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Viking Raiders
by Old Bill (address withheld)

***

Fierce female warriors ravage the coast and enslave 
men. (Fdom/M-teens, nc, v, bd, cast, sn)

***

Two smiling Vikings hauled the squirming man to the 
gunnels, grasping his upper arms and bending him on the 
rail. His mistress examined the scars on his thighs and 
found that he had been serving her for eight moons. She 
grinned at him as he begged in a language she did not 
understand, drew her fish gutting knife from her belt, 
grasped his scotum, pulled it down and cut off his 
testicles cleanly and then rammed them into his 
screaming mouth.

"Well done, Greta," said one of the two holding the 
writhing man. Together they pushed him over the side 
and into the gray sea. For a minute or so his feet 
bobbed in the red-dyed waves.

The next surplus male was dragged forward to the bloody 
hatchway and his woman approached with her thin blade 
in her teeth. Wordlessly she brushed aside his limp 
cock, grasped his hanging balls and sawed them off, 
tossed them into the sea and turned her back on the 
spurting male who had failed to satisfy her twice. Over 
he went, his cry ending in a gurgle.

By then Gerta had selected one of the cowering new boys 
they had stolen in the recent raid and hurried him to 
her place with an arm bent behind him, sat him down 
roughly and shackled him and then called for the 
sucker. The toothless old man hurried to her bench, 
knelt and did his job. It was all that kept him alive, 
getting men ready to perform their duty. He grinned up 
at the proud Viking and crawled away, licking his 
chops. 

Gerta smiled at the boy's tall, slim erection, got her 
well-muscled legs on both sides of the narrow rowing 
bench, rose and sat on the young man's loins, impaling 
herself on his stiff prick with a sigh of satisfaction. 
He squealed, feeling as if his cock was going to be 
torn from his lean body. She held him firmly at the 
shoulders, her jutting breasts right at his bewhiskered 
chin and ordered him to thrust, then arching her back 
and putting a tit in his gaping mouth she enveloped him 
with a gasp of pleasure and squeezed firmly.

The boy did not understand the word, but he knew what 
was wanted and rammed his stiff cock up into the big 
woman hard and fast, the bloody sights he had just 
witnessed fresh in his frightened mind. For more than a 
week, he had waited his turn, hoping he would be able 
to satisfy one of the lusty Vikings. He groaned as 
their flesh slapped together, and he rubbed his tongue 
over her jutting nipple and sucked it as hard as he 
could, straining his belly muscles to thrust again and 
again and again. On each penetration he felt his young 
manhood being squeezed by powerful interior muscles, 
but every recoil was much easier as the fleshy tunnel 
relaxed and quivered, preparing for the next heaving 
invasion, the next pleasurable sundering, the next 
fierce copulation.

"Meirr, more," demanded the big woman, slashing at his 
back with the leather quirt that hung from her wrist 
and pushing her other big breast at his mouth. She 
tensed her powerful thighs and managed to hook one leg 
behind her lover's backside and pull him tightly to her 
hard and hairy groin, her wrists now linked in the 
small of his back. Well satisfied with both his size 
and strength, Gerta relaxed a bit, planted her foot 
back on the deck and tried to remember the motions of 
the last horse she had ridden down is Espagna, smiling 
at the striving lad's red and sweating face. Then she 
galloped him, bouncing them both off the wooden bench. 
It was a ride the boy thought might never end, one that 
would leave him with bruised buttocks and thighs.

"Ah, ah," he grunted, his balls in turmoil as he used 
every muscle he had to ram his young penis into the 
woman's fleshy maw faster and faster, doing his best to 
meet her demands, to match her tempo, his shackled 
hands clawing at the bench. He felt trapped, a prisoner 
of the woman's staggering desire, of her need for 
release, for violent friction, for complete 
satisfaction. In his mind he saw his predecessor bent 
over the charging ship's rail, the bubbling wake 
stirring his hair as this young woman emasculated him 
and then filled his gaping mouth with his own flesh 
before he was fed to the fishes, spurting blood like a 
fountain. He thrust again and again, determined to 
survive and crying out in fear and effort, feeling his 
climax nearing.

