Vivienne Takes On The Vikings

by Q. R. Braddock

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  VIVIENNE TAKES ON THE VIKINGS

  First edition. Sep. 14, 2014.

  Copyright © 2014 Q.R. Braddock.

  qrbraddock@gmail.com / @qrbraddock

  http://qrbraddock.com

  Get updates on new stories and other news right in your inbox! Join Q.R. Braddock's Naughty Newsletter at http://qrbraddock.com/newsletter/

  Table of Contents

  Copyright Page

  About This Story

  Vivienne Takes On The Vikings

  Further Reading: Chelsea Takes on the Cable Crew

  Also By Q.R. Braddock

  About the Author

  About This Story

  This story contains explicit sexual content and is intended for adult readers only. It depicts sex between a virgin French village girl of eighteen summers in the middle ages and a whole crew of strong, handsome vikings out to pillage the French countryside. All characters depicted in sexual situations are 18 years of age or older. All sex is unprotected. I mean, it’s the middle ages, after all.

  Exerpt

  “I... want to be free.”

  He nodded, obviously getting the answer he expected. Rising from the crate, he unlaced the the leather strap holding his pants together.

  I gasped. Somehow I hadn’t expected to be doing it right here, right away. Yet they undressed as if it was commonplace to have their way with a woman right out in public. Maybe for them it was, but if what he said about frost was true, I doubted it.

  Rolf looked right at me, making sure he had my attention, and with an eager grin, he let his pants pool around his feet. I gasped.

  Any village girl has seen livestock mate at some point, pretending to be shocked while watching intently. It always seemed so raw, so matter of fact. And it was the closest we came to the act until we found a man, so this was the first time I saw one so exposed. Not quite so large as a horse’s, but it looked monstrous, hard and was pointed right at me.

  It was terrifying and yet, my body reacted the way it wanted, disregarding my mind entirely. The rough wool of my tunic felt even rougher as my nips hardened and rubbed against it. My sex demanded attention, its wetness coating the insides of my thighs.

  Vivienne Takes On The Vikings

  They’re inside!

  Hunched behind a turnip crate in a dank root cellar, I hid, terrified. What had at first seemed like a clever hiding spot was turned into a trap. Only one way out, blocked by two large men in leathers and furs, brandishing long steel swords. I only prayed they hadn’t seen me run in. And that the dust tickling my nose wouldn’t make me sneeze.

  I hardly dared breathe. The two vikings ransacked the cellar, knocking over shelves and rooting through barrels, making me jump with every thump and crash. Were they chasing me? Or just exploring, looking for goods to pillage?

  Their longships had come out of the north like dragons, swooping in over our small village. Under cover of the morning fog and with the wind at their back, they’d made landfall before we could rally a defense. Not that we had much chance against hardened warriors. We ran for our lives and hid where we could. I hoped the others had found better boltholes than I had.

  Whimpers threatened to bubble forth and it was all I could do to force them down. Not the time to panic or get hysterical, much as my chest tightened and my eyes watered. This was my one chance. If they didn’t find me, it was unlikely they’d return, and there’d be time for crying later.

  If I lived.

  The two vikings laughed and bantered in their harsh tongue while they turned the cellar upside down. At ease, they didn’t sound like they were on the hunt. Maybe I was lucky. Or maybe they were just discussing what to do when they found me.

  Something crashed to the ground just on the other side of my turnip crate. I started, drawing a sharp intake of breath. Had they heard? My nails dug into my palms as my fists went tight. If not my breath, they surely heard my heart galloping. Its rapid beats thundered in my ears. I pressed my back flush to the old wood, wishing I could disappear.

  A yell from the cellar entrance called their attention. One of them responded and there was a short exchange. Some laughter. And then their footsteps were fading rather than approaching, heading for the stairs.

  I was going to make it. They were leaving and I might just survive after all. Could I really have been that lucky? Holding my breath, I waited, not quite believing it. I wasn’t safe yet, but if they’d given up on the root cellar, I could wait them out.

