The Uprising Pt 01

The mist rolled in heavily over the sodden fields, clinging menacingly to the mossy cairns that were the boundary to the farmstead. Arin shivered as she huddled in the doorway of the low built, stone cottage. Mosthe would be home soon. And no matter how she fought, he would take his right to her tonight, as he did whenever he chose. He was a vile beast of a man, short and fat, with grey skin and unkempt stubble on his chin and cheeks. He hobbled when he walked due to an old back injury that gave him constant pain. But he was strong despite it. Perhaps the pain was why he was perpetually bad tempered. It didn't seem to affect his urges but made him more violent and demanding.

Arin wondered at how she had got to this point. She could never have predicted this would be her lot, even five years ago. If only she had made different decisions. Not many choices had been open to her in the end but surely there might have been a luckier outcome than this.

She had excelled at the Academy in her hometown of Weicz, a straight A student. She was accomplished in book learning, in music, in advocacy. But she had had a wanderlust and had felt smothered in the structured environment of academia. As soon as she received her colours she fled, searching for adventure, for meaning. The experiences of that time sustained her still, 20 years later. The memories and the hope that one day things would change sustained her now. No, too passive. The hope that one day she would change things kept her alive.

The slow clop of hooves on the cobblestones of the stable yard snapped Arin out of her reverie. He was home.

She didn't wait for Mosthe to shout for her. It wasn't worth the repercussions if he had to. Within seconds she was out and holding the bridle for him so he could dismount. He scowled at her but said nothing. A bad mood then. She bowed her head and turned the horse toward the stable. The poor thing was steaming as though it had been ridden hard. It needed a rub down and some nourishing oats and she welcomed the hiatus this would bring before she had to face Mosthe. He stomped off toward the house in his muddy clothes. She had learned to be prepared and a steaming pot of stew was warm on the stove. He wouldn't bother to change or wash. He rarely did.

She was meeting Poleh and the other Women later, while Mosthe slept. This was an important meeting and she had to make sure she would not miss it. She had to keep Mosthe happy this night.

When Arin had finished with the horse and could delay no more, she returned to the cottage. Mosthe had eaten and had finished the whole pitcher of sour mead that she had left out for him. It was his favourite drink. Strong, dry and dark.

"Here" he muttered.

She walked to him, head bowed. She knew what was coming and tried not to flinch.

Thwack! A back hander. Mosthe's favourite ambush. It stung but she held her silence. It aroused him when she cried out in pain and she did not wish to give him the pleasure. She hung her head, composed, waiting for the next blow. But nothing came. This was always the worst part, wondering what he would do next. He had such a perverted arsenal to choose from and she had experienced it all. Suddenly, he grabbed her by the throat and threw her to the floor, grunting. She tried to relax, as the Women had taught her, to minimise the impact on her body as it hit the paving stones. She looked up and saw the huge bulge already forming in Mosthe's pants. Through her swollen eye, holding back defiant tears, she looked him in the face. His expression was dark and he had a look of intensity about him tonight.

He was on top of her before she had another moment to think. He ripped off her velvet bodice and robes so that she was naked on the cold slabs, shivering with exposure and with the dreadful anticipation of what was to come.

Mosthe looked around. She saw him lay his eyes on a large wooden rolling pin that she had been using to roll out the pastry for tomorrow's pies. He grabbed it, a hungry look in his eyes. Her heart sank. The rolling pin had large spherical orbs at each end, bigger than both Arin's fists. Mosthe roared as he forcefully spread Arin's bare legs apart, exposing her bush and rammed one end of the rolling pin towards her vulnerable warmth. Wood met skin and he pushed. She was dry, unprepared, but he didn't care. He pushed. Arin held back a scream as the pain bit. She had to keep a hold of herself. She forced her mind to withdraw deep into itself, separating herself from her own body and what he was doing to it.

His penis was huge now, bigger than the rolling pin and throbbing with anticipation. The huge wooden tip of the utensil finally pushed into her, spreading her labia and then her vulva wide. Arin felt her body give around the wooden bulb, accepting it and stretching to accommodate its size. She breathed out through narrowed lips, as she had been taught. She used her mind to visualise her vagina stretching to accept the foreign object and her body obeyed. Mosthe grunted with satisfaction at the penetration. But he wasn't even started yet. He pulled the wood slowly backwards and forwards, first gently and then more roughly. Deeper and deeper.

Mosthe grabbed Arin by her long, tawny hair and yanked back her head as he flipped her over onto her stomach. The rolling pin was still deep inside her, only one bulb end poking out now, and it banged on the hard floor as Mosthe kicked Arin's legs wide apart. He hadn't even bothered to take down his pants, but his penis simply poked out of his flies, red, angry and dripping with anticipation. He spat on her exposed behind. One hand still pulling her hair roughly back, the other massaged his spit into her anus. He was wasting no time. He had an urgency about him. His thumb pushed unforgiving into her tight hole. He fucked her with it for a few seconds and added a second, then a third finger. As always, Arin felt her traitorous body responding to his rough handling. She was getting wet, despite her revulsion and fear.

The discomfort of Mosthe pulling and twisting slowly on the rolling pin whipped Arin out of her meditation. Out, in, out, IN. "Aaaah" she gasped. Mosthe's whole hand was suddenly inside her ass and she knew what was coming next. He withdrew his hand and in one quick movement replaced it with his massive cock. Arin gritted her teeth and clenched her eyes shut as Mosthe pulled her hair, held her down and fucked her hard in the ass. Faster he pumped, grunting as his own pleasure built. Her body once again accepting him, against her will, but discomfortingly pleasurable. She pushed into him, joining in the rhythm of his movement. She hated herself for her body's response, feeling pain as well as arousal. Some feminist she was, acquiescing to her rapist's demands.

As the speed and depth of Mosthe's thrusts increased, Arin felt her own pleasure rise inside her. He was moaning now, a low, constant rumble. She heard herself respond with an involuntary, visceral sound from deep within her throat as she was violated again and again. Her voice seemed to rouse Mosthe even more and he grabbed Arin's throat. His fingers pushed flatly on each side of her neck, slowly increasing in pressure as he pumped his heavy body into hers. She was seeing stars and struggling to stay conscious. The combination of fear, strangulation and physical pain was too much. Her body was not hers but was responding in its own way.

Mosthe thrust hard into her anus again and again. Harder and harder. Squeezing her neck. Harder and harder. Pulling her hair and crushing her with his weight. She was going to pass out. The room was going black and the stars were swirling around her head, but her arousal was growing, building deep inside her as Mosthe's relentless onslaught continued. Gasping, Arin fought the feeling but it was too strong. The eruption caught her just before she passed out. "Aaaaaaaaah" she screamed as she came hard. The last thing she heard before the world went dark was Mosthe's own roar. The last thing she felt was the throbbing of his monster dick as it unloaded inside her, filling her up and overflowing out of her. Then... darkness.

Arin was only out for a few seconds. Mosthe was skilled in strangulation and had never left a lasting mark there, as he had in other places. As she came round, still feeling the throb of her arousal, she winced from a new pain. Mosthe was biting her shoulder hard, drawing blood. Arin gasped as he withdrew his still hard member from her body.

"Get me a drink," he demanded. "No. Keep it inside you and don't get dressed."

So Arin stood up, legs apart to accommodate the wooden tool inside her, and moved slowly over to the barrel of mead in the corner of the kitchen. She felt Mosthe's eyes on her and felt shame. She would stop this nightmare somehow. The other Women would help her, as she would help them. They would rise against their oppressors. They just needed to figure out how.