Featuring not one dominant royal lover, but two, my latest spanking menage romance Claimed by the Kings combines the allure of two alpha males, one rough and instinctive with a barbarian’s appeal, the other a wiser, more wily king with an inventive streak which is bought to bear in the discipline and training of their captive princess. As Ragnar the Barbarian and King Milo Lionheart forge their delicate alliance, Elizabeth, Princess of Ammerdale sets out to make their lives difficult. An empire will rise from the loins of these three lovers – but the conquest of a kingdom is no challenge at all compared to the task of taming a spirited princess.
The next thing Milo was aware of was waking up to the morning light with Elizabeth laying atop him, her slim fingers playing over the muscles of his chest. There was a look in her eye which Milo did not quite trust. His instinct was proved correct when she opened her mouth.
“You know he’s going to kill you.”
“Is that so?” Milo responded to the comment without fear. His cock was stiffening between his thighs again. He slid it casually between her pussy lips, sinking himself deep inside her naughty little cunt. If he was going to listen to her plot against the alliance, he may as well sate himself.
She let out a little gasp as she was penetrated yet again, almost distracted enough to stop talking as he held her buttocks and rocked his hips up and down to sluice his cock in and out of her tight, wet slit.
She had thought it must be a dream when two large men appeared in her chamber. Elizabeth still wasn’t sure. She could feel the floor at her back and the hilt of the ornate blade in her hands. They both felt real, but dreams could be vivid and surely there could not be two kings of opposing kingdoms arguing over her in the middle of the night? Had the war truly come so close to home? It had been raging on many fronts for quite some time. She had been cloistered away for several months in the tower, restricted to activities such as sewing and singing, and her father had forbidden any news be given to her. He did not want her to worry about such things, so he said. Some of her maids had whispered little bits and pieces to her, but she had never known quite what to believe.
Now she did not know if she could believe her own eyes – though she recognized both men from the tales which were widely told about them. The tall one could be no other than King Milo Lionheart. He wore the sigil of a rampant winged lion upon his chest and he was just as handsome as was told of in the songs the bards sang. If they had met under more refined circumstances she would have been very pleased to make his acquaintance.
She met his blue gaze, saw in it desire and some good humor. It was enough to make her clench her thighs together, both to preserve what was left of her modesty, and to hide the way her nethers were responding.
Her eyes darted from Milo to the other man, King Ragnar. She would have wanted her dagger at her side regardless of the time and place of their meeting. He had an air of rough danger that was palpable and he made her quiver in quite a different way than Milo. Now she met his dark gaze, she felt her body responding yet again. It was a forceful, primal reaction which had nothing to do with sense and everything to do with her animal form.
“You are being rather naughty, princess,” Milo purred. “Put down the knife and save more unnecessary unpleasantness.”
It was difficult to keep her eyes on both men, standing as they were on either side of her. Escape was impossible. She knew that she would be taken. She should lower her knife and accept her fate, but she could not. The excitement and the fear were far too great. Both these men, these proud kings were looking at her with a carnal hunger which made every part of her tremble.
She saw a glance pass between them a moment before Milo leaned toward her again. She swiped at him with the knife, a motion which made her roll toward him. In that moment of exposure, Ragnar’s hard hand came down across her bottom in a slap which sent a sudden shock through her body and a flash of heat across her cheeks. It was enough to make her grip on the knife loosen, and to distract her so that Milo could pluck the hilt of it from her hands, neatly disarming her.
He smiled down at her with warm triumph as her hands went back to cover her now stinging bottom.
“You are fools,” she hissed angrily, fear rising strongly as she realized she was now totally at their mercy. “A pretty boy and a bandit. I will not be had by either one of you.”
Milo shook his head at her, blonde strands of hair falling into his piercing eyes for a moment before he pushed them back. “Now, princess,” he said in his cultured tones. “Be a good girl and mind your tongue.”
