The Unholy Captor

cgraven

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The Unholy Captor

This is a closed story for Opensesame54321 and craven. You are invited to read along and enjoy.

The lands to the far north, the lands of the Norsemen, were a hard and demanding land. The land itself was hard to farm and gave very little back for the efforts the Norse had to put into it. For this among many other reasons the Norse had turned to the sea that cut deeply into their land. They turned to the sea for their food, they turned to the sea for all they needed and what they could not trade for they took by force.

While the rest of Europe had embraced the Christian God, the Norse were Pagan that worshiped Odin, Thro, Freya, Loki, and a host of deity that governed every aspect of the Norse’s life. There was a god for the hearth, for the home, for men and for women and all had to be placated. Each village had a Thane, and each thane had his hundred, and owed his allegiance to an overlord, a king. Yet for most Norse the reality was that they knew only their Thane and what they owed to him. Njord was thane Sjonafjoror he was an embittered old man, and a greedy one to boot.

It was a cold night the winds still blew out of the north and the cold breath of the gods still chilled the lands. Njord Called his thane to his mead hall and demanded that they sail to the south and raid the Irish cost. Oh he could demand all he wanted but he could not force any to go a Viking unless they desired to do so. There was a silence as and his thane glared at each other. It was Eric far sight that finally stood and boldly declared.

“I shall go a Viking for you Thane Njord……………………..”

There was a pause as Eric far sight boldly faced his thane.

“………But you share shall be only one tenth of what we take and any slaves we take are ours……..no exceptions Thane Njord!”

There was a deadly silence in the mead hall that seemed to last an eternity. Njord had little choice but to accept the young upstarts demand if he wished any of his ship to be the first to go a Viking this season, and the first ship garnished the richest prizes and plunder.

“Very well Eric far sight a one tenth share for your Thane.”

“And no more Thane Njord!”

And no more

Njord spat at the bold youth. Oh he had promised to take no more than one tenth of the plunder publicly, but he had said nothing about the slave taken in the raid.

<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>

Erick Far sight’s two ships silently slipped through the icy fog that shrouded the Irish coast. The so ringing of a bell calling believers to worship guided Eric through the icy fog. Silent as a ghost the prows of his ships ran up on the cobbled strand. Men leaped from the boats, and began to make their way inland following the soft ringing of the bell on a freshening land breeze as Eric and his men crested a small rise.

The convent of Mary Magdalene lay on a small rise opposite where Eric and his men lay. There were flocks grazing in the meadow between the Vikings and the convent. Eric silently stood and his men followed suit. As one they let out a terrible scream to make anyone who heard it blood run cold. The Attack like all Viking attacks would be fast overpowering and brutal.

The men raced down the hillside and towards the convent of Mary Magdalene and the defenseless nuns.
 
Cold fog blanketed the hillside, hiding the flock from her eyesight. This was nothing new. With her assigned duties to the care of the small flock of sheep that were the property of the Convent of Mary Magdalene, Dúnlaith had grown accustomed to the sounds of the sheep as well as the rest of nature that surrounded her this early morn. A novice at the convent, she had been raised by the kind nuns, and had spent essentially her entire life there. When she had been but several months old, there had been a fever that had swept through the local village of Cairbre in Northern Ui Neill, taking a small portion of the town as well as both her Ma and Da. It was then that the caring nuns at the convent of Mary Magdalene took the baby in and raised her in the ways of the church. It was the only home that she had known and her hope was that she would soon be accepted as a nun.

The soft bleats of the sheep were comforting. This had been her duties for that last several years and now that she was eighteen summers, she found comfort in her small role within the convent. Most of the women were older. There were only two of them that were young. She and Eistir were about the same age though Eistir had only been at the convent for about a year. The young woman was about one summer older than her and had black hair and dark eyes. And she was one prone to not follow the orders of the nuns and sometimes complained about what was expected of her. Dúnlaith, on the other hand, knew no other life and instead did as she was asked.

The call of prime was announced by the bell ringing from the bell tower. Softly she joined in prayers, the morning fog lending a suddenly ghostly quality to the moment.

It took a moment for Dúnlaith to understand what she was hearing. Like a roar straight from the bowels of Hell, the young novice jumped in fear. At first, she was unsure of what was making the sound as the fog effectively hid it.

A chill ran through her as realization hit her. Vikings! There had been stories of these foreigners raiding various communities, with neither thought nor regard for villages or monasteries, or even convents. They were brutal and were known to rape and pillage anyone that they wished. Sacred relics were burned. Buildings left a smoldering ruin.

Fear now coursed through her and she turned to run as hard as she could in an effort to warn the nuns. What few sheep that were between her and the convent scattered in fear and for once, the distance between her and the convent seemed too far away. Behind her, the yells of the invaders grew louder and she feared that they would catch her before she could reach the nuns to warn them.

As she drew nearer, there was the sound of chanting from the building where the nave was, giving a false impression of peace and tranquility. With every ounce of strength which she possessed, she started yelling her warning as she came within steps of the walls that rose above her out of the mist.

“Vikings! Vikings!”

*****

DÚNLAITH

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Eric far sight, followed by his Vikings, ran down the slop of the hill that over looked the convent of Mary Magdalene. As they ran across the vale that lay between the two hills a flock of sheep scattered and their war cry echoed across the vale like the roar of the ocean. The soft tolling of the convent’s bell soon changed and the bell’s soft tones took on a sharper more urgent note, one that screamed out warning and at the same time pleaded for help.
Across the vale and up the hill Eric and his pagan horde came. Came to the convent of Mary Magdalene, were they battered down the convent’s gate. A gate designed to keep their flocks in and the beast of the forest out at night. It was not designed to keep a pack of marauding Vikings out. Eric and his men broke through that insignificant barrier and flooded into the court yard of the convent. Women dressed in drab brown were scattering like a flock of sheep, seeking the sanctuary of the convent’s chapel. Eric new that the wealth of the convent lay in that small chapel. Wealth that lay in silver and gold ornaments and women.

The women screamed as Eric and his plundering horde broke through the door of the chapel and rushed in like a flood on the tide to sweep all resistance away. The old man that served their dead god that hung on a crooked tree raised an image of that god and rushed towards Eric and was swiftly cut down his life force spreading across the stone floor of the chapel like a crimson stain as his life force drained from the slain man. An imperious woman stood between Eric’s horde and her cowering flock in defiance. Eric far sight ripped the wimple of mother superior’s habit from her head, revealing the woman’s short golden hair; she was perhaps 27 or 29. Eric through her to his men, that made short work of her habit and soon her defiance evaporated into soul wrenching screams as she was raped in front of her cowering flock.

With a frightening efficiency the chapel was plundered of its treasures of silver and gold ornaments, silken vestments, and holy reliquaries. The wimples of the cowering nuns were ripped from their heads and Eric’s men began to cull the group of sobbing women. The younger ones in one group the older less attractive in another group. A flash of tawny copper caught Eric’s eye and he saw a frighten young beauty cowering by the alter.

“Stand girl.”

Eric said in perfect Gallic. There was not a trace of a pagan accent as he spoke. This fearsome Norse giant towered over the cowering girl. His firry copper hair was plated for battle, his arms were as big around as the petite beauty’s thighs and his muscles looked kike bands of iron.

“What do they call you girl.”
When she hesitated in answering Eric’s fingers laced into her shimmering tawny copper hair and he drew the girl from her hiding place to stand before him.

“I said what do they call you girl!”

A hush fell over the room as all eyes were now turned to the ravishing redheaded beauty.
 
