Breathless

Her womanly features, her incredibly small waist moving sensually, gracefully, to the soft tunes of the bards, made him swallow. Gunnarr had indeed given him a kingly present, because he was mesmerized by her beauty, by her shy nobility and delicate dignity, but he was disturbed by her obvious anxiety, the profound concern visible in her otherwise lovely face. He had to calm her down; otherwise there would be little enjoyment for either of them. And he already longed for this woman; she had him hypnotized, literally melting away his lordly pride, replacing his normally controlled composure with awe and desire.

While watching her elegant and, to him, deeply arousing movements, he thought calmly about what to say to her. By now, he was sure they had mistreated her badly. He hoped that she was from the Iberian Peninsula, because he spoke a little Spanish, and assumed the quickest way to communicate with her would be in her mother tongue. Since nobody spoke Spanish in these parts, he was sure he would immediately get her attention, if she were indeed Iberian. He had to try.

"Mírame!" he finally commanded her.

She seemed stunned for a moment, unsure what to do, but had clearly understood what he had said. He repeated his command, this time speaking softly, injecting as much assurance and politeness as his deep voice was capable of, hoping she would sense that he was not being threatening.

"Mírame"

He could see her conflict, her clear surprise by his command, but also an incredible fear of looking at him. She had stopped moving, still struggling to overcome her fear.

He waited, thinking "Come on beauty, you can do this; if you see my face, it will be much easier for you."

Another instant passed. The bards must have sensed the intensity of the moment too, because they stopped playing.

Finally, she hesitantly raised her eyes to his eyes.

*

By the manners that loud turnkey had silently retreated moments ago, she was sure now that she was with the ruler of this stronghold, and struggled between her overwhelming need to steal a quick glimpse, and the long months of induced fear of what might happen if she dared, needing to understand what she was up against. She then sensed his nearness, his deliberate appraisal of her, and imagined him to be a huge, fearsome, merciless monster, and was almost paralyzed when he finally freed her of the imposed darkness; she decided then that she would never have the courage to do any more than stare subserviently at the ground.

That was why his last command to look at him caught her completely off guard. This perceived monster not only spoke Spanish, but did so in a gentle and friendly tone; he had her puzzled. Finally, her curiosity won and she looked at him.

She had to suppress her surprise, to hold her composure, to resist her compulsion to cover her mouth, but there he was stretched out comfortably next to the fireplace, huge and imposing indeed, except for his expression. She knew that kind of look, had experienced it many times before, when men had courted her unsuccessfully, bored her with their superficial interest and lack of distinction. She was looking at a handsome man, one who obviously wielded a lot of power, but was seriously trying not to appear threatening, grinning almost comically. He couldn't hide his obvious enchantment with her.

To overcome the awkward moment, she took the initiative and again lowered her eyes, slowly starting to dance again, visibly more comfortable than just moments earlier.

He softly called for the musicians to continue their play. Obviously not used to their master's sweet tone, nothing happened, prompting him to call imperiously for their music, startling her, reminding her of his earlier restraint. The slow music continued, and she again eased into her performance. She felt his eyes glued to her, prompting her to use her charms alluringly. He was the first person to look at her with admiration and respect since her ship had been raided many months ago.

She was still agitated, her breathing labored, but in the last several moments something had changed -- her fear. Even though the incredible emotional stress she had been suffering during the last several hours had obviously taken its toll, as evidenced by the fact that she danced slowly and it took all her strength and will to dance, but gone was her utter submissiveness. Her self-esteem and understanding of being a desirable women had somewhat returned.

The beauty still kept her eyes to the ground and concentrated on her dancing, trying her best to impress the Lord. Then again, every movement she made, all the ostensible innocence transmitted by her dancing, gave her something she had been denied ever since her capture, something the brutal and degrading enslavement had obviously not been able to eradicate -- her awareness of being perceived as beautiful, even in these parts of the world. But it wasn't any ordinary person who liked her charms; it was the most powerful figure in this realm.

