Captured by the Northmen [closed for magellans_demon]

[CelestialWings]

This thread is closed for CelestialWings and magellans_demon.
If you have questions, please drop me a PM. Otherwise, dear reader, please enjoy!​

---

To say that Magnar is scarred would be a gross understatement. In fact, if someone said that the towering wall of a man had been hit full in the face with an axe, quite possibly multiple times, and somehow survived then it might only begin to explain the great many brutal scars this man wore like badges of honour. He did not smile, probably could not, but he sure did laugh. A cruel sound, equal parts mocking and excited at the fear his presence engendered. That he stood in their tent could mean nothing good. His steel blue eyes scan over each collared and shackled woman as he calculates their worth.

A dozen southern women are his to sell, prizes from their latest raid. Women only, for Magnar had no interested in the trade of men. Others could ply that trade. A dozen women, all dark haired and doe eyed, soft like snow with none of its bite. Then he remembers and he finds the thirteenth, the southerner who looks like a northern woman. Taller than the rest, with blonde hair and blue eyes. If he did not know better, she might pass for one of them, albeit a weaker woman from one of the lesser families. But she'd been captured in the southern raids and is as much his chattel as the rest. Well, until he sells her, of course, and that is exactly what he intends to do.

"Listen!" Magnar commands. All eyes turn to him, a sea of loss and fear, wondering only what else there is yet to be taken from them. All eyes save one blue pair that remain stubbornly fixed on some stain on the floor. Magnar doesn't care, though. One way or another, they'll all fatten his money pouch before the sun sets.

"You will all stay silent. You will all stand up straight. You will all present yourself appealingly to my customers. And you will all do exactly what I say, when I say it, no matter what." Simple commands, he delivers them without pity. "If you disobey, you will be stripped. The cold will encourage your weak southern bodies to look appealing much more quickly. Disobey again, you will be whipped. There will be no third chance to disobey."

He does not ask if they understand. Magnar doesn't particularly care. If he loses one or two to disobedience, the others will fall over themselves to comply and save themselves.

"Stand and file out," he commands.

So it is that she, the last in the collar-tethered line of captives, walks awkwardly out into the cold morning sun of the slave market.

Caitlyn stands taller than her dark haired kin, heavier set. Her straw-blonde braid, dirty from captivity, stirs in the chill mountain breeze. Her sky blue eyes are sharp, cautious, not yet cowed by her circumstance. Indeed, the bruise on her jaw near her left ear spoke to some sort of fight before she'd been captured. In the days since, the angry swelling had subsided, but she still sports a mottled black and yellow mark of defiance. But she's not looking for a fight any longer. No, she's looking for a way to escape. She's not given up hope.

Perhaps she should, though. Both wrists and ankles in manacles, a rough iron collar around her neck, and a line of coarse rope that tethers her to the doe-eyed maid in front of her. Even if she could wrest free of such impediment, the market bustles with all manner of Northmen. Some clearly seek more mundane produce and the mixed scents of roasted meats, baked grains, and spiced alcohols tug tortuously at her empty belly. Many, though, perhaps even most are here for the slaves. Magnar's display is but one of many, but an escaping slave would not make it more than ten steps before a dozen Northmen could lay them low. If there was a chance to escape from this place this day, she could not see it.

As the breeze gusts more forcefully, Caitlyn thanks the Allmother that they left her with her clothes. Sure, they are stained, muddied, even a little bloodied, though she isn't sure whose blood spots her sleeves, but she'd been dressed for the wilds when the raid began and it seems that Magnar had little interest in parting them from their clothes. Others in his line of chattel had not been so lucky. A couple, near the front of the line, look to have been pulled from some noble's manor house. Probably servants. The woman nearest her smells of curdled milk, its stains on her torn smock evidence of a dairy farmer caught in morning milking.

She wants to comfort them somehow but the words don't come. They haven't all the while. Perhaps it's the way they look at her, the outsider, the one who looks like the Northmen no matter where she might have been born. It's an old story for her, but she wishes she could have found something more in her. Then again, perhaps she spent all that in saving the family that then left her in harm's way? She doesn't regret it, though. She still has hope.

So she stands, silent, as instructed. Down the line, some sob as quietly as they can and yet others stare blankly. She finds she can spare nothing more for them. Instead, her eyes fix on a basket of early spring flowers hanging in the eaves of a building across the market square. The basket gently rocks in the breeze. Is she appealing? She doesn't care. For now, she pretends that the world is just those flowers. She'll escape yet. She's just biding her time.

 

[magellans_demon]

As Astrid strides through the market her ocean-blue eyes scan quickly past the usual foods, clothing and animals for sale, focusing on the one thing she needs from today's sales, her pale yellow hair drawn away from her face in small intricate braids tracing patterns across her scalp. Her hand drifts over the pouch holding chunks of silver saved for this purchase. She walks to the crowd waiting around the slaver's tents for the display of that day's offerings, many men and women already having gathered looking for new maids, cooks or men who could labour for them.

Astrid casts her eyes along the line of slaves displayed, unimpressed by the offer of the usual line of dark haired, frightened women that Magnar displayed like cattle for sale. They all look frail, small and undernourished compared to her tall strong curvy frame, shivering in their dirty clothing while she stands in quilted cloth, leather and furs protecting against the cool morning air.

As Magnar finishes dragging out the line of new slaves Astrid's eyes lock onto his final offering and her attention is caught, the other woman standing out undeniably with her piercing blue eyes and light hair. Astrid jostles her way through the crowd to make her way closer to the blonde captive, looking her up and down, observing how healthy and strong she looks and, just as vitally, how much her hips looked like they could bear a strong Norse child, where some of the other slaves seem liable to shatter with any physical effort.

Astrid watches silently as the dark haired women are offered up one by one, each with a similar gaze of shock or distress as the crowd vied to buy them. Bids call out around her but she stays silent, having no interest in them or the other lines of slaves now, and one by one the captives are led away until only one is left.

Magnar starts describing his last chattel, taking his time to describe her light hair and eyes, speaking of her as a rare prize, that at least she looked to resemble the Northmen despite being a southerner. Magnar lightly taunts the slave as he addresses the crowd, giving a mocking apology that she only looks like a northerner but evidently does not fight like one as she stands captured rather than free.

"Is she barren too then or no?" jeers a large man from the crowd, a few agreeing with him with laughter, others reddening slightly as their brows knit with anger, no doubt remembering their empty homes and childless wives.

"Well give me your bid for her and you can take her home, get between her legs every night for the next few moons and let us know" Magnar responds basely, trying to keep the mood light for the sake of his income.

