The Warrior’s Captive PT 1: Reluctantly Excited

“Why are you sulking?” The toe of a dusty boot met the rump of a prisoner with relative gentleness, a nudge more than a kick.

Furious violet tinged blue eyes blazed up at the warrior in response to the stimulation of the captive’s half-covered posterior. That morning several maidservants had painstakingly dressed her in her best finery before she was conducted to her carriage. She was no longer wearing any of it. Upon capture she had been stripped of everything. The warrior had cut away her gown while she screamed in rage and taken every ring, necklace and jewel on her person.

Now she sat in the corner of a strange room clothed in a short linen tunic and bound securely with leather straps at her ankles and wrists. She was a stocky young woman, thick thighs, a powerful waist, arms toned from use. Her hair was pale blonde, almost white, curling around her shoulders. She was pretty, but in that moment her face was screwed up with fierce rage.

“Die,” she hissed, flashing white teeth at her captor.

Kira laughed, a hearty, genuinely amused sound. She stood tall and broad, defying the passing of ages against all reason. Unlike her scantily clad captive, she wore full leather, her long powerful legs clad in black leggings, her upper body in a form fitting vest and matching gauntlets. Her black hair was plaited and wound around her head, her dark almond eyes focused with undeniable pleasure on her pale captive who spat so angrily and yet was so very helpless.

“This is an honor, you know,” she said with a slow smile. “Tell me your name.”

“I will tell you my name when you draw your last breath.”

“I have been attempting to draw my last breath for the better part of five hundred years,” Kira said, crouching down to inspect her prize more closely. She ran her fingers through the young woman’s blonde curls, gazed at the light dash of freckles which danced across her otherwise pale nose and cheeks. She was very pretty, appealing in a functional, furious sort of way.

“You’re a liar.”

“I so very wish I was, my dear. Now, tell me your name.”

“You know my name,” the prisoner growled.

“I want to hear you say it.”

Those eyes narrowed at her again. “Nive,” the prisoner said. “Nive of the Hollows.”

“Well, Nive,” Kira said. “I have plans for you. If you can be a good girl, I might even untie you at some point.”

“You killed my escort,” Nive replied, a flush of emotion bringing color to her face.

“They killed themselves,” Kira replied, her dark eyes growing cold. “I told them to stand aside.”

“You killed them,” Nive repeated. “And I will kill you.”

“We’ve gotten off on the wrong foot,” Kira said calmly. “You’ll soon see that I have done you a significant favor.”

“You have done me no favor at all! I was to be married.”

“Marriage is highly overrated,” Kira said, rising smoothly to a standing position. She glanced out of the window, noting the setting of the sun. The country inn where she and her captive were staying was remote, but she was expecting a guest very soon.

Nive shuffled around to glare at her. “You are a thief and a murderer,” she said. “My father will have you hunted down. You will hang for this, if you are lucky. I think you will not be lucky. I will ask for your innards to be bared to the sky, feasted upon by birds…”

Kira cast a casual glance over at the bristling young woman. “You have a vicious mind,” she noted. “You would be wasted on marriage.”

Nive let out a string of curses which threatened to turn the air blue, her anger very much getting the better of her until Kira took hold of her, picked her up by the waist and tossed her onto the bed face down. The tunic flipped up to reveal a pleasantly fleshy rear upon which Kira laid no fewer than a dozen hard slaps of her palm.

“You will speak respectfully to me,” she said in pleasant, conversational tones while beneath her, Nive squirmed and cursed. “If you do not, I will have my way with your rear and any other part of you I find appealing.”

She emphasized her point by slapping Nive’s bottom again and sliding her hand low to cup the fine blonde down between her prisoner’s thighs. Nive let out a surprised squeak and became immediately still.

“Ah,” Kira purred. “Like that, do you?”

“No,” Nive growled into the blankets. “Never!”

Kira pressed her hand more firmly against the young woman’s mound. There was a distinct line of moisture against her palm which told her everything she needed to know about her reluctant captive’s disposition.

Nive lay very still, her breath coming in short little excited gasps. She was subdued for the moment at least and Kira slid her palm away, noting that it took a moment for Nive to close her thighs.

“In my experience, never is always right around the corner,” she said, laying another swat to Nive’s bottom. “Sit up, if you can, I think our visitor has arrived.”