Ritual (xanaphia & CharmSnake)

They had come upon them quickly that afternoon but someone had seen them in the woods and roused the militia. Ragged they were with pitchforks, sticks, stones and determination, yet were no match for the invaders. The cavalry cut them down and captured the village within minutes, but victory did not come without a price.

Jarren knelt at his comrade's side. Ragnar lay gasping erratic breaths as red blood soaked the dirt beneath him. He had taken a fork to his flank.

"Speak to me," he grabbed the injured man's jaw and demanded. Ragnar did not respond. Jarren stood and issued his orders. "Save this man! Find him shelter and patch him up!" Two soldiers picked the fallen warrior up by the arms.

"Aye, captain," said one of the men.

"You will not die here. Not here this way, Ragnar," he told his comrade solemnly as the soldiers held him up. "I promise this." He was carried off into the nearest house.

A few of the villagers had been able to flee. Those who had not were gathered in the square, encircled by armored mounts. Mostly mothers, children an elderly, as many of the young men had been slaughtered in the fight, the rabble clung to each other in tearful fear. Cavalry men in chain mail held their blades and bows at the ready, some eying the maidens deviously. Jarren approached to issue more orders.

"Odon," he called to his first sergeant, a man with long dirty hair from a receding hairline and a wispy beard to match. Odon was an ox of a man. "Bring all provisions and booty that you can find out into the square."

"Aye, captain."

"Jax," he turned to one of his other sergeants, young and tall with a few days stubble.

"Aye?"

"Find numbers to cook and mend for us. Lock the rest into houses until we know what to do with them."

Jax nodded and set off to the task.

The villagers whimpered and cried as they saw all of their possessions dragged out into the square, pottery, jewellery, clothes, blankets, furniture, musical instruments, talismans, then sacks of flour, jars of preserves, eggs and cream urns. The whimpers then became wails as the invading soldiers shouting and jostling at Jax's command roped the villagers together, right arm to right arm in lines of five or six and ushered them into selected ransacked houses.

Jarren entered the hut where Ragnar was laid to be tended. The wounded man was unconscious, sweaty and his pulse raced. The dressings on his wounds were already soaked red.

"He may have punctured his bowel, perhaps even a kidney, and probably infected," said Karsin, the designated troop medic. Jarren stroked the unkempt strands of his once well-trimmed dark beard in contemplation.

"What will we do for him?" the captain asked.

"There is nothing we can do," the medic responded.

"Nothing? What do you mean nothing?" Jarren burst. "This man led the charge at the battle of Vassa and raised the flag at Kai. We stood shoulder to shoulder at the siege of Bardacchia and did not fall!" With an iron scowl he stared down the medic. "He will live!"

"M'Lord, even with all the comforts and amenities of Valtarra, he would be lucky to last the night," Karsin explained. "Only magic would be left for him."

"Then magic he will have!" Jarren pounded his thick fist against the wall. "This village has a shaman. Fetch him!"

Lynneth stood silently among the other captured women, careful not to draw attention to herself. The novice witch knew what these men intended to do with their captives, and she knew her minor magical abilities would not grant her an exemption. Her mistress stood at her side, no fear in her eyes as the barbarians looked her over.

Isolde, the blood witch of their village, refused to be intimidated by these men. Her pale skin stood in contrast to her blood red hair, her slender figure engulfed by the voluminous crimson locks that tumbled over her shoulder and down her back. She was a striking woman, not beautiful in any traditional sense, but stunning in a way words failed to convey. Her youth had long been spent in study of the mystical arts, though years of blood magic had prevented her from showing her true age.

When the Leader of the barbarians called for the shaman, she stepped forward, her boldness compensating for her meek figure. “You need not tear our village apart looking for the shaman. I am here, and your friend can yet be saved.”

Lynneth winced as her mistress offered to save the man. She wanted nothing more than to see him die in agony. She wished on the entire band of monsters who invaded their homes could suffer his same fate. Mostly she was terrified for her mistress, and what these savages might do to her. She longed for Isolde's strength.

“If I am to save your friends life, I need certain terms to be met. Your men will touch neither hide nor hair of the women here. They are not to be raped, beaten, abused or even so much as looked upon.” She bent over, examine the injured man. She retrieved a ceremonial dagger from her sleeve and cut her hand open, letting her blood drip into the wound. Speaking the incantations, his wounds cease to bleed and began to close. His breathing was no longer labored. She stood once more, and faced the leader. “As he is now, he will not die nor will he recover. If you cross me or my conditions, I will reverse my spell and he will surely perish. If he is to be saved, I must perform a ritual of rebirth upon him. My apprentice will assist me in this. Lynneth, step forward!”

Lynneth gasped as she was called forward. The young woman swept her long fire red red behind a ear, coming forward without looking any of the men in the eyes. The girl was much healthier looking then her mistress, curvy in all the right places rosy cheek and clear eyes. Her magic was much weaker than Isolde, and hadn't yet taken it's toll on her. She stood sheepishly next to her mentor, putting her mentor between her and the cruel barbarian leader.

It was not that Jarren didn't believe in magic, indeed he had witnessed its power many times, but his wariness lay in the fact that one must have faith in the practitioner thereof - and behold the witch! Wild trusses of hair the color of dried blood swam about in the air as she entered the hut with contempt.

"Your men will touch neither hide nor hair of the women here. They are not to be raped, beaten, abused or even so much as looked upon."

