Vengeance's Thrall (closed for marauder13 and Lots_Daughter)

[marauder13]

Gromr contemplated using her again, bringing her to another screaming peak of pleasure within the dark cell that was her new home. But he was feeling hungry, and she needed a good feed too. He pulled himself free of her, feeling the cool air grasp at his cock as it hung freely. He reached down, taking Anja's hair in hand, and using it as a leash once more, led her back to the main hall. Along the way, he found a length of rope what would serve his purposes, but otherwise didn't delay or detour on his path.

"Greetings my warriors. I hope you all slept well. It will be soon time to see what is happening in the world beyond our lands, and for that, we'll need to be well rested and strong."

He pushed Anja over the table, bending her so she was belly down, facing the rest of the hall. He took both of her arms, bending them behind her back so each hand was near the elbow of the other arm, and he then bound them together with the rope he had brought with him. He bent over her , pinning her to the table as he brought his mouth close to her ear.

"Look, Helga is already at work, feeding the men. But then, she was a servant before she came here, wasn't she. It is expected of her to serve others of higher rank. Since she is lower that you, it is easier for her to accept her slighter drop, since it is almost the same as being a servant. Maybe that's why she's accepted it so quickly."

He lurched himself back upright, taking a firm grip of Anja's hips, and easily thrusting his hardened cock back into her well lubricated depths. With each of the thrusts, he pulled her hips back to collide with his in a loud slap. He ignored everyone else in the room, focusing on both enjoying the red haired wench, and making her scream her blessings for Freyja for her divine blood. He knew how to angle himself to make the woman cry out faster with pleasure, and he was sure that he could get his prize slave to do so twice before he filled her with his seed.

Again, he felt something deep within him start to grow. A heat unlike any other he felt before. The way her body gripped him, he sounds of her resistance fading into joy and pleasure, how she moved in time with him to better enjoy the sweet oblivion they would eventually share drew him to her hard. Barely a woman, yet he was starting to feel that maybe the Gods had made her just for him, his reward for surviving Erlingr's betrayal, and not being foolish and trying to kill him earlier. Gromr didn't care why. He had her now, and he was going to enjoy her every chance he could, and make her enjoy it too.

He felt some change in Anja's body, too caught up in the sensations she was showering him with to know exactly what. He brought himself to a halt firmly with her. He looked up, spying her blonde companion nearby, looking on with a mixed expression of sorrow and joy. He took one hand to Anja's hair, pulling it back and forcing her head up to look at the room before her. "Helga! Fetch some food for Jarlsdottir. She will be very hungry when she has finished pleasing me." The blonde nodded quickly, and briskly walked out of the room, the light shining off the dampness between her thighs.

"Now, where was I again? That's right." Gromr resumed fucking Anja, on hand on her hip, the other holding her head back so she could see how everyone reacted to he being taken so brazenly and openly. If he could have thought, he would have wondered if she would be surprised at the general lack of interest in her being fucked as she was. She was now a slave, and slaves were regularly fucked in the great hall. It was as common as eating. But rather than thinking of such things, Gromr was reacting to what joys he was getting from the red head before him. He surrendered himself to the demands of his body, and finished his taking of Anja roughly and with great vigour. His roar was loud, full of the primal joy he had been given.

"Again, Jarlsdottir, your divine blood has served you very well. Time for us to both rest and eat so we will have the strength we need for your next one." He pulled out, enjoying the sounds of his cock sliding free of her. He grabbed her by her bound arms, propelling her into the chair beside his. He sat down as the Black slave delivered his food for him. She was slightly shorter than a Nordlander man, more lithe than the men, with a skin colour so deeply brown that almost passed for black. Though she was lithe, she was still a well shaped woman who was proud of her body, and what she could do with it. He caught the look in her eye, the open plea for him to use her, or allow her to be used. His return look gave her the answer that she didn't want to have. She bowed, and continued her serving duties.

"I would really like to know where she came from. She tells of how all her people are like her in skin colour. She never saw one like us until she was taken captive by other southerners, who she called Northmen. She likes us better than her previous owners." He took a bite of his food, seeing Helga returning with a plate for Anja. "Ahh, Helga, good. Since Jarlsdottir can't be trusted with her hands at the moment, I've had to secure them. So, you will have to feed her. Now, as long as she is polite to you, you may continue to feed her as you are no longer her servant. So, as long as Jarlsdottir doesn't curse, call you names apart from Helga or carries on in any bad manner, you will help her eat."

Gromr kept an eye out on the two of them. One way or another, Anja was going to learn that while she may view Helga as a whore, and maybe even a traitor, Helga acceptance was something she needed to embrace. The harder Anja fought, the more she would suffer. Once she started accepting, her rewards and privileges, small as they would be, would start to be gained. He liked how she fought back, but he longed for her to take part willingly, and give as well as receive. That brought a smile to his face as he continued to eat his first meal of the day.

 

[Lots_Daughter]

Anja wept as the remnants of unwanted pleasure continued to tease her every nerve, the violated Jarlsdottir silently cursing her own weakness with every sob. Why? Why was this happening to her? Why was she not strong enough to fight back? Why couldn’t she wrench herself from his filthy grasp and tear him apart as he deserved? She shuddered as she felt his weight upon her, the heat of his horrid cock filling and invading the most intimate part of her body. Why? Why did her body rebel against her mind and react with delight each time he used her? She tried so hard to block out every possible sensation of pleasure, and yet despite her struggles her divine blood overwhelmed her mortal will, saturating her body in the most delicious ecstasy. It was torture. It was too good to endure, and too horrible to remember. Anja had always been able to overcome every challenge placed before her. All had acknowledged her power and had treated the fiery Jarlsdottir with upmost respect. Her every command had been obeyed, and those who had the gall to cross her had been rightfully punished for their insolence. She had been mighty, feared, admired… and now? Now no one acknowledged her power. No one cared what she thought or felt. Not a single soul would obey her commands, and this traitorous scarred dog had the audacity to use her as his pleasure slave. It was this powerlessness, this sudden suffocating powerlessness that frightened and infuriated her most, and for the first time in the young woman’s life, she felt utterly, utterly alone.

It was in the midst of these despairing thoughts that Anja finally felt Gromr’s cock slip from her depths, praying which all her might as he stood that he would simply go away and leave her in peace. Even the burning blackness of her cell was more tolerable than his smug, triumphant face. But it was not to be, and the girl screamed with pain and outrage as she was suddenly hauled to her feet by her crowning glory, her hands grasping the offending wrist to prevent the rich red strands from being torn out entirely. The Jarlsdottir had not had time to fully recover from her multiple orgasms, her weakened body barely having the strength to stand as she was dragged along like a calf to the slaughter. More than once she stumbled and had to be hauled up by the man’s iron grip upon her hair, alternately screaming and cursing at her captor, her demands that he release her continually ignored. He kept her bent low as he pulled her along the labyrinthine passages, making her unable to kick at him and utterly confusing her as to where they were headed. As she had always been in some state of distress when being moved to and from her cell, the Jarlsdottir had not thought to pay attention and thus learn where each corridor led, and she now wondered what horrible fate Gromr had planned for her.