As she burst into the nave yelling her warning, the nuns screamed and began crying, some running out into the courtyard to look for hiding places. The priest, old and nearing the end of his years, gathered the cross and went out to ask these barbarians to leave in peace. Mother Margreg gathered those left and herded them into a corner before taking a stance between them and the door.

Outside, they could hear the screams and cries of their friends and loved ones, though almost drowning out those horrible sounds was the roar of the invading Vikings. The sound grew louder, striking fear in each woman’s heart until the doors burst open and the men poured through filling the room.

Dúnlaith was proud of Mother Margreg as the lone woman stood before the devil, head held high. Before she could say a word, the apparent leader reached forth and grabbed the wimple off of Mother Margreg’s head, revealing her hair shorn. Grabbing her by the arm, the muscular man seemed to pitch the poor woman into the throng of men behind him where before their very eyes, the poor woman’s robes were ripped from her body and she was nude. Crying out, one man after another knelt between her legs held apart by two men and raped the poor woman. Blood ran from her and the women huddled together screamed and cried for their poor Mother Margreg.

Everywhere were these barbarians, stripping and grabbing their silk table covers, gold and silver chalices and crosses, and holy relics. Then they started grabbing the nun, ripping off their wimples and revealing their shorn heads too. Then they were separated into apparently two groups with young in one and old in another. She saw one man grab Eistir and grin at the woman’s long black hair.

Stand girl.

The words spoken surprised Dúnlaith and she stared at him, terror in her eyes as he spoke her language. The man was frightening, so large and overwhelming was he. His fiery red hair was braided and long, and his body was covered with soot and sweat. He seemed massive as he stood there. And his eyes were on her.

What do they call you girl.

She was too afraid to answer, and with the memory of what she had just seen happen to Mother Margreg too fresh in her mind, she hesitated. His big, meaty hand reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair, painfully pulling her out of her hiding place to hold her close before him.

I said what do they call you girl!

The chaos suddenly ceased as if all waited for the answer. Silently she said a prayer.

“Dúnlaith! I am called Dúnlaith! And what be your name?”

She was not sure why she had asked him. It seemed as if it had slipped out before she had thought of it.
 
When the girl had hesitated to stand at his command. Eric Far sights fingers had cruelly entwined into the young redheaded novice’s tawny copper hair. His dark rich voice had taken on an iron note of command as he demanded the young novice’s name.

“I said what do they call you girl!”

All eyes had turned to Eric and the young novice. His men’s eyes seemed to strip the young beauty as she stood there. The girl could see something else in their eyes as well, a lust to have her, to possess her, and to rape her, as they had Mother Margreg, enjoying the sweet charms her youthful supple body had to offer.

“Dúnlaith! I am called Dúnlaith! And what be your name?”

The Norsemen that spoke the Gallic laughed at the young girl’s question as did Eric.

“Master to you, young Dúnlaith.”

Again this pagan from the far north had spoken in Gallic without a trace of an accent as if he himself was from this land.
That the girl was frightened was obvious and yet she showed a spirit that impressed Eric when she had asked his name despite her fear. Her tawny copper hair cascaded down over her shoulders in shimmering ringlets. Her skin was fair, and she wore the same drab brown woolen habit as the rest of the nuns, yet her hair had not been shorn like the rest.

“Lets see what this bold young Miss is hiding under that woolen grown.”

Lars one eyed called out in Norse.

“Well as you find out Lars we shall plunder and take your share as well Eric countered.”

Eric had not denied Lars’s demand but had parried it for the moment, He was sure that more than one of his men wanted to bed this calmly young wench. His men laughed and returned to looting of the convent of Mary Magdalene there would be time to enjoy the young girl later.

For the moment Dúnlaith and the younger nuns and novices had been spared the brutal rape of Mother Margreg and the older nuns. While their defilement had been brutal and public it had not been done simply to satisfy the men’s carnal lust. It was done to show the younger nuns and novices that defiance had its price, that their dead god could not protect them, and to cow them into submission. Yet all must have known it was only a matter of time before they too would suffer the same fate.

Eric dragged Dúnlaith from the chapel by her firry hair out into the convent’s court yard. His lips crushed to hers in a searing kiss his tongue demanding entry into her chaste young mouth.
 
She knew just what fate awaited her. It awaited all of them. And it filled her with fear. The Mother Superior still lay on the floor of the nave with bloody thighs, her moans low and heart wrenching.

That they apparently spoke and understood Gallic had surprised not only her. These were the Vikings, of that there was no doubt as the description that they had been given fit perfectly with what stood before her. A big brute of a man, larger than most men that she had met in her sheltered life. She could easily feel the strength in the hand that was tangled in her long curly ringlets. She knew that her could easily kill her - snap her neck as one does a fallen twig on the forest’s floor.

Perhaps it had been foolish to ask his name yet the question had slipped out with neither thought nor intent behind it. Though he appeared to not be bothered by it, the answer he gave disturbed her.

Master to you, young Dúnlaith.

She wanted to cry out that was not possible, for she served only one Master. A cry cut off her though as she recognized it as Eistir. The dark haired beauty fought off her own demon, as did the younger nuns, their shorn hair sticking out like haystacks in a new mown field.

The room became a cacophony of sounds again - barbarians calling to one another in booming voices and language she neither spoke nor understood. The cries of the older nun joined the melee as various ungodly invaders took turns raping the poor women, their saggy breast flapping as the men rutted on them. The clatter as various sacred items were gathered and hauled away.

Suddenly the giant was striding towards the door dragging her in tow by the hair, until they stood in the courtyard. In a glimpse, she saw the Father, old and kind, now dead, as his blood poured forth to water the earth. Before she had time to grieve over this, her captor crushed her to him, his body as hard as it looked.

He gave her a bruising kiss, his hand still gripping her hair as his tongue repeatedly stabbed against her lips. This was not the kiss of a lover but rather the kiss of a captor showing dominance over his captive. She pressed hard against his chest in an attempt to push him away though she might as well been beating the walls of their stone convent.

Relenting, she opened her mouth and it was quickly flooded with his tongue, overwhelming her senses. The world around her was lost. Gone were the cries of her friends, the laughter of the Vikings. She was like a toy in his hands. This was not a kiss like she had ever had before. This was a sinful kiss. It must be if this barbarian was doing it to her.
 
Dúnlaith clenched little fists beat against Eric’s broad chest as his mouth crushed to hers. Oh how this little wildcat struggled not to give in to him, not to submit to that sinful kiss as she clamped her jaw shut. Eric found her pathetic little struggles to protect her honor and virtue laughable. He decided to teach the young novice a lesson that she soon would not forget. Eric far sight let that sinful kiss linger and deepen as Dúnlaith moist ripe lips finally parted and his tongue entered the summer wine sweetness of the young Novice’s mouth. Slowly time lost its meaning as that forbidden kiss deepened. There was no past; there was no future, as his tongue entwined with her leading it in a dance as old as time itself. There was just here, just now, and this one sinfully forbidden kiss that deepened until Dúnlaith shared a single life giving breath with this pagan barbarian that had defiled her convent and all she had known and loved. And no doubt would defile her as well.


When Eric finally broke that forbidden, sinful kiss his lips parted from Dúnlaith’s reluctantly, clinging to her moist ripe lips till the last possible moment. His hard body was pressed intimately to her supple petite body. She could feel the heat of his body pressed to hers through her drab woolen habit. Yet that was not the only thing that the young novice could feel through their clothing, she could feel the hard ridged line of his manhood pressed to her flat abdoman.

“So Dúnlaith you serve your dead god that hangs from the twisted tree.”

Again that perfect Gallic caressing her senses

“Tell me are you still a virgin or did the old priest have his way with you.”

