Just One Drink (137 page)

She sat up with a start and searched around the room for any kind of answer. Angela had thought it was a bad dream. One moment she was experiencing pure ecstasy with Matthew, the next her entire world was sent into turmoil. She pinched herself on the arm and slapped herself a number of times, muttering under her breath that it couldn’t be real, but as she sat alone in what she imagined was a large tent, it came back to her.

Matthew had told her to hide, and she had done as he said, taking the kitchen knife with her. But one of the beasts had gotten in and broken the door. She would have called them men, but she stabbed the man in the chest and he merely laughed, his beard and face covered in war paint. The creature left the knife in his chest as he bled onto the floor and he had reached out and grabbed her, dragging her into the kitchen by her hair. She feared for her life and screamed, calling out for Matthew, but the beast ended her resistance with one punch.

And now she was here.

Angela stood up and noticed that she was no longer dressed in her own clothes, but rather she was dressed in attire that she had never seen before. The shirt was far too big for her and she felt like she was practically swimming in it. It hung low on her waist and upon closer investigation she realized that she wasn’t wearing pants at all. Her butt cheeks even hung a little under the bottom of it, revealing herself slightly.

She grabbed the nearest fur and swung it around her shoulders, the wolf fur dragging on the floor behind her as she walked towards the flaps of the door. Peeking through, she saw that there were about thirty men, all in various stages of relaxation, resting around a fire. She gasped quietly and clamped her hand over her mouth.

Across the camp she saw a few other members from her town bound and gagged, clearly unconscious. She searched their faces, looking for Matthew’s, but didn’t see him. Her heart dropped into her stomach, realizing that he was most likely dead. He would have died defending the village, it was the kind of man that he was. She stepped away from the tent flap and fell back into the cot.

She covered her face with her hands and wept. She heard the shuffling of leaves in the direction of the exit and she quickly began to frantically search for something to defend herself with. The cloth flap opened before she could find anything and a man walked through that took Angela’s breath away.

He was the same man that Matthew had fought. His hair was wet and the tight braid that had been slicked down hours earlier with mud and dirt was now damp and stuck slightly to his back. The tattoos on the side of his head were still visible though and Angela felt her eyes drawn to them, unable to look away. It was a cross pattern and interlacing of dark black lines, forming knots and crosses up to his temples. The man stepped into the tent, his eyes adjusting, and he turned them upon Angela.

His eyes were of a piercing blue that she had never seen before. Immediately she felt as though this man was able to look through her and in that instant knew more about herself than she did. His head cocked to the side and he motioned to a pitcher of water that was on the side table next to the cot. She turned her head slowly, almost unwilling to break away from his gaze. She saw a pewter cup and a pitcher full of water. Looking back she saw that the man had an inquisitive look on his face.

“Would you,” his voice trailed off as he walked across the room towards the table. Angela pulled away and crawled fully onto the bed, not wanting to let him get too close. “Like some water,” he continued. He reached the table and picked up the pitcher, pouring water into the pewter mug that was sitting there empty.

Gripping it he held it out to her and waited for her to take it. Angela hesitated, but the man merely smiled and held the cup in the air, unmoving. Cautiously, she reached out and took the mug. She took a sip and as the water hit her tongue she realized just how thirsty she was, draining the mug in a few swigs.

The man laughed and reached out, taking the mug back from her and poured her another glass. Angela nodded to him as he placed the pitcher back on the table and stood up. She sipped from the mug now as this mysterious man began to pace around the room, his face in a constant expression of pain or confusion. He emoted loudly with his hands as he spoke, trying to convey his message both through physicality and words.

“I am sorry for what happened in your village and your home.” He continued to swing his arms somewhat erratically as he spoke, but Angela was impressed by how eloquent of a speaker he was. His accent was heavy and it was obvious he was struggling, but even though she was clearly some sort of slave, she appreciated him trying.

“If there is anything that will make your stay with us easier, please tell me.” He motioned towards the exit of the tent and by proxy the men that sat around the fire. “My men will not harm you, and if you would like, none will speak to you.” Angela looked at him dumbfounded and he smiled at her, his hands clasped behind his back now waiting for a response.

“I-I-” Angela stammered out. “I want to go home, my-” the man held up his hands to stop her and walked across the tent, kneeling in front of her. Angela admired the other tattoos that spanned his across his chest and shoulders. He was still damp from washing off the blood and mud and his muscles looked tense, but controlled. As if at many moment he could strike with the speed of a falcon, but was still calm enough to read the situation.

“There is nothing to go back to.” His piercing eyes met hers and although she wanted nothing more than to cry, she sat silently. The man took this as a sign that she had accepted this as a final answer and stood, brushing his knees off from the dirt that was on the ground. He began to walk back towards the exit, but Angela called out to him, causing him to hesitate.

“I don’t even know your name.” The man slowly turned, becoming a silhouette in the way the light from the exit illuminated him.

“You may call me Sigurd.” With that, he turned and exited, the flap closing behind him. Angela listened as his footsteps faded away and heard the men around the fire explode into song as he reached them. She covered herself in the blankets and cried, until she fell asleep.

******

Angela lost track of the days and how far they had ended up moving around. It seemed that every few days Sigurd would take her out of her makeshift abode and they would stand together and watch as a few of his men dismantled the shanty tent that she stayed in. They would load everything into a cart they must have stolen from another local village and the whole camp would move along to another town and raid it. Each time they would bring back more people and more treasure. The treasure always ranged from small trinkets that the Vikings found interesting or gold.

