by Rob Rosen
He must realize at least some of what is going to happen to him. But he refuses to show weakness; soldier that he is, he will cope with his evident fate.
But maybe I can do something for him.
So far, none of my companions knows what Barradd’s offense was. What I am going to do will explain the puzzle and will simultaneously unmask me, will perhaps subject me to the same violence that Barradd would suffer.
He is not like the other soldiers. I know that. I think I know that.
I am compelled to do what I do.
I walk through the throng of bitter, vengeful men to stand before Barradd. For a moment, we look at each other. His expression is enigmatic.
“I am sorry, Barradd,” I tell him, “that you and I were seen. I am sorry that you have been punished for the enjoyment we took in each other. But I am not sorry that no more do bars separate us. Being so close to you allows me to do this.”
Does Barradd desire this? Is there indeed something between us? Am I delusional? Whatever the reality may be, in my lunacy, I kneel and take his cock in my mouth.
And part of me protests. Why am I doing this? Have I been stricken with a streak of insanity? Am I so overcome with lust that I lose all caution? Do I want this man so much that I am willing to risk—what? What happens as a result of this may be more dire than any revenge my compatriots might have leveled against him before. And by doing this, I probably, almost certainly, absolutely certainly, will subject myself to severe measures I could avoid if I just constrained myself.
His cock is as before plenteous in taste and generous in girth and length, and I could quite happily suck on it for days. And this time, I can reach his testicles, large, heavy sacs that smell of sweat and sexual potency, and I bury my nose in them and inhale deeply, and my own cock becomes achingly hard.
After a while, I let go of him and look up at him and smile. He seems somewhat puzzled.
I turn around so that I am facing away from him and bend over, presenting my rear end to him and presuming that he will know what to do with it.
For a moment, nothing happens, and I begin to think that I have misestimated the situation.
Then there is movement behind me, and he drops his hands on my back, and I feel the head of his cock at my asshole. He inserts himself.
My ass is not unexplored territory, but suddenly it feels almost virginal. Maybe I have not correctly judged my ability to take him, because his intrusion is painful, and I almost want to tell him, “This was a bad idea,” but as he slowly slides in and out of me, the pain decreases and pleasure takes its place.
His cock is certainly the largest and thickest that has gained admission to my ass. He might presume that, because his motions are slow and steady, as if he is allowing me to get used to his size. I get used to it. And I like it. Very much.
I stare at the men who stare at Barradd and me, and in the moment of coherent thought that is given to me, I wonder again why I am doing this. Am I rebelling against this crowd who might become a mob, rebelling against not only them but my family and the inhabitants of my village who could not hide their dismay at me and my actions? Is this a challenge to whatever is in charge of my fate, since I no longer seem to be in control? Is this a hunger that has overtaken me?
And what is going through Barradd’s mind? Has he considered what penalty he might incur from the other guards as he consorts with the enemy? Is he just as driven as I by instincts and desires beyond repression? I like to think that I have a fetching ass, but is it so fetching that it has impelled him to cast aside discretion just to possess me?
I arch my back to give him encouragement, and his tempo picks up, and soon he is driving all the way into me and then withdrawing almost completely, and he is warming me and expanding me. As he thrusts forward, I thrust backward, meeting his hips with a jolt. His stroke increases in speed, and now we are well beyond the tentative exploration; now he is truly fucking me.
I feel the scrape of his crotch hair against my ass, and it seems that the intensity and the friction is burning its way from my buttocks down through his cock and igniting my insides, not just the path that his prick is invading and capturing and making every part of my body entirely and utterly his as he drives into me.
I look up. Some of the men watching us are smiling, and some are openmouthed, and some are visibly excited, and some are stroking themselves.
Barradd goes faster and faster, and his hands press down against my back, and then he bends over me and propels himself into me, striking my ass with so much force that I can maintain my balance no longer, and I fall and then I lie beneath him as he batters and pummels me, and his breath is hot on my neck, and I hear both of us puffing and panting, echoed by the sighs and moans of the men surrounding us.