So far Dúnlaith had escaped the fate of the other nuns and Novices of the convent of Mary Magdalene, but how much longer before one of these pagan beasts claimed her innocence.

Eric fingers relaxed ever so slightly in Dúnlaith’s tawny copper ringlets. His fingers still entwined in the girl’s hair he led her to a group of young novices and nuns that had been repeatedly raped. An innocent lamb hidden among the sheep.


Eric Far Sight dispatched Leif his other ship captain to take the older ravished nuns across the Irish sea to be sold into slavery in the kingdom of Cornwall. He would wait for Leif’s return here. It was a secure spot where the River Lagan met the River Farset and emptied into a broad bay. The Irish unlike the English had no major towns, and more importantly no unified defense as the country was made up of isolate villages and squabbling Chieftain’s all claiming, or trying to claim that they were the High King of the Island.

Eric had forgotten about the little wildcat with the tawny copper ringlets for the moment. The day had grown late and his men had become bored when Lars one eye had found Eric’s little lamb hidden among the shorn sheep. It was the dark haired girl Eistir that betrayed Dúnlaith with a hissed;

You haven’t had this one yet!

Lars One eye drew Dúnlaith from the cowering women, not one made a move to help the struggling young beauty. Lars placed Dúnlaith on a table so all could see her.

“Now shall we see what you have been hiding under that woolen gown.”

Lars jumped up behind Dúnlaith and gathering her skirts in his hands slowly began to hike them up. Slowly the girl’s sculptured legs were revealed to the gathering crowd of Norse men. When the helm of Dúnlaith skirt reached mid thigh Lars hiss in Norse.

“More.”

And when the men cheered and called for more Lars ripped Dúnlaith’s habit from her as if the garment was nothing, leaving the stunning young beauty standing there in nothing but a loin cloth and bared to the waist.

“Such perfection!”

Lars Suddenly saw Eric far sight coming as the crowd of men parted before him. Lars stood his ground as he reached up from behind Dúnlaith to cup and squeezed her firm young breast. His eyes were cold as they met Eric’s as he pinched, pulled and tugged at the hapless young virgins tortured nipples.
 
She knew what her future held. Gone would be the peaceful, fulfilled life within the walls of the convent. As this barbarian crushed her to him, his lips stealing the very breath from her, she felt the hardness of his manhood pressing against her body, the only barrier of protection from it was the several layers of clothing between them. She knew just what his plans were for her.

He broke the kiss and looked deep into her eyes. Again, he spoke to her in her own tongue.

So Dúnlaith you serve your dead god that hangs from the twisted tree.

Dead God? Not so. “He lives again!” She raised her chin in stubbornness. He chose to ignore it.

Tell me are you still a virgin or did the old priest have his way with you.

“Father Totnan would never do something so wicked and evil. He was a good and kind servant of God!” She glanced back to where the man lay dead in the dirt, her heart breaking for the loss of such a good man.

With a grip of iron, the Viking led her to where a group of nuns lay upon the grass before making her sit among them and telling her to stay.

There were five of the nuns, moaning as they lay upon the grass. All of them had been stripped bare, with blood smeared between their legs and upon their thighs and pubic hairs. Their shorn hair was even sticky with the mix of Viking seed and the blood that had been the proof of their purity. She wondered just how many babies had been conceived on this hellish day.

She did her best to take care of the women while the smell of copper filled her nostrils. Meanwhile, methodically the invaders pillaged the convent, stealing anything that might be of value including the very crosses that the nuns wore.

One of the younger nun, Sister Oilen, told her that the older nuns, once they had been degraded too, had been led away crying towards the sea where likely they had been drowned.

For several hours she stayed there, tending to them as best as she could. The air was filled with sounds - the laughing of these invaders, the screams as yet again a nun was raped, the cries of pain, the prayers to God for deliverance from this evil, metal against metal as silver candlesticks and gold offering plates were added to the invader’s hoard.

You haven’t had this one yet!

She turned to find her friend Eistir standing behind her pointing to her. Her old friend, naked from where her robe had been ripped from her, revealing her hiding place. Even her loin cloth was gone and blood was smeared on her thighs and in the black hairs that guarded her sex, speaking of rape from probably several of the men throughout the day. But the look in her eyes was the most fearful, for it spoke of hate for her.

The Viking that she spoke to grabbed Dúnlaith by the wrist and drew her from her hiding place. She tried to fight but it was hopeless as he was much stronger that she. He smelled of death and his left eye was almost completely white, as if the thing were dead. Grinning, he grabbed her and stood her on a table and jumped up behind her. Everywhere she looked was a sea of faces, grinning and staring at her. To her right stood Eistir, grinning happily. But nowhere did she see the man from earlier that had grabbed her. She had thought him the leader, but perhaps she had been wrong.

Now shall we see what you have been hiding under that woolen gown.

His hands grabbed her shift and begin to lift its hem, much to the cheers of the men. Eistir just laughed. Higher it went until the men called out something and suddenly her robe was ripped from her body and she stood before them in only her loincloth.

The man with the rheumy eye reached around from behind her to cup her breast, pinching her nipples. She saw the crowd below part and there in the void stood the man from earlier, staring up at them. Though she shook with fear, Dúnlaith stood tall and tried to be brave.

The clouds parted and suddenly a shaft of sunlight seemed to strike her, setting her red hair alight and warming her pale skin. She kept her eyes on the man, almost as if trying to draw strength from him. The sound of the jeers from the men receded and quietly within herself, she prayed to her God to give her strength.
 
Eric Far Sight steely gaze met Lars One Eye’s defiant gaze as Dúnlaith trembled bared to the waist. The young redheaded novice’s little loin cloth her last vestige of maidenly modesty. Lars was Thane Njord’s man, a man that Eric trusted not, and now he was using this chaste young beauty as a means to sew discontent among Eric’s men. Lars knew well that they all would lust after this Tawny copper haired beauty. Lars rolled Dúnlaith’s pale pink rose bud nipples beneath the pads of his thumb and pinched in pulled at those tender buds until the capped her now puffy dusky pink areolas.

“See how responsive her gorgeous young body is.”

As Lars spoke he ripped the loin cloth from Dúnlaith body to bear her, in all her youthful naked glory to the now howling Norse men who pressed closer to the table and the sight of the young Novices humiliation.

Eric had only two choices the first was to abandon the girl to her fate. Why not she was nothing to him, just another girl, who would become a slave, and was destined to warm a man’s bed with her supple young body. The other choice was to claim her as part of his booty as Viking leader. Eric stepped forward to stand at the food of the makeshift stage where Dúnlaith was being tormented by Lars. Lars finger slid along the soft coral pink folds of the girl’s virgin treasure as he slyly began to coax the guardian of Dúnlaith’s maiden’s treasure from its hooded hiding place. Eric grabbed the man’s wrist and drew it from the girl’s sweet young body. He bent the man’s wrist back until Lars was forced to his knees in his own humiliation in front of the assembled Norse.

“I said I have claimed her as mine Lars One Eye and you will keep your hand off of her!”

Lars was fuming that Eric had ended his sport with the young virgin. But even as he was forced to his knees in humiliation he was not done tormenting the girl.

“If you are claiming her Eric Far Sight, then claim her now in front of your men. Show them your strength and take her hear and now for all to see and to know that she is yours.”

The Norse howled their approval. Eric turned to Dúnlaith his face stern unreadable.

“On your hands and knees girl”

He commanded the terrified young novice in Norse. Then in her native Gallic;

“Dúnlaith on your hands and knees if you do not want to be raped by every man here.”

Eric waited to see if the young beauty would bend or whether he would have to brutally take her by force. Why he wondered was he saving her from that fate she was just another girl and yet.
 
