Besieged (6 page)

When a third man slid underneath the
serving maid and began to frenziedly suck on her nipples, Peggy looked away.
She glanced toward Michelle, feeling sickened by how ill the girl looked. “Are
you okay, honey?” she whispered.

“No.” Michelle closed her eyes briefly and
took in a deep tug of air. When she looked at Peggy again, there were tears in
her eyes. “I’m a virgin,” she quietly admitted.

Peggy’s breathing stilled.
Good lord in heaven
,
she thought,
please don’t let these men violate a child.
“How old are
you, sweetheart?”

“Eighteen. Almost nineteen,” she whispered.

Peggy nodded. She squeezed Michelle’s hand.
“What do you want to do?”

“Escape!” the girl fervently whispered. “I
can’t believe this has happened. I feel like I’m living a nightmare!”

Peggy couldn’t disagree with that. But, she
thought warily, if they tried to escape and were caught, she’d never forgive
herself if Michelle’s first time with a man was the result of a gang rape in
the Commons. “What if we’re caught, sweetheart? You don’t want to end up here,”
she said quietly. She glanced around, noting that Ivara was watching them like
a hawk. “The trainer hasn’t taken her eyes off of us,” she murmured.

“I know,” Michelle softly cried. She closed
her eyes tightly and took another deep breath. When she opened them again, she
seemed a bit more in control but not by much. Peggy could only imagine how
frightened she must be—she was eleven years older than the girl and even she couldn’t
recall ever having been more scared than this.

“I think we should go through with the
marriages,” Peggy whispered. “And escape when everyone isn’t watching us so
closely.”

“Look at this beauty!” a drunk Viking
interrupted in heavily accented English as he pulled Peggy down onto his lap.
Her gaze wildly darted toward Ivara, looking for an escape from this groping.
But Ivara was embroiled in a conversation with her whip-wielding giant.

Oh shit,
she
hysterically thought
. Of all the times to not be watching me like a hawk…

Peggy’s heartbeat sped up and her breathing
grew labored as the muscular man set her on his knee and began kneading her
breasts. His blue eyes so much like Geirwolf’s were narrowed in desire, his
words thick. “Such a pretty little girl you are,” he said hoarsely, his thumbs
grazing her nipples, causing her to gasp. He rotated his hips a bit, letting
her feel his solid erection under her bottom. “Do you feel the treat I have
waiting for you?”

If she had met him on the street, she idly
considered, she would have found the man dangerously handsome with his piercing
blue eyes and dark hair. But under the conditions in which she found herself
in, naked in the lap of a man who’d had too much to drink, all she felt was
acute fear. “Please don’t,” she breathed out, her breasts heaving from her
labored breaths. “I—I—I’m promised to another!” she stuttered out in a rush.

His hands stilled on her breasts, though he
didn’t release them. She bit her lip as she watched his gaze stray down to her
cunt. She realized by the disgruntled look on his face that having pubic hair
apparently meant that you were protected from all this, a fact that made her
release a pent up breath.

The man muttered something in his Viking
tongue, his irritation as he released her obvious. Peggy scurried to her feet,
preparing to dash away, when he pulled her in close, her nipples just inches
from his awaiting mouth.

“Tonight, I have no luck,” he mumbled. The
man’s blue eyes, glazed over with inebriation and lust, fixated on her nipples
as he flicked them back and forth with his forefingers. He played with them for
a solid minute like a cat with two toys, making Peggy bite her lip.

Peggy’s body reacted to the stimulus,
arousing her, a fact that didn’t sit well with her. But between standing naked
in front of a clothed man and watching helplessly as he fondled an extremely
sensitive erogenous zone, there wasn’t much she could have done to prevent it.

But eventually, thank the lord, he stopped.
She’d never felt so relieved as she felt the moment he put her away from him,
apparently having decided he’d contented himself enough after rubbing her
nipples for a while.

She turned to Michelle, who looked pale as
a sheet. There was nothing she could say to comfort her and they both knew it.