Some of the crowd disperse, no longer interested in the remaining slave, some dissuaded by the reminder of the curse, some heading to other stalls for smaller purchases while others continue to listen to Magnar's chatter.

Astrid's eyes are still locked on the shackled figure, taking in her strong figure and assessing how suitable she will be for Astrid's purpose but finding herself drawn back to the woman's face, her expression curiously blank of the fear in the other slaves, looking deep in thought, almost as though she is waiting for something. She seems to have something deeper, difficult to ascertain, than the other slaves and this attracts Astrid in addition to her colouring and shape.

Astrid decides this one could be just what she is looking for, not only in looks but her manner intrigues her. Some in the crowd start bidding for the woman, Astrid waits as the amount increases until fewer bidders remain, the price growing higher than any of the other slaves in the line had reached. Astrid shouts out her bid, competing with a large bellied warrior but determines to pay whatever will be needed now she has made up her mind. Astrid places the last bid, higher than she anticipated but she has no doubts, if the woman is as rare as she appears the price will be well worth paying.

Astrid approaches Magnar, waiting while he weighs the considerable pieces of silver she hands over, a little added for the iron in the manacles she will keep attached to the slave until they reach her home. Completing the trade, Astrid turns her attention to the other woman, wrapping her braid taut in one fist, pulling the slave against her reasonably full bosom and forcing her to look up at her new owner.

"I expect the women you're used to are small and brittle, I am not" Astrid coolly instructs the slave. "I don't beat my property but in return you will not bite, kick or fight me, or I'll mark you ten times as much as you have been so far."

Astrid slides a large hand under the woman's chin and grasps her jaw, twisting her face to the left and right to examine her, frowning a little as she studies the bruise flowering across the left side but it looks to be healing and as though the captive hasn't been permanently damaged at least. Astrid keeps her grip on the woman as she looks into her bright eyes, trying to read her expression which is startlingly unlike the slaves she normally sees, wondering what thoughts are running through the slave's mind.

"My name is Astrid, while you obey me I will allow you to address me as such. You are now my thrall and only worthy of that name unless I bestow a new one upon you, I own you but if you obey me I will give you the favour of using your old name, what do they call you?"

 

[CelestialWings]

She'd paid no mind to the sales pitch, the jeers, the bids from left and right. All the while she'd maintained her distant observation, deciding that the purple crocuses were her favourite in that basket. Yet that had not been all that was in her mind. She'd been visualising how she might escape. A man would buy her and he'd try to bed her, but a man's prize was also his vulnerability and she'd avoided more than one scrape with a swift knee or foot. So she'd thought.

As the blonde-haired Northwoman grabs her hair, Caitlyn feels her poise falter. This isn't how this is supposed to go. She almost raises her hands to push the larger woman away but that seed of uncertainty quickly cages such an inadvisable defense. Held by hair and chin, she finds herself fixed by the woman's clear authority and wide-eyed Caitlyn finds she cannot break her gaze.

Astrid's words leave her heart thundering. Is this good? Is this bad? She cannot find the clarity to even properly consider. How could this be the way this goes?

Yet this is not the first predator she has faced. She remembers a time when she locked eyes with a hungry wolf as both sought to take home the game that lay between them. It hadn't growled, or yipped, or howled, but it's fangs had been clear as day. Despite Caitlyn's form, she feels no doubt in Astrid's superiority over her. She chooses now as she chose then: cede the fight and live to see another day.

Dry-mouthed, she replies simply, "Caitlyn." She feels as though she should say more, but what more is there to be said? If there's other words, she swallows them in a dry gulp, returning to fixed silence.

But one does not look away from the wolf until it has turned away. She holds Astrid's gaze as steady as she can, sky blue to ocean blue, even though her breath now comes faster, shallower, betraying her nerves. The wind bites colder and she shivers involuntarily, cold without and within.

 

[magellans_demon]

With the slave holding her gaze Astrid pauses for a long moment as the other woman confesses her name. Something she cannot explain stirs inside her as she feels the soft skin under her palm and stares into the bright blue of the woman's eyes. Another slave's gaze would be easy to read, full of fear or sorrow, perhaps a little defiance or blank surrender, but her expression seems to hold something more even as she shivers beneath her grip, Astrid growing in confidence that there was something worth the trade about this one.

"Caitlyn..." she repeats as if tasting the name. "Good. Now, hold still."

She releases her grasp and takes a step back to resume a more comfortable distance between them. Pulling a loop of rope tucked into her belt, she runs it through the chain connecting Caitlyn's wrists and ties securely to form a rein, in case the other woman decides to bolt.

"Come, I will show you to your new home."

Lightly tugging on the rope, Astrid wends her way through the crowds slowly to avoid the other woman tripping behind her. Finding the place where she'd tethered her horse and the small cart it was fastened to, in hope of returning with cargo, she draws closer to the captive again.

"Don't struggle" she warns Caitlyn gruffly, wary of her new slave's compliance until they can return to the familiarity of her home.

Astrid deftly seizes the other woman, hauling her into the cart, a thick fur cushioning the floor. Tying the loose end of the rope to the underside of the cart to prevent Caitlyn attempting to untie it while they travel, she looks at the bound woman with satisfaction, her mind already imagining the completion of her goal.

Grasping the reins of the horse to lead the animal along with her, Astrid picks up her usual stride as they cover the miles to her homestead. Her thoughts drift to hopes for the future but can't prevent the memories of the past intruding her mind, reminding her why she needs to do this.

With a pang she remembers her husband Leif, lost to the sea and the gods now for more than two summers. It had been painful enough to live with a constant empty belly, no matter how much she'd feasted, a longing beyond hunger that only a baby could fill. Leif always had hope, telling her the curse wouldn't last much longer, that the gods would change their mind or the people would find an answer. Telling her that they would be one of the few lucky ones that still occasionally bore a child, or likening the curse to bad years of harvest that would eventually be followed by a prosperous year.

Even though Astrid's hopes had almost died with Leif's loss they felt renewed now as a small smile plays across her lips thinking of whether Caitlyn would bear new life for her.

 

[CelestialWings]

As the cart jolts into motion, Caitlyn realises she barely saw the market or the town that contained it. Such plans she had formed about learning all she could to aid her escape, now scattering like windblown grass. Could she really have been so wrong-footed that she'd lost sight of her goal? She chides herself, but more than that a knot begins to tie in her empty belly, a growing fear that her hope was unfounded, that she is lost in a land quite hostile to her and growing more lost by the step. Bound in the bed of the cart, the steps aren't even hers.

