I did have these up a while ago, but took them down for various reasons including a bit of proofreading! Hopefully you guys enjoy them, the other parts will be linked here as I put them up. ;)

And yes, these get very wordy - sorry, just my style! I promise I will be writing stuff more, er...to the point, in future.

Esla paused the movements of her loom for a second, listening intently. She looked out through the open doorway to the village beyond. Nothing unusual met her gaze. The same dusty pathway, the wooden house opposite of her neighbour, a dog snuffling around in the dirt. The wind gently blew inside, rippling the top of the fabric Esla was halfway through weaving, bringing with it the scent of summer flowers. Laughter came from somewhere in the distance, a cockerel's shriek cutting through the soft air.

But there was another sound, distant. As though it would hone her hearing, Esla frowned and narrowed her eyes, straining to catch it again. It was a yell, something out of place. The tone of it was wrong. More noise slid in on the wind, and her eyes opened widened with understanding. The bells from the church began to ring out, a sharp, panicked toll that clashed with the still summer afternoon. The dog snapped its head up and gave a single short bark, before sprinting off out of sight.

Weaving forgotten as yells and shouts rang out from the village, Esla jumped up and made towards the door, her weft needle sliding to the floor. She paused, turning back to stare into the room beyond as her hand hesitated on the doorframe. The cries of the invaders grew louder. Esla's eyes darted around, finally settling on a small knife by her cooking pot, a blade still covered in vegetable peelings. It would have to do. She turned and snatched it up, shoving it into her belt before making her way back to the door.

Outside was chaos. Everyone was yelling, running, shouting and pulling along children and livestock. The people of the village were all racing towards the main keep of the Burh, but it was nearly unthinkable that the outer walls would fall to the invaders. They were thick, strong stakes of wood, and taller than most of the buildings inside. Esla looked back over her shoulder, taking in nothing but the quiet, dusty street behind. Swinging her head back, she broke into a run towards the keep, but something made her falter and slow for a split second, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.

The clang of metal and shocked cries came from up ahead. It sounded as though it was only a few buildings over. Cold ran through Esla’s veins as she realised the path to the keep was now blocked by Vikings attacking the village. Her stomach dropped as panic set in, and a prickle of sweat slid down her spine. The sun was suddenly too warm, disorientating against the fear setting in, and her gaze settled on a nearby barn. There was straw inside, sacks - places to hide. Esla didn't think too much about the reasons why, instead picking up the long skirt of her green woollen tunic and sprinting across. She didn't stop to check if anyone saw her running, bursting open the doors of the barn. Esla slammed them shut behind her, pausing for a moment as she pulled in a shuddering breath, scanning the space before her. Piles of sweet-smelling dried hay covered the floor, a stack of unused sacks to one side. They looked too flat, too obvious. It would have to be the hay.

Esla bunched her skirt into her fists and ran across to the far end of the barn, shafts of sunlight playing through the gaps in the timbers. She skidded over the floor and dived into a heap of straw, exhaling under her breath as she pulled the grass around herself. The singing of steel and bloodthirsty cries continued outside, and Esla was so focused on the sounds, that at first, she didn't notice the shadow cast across the floor. Stifling a gasp as her eyes fell on the movement, Esla ducked further into the pile of hay, peering out through the strands. Someone was stood in front of the barn doors, blocking out the thin ribbons of sunlight.

One of the doors creaked upon opening. Deliberately slowly. Esla's heart thundered against her ribs so hard she was sure it would be heard outside her chest. Heavy footsteps made their way casually across the floor of the barn, and the arm, leg and side of a tall man came into view. He held out a double-axe in his hand, casually twirling it. Esla bit her lip and tried hard not to make noise despite the dizzying sensation of fear that overwhelmed her.

"Komdu hingað, litla kanína. Ég sá þig koma inn." His rumbling voice was dark and ominous.

She swallowed carefully, nervous of even breathing and shifting the thin straws of hay. While she couldn't understand the words, it was clear from the warrior's playful, warning tone he wasn't checking for what the weather might be. There were a few beats as Esla waited for him to leave, and finally the man spun around. She heard his footsteps heading back towards the doors, and she briefly closed her eyes, trying not to let out an audible gasp. Unfortunately, the movement shifted the hay enough to cause a disturbance in the air, and the footsteps halted. Ice struck Esla’s veins as she realised the man was storming towards her position, her limbs trembling.