Peggy took a deep breath. It was either
succumb to the training or end up here. She would definitely not end up here.
Nor would Michelle. A situation like this would break the young girl’s mind.

“Well now that you have all had a taste of
the Commons,” Ivara called out, “it’s time to see what happens to the females
who are given no more chances after receiving their punishment.” Her eyebrows
rose. “The next stop is the Dungeon of Shame.”

Peggy and Michelle glanced at each other.
They both implicitly understood what the other was thinking without saying it
aloud:

They found the Commons deplorable enough.
By the time they left the Dungeon of Shame, they both knew that Ivara would
have won and they would succumb to whatever fate lay ahead.

* * * * *

“I’m going to faint,” Peggy said weakly,
muttering to herself. “I’m going to fucking faint.”

Her eyes wide, nausea churning in her
belly, Peggy stared surrealistically at the caged women, the jails they had
been locked into dangling a few feet above the ground. The women inside of the
cages had been blindfolded and chained down on all fours, depriving them of
movement and visual stimuli.

The caged women were all naked, of course,
their legs obscenely tied apart so that the bald, awaiting flesh between their
thighs was exposed to any man who entered the dungeon. Viking men walked by and
fondled the display of cunts in any manner of their choosing. If a man took a
fancy to one, he asked the warden for the skeleton key to the cage, opened the
iron door, grabbed the female prisoner by the flesh of her hips, and sank into
her pussy from behind. If the woman came during the sex session, then the male
would throw food bits into her cage when he was finished fucking her, treating
her like an animal at a petting zoo.

Peggy’s hand flew up to cover her mouth,
horror lancing through her. She leaned against an equally terrified Michelle,
feeling as though she might faint.
This is not happening
, she thought.
For
all of his faults, I can’t believe Geirwolf would condone a society that would
do this to women.

By the time Ivara called an end to the
twisted field trip, Peggy was resolved to see the marriage to her captor
through. She wouldn’t try to run, or help Michelle escape, until she was fairly
certain they could make it without being recaptured.

Because one thing was for certain: there
was no way in hell either she or Michelle would end up dangling from the
ceiling in suspended cages, their bodies splayed out for any man to take.

Peggy closed her eyes briefly and took a
steadying breath, her body shaking slightly from nerves and ice-cold fear.
There was no way in hell.

On the eve he was to trade vows with Peggy,
Geirwolf prowled towards the
thing
—the meeting place of the leaders of
New Norway—with another of the groomsman. Anticipation of wedding and then
breeding his future wife making his cock stiffen and his stomach muscles
clench. The ceremony, he hoped, would be the easy part. It was the ritualistic
bedding to take place after the binding ceremony that had him worried. He hoped
Peggy would prove agreeable to it…or at least tolerant of it.

Geirwolf had no idea how much resistance
she would give him when first he tried to mount her, though he had often heard
it said that Ivara was an accomplished trainer capable of breaking down a
woman’s reticence in mere hours. He took comfort in the knowledge that already
three days of training had gone by, and more importantly, already Peggy had
agreed to speak the ritualistic words that would bind them together for all
time.

He had no idea of the methods Ivara had
used to train the captive brides, yet found himself hoping that the rumors were
true and Peggy would prove amenable to not only his troth but also his lust.
After all, the sooner he impregnated her, the sooner she could be moved from
the stalls and into his own cavern.

“Which of the females is yours, Wolf?” his
cousin Ragnar asked, breaking Geirwolf from his thoughts.

Ragnar, only twenty-three years old, had
set aside his bachelorhood in lieu of marriage the moment he’d clapped eyes on
the eighteen-year-old Michelle, an exotic beauty he was to wed with this eve.
It had taken Ragnar a solid month of planning, but the young and handsome
blonde Viking who had been named for the mutual grandfather their ancestry
shared from over a thousand years ago, had managed to snag his captive bride on
the third attempt. Not bad for a warrior of twenty-three.