Gerta saw the look in his eyes, felt his hard maleness 
swell in her and stepped away, dragging his long, hot 
penis from her healthy cunt, its thick lips rippling. 
The boy spurted twice, ribbons of sperm that fell to 
the bench he sat on. The woman patted his cheek and put 
his hands on the oar at his hip. "Jam, gud," she told 
him, still unsatisfied but sure he would be better in 
time for he had the size and the strength. She hoped he 
would be as good than the kona she had just fed to the 
tossing waves, the one with the wonderfully curved 
organ who simply wore out. The old sucker came and 
licked up the spilled sperm, including a thick streak 
on her muscular calf, one of his jobs on the boat, one 
of the ways he survived.

The frightened boy understood that he had been accepted 
as a sexual slave and dedicated rower on this big 
Viking craft manned entirely by frightening women, 
fearsome women who carried heavy swords and who 
demanded sexual homage from the males they captured and 
put to work. He also knew how his life would end unless 
these women were defeated or their boat crumpled on 
some unseen rocks. Even then, since he was chained to 
his post, he knew he was doomed and all he could do was 
delay his fate. Deep in his mind, he had to admit he 
had enjoyed the woman, enjoyed the frenzied rutting, 
and he knew that as long as he did that well, he would 
live and be fed. He was sure he could survive on gruel, 
fish and sex for the rest of his days.

Greta stood, adjusted her thick belt and looked down 
the wide aisle of the longboat where the men bent over 
their heavy oars, her jutting breasts still tingling 
from their attention, her puffy sex lips quivering, 
oozing, wanting more. The sleek ship had rounded the 
cape and they were headed into a protected cove and 
toward what appeared to be a prosperous fishing village 
with cottages spread well up the steep hillside. 

"Bend your backs," cried the tall captain, "roa, roa!" 
She snapped her long whip over their heads. Forward 
where the lithe blonde now stood at the dragon-headed 
prow, whip in hand, her boy kneeling at her side, spray 
crested and at the stern the captain's two big archers 
manned the huge steering oar, their mighty male members 
swaying freely, looking like ribbed clubs, bronze 
adorned badges of their station, their huge ball sacks 
dangling from the leather harnesses they wore.

The fair-haired captain called herself Vixen, a name 
she had taken from her unfortunate predecessor, the 
woman she had eviscerated in a fair fight for 
leadership on her third voyage when she was barely 
eighteen winters. She had chopped off her snarling 
aunt's right forearm and then ripped open her belly and 
as she stood there trying to hold in her coil of guts, 
the new Vixen had beheaded her and the kicking body 
fell from the wharf and disappeared, dragged down by 
her armor. Then she had demanded that the dead woman's 
two Nubian guards come and pay her homage.  

After they bowed, arms wide spread, she had one lie on 
the dock, his massive member upright in his fist, and 
she lowered herself on him, squatting and swallowing up 
his wide rod with a fixed smile on her face, and then 
the other archer opened his heavy harness and drove his 
huge cock up into her raised ass. The other women and 
slaves watched in awe as she exhausted them both in her 
muscular body and then had the youngest new slave 
brought forth to clean her furrows with his tongue. 
That boy was the one she now slept with, rolled 
together in her soft, goose-down sack, his head between 
her thighs and his young prick often in her lips.

Gerta, nominally second in command but in no hurry to 
challenge for leadership, approach Vixen, bowed and 
said, "We have but two unused boys left, the youngest 
ones, rather puny I fear, beardless. Shall we try for 
at least another half dozen here?"

Vixen smiled and tousled the fair hair of the boy who 
knelt grasping her leg, his talented tongue well up 
into her tireless slot, always seeking, from front or 
back, keeping her constantly aroused. "Take every 
youngster you can find who matches the standard, the 
hand. Two or twenty-two, my friend, it matters not." 
She showed her teeth in a nasty smile. "And throw those 
two poor bairn overboard, I never thought they would 
amount to anything. I'd like to know who picked them."

"Mona I think, you know she loves the children, the 
younger and smaller the better for her. She suckles 
them sometimes. She had the board that day. But 
Mistress I think we miss some good candidates who are 
too frightened to get erect, to lay their manhood on 
the measuring board." Greta smiled at the captain; they 
had known each other for several voyages and argued 
this before.

"Probably, likely in fact, but I know not another way. 
It has been used since the time of the old ones, of the 
sagas. We want no little pricks to goad us on our way. 
Make sure we do not take any over the age of twenty if 
you can, not unless they are like those two black ones 
back there." She smiled and turned her attention to the 
landfall, the big, red sail flapping behind her as it 
was being lowered.