What troubled her was why everyone else had treated her miserably, despite the fact that the Lord obviously liked her. She was realistic enough to understand that his current enchantment could easily turn into something else less comforting for her, so she decided to give her best, to use her knowledge of men's cravings to captivate his interest. They had punished her throughout the dancing drills, when they deemed her movements not inflammatory enough, when she hadn't rudely exposed her sex, wiggled her breasts, and degraded herself, and she had been completely naked then.

However, now she was dressed as a noble woman by of her own choosing, having selected the dress as a barrier against his expected advances, rejecting the more revealing ones precisely because of her distain for their lack of restraint. And now she wished to be able to show more, without losing her shy dignity, which seemed to captivate him.

The beauty had been dancing for some time without explicit eye contact, and felt that her resolve was weakening. She decided to use several gyrations to look at him surreptitiously, using the long sleeves of her dress as distraction. Her tenacity returned when she saw his enchanted face, not hiding his enthusiasm, but promptly catching and holding her eyes, not once distracted by her arms twistings. The song of the musicians ended, and she concluded her performance with a gesture of respect, performing a curtsey.

He applauded her performance, clapping enthusiastically, and since she had remained in the deep curtsey, he said, "Rise!"

She became light-headed and tottered somewhat, prompting him to jump up and approach her, extending his hand, saying "Take my hand."

The Iberian hesitated only for a moment, and then accepted his hand.

"You need not be frightened!"

"I'm not my Lord ... not anymore," she uttered softly.

He noticed her sudden paleness and inquired, concerned, "You don't feel well, do you?"

"May I have some water, please?"

"Of course. Servants!"

A side door opened and two servants entered, bowing respectfully and awaiting his orders.

"Bring water!"

He guided her to the divan, gestured for her to sit down, and took a seat next to her. The servant returned with a mug, offering it to the Lord. He took the mug and gave it to her, watching her intensely as she drank. The water was refreshing; she was really thirsty, drinking quite a bit, prompting him to inquire, when she finally gave back the mug almost empty, "You must be hungry too."

"No, my Lord"

"I'm going to tell you this only once. Never lie to me!"

She closely observed his face and saw his concern, but also saw that he was serious about her always telling the truth.

"I don't want to be a burden, my Lord."

"Nonsense!" he retorted; then he addressed the servant: "Prepare a meal and bring wine!"

*

"Open up."

He fed her a slice of apple, telling her to chew it slowly, observing her obey him. The food he had been feeding her was delicious. She had become accustomed to his nearness, and to his obvious pleasure in stuffing her with food and speaking bits of Spanish.

"Drink."

The wine was heavy, and had loosened her up a bit, and reddened her cheeks. She felt it was too much already, but he kept holding the goblet to her mouth, insisting, deliberately feeding her inefficiently, so that it started to overflow, spilling and making a mess. Her eyes told him to stop, but he didn't until the remaining wine was either swallowed or spilled.

"Let me help you with this."

He took a small piece of cloth and dabbed her lips, then moved it towards her chin, paused, gradually following her neck downward, keeping her eyes locked to him as though she were under a spell as he continued towards her cleavage.

"You are naughty girl, spilling so much wine."

"Yes, my Lord," she shyly replied, lowering her eyes in obvious embarrassment, because of his teasing. He finally dropped the cloth. She kept her eyes down. His hand returned, gently scooping back her long hair, now concealing parts of her face, tenderly bundling it behind her ear. She liked the soft ministrations, his large hand fondly touching her, and caught herself longing for more, imperceptibly cuddling toward him. He kept caressing her hair, admired its full, intense blackness and slight silvery shine, felt her fragility now even more, since she had told him about her imprisonment in the dungeon, but intuitively kept arousing her senses, already clouded by too much wine.

She felt the rough skin of his hand and fingers, battle hardened, accustomed to wield a large sword, now softly manipulating her womanly longings, still buried under month-long deprivation, but slowly re-emerging under his gentle ministrations, like a flower that had been denied water for too long. Beauty's emotions were confused by his temperate attitude towards her.

"What would you do, if I asked for a kiss?"

Taken aback by his unexpected question, she hesitated. He continued to play with her hair, now moving his hand under it, searching for the back of her neck, stroking it fondly, causing goosebumps, waiting for her to respond.