“Peggy,” Geirwolf absently replied, his
thoughts focused on the night ahead. He and his cousin turned left when the
earthen corridor narrowed and followed the dimly lit path to the Hall of
Ceremony, the officious meeting place of the
thing
. Geirwolf’s father,
the jarl, would be performing the binding ceremony for himself and Peggy, as
well as for four other couples, Ragnar and Michelle included.

“Ah! She’s quite a beauty!” Ragnar grinned.
“But then so is my Michelle.” He sighed, sounding every bit a young man in the
throes of his first true passion.

A semi-smile tugged at the corners of
Geirwolf’s lips. He knew precisely how his cousin felt.

* * * * *

Wide-eyed, Peggy gulped as she watched
Geirwolf stride into the large, cool cavern with a younger man at his side. Her
intelligent gaze raked over the giant she was to marry this evening, noting at
once how finely he was dressed.

He wore a long tunic made of black silk
with tight, form-fitting black braies underneath it. His tanned, not to mention
massively muscled arms were bulging from around the gold arm bracelets he wore
at either bicep, the dragon tattoo on his left arm ending just above the
bangle.

She glanced down at his hands and felt
desire flicker in her belly. She blinked, shaking the feeling off, realizing as
she did that he had conditioned her body to respond to them during the long
dogsled ride to New Norway. Apparently, she thought grimly, he had conditioned
her so well that her body responded to the mere sight of his masculine,
callused hands.

Well, she sniffed, her chin going up
defensively, she could hardly be blamed for her reaction.

Geirwolf smiled at Peggy, throwing her
completely off guard. She hadn’t been expecting that. The man was not big on
smiling. The small gesture made his grim features appear less threatening,
laugh lines making his already handsome face that much more appealing.

Oh damn
, she
thought as she nibbled on her lower lip,
he’s already getting to me. Some
martyr you make, Peggy! Stop it. Stop it. Stop---

Geirwolf’s icy blue eyes flicked over her
naked body, then narrowed in desire. Peggy squeezed her thighs together, her
body’s embarrassing reaction to his intense perusal causing her to momentarily
forget how much she hated him, how much she loathed the man for making her his
captive bride. She glanced away, clearing her throat and blinking.

“There he is,” Michelle whispered from
beside her. “Oh Peggy, I’m so scared!”

Peggy’s gaze followed Michelle’s line of
vision directly toward…
Geirwolf?
Her heartbeat accelerated as the
adrenaline kicked in.
Oh damn
, she thought.
Are we
both to be
his brides?
Her nostrils flared.
Bastard!
She decided to ignore the
fact that jealousy was knotting in her belly.

As Geirwolf drew closer, she realized that
Michelle had been speaking of the young man at his side—a very nervous, and she
had to admit quite handsome, young man who was staring at Michelle like a
lovesick puppy.

Peggy let out a breath of relief, then
hesitated, wondering why she’d cared to begin with. Wouldn’t a bride who wants
nothing at all to do with the groom actually prefer a polygamous marriage?
After all, she conceded, it meant that he’d be less likely to bother her for
sex all the time.

Her eyes drifted up to the six-pack belly
rippling beneath his tunic. Yeah, she frowned, sex would be a real bother.

“Remember the cage,” Peggy absently said to
Michelle. “This won’t seem so bad if you think about that horrible cage.”

Michelle’s body stilled. “Right,” she
whispered. “How could I forget that.”

Geirwolf came to a halt in front of Peggy,
his possessive gaze raking over her breasts and then her trimmed
coppery-colored mons. She instinctively sucked in a breath, unwittingly causing
her breasts to heave.

“Hello Peggy,” Geirwolf murmured. “I’ve
been waiting for this night for weeks.”

Which meant he’d been watching her long
before she’d been abducted. Her eyes widened.

Long, callused finger threaded through her
own. She glanced down to where their hands were joined and took a deep breath.

“You have nothing to fear from me,”
Geirwolf said softly, but firmly. “I will treasure you and your body always.
Before long, you will come to me of your own doing, eagerly seeking out my arms.”

Peggy blew out a breath as he guided her
toward the center of the cavern. That, she thought resignedly, was precisely
what she was afraid of.

