Claimed by the Vikings (2 page)

The door to the wash house flew open with a thundering crash.

Leo cowered against the wall, too scared even to cry out.

His fate had come upon him.

Backlit by flaring torches, a man stepped into the wash house. A man, or a giant.

Leo stared, the cowl of his habit throwing shadows over his face. He had never seen a man so large, or so strangely dressed.

The man was bearded, his ginger hair bound in great braids streaming behind him, and he wore a fur cloak and leather armor that seemed to be patched together from three different sources. He had only one eye; the other was covered over with burned-looking skin.

He also carried a huge axe over his shoulder, and it was dripping red.

Leo gulped, realizing the true extent of the disaster that had befallen them.

Vikings.

He had only heard stories, and never seen a real Viking before now. But everyone knew what happened to monasteries that were raided by Vikings. Rape, plunder and death. Nobody survived, except the few who were taken as slaves, and those were never heard from again.

Terrified, Leo huddled against the wall, trying to make himself invisible as the giant Viking scanned the little building. He must be looking for treasure, but there was nothing valuable in the wash house.

Please leave, please don’t see me, please go
, Leo thought desperately, trying to make his words become reality by sheer force of will.

The Viking stuck a flickering torch in the holder next to the door, lighting up the wash house. He looked around quickly, searchingly.

Then his one good eye fell on Leo, half-hidden in his dark robes, and he roared triumphantly.

“No!” Leo cried, expecting the axe to come whistling down and chop his head off.

But the Viking paused, a grin creasing his thin lips. He came closer, huge strides carrying him to Leo’s side in a moment, and then he ripped the cowl from Leo’s head.

Leo stared up at him, not even breathing, his heartbeat stuttering with terror.

“Mine,” the Viking said, in heavily accented Saxon. He smiled, looking Leo over with a predatory air.

Leo couldn’t speak; he could only stare at the giant who loomed over him and hope for mercy.

When he failed to respond, a huge hand came down and struck him.

Leo fell against the wall, his cheek blazing with pain where the giant Viking had hit him. “No, please…” he whispered. His arms were shaking so hard that he could barely hold on to the manuscript.

The Viking grinned wider. It was an unpleasant grin, showing jagged teeth.

Then he ripped the book from Leo’s arms.

Leo cried out and fought him, suddenly finding courage. His life was already forfeit, but perhaps he could still save the manuscript. Perhaps he could still gain Heaven with this one last deed.

The Viking opened the book, unhindered by Leo’s attempts to grab it back, and then he paused, seeming puzzled. With one scarred finger, he touched the richly colored pages, rubbing as if trying to rub the gold off them.

Leo wondered if this man had ever even seen a book before. Everyone said that the Vikings were savages; heathens who defiled altars and knocked the gold crucifixes off church walls.

“Bah,” the Viking said then, and threw the book away over his shoulder. As if it were rubbish, Leo thought with horror. As if the word of God meant no more to him than a child’s scribbles.

Struggling desperately, he tried to escape, to find the book and run. But the Viking’s heavy hand fell on his shoulder, then around his neck, grabbing him hard enough to make him cry out in pain and fear.

Leo tried to breathe, growing dizzy as the hand around his throat tightened.

He felt overwhelmed. The Viking was at least a head taller than he was, and so much stronger. He could easily strangle Leo one-handed.

“Mine,” the Viking said again, with that same unpleasant smile. Then he dropped his giant axe on the floor behind him, and with his free hand, began to unbuckle his belt.

Leo could not think, could barely breathe. It was a surprise to be still alive, and yet he felt the shadow of something unspeakable looming over him. The Viking clearly did not mean to let him go.

Slowly, the Viking tugged down his thick wool trousers, keeping his other hand around Leo’s throat.

Leo tried not to look, but he couldn’t look away.

With fascinated horror, he saw the Viking bare himself. He saw the reddish curls at his groin, the massive thighs, and between them the heavy, purple-headed cock, fully erect and gleaming.

