The Unholy Captor

Einar Njord savored the vision of his naked little Irish concubine blindfolded and bound spread-eagled to his banquet table. What a delicious little morsel she was. He had seen how aroused young Dúnlaith become from the sensual caress and the fiery seductive kiss of the lash. He knew that every fiber of her gorgeous young body was alive and hyper sensitive because of her arousal. Oh yes there was no denying that the stunning young Irish beauty was aroused or that she had cum to that sensual caress and those seductive sting kisses of his silken cord or that Dúnlaith’s gorgeous young body was still aroused as the sweet intoxicating musky scent of that arousal hung heavy on the air, and glistened on her soft lily white inner thighs.

The rough leather of his gloved hand toyed with the bound redhead’s sensitive nipples, each time the coarse leather caressed those little pale pink buds they stiffened more and more to his touch unit they were hard as pebbles on the beach and now capped Dúnlaith’s puffy dusky areolas. That gloved hand caressed and teased the girl’s bound young body until she trembled of the edge of that dark abyss merely from the coarse nature of the leathery caresses. Yet Einar denied Dúnlaith the sexual relief that she now so desperately desired.

He stepped back and looked about him and spied the rough woolen cape a servant. The material was coarser that the leather glove and wicked smile bowed his lips. Again Eniar caressed and excited the bound beauty’s body until she was whimper and begging for sexual release and yet he still denied his little concubine. Each time that he intimately caressed Dúnlaith’s magnificent young body the material he used had become coarser and coarser. She was sobbing, begging and pleading for that dark pleasure when Einar bent close to Dúnlaith ear and softly whisper, “Cum for me my sweet little lamb!”

He wondered would the young Irish beauty cum from just those devilishly seductive and tempting caresses.

It was pure torture for Dúnlaith. She knew not what was happening or why. She knew not even if the King was still in the room, or if he had left, leaving her to the mercies of someone else. All she knew was that someone was torturing her body. Over and over things were rubbed over her body, and each time whatever it was seemed to be rougher and more coarse.

Other than breathing, the only other sounds in the mead hall seemed to be her own moans and groans as whatever it was would be dragged and rubbed over her body. It seemed that not one portion of her body was overlooked. Her breast and nipples were rubbed until she thought that she would scream. Even between her legs, with the tender skin on the inside of her thighs. Her sex was rubbed and teased as she begged to be allowed release.

The pain became unbearable, with her skin feeling as if she had been dragged face down across a sandy beach. As tears fell from her eyes only to be soaked by the cloth that covered her eyes, she felt a presence near her ear. Barely able to move due to the way she was tied to the table, she writhed and begged to be allowed to cum.

The voice in her ear was familiar and welcoming after all this time.

Cum for me my sweet little lamb!

Quivering, she felt herself being allowed to fly. Her back arched as she screamed, every muscle in her body twitching. Cool air brushed against her sex as she felt the cream of her body run down the cleft between her buttocks before it puddled on the table. She seemed to pull on the binding on her arms and legs, like a bird trying to fly.

It felt as if she screamed forever, as if she twitched and pulled on the bindings until she could not move even if she tried.

Eistir watched from the deep shadows of Einar Njord’s mead hall. She watched as sweet little Dúnlaith came hard as Einar lashed her with that silken cord of hers. When Njord bound the little redheaded Irish beauty to the high table of the mead hall her interest was piqued as he also blindfolded his spirited young concubine. Eistir could see that Dúnlaith did not fight him in any way but meekly submitted to her Lord and Master’s will. Each little sensual moan, each seductive little gasps pleased the dark little Imp as she watched as Einar seductively tortured Dúnlaith. Eistir nostrils were filled with the intoxicating fragrance of the girl’s growing arousal he could see that at any moment she would cum and cum hard. Then she saw Einar bend down and whisper something in the blindfolded beauty’s ear.

Dúnlaith back arched as she screamed, her toes curled and her fingers first balled into tight little fisted before her fingers snapped open and spread, every muscle in her delicious young body twitching. Cool air brushed against her sex as the sweet nectar of her orgasm ran down the cleft between her buttocks before and pooled on the table. Dúnlaith strained against the bindings that held her arms and legs captive. She had not just cum once but had cummed over and over again in a cascading series of orgasms, to Eistir it felt as if Dúnlaith screamed forever, as she twitched and pulled on her bindings until she could not move even if she tried. Dúnlaith lay spent and exhausted her gorgeous young body shimmering in a fine sheen of sweat.

Eistir watched as Einar cut Dúnlaith lose, swept her into his arms and carried the stunning young Irish beauty to his bed. It was not long before Eistir head the screams of sexual ecstasy. Eistir’s fist curled into tight little balls, her knuckles turning white. Soon very soon she could strike all that was left was for Dúnlaith to take one more step and give her heart as well as well as her body. Then, Eistir would revel in her revenge as she took everything the young redheaded beauty loved.

Still blindfolded yet totally exhausted, it was a relief to feel her bindings being cut before arms gently picked her up, carrying her. She became aware of heat and coarseness, as if the bed were covered in horsehair. Gone was the cold hardness of the table and as the roughness of bedding caressed her backside, she was aware of the King climbing on the bed over her. It smelled of the King, and though he kept her in darkness, she was well aware that it was him.

Though not tied up, she knew to stay still and let her lover tell her what her wanted. As if being stung all over her body, her skin tingled and burned. It felt as if she were lowered into a hive of bees that fill the summer air. Yet somehow, as her body began yet again her climb, she felt his member being thrusted up into her sex, her body on fire. Over and over he pressed hard into her, each time harder and deeper than the time before. And each thrust rubbed her skin against that coarse fiber.

She fought to keep control of her body until again she heard him call her his little lamb as he gave her permission to cum. As she did before, her scream filled the air as her sex gripped his, hard and fast, her back arching, every muscle tight.

