WIP It Up Wednesday — A Viking Shows His Captive The Price of Disobedience

I have so many works in progress, I really wasn’t sure what to pick for this week’s clip. Since I usually post contemporary excerpts, I thought I’d post a nasty little clip from a historical I’ve been (very slowly) working on, a Viking story set in the latter part of the eight century.

As the scene opens, our hero a Viking drott (leader) has brought his booty, Amelia, a lovely, curvaceous — and feisty — princess abducted from the English coast. They are at one of the Viking emporia on the south shore of the Baltic Sea  (located in what would be modern day northern Germany), a central trading location for every good imaginable, including the most important good of all for the Viking economic system, slaves.

In this scene, the drott, our hero — if such a barbaric man can be worthy of the title — is forcing Amelia to watch one of the many fates his charge might suffer should she have the temerity to truly disobey him, The drott forces Amelia to witness the plight of a buxom, naked woman on her knees, her neck and hands locked in wooden stocks…

* * * *

A tall, slender dark-haired young man knelt beside the filthy woman, her dirt streaked blonde locks partially concealing her face. The man carefully fed her soup by hand, taking his time, occasionally pausing to pull her hair back from her face. The imprisoned woman would sometimes give him a small smile of gratitude when he did this.

The wooden bowl empty, he set it aside, taking up a soft, gray cloth and a wooden pail filled with clear water. With each gentle wipe of the cloth across her face, her fresh, youthful beauty was revealed, sparkling blue eyes chancing a look up at him as he worked. Soon her face was scrubbed clean, deep pink suffusing her cheeks, a smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose only enhancing her charm. The man paused, and Amelia held her breath in sympathy as the man’s gentle behavior belied other motives. The woman’s brow furrowed as the man reached under the stocks, his fingers caressing the vulnerable weight of the heavy, pendant breasts. He recharged his cloth with more water, using it to wipe the grime from the generous globes, revealing long, bright pink nipples, hardened in the cool air.

Amelia bit her own lip in horror … and fascination. The captive woman’s erect nipples had the man in open erection, his penis tenting the front of his trousers. Amelia watched his long fingers unhurriedly undo the fly, revealing a hard cock that matched his frame: long, slender with a bulbous purple head, the slit already leaking moisture.

The man, setting down his bucket and cloth, then placed a high wooden stool in front of the stocks. Sitting upon it, he spread his long thighs, his cock rearing up in front of the helpless woman’s face. The man leaned closer then tucking the captive’s hair behind her ear almost tenderly, murmuring something to her in the Vikings’ alien tongue. She looked up at him for a moment, reluctance in her gaze, then resigned, opened her mouth.

Amelia tried to look away, not wanting to witness the poor girl’s defilement, but the drott growled behind her, his hands like vises around her upper arms, holding her fast.

“Watch, thrall.”

Watching his captive intently, the man took hold of the top edge of the stocks, pulling himself close, forcing the length of his cock down the woman’s throat. He didn’t stop until he’d pushed close, the captive woman’s nose pressed to the dark thatch of his pubic hair. He took up a very slow, measured plunge and retreat, never stopping, even when the woman gagged, her body shuddering in the stocks at each deep thrust into her throat.

The man murmured soothing tones to the captive as he slowly, deliberately fucked her helpless mouth. Eventually he pulled out, his breathing coming fast, his fist around his wet cock, pumping it. He groaned as pearly ropes of semen sluiced across the captive’s cheeks, her pink lips, into her hair, matting in one eyelash.

His chest rising and falling, the man looked at the blonde captive for a few moments, tucking his penis back in his trousers. The girl’s head dropped, her back hitching with her silent weeping as he walked around her several times, seeming to drink in her shame.

Then he returned to the stool, grabbing his bucket and cloth, and took her by the chin, gently wiping the semen and her tears from cheeks stained scarlet with shame. Then without another word or glance, the man took his pail and left, disappearing into the throng milling about in the marketplace.

“He’s been at her every day she’s been out there,” the drott rumbled in Amelia’s ear. “The same way, every time. They leave her in those stocks for three hours at a stretch, a little break, then back into them she goes. Sun up to sun down. The young lads like to throw things at her. She’s covered in rubbish when they get done with her. Then her savior arrives. The price of her gentle cleaning, her respite — his seed across her face, debasing her, shaming her well.”

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Ideas for this one have been piling up fast and furious, and I look forward to completing this story.

For those of you who’d like to be notified when this story (or any other Trent Evans story)  is finally released , the single best way to do that is to sign up for my New Release Alerts Newsletter. This list is the very first to be notified of a new release — and it’s been known to get some screamin’ deals too:)

Please take some time to visit the other blogs participating in this week’s hop. Until next week!