Leo swallowed heavily. He had never seen another man aroused, and this was like something out of a nightmare. How could this heathen man not be ashamed, to show his lust so openly? But the Viking’s one good eye showed only lustful greed and hunger, not shame.

At last the Viking let go of his throat, and Leo gulped for air, his chest heaving.

“Suck,” the Viking said, his strange accent making the word almost unintelligible.

Leo blinked up at him, panic clouding his understanding.

Glaring down at him, the Viking hit him again, making his ears ring.

Leo bit down on a whimper, feeling his face burn. He would not show weakness to this savage, he would comport himself with dignity, and face death with -

“
Suck
,” the Viking commanded impatiently, and now he made his meaning clear. He shoved his left hand in Leo’s cowl, grabbing at the fabric and pulling him forward.

With his other hand, he fisted his own cock, aiming its stiff length at Leo’s mouth.

Oh Lord in Heaven.
Leo could not believe this was happening, but he had no choice but to give the savage what he wanted. He would not let the Viking knock his teeth out, not if there was a chance he could survive this.

Awkwardly, he opened his lips.

The Viking shoved himself inside immediately, pressing himself into Leo’s mouth.

Leo choked. The sudden hot pressure inside his mouth was an utter violation, and it was taking away his air. He couldn’t breathe, he could only choke and sputter, and still the Viking was pushing himself deeper.

“Nnno,” he protested, and finally drew a desperate breath through his nose.

The width of the Viking’s cock pushed his teeth apart, forcing him to drop his jaw. It was more than he could take; spit was escaping from his mouth, and now the Viking was eagerly rutting against him, rutting
into
him.

All Leo could hear was his own pounding heartbeat and the sound of his desperate, choked breathing. He could not believe this was happening.

Choking, he tried to free himself, but the Viking wasn’t letting him loose. His big hand was hard on the back of Leo’s head, the short hair wound around his fingers, and he kept up a steady rhythm of thrusts, forcing his hard length deep into Leo’s tender mouth.

Already Leo’s jaw was aching, his neck felt stiff, and his eyes watered with the sheer pressure. His tongue was pressed against the man’s cock, tasting him whether he wanted it or not.

It was that same strange taste he had known before, but saltier, muskier. The taste of another man.

Perhaps this was God’s punishment for his wicked thoughts, Leo thought in despair, sputtering as the Viking’s thick cock hit his soft palate. Perhaps this was the way he would die, choking on another man’s sin.

Suddenly the Viking pulled out, smiling grimly as he watched Leo gasp for breath. He seemed to be enjoying Leo’s terror and shame.

The big blond man stripped his own wet cock in his fist, groaning with pleasure, and then he grabbed Leo’s hands, crushing both his wrists tightly together.

“No, please!” Leo begged as the Viking tied his leather belt around his wrists, tying his hands tightly together. His hands tingled as the belt cut off the flow of his blood.

Oh God
, Leo thought with a flash of terror,
if I survive this but lose my hands…
He would never be able to write or draw again. He would be useless, a cripple, unable even to do menial work. He would starve, alone and friendless. The vision of such a future horrified him even more than what was happening to him in the present.

“Please untie me,” Leo said, speaking very slowly and daring to look the grim-faced Viking in the eye.
“Please.”
He wriggled his stiff, swelling fingers, trying to show what he meant. “I’ll do what you want, I swear, just please -”

By way of response, the Viking hit him in the head again.

This time, Leo fell over, his head ringing, black spots dancing in front of his eyes. He was close to fainting, and fear had taken hold of his mind again.

This Viking knew no mercy, no compassion. He would satisfy his lusts whether Leo was conscious or not, and then probably slaughter him like an animal.

If Leo wanted to survive this, begging would not help him. All he could do was submit.

Dimly, behind him, he heard the Viking spitting into his hand. A rough, unpleasant sound.

Leo felt himself being rolled over, until his chest was against the cold stone floor, his bound arms crushed beneath him. He was dizzy from the Viking’s brutal blows, and his hands ached where they were tied. He knew he would not be able to stand up without help.

Then the Viking ripped away his clothes, tearing at the cloth when the fastenings would not give way. First his rough wool habit, then his linen underwear.