Can he fuck me faster? He does.
Can he fuck me harder? He does.
And I revel in the pounding, hammering assault, and I cry out to him, “Faster! Harder!”
And he goes faster and harder until I nearly become one with the earth beneath me.
Then he shouts, and he floods into me, and I match his yell and pour into the ground below. He collapses on top of me, and we remain that way, not wanting to move, not able to move.
We shall have to move, because two of the guards, two of his former fellows, roughly lift us to our feet. They are laughing as they inspect our sticky steamy bodies, and they shake their heads.
“Let’s go,” one of them says. “You know what happens now.”
No, I do not. But I am going to find out.
Perhaps Barradd knows what happens now, what will happen when we leave the cage and go through the door.
We go through the door.
To our fate.
THE ORKNEY LANDING
Brent Archer
Harald Sigurdsen stood overlooking the craggy Orkney coastline. Far below him, the longboat rested beside the rocks and bobbed in the calm surf. The storm earlier in the morning had given way to bright sunshine, and the sea had calmed considerably, making it possible for the small raiding party to land.
Thorjus Halvorsen climbed over the last of the stones from the rough path up the side of the cliff. “It is a grand day to fight these barbarian Picts.”
Harald clasped the shoulder of the rugged Viking beside him. “We shall spill their blood today, my friend.”
“Look there.”
Harald’s gaze followed the direction Thorjus pointed in as the other ten warriors joined them. Across the peat- and heather-covered moorland, a column of smoke rose from the center of a house surrounded by farmland. He addressed his soldiers. “Our first conquest. Draw your weapons.”
The Norsemen raised their swords and hammers with a cheer.
Harald returned his attention to the farm. “Forward!”
Running toward the settlement, Harald deeply inhaled the Orkney air. Fresh and clean. I’ll enjoy conquering this land.
Several Picts ran over the hill behind the farm toward them. The door to the house opened, and a tall man with flaming-red hair clutched a thick club as he charged. Behind him, a middle-aged woman and three children fled from the house over the hill.
Harald counted his opponents. Twenty, and most of them look to be unskilled savages. An easy battle. He ran his sword through the first of the defenders to reach him. His comrades made short work of the Picts with two remaining men fleeing from the battlefield.
Thorjus pointed at them. “Pursue the rogues. No survivors. Then return and make camp for the night.”
The ten warriors hurried off to slay the remaining Picts.
Harald settled his gaze on the farm. “Ready?”
Thorjus gripped his sword with a grin.
The two Vikings stormed into the round house. Harald spied a cooking pot over a fire in the center of the room, a bed against the wall to the left and a table to the right with five chairs. A large tapestry hung from two wooden pillars.
He turned to Thorjus. “Burn it. The owner’s dead anyway.”
A gasp echoed around the room as the tapestry ruffled.
Harald strode to the two heavy timbers and tore the colorful cloth away from the wall. Behind it, a shivering man of about twenty years cowered in the curve of the wall. His tattered clothes indicated a servant of some sort. The lad is handsome. A noble nose and chin under his red curls.
Thorjus stepped forward. “What have we here?”
“A mouse.” Harald held his sword to the man’s throat. “Squeak, mouse. Tell us your name.”
The Pict’s eyes bulged, fear dancing across his face. “E…E… Eivind.”
Thorjus’s eyes widened. “He understands us.”
“My master taught me the Norse language.”
Harald removed the metal from the young man’s neck. “How?”
“He learned from a Viking merchant their raiding party took captive and taught it to me to care for the slave.”
Thorjus crossed his arms and towered over the terrified man. “Where is this Norse trader?”
“Dead. A month ago.”
Harald turned to his comrade. “What do you think?”
The other Viking nodded. “Kill him.”
Harald returned his stare to the Pict on the floor. His frame was slender but strong. A handsome youth with captivating green eyes. Warmth rushed through him. What is it about this man that makes me hesitate? “No. Bind him. We may take him with us for a slave.”
