Your new home...

TWO MONTHS LATER
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You are kneeling down on the long grass by the riverside washing clothes, chained by your ankle to a peg itself jammed into a latge rock. You are wearing nothing except a loin-cloth and have your hair cut short. You pick one of the articles up, a pair of light brown panties made from ox-hide. You are taking care of your Mistress's delicates this afternoon.
You grind them against a couple of stones in the bank. No matter how hard you grind you can't seem to tear the fabric. They are very tough for something that soft, and large enough to fit your head through one of the legs.

As you gaze down on the shadow you cast on the rocks and sand visible through the shallow water through the greenish light passing through the surface, you try to spot your reflection. It's no use though, the water is too transparent. Unable to make out the details you can only observe your own vague outlines,
You start reminiscing about your old life as an aspiring young archeology student, your whole life ahead of you with a sea of possibilities. You think about the comforts and securities of modern life that you took for granted, and your old family that you'll never see again. This fills your mind with regret and despair, but not your heart like it used to.
Your old life now seems like a dream, a construct of the imagination crushed by the harsh nature of reality. You are a thrall, a **** of Astrid Berasdottir, and nothing can change that.

You suddenly find your head pushed into the water, your face pressing against the smooth stones at the bottom, air escaping your lungs in a spray of bubbles. A distinct pressure on your neck **** you down into the water, and just when you feel ready to istinctively inhale the cold liquid, the pressure is relieved and you manage to rise to the surface again desperately gasping for air. You hear the laughter of an amused crowd.
Of course you immediately realized what happened.

You turn around to confirm your suspicions, only to find your vision obstructed by something attached to your face. This something is of course Mistress's panties. You remove them and indeed find yourself looking up a crossarmed Grima Gertrurdsdottir's long, curvy legs; standing alongside her three of her friends are all thoroughly amused by your misfortune. She is tall, thin with long dirty- blonde hair running along her back. She wears a light brown dress with low neckline highlighting her shapely breasts, a belt tied to her waist keeping a rather large knife and the hilt of a short sword.
Every time you see her she seems to be accompanied by a new face.

"Stop that, Grima," you demand meekly not really expecting her to go away until she is bored, "What if I had drowned? What would you have told Mistress?"
"Awww, don't say that" she says in a teasing voice, walking closer towards you, making you back away in order to maintain eyecontact, but also because you don't want to allow her to lay hands on you, "I would never allow you to drown! You are much too fun to mess with." You back away until you feel the chain tugging your foot. You lie down on the grass with an extended, chackled leg pointing towards Grima. She can't hide her vicious smile from you and isn't trying to either. "Besides, a beautiful man like you needs to keep his face clean." She continue advancing on you with her friends following closely laughing madly.

"Aren't you going to finish your chores?" a stout, red-haired friend of hers asks mockingly causing the rest of thte pack to giggle frantically. You merely sneer in response. "Hey, do my undergarment as well!" Grima demands. "You know I can't!" you try to reason with her, "if Mistress found out I mix together our laundry, she would see us both hanged!"

"Well now," Grima said with grin as she grabs your hair, "I do believe I suggested nothing of that sort", and with that she pulls you under her skirt and into the soft, furry material covering her pelvis, followed by a burst of laughter from her and all her friends. "Lick them clean, thrall!" she demands as you are in a state of shock, "Isn't this how dogs clean themselves? By licking?" She mocks you as the laughter continues undisturbed..

You have been trained to follow the orders of Mistress Astrid and her family, and their orders only. However, you have also been adviced to do as Grima says. As she only recently turned eighteen she is in a place where she needs to find her place in the village, but as a young woman in a poor household, she find herself dependent on her family and at the bottom of the social food-chain. Except for the slaves. She is not really a bad person, or so you have been told. She just needs to affirm her position as someone of worth. If she is denied that, things might become ugly for anyone concerned
You start licking her panties.

"He is doing it!" she exclaims victoriously to her friends who squee and laugh in excitement, "He is actually doing it!" You put your hands behind your back. For a **** to lay hands on a free woman is a serious crime, no matter the circumstances.
Her panties taste salty and bitter. Some of the fur gets stuck in your mouth, but you continue to run your tongue along the front of her pussy.

"Here's a man whose found his place, lasses!" she announced to her friends as she starts grinding her pelvis against your face. She uses her hands to push your face against her. As you go lower she starts squeezing her slim yet muscular legs against you, making escape impossible even if you intended to.

She continues to ride your face while mocking you. Soon after you noticed that her panties "Hey! Stop that!"

Your face is relieved of the confinement of Grima's skirt. None other than Matilda Ingegärdsdottir has come to your rescue. Grima's party scatters like roaches when the spearwoman approaches, Grima herself staying put, trying not to looked impressed while still obeying her orders.
The very stout guardswoman has two long, blonde braids running down her chest, a winged brass helm ornates her head not allowing anything resembling bangs to be seen. She is clad in full-plate armour and carries a spear and a large, round shield.

She looks at Grima with a stern expression, her gray eyes clearly more concerned with disapproval over the young viking than concern over the lowly ****.
"What in Freya's name are you doing to that thrall?" she yells in a tone distinctly more imperative than interrogative. "It's not what it looks like," the adolescent says with a grin, "He crawled into my skirt on his own accord." Her face reveals what her words hide, but she knows she can get away with it since nobody would dare put your words against those of a free woman.

"Do you think I am blind and daft?" Matilda answer even so, "If you have time to torment thralls you have time to work on your combat skills. Truthfully if you work hard you could one day be in charge of real people."
"Puh," Grima scuffs "What would you know anyway? You who are yet to see a single raid?"
"Silence, child!" Matilda thunders back, causing the young woman to back away. "Any one young and able-bodied viking can go on a raid, but I alone am fit to guard the men, children and elderly when the village is empty!" she slams her spear into the ground, "Now leave!"

As the young woman slowly backs away trying to look unmoved, the guardswoman faces you. "Young ones, these days" she complains sympathetically "they have no respect for men at all!"
"Certainly," you confirm still trying to calm down your nerves. "The mistress wants to see you," she says calmly as she takes out from her belt a large brass ring containing several keys. "You are to save the laundry for later. It is imperative that you see her immediately." She bends down and unlocks your foot-cuff.

You keep kneeling and place your hands behind your back. It's standard procedure. She ties your arms together, helps you up and escort you back to town with your arms hooked together.
The Mistress never interrupts you during work. You wonder what could possibly warrant this exception...