Lights seemed to flash before her blindfolded eyes, her heart beating hard and fast, until complete exhaustion took hold of her body and she felt her lover cum deep within her.

The Jarl of Sjonafjoror was well pleased with his little Irish concubine and how willingly she now denied herself the sexual pleasure her stunning young body now craved until he had granted her his permission for her to cum and to embrace that glorious sexual ecstasy that would send her soaring once again. The more that this redheaded beauty bent to his will, the more that Dúnlaith abandoned the pious belief of her childhood, and her life as a Novice in the convent of Mary Magdalene the more accepting he was of Taran.

One day as Dúnlaith was kneeling bare breasted beside her Lord and Master Einar Njord at high table with his thane gathered around he called for infant Taran. Einar lifted the wee babe up and declared, “This Taran Njord my son and heir and you next Jarl.” Taran had merely giggled and cooed as his father had lifted him up so all could see him. Yet it was not only Einar’s thane that saw and heard his proclamation.

Eistir was watching from the shadows. Ever sense the loss of her own child her resentment and hatred of Dúnlaith and her son had only grown and now with this public acclamation that her Taran would now be recognized as Einar Njord’s legitimate son and heir brought a wicked smile to her face. Now, now was the time to strike.

Yet Eistir was not the only one to watch this little display of how far Dúnlaith had cum from sexual slave to honored and beloved concubine of the Jarl. Eric Far Sight saw the tenderness at the way the bare breasted beauty gazed up at her Lord and Master. It was the way that a lover looked up upon their beloved, he chaffed at that look in the girl soft emerald green eyes, and she had never looked upon him in that way.

Lars One eye also saw the little tableau play out but his eyes were not on the Jarl or his redheaded concubine but on the dark little Imp, Eistir. Eistir he would have her no matter what the coast. She might believe that with Dúnlaith gone that she would then warm the Jarl’s bed but that was not to be, the only bed the dark little Irish beauty would warm was his. Let her plot and plan in the end she would be his. Lars knew all was in readiness and all the plotters were waiting for Eistir to tell them the time was right.

Tonight would be the night Einar Njord would sup and drink to excess before taking his concubine to their bed. He would take Dúnlaith and when drunk would fuck her until they both screamed in dark passion and then he would sleep the sleep of the dead. That was the time to strike. All that was necessary was for Eistir to open the Mead hall’s doors once all the servants had retired.

She knelt beside the king as he always had her do. Even while meeting with his men, it would be required that her breast be on display for him. As he contemplated a possible raid, or mediate a fight between two men, one hand would reach out to stroke her breast, tug or twist a nipple while making a decision. At first it embarrassed her, yet over time she had learned to accept it and even look forward to his attention. After all, the time for embarrassment was past. Had not the entire village watched as he took her for the first time. Sex in front of others was a part of every day life here and Dúnlaith had learned to accept it and even embrace it.

Even Eistir had seemed to come to accept things. The woman left her alone and the King seemed to no longer show in interest in the dark-haired woman, spending all his time with Dúnlaith, and little Taran.

This day, he took Taran in his arms and lifted the happy baby up before the men gathered round the table of the Mead Hall.

This Taran Njord my son and heir and you next Jarl.

She understood not the words as he spoke in their native tongue. She did understand a few of the words but she believed the word ‘Jarl’ to be similar to ‘King’. If that were true, then she would be concubine to one King and Mother to another King.

She only had eyes for Taran and her Lover. She watched her darling baby as he giggled, his copper hair and eyes that were slowly changing green proudly proclaimed that he was hers. And though she was merely a concubine of the king, it was obvious to all gathered that Taran was from the King’s loins.

The talk was heated, decisions apparently made or argued. She knew not, for her only job was to provide ease and comfort to her King, her Lord and Master, her Lover.

All went as Eistir knew it would Einar had drunk and feasted till his passions for his sweet young Irish concubine could no longer be denied. Throwing the bare breasted Dúnlaith over his shoulder he took the young redheaded beauty to their bed. Eniar took Dúnlaith, fucked her and even made love to the girl, as little Taran giggled and cooed in his cradle.

The gray light of dawn was just beginning to lighten the eastern horizon when Eistir let her fellow conspirators into the Jarl of Sjonafjoror mead hall. They moved silently, swiftly and with purpose. All knew that time was of the essence. Erick Far Sight threw a blanket over the naked and sleeping Dúnlaith. Lars One Eye rapped Einar Njord on the head, and Eistir gathered Taran into her arms.

All was going as planned. Eistir gave Taran to a visiting Arab merchant selling the infant into a life of slavery. Dúnlaith was bound naked to the mast of Erick’s long ship. Eistir was standing on the shingle by the strand were sea and tide met. It was then that all her planning and scheming came to naught for Lars One eyes picked her up and threw her into the long ship. Eistir’s dreams of becoming Einar’s concubine faded as the ship slipped from the shore. With each pull of the oars that dream vanished as Eistir realized she would now be nothing more than Lars’s sexual slave.

When Dúnlaith, regain consciousness she awoke to a world were all that she loved had been taken from her. Taran, Einar Njord her Lord and Master and lover as well. The look in Erick’s eyes told Dúnlaith, that she was no longer loved or cherished. The only question was whether he would sell her or simply make her his slave.

Dúnlaith was aware of the cool salt air enveloping her naked body before she actually woke up. There was a rocking that reminded her of her trip to that new land where her life had changed. She heard a cry and opened her eyes. Eistir was there on the deck of the long ship and the man with the watery eye was fucking her. The dark-haired woman’s shift was bunched up around her waist as the man grinned at Eistir as he rutted on top of her.

Dúnlaith became aware that she was tied to the mast, her nipples hardened in the cool air. She was confused. Where was Taran? Where was the old King? Where was her child?

Occasionally the men would look at her but no one answered her calls. Instead they pulled hard against the oars that slapped the water. She couldn’t see behind her but she knew that there were others on this ship.

