Breaking the Barbarian Ch. 04

Author's Note: This is the longest entry yet in this series and contains a greater proportion of action/adventure. While there is still plenty of bondage and femdom erotica within, since there's a greater focus on the fantastical adventures, I decided to switch categories from here on out.

**

Cheers thundered from the beach as the first rowboat hit the shore. Villagers and refugees swarmed us to help unload the desperately-needed cargo.

The elderly, wiry Baron Rikard broke free of the crowd and clapped me on the back before helping heft a barrel out of the boat.

"Damned fine work again, Anvarr," he said, beaming. "First you save my neck from an executioner's blade and now you save my people from starvation."

"We've far more work to do, I'm afraid," I said with a frown. "If our attack draws out Grozdan, we'll have to-"

"I know it may be hard for a man like you, but try to relax," the rebel baron said with a warm smile. "Let the rest of us handle the unloading. Mother Superior Isidora is waiting for you up the beach."

The baron gave me a sly wink, then a gentle shove out of the way. I left Orgumir in command, trusting him to see to the unloading of the cargo. Once the stolen goods had been returned to the people, my warriors would let the crew go, advising them to seek other ports for the time being. Hopefully the implied threat of violence would be enough to scare them off.

A short walk up the rocky, moonlit beach brought me to a makeshift field hospital. Isidora and a dozen other nuns were tending to the wounds suffered by some of Rikard's militia in a recent skirmish with Grozdan's men.

The darkness and the veils of the nuns made it hard to recognize any of them. Only Isidora herself stood out thanks to her necklace of vines and blue flowers.

"Anvarr," she said, her voice thrumming with warmth. "I take it all went well?"

"Indeed. Two ships with full holds captured. No casualties for our side. The sailors seem keen to return to the mainland and escape the unrest, so they should not be any trouble."

"And do you think Grozdan will take the bait?" asked another nun.

"We will see." I tapped the hilt of my sheathed dagger. "In the days that we've been gone, did you receive any word about my brother or other northlanders?"

"Indeed," Isidora said. "After another round of requisitions by Grozdan's men, a hundred more peasants fled south towards the convent. One of them said that two dozen foreigners were being kept by Grozdan's forces at one of the duke's wineries in the countryside."

"As prisoners?"

"So it seems. Rumors have already spread of your exploits and Grozdan perhaps suspects those Kovgaardians as being your allies. One of the peasants I spoke to described a man matching Hoskuld's description."

She paused.

"That description sounded quite a bit like you, in fact."

"He is my twin, after all," I said darkly, glaring out at the moonlit cliffs behind Isidora. "My own kin would sometimes get us confused."

I ran my fingers over the scar I'd received as a result of his schemes.

"Not any longer, though."

The Mother Superior approached and rested a hand upon my scarred cheek. The tension in my body melted away at that tender touch, though the embers of rage still simmered.

"The winery is a two days' ride away. Tomorrow, you can head there with Sister Miriam, your Kovgaardians, and a few of Rikard's militia. If your brother is there..." She frowned beneath the veil. "You can do as you see fit. If the other prisoners were members of your warband, perhaps they'll be of help against Grozdan."

"What will you do if you find him?" asked Sister Catriona, looking up once she'd finished patching a peasant's wounded leg.

"I will offer him an honorable end. A trial of blood and iron. A duel to the death. Brother against brother."

"By Saint Morwenna, why would you risk such a thing?"

"Because if he dies in such a duel, he can reclaim the honor he lost when he betrayed our king and our clan." I sighed. "Though he is a traitor and a murderer, he is still my brother. So if he is to die, I would prefer that it be clean and honorable, at my hand. The gods may yet smile upon him in the afterlife and spare him from their eternal hunger."

I raised an eyebrow.

"And what would Saint Morwenna's laws dictate in this situation?" I asked, curious about the Sisterhood's thoughts on the matter.

"We forbid the taking of life except in self-defense," said Isidora. "But as punishment for the crimes you have told us about, he would be sentenced to branding and to a life of penance and hard labor. And not the sort of Rites that you have endured, Anvarr. No criminal would deserve such wondrous cruelty."

The Mother Superior patted my cheek again.

"We have already spoken too much of dark and grim things," she said, taking my arm. "Come along: I have something to show you."