She wants to squirm into a position where she can see over the cart's sides, take the lay of the land, and so perhaps gain some measure of her place in the world. She doesn't and she begins to realise that she's overawed by Astrid's easy strength. The Northwoman seems to her as though she's done this before. Easy motions, deft and strong, but without unnecessary force, even so far as hefting Caitlyn into the cart unaided. What would Astrid do if she caught Caitlyn doing something that looked like preparations to escape? She realises she doesn't want to find out. It's not fear that stops her, more a primal understanding that she's trapped by a wolf and her best chance may be to seem neither threatening or tasty.

So she stays low in the furs, appreciating their warmth for all the comfort that she could hope for just now. The sky rolls by overhead, white clouds scudding swiftly from left to right from her perspective. She tries to figure the direction and decides that it must be an easterly wind. Even with only the sky as her guide, she learns something about their direction. She cannot help herself, for it is the only way to keep her increasingly fragile hope alive.

From time to time, she shuffles in the furs, sometimes to warm a different side, but more often to adjust the position of her bonds. The manacles chafe a little but it is the iron collar around her throat that weighs most heavily. It had been a simple device of control but now she fears it may become an inescapable badge of her captivity, telegraphing to all who see her that she is property that should probably not be running around freely.

The more that she thinks about it, the worse her situation seems, so she tries not to think. Instead, she stares a the clouds, occasionally obscured by a passing tree branch, and follows the lazy circling motion of an eagle. Her heart reaches out to the eagle, wishing herself to be high and free. As tears blur her vision unexpectedly, she squeezes her eyes shut and tries fervently to think and feel nothing more. After a while, eyes still firmly shut, she finds the irregular staccato of the cart combined with her hunger and emotional exhaustion have her dozing the miles away.

When the cart's tempo changes, she starts back to wakefulness, wiping her eyes on her sleeve. Something akin to her earlier passive determination returns. No hiding the streaks in the dirt on her face, though.

 

[magellans_demon]

Astrid glances back at the cart as she has done repeatedly along the journey, reassuring herself that Caitlyn still lay inside and was well. The slave was pleasantly quiet, Astrid was expecting protests and attempts to escape but none at all had come, the silence both pleasing and disturbing her as she winds her way home. She considers whether perhaps the other woman is mute or simple of mind but quickly dismisses the idea. She had purposefully not felt the need to speak at length to Caitlyn at the market, somehow the look in her eyes had made Astrid confident to take her, she hopes now she was right with her instinct.

Reaching the outskirts of her village, Astrid breathes a sigh of relief that the village is quiet, most busy at their work and only a few solitary figures nearby pay little attention to her beyond a brief greeting. She knows most of the village would prefer her to take a new husband but she'd preferred to be alone, even the three slaves that had tended the homestead while Leif lived had been sent to her sister's home, along with the cattle they'd tended, Astrid's sister bringing meat weekly as payment. Astrid knows they, along with the rest of the village, disapproves of her isolating herself but since the curse had descended, many were prepared to quietly ignore the old rules in favour of the tribe growing once again. If Leif was still alive Astrid would not have considered being unfaithful to him or starting a family out of wedlock, but without him she would be satisfied with any solution to achieve her goal and although many in the village disagreed they left her alone to her life. She wonders if they will be at least happier she now has someone else sharing her home in some fashion.

As she draws the cart up beside the large longhouse, Astrid tends to the horse first, unhitching and stabling the beast while she glances back to the cart bed yet again, thoughts running through her head about her new purchase. She finally makes her way to the back of the cart and starts to untie the end of the rope. Caitlyn's blotchy complexion gave away that she was not quite as stoic with her new situation as she had seemed but Astrid keeps quiet in hopes the woman will accept her new life in time.

"Come, this will be your new home now. This will be your only home, you will settle here and if you serve me obediently you will be far more comfortable here than with heavy duties elsewhere, remember this."

Gripping Caitlyn's arm Astrid urges the woman up out of the cart, helping her slide out awkwardly and stand in what was now her village as well.

Pushing Caitlyn through the door of the longhouse, Astrid gently thrusts her towards a vast wooden bench that runs down one side of the home, easily big enough for two to lie next to each other and long enough for a small group to sleep, covered with plentiful soft furs to sleep or sit comfortably, built carefully to accommodate the family that in the end had never grown to occupy it. The home is dim, only the light filtering through slits in the walls illuminating the area. The walls hang with tools and weapons while far at the back of the room stand workbenches covered with pieces of leatherwork Astrid is in the midst of completing.

Astrid moves to a waist high table on the opposite side of the room, still watching Caitlyn warily as she cuts cold hunks of rabbit, bread, soft cheese, and wild plums, adding them to two wooden plates, pouring two cups of weak mead. Handing one of each to Caitlyn, Astrid lays the other next to her, eating as she crouches by the firepit where the dying embers sit under the cooking pot. She coaxes the embers back to life and sets a new fire in place, the flickering glow lighting the room as the air starts to warm. She lifts the cooking pot away and replaces this with a pot of water to warm.

Finally satisfied all was taken care of, Astrid draws a stool close to Caitlyn and sits to look at the captive.

"So, what do you think of your new home?" Astrid asks to break the silence.

"Soon I will need to clean you and survey my new thrall. If you do not intend to run or fight me I will remove your shackles and allow you to remove your own clothes. If you wish to battle me on this I can keep you in those bonds and cut every scrap from you, I will give you the choice."

 

[CelestialWings]

She feel childish, churlish, and angry. She wants to throw the cup, smash the plate, and look triumphant in the face of adversity.

She also feels lost, afraid, and alone. She wants to curl up, cry, and beg whatever gods might listen to release her from this fate.

But also, now indoors, in a quiet place with just a single other person, she starts to feel warmer, safer, and her belly demands its fill.

And so she feels shame as she takes some bread and washes it down. She thought she was stronger than this, braver too. The food is spiced with hunger, tasting as good as any she'd ever had. It is all she can do to not stuff it all in her mouth, but she knows that she must eat slowly or make herself sick. It takes all her will to be slow and deliberate.

When Astrid begins to talk, Caitlyn pauses, piece of bread in hand. She listens. At first, all she really registers is the offer to remove her shackles and without thinking she almost agrees to that without properly understanding what's being asked of her. Her lips part, ready to agree, but her mind catches up with the words just before she can speak.

Somehow, she keeps her face still but a tiny tremble in her hand that holds the bread betrays her tension.

