Title: Wet Sword
Keywords: mf, hist
Author: Caesar
Said a madam named Mamie La Farge
To a sailor just off of a barge,
"We have one that's dead,
With a in her head--
Of course there's a slight extra charge."
Wet Sword
by Caesar, copyright 1997-2002
$Revision: 1.7 $ $Date: 2002/04/15 14:07:30 $
The damned Saxons had taken a toll this day. Nearly all of their
warriors had fallen to our swords and spears. It had been a fine day
for blood letting, one that proved that the gods had not abandoned us.
It would take until after this winter before they had another raiding
party come out of the east, many moons until the Saxon invaders
recovered from the blow we dealt them today.
We missed killing their King or his bastards, but without warriors
there was little he could do against our homes. We did capture much
of his household and his possessions that he had held in what he
thought was a secure encampment.
Not so long ago when the Roman Legions had left our island, they had
left behind some knowledge about siege-craft and war-craft. Our
Warlord, my Lord, whom I had sworn a blood-oath too, was well learned
in such knowledge.
My own sword, was heavily notched and was still slick with the blood
of my enemies, of my Lord's enemies. Many of my friends and
companions had fallen these last months and I had extracted a this day. Only months ago, my wench and her two brats were killed in
a raid by these same Saxons. They had raped her before my children,
then leaving her naked to die from exposure. My children had
disappeared, probably taken as slaves to work in some unspeakable
Saxon mine.
Yes, I had taken a this day. I stood alone, leaning on my
battered sword as my fellows had advanced upon the Saxon town. The
bodies about me already picked clean of anything valuable - the pay of
a warrior. Myself, I came out well ahead in terms of loot gained, the
numbers I had slain very numerous.
During the battle, even my fellows retreated from my swinging sword.
It sang as I killed, maimed and and killed some more. I wadded
through the stinking Saxon mass of as my cries bellowed our
impending victory. The leader of our group fell, but I did not even
slow and thus my fellows followed me through the valley of death until
victorious.
I sang as I killed, bellowing cries of blood and victory as my sword
reaped havoc and the Saxons fell upon each other to get away from my
advance. I did not achieve victory alone, but was certainly
instrumental in crumbling the left flank of the Saxon horde.
Warriors, even much and experienced than I, saw my berserker
rage and followed me to deal death to the invaders of our homes.
Moments ago, as I stopped, exhausted from the days death dealing, my
Lord stopped his charger next to me and spoke only a short phrase to
me, "Well done, Captain Ger'yon." His retinue followed him as my back
straightened and my head lifted. I had just been raised in status, to
a leader of a warrior band and more importantly, I was given
recognition by the only that mattered. Then I remembered that
this promotion would mean more battles, more killing and more blood
letting - until I was one of the maimed bodies laying in my own gore
upon a killing field such as this one.
My thoughts returned to the present and the screams, cries and general
sounds of mayhem in the newly conquered Saxon town. Our warriors
seeked their now upon the remaining citizens, extracting an
ancient tradition. The harder the fight the siege was, the harsher
the revenge. This meant, our raped and killed all Saxons that
they came across. Old, young, male or female - all were cattle to the
swords and spears. Only those of comely appearance, females, would be
spared - to live a new life as slaves. It had been some weeks since
leaving the fortress at Calleva, and my fellows extracted their own
revenge. I tried, unsuccessfully to ignore those sounds.
I am so weary.
Weary of killing, of sorrow and pain. Its a warriors lot of course,
but that need not mean I enjoy it. All my and most of my
friends lay dead or enslaved due to the Saxon invader. I had seen the
axe blows that cleaved their bodies. Buried the sun bloated stinking
frames of what was once a living person. Held intestines in my hands
as the person cried out, scared to die.
As the tears flowed from my eyes, I passed it off to the abundant
smoke billowing out from the gorged town. Yet, I weeped for all that
I've done, all that I've see and all that has happened to me and mine.
It wasn't finished either. Surely, we had gained months to sit back
and enjoy our spoils. Yet, my Lord would surely press his strategic
advantage and attack as soon as the crops were planted next spring.
He had sworn his own oath, to drive the Saxons from our shores or die
trying. My oath forced me to follow.
I starred at the drying nearly black blood and flesh stuck to my sword
lost in thought.
"Ger'yon!" My head rose slowly to see one of the remaining Captains
change his mount towards me. "M'lord asked me to give you this as the
first of many gifts!" A bundle dropped to the ground, "And he asks if
you would grace him with your presence at our feast tonight Captain
Ger'yon?" I nodded knowing that the "feast" would be a drunken brawl
with the screams of rape victims accompanying the sounds loud singing.
I would be missed little if I did not appear.
The Captain galloped back to the towns gate, anxious to return to the
plundering now that his chore was done.
