Western Eriagor is not dominated by a single, unified landmass. Instead, it is an archipelago made out of at least two hundred islands, spread westward for about a hundred leagues westward and about two hundred leagues north, almost to the frozen wastes of the world’s pole. The largest group of island is in the middle part of this archipelago, and it is comprised of at least ten large islands. The most important of these islands is Tyr, a harsh, unforgiving place with short, cool, rainy summers and long, dark, snowy winters, with precious little flat land steep, forbidding, ice capped mountains that protrude out into the coast creating a myriad of inlets, bays and fjords that give Tyr’s coast a distinctive, jagged outline.
The other islands of the central cluster besides Tyr are Jag, Han, Ett and Hon. Each island is inhabited by an independent tribe of warlike people, who follow their own belief, based on the old cult of the Holy Five, which makes it likely to suppose that these islands were initially settled by explorers from Esk.
Like in the Eskian belief, Westron females are meant to serve the males. However, all similarities between the Eskian kisa and the Westron tak end there.
Tak are never considered a part of the male’s family, ever. They are slaves, since their birth, meant to serve men in whatever way they wish.
The Westron people of Eriagor are second in beauty only to the Eskian folk, due to a brutal kind of selective breeding. Upon knowing of the birth of a baby, the Karl, the head of a Westron household, immediately looks at it. If it is a female and if it does not please him, the baby is immediately suppressed. If it is a male and found weak, it too is suppressed.
Females are taken by the Karl to the temple and sold to the priest of Korte, the god of fertility. In the house of Korte, the tak are raised by acolytes to learn all the chores that a tak must learn, as soon as they are able to talk and understand orders. Depending on how proficient they are, their training later specializes according to each tak’s strengths. At any time after the age of sixteen, when their sexual education is complete, tak are offered for sale. A Karl can have as many tak as he wishes, with no limits. As soon as the tak reaches childbearing age, she is liable to be used sexually by any Karl at any time. For even though the tak belong to one Karl, they must serve all Karls in all ways. Tak do not survive long past their fortieth birthday: As soon as their fertility starts to wane, they are suppressed, and their bodies are burned.
Males are raised in the halls of Kurre, the god of war, where the acolytes raise the boys to learn the arts of warfare, hunting, trading, sailing, tactics, metalsmithing and all the skills they could possibly require while roaming in the Westron long ships, called drakka.
It is in this savage, harsh culture, in the island of Tyr, that Karl Ulf was expecting news. One of his tak was about to give birth. He knew for sure that it was his son, because he had never left this particular tak serve anyone else but him. That was a departure from tradition, and frowned upon, but it was common that Karls kept a particularly beautiful tak to themselves as their personal plaything.
The faint moan coming from the tak’s corner, in the corner of the hall, next to the kitchen, open to all, with no privacy, and with no assistance from a midwife, a figure unknown to the Westrons, displeased Ulf. “Silence, slut! Cease your whimpering and deliver!” he said in a growling voice.
The tak bit her lower lip and pushed hard. It was a hard birth, and when she finally delivered the baby she would not stop bleeding from her torn uterus. The baby was on the floor. He, for it was a male, was born with his eyes open. Ulf looked down and cut the cord. The baby stirred and did not cry or scream, but after very little he kicked and writhed vigorously, as if wrestling the large, strong hands that were holding it.
With the same knife with which Ulf had cut the baby’s umbilical cord, he slit the tak’s throat. She would have died a slow, suffering death bleeding out, and had she survived, she would have been unable to bear him any more sons, and her body would never regain its former strength. It was a small act of mercy to dispatch her quickly. A barren, weakened tak had no place in a karl’s house, for they were unable to serve with the same strength as before, and they would never work with the same strength as before.
On the island of Hon, where the snows melted for 3 months of the year, a young tak, barely past her 17th birthday herself, screamed in pain as she felt her contractions ripple through her. She was sitting in a cold stable, surrounded by the bleating of sheep, one of the few animals that could live in the barren, cold land. The tak fell back, panting. She had been sent to the stable to give birth, for her karl had little patience with her cries of pain. He had little patience for anything.
She pushed with the next contraction and felt a tearing as the head pushed into position. 2 more pushes and the baby slipped free. It was small, much too small, and blue. The tak, exhausted and in pain, used a shearing knife to cut the cord and she held the small girl up. She didn’t move, or breathe, and the tak let out a wail of despair. The baby then sputtered, choking, and let out a horrendous wail. Mother and daughter would spend the night, huddled under the donkey’s blanket for warmth.
