Taken by the Vikings: Books 1-3 Bundle (Historical Group Erotica) (Taken by the Vikings (TbtV))

by Circe Ridley

  TAKEN BY THE VIKINGS: BOOKS 1-3 BUNDLE

  HISTORICAL GROUP EROTICA

  BY

  CIRCE RIDLEY

  A SMALL OUTTAKE…

  Sven’s grunting resounded over the room and Ingrid could feel his sweat roll over her thighs as he went deeper and deeper into her. Leif’s hand caressed her breasts and he twirled his finger on one of her wide nipples, making it perk up. Leif gently squeezed her breast, feeling the soft white flesh with a kind of ownership that she hadn’t sensed before. Her breath caught in her chest as he slowly toyed with her breasts, his gaze intent and thoughtful, ignoring his partner, who was taking the hapless girl so roughly.

  Sven paused for a moment, looking at the woman whose mouth was slightly open as she stared up in a daze at Leif. He smirked slightly, wiping his forehead with the back of his hand.

  “I think it is time for you to have her as well, Leif,” Sven said, making Ingrid stir slightly. She rubbed her wrists as Leif let them go, but was suddenly flipped over on her stomach, the remnants of her clothes brushed to the side and the curvy woman now completely naked in front of the two Vikings. Sven stood at the footboard with his cock erect in his hand, rubbing it slowly as Leif got on the bed on his knees and raised Ingrid up to be on her hands and knees.

  Copyright © 2015 Circe Ridley

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Taken by the Vikings: Books 1-3 Bundle

  Historical Group Erotica

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this work may be used, reproduced, transmitted in any form or by any means by anyone but the purchaser for their own personal use. This book may not be reproduced in any form without the express written permission of Circe Ridley. Any reproduction or other unauthorized use of the material is prohibited without the express written permission of the author.

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  A SMALL OUTTAKE…

  PILLAGED: TAKEN BY THE VIKINGS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  PLUNDERED: TAKEN BY THE VIKINGS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  CHAPTER FOUR

  CHAPTER FIVE

  PILFERED: TAKEN BY THE VIKINGS

  CHAPTER ONE

  CHAPTER TWO

  CHAPTER THREE

  RELATED BOOKS

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  PILLAGED: TAKEN BY THE VIKINGS

  HISTORICAL MENAGE EROTICA

  BY

  CIRCE RIDLEY

  CHAPTER ONE

  The day was pleasant if a bit chilly. The remote village of Ostenay had never been able to boast that it was a good place to bask in the sunshine, but this was something that the few inhabitants of the village had become quite accustomed to. Every time the wind blew through the wide streets of the little settlement, it left an echoing howl behind as it forced through the wooden corridors and made sheep huddle together in paddocks. Ingrid tightened her scarf about her and continued with the joyless task of hanging up laundry on the clothesline in the middle of the village.

  She could hear muted chattering around her, the women who had stayed home going about their daily tasks and trying to remain sociable while doing so. The community always felt a bit odd and restless when the men were out of town hunting, like this time, or fishing or cutting down timber for another homestead for one of the members. It didn’t happen often that they all went together, but it was common enough to raise no alarm in the women and children left behind. Ingrid preferred it when they were home, though. The streets were always filled with shouts and laughter and merriment was had by all, it wasn’t the tense, strained small-talk that happened when only the women got together.

  Ostenay was nestled between two hills in a small valley that overlooked a cove, which wasn’t very good for fishing, but at least it was hidden from the storms that often raged this far in the lands of the Swedes and the Goths. It was far south and the weather was mild and tolerable compared to what the Norsemen had to deal with, but it was not exactly the most hospitable place to live. Yet, they had carved their little life out there and generation after generation tried to get by as best as they could.

  The settlement was made up of a few dozen homes and was lined with a few patches of cultivated land that the community took care of in unison. There were herds of sorry looking sheep and flocks of chicken scattered around the village and even a few cows and oxen, so all in all they were doing well for themselves. Most of the inhabitants were rather young and the women were known far and wide for their particular beauty, having long thick blonde hair and the bluest of eyes, like the spring water from atop of the fjords.

  Men often came to Ostenay to court the daughters, but only the best were permitted to have their hand in marriage. In many cases they were told to settle in Ostenay if they wanted to marry. That really was the only way to keep the village growing as there were better places to live. With the mighty treks across the seas that had been going on lately all across the northern areas, people had come to know that there were lands of bounty elsewhere and the incentive to stay had to be found somehow.

  Ingrid sighed wistfully as she hung up her husband’s rough-woven tunic and clasped it in place with wooden clips. Her long wheaten hair was braided around her head like a crown and her cheeks were flush with the cold, giving her a soft pink glow on her pale skin. She had freckles on her nose and her eyes were just as blue as the summer sky. She had married Fiske a year ago, he had begged and pleaded with the village elders to have her hand in marriage and finally they had given in.