Thorjus shook his head. “You know we must travel light to keep the element of surprise with the local savages. We have no provisions to keep a captive.”
“I’ll decide in the morning.”
Thorjus bustled Eivind outside the small house. He returned a few moments later. “I left him beside the house with a blanket over him. Will you keep him?”
“Perhaps. If he can be broken to serve us and not run away, he’d be useful for watching our supplies and making our meals.”
Thorjus slid the leather armor from his chest. “Now we can relax for the night.”
Harald nodded. “This is a good place to sleep, and the men will be well rested for the next battle. We’ll burn it before we leave.” His gaze ran the length of his mate’s muscular chest, following the trail of hair from his belly button to his bulging crotch. Heat brought his cock to hardness. “So, my warrior, will you give yourself to me tonight?”
Thorjus stiffened. “You wish me to take the submissive role?”
Harald grabbed the stiffness poking from the trousers of his companion. “The thought excites you.”
“Your touch excites me.” Thorjus leaned forward, bringing his hand to Harald’s hair and pulling his head closer. “Take me if you can.” He mashed their lips together, his tongue prodding for entry to duel with Harald’s.
His grip on Thorjus’s cock slackened as he closed his eyes, surrendering to the lip-lock. Their trimmed beards brushed together and their kiss increased in passion. Very well. I’ll take you, warrior. Harald regained some of his control as he slowly opened Thorjus’s trousers and tugged them down. He slid his palm over the foreskin, eliciting a moan from Thorjus as he continued to press his tongue against Harald’s lips.
Thorjus dropped his hands to his sides as Harald stroked him. “You’re making my knees shake.”
Harald grinned. “I’ll make your whole body tremble before I’m finished with you.” He placed his hands on Thorjus’s shoulders and shoved him onto the small bed. Locking his gaze with his comrade’s blue eyes, he stripped out of his armor and trousers and threw them onto the floor. He unwrapped his leggings and kicked off his shoes, then descended onto the bed, pinning Thorjus to the fur skins covering the straw-stuffed mattress.
Thorjus struggled, but then wrapped his legs around Harald’s waist. “Make your conquest complete.”
Harald’s cock throbbed as he held Thorjus’s hands over his head. “You’re mine, Viking.” He spit into one hand and slicked the blond warrior’s pucker, peeling back the skin covering the already slippery head of Thorjus’s dick. Harald pressed forward.
The muscular man arched his back and Harald moved inside him. “Aaahh...“
Harald fought the urge to shoot as he held still, fully lodged in his lover’s ass. “Nod when you’re ready.”
Thorjus squeezed his hairy legs around Harald’s waist and pressed his heels into the other man’s ass. He nodded as he tightened his sphincter.
Pleasure crashed through Harald as his balls tingled. It won’t be long tonight. He pulled his shaft back until only the head remained inside, then slammed forward.
Harald smirked as Thorjus gripped his hand and spread his legs wider.
“More.”
The fire of lust blazed inside Harald, and he set a hard, pounding rhythm. He released Thorjus’s hands and slid his own under his lover’s shoulders. Pummeling the blond man’s ass, he leaned forward to kiss the moaning Thorjus and stroke his stiffness.
The tingling in his balls intensified, and Harald drove harder. His fingers flew over the head of Thorjus’s cock. The man beneath him shook and roared as blast after blast of thick come sprayed between them, coating Thorjus’s blond chest hair in white ropes.
As the orgasm raged through Thorjus, his ass muscles tightened and milked Harald over the edge. He slammed in one last time, yelled and threw his head back as he released inside his warrior lover.
Thorjus wrapped his arms around Harald’s back and pulled him down and into a gentle kiss. “An excellent conquest.”
Slipping from Thorjus’s hole, Harald rose and found a jug of water. He grabbed a rag from the floor next to the table and dunked it into the cold liquid, then brought it back to rub the sticky mess from their chests.
He threw the cloth onto the floor, and then curled up next to Thorjus. “Get some sleep. Tomorrow to battle.”