For a little while, there's silence between them as conflict rages at the back of Caitlyn's eyes. It's the words of her grandmother, now long dead, that keeps rattling around in the back of her mind. "If you don't know what to do, dear", she'd said, "just do the next thing. Decide what comes after, after." It was one of those things old people say, some sort of potted wisdom that never makes sense to the young. Somehow, it is what she needs right now.

"You give me a choice," Caitlyn begins quietly, not quite managing to raise her face to meet Astrid's gaze, "but the end will be the same, won't it?" It isn't a question, really, but now she's speaking she finds that the action lends her a little courage. She dares to meet Astrid's eyes, searching for a third option in the other woman's face.

"If I must," she continues, clearer now, "please let me do it myself."

She knows she tempts wrath. While the southern lands don't hold with slavery, house servants are often treated litte better. A lord might be known for lashing discourteous servants without any recourse from their peers. Would Astrid treat her so? She waits for a flash of anger, breath caught in her throat.

 

[magellans_demon]

Astrid watches Caitlyn as she waits for an answer, sees the hesitation and a hint of fear flit over her face but rather than sob or rage in retaliation, the captive seemed to keep herself as calm as she could. Astrid wishes she knew what was going through Caitlyn's mind, the woman intriguing her. She has to remind herself this is supposed to be about continuing her tribe for her, not about enjoying getting to know and control the captive, but she looks forward to the next few days nevertheless.

"Yes Caitlyn, the end will be the same," she agrees, "but even though you need to follow my orders I would prefer you to be comfortable as you do so if possible. Much of your life will no longer be your choice but where it suits me to allow you choice I am happy to. You may not like my decisions and I do not expect argument, but I also do not demand a quiet servant, if you wish to ask any questions or speak you should feel no fear to do so."

Fetching a tool to help, Astrid removes Caitlyn's collar, running her hands briefly over the skin beneath to check for chafing from the iron and restore blood flow to the area. She repeats the action until she has removed the manacles around Caitlyn's ankles and wrists to leave her unbound for the first time.

Astrid hopes this isn't a mistake, she doesn't want to keep the other woman shackled but hopes she will settle into her new life without too much of a storm. Still, as she looks at the Caitlyn, she thinks of the horses she has trained before, the ones with at least a little spirit are always the ones she prefers to the docile broken animals.

"Remove all your clothes now, I need to see what I have bought for myself, make sure I do not need to take you back to Magnar" she orders.

 

[CelestialWings]

Astrid's hands are warm on her skin as each restraint is removed. Caitlyn does not shy or flinch from her touch. A part of Caitlyn finds this surprising but, then again, there is both care and strength in those hands. Astrid had not been the one to bind her, nor was she the one who captured her. That Caitlyn is now property, her path no longer hers entirely to choose, has not yet properly sunk in. Instead, the removal of the iron at neck, wrist, and ankle feels freeing and her heart lightens just a little, despite all.

And so she does not bolt, or lash out, or otherwise immediately take advantage of this new freedom. Instead, her own voice surprises her. Rubbing at her own wrists, she murmurs, "Thank you." So surprised, in fact, that she almost welcomes Astrid's order. Almost.

In truth, Caitlyn cannot remember when she was last entirely naked in front of someone else. She had no husband and the other southern men from her village -- more grown up boys in truth -- treated her either as a novelty or an oddity. The novelty was worth trying to bed for the bragging rights and, just occasionally, she'd indulged. The oddity, however, was forever a little distasteful and something to shun in public. Astrid's voice brooks no complaint, however, and her instructions are clear. Caitlyn sets her jaw, turns away, and disrobes.

Her legs are first. An outdoorswoman, her muscles are well toned, athletic, shapely even. Well, aside from the ugly scars on her left calf, well faded but still perfectly obvious to be an animal attack: a large dog, perhaps, or its wilder kin. It must have been quite the wound, but she seems to pay it no mind.

As her tunic hits the floor, her curves are clearly those of northern descent. Hourglass, her hips wide, waist tastefully narrowed, up to a stronger back and chest. Not muscular, particularly, but a lean strength from running, climbing, and, given the tone around her upper back and shoulders, hunting with a bow. Nothing else quite develops in the same way.

Entirely naked, her braid falls messily over her shoulder and she tugs it a little lower with one hand held over her chest, obscuring her mid-sized, firm breasts, just a shade smaller than her apparent northern heritage might endow. Her other hand covers her sex, a peek of sandy curls around her fingers.

Another scar, just below her ribs on her left side. A puncture wound, probably an arrow. An inch in any direction might have denied her the chance to actually be present, but unlike the ragged scars of her calf, this one had been treated with some skill.

And the bruise on her jaw, also left side. A trained fighter might add up these wounds and determine a flaw in Caitlyn's battle strategy, but in all honesty they might simply remark that for all her lean athleticism and hereditary advantages, no one had ever taught her how to fight.

Caitlyn cannot quite find the strength to meet Astrid's gaze, but her words come regardless, "Please tell me you have no reason to take me back to that scarred... monster." The last an epithet. She doesn't spit, but if she had it wouldn't have been surprising.

 

[magellans_demon]

As Caitlyn disrobes, Astrid watches with interest, she was still expecting more argument and is pleased to see how compliant the other woman is, even if she isn't happy about it. Astrid allows her mind to drift for a brief moment to what the next few weeks will hold for her and hopes it may be simpler than she was anticipating.

Her body is lean and lithe but looks strong and her curves suit her perfectly. Astrid looks with surprise at the deep scars up Caitlyn's leg and the scar on her torso on the same side as they are revealed, wondering what the other woman has been through. The wounds are old, so not due to Magnar's treatment she assumes, so questions in her mind how strong Caitlyn must be, how much she has survived.

"No, I don't think I'll be taking you back, I think you'll be perfect" she reassures.

Turning to the pot over the fire, ladling steaming water into a bowl, Astrid tests the temperature with her fingers and picks up a length of cloth before standing back in front of Caitlyn. Dipping the cloth into the water she gently smooths it across Caitlyn's streaked cheeks and eyes, her thumb stroking across the other woman's skin as she goes. Rinsing the cloth she repeats the action, cleaning her face carefully.

She's sure Caitlyn is more than capable of washing herself well enough but part of her has been aching to control the slave before they ever met, since she thought of this idea and it rooted itself in her mind. She's glad she has enough self control to take this at the pace it should be, rather than act as some over entitled mistress and call in one of the village men this moment to see if she can breed her as soon as they meet.