  They started up the steps, and I finally released my breath. But when I drew back in, it was as if all the dust in the room followed, right up my nose. My eyes went wide in terror when I realized I couldn’t stop it.

  It was a quiet sneeze, held back as much as I could. The dirty cellar did much to deaden the sound. Maybe they hadn’t heard. Maybe I hadn’t just thrown away my one chance of getting out of this unscathed. The urge to cry was stronger than ever.

  I waited. And waited. No footsteps sounded on the tightly packed dirt floor. No angry voices. Had they left? It seemed quiet. My shallow breaths quivered, and my head pounded in time with my heart.

  There were tales of what vikings did to maidens like me, and none of them good. I was still young. Only eighteen summers. It couldn’t end like this, it just couldn’t.

  A big hand grabbed my ponytail and I screamed as it yanked me painfully to my feet. Its owner spun me around, and I was face to chest with one of the biggest men I’d ever seen. Up close, he towered over me like a bear.

  Knowing it was all over, I no longer bothered to hold back the tears. This was it. I was done for.

  With practiced ease, he turned me and threw me face down over the crate I’d used for cover, the wooden frame digging into my waist. Unable to resist, I only waited in fear. My hands were pulled to behind my back and quickly and efficiently tied off with thick, scratchy rope. Well trussed up, I was returned to my feet, where I got my first good look at him.

  Broad and shirtless, he was covered in muscle and scars, and his strong arms were encircled by thick metal bands. Vikings were supposed to have horns coming through their helmets, but his head was bare save for long, blond hair which he’d tied off in a tail. His face was handsome, framed by a neatly braided beard. There was no doubt he was dangerous, but he looked less the wild barbarian than I’d been led to believe he’d be.

  Then again, he’d just thrown me over a crate and bound me.

  He grinned, and where the tales prepared me for pointed fangs, I saw only normal, human teeth. The beard hid his age, but the many scars showed this was far from his first battle. Yet there was a twinkle in his steel blue eyes that made him seem young, perhaps not so much older than me.

  Under a different light, I might have found him attractive. Even now, standing so close, his scent was heady and masculine. The bare skin of his chest, lightly covered in reddish-blond curls, looked made to rest my head on. His tight leather pants did little to hide the bulge within them. My mind was terrified, but my body was already preparing for something else, equally primal.

  He examined me as I did him, then reached toward my face. I tried to pull back, but there was nowhere to go. With a big calloused thumb he wiped the tears off my face while he said something in his language. It had a singsongy tone when they weren’t yelling.

  “Vidar!” A deep voice called from the stairs. Another man stood there, dressed similarly, but his hair and complexion darker. After rattling off several syllables in their strange tongue, he gestured for us to follow.

  Vidar, if that was indeed a name, indicated for me to walk in front. Trapped, I could only obey.
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  Daylight burned my eyes when we emerged from the dark cellar. The fog had thinned and the sun was breaking through, giving me a clear view of the shore. Along it were five longships, pulled right up on the beach, the square sails furled and the dragons at the bows glaring menacingly. A mass of strong men loaded crates and sacks of loot aboard, sweat rolling off their bare chests.

  To one side was a group of raiders, gathered around a tall viking wearing a pelt of some exotic animal over his bare shoulders. With gestures and short commands, he dispatched the men around him while listening to others as they returned. This was obviously the heart of the raid and the man who led it. It was towards him Vidar brought me.

  My guardian called out as we came close. “Rolf!” It might have been a name, or a title. Or just a greeting.

  The tall man turned his head and, spotting us, pressed his way past his little court. “Vidar.”

  He acknowledged his crewman, but his eyes were squarely on me. Deep rich blue, they were the most amazing eyes I’d ever seen. It was as if they stared right into my soul. Would he understand it? Did vikings even have souls? The priests never really brought that up.

