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Aftermath of Victory - A Story

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Hey all. After watching and reading some of “The Last Kingdom,” I scratched together this story of the aftermath of a Norse/Viking raid on a Saxon town. The idea of having a defeated enemy’s women at my mercy is a recurring fantasy of mine. As always, it’s just fantasy. War crimes are bad and no one should do them.

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The men of the town had it easy. They died quickly and (mostly) well in the short fighting as we stormed the flimsy line of stakes they called a wall. The women? Well, the women’s suffering was much more drawn out.
It was a good raid. Only a couple of our men dead, and a decent amount of loot to take home. As usual, we celebrated that night in the town’s longhouse. We honored the memory of the men who died fighting us by eating their food, drinking their ale, and enjoying their women.

I say “enjoy” because we didn’t just fuck the women. For some men, that’s not how they take pleasure in their power over a conquered wench. We killed the old ones and set aside the girls. Those would come back to Norway with us. Then we herded the 50 or so remaining women of the town, naked as the day they were born, into the longhouse and the celebration truly began.

A victory feast can be overwhelming on the senses. The smell of the livestock kindly donated by the townspeople roasting over the fire, ale and mead spilling from cups. The belches and boasts of men fresh from battle. There is nothing better in the world.

The naked women huddled together in the corner of the longhouse. Most of them were on their knees, praying in their strange manner to their timid god. We pulled 8 of them out of line and shoved pitchers of ale in their trembling hands. They kept their wits about them enough to understand their job: keep our cups full. It would spare them the worst indignities, at least until the feast inevitably disintegrated late into the night. They would be groped and slapped and a man or three might bury his head in their tits for a laugh, but we would not play our cruelest games with the women keeping us in our drink.

One of those games started immediately after we began tearing into the food. Olafr and Sigurdr the Bentnose strode over to the cowering women and made a show of picking out the fattest one. While they dragged her, sobbing and babbling in the Saxon language to the front of the hall, another man set a spear into the floor, point facing upward. Olafr and the Bentnose tied the fat woman’s hands with a rope that had been looped over the highest beam in the ceiling of the longhouse. Together, they hauled her kicking and screaming into the air. As she dangled, tits wobbling every which way and fleshy legs kicking, they tried to position her right above the spear. They let go, and she plummeted shrieking to the ground. They missed the spear, and the sound of her legs breaking free and “Ooooooooh!” from the men sitting at the long table. With her legs shattered, the fat woman didn’t mess up the pair’s aim the second time. They dropped her directly on to the spear. The festivities had officially begun.

Early on in the night, four women were pulled out of the huddle. Each one was tied spread eagle to one of the wide wooden posts of the longhouse. They were used for axe-throwing competitions, where men competed to see who could throw their axe closest to the bound woman while also drinking the most. By the end of the night, the men’s axe-throwing accuracy deteriorated markedly. Each woman ended the night limp, lifeless, and with a sticky pool of blood at her feet.

Three comely young women were pulled out of the group and made to stand on the long table. They stood there, confused and quaking, unsure of what we wanted. Eluf, our best drummer, made a big show of banging on his instrument, pointing to the women, and twirling his fingers in a mockery of a dance. The women finally understood, and they spent the evening dancing naked on the table. They even learned a few moves that got cheers and applause, such as kicking their legs up and stretching their arms wide and wiggling their chests. Maybe they thought if they pleased us, they would live through the night. They were wrong, but I admired their desire to live.

Even with many of their number being pulled aside for group entertainment, there were plenty of women for individual pleasure. Herleifr, our war chief, had first choice. He didn’t keep us waiting long, and strode forward and, with an experienced eye, picked out a lovely, raven-haired one in the flower of womanhood. With no visible effort, he slung her over his shoulders, carried her behind the aeldorman’s chair at the head of the hall. In one smooth motion, he flung the girl to the floor and planted himself firmly between her legs.

Herleifr had fucked many captive women in his time.

As the feast progressed, men staggered over to the ever-shrinking circle of captive women. Some took their choices outside, and other found spaces in the longhouse to take their pleasure. Soon, the sounds of fucking joined the laughter, chatter, table noises, and occasional screams from the women being used as axe-throwing props.