The girl grew on the farm, mostly carried in a sack with holes cut for her head to allow her to breathe. She could not be left alone and no one would take care of her. The mother worked as one of 3 tak on the small sheep farm and was used often by the karl and his workers, as were they all. Any of them could be the father, as could the karl’s brothers who lived nearby… or the brother’s workers. The girl had lost track of the men she had pleased, the degrading acts they had made her perform. She wanted a better life for her daughter, so far unnamed as was normal, but she had no idea how to give her one.
A merchant came to the farm, one day after snow’s melt, buying 13 sheep and 600 lbs of wool to sell to another island. After business was done the karl invited the man to spend the night, rather than brave the dangerous mountain passes in the dark. The girl was given to the merchant to keep his bed warm. After a long, vigorous coupling she finally got the nerve to speak to him. Reluctantly he agreed, he would take the baby and find a family to give it to until she would be taken to the temple to be raised properly, rather than out in this barren, remote farm.
The baby was never given a name. She was called simply “girl”. Her earliest memories were of the temple. Standing naked and cold for morning inspections, then donning the coarse, scratchy smocks that all the girls were given during their chores. She worked in the kitchens, gardens, and scrubbing the floors of the temples, each day a new chore, rotated among the 15 other girls of the Temple of Korte on Hon. Her long, blond hair was always pulled back, tied with a piece of twine, her hands and face were usually dirty as no one bothered to keep the girls clean. This was her life until she turned nine.
Sex was strange and unusual for her. She felt awkward and ugly. At nine a new chore was given every day: bathing. She was trained, among her other chores, how to take care of her beauty, how to make herself more attractive, appealing. At age ten she had already started developing breasts, faster than the other girls her age. She was taught with wooden phalluses how to please a man orally. At age of twelve there was a ceremony, the girls her age were taken to the temple and their virginity was taken, not by men, for it would be only allowed once they reached sixteen. The priests used the same wooden phalluses with which they trained the girls to take their virginity as an offering to Korte. From then on their training would include all forms of pleasure, sexual in both vaginal and anal, dancing in various ways, singing, poise, cooking.
If she learned well and obeyed she was given food. She went almost entire weeks with little to eat while she learned and in this way learned that she would only be allowed the basic of needs if she was pleasing and obedient.
Some girls didn’t learn fast enough, and hunger made them sick. No mercy was shown, it was considered they had a weak spirit. Some died, most learned.
Then the day came. She wasn’t sure how old she was, an actual day of birth had never been given. It was the first day of spring roughly sixteen years after she was born. There was a great ceremony, a graduation of sorts. An excuse for the priests to divulge in an orgy with the new girls, but they were forbidden from impregnating them. The night was long and torturous for the girl, she danced, she served, and she was taken many times. The next morning she was taken to the port city in a caged wagon with the other new girls. She was to be auctioned off to a bidding house, who would buy in bulk and take the girls on boats to other lands to be sold.
He had been named Bor. As soon as the priest of Kurre had received the boy, he had said, “this one is strong as a bear!” for the boy would not cease to struggle and grunt, but never did he cry with tears. He yelled, often enough, a high pitched “beeeerrrrrr!” that made him sound like a bear cub, and so his name would stay: Bor, son of Ulf, and the date of his delivery was recorded.
As soon as Bor could walk steadily, he was drilled on how to always stay on his feet. The priests of Kurre were harsh taskmasters and if anyone stumbled or fell the whole class suffered. Because he had inherited his father’s warrior spirit, he never stumbled. The net year, Bor was trained with wooden swords to fight with the boys his age, then with boys one year older, then with boys two years older, and then three years older. Sword training was a daily rite, one that the priests would strictly enforce. Faults in form were punished severely.
As Bor grew, more training was incorporated. Spear training. Bow training. Wrestling. Camouflage. Basic tactics. Each and every new discipline was relentlessly drilled, day after day, until each boy was able to spar effectively against a boy four years his senior.
At the age of twelve the boys in Bor’s class were taken into a drakka ship and they participated on a raid on the rival island of Ett. Bor’s group was sent to where the hardest fighting was happening. The boys faced off with grown men, warriors in their prime. It was a test of their readiness to battle and their ferocity. Bor’s group was halved, form forty to twenty. Among those who survived, there was Bor, bloodied, with a bent sword, a broken spear and a spent quiver. But already Bor stood taller, stronger and fiercer than the rest.