Before she could think of a way to escape, back out, or otherwise run and hide, a large hand reached through the golden strands and grabbed hold of her shoulder, yanking her free of the haystack and throwing her to the floor. Esla let out a cry, her hair covering her eyes as she scrambled to both get to her feet and shift backwards out of the reach of the man striding towards her. He watched her movements without taking a step forwards, laughing coldly as she stumbled.

Her back hit one of the wooden posts holding the barn roof, and pain danced along her shoulder blade where it had connected with the hard edge. Remembering the knife tucked into her belt, Esla felt with clammy, trembling fingers to grab it as once more she was dragged to her feet. The warrior dragged her a few feet to the wall, slamming her up against it and drawing her eyeline to his chin. Esla dared to raise her eyes a few inches more, taking in the face of her attacker. He was dressed in a blue tunic padded and trimmed with fur, and dark trousers, no different to what the men in her village might have worn, but the similarities ended there. Instead of the iron helmet she had seen on others of his kind, a wolf fur covered the warrior's head and shoulders, the chin of the animal resting on his forehead and casting his face into shadow, although she could make out two ice-blue eyes watching her darkly. The protective clothing hid lean muscle and strength that she could feel in the grip on her arm, the Viking's other arm slung through the back of a wide round shield made of wood, wolves and ravens painted on its surface. Leather cuffs were wrapped around his wrists, both engraved with intricate swirling designs. He exuded authority and power.

Esla's fingers connected with the small vegetable knife in her belt, and she pulled it out as fast as she was able, pushing it wildly through the air towards her attacker. But he was faster. She gave a cry as he swiftly dropped his shield with a dull thud, using his spare hand to grab her wrist and squeeze it tightly. His iron grip never loosened, and he shook his hand, forcing Esla to drop the blade. The shield trembled for a moment, spinning until it stopped with a sudden halt.

"Heldurðu að litli hnífurinn þinn muni hræða mig?"

Despite her predicament, Esla scowled and shook her head violently. "I don't speak Viking, you stupid swine!"

The Viking chuckled, leaning in close to her face. His masculine scent surrounded Esla, and she swallowed at his proximity. "I know," he whispered in his thick accent. "But I speak yours, little Angle."

Her eyes widened. His icy eyes never left her face as the realisation there was no communication problem between them sank in. The screams and roars of battle thundered on outside, and the fear of whether her fellow villagers were alive or dead made Esla's mouth go dry. In case she had forgotten the small knife now tossed onto the hay-strewn floor, the Viking let go of one of her hands and reached for the weapon at his side, a long-handled, lethal-looking axe. In a warning, he gave it a single deft swing without dropping it, the air parting by Esla's side with a low whistle.

She was unable to hold back a whimper, and she glanced back at her attacker with a horrified glance. Was he going to kill her? Was this how she went to meet her God, with a Viking cutting her up with an axe? He held her gaze for a long second, the space between them so close she could feel his warm breath tickling against her lip. The sensation was confusing in all the chaos, and something about the intimacy of it made her lower stomach clench. To her surprise, she felt the urgent hold on her arm melt away, and it took Esla a moment to realise the Viking had let go of her. He took a step back, staring her down with a dark, sensual smile that curled his lip at one side. He pointed towards her, giving a single gesture with his head. "Strip."

Esla's head felt fuzzy with panic, and she shook her head as though she hadn't heard her attacker correctly. "Wh...what?"

"Strip. Your clothing. Remove it."

It made no sense. Vikings killed, or they raped. And when they raped, they didn't seem to care about clothes being on. Esla had been unfortunate enough to hear about this from survivors who had made it to her village from elsewhere. A cold sweat set in, and she protectively wrapped her arms around her chest, already feeling as though he could see straight through the woollen fabric. "I...I don't want to," she managed to stutter out, not quite brave enough to meet her attacker's gaze. She already knew it wouldn't help.

The Viking didn't lose his cool for a moment. He chuckled again, giving another sinister swing of his axe. "Either you remove your clothes, or I do. With my axe."

Esla's wide eyes settled on the wickedly sharp blade, a warm stream of sunlight sliding through the gaps in the barn walls and glinting off its edge. She shivered. Forcing her trembling hands to move, she reached for her belt first, fumbling with the buckle. Esla licked her dry lips, managing to unclick the buckle and letting the leather belt slide to the ground with a soft thump. Next came the buckles holding her apron to her underdress, and she missed the catch three times before undoing the first one. The Viking gave an impatient but soft growl, making her look up towards him. The pure hunger in his eyes sent an unexpected thrill through her, and she couldn't help the low gasp that escaped her lips. What is the matter with me? Why am I excited by this? Esla hurriedly looked away and concentrated on the second brooch, throwing it to one side and allowing her apron to fall off and join her belt.