"Nor even looked upon?" Jarren checked such an arrogant demand with an arched brow. How could anyone deliver such a promise? He could keep his men's hands off certainly, but he had no control of their eyes. Even the witch had to know this. The soldiers snickered at the notion.

She stepped forward to tend the fallen Ragnar, slit her palm and let her own blood run into his wounds.

"As he is now, he will not die nor will he recover. If you cross me or my conditions, I will reverse my spell and he will surely perish. If he is to be saved, I must perform a ritual of rebirth upon him. My apprentice will assist me in this. Lynneth, step forward!"

The young maiden was one of the next to be tied and was grabbed as she stepped forth. Jarren motioned through the window and she was released to enter the house. This one was also red-haired, but fairer and finer with green eyes and soft skin.

Unlike her demure apprentice, the witch, scantily clad in what seemed purposely tattered rags, stuck her jaw out. Clearly she was posturing, as her candor was defiant yet her position was not. She had to trust him as much as he did her, even moreso as the fate of her entire village hung in the balance. He reminded her of this.

"You will not hold my comrade's life hostage," he said. "You would not dare," he asserted as his eyes gazed out the window to the remainder of the tied villagers being ushered into their huts. A slight relent in the witch's stature satisfied the captain to continue. The captain and the witch had reached a stalemate of sorts.

"No harm to your villagers for now," he said. His armour chinked as he paced the room and the ragged chain-mailed soldiers stood in an arc that blocked the exit. All fell silent. Only the calm even breathing of the wounded man was heard.

"So then tell me of this ritual of rebirth so that I might agree to no harm until he is healed," Jarren spoke.

Isolde furrowed her brow at the leader, at his claim that she held his friend life hostage. The elder witch was not accustom to holding her tongue.

“You came to our village and tried to take everything precious to us, and your friend paid the price much of our men did today. If you lament his fate, rage against the gods or yourself, not at me.” Her eyes did not waver, her posture did not stoop. “That I would use my gifts to keep my people safe, whatever the means, is my prerogative.”

“His injuries are serious, as you are already aware. At this point only life can pay for life. I will not sacrifice any more of my people to save one of yours, but there is another way. A new life could be created, for this very purpose. It will be necessary for my apprentice to conceive, so that the spirit can be sacrificed to save your friend's life. I can perform a fertility ritual this evening.”

Lynneth listened along careful, her own novice knowledge not quite catching on to the weight of the situation until Isolde explained her place in this ritual. She let out a small gasp, as it became obvious what would be expected of her. Whatever fate Isolde may have saved the women here from, was now her sole burden. She would forced be to lie with these barbarians, until she conceived. All to save a man she would rather died.

“Mistress! You can't truly mean to give me over to these mongrels!” She protested, her voice shaking and her body trembling.

“Lynneth, if you are not strong enough to shoulder this burden, who do you suggest I offer up in your place? Hmm? Choose the woman who will suffer this so that you do not have to.” Isolde snapped back, no patience for disobedience while she tried to prove herself strong to the invaders. Lynneth did not say another word, just held her head down trying to avoid the gaze of the men who surrounded them in the hut.

“Eat well, and rest. We will begin tonight.” Isolde explained, taking her apprentice by the arm. “I must get back to my hut, so that I may prepare her for this evening.”

Jarren still had the upper hand. He could sense it no matter how brave of a face the witch held. If she had the power to drive them out she would not be bargaining so, and certainly not be offering such a tidy chip as her fair apprentice. This became even more apparent with her reaction.

"Mistress! You can't truly mean to give me over to these mongrels!"

The maiden became uneasy as she spoke, her knees seemingly weakening. The witch lectured her protegé as to her courage and turned to lead her out.

"Escort them out," Jarren ordered. "Stand watch on them. No funny business," he warned.

Jax gave the two witches a snickering grin as Odon led them through the doorway.

"None of that, Jax," Jarren warned him.

"Aye, M'Lord," the young tall warrior acknowledged, his expression suddenly changing to shame.

The two women crossed the square with Odon and another soldier in tow. The invaders had helped themselves to some of the village poultry and two men carried chickens into one of the huts which had been selected as the kitchen.

"Anyone harms anyone without provocation gets his throat slit!" the captain bellowed out across the square from his doorway. "Is that clear?" There were no objections. Jarren nodded to the witch his sincerity in keeping his end of the bargain.

Isolde had much to do if she was going to prepare her apprentice for this evening. She was busy mixing herbs into dark liquids, procuring the ingredients from her various jars lined up upon shelves. She handed something to Lynneth, a maroon colored liquid, too thick to see through.

“Drink it. It will make things easier this evening. I used a strong mulled wine for the base, so it should dull your senses a bit. The herbs will ready the egg to accept the seed. Hopefully if won't take too long for you to conceive like this.” Isolde told her, the lovely young apprentice too sullen to pay her mistress much attention. She brought it up to her nose, squinting as she took a long whiff of the mixture. It didn't smell too terrible, just a bit bitter. She drank it down in a single motion, coughing a bit as the cup left her lips. Other than some slight dizziness, she didn't feel much different.

Meanwhile, Isolde had pulled down some carmine paint and a fine paintbrush. It's bristle were long and soft, made from the fur of some animal renowned for it's mystical properties. She slipped her fingers under Lynneth's clothes, tugging at the leather vestment until they were free from her body. Lynneth only protested for a moment, groaning softly as she was stripped, her soft voluminous breasts spilling out of her top. Shy little nipples began to awaken, blood flowing into them as they caught on to the cool breeze of the evening.

