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Antoinette meets a fabulous man in the casino.

Besides, it was annoying. As she straddled his body to ensure the ties on his arms and legs were secure, she indulged in stroking the smooth skin of his face. It certainly wouldn't tickle and chafe the way a man's beard would. Perhaps the women of this country were on to something. As an afterthought, she pulled the strip of cloth holding back her hair from her head and knotted it firmly across his mouth.

The shieldmaiden took her time picking over the camp for supplies and lightweight valuables. She'd hunted them down to take back the horse they'd stolen from her, but there was no sense in leaving good plunder behind. She whistled at the haul in the cart. These were good raiders -- it was surprising they'd been so easy to kill. The boy-shaman had awoken by the time she'd finished packing her saddlebags. She stood over him, entertained by his struggles and muffled angry shouts, as she considered what to do with him.

He had dark hair -- unusually dark, for one of the river people -- and porcelain skin that had not seen nearly enough sunlight. His eyes were the blue-green of the sea. He was lean, and his age was difficult to guess, and while he was not the boy she had initially taken him for, he wasn't terribly far into manhood either.

Was it worth taking a thrall? It would be difficult keeping him docile on her own this far from familiar territory, but he didn't strike her as being terribly hard to break. He'd be valuable plunder too. That chanting of his had been damned useful in the fight, and it would be a pleasant change having something to warm her bedroll at night... oh, why not. She picked his still struggling form up and threw him over the back of her steed. She gave her new prize's haunches a squeeze and was pleasantly surprised by their firmness. If his tongue proved disappointing, he'd surely fetch a good price with the slavers. The sun was just rising as she mounted and rode off towards it. It had been a truly enriching night, and the future was bright.


Cal awoke with a start, feeling a sick sense of deja-vu. He was tied wrist and ankle again, but this time, he was completely naked. He looked around the tent he seemed to have been unceremoniously thrown to the floor of, shivering. That insufferable warrior woman had ignored him the whole way here, and now she'd literally stripped him of his dignity.

His ready shout of anger dissipated into air the minute she entered, replaced by a ready blush that seemed to suffuse his entire body. He'd never faced an enemy while naked and bound - it was quite disconcerting.

"Do you know who I am?" he asked for the umpteenth time, still unsure whether she spoke his language or simply didn't care to respond. She was looking at him...oddly. Did she just lick her lips? Was she going to...eat him? New horrors sprang to mind.

The woman said something in a guttural language that practically sounded like a purr. She thought for a moment, then added in Common, "You pleasure. Now."

Cal didn't have time to process this before she shed the furs from her hips and curled a muscular leg around the back of his head. Any further protests were now drowned in her sex, warm and wet and covering his mouth and nose. Her scent was sharp and pleasant, and somehow different than any he'd known before. A hand caressed the back of his head and he felt her fingers wind through his hair.

Cal couldn't think. He was trying to hold onto his indignation, and continued struggling against his ropes fruitlessly, but the scent and taste surrounding his senses was awakening a much stronger instinct. It was almost literally intoxicating. The fingers tightened in his hair, and he heard a word of clear warning. He'd seen this woman fight, and had no doubt she would inflict severe bodily harm without a moment's hesitation. With only one real choice in front of him, Cal hesitantly flicked his tongue forward.

"Ja, gott kjaledyr.

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