Shaking her head, she tried to make sense of things. The old king had made love to her. He had been gentle and kissed her and she was finally happy. Before falling asleep, she could hear Taran cooing in his bed, happy to be with his mother and father, how copper hair and bluish-green eyes looking up at her when she kissed him good night.

Eistir cried out again, bringing Dúnlaith’s attention back to the present as the man seemed to dump his seed deep into the dark-eyed woman.

Then her view was blocked. Eric! There was a time when she would have been happy to be with him. But she had given up on that. After all, she had come to believe that he had given her to the old King. So she had learned to love the old King.

She looked up into his eyes and saw coldness. Nothing made sense. A chill ran up her spine that told her that it might not be due to the fact that she was naked against the ocean wind. Her voice was low yet worried.

“Where is my lover? Where is my child? Where is Taran?”

“Where is my lover? Where is my child? Where is Taran?” No one answered Dúnlaith at first, only the screams of Eistir echoed in her ears as Lars One eye raped the girl. Oh Dúnlaith had seen the little dark imp give herself to men before but not sense that first day at the convent had she seen Eistir raped.

“So you thought that you would take her place in Einar’s bed “witch” well it is my bed that you will be in not his.” Lars boosted as he continued to fuck Eistir.

A shadow fell over Dúnlaith blocking out the sun. Though it was just a dark shadow across the brilliance of the sun the young Irish beauty knew the shape of it, and though she could not see his features against the sun’s brilliance she knew it was Eric Far Sight. “Taran your precious Taran was sold to an Arab slaver.” There was a bitter note in Eric’s voice. “At least he lives my child died in your womb.” As for your lover he lives still but you shall not lay with him again for you shall never see Sjonafjoror again.” Eric turned on his heel and headed aft to take the steering oar. The sun shifted through the day and as day was dying they were sail directly into it. They were sailing west away from Sjonafjoror, west towards the shores of her own island.

Eric let the men amuse themselves with Dúnlaith’s supple young body. On the voyage west she was raped several times along with Eistir. Every evening Eric would drag the redheaded beauty to his sleeping mat and taker her hard and fast. Gone was the man that had once treated her as if she were his wife.

Then on morning Dúnlaith could see the shores of her own island, the ruins of the convent of Mary Magdalene. The young defiled redheaded beauty could see by the three Long ships that accompanied Eric’s this was no simple raid. They had come to stay, and she would be a slave in her own land and in her own convent. She did not have long to ponder the full meaning of what was happening as Eric once more dragged her to the room where he had first taken her. “I believe Einar Njord taught you how to please a man with your mouth girl.”

Taran your precious Taran was sold to an Arab slaver.

The cry that tore from her lips told all the pain in her heart. Her own sweet baby sold into slavery! To never see him again!

At least he lives my child died in your womb. As for your lover he lives still but you shall not lay with him again for you shall never see Sjonafjoror again.

She collapsed against her bindings as he turned and left her. The ropes that bound her to the mast were the only thing that kept her upright as tears poured from her eyes. Her lover gone! Never to see him again! Her own sweet Taran gone forever!

Dúnlaith no longer felt the breeze on her bare body. Nor was she even aware when the first Viking untied her and dragged her over to a vacant space on the deck. She didn’t see his face and she tried to block out the feel of him as he raped her, filling her body with his seed. Occasionally the sound of Eistir’s screams as she too was raped, yet Eistir was raped only by the man with the watery eye.

Yet, when the evening would come, Eric would grab her by the arm and drag her to his sleeping mat and raped her repeatedly. There was no love or tenderness in his actions as before on the trip to the far land. And she seemed to merely be a shell, someone to fuck. She neither cried nor screamed, no matter how hard or often she was raped.

She felt that once again, she had lost all that she had. Once she had a lover that dressed her in fine cloths and furs. Now she wore rags when not naked. Once she had a child, a happy boy with rosy cheeks and laughing blue-green eyes. Now her child had been sold to be made a slave forever. Once she had a lover that made love to her day and night. Now she was raped by any man on the ship that wanted her. Yet she neither screamed nor cried out, no matter which hole they took. No matter how much it hurt, she would merely close her eyes as tears quietly rolled down her face. And while they filled her with their seed, she failed to reach a pinnacle. Instead, it was like she was dead.

On an early morning, in the heavy fog that cloaked the ship, she saw land. Within her dead soul, it seemed to recognize a memory of place. As they drew closer, she noted the ruins of Mary Magdalene Convent. Had she and Eistir been brought back? As the fog cleared in morning sun, she noticed that they were not alone, but that three other longships were sailing with them. This surely was not a raid, otherwise why bring Eistir and her with them. Were there other women in the other longships, and were they the nuns and novices from the convent?

What did it matter? She was nothing but a sex slave, a piece of property. Did her body already carry a child? Maybe not. After all, she had sex many times with the old King, yet only once did she become with child. She knew not about the bitter liquid that the old woman had served her every morning, and how it had aborted Eric’s baby and kept Taran the only baby allowed to grow within her. Since she had been stolen away from the old King, she had not been given any bitter drink.

No sooner had they set foot on her home soil than Eric grabbed her and dragged her through the ruins of the convent, its walls cracked or missing, its ceiling open to the elements. She knew the room he sought until once again they stood in the remains of Mother Superior’s room. As he undressed, he spoke to her with no feeling in his voice.

I believe Einar Njord taught you how to please a man with your mouth girl.

She knew what he wanted. The King taught her well and she sank to her knees and took hold of the member that she remembered from another time. She would give him what he wanted, her tongue curling in and around that hard strong shaft. This was merely a job that she was required to fulfill.

Yet, inside her, there was an anger growing within, though it had as yet reached her consciousness. He seemed to blame her for what had happened. Yet she remembered that when brought before the old King, Eric did not claim that she was with him. Instead, he gave her to the old King. None of what happened was her fault as she had no say in anything. She was not even a person. Instead, she was a thing. Her mind sought to remember what Eric had told her so long ago. They care little for you Irish, and your only value to them is the brawn of your men and boys backs, or what lays between your legs Dúnlaith She was nothing. She did the job required of her efficiently.