At the drakka’s return from Ett, the corpses of the slain boys were piled on another drakka, with no sails or oars, and as it was let go to drift, a priest of Kurre shot a fire arrow to the ship. It must have been doused with some kind of animal fat, because it lit up like kindling. The flames drowned out the screams of the twenty prisoners that another drakka had dragged out of Ett, whose sacrifice was meant to open the passage for those who had fallen to the halls of Kurre, where warriors rested. For one who fell in victorious battle was a warrior, no matter his age, and worthy of the halls of Kurre. Those who had fought a losing battle on the other hand… There was no mercy for the weak.
The night was illuminated by victory bonfires, and ale and honey liquor were given generously to all. For that raid had been the initiation of the boys to the world of men, and they would be considered karls, men, from that day on.
From that day Bor’s training intensified. He would train with real weapons from now on, and to start he would spar with boys three years his senior, up to youths six years his senior.
It was during that time that Bor’s true skill in leading men started to emerge. He knew innately how to motivate others, how to raise their morale, and to have them find strength where it appeared that none could be gathered. Bor was becoming a leader of men, and the priests of Kurre noticed it.
With time, Bor’s ability to lead men was honed, and along with even more rigorous training, which went on for six more years. By the time of Bor’s sixteenth birthday, he was ready to come out of the temple, a made man, a hardened warrior, who had participated in many raids against Ett, Jag, and Han. He was Karl Bor, and he was ready for the harsh world of the Western Islands.
She was sold in a bundle. A rich man with dreams wanted to build a tavern, well… it had already been built in Hon. What he needed was tak to clean, cook, and pleasure the men. He called her Doe, which was the Westron word for “two” as she was the second one he picked out. She was dragged behind a wagon in a line, completely naked and shivering. Her wrists were bound and tied by a length of 5 feet of rope to the girl in front of her, Ose. Likewise, a rope was tied around her waist and she could feel her stomach being pulled back by Ter, number 3. There were 6 girls bought by the rich man in all.
From the moment they arrived at the tavern it was clear she was Karl Kento’s favorite. Not that she was given more gruel than the others, or given less chores, but she was taken to his bed more often and while all the girls were available to the patrons, Kento allowed Doe’s use only for privileged clientele. She had waist length, golden hair that curled around her angelic face, big blue eyes that seemed to grow when she was hurt, making the men who used her want to hurt her more, and a fully grown figure of a woman twice her age on a body that was young and vibrant. She was never allowed clothes, except for the thick, iron collar that marked her as owned by the tavern, never allowed outside the tavern. She and the others were pleasure tak, not meant for breeding, and she was forced each day to drink a foul, bitter brew that prevented her from conceiving and shortened her monthly bleeding to a few drops of blood for two days each new moon.
She proved herself to be a hard worker, a talented dancer, and a fantastic cook. She became a favorite of the local patrons, but there was 1 major flaw. In the beds reserved for entertainment she was stiff as a board. She tried to go through the motions, preferring to use her mouth. But she never moaned in ecstasy, never cried out in passion, and rarely moved once they mounted her. Even when she was on top her face remained placid, detached. Sex had no appeal for her and despite her attempts at pretending, it was obvious she just wasn’t interested. Kento did everything he could to persuade her, he punished her, beat her, and starved her but in the end he had to realize that there was nothing he could do to make her want to have sex.
There was much excitement around the company of young warriors. Their raid on the island of Jag had gone well, and the raiding party had returned to Tyr with many supplies and most importantly treasure. The cattle that they had stolen from the island of Jag would thrive in the lush, green, inclined pastured of Tyr, and it would provide much needed milk, meat, bone, sinew, hides and horns. There had been also several tak that the men had taken from their dead or dying owners. Like with all tak taken prisoner, the eight tak were made to pleasure the whole of the party, thirty men, among whom there was Bor. He, however, did not partake of the orgy. He drank spiced honey liquor from a horn and watched as the men under his command took turns using the new tak to their hearts’ content. Since his coming out of the academy, Bor had only had sexual relief at the tavern, where he would grab one of the naked tak that wandered among the tables wearing a thick iron collar and he would take her then and there. But there was no satisfaction, it was mechanic. Bor needed something else. Seeing that taking the tak in that fashion was not particularly satisfying, Bor had stopped doing so, and limited himself to watching, and drinking, and pondering, as was appropriate for a future high Karl, a leader of Karls, to whom every man in the village looked up to.
Then one day a messenger came in. The high Karl of the village of Nun in the island of Hon had been running his mouth about the island of Tyr. The men shouted their rage, and preparations were started to raid Hon. Those insolents to the north would know what true power meant.
