Cum For The Viking 3 (Lora's Seduction)

by Wade, Virginia

  “Oh, yes! It’s marvelous,” she said breathlessly. A moment later, a cock was in her mouth, and she devoured it, sucking noisily. “Ooommm…”

  My eyes couldn’t believe what they were seeing. Oh, dear Lord. How the mighty have fallen. What a gaggle of whores! If the good people of Dorset only knew what had become of the virtuous Abbot sisters, they would be appalled. And…they call me a witch? At least I haven’t whored myself out to all and sundry.

  I’d had two Viking seducers, and I was determined there would be no more. I huddled, hiding and praying no one noticed me. As the night wore on, I witnessed the Abbot sisters engaging in multiple sex acts with different partners, sometimes allowing two men to use them at once. The hall began to reek of sex, along with male perspiration. Several Vikings had become ill from overdrinking, vomiting on the floor, which was then stepped on and spread.

  Finn Vapnfjord and his peculiar behavior held my attention through most of the evening, his hulking frame dominating the end of the table. He pushed wenches away when they sat on his lap, and, after several attempts to engage him in the sordid activities, he let an eager woman suck his cock. When he had spent himself, he sat back and drank, staring at nothing in particular, his eyes unfocused, his expression blank.

  The celebration ended with a rousing fight; two Vikings began brawling, throwing punches, and making nuisances of themselves. This triggered a chain of events that culminated in an all out melee, as men pummeled one another with fists. I watched horrified, while the women fled. When it was over, the hall cleared, save for the servants, who were left to pick up the mess. I was thirsty and tired, but I’d not ask for water. They would have refused anyhow. In the cold hours of morning I fell asleep nestled amongst three dogs, which kept me surprisingly warm.

  A commotion woke me, as the door burst open and a man appeared. I glanced in his direction, recognizing Lord Abbot. I squinted from the light streaming through the doorway.

  “Lord Vapnfjord!” he shouted. “Lord Vapnfjord!” He strode into the hall, followed by a man dressed in monk’s robes. “Lord Vapnfjord!”

  Several men, who had been sleeping, stirred. “Who goes there?” one of them asked gruffly.

  “I’m father to Charlotte and Emma Abbot. I’ve come for my daughters.”

  “Er…go the fuck away old man,” he spat.

  “I’ll not,” he said loudly. “I’ve come for my daughters, and I shall not leave without them.”

  “Who disturbs the peace this early in the morning?” Finn stood at the top of the stairs. “What manner of stupidity is this?”

  “I’ve come for my daughters. I’ve enough gold to pay for their release.”

  “Who says they’re for sale?”

  “Isn’t that why you’ve come here? Isn’t that why you’re sacking the monastery?”

  “How much gold?”

  He held up a heavy looking leather pouch. “Enough to satisfy you, my Lord.” There was an undercurrent of disgust in his voice.

  Finn scratched his beard. “Stay where you are.” He disappeared into his bedchamber.

  A moment later, two women emerged, dressed in pretty dresses with demure wimples hiding their hair. This certainly was a far cry from what they had been wearing the night before.

  “Father!” They ran down the stairs and embraced him. “Oh, thank the Lord,” said Charlotte. “Please save us from these horrible men. Don’t leave us here.”

  “It’s been…dreadful,” cried Emma. “We’ve worried about you and mother. How is she?”

  “She’s fine, my dears. You look hale.” He smiled kindly.

  Finn strode down the stairs; his form was clothed in black, from his shirt to his tunic and trousers. Even his boots were shiny, black leather. The darkness of his clothing was a dramatic contrast to his pale features and hair.

  “I thank you, Lord Vapnfjord,” said Lord Abbot. “My girls look healthy enough. You’ve fed them, at least.” He held out his hand. “Here’s the coin I promised. I trust this will be enough to secure their freedom.”

  “I could care less, actually.” He snatched the bag of gold. “Get out!”

  Charlotte glanced at him, and I detected regret in her eyes, as if she would miss this boorish lout of a man. “Good bye, Finn.” Her voice was soft and sweet.

  He ignored her. “You’ve gotten what you came for. Now get out.”

  “Come, my dears,” Lord Abbot said. “Let’s not linger here.”