The sound of revelry from the great hall alerted her as to where they were going, and Anja’s heart froze with terror as she thought of what horrible things her captor might do to her there. Was he going to make an example of her for her earlier attack against him and his men? Was he going to let them punish her themselves for injuring not only their bodies but their pride? She was unarmed, naked, helpless. What could she do to resist? More than ever, Anja tried desperately to escape Gromr’s unyielding grasp upon her captive locks, but in the next moment she found herself in the full light and noise of the dreaded chamber, trembling despite herself as she was suddenly hauled erect. The man forced her to stand so straight and tall that she had to stand on her toes, and as her blue eyes surveyed the scene before her, they went wide in an expression of shrinking fear. It was very much the same as it had been earlier in the day: men eating, drinking, carousing, and of course ravishing the slave girls whose duty it was to appease their many hungers. The difference was in the appearance of the men, and in how they looked at her. Those she had struck during her berserk-fueled fury sported bandages and dark bruises, broken noses and fingers put back into place until their bodies could heal the damage. But it was their eyes which frightened her most. Before they had looked at her with a mixture of contempt and admiration, enjoying the sight of her violation and applauding her fiery spirit. She was the daughter of their great enemy, but she was also a woman, and women could be bent to any man’s will with time. More than one had wished that the fallen Jarlsdottir was “free game,” but none had challenged Gromr’s exclusive use of her. After all, he had suffered most at Erlingr’s hands, and the enslavement of his only daughter was a delicious victory over the now indolent Jarl. Scream though she might, the girl was harmless. Or so they had thought.

Anja’s blue eyes widened with fear as she looked from face to face, each man gazing at her with a mask of cold hostility. Before she had been a trophy and a plaything, but now they knew from painful experience how dangerous the Jarlsdottir could be, and they were each determined to never again let their guard down while she was present. Nordlander men were proud of their fighting prowess and ability to dominate the women they enslaved, yet they had been unable to stop the mad, staff-wielding wench from reaching and attacking their Jarl, and the knowledge of having been defeated by a mere girl was a humiliation not easily borne. Also, there was the blow she had struck Helga. The soft, yielding blonde had already become a favorite amongst the men. Though they ravished her without mercy, they also felt a protective tenderness towards her, and her abuse at her mistress’ hands only increased their cold resentment towards the captive redhead. This new and palpable hostility made Anja want to shrink back, to hide, but her captor kept her standing on her toes before them, and her heart began to beat with a faster, panicked rhythm. What would he do? Had he dragged her forth to throw her to the wolves? Oh gods, not that! Almost anything but that!

"Greetings my warriors. I hope you all slept well. It will be soon time to see what is happening in the world beyond our lands, and for that, we'll need to be well rested and strong."

Gromr’s words peaked Anja’s interest, and not for pleasant reasons. See what was happening in the world beyond or lands? What did he mean by that? Would he and his beast-men leave the Wildlands? For what reason? Raiding? Spying? Surely all of Erlingsland and the surrounding Jarlands now knew of the attack upon her escort and her kidnapping. Was that why they were going? To find out what was thought of her disappearance? The thought of them passing through villages – her father’s villages – without anyone knowing that they were responsible for her plight made her furious, and the thought of her father’s desperation and anguish as he searched for her caused hot tears to sparkle within her eyes. But the girl had no time to shed them as she suddenly found herself being forcibly bent over the table, her heart leaping with terror and outrage as she realized what his intentions were. Even as she began to scream and struggle, heaping curses and insults upon Gromr’s head, Anja was shocked at his rampant lust. She had only just recovered from the intensity of her previous orgasms, and he wanted to rape her again? Was he never satisfied? Would he never give her peace?

Determined not to be taken without a fight, the Jarlsdottir kicked and scratched and wriggled as much as she could, all the while spewing curses and piercing shrieks which echoed across the great hall. Indeed, had she been on her back, Anja would have sunk her teeth into the scarred man’s flesh like the cornered she-wolf she was. As Gromr seized her arms and effortlessly bound them behind her, the girl’s struggles and cries became ever more desperate, her blue eyes flashing with Thor’s lightning and her red lips drawn back from her teeth in a bestial snarl as she continued to prophecy his fate, should she have her way. “Bastardson! Bastardson! Let me go! Let me go or I’ll castrate you myself! I’ll throw your twig to the wolves! I’ll have you raped with hot pokers until you die! Not even your hideous whore of a mother will recognize you when I’m done! Not even the maggots will want you! All will spit on your bones! I will have vengeance!” As her fear and desperation began to overcome her fury, she turned her eyes heavenward and cried out to the gods, praying that they would hear her pleas and intervene. “Allfather! Odin! Frigga! Freyja! Help me!”

Anja shuddered with repulsion as the scarred beast bent over her, his weight pressing her to the time-roughened table, his hot breath bathing her ear and cheek.

"Look, Helga is already at work, feeding the men. But then, she was a servant before she came here, wasn't she. It is expected of her to serve others of higher rank. Since she is lower that you, it is easier for her to accept her slighter drop, since it is almost the same as being a servant. Maybe that's why she's accepted it so quickly."

This sudden mention, sudden reminder of Helga confused the Jarlsdottir for a moment. Helga? Why was he talking about Helga now, of all times? What was his obsession with the little blonde bitch? Helga this, Helga that. Why didn’t he just fuck her if he liked her so much? For some reason the very thought of that awakened Anja’s fury, and she was just about to curse him again when suddenly every inch of his thick, steely cock was once more embedded within her slick, clinging depths. An instant change came over the Jarlsdottir as she was ravished anew, the humiliating conflict between her body and her mind once more taking center stage within her. Anja’s pussy was still warm, wet, and willing from his earlier use of her, and her body yielded to him almost at once, her inner muscles caressing his shaft with each thrust, gripping and pulling him deeper, as if never wanting the proud invader to leave. Every inch of her creamy white skin was suffused with a rosy flush, her cheeks and lips redder than ever as pure unwanted ecstasy licked at her every nerve. The way he gripped and pulled her hips into his… the way his blade seemed to saw back and forth against her weakness as he sheathed and unsheathed it… And so deep, so rough and deep! No! Anja tried desperately to clear such thoughts from her mind and flush the addicting pleasure from her body. No! This was rape. He was raping her. He was her father’s enemy, her enemy. He kidnapped her, mistreated her, beat her… fucked her… Why did it seem even harder for her to clear her mind? Why couldn’t she resist? It was as if her body, her Freyja-blessed body, was less and less able to fight the pleasure with each taking, less able to resist all that his long, thick, steely cock did to her.

Anja’s inner struggle was clear to the many warriors and slaves who witnessed Gromr’s taking of her, the quality and wording of her cries as clear an indicator as any that her body was winning over her mind. First she continued to demand that he stop, cries of “No!” and “Stop!” echoing across the great hall along with the sound of their hips slapping together again and again. Soon those cries began to falter, becoming “N-No..!” and “S-Stop! Stop!” Her cries became drawn out and passionate, her breathing heavy and ragged between each moaned “Nooo…” For a moment she was able to clear her mind, desperate, thoroughly feminine moans of “Bastard… Bastard…” escaping her lips, her eyes closed and her breath fogging the table upon which she lay. The helpless Jarlsdottir could feel the gates of Asgard racing toward her, her mind anguished yet finding it harder to think and her body doing all it could to achieve orgasm, arching and bucking against her violator’s thrusts to increase her pleasure. Soon her cries were utterly wordless, passionate, desperate cries of pleasure and need, cries which betrayed her vulnerability and womanhood. Higher and higher the flames of ecstasy climbed, threatening to consume her whole, when at last the gates of Asgard tore asunder, and Anja found herself soaring upon wings of rapture. She arched and writhed wildly, her every muscle, inside and out, contracting and spasming as every fiber of her being was saturated in raw sexual gratification. Her cry of ultimate pleasure was beautiful: high, drawn out, almost musical, and in that moment one would have swore that she was Freyja herself.

