Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“Is she ready?” Drako steps into the medical shack. I guess he decided to come find me rather than wait for me to be brought to him.
“She’s been chipped, Jarl. But she’s mouthy.”
“Leave us,” he says, waving the men away. They go, and it is just me and Drako, face to face in what passes for a medical center for these people.
“Nice trash town you’ve got here,” I say. “But usually, when you build out of garbage, the idea is to recycle it first.”
He smiles at me, his teeth flashing in a shark-like grin. “You’re already feeling better,” he says. “You recover quickly. Impressive, for a woman of your bloodline. Most of your kind would have chosen to die rather than be inconvenienced with trying to survive after a crash.”
“No, they wouldn’t,” I say. “Women of my bloodline are amazing, and you’d be lucky to lick the shoes of any of them.”
“Feisty too,” he deadpans. “But I am going to teach you some respect. I’m going to teach you a lot of things.”
“Like what?”
“Like take your clothes off. I want to see what I own.”
“You don’t own me,” I argue. I know he expects me to just submit, but fuck him. He doesn’t know me. We just met and…
He flips me face down over the table, yanks my loose pants down, and smacks my ass hard enough to make me squeal.
“That was so satisfying,” he says. “You really needed that.”
“I did not. I…”
Another hard slap lands. I’m half-scared he’s going to beat me awfully, but it’s just the two smacks I am forced to endure before I feel my cheeks parted by his big hands, and something hard and smooth pressing at my anal hole.
“What…”
“Relax and breathe,” he says. “It’s going to make this easier.”
He slides a slim dildo into my anus with what I have to say feels like a practiced touch. He lubes the shaft and works it into my butt in a way that feels almost more clinical than it does sexual. After all, if he wanted to ravage me, he has my pussy exposed too.
“We have a lot of ways of controlling wayward women,” he says. “Being headstrong runs in our bloodlines, so it’s often necessary to show a breeding wench her place. This helps.”
He clicks something, and the dildo starts vibrating intensely inside my butt. It doesn’t feel bad, it just feels… like a lot. I let out little gasps as he keeps me in place over the table quite easily with one hand on my back.
“This is going to make your pussy nice and wet,” he says. “And you’re going to beg me to fuck you.”
I am being pinned in place, my sex exposed, my ass punished, my entire being taken captive by a wicked jarl, and I am not sure what to do with myself.
I was not lying. There was someone who owned me, at least in the traditional sense of claiming me. According to all the laws of our people, I am being stolen in this moment, forced to perform for another conquering male. My wishes are irrelevant. My holes belong to him, and he is making very certain I know it.
I worked so hard to avoid this fate. Why do all roads seem to lead to being fucking owned?
CHAPTER 2
Mere weeks ago…
“It’s time you were married,” my sister says.
“It’s time you stopped talking about men,” I reply. “There are other topics. Most of them are more interesting.”
“Why don’t you let us introduce you to some of the new warriors,” Mila says, airily ignoring my objections to the topic of conversation. “There’s some quality on the street these days. Weltheim has grown, and the men are coming from all over the colonies to live here. There are soldiers, warriors, politicians…”
I make a gagging sound as she lists the many types of man I definitely don’t want. Soldiers get sent off to die. Warriors send themselves off to die. Politicians are the ones who send the soldiers. It’s a whole hierarchy of men mostly dying. I don’t need a man, and I will not be letting my sister set me up with anybody.
“She can do what she wants,” Freya sighs. She is our eldest sister. Usually the three of us look remarkably similar. We have round faces, blue eyes, and flaxen hair. Ruddy cheeks also run in the family, as do snub noses and wide gazes. As girls, we looked like nesting doll versions of one another. Now, things have changed a little, for the moment at least. Everybody is knocked up, except me. Mila is a few months along. But Freya is about to give birth any moment.
She stands up slowly, or tries to. The pregnancy has played hell with her hips. Sometimes they work. Quite often, they don’t.
She rocks back on her heels and ends up back on the chair she was trying to escape. I race over to offer my hands to help pull herself up. Her belly is throwing her balance off in all sorts of ways. She’s only a week or two away from giving birth, and we’ve all come home to help her with the new baby.