"I would kiss you, my Lord." she answered blushingly.

"Show me!"

He waited, sensing her turmoil, moving his hand slowly down the back of her neck until he reached the hem of her dress, admiring her white skin, her soft hair reacting to his gentle touches. He saw her tremble, grabbed her chin calmly, and raised her face to meet his gaze. He looked at her beautiful face, met her dark brown eyes, and held her stare, finally observing her full lips. She took his clue and slowly met his lips. He sensed their fullness, reveled in their slight wetness in the brief moment they touched. He demanded, feeling her retreat, "Stay!"

She remained in her position and closed her eyes, humbled. He felt her warm breath, sensed her hesitation and commanded fondly,

"Again!"

This time she parted her lips slightly. He tasted the remnants of wine when he returned her kiss, exploring her slight opening with his tongue, searching; finally meeting hers, enmeshing. Tempting passion, he grabbed her, drawing her even closer; her slight resistance broken, she finally gave in, returning his desire, unclenching her muscles at last, inviting him to explore.

He was strong, his desire for her obvious in his unleashed passion, his arousal manifest in his rougher handling of her. Both his hands held her head, their tongues entwining in passionate kissing, provoking her to softly resist his impulsive wildness. Finally he let go of her, his manhood roused.

She looked at him, her own passion revived, her confusion visible, caused by the anguish ingrained in her during the preceding month of torture; silently, she pleaded with him to be gentle, not to destroy what he had opened, what she was willing to give. He saw it and smiled, filled with desire for this incredible beauty, her delicate features and womanly curves bringing his male instincts again to boiling point.

"You are very beautiful!" He finally broke the silence. "I must concede I haven't met a woman like you before."

She observed his face and found truth in his words. His warm smile was genuine; the fire in his eyes spoke of a man filled with desire for her. It helped to reclaim parts of her, which have been lost, buried in captivity, almost broken by torture and degradation. But she caught herself longing for his gentle touches, was captivated by his restraint, by how he was unwilling to force himself on her. Still, memories exhausted her.

"May I have some more wine, my Lord?"

"Certainly," he answered, smiling naughtily, refilling the goblet. "Do you want my help, or do you think you can do it all alone, this time?"

"I'd like your guidance, my Lord," she answered with a shy smile.

He didn't need any further encouragement, and moved closer to her, holding her gently; their eyes met again. "Do you know that hawks choke up food to feed their offspring?"

"Are you going to feed me wine, my Lord?"

He didn't answer, but sipped from the goblet. Their lips met again, and he slowly fed her the wine from his mouth. She swallowed, looking at him, smiling pertly.

"Oh, the poor birdie isn't filled yet."

He repeated the action; she swallowed again, but this time didn't let go of him, embracing his broad shoulders, initiating the smooches which he willingly returned. They were tangled for several moments, before he started to kiss her cheeks, placing caresses on her lids and brows, nibbling on her earlobes, making her giggle. He again had to observe her, as if the whole situation wasn't real, her face flushed because of their heated exchange and too much wine, her long hair mussed, her white bosom moving because of her heavy breathing, her womanly figure wrapped tightly by the dress.

When he finally stopped imagining her without her dress, he found her observing him, and knew she had seen his lustful longing for more. She smiled at him, stating "You seem to glow, my Lord. It's quite warm in here. Will you require my assistance to open your shirt?"

"Would I?" he asked, laughing. "I am afraid it has to come off completely, considering how warm it is in here."

She moved closer, watching his expression, while she slowly unbuttoned his shirt. His shaved face already showed signs of stubble; his light brown hair was dense, ending at his broad neck. Before she opened the final button, she again stared into his blue eyes, as if she could read what he was thinking. Finally releasing it, she indicated that he should take it off.

He pulled it over his head, letting her observe his body. She saw the scars across his torso, his skin roughed up around his shoulders, probably because of the heavy armor he was forced to wear in battle. He wasn't overly muscular, just lean; there were still bluish discolorations on several parts, indicating to her that his wounds from the last fight had not fully healed. She softly touched his chest, playfully curled its hair, moved along a scar.