“I believe Einar Njord taught you how to please a man with your mouth girl.”

She knew what he wanted. The King taught her well and she sank to her knees in a graceful fluid motion and took hold of the shaft of his cock in her delicate hands. Dúnlaith’s soft sea green eyes were sad and shimmered with unshed tears, for a time pass when Eric had looked on her with affection, yet that time was long gone. She would give him what he wanted, her tongue curling in and around that hard strong shaft, her lips parted, “O”ed around that iron cored shaft as Dúnlaith took him into her mouth and then tight little throat.

Yes Einar Njord that taught this stunning redheaded Irish beauty to be a very pleasing and imaginative little cock sucker. Her mouth was sweet and warm, and the way she swallowed massaging his cock when it was deep in her throat was heaven. Eric’s fingers curled tightly into Dúnlaith’s Tawny copper mane as he fucked her angelic face. He had no mercy on the girl but used her for his own sexual pleasure, and when he was about to cum he pulled from Dúnlaith’s suckling mouth and throat with an obscene “POP”. His cum splattered over the young beauty’s adorable face and high firm breasts as she knelt before him. Eric pushed Dúnlaith to the floor where she lay prostrate at his feet.

“Lick yourself clean Girl.”

He towered over her his continence austere, his eyes hard and cold devoid of emotion. “Your only reason for living now is to sexually please me with your body and your imagination.” He paused for a moment before continuing. “And to please those that I decide should sample your charms girl.”

She had been Einar’s concubine and lover, now she would be nothing more than Eric’s sex slave.

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It soon became apparent that Eric and his men were here to stay. The convent Chapel was reroofed to become Eric Far Sight’s mead hall. Where once Dúnlaith knelt and prayed to her god she now had to spread her legs and sexually please her new Lord and Master. The walls were repaired to make the convent of Mary Magdalene his walled keep. Where Dúnlaith’s sheep and lambs once grazed the land was divided into farm steeds for his men. And were the local Irish huddled in unorganized clan villages Eric’s Norsemen had the unity of the Thane.

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Eistir still harbored a hatred for Dúnlaith and all that she had, had and for the cruel fate that had befallen her. Eistir fained a grudging friendship for the naive little redheaded beauty and made sure that she had each day the bitter tea that Einar’s wise woman had given Dúnlaith. The dark imp smiled to herself there would be no new child to ease Dúnlaith’s sorrow or loss of her beloved Taran.

The splatter of his seed across her chest and face felt degrading, as did his foot against her, as if she was a stray dog in a field. She fell to her dirt floor of the room, tears spilling over from her eyes to mix with the dirty seed marking her.

Lick yourself clean Girl.

He stood over her, watching as she did as ordered, the gritty mix making her sick. It was a cold and unfeeling voice that spoke at her.

Your only reason for living now is to sexually please me with your body and your imagination.

There was a pause, as if for emphasis.

And to please those that I decide should sample your charms girl.

She bowed her head, silent tears falling to splatter the dirt floor of the room.

Soon it became obvious that Eric and the other men had moved here to stay. They repaired and rebuilt the convent, making it into a version of what they had left from across the sea. Dúnlaith discovered that some of the other novices and nuns had been brought back too and for the most part, the women seemed to be glad to be back home. Except for Dúnlaith. The woman lost weight and where before the woman seemed to accept her fate, now the woman seemed almost haunted. With a drawn face, the copper-haired woman never smiled, never hummed. She did as ordered, moving as if walking in her sleep. Even Eistir’s taunts fell on deaf ears and eventually the woman lost interest in reminding Dúnlaith of how low she had sunk.

“Even the beast of the field are treated better than you.” Eistir’s words were true. She was merely a thing, like a chair you use when you need it but otherwise it is ignored. She had no bed. Instead she had been given a blanket and a corner of the floor.

Margreg worried about the woman. Her two children brought much joy to her and Grim and she had hoped that sweet Dúnlaith would find if not joy, then contentment. But the woman never spoke to anyone and the former Mother Superior was afraid that eventually Dúnlaith might try something more permanent, as in committing suicide. She did not feel able to address Eric, but perhaps Grim might be able to warn the man.

Approaching Dúnlaith as she sat under a spreading tree drinking from a mug, she noticed that Dúnlaith neither watched the birds in the sky nor the people that walked by. Instead, the woman sat there and seemed to stare into the mug in her hands, as if gazing for the secrets of life.

“Dúnlaith, dear, it pains my heart to see you so sad.”

“It is what I apparently deserve, Margreg.”

“Nonsense! You have been no more sinful than any of us. I know it pains you that they took away Taran. But at least he lives.”

The woman’s big green eyes filled with tears and instead Margreg sought to change the subject.

“What is that that you drink? It smells strange?”

“A bitter drink that Eistir makes for me. It was a special drink that the old King had made for me to drink every day.

And with that, the woman shut down and refused to talk any more, finishing her drink and leaving. Whatever Eric told her to do, she did. If he called her, she would kneel before him as say, “what is your pleasure Lord and Master?” Her job was to provide sex to Eric or whoever he told her lay with. Apparently she was now barren as no child filled her belly. The other women of the community were wives and lovers. But not her. The other women had children, were productive. But not her. She was there merely to spread her legs.

Eric Far Sight had eagerly plotted his revenge on Dúnlaith. He had once cherished her there was something about the young redheaded beauty that had awaken his passions. He could have lived with the fact that Einar Njord had taken her; it was his right as Jarl of Sjonafjoror. If the girl had pined away as she now did that would have been one thing. Yet he had seen how she had taken Einar as a lover, bore him a soon and would kneel bare breasted at feast in the mead hall and gazed up at him adoringly. There was one aspect of Eistir’s plan of revenge that had always grated and that was the sale of Taran to an Arab merchant. He knew all too well what it was like to lose a child.