Isolde held the left mound in place, dipping her brush into the deep rust colored paint and then applying the paint to the breast. Lynneth sighed as the paint was being administered, intricate circular patterns appearing on her bosom. Isolde worked carefully, slowly, painstaking painting the young woman's body with the perfectly symmetrical pattern. Curves and swirls, delicate details, fine lines. It was a lovely work of art, but more than that, it served a purpose.

“These runes will make this evening easier for you to bear, my dear. Every touch will bring you pleasure, as though you were lying with a skilled lover, focused solely on your desire.” Isolde explained, as she worked some rings around Lynneth's thighs.

Isolde knew these men would not be gentle with her apprentice, and certainly would not bother with her enjoyment. Even if she informed them that ecstasy would increase the chances of conception, she doubted they would have the patience or the skill to put it to practice. Further, she knew the best chance to ensure conception would be for Lynneth to take as many men as she could handle, as each men who filled her with his seed would improve the odds. She doubted the girl would be able to last long without some assistance, so she did her best to provide it, any way she could.

“I'll see if I can make this easier for you. Of course you will need to take as much seed as your vessel can hold, but I will try to speed up the process as much as I can, bringing the men close to their release before they take you.” The elder witch explained, retrieving a cloak for Lynneth to wear while they made their way to the center of town. The elder witch packed some incense and blankets in a basket, leading the way back into town.

Lynneth clutched the cloak close to herself as she stood before the large bonfire the invaders had started. Isolde didn't stop, setting incense up in a circle, laying down the blanket near enough to the fire so her apprentice would be warm while she partook of the ritual. Isolde supposed the men might kept her warm enough, but she wanted this to be comfortable for her apprentice as possible. Though she may have come off cold to the warriors, she did truly care for the girl. Things were set for the ritual to begin, and the sun had long since set.

The men spent the rest of the afternoon feasting on roast chicken, fresh bread and potato soup with with corn and herbs. Casks of ale were brought out and tapped. As the sun was setting several basins were set about with warm water and the soldiers gathered around washing themselves, grooming their hair and shaving.

"What's all the fuss?" one asked another. "Cleaning yourself up for a woman tonight?" The comment drew a round of laughter. "Why go through the bother? You know that she will be tied down for you, no?"

"And she will go as far as you want," said another drawing more laughs.

The hour was nearing and inside the hut Jarren knelt at Ragnar's side.

"My brother, you will not die at the hands of these heathens," he told him. Ragnar did not move. His calm breathing remained uninterrupted.

Jarren had cleaned himself up as well and wore a loose cloak and kilt. He stood to leave the hut and meet with the witch. Outside the moon was bright and three-quarter full. The stars were out and the sky was mostly clear with patchy clouds moving swiftly to the south. A gusty breeze fanned the bonfire.

Isolde knelt in the square with a large hour glass before her, its sand fully spent to the bottom. A lantern of incense smouldered next to that. The witch faced the circle that she had drawn in the dirt approximately twelve paces in diameter. Four other lanterns placed around the circle with connecting lines forming the five points of a pentagram. The incense was sweet and enticing. In the circle Lynneth knelt on the blanket facing her mentor, the folds of her cloak hiding her figure, the hood back exposing her hair. On the north side of the circle was the bonfire with the breeze licking the embers away from the ceremony.

"So what do we have to do?" Jarren asked.

"Inseminate her," she answered with a traces of both sarcasm and contempt.

"Must we assume a certain position?"

"No," she said. "Just stay within the circle."

"When do we begin?"

"In the hour before midnight, which is nearly upon us," the witch said. "You have that hour only, so I suggest that you work quickly. The more sperm that you give her the better chance of success."

Jarren nodded and eyed the young maiden on the blanket.

"And I'd advise you not to damage the vessel," the witch reminded him tersely.

The men had been gathering around, some in cloaks, some in furs, some in kilts, a few of them even naked. Drink had gone through many of them and they were generally in good spirits.

"I bet I'm the one who does it," said a voice in the darkness.

"I'll give you odds," said another.

"Is there any way of knowing who ends up doing the siring?" one stepped forward. It was Jax. Isolde's head raised ever so slowly and cocked to the side to spy him from under the hood of her cloak. Her eyes flickered in the firelight.

"Perhaps," she said but declined to elaborate. Then she bowed her head again and began a low incantation. "qui otaem perdi o animaem su seminae." As she spoke the words she reached into a pouch and withdrew a pinch of powder. After a moment she dropped the powder into the burning incense making a spooky puff. The men all looked to each other shrugging as to any translation of the chant or the meaning of the powder.

Isolde raised her head to the stars and pulled back her hood. With both hands she lifted the hour glass and held it high for a moment. The she inverted it and set it back on the ground at her knees.

"Let it begin."

The men gathered closer to the circle and began to snicker and sneer.

"I'll get this started then," said the captain as he stripped his cloak and stepped into the circle. Standing on the blanket he removed his kilt and tossed it aside, revealing his erection. His shoulders were broad, his body was pudgy solid and powerful. His dark hair showed waves of grey and his beard had been neatly trimmed. His large chest was covered in hair as well as his thick thighs. He stepped towards Lynneth and yanked her to her feet by the arm. He tugged at the shoulder of her cloak and pulled the sash causing it to fall open. The he gruffly stripped it and tossed it aside revealing the crimson runes and swirls that adorned her skin so intricately to a wolf whistle and a smattering of applause.