Bidding farewell to the other nuns, I walked with Isidora further up the beach. We veered inland, heading up a narrow dirt path that led to an imposing cliff of gleaming white stone. At the base of it was a narrow cavern.

After lighting a torch, Isidora led the way inside. Paintings of swords, animals, and trees adorned the rough white walls. To my surprise, there were Kovgaardian runes interspersed among the old artwork.

"These are holy symbols," I muttered, tracing over one of the markings. "This was a sacred place. A place of power."

"I daresay it still is," she said, her low voice echoing down the cavern.

I followed her further into darkness and the passageway widened into a room with rune-covered walls. At the center of the chamber was an altar of dark stone, upon which were stone carvings of wolves and bears.

Eyes widening, I traced my fingers over the sacred carvings.

"This makes no sense," I muttered. "I know that some men of Kovgaard came this far south as traders, raiders, or mercenaries in days past, but this was the work of witches and shamans. Of people who had settled down."

"When the Empire arose on the continent and proclaimed their intent to conquer this island, the rulers of Etmorra enlisted northerners as mercenaries. Many died bravely in defense of the island. Some remained, settled, and intermarried with the locals after the Empire's eventual victory. That was centuries ago, and the numbers were so few that most Etmorrans don't even remember. But in ages past, your people did in fact worship here."

She let out a soft sigh.

"I find it quite soothing to bask in the holiness of this place."

"Surely this is heretical or blasphemous in your eyes, yes? Saint Morwenna is a servant of the southern gods, not the hungry northern ones."

"Honoring Saint Morwenna does not stop one from honoring other gods. I can honor your skills as a warrior while still acknowledging the skills of others, yes?"

She circled around the altar, tracing the edges of the sacred stone.

"So what sort of rituals would have been conducted here?" she asked.

"The practices vary from tribe to tribe and clan to clan. Given the time that has passed, I could only guess as to what the Kovgaardian settlers would have done in such a place."

How many more secret fragments of Kovgaard had been scattered across the south? Did other shrines hide elsewhere on the island, or even the mainland?

"But in the sacred caves like these back home, there would have been sacrifices. Anointing rituals. The awarding of special blades, like the weapon I received when I came of age."

That particular weapon had shattered during my duel with King Ulrik, thanks to my brother's treacherous schemes.

I smiled nonetheless.

"Other rituals, too. Ones that the delicate ears of a nun should perhaps not hear about."

Isidora's husky laugh flooded the sacred chamber.

"Do you truly think tales of northern debauchery could make me blush, Anvarr? Do your worst."

I paused, my hand settling upon the holy stone a few inches from hers.

"A year ago, I won a great victory against a rival clan that was poaching game from our lands. In honor of my triumph, an allied clan sent an invitation for me to make a pilgrimage to one of their sacred caves. A place not unlike this one."

As I spoke, I held Isidora's gaze. Her gray eyes brightened beneath the veil.

"Waiting for me was one of the friendly clan's witches. Naked, her body adorned with sacred runes...and her hands bound. A gift from that clan: their way of honoring my victory."

Isidora licked her lips.

"And what did you do to this very fortunate witch?"

My hand drifted from the stone to settle upon her hand.

"I started at her feet. Soft, gentle kisses up each leg. Soft licks over her stomach. Gentle nibbles upon each breast. A slow, hungry kiss."

She murmured something under her breath. I stiffened as the surge of memories rushed back. Gods, how that witch had whimpered and mewled...

"One finger between her legs. Then two. Soft. Careful. Precise." I licked my lips. "And then once she was right on the verge of climax...I stopped."

"Cruel. That was exactly what I would have done, though," Isidora said with a low, hungry laugh.

"I then cut her bonds and walked away."

She let out another laugh, one so loud that it no doubt echoed out onto the moonlit beach.

"By Saint Morwenna's grace, really? You did not sate your needs?"

"Oh, the witch was driven so mad by my teasing that she tackled me before I could even leave the cave." I grinned. "She tore off my clothes and had her way with me right there upon the floor."

Neither of us spoke for a time. Her gray eyes gleamed and her thin lips twitched into a hungry smile.

"You won a great victory tonight," Isidora pointed out. "Shall we re-enact that ritual?"

I blinked with surprise.

"You...you would let me bind you?"

