arne. No.” Gert wriggled and writhed but to no avail. If anything it rucked up her clothing more. “Please.”
Arne was too big and strong, and he set a huge hand in the small of her back and pinned her down. “Keep still, you are making my plans for your punishment worse, wife. Much worse.” He yanked at the material covering her round ass and pulled it down exposing her pale buttocks.
Gert yelped and attempted to shield her ass with her hands.
He batted her attempts away, and delivered a hard swift slap to the center of her cheeks.
She yelped again and kicked up her heels.
This seemed to infuriate him more and crouched over her, he set to a rapid rhythm, layering up the spanks over both buttocks.
Tove watched on as Wanda closed the door and retrieved the bowl. She’d never seen an argument with such heat, anger and passion. It was as if they were in the room alone. Nothing else existed except the punishment Arne was determined to deliver.
The other girls continued with their preparations. Wanda stirred the broth again.
But Tove was mesmerized. The slap, slap sound of flesh on flesh filled her ears. Gert’s desperate wriggling and her rippling, reddening ass cheeks was all she could look at.
Her own buttocks tingled and her nipples tightened. She gripped the broth tighter.
Arne reminded her of the giant brutes from her dreams. All muscle and fury, domination and grit. His narrowed eyes were alive with fire and he too was breathing fast.
On and on the spanking continued. Gert cried out and begged him to stop.
Her words fell on deaf ears.
When his attentions went to the backs of her thighs her screeches became more high-pitched.
“You will not waste food again,” he bellowed. “Nor give it away.”
“I’m sorry.” Tears streaked down her face. “The wanderer was hungry.”
“Wanderers are not welcome here. On new order of King Njal.”
Suddenly Arne stopped spanking his wife and flipped her over.
She was naked from the waist down except for her boots. The patch of hair on her mound dark and the skin of her thighs snow-white.
He grunted and fiddled with his belt, quickly released it.
“Arne.” Gert stared up at him, her fists full of furs and her face wet and hot.
“You drive me to insanity, woman,” he said, releasing his cock.
Tove caught barely a glimpse of his member before he angled it at his wife’s spread sex and blasted in with the force of an ogre.
Gert cried out. Her back arched and her legs hooked up around his waist.
It had sounded to Tove like the action of taking her husband into her body pained her, but her reaction—clinging to him, pulling him closer—told her the opposite.
“Ah sweet, wicked cunny,” Arne said, pushing his wife’s hair from her brow and staring into her eyes. “You anger and tempt me in equal measures.”
“Oh, Arne,” she gasped. “I am at your mercy. I am yours.”
“Aye, wife. You are.” He thrust his hips harder, pulling out, driving in.
The bed frame creaked. The screen fell a little bit more.
Tove’s mouth was dry and she licked her lips. Her parents had never behaved this way. Was it normal? Is that why no one else was taking any notice? Or was it just Arne and Gert who behaved like this and everyone was used to it?
Tove had no idea.
Their coupling was intensifying. Arne grinding in hard, as though on a mission to fell a tree or hunt down a wolf.
Tove could tell that nothing would stop him finding his pleasure now, he desired his wife’s punished body and was taking what he wanted.
But Gert too was gasping and crying out. Her hands had locked in his long hair and her toes curled. The tempo was frantic.
Tove pressed her legs together. Heat was growing between her thighs. It went upward, to her sex, to her belly. Not unpleasant but exciting, expectant, anticipatory.
She knew their climax was coming. That their feral, noisy coupling was about to reach a crescendo.
And then it was there. Gert cried out. A long, pleasure-soaked wail that seemed to go right through Tove too.
Arne let out a string of praises to the All Father that ended on a long groan.
They stilled. Arne sprawled over his wife with his face buried in her neck.
She tenderly pushed his hair aside and kissed his ear.
“Tove, girl. Eat your broth.”
Tove tore her attention to Wanda. “I…er…yes. Thank you.”
“As you can see,” Wanda said, leaning close, like a conspirator, “if you get chosen you will need your strength. And my nephew Arne, he’s a butterfly in comparison to the king.”