The well-lit cavern was grandly decorated
for the ceremony taking place, gold and bejeweled dragon statues peeking out of
the earthen walls, a large tapestry of Viking longboats hanging over the double
doors. Natives began to pour in by droves, packing in to watch four of their
warriors take four women as wives in a tradition as old as their people.

Peggy would have been fascinated by the
pomp and circumstance had it not been directly affecting her life. And, she
thought through seething teeth, had she not been forced down to her knees,
naked, and made to sit deferentially at Geirwolf’s feet as if paying homage to
him.

Naked and on her knees aside, Peggy
hesitantly admitted, she was still fascinated by it all. She felt as though
she’d stepped through a portal and been transported into another time and
place—Norway in the ninth century instead of the Arctic Circle in the
twenty-first. Even this business of sitting submissively on her knees before
the bridegroom she knew to be a distinctly medieval tradition. Such had been a
common gesture peculiar to certain regions of Europe in marriage ceremonies back
then, though the modern romanticization of ancient days gone by never told you
that much.

She could feel the gaze of the men in the
cavern looking her over, checking out her nude body. The realization that she
was being assessed and evaluated, not to mention ogled, made goosebumps break
out on her skin and her nipples harden.

Peggy blew out a calming breath, then
looked back up to Geirwolf who was listening intently to whatever ritualistic
words were being said in that foreign tongue they shared. She didn’t move a
muscle throughout the entire ceremony, just stared meekly at Geirwolf as though
there was nobody else in the entire cavern except for him…just as she’d been
instructed beforehand by Ivara to do.

When she was prodded to say yes, she blew
out a breath and answered yes. Ten minutes later when the gregarious officiator
said some words that caused the natives inside the cavern to cheer, she rightly
assumed she had well and truly been wed.

Peggy nibbled on her lower lip. Good lord,
she was married to the man who had kidnapped her.

* * * * *

Geirwolf watched Peggy’s eyes widen in
alarm when two of his father’s men plucked her off of the ground from where
she’d been kneeling at his feet and tied her down, naked and spread eagle, onto
one of the three ornate beds that had been brought into the
thing
.
Michelle, because she was a virgin and her husband would have bloodstained
sheets to show the assembled crowd, was squirreled away into the breeding
stalls to be breeched by Ragnar in private.

Because Peggy was no virgin, she was forced
to endure being publicly mounted that no warrior might make a future claim
stating that her marriage to Geirwolf had not been truly consummated. If a
warrior could make such a claim, it made Peggy fair game. And Peggy, he thought
tensely, was definitely not in the game.

He disrobed before the ornate consummation
bed, his gaze never straying from Peggy’s. He could tell she was embarrassed at
being splayed out like this in front of so many, so the faster he covered her
the better.

He could not blame her. Until this very
moment, he had not given much thought to how callous it was for the men to
gather around and watch a new, and presumably terrified, bride be mounted. His
wolf-blue gaze narrowed at his younger brother Bjorn whom he noted was staring
a bit too intently at his wife’s exposed cunt. Bjorn merely chuckled as a
reply, his eyes so like Geirwolf’s twinkling at his anger.

Geirwolf’s jaw clenched. He had heard that
an inebriated Bjorn had pulled Peggy down onto his lap when she’d been taken to
the Commons by Ivara and the other trainers. That had been insulting enough,
but this—

“Relax, Wolf,” Bjorn teased in their native
tongue. “I am but looking at the wench.”

Geirwolf said nothing, though he continued
to stare challengingly at his brother. He knew it was ridiculous to behave so
jealously, yet he couldn’t seem to help himself. Always, the ladies had found
Bjorn pleasing to be with. He was handsome with his black hair and wolf-blue
eyes and his personality wasn’t so stark as Geirwolf’s. Bjorn didn’t carry the
responsibility of knowing he would be leader to their people one day so he
could afford to be less rigid in his thoughts and conduct.

The brothers stared each other down until,
inevitably, Bjorn’s smile broke. He nodded respectfully at Geirwolf, the
unspoken promise to respect Peggy there in his gaze.