She stood still, wishing she were elsewhere yet knowing that this was her fate. These barbarian’s speech was strange and she listened trying to understand their word. Yet there was no question as to what their actions meant. She prayed to God to give her strength to endure the trials that she feared would follow in the new life that her future held.

The rheumy-eyed man continued to torture her breast before suddenly ripping her last link with modesty so that all assembled could see her. She could even feel the press of their bodies closer to the table. Through it all, her eyes never left the original man, the one that she thought of as their leader. As the older man reached between her legs and ran a finger along that private place, she fought to remain stone faced though she knew that she trembled. The leader’s hand flashed out and grabbed the other’s hand, jerking it away from her body and bending it until the man literally kneeled before the young one. Though she knew not his actual words, the implied tone was one of a quiet threat.

There was what seemed to be an argument between the two with the surrounding men breaking out in howls and cheers. Stoned-faced, the leader turned to her, speaking foreign words. She continued to look at him, not understanding.

Dúnlaith on your hands and knees if you do not want to be raped by every man here.

She understood. He was to show ownership over her. His words shot fear through her. She was not to be spared the indignities of a public rape. She longed to run - to jump off the table and seek freedom. To do so would be foolish and would certainly lead to every man having her. Better that it be this one. If Mother Margreg could endure such, then she was no better to think that she would be left untouched. The crowd had grown quiet, waiting to see this outcome.

Her eyes never left his face as slowly she kneeled, the wood tabletop hard on her knees. Then she bent over until she was in all fours before the assembled, like her own sheep
In the field. She would try to show dignity and strength. Strength seemed to be all that these barbarians understood.
 
Eric Far Sight’s golden hazel eyes held Dúnlaith soft tear shimmering eyes in their steely unblinking gaze. There was no softness in those eyes and yet neither was there the savage harshness and hatred that she had seen in Lars’ eyes. Eric watched as Dúnlaith slowly sunk to her knees, the girl’s movements possessed a sensual fluid grace that fired the lust of all who saw her. As she knelt there tears staining her pale flawless cheeks, and the firry copper ringlets of her hair framing her angelic face like a firry halo. Dúnlaith’s firm proud young breasts were thrust out and up as if in offering to these heathen pagans. Her areolas were puffy little pillow capped by taunt pale pink nipples from Lars’s unwanted attention to them and the cool breeze that now played across her magnificent young body.

Dúnlaith slowly leaned forward until she was on her hands and knees, a little lamb for the slaughter. Her fate would not come to her in a lover’s embrace, she would not be taken as a cherished bride, or even with tenderness. She felt him spread her knees, felt him kneel between her soft velvet virginal thighs. The hot caress of his iron cored cock to her virginal folds. His hands drawing her hips back to him, the velvet tip of that iron cored cock pressed to the hooded guardian of her maiden’s treasure.

There was no hope for Dúnlaith, there would no mercy for the young novice with the stunning young body, for Eric must take and dominate her, claim her publicly, lest she becomes a whore for his men. Even as he pressed his manhood into her tight young body he wondered why he should care if she was taken and made the ships whore.

The moment of Dúnlaith fate was upon her the tip of his cock pressing to her maidenhead. The thin barrier that marked her chaste virginity ached, then she felt him pulling back. A sudden thrust, a flash of white hot pain and Dúnlaith chaste virginity was nothing but a fading memory. The gather Norse men screamed their approval at the young beauty’s defilement. Eric paused for a moment, his cock buried to the hilt in Dúnlaith spasming young body. Then his hips rolled to hers and as he took her the searing pain of the ravishing young beauty’s defilement began to ease to a dull ache, and that dull ache also faded as something hot and frightening blossomed in the young novice as her defiler pounded into her tight supple young body.
 
As he climbed up behind her, her eyes lit on Eistir, once her dear friend and now her Judas. The woman fairly dance at what she beheld as she stood with the barbarians, her own virginal blood smeared between her thighs.

Dúnlaith felt the Viking’s hands spread her legs more as knelt behind her. Large hands took hold of her hips to draw her back until she felt something pressed against that place which had remained pure. It was as if something too large for that space were being forced inside her and a small gasp left her lips.

He stopped, or was it instead a pause as she felt as if he had reached an end. The leader started to back out , then suddenly rammed hard within her and she bit her lip as the pain tore through her. There was a roar of approval from the men as the leader held still while buried deep within her. Her body seem to be trying to push him out as it pulsed and twitched against that thing that had invaded it. Dúnlaith felt as if she had been torn asunder, yet it was not over. Methodically, the barbarian began to slide in and out of her, the pain flaring along the newly torn maiden hood. Tears ran down her cheeks yet she made no sound. She understood that he had laid claim to her with this barbaric act. Yet better to have one than hundreds. No longer were any of them free.

A movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention and she looked to find Eistir lying on her back in the grass while one of the invaders raped the woman again, the dark haired woman’s legs spread as the man’s bare buttocks moved up and down. Eistir looked over at her and laughed as if sharing some great joke. Here and there, other Vikings had grabbed a younger nun and spread her legs, or bent her over a low rocky wall or taken the poor woman in all fours. Occasionally would be a cry out but most of the women were too stunned to react.

Slowly a bit of her virginal blood escaped to begin its trickle down the inside of her thigh. Yet as the invader continued his rape of her, her body seemed to slowly accept what had happened and turn it into something else. Something that she neither knew or understood. A quickening deep inside her, like a fire amongst the pain. It frightened her for she did not understand it. The longer that he pound into her, the faster he seemed to get, and the harder he became as if running in a race and the end is in sight. And yet it felt as if the degradation continued forever.
 
Eric grunted as he plowed into Dúnlaith supple young body was incredibly tight. Oh this stunning young tawny copper haired beauty was far from the first little whimpering virgin he had taken and yet. She had not begged or cursed, or even turned her soft tear shimmering eyes to the heavens as if expecting that her dead god would come and save her from this horrible fate that had befallen her and the other nuns and novices of the convent of Mary Magdalene. Silently this young beauty had gracefully fallen to her hands and knees, she had not fought, but tried very hard to show an inner strength, despite the fact that she was trembling with fear.

Once Dúnlaith sweetly cherished virginity had been ripped from her the gathered Norse seemed to lose interest in her defilement and sought the novices and younger nuns to satisfy their growing lust. Yet there were two that reveled in Dúnlaith’s defilement, two that drank in every moment of her defilement, degradation and humiliation. One was her Judas, Eistir, the other Lars one eye Thane Njord’s man. Eric Far Sight continued to take his pleasure from Dúnlaith gorgeous supple young body. His hands were around her trim little waist as with each thrust he pulled the girl back on to him. Slowly the tempo, with which Eric took her, began to build as he plowed into her faster and faster. What was that? could it be the intoxicating musky scent of the little lamb’s growing arousal. Oh married village women that had fallen into their hands, bodies often betrayed them, but those women had been men’s wives and lovers. But Dúnlaith had been a virgin just moments ago, a sweet little lamb unaware of what pleasure a man’s body could bring to her own supple treacherous young body, or the fire it could ignite within her to sear her body, soul, and innocent pious young mind with a sinful infernal that could Harold her Fall from Grace.

Again Eric increased the tempo with which he took is sweet innocent little lamb, his hands around Dúnlaith’s trim little waist relaxed ever so slightly. No longer was Eric forcibly pulling Dúnlaith back on his raping cock but was now firmly guiding her, letting the young filly have her head and to see if the young innocent would embrace the dark forbidden sinful pleasure that his body held out to Dúnlaith as their rutting built to a blinding crescendo and the young novice tittered on the abyss that offered her the most rich, and decadent pleasure. On more thrust, that was all it would take, just one more thrust…… Dúnlaith fate shimmered before her, almost beckoning her to embrace it, to grasp, this forbidden sinful pleasure.