After I had eaten my fill and drank enough to be horny but not so much that I could not perform, I decided to get a woman now while there were still some desirable ones left. The man seared next to me at the table patted my shoulder as I stood up, then threw the contents of his ale horn on the panting, exhausted woman dancing naked on the table in front of us.

There were about 20 women still huddled together, looking down at the floor. I took stock of the selection for a moment, then grabbed a fistful of red hair and pulled. The woman yelped and staggered to her feet. She was not a bad selection. Maybe 30 years old or so (though these Saxon women age so fast it’s hard to tell!), she had clearly been a mother more than once. Her breasts had the stretch marks and deflated look that comes after being filled with milk, with dark nipples that had been well-suckled. Her belly also bore stretch marks and loose skin, and her ass had flattened out. A fiery red batch of hair hid her womanhood.

But her face still showed the beauty she had been not so long ago. Thick red hair, deep green eyes, freckles on her slender nose, and well-placed cheek bones. She had once been just as gorgeous and the raven-haired girl now grunting and whimpering behind the aeldorman’s chair under Herleifr’s considerable weight. My woman looked at me, perhaps to take my measure, and then quickly back down at the floor. She was not afraid, but resigned to her fate. Being fucked was nothing new to her. Yes, this woman would do nicely. I put a hand on the woman’s bare back and made a show of pushing her along, to the door of the longhouse, and out into the cool evening air. It was mostly a performance on my part; she went more or less willingly.

I led my chosen woman around the left side of the longhouse, where torches gave enough light for me to see what I was doing. One other raider was already there. He had his woman on her back, legs high in the air, and he was furiously rutting and grunting on top of her. I took my woman to a spot far enough away as to not disturb the other “couple” and pushed down on her shoulders once we reached a good, clear spot of ground.

She knew exactly what I wanted. She said something in her Saxon tongue in a smooth, rich voice, and compliantly got down on her hands and knees, presenting her ass to me. Her ass stank, but it’s not like she spent the day preparing to be fucked. With practiced ease, I unbelted and pulled down my breeches and took a position behind her. I rubbed my cock with one hand and spat on the other, unceremoniously smearing it around and into her womanhood. The Saxon woman gasped and arched her back at that, but relaxed soon enough. She probably had expected me to go in dry.

Preliminaries taken care of, I set my cock against her womanhood, gripped her hips, and thrust forward. The captive woman gasped as I entered her, and I moaned at the exquisite feeling of a warm pussy surrounding my cock. It had been far too long. The downside of long see voyages: no women. My own wife was back home. She enjoyed my stories of the timid Saxon women, and she got sopping wet every time, during our bed games, I told her than none of them can fuck like a Norse woman.

I looked down at my captive woman, savoring the pale skin of her back, her still-feminine waist swelling into her wide, childbearing hips, and the her fleshy ass rippling each time it bounced against my muscled thighs. I drove deeper as my lust took over and her body responded with its own wetness. My hands began to roam from her hips across her back eventually catching a handful of red hair and pulling her head back.

I wonder if this woman’s husband had been one of the men we butchered in the fight earlier today. Did desperately make love to her last night, knowing that he would be fighting to protect her the next day? Did he spend his last moments realizing that he had failed, and that his wife would be bouncing on a Norse cock before the night was through?

I don’t know a man who doesn’t lose track of time while fucking, but soon enough I felt the telltale pressure growing in my balls. The man next to me was grunting out his own climax, and three more men had joined us on this side of the longhouse with their own pick of the women. Not one to prolong the inevitable, I pushed the red-hair Saxon woman’s head down into the dirt and gave one last deep thrust. I let myself moan, savoring the pleasure of filling this captured woman’s womb with my seed.

When my climax was done, I sat back and let my cock slide out of the woman and reached with one hand down to my side. She cautiously raised her head and said something in her language. I wonder if she knew those would be her last words. The sound of choking reached us from where the other “couple” lay. My woman raised her head to look, but her thick hair was in the way. Cursing silently, I braved my left hand against the small of my woman’s back, and with my right I scooped my short sword from the ground, and with a practiced motion, looped it underneath her and opened her belly.