“I will not be a good girl, and certainly not for you,” she threw back rebelliously. “I was not raised to be some meek woman as you have in your countries, too afraid to speak or show themselves in the light of day. The blood of four royal houses runs in my veins. I…”
Her proud speech was cut short as the barbarian behind her sat down on the bed, took hold of her by the upper arm and unceremoniously pulled her up from the floor and then over his lap. She found her naked body pressed against his leather clad thighs and his iron slab abdominal plane. He had no pretty words for her. Instead his palm met her bare bottom as he started to spank her.
“What are you doing!?” She made the inquiry at the top of her lungs. Elizabeth had never been punished in her life. Being struck by the barbarian king was not only painful and embarrassing, it was utterly confusing. The physical sensations were powerful, a heat searing through her skin, making it feel hot and tight and an ache in the flesh below, the muscle of her bottom contracting sharply with every single slap.
“You pulled a blade,” Ragnar growled. “And you have an insolent tongue. This is punishment for both sins.”
Elizabeth struggled to free herself, but he seemed to be infinitely powerful. Her naked form was no match for his muscle. He clamped an arm about her waist and she was locked in place, her legs flailing as she kicked and squirmed furiously.
“Unhand me, brute!”
Her words were met with a slap to her upper thigh. Elizabeth let out a shriek. She had not known that it was possible to feel such a sudden sharp bolt of pain. It was as though she could feel each place his fingers had landed individually.
“You are tender, princess,” Ragnar said, his large rough hand passing over her bottom and thigh, rubbing the spot he had spanked. “You skin is soft and your flesh is unaccustomed to chastisement. You should be more careful of what comes out of your mouth.”
She let out a sound somewhere between a growl and a whimper. It was most frustrating and humbling to be pinned against the body of a powerful man who was insisting she show him respect and deference though he was nothing but a brutish invader.
He spanked her until the heat grew so great she was certain her bottom was swollen beyond all measure. Her body had ceased to be hers and only responded to him. His touch, the slaps of his hard hand which set a rhythm that felt more primal than her own heartbeat. Her hips jolted with it, the hard little bud which usually hid in the folds of her womanhood becoming erect and grazing against his thigh with every single slap.
She was aware of Milo’s eyes on her. It would have been bad enough to have been spanked by a barbarian king, but to know she was under a debonair blue gaze, to be made to feel so very small and so very naughty made her feel thoroughly chastised.
Did he know? There was something in his eyes when she glanced at him briefly through her cascading hair which told her that she could have little in the way of secrets from such a man. It was difficult to put coherent thoughts together when her bare form was still being so thoroughly punished by the barbarian.
The liquid trickling between her lower lips was a concern. She had felt herself become damp before when gazing at particularly stimulating men, but she had never been this wet. It was as though some wicked imp had turned a pump on between her thighs and made desire flow from the very core of her.
After her homeland is conquered by two powerful kings, eighteen-year-old Princess Elizabeth of Ammerdale finds herself taken captive in her own castle. Rather than fight over her, the two rulers decide to form an alliance and claim Elizabeth as their shared bride, but they quickly discover that the beautiful maiden will need to be tamed.
Though they have little else in common, the sophisticated Milo Lionheart and the fierce warrior Ragnar are united by their willingness to strip Elizabeth bare and spank her soundly as often as necessary to teach her obedience. Despite her blushing protests, the stern dominance of her handsome husbands arouses the young princess deeply, and soon she is begging for more as their masterful lovemaking brings her to one shattering climax after another.
Not everyone in Ammerdale is happy with the match, however, and when a treacherous foe seeks to seize the throne for himself it puts the growing bond between Elizabeth, Milo, and Ragnar to the test. Will the two kings stand together to protect their realm and their woman?
She was still quite naked when she got into bed, leaving him to bathe in the remaining water. He kept his eyes on her as he stripped off his clothing. Though she pretended to be immune to his charms, Madeline nevertheless bunched the sheets up in such a manner as to allow her to look upon his naked form.
