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An Honorable Union Gone Awry

In any case, Canute prevents any clawing of the eyes. Once again, the young princess finds her arms pinned to the table above her head, his own strong hands pinning her wrists to the rough wood.

His view is indeed improved with the final removal of her fur skirt, and he seems quite intent on watching himself thrust into the tender young princess, sweat beading down his forehead as he exerts himself. He speaks through gritted teeth, "Watch your husband fuck you, wife."

With that, his lips spread into that toothy, evil grin again.
 
"No!" she screeches at him, trying to kick at him again, but it's useless as it only causes her hips to wriggle which causes him to twist inside of her. "Never. Nothing ever for you." she stops her flailing soon after she started to avoid it seeming as if she's trying to improve upon the pleasure he's undoubtedly already getting.

She tries to move her arms, but he's got her pinned expertly. She digs her fingernails into him, as that's the only way she can think of to cause him some kind of pain. She closes her eyes again and turns her face into her arm.
 
Canute does not even seem to notice the fingernails digging into his flesh - it simply serves as another insignificant mark amidst a map of scars across his tough skin. Her frantic screech only illicits a deep, rumbling groan from the warlord, pounding brutally into the slender princess. He releases one of her wrists to loop that arm around her slim waist, lifting her lower body up inches off the table to match the deep thrusts of his body, rocking her back against the table.

The wood creaks beneath the princess with the force of his body, and she has a frightening moment where the legs of the table almost buckle, a crack splitting up the wood.
 
She screams as the table begins to buckle underneath her. Elsa thinks for sure she's going to drop down onto the ground, so without thinking about it, her legs wrap around Canute's waist to hold her up. She bucks a little to try to keep herself from falling, unwittingly pressing her hips up into his frantically. She breathes hard for a few moments while recovering from the horror of being dropped onto the ground, only to realize that she's clinging to his body as he screws her mercilessly.
 
Canute only seems to be encouraged, predictably, by the young princess's legs wrapping around him. He takes full advantage of the situation before she has even realized her situation, his second arm dropping to join the first at her waist, lifting the princess bodily off of the table.

At least the wood no longer creaks beneath her, as she hangs suspended, legs wrapped tight around the warlord's strong hips as he drives mercilessly into her. His thrusts have become almost frantic now, his low groan returning in between gulping, desperate breaths.
 
She flails her arms in desperation as she realizes that she's encouraged him. She can feel him hitting her at her most deep of places, her inner muscles automatically clenching onto him as he slides in and out of her. It hurts her physically, but at the same time her body seems to have grown accustomed to it. She can't say that she's deriving any intense pleasure out of it, but the longer he goes the less pain there seems to be. The pain is being replaced by a subtle warm feeling, though she hasn't realized what it means yet.
 
Canute, whether he's very concerned with her pleasure or not, certainly does his best to contribute to it. His deep thrusts seem, with each intense stroke, to reach deeper and deeper inside the young princess. She can feel his tongue darting along her jawline, teeth once again nipping at the tender flesh there.

Both his big hands cup over her curved bottom to hold her up, bouncing her with each of his deep thrusts, holding her tight against him.
 
When she finally realized that the pain was subsiding, she went into a state of panic. She didn't want to feel any pleasure from him, she didn't want him to think that she depended on him for anything. Her breasts were bouncing almost uncontrollably as he moved her hips back and forth, matching the bouncing the rest of her body was doing. She wanted to unwrap her feet from him, but she knew if she did she would fall to the floor.

She struggled a little bit, her hands pushing against him again now that he'd let her wrists go. That of course, did nothing to help her. She turned her face away from him as he licked her jawline, whimpering softly when he started to bite her again. How long was this going to go on, she wondered.
 
There seems very little the young princess can do to prevent Canute's pleasure, at least. The barbaric warlord uses those strong arms to lift and drop Elsa in counter-rhythm to those deep, steady strokes. Much to the princess's dismay, he seems to have endless energy, taking only two long steps to move toward the wall. She finds a bit of support, at least, with the wall against her back, him using the leverage to deepen each of those long thrusts. By now, he is panting, clearly nearing his own finish, barely even noticing her little hands trying to push him off.
 
She groaned softly as he pushed her up against the wall, though she was slightly grateful that now she didn't have to worry so much about falling. Because of this she loosened her legs around him, though they were still tight enough that she wouldn't fall if he moved away from the wall. She didn't know what to do with her hands, they seemed useless no matter what she did with them. She decided on covering her face again, she didn't want to see his when he came to his impending climax.

After he was finally finished with this, whenever that happened to be, she would not admit to him that she felt any semblance of pleasure from him. She knew that would only drive him to do this more often, though she already knew that he wouldn't be leaving her alone much.
 
Canute, driving her against the wall hard, can apparently no longer contain himself. His muscled body shudders and bucks against her, driving him deep inside the princess for his final strokes. His entire body seems to erupt with him, pressing tight against the princess with a long, drawn-out groan from deep in his barrel chest.
 
She winces in pain as he slams her back against the wall, his body is quite powerful and it hurts when he slams her into things like that. She grimaces when she thinks of the consequences that could come of this consumation, and of other events like this in the future that she probably could not get out of. Bearing his children? That would be horrible.
 
It is as the princess contemplates the dreaded future of their marriage that the giant Viking displays a rare show of kindness; he is surprisingly gentle in lowering her to her back on top of the table, dropping to the floor and leaning against the wall with a broad grin, gulping in deep heaves of breath.

"I expect you'll be my favorite wife yet," he rumbles between breaths.
 