She continues, cleaning down Caitlyn's arms, gently but firmly moving each one in turn from where it hides her body to leave them by the captive's sides, taking her time while hoping the slow pace and hot water relaxes the other woman.

Washing over Caitlyn's breasts and stomach, Astrid eyes flick back and forth between her body and face, trying to judge her reaction, wondering what was running through her head.

Laying the cloth over her arm, Astrid quickly cups Caitlyn's breasts against her palms, feeling their weight approvingly, assessing how well she takes to being touched. She lightly kneads them for a moment as her thumbs flicks over the other woman's nipples, feeling them pebble under her touch and the cool air.

"What was your life before you were brought here? Have you ever lain with a man?" Astrid asks bluntly as she lets go of her grasp and continues to draw the cloth further down over Caitlyn's abdomen.

 

[CelestialWings]

Caitlyn feels conflicted as Astrid takes charge in cleaning her naked body. Her mind is a tempest, tossing her thoughts in ungainly fashion as if each wipe of the warm, wet cloth came as a new gust in the storm of confused emotions.

She remembers her grandmother, blonde hair turning silver, wiping dirt off her face with similar care. Had she been playing? Fighting? Stealing? She couldn't quite place the time or associated events but the sense of similarity teased her memory.

Astrid moves her arm that she had used to obscure her breasts and she releases her hold on her own hair, the braid falling away behind her. As her arm is deftly cleaned, her breath shallows and she doesn't know why. It seems to her that a storm must have swept in over the village, but it is only her heart pounding in her ears. She barely notices that Astrid cleans and guides her other arm to her side.

As the cloth moves over her chest, her breasts, she trembles almost imperceptibly. Her eyes move away, only for a moment, but Astrid's palms find her breasts and test them. Play, even. Her cheeks start to flush and she begins to form a thought that had never occurred to her before: the woman who has bought her life may want Caitlyn for more than household tasks or other menial chores. Caitlyn's eyes widen, her lips parting in multifaceted surprise. Does Astrid want her? For herself? Sexually? Moreover, why isn't she resisting Astrid's touch? She couldn't want this, could she?

Astrid's power over her has no force or threat, needs none. Even her questions demand answers without requiring words to that effect. Caitlyn's cheeks remain flushed and she swallows a more obvious tremble as Astrid's cleaning moves lower.

"I... I have..." she stammers. She would say more, but urgency blends with confusion. She doesn't want this. But she also does. "I... I can... clean myself." She doesn't sound terribly convincing, even to herself. Caitlyn realises she daren't push Astrid's hands away. Another tactic then. She tries to answer the first question, "I... I hunted game. Before. For my village."

 

[magellans_demon]

Enjoying the feel of Caitlyn's skin under her hand, Astrid deliberately ignores the other woman stating she could clean herself, the issue wasn't up for debate anyway and she'd have to get used to Astrid being in control now anyway, not that Astrid had been expecting to enjoy it as much as she already was.

Her breath was catching in her throat as she stood so close to the captive, noticing the flush and slight breathlessness in the other woman but Astrid puts this down to perhaps Caitlyn having to hold her urge to fight back or keep herself from escaping, but can't give herself the same excuse as her heart races a little.

She looks at the slave with interest at her last response, unsure what she'd expected from the other woman, her quiet strength coming through. So she was a decent hunter then, that could come in useful one day, but for now how would she take to a more sedate life of becoming a surrogate mother, if Astrid was lucky.

"Looks as though you managed well enough" Astrid replies, smoothing the wet cloth down the woman's leg, across the old wound, following by cleaning the other leg as she continues speaking. "You won't have to do that any longer now though, I will make sure that there is enough food for all of us, your life will be very different from what I expect you are used to. Hopefully you will learn to be part of this village quickly enough."

Astrid stops herself from saying more, still trying to decide how quickly to introduce Caitlyn to the details of what her new life will be. From the formation of her plan Astrid was determined she would personally get her new slave, when she found one, acclimatised to her new role before she allowed any of the village men to be involved. They were too direct, too impatient, would be far too eager just to bury themselves between her legs without a second thought, which was fine for the night but Astrid wanted her captive kept fit and healthy, perhaps even enjoy her new role, if she was going to have the best chance of breeding her.

Thinking of this, Astrid rinses the cloth again and slides it firmly between Caitlyn's thighs, pressing the material against the captive's womanhood, only the cloth between them as Astrid's fingers work themselves around the folds she found there, her fingers circling around Caitlyn's nub, sliding gently back to press against her entrance, her gaze watching the slave's face.

Her eyes darken with a desire she didn't previously know she had, maybe it was just too long since she'd had a man sharing her bed, since she'd given up becoming with child herself thanks to the curse. Something about Caitlyn though was stirring a longing within her.

 

[CelestialWings]

It comes as a relief that Astrid moves to her legs, skirting past more sensitive territory. Caitlyn begins to wonder if she's imagining things, letting her tension cloud her judgement. As Astrid moves to her other leg, she even starts to feel something close to clean. Not so much as a proper bath, of course, but she'd had few enough of those in all truth. A freezing dive, albeit briefly, in the river was more like her usual routine when dressing a kill left her dirtier than she liked. To a point, though further that she might have ever guessed, she even appreciates the care Astrid takes in this task.

Astrid's words play in her mind as the cloth finds the last uncleaned patch on the back of her calf. Would she miss hunting? Perhaps she might, even if food would be plentiful. It made her feel useful. Skillful, even. Perhaps Astrid might consider letting her hunt if she asked?

The question is smothered before it can be uttered as the cloth and Astrid's fingers slide firmly between her legs. Caitlyn snaps back to reality, her eyes focusing on Astrid's inquiring face. Therein she could see no doubt, no accident. Caitlyn's hands twitch. In another circumstance, she might already be holding the other woman's wrist in a wrest for control. Quickly, it becomes apparent this is more than cleaning, perhaps even more than an assertion of control. As Astrid's fingers move deeper, Caitlyn fears that her cloth swaddled fingers might slide inside her. She doesn't know what she thinks or feels but one hand snaps forward to close around Astrid's wrist.

The world stops for Caitlyn as she realises what she's done. She could have shoved, or shouted, or asked, or any number of other things. But all she does is hold Astrid's wrist, an attempt to regain some modicum of control. Caitlyn couldn't even answer to what end, in that moment. Too much, too fast, her senses reel. She knows she must let go of Astrid's wrist, but struggles to do just that. She doesn't even hold it all that tightly.