As the intensity of her climax waned, the proud Jarlsdottir collapsed upon the table, her body weak and limp as if all her strength had been devoured by the fire that even now simmered in her blood. She gasped for breath, her eyes closed and her mind reeling at the pleasure which had just shaken her to the core. How could anything that felt so good exist outside of Asgard? Basking in the glow of sexual satisfaction, the girl seemed to forget where she was. She forgot that she was a captive in the midst of the Wildlands. She forgot that she had been enslaved and abused at the hands of her father’s enemy. She forgot that she was being publically raped by the man she hated with all the venom she possessed. For a brief, blissful moment, Anja was almost happy.

Suddenly she felt both her and Gromr’s hips come to an abrupt halt, and in the next moment he had once more grabbed a handful of her messy red hair, pulling and forcing her head back as she cried out with pain. Cruelly torn from blissful forgetfulness, yet still dazed from her orgasm, Anja looked about her with a weak, confused, unfocused expression, as if unable to interpret what she saw around her. It all seemed like a dream, and even Gromr’s commands to Helga went unnoticed by her mistress. The Jarlsdottir could not think, she could only feel, and the pain she felt from her captor’s abuse of her hair threatened to drag her back to the world of harsh reality. But soon his hips resumed their rough pace, and the weakened, pleasure-flushed girl could already feel the gates of Asgard racing toward her. The pleasure was almost too intense to bear as the scarred man fucked her, filling and stretching her silken depths with his cock and relentlessly rubbing against her greatest weakness. Anja’s inner muscles seemed to clamp around him tighter than ever as wordless cries of enjoyment and desperation escaped her lips, her eyes closed as she was cut off from everything except sensation and sexual need. She was utterly lost in a dance of pain and pleasure, and not even the knowledge of being bound and publicly raped could have awoken her from it. Only the sweet mead of Asgard could set her free, and at last the fallen Jarlsdottir was allowed to drink her fill. Anja writhed wildly, arching and screaming as both she and Gromr experienced paradise at the same moment, the heat of his seed only fanning the fire within her. It was a glorious moment, and those who witnessed it noted how well the Jarlsdottir’s cry and the Jarl’s roar complemented each other.

Anja groaned with satisfaction and exhaustion as the fires within her subsided, her entire body seeming to glow with an ember’s warmth. Panting, her eyes closed and her body limp, the girl once more basked in the light of sweet oblivion, every unhappy thought and memory forgotten in this one beautiful moment. She whimpered, almost with disappointment, as the hot steel within her slipped away, and even when she was rudely grasped and thrown into a chair, Anja simply groaned at the impact, her eyes closed and her body as limp as a ragdoll. The weakened, thoroughly pleasured Jarlsdottir was a sight which no hot-blooded Nordlander could ignore. Supported by the seat allotted to her, Anja gasped for breath, her eyes closed and her head resting against the chair’s back. Her face was at its loveliest, the red of her lips and cheeks warring with the creamy paleness coloring the rest of her features. Even in this paleness there was a rosy glow, as if one at the peak of health and happiness, and her relaxed, vulnerable expression alone would have made it clear to any observer that she had experienced the ultimate pleasure. Anja’s full, luscious breasts rose and fell with each breath, two ripened fruits begging to be devoured and enjoyed. Her pussy and inner thighs glistened with a mixture of feminine nectar and masculine seed, both her and Gromr’s enjoyment of what had passed between them all too evident. By some miracle, the embroidered band declaring her noble status to all had remained securely tied around her brow, eloquently conveying how far the proud Jarlsdottir had fallen. Anja’s crowning beauty was in a sorry state, her long, fiery locks messy and in need of combing. The left side of her hair was barely braided, the crimson ribbon woven within the unraveling plait dragging upon the floor, while the right side was wholly unbraided, hanging to her knees in bedraggled disorder. As untidy as her hair was, it did not detract from her beauty, instead giving her an air of unbound passion rather than of strict order. Even the men who hated her most could not gaze upon her unmoved, and the squeals and roars of pleasure throughout the great hall increased abruptly.

It took Anja awhile to become once more conscious of where she was and of what had happened to her, and the growing realization that she had been publicly raped and made to scream like a whore by her father’s enemy quickly replaced her delight with horror. Weak as she was, the girl sat up straight in her chair, her blue eyes open wide and staring, her face transforming into a pale mask of shock. Oh gods! He had done it again! He had filled her with his filthy seed and forced her body to betray her! What dark magic was this, which gave him such complete power over her body? She had fought so hard, had tried so hard to resist him, but once more she had been completely overpowered. Why? Why? Anja looked over at Gromr as the black-skinned woman brought him his food, and for a moment she was distracted by just how dark and exotic the slave was. Her father had many dark-skinned pleasure slaves from the southern lands, but none as dark as this creature. At first Anja only thought of her as an unusual specimen, but when she saw the exchange of glances between her and Gromr, all of the proud Jarlsdottir’s rage returned and her blue eyes flashed with fire. How dare the black bitch even think of offering herself to him after all he had just done to a noble woman of the Nordlands? Arrogant, ink-skinned heathen! Despite Gromr’s rejection of the Black’s plea, Anja’s fury against him burned hotter than ever, her lips drawn back from her teeth in a bestial snarl as she gave him a look of pure, venomous hatred. She was just an object to him, wasn’t she? A prop for his ego, a rag to pleasure himself with without thought as to who she was or what she felt. She doubted that he ever thought of her as a living, thinking, feeling person, much less a Jarlsdottir. Why did he have to rape her when he had so many wriggling sluts at his command? It was so he could brag that he had deflowered his enemy’s only daughter. That was all she was, his sexual trophy. And after having her, how could he even look at another woman? She could imagine him tossing her into her cell to go cavort with the Black and Helga, and the thought of her, Anja Erlingsdottir, being just one out of many meaningless conquests brought sudden tears to her eyes. Was her virginity worth nothing?

Turning away to hide her distress, Anja smothered her tears with a tremendous effort of will. No, she wouldn’t let him see her cry. That was what he wanted, to see her weak and full of anguish. He wanted to torture her for her father’s sake, and she wouldn’t give in. She could feel the steel in her spine harden and glitter with a new sharpness, and Anja wanted nothing more than to tear apart whatever unmarred parts of Gromr’s body remained. She pulled at the rope which bound her arms behind her, despairing at her helplessness as it refused to yield. Her legs were free, but the girl doubted that she was yet strong enough to stand, much less push his chair over and run. And what good would that do her if she were still unable to defend herself? He would simply catch her, beat her, rape her, then throw her into her lightless cell again. Anja had to think of a way to escape from him, but how? How?

It was at this moment that Helga meekly approached them, her blue eyes fearful and her left cheek bruised from where her mistress had struck her. Despite what Anja had done, the kindhearted handmaiden’s loyalty remained unshaken, but it was now tempered with a healthy amount of fear and caution. Her eyes filled with compassion as she drew closer, bearing a large plate heaped with good, wholesome foods. Her poor mistress. Why did this have to happen to her? Helga had always been a humble servant. She had been taught how to submit and serve, and to find pleasure in doing so. Her honor had been worth little, and she had been able to embrace her new life with a sense of joy and fulfillment. But her mistress was Anja Erlingsdottir, Jarlsdottir of Erlingsland. She had been raised to be proud of who and what she was, to rule those around her and submit to no other will but her father’s. She had been given every luxury, and none had expected her to work or toil for her bread. Her honor had been beyond price, and it had been cruelly stripped away by her father’s enemy. Her mistress had suddenly found herself in a friendless place where no one respected her lineage or power. She did not know or understand the joys of servitude, yet she was expected to know how to serve. Her mistress was defenseless, robbed of her true destiny, and Helga could feel the despair and terror within her. Simple as she was, the little blonde knew her mistress’ mind better than anyone else, and she wanted to fall upon her knees before Jarl Gromr and beg him to be kind to her. She wanted her mistress to be happy in her new home, and was convinced that she never would be unless she came to understand and empathize with her new master. Helga looked at Gromr for but a moment as she considered asking to speak with him, but her eyes quickly returned to Anja as her mistress took notice of her. The blonde felt that if she showed any extra attention to Jarl Gromr while her mistress was present, it would only anger her, and Helga was not brave enough to invite more of the Jarlsdottir’s wrath.

