A Good Woman’s Honour

She woke up naked, tied to a cross. She was burned from the rope that bound her hands and feet and was wrapped around her waist. She couldn't figure out where she was, except that she was indoors. The only light was from a weak flame behind her. She couldn't see the fire, but she could read it in the glints of light, the crackling, and the gentle heat that caressed her back. It was cold and damp, and she could hear drops in the darkness.

She jumped up at a rough, deep male voice: "You're awake."

She wasn't alone, then. She said nothing.

"Then we can begin." She heard things thrown into a bowl, and instantly a powerful flare lit the burrow in an unnatural red light. Bones, weapons, and various tools were hung here and there on the walls. All the wooden and stone surfaces were carved with all sorts of symbols and shapes, and skin manuscripts lay in piles here and there against the walls. The surroundings were eerie--an unusual glow shimmered the rooms and the wall decorations; illuminating but casting hideous shadows on the walls. She looked into the far chamber and gasped--something was staring back, she was sure of it.

The flare faded into a more natural flame, though brighter than before. She was thankful the increased warmth and illumination. A reddish smoke now reached her senses, smelling sweet but bitter.

She stared into the far chamber: She now saw a clearly cold fireplace and saw the shape of a bench and some skins. She saw the outlined of a creature and the blood froze in her veins. At first glance, its form seemed man-shaped, but no man was shaped like that; long and thin and crooked. Hungry, white eyes, one larger than the other, met her gaze. The creature smiled, revealing sharp yellow teeth.

She then realized that the creature was not alone, just the most visible. It was a mass of all sorts of creatures, human-shaped but equally deformed--small, fat, large, thin, crooked--and she screamed in terror. The monsters were all clearly male, for each had an erection and most had a hand--or claw or paw--in their lap. The cocks were as varied, hideous, and monstrous as their owners. Most of the creatures stared at her hungrily with intensity, and many began to jerk off. Some began to make animalistic sounds of lust--snorting, growling, snarling.

She screamed, "Help me, Hvítkrist in Heaven!" Protect me, Kristfather and all the fair guardians!" She struggled on the cross, did everything to try to free herself, but it was all for none; she was tied too tightly and suffered nothing but a burn where the rope cut under her chest. The smoke had begun to thicken and the more she struggled, the more of the sweet, bitter air she inhaled. She started warming up inside and began to relax into her rooes.

Then a terrifying thought struck her that made her heart race faster again: "Start--? Start what? What are they going to do to me?"

"You don't have to worry about the schrats. The ward will hold." The voice revealed itself; he stepped forward so that she finally saw him: a muscular, bearded man, wrapped in a fur. His thick arms bare, reaching out from beneath the fur, carved with various runes and spells, some in ink and some in scar tissue. He held a small bowl in each hand, both filled with some dark liquid. He added, "They are here to witness."

"Witness what?" she asked in despair. He didn't answer her, just looked at her with a stern look; she still felt a hint of pity in his expression. He stepped toward her, and she was filled again with fear, struggling against the ropes, but to no avail. He lifted one of the bowls and poured it over her breasts.

"This is blood from a pregnant mare," he explained matter-of-factly, as if it should calm her. The blood ran down her chest, down her stomach, over her spread womanhood, and down the insides of her thighs. "I'm sorry. I don't mean you any harm, really, but I needed a good woman, and they're hard to find in this neck of the woods."

He spread the blood over her body in tight, efficient strokes with his now free hand. The schrats went wild at the scene before them, barking and whining and snorting, stamping their feet, paws, and hooves, making a rhythmic sound. At first she tried to avoid his touch, but as more smoke filled her lungs, the more she gave in. The touch gave her unexpected pleasure, though she suspected the red smoke had a hand in it.

"The fryggweed should make this more bearable for you," he said, meaning the smoke. The schrats yowled and snarled and stamped their feet. "I need you for my spell," he explained. He cupped her cunt and inserted two fingers inside her. She moaned loudly. "You're almost ready."

"Ready... for what?" she asked in a low raspy voice. Her lower stomach felt so warm and her entire body ached for touch. She tried to keep her thoughts straight, but she was so terribly horny, and it was hard to keep her thoughts straight with the commotion from the schrats. "Witness... ready...?"

He took a step back and let his furs fall to his feet. He was naked beneath. The rest of his muscular body was covered in scars and ink like his arms; he was hairy and his impressive member pointed proudly towards her. He poured from the other bowl over himself and smeared the blood all over his body, including his erection.

"Blood from a ram's crotch," he explained, then inhaled deep the smoke that now filled the entire room.

"Witness to what?" she asked again, this time more harshly.

"Theft of a good woman's honour," he replied, before he had his way with her.