The red-haired Saxon woman gasped and let out a groan, followed by the wet splattering sound of her entrails spilling onto the ground. I leaned over her, holding her head down so that her final groans would not carry, and keeping her ass in the air so that she wouldn’t shit on me as she died. When she was still, I stood up and looked myself over. No shit on me, and I didn’t see any blood, either. I had given the woman as quick of a death as I could, and kept myself clean.

The man next to me was standing up from his deed, as well. His woman lay on her back, face obviously purple even in the torchlight, legs and arms spread-eagled. I looked at the man as we pulled our breeches back up. He was one of the younger ones on the raid.

“Strangling?” I asked him, shaking my head. “The noise almost scared mine to soon.” I pointed to the red-haired corpse next to me. I used my booted foot to straighten out one leg, then the other, so that she was now lying completely on the ground. She had already died a captive, raped woman. She did not need the further indignity of having her ass open to the sky any longer than necessary.

“You’ll have to teach me that disemboweling move,” the younger man said as we walked back to the longhouse.
Inside, the feast was nearly ended. Our boats were small, and with all the loot, we had little room for living captives to take back with us. We would take the girls who were not yet women and a few boys who seemed docile enough to become good thralls. That meant that the women we had enjoyed the feast with had to end the night as sacrifices to the gods for our victory.

When I entered the longhouse again, the three naked women who had been dancing on the table were standing together, still on the table but this time with noises around their necks. The ropes had been looped around the ceiling beams, and two smiling men held the end of each rope. The women were begging and babbling in their language, shaking their heads and almost certainly asking for mercy. They didn’t get any.

“One...two..three!” called one of the men, and they hoisted the noosed women into the air. Their entreaties turned to gasps and groans as their naked legs kicked and they pulled desperately at the ropes digging into their throats. The leading of the hanging group let the women dangle for a few moments, until their struggles started to slacken, and then made a motion with his hand. His men relaxed the ropes, and the women dropped onto the table to uproarious laughter.

I paid my respects to Herleifr before retiring for the night. He was sitting in the aeldorman’s chair, watching his men finish off the women who had survived the evening’s celebrations. The raven-haired beauty was on his lap. She stared dead-eyed ahead as he idly cupped her left breast.

“You keeping her?” I asked.

“Indeed!” Herleifr squeezed the woman’s cheeks, “She fucked good enough to earn a spot on my ship.”

“One...two...three!” The sounds of creaking ropes and women choking picked up again behind me. I nodded my head in acknowledgment to the war chief and made my way out of the blood-soaked longhouse and back to the ships to sleep.

We departed the next morning. When I looked inside the longhouse in the morning light , I noted three naked women hanging limp above the table. The women who had been picked to be the serving wenches at the feast where the last survivors, which meant they were both our sacrifice for a safe journey and a message to anyone who came to the town after we were gone. We impaled them on discarded spears along the dirt path just outside the town “wall” and left them there to squirm and die with one last Norse cock up their asses.
As we boarded the ships, the girl-slaves and few boys in tow, plus the raven-haired beauty, I looked back at the longhouse. The shock of red hair was still there, where “my” woman had trembled out her last moments in the dirt of her home town. I wondered if she was back with her husband, in the strange afterlife the Christians believed in.

I shook my head and focused on my tasks to prepare for sailing. I had my own woman waiting for me at home, and I couldn’t wait to see her again.
 
Hey all. After watching and reading some of “The Last Kingdom,” I scratched together this story of the aftermath of a Norse/Viking raid on a Saxon town. The idea of having a defeated enemy’s women at my mercy is a recurring fantasy of mine. As always, it’s just fantasy. War crimes are bad and no one should do them.

I watched "The Last Kingdom" and enjoyed it as well. I think Bernard Cornwell, the writer, does his homework as far as historical setting. At least he makes me believe it. Likewise, I think your story is probably a pretty accurate reflection of the aftermath of a Viking raid.
 
A fine tale of feasting and victory. This deserves a place in one of our short story compilations. Splendid. Please do tell more stories as the muse takes you.
:borra2: :clapping::clapping::beer:
 
Nice story!
I think i have read before some stories about raids and massive executions as celebrations but this one is really good!
 
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