I tried to stay in the bed while Brynjulf strode out to confront the group of men who had come into his home. After several moments, I couldn’t stand the uncertainty of waiting, and got out of bed, dressing quickly and picking up Einar’s sword from my possessions. I came out of the bedroom, holding the sword the way my father had taught me when I was young and precocious and interested in boyish things—before he had a son.
“There is the whore herself,” one of the men said—one of Ailric’s comrades. I suppressed the shudder that threatened to make me drop the blade. “Either you let us have her to demonstrate that you are not unduly partial to the woman, or she will be put to death as a foreign witch.” Brynjulf looked at each man in turn. Einar was not present, nor were the men who had brought me to this strange land.
“I will not let you have my wife,” Brynjulf said. “If you wish to be Jarl, Ailric, see if you are able to take the position.”
“I do not wish to be Jarl—but your woman has changed you. You don’t send us out to raid anymore. She has worked some foreign magic on you and must be removed.” Brynjulf shook his head.
“My wife has worked no magic on me. If you will not accept her, then I will leave the village, taking my riches with me.” The men muttered at this. “You can see what kind of Jarl you will be given when I am gone. Now leave my home.” The men murmured among themselves, but gradually dispersed. Brynjulf crossed the room and pulled me back into the bedchamber, hugging me tightly.
“Where will we go?” I asked. Brynjulf smiled and kissed my forehead.
“I have a boat. We will take the servants who agree to come with us and head for a land I found on a scouting expedition.”
I woke up in the warmth of my new home, wrapped in Brynjulf’s arms and the furs on our bed. My husband had taken everything—none of the slaves had wanted to take their chances with other masters. Before we left, Brynjulf had told them that they were free, if they wanted to try and make their way back home. Some of his loyal men had made offers to give them passage in exchange for crewing on a few raids. Others of his men had insisted that they should follow him; Brynjulf had given them the navigation guides, but had told them to hold off until cooler heads had prevailed and named a new Jarl.
The new land Brynjulf had found was much warmer than the land where he had grown up. We learned what we could about the land around us, and our servants had helped reassemble our life in the world we now inhabited. It was strange to be in such a big place, with so few people.
As I woke up, I realized that I should have had my monthly course days before. I looked down between my legs—they were slick from the sex Brynjulf and I had shared the night before, but there was no blood. I shook my husband awake. “Brynjulf!” I kissed my husband deeply, touching him all over. I had become more and more wanton of late.
“What is it, beautiful wife?” he asked, pulling me down and letting his quickly-hardening cock rub against me.
“I’ve missed my course! I’m with child!” Brynjulf laughed out loud before kissing me deeply.
“That is wonderful news, Hilda,” he told me, his hands wandering over my body. “I told you that you were not barren,” he reminded me. I laughed, nuzzling against his chest.
“How will we raise him?” I knew it was a boy—deep in my bones I knew it.
“We will raise him to be a fearsome little boy—and a brave, good man.” Brynjulf’s cock was fully hard, heavy against me. “For now, however, I believe I want to celebrate.”
Chapter Five
It was a short time after my husband and I left the Vikings that I missed my course, and knew that I was with child. We had packed up all of our material goods in short order—the servants had come with us to an unfamiliar land, rather than wait and see what their lives would be like under any of the other Vikings. Although my husband had left the community, he wasn’t, strictly speaking, banished. We occupied a strange in-between place in the overall Viking hierarchy; one day, Brynjulf told me, we might return, once his community had discovered what it was like under a different Jarl. It was easy to feel safe, with us the only people. When I knew I would have a child, I began to feel like I was truly part of a family again, not just a vassal in my lord’s care.
I lost track of the days as Brynjulf and I settled into a routine in our new home. We gradually assembled our life anew in the place that my husband had found years before, when he had still been a young scout—a leader of men already, but not in the lofty position he had held when we married. Our new home was at the edge of a dense wood, not entirely unlike the one that had bordered my village and with our servants now free and with us as companions, rather than slaves, I ventured out and learned the lands close to our home. It was warmer than the Viking lands that Brynjulf had grown up knowing, but it was still winter; if it were not for my husband’s skills as a hunter, and our servants’ willingness to scour the land for what little fruit and vegetables they could find, we might have been lost. Our house was warm, and the bed I shared with Brynjulf was just as amicable as it had ever been.
Outside of the Viking community, my life started to resemble more closely that which my parents had intended for me—I was the mistress of a home, and while I didn’t cook, I did see to it that the provisions were kept up, that the servants were able to do their jobs. I befriended my female servants closely, particularly the old woman who would assist me in my labors; before she had been captured by the Vikings, she had been a midwife, and had tended the ill and injured in her own village, in addition to helping the women of her community in childbed.