  I took in the rest of him. Like the others, scars criss-crossed his exposed skin. Not one to lead from the back, this one. His thick red-blond hair was long and tied back with dark leather strips, while he wore his beard cropped short. Such coloring was unusual here, and it was difficult not to stare. It continued down across his massive chest towards his bulging leather pants. I blushed furiously.

  They exchanged some syllables and laughed. I had the uneasy feeling they were talking about me. Had I become a gift? Maybe I was to be the chief’s slave. Would he want to...? My eyes went wide as my imagination ran wild.

  “Girl.”

  Several moments passed before I realized he’d addressed me in my own language. His accent was thick, as if he struggled to make the right sounds, but it was understandable.

  “Y... yes?” My voice trembled like the rest of me. Bigger still than my captor, the chief was terrifying.

  His brows furrowed in concentration and he pointed to himself. “Rolf.” He looked at me expectantly before repeating himself. “Rolf.” Then he pointed to me.

  An exchange of names? Why would he care? What did I have to lose? “Vivienne.”

  “Vivi.” He shortened my name and I wasn’t about to argue. He could call me anything he wanted so long as he didn’t hurt me.

  “Vidar says... fagr.”

  I couldn’t come close to pronouncing the last word, much less understand it.

  “Fagr. Fagr.” He mumbled the word to himself before his face suddenly lit up. “Pretty! Vidar says pretty!” His laugh was a rumble deep in his chest, his grin broad. Had I not been bound in the middle of a viking raid, it might have seemed friendly.

  He thought I was pretty? Apparently my blush amused them as they pointed and laughed at my involuntary reaction. I had no idea what to say.

  “Vidar wants... take girl. Home.”

  His words sank in and I panicked. They were going to take me away, up into the cold north. I would die alone, the plaything of some hairy marauder, and never see anyone I knew again. I couldn’t do it.

  I ran.

  They couldn’t have expected it, since it took several seconds before I heard their heavy footsteps behind me, coupled with more laughter. They could outrun me on the best of days, and with my arms tied, it was hopeless.

  Rolf picked me up like I weighed nothing and threw me over his shoulder. Though I kicked and screamed, I felt more like a petulant child than a grown woman in his huge arms. I wanted to hit him, but with my arms tied I couldn’t even do that.

  He spoke in his own tongue, but the tone transcended languages. He chided me while he laughed, as if I was just a naughty little girl. My cheeks burned in humiliation and anger. How dared he? I renewed my kicking, which only made him laugh harder.

  A massive hand connected with my backside, a sharp pain that took my breath away. I was too surprised to scream. Did he just...? It happened again, and I squealed that time. He did!

  Spanking me as he carried me back, he gave me my due punishment for trying to run. Thwack after thwack made my bottom burn as if I wasn’t wearing my tunic at all. It was all too much, and I began to sob. Hearing his crew laugh with him as he carried me back didn’t make it any less humiliating.

  He put me back on the ground amidst his men and gestured to a crate as if I were able to sit after the tanning he’d given me. When I pointedly remained standing, he grinned knowingly and shrugged as if to say suit yourself, then took it for himself.

  Rolf, Vidar and the others proceeded to have an animated discussion over my head. I didn’t understand a word, but every so often they gestured in my direction, so I assumed it had to do with me. It got heated, especially between Rolf and Vidar, but they seemed to settle on something before turning back to me.

  “Vivi.” Rolf’s shortening of my name would have been endearing had he not been a marauding viking that had just pillaged my home. “Spirit! I like. But Vivi is... blóm.” He thought for a moment. “Flower! Vivi is flower.”

  I had no idea what he was on about. He looked frustrated, as if he had something important to tell me, but didn’t have the words.

  “Vidar take home flower. But home is frost. Flower dies.”

  Was he telling me I was doomed? Anger built, bubbling up from my gut. If he was so damned worried, couldn’t he just leave me here then? “Then why...”

  He held up a hand, interrupting me. “We bargain.”