Unknown to Eistir or to Dúnlaith he had sent his fourth ships captain and his long ship to intercept the Arab merchant, to retrieve the boy, and then to join them at the ruined convent of Mary Magdalene. The ship was overdue it should not have taken this much time and Eric had come to believe that that ship would never come. Then one day a call was heard “Sail Ho!”

There was no doubt that the ship was a Viking long ship. The men girded themselves for battle until they knew was it friend or foe in that ship. The answer soon came as Rolf Long Spear was seen standing in the ship’s bow. As the ship beached he let Eric know that he had succeeded in his mission.

That night in what had been the convent’s chapel and was now Eric’s Mead Hall Eric Far sight held up a babe and there was no doubt that it was Taran. “This is my son Wolf.” Eric declared and then handed the infant to one of the Viking women.

That night he called Dúnlaith to his chambers. “You took my son, I have taken yours.” He then turned to Rolf Long Spear. “She owes you a debt Rolf take her so she may pay it.” Then he turned back to Dúnlaith he is the one who saved the boy from slavery.” Eric turned on his heel and left the little redheaded beauty with Rolf.

“And how do you plan on paying your debt to me girl?”

There had been talk that another Viking ship had been sighted off shore. None of this was of any interest to Dúnlaith. Without her son she was nothing. She could adapt without the old King but her heart was broken without Taran. The warriors took up arms and waited. The entire settlement seemed to hold its breath until they heard that it was one of their own.

Dúnlaith sat over to the side, uncaring. This was nothing to do with her. After all, her only reason for being her was to provide sex to Eric and any that he decreed should use her.

That night the entire settlement was called to the mead hall. She waited in the very back of the hall, quiet. She knew not if he would require her after the meeting and had learned to wait where he would pass by. If he would require her services, her would let her know upon leaving the hall.

There was a general rumble of voices and they called to each other. No one spoke to her and she sat in a corner, waiting, staring at the floor.

The sudden sound of a baby’s cry brought her head up sharply. It was a cry that she knew as well as the heart that beat within her. It was Taran! She jumped to her feet, pushing through the crowd towards where Eric held the baby before the gathered.

This is my son Wolf.

Taran giggled and waved his hands at her, his copper hair and blue-green eyes laughing. Tears sprang to her eyes and for the first time in weeks, there was a smile on her face. She watched him hand her child to another woman. Once more, she was not allowed to hold her own son.

But at least she knew that he lived. He was with his people. He was not a slave. Not like his mother.

That night, when she was called to Eric’s bed, he told her, You took my son, I have taken yours.

The man that stood beside Eric was large and as Eric spoke to him, the man turned to look at her.

She owes you a debt Rolf take her so she may pay it.

So, this was her decree. To make payment. But for her son, she would give her own life. But now Eric explained.

he is the one who saved the boy from slavery.

She stood before the man, small and looking lost. Eric left her standing alone before this warrior, this Rolf, her shift plain and a bit large on her.

And how do you plan on paying your debt to me girl?

Looking up with large green eyes rimmed with tears of gratefulness, she spoke in hushed tones. “My son is my life. I am thankful that you rescued him and returned him where he belonged. Command me, Sire.” She knelt down before him and awaited his orders.”

Dúnlaith stood before the man, small and looking lost. Eric had left her standing alone before this warrior, this Rolf, her shift plain, ragged, and a bit large on her, yet she was still a fine figure of a woman one that could inspire lust in all that looked upon her.

“And how do you plan on paying your debt to me girl?” Rolf Long Spear asked with a devilish look in his cool sea gray eyes.

The young redheaded beauty turned her eyes up to Rolf’s. Looking up with those large soulful green eyes, and shimmering with tears of gratitude, she spoke in hushed tones. “My son is my life. I am thankful that you rescued him and returned him where he belonged. Command me, Sire.” She knelt down before him and awaited his orders.

Rolf did not hesitate and commanded the young beauty to please him with her sweet young mouth. Rolf fingers entwined tightly into Dúnlaith’s tawny copper silken hair, he fucked the girl’s angelic face. He was as demanding as Einar Njord had been. Rolf was intrigued with just how far the girl would go in showing her gratitude for saving her babe. He knew that Eric had taken another woman as his and had cast the young Irish beauty aside as barren. Rolf cared little if she was barren or not. His only concern at the moment was if she was as pleasing as he had heard she was, and he planned to let young Dúnlaith show him just how talented a little concubine she was.

Dúnlaith knew that she had no worth save the sexual comfort that she could give a man. Whether it was Eric or the old King or this Viking that now stood before her, that was all that she was good for. It was for sure that he would want her in one of three ways if not all of them, though if he had asked her to die for her child, she would.

Without hesitation, he ordered her to open her mouth and within minutes her mouth was being filled with his manhood. His strong fingers gripped her coppery tresses as he moved her head back and forth, slipping his member down her throat. The old King had taught her well and she knew exactly how to please. Emerald eyes looking into grey ones, she was there merely to please. Thankful that even if her Taran had a new name, a new family, she knew he lived. Thankful that this man had gone in search of her son, rescued him from a life of slavery. Even though his Mother, his real Mother, was a slave, Taran would be free. Would grow into a strong young man. A free man. If hers and Eric’s child had lived, would it have been a boy? A girl? Two children, one dead. Why had God made her suddenly barren? Had she been so sinful? Apparently so.

So she used her mouth, her throat the way that she had been taught. Pleasing him the way that she had been trained. Showing her thanks for rescuing her Taran. Though he may be called Wolf, in her heart he would be Taran. Swallowing the gift that this large Viking poured down her throat.