A few of Brynjulf’s companions-in-arms joined us shortly before I gave birth to our first child, a son—named Brandt as almost a joke between us. Brandt in Brynjulf’s Viking tongue refers to a sword, and when we were considering names for our boy, Brynjulf noted that considering our history, and that he was ultimately the product of a sword, it would be a good name.
My mother had told me that my husband would not want to make love as my pregnancy progressed; but she had been speaking of the superstitions of our own people. Brynjulf delighted in the growing curve of my belly, in my swelling breasts, and I found myself desiring him more and more as my pregnancy progressed. Some nights, Brynjulf would hold me against him and play with me until I came over and over again, wracked with pleasure so intense it was almost pain, locked in his strong arms. He was always gentle with me but he asserted his rights as my husband. “Viking husbands do not fear a pregnant wife,” he would whisper in my ear as he slid into my wet pussy, smiling against my lips. When the baby stirred inside of me he would rest his hands on my belly and laugh at the strong kicks.
After I gave birth, Brynjulf avoided having sex with me, but because he was concerned at the thought that he might hurt me; my mother had told me that it was to be expected that my husband might stray into the arms of another woman while I recovered—albeit temporarily. Brynjulf never slept elsewhere, and insisted on me resting as much as I needed in our marriage bed. There were no nurses but myself, and I had my husband, my baby, and our servants that were more than slaves—they were friends. Brynjulf hunted, drank with his friends, and tumbled into bed with me at night, wrapping his arms around me and running his hands all over me. “I can’t wait until you’re healed,” he told me, teasing my milk-filled breasts and gently stroking my pussy. “I will have you over and over again, and you’ll be pregnant again in two months.” I laughed at that—my mother had told me that when a woman nursed, she was not as readily fertile than she would be otherwise, but she had been wrong about so many things in my marriage, I had no doubt that Brynjulf would have me pregnant again in short order. In the meantime, I delighted in our love-play, with Brynjulf touching me, carefully teasing my breasts, my nipples, my pussy until I was racked with spasms of pleasure. In my own turn, I learned how to please him over and over again with my hands and my mouth; one night, I pulled away from his cock just as he came and his cum spattered my breasts, leaving a pearly warmth on my skin that pleased
him well to see.
I can recall that a short time after the baby was born, my husband assembled the few men who had followed him to our settlement and held the ceremony of naming our child formally—though we had been calling him Brandt to each other privately, as the son of a Viking he needed to be formally recognized. I missed the formal ceremony that a child of mine would have had if I had married someone my parents had selected for me—and it was the first time in months I really thought about the life I would have had if my village hadn’t been raided. I was able to be out of bed for a short time, and I sat close by as my husband settled our baby on his knee, announcing that he accepted him as part of his clan, as his own son, giving him the name Brandt formally. That night in bed together my husband told me that my having his child solidified our marriage in the eyes of his people, and that recognizing the child as his own meant that if we ever did return to the Vikings, he would have status and be able to lead men. I had not thought of us ever returning; but I could recognize that it could be a possibility. Once the tide turned against those who had betrayed us, there was the chance that Brynjulf could take up his position once more as Jarl—though he seemed content at the moment.
As I recovered from the birth of my son, the weather settled into summer, and soon I was taking up my normal duties, carrying my child around in a sling, Viking-style, as I saw to my husband’s comforts. I waited just as impatiently for the day that I could have sex with Brynjulf again, and my midwife, one of the servants, finally told me that I could. She had insisted I wait for a whole two months after my son’s birth, and in the last week, I was so hot and ready for my assertive, attractive husband that I was tempted to let him have me, even against her advice.
Finally, the night came that I could have my husband back again, and I settled tiny Brandt into a cradle that my husband had fashioned so that we could play in bed together without disturbing the infant’s sleep. Brynjulf came to bed quickly, taking me in his arms and stripping my sleeping gown off in one fast movement. “Ah, my fearsome little wife, bearer of my sword,” he murmured, grinning as he kissed all along my neck. “I could not be more ready to have you again.” Even though Brynjulf had never ceased in his attentions towards me, I felt overwhelmed by my incredible, sudden lust for him; my need to feel him moving inside of me again. I wrapped my arms around my husband’s shoulders and smiled, pressing my body up against his.
“I could have died, waiting for this,” I told him, reaching down between us and finding the ridge of his erection in his trousers. Between the easy intimacy we shared and my own experiences in giving birth, I had lost all of my maidenly reservations—I loved my husband so deeply and found his body so attractive that I couldn’t bear the thought of ever not having him. I squeezed him through the worn material of his trousers, feeling the heat and weight of his hard cock with delight.