Not that the men of Hon did not have the right to speak badly of the men of other islands: No, they had all the right. Apart from Tyr, Hon was the most powerful island of the West, and its villages were well defended with proud warriors, and had abundant stores of grain and meat and mead and ale and steel, and there were beautiful tak, or so it was rumored.
“He was so handsome, and strong! he could have lifted 2 of me! He was so big inside me, and… hey, are you even listening?” Ter asked Doe, who was busy pulling the rope that disappeared down the well. They had finally managed to break through the ice that had formed over the water and were pulling up chunks of ice floating in the water like small icebergs.
“No,” Doe sighed. “I wasn’t, because all you ever talk about is the men who take you.”
Ter shrugged. “Fine, Doe. What do you want to talk about then? I mean we can talk about chores, or the cold, or the gross, tasteless breakfast gruel we are both forced to make and eat… or we can talk about the sex, which is the only good thing in our lives.”
Ter was speaking in a low whisper, it was strictly forbidden for tak to speak about how hard their lives were. Talking in general around men was frowned on, as tak were too distracting to allow men to think. No one really had any interest in what a tak had to say anyway. But they were alone by the well, and could talk freely.
“If you say so, but don’t you ever wonder if there is more?” Doe hauled the bucket up and set it on the edge. “Look around! See the birds? How they fly so effortlessly, it looks so peaceful up there. And down at the wharf, look at all those boats!”
Ter looked blandly. There were 3 boats moored in the village’s harbor. “Big woop…”
“Imagine all the amazing places they have been!”
“What good does that do, Doe? Make yourself more miserable if you want, but I intend to…”
“Look at the boats,” Doe said softly.
“I just did!” Ter grabbed the bucket. “Those are the same three…”
“There are more than three.”
Ter glanced back and stood transfixed. The three in the docks were still there, and there appeared to be five or six more on the edge of the horizon, coming in a straight line straight for the shore. That was certainly a raid, for raiders were known to spread out to block off any chance of escape and to make their numbers seem more impressive.
Ter dropped the bucket and raced for the tavern, but Doe turned and ran for the center of the village. She glanced over her shoulder as she reached the alarm bell. The town, like most town built on the mountainous islands of Hon, made the center at a higher elevation than the sea, allowing her to see over the buildings. The raiders had closed the distance with alarming speed.
She grabbed the bell rope and pulled hard, the bell swinging and a loud CLANG! CLANG! CLANG! CLANG!
The sounds carried over the water and the raiders responded with a war cry. It was still early in the morning and the soldiers were unprepared, but it didn’t take Westron karls long to prepare. The raiders hit the shore and moved fast, and the soldiers met them on the beach. The battle, all told, lasted about twenty minutes, but it seemed to last a long time to Bor, who was in the thick of it. Already he was disappointed and unenthusiastic about this raid. He had expected them going after one of the large cities, but this small coastal town would barely have any loot, nothing worth of interest, and by the time he got his share it would be hardly worth getting up for.
150 men raiders fought hard against 60 guards. The guards fought well, and to their credit Bor’s raiding party was going home short of 70 men, but finally only 12 guards, bleeding and dying were brutally subdued, for no Westron man would ever surrender to be taken prisoners. One of the town’s own boats was outfitted with prisoners locked below and the dead on the deck, soaked with lantern oil, and set adrift and ablaze.
The looting was even worse than Bor had thought. He kicked down the door of 3 houses, finding little more than a tak that was almost old enough to be his… big sister, and the trappings of a fishing village. He approached the tavern and as he thrust the door open he wheeled back as a man with a great sword lunged at him. Had he had his weapon drawn he would have been better prepared; as it was, Bor was knocked on his ass as the sword came an inch from his face. He kicked out at the tavern keeper, twisting his legs in the older man’s and turning, knocking him down. He pulled his sword and got up quickly, jabbing his sword into the ground where the tavern keeper had been. With a roll the keeper was on his feet and the sound of steel clanging could be heard.
Kento had been through many wars, his skill with a blade was still good and Bor found he could neither gain ground, nor would he give any up. Round and round they fought, both trying and failing to get in a good hit, when 2 arrows flew out of nowhere and slammed into Kento. Still it took another 3 before he went down.
“You should not play with your prey,” laughed Impor, one of Bor’s friends, walking past him and stepping over Kento’s corpse into the tavern.