The moment of truth had come for the young novice would her pious young mind that was repelled by what she was enduring and screaming NO win, or would her treacherous supple young body, now awaken to the dark sinful pleasure of the flesh and scream YES win out in the end?
 
She became aware of the sounds he made, the grunts as over and over he plowed deep into her with his large hands upon her hips. With each rocking back and forth, there was an audible sound of skin against skin, his body slapping against hers. There was a pull on her nipples that had been so tortured by the barbarian with the rheumy eye, as with each slap of the leader’s body against her body seemed to cause her breast to sway and bounce. They seemed to swell even more with each movement.

Deep within her, there was a gradual quickening and even her heart seemed to beat faster. What it was she was not sure. Never before had she felt anything like this. What had once been an indescribable pain that felt as if she were being torn asunder, now no longer hurt. Though the fit was tight, his manhood seemed to have the aid of her virginal blood. There now was the moment when she was unaware of the fact that he no longer pulled her back against him. Now his hands merely rested on her hips, so that they guided her as she seemed to follow where he had led her, pushing back against the large invader. Suddenly there seemed to set off within her a frightening event, as if her body were like a bird winging ever higher in the sky. With it, her breast began to ache and her breathing became ragged.

Dúnlaith was confused, not understanding exactly what was happening.
 
Eric could fell Dúnlaith supple young body slowly surrendering to him, her hips now seductively rolling back to meet his thrust, as he penetrated ever deeper into her gorgeous young body. He could feel the young novice tittering on the edge of that dark abyss that promised the tawny copper haired beauty something deliciously forbidden and sinful. She could almost reach out and grasp it, so close so very close and yet it eluded her.

Lars One eye watched as Dúnlaith breath was now coming faster, in gasped little sighs. Her back now arched as she rolled her hips back to meet Eric’s thrusts into her defiled young body. The girl’s delicious young body shimmered in a fine sheen of sweat, the ringlets of her sweat matted tawny copper hair clung to her angelic face, shoulders, and back. Lars smiled; soon, very soon this proud young wench would fall from grace and become nothing but a fallen woman in her own eyes. Lars savored that moment of Dúnlaith’s fall as he enjoyed the youthful charms of Eistir.

Was that a sensual little moan that escaped Dúnlaith moist ripe lips, a little whimper as she sought that illusive something her young body seemed to be hungering for? Once more Eric’s hands griped the young beauty’s hips tighter and then with one powerful stroke he pushed the young redheaded beauty over the edge of the Abyss. Nothing in Dúnlaith young sheltered life prepared her for the white hot flash that seemed to sear every fiber of her ravishing young body and her innocent young soul. As the young novice bucked and thrashed lost in that tidal wave of sensations she was ill prepared to deal with, Eric Far Sight continued to pound into her gorgeous young body as his body was also seeking something.

That searing heat that had engulfed Dúnlaith began to build again. This time the young defiled virgin knew what was coming and knew what it would do to her treacherous young body and knew that it must be a forbidden, that it must be a sin.
 
She couldn’t understand what it was that overtook her, her heart racing while her body seemed possessed. Yet in her heart she felt that she knew the answer. Around her was sin - the sin of man. In her ears she heard her friends crying as yet another Viking took his place between a poor nun’s legs. A quick glance towards her old friend showed her someone new. Not her old friend at all but instead someone monstrous. Eistir was on her hands and knees too, as if mocking Dúnlaith. And behind Eistir was that man with the cloudy eye. He grinned at Dúnlaith, as did Eistir, as the two of them seemed to be imitating what was happening on the tabletop. Imitating what was happening all around them. She bowed her head in shame. No longer was she the Dúnlaith that she had been early this morning.

She would have collapsed into a heap on the table and yet the barbarian refused to let go of her. Instead, he seemed to continue with renewed vigor and quite against her will, her body seeming to respond if not join in where this Viking was leading her. She could feel smears of her virginal blood as well as something else sticking to her skin where the man body slapped against hers. She supposed correctly that it came from her own body, but her assumption that it was solely blood was wrong. Though soon enough she would learn just what her blood had mixed with. Just what it was that soiled her skin.

His fingers seemed to dig into her skin as the man that raped her slammed repeatedly into her. Again that quickening began within her. She knew that if this continued, soon she would have that feeling of flying without leaving the ground. Her eyes cut to where Eistir and the man with the watery eye watched as they laughed and imitated what was happening to her on the tabletop.

She closed her eyes, trying to blot out what she had seen. What she heard. What she was now feeling. What she had now become. Just how far she had sinned.
 
Dúnlaith gorgeous young body betrayed her as it savored the forbidden sinful pleasure that Eric had enkindled in it. The hapless young defiled virgin bucked and thrashed in the most sinful decadence as a series of soul searing orgasms ripped through her delicious young body. By the time that Eric Far Sight’s own dark passions, for this stunning young beauty burst forth, his seed flooding Dúnlaith’s fertile young womb, the young novice was spent, her body glistening in a fine sheen of sweat, Eric’s weight boring her down, until she collapsed onto the wooden table, his body molded to hers, his raping cock still buried deep inside her chaste young body.

Eistir was at Dúnlaith’s ear. The dark haired beauty’s teeth grazed the tawny copper haired beauty’s earlobe, her hot moist breath stirring the little wisps of hair at the nape of Dúnlaith’s neck.

”Not so proud now are we?........Now that you have been fucked, and given your body to the pagan barbarian that raped you Dúnlaith………….like a common whore!”

Eistir words tore at the hapless young redheaded beauty. Throughout her ordeal her pious young mind may have screamed NO or had rationalized that if Mother Superior Margreg could bear her defilement with a stoic grace than she could. But in her heart of hearts she could not truly deny what Eistir said Her treacherous young body had embraced that sinful pleasure, had willingly rocked back to take him even deeper into her stunning young body.

Eric’s arms wrapped tighter around Dúnlaith drawing her tighter to his body his softening cock still buried in her chaste young body, his hips rolling to hers in his restless sleep, and Eistir accusing eyes wickedly smiling into Dúnlaith’s soft tear shimmering eyes.

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Eric and his men spent a little over a week at the ruins of the convent of Mary Magdalene while he waited for the return of the ship he had sent to Cornwall to sell the older nuns into slavery as they could only feed and carry a certain number of captive , the youngest and prettiest would be carried off to a life of sin in the land of the Norse and Dúnlaith would be among them.

During the time that they waited for the return of that ship Eric would take Dúnlaith several times a day. Enjoy the pleasure her ripe supple young body could provide. No other man had touched her, and yet Lars One Eye and Eistir always seemed to be there mocking and accusing Dúnlaith every time Eric took her, and every time her traitors young body betrayed her.
 
Shame washed over the poor tired young woman as once again the strange event happened. Though she did not know or understand what it exactly was, something inside her told her that it was wrong. It was a sin. And with such a great sin, God would turn her away from Heaven. She might tell others that she was forced to do it, that she was raped. But God would know in her heart, that her body had enjoyed it.

Suddenly, with very hard and fast thrusts, the Viking grunted loudly and she felt a warmth fill inside her. It was then that she realized that he had deposited his seed inside her womb. Would she now carry his baby, bred to produce more barbarians?

With the completion of his ‘task’, she had expected to be released. Yet still his manhood lay firmly within her sex. The rapist was heavy as she felt him collapsed on top of her. The weight was more than she could bear and she collapsed beneath him, their bodies wet with sweat and stuck together. Apparently asleep or unconscious she knew not which but his strong arm wrapped around her and kept her up to him, his manhood still linked deep within her sex. He snored, his breath stirring her hair. She too was tired and closed her eyes to sleep.

