Lusty Historical Erotica Stories

by Tabitha Jonestown

  “Uh… are they the ones who… they bid for me…”

  “Yes, they are, and they intend to use you all night.” Bjorn had a thin smile on his dry lips.

  “And what of the Jarl…” Eustace felt the hairs on his arms and neck rising. “…will he not kill me when he knows…”

  “He will be present as you pleasure them…” The older slave said with a smirk. “He prefers to watch.”

  Eustace’s mind reeled. What sort of pagan custom was this? How could anyone want to watch another man take pleasure in their wives?

  “I can tell what you’re thinking, Eustace.” Bjorn chuckled. “This is not Belfour… this is a different world with different customs. Now hurry, you must not make a bad first impression.”

  The bath was most relaxing; one sorely needed to calm his nerves and alleviate his exhaustion. He felt refreshed and invigorated as he was ushered by Bjorn to the chamber where his new masters awaited. Drawing the bearskin cloak tightly around his naked body, he stepped into the large room. The walls were made of wood, keeping the cold air out, and oil lamps hanging over head filled the room with a warm glow. He looked around apprehensively. Before him sat a huge man, steely eyed and ferocious. He was bald and bearded and wore only a leather kilt. His bare torso and arms were densely muscled and covered in tattoos and scars, and his face was a hard mask of aggression. At his feet, leaning on each of his muscular thighs sat his two wives, Helga and Hildegard, completely naked and their eyes afire with lust.

  Bjorn spoke to them in their own tongue and then reaffirmed to Eustace what he had told him earlier. The Jarl would watch as his two wives took pleasure from him.

  “They are especially enamored by your impressive cock.” The skinny old man laughed. “They say it is as big as most of the Northmen, and they want to know if you have as much stamina as they.”

  “May the Lord forgive me for this heinous act I am being set upon.” Eustace clasped his hands together and shivered.

  “Perhaps the Lord himself has set this task upon you, young Eustace.” Bjorn grinned as he yanked off the cloak, leaving Eustace as naked as the day he was born. “As a reward for your devout servitude.”

  “No, that is blasphemous…”

  “You don’t really have any other choice, boy.” The skinny old man laughed and walked out of the door. “So you might as well enjoy it.”

  He stared after the old slave walking away and had half a mind to run screaming after him. Despite the warmth from the lamps in the room, Eustace felt a horrible chill. His hands and feet were numb, and his heart was pounding loud enough to hammer inside his head. He turned his attention to the horror that awaited him, and there they were, standing now, tall, powerful and naked.

  He couldn’t tell one from the other. The redhead was Helga, or was it Hildegard? It hardly mattered for to him they appeared one and the same. Two women, each a head taller than him and stronger as well. His frightened eyes roamed all over them as they walked toward him. Their faces were hard angular lines, and yet had a feminine softness as they smiled. Shoulders broad and well defined, with slender long necks and a powerful torso that held up breasts that looked big and succulent, Eustace had never seen such a sight before. The Lady Fontaine had not exposed her upper body to him, and so this was his first time witnessing naked breasts, and a magnificent duo of pairs of them jiggled before his widened eyes.

  One of them said something and laughed, and the other joined in. His eyes trailed lower, over their well defined middles and then to their tight mounds. He noticed that the area between their fine toned inner thighs was slick and wet with some kind of secretion dribbling down. He knew that enticing valley between their legs all too well now, after having felt the tight warmth of Lady Fontaine’s ravenous pussy on his aching cock, not more than two days gone. He wondered if she had been truly slain or was she here, a slave like him, being subjected to similar humiliation. Suddenly he felt like he wanted to be with her, to be inside her.

  “Hildegard.” One of the women said, touching her own breast.

  “Helga.” Said the other one, with a similar gesture.

  Eustace understood that they were introducing themselves to him before they began their performance for their husband. He looked up at the imposing man as he nodded his approval at them. Suddenly he felt their hands upon him as Hildegard and Helga lifted his slender frame and stretched him out on the bed. He closed his eyes and offered a prayer of forgiveness as their hands roamed all over his body. He prayed for his natural impulses to remain dormant; for his rising cock to not rebel against his better judgment. He imagined all manner of fearful and disheartening images, hoping to diffuse this vile arousal building up within him. He failed.

  His young cock stood to full attention, rock hard and ready, all twelve inches of it. Hildegard and Helga giggled as they stroked him and played with his tightening testicles. Their touches alternated between delicate and forceful, teasing him, tormenting him, bringing him to the brink of release. He gasped with each stroke of their experienced hands, his belly rose and fell, and his narrow chest heaved like a swelling wave. He looked up at the two women taking full advantage of his endowment. They were kissing each other as they fondled him, and as they kissed, they lowered their faces closer to his cock.

  Eustace jerked, thrusting his hips upward as he felt the electrifying sensation of their hungry lips on either side of his sensitive cockhead. They kissed each side, hungry wet kisses, slurping and sucking at his hardness, leaving little darkened marks from their efforts. His cock throbbed like never before and he felt pain mingle with pleasure, yet he loved it. He wanted more, gone was his fear and his need to pray for his body to remain numb. Instead he let his feelings go, he reached out and grasped each of the women’s heads, slipping his slender fingers into their thick, silken tresses. They responded by attacking his cock with more aggression.