Geirwolf grunted, appeased. He continued
disrobing, throwing his finery to the wayside and stepping before his bride
fully nude and fully aroused. He saw her nibble on her lower lip a bit as he
grabbed his thick cock by the root and walked toward the consummation bed. Her
stare grew wider as he came to stand before her and he found himself wondering
not for the first time what it was she was thinking.

Geirwolf took a deep, steadying breath as
he crawled onto the bed and settled himself between Peggy’s splayed legs. He
had been waiting to plunge inside of his wife for what felt like years. He had
spent the better part of every day these past few weeks fantasizing about what
her warm cunt would feel like wrapped around his erect cock.

He didn’t want to rut on top of her like an
animal, yet he deeply suspected that was precisely what he was about to do. For
weeks he had hunted her. For days he had endured the knowledge that she was in
New Norway, yet inaccessible to him…

His gaze flicked down to his manhood then
back up to a nervous Peggy. His cock was so erect that the engorged ruby head
was painful, his balls so tight he knew this first time wouldn’t last long.

Geirwolf’s gaze clashed with Peggy’s. Now,
he thought possessively, his muscles clenching, she was all his.

* * * * *

Peggy’s teeth sank down into her lower lip
as she watched Geirwolf settle himself between her legs. Cheers and jests were
filling the cavern as males clamored closer and closer to watch the new husband
fuck the new bride. Thankfully the cheers and jests were being spoken in their
native tongue rather than in English, so she didn’t have to suffer from
embarrassment at knowing what was being said about her.

Still, she had her ideas. All of them
mortifiying.

Peggy could feel how intensely her nude
body was being stared at by the men in attendance. And perversely, or perhaps
inevitably, her body reacted to the knowledge. Her nipples were so stiff that
it was painful, her cunt wet. When all she could do was lay there, splayed out
and tied down, there wasn’t much reaction she could give other than the
seemingly innate ones her body was eliciting.

Being stared at through hooded eyes by so
many handsome men was more arousing than it should have been. Being coveted by
so many handsome men while confident in Ivara’s promises that no man but
Geirwolf was permitted to touch her was more arousing than she wanted it to be.
And then there was Geirwolf himself…

He had conditioned her body well, she
thought nervously. The moment he had started disrobing, that steel-hard,
muscular body of his visible, she had become wet. By the time his long, thick
cock sprang free from his braies and pointed eagerly upward against his navel,
her breathing had become increasingly labored, as if she was panting.

He grabbed his penis by the base, the
swollen organ looking even more impossibly virile juxtaposed against the
backdrop of his heavily muscled arm with the menacing tattoo of a dragon
snaking up it. Her breasts heaved once, the nipples aching.

Geirwolf settled himself atop her and Peggy
realized that, bizarre or not, she wanted him inside of her. For the past three
days she had been mentally trained for this moment by Ivara, and for the three
days prior to that she had been bodily conditioned by Geirwolf himself to
respond to him.

He placed the thick head of his penis at
her wet opening, then gazed down at her, his icy blue eyes narrowed in desire.
The large, callused palm of his left hand cupped her right breast and gently
kneaded it even as he settled his big body between her thighs.

The fact that he had decided to arouse her
using her right breast, the breast not visible to the onlookers crammed against
the bed on her left, further warmed her to the man. She rightly suspected he
was trying to keep her aroused so the impending sex wasn’t at all painful,
while simultaneously shielding the intimate act from intruding eyes.

She blinked, finding such an act from
Geirwolf incongruously sweet with the hard, relentless image of him she’d
formed in her mind. And he was right—touching her was much more intimate than
the actual process of fucking her. Any animal could fuck. It took meaningful
caresses and touches to make the act something more, something infinitely
deeper.

“All will be well, Peggy,” Geirwolf
murmured, his voice husky with arousal. “We need to do this but once in front
of the others. After that, our lovemaking will always be private.”

Lovemaking—he thought of what they were
doing as lovemaking. She blinked twice more and glanced down at his chest.