Elsa is incredibly shocked as Canute lowers her down onto the table gently. She stares at him for a moment when he drops down to the floor. Why had he been so gentle all of a sudden? She had no idea...but it was odd. She hated him, and he knew it...but he'd been kind to her just then.

"You've had wives before?" she asked, a little bit of alarm evident in her voice. Where were they now? Was she going to part of a harem...or were they all dead?
 
Canute snickers, shaking his head, "Had, wife? I am twenty-three, of course I have wives." He pauses, watching her for a moment before grunting, "You do not know much of my people, do you? We cannot take our women with us on our ships. A woman will sink a ship. When we leave a place, we leave our wives behind."

Even as Canute gives Elsa that rare glimmer of hope, that maybe he'll just sail away, he grins, "But I will stay on these shores for a while. You Celts, you have much gold... and I lost men to your brothers today, so I will have to get my men's worth out of my new wife."
 
How many other women had he done this to, she asked herself. How many women were subject to his brutal poundings? She cringed at the thought that he would be here for awhile, that he would be using her every day...but at least he had to leave sometime. She got off of the table and found her clothing. She put it back on, and though they were scratchy furs, she was glad to be clothed again.

She looked down at him laying there, looking so satiated, on the floor. What was she supposed to do now? What she wanted was to go away and be by herself. "Um...I'm going to go home." she said as she headed towards the door.
 
Canute rises with her, actually, rather than protesting. He seems less concerned with his clothes, simply flinging his wolfskin over his body carelessly, nearly leaving himself still exposed as they leave the little house.

He nods, stepping up behind her and looping one arm around her thin waist, "A fine idea! Show me my new home." He glances around at the Norsemen milling around, picking through their new trophies, raising his voice to a bellow in his own tongue. It seems to be a command to settle in, though, as the men start shoving open doorways, dragging their spoils into the cottages dotting the road.
 
She wriggled a little as he looped his arm around her waist. She looked up at him with a frown, why did he gave to follow her around? He could go do something else. Go...drink with his men, or something. She walked as far from his body as she thought she could get away with. She walked towards the palace that she'd always called home.

She went in and started walking to her room, and then stopped short. She didn't want him to see her room. "Um. I have nothing to show you." she said flatly.
 
Canute's jaw suddenly tightens, his good humor vanishing as quickly as it began. He growls deep in his throat, "You have nothing to show me? Wench, you're my wife, don't try to brush me off. I told you to show me my new home. You will show me my new home."

One big hand snaps out, catching the princess by her upper arm and yanking her against him, emphasizing his great size against her little body, "Show me our room." He pauses for a moment, "Not yours. Your father's. I am king here, now. Show me my room."

He clearly has little understanding of nobility among these Celts - their ways are as foreign to him as his are to her, most likely.
 
She yelps as he yanks her towards him, her small frame smashing against his. She was about to comply with his demand until he said that he was the king here. Then her own eyes darkened and she shook her head, "No...you're not the king here." it was almost blasphemous that he'd said such a thing. She glanced around, relieved to see that no one else but her had heard that.

"There has to be a clan meeting to decide the new king. There's been a successor in place for years, but he has to be voted in by the elders. They won't choose you, even if you go to the meeting." she wasn't even afraid of what his retaliation to her was going to be. If he expected to live here, he needed to know the rules of Celtic royalty. She glanced in the direction of her father's room, and then in the direction of her own, but didn't move in either one.
 
Canute's snicker becomes a bellow of laughter, his shaggy mane tossing as he shakes his head at his wife, "This is why the Celts are foolish for letting their women speak openly." His hand tightens suddenly on her bicep, just to the point where it begins to hurt, "I am king here, and you'd do well to remember it. You may want to remind your cousins, as well."

He leans in close, nose almost touching her own, "Your clan means very little to me. This place, this palace, is under Saxon rule, now. If your clan has a complaint, they'll be making it to my axe." He snickers, "And if they choose to take that fight, it's their loss. I've seen what the dragonships did to the Celts in Erin. It won't be much different here."
 
Her eyes remained black with anger, but his squeezing her arm like that was quickly breaking her defiance of him. She winced and pulled back a little as he leaned so close to her. She gulped nervously as he made his subtle threat at her. She knew that it wasn't going to matter much what she said to her cousins. They were all just as bull-headed as she was, and they weren't going to like giving up their kingdom to a viking.

She didn't tell Canute that though. Instead she turned towards the hallway leading to her father's grand chambers. She glanced up at him once and then started to walk towards it. He still held onto her arm, so she wouldn't get far unless he followed her.
 
Canute, once he is satisfied that she is, indeed, leading him to their intended destination, releases that little arm, following closely behind her down the hall. He seems genuinely satisfied with her sudden quiet compliance, flashing a broad smile, "And that is how a wife should act."
 
She's stewing furiously as she walks in the direction of her father's room. She touches her now bruised arm lightly, wondering just how many more bruises he's going to give her. She walks down the hall until she reaches the grand doors that show that these are the king's quarters. She opens the door and walks in, feeling strange to be in her father's chambers knowing that he is dead. She turns and glares at Canute, her hate for him has spiked again.
 
Canute grins broadly as he examines the room, tossing his gaze around the fine chamber and crossing his arms over his chest, "My, what a fine conquest I've..." He trails off, one eyebrow raised, as his wife glares at him venomously.

He grunts, his grin turning to a dark frown, "What? You angry about sharing a room with your husband? You Celtic women have an odd sense of marriage."
 
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