"I don't need to see her face," he said with a scowl. The comment aroused laughter from the crowd. Then he gripped her shoulders and swiveled her back to him before grabbing her hip with one arm and urging her to bend over with the other. Jarren was taller than Lynneth and needed to bend his knees to line himself up. He coaxed a wider stance of her to necessitate this. Finally, cock in hand he inserted himself. She seemed to be somewhat pre-lubed. Perhaps it was part of the witch's preparations and it didn't take too much force to glide in. Bracing her by the hips he began to fuck her with languid strokes.

There became a stirring in the crowd as they watched. A couple of the men began fondling themselves. The captain's thrusts became more deliberate, deeper and quicker. He had a job to do. The slap of flesh as his hips struck her buttocks became louder and more rapid. Tightening his grip on her thighs, he shoved in deep and groaned. One pump, two pumps, three, then a fourth, he coated her cervix with sperm. After a brief moment he pulled out and that was it.

"Who's next?"

Among the shouts of applause the next soldier stepped forward to take over the captain's position. Almost simultaneously another from the other side was eager to get in on the action. The first man stood in behind her and braced her hips. He was lithe and not so tall as Jarren. His skin was fair his head was shaved and he had sculpted hairless legs. The leather of his cropped tunic top brushed on her back as he assumed the position and entered her easily. The other man was already naked. He walked right up to her, lifted her chin and stuck his cock in her mouth. He was pudgy with coppery leathery skin, scraggly hair and a goatee long enough to brush his chest. His cock was thick and stubby. They both began to stroke in and out of her, each employing a different rhythm and pace, which jostled her body.

She watched, unable to look away, as the captain stripped down. He was a big brute of a man, not the kind she would choose for herself, but she didn't really have a choice now, did she? She looked over to Isolde, but the elder witch stood steely eyed, staring into the fire as though it might speak to her.

Lynneth didn't resist as the leader maneuvered her into position. His strong hands easily overpowered her, and she didn't want to anger Isolde. She cried out as her cloak was removed, revealing her lithe form to all the men present. She wasn't sure why she was so concerned, she was going to have to end up sleeping with most of the guys eventually, what difference did it make if they saw her none. Still she kept her head down, not daring to make eye contact with any of them.

That didn't seem to bother the chief, who turned her back to him, and bent her over at the waist. He didn't waste any time, shoving his thick meat inside her, filling her cunt and then some. She groaned as he pounded into her, with no care or tenderness. Each stroke drew a louder cry, some mix of horrified and erotic, all the while, her body burned form the inside. She was nearly gushing as he pumped his seed into her, fitting his length within her folds, regardless of her wishes.

She fell to her knees as he let her go, breathing hard as she wondered how she could possibly go on. She wasn't in pain, not physical pain at least, but still in shock, as semen slid down her thighs. What if the ritual didn't work? And she was forced to bear a child of these monsters? Why did this have to be her? She wasn't given long to contemplate her fate, as another man was another pushing himself inside her, lubed by the chieftan's cum. He didn't give her a chance to adjust to this second cock violating her, fucking her hard and fast from the get go.

From the front, another man approached, forcing his meat in her mouth, slow, deep strokes. He didn't bother matching his partners rhythm,just held her bright red hair in place as he testing the limits of her throat. Isolde shot the captain a dirty look as the two men fucked her apprentice from both ends, treating her like she were any other hapless victim.

“I did not offer my apprentice up for your men to use as they pleased. She is acting strictly as the vessel to save your friend's life, not a sex slave.” Isolde spoke harshly, not sure if her position would grant Lynneth any reprise.

Lynneth moaned in a muffled voice as the one behind her speed up, seemingly pouring all his agression into these last few strokes. Once more she was filled with seed, with the man holding her in place for a moment as the thick strings of sticky semen pumped into her. The men fucking her mouth stopped now, taking a place behind her, giving her a couple deep thrusts before giving her yet another dose of cum. The scent of lust lingered in the night air.

"You can't impregnate her by her mouth!" someone shouted to the soldier who had helped himself to some oral. This sent peels of laughter through the circle.

"I did not offer my apprentice up for your men to use as they pleased. She is acting strictly as the vessel to save your friend's life, not a sex slave."

The witch's glaring eyes flickered in the firelight and her wild tendrils held up and dancing in the wind appeared to be ablaze.

"I'm just priming myself," said the one being fellated. "Don't want to waste time at the other end," he grinned.

"As long as there's no rough stuff!" Jarren warned.

The coppery bearded one wasn't kidding. Once the bald one was finished, the bearded one only needed a few strokes in her cunt to finish.

The next one stepped up from behind and forced her to her knees, then grabbed her by the ankles and rolled her over onto her back to a raucous cheer. His shoulder length hair was blonde and he had a chiseled face. Lean and muscular, his chest was swathed moderately with dark gold. The warrior crawled between Lynneth's thighs, lined himself up and started screwing her. Unlike the others, his strokes were deep deliberate and grinding. He was long, the longest yet and his balls rested heavily on her ass each time that he became fully sheathed inside her. Sliding his arms beneath her body, he gripped her shoulders for leverage increasing the intensity of his grind and burying his face next to her ear, each thrust was punctuated with a short stifled grunt.