However, about a week into this trip she noticed that Sigurd began to spend more time with her. They wouldn’t speak necessarily, but he would sit and watch her. Every town they raided Sigurd brought Angela a book back and she would read it to him, his eyes focused on her lips as they moved, forming the words that he barely understood. She would glance up every few words and watch him. He never looked away and he clearly wasn’t ashamed of staring. Angela enjoyed that in a way, a man who didn’t seem to fear her.

She wasn’t heartless though and every night as she felt herself drifting to sleep she would think of Matthew and how, even though he was gone, she was happy with how they had left things. For weeks they had started to fall into a loveless groove, but they left off in a place that felt like them.

But, the days turned to weeks and as they ventured along the coastline Angela couldn’t help but feel that she had better start to make herself in expendable. Angela had seen Sigurd examining the other women that they had taken in as prisoners and she didn’t want to lose her place of authority.

The other Vikings weren’t always as kind and understanding as Sigurd was. They would stare at the other prisoners and she saw one man, with a face only a mother could love, take one woman from behind while the others slept, her mouth gagged with a rag so she wouldn’t wake anyone else up. She had thought to tell Sigurd, but didn’t want to upset him or the others. So, one evening around the time that Sigurd was likely to come make his visit, Angela stripped down to nothing and slipped into bed.

The leaves broke and crinkled under Sigurd’s feet as he drew close and Angela could feel the air in her lungs escape as the tent flap opened. Sigurd was dressed in a white shirt that was stained slightly with dirt and sweat. His hair was bound tightly in a braid that laid flat against his back. His trousers were tight and in the flickering of the candlelight she was sure that she saw the outline of his cock. Something came over her and called to him from the bed.

“The sides of your head could use a touch up,” she motioned towards a stool that sat in the corner. “Bring that over and sit. Let me tidy it up for you.” Sigurd’s hands reached up to the shaved sides of his head and she could hear his hands rubbing over the stubble length hair. He shrugged, picked up the stool, and carried it across the room, setting it down next to the bed. He sat down in the stool and with a flick of his wrist produced a long, sharp blade from his belt. Angela delicately took the knife out of his hand and raised up out of the bed.

Sigurd’s back was turned towards her and as she stood, the sheets and furs fell from her body. Her skin shone in the flickering light and she fixed her hair so that the long curls hung over her back, not obstructing her breasts. Angela leaned in and began to run the blade across his scalp, the small hairs falling to the floor.

She continued and leaned forward, pressing her naked body into his back. She felt his body relax against her skin and felt her own nipples begin to perk. Her tits had calmed the beast that was Sigurd. However, as soon as her nipples hardened. Sigurd immediately tensed back up.

He reached up and grabbed Angela’s wrist with one hand, removing the knife with the other. He had still not turned around, but slowly his neck and head swiveled. Angela watched as shadows danced across his face in the changing light, his eyes locking with hers. She nodded slightly and Sigurd’s eyes broke away from hers, tracing the outline of her body downward.

The piercing blue diamonds rested on her breasts and he swallowed deeply. He raised up out of the stool and soon towered over Angela who sat on the edge of the bed. Angela’s gaze darted to floor, but his hand reached out and delicately lifted her chin so that she was looking up into his eyes once again.

“Is this what you want?” Angela looked up and found that she too took a large swallow. She had never been asked that before. She had always found that being surprised by the act of sex made it more intimate and passionate. But this Viking man who slaughtered hundreds of people was asking her what she wanted. Unable to speak, her mouth suddenly dry, she nodded. With one hand on her chin, he used the other to place the knife on the table beside the bed, he then unfastened his pants.

Angela watched as he allowed his pants to fall to the floor and was met with his dick. It laid flat against his leg like his braid and she looked up at him waiting for the next move. Gently, Sigurd guided her head forward towards it. She reached out and with one hand on his leg to balance herself and the other around the shaft of his cock, she began to stroke it to life. It didn’t take long and as soon as he was hard she began to kiss the head. Her hand pulled back the foreskin and she teased him by flicking her tongue at the base of the head.

After a few moments Sigurd was clearly done with the teasing and guided her once again to take him inside her. Angela opened her mouth as wide as she could and allowed Sigurd to gently glide inside her mouth. With her tongue sticking out his dick slid in with ease, her saliva lubricating it more with every thrust. With his free hand Sigurd gathered her hair together and pulled it back so that none fell into her face and he tugged on it slightly, pulling her head back.

She moaned as he did this, the force he was using was strong, but contained as if he had more that he could give, but he was holding back, waiting to see how she would respond. So, as he pulled she moaned louder, giving him the cues he would need to know that she wanted more. He began to thrust faster and she tasted his cum a little bit as it leaked out into her mouth. She pulled away and worked the tip again, his dick still hard, his legs shaking.

Sigurd took her hair in both hands and pulled her off the bed and onto the floor. Angela followed obediently as he did this. He didn’t take her far, but rather bent her over the end of the cot. He lifted her up slightly with ease so that she was lying face down on the makeshift bed.

Sigurd forced her face into the blankets and pulled her ass into the air. Angela found herself face to face with a grey wolf, her ass being groped by Sigurd’s massive hands. She waited for his dick to enter her, sure that it was what Sigurd had in mind, but let out a long moan as she was greeted by his lips instead.