Brynjulf’s hands danced all over me, and his teeth nipped into the sensitive skin of my neck, making me moan and writhe in his arms. “I love your body even more now than when you came to me as a maid, my little Hilda,” he murmured to me, cupping my breasts carefully and continuing down to my not-quite-flat belly. I had been somewhat worried that Brynjulf would not like me as well after my pregnancy and birth—I had even worried that giving birth would make me lose some of the tightness that I’d had when my husband first took me. My midwife and servant had laughed at my fears, telling me that I’d be as tight as ever, after I healed. I could feel myself becoming wet with desire, my pussy tightening with need. “I want to take my time with you now that I can have you,” he added, cupping my sex and stroking me slowly. He raised an eyebrow, finding me already so thoroughly aroused. In spite of myself I felt my cheeks flushing at the extent of my desire.
“We have all the time in the world, husband,” I said, giving Brynjulf’s cock another careful squeeze through his trousers and beginning to stroke him. Brynjulf moaned into my neck, his fingers touching me more insistently. He found my clit, rubbing it firmly enough to make me squirm with pleasure. His lips moved down from my neck to my breasts and he kissed and licked at my nipples, arousing me even more. I forgot that Brandt was even near as I worked my husband’s shirt up and off of his body, needing to feel his heat, his muscular body against mine. Brynjulf chuckled, nuzzling my breasts for a moment before pulling away from me. He stood, opening his trousers and easing them down off of his hips. His cock sprung up immediately from the confines of his clothes, and I sat up, reaching out to take him in hand.
“So eager, little wife?” he asked, his words turning into a moan as I stroked him in my tight hand. Brynjulf let his head fall back and stood still as I pleasured him, rubbing my thumb across the head of his cock as I stroked his velvety flesh. After several moments, I leaned in and brought my lips down onto him, letting the tip of him just barely penetrate my mouth. My husband’s moans deepened, and his hips thrust compulsively, forcing me to adjust. I smiled to myself, tasting his flesh, his precum that coated my mouth. As my pregnancy had progressed, I had given him pleasure this way several times; my body had eventually become too unwieldy to be truly comfortable in sex, though Brynjulf had teased and pleasured me almost to the last.
I could feel my husband’s body becoming tense as he approached orgasm, and he pushed me away—not too roughly, but abruptly, his bright blue eyes opening as he gave me a reassuring smile. “I told you, little wife, that I wanted to take my time.” I giggled, knowing just how close he had been to orgasm when he pushed me away. Brynjulf gave me a mock-stern glare, his lips twitching with amusement. “If any of my other men’s wives tried to trick them like that, they would receive a beating.” I raised a haughty eyebrow at this, egging my husband on.
“I thought it was a good wife’s duty to give her husband pleasure,” I insisted, crossing my arms over my chest. Brynjulf laughed before reassuming his stern, disapproving look.
“It is a good wife’s duty to obey her husband.” I pouted. Brynjulf picked me up, settling himself on the edge of the bed and dragging me over his lap. I could feel his hard cock pressing up against me as he settled me across his legs. “I am going to teach you a lesson, my spoiled little wife.” I giggled, excited and anticipating. I knew that Brynjulf would never truly hurt me—and that especially right now, when he was far from angry, I was in no danger.
My husband’s hand came down across my bare ass, and I yelped in surprise, starting up and arching to instinctively try and get off of his lap. Brynjulf held me down carefully and brought his hand down again and again, flat against my ass, sending shocks of heat through me. Of course, when I was younger, my parents had beaten me, but never like this spanking—never with their bare hand across my ass, never with this sense of intimacy. After several blows, I felt Brynjulf rub my ass slowly, the sensation almost more pleasant than if he hadn’t “punished” me before. My husband brought his hand down on me a few more times, and I was squirming, panting with desire. I moaned like a whore, pushing my ass against his hand, almost wishing he would land more blows on me. “Will you be an obedient wife now, little Hilda?” Brynjulf asked me, his hand slipping down between my legs and finding my wet pussy, slowly stroking me.
“Oh yes, husband,” I cooed, arching into his touches. Brynjulf laughed again, lifting me up off of his lap. He settled me among the pillows and kissed a path down my body slowly.
“Then I shall reward you,” he murmured against my hip, glancing up at me with mischief in his eyes. He parted my labia and kissed my clit directly, nuzzling his chin and mouth against my pussy as his tongue began to tease me. He tasted me as thoroughly as possible, starting at my clit and making me gasp, working his way down to my tight slit and probing me with his tongue before moving back upward. I pitched and moaned underneath him, gripping the linens in my fist and twisting them, the pleasure so intense I knew I would not be able to avoid climaxing quickly. My husband began to focus all of his attacks on my clit, flicking his tongue over it quickly until I was mindlessly pushing my hips against his mouth, needi
ng more and more. I cried out when I felt his finger penetrate my pussy, slowly pushing inside of me and curling around, brushing my inner walls until he found the spot inside me that made me gasp. After several moments of this torture he added another finger, stretching my tight muscles, forcing them to yield to his teasing assault. I ran my hands through his hair, gripping close to his scalp while my hips bucked and twisted, my pussy almost aching for release.
Stolen Fruits: The Complete Collection (A Historical Viking Erotic Romance Novella) Page 4