"Come on, hurry up!" the shouts started. "Cum already!" Still his butt kept undulating between her legs up and down to the same deep rhythm. He went on for another couple of minutes as the men urged him to finish. Two or there more soldiers had entered the circle, standing over the rapist and his poor victim, growing impatient for their turn.

"Come on now!" barked Jarren. "If you can't do it, let someone else!" The net guy tugged at the blonde man's shoulder but the rapist wasn't done. He began holding his grinds a bit longer and his grunting in her ear became more pronounced. Getting visibly agitated, the next man tugged at his shoulder again, trying to pull him off.

Finally the blonde reached his climax. With a savage groan he spurted his load, adding to her collection of potency, and slumped his body weight upon her. The eager one next in line hauled him off and tossed him aside to recover with a satisfied grin.

Then he crawled in between her legs just as well. He was bald pale and fat. He must have been at least 300 pounds. His arms were covered in tattoos of rune marking and on his belly were crossed battle axes. His thick lower lip hung open in an expression of sheer idiocy. He was already panting with excitement as he hurriedly lowered his groin to hers and started bucking wildly. He wasn't even in her and the men in the circle laughed heartily as his cock dug into the blanket. Finally he realized his poor aim and he tried again only to suffer the same result. A third time was the charm and his thick member sank in. He was huge inside her and his hips bucked away stiffly, whimpering like a child at the sensations on his shaft as he squeezed her breast vigorously with a meaty palm. A few seconds and it was over but he still kept bucking like a moron as his dick softened and slipped out of her. there was an ovation from the crowd and a round of applause as two soldiers stepped in to lift him off.

Three loads of cum had been pumped into the lovely young woman, but she had so many more to go before she would be granted any rest. At least the next man got her off her knees, rolling her over to her back to take her. She looked up at the man who would be fourth to take her this evening, younger the the others, even handsome, if she were being honest with herself. He pulled her body close to his, her breasts pressing up against his hard muscular chest, her legs wrapped around his slender waist. She cried long and loud as he penetrated her, testing the limits of her depth with his length. She clung to him, as he plundered her deeply each time.

This one was the first that felt remotely pleasurable to her. She couldn't figure out if it was his technique, pressing the tip of his cock against the sensitive spot deep within her, or the runes Isolde had drawn on her, to ensure she gained some pleasure from this ritual. Whatever the case, his deep strokes had awaken something in her, something potent. She moaned loudly now, her body responding to this cock, her legs pulling her in tighter, her nails finding some outlet digging into his back.

She held this man tightly as he fucked her, growing nervous as he friends tried to pull him off. “Please,” she cried out, begging pathetically, “more...more... don't stop,” she told the man thrusting into her. He might have though he was raping a helpless victim, but she was into it. Her cries grew louder and louder, her legs tighter and tighter, her nails digging deeper and deeper, drawing blood. Her core was tightening, and her pussy was holding him in place, make each hard thrust into her incredibly snug. She buried her head in his chest as she came, just before he did her body throbbing from pleasure.

She was breathing hard as the fifth man mounted her. Still dazed from her potent orgasm, she didn't pay him any attention, just tried to catch her breath. He seemed to have some trouble entering her, as slippery as she was with seed and her own wetness. When he finally did manage to enter her, he drew a sharp shriek from her lips, as his dense meat had cruel parted her lower set. As wet and full of cum as she was, it was a tight fit, his meaty member stretching out her cunt far more than any other man had previously. She whined as this one fucked her, each stab feeling as though it would tear her apart. Thankfully he was done quickly, adding his seed to the rest.

She laid on the blanket, spread eagle and motionless, her gaping hole seeping with excess cum. How much more could she possibly take? How man more mean would know the feel of her pussy gripping their cocks. She wasn't given a chance to think on it, as another man took his place between her legs, giving her a few quick pumps before spilling his seed. Three more men followed his lead, pumping their seed into her battered slit and passing her along, for the next man to have his turn.

As the tenth man moved in to mount her, Isolde stepped in, Placing her folded cloak under Lynneth's ass, lifting her body off the ground just a bit. As the man got into position, Isolde held the girl's legs, placing her ankles on the man's shoulders.

“Hold her like that for awhile, We can't afford to lose any seed from her vessel.” Isolde instructed the man, as he pushed himself into her swollen cunt.

Several of the men had taken a step or two within the circle of incense for a closer view or to be in a better position to ensure a spot in line. A couple of bottles were being passed around and the band was in good spirits. A maiden being used in the dirt was good entertainment after all.

She even appeared to be enjoying herself with the one who took his time. When she called out, begging him for more it precipitated a raucous cheer from the circle and more men crowded closer in.

"What is this? Sloppy eighths? Sloppy Ninths?" asked the next one between her legs almost grimacing at having to stick his member into the loads of several of his comrades. Still, the gooey mess did not deter him from sinking in and starting to fuck her just like all the others. He was stocky, somewhat hairy and wore a dark trimmed beard. His joke prompted another round of laughter and emboldened the men to crowd in some more. The next two hopefuls in line knelt on either side of her. The blonde one took hold of her breast, rigorously kneading and tugging. The other stroked himself just above her face.

"Take it, whore!"

"Lie down proper like a cunt should!"