  “Farewell, Finn,” said Emma.

  I leaned against the pole exhausted. I’d hardly slept at all last night. My throat was incredibly dry, and my lips were cracked. How much longer could I go on without water? As Lord Vapnfjord passed me, I grabbed his ankle, catching the bottom of a pant leg. He jerked in surprise.

  “Please,” I whispered. “Might I have some water?”

  Chapter Three

  He seemed stunned by this request. “You’ve not had water today?”

  “Nor yesterday.” My tangled hair fell around me, and the stale aroma of mead clung to my clothing. I didn’t expect his pity, but I had hoped to be treated slightly better than one of the stray dogs. I had been shown little mercy. I felt suddenly dizzy, my head rolling against the pole.

  An angry burst of Old Norse filled the hall. “Gertrude!” he bellowed. The servant appeared, looking disheveled. She must have just woken. “Why hasn’t she been given food and water?”

  “Er…Lord…sir…Vapnfjord…we…it must have slipped my mind, my Lord.”

  “Have food brought up with hot water for a bath.” When she remained standing there, looking confused, he shouted, “Bring this woman food and drink, Gertrude, or you’ll find yourself strung from a tree!”

  She nodded vigorously. “Yes, Lord Vapnfjord.”

  He glanced at me. “Can you stand?”

  I struggled to get to my feet, but my hand was attached to the wood, and the rope was short. It had cut into my skin, rubbing my wrist raw. “I can’t. I’m…stuck.”

  “Gamla lombungr, sugandi toti tik madr!” he said angrily. He brandished a knife, slicing through the rope, releasing me. I struggled to my feet. “I have an army of soldiers to direct, and here I am playing nursemaid to a witch.”

  I swayed into him, feeling as if the floor were moving. He lifted me into his arms and strode to the stairs, bringing me to his private chamber in the solar. The room was cozy, with a huge bed surrounded by heavy curtains and a fire that blazed. He set me before it and poured water into a cup from a ceramic pitcher.

  “Here, drink.”

  “Thank you.”

  I emptied the contents in one gulp, holding out the cup for more. He poured another splash, while the doorway suddenly filled with servants. One carried a tray and two others a brass tub. While I ate, I watched as they deposited bucket after bucket of steaming water into the bath. When it had been partially filled, they left the room, closing the door behind them.

  Lord Vapnfojord sat at his desk, his booted feet resting on top of the wood. He stared at me; his expression was detached, yet interested. The overwhelming desire not to waste precious hot water had me on my feet, where I undressed, revealing pale arms, legs, and breasts. His interest flared and burned, as he stared at the voluptuousness of my form. I clamored into the tub and began to scrub myself vigorously with a lump of soap, which smelled of lemon, fresh and fruity. I used it on my hair as well, glancing over my shoulder at Finn to find him staring at me.

  “Can you give me the bucket, please?”

  “Now I’m a serving maid.”

  “Oh, never mind. I’ll do it myself.” I stretched out my hand, hoping to catch the edge of it.

  He got to his feet and sauntered over. “Here.” He gave me the item, his look sending a delicious shiver down my spine.

  “Th-thank you.”

  The Viking resumed his seat, lifting his legs to the desk and stretching out languidly. He watched, as I rinsed my hair, tossing water over my head. When the bath had grown cold, I wrung out the dripp
ing strands and stood. “Is there a cloth?”

  He seemed to contemplate the question; all the while, his eyes roamed over my person from the curves of my shoulders down, missing nothing. “It’s on that chair.”

  “Thank you.”

  I wrapped myself in the soft material and sat by the fire, nibbling on roasted chicken, which tasted delectable. There were boiled vegetables as well, and I ate, not caring that I could feel the weight of his stare burning a hole through my back. A knock sounded on the door, and Finn got to his feet.

  “What is it?”

  A young looking Viking faced him. “There are men to see you, my Lord.”

  He seemed unimpressed. “Send them away, Skord. Tell them to come back later.”

  “It’s Alf Rauða from Vinland.”

  Finn groaned. “Already? He wasn’t due for another week.” He cast a glance in my direction. “Stay here, Lora, if you know what’s good for you.”