Bor grunted. “He gave good fight, Impor. Save his corpse. He will not be burned with the losers, but with the warriors.” Impor said, “Give him the respect of a warrior? Nonsense, he lost.” Bor looked at Impor darkly. “I will show you why.” Bor pointed at Kento’s scarred arms and at his build. “This man was a warrior in the past, and survived. His past deserves respect, even if he lost.” After looking down at Kento, Impor said, “suit yourself, Bor. I am going to look for the mead barrels!” With a laugh, Impor started to look for the door to the cellar. After a while, Impor’s yell told Bor that he had found what he was looking for. After some time had passed, Bor sighed. If he let Impor go on a mead rampage for much longer he’d have to drag a drunken raider out to the drakka. That was no easy feat, considering that Impor was almost as strong and large as Bor was.
Down in the cellar, Bor found Impor drinking from a large cask of mead. It was his tenth horn already, and Impor was getting ruddy as the mead’s alcohol took hold on him. He sang a drinking song loudly, and said “Boooooor! You ole groussh, com’ere an’ dring summadish.” He laughed and tried to go to grasp Bor, failed to keep balance, leaned comically against the cask, and fell deeply asleep after mumbling a few more fumbling, dissonant notes from the drinking song.
“Out like a candle,” muttered Bor. “Fuck. We’re stuck in this forsaken village without a tillerman.” For Impor was Bor’s boat tillerman, something that not all men had the skill to do.
Grumbling, Bor proceeded to smash open all the doors in the cellar. If they were stuck here, at least he could see if there was anything worth taking home. There was nothing down in the cellar to pique his interest, so Bor went up to the second floor of the trashed inn, and smashed open the doors to the pleasure chambers as well, one by one.
The fifth door to the left, at the end of the hallway, offered a lot of resistance. Whatever it was behind it, it could be worthwhile to investigate. It might be worth something, perhaps it would make the whole raid worth Bor’s while.
The girls huddled in the basement, hidden inside the last barrels, there were 15 large barrels, but only the first 8 were filled with mead. The remaining ones were empty. It was hoped that the mead barrels would be taken, leaving behind the excess. But Doe did not hide. Kento had risked no chance for his favorite slut to be taken and he had locked her in his room. Doe was at the window, and looked back as the door rattled. She slid out, and, leaning on her toes, balanced herself to reach up to the roof. Doe managed to pull herself up, but it was almost a fatal attempt at escape, as her feet dangled over the street. Terrified that one of the raiders would look up and see her she pulled, her legs kicking open air, and finally scrambled onto the roof. She laid on her back, panting.
The door finally gave way with the sound of rending timbers. Bor got in just in time to see a female foot disappear as the runaway tak scrambled up. “Oh no you don’t,” mumbled Bor. If that tak was locked there, there must have been a reason. It was hard for Bor to squeeze through the small window, and as he looked up he saw a naked female body, or a glimpse of it, just before it disappeared.
Bor bellowed out from the window to a group of raiders who were returning empty handed, “Bring a ladder! One of the tall ones! There is someone on the roof and that someone is mine!” Bor then looked up and yelled “You’re surrounded tak! There’s no way off that roof!”
Doe looked around and saw he was right, but the wasn’t trying to escape, she was trying to draw attention from the girls in the basement. She shouted back… “that is what you think!” and began running at a kind of sloppy lope, as the roof was, like all the roofs of the snow laden town, angled severely. She leapt onto the roof of the attached stable, where tavern guests could stable their horses, and fell through the thatch, landing on the pile of hay she hoped was still there. Thank goodness it hadn’t been cleared out. She bolted from the stable and glanced over her shoulder, hoping to draw the raider in the tavern away.
Several more men had entered the tavern in the meantime. Two were in the courtyard, and were looking up to the tak running down the house’s severely sloped roof. They both yelled a surprised, “Whoa!” that coincided with the tak’s daring jump onto the stable’s roof. Bor in the meantime had struggled to get back inside, and as men poured in the tavern he shouted, “Take everything! leave nothing behind!” He got out of the tavern, completely furious. He’d catch that tak, and he’d empty the tavern, if nothing else for the mead and the ale and whatever else there was.
Bor managed to exit the building: Men were taking out barrels upon barrels of mead. They were puzzled, though: Some of the barrels felt empty… but not quite, they were heavier than regular empty barrels. “Commander,” said Hog, one of the younger soldiers, “these barrels feel strange.” Bor shouted, “Well what are you waiting for! crack one open! It must contain something of value!” As the raiders got busy hacking away at a barrel, Bor went into the stable, opening the double doors wide. His eyes scanned the area, There was a hole in the roof, and the hay under it looked displaced.
