Vikings – Rollo’s Bride

Rollo, elder brother to the Viking King Ragnar Lothbrok of Kattegat, and his small entourage hesitantly walks down the isle of the throne room toward the seated Emperor Charles of France; his lovely daughter Gisla by his side. A slight, if tall girl with piercing brown eyes, a picture of stern introspection runs across her face as she waits til her would-be future husband reaches the front of the assembled court, before finding the inner strength to bring herself to her feet. With barely a glance to her side, she addresses the assembly, and indirectly, Rollo himself.

“Whatever my father says, I am not marrying this animal. I am a Princess of the blood, not a cheap whore. I would rather be burned alive than suffer this… thing, to so much as lay a hand on me. He is a filthy pagan. Therefore he has no soul. He is worse than the beasts of the field. I would rather my virginity and my virtue to the vilest Rocky than to this piece of warm meat. He disgusts me. He makes me want to vomit.”

Returning to her seat, Gisla still refuses to meet her father’s furious gaze, as Rollo, who speeks only one word of French, smiles unaware of the insults she has just thrown at him. Taking a step forward, the towering Viking warrior smiles charmingly, and says, “Bonjour”. Sinric, speaker of both Norse and French and acting as translator between the two warring factions, glances uneasily from the Emperor, to Rollo, confused whether to translate Gisla’s tirade or not. The Emperor raises a single finger into the air, then draws it down sharply. Guards rush forward, causing the Vikings to huddle close to protect each other’s backs, some producing concealed weapons ready to fight, but the guards do not attack them – instead rushing passed, they haul Gisla bodily to her feet, before then knocking her to her knees in front of her father’s throne.

Finally indicating for Sinric to translate, Charles addresses Rollo. “I commit to you the lands of Normandy, 200 serfs to tend your needs, gold aplenty to reward your men, and if you will still take her, my daughter, Gisla. If not, she may well have her wish and be given to the Rockys for disrespecting me.” Rollo listens to Sinric’s translation, reading the mood of the room as he takes a few steps closer to the Emperor and his restrained daughter. He leans down, quietly asking Sinric a question, listening intently to the answer, before walking to meet the Emperor at his throne.

Charles watches the progression with bated breath, having not long ago stood at the very same spot, with King Ragnar’s blade at his throat. Whilst Ragnar was a manic, terrifying force of nature, Rollo was also a formidable force to behold, towering over even his impressive brother. If Charles’ plan did not go well, he knew the day would come when the Vikings would return en force, and knew not if Paris could withstand another attack. Rollo smiles at the Emperor, turning to face the people before him. “Hundr?” he says, looking to Sinric. Sinric corrects him – “Rocky(D)”. He points to himself, repeating the word with a smile, before letting out a blood curdling baying howl. He laughs, then kneels down next to his bride to be, causing the guards to shift unsteadily as they continue to hold their princess on her knees.

Rollo reaches down with his hand, bringing her head up to look at him. Gisla spits in his face, but this just makes Rollo laugh again, before he presses his lips to her ear. “Bonjour”, he whispers, menacingly, before biting her earlobe just enough to make his point, without anyone else seeing. Standing back up, Rollo smiles at his soon to be father-in-law. “I accept your offer,” he says, quickly translated by Sinric. Charles ushers his head priest over as fast as he can, eager to seal the deal. Gisla screams her discontent at every chance, but as soon as Rollo hears from Sinric that the ceremony is over, and Gisla is now his, he sweeps the fiesty French princess up, throwing her over his shoulder, and carries her out of the throne room like a ragdoll.

Sinric follows the married couple through the streets of Paris, presuming he may be needed to help translate for the newlyweds. He occasionally sees the furious, yet dejected look on Gisla’s face as the people of her city watch her being carried on this giant man’s shoulder like a sack of potatoes. The city she fought so hard to defend from these barbarians, and now married to one of them by her own father’s will. She would make him rue this day for the rest of his life, she vowed to herself.