Her eyes flew open at the feel of teeth nibble at her earlobe and she discovered Eistir there, the smell of sex heavy on the woman. Evil eyes looked into hers as vile words poured forth from between her lips like rotten honey.

Not so proud now are we?........Now that you have been fucked, and given your body to the pagan barbarian that raped you Dúnlaith………….like a common whore!

Tears welled in Dúnlaith’s green eyes as Eistir grinned and walked back to the man that had raped the young woman. Despite the fact that she wore no clothes, Eistir walked proud, if not seductively back to the man, the black-haired beauty’s hips swaying.

Her words echoed inside her head. Proud? Had she been guilty of the sin of pride? Why had the nuns not told her? And she had given her body to the Barbarian but she had no choice. Then she remembered the feeling of flying that she had had. Deep down she knew that it was a sin. Realization was ugly and hard to face. She had enjoyed what was done to her. She had in her own way, participated in her own rape. She was no better than these barbarians.

His arms tightened around her, forging a solid link between them as even his manhood refused to leave her sex. Indeed even in sleep he seemed to want to continue the rape, with his hips occasionally pumping against her. Any time that she would open her eyes, she would face Eistir‘s mocking glare and once again tears would well up in her eyes.

*****

None of the people from the nearby dwellings would come to give the nuns any aid, though she was sure that all had seen the smoke from the torching of the convent. Not one. They were truly on their own.

All of the women that had been raped were herded together and taken to a small pond where they were allowed to clean themselves though all of the women were still without clothes. Even during this time, they were not allowed any privacy as a handfuls of the Vikings kept watch over the women. Each woman spent time attempting to clean the blood from between her legs, from around her sex and even matted in the hair that guarded their sex. They realize that the fluid found in their nether regions was usually a mix of blood and seed.

Dúnlaith discovered her sex to be very sore as she carefully cleaned herself. She noticed that some of the women had bite marks or bruises on their body. All of the women only yesterday pious nuns or novices devoted to God we’re now sport for these barbarians. Those women were no more. Now they were afraid, shocked and unsure of their future.

All except Eistir. Where once Dúnlaith had counted Eistir her friend, the woman had changed. The dark-haired woman now laughed and teased the Vikings and easily lay with any man that wished her, though it was usually the invader with the rheumy eye that she coupled with.

For 7 days and 7 nights they stayed at the ruins of the convent. No other man touched her save the man that took her virginity. Several times a day, he would suddenly appear and call her by name, grab her by the wrist, or order her on all fours. That first day after the initial rape, her privates were sore when they had sex. Yet she clenched her teeth and bore it all until eventually her privates adjusted to the intrusions.

The nuns were worried as to what had happened to the older nuns that had been dragged off by some of the invaders. Rumors abound and finally, Dúnlaith gathered her courage and when she saw the barbarian heading towards her, she hoped that the change of subject would be in her favor. To this point, the only time that she had spoken to him was when her had asked her name.

“Sir, may I humbly ask what has happened to our sisters? And may I ask what is to become of those of us left?
 
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Eric would come to Dúnlaith in silence and either drag the ravishing young redheaded beauty by the wrist to the ruins of Mother Superior’s cell where he would take her there on the narrow little cot, until the young novice’s gorgeous young body would betray her and Dúnlaith would scream her sinful ecstasy for all the world to hear, what a wanton little sinner she was. Other times Eric would simple push Dúnlaith to her hands and knees and rut with her as if she was one of the ewes, and he was one of the rams of the flock that she once tend a life time ago.

“Sir, may I humbly ask what has happened to our sisters? And may I ask what is to become of those of us left?”

“Master”

Eric corrected Dúnlaith in Gallic, then repeated it in Norse.

“They have been sold in Cornwall.”

Eric could see the disbelief in Dúnlaith stunning emerald green eyes as she wondered how a Christian Kingdom like Cornwall could buy Holy Women as slaves.

“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.”

It was the most that he had said to Dúnlaith sense he had demanded her name on the first day before he had taken her virginity and claimed her supple body and her young life as his own. Then taking Dúnlaith by the wrist he led the young tawny copper haired beauty, whose hair hung down in ringlets to frame her angelic face with a firry halo, once more towards the ruins of her convent and Mother Superiors cell to take his pleasure from her stunning young body.

“Please me with your body and with your agile young mind Dúnlaith.”

It was clear that Eric was demanding that she become a much more active participant in her own shame and defilement. And as her Lord and Master spoke Dúnlaith could see the wicked, evil, grin that bowed Eistir’s moist ripe lips her hard dark brown eyes meeting Dúnlaith’s soft green eyes as laughter bubbled from Eistir’s lips as she savored her one time friend’s fate.

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Three days later each of the young Nuns and Novices were given one of their drab brown habits to cover their nakedness. Then like Dúnlaith’s sheep they were herded aboard the two Viking ships. They were like no ships that Dúnlaith had ever seen. They were long wide ships, open to the sun and sea the Norse men at their oars. They were pushed off the cobbled strand by the ruins of the convent of Mary Magdalene. The Vikings bent their backs to their oars and the ships seemed to fly across the water. Once they had cleared the headland of the convent’s little island the sail was hoisted, set, and the ship truly became a living thing one with the sea.

A slave collar had been buckled around Dúnlaith slender neck and a leash attached to it. The stunning young beauty was forced to kneel at Eric’s feet as he manned the steering oar on the larboard side of the sleek vessel. Slowly the dragon headed prow of the long ship began to turn towards north as Dúnlaith and her sisters’ island home fade from view astern and they were carried north to the land of the Norse and to a life of sin.
 
Master

He reminded her that she was to call him Master. A word that went against all that she knew. Then he said it in his native tongue, as if teaching her. His next words shocked her.

They have been sold in Cornwall.

How could that be? They were Christian. Yet they purchase nuns from these pagans, these barbarians.

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.

Before she had a chance to ask more, he grabbed her wrist, heading for a place she knew so well. To be committing such blasphemy in such a sacred place tore at her heart, and flushed her body with shame. Every person that they passed knew where they headed, and knew too well what would be expected of her. The nuns and novices looked at her with pity, though they too had been used horribly by many Vikings. It seemed that Dúnlaith had been singled out to be owned by this man. The other Vikings only laughed as they passed, with a few calling out to him in their strange language.

Dúnlaith still found it awkward being naked all the time, as did the other nuns. Any time that they could, attempts were made to sit or stand so that their privates were kept hidden. However, it did not seem to reduce the Vikings interested in them. Only Eistir was different, and the nuns hung their head in shame at the display of this novice’s actions. Eistir could often be found sitting around openly displaying herself. Sometimes she would lay back upon the grass, her legs open, inviting any of the invaders to lay with her. Frequently, it would be the man with the dead eye that would couple with her, their laughter ringing across the courtyard.

Sun poured through the open walls where the invaders had damaged them, leaving cracks and holes in the stone walls. If there was privacy in this place, Mother Margreg’s cell would be the place.

Please me with your body and with your agile young mind Dúnlaith.

She hung her head in shame. Now she was expected to participate. She was glad that it had been only him that had raped her, unlike the others that had been used by any and every Viking that could grab them.

Without touching her, there were two that bothered her. Eistir and the watery-eyed man. Frequently she would turn to find them watching her, laughing and grinning. Or Eistir would come up to her, smelling of sex, and taunt her.

“You are no better than any of us. There is probably already a baby growing within that fine belly of yours. We have all heard your cries of pleasure as your new master took your purity from you. As he frequently uses you, filling your womb with his seed. You are the biggest whore of all of us. You pretend to still be pure. But you are just a whore.”