The bundle jerked about and I watched it as if in a dream. I knew
what it was, had seen enough presents like this presented and had
shared in the use of such presents more than once. The long hair hide the face from me, and the fur cloak hid the rest. It
was the present of a lord to a favoured servant - a woman. Normally a
high born comely woman. Age mattered little.
A part of me, weary in body and soul, just watched as the wench spit
her own hair from her mouth and face. She looked into my eyes, the
eyes of her new master for the first time. She screamed and yelled at
me in a language that I knew not. She spat towards me, but I took
little notice, as it mixed in with the blood and gore upon my person.
I saw that her arms were bound before her, her ankles also, there was
no escape for her except death.
At that moment, I considered lifting my sword for one more blow, to
deal death as I've so expertly dealt it this day one more time. Death
would be a better ending than the rape of your enemy.
Yes, I took pity upon her. I did not want her. I knew it was a wrong
feeling, my fellows would little understand. I no longer had the hate
in me that I once did. I ignored her screams and just looked upon
into the retreating blue sky - night was approaching fast enough. It
was beautiful, the sky, the sun the light clouds. So much in contrast
to the sight that awaited me when I lowered my gaze to the gentle
green hills and the carnage that I helped create.
I know not how long I stood there, but I realized the Saxon wench had
become quiet and could feel her eyes upon me. I then thought how I
must look, with tears upon my cheeks, her breathern's blood and flesh
upon my person and sword, and a far away look in my eyes.
Looking down our gaze met, the victor and his slave. The and the
woman. I became lost in her eyes, a startling light blue. The colour
I've only seen in the eyes of I've killed, Saxon men. She was
startlingly beautiful, and realized just how special a gift from my
Lord this wench was. Obviously she was a person of importance, even
noble Saxon blood.
I considered cutting her bindings and releasing her, but realized that
would either be a death sentence or she would fall to another, one
with much less pity than I. I did not want her, I did not want a
slave, a Saxons most likely. Possibly a I felled this day,
his guts still dripping from my blade.
Nor did I want to do what the other warriors of my band were currently
doing, raping all the comely wenches that they found, killing all the
others. When the choices narrow, fall back on duty and tradition.
With a sweep of my blade, the leather tongs binding her ankles were
cut away. The Saxon wench just watched me, her eyes very bold for a
new slave.
I turned about and began to walk - my wet sword thrown up upon one
shoulder. I did not look behind me, as only the wench and the dead
lay there. Yet, soon, I heard fumbling soft footfalls. In fact, I
was a little disappointed, hoping the Saxon wench would save me the
burden of her slavery and run away. This action of hers, following
me, showed that the wench was of some intellect. That was of some
bonus.
I returned to a small cottage, one where my fellows and I bed the
night before. Originally I intended simply to collect my belongings
and return to my Lords feast. But the gentle silence of the place,
the sound of the wind and the chirp of the birds calmed my displaced
soul and I sunk down upon the dirt, laying my head on my leather bag.
My sword, sat across my lap, and I noted that it was till wet with the
gore and blood of my enemies. I strangely wished it was new and
shiny, that it had never cleaved flesh or drank blood.
A shadow encircled me and brought me roughly out of the haze that my
blade produced. I looked upon into the pale skin of the Saxon slave
that I owned and this time saw her tears, her fear upon her face. She
sank down upon her knees next to me and sobbed to herself. She
obviously knew her fate, knew that my grace was her salvation or her
horror.
It was so peaceful so calming in that room just then, and without
thinking I reached out and brushed the hair from the
Saxons face. She stiffened as I touched her but didn't move
otherwise, but I was conscious of our roles. I knew she expected me
to rape her, to perhaps even share her amongst my other warriors, and
possibly even to kill or maim. Yet, I thought of none of those just
then - as I was weary of the anguish of killing.
Her movement had brought me again out of my cloud and I pulled back
from her suddenly and lifted my blade up between us. Straight up it
sat unmoving and I saw fear at first in her eyes at the sight of it.
She stared at its marred surface and the blood and gore upon it then
she looked at me. For several seconds she simply stared before
acting. Her arms lifted up and came about straddling the sword before
pulling it towards her - cutting her bindings. It took seconds and I
hadn't moved in that time. When it was done she looked tentatively to
see if what she had done was the right thing. It was.
The wench pulled the tongs from her dainty wrists and then rubbed the
sore skin. She watched me silently, as if waiting.
I lowered my sword and then lay my head back and closed my eyes. I
pictured the sky as I had seen it earlier, the calm sounds of nature.
My mind drifted to images that pulled me away from all that I have
done or seen this day and many before. How long I lay like that, I
know not.
When hands touched me, I reacted. My sword came up and I sat suddenly
straight. The Saxon wench had reached forward to the knot at my waist
and had stolen me away from my thoughts. She jerked back when I sat
up, real fear in her eyes. I held the blade between us as if
threatening for only a few seconds as I took all this in.