The only garment between herself and nakedness was her underdress, held together at the shoulders and sleeves by a simple string. She paused, anxiety gripping her in place again. Her attacker took a half-step forward, and Esla looked downwards to avoid his gaze. She wished she hadn't. A clear bulge was forming at the top of his trousers, and while she hadn't lain with more than a few men without her family being aware, Esla understood what it was. Her attention snapped back to the present as the Viking placed a firm hand around the base of her throat, not hard enough to squeeze, but enough to push her against the wall behind. "I did not tell you to stop."

Reasoning left Esla's mind, and she began trying to struggle against his hold, her hands pushing against his arm. "But, please, I'll be naked! Why do you want me naked?"

The Viking gave a soft, surprised grunt. "Are the women here so inexperienced, then? Don't you know why a man would want you naked?"

Esla swallowed, licking her lips again. They seemed constantly dry. She didn't miss her attacker's long glance as her tongue flicked out. "I...I didn't think Vikings cared. I thought they j-just...you know..." her voice faded out to almost a whisper, unable to finish her sentence. A tear formed at the corner of her eye, and she blinked it away quickly.

"Is that so?" Taking his hand away from her throat, Esla's attacker seemed to mull something over in his mind as he raked his gaze over her form. He trailed a thumb over her bottom lip, leaning in and moving his mouth next to her ear. His scent filled Esla's nostrils again, and she found herself sniffing it deeply. He smelled like the salty sea air. "I personally like to take my time. To savour every inch of soft, quivering body. To find out all the places your heart skips a beat when I touch it. To taste the fear on your very skin." He flicked his tongue out, trailing it lightly against Esla's neck. She fluttered her eyes shut at the unexpected sensation, biting back a gasp. The grip against her throat tightened for a moment as the Viking's tongue disappeared, replaced by the dark promise whispered in her ear, "To fuck you until you scream, perhaps beg for mercy. To possess every hidden part of you that others haven't touched."

This time Esla couldn't hold back the whimper that escaped her throat, her cheeks heating up at his words. No one had ever spoken to her like this before, and it didn't help that it sparked a fire in her belly, the soft place between her legs clenching eagerly at his promise. Then his warmth was gone as he took a step back. This time there was no gesture, only the words, "Now, strip."

Try not to be afraid. Perhaps he will be gentle. But his promise told Esla that wouldn't be the case. With downcast eyes, face burning with shame, she reached up for the string on her left shoulder that held that side of her underdress together. With fumbling fingers, she managed to undo it, tugging at the fastening until it came out of each eyelet, revealing more of her arm underneath. She repeated the action with her other shoulder, and finally let her dress slide to the ground. She went to cover herself up, but a firm shake from the Viking's head stilled her hands.

He strode across, the fingers of his hand dancing across her shoulder as he looked her body up and down. "Vakker." He grinned, remembering his captive couldn't speak his language. "Beautiful."

The compliment made Esla's insides do that confusing flip again, squeezing against the cold fear that still froze her to the spot. No one had ever complimented her before, at least not on her body. Weaving skills, or her singing voice, yes...but she had assumed she was fairly uninteresting in other ways. Other women her age were already married off, the ones with long hair the colour of ripened corn, waists that dipped in and flowed out to large, rounded hips. Esla's shape was straighter than theirs, although her breasts and bum still generously curved out, her hair an auburn brown against her pale skin.

The hand trailed down her back, leaving a tingling path in its wake. The Viking's hand reached down the curvature of her behind, and Esla's breath hitched as she felt the rough fingers cupping a cheek and squeezing hard. She squirmed uncomfortably and tried to edge away. A second later, the hand pulled back and came down hard in a stinging slap. Unable to prevent herself from jerking forward, Esla gave a gasp somewhere between shock and annoyance, casting a sideways glance at the warrior. He wasn't smiling anymore. Lowering his voice, he explained, "Stay-fucking-still. If you can't stay still, I'm going to get angry. Understand? I want to look at my prize."