She looked at him as he waited for her to please him. Eistir words rang in her head. ...But you are just a whore. Yes, she was a whore. And she belonged to this man.

She had seen several of the Vikings use the mouths of the nun to excite them, making their manhood grow. Several had actually made the women swallow their seed though usually they would quickly deposit their seed in the woman’s womb anyway.

Kneeling before him, she lifted his tunic and the undertunic, discovering the belt to his breeches. He watched her as she undid the belt made of animal hide. His manhood pressed against her hands as if eager to be released. As his breeches fell, his manhood sprang free to point at her. The smell of him overwhelmed her and she wanted to run. And yet, her body seemed to know what was expected of it. There was a wetness growing between her legs. Yes, she was a whore. She was his whore.

She was surprised when instead he sat down upon the cot, his manhood pointed straight up from his lap. He took her hand and drew her to stand and come to him. Suddenly she realized his intent. He held her hand as she climbed upon the cot to straddle his lap. She felt her own moisture run down her leg as slowly she descended so that his manhood slid between the folds of her sex, filling that void that she had not known existed until this invader had taken her.

As if dancing an old, secret dance, she began to rise and fall upon his manhood, her hips smoothly moving to that age old beat. His hands lightly spanned her waist as if to add support while she rested her arms upon his shoulders.

...But you are just a whore. Eistir‘s voice echoed in her thoughts and she closed her eyes trying to forget the words. ...But you are just a whore. The man with the watery eye was grinning at her as she found herself going faster, following where her body took her. Panting now, she removed her arms from his shoulders and used them to lift her hair up off the back of her neck, unaware of the figure she made as she rode her Viking, her hips undulating as a sheen covered her skin. Her nipples hardened, turning a dark rosy pink as she rode as if to put distance between her and the demons that tortured her.

*****

When the other Vikings returned, they did not have the older nuns. Dúnlaith had informed her friends while they bathed as to what she had been told had happened to them. They had all cried as they carefully bathed, offering up prayers to God to watch over their dear friends.

The next day, each of the women were given a habit, happy to once again be wearing the brown robes. Then they were herded like the sheep that Dúnlaith had once guarded over, down to the sea where the fearsome ships waited. Large dragons carved from wood seemed to guard the front of each ship. It was scary to be on a vessel that never seemed to be still as it bobbed about like a leaf in a stream. Some of the women screamed in fear but quickly silenced when slapped by the Barbarians. Eistir and the rheumy-eyed man were on the other ship with half of the men and women. There seemed to be no covering, open to the elements. The women were forced to sit in the center of the ship around the post that held huge sails while the invaders sat along the outer edge to pull upon the large oars.

Slowly they pulled away from the only home that she had ever known as they skirted the land before heading out to open sea. Her Master (she cringed inside as she thought it but she realized that she had no choice) buckled a collar around her neck and attached a sort of lead to it. She was led separate from the other women where she was forced to sit at his feet while he handled a different oar. Clearly, she belonged to him alone.

As she faced into the wind, salt tears silently mixed with the salt spray of the sea as the women headed into the unknown.
 
With the long Ships bows swing to the north and the rocky coast of Ireland slowly fading in their wake Dúnlaith and her sisters began their journey into a life of sin and if the truth be told forbidden sinful pleasure.
The tawny copper haired beauty was huddled at the feet of her Master as Eric long oar steered the sleek craft. The ship was like a greyhound of the seas, swift, sure footed, as it raced north. A freshening breeze caught Dúnlaith hair and whipped her tawny copper ringlets about her angelic face. Eric bent down and commanded Dúnlaith to braid her hair tightly. A stern look from his flashing hazel eyes told the girl he would accent no arguments. The sun was high in the sky when a golden haired Norse came to relive Eric. The two men spoke but for a brief few moments as Eric pointed to the sky and then to the sea, the big golden haired Norse apparently grunting his understanding. They spoke in Norse so Dúnlaith had no real understanding of what they said but the big man took the steering oar from her Master.

A little tug on her leash told Dúnlaith to rise from where she had been kneeling at Eric’s feet. The man only waited a few moments for the little redhead to get her sea legs before he led her forward. Eric moistened his finger and held it up to show Dúnlaith how to gage where the wind was coming from. He then spit over the side of the long ship to make sure his spit was carried away from the ship. He hiked up the helm of his shirt and dropped his draws, his but over the side. He had one hand on the gunnels and one hand on the hemp stay that rand forward from the ship mast so he could relieve himself.

“Make sure that the wind and seas carry your waste away from the ship.”

He had shown his little slave how to relive herself and how to steady her so as not to be washed overboard. Dúnlaith heard snickering and saw that even as the men pulled at their oars all eyes were on Dúnlaith. There seemed that even in this most basic bodily function she would have no privacy. Then Eric lead the girl aft, drew her to lay beside him then took his pleasure from her body, under the blanket he had drawn over them.

They were three days out from the Irish coast when one of the young novices from a noble family rose, walked forward as if she was going to relieve herself and the cast herself into the sea. The last anyone saw of her golden sensually flowed with the sea as she sank from sight unable to bear the shame of the life she was now being forced to live.

“I thought your dead god damned those that took their own lives Dúnlaith.”

It was one of the few times that Eric used her name instead of girl]. It was on the sixth day after leaving the ruins of the convent of Mary Magdalene Dúnlaith caught her first sight of the craggy cliffs that were the home of these pagan barbarians. She must have thought that her master had gone insane as he swung the ship’s bow to head right for those towering cliffs. It was almost the last moment before she saw the cut that led to the fjord that would lead to the sheltered harbor where Eric would present Thane Njord with his one tenth of the voyage’s profits. Yet that was still two days off and Eric desired the comfort of Dúnlaith’s supple young body again.
 
The ship picked up speed as it danced and skipped across the water. Several of the women, sick from the constant motion of the ship, ran to throw up over the side among the laughter of the men. The wind whipped at Dúnlaith, stinging her cheeks as her long red curls flew about like a flag in the breeze. Master leaned over and told her to braid her hair, his voice stern and commanding. She nodded and tore a strip from the ragged habit that she wore before carefully making a plait with her hair. She secured it with the torn strip.

After a while on the open sea, another Viking, blond as almost as large as her Master, came up and the two talked. The words were different from her own and she wondered how her Master had come to know her language. In fact, there were one or two others that could speak to the nuns in Gaelic, including the watery-eyed man, though none seem to speak it as well as her Master.

Suddenly Master stood and giving a tug in her leash, bid her to stand. It was strange being on a ship, the movements similar to the men from the settlement that drank too much mead.

After a bit, he led her to the side of the boat where he proceeded to show her how to relieve oneself while on the ship, complete with his example. The other barbarians laughed at her shocked expression and the other women watched horrified. This was added proof as to the barbaric conditions these savages existed in.

Make sure that the wind and seas carry your waste away from the ship.

His words to her were always brief and precise save for when she had asked that question. She wondered how the sisters that had been sold were faring. Though really there was not much difference between them and the women here in these ships. They were all slaves, though she realized that these women here were sex slaves, doomed to be repeated taken, doomed to probably bear these Viking’s children. As the Master had said, these women’s worth lay between their legs.

Another tug on the lead and he led her towards the back of the ship to where he indicated she should lay beside him as he drew a blanket over them. It was welcome as the sea air had a bite to it. He fumbled under the covers and she knew what was next.

He rolled over and shoved up her dress as he got between her legs, the tip of his manhood pressing against her folds. She tried to relax, knowing that she had no say in the matter. Her body, as if understanding the situation, began to produce its now familiar wetness and he slid up inside her to begin pumping in and out. She turned her head to find several of the men watching while the women looked away in shame.