  She had had many suitors but none quite as persistent as he had been. Ingrid hadn’t been very taken with him, but she knew that men and women often had to come together and learn to know and appreciate each other before love came around. Reluctantly, she had accepted his proposal and he had moved into Ostenay the very next week.

  He had quickly built her a fine house and bought lambs and chickens for them to care for. He was a hard worker and a proud man who tried his best to keep her happy and safe, but month after month Ingrid felt as if something was missing, a void inside of her that was left unfulfilled. A young couple was expected to be with child in the first year of their union. If the woman had not gotten pregnant by the time that the first year fell, then that usually meant that a grave cloud of worry and strife would fall upon their marriage. Ingrid and Fiske were a month from the day that marked the end of their first year and Ingrid had been growing more concerned with each passing day.

  She knew that he had done his best and she too had tried to meet his needs to carry his child, but the fates seemed against them. Month after month she bled and cried and they tried again, the passion never having really been there, but duty and tradition outweighing it. Fiske was a good man and she knew he would be a good father to their children, she was just starting to worry if they were going to have any to care for.

  The last piece of clothing hung up on the line, Ingrid picked up the woven basket she had carried them in and took it back to her house, sharing a few pleasantries with the neighbors as she
went past them. The women were mostly cleaning and cooking, some weaving cloth or mending clothing. It seemed that every time the men came back from a hunt, whether they had caught something or not, they had at least certainly ripped or completely destroyed whatever they had been wearing.

  The women kept asking them to try and catch prey with bigger hides as the amount of leather the men managed to ruin during one hunt always seemed to be more than what they came back with. Ingrid got the feeling that they must have been wrestling or something of the sort to end up looking like they usually did, when they finally dragged the few measly deer back that constituted the entirety of their catch.

  Yet, it was a necessity. The forests teemed with creatures and sometimes many deer and moose would show up on the lands of Ostenay, feeding on the meager fields and stealing food from the few inhabitants of the village. The hunting needed to continue, lest they have nothing to harvest at all, and the wild meat was a pleasant change to lamb and chicken.

  She was just about to step in through the front door to get the cooking started, when a sound echoed across the village that rooted her in place. Her eyes became wide with fear and she dropped the basket where she stood, looking over her shoulder. Ingrid hoped that she had imagined the shrill sound of the warning bells ringing but it wasn’t so, the loud demanding clatter carrying firmly over the houses. Her eyes met with Astrid, who had been walking past the house just as the bells rang, and the same desperation shone back to her in her gaze as Ingrid felt gathering in the pit of her stomach. The basket lay on the ground beside her.

  CHAPTER TWO

  “Vikings,” Astrid yelped, shaking off her catharsis and breaking into a run towards her own home. Ingrid pressed down the tears she felt coming on, picked up the skirt of her long dress and started running back towards the middle of the village. A hundred questions and worries screamed in her head as her feet carried her quickly through the winding streets. They must have somehow known that the men were out and couldn’t fight them. They must have known that the village was full of helpless women and she knew exactly what they wanted from them.

  She detested that a voice in her head said that she was going to be okay, that because she was married they wouldn’t take her with them. As if the fact that she would most likely be left behind would make it better for the unmarried women who were going to be dragged off as their newfound brides, the beauties of Ostenay to be paraded around as the prized wives of brutish warriors.

  Vikings hadn’t attacked Ostenay in a long time and so the village had fallen into a lull of mock safety, thinking that the world had somehow become civilized in a scant five years. Ingrid’s older sister had been taken last time and she had been left as too young when the raiders found them hiding together in a wardrobe. Ingrid could still hear Freja’s screams as she was flung over the wide shoulder of one of the men and carried off like nothing more than a tempestuous brat.

  Ingrid reached the middle of the village just as the other women were picking up the last of the children that had been playing in the wide open space.

  “Go, hide,” one of the older women hissed at her as Ingrid skidded to a halt, the woman tossing fearful glances towards the waterline. Ingrid looked towards the cove and she could now see the wide sails of the two longboats that had just touched the shore, heavy boots landing in the low water as men jumped out. She gulped and nodded, turning around to run back to her home as the children were already being hidden.

  As she ran back, she could imagine the anguish the mothers were feeling as they hid their girls under floorboards and in cellars, desperate to keep them out of sight of the Vikings. Usually they weren’t too heavy handed with villages in the Great North, there was still some sort of camaraderie between the different clans and their spite was mostly targeted towards the men in the South and the English. However, if they had taken their time to come to Ostenay, she knew full well that they would be looted for all they had and the women taken for their personal pleasure.