An apology mixes with a request crashes into some other statement. All Caitlyn mumbles is some indistinct garble. She is the deer, Astrid is the wolf, and everyone knows how this goes. Or is she the fox to Astrid's wolf? Still a losing fight, for sure, but her fingers remain curled, frozen in her uninspected, unintended response to sensations she isn't even sure she doesn't like.

All she can truly enunciate is, "Please..."

She steels herself for a violent response. After all, that was a good part of why her jaw was so bruised so recently.

 

[magellans_demon]

As she feels Caitlyn's hand wrap around her wrist, Astrid tenses for a moment,, her eyes narrowing, her body already readying itself, the fight rising within her immediately, expecting to have to fend off the other woman or grab and restrain her. As Caitlyn freezes and stands without moving any further, Astrid stays where she is, waiting like a coiled snake for the next move for her to react to.

She stares hard into the captive's eyes, now seeing the uncertainty swirling there, and wishes she could see inside Caitlyn's mind, find out what she is thinking of her new situation, what ideas are running through those light blue eyes.

"You don't control me" Astrid warns, very little anger in her voice but her body still uncomfortably tense, feeling she has to hold herself back from something but her ideas are confusing, feeling determined to shape Caitlyn to her will and desires but unused to her desires flooding through her so readily, unused to the heat growing between her legs in the middle of the day rather than only in the dead of night when she is completely alone and pleasures herself to an empty needy release.

"Please what?" Astrid asks, partly curious about what the other woman is thinking and partly pushing her, selfishly, to have to talk more, to have to try and explain herself. "Please carry on or please stop?"

"Do not forget that I control you, you can ask for what you want, but you do not get to choose in the end, I will tell you when it is time for me to stop."

Astrid pulls her arm away from Caitlyn's grasp, withdrawing her touch, seeing the fear in the captive's eyes and having no wish to make her fear for her physical safety. She wouldn't buy a beautiful new axe and then carelessly try to break it through anger, and equally she doesn't intend to see Caitlyn damaged when she is yet more valuable.

"Go, lie down and we can talk for the moment" she instructs Caitlyn sternly, pointing to the pile of furs on the bed, swallowing down her urge to keep exploring her for a little while. "You need to regain your strength, you can be sure I don't share Magnar's ideas on how to keep a thrall, there's no sense taking something of value to leave it beaten and weak, I wouldn't willingly do it with a horse I'd paid good silver for so I see no reason to do it to you. I hope you understand more than a wild horse though and can understand the difference between submitting to being trained and having to be broken in."

Astrid lays the cloth and bowl down and starts to remove her leather outerwear, giving Caitlyn momentary space. The room had warmed now, and she undid her belt and strips down until she remains in only her bright red tunic, as she watches Caitlyn and wonders if she will tolerate sharing a bed already but there seemed no sense waiting, she would have to get used to that idea at least.

 

[CelestialWings]

Repeatedly, Caitlyn finds her expectations confounded. Is she meant to be a toy or a tool? Both or neither? At each turn, when a petty lord might have sought superiority through violence, Astrid seems to step a different path. No less demanding, perhaps, but certainly not the vindictive treatment that rumours might suggest. Not yet, at least.

She doesn't answer Astrid's question straight away. She doesn't have one. What Caitlyn wants is to be far away and free. Or does she? There is no denying that rest sounds like a fine idea and the furs look inviting. Astrid's words slide over her, not ignored or lost so much as she finds it hard to hear over her internal bamboozled buzz. There's comfort in them, though, despite the intractable nature of her role as thrall.

That the furs are communal is clear to Caitlyn as she slides into their folds. Would this be taken as tacit acceptance of her owner's apparent physical interest in her? Even as she pulls the furs higher to hide her nudity, she realises that she still feels the ghost of Astrid's touch on her skin, the tingle in her nipples, the pressure between her legs. And in that realisation, it becomes obvious to Caitlyn that she might not resist a second time. Might even accept. Some near quiescent part of her mind tries to rationalise it as playing for time, and perhaps that is part of it, but the phantoms of recent contact call to her in a way that she is still trying to process.

From the bed, Caitlyn watches Astrid undress. Her heart thumps in anticipation, but what surprises her more is that she feels disappointed when the other woman stops at her tunic. A fetching red, for sure, Caitlyn's favourite colour, but not nude. A different sort of captive now, or is she just letting herself become more free? It's not something she yet has words for. So she tries different words.

"Astrid," she begins, testing the water with her owner's name, "I... I'm..." She hesitates. Is this an apology? An explanation? A request? "I was surprised," she recovers, and then her words come stronger, "when you, er, well when you touched me. It's... I've not been touched like that. By... well, by another woman."

Should she apologise? A thought dawns. Astrid had not lashed out, not demanded satisfaction or decreed some punishment. It seems to Caitlyn that Astrid isn't looking for an apology. She wants, requires, compliance. Caitlyn hopes and in doing so dares not to apologise.

"Thank you for not striking me," she offers instead, genuinely. She ought to offer some assurance of her compliance but she cannot find it in her to say the words, so she trails off instead.

 

[magellans_demon]

Astrid looks with surprise at Caitlyn as she offers the reason she reacted to Astrid's action, following this with thanks. Astrid was not particularly astonished at Caitlyn's explanation that she had never been touched by a woman in that way, knowing it was not exactly common, especially for a slave fresh from the market. The other captives Caitlyn had been lined up behind were almost certainly well on their way to either heavy household labour or about to be used thoughtlessly as receptacles for the men that bought them, probably both. Astrid felt she was above them, having a greater plan and intending to look after Caitlyn a little better than this, even if she intended to use her for much the same purpose.

Still, hearing Caitlyn's quiet admission gave Astrid a flush of warmth as it became harder to deny she was looking forward to being close to the other woman, introducing her to the touch of a woman besides expecting her to tolerate men's attentions.

"I hope not to need to strike you" Astrid replies. "I don't predict that you'll welcome everything I ask of you but I hope we reach an... understanding of what I expect from you and that you get some comfort from your new life."

As she speaks, Astrid hesitates about whether to remove her tunic or not, if Caitlyn has never felt the touch of a woman she may react poorly to having to lay with one. Although Astrid doesn't intend that to stop her she leaves the final garment on in hopes of easing the changes for Caitlyn. Astrid also considers that it is still the middle of the day, she very rarely receives visitors but feels the need to stay at least somewhat prepared for the day.

Slowly sliding in between the furs to lay next to Caitlyn, Astrid guides the other woman to settle on her back as she lays on her side beside her.

"Give me your hands" she instructs the other woman.

