Bred by the Viking (reluctant historical breeding erotica)
An erotic short story by Francis Ashe
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“Run, Leta! Get out of here! I’ll hold them off as long as I can, you just run!” My brother slammed a log from the fireplace across the door and shooed me through the window as the first wave of flame swept over the west end of the village.
And run, I did, as fast as I could. Ahead of me, the pounded dirt trail turned first into leaves, and then was swallowed by the forest.
If you go in there, Leta, you will certainly lose yourself, especially on a night with a dark moon.
No choice. It was either take my chances in the forest or try and reason with the marauding savages clad in bearskins and jaw-bone helmets that had descended upon Aventine-on-Thames an hour earlier, as we all, decent and pious people the lot of us, slept. I’d take my chances, I decided, trying to swim the Channel rather than end up in the clutches of those men. In the terrible hold of those tremendous, powerful, muscular men with their huge axes and two-handed hammers. My dash slowed to a jog and briefly I considered turning back, although I can’t say for sure why.