“By rights, all plunder is yours—all of it,” he said. “But this girl…” He looked back at Morgan. “We’d like to keep her. With the raids over, we need to concentrate on readying our holdings for the winter. We are in need of someone to clean, to cook, and to perform other… duties.”
A shadow of a smirk crossed the earl’s face. “By right, all is mine. This is true.”
He was studying the girl now, and she was looking back at him in a bold manner that Erik wished she’d at least try to hide. The old earl had many female thralls, and while Bjorn had told him he believed Gunnar would grant their request to keep this one, Erik knew at that moment, his friend was likely as nervous as he was.
“You’ve both served me well,” the earl said. “And I believe that you tried to save my son. You killed this woman’s husband; it is only right she should be your reward.” He looked from one to the other. “I take it she is not aware of our ways, that she will be shared by the two of you? That it is common for a thrall to be passed around and have no say?”
“Would it matter if she objected?” Bjorn flashed a knowing smile and the old man clapped him on his back warmly.
“That you’d been my son instead of poor Harold,” he said. “I should have been a proud father. No doubt, you will train her well, with Erik’s help.”
He turned then and walked away. Erik and Bjorn watched him go, and Erik stepped back into the boat and helped Morgan to her feet.
“You lied easily to him,” he said.
“As you told me to do,” she observed. “But I’d have lied anyway. I’m not so stupid as to admit killing his son. I thought to preserve my life.”
“So you no longer want to starve yourself or throw yourself into the sea?” he asked.
“If I die, how will I ever get home?” she asked, and beside him, Bjorn laughed.
“And here I was thinking a bottom-warming might be enough to tame her. It is encouraging, is it not, to know that we’ll be reddening her cheeks many more times before she gets the message that she is ours forever?”
Erik joined in the laughter. “Indeed,” he said. “And we will enjoy every minute of showing our little thrall her proper place.”
He could tell it infuriated her that Morgan knew they were talking about her but could not understand them, for her fair skin flushed pink with anger. But they ignored her and led her away from the boat.
As they walked, Erik began addressing her again in her language, enjoying the tight set of her jaw as she sought to control her anger.
“Here, you will live as we live. That means regular baths. We want a clean woman in our bed, clean skin to touch and lick and fondle.”
She was flushing again, and glared up at him with increased fury that made his cock bob in his breeches.
“You’ll be fed, too. You’ll need your strength for your… duties.”
“Don’t tease her so,” Bjorn said. “We don’t want her to hate us.”
“Sometimes the angry ones make the best lovers,” Erik countered. “Remember that woman from the Thing last year? The one who’d been drinking and challenged us to a swordfight?”
“She was strong for a female,” Bjorn remembered.
“Yes, and so angry when she lost. But when she was on her back afterwards… remember? She was like a wild pony, bucking and squealing. But a pleasure to stay on. This one will be just as fiery, even if she is small. Just wait and see.”
“We’ll see after she’s settled,” Bjorn said, and when they entered the longhouse, Erik went to heat water for the large oak tub they used for bathing.
He was happy to be back in the familiar home the two men shared. It was not uncommon for families to share houses. In Erik and Bjorn’s case, they’d been together since Bjorn’s parents had taken Erik in when he was little more than a tot. When Bjorn’s parents had died, the farm he’d inherited was too much for one man, and it just seemed a natural progression for the two to continue sharing the family longhouse together.
It was a comfortable home, and roomy. The rock walls were solid, the turf roofs dense and far sturdier than the thatch roofs favored by the Scots. Thick, roughhewn beams supported the structure, which featured a central hearth for heat and sleeping platforms built against the side walls. The floors were stamped earth, and the furnishings included a long table, cushions for sitting, shelves for storage, and chests for weapons.
When the fire was lit, the interior of the longhouse was bathed in a smoky haze; like all longhouses, Bjorn and Erik’s home lacked a chimney. But it was still cleaner than most longhouses belonging to some farmers who often brought livestock inside during the colder months. Bjorn’s father had been a man of means and among the outbuildings he’d added before his death were stables so the animals could live separately. There was also a weaving room and a storehouse.
“Still think we’re savages?” Erik had filled the oaken tub with steamy water and now took Morgan’s hand and raised her to standing from where she sat at a table.
“I prefer my own home,” she said pointedly.
“It was smaller,” he said. “You’ll winter here warm and well fed.” He nodded to her. “Undress.”
She stood looking at him, and he could see she was weighing the possible cost of refusal.