Finally the small band of Vikings, plus one French-Viking Princess, arrived at the Viking’s camp. One by one the men of the camp walked passed the couple, thumping Rollo on the back at his prize, and physically groping and inspecting his “wife”, laughing at her attempts to slap their hands away. It only took a few slaps back across her face to stop her spitting at them. To the Vikings of course, a Christian marriage meant nothing – Gisla was not Rollo’s wife in their eyes – she was nothing more to him than a slave – a female slave – however he knew in order to maintain his new found position of power in these foreign lands, he would have to keep this slave alive to continue his relationship with Emperor Charles. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t have fun with her, especially given her insult toward him, made in front of all of those people. Rollo couldn’t believe it when Sinric had translated the word “virgin” to him in the throne room – that this rosy cheeked maiden could have never had sex before? And that she would rather be given to the vilest of Rockys, than to him? This was going to be fun…

Gisla had struggled to maintain her composure as she was jostled and punted from person to person, surrounded by groups all having their own turn groping Rollo’s new slave. After first trying to stop them, and being met with fierce reactions, she elected instead not to show any reaction to the pagan filth as they abused her body, squeezing her breasts painfully, pinching the cheeks of her ass, pressing themselves against her so she had no illusions about what was in their pants. Even the female warriors joined in, a gleam in their eyes as they played the game of their male counterparts. One of the older men suddenly steps forward, his cock exposed, thrusting lewdly at the fine French lady’s derrière. Finally Rollo appears out of no where and pushes the man away with a jovial rebut, saying casually to him, “Not now, not now,” leaving her to stand alone in the middle of the camp, unsure what do to.

Rollo relishes the moment. His younger brother may be King Ragnar, but now he too has wealth, and lands, and slaves, and – power. Accepting Emperor Charles’ offer may see him having to face his brother in combat once more on opposite sides, but given Ragnar’s ragged, near death appearance as he sailed away for Kattegat – that did little to concern Rollo; his little brother looked far from the fierce warrior that everyone pictures him to be. And now, Rollo ponders, he has time to play with the other benefit of turning traitor against his brother – Princess Gisla – the fine featured virgin who would rather a vile Rocky be first inside her womanhood than him. His brow scowls at the insult, thinking of the many women he has mated in his life; with or without their consent; with or without his effort to impose pleasure on their bodies. Sometimes he cares only for his own enjoyment, but that hardly means he did not know how to pleasure his partner – even if against her will. Knowing the power he can hold by making a woman experience uncontrollable womanly pleasure against her own desires is all he has thought about since Sinric explained Gisla’s slur against him. This Parisian Princess who thinks she is so much better than him, needs to learn her new station in life, and Rollo relishes tasking a slave with learning their place.

Gisla is now sitting on a log in the middle of the Viking’s camp, not far enough from that pig, Rollo, for her liking. She had weathered the groping by Rollo’s men, and rather than fall in a heap on the ground in despair, she dusted herself off, straightened her clothes, and sat down as if still sitting in the throne room of Paris. She doesn’t even look at Rollo as he stands and walks over to her. He shakes his head briefly in disbelief at her stoic facade, wondering how long it will last. If this was any normal slave, he thought, he’d rip her clothes off right here in front of his fellow warriors, knowing that the shame these Christians felt about their bodies would do wonders to help break the girl’s spirit. But he knows none of his people possess the skills to repair such an intricate garment, and if that fool Emperor sees her dress in tatters… He spies Gisla fiddling with the cuff of her sleeve where a seem has split, and smiles to himself.

Rollo extends his hand to the princess. Gisla ignors him. The giant warrior smiles ruefully, and instead grabs the princess by the arm, hauling her to her feet. Still smiling, Rollo moves his hands to start removing her clothing. Gisla knows in her heart that it is only a matter of time before this brute will violate her, defile her body with his no doubt monstrous despicable pagan manhood, but she will be damned if she won’t make it has hard as possible for him to achieve – especially right here in front of everyone. When his hands start fumbling with the latches of her dress, she reacts in a manner she hopes this vile beast will understand, slapping him hard across the face, staring him down as she does. The warriors watch the events, cheering at her action, knowing Rollo will not let it go unpunished. Rollo was expecting her response, smiling all the more as his new “wife” reacts just as he foresaw. He holds his hands up in the air, as if in surrender, still smiling charmingly, before deftly wrangling both Gisla’s hands into one of his. She pulls against his grip, but it is useless, the brute has her tight.

One finger on Rollo’s spare hand slowly dances across Gisla’s dress, up her side, across her belly just below her breasts, up to her throat, and then her chin. With one hand, and one finger, Gisla finds herself helpless to his whim. She knows she could kick or spit again, but to what end now? His finger moves higher, past her face, and hooks inside her sleeve, held just above her head. With a flick of his finger, the seam splits further. The princess again tries to pull her arm from Rollos’ grasp, almost horrified at his deliberate act of vandalism.