  “I will.” I had no desire to go downstairs to be tormented by the servants.

  He left then, and I found myself in relative luxury. I had plenty of food and water. A stack of wood would keep the fire going for hours. The bed beckoned to me, looking enticingly comfortable. I’d hardly slept at all last night, tethered to the wood pole. My back ached from the hardness of the floor. After my hair had dried, I pulled the curtains closed and slid under the covers, sighing with bliss. I refused to wear my soiled clothing, thereby sleeping naked. It was a treat having soft blankets around me. I succumbed to oblivion instantly. Something touched my leg, waking me. I turned, struggling to focus in the dim light, seeing the towering form of a man. Finn had returned.

  “I don’t recall giving you permission to sleep in my bed.”

  “I-I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I was tired.”

  Something softened in his look. “How are you now?”

  I yawned, stretching, letting a portion of the blanket slip away revealing the rounded curves of a breast. I grasped the covering, but not before he had seen me.

  “I’m fine.”

  He nodded absently. His mind was clearly on something else, perhaps something carnal? The tightness of his jaw was telling. “Get up.”

  “Is there a dress for me to wear?”

  “What do you think this is? You’re a prisoner. If I say you stay naked, then you will.”

  “As you wish.” The cloth I had used after the bath lay on the floor. I slid from the bed and reached for it, wrapping it around myself. He’d added wood to the fire, and it blazed invitingly. I sat before it, while he took a seat nearby, staring at me.

  “Have you cast many spells?”

  “None.”

  “You lie.”

  I sucked in a breath. “I’m not a witch, sir. My mother had the gift of sight, but I’d hardly call that witchcraft.”

  “That is witchcraft.”

  I picked at a scab on my knee. “It doesn’t matter now anyhow. She was wrong.”

  “Wrong about what?”

  “She said a dark-haired man would take me away. He would be my husband and I would have his children and we would live happily ever after.” I gazed at the flames, a knot forming in my stomach. “She was wrong.”

  “Matheus Hrolf?”

  I nodded absently. “He was clearly not the dark-haired man she was referring to…but I was so sure.” A knock on the door startled me.

  “Come in,” said Finn.

  Skord entered, carrying a tray of food and drink. “Here you are, my Lord.”

  “Leave it there.” Skord glanced at me, noting my state of undress. “That will be all. You may go.”

  “Yes, my Lord.”

  After he had left, Finn drank deeply from his mug, savoring the mead. “Not a bad brew,” he murmured. My tummy rumbled, the aroma of roasting meat lingering. “Have some, Lora. You look hungry.”

  I crawled to him, clasping the cloth to my chest, lest it fall away and reveal me. There were two legs of lamb, and I took one, nibbling around the edges, tearing away at the meat. Finn watched carefully, following my every movement.

  My intuition told me that he was intrigued, yet wary of the stigma of witchcraft. His braes had begun to bulge in the crotch. He wasn’t immune to my charms. I knew men found me attractive, although they would rather throw stones at me than court me and ask for my hand in marriage. With Matheus long gone now, my chance of happiness had vanished. I was destined to be alone…like my mother, finding solace with men who would seduce me for the night and leave. After my father had died, this is what had become of my mother. Instead of being embittered and angry about it, she had accepted her fate and made the best of it, enjoying the men. I’d heard her moans of pleasure often enough to know that.

  “Might I have a sip?”

  He glared at me. “Help yourself.”

  I took his mug, drinking deeply of the honeyed concoction. “Thank you.” I was clumsy, and the cloth fell away, exposing the creamy mounds of my breasts. I let it lay in my lap while I continued to eat, devouring the succulent meat straight from the bone. For modesty’s sake, I shifted my hair, hiding the lush curves. “How long will you stay in Britain?”

  “Long enough.”

  “You mean until there isn’t any gold left?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Why would you invade a peaceful land and sack it?”

  “Where I’m from our land isn’t as fertile, the farming’s harsh, and infighting amongst the clans has left us weak. Taking to the sea is an easy way to obtain wealth.”

  “You’ll all go to hell, you know.”

  “I fear very little, Lora. I’ll deal with the Gods when I meet them.”

  “Do you have a wife? Children?”