She turned her head the other way and Eistir’s face grinned at her like a ghostly spector. The woman’s voice echoed in her ears. ...But you are just a whore...just a whore...whore.... Yes. She was a whore. His whore.

*****

Shillie was a sweet soul with a talent for being able quote large portions of the Holy Scriptures. She spoke with such reverence about the honor it was to serve God. Never did a cross word pass through Shillie’s lips.

And then the Vikings came and Shillie with her beautiful blonde hair had been a particular favorite of theirs. Every Viking save her Master had used her, and more that once. Sometimes she would not have a chance to lift herself off the grass before yet another man would lay between her legs. Even on the boat, Shillie was usually the one they chose to spill their seed into. She had heard the woman mumble in one of the moments she was left alone. I carry the devil’s child within me. This sin grows within me.. The woman knew that her family would be pained at the outcome of their daughter.

Shillie rose and as if in a trance, walked to the front of the ship to climb on the edge. The women huddled in the center seemed to know. Even Dúnlaith knew and understood as Shillie dove off the side of the ship. As if still in their blessed nave, the women silently said prayers for their sister now lost beneath the waves.

Her Master asked her, I thought your dead god damned those that took their own lives Dúnlaith.

“Perhaps she felt that an Eternity in Damnation was better than what she had endured and what she would be expected to endure here on Earth.”

She thought that she saw surprise in his eyes. They were not expected to have feelings, thoughts or desires. They were merely cattle to these men, with no more worth to them than a bowl to eat food from or a cup full of mead to toast with. But at least now, Shillie was free.

*****

The wind was cooler here when they caught the first sight of this new land. The tall craggy cliffs looked inhospitable. A seemingly perfect match for these inhospitable men.

Yet they headed straight for the cliffs until at the last moment, an opening appeared leading to a hidden sea of sorts. The tug on her leash broke her attention as he led her to the familiar spot on the floor of the ship where he usually threw a blanket over the two of them before climbing between her legs.
 
Fate had not been kind to Dúnlaith or the holy Sisters of the convent of Mary Magdalene . The heat of her Master’s body, his naked flesh pressed to the young redhead’s own naked flesh told her that. And yet fate had been much kinder to Dúnlaith than it had been to the other nuns and novices, Dúnlaith had only one man to please with her youth and gorgeous young body, her Master. The others had to spread their legs for any of the Norse Viking that whished to take their pleasure from their young bodies. Her Master had not required Dúnlaith to please him with her succulent young mouth, as the others were forced to do or to be taken in that most forbidden of places. No Dúnlaith had only to lay with her Master as a wife lay with her husband.

Einar Njord watched the two Long Ships work their way up the fjord. He saw how they rod low in the water and knew that Eric Far Sight’s raid had been a success and from the look of the long ships a very successful raid. He ordered his men to meet the ships and have Eric, and all he had taken brought to his mead hall. Einar was seated at the high table, dressed in bright and richly embroidered tunic, that would be the rival of any court in the south lands. The men and women that gathered there were also richly dressed according to their station. These were no fur skinned barbarians, they were the farthest thing from what the defiled young nuns and novices expected. Einar Njord’s chancellor struck the stone floor of the mead hall three times with his staff of office.

Eric Far Sight bring forth your tribute for Jarl Einar Njord

“Jarl is it Einar?...........So just being Thane of Sjonafjoror is no longer good enough for you………..Now you bend your knee to he that calls himself a king in Bergen………..Come chose your one tenth as agreed.”

Lars one eye had sent word to Einar Njord that they had taken women as well in the raid, young Irish women. Eniar decided to toy with Eric and take from him what he wanted.

What of the women you took?

“Our agreement was that your share would be one tenth of the spoils but no slaves.”

I only agreed to one tenth of the spoils as my share is true but I said nothing about slaves Eric Far Sight.


Eric realized the mistake he had made. The young nuns and novices where pushed forward to stand before Jarl Einar Njord yet it was Eistir supple young body and dark beauty that first drew his eye and he could see the young girl would more than willingly give herself to him. Then his eye fell upon Dúnlaith and her firry tawny copper hair that fell in ringlets framing her angelic face.

”You girl strip I wish to see your body!”

Einar Njord finger was pointing directly at Dúnlaith.
 
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Standing at the dock was a delegation of men. She could see them waiting when they were some distance away and fear and dread filled the women. Was here yet more men that would make use of their bodies? The air was colder here and Dúnlaith wished that she still had her woolen shawl. For a moment, her mind turned back to her days tending her sheep, their soft bleating calling to each other in the morning fog. A time of innocence for all of them.

Upon their arrival, there was much greeting and laughing happening between the men leaving the boats and those on the shore. It was a long procession that walked through the settlement towards a great, long building set in the center of everything. She still wore the collar and the leash and Master periodically would give it a tug, reminding her to keep up with him. The rest of the women were in a huddled mass behind her.

Dúnlaith had never seen a building so rich and large. Thankfully inside it was warmer and there was such a gathering of people inside that Dúnlaith had never seen. Their clothes were rich in embroidery and the quality of fabric. As Dúnlaith had always worn the scratchy, rough brown habit of the nuns, she was mesmerized by the colorful clothes that those gathered wore.

There was an older man that sat upon a throne of sorts with another man standing beside him. With his tall staff, he struck it three times on the stone before him and all conversations ceased.

What was said She knew not though at one point, her Master seemed angry. The women were suddenly pushed forward, and Dúnlaith was frightened when she too was pushed to stand beside the others.

Standing out in front of the group was Eistir, with a smile on her face and her eyes directly upon the apparent leader of these people. She had not seen Eistir since she had been taken with the man with the rheumy eye to the other ship though she had been told that the woman’s conduct had been scandalous as she ran around the ship cavorting freely with any of the men.

The leader suddenly shouted something and she turned to find his bony finger pointing straight at her. She did not know what she had done wrong. Every eye seemed to be on her, the women’s glances filled with pity, and she was unable to read the barbarians’ thoughts.

What had she done wrong? Had she come this far to be killed for some unknown transgressions? In confusion she searched the Vikings looking for her Master. Surely he would help her. Or would he?
 
”You girl strip I wish to see your body!”
Einar Njord, Jarl of Sjonafjoror had commanded Dúnlaith and this greedy little tyrant was use to being obeyed. Eistir could see the lust and hunger in Eniar’s eyes as the little redheaded beauty stood there uncomprehending. The dark haired beauty toyed with the idea of letting him punish Dúnlaith. Yet Eistir wished to see this chaste young beauty publicly humiliated. Eistir turned to Lars One Eye.

“Tell your Lord that she does not speak Norse but I will tell her in her own Gallic his desires.”

There was a malicious twinkle in Eistir’s dark eyes as she turned to Dúnlaith. Now the dark haired beauty spoke no Norse either but she knew what Eniar wanted, it was what they all wanted.

“Dúnlaith he wants you to strip naked and displays your body for him…......”

It was then that Eistir added her own little twist to Eniar’s command.

“……….and to kneel at his feet Dúnlaith with your hands at the nape of your neck, elbows out and your knees spread so he can see all your sweet charms. To see if you will be good enough to become his whore Dúnlaith.”

Eistir knew her word would cut Dúnlaith to her young soul. Eric took a step forward as if to speak but was silenced by Eniar’s raised hand. He was Eric’s Thane and Bergen’s Jarl and they stood in his Mead Hall and so must be obeyed without question. All eyes now turned to tawny copper headed beauty as she stood there blushing crimson as Eistir quite clear what Einar Njord wanted as well as her own desires for the stunning young beauty’s fall from grace.
 
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