  Hildegard the redhead took the entire cockhead into her mouth, sucking vigorously. And Helga the blond stroked his thick shaft as she sucked hard on his aching balls. He threw his head back and a throaty lustful moan escaped his lips. He could feel the torturous surge building up, the same one Lady Fontaine had brought forth from him. Oh, how he wished she was the one doing this to him now.

  Eustace sucked in his breath as Hildegard went down on him further than Bella had. The buzz he felt from the depth of the aggressive redhead’s throat on his sensitive cockhead sent a series of shivers all through his body. Helga worked her way up from his balls and slobbered on his shaft, meeting her partner halfway. The two women wrestled with their mouths over his cock, their lips and tongues using his swollen cockhead for a battleground, taking him over the edge. He cried out as a thick sticky rope of his release erupted into the air and they hungrily opened their mouths to catch all of it. Helga pushed the redhead aside and popped his cock into her mouth, taking the next few spurts of his erupting seed. He gasped and panted as she pumped his throbbing organ, getting as much as she could out of him.

  Hildegard wasn’t one to give up easy, she grabbed Helga by the back of her head and entwined her rich blond hair in her hard, clawing fingers. Turning the blond head around, she had Helga look down on her face and as the blonde opened her mouth, a wad of her saliva and his hot cum dribbled down into Hildegard’s open maw. Eustace stared in disbelief at such a sight, it was disgusting to behold, and yet it heightened his arousal. His young cock, well and truly spent, refused to go down, standing up erect and rock hard instead.

  “Emit ot kcuf siht ytuaeb won, Helga.” Hildegard said with a ribald guffaw and grabbed a hold of his cock again.

  He looked at the two women as they kissed and licked his cum of each other’s faces. Then Helga threw her long shapely leg over him and lowered herself over his erection as Hildegard held it upright. He closed his eyes and sighed deeply. The memories of Bella’s hot pussy wrapping its tightness over him filled his mind and he felt the same sensation as the Northwoman lowered her dripping cunt over him. He instantly felt her tight
ness grip down on him. She felt hungrier than Bella, her pussy seemed to be attacking his cock, hungry for him as it came down, clamping inch after inch. He heard the woman moan and whimper and could tell that this was as satisfying for her as it was for him.

  He opened his eyes and looked at them; the redheaded Hildegard was encouraging the blonde, helping her take more and more of him in. Helga was gasping and clawing her nails into his slender hips. It felt good to have her muscular tightness pressing him down from all sides. He bucked his hips, pushing himself further in. Then Hildegard leaned over him and kissed his mouth, pushing her tongue into it. He sucked on her wiggling tongue, tasting hazelnuts and honey on it. She pulled away and he hoped she would push her breasts at his face next, but instead she threw a leg over him and her hot dripping pussy came slowly down over his astonished wide eyed face. A whiff of her arousal sent a wave of desire through him, making his cock twitch and pulse deep inside Helga.

  Eustace lay sprawled on the bed. One woman straddled his hips and the other his face. He felt every inch of Helga’s tight pussy on his raging cock as she bounced up and down over him. Hildegard wiggled her ass over his face, rubbing her wet pussy over his open mouth. He stuck out his tongue, greedily lapping away. Her moans and gasps made him aware that he was doing the right thing. The two women grasped each others’ hands and kissed one another, whimpering and moaning. He couldn’t understand the words but he could discern their meaning.

  Then Helga pulled off him and Hildegard moved lower. The women changed places and he had his cock plunging inside the redhead as the blonde sat on his face. They resumed their earlier position, facing each other and kissing as one rode his cock and the other his face. They kept on whimpering and moaning loudly as their bodies undulated in a dance most sacrilegious over his prone body. He reached up and grasped at Helga’s dangling breasts, clawing at the feminine softness, savoring the pleasure of a woman’s breasts for the first time in his life.

  “!Hguone” A loud roar made his blood turn to water.

  A sudden hush fell over them as the two women ceased all movement. He felt his cock come away free as Hildegard swiftly moved off him, followed next by Helga. He blinked, wondering if this was a part of their bizarre heathen custom. But if it was, it wasn’t one he’d have cared much for as a huge hand closed over his throat and he was lifted high up into the air. Wide eyed and frozen with fear, the heat of passion and arousal drained from him as quickly as the color did from his face. The giant Jarltain’s savage face greeted him, eyes blazing with berserker madness and the iron grip on his throat tightened. He felt faint and the room began to spin all around him. The last thing he remembered was Hildegard and Helga’s faces gripped in as much fear as his.

  “Ah, you are well.” The woman seated beside his bed said as he sat upright.

  “What?” He looked around in confusion at his unfamiliar surroundings. “Where am I… who are you?