Esla didn't really understand, but she nodded all the same. Staring straight ahead, she tried not to move as the Viking stepped closer. There was a soft, rustling movement as he took the wolf skin off his head, revealing his face in the light. He was angular and battle-worn, a thin scar running down the left side of his face and crossing over his eye. It didn't prevent him from having a certain rugged charm. His hair was cut short, but a few long strands had been left and plaited down one side. She swallowed as his hand moved in front of her face for a moment, stroking back a few errant strands of hair from her cheek. As she twitched away from the movement, Esla didn't sense the hand behind her rising into the air - before coming back down hard on her arse cheek. "Argh!" That one stung. But more surprising was the tingling warmth that followed it across her skin. It was quickly followed up by a stinging slap on her cheek as she forced herself back into position.

The Viking only gave a low growl in warning this time. Esla squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed. She snapped them open with another shriek as the hand slapped down again, over the same spot. The confusing ache returned as the warrior rubbed his palm softly over the place he had hit, almost tender in his movements. Esla squeezed her brows together in confusion. Did it feel...good? It made no sense. Being hit hurt. It shouldn't make her want to push her bottom out further. Realising he had gone quiet, Esla darted her gaze up towards his face, breathing hard and glancing away again as she saw the expression on his face. He was watching her carefully, one eyebrow raised as he smirked at her reaction. "Oh." A low, rumbling chuckle. "That's not really making you stop moving, is it?" His mocking tone only added to the wet patch growing between her legs, and her head felt too fuzzy to work out the reason why. “Could it be you’re enjoying this? You like it when a stranger does this to you?”

Esla's cheeks burned with embarrassment. Hoping still to prevent him in some way, she tried once more to connect on some level with him. "Please, I...what's your name?" She didn't recognise her own voice. It shook with an emotion she couldn't name.

The Viking looked for a moment as though he would refuse her request, stalking around Esla like a predator surveying his prey. Something in his face softened, though. "Ulfvaldr."

"Ulf...Ulfvaldr," Esla repeated. His eyes darkened as she repeated his name.

She tried to cover herself again, and this time Ulfvaldr really did let out an irritated snarl. Snatching up her wrists, he forced them above her head, spinning her around and pressing her into the barn wall. Her cheek pressed against the coolness of the wood, only a terrified squeak leaving her lips as the Viking smacked his hand once more against her behind. Something inside her finally pushed for her to flee, to run, but he held her fast, preventing any movement from his hand. Another blow. Another. She could hear the excited grunts coming from her attacker as his palm landed squarely against her flesh, hitting perfectly on top of already burning skin. Esla didn't bother trying to be quiet, letting out a scream for each smack. But even she had to admit the screaming wasn't all from pain. Every hit sent a tingling sensation running deep into her body, the pain melting into something else. The core of her very being was becoming more confused and heated by the minute. Pain. Pleasure. Shame. Aroused. His voice snarled into her ear, "No. Covering. Yourself. Did I not fucking explain that well enough?"

Ulfvaldr picked up speed, smacking harder and faster, his breathing matching his strokes. Smack. Smack. Smack. Harder. More, whispered a seductive voice in her head. Every hit ignited her skin and the sensation building between her legs. Her pussy throbbed against her will at Ulfvaldr's relentless demand for her submission. Esla's screams became more throaty, until at last she let out a soft moan in a needy, laden voice she didn't recognise as her own. The Viking pressed his body against her back, nipping at her earlobe as he whispered, "Needy little Anglish whore, aren't you? I haven't even tried to fuck you yet, and already you're moaning for me."

"I didn't mean to." Her head felt foggy and distant. She knew Ulfvaldr's words should anger her, but the confused puddle of her body's sensations covered up any sense she had, and they only turned her on more. "I just...the smacking, it confused me. It…" She hesitated, biting her lip. Did she dare admit it out loud? Whatever was happening here, her attacker seemed to want her to enjoy it. “It felt…good,” she finally whispered, closing her eyes.

Ulfvaldr gave a satisfied growl at her words. "Good. It fucking turned me on." His rough hand rubbed over the heated skin of her behind again, gently squeezing it. "You should see yourself, so beautiful, all undone like this. Offering yourself up for me like a wanton little slut." he gave another slap on her bottom, eliciting another moan from Esla. She stopped caring about what was happening outside, what she was meant to do. There was only this moment and the man stood behind her. Moisture crept between her thighs, and she squeezed them together, pushing back into Ulfvaldr's body. It felt firm and powerful, and his sea-like scent wrapped around her. His tongue flicked out again and snaked across her throat. "I'm going to devour you."