As angry and helpless as she now was, the sight of Helga did nothing to lighten Anja’s mood. She still considered the blonde to be a traitor and a whore, and would have liked nothing better than to bruise the other side of her face as well. However, the large plate she bore reminded her of how desperately hungry she was. She had been given nothing to eat that day, and the meals she had been given in her cell had been far from bountiful. The hollowness in her stomach replaced some of her anger with want, but before she could utter a word, Gromr voiced his commands.

"Ahh, Helga, good. Since Jarlsdottir can't be trusted with her hands at the moment, I've had to secure them. So, you will have to feed her. Now, as long as she is polite to you, you may continue to feed her as you are no longer her servant. So, as long as Jarlsdottir doesn't curse, call you names apart from Helga or carries on in any bad manner, you will help her eat."

Both women were surprised at the man’s orders, each looking at him with startled blue eyes. Helga’s eyes were somewhat fearful as she thought of her mistress’s strong white teeth, and Anja’s once more flashed with fury at the very idea of her being fed like a helpless child. The Jarlsdottir prepared to unleash her verbal wrath upon them both, but the delicious aroma of sliced wild boar upon Helga’s plate overwhelmed her anger as the needs of her body overcame her pride. Self-control was a muscle the Jarlsdottir had scarcely ever exercised. It was strange and unfamiliar territory to her, but the lure of hunger was too tempting to resist, and Anja turned toward Helga with a look of imperious expectation, turning Gromr’s command into her own. As Anja was not in the mood to be especially communicative, it took the two women a few tries before they found a system that worked. Helga would point to a particular morsel on the plate – whether it was meat, cheese, bread, or vegetables – and Anja would either nod or shake her head in response. If she nodded, she would then open her mouth, and Helga would pop the piece of food inside, taking great care to avoid her mistress’ teeth. After the morsel was consumed, they would start again, and despite her anger towards her, Anja never attempted to bite Helga once. Desperation had made her careless of etiquette, the famished Jarlsdottir snapping down each bite like a hungry dog until she was full enough to feel human again. When she had at last eaten her fill, something which she had not enjoyed for some time, Anja resumed her imperious expression, dismissing Helga with a quick gesture of her head. Despite her stern looks, Helga thought that her mistress had somewhat softened toward her, and the little blonde smiled as she hurried away.

Full and much more content than she had been previously, Anja still burned with a cold anger towards Gromr. Deciding not to acknowledge his loathsome presence, she turned away from him with an air of imperial disdain, crossing her legs and pretending to study the many tapestries which lined the great hall. They were of the usual kind: hunting scenes, battles, deeds of great heroes and gods, and – which seemed most appropriate – the capturing of slave women from the south. This image threatened to make the Jarlsdottir boil over with rage, but she was just able to channel her will into self-control, maintaining her façade of noble hauteur. She wondered what he was going to do next, what he was going to do to outrage and humiliate her. Her mind was still desperately at work to think of a plan of escape, but at the moment, bound as she was, no viable option presented itself to her. Arrogant bastard. She may have been still and silent, but Anja Erlingsdottir wasn’t beaten yet. Not by a long shot.

 

[marauder13]

Gromr relaxed, content at the way his personal slave had pleased him. He got so much amusement from how strongly she clung to her old life, thinking that it was something that had any real bearing on what her life was going to be like from the time of her capture. But the way she fought did give her a great fire within, one that he tapped easily and frequently.

Gromr was pleased that Anja was starting to respond to his attentions in the manner that a woman should. Each taking was opening her mind to the joys her divinely descendent body was capable of giving, and receiving. He found himself smiling wondering if she would be giving herself to him knowingly, or if she would mouth her arguments while her body complied precisely with his desires.

With the approach of Ingwane, Gromr caught the rapid change of expression in Anja's face. The look she gave the dark skinned slave was one of pure fury. The only time she had shown such a face was when she was attacking him. He kept his expression unchanged, but thought hard on her reaction. After Ingwane departed, Anja turned her head away from him. This caused him to cock an eyebrow while he ate, further trying to fathom the puzzle presented to him.

Helga turned up, carrying food for them both. The young blonde approached with all due caution based off Gromr's position and Anja's anger. Even seeing her arms secured tightly behind her back, Helga was taking no risks. The bruise stood out starkly against her naturally pale skin, a very visible reminder of what Anja was capable of.

Something he was not going to let Jarlsdottir forget anytime soon.

Gromr openly watched the two negotiate the arrangement he left them in. He was surprised a little that they were quiet, using simple gestures to indicate what was to be eaten and delivered. He noted that they had fallen back into their old roles, which was not acceptable to him. But his mind was more focused on the puzzle that Anja presented earlier. She was far from happy when she was seated, though she definitely had that satisfied glow of a well enjoyed woman. Then Ingwane approached to offer his food, as well as herself.

The only sign of the import of that thought was that his hand slowed down on to the way to his mouth. Ingwane had offered herself, and Anja got angry. He smiled slightly as the morsel of food popped into his mouth. She looked as though she was jealous of the attention he received from another slave, a southerner at that. If his suspicions were true, then he was further along than he thought he was.

He finished eating, and proceeded to fill the gaps with his drink, returning his attention to the two beside him. Jarlsdottir dismissed Helga with a shake of her head, which also brought her his anger. He put down his mead horn, grabbing her chin and turning her to face him.

"Jarlsdottir, that was not a good showing of courtesy from one of such a high birth as yourself. She is not yours to command anymore. You and her are at the same level, if anything, she is slightly higher than you are." He caught Anja's reaction to that, and tightened his grip slightly. "You may think what you like, but she is no worse than you. Anything you say of her, applies to you in equal measure.

"You may be born noble, but you are no longer a noble, woman. You are a slave, just like her. Treat her as you would like yourself treated while here, and you will see that you will be treated a little better than you are now. Oh, if you hurt her again, or any other slave here, I will let the men punish you. Don't worry, they will not violate you, but there are plenty of other ways that you can be shown the error of your ways."

"Rolf! Where is the rest of this?" Gromr's hand shifted to the collar around Anja's slender neck.

"Here, my Jarl." He stood, the slave in one arm, and the free hand held a length of light but sturdy chain in his hand. He dropped it on the table, then took a mouthful of the slave's neck as he walked back. The carried woman squealed in delight.

Gromr took the specially designed end piece, snapping it between the heads of the serpent, locking it in place. The other end of the chain had a fashioned leather loop which Gromr could put his thick wrist through. He circled the chain about his hand a few times, then hauled Anja to her feet. He said nothing as he led her from the hall, out toward the courtyard. As they reached the door, he paused and unbraided her hair, removing the dangling ribbon from her flowing red locks.

As they crossed the courtyard, everyone who looked at the pair stopped, bowing or nodding to Gromr, but openly staring at Anja. Their expressions were ones of awe, taking in her beauty that their Jarl had on open display. A few whisper her name; Erlingsdottir.

Unknown to Anja, most of the freemen and woman of Gromrsland were those dispossessed by Erlingr in his craving for power and wealth. The people know who they were looking at, shocked that he actually would do that to the mighty warrior's daughter. At the same time, more than one was pleased to see their leader with such a prize.

Gromr didn't care how people looked on her, or that he had left her with her head dress that proclaimed what she once was, further adding to her yet unseen humiliation. She was a slave, and he would show her off as he pleased to those who owed their loyalty to him. Given her connection to Freyja, it would be a crime to not to show her off as naturally as possible.