Gerta laughed, saluted, backed away, unshackled the two 
weeping boys, examined their shriveled genitals, 
snorted and tossed them over the side and then set to 
sharpening her broadsword, conscious that the other 
women in the raiding party were also arming themselves, 
several standing with their men burrowing between their 
legs, doing their duty while they rowed, getting the 
women's battle blood up. She thought of the two big 
archers and their prodigious rams, curiously tattooed 
cocks that belonged now to the young captain and only 
to her. Perhaps, if she did well, she could beg for one 
as a hylli. She poured herself a cup of mead, drank it 
down and squinted at the nearing shoreline.

"Shields up," cried Vixen as several large stones arced 
toward them from the shore. "They have some sort of 
catapults." She kicked the tow-headed boy aside, and he 
crawled into the shelter of the bow strakes, wiping his 
bruised mouth on the back of his hand, his immature 
male member erect as it usually was, not much bigger 
than his thumb.

Rocks splashed near the fast-moving boat as two-dozen 
rowers bent their backs. Several big stones bounced off 
raised shields, one struck and splintered a railing and 
then the captain hurried to the stern and took over the 
steering herself as balls of Greek fire mounted from 
the shore. Greta hammered the thick railing with her 
sword hilt and increased the rowing speed, promising 
extra draughts of ale while her war mates used their 
short whips on their slaves' backs.

Vixen's two prime fuckers, their mighty members jutting 
forward like spears, grabbed up their longbows and 
began sending iron-tipped shafts toward the defenders 
as the smiling woman steered toward a rocky jetty, her 
long hair flowing behind like a flag. The narrow dragon 
boat skidded along the ledge and the raiding party 
scrambled ashore while the ship was still moving, 
screaming war cries and flashing their blades, faces 
streaked, breasts bare and painted nipples jutting, 
trying to look like bezerkers. A half dozen screaming 
killers in leather skirts with round shields on their 
left arms and their unbound hair streaming behind them 
charged toward the thin line of frightened defenders. 
Most ran.

Two men with spears stood their ground and were chopped 
down and dismembered on the waterfront while the rest 
fled, crying for mercy and pushing their families 
before them. Mercy was not one of the things these 
female raiders knew. They seldom killed women or 
children but they quickly owned the market, leaving 
several merchants dead on the stones, heads rolling in 
the gutters, and their fellows and a few slaves were 
quickly there behind them gathering baskets of food and 
supplies while the armed women rounded up a dozen or so 
young men in the village square. 

They made them strip despite the cold wind and demanded 
that they use their hands to get their penises hard. 
The women sheathed their bloody blades and stood 
grinning at the youngsters they had found, most of them 
full grown and showing pubic hair, a good haul that 
would surely please their insatiable captain. Gerta had 
watched Vixen use five newly-captured men in a single 
morning after the last raid, cutting one frightened 
boy's cock in two for his failure and kicking another 
in the balls when he cried in her arms, his stiff rod 
spurting rich cream.

Gerta drew the ancient measuring board from her waist; 
it was a red, wooden slab the size and shape of a man's 
extended hand, perhaps six or seven inches in length 
from middle finger tip to base of palm. She went from 
boy to boy, grasped their stiff cocks and laid them on 
the red board. If they measured up, she yanked on their 
hard members, and they were led aside, squealing for 
mercy. If they did not, she cuffed them and sent them 
off to hide with the others up on the hillside. 

The five young men whose pricks were long enough were 
dragged to the jetty with their meager clothes in their 
hands and loaded on the ship along with the food and 
cloth from the market. Long oars pushed the boat out 
into the bay, the patterned linen sail shuddered up the 
mast and the drakkar was soon gone, a bad memory and 
the source of horror stories for a century or more in 
that tiny village.

With six raiders and only five new males, Gerta stood 
aside while her compatriots enjoyed the spoils of their 
brief fight. The woman set aside their heavy arms and 
sat on the benches in the stern, each with a stripling 
on his knees between their strong legs. Each young 
man's head was soon mashed between a smiling Viking's 
thighs, and they were quickly taught what their tongues 
were for as their bare buttocks were lashed if their 
pace of licking and sucking slowed. A long, braided 
whip hung from each woman's wrist, a quirt used mainly 
to encourage rowing speed but also a goad toward 
improved sexual performance. There were few men abroad 
who did not feel the whip at least once a day and all 
bore scared butts and shoulders.

Once the raiders were ready for coitus, their quivering 
folds thoroughly slicked and their vaginas teased and 
aroused, the boys were brought upright on their knees 
and pulled to their main task. Five young horns were 
drawn into five hairy pudendas with the women's hands 
grasping the boys' lean buttocks and their full breasts 
at their slaves' faces. Soon all five youngsters were 
sucking and fucking, urged on by hard slashes to their 
backs and thighs. 