Esla trembled against the Viking at her back, breathing heavily as he turned her to face him, still holding her hands above her head. She pulled at them to test whether she might free herself, and a thrill ran through her as Ulfvaldr's grip tightened against her wrists. He glared down at her as she wriggled under his grasp, letting out nothing but a dismissive snort of derision at her attempts. Not knowing where she found the courage, eyes flashing with momentary fire, Esla managed to spit out, "Do your worst, Viking."

Amusement passed over Ulfvaldr's face for a moment. He fixed his gaze on her, daring her to speak again. "That's quite the challenge, litla kanína…little rabbit." His voice had gone soft and low, the danger in it raising the hairs on Esla's neck. "But I think I can rise to it. Especially with how wet I know you already are."

Esla's breath hitched as she shook her head, her cheeks feeling as though they would burst into flame at any moment. Were all Vikings this direct with their words? "I'm not...w...w..." She lowered her head. She couldn't even say the words.

Ulfvaldr leaned in close, brushing her lips against hers without quite taking them in a kiss. "Wet?" He breathed in deeply near Esla's throat, whispering, "Even if you can't say it, I know you're wet. Both of us do." Keeping her wrists locked together under one large hand, Ulfvaldr reached down with the other and pushed a finger inside her before she could even think about stopping him. Esla's eyes opened wide, but she could only moan as Ulfvaldr pushed another finger inside her, her legs nearly buckling. All the sensation pooling at the base of her stomach rushed down to where he touched her, her entire lower body aching in response. The Viking pulled his fingers back out, coated in her juices. Holding her gaze, he put his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean, grinning at her shocked expression. “You taste like nectar.”

Esla squirmed, not knowing where to look. His comment aroused her further, but she didn’t know where he was going with this. The last five minutes had taught her that the fumbles she had previously had with young men in the village were hopelessly, uselessly inexperienced, and she had no idea what to do next. Esla glanced up again, nearly melting under the penetrative gaze of Ulfvaldr. It was like he could pin her against the wall with just one look. “I don’t know what to do,” she managed.

That smirk returned, and there was a click as Ulfvaldr released the brooch holding his tunic on one side, before moving to the other. The tunic slid down to join the mass of clothes already on the floor, revealing his battle-worn upper body. Scars and red lines criss-crossed over his body, strength apparent in the way he moved towards her. “Then it’s lucky I don’t want you to think. Just do as you’re told.” The Viking lifted her chin with one finger, forcing her to look at him. This time, he did bend down to her lips, capturing them firmly in a passionate kiss. Esla made a soft sound in response, and Ulfvaldr slid his hand down to rest tightly against her throat, deepening the kiss as he sank his tongue into her mouth. She trembled against him, the kiss buckling her against her attacker and leaving her no choice but to press her hands against his chest for balance. The kiss was dark and possessive, leaving Esla with no uncertainty that her attacker was going to take exactly what he wanted from her.

And the thought made her insides throb with need.

Breaking the kiss, breathing hard, Ulfvaldr snapped his fingers to point at the floor. “Kneel.”

Esla glanced down at the ground in fear. “Wh-“

“I told you not to think. Kneel. I won’t tell you again.”

His tone was a warning. Moving slowly, Esla forced herself down into a kneeling position in front of the Viking, placing her hands on her lap, the fingers working themselves together nervously. Her panic grew worse when she realised Ulfvaldr was undoing the string that held his trousers together, and she shook her head. “Wait, I don’t know how to-“

“Well, now you’re about to learn,” Ulfvaldr hoarsely replied, allowing his trousers to fall away, revealing his fully naked body to Esla.

She blinked as she forced herself to confront what she knew waited in front of her. His cock was fully erect, about the same length as others she had briefly seen, but thicker than them too. It shuddered with the pulse going through it, the end already shiny with precum. Esla felt her pussy flutter at the sight, and she squeezed her thighs together in reaction, covering the mound of curling hair above with her hands. Panic rose in her stomach. She wasn’t being entirely honest; she did understand what he wanted her to do. Not that she had any experience. She had seen friends occasionally doing the act while keeping watch for them in their youth before they were married, but that was all. It looked uncomfortable.

Ulfvaldr waited patiently, smiling as he watched the cogs turning in his captive’s brain. “Just start by licking it, little rabbit.”