Gently laying Caitlyn's hands above her head, Astrid stretches one arm across her wrists to lock Caitlyn's limbs in place, hopefully helping her to avoid the temptation to stop Astrid from anything she is about to do.

Astrid lays her free palm lazily against Caitlyn's hip, working more slowly now to avoid pushing the other woman to react too much if possible. She traces her hand down Caitlyn's thigh before stroking back up over the curve of her waist, and repeats the the movement over and over lightly, almost as if she is trying to soothe the other woman.

Letting her fingers then drift to run up and down the inside of Caitlyn's thigh instead, Astrid takes time to work further up, closer towards Caitlyn's mound without rushing either of them.

"I know you barely know me as yet but whether you trust me or not, you can speak frankly with me, I will return the favour as far as possible, anything you feel or that disturbs you, you can admit without fear. Then you will learn you are no longer in charge of your own destiny, you are under my hand now."

As she speaks, Astrid hooks one of her legs over one of Caitlyn's, using the action to pull her legs open a little more. To demonstrate her point Astrid uses the additional access for her fingers to make feather light strokes across Caitlyn's mound, watching her reaction carefully.

"Tell me then, how much are you used to the touch of a man? How many times have you had a man between your legs, sheathing inside you? I do not ask for curiosity, this will be part of your future so do not lie to me." Astrid says in a low, level, voice, trying to keep her new urge to slide her own fingers inside Caitlyn's warmth suppressed.

 

[CelestialWings]

If Caitlyn had been in any doubt as to Astrid's interest, those doubts evaporate as she watches Astrid's face. It seems to Caitlyn that Astrid has a hunger, of a sort, and seeks to take what she will to sate it. As Astrid pins her hands above her head, leaving Caitlyn entirely vulnerable, her breath catches. At the hand on her hip, soft yet powerful, her heart thunders. And with the slow caress along her thigh, her resistance melts away.

It had never been like this before, though she'd never lain with another woman either. Is this what it is like, woman to woman? Or is this unique to Astrid? She realises it doesn't matter, because this is happening now at Astrid's pace and requirement.

She dares to meet Astrid's eyes and is transfixed by them. Blue is so rare in the south, a mark of the northern raiders, something to be feared, or at least kept away. She'd never been accepted there. Would, by some perverse twist of fate, she find acceptance here?

Her skin sings along her inner thigh and her hands twitch under Astrid's restraint. But she's not fighting, at least not to escape. Indeed, she barely needs to be encouraged to let her legs part at Astrid's intervention. Her heart racing, mind running in frantic circles, she answers Astrid's question honestly, albeit between small catches in her breathing at each touch near her sex.

"Not very, truthfully," she begins, stifling a small gasp, "Just.... just three times. All... unfulfilling."

She hears Astrid's words, but her mind runs around them, finding only what her body wants to feel. Right now. Faster.

"Not...", she gasps more audibly, "not like this. Just fumbling... in a barn. Sticky... disappointing..."

And they had been so disappointing. Men prodding their bits at her privates, more interested in poking than playing, pounding than pleasuring. The few she would let near and who were also at least a little bit interested in the novelty. It probably didn't help that she was taller than quite a few of them. Nor that she looked like the threat from the north.

Caitlyn's loins grow wet. She'd never looked at another woman sexually. She did now. Astrid may own her, require of her obedience and labours yet untold, but her steady touch, care and control feel more attractive than anything Caitlyn has experienced before.

"Astrid," she murmurs, not quite sure what she's going to say but feeling as though she needs to say something. The blue-eyed Northwoman might not be a fairy tale prince, and her captivity might not be Caitlyn's choice, but in this moment she hopes that just a tiny piece of providence might find her. "Please be gentle with me, this first time." The words spill out. Her cheeks flush, soul bared. But she does not look away, seeking something behind Astrid's eyes that she has no name for.

 

[magellans_demon]

As she watches signs of desire ebb from Caitlyn's eyes, hears her breath quicken, Astrid has to stop herself cursing with her own need.

Since they'd started off from the market Astrid had been keeping herself coiled defensively, waiting for Caitlyn to try and fight her, descend into tears and sorrow, or try to escape. Seeing Caitlyn instead submitting to her touch and asking only for her to be gentle felt like she'd been winded, for a moment she finds herself pulling her breath in harder, her lungs feeling emptied of air as she watches the captive. Her hand tightens a little around Caitlyn's wrist as she keeps her restrained, making sure not to hurt the woman but desperately needing more contact.

Hearing the slave's honest plea to her, feeling Caitlyn's body next to her, bending to her touch, threatens to unravel Astrid.

Feeling Caitlyn's wetness spread across her fingers, Astrid keeps her control and continues her slow pace, her fingertips slipping around Caitlyn's nub, teasing her further, working in gradually firmer circles as she watches the captive virtually melt beneath her.

"Yes," she breathes, finding it hard to collect her words for a moment as she stares into Caitlyn's eyes. "This will be gentle, rest, I won't hurt you. I demand your obedience but I also want you to crave this touch, I want you to see how fulfilling your body can be when given the chance."

"Men struggle to understand something they cannot feel themselves." Astrid laughs gently, hoping that continuing to speak softly to Caitlyn will soothe her. "Many are satisfied with their clumsy fumbles so have no thought as to why you would not be."

Laying one fingertip at the entrance to Caitlyn's warm depths, Astrid moved as softly as possible, her finger pressing inside at a sedate pace as Caitlyn adjusted around her, her thumb taking it's place to trace lazy circles around the other woman's stiffening nub. She gradually slid her finger deep into Caitlyn's depths, following her response and the way her body moved instead of aiming to thrust as deep as possible in moments as a man would.

Astrid remembers her intentions for her thrall and a twinge of guilt runs through her at the thought of how disappointing Caitlyn's experiences had already been, especially as she would be able to make no guarantees that the next man she lay with would be much better. When Astrid had discussed her thoughts with a couple of the men she could most trust in the village they had been surprised, mocking even, but she'd easily been able to see the desire in their eyes beyond this. The thought of a woman offered to them purely to fuck and fill with their seed, with no responsibility for them if a child resulted afterwards, didn't need a lot of persuasion.

Astrid hopes Caitlyn will not find this part of her life too difficult but if she can satisfy the slave herself they may be able to find a way for all of them to avoid disappointment.

"Tell me how that feels, tell me what you want" she asks Caitlyn in a low whisper, wanting to hear as well as watch the other woman come apart underneath her hand.

