Ragnar moved closer, reached out, and grabbed her wrist. His grip was firm.
The woman's eyes snapped open. She turned fast, lips curling into a snarl. She jerked her arm back, but his hand didn't budge.
Her brows furrowed. Confusion flickered in her gaze. This was Ragnar—the weakest of the weak. Yet her wrist stayed locked in his grasp.
Ragnar smirked, leaning in close. "Surprised? You should be. Do you want to become stronger too?"
For a heartbeat, her warrior pride clashed with her curiosity. Then, after a short pause, she gave a hesitant nod.
His grin widened. "Then I'll tell you… if you beat me in hand wrestling."
Her face twisted from confusion to mockery, then hardened to something fierce. "With you? Don't joke."
Ragnar tilted his head. "So you're afraid you'll lose?"
Her nostrils flared. "Afraid?!" She ripped her wrist free and stood. "I'll crush your hand."
Ragnar flinched for just a second. Even if she was weaker by numbers, the killing intent rolling off her was enough to make the modern man nervous.
They set a flat stone between them, elbows braced, hands locking tight. Their gazes clashed.
Among barbarians, hand wrestling wasn't a game. It was a sacred duel, a test of worthiness. Accepting a challenge meant acknowledging the other as an equal. Losing meant shame. For her to even sit here with Ragnar was an insult to her pride.
"Start," she growled.
Their muscles flexed. Ragnar pushed, expecting an easy slam. But he stopped himself. If he crushed her too quickly, rumors could spread. He wasn't ready to draw the attention of warriors with triple his strength.
So he let her push back. He grunted, pretended to struggle. Their hands swayed in the middle, veins popping, teeth bared. Minutes dragged by.
The woman snarled, sweat dripping from her forehead. Ragnar played the weakling role, gasping, straining—until finally, with one last surge of "effort," he forced her hand down against the rock.
The sound of skin smacking stone echoed. Ragnar leaned back, breathing heavy, masking his grin.
She stared at their locked hands, wide-eyed. Her lips trembled. "I… lost?"
Her head shook violently. "No. No, no, no." She began muttering, almost chanting. "I lost to the weakest. Impossible…"
Ragnar stood, hands on his hip. Her disgusted glare only made him feel bad about his current reality. She looked as if she'd rather die than accept the result.
Then Ragnar leaned in, lowering his voice. "Now, as the sacred rules demand, you must obey one order from me. Without question."
Her eyes snapped to his, blazing. He swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. For a moment, he considered asking her to fetch him food instead. But the clock was ticking, it was do or die.
His lips parted. "Have sex with me."
The words fell like a stone. Ragnar immediately squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for an explosion of rage.
But silence stretched. One second. Two. Three.
He cracked an eye open.
The woman was lying flat in the grass again, staring at the sky, arms spread.
Ragnar blinked.
Her voice came, flat, resigned. "What are you doing? Get it over with."
He chuckled, crooked smile spreading across his face. 'These people are fucking insane.' Then his smirk sharpened. 'But at least good for me.'
He dropped to his knees, straddling her hips.
First, he tore away the crude leather strip across her chest. Her breasts spilled free—huge, heavy, perfectly round, the kind that begged to be mauled. His cock twitched, slapping against his stomach as blood rushed through it.
"Fuck… you're built different," Ragnar muttered, squeezing one in both hands, feeling the weight fill his palms. He thumbed her nipple hard until it stiffened, then bent down and wrapped his lips around it.
He sucked with no restraint, tongue flicking and rolling, then bit down just enough to make her hiss. Her chest rose sharply, her hand twitching as if to push him off—but she didn't.
He growled into her skin, biting and sucking her tit until red marks bloomed. He shifted to the other breast, attacking it with even more hunger, saliva glistening on her skin. "God… I could drown in these."
Her jaw tightened, eyes squeezed shut, but her nipples were hard and her breaths came quicker, betraying her.
Ragnar pulled back, grinning, spit running down his chin. Then he slid lower, shoving her fur skirt aside and yanking her thighs apart. Her pussy glistened, folds flushed with heat, her body betraying the calm face she tried to wear.
He didn't waste time. He grabbed his cock, lined it up, and slammed in one brutal thrust.
Her entire body arched. A sharp gasp tore from her lips before she bit it down. Her cunt was hot and gripping tight, squeezing his cock like it didn't want to let go.
"Shit—tight as hell," Ragnar groaned, sinking balls-deep inside her. He ground his hips, savoring how her walls clenched around him.
He pulled back and thrust again, harder. The sound of wet flesh smacking echoed in the grass. Her hands clawed into the dirt, body trembling with each impact.
Ragnar fucked her slow at first, then faster, harder, his cock slamming into her again and again. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, sweat sliding between them, her nipples stiff and flushed.
Her face cracked—her teeth clenched, her nostrils flaring, her lips trembling as if to hold back a cry.
"You're holding it in," Ragnar growled, pounding her harder, sweat dripping from his forehead onto her chest. "But your pussy's already screaming."
Her body betrayed her. Her legs quivered, her cunt clamping tighter every time he bottomed out. Her silence only drove him to pound her rougher, his balls smacking her ass with every thrust.
Her lips parted but she forced herself silent, only ragged breaths slipping out. But her cunt betrayed her again, milking his cock in spasms, sucking him deeper.
Ragnar gritted his teeth, hips slamming wildly now. The grass flattened beneath them, dirt kicked up by her twisting legs. Their bodies collided over and over, the wet sounds of fucking filling the night.
"Fuck—take it," he groaned, cock swelling, pleasure surging up his spine. His thrusts turned brutal, relentless, as if he could drive his cock through her womb.
Her body finally cracked. A muffled cry slipped past her lips, then another, until she was trembling beneath him, eyes squeezed shut, nails raking lines into the soil.
"That's it," Ragnar snarled, pounding her mercilessly. "Your body can't lie, bitch. You love this cock."
Her silence shattered into a ragged moan as her cunt clamped down in violent spasms, milking him harder, refusing to let him pull out.
Ragnar's body tensed. He slammed in to the hilt, groaning loud as his cock erupted, pumping thick ropes of cum deep inside her womb.
Her back arched, face flushed red, her entire body shaking as the hot load filled her. She clutched fistfuls of grass, silent except for broken, shaky breaths—her pride still trying to hold the line even as her body betrayed her completely.
Ragnar collapsed on top of her, panting hard, face buried between her massive tits.
"Fuck… best pussy yet," he muttered, still twitching inside her, cum leaking out around his cock.
When Ragnar woke, dawn light spilled across the grass. The woman was still beside him, still asleep, her huge breasts pressed tight against his chest. He could feel her nipples, hard against his skin, every slow breath from her making them rub just enough to stir his cock awake again.
His gaze trailed up to her face. He smirked. 'Those thick lips… bet she'd give the best blowjob of my life.'
His cock throbbed at the thought. He carefully shifted, standing over her.
Horniness took over. He gripped his cock, guided it down, and pressed the swollen tip against her mouth. Her lips were soft, warm, parting slightly under the touch.
Ragnar grinned.