  She kept glancing over her shoulder at the cove and the center of the village, half-expecting to hear screams and the roars of bloodthirsty men with every step she took. Ingrid could already see the door of her house, the basket tipped to one side next to it, when she suddenly heard the thud of several heavy feet. Ingrid gasped and dove behind a row of bushes instinctively, crawling up behind it and making herself as little as she could. She bit her lower lip in an effort to not sob outright, as she could feel the first tears start to roll down her cheeks. The footsteps rounded a corner and headed straight for her. She shook uncontrollably, the horrifying memories of those endless minutes in the closet with Freja flooding back to her.

  Ingrid was expecting to be dragged out from her makeshift hiding spot as the thuds went past her, thick leather boots hitting the ground just inches from her face. To her great surprise, they passed her and left her completely unscathed. She opened her eyes as she heard them move into the distance and finally dared to peek over the green leaves, one cheek slightly muddy now. Ingrid looked in both directions and then, deciding that between the options of staying there or finding a place to hide in the house she would much rather take her chances in her home, jumped up and sprinted towards the door.

  The door fell shut behind her with a thud just as she heard masculine voices shout out something on the street and her whole body tensed up again. She looked around the room desperately for something to barricade the door with and grabbed a chair, setting it up against the door as a makeshift obstacle. It looked flimsy to even her, but in her frantic state she couldn’t think of anything better. There seemed to be two voices outside and she could hear them become muffled as they burst into the house across from hers.

  Ingrid clutched her scarf, pulling it tighter around herself, and ran through the house into the bedroom, closing that door behind her as well. There was a large closet, a table and a bed in the room and without a second thought, she crawled under the low bed, struggling to fit there. She wouldn’t climb into the wardrobe if it was the last thing she did, she couldn’t bring herself to go through that again. The floor smelled of earth and rough wood, the scent of the timber still lingering in the new house. Ingrid forced herself as far under the bed as she could and gathered her skirt and scarf around her, balling up under the cot. All she could do now was wait and hope that they would become satisfied with their bounty before they got to her.

  She whimpered softly, squeezing her eyes shut and trying to block everything out. Images of men dragging girls out of their houses by their hair, while their mothers begged and pleaded, flashed before her eyes and her sister’s screams rang in her ears. Ingrid could hear them come out of the other building and the footsteps tread closer until there was a loud banging on the door, someone trying to force their way in. She clasped a hand over her mouth to keep from making noise, the yelps stuck in her throat as she froze in place, listening intently.

  It didn’t take long for them to burst through the door, the rickety chair breaking into pieces as the heavy wooden door flung inwards and flattened the chair against a wall. The steps were so close now, trampling through the kitchen, followed by noises of pots and pans clattering on the floor as the intruders searched for anything of value. She could hear them tear open cupboards and rummage through anything they could get their hands on and she knew that it wouldn’t be long before they made their way to the bedroom.

  Ingrid could make out the sounds of two men talking amongst each other, their breaths heavy with exertion as they continued their hurried pillaging. One of them stepped into the bedroom, done with the kitchen, and Ingrid saw his feet moving around the room. He threw open the doors on the closet and pulled out the clothes and blankets in there, not satisfied with his findings. The viking grumbled loudly and swept the table clean, items scattering on the floor. Ingrid was barely breathing, completely still like a mouse in a corner, but something sunk in her chest when she saw a silver brooch fall off the table. She begged silently that the man wouldn’t notice it and ben
d down to pick it up as she would be easy to spot, her heartbeat pounding in her ears now.

  The woman felt the blood drain from her face as she saw a large hand reach down for the flimsy piece of jewelry and a thick blonde beard appear just a few feet from her. It was as if everything slowed down for a moment as the man grinned and then looked at her, plucking the brooch from the ground and then reaching out his hand to grab her. Ingrid screamed and tried to get away from him, but there was nowhere to go and he grabbed her by her ankle, dragging her out as if she was just a rag and had no weight at all. She struggled mightily, hitting the man in the face and chest with her fists as he dragged her up from the floor, laughing at her feeble attempts, before throwing her on her back on the bed she had been hiding under.

  Another face appeared in the doorframe, with long ginger hair tied in a braid on his back and his beard cut short. He smirked slightly while stuffing a ham that had been hanging from the kitchen ceiling into a canvas bag, already heavy with stolen things.

  “I see you’ve found a maiden, Sven,” he said calmly, setting the bag down in a corner and giving her a long appreciative look. The two men watched her with bemusement in their eyes as Ingrid covered herself by wrapping the scarf tightly around her shoulders and chest, glaring back at them with hate.