  “I am Sinead…” The woman replied. She had the strangest cut of hair he had ever seen. “A former slave, taken from the same place as you, years ago.”

  “But how… and where?” Eustace frantically tried to gather his bearings, yet felt relief that he was no longer naked and away from the two women.

  “This is Harukat. You were sold to Jarl Jorgen here by his ally, Jarl Vostagan.” Sinead said. “A strange rumor about you is around the marketplace…”

  “About me?” He stared at the woman wide eyed.

  “Yes. It is being said that the wives of Vostagan proclaimed that they had never been quite as satisfied by any man as they have by you… and with the Jarl himself watching.”

  “Oh!” Eustace felt a shiver go through him. “So that is why… he almost killed me.”

  “So it was said, but his wives convinced him that it was better to sell you off.”

  “And what happens to me now…” He asked with a forlorn expression. “I am still a slave here, am I not? Are you the Jarl’s wife?”

  “No, I am not… and yes, you are still a slave, Eustace of Balfour.” Sinead told him blandly. “And your new mistress is the Jarl’s wife to be.”

  “Oh, not again.” He covered his face in his palms.

  “Fear not.” She laughed. “She is from your land, and as recently acquired as you. She has earned her freedom by impressing the Jarl and his wives. You are his gift to her.”

  “Who is this woman?” Eustace sat up, intrigued.

  “Formerly the Lady Bella Marie Fontaine.”

  Story Fourteen

  CHAPTER 1:

  The vicarage lay hushed and quiet all around her and Clarissa paused, her ears tuned for the quiet footfall that would signal her pale and stern father was approaching.

  But of course he wouldn’t be approaching, not now or ever again. He’d died and he’d left her both penniless and orphaned, and entirely without prospects as well.

  The vicarage would have to be turned over soon, and Clarissa was terrified. She’d spent her entire life in the gloomy parish, perched neatly between the coal mines and the rolling, but entirely barren hills. She too had been perched neatly between two things. Her position as the vicar’s daughter meant she could not befriend those in town as they were beneath her socially, and it also meant she was too lowly for those who lived beyond the last stark hill in their tall mansions set neatly on long rolling lawns.

  She was neither laborer nor one who had a life of ease. She fit in nowhere and her father’s sudden death had taken her wholly by surprise and jolted her out of the safe, if dreary, day-today of her existence.

  She’d spent the last two weeks trying to find a position somewhere nearby. At first she’d tried for a governess position. She was well-educated after all. But nobody knew anyone in need of a governess. She’d inquired at the houses of the lord who loved beyond the hills and in the houses of the overseers of the mines as well because she had known that they alone would or could afford a governess.

  When that had failed she’d tried for a house position. She knew how to keep house; certainly, she’d been responsible for the entire vicarage since her mother had died six years before.

  Only nobody had need of her for that either.

  Clarissa, who was known to be sassy and pert, unwelcome qualities in any woman, knew that it was likely not her qualifications that kept her from a position but that reputation. She wished, fervently, that she could simply go back in time and be far more sedate and polite but that too was impossible.

  She’d been desperate and crushed, and things had gotten even worse when she had received a note from the Lord, whose wealth depended on those mines, stating that a new vicar and his family would be coming to take up residence within a fortnight.

  Out of a sense of duty to the new arrivals she’d set out to clean the place thoroughly in order to allow them to have it in good condition. She also hoped the hard work would help her to keep herself occupied as she tried to think of what to do next.

  After she was done cleaning and had taken inventory of everything that did not stay with the vicarage she sold every bit of furniture that her father and mother had accumulated, even the stove although its loss left her shivering with cold during the chilly nights and forced her to cook on the open hearth. She counted every penny and scraped together all the money left from the last month of her father’s wages and then she’d sold every bit of butter she could churn and cheese she could form before she finally sold the cow as well.

  The money was not enough, and she knew that because while her father had been a brilliant orator he’d been utterly unable to manage a single bookkeeping or housekeeping task. He would order more candles than anyone could use and forget they needed groceries. He’d neglect to pay the butcher and order a new altar cloth from a woman known for her shoddy stitches.

  Clarissa had done all of that after it became apparent he would spend them into a misery of too many napkins and no bread, and so she knew exactly how far the money would stretch.

  Not very far at all.

&n
bsp; She had a letter of recommendation from the lord, and from a kindly parishioner. She had the scant amount of money and two valises filled with her plain and somber clothing.

  And absolutely nowhere to go.

  She’d considered going to London to try to find a position, and she was certain that that was her only hope. There nobody would know she was known for being sassy and proud. She could change her ways, mute her natural pertness, and find a position that would give her a roof over her head and food, and wages. She could think of a better plan later, after those things were taken care of and she was no longer so harried or frightened.

  There was a loud and imperious rap at the front door. Clarissa clutched her collar together at her slender throat, her whole body shaking. The new vicar then, come earlier than planned.

  Her heart knocking in her chest she went to the door and opened it to see the postman standing there, his cap pulled down to protect his face from the rain spitting from the sullen sky.

  She swallowed hard. “Yes?”