Dúnlaith had learned her place well at the knee of her lover Einar Njord and the vengeful Eric, her sole worth was based on her youth, beauty, and how well she could sexually please a man. Einar had given her Taran, Eric had given her noting but tears and sorrow. How she had been given to this man that towered over her Rolf Long Spear. Without hesitation, he ordered Dúnlaith to open her mouth and within minutes her lips were “O”ed around the shaft of his cock and her sweet warm mouth was being filled with his manhood. His strong fingers gripped her coppery tresses as he fucked the young beauty’s angelic face. Dúnlaith leaned very quickly why he was called Long Spear.

Dúnlaith’s little redhead bobbed up and down the length of Rolf’s cock and the more she suckled it the longer and thicker it became and despite her best efforts and the use of all the little tricks that Einar had taught her she could only get half of Rolfs cock down her mouth and into her throat as he kept fucking her face his fingers curling every tighter into her rich silken tawny copper hair. Suddenly he pulled from the girl’s mouth with an obscene “POIP” his cock ridged cock bouncing and weaving before her soft emerald green eyes. “Bend over the table girl!”

Rolf threw the helm of Dúnlaith’s skirt up over her back. Ummm such delightful choices girl. That sweet little cunt of yours or that tight little ass.” As Rolf spoke he began to finger fuck Dúnlaith’s pussy and rolled her clit beneath the heel of his hand. Dúnlaith had never seen a cock so long or so thick in her young life surely if he fucked her ass he would tear her in two. Even if he fucked her pussy he might just do the same. “So which shall it be my proud little Irish beauty?” He very well could be her ruin but he had been the one to save Taran from a life of slavery and she did owe him a debt, a debt of a life for a life.

%%%%%%

Eistir watched as the Dúnlaith was claimed for the third time by a man sense her life had so drastically changed on the day of the raid and she had become a sexual concubine and mother. Oh how Eistir hated her Dúnlaith had gotten everything she desired. She had become the Jarl’s concubine, she had a child by Einar, and the two had become lovers. Eistir revenge had come to nothing for Lars’ One Eye had taken Eistir as his own. Eistir had lost her own child and was barren and she was determined to ensure that Dúnlaith never had another child. Each day she brought the girl the bitter tea that would ensure that Dúnlaith would never be with child again.

Eric’s manhood has been large, or at least to someone as naive and inexperienced as Dúnlaith, that was how it felt. As to the old King, his member had been smaller than Eric’s, for which she had been thankful when it came to learning how to please him with her mouth and becoming adept in accepting his manhood in her anus.

Then came the time when once again she was in Eric’s hand and she was grateful for having been taught on the King’s smaller one. For suddenly he was letting any of the men use her, and she found that not every man was as large as Eric nor as small.

Yet, this man, this Viking that had rescued her son, was beyond all that she had seen. And though she tried and tried, using all the tricks that the old King had taught, she finally feared that the man would choke her on his massive manhood. It seemed to continue to grow and expand and when he pulled it from her lips, she felt some relief. The thing bobbed before her eyes like a ship on the water.

Bend over the table girl!

She did as he ordered, gripping the edge of the table. Cool air brushed across her bare buttocks as she felt him lift the back of her skirt. She closed her eyes and waited. She had birthed a child so she knew that her womanhood could take it though it would be uncomfortable and perhaps a bit painful. But should he decide to take he other hole, her anus, he might rip her in two and kill her.

Ummm such delightful choices girl. That sweet little cunt of yours or that tight little ass.

The Viking found her womanly slit and slid his finger in and out of her, and she bit her lip to control herself.

So which shall it be my proud little Irish beauty?

She hesitated for only a moment before replying.

“Use whichever you should wish. I offer my body to you for your pleasure and should you wish to sample both, it is your right. My thanks to you for rescuing my son hold no limits.”

*****

Eistir waited. She had seen the man’s unusually large cock and longed to see the man take the bitch and make her scream.

Suddenly, her head was jerked back as pain shot through her scalp. From the corner of her eyes she could see Lars as he pulled her away from the chink in the door and looked through the opening himself. The grin that he gave her told her that he had seen what she had been spying upon.

Without a word, Eistir suddenly found herself being dragged by her long black hair towards his room. Quickly she found herself bent over, her black shift over her head while Lars enthusiastically raped her ass. With each plunge of his cock in her, Eistir swore that she would make Dúnlaith regret the day that she was born.

“Ummm such delightful choices girl. That sweet little cunt of yours or that tight little ass.”

Rolf toyed with the gorgeous young Irish beauty. He slid his finger in and out of her. Rolf smiled as the young beauty bit her lip in a vain effort to control herself, to quell her growing fear and arousal.

“So which shall it be my proud little Irish beauty?” Dúnlaith hesitated for only a moment, her sense that she owed this man everything for saving Taran, before replying.

“Use whichever you should wish. I offer my body to you for your pleasure and should you wish to sample both, it is your right. My thanks to you for rescuing my son hold no limits.”

“Then I shall sample both my proud young beauty.” As the man spoke his hands encircled her trim waist. Dúnlaith could feel the tip of Rolf Long Spears cock pressed to her chaste pale coral pink folds. As he entered the girl Dúnlaith felt her cunt stretched as never before. With each thrust the young beauty howled, god was he huge, he filled her stretched her as no man every had before in her young life. “Come to me girl.” His hand drew Dúnlaith back on to his cock. Before he was through his balls were slapping the girl’s thighs the tip of his cock nudging the top of her womb. It was then he pulled from Dúnlaith’s cunt and he pressed his cock to her dark star. And he again commanded the redheaded beauty to come to him, to impale herself on his cock. When she hesitated Rolf whispered a single word Taran

Then I shall sample both my proud young beauty.

Trepidation trembled within her as she felt the tip of his press against the entrance to her sex. With in hands gripping her around her waist, this Rolf pressed apart her entrance as he slid inside her. Larger than humanly possible was how he felt and she was sure that Eric had known that and decided that such pain was what she deserved. She could not help the cries that she made as the Viking proceeded to plunge deeper and deeper into her. The pain was there, stretching her and hitting deep within her.

Come to me girl.