“Undress and get into the tub or I will undress you, spank you soundly across my knee, and you’ll end up in the tub anyway.”
Her eyes flashed angrily, but then she reached down and began undoing the laces of her bodice, her fingers shaking slightly. Bjorn had moved behind Erik, and now joined his friend in watching.
The bodice came free and she shrugged out of it, leaving her in just a dingy chemise and wool skirt. Erik held out his hand and she handed him the bodice, and then cried out when he tossed it into the fire.
“You’ll be given new clothes,” he said, and he could see her struggling not to cry.
“I’ll be given the clothing of your people,” she said. “It’s not the same.”
His heart went out to her, but he knew he had to be firm, to remind her—again—of how much her life had changed. “You are a thrall now,” he said. “You belong to us. You will wear what we give you to wear, or else you will go naked.”
She blinked back tears, but Erik showed no pity, even though he felt an almost overwhelming desire to pull her into his arms, to hold her. He’d fucked many women, but had not comforted one since… He didn’t let himself think on it as he turned his attention back to their captive thrall.
“The skirt,” he said, and she looked down, resigned, as she untied and let the garment drop to the floor. Morgan stepped back, kicking off her boots. She was clad only in her thin chemise now, and Erik swallowed hard at the sight of the hard peaks of her nipples just visible under the thin linen undergarment. Morgan kept her eyes downcast as she pushed the chemise over her shoulders, and Erik knew that Bjorn’s gaze was also following the path of the cloth as it slid down, baring her firm, nubile body in its wake.
Her skin was alabaster cream, her shoulders pleasantly rounded, her arms lean and slightly muscled from work. The ‘v’ of her collarbone drew the eye to her chest, and her breasts were a little more than a large handful with upturned nipples as hard as ruddy pebbles.
Lower, lower, his gaze moved to the waist a large man’s hands could easily span, then to the pleasant swell of her hips. Her tummy was slightly rounded, the tight belly button, and lower to her pubic mound, plump and covered with a sparse reddish-blond fleece that did little to hide her cleft.
“Turn.” Bjorn’s voice came from behind Erik, and was thick as he spoke.
She closed her eyes and complied, dropping the garment.
They were staring at her bottom now. The marks Bjorn had left on her cheeks had faded, and her captors were able to enjoy the unobstructed view of the firm, rounded ivory nates crowned with deep dimples at the small of her back. Morgan’s thighs were muscular and strong for a woman so small, her calves well developed. Her hair hung down to her waist. Erik thought of how it would feel to bend her over, grasp a handful of those tresses tightly and pull as he pushed his cock into her. He could do it; either of them could. He had no doubt that Bjorn harbored the same thought of ridding the young woman of her virginity there and then, and with such sudden surprise that she’d have little time to resist. But when he looked back at his friend, he could see his hesitation mirrored in the eyes of his friend. There was something about this one—something about her sweetness and her vulnerability that made them want to treat her with something akin to gentleness, or at least with restraint.
She was looking back at him, so Erik inclined his head toward the tub and watched as she climbed in, the water hiding her body from him as she sank up to her head in the steaming bath.
“I’ll bathe you,” he said.
“I can bathe myself.” The umbrage in her voice was unmistakable. He ignored it as he pulled a stool over to the side of the tub and sat down. There was a bucket by the tub with a bit of water left in it that had grown lukewarm as she undressed. He tipped this over her head, laughing as she sputtered like a wet kitten. Then he set about scrubbing her down, not because he had to, but because he wanted to show her that he could.
Erik started with her hair, rubbing the soap along the tangled tresses and scrubbing down to the scalp.
He scrubbed her arms, holding out first one then the other, his cock stiffening as he pondered where his hand would go next. He could tell she was already fretting over his touch, for when he finished bathing her arms, she pulled them against her chest and drew her knees up, protecting the intimate portions of her body from his ministrations.
Erik lowered his mouth to her ear, feeling her shudder as he breathed the hot words of command. “Move those arms, little one. Now.”
She did, slowly, keeping her eyes on the surface of the water in front of her. Erik felt his cock bob almost painfully as his hand glided over her breast, the hard little nipple grazing his callused palm. He could hear her intake of breath as he moved behind her, his soapy hands taking both breasts now, rubbing and massaging.