The encroachment of the circle was not lost on Jarren and he was not about to let things turn into a free-for-all.

"Everyone back!" he bellowed as he walked around within the pentagram. "Back! Back! You'll get your turn! Back!" He pointed the tip of his sword at those who needed extra coaxing. The few already on the blanket awaiting their turn were deemed no harm and permitted to stay.

"Odon!" he called his ox of a first sergeant. "Watch them to make sure they all behave and await their turn."

The witch had resumed her place before the hour glass. The glass was ringed four times, each ring representing one-fifth of an hour. The fourth ring indicated four-fifths and the full hour was marked by the depletion of the sand. The white granules glowed in the moonlight as they piled ever closer to the second ring. A wisp of cloud hurried past overhead. The wind was picking up and Isolde checked over her shoulder to gauge the weather. Clouds were coming. If they were to block out the moonlight she wasn't sure how much it might adversely affect the conception.

The captain left the circle to visit the hut where the wounded Ragnar lay. From the doorway he addressed Karsin the medic.

"How is he?"

"No change, M'Lord."

Before Jarren returned to the ceremony he noticed one of his men saddling a horse in the dark. He approached. It was Davor.

"Where are you going?" he asked.

"For a ride," the young sergeant replied with disgust. "I don't need to witness this abomination. I'll be back when it's over." He untethered the horse, stepped into the stirrup and mounted.

"It is not worth the spoiling of a heathen to save one of our blood?" the captain poised.

"We fight because we have to. We conquer to keep from being conquered," said Davor as he looked down sternly at the captain. "We call them barbaric, yet look what we do ourselves. To spill blood for the honor of our King in the name of war is one thing, but there is no honor in suffering for the sake of suffering." The blaze of the bonfire and shouts and laughter of the men in the circle hung in the distance, their echoes dampened on the wind.

"They would do the same to us," said Jarren.

"Perhaps," said Davor. Then he jerked the reins and the horse carried him off into the darkness.

Back in the circle, the man jerking himself began to groan. He stopped and rubbed his reddish wrinkly foreskin across Lynneth's face, smearing wet precum on her cheek and the side of her nose. The tenth man finished inside her and the masturbator took his place. Since he had already worked himself near climax it was only a matter of a few strokes before he too pumped his load into her with a gutteral moan of satisfaction.

Jarren had returned to the circle and had brought four armed soldiers. They took up their positions to enforce the perimeter of the circle.

The breast fondler was next. He flipped her over onto her knees and held her hips up while pushing her face down. His forcefulness elicited another ovation from the increasingly rowdy crowd. he was stubby and thick and pounded her like a sledge hammer. A shaggy red headed man claimed the next place in line and knelt before her. He yanked her face upward by a fistful of hair and tried to shove his erection in her mouth, but the one fucking her from behind kept pressing her back down to keep her ass up and maintain his angle of attack.

Men were closing in n her, surrounding her, she feared for a moment she would be overrun, that the savages would forget their purpose here, and rape her incessantly, in every orifice she possessed. As this fear grew within her mind, two more men knelt beside her, one fondling his own meaty member, the other groping at her breasts.

The man with his cock in hand was prodding her face with it, almost as though he expected her to put lips to it. His movements were too fast and erratic for her to suck him off, so she merely squirmed as he pushed it against her face, it strong odor somehow overcoming the scent of all the sex she had had this evening.

The one at her breasts held both within his grubby hands. Their mass fit easily in his large hands, as finger tip and thumb found her nipple, tweaking it roughly. She let out a sharp cry as he pinched the nipple as hard as he could, pulling up the perky tits as far as they go. He then kneading her breasting, squishing the soft mounds with both hands. The carefully drawn runes were smeared and rubbed off, leaving a rust red stain in their wake.

The one inside finished now, and the other with his cock in hand took his turn. Several pumps later he was done and the one who held her her breasts had his turn. Cum spilled out of her as he pushed into the sloppy mess, soaking her ass and thighs with the lust of a dozen men. Her cunt was swollen now, making it a tight fit for the current man fucking her. A wet, sloshing noise could be heard in rhythm with his strokes. After a few more, he deposited his load as well, his own crotch covering in the scent of sex.

Isolde stepped in now, as the hourglass was filled past the third line. She brought a glass of wine to her apprentice, holding it to the girls lips, allowing her to drink deeply from the cup. She kissed the girl on the forehead, smoothing out her sweaty hair. “You are doing well, my child. Just a little longer.”

She was nearly pushed out of the way by the next man, who turned Lynneth over to her hands and knees, holding her head down. He fucking her with hard downward strokes, each thrust forcing her head in the ground. Another man held her by the hair, trying to get a turn at her mouth, but his friend behind her wasn't helping him any. Once the one fucking her finally finished, he was able to fit his cock in her mouth, just to realized he missed his chance to fuck her, as someone else was already behind her while he was trying to get sucked off. He grumbled a bit, holding her head sternly in place as the newcomer behind her took his turn.

The two men shared her between them, forceful thrusts pushing her further down one cock, while deep penetrations down her throat forced more cock inside her beaten slit. They had found a nice rhythm, each man taking everything he could. One last hard stroke had her deep throating a cock, while he pumped his seed inside. The one in her mouth wouldn't be usurped against, making it to her pussy just in time to add his load to the mix.