Tears filled her emerald green eyes and her cries echoed through the room as his strong hands pulled her hard on his massive member, her breast bouncing within the rags that still covered the upper part of her body. She could even feel that little sac of skin at the base of his manhood, though this man’s sac was large and heavy and seemed to slap against her thighs.

Then suddenly, he seemed to stop and it was with relief that she felt him pull out of her. Then, fear course through her as she felt him press the tip of his manhood against her anus. Surely for him to press in would kill her. Yet he awaited for her to do as he commanded and press herself back so that she would impale herself upon his mighty sword. She hesitated, for surely to do so would mean certain death to her.

Yet, even as she paused, the man’s voice, deep and foreboding, sounded in her ear.

Taran

With tears streaming from her eyes, she began the press back onto that massive thing. The pain was intense and the scream began within her as continued on, until finally the cry found its way past her lips and filled the room. She knew that this man may kill her but that she did this for her son. The burn did not hid the pain as his hands about her waist held her steady. Yet she tried to choke off the cries as she continued.

“Taran”

That single word had the gorgeous young redheaded beauty pushing back and impaling her tight little ass on the massive girth and length of Rolf Long Spear’s cock. Dúnlaith’s screams of agony echoed through Eric’s Mead Hall, the very chapel that Dúnlaith had prayed in when she was a chaste virgin and novice of the convent of Mary Magdalene, but now was a concubine her sexual favors to be granted to whoever her master wanted to share her with.

Eistir reveled with each agonizing scream that bubbled from Dúnlaith’s moist ripe lips even as Lars brutally fucked Eistir. In the throes of her own agony the dark little Imp black heart rejoiced in Dúnlaith brutal defilement. Eistir took comfort in the fact that the bitter tea that she brewed for the sweet little redheaded beauty would ensure that she would never conceive another little bastard.

Rolf took the young Irish beauty as she had never been taken before. No man had ever filled her as this man did. No man had ever made her scream in unimagined pain as he did, and man had ever ripped from her supple young body such sinful pleasure as Rolf did. If Dúnlaith Thought that Einar Njord was a tireless lover he was nothing compared to Rolf Long Spear. By the time that that he finally pulled from Dúnlaith’s ravished young body it had been hours sense he first began to fuck the young beauty. She had been forced to please him with her tight little ass, and her sweet little cunt. And when his ardor faltered he required Dúnlaith to revive his passions with her hot moist mouth and tight little messaging throat.

The young girl lay prostrate at Rolf’s feet her lithe young body shimmering in a fine sheen of sweat. Dúnlaith was spent and exhausted from her efforts to please Rolf’s insatiable sexual appetites and demands upon her gorgeous young body.

“Eric I will give you one hundred pieces of gold for this girl.” Eric Far sight gazed down on the prostrate girl. “You can have her for thirty pieces of sliver.” Eric was selling Dúnlaith for the price that had been paid for her dead god the god she had forsaken for the love or Taran.

Rolf paid the price and drawing the spent young beauty to her knees by her fiery tawny copper mane whispered “Rise girl.” He took Eric’s slave collar from around Dúnlaith’s slender neck and placed his own in its place. “Come!” With that simple command Dúnlaith was claimed by her third master sense that dark day when her life as a chaste young Novice had ended with her rape.

It felt as though she had never endured such torture as she did in the hands of this Viking with the massive member. She would later discover that he was known as Rolf Long Spear and know that the man had been aptly named.

Her cries seemed to echo within her mind and she thought that only pain would be felt. Yet at some point did the pain turn to pleasure as his manhood somehow made her scream in pure ecstasy. Over and over again he seemed to fill each orifice with his seed and had she not been barren, she would probably be pregnant.

Though it may have only been overnight, to Dúnlaith it felt as if he used her for days. When finally he seemed finished with her, she lay naked before him. Her jaw ached and her throat was sore. It felt as if her anus had been stretched out of shape and her sex felt as if she had just given birth. Her copper curls hung down her back and spilled across the floor. The room smelled heavy of sex and she panted her exhaustion.

“Eric I will give you one hundred pieces of gold for this girl.”

“You can have her for thirty pieces of sliver.”

She closed her eyes and winced at the thought of being owned by this man, of being forced to constantly satisfy a man of such large proportions. Yet when she heard the sound of coins, she cringed. She still could not understand why Eric hated her so. And his reference to 30 pieces of silver was not lost on her. How could he think her a Judas? It was he that was the Judas. Giving her to the old King and now this man...

And yet again, here he was, this time selling her like a goat or lamb in the field. She felt fingers grasp her hair, drawing her up as her new owner told her to rise. Wearing only the collar that proclaimed her the property of Eric Far Sight, she stood before Rolf. He quickly removed the collar and placed his own collar around her neck. As she glanced at Eric, the disgusted sneer on his face told her everything.

Speaking in a tone that brooked no questioning, he let her away. She knew not where. Walking through the mead hall, she saw the surprised looks from the other women - her friends. Most likely they had heard her screams through the night.

Then she saw her. Eistir. The woman grinned at her before throwing her head back to laugh. “Whore!”

Dúnlaith followed her new owner, stony-faced. She was a whore. Since she could not bear more children, that must be her lot in life.

She knew not where this man lived as he had not been here when they were building. All she knew was that she was now owned by a man that had rescued her son.

Again Dúnlaith found that she was being given to a new Master. In the past she had been first take by right of conquest by Eric, then claimed as the spoils of war that were due to Einar Njord Jarl of Sjonafjoror. Einar had fulfilled her as a woman, given her a son, and had taken her not only as his concubine but as his lover as well. Now the sad little Irish beauty had been bought for thirty pieces of sliver a galling price. Rolf’s slave collar had replaced Eric and he led the chastised young beauty naked from the mead hall. The eyes of the woman followed Dúnlaith, they had heard her screams of pain and ecstasy throughout the night. Some looked on the little redheaded beauty with compassions, others with scorn, some merely looked away. Yet it was Eistir that once more reveled in Dúnlaith’s sorrow and humiliation as she followed close behind the naked beauty screaming “WHORE” and laughing maliciously.