Peggy blew out a breath and glanced back up
at him—at her husband. “I know,” she whispered. She smiled a bit, making his
eyes widen. Apparently he hadn’t expected such a conciliatory gesture so soon.
And, truthfully, she was surprised she had made one too. Nevertheless, his
thoughtfulness in this regard deserved at least that. “But thank you for
reassuring me.”

Geirwolf seemed to want her more after
that. His gaze was burningly aroused, his muscles clenched so hotly she could
see perspiration breaking out on them. He shifted his weight onto his right
elbow and, away from the view of onlookers, removed his left hand from her
breast and used it to help insert the head of his swollen cock into her pussy.

Peggy moistened her lips, desire knotting
in her belly. Her breasts heaved dramatically, inducing Geirwolf to release his
cock once the head was securely inside of her and play with her nipple—again so
nobody else could see.

But Peggy was beyond the point of caring
who saw. She arched her hips as best as she could and threw them at him,
blatantly inviting him to come all the way inside.

Geirwolf groaned a bit, sounding
half-delirious. His jaw was tense, his jugular vein bulging. Without any
further preliminaries he gritted his teeth and, on a louder groan, impaled his
cock into her flesh, seating himself to the hilt.

Peggy gasped, an uncontrollable moan
escaping from her throat. Thoughtfully, which she was beginning to learn was
the norm where he was concerned, Geirwolf lowered his face so his sunny-blonde
hair cascaded down the left side of her own face, shielding the reactions she
made against the cheering crowd like a fan.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice
clearly aroused. He groaned a bit more in response, apparently loving the sound
of her voice mingled with words of gratitude he hadn’t expected to hear from
her for a long time. But, again, his thoughtfulness in this regard deserved the
words.

He took her hard then, thrusting in and out
of her pussy like an animal, mounting her as though he meant to brand her
insides. Peggy gasped, her head falling back against the bed, partially
unshielding it to the others. She closed her eyes and enjoyed the sensation of
being stuffed full of Geirwolf’s cock, way beyond the point of caring what
anyone saw or thought.

“Fitta di er så deilig,” Geirwolf said
thickly, his teeth gritting. He pumped her hard, thrusting in and out of her
suctioning pussy faster and faster. “Your cunt feels so good…”

She came instantaneously, the arousing
words coupled with the arousing fuck her undoing. She could imagine what they
looked like to the others, could imagine the way his steely buttocks looked as
they clenched and contracted while his cock rooted inside of her. She managed
to suppress the sound of her muffled moan by biting down on the sinewy strength
of her husband’s shoulder instead and groaning into it.

Geirwolf growled, then fucked her harder.
The sound of flesh slapping against flesh filled the cavern, competing with the
sound of jests and cheers. He buried himself inside of her over and over, again
and again, making her come until her pussy was sopping wet.

After she came again, Peggy could feel
Geirwolf’s body tensing up above her own and she knew that he was getting ready
to orgasm. She opened her eyes and glanced up at his harsh face, wanting to see
that second of vulnerability that would engulf his features when he came.

“I’m going to fuck your pussy all day and
night,” he gritted out, his voice hoarse. “Forever.”

Geirwolf fucked her impossibly harder,
greedily impaling her flesh over and over again. He thrust into her ruthlessly,
reveling in the pre-climatic nirvana that was somehow always better than the
climax itself.

He held himself over the edge for as long
as he could, mercilessly riding her cunt. His rough palm kneaded her bare
breast, branding it, while his cock possessively branded her pussy.

She could hear the heady sound of their
flesh meeting, the sound of her cunt trying to suck him back in on every
upstroke. He pounded into her flesh once, twice, three times more. And then,
unable to hold himself back any longer, he thrust into her cunt as deeply as he
could go, closed his eyes tightly, and came on a loud groan.

Peggy studied his face, mesmerized by that
few seconds of vulnerability that she knew would be there when he had an
orgasm. As his body convulsed atop hers, as his teeth gritted and his muscles
tensed, she watched his expression keenly, fascinated by the way his grim
features lightened for that threadbare moment in time and he appeared no more
menacing than a butterfly.