Slave to the Viking (Gay Viking Erotic Romance)

When Eirik's sister sells him to her Viking lord lover Rugga in exchange for her freedom, Eirik is collared and marked as Rugga's unwilling slave. He is taken aboard Rugga's ship and forced to appease the Viking lord's lust. His shame is only matched by the unexpected pleasure--and the knowledge Rugga expects him to give up his village's secrets. But is satisfying Eirik's new appetite worth the price of betraying his village?

Warning: This 9,300-word story contains gay Viking reluctant slave sex, humiliation, bondage, BDSM, and extreme penetration. All characters are 18 or older.

Read an excerpt!

Every head in the room swiveled to look at me. Again I felt like a fish caught in a net. I swore to myself that I would never eat a fish again. An impossible vow, of course, but in that moment, I didn’t care.

“Because,” my sister said, her tone a mix of condescension and amusement, “we’ve come to fetch you.”

“Your life in exchange for our freedom,” my mother finished, tears rolling down her weathered face. “They’ve come to—to . . .”

“Say nothing more,” my father told her, hurrying to her side. He wiped away her tears. “It is indeed a sad sacrifice, but if Rugga promises his people will leave ours in peace . . .”

Terror chilled my heart. Was he saying what I thought?

Arneiðr met my eyes impassively. Now I understand why she’d been inspecting me as though I were a choice cut of fish. But whatever could she want me for?

“I must try the slave before we take him,” Rugga announced. He gestured for the others to leave, and before I could respond, Arneiðr led my parents from the hut. The door closed behind them, and suddenly, only Rugga and I stood there.

The hut was too small for us. No, it was too small for him, for his enormous presence. “Why—what do you want from me?” I blurted, my heart pounding wildly. He’d called me a slave. Did my sister truly intend to enslave her own brother, her own flesh and blood?

Perhaps I hadn’t known her quite as well as I had thought.

“On your knees,” Rugga said.

“What?”

“On your knees,” Rugga repeated, shoving me to the floor. I landed atop my mother’s wool rug, my ass in the air. My hands slid, scrabbling desperately for purchase. One huge, booted foot pushed me back down when I tried to rise. Then the foot released me, and he marched around to face me. I could see the bulge in his trousers, and my throat closed.

My whole body felt tight. Part of me wanted to flee, but the other part was intrigued. I had never lain with anyone. In fact, I’d even avoided the furtive stealing of kisses and more from willing maids in the village. I didn’t want to risk siring a babe on any of them before I had to. Perhaps that pent-up desire explained the odd hardening of my own cock.

Rugga tugged down his trousers, and suddenly his long, thick shaft bobbed before me, the tip engorged with blood. I stared at it in fascination and revulsion. I’d never seen another man’s erection before. It looked strong, strong enough to impregnate anyone with the hot seed from his heavy balls. The mass of blond hair adorning his balls already glistened with moisture. His sweat, I imagined. What would it taste like? I shivered.

“You will show me how a slave pleases his master,” Rugga declared.

Slave. I forgot to breathe. What had my sister done?

Without another word, Rugga pushed his cock past my lips. My eyes widened, and for a second, I froze. But my tongue accidentally touched his veined girth, and my balls tightened in response. My hands impulsively reached for the thatch of hair. It was soft and coarse at the same time. I pulled gently at it, then grasped his balls in my hands and caressed them thoroughly.

Rugga must have liked that, because suddenly his cock thrust farther into my mouth, all the way into my throat. I nearly gagged, but he ignored me, plunging in and out.