Rolf Long Spear turned quickly on his heel the back of his hand caught Eistir’s cheek and knocked her sprawling to the floor. “Shut your mouth woman! She is no whore but my woman.” Lars one eyes rose angrily and took a step towards Rolf. “Take another step Lars and you will be dinning in Valhalla this day.” Rolf spoke softly his hand resting on the pommel of his sword. He turned his back on Lars showing his contempt for the man and simply said come to Dúnlaith.

He lead Dúnlaith to one of the former cubicles of the nuns of the convent. He handed Dúnlaith as shimmering gossamer piece of cloth that hung from a golden girdle in the fashion of the Arabs of Spain. It was so sheer that it would do nothing to hide Dúnlaith’s womanly charms. “You shall wear this for my pleasure girl.” He had given the stunning redheaded beauty nothing to cover her firm young breasts. He sat on the edge of the bed and simply said “Come here and rest your head on my thigh and tell me of yourself.”

For such a large man, his movements were fast and precise. As Eistir stood there laughing and calling her a whore, as others stood and ignored or laughed too or turned their back upon her, this man - the one that now owned her and whose collar she now wore - Rolf quickly turned and struck Eistir across her cheek with the back of his hand. There was a gasp from the women watching and she was shocked when her new owner announced, Shut your mouth woman! She is no whore but my woman.

His woman. Lars stepped forward to protect Eistir but instead it earned him words from Rolf. Take another step Lars and you will be dinning in Valhalla this day. She knew that Valhalla was their word for Heaven.

His order to follow him was immediately obeyed. Even though she wore not a stitch of clothes, she held her head high. She was his woman. He led her to the cubicle that had once belonged to Shillie, God bless her soul. Once there, he gave something to wear over her lower privates, though he kept her breast uncovered, and it was extremely beautiful. He told her to wear it for his pleasure, and she nodded her understanding and carefully slipped it on. Then, sitting in the edge of the bed, he bade her, Come here and rest your head on my thigh and tell me of yourself.

For the first time, someone asked her about herself. Someone seemed to care about her. As instructed, she knelt beside the bed and rested her head on his thigh. There was a scent of him that filled her nostrils. In soft tones, she told him her life. Of being left an orphan as a baby and being raised by the nuns. Of living her life in the convent and being raised to become a nun, of the rape and pillage of the convent and of not understanding what and why and everything that happened. Of being taken by the old king. Of losing Eric’s baby and not knowing why. Of giving birth to Taran yet never being allowed to nurse her own child nor raise him. Nor understanding why she now was barren, though it must be because she had been bad. Of not understanding why Eric would hate her so, but hate her he did. Of not understanding why Eistir hated her so - she had thought Eistir her friend but since the attack the woman had changed. She rested her head upon his thigh and rubbed her cheek against it as he seemed to listen to her speak. Her emerald eyes were bright with unshed tears as she spoke.

“Thank you, my Lord and Master, for coming to my aid. I will do my best to please you.” She paused before speaking again. “And thank you for asking for my story. You are the first to do so and I thank you.”

And she kissed his thigh in thanks.

Rolf enjoyed the way the gossamer material played over Dúnlaith long shapely legs how it would part and bear the girl’s leg all the way to her hip. She was a gorgeous young creature, her breasts high firm and proud, her trim little waist easily spanned by his hands, and the womanly swell of her hips pleased her. He was pleased when he told her to come rest her head on his thigh that Dúnlaith did not hesitate but came to him willingly and sank to her knees in one fluid graceful motion and laid her cheek on his thigh. When he told the forlorn beauty ‘tell me of yourself’ she had told him honestly all that befell her sense the day of the raid, the day she was taken captive and how her young life had changed in so many ways. But Dúnlaith told him so much more she told him of her life before that frightful day, she told him, of the loss of her parents, how she had been raised in the convent and of her loss desire to become a chaste bride of her dead god.

Her story told Dúnlaith soft emerald green eyes were bright with unshed tears as she spoke. “Thank you, my Lord and Master, for coming to my aid. I will do my best to please you.” The young beauty paused, blushed the most adorable shade of pink before speaking again. “And thank you for asking for my story. You are the first to do so and I thank you.” Then on an impulse she kissed his thigh in thanks.

Rolf took Dúnlaith as his lover. Oh he was demanding of her but he gave the vivacious young Irish beauty as much pleasure as she gave him. No man had ever taken or filled Dúnlaith as Rolf Long Spear did, or that matter sent her soaring with such intense and unimagined pleasure. Sometimes Rolf would take her three or more times in a single day. Yet Dúnlaith’s womb remained barren.

One day when Rolf was suppose to take part in a bore hunt he decided that he much rather spend the time enjoying his little Irish concubines delicious young body. When he entered the small room they shared he saw the dark haired little Imp Eistir handing his young beauty a cup of bitter smelling tea. “What is this?" he demanded of Eistir.” He recognized the woman as the one that had called Dúnlaith a “WHORE” the day that he had bought her for thirty pieces of silver.

He ripped the cup from Eistir hand and brought it to just under his nose and inhaled deeply. Rolf was repelled by the bitter smell of this witches brew. Next he took a sip and immediately spit out the foul potion. He turned cold deadly eyes on Eistir. If you ever give Dúnlaith this foul witches’ brew again I will kill you and you will not die quickly or easily.” That cold deadly glare pinned Eistir in place.” Now be gone witch!”

Once Eistir had fled Rolf told Dúnlaith the purpose of the potion was to keep her from conceiving a child, to keep her barren. Rolf held the sobbing young beauty till she fell asleep in his arms. He sent a servant to tell Lars one eye what Eistir had been up to, it would be up to him or Dúnlaith to denounce Eistir as a witch.