Doe stood at the corner of a building, watching the stable, panting heavily. She couldn’t believe she didn’t break her leg jumping as she did. If the hay hadn’t been there… if she had hit one of the support beams… tak must obey men, but surrendering to a raiding army was considered treason to your home. She closed her eyes, leaning back against the building. They hadn’t taken the bait, the other tak were going to be captured. She tried, it was the best she could do. But the fact that she hadn’t been seen running away meant she had a chance to escape. The problem was she was never allowed outside the tavern except to get water from the well or to stable a horse, she didn’t know where to go to get help. She decided to hide and slipped into a dark alley. It smelled of piss and human body odor, it probably had been used by a drunk stumbling home from the tavern. She moved to the very back wall and curled into a ball, willing herself to become a shadow.
Bor was not a bad tracker. There were faint marks… Tak’s feet, for sure. Bor crouched, and followed them to the entrance of a dark alley. The sun was setting, and that made this particular alley darker. Bor stood at the entrance of the alley, and said, “You better come out now, tak. I know you’re there!” The way Bor stood, it was impossible for anyone who might be in the alley to come out, except by tackling him.
Doe stared at the man in the alley entrance and shivered. She took a deep breath and launched herself forward, intent to push him off balance and run past him. He stepped aside easily and grabbed her around the waist, hauling her up and over his shoulder in 1 smooth action. Doe screamed and twisted, kicking and punching at his back, but it was useless, he had her tight and naked, her ass up in the air, he carried her on his shoulder back to the tavern. Already the men had gathered up the tak in the barrels. Bor walked into the stable and found some rope. He tied the girl’s hands behind her back and her ankles together and she fought him the whole time. She was a fighter, although not trained, and this intrigued him. Usually tak, once captured, immediately became complacent, but this little blonde hellion was determined to at least draw some blood before she gave in. He smiled at that.
The tak was fast. Bor liked it when he was faced with a challenge. He stepped aside, and scooped up the naked girl even as she tried to run past him. She gave a hell of a fight, and her punches on Bor’s back and her kicks in the air made Bor laugh. “Feisty one, aren’t you,” said Bor. He landed a hard spank on the girl’s bottom, and then another one for good measure, and by the time Bor had passed through the stable, bound the tak’s wrists and ankles, and reached the tavern, he had spanked the tak several other times.
Her ass was sore, her stomach grumbled from his shoulder pressing into it, and he didn’t seem at all interested in setting her down. Once she was bound she stopped struggling, no point now. Even if she could slip free from his shoulder she couldn’t hop away. Tears dripped down her cheeks, tears of anger, shame, pain, and fear. It was the way of her people, she was tak, little more than livestock. It just seemed so unfair.
Bor laid the tak down on a table, face up. He put a hand between her breasts, and one on her hair. He looked fixedly at the girl with his deep, piercing, green eyes, “Looks like I got myself a prize,” said Bor. “What’s your name, slut?”
“Doe, karl… its name is Doe,” she stated blandly, there was a scream from outside, followed by laughter as the men started pushing Ter back and forth between them.
“Doe,” said Bor, “is an appropriate name for a tavern whore. There’s one small snag in that. You’re not tavern property anymore. You are mine. Your owner battled me and lost.” Bor looked at Doe for what it seemed a long time. The tak was beautiful. Long, blonde hair, shapely legs, childbearing hips, full, plush breasts. “Yes, you will be my tak, it makes this raid worth my while.” Having said that, Bor picked up Doe and flung her across his shoulder, ass in the air. Whistling, he went to where Impor was laying down, snoring. Bor grabbed Impor and shook him hard, until the tillerman woke up. “Augh! Someone stop this anvil on my head!” he said, once awake. “I have the perfect cure for that,” said Bor, and dunked Impor’s head in a freezing water trough outside the stable.
Impor cried out, sputtering and shaking his head, then looked up with a smile. “Thanks, needed that. Oh, who is this?” he poked Doe in the ass and laughed as she squealed. “She looks familiar, I swear I have seen her before.” He was looking at her ass and the pink cleft of her pussy. Doe groaned and hung her head. This was so humiliating.
“My karl, please, it will walk, happily. You won it, caught it. It is yours, please put it down.”
Bor gave her another hard slap. “You look better this way,” he chuckled, and started towards the boats. A horn blew from the direction of the wharf. “Time to go, Hon ships coming. Grab what you can!” He called out of his shoulder and set off at a jog to the ship, making Doe struggle to keep her scant breakfast down.