"Oh no, Anvarr. Not yet. I am not sure you have earned that particular privilege." Her nails scraped over the back of my hand. "But I could bind you to this altar. Tease and torment you as you did to that witch."

Isidora lifted her veil and tossed it aside. For the first time, I finally had an unobstructed view of her face. Based upon the few faint wrinkles and laugh lines, I guessed she was in her late thirties. The torchlight flickered across her tanned skin. Large, keen gray eyes stared at me with impish delight. Long, raven-dark curls reached down past her shoulders. I imagined running my hands through those curls, gripping them as I plowed into her...

"Would you like that?" she murmured.

"Yes," I rasped. "In fact, at the time I was envious of the witch. I saw joy in her struggle."

"Then I shall show you joy in your struggle tonight, Anvarr."

She removed my cloak and spread it out upon the altar, then directed me to remove the rest of my clothes.

Isidora stepped back, watching me with the keen eyes of a hawk as I undressed. Once I was bare and fully exposed, I stood proudly in front of her, allowing her gaze to absorb every detail.

She'd seen me nude before, of course, but that didn't seem to diminish the hunger in her eyes.

Without a word, she undid the clasps of her holy vestments. The sacred fabric fell to the floor, leaving her in a little silken shift that did little to hide her long legs and the swell of her hips. While Catriona had been all soft curves and Miriam had been lean and lithe, Isidora's figure was somewhere between those two women...and no less enchanting.

For several moments we stared at one another, as yet another form of worship. Her beauty, after all, was a gift from the gods. And my own strength and stature were another divine gift, at least as far as Kovgaardian beliefs were concerned. To leer at one another in such a way was thus a sacred act within that holy cave.

"Usually I would invoke Saint Morwenna before lovemaking, but that doesn't seem prudent in a place like this. How would a witch have called upon the favor of the gods before one of these rituals?" she asked.

"That would all depend on the season and the place of the moon and stars. The power of each god can vary throughout the year."

I took a step closer and took her by the hand.

"Based upon the placement of the moon, I believe the Spirit of the Dancing Forest would be the god watching over the world tonight. An entity of love and lust...an occasionally malevolent spirit that lurks in the woods, hungering for the lust of mortals."

Isidora shivered and took a step closer to me, her dark nipples straining against the silken shift. As she closed in, I couldn't help but imagine Isidora as an avatar of that wicked goddess: a living exemplar of hunger and lust.

"'She watches and judges,'" I murmured, calling to mind the old invocations. "'May our offerings be pure and wicked, may they be strong and sweet, may our cries and our sweat bring a smile to her hungry lips.'"

After a deep breath, the Mother Superior repeated the prayer perfectly, even precisely matching my own rhythm.

"Shall we worship?"

I nodded and she gave me a gentle shove onto the altar. As I leaned back, she reached into the pockets on the inside of her vestments, withdrawing several cords of hempen rope.

"Resourceful," I said, grinning at the thought of a pious nun keeping such wicked implements with her at all times.

My breath quickened as she used the rope to tie me to the altar. Rather than flinch or tense at the grip of the bindings, I smiled and took in a shuddering breath. I reveled in my imprisonment, my heart soaring at the firm embrace of the rope.

The joy of surrender washed over me.

Once I was secure, she ran her fingers from my neck down towards my cock.

"Have no fear, Anvarr," Isidora said with a crooked grin. "While I do intend to torment you, I shall not be as cruel as Catriona was."

"Thank the gods," I murmured. "I'm not sure I'd be able to endure that again."

Beaming, she took hold of my shaft and gave it a few slow, gentle strokes. With a grunt I rocked upwards off the altar. Encouraged by my desperation, Isidora sped up, building to a rapid and demanding pace.

"To see such a powerful man bound and helpless is a beautiful thing," she murmured. "Because I think you could break those bonds, if you unleashed all of your strength. And yet I can tell that you like to surrender. That you crave the loss of control."

Every word seared like a brand upon my soul, for she spoke of deep truths that I hadn't truly grasped before my arrival on Etmorra.

Her hand rose to grip my neck. I shivered, reveling in the warm clutches of her firm fingers.

"Isn't that right?"

"Yes," I rasped. "I can't explain it or understand it."

"Glimpses of the divine are rarely fully understood. Embrace the contradictions, embrace the sensation of surrender. We take true control of ourselves when we lose control, you see."