The moonlight dimmed as a wispy cloud passed over. The beams passed through the thinner purple-woolly spots, then darkened again. The cloud quickly passed and the moon resumed its watch. To the south thicker cloud approached like a flock of black sheep hastily herded in their direction.

Two new rapists stepped forward for a fresh round of seeding. By then the blanket had become twisted up and dusty from the rigors of the ceremony. Lynneth lay sprawled, half in the dirt. They grey dust clung to her skin in patches and was getting into her hair, dulling the red locks. The first man, built tall and powerful was older with a receding line of short grey hair matching the stubble of his beard. Standing behind her and with an arm around her waist he picked her up and stood her on her feet arousing another drunken ovation not unlike every other time that she was manhandled had drawn. He gestured to the second man with a nod and he approached with his ragged brown hair, dense curls across his broad chest and an extremely hairy groin from which his stubby erection protruded. As he drew close his breath was boozy and his snarly contemptuous grin revealed a missing tooth. He took Lynneth by the shoulders and bent her forward as the one behind held her hips. Gripping her by the scruff of her neck he directed her nose to his pubes and stuck his cock into her mouth. The man behind was a bit tall for the position and he endeavored a bit longer to enter her, but soon he was in with a groan.

His length pushed in, parting her swollen walls, then withdrew (although not all the way out) allowing them to collapse inward again. Then he pushed in again, stretching her shape, then withdrew. The pattern repeated but he kept stopping momentarily to adjust his stance. The position was awkward for him and he kept trying to lift her up so that he didn't have to bend his knees. He called for assistance and two more men entered the circle.

"Hold her up," he instructed and with arms beneath her belly and chest they lifted her feet from the ground. Her legs dangled as he began to fuck her, and much more deeply now, her pussy shaping and unshaping to his member's thrusts.

Meanwhile the hairy one at her mouth had had a much more comfortable position before the shift in stance, which had made the angle of Lynneth's jaw less than ideal. He kept himself comfortable by yanking on a fistful of her hair to keep her neck bent back as far as possible.

There was raucous laughter all around the circle as the tall man banged away causing the heathen maiden's legs to wiggled freely, her feet several inches from the ground.

The hairy one had no shame in moaning and grounding his pleasures. Neither had he any reservations about voicing his displeasures.

"Watch your teeth, wench!" he said as he gave her hair another yank to emphasize his point. With both hands on the back of her skull he ground his dick in and out of her mouth. He pushed her right down, burying her nose into his wild pubes and held her there a moment with a groan before easing up and resuming stroking. Then he held her down again with another groan more drawn out than the last. Again he released the pressure and fucked her mouth some more. Then he held her down one more time, but this time halfway through his groan he stopped.

"Oh shit!" he grunted and spurted into her mouth. Gripping her skull and holding it tightly in place he pumped his semen, filling her mouth. After a moment he stepped back, slipping out of her and shook his head with a laugh as he rested his hands on his knees to catch his breath.

"You're not gonna knock her up that way!" called out one of the men holding up Lynneth's body.

"HAHAHAHAHA!" the circle burst into uproarious laughter.

Once more a pair of men stepped up to fuck Lynneth, the girl in a daze by this point in the night. She let out a soft grunt as her well used pussy accepted yet another cock, barely able to hold up her own weight by now. It moved in and out of her, much like the ones that had come before, making a loud squelching noise as it pushed past the copious amounts of spunk in her cunt.

The other took his place between her lips, and she knew the drill by now, sucking him off meekly so he can add his load to the rest. Her unenthusiastic mouth didn't excite him, so he took it upon himself to thrust between those silken cheeks. By this point she was used to a cock prodding her throat, and hardly struggled as he buried her face in his crotch.

The one behind grew frustrated with her tired, wobbly legs. She wasn't holding herself up high enough for him to comfortably plow her, so he call for assistance, to hold her in her place. More strange hands fondled at her, groping at her nipples while lifting her into the air. She was limp in their arms, her legs swaying to the rhythm of the dick in her twat.

Isolde watched the hourglass, the sand growing closer to the fourth line. Her apprentice would only have to hold out for a little while longer, before they could go onto the last part of the ceremony. She called for one f the men to bring their fallen comrade around. After these two planted their seeds, she would begin the last part of the ritual, and if conception had taken place, she could use that energy to return their ally to full health. She could only hope that they would honor their agreement, and leave the village.

She prepared another glass of wine for Lynneth, knowing the girl would be parched and exhausted after fucking so many for nearly an hour. She looked up from her work as the hear the ruckus of laughter, just to see the man who had blown up in her mouth, her poor apprentice spitting desperately to remove the taste from her mouth.

“Enough!” She declared, shooing away the men who were already trying to get their next turn. She stood firm before the girl, giving her the glass of wine to drink. She instructed the men to put their brother on Lynneth, resting his head against her stomach. Isolde got to work, chanting and harnessing her magic.

"Hey what gives?"

"We get an hour!"

"Back off woman!"

The armed soldiers converged upon the center to separate Lynneth from the clutches of the next in line. Jeers and boos cast inward from all around the circle. One of the would-be rapists elbowed the witch aside only to be shoved away by one of the guards.

"I'll have my turn tomorrow's eve," he sneered down at Isolde.