The passed over the ditch and out into his lands proper. Beyond the borders of his lands the air boiled with the relentless energies of the wild lands. Closer to the boundary, the light show threw a kaleidoscope of tormented colours over the ground. But above them, the air was normal autumn weather.

"This is a grand place to live. The land is fertile, and we have enough to support everyone here, as well as have enough left by the time fresh crops are harvested. I was going to use here to strike back at my enemy, but since then, they can have the rest of the world, all I want is here."

He stopped walking, pulling Anja closer to him. "Which includes you, Jarlsdottir." He clapped his hand behind her head, raping her mouth. He pressed her lips hard against their teeth, bruising them and making them swell even more than usual.

"You haven't figured it out ye, have you? You'll serve one master and one master only. Me. No one else will have the joy of knowing your body, Jarlsdottir, and you'll only get to need to know one man. We will get to know exactly what puts the fire in the belly, and gets the blood boiling in each other. Before long, you'll be able to please me like no other slave in Midgard can for her Master."

He let go of her after another dominating kiss where he took what he wanted from the young woman. He let go of her, pulling on the chain attached to her collar. He walked in silence, heading toward a small, rude hut in the midst of a patch of grain crops.

"Over there are a couple that hold no love for your father. He demanded food for he and his personal warband. The man gave all he could spare, but it was not enough to fill the bellies of his men completely. The took all they needed, leaving them with nothing to see them through the remainder of the Autumn. By winter, they were starving and forced from their lot because they could meet their obligations.

"I found them, brought them back here and gave them land. They now have a son and dottir, all healthy and happy. They have enough to feed themselves, and plenty for trade as well as supporting their Jarl."

He dragged her closer to their hut, pausing hear one of the few trees that grew on their lot of land. They entered the shade of the tree, which cooled their bodies nicely while out of the still warm sun. Gromr sat himself down, dragging Anja into a sitting position with him.

"I always wondered if you would take after your mother. The last time I saw your, the potential was there. Seeing you know, you would be her younger sister if she stood beside you. I thank the Gods each day that they blessed you with more of your mother's favour than your father's. Still, the mix was perfect."

Gromr took off his shirt in one easy move, and threw it on the ground. He took Anja by her shoulders, and positioned her face and shoulders on his shirt, with her hips held high in the air. He eased himself from his pants, coming to his full hardness by the time he was in position. Without any word, or warning, he eased himself back into Anja, taking his time as he pushed his way in. He moved slowly, allowing her body time to recognize his presence, and ready itself for her taking.

He heard soft steps from the other side of the tree, and saw a young blonde haired face peer around the trunk. The girl would have been close to her time of blossoming. Her eyes were wide as she looked on at what was going on before her. Gromr smiled, nodding to the young lass as he started to use Anja properly.

He indicated with his head to come closer, which the girl hesitantly did. He smiled at her, as she kept changing where her head was in relation to the two adults. Gromr carried on, his attention mostly on the woman that was making him feel great.

"What are you doing?" The girl's voice was polite, respectful, awed and curious all at the same time.

"Being pleased by this slave."

"She is beautiful. Does it hurt her, or you?"

"No, we both enjoy it greatly, which is why it is happening."

"Why are her arms tied behind her?"

"Because... I liked her that way today." He speed up as he answered the girl's question in order to help distract Anja and stop her from giving the young girl improper answers.

"Do men do this only to slaves?"

"Do what... exactly?"

"That," she replied, pointing to where their two bodies joined.

"No. Men do this with their wives too. Though not in... exactly the same manner." He moaned out the last word as Anja's body started to drag him back to the planes of bliss.

"So, when someone takes me to wife, I will have this done to me by him?"

"Yes... and if you feel... close to him... like him greatly... it will be... very enjoyable for you."

"So, he wont take me the way you're taking Erlingrsdottir now?"

"No, child... he will be more... gentle and caring.. since... you'll... desire... the same as he will." Gromr grunted as he released himself within the barren vessel that was Anja Erlingrsdottir. He pressed himself deeply within her tightly gripping passage, feeling each exquisite pulse as it pushed against her.

"Plus, he will only do such things respectfully, and privately where others will not see. Slaves like Jarlsdottir will be taken wherever their Master desires."

"Thank you, Lord. I will remember what you have said, and I hope that I will make a good wife for the man who so wants me."

She gave Anja one long look, watching her reactions to her most recent use.

"I hope I will look as beautiful as she does when my husband is done with me." She walked back to her parent's hut, leaving the two in peace.

Gromr pulled himself out, rolling Anja onto her side. "It is nice to know that others find you beautiful too after a good enjoyment. I haven't the heart to tell her not matter how much of a beauty she will grow into, she wont be anywhere near as beautiful as you are, brimming full of my seed after been taken. I doubt that anyone will."

 

[Lots_Daughter]

Looking the other way and deep in thought as to what her next action should be, Anja was thoroughly unaware she had angered Gromr until he was upon her. He struck with all the swiftness of a snake, and in the next moment the startled and frightened Jarlsdottir found herself staring into angry blue eyes, her jaw held fast in his controlling, vise-like grip. What? Why was he angry? She hadn’t said a word!

"Jarlsdottir, that was not a good showing of courtesy from one of such a high birth as yourself. She is not yours to command anymore. You and her are at the same level, if anything, she is slightly higher than you are."

At first Anja blinked in confusion, her mind running too fast for her to fully analyze her current situation or his meaning. She did not understand. How had she been discourteous? And who was he to speak of courtesy, rapacious blackguard that he was? She had sent Helga away without thanks, but did she deserve it? The little blonde wench had been following his orders, not hers. Anja had kept silent, knowing that if she dared to speak all of the anger and betrayal she felt towards Helga would spew forth, and she would get a worse punishment than an empty stomach. In Anja’s eyes, restraining her anger was as good an honor as a polite thank you, and she was not about to thank one who valued her rapist more than herself. Despite all of the Jarlsdottir’s kindness to her and her family, Helga seemed more than ready to give this wild beast her first loyalty.

In a fraction of an instant Anja revisited her history with Helga, flashes of past happiness briefly suppressing her present misery. She remembered choosing her from the many young housemaids of the castle, and Helga had seemed greatly honored to become the Jarlsdottir’s handmaiden. Helga had been submissive and eager to please, and Anja had hardly ever found reason to be angry with her. It took time for one to earn a place in the proud girl’s heart, but she had developed a mentor-like affection for her simple, blonde companion. Anja had rewarded Helga in many ways, passing down her old gowns to her, bringing her to the holiday feasts her father would hold for the nobles, and giving her gifts, many of them embroidered by her own hands. When Helga’s family was in danger of losing their farm, Anja had gone to her father, and Jarl Erlingr intervened, saving the farm and gifting them with oxen from his own herd. Helga had been so happy that she had dared to embrace her mistress, and Anja, unused to such gestures from servants, had allowed it, feeling a pleasing warmth within her heart. Helga was the closest thing the Jarlsdottir had to a friend, and if her marriage to Jarl Ulfr had gone as planned, Anja had intended to grant her maid a large dowry with which she could marry well. Like a spring, Anja’s kindness knew few limits once tapped and maintained.

These happy memories and intentions only made Helga’s betrayal more painful, and Anja wondered if her friend had ever been loyal to her at all. To think that Helga should forsake her! Anja would never have done so in a thousand years, and to find herself so mistaken in her maid’s character made her feel as though it was her heart and not her face which was being crushed in her captor’s grasp. To think she would be punished for being kind. The thought of a traitorous, thankless whore like Helga being held above herself made the anger and pain rise within her, and she was unable to hide the lightning which flashed within her eyes. She let out a muffled cry of pain as Gromr’s grip tightened painfully around her jaw, almost convinced that he would break it, and looked up at him with blue eyes full of renewed fear.

