Brynnan and the Sea Raiders

Reader discretion is adviced, this story contain graphic content depicting violence and rape which may not be suitable to all readers. This is a fictional story and do not portray real events or real persons.

The Gift of the Gods

“So, the Lord of Snow and Ice sees fit to join us. Does your new lover hold your interest so tightly that you would miss our feast?” grumbled the scowling Logi.

The pale Lord put his arm around his human companion’s shoulders and replied, “Courteous as always, Uncle. Greetings, my Father and my fair Mother, and my storm-happy sisters.

But King Aegir did not seem perturbed; instead, he smiled. “I am always pleased to see you, Snær, my son.”

Then he nodded to his servant, Eldir, “Eldir, seat him and his friend and do you and Hrafn serve them your ale. Let our feast begin.”

As Hrafn walked forward, carrying a horn of ale, his eyes locked with Geraint’s. Was the old Warrior’s mind untampered with? Then Geraint, keeping a bland expression, winked at him.

As Eldir served the pale Lord, Hrafn placed the horn in Geraint’s hands, feeling their warmth. The touch was an affirmation, and Hrafn almost wept with relief.

“I am named ‘Hrafn,’” he said to his friend, alerting him. “I was cast into the sea as a blöt, a sacrifice offered by the raiders that scour our coasts. Aegir judged me fit to live and serve him.”

“I, too, was offered as a sacrifice by those same rogues, and King Aegir judged me also,” said Geraint with a grimace, and Hrafn knew that the old Warrior had encountered Aegir’s massive cock. But of all people, Geraint would be able to accommodate it.

Snær regarded Hrafn, his eyes roving over his body. “The dragon-ship riders bring my sire their offerings of mortal men; therefore, we tolerate them. I wonder: are you as skilled as my tutor, Geraint? You have passed my Father’s test, at least. With his leave, we will have to try you.”

Hrafn swallowed his surprise. But he should have known Geraint’s sexual prowess would be noticed. But to become the teacher of an age-old Being of Power! He had to admire his friend. But he needed to cooperate with Snær: he must speak to Geraint and plan their escape!

King Aegir had overheard the exchange. “I propose a contest. You, my son, tomorrow bring your teacher to my chambers. I will have Eldir deliver Hrafn to us. We will see who can most skillfully fuck my sea-raven and give him such pleasure as will elicit his secrets from him.” He turned to Queen Rán. “What say you, my lady?”

“If it amuses you, my Lord, I will not object. Only do not wear him too severely that he loses his life. I have an interest in this one. He did not fall into my nets at sea but swam with great endurance towards our shores.”

“And do we also not have a say in this, Kári and l,” grumbled Logi. “We do not receive the sacrifices you do. It is well to share them around, brother. Even your son has the pick of those cast out to succumb to cold and snow.”

“By all means, brothers,” said Aegir. “Am I not renowned for my hospitality at my feasts? Let it not be said that I refused to share my spoils.”

Hrafn listened to this exchange with growing dismay. He had no idea of how well-endowed Logi and Kári, deities of Fire and Wind, were, but if they were anything like the God of the Sea, he was in trouble. He hearkened back to those occasions when he had endured multiple rapes, fifteen times by the warriors of the Brotherhood of Deieros and nine and six times respectively by the cruel sea-raiders. But they at least had been human. These Gods on the Forbidden Isle had mutable forms and powers that could affect a man’s sexual arousal. He must find a way to turn tomorrow’s occasion to his advantage or survive it.

The feast continued then. Rich foods were served, much of it fish and shellfish. Talk filled the air as Hrafn continued to serve the high table.

The only bright spot for Hrafn occurred when Aegir’s skald Bragi was summoned. He spoke an intricate and involved galdur, or chant, capturing his listeners’ attention with great skill. Hrafn, who was Brynnan Marec Mavrenn, Master Bard, was fascinated and had no trouble memorizing the entire poem through his eidetic skills. He would have liked to converse with Bragi, but it would have put him at risk.

At last, the feast was ended. Hrafn, in Eldir’s care, was given a place to sleep in a small chamber that was tolerably comfortable.

In the morning, Eldir came for him to bathe and prepare him for Aegir’s ‘contest.’

“Has any other human captive survived being fucked by all three of the brothers before?” Hrafn asked him.