 

[CelestialWings]

As Astrid presses slowly into her, Caitlyn's world sings. The furs she lies on seem to stroke every part of her back as she flexes. Astrid's hand at her wrists feels both hot and powerful. And Astrid's fingers in her wetness strum higher notes from her desire than any, herself included, had before.

Her back arches, arms tugging at Astrid's firm restraint. She is still not fighting to escape, but Caitlyn is also no weakling and her rising lust for Astrid's touch tests the extent of her confinement.

"That feels," she replies breathily, "quite... incredible."

She arches again, more forcefully, wanting more. That Astrid is clearly both stronger and in control is obvious to her, though, despite her mind swamping with sensations.

"Please... deeper," she requests, perhaps even pleads, "Deeper. And more."

Though a struggle, she finds the strength to meet Astrid's eyes again. It's not that she has given up or given in, but in this moment she is overcome with a great many needs. Logic retreats to the edges of her mind and with it concerns of captivity and future servitude. If this is to be her moment, perhaps her only moment, to feel something intense under the guiding control of another, she decides to throw herself into it.

"Astrid," she breathes, "I want this. With you."

She wants to ask more, to return what she feels by her own hand, but she is surprised to find that she doesn't voice it, at least not straight away. Though she could wrestle harder to free her hands, perhaps to touch the face or body of the woman beside her, she begins to realise a certain thrill in not having that freedom quite yet. As though she might make worse what had begun in her loins. By some subconscious fiat, she cedes control, at least for now.

 

[magellans_demon]

As she watches Caitlyn arch and move beneath her hand, Astrid leans further over her, adding more of her weight to her restraining arm and allowing her the deepening access Caitlyn asked for. She gently slides another digit in to meet Caitlyn's request, thrusting with more force as the other woman presses against her, watching her reaction.

Astrid feels herself needing to hold back, from what she is unsure but something inside her is in just as much need as Caitlyn seems to be, almost needing to possess her. The strength of the feeling scares her but the new feelings warm her and set something on fire within her.

Without her husband Leif she has felt solitary and alone, closing herself off as much as possible even from her own tribe and barely feeling the loss of them, focused only on losing him and the future they planned together. She accepted she would never get him back, until the afterworld, but did not want to let go of the future he had planned, finding herself still longing for a child. She could not explain how it didn't seem to matter that a baby would no longer be Leif's child, or now even hers in nature, but just some connection to what he'd wished for would please her, a way to continue the tribe under their joint plans even if he could no longer be a part of that.

Astrid had lain with other men and not only had it been unsuccessful but she agreed with Caitlyn, sticky and disappointing was fairly accurate, especially when there was no greater connection. So how did she now feel so strongly for this woman she had barely even spoken to, as she watched Caitlyn writhe beneath her?

"You can have it my lovely Caitlyn, you will serve me and I will make reward your service with my own. Does that feel enough or do you want more?" she breathed.

Crooking her fingers inside Caitlyn's depths to stroke every nerve in her core, her thumb sliding more firmly and faster around Caitlyn's clit, Astrid lowers her mouth to cover her breast, kissing and sucking lightly as she felt the other woman head towards her peak.

 

[CelestialWings]

Caitlyn's orgasm crashes over her like a wave, washing through every part of her. Astrid's fingers inside her curl just so. Her thumb thrums on her clit, sparking pleasure with each passing. Her lips on her breast, teasing at her stiff nipple. All these things urge Caitlyn's rush of release, but none quite so keenly as her pinned arms. Restrained, exposed, controlled, Caitlyn's heart races, beating rapidly to a tune she did not realise she craved, nor truly was ready to admit to.

Back arching, her moans are full throated, animalistic. Her chest presses into Astrid's mouth with each shuddering climax and each collapse presses Astrid's fingers back against her most sensitive places, repeating the cycle. Involuntarily, she struggles harder with her arms, now overcome with the intensity she feels blossoming from between her legs. Astrid's control is well asserted, though, and so she has no other recourse but to plead between ragged breaths.

"Enough..." Caitlyn's voice trembles, gasping, "Please, enough... I... it's... enough..."

Astrid is a blonde haze above her, unfocused but somehow beautiful through the climax induced fog. Caitlyn's lips part, breath hot and raspy with exertion. In that moment, she would kiss the woman who now owns her life, though lifting her head to do so remains temporarily just out of reach.

All worldly concerns and deeper thoughts are put on hold as her orgasm subsides. Only as her mind comes back to her, with some semblance of focus, does she start to assemble something akin to a coherent line of thinking.

"Is this," she begins, still ragged, "why I'm here, Astrid?"

Her face is innocent, almost awestruck, in post climax reverie. Her words lack accusation or even fear, so much so that she must not fully comprehend Astrid's deeper purpose.

 

[magellans_demon]

Watching Caitlyn lose herself under her hand sends a rush of heat through Astrid as she laves her tongue across Caitlyn's breast, only able to relieve her growing need by pressing harder into Caitlyn's warmth, savouring the feel and sound of her arching and moaning through her climax.

The sound of Caitlyn begging and gasping for her to stop as she comes down from her pleasure thrills Astrid as she softly pulls her fingers away from her, gazing down at the other woman struggling to regain her senses.

Astrid hesitates as she wonders what to tell Caitlyn as she asks about her place there, knowing she may not take the truth well and reluctant to disturb the beautiful peace written across her face and the innocence showing from the slave. However she is blunt and honest by nature and to wait would just store up trouble for later. Although Caitlyn was her slave and would need to bend to her will regardless, Astrid wanted more than ever, having now felt the pleasure of her submission, to have her surrender and compliance willingly. She wanted her to understand why she needed to submit and what was expected of her, not simply be forced into compliance

Releasing Caitlyn’s limbs, Astrid settles beside her, stroking one hand through Caitlyn’s hair and one gently back up and down her thigh as the other woman settles.

“This will be part of your life” Astrid starts, “I want you to know how much pleasure your body can give you, how comfortable it can be having me as master over you. But that is not entirely why you are here...."

"You may have heard stories about the curse they say has fallen over my people, some say we have angered the gods, others blame our women or our men but the reason matters only as much as a solution can be found. New children have become a rarity to us, my own husband and I were never fortunate enough to be blessed with any before he left this world but we wanted for it, both for ourselves and because I wish to help my tribe to continue. I wanted you as my servant so that this would also be your purpose, you will lay with some of my people, take their seed and hopefully bear children who I will take as equal to my own family. In return I will treat you well, make this as pleasurable as possible. There are much worse ways to be a slave after all."

Astrid stops and observes Caitlyn, wondering what thoughts are in her mind at Astrid's explanation.