"You may think what you like, but she is no worse than you. Anything you say of her, applies to you in equal measure.”

Again Thor’s lightning flashed within the Jarlsdottir’s eyes. Anja Erlingsdottir was no traitor. Anja Erlingsdottir was no whore. Anja Erlingsdottir was no ingrate. This beast of a man knew nothing about her, and she very much doubted that he was even interested in the truth. All he wanted was to hurt her and her father, and whatever he had to make up to justify it to himself, was. Blind fool. She would have enjoyed ripping out his eyes herself were her hands free.

"You may be born noble, but you are no longer a noble, woman. You are a slave, just like her. Treat her as you would like yourself treated while here, and you will see that you will be treated a little better than you are now. Oh, if you hurt her again, or any other slave here, I will let the men punish you. Don't worry, they will not violate you, but there are plenty of other ways that you can be shown the error of your ways."

You are a slave. You are a slave. Would he never stop? Did he think that if he said it enough times that she would start to believe it? Arrogant slave-mongering bastard. She was a Jarlsdottir, had been one since the day of her conception. For nineteen years she had known who and what she was, and no amount of time with this reiterating rapist would be able to brainwash her. His mention of the golden rule would have made her laugh had her face not been captive in his painful grasp. To think that he should say such things to her! She briefly wondered how he would like being robbed, beaten, raped, and enslaved, but his threat of letting his men punish her if she ever harmed Helga again quickly swept away her bitter mirth, replacing it once more with anger-tinged terror. At last Gromr released her aching jaw, but just as she thought he would finally leave her be, his hand grasped the torque-like collar around her throat, jerking her as he called out,

"Rolf! Where is the rest of this?"

What did he mean by that? The rest of her collar? It was a collar, how much more could there be? Still, his proximity to her throat and his calling to Rolf made her keep silent, wondering what awful sport they had in mind. Anja’s fears were soon justified as the mountain-like Rolf lumbered up to the table, carrying a slave girl under one arm as though she were but a small log for the fire, and a long chain in his other hand. The purpose of this chain escaped her until it was dropped upon the table with a clatter, and the sight of the leather loop – much like the loop she had seen around her father’s wrist when he was about to release his prized hunting dogs – filled the captive Jarlsdottir with a thrill of terror. Anja had just recovered enough from her earlier orgasm to make running possible, and she was prepared to make a wild dash to avoid this further symbol of servitude, but Gromr was too quick for her. In a moment he had attached the leash to her collar, wrapped the chain around his hand, and positively hauled the girl to her feet, forcing her to run along behind him to avoid being throttled. Anja screamed with outrage, hurling foul curses of increasing vehemence as Gromr dragged her from the room, the unfeeling laughter of men and slaves echoing behind her. It would echo within her mind for many days to come.

Her captor’s strides were long and quick, and Anja could barely keep up with them. Once or twice she tried to dig in her heels and pull in the opposite direction, but the stone floor was too smooth for her purpose, and she had to give up and hurry along awkwardly to avoid tripping and falling on her face. As they approached the great wooden doors opening into the courtyard, Anja was seized with absolute panic, and she struggled like a tigress against the leash, thrashing and screaming as Gromr suddenly stopped and drew her close. It took her a moment for her to realize that he was unbraiding her hair, freeing her fiery, knee-length tresses and casting the crimson ribbon aside. This action momentarily shocked the Jarlsdottir into silence, for the act of a man unbraiding a woman’s hair in the Nordlands was seen as one of great intimacy, reserved for married couples and lovers. The fact that she, Anja Erlingsdottir, had had her hair unbraided by this repulsive monster made the girl positively shake with fury, and she struggled more fiercely than ever as he tugged her out into the castle’s courtyard. “Monster! Bastard! Coward! If you ever touch my hair again I’ll kill you! I am not an ox to be dragged about by the nose! I am not your dog! And I don’t care how many times you say it; I am not your slave! Do you hear me, Whoreson? I am not your slave!”

Her screams and struggling quickly drew the attention of Gromsland’s free men and women, and none of them hid their amazement as they took in the marvelous sight before them. A young woman was being dragged behind their Jarl on a leash, struggling and screaming. But this was no ordinary young woman. A beauty unlike anything Gromsland had ever seen passed before their eyes, and for a moment each man and woman was half-convinced that Jarl Gromr had managed to capture Freyja herself for his pleasure. The fallen goddess’s body, a divine mixture of luscious curves and slender delicacy, appeared to be carved from creamy white marble, but it was a living, breathing, yielding marble. Her ample breasts bounced as she struggled, and more than one man present wanted to latch his mouth upon her rosy nipples and never let go. The young woman’s face was a triumph of feminine beauty, her blue eyes large and flashing with fire, her lips and cheeks reddened with passion, her small, slightly upturned nose giving her an air which was at once both impudent and endearing. Her long hair hung free in loose, fiery-red waves, shining under the warm sun’s light and flowing with each early autumn breeze. Many of the women present, most of whom had locks in various shades of Nordlander blonde, envied the captive’s vivid coloring and exquisite beauty, but could not bring themselves to hate one who was so fair. It was only when their eyes fell upon the gold-embroidered band around the goddess’ head that her earthly identity became clear, and a wave of excited whispers passed through the crowd. “Erlingsdottir! Erlingsdottir!”

To be utterly naked, bound, and dragged along on a leash in full daylight before a staring audience was almost too humiliating for the fallen Jarlsdottir to bear, but as she fought back the tears which threatened to sparkle in her eyes, an idea came to her. She could tell by the people’s dress that they were peasants, and could hear their excited whispers revealing that they knew who she was. The warriors and slaves within the castle might look upon her with contempt, but she was a Jarlsdottir, and these were commoners. By law they were bound to aid her, and Anja began to scream for help, her eyes conveying her desperation even more movingly than her words. “Help! Help me! I’m Anja Erlingsdottir! I’m not a slave! Help me! Help me please!” The group simply stared at her, making no sound or action other than to turn their heads to continue watching as the marvelous spectacle passed. Though they no longer lived under Jarl Erlingr’s rule, and often heaped curses upon his head, they were kinder than those from the castle and did not laugh. Many even felt compassion for the beautiful noblewoman who had fallen so low, feeling that one so lovely could not have inherited her father’s wicked heart. But she was Jarl Gromr’s property in their eyes, and they did nothing to aid her. Anja was shocked and horrified as the crowd ignored her pleas, her blood suddenly ice-cold as she thought They won’t help me… Why? Why won’t they help me?

As they passed out of the courtyard, the shaken Jarlsdottir beheld the Wildlands for the first time since the day of her capture. Beyond whatever kept such unnatural energies back, the Wyld held full sway, the landscape abruptly becoming blighted and roiling with chaos. The earth was red and barren, seemingly cut at unnatural angles and in some places rising into impossibly thin jagged towers. Whatever trees remained were black, blasted, and twisted, some of them seeming to writhe as if in pain. Strange glowing energies half flowed and half scuttled across the ground like low-gliding spirits, and through the ever-moving fog which veiled the further distance, bright flashes of green and purple lightning could be seen, followed by great booms of thunder. Anja almost thought she had heard an enormous roar, as of some frightening beast, echoing from across the blighted landscape, and despite herself she remembered Helga’s foolish talk of the monstrous children of Nidhogg dwelling within the godsforsaken Wildlands. Trembling, she tried to convince herself that it was just nerves and superstition, turning her eyes away from the chaos to the relatively normal land which the scarred man claimed as his own.