There was no danger, and I knew what she was doing. I sat back and
motioned towards the open doorway and for her to exit, I wished to be
left in peace. Tears again started to roll down her cheeks, the
alternatives presented to her were rather dismal. I watched as her
shaky hands again reached forward and found the knot of leather at my
waist.
As if in a dream, I watched her as she untied my leather pants and
pulled the two sides wide, exposing my crotch fully. Those Saxon eyes
alternated looking from my eyes to my manhood as she again reached
out. Her fingers were like winter, possibly from being bound so
tightly, yet it was a very minor distraction, one that bothered me
not. I would guess this woman to be in her late teen years, but had
seemingly been in a marriage several years. Her hands were deft and
experienced as she stroked my prick. It rose only little, more
interested was I in watching her than to enjoy her moving hands.
She looked up and tried to smile bravely before her torso bent at the
waist and her face lowered towards my lap. I was fascinated and knew
not what she was doing until her mouth opened and my flaccid prick was
swallowed. At first I thought she meant to bite me, as I've heard
tales of Saxon wenches biting off ears and noses of those too
preoccupied to be cautious. Before I had time to react, I felt not
her teeth but of suction as she suckled me.
What a delicious feeling and I responded rather obviously in that my
prick rose quickly. That wench me and when I was hard,
her face rose all the way up to my nut before again dropping down to
the base. She did this again and again. I watched it, detached, and
just a little amazed at her actions. Never before had I heard or felt
such a thing.
I lay as one of the dead when she again sat up and looked me right in
the eye. I watched as her hands rose with the hem of her expensive
cloth in tow. The garment lifted off her, leaving her person
completely naked.
She was indeed a comely wench. Very attractive, in a Saxon sort of
way. Pale of skin, wide of hip and heavy of breast. Good birthing
ankles and bones. Though slight of hands and feet, it was a minor
inconvenience, one that seemed to heighten and not hinder her beauty.
In fact, I had never had such a woman and I dispelled any doubts that
she was not born a noble women.
With only my eyes moving, following her desirous skin as the wench
crawled towards me. The Saxon slave straddled my waist and then
reached between her thighs to grasp my prick straight up. I watched
as the patch between her thighs swallowed my manhood within its
folds. She groaned in what I knew to be pleasure, but I had never
heard such a sound from a newly captured slave before.
Her hands balanced herself upon my heaving chest as she raised and
lowered her hips deliciously. I watched her, amazed at her beauty,
feeling some emotion flow back into me. The bouncing of her bountiful
breasts teased me, the clenching of her clutch seductive and the sight
of her partially opened lips exciting. She ground her hips into mine,
she moaned deeply and moved more urgently as time passed. I felt the
blood heat my body and my mind turn to fire as my senses returned.
I looked down between us, and saw my hard manhood move in and out of
her body. And my stupor disappeared at the sight. I started to drive
my hips upwards while my mouth found one wide nipple and gasped it
between tender teeth. She was my slave, my booty for a hard battle
fought, her life was mine.
No longer did I the sky and the clouds but of pale Saxon
flesh, rightly earned through hardships. I rolled her over, my heavy
body pressing her down upon the dirt. She lifted her legs and I felt
her slim ankles lock behind me. I drove again and again into her
while my eyes locked onto hers. Those were the eyes of my enemy, eyes
of that I had killed today and days past. The knowledge drove
more heated fire into my veins and I, the victor, started to grunt
with passion.
The slave drove her hips up to meet mine, one of her hands tried to
pull my face down to her lips, but I ignored her. She moaned loudly
in the small room and grunted with each of my determined thrusts. Out
bodies joined in a noise of wet skin and abundant juices and that also
drove me forwards.
She began to squeal out rather loudly, a sound I've never heard before
but knew what she was enduring. Her body thrashed beneath my own and
she talked in her foreign tongue as I put more power into my thrusts
until finally she lay motionless beneath me. I thought of her
countrymen dead upon the field as she reminded me of them even as she
lay eyes open but unmoving. Her breathing, though, was heavy and
strained as she looked with surprise down between us to my still hard
prick.
I pulled it from her sheath and starred at its rigid surface. The
Saxon wench rolled about until her face was beneath me, and she again
surprised me when her mouth lifted and swallowed my balls and two
hands grasped me firmly. No longer in a stupor, I simply watched her,
feeling the familiar tingling in my body. Hands worked upon my
lengthy manhood and her mouth suckled sweetly upon my sack. It was
those feelings, that sight that drove me over the edge.
When it did come, I thought of a strange thing. My manhood spurted
again and again, raining juices upon the chest, thighs and
stomach of my slave as one thought entered my mind. That I've now
wetted my other sword this day, in triumph.
-*-
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