  “What do I have that you would possibly want?”

  “Pretty.” He put a rough, battle-worn hand on my cheek and stroked softly. “We sailed long. No women.”

  The meaning sank in and I reeled back, right into Vidar. “You want me to... with you?” I hoped my look was as incredulous as I felt.

  “With me. With men. Vidar first.”

  All of them? I looked around at the men around us. They were a rough bunch, all of them tall and strong. I was surrounded like a baby lamb by a pack of wolves. Vidar’s hands already stroked up and down my arms.

  “And then what? What happens to me?”

  “Vivi free. Vidar sad.” The men who’d gathered around us laughed and a couple patted Vidar on the back.

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Come home. Frost and Vidar.”

  What a choice. Either give up my maidenhood to a crew of rough vikings, or follow one of them to his home in the north and probably die alone in the cold. There was no decision really, but it was difficult to say the words.

  “I... want to be free.”

  He nodded, obviously getting the answer he expected. Rising from the crate, he unlaced the the leather strap holding his pants together.

  I gasped. Somehow I hadn’t expected to be doing it right here, right away. Yet they undressed as if it was commonplace to have their way with a woman right out in public. Maybe for them it was, but if what he said about frost was true, I doubted it.

  Rolf looked right at me, making sure he had my attention, and with an eager grin, he let his pants pool around his feet. I gasped.

  Any village girl has seen livestock mate at some point, pretending to be shocked while watching intently. It always seemed so raw, so matter of fact. And it was the closest we came to the act until we found a man, so this was the first time I saw one so exposed. Not quite so large as a horse’s, but it looked monstrous, hard and was pointed right at me.

  It was terrifying and yet, my body reacted the way it wanted, disregarding my mind entirely. The rough wool of my tunic felt even rougher as my nips hardened and rubbed against it. My sex demanded attention, its wetness coating the insides of my thighs.

  With my gaze on Rolf, I didn’t even see which of the vikings lifted my tunic and pulled it over my head, but with nothing underneath, I was suddenly nude to the elements, exposed to all who wanted to see. The warmth of my flush spread, barely countered by the cool breeze off
the ocean that washed over me, raising goosebumps and making my already firm nipples like pebbles.

  The tunic caught on my bound wrists, but someone pulled a dagger and sliced it apart. I wanted to fret, since it was one of only three, but before this was over, I was sure it would be the least of my worries.

  Vidar moved closer and I felt his manhood press against my back, its tip brushing across my tied hands. My curiosity took over, and I wanted to grip it, to feel it between my fingers. His hands came around and cupped my breasts, squeezing the soft flesh and pinching the hard tips.

  I moaned, and we’d barely begun. Already my body betrayed me, making the men laugh. They had to think me the village tramp. Part of me waited for this to be over, while another was eager for it to begin.

  Rolf pushed over the crate he’d sat on and they lowered me onto it, bent forward and my knees in the grass. Vidar was going to take me from behind, like the animals do. It didn’t matter. My humiliation was complete regardless.

  I felt the tip touch my folds and only briefly entertained the notion of squeezing my legs together. It would only prolong the ordeal. Vidar made some comment that set the men chuckling while he slid himself up and down along my slit until he found what he was looking for. He pushed gently, then stopped when he felt the resistance. His comment sounded surprised and was followed by a cheer. At least they appreciated what I was giving them.

  Wrapping his long fingers around my little waist, he held me in place and pushed. It stung when he broke through my barrier and I cried out. The men cheered again, knowing I’d been deflowered.

  Ignoring my cry, Vidar pushed deeper, opening my virgin sex in a single long stroke. The fit was so tight I felt every vein on his large cock as it slid into me. If they were all built like him, I wasn’t going to be able to walk afterwards.

  The initial pain faded. There was discomfort, but by the time his hips pressed against the backs of mine, it had almost vanished, replaced by an immense fullness. It was difficult to believe there was enough room within me to hide him away, but I had.