I was too lost in bliss to fully grasp the implications of her words, but I groaned and smiled nonetheless.

The Mother Superior leaned down, her lips inches from mine. Her tongue flitted out for a brief taste. As she stroked and teased, she licked and kissed along my chest and over my tensing stomach. A shudder gripped my body as she drifted further down. My hips rocked off the altar as her tongue darted out for a brief taste of the tip of my shaft.

Murmuring with delight, her lips embraced the first few inches. After taking a moment to suckle and lick near the crown, she descended. Those delighted murmurs rose and rose as she bobbed.

One hand gripped my thigh while the other reached between her legs. I moaned along with her as she began to pleasure herself, adding a new dimension to our debauched form of worship. Her muffled moans and my unfettered groans filled the sacred chamber.

As I languished beneath her skilled mouth, I wondered how many other debauched rituals had been undertaken in such a place. Our coupling was but another offering to the gods, another rite in a long tradition stretching across time. My body was the altar and her skilled touch was the sacred offering. My groans were holy prayers and her muffled moans were sacred hymns.

After a minute of slurping and gurgling against my shaft, Isidora raised her mouth, beaming as spittle dripped from her lips.

"Delicious," she purred.

I took a single deep breath, which shifted into a loud cry when she descended once more.

After another few moments of bobbing up and down, Isidora once more lifted her lips. Rather than descend once more, she rested her head on my thigh and stroked me with her wicked fingers. Her other hand continued to work between her legs. A haze passed over her gray eyes, which soon rolled back into her head.

When she came, she bit down onto my thigh to stifle her cries. After a few moments, she pulled away and flung back her head, convulsions rippling through her body, sweat dripping down her tanned skin. Through it all, she continued to stroke and stroke, giving me no respite.

The sound of those muffled cries was one of the most beautiful things I'd ever heard. Given the tenets of her order, such cries were akin to a holy hymn, a sacred offering to the heavens. I shuddered at the gift she'd given me, of the vulnerability she'd displayed.

I came damned close to reaching my peak right along with her, but bit down on the inside of my mouth to stifle the rising tide. I wanted to save my release for when she unbound me, so that I could pound furiously against her and give her every last drop...

Isidora rose, standing between my legs. Her strokes slowed, then ceased, though she kept her hand around the base of me.

"I think I have had my fill," she said with a triumphant grin. She leaned down, her breasts brushing against my chest. Her hand loosened one of the bindings but did not fully remove it.

After one last lick to my neck, Isidora turned away, strutting back over to her pile of vestments. I snarled and tore free the loosened binding. My lust roared and I yanked the rope free from my other wrist.

The very moment she bent down to collect her vestments, I lunged from the altar. Firm hands grasped at her soft hips. She let out a cry of feigned shock as I took hold of her and pressed her against the rough stone wall.

With a hungry growl I reached between her legs, stroking my fingers over her dripping folds.

I groaned at how wet and ready she was, then gripped my shaft and guided the tip towards her sex. Isidora's cry flitted through the chamber as I slid inside, my passage eased by how wet she'd made herself.

With another growl, I bit down on the back of her shoulder. Just as she'd clutched at my neck so many times before, I reached up to grip hers in return. She leaned back, eyes fluttering and hips bucking back against me.

The pent-up lust turned into a hungry fury that no lover had ever unleashed from me before. With one hand around her neck and the other on her hip, I kept her pinned and helpless as I fucked her. The cave rippled with the sounds of our coupling: my hips colliding with her soft ass, her rising moans, my trembling groans and hungry growls.

This, too, was but another form of worship. Her body was now the altar and my cock was now the offering. Together, our pleasure swelled forth, becoming wordless prayers to ancient, hungry gods.

One hand reached back, clutching my wild blonde locks, while the other reached between her thighs.

"Yes," she sputtered. "Show me who you are, Anvarr. Show me the power of conquest and the joy of surrender."

The words seemed like a sacred command, a divine edict. In that moment, the holy nature of our coupling shifted. No longer was I pounding against her in the name of Saint Morwenna or my people's lustful deities.

No. Isidora herself was now the goddess. Not just an instrument of worship, but the object of devotion. A goddess to be praised, kissed and caressed...

And to be brutally fucked.