"This is a grand place to live. The land is fertile, and we have enough to support everyone here, as well as have enough left by the time fresh crops are harvested. I was going to use here to strike back at my enemy, but since then, they can have the rest of the world, all I want is here."

Anja’s fascinated observance of the Wildlands had momentarily distracted her from her plight, and she had only just caught the tail end of Gromr’s words before he suddenly stopped and turned, pulling the chain toward him with such suddenness that she almost fell into him. The girl found her face mere inches from his, blue eyes staring into blue eyes, her own filled with a mixture of fear and disgust as she felt the warmth of his breath upon her. What was this? What was he going to do?

"Which includes you, Jarlsdottir."

As he suddenly seized the back of her head, his fingers embedding themselves in her hair, Anja opened her mouth to scream, giving him the opportunity to do the unthinkable thing that she thought even he would never dare to do. In an instant his lips were against hers, pressing viciously, hurting her, bruising her, and his horrid tongue probed her mouth, violating the one part of her which had so far gone unmolested. His grip upon her skull made it impossible for her to escape, but the Jarlsdottir was so shocked that she simply froze in place, her eyes wide and staring as the man perverted yet another gesture of love and intimacy into something cruel and predatory. When he at last pulled back, Anja continued to stare forward in horror and shock, her lips smarting, her tongue tasting the mead which had been on his own. Her brain could barely comprehend what had just happened. He had kissed her. The monster, the scarred man had kissed her. Her first kiss. No. That wasn’t right. No one was ever supposed to kiss her except her husband. And a husband’s kiss would have never, ever been like that. A kiss was supposed to be warm, gentle, and loving. This had been harsh, brutal, and ravenous. It was not a kiss at all. It was but another form of rape, a mouth-rape, and Anja could feel yet another precious fragment of her innocence slip away.

"You haven't figured it out yet, have you? You'll serve one master and one master only. Me. No one else will have the joy of knowing your body, Jarlsdottir, and you'll only get to need to know one man. We will get to know exactly what puts the fire in the belly, and gets the blood boiling in each other. Before long, you'll be able to please me like no other slave in Midgard can for her Master."

Anja just stared at the beast before her, barely comprehending his words as he spoke. She was beginning to doubt that he was even human, convinced that no human man could have deliberately and so cruelly stolen so much from her. Perhaps he was one of Hel’s demons, sent to pervert all that was good and pure on Midgard. As the demon’s words sunk in, the full horror of her position suddenly opened up before her. If he had his way, if she remained his captive forever, she would never marry, never know the love of a husband, never have children, never see her husband and father’s face as she placed her first born son in their arms. She would never have a little girl and be as tender and loving to her as her own mother was said to be before her passing. She would never be able to sing them to sleep with the lullaby old Vigdis had sung for her. Never be able to watch them grow. Never enjoy the pleasure of grandchildren. Never watch her son ascend the throne as Jarl, and have herself be considered the mother of a great land. Her entire destiny, everything she had dreamed of, would come to nothing, and she would be forced to devote her entire life to this… this…

Opening her mouth to scream with protest, Anja found herself being once more brutally kissed by the beast who dared to call himself her Master. This kiss seemed to be longer than the first, and this time the Jarlsdottir struggled and let out muffled shrieks as she was unable to escape him, his lips hurting hers, his tongue raping her mouth, and her breasts pressed tightly to his shirtfront. Finally he pulled back and released her head, the girl crying out in disgust and trying to purify her mouth by spitting upon the ground. As he again started to lead her by the leash in silence, Anja cursed and screamed at him anew, and his complete disregard of her threats and struggles was more provoking than if he had turned around and struck her. “You… you monster! You inbred bastard! You filthy leech! I swear by the Norns’ Well that if you ever try that again I’ll bite off your tongue and spit it in your face!”

Gromr led her toward a small, simple hut surrounded by fields of grain, the captive Jarlsdottir’s screams and struggles lessening and they drew closer. She was exhausting herself in trying to both struggle and keep up with his long strides, and her constant cries of anger and rebellion kept her short of breath. Why wasn’t she strong enough to break away? Why?

"Over there are a couple that hold no love for your father. He demanded food for he and his personal warband. The man gave all he could spare, but it was not enough to fill the bellies of his men completely. They took all they needed, leaving them with nothing to see them through the remainder of the Autumn. By winter, they were starving and forced from their lot because they could meet their obligations.

"I found them, brought them back here and gave them land. They now have a son and dottir, all healthy and happy. They have enough to feed themselves, and plenty for trade as well as supporting their Jarl."

Again the chilling winds of the north seemed to invade Anja’s bloodstream, causing her to shiver beneath the warm early autumn sun. It was not the story Gromr told which froze her heart. Though she had remembered him as Gromr Ragnarsson, she had very little reason to believe anything he said about her father, expecting him to twist and exaggerate the facts to make his enemy sound like a monster. Her brain could think of a hundred logical explanations for such a story, as she refused to believe her father could be capable of such an act. Gromr or the peasants could simply be lying to slander Jarl Erlingr. The peasants could have been robbed by a group of raiders pretending to be her father and his men. The peasants could have mismanaged their farm and told this story to cover up their incompetence. Perhaps they had not paid their tithe for many years and their land was justly taken from them. No, it was not this story of the peasants’ fate which chilled her blood, but the possibility that every man, woman, and child in this accursed place was her father’s enemy. Her enemy. The thought of being surrounded by people who hated her, without one friendly or obedient soul to come to her aid terrified her, and once again the Jarlsdottir felt the suffocating mantle of utter loneliness press upon her.

Anja did not notice that Gromr was leading her towards the tree until she felt the sudden cool shade upon her body, looking up at the tree’s trunk and sheltering branches with surprise. For a split second, the girl thought he was going to hang her from the tree’s branches like a criminal, a thrill of terror racing down her spine before he sat and tugged her down beside him. With her legs folded to the side, the Jarlsdottir sat, her arms bound helplessly behind her as she glared at her enemy and tried to catch her breath, her lips and cheeks flushed. The scarred man seemed to study her for a moment, allowing his blue eyes to study every inch of her body as though he were appraising it.

"I always wondered if you would take after your mother. The last time I saw you, the potential was there. Seeing you now, you would be her younger sister if she stood beside you. I thank the Gods each day that they blessed you with more of your mother's favour than your father's. Still, the mix was perfect."

Anja hated to hear Gromr speak of her father, but to hear him speak of her sainted mother, even in praise, made her furious. What right had this rapacious barbarian to even mention the kind and beautiful Einva Bjornsdottir, mourned and beloved Jarlswif of Erlingsland? Einva’s fiery-haired and fiery-willed daughter was about to lash the blasphemer unmercifully with her tongue, when Gromr removed his shirt and threw it to the ground in one easy motion. The sight of his broad, scarred chest sounded an instant alarm in Anja’s brain and she immediately screamed and tried to get away, but he still had a firm hold on the leash, making it impossible for her to escape as he manipulated her body as he liked. Despite her piercing shrieks and violent struggles, Anja found her face and breasts pinned to Gromr’s discarded shirt while she was forced to kneel with her hips high in the air. She tried desperately, frantically to escape before he could rape her again, but Gromr was too strong and too fast, and in the next moment he had once more embedded himself within the hot, tight depths of her pussy.

The helpless girl let out a cry of despair, her eyes filling with tears as she was once more humiliated by her father’s enemy. Her body had not been so well prepared for his use as previously, and though his penetration was not exactly painful, it did not accept him so readily. Once he had been buried in her sheath to the hilt, the Jarlsdottir’s eager, passionate body awoke from its sensual slumber, her nectar flowing and her muscles squeezing around the conquering staff. The small pink nub which was her greatest weakness hardened and prepared for relentless stimulation, and Anja could not repress a tiny whimper of anguish and need as the passion of her body began to fog her mind. Even now she was amazed at how deeply he penetrated her, how fully he filled her silky slickness. So hard and hot, so long and thick… Her body wanted to hold on to his cock forever, her inner muscles tugging at him and encouraging him to never leave.