The red-sailed drakka of Tyr sailed just in the nick of time. Forty green-sailed ships of Hon were approaching fast from the East; the men rowed, and the sails fluffed. With the added impulse, the ships of Tyr eventually outran the ships of Hon. The trip lasted three days, one more than the two than it had taken to get to Hon, but finally the shores of Tyr were visible.
The large, flat bottomed ships had no lower decks, just 1 deck, half of which was filled with treasure taken and the other half with rowers. The stolen tak, 28 in all, were lashed to masts, rails, and anywhere they could be fit. Doe’s wrists were kept bound, the rope tied to Bor’s belt, keeping her with him at all times. By the time Tyr was in sight she was ready to never step on board a ship ever again in her life. Oddly, the tak were used, often, by the Tyrians. To alleviate boredom at sea mostly, but Bor didn’t seem interested in using her, at least yet. He was often looking at her with an amused little half smile on his lips. He held her close at night for warmth, both for him and her, fed her from his hand, and kept running his fingers through her hair.
A great cheer went up as they pulled into the dock at the Tyr shore and other men emerged to unload the stolen freight.
“Great timing, Kurrok,” one of them said to the captain. “We were raided three nights ago by the Han. Apparently they had waited until you all had left. It sounds like someone tipped them off.”
Bor paid little attention. They would find the traitor, whoever it was. It was no concern of his. It was time to get his bounty home.
Bor untied Doe and carried her over his shoulder. There was some damage to the city from the raiders of the island of Han, but it was being repaired. That was not his concern, though. He wanted to go home. When he did, he opened the door, and locked it behind him. Only then did he unbind Doe.
“Come to me and undress me, Doe,” said Bor.
Doe bit her bottom lip and stepped forward. She unbuttoned his vest and shirt, sliding them from his broad shoulders. His chest was broad and hard, then she knelt and helped him get his boots off as he unbuckled his sword belt, for she was forbidden from touching any weapon or even weapon belt. Still on her knees she knelt up, looking up at him and opening his pants, hoping he would use her mouth. Not that she cared about him taking her for sex, she was worried about disappointing him.
Once naked, Bor stretched. His penis was large, and looked bigger and… thicker… than any other penis that Doe had seen. He grabbed Doe and laid her down. Instead of immediately taking her, though, Bor laid down next to Doe, and started to caress her, with one finger, very slowly, in the sensitive places he knew a tak was likely to have: Navel, nipples, cleavage, sides, the sides of her sex, the slit, and around her pink nub. There was a purpose in his deliberate slowness: He wanted to break her piece by piece, destroying all she knew about being taken by a man, and show her what it meant to be truly and utterly taken. But that was a slow endeavor, it would take time, and to show her what a soft touch could do was the best move Bor could think of.
Doe laid back, and stared at him in wonder. She wondered if she should warn him, she was… what was it Ter called her… frigid. She lay still as he touched her, she opened her legs, moaned on cue, trying to sound convincing. Then a curious thing happened, his fingers traced up the crease between ass and thighs, around the front, to her pussy, and she felt a warm tingle like a spark shoot through her. Her hips jerked, and she forgot to moan as she gasped.
“Well hello there Doe, it’s good to meet you, I am Bor and I am your new karl from now on” said Bor, not without irony. “I hear a gasp coming from those lips, is this the first time this tak feels this way? Mm?” Bor’s fingers kept on slowly rubbing Doe’s sex, slowly, almost as if touching a flower. Then he slowly rubbed Doe’s slit, directly, as softly as he had rubbed the labia to its side. “You must be wondering why I’m not taking you, aren’t you, mine?”
Doe was staring at him. He wanted to talk? To her? Now?! “Yes… well… because it is not yet wet enough, karl? because… well, honestly no one ever cared before.” she gasped sharply as he kept following that little groove between her legs and she began to feel a tumbling in her belly that had never been there before.
Bor’s eyes looked directly into Doe’s, and he grinned. “Oh? is it? well I can feel some moistness here, mine. I could take you now, if I wanted. But I don’t want to. I want to get to know my property well first.” Infuriatingly, he continued to fondle Doe, slowly, very slowly, teasing her nipples, her slit, her belly… then Bor said, oh so softly, “I think I will call you Skadi.” In Westron, Skadi meant fertile, and Bor chose that name because his tak looked fertile, ripe for childbearing.
She closed her eyes, her legs opened more. She felt a wetness growing, she bit her lip and mewled softly. “No karl wants to get to know his tak, master.” she whispered in a husky voice. The sound of her voice startled her.