Thorjus rested his head on Harald’s chest and closed his eyes.
As Harald settled on the bed, his thoughts drifted to the Pict outside as he surrendered to his drowsiness. Eivind. A handsome name for a handsome lad. Will I let him live?
Harald awoke to the sound of rain pelting against the roof of the house. Thorjus lightly snored next to him. He traced the patterns of straw-colored hair swirling over the muscular chest of the sleeping warrior. Pressure built in his bladder, and he pushed himself up.
Standing, he strode out the door and around the side of the house. Cold rain beat against his skin as he let loose a stream. Time to wake Thorjus so we can get moving. These Picts may have been alerted to our presence if that woman and her children survived the night. He finished and turned his attention farther along the side of the house.
The huddled form of the sleeping servant shivered under the soaked blanket in the cold rain. Harald stalked to him and kicked the side of his hip. “Wake up.” He reached down, ripped the cords securing his legs and pulled the young man’s hair as he struggled to stand.
He glanced across the ramshackle fence in front of the dwelling. Five tents with posts carved with runes and dragon heads stood beyond the entrance. The sentry waved to him. I’ll wake the rest of the men after some breakfast.
Harald marched the slave into the house and shoved him to the floor. He grabbed a knife from the table and cut the bindings from around his captive’s hands. “Make food for us. If you try to run, I’ll chase you down, run my sword through your spine and leave you to die, starving and unable to move.”
Eivind’s eyes bulged as he gasped and nodded. “Yes, Lord Viking.”
Harald kept an eye on the Pict as he returned to the bed and, kneeling, placed a hand on Thorjus’s shoulder. “Wake up. We need to prepare.”
His comrade sat up, immediately awake. “Good morning.” He glanced toward the fumbling servant. “You released him?”
“He’s preparing our breakfast.”
Thorjus turned back to Eivind. “He has a fine form.”
Harald’s gaze raked over the young man. I know what we must do. My lust can’t endanger our raid. He addressed Thorjus. “True, but we
can’t afford to bring him. We’ll leave his corpse in the house when we burn it.”
Eivind dropped a pottery bowl. Harald turned to him as he brought his hand to the sword lying on the floor.
“My apologies, Lord Viking. See, there is bread on the table, and I’ve started a fire to warm the stew.” Eivind pointed to the metal pot over a small fire in the middle of the room.
Harald gripped his sword and strode quickly across the room to grab the Pict by the hair, pushing him to the floor. “We leave no survivors.” Regret streamed through him as he glared into the green eyes of the kneeling man.
“I heard your coupling last night. Please, Lord Viking, I have a desire to feel a man move inside me, and hope you will allow me to live long enough to give myself to you as your slave.”
Harald froze, eyeing the Pict suspiciously as a surge of desire gripped him. “Is this some trick or a plea for your life?”
The redheaded man shook his head. “No. Kill me afterward if you wish. I don’t fear death, but only desire to go to the next world having known the pleasures of another man.”
Harald held his sword at the servant’s neck and turned to Thorjus.
His lover returned his glance and shrugged. “What harm could it do? He’s giving himself willingly to us.”
Harald nodded, lowering his sword. “Very well. We’ll take you with us. Remember my threat if you try to escape. If, at the end of the day we aren’t dead, we’ll show you how men pleasure each other.” He turned to Thorjus. “Get dressed. We’ll torch the house after we eat.”
Harald stomped across the heather and returned to the stake where Thorjus had bound Eivind earlier that afternoon. Their captive rested on the ground, arms wrapped around the metal pole. It doesn’t look like he even tried to escape. Eivind met his gaze as he approached.
“You’re still here.”
“Yes, Lord Viking.”
“You understand the danger you’re in?”
He nodded. “I know you’ll kill me when you’re done with me.”
Harald towered over the smaller man. What is it about this man that’s different from all the others we’ve killed yesterday and today? He stooped down and ran his hand through the man’s red hair and down his stubble-covered jaw. “Do you still wish to feel a man inside you?”