  “My brother stole my wife, and my son hates me.”

  This revelation was a surprise. “Why?”

  “It’s none of your business.”

  I took a sip of mead. “I’m sorry your life is unhappy.”

  “I’m not unhappy.”

  “You look unhappy.”

  He sat back in the chair. “I don’t require you to talk. I’d actually prefer it, if you remained silent. Are you done eating?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Here’s what I want you to do.” He leaned forward, his expression earnest. “Take that pillow, and lie down for me. Then touch yourself.”

  “What?” I hadn’t been expecting that.

  “You heard me. I want to watch you touch yourself. I want your hands on your breasts, your stomach, and in your pussy. I want you to scream with orgasm. Is that clear?”

  I stared at him with my mouth open. “Y-yes, Lord Vapnfjord. It’s clear.”

  Chapter Four

  His brazen request had me tingling, my anatomy flooding with arousal. He didn’t seem to want to touch me, which was odd. Bram and Matheus couldn’t wait to seduce me, but I sensed this man was hesitant. Was he reluctant because of the witch rumors? Could he, a grown man, be paralyzed by superstition? Perhaps I should be grateful that he wouldn’t touch me. This would lessen the chance of pregnancy, but what if I was already pregnant?

  He gazed at me expectantly. “I’m waiting.”

  I positioned the pillow and rested against it, my head cushioned by the softness. The glow of the fire caressed me, heating my skin and leaving me feeling drowsy and at ease. Flute music drifted from the first floor along with the raucous laughter of men who were once again celebrating and fornicating, as seemed to be the Viking custom.

  “What do you want me to do?” I whispered.

  “Touch yourself.”

  “Don’t you want to touch me?” There was a long pause. So long, in fact, the branches in the fire popped six times before he answered.

  “I’ll not touch a witch. Stop questioning me. Do as I ask, and do it now.”

  Ah, so he is frightened of me. “Very well.”

  It amused me that he was afraid of nonsense. The look on his face, the twitch in his cheek, and the stiffness of his chin gave evidence of h
is desire. He wanted me, probably more than he would ever admit. I had felt his interest the moment we had met. He wasn’t immune to my charms and my beauty, which my mother commented on often enough. A part of me was wild and adventurous; my spirit would never be tamed, while the rest of me was shy and cautious. Knowing that this would tease the Viking to near distraction, I suppressed a smile. I would thoroughly enjoy every bit of the naughty self-pleasure, and I would indeed scream when the sweet sting of release fell upon me.

  “You want me to touch myself where?”

  “Your breasts,” he growled.

  Oh, dear. He was already angry…hot, angry lust. “Like this?” I skimmed over the curves, grazing a nipple, which tingled on contact.

  “Don’t talk. Just…do as I ask.”

  I pushed them together, crushing the voluptuous mounds. My nipples hardened, the firm nubs pointing skyward. Pinching the pink pebbles between my fingers, I gasped, my stomach rising and falling with each breath. His eyes were glued on my form; his look was stern, yet ardent, his pants bulging. My breasts jiggled invitingly, the overflowing bounty spilling from my hands, as I continued to manipulate and squeeze them.

  “Do you have any oil?”

  He pursed his lips. “Oil?”

  “Wouldn’t you want to see them shine? They’d be easier to rub.” The breathy quality of my voice made me sound like a bewitching Siren.

  “I…I’ll look.”

  He stood revealing a small wet spot in his crotch, presumably from the release of pre-cum. While his back was to me, I smiled openly. The poor man was practically bursting at the seams. To illustrate this point, he all but tore the room apart searching for the oil. In the end, he found a small glass bottle, which he handed to me. He seemed reluctant to speak. Perhaps, he was afraid of himself or what his actions might reveal, if he lost his tightly held control.

  “Thank you.”

  He sat stiffly, glaring at me. I pulled out the cork and poured a healthy splash onto my chest, the fluid feeling cold. The delicious smell of almonds invaded my senses. I settled against the pillow, anticipating how I was going to work this latest development to my advantage. I stretched my legs before me, the lean, shapely thighs barely touching. I flexed and then pointed my toes, his eyes catching the movement. Then I rubbed, working the oil into my skin.