“That is exactly what I want to do, mine” said Bor. He slipped a finger between Skadi’s sex lips, and slowly explored her. His eyes had noticed how she had reacted, and he said, “It would seem this tak’s body is needy of something. I wonder what that is.”
She was confused, excited. Could this be what the other girls talked about? she pushed her hips up against his fingers and felt another warm wave of need pass through her. She giggled and looked into his eyes, feeling an even bigger, different kind of rush. “It doesn’t know what it wants, this is… new…”
“It’s a few things I have picked up here and there,” said Bor. “But I think what comes next is a part of the story that you are familiar with,” he added. He moved a bit, and he was erect. His member was rock hard, and pointed up, proudly, “Now look at what you’ve done, tak,” said Bor. “You’ve made me be hard up.”
She offered her own smile and flipped over, straddling his lap. She was wet, surprisingly. It had happened before but always through an act of will. She held him in her hand and pushed down, pushing him slowly in. he was big, bigger than anyone she had had before, and she was small. It took a few moments for her to adjust and stretch, then she pushed down again.
Bor’s large, thick member slipped itself into Skadi’s passage as if it was slicing through warm butter. It was a tight, small passage, and Bor grunted. With a smarmy grin, he said, “why aren’t you tight my tak,” and with a grin he moved and rolled, so Skadi was under him. Bor’s eyes glinted, and he almost withdrew his member out of her… but then he thrusted, and pushed himself deep into his tak. when he hilted his member in her, his hands grasped her wrists, and pulled them up above her head, crossed. Bor
Skadi cried out louder and louder, not in pain, but pleasure. It was like an ocean wave when the tide comes in, each thrust was harder, more powerful, he would withdraw and she would moan, then thrust in and again there was that overwhelming feeling of pleasure that was threatening to bury her. He pushed on a spot inside her that she didn’t even know existed. and felt a spark that made her toes curl, she wanted to reach up and grab him, pull him inside her, deeper and harder, but he held her down helpless, and she wanted him to, she wanted to be owned by him truly.
Bor was truly a bear in bed, and he had the stamina of one. He took Skadi hard, pushing his very hard member inside her repeatedly, like a piston, until it hilted and his balls slapped against the bottom of Skadi’s sex, between her labia and her butt. he would take her slowly, quickly, then shallowly, then deeply, until he felt he was close. He would hold his rock hard member deep inside Skadi, and pause until he no longer was on edge… only to resume with renewed vigor, over and over and over again.
She bucked back against him, meeting him hard. Her head was thrown back, each thrust pushed another cry from her lips, he was so… there! inside her, filling. She could feel every vein moving back and forth, she swore she could feel the edge of his helmet sliding back and forth, her thighs clamped on his hips, tightening down, her legs wrapped around his waist, she arched up, lifting herself off the bed, and then her whole world exploded in pleasure. For as much as she had been forced to allow men to take pleasure with her body, she had never had an orgasm, and thought she was incapable of achieving one. She was truly now NOT a virgin and when the crashing wave of pleasure ended she had passed out cold.
The world imploded around Bor when Skadi’s sex fluttered and clamped down on his shaft. He had thought it could not possibly get any harder, but his member did harden more, and it throbbed, and he roared like a bear, and his semen flooded Skadi, pulse after pulse after pulse of thick, stringy semen coated and filled Skadi’s sex, so much quantity that it overflowed and dripped in ropy rills. His member still hard inside Skadi, Bor shivered, and slumped, and passed out, panting as if he had run for a league at top speed without stopping.
It was late at night when the girl known as Skadi woke up. Her new owner, her karl, was sleeping on top of her. His weight wasn’t uncomfortable, it was soothing and she tried to hold still and not wake him. She suddenly realized he was still inside her. He wasn’t at full mast but he was close. she smiled and bit her lip, then began to squeeze and loosen in a repeating, slow motion.
Bor blinked and grunted. His manhood was still buried inside Skadi, his tak. His. Tak. Skadi. His tak. He was hard, his long, thick member impaling his property; he felt a repeated, rhythmic gripping and loosening, and he opened his eyes. He grunted; his hips started moving in circles, and his shaft, buried inside his tak, moved back and forth, slowly, taking her again, with unconscious, reflexive movements. Then Bor was fully alert, moved Skadi, and took her from behind, slowly, then quickly, until his blood boiled again, and once again he spent himself inside her as she screamed in her own, violent release. Only when he was completely spent did he pull out of her, and laid on his back, panting, out of breath, dizzy from the world shattering orgasm he had experienced. Bor had found his first tak.