“Such an event rarely happens, but there have been one or two prior circumstances,” replied Eldir.

“What happened? Did they survive it?”

Eldir looked at the captive with something like pity in his eyes. “Ultimately, no,” he said.

“Did they bleed to death?” Hrafn persisted.

“They died of pleasure. The Lords overrode their subject’s senses that would have told the body it had enough, and in their excessive and continuing orgasms, their minds were destroyed. The Gods do not fully appreciate the frailty of humans.”

“Thank you for your honesty,” said Hrafn quietly.

“Here, drink this of my brewing. It may not save you, but it will strengthen you.” Eldir opened a green stone bottle and poured the liquid into a cup of iridescent fluted glass.

Hrafn drank it. He did not detect any poisons in it; it tasted delicious. He reflected that Eldir’s unique attribute was as a brewmaster, so maybe there was some virtue in it.

Eldir then prepared to travel with the captive. He held onto Hrafn, and they took the Shadow-ways, almost instantly arriving at King Aegir’s chambers.

The King was seated on his divan, and his guests were already present. The King wore a short kilt of teal green silk, and his guests also were briefly dressed. Even Geraint wore a leather kilt wrapped around his loins, leaving the rest of his muscular body bare. Hrafn feasted his eyes on his friend, noting all the familiar battle scars. Geraint’s expression was studiously noncommittal, but then he was a practiced gambler, used to giving nothing away.

Eldir smoothly placed the green stone bottle, which he had brought with him, on a side table containing other refreshments, bottles and bowls of fruits and even a bowl of ice, courtesy of Snær, Lord of Ice and Snow.

“Hrafn is prepared for you, my Lords and Master Geraint. I will await your call,” said Eldir, as he bowed then faded.

The four Kings sat on separate divans facing a bed in the chamber’s centre before which Hrafn stood. Geraint was seated beside the Snow Lord.

Aegir spoke. “I have given thought as to how we will accomplish our objective. Snaer’s teacher in the sexual arts, Geraint, is not a Being of Power. Yet, my son vouches for his skills. Let Geraint first prove himself by fucking my son, and we will see his skills in action.”

“Come, Geraint, let us show them why you have my favour,” said the Snow Lord.

Geraint cast a look at Hrafn with a raised eyebrow, but he smiled and bowed to Aegir. “I am at your command, Sea-King, and I am yours, my Lord Snær.”

Snær seated himself on the centrally-placed bed. Geraint approached his Lord, stood close behind him, and then kissed the pale God’s neck. He ran his tongue behind the ear and gently bit Snær, who shivered and closed his eyes. Geraint then reached around him and pinched his nipples while continuing the neck kisses.

Hrafn noticed how the ordinarily rough and plain-speaking old Warrior employed remarkable subtlety in his actions. His touch was feather-light.

Geraint gently pushed Snær back on the bed and stroked his body. Then he knelt beside him and, pulling away the Lord’s kilt, revealed an erect cock nearly as large as Aegir’s. Geraint ran his tongue down the muscular torso, playing with Snær’s nipples with one hand while stroking the impressive cock with the other. Then he smoothly transitioned to the stiff shaft and tight, swelling balls, proceeding to lick them. He took a testicle in his mouth, pulling at it, and Snær moaned aloud.  

Hrafn noticed that the watching Gods had removed their kilts and stroked their own cocks, obviously aroused at the erotic play before them.

Geraint said to Snær, “Let this Hrafn join me in sucking you, my Lord, and you will see what two mortals can do.”

“Yes . . . Why not?”

Hrafn knelt beside him at Geraint’s direction and began to lick the Snow God’s balls while Geraint sucked the cock. Then the old Warrior turned and kissed Hrafn deeply, and the captive felt an inexpressible joy at tasting his beloved friend’s kiss once more.

Geraint whispered, ‘Remember your heritage. You are not forsaken.”

Those simple words reminded Hrafn that, as Brynnan, he could not be fucked to death by these four Gods of Water, Fire, Wind and Snow. There was a force more profound than theirs, and it belonged to his Father, King Arawn of the Shadow-realm of Annwn, and to himself. He felt strengthened, and his courage burned steady once more.