The captain parted the edge to allow Ragnar's peacefully sleeping body to be brought forth upon a gurney. Lynneth was offered her cloak for warmth and the excess seed which dribbled from her tired slit was wiped up. The dirty blanket was straightened and she was positioned upon it with her thighs up to let gravity keep the seed collected about her cervix. The warrior was laid down and placed on his back, between the vessel's thighs. Isolde adjusted his positioning, his head resting upon Lynneth's belly, lining the glands of his brain stem with her uterus, allowing the shortest possible physical path for the conception energy to traverse.

"Back! Everybody back!" Jarren shouted and the armed guards enforced the order as the booing became more subdued.

The hourglass was nearly empty and the clouds, thick and dark rolled near. There would not be much more moonlight. Isolde, hair wild in the firelight began the incantations.

Lynneth laid perfectly still as she was moved about for the final part of the ritual. The rust colored runes that had adorned her skin at the beginning of the ritual were smeared from sweat and fondling. Her orange hair was a wild mess of a mane, dirty and sweating and tangled where men had held her in place to fuck her mouth. She ached everywhere, her body had enough use for quite a while.

She wondered, would things have been much worse if she wasn’t the sole woman subjected to the whims of the invaders? Or would it have been worse, with everyman taking what he desired from her, with no threat of Isolde standing nearby to protect her, no time limit to look forward to stopping, and all the rest of the village women subjected to the same terror. She wasn’t sure either way, mostly she was glad for a moment reprieve. All she could do now was hope the ritual was a success, so she wouldn’t have to repeat this again tomorrow.

Isolde wanted the same, but she not optimistic she would get her wish. The dark clouds rolling in were foreboding in their implications. There hadn‘t really been enough time for the seed to plant yet but they were running out of moonlight to work by. Tomorrow would be much better, but she was loathe to put her apprentice through this ordeal once more. Not to mention the threat of violence from the men having to spend more time here.
The clouds continued to cover the moon and the sand was quickly filling the last line. Ragnar didn’t stir, still dreaming his peaceful dream. Isolde shook her head solemnly.

“There hasn’t been enough time for a seed to plant. We will have to try again tomorrow.”

How many had she had? Fifteen? The men were debating and the consensus was fifteen.

"I thought it would be more than that!"

"Fifteen in an hour, that's four minutes per."

"We got less than an hour! The witch cut it short!"

"I good warrior should last longer than four minutes!"

The soldiers milled about as Isolde tended to Ragnar and the vessel. The fallen warrior lay motionless as the dark clouds rolled in. She looked to the sky as the clouds smothered the moonlight fully, choking the sky in blackness, and resigned to failure on the first night.

"There hasn’t been enough time for a seed to plant. We will have to try again tomorrow."

A loud cheer went up for the notion that they would get to do it all again the next evening.

"Bring out more maids to prime us all next time so that we don't waste time in the circle!"

"YEAH!" shouted multiple voices.

"Perhaps the witch could make herself useful that way!"

"YEAH!!" the shouting was more raucous this time.

"Enough!" Jarren stepped in. "Back to your bunks and posts for the night!" Slowly the crowd dispersed.

The next morning the ground was wet from a rain shower but the skies were clear. Isolde had come to renew the enchantment that kept Ragnar stable and left. Jarren stood watch over his friend while Davor entered.

"How was the ride last night?" Jarren asked.

"Better than the alternative," the knight replied. Jarren sat in his chair indifferent to the remark. "How long will we wait here?"

"As long as it takes," said the captain.

"There's no telling where the enemy is. They could come over the ridge at any time," Davor reasoned. "We can't afford to sit still."

"We will see this through," Jarren stated with emphatic determination in this eyes. The two stared each other down. Suddenly a commotion outside broke the tension and they both went out to see.

"What's going on?" Jarren demanded as he marched into the village square. There was a woman wailing next to one of the huts down the road. Soldiers and villagers began to gather.

"My daughter! My daughter!" the woman screamed. She was aged about fifty with dark hair streaked with grey and a busty figure.

Jarren and Davor ran down the road to the hut. The woman was wild with fright. Soldiers were pushing villagers out of the doorway. They parted to let Jarren and Davor through. Yanking aside a curtain to the tiny back room, they intercepted a man half naked attempting a hasty exit. When he saw the captain his face went white.

"Petros."

"Sir, please. You don't understand," the soldier pleaded.

Jarren looked behind the half-clad warrior to see a tearful maiden clutching a blanket around her ample exposed bosom. She was gagged for silence. Her hair was dark and full like her mother's but without the streaks of grey. Jarren shoved Petros tumbling to the floor and knelt on the mattress next to the trembling girl. He lifted the blanket to see thick white thighs bare of any clothing, then probed his finger to her slit, wet and gooey. If she had been a virgin she was no longer. Jarren turned his attention back to the rapist. His cock was limp and glistening, with a tiny dab of white hanging from the end.

"You!" he said. "You broke my word!" He nodded to Davor and the two of them grabbed an arm each and dragged the young warrior crying out of the hut, and back up the road into the village square. A rabble assembled behind them and followed. He waved several armed men over and dropped Petros in a heap into the dirt. The crowd gathered around and the armed men backed everyone to a distance. After a moment Jarren spoke and everyone hushed.

"I gave my word to this village!" he began. "My word is good! It will not be crossed again! Witness what shall happen should anyone else dare!" Then he stepped towards Petros on the ground and gave him a hefty boot to the face. There were shouts from the crowd. The captain gestured two soldiers to come forth. "Kill him," he instructed them, "but make sure to break every bone in his body before he dies."