I can manage that. I think. Esla had stopped questioning the why of what she was doing. It felt right, even if she was technically being…what was the Viking doing? Pushing the thought from her mind, Esla stuck out her tongue and tentatively pressed it against the flesh of Ulfvaldr’s cock, her breathing shallow. She could feel sticky wetness between her legs again, the excitement of her position doing it more than anything else. She hadn’t expected its warmth – the ones the few youths had hurriedly shoved inside her were there for such a short time she didn’t get a chance to comprehend them – or the sharp gasp Ulfvaldr gave as she touched him. Slowly, she dragged her tongue from the base to the tip, nervously flicking out across the slick, glistening end. It tasted salty, and wrapped with the sea air scent he seemed to carry, Esla wanted more of it. She couldn’t help wondering if the rest of his skin tasted the same, and she had an urge to reach up and find out. Her tongue moved faster, eliciting more groans and noises from the warrior above her.

A hand suddenly snaked down and fisted itself in her hair, and Esla felt her head being pulled backwards for a moment. She cried out, but the sensation of her hair being tugged only added to the arousal pooling in her centre. Ulfvaldr’s expression was primal, his eyes dark with lust as he gazed down at her. “Such a good fucking girl, doing as I tell you,” he snarled. “Open your mouth now.”

Fear spiralled through Esla again, and she pressed her sweating palms together at his words, but she could feel herself melting at the praise. Giving a whimper as he gently tugged further on her hair for her to obey, Esla obediently opened her mouth wide, uncertain of what came next. The straw beneath her legs dug uncomfortably into them. Ulfvaldr took a single step, closing the small gap between them. He fixed his gaze on Esla, using his grip to pull her head exactly where he wanted it, so she had to look at him. “I want you to suck my cock now, understand? And I want you to look at me the entire time, little rabbit.” His voice roughened as he added with a chuckle, “I want to see the moment you taste me at the back of your throat.”

Esla didn’t get a chance to protest, her words muffled as he slid his cock into her mouth in one movement. Her embarrassment was so great tears formed at the corner of her eyes, but she somehow made herself drag her eyes up to meet his. Blinking as her only form of defence against the relentless position, Esla slowly sucked against the intrusion in her mouth as she had been asked. Her tongue could hardly move against his thickness, but she found she could slide her mouth up and down as she tried to suck at the same time, the unfamiliar motion odd. Ulfvaldr waited until she found a rhythm after a few minutes, before pushing himself in further, pausing as she struggled against it. “Shh. You’re doing so well, my little rabbit. Such a good Anglish whore, taking my cock like you are.” He let out a ragged breath as he grew closer, narrowing his eyes as he held hers. “And your first one, huh? You seem to like the taste of my cock, don’t you?”

Somewhere in the back of her brain, Esla knew she should be furious with her attacker for saying such things to her. But her entire body throbbed to every word he said, her only reply coming out as a needy moan against his cock in her mouth. She leaned into it, suddenly wanting to take more of him, her hands resting against his thighs for purchase. She squeezed them gently, relishing the feel of his firm muscles against her palms. A thought skipped through her mind of what his thighs might feel like between her own. The thought made her body ache, and her excited groans joined Ulfvaldr’s as he grunted in time with her movements. It became easier to hold Ulfvaldr’s gaze, the hand in her hair moving her forwards urgently, his mouth falling open as he tilted his own head back with a low roar.

She coughed as something warm hit the back of her throat, but as he hadn’t moved, it came out only as a gagging noise. Esla panicked for a moment, not knowing what to do. Did she swallow what she knew was his cum? Did she spit it out? She swallowed it, trying not to pull a face at the strange taste as Ulfvaldr withdrew slowly. He gave a soft laugh, but it wasn’t unkind this time. His cock was still half-solid, a sticky thread of her saliva attached between himself and her mouth. “Did I…do it right?” she half-whispered. The question was bolder than she might have asked, but something made her want to ask. To have done it well for him.

Ulfvaldr gave a shaky sigh, nodding his head. “You did a very good job, little rabbit. So good, I will repay you.” The smirk returned, and Esla gave a cry as he dragged her to her feet, walking her firmly across to a large pile of straw in the centre of the barn, his iron grip around her wrist. But the way he moved her effortlessly around was somehow delicious, a reminder of how easily he could overpower her.

Part 2 is here!