“You insolent beast!” Gisla finds her voice, and roars. “Do you have any idea of the hours and hours of work that went into crafting this beautiful dress? The craftmanship involved? No, just look at you, I doubt you capable of more than barking like the Rocky you are – and shedding blood of innocent Frenchmen!” She again tries to pull her arm away, this time Rollo letting it slip from his grasp, but not without first tugging on the flapping fabric of her sleeve. Ripped fabric would be hard to repair – a damaged seam however – not so difficult.

Having remained nearby, Sinric steps forward and starts to translate Gisla’s words, but Rollo stops him with a shake of his head. “Translate this,” he says. “Remove your clothes, my beautiful wife.” He reaches out his finger again and plays with the tattered sleeve of Gisla’s dress as Sinric gives her the ultimatum. Trying hard to control her breathing, Gisla fights with all her strength to keep her chin from trembling. Seeing a nearby tent, in one last hope for some kind of privacy Gisla takes several steps toward it, but Rollo deftly moves to block her.

“In there, hairy beast,” Gisla tries hard to take some control of the situation. “And I will do your bidding, but not here in front of your gawking rabble of pagan scum!” she gestures at the gathered spectators. Again Sinric starts to translate, but again Rollo stops him, whilst staring at Gisla.

“I don’t need to hear the words of a slave,” Rollo speaks not for Gisla, but his warriors both male and female sitting round the camp, enjoying the entertainment after such a prolonged campaign, after losing so many of their friends and family to the earlier failed attack on Paris. “You want a vile Rocky to ruin you, so I am your Rocky!” Again Rollo howls, as do his eager pagan scum. This time several of the wolf hounds they brought with them from Kattegat join in the baying. “Undress for me now, dear wife, and present yourself to your new Lord of Normandy.”

As Sinric translates the words, Gisla makes a second vow to herself, promising not to shed a tear, not to let these barbarians see her cry. Standing up straight, she again works to calm her breathing, before awkwardly reaching behind to begin unclasping her dress. She had not had to perform such a task herself for many years, normally tended by her maidens when dressing and undressing; never before doing so in front of strangers; murderous men, and women that fight as if men. But she is the Princess of France, and she will not let them see her cry, will not take her pride, even if this Rollo takes her modesty.

Rollo watches on, smiling happily as the woman undoes the last hitch on her dress and suddenly allows it to fall from her shoulders, crumpling to the muddy ground beneath her feet. Her corset takes longer to undo as she struggles to blindly unfasten it from the hooks either side, but as it releases, she feels slightly better, drawing in deeper breaths. Her petticoat is not as glamorous, nor as well secured, and she realizes she is now just moments from being fully exposed.

The crowd enjoy this latest turn, as the young French princess obeys Rollo’s orders, removing her various layers of clothing. They join in the baying and barking, delighting in the push to break this royal bitch. They watch as the layers fall away, until finally they are rewarded with the pale, skinny woman’s flesh. Gisla feels their lecherous eyes raping her as she stands on the pile of her discarded clothing. All that remains covering her body is her lustrous brown hair part way down her back, the full curly tufts of pubic hair covering her nethers, and a tight mesh cloth bound around her chest. Without being asked, knowing it now made no difference, she undoes the mesh, round and round her body until it too falls to the ground, revealing her quite flat little breasts, and unfortunately for her, stiffening in the cool breeze, her cone shaped nipples. Her pert ass too feels exposed in the cool air, as she struggles to keep her hands by her sides, resisting the urge to hide her most intimate parts from the godless creatures surrounding her.

Gisla tastes blood in her mouth as she bites hard on the inside of her lip, anything to avoid shedding a tear in front of these people; in front of her husband. Rollo was grinning from ear to ear at her submission, but even more at her stoic stance, completely naked and exposed to him, and all of the men and women who had just groped her and would soon do so much more; yet still she held her head high, still she shed no tears. Could this slave actually have the heart of a warrior? He had seen her on the walls of the castle during the siege, but thought little of it at the time. But for the here and now – drinking in the untouched beauty and surrender of his bride – time to test just how strong this slave truly is, Rollo decides with a chuckle.

By :

Check Also

Big Bang Theory Bernadette’s experimentation.

Bernadette was facing a week alone, Howard was attending an engineering symposium in Chicago, and …

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.