“I think it’s time I helped.” Bjorn lowered himself by the side of the tub, looking over at Erik, who’d pulled Morgan back against the side. He was cupping her breasts, squeezing rhythmically as his friend moved his hands between her legs. She whimpered and squirmed, but Erik kept his grip, understanding what Bjorn was doing. He was probing between her thighs, his thick forefinger easing its way into her virgin pussy. He was testing the barrier, gauging the resistance. And now, judging by her unbidden little moans, he was doing more. She jerked as Bjorn became the first man to discover the little pleasure pearl at the apex of her womanhood, to rub it through the fleshy hood. The water sloshed back and forth in the tub like a wave as the hand moved between her legs. She cried out as Erik moved to capture the nipples between his fingers, to roll and pinch them.
“Oh, don’t! Please! Don’t!” She nearly sobbed the words, but her body was sending a different message, her hips rising toward Bjorn’s hands as her breasts grew firm under Erik’s, the tightly furled nipples all but begging to be suckled.
She was close, so close to an orgasm.
“The barrier is thin,” Bjorn said. “It will not hurt. Not much.”
“Then let us get it out of the way.”
Bjorn lifted Morgan from the tub, and Erik rose with him. Both men ignored the trail of water coming off her hair and body as they laid their thrall on the wolf-skin rug by the fire, an perfect treasure waiting to be plundered.
Erik fell on her almost immediately, his mouth finding a nipple, teasing and nibbling as Bjorn spread her legs and moved his leonine head between them. Morgan’s own head thrashed, her wet hair lashing back and forth as she first sought to evade the sensations and then gave in to them, arching her upper back first and then her hips.
Erik’s cock was so hard; her succulent breasts were delicious on his tongue—the sweet first fruits of submission. Lower down, Bjorn had cupped Morgan’s taut buttocks in his hands, gripping the wet mounds to hold her still as he laved her slick inner labia with long strokes of his tongue.
Erik could feel the tension in her body, coiled now for release. He knew she didn’t understand the feeling that was making her say one word over and over—please, please, please. He knew she didn’t understand what she was begging for. But when Bjorn rose, his face slick with her first arousal, Erik nodded at him, envious at what his friend was about to do.
Bjorn was already freeing his cock; a mighty lance of flesh. It was not the first time they’d taken a woman together; sometimes if it was a green girl, Bjorn or Erik allowed her to hold and examine their erections, knowing their size increased both the delicious fear and excitement. But this would not be allowed for Morgan; not this time. Bjorn slid his body over hers, smoothing her hair away from her face.
“Just a pinch and a burn. And then, bliss.” And before she could object or even ponder his words, he shoved into her.
The young woman’s cry filled the room and she struggled. But she could not do so effectively, not with the weight of her great Viking master pressing her into the fur. And then, after a moment, she stopped and just looked at him with wonder.
“Oh,” she said, and Bjorn began to move, and Erik sat back, his own cock aching with need as his friend carefully thrust back and forth into the little thrall, murmuring to her that she was such a good girl, such a sweet thing. Erik studied her, how she looked at his friend, her eyes dilated as they locked on his, her chest swelling with breath, pushing her soft breasts into his hard chest.
“Better, no?” Bjorn was smiling down at her, and she begrudgingly nodded, and when Bjorn reached back to lift her legs, she let him, her heels on his hips as he thrust in and out, in and out. She was wriggling now, and moaning, at times biting her lip as if trying to stop herself from becoming carried away. Then her cry—a woman’s cry of carnal pleasure—rent the air and she thrust in unison with Bjorn as he emptied his seed into her.
But no sooner had the deed been done than she burst into tears.
Bjorn withdrew, pulling up to his knees, and raised her with him.
“No need for this,” he said gently, rubbing her back.
“No,” Erik agreed. “The worst is over.”
But she would not be comforted. “No!” she cried. “It’s not! Now you’ve put a baby inside me, and I’ll grow fat and have to push it out! I may even die!” She was inconsolable, and both men looked at one another over her head and tried not to laugh.
“No. That will not happen,” Bjorn said, and gave her a shake so she’d have to listen while he explained. “We have women here who are experienced with all manner of herbs. You will get a regular concoction that will keep our seed from implanting in you.”
“I want it now,” she said almost sullenly.
“You’ll get it in the morning, and that will be time enough,” Bjorn said, and trying to sound stern in the wake of her adorable fury. “Or do you need another spanking to remind you of who gives the orders now?”
She bit her lip and looked up at them through tear-studded lashes. “You’re sure?”
“Yes,” Bjorn said, and laughed, standing and lifting to place her back in the tub, his hand gentle now as he washed away the mingled seed and virgin blood from between her legs. Nearby, Erik watched, looking forward to his turn with their new thrall.
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