"You have seen many battles, my Lord," she intoned softly, her tone a combination of admiration and fear.

"Fought too, between my men! I've been lucky so far; everything is still there!" he answered wryly, smiling. He saw fear reappearing in her face and understood. Gunnarr wasn't faint hearted, and the taking of her ship must have been horrifying for her to watch.

"Would you like some more wine?" he asked, trying to overcome the heaviness of the moment.

"Yes."

"You think you can do it on your own?"

She smiled. "This time."

He handed her the goblet, watched her slowly drinking, as if she was trying to forget, drowning her thoughts. Her cheeks had become quite rosy, but he liked her flushed face even more. He longed for her delicate beauty, and once again started his soft caressing of her graceful neck, playing with her hair, placing kisses along her neck, ultimately giving her quite a love bite, making her laugh again.

She slowly stood up, making him look at her in bewilderment.

"My Lord, I have chosen this dress, because I thought it would be the hardest for you to remove. It took almost three servants to get it over my head. Would you be so kind as to avert your eyes for a moment, so I can get it off?"

He smiled warmly. "I can do better than that. Would you allow me to call for servants, to help you, remove..." exploding into laughter "...your armor?"

She had to giggle too and agreed, this time only slightly embarrassed.

Breathless

He had blindfolded himself, sitting on his divan, half naked. Some of the servants stared at him in confusion, but the quick witted ones smiled. They helped her out of the tight dress; she welcomed their support as it turned out to be quite a challenge. She was getting restless, because of how long it was taking, fearing that he might become angry. But her anxiety was unfounded, because he enjoyed the sound of frustrated whispers and the final relief when they had stripped her.

He ordered everybody, including the musicians, to leave. When finally everyone was gone, he asked if she would allow him to take off his blindfold.

"Would you allow me the honor of returning your vision, my Lord?" she asked.

"Off course!" adding "I didn't realize how much you can take away, by blocking someone's sight."

"But didn't your other senses become sharper?"

"No, but maybe you can help me with that."

She slowly approached him, still sitting on his divan.

"I found the strongest sense to be smell; it helped me take in my surroundings quickly, but I also realized it can be the most painful." She drifted back to the moment when she had smelled her palanquin.

"I can sense your nearness, but you have to come closer in order for me to smell you."

She sneaked behind him, waited, observed him inhaling softly; she gently grabbed his hair and placed a kiss on his neck, lingering, letting him feel her soft lips. Seeing how her touch had caused him to react, she asked, "Which part of my body did you just feel?"

"That's easy; those were your lovely lips."

She circled the divan slowly several times before stopping slightly to his right, lifting her arm, exposing her armpit, moving in closer, remaining; she was getting aroused by her little game and whispered, "And what do your senses tell you now, my Lord?"

He smelled her slight fragrance, the combination of her own body odors mixed with the sweet scent of cross-leaved heath. He simply had to inhale deeply, to take in more of her delicious aroma, the intimacy of the action provoking his desire. She looked down at him, his face only inches away, and felt his breath on her breast, making her nipple erect, wrinkling her areola, making her arousal evident.

Smiling, anticipating her breast close to his face, sniffing, as if her scent would be able to guide him, he slowly moved towards her breast, and when he found it, heat rose in his face, unleashing his passion, he groaned in absolute arousal. She softly guided her puffed-up nipple towards his lips, inviting him to suck her breast. He accepted with alacrity, suckling her voraciously, his hands now holding her tight. He loved the firmness of her breast, and licked its nipple. Encouraged by her invitation, he started to explore her body, his hands moving along her back, downwards, pausing, admiring her low waist, moving lower before finally grabbing her bottom, feeling the full cheeks, noticing they were slightly colder than the rest of her body. Unable to hold back any more, his manhood hardened, painfully confined in his trousers. She saw his swelling, and smiled at her power to stir his longing.

"My Lord, shall I remove your trousers?"

"Yesss!"

"Please stand up"

He stood up, sensed her lowering herself in front of him, felt her soft manipulations as she quickly relieved him from his confinement, his member already engorged. She let his trousers fall to his feet, bidding him to step out of them.