Cold air hit his backside, and Leo knew with a sinking feeling of dread that the Viking meant to use him this way.

Rape, plunder and death.

He had some inkling of what it meant to be used by a man; often enough he had heard of the sin of Sodom, when the Abbot preached against its temptations. Yet never had he dreamed that it would be done to him.

Again the Viking spat, and this time Leo felt it landing on his naked behind.

He shivered with horror, and heard the Viking growl impatient words that he did not understand.

The cool wetness dripped between his cheeks, and then he felt the pressure of the Viking’s cock against his virgin hole.

With the first thrust, Leo screamed.

He couldn’t help it. He couldn’t stop himself; his whole body was one scream of protest as the Viking forced himself inside.

The man’s tool was too big, far too big; it couldn’t possibly fit. Leo had never felt such pain.

The friction was like sandpaper, like a file scraping against raw flesh, and still the Viking was pushing harder, pushing deeper.

Tears ran down Leo’s nose and into his mouth, and he cried like a child as the Viking speared him open.

“No, no, make it stop,” he begged, muffled by his own robes, knowing that nothing he said would stop the brute from using him for his pleasure.

Leo had never felt so powerless. He felt as though he was no longer human; as though he was a thing, an object, something to be taken and fucked and then discarded.

The Viking rutted inside him, forcing his tender little hole open, spitting on him again to make himself slide easier. His big hands were on Leo’s hips, holding him in place.

With every powerful, viciously painful thrust, he grunted words in his own language. They might be prayers or curses, for all Leo knew.

Helpless, Leo let himself be taken, his face rubbing against the cold stone floor as the Viking shoved him back and forth.

He wept, little hiccuping whimpers escaping his tight-clenched jaw, and he thought with despair of his vow of celibacy.

Would God understand that he had no choice, that he was innocent? Or was this his punishment for failing to understand the omen, for letting the Viking defile the sacred book of gospel?

Vicious and forceful, the assault went on and on. The Viking used him harshly, drawing up Leo’s hips to gain more leverage, then pushing into him inch by inch.

As the first dreadful pain eased a little, Leo became more aware that he was being filled with another man’s cock.

It was strange and terrifying. The Viking was
inside
him, his huge cock rubbing against his tender insides and taking pleasure there. Their bodies were joined together.

When the Viking finally was buried in him to the hilt, he could feel the Viking’s balls slap against his ass.

Leo cried out, then bit his cheek, furious with himself for the noise he had made.

The cry hadn’t been one of pain: more of surprise and alarm, the sensation of being filled overwhelming him. It was more response than he meant to give this brute of a Viking. Leo ought to lie down as still as stone, like one already dead, to mark his displeasure. To show that he was not willing, that he was innocent.

And yet he had the most terrible, sinful urge to roll his hips against the invading shaft.

The Viking breathed heavily, his body rough and hard against Leo’s back, and ground himself into Leo with a devastating pressure.

Leo bit back the whimpers that tried to escape him. More tears rolled from the corners of his eyes as he felt himself being taken. It was as though the Viking was remaking him, shaping him like clay into his own horrendous image.

Leo would never be a virgin again, never be innocent, never be pure. The Viking was defiling him, with his foul hands and rough words and disgusting acts.

And worst of all, his own flesh was responding. Leo groaned harshly, blinded by tears, but there was no denying it. Now that the pain was fading, an insistent pleasure began to stir inside him, throbbing with his heartbeat, and it grew stronger with every driving thrust of the Viking’s massive member inside him.

He could feel his own cock stirring, and knew he was growing excited by the filthy, sinful pleasure of being taken.

He didn’t want this. He
didn’t.

Yet with every thrust, the Viking wrung tiny little sounds from his helpless throat, sounds of unwilling pleasure and despair.

“Frigg,” the Viking grunted, a name that sounded like some heathen curse. He thrust harder and harder, until Leo began to moan desperately, wanting it to be over, or perhaps wanting it to keep going forever. He couldn’t separate his horror at what was happening from the delicious shocks of pleasure, and it all coiled together in his mind.