When each woman felt that her slave was nearing the 
climax of his frenzied humping, she yanked him to his 
feet, took his dripping prick into her mouth and sucked 
down his spurting ejaculations, believing it gave her a 
man's strength and knowing it weakened the eager male 
before her. Then the shaken boys were shackled along 
the ship's ribs, huddled together for warmth, wearing 
only their tattered shirts, frightened and ashamed. The 
toothless sucker brought them bowls of gruel and cups 
of barley ale, whispering comforting words to each.

The rowers had watched this performance in fear. 
Twenty-four men sat on the benches and now there were 
five youngsters in chains. It meant that some of them, 
they knew, would soon die, died horribly, unmanned and 
drowned by their merciless mistresses. It did not take 
long for the first exchange to be made. As soon as the 
ship cleared the sheltered harbor and the fluttering 
sail took hold, two women dragged a startled rower from 
his bench, bent him over the rail and watched with wide 
smiles as his grinning mistress castrated and 
emasculated him, opened his belly with a backhanded 
slice and pushed him over the side. She then took one 
of the boys to the dead man's place and initiated him 
to his duties as a rower. She did it slowly and 
carefully, enjoying the process and making him climax 
twice before she was satisfied and shackled him in 
place, patting his shaking back.

Once they were in the open sea, Vixen left the stern; 
sure her two big men could man the steering oar, and 
went to assess the young men gathered in this brief 
foray. When the raiding party was ashore, the captain 
had taken her ease with her massive archers, exhausting 
each one in turn on her sleeping mat while the tow-
headed boy watched and played with himself. She stood 
before the new ones now, hands on hips, her long hair 
blowing wildly in the wind, her big nipples fully erect 
in the cold, rivulets of thick cum oozing down her 
legs. "Free those two," she said, pointing at a pair of 
slim youngsters, "they don't look old enough to me."

The two followed her to the bow where she grasped the 
handles on the side of the dragon figurehead, spread 
her long legs and pointed at one dark-haired young man. 
"You first," she demanded in his tongue. The boy shook 
with fright as he took his place behind her, despite 
himself aroused by her obvious beauty, stood between 
her wide-spread feet and stroked himself hard. "Be 
quick," Vixen said loudly, striking back at him with 
her short whip. He thrust up into her with a moan, his 
buttocks tightly tensed and rove his rod in to the 
hilt, to the balls.

"Ah gud," Vixen cried in Norse. "More, harder," she 
demanded, whipping him again and again until blood ran 
down his right leg. The boy grabbed the wooden rungs 
above the big woman's head and arched his whole slim 
body into her. He had often mounted two girls in his 
village and was preparing to marry one of them soon, 
but he had never experienced anything like the 
clasping, muscular vagina that he now strove to sunder, 
the heated body that seemed to suck him deeper and 
deeper. Despite the cold, he was quickly sweat drenched 
and then his thighs and belly muscles began to cramp as 
he gasped for breath. Fear gathered in his guts.

"Enough, bastante," Vixen said in a border tongue, one 
the boy recognized, and he pulled free of the woman 
whose hard butt had been pressing his belly and 
stomach, and fell to his knees sobbing with relief. 
"Now you," Vixen said to the other boy, pointing as she 
turned to face him, seeing that he was already erect 
and ready. She locked her feet on the round steps 
behind her and spread her knees, smiling at the lad as 
her labia quivered open, obviously wet and ready.

The boy, his face deathly white, struggled to his feet 
and stared at the lusty woman, knowing what he must do. 
His excited penis softened and flopped as fear spread 
through him. He grabbed it and stroked, whimpering. It 
was no good, the big woman who had used him only a half 
hour before had taken too much out of him. He had 
ejaculated four ribbons of his semen on her and into 
her mouth, and he had no more to give. He had been a 
virgin and now he was frightened, frightened and worse, 
suddenly impotent.

He looked up and was about to say that he was sorry 
when Vixen's eating knife sliced though his throat and 
his blood sprayed out like a fountain. Spattered with 
gore, the captain stepped aside as the body fell at her 
feet. Vixen kicked the corpse and said, "Get me the 
other two" as the first boy crawled away on the gory 
deck and her young pet came to lick away the blood 
spots on her ripe body and leather armor.

END

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Kristen's collection - Directory 58