Initially unaware of the young girl’s presence, the Jarlsdottir moaned with pleasure as Gromr began to use her in earnest, holding on to her hips and pulling them back into his with every thrust. Anja flushed and closed her eyes as his magnificent cock worked its black magic upon her, flooding her veins with unbelievable pleasure as he stimulated her both within and without. Oh gods… It felt so good, so raw and potent and primal, nearly drowning out the protests of her mind as she panted between moans of sensual joy.

"What are you doing?"

Instantly the Jarlsdottir’s eyes snapped open and looked up, both her body and mind reeling at the sight of the fair-haired young girl openly watching them with a curious expression. Her mind was horrified that a child would stumble upon the scarred man raping her – half afraid that he would hurt the girl as well – while her body was afraid that he would stop fucking her, her pussy tightening around his cock possessively. But Gromr never stopped or hesitated for a second, continuing to plunge into her scalding heat again and again as the child watched, speaking with her as if the entire situation was perfectly normal. Anja was too engrossed in the delicious feeling of the flames licking at her every nerve to truly take part in the conversation, but between passionate moans and cries of pleasure she would pant words such as “No… Run… Run away… Rape… Not slave… Not… slave…” The ecstasy of her body shielded the young woman’s mind from the full humiliation and horror of being taken in front of a child, her sweet juices trickling down her thighs as the gates of Asgard came racing toward her. At last the Jarlsdottir once more experienced the ultimate pleasure, screaming and writhing wildly as every inch of her was saturated in pure physical joy. She felt the white heat of his seed as it filled her deepest depths, and in that brief moment it gave her pleasure rather than anguish.

Anja was indeed a beautiful sight to behold when the throws of ecstasy subsided, her soft skin flushed and her face relaxed as she gasped desperately for breath. Basking in the golden glow, she forgot about the child, groaning with disappointment as Gromr pulled out of her and rolled her onto her side. Opening her eyes halfway, the momentarily pacified Jarlsdottir looked up as her violator’s face, her expression one of feminine bliss.

"It is nice to know that others find you beautiful too after a good enjoyment. I haven't the heart to tell her not matter how much of a beauty she will grow into, she won’t be anywhere near as beautiful as you are, brimming full of my seed after been taken. I doubt that anyone will."

Had Anja been raised as a slave, these words might have made her happy, but she had been raised a Jarlsdottir, and as the pleasurable fog began to clear from her mind, it reacted with horror and shame over what his evil magic had just made her do. Angry tears rose and glittered within her blue eyes as she looked at Gromr, the fires within them rekindling as she gathered her strength, her voice weak and interspersed with panting – yet growing stronger and steadier by the moment – as she replied. “And I doubt… if I were to travel… all of Midgard… that I would ever… find a face and heart… as hideous as yours. Monster. I knew you were corrupt… to your core… but to rape me in front of a child! To lie to her face and call me your willing slave! Is that how you brainwash them? Is that poor girl doomed to be your conquest once she has grown? If her father angers you, is she to be your means for revenge?”

A short, bitter laugh burst from Anja’s lungs. “Is that what you do? Travel across Midgard purposely making enemies so you can justify raping their daughters? Is there no end to your perversions? You have more slaves than any man could ever need, and yet you feel compelled to ruin my life all because my father supposedly tried to kill you. In case you hadn’t noticed, you are alive, though I pray every waking moment that the gods will rectify that. You are not one of the walking dead. You were given the choice to leave your past behind, and instead you rob me of my future. I refuse to be held responsible for my father’s supposed actions. I refuse to be a notch on your bedpost and a prop for your ego. I refuse to stand idly by while you torture the ones I love and blaspheme my mother’s name. I am Anja Erlingsdottir, the free Jarlsdottir of Erlingsland, and I have no Master!”

 

[marauder13]

Gromr was almost lost in the beauty that was Anja post taking. She was one that the Gods put on Midgard to be a creature of sexual passions. The flushed body was a sight to behold, her face was one well suited to the look of bliss that came from a good fucking that fired every fibre of her luscious body.

But all of that passed all too quickly, as the other fire within Anja blazed into life again. Again, she clung desperately to her old life, trying to remain entrenched in the old ways and views. She looked at him, trying to burn him to the ground with just her eyes only. He managed to ignore her heaving bosom, and keep looking at her face as she started to talk.

“And I doubt… if I were to travel… all of Midgard… that I would ever… find a face and heart… as hideous as yours. Monster. I knew you were corrupt… to your core… but to rape me in front of a child! To lie to her face and call me your willing slave! Is that how you brainwash them? Is that poor girl doomed to be your conquest once she has grown? If her father angers you, is she to be your means for revenge?”

Gromr's own pleasure evaporated by the hot anger Anja brought out in him. He was about to lunge at her when she barked a laugh at him. He felt the venom within it, and held his place until she had said her piece.

“Is that what you do? Travel across Midgard purposely making enemies so you can justify raping their daughters? Is there no end to your perversions? You have more slaves than any man could ever need, and yet you feel compelled to ruin my life all because my father supposedly tried to kill you. In case you hadn’t noticed, you are alive, though I pray every waking moment that the gods will rectify that. You are not one of the walking dead. You were given the choice to leave your past behind, and instead you rob me of my future. I refuse to be held responsible for my father’s supposed actions. I refuse to be a notch on your bedpost and a prop for your ego. I refuse to stand idly by while you torture the ones I love and blaspheme my mother’s name. I am Anja Erlingsdottir, the free Jarlsdottir of Erlingsland, and I have no Master!”

He hauled her up by her leash so she was close enough for him to deliver a powerful, open handed blow to the side of her face. He let go of the leash just before he made contact, allowing her to fall freely and no be choked.

"You will watch how you speak of a free woman, Slave. How dare you deem to insult her, and her family, because you have an anger against me. She is one of mine, that I am honour bound to protect. Unlike your father, I take my responsibilities very seriously. If her father does something worthy of punishment, I'll kill him as is right and proper.

"Now, Jarlsdottir, you were a very willing slave, eagerly enjoying giving pleasure to your master. Your body wanted what I was doing to you, and was letting me know in all different ways."

He used the leash to haul her to her feet again, and he spun her around so her back was to him. With a degree of rough handling, he untied her hands, coiling the cord and securing it.

"Yes, I am alive, because of your father's arrogance. Yes, he failed to kill me. But killing him would be too quick for the treacherous bastard. What is happening to you, while is not your fault entirely, is his fault. It is his suffering that matters by doing this to you. Your suffering is your own fault."

He grabbed her chin, wrenching it to bring her face close to his. "The moment I dragged you from that carriage, Jarlsdottir, you ceased to be a free woman. Make such a stupid claim like that again, and you will be reminded of exactly what you are. In fact, I'll remind you right now."

He pulled her down onto all fours, his grip on her chin vise like. "You are not a free woman. You are Jarlsdottir, slave." His open hand slammed into her generous rear, causing it to ripple like water. "What are you?"

Each time she responded with anything not declaring that she was a slave, his hand descended and delivered another powerful blow to her rear. He followed it with the same wording - "Wrong answer. You are Jarlsdottir, slave. Now, what are you?"

He relentlessly continued, one blow when she answered wrong, the same response and question followed. Her continued denial was over, and Gromr was going to ensure that Anja knew the truth of her situation, spoken from her own mouth no less.