He was magnificent. He removed his leggings first and she saw that his legs were muscled and hard all the way to his rounded posterior shaped like that of some pagan god. When he removed his doublet and shirt her quim began to pulse of its own accord. His manhood hung thick and long between his thighs, but it was his torso that truly took her breath away. His hips were slim and his abdomen was furred and toned, but his shoulders were broad and his chest was spectacularly formed with slabs of muscle bigger than her head. Sir Gregory was far more imposing without his clothes than with them. Madeline could not stop herself from staring, her roaming eye taking him in over and over again until he sat in the bath and just his knees and shoulders were exposed.
“You know I can see you, princess,” he drawled as he began to wash himself. “You may look upon me without shame. We are betrothed.”
Madeline made no reply, for she was not going to admit her carnal curiosity. She was so deeply affected by her reaction to his body that it scared her. He had filled her head with wanton thoughts so torrid she could barely have stood to look herself in the eye. She chose to cover her face and listen as he washed. She could imagine the water beading on his skin, trailing down over the planes of his muscles in a slow trickling torrent. Keep reading…
Ordered to marry a mere knight who has already proven himself capable of spanking her bare bottom for the most minor of infractions, Princess Madeline tries to escape her intended husband, only to find herself lost and cold in the deep, dark woods.
The mist had turned to a wet dew which soaked her slippers within steps, chilling her toes. Despairing, Madeline looked about for some warm nook or cranny. She spied a large tree with sprawling roots ringed by bushes which was less exposed than the open grass.
Curled up in woody embrace, Madeline closed her eyes and tried to sleep. With cold air biting at her nose and toes, she tucked herself into the smallest ball possible and prayed for morning. Unfortunately, sleep did not come easily to the shivering princess. Each minute seemed more torturous than the last. She began to think of the tales she’d heard, of wandering kings with bloody stumps where there heads once were. Every sound in the depths of the wilds sounded as though it could be the shuffling steps of a decapitated monarch. She did not know what was worse, her fear or the bitter cold, but both were fast becoming mortal threats when a splashing down river made her sit bolt upright.
The stallion lifted his head and nickered in the direction of the sound. He did not seem concerned by it, so Madeline reasoned it probably was not a predator, nor a ghost for that matter. Were horses afraid of ghosts? She imagined they probably would be. They were afraid of most things.
Light reflected off the water as a mounted rider drew closer. The bearer was holding the light high and back so that his face was in shadow. It could be a barbarian or a bandit. It could be death itself coming for her. Chilled fingers seemed to creep about her heart as her own cold hands clasped her dress close for comfort. Slowly the band of light fell first over the stallion, then over her. She looked into it, her eyes wide as the shadowy figure swung itself down from the horse it rode and came toward her.
“Princess, you do have a talent for finding trouble.” Keep reading…
Full of adventure, great characters, snappy dialogue, and a great plot, this book will have you begging for more Loki! Once you get your first taste, you’ll be hooked, so buy your copy today!
“The world is changing, Martin.”
“The world is not changing. We are. Soon you will be married and I will be married and we will have families of our own.”
“Yes,” she said softly. Soon he would be married, to a second cousin from Cheshire. The marriage had been arranged when he was but four years of age. Now that he was three and twenty, it would take place in the coming year.
As a child, Mary had once wished that she and Martin could marry one another, but Martin had never spoken of such sentiments and as time passed she had stopped her innocent declarations of love. Now there was only the silence between them to be shared, the touch that soothed but could not satisfy.
“Soon you will be married and have a brood. Soon you will have a pot belly and a thick beard with meat stuffed into graying pelt, and soon you will have gout in your big toe,” she laughed with merriment at her own jests.
Martin’s lips twisted slightly. “Your imagination will get you into trouble, sweet Mary.”
“Will it? I think not.” She turned her back to the balcony and looked sidelong at him. “Will you wear double breeches to stop the sagging of your manhood?”
“Mary!” Martin snapped her name. He had always been given to censure, and she to teasing. Keep reading…