But now Geraint straddled Snær’s hips, positioning his ass above the Lord’s massive phallus. He slowly lowered himself down onto it, allowing the head of the penis to penetrate his anus. If it hurt, Geraint did not show it, and Snær’s cock was well-lubricated with copious pre-cum. He began to ride the God, rocking back and forth on his cock. At the same time, Geraint’s own impressive phallus stood out proudly from his body.

Snær was immersed in the sensations of being controlled by this mortal, who set the pace and guided Snær into fucking him.

“I am cumming, my teacher. Cum with me,” the God of Cold and Snow commanded.

Geraint slid his hand up and down his shaft as he ground his ass onto Snær’s hips. The Snow Lord cried out, ejaculating, just as Geraint spilled his load, cumming all over the God’s body, who moaned and rubbed the slippery fluid over his chest. Then Snær pulled Geraint down upon him and kissed him deeply.

Aegir drew back on the divan. “Indeed, my son, I see what skill your human mentor practices upon you. Now I would see you perform upon Hrafn, our captive.”

“He surely cannot perform better than I,” boasted Logi of the Fires.

“You will have your turn after my son,” said Aegir equitably. “If you are aroused, play with Kári’s cock and stoke your own fires.”

Snær was already commanding Hrafn to approach and lie on the bed. “I will take him from the front, as Geraint has shown me,” he said.

Hrafn found Snær’s touch cold yet sensuous. He breathed deep and fought to quell his apprehension as Aegir’s son pushed him back and spread his legs. Snær’s cock was still rigid, and he seemed as lusty as ever, apparently not needing time to rest from his orgasm with Geraint. All Hrafn’s eyes could focus on was the massive rod awaiting him. He was still sore from Aegir’s fucking the previous day.

Before Snær could push his cock into Hrafn’s ass, Geraint stepped forward, holding a bottle, and said smoothly, “My Lord will enjoy his captive’s ass much more with the lubricant Eldir has provided us. I am assured that it contains ingredients that feel like fire and ice.”

Geraint then poured some on his Master’s cock, rubbing it in with his hand, and Hrafn felt grateful to his friend.

Hrafn raised his hips as Snær bent over him, first kissing his mouth and then sucking his nipples. The broad glans of the God’s penis played over Hrafn’s rectal opening, but its incursion was delayed as Snær reached down and began to jerk off his captive’s cock. Geraint’s hand intruded and deftly poured lube over it, and Hrafn could have blessed him. The sensation did indeed resemble burning fire and cooling ice: it also had the effect of numbing his cock somewhat. Hrafn thought that applied to his ass, the lotion could also numb pain.

But Snær was now pushing against his rectal passage with his outsized cock. He grasped one of Hrafn’s ankles, holding the leg wide to grant him better access. The cock head pierced the captive’s ass, sliding inside. Snær did not immediately shove it deeper as Aegir had done but moved it slightly back and forth just inside the opening. Hrafn recognized the technique as Geraint’s. Therefore, he could acclimate himself when the cock pushed in deeper and harder. Soon Snær was fucking him smoothly, driving in deep, and the erotic sensations captured Hrafn’s being. Again he suspected they were augmented by the God’s power as they were almost too pleasurable.

A cursory glance to his side showed him that Aegir’s brother Logi had knelt down and was sucking Kári’s cock, while masturbating himself.

Snær shifted his hand to jerk off Hrafn’s cock as he fucked his ass. Hrafn shivered, feeling a mounting excitement. Despite the pain and stretching, he wanted the God’s semen. “Fuck me, my Lord,” he murmured.

Hrafn had previously experienced a double penetration with two considerably sized cocks—both Geraint’s and his lover, Samir’s. He thought he had been well-stretched then, but this current cock felt larger than the others combined. He did not know how his body could take it, but it did. Only two and a half years ago, he had been an ass virgin before being fucked by the Warlord Samir for the first time. Now he thought he had experienced all there was in ass-fucking, but the actions of these Beings of Power were in a whole new dimension.

Snær began to pump his cock more rapidly and jerk off Hrafn’s cock harder. The captive felt his orgasm building inexorably and knew he was helpless to prevent it. The orgasm washed over him, and he spilled his seed into Snær’s hand as the Snow Lord jetted his cum into him. Hrafn could feel its force inside him, and he cried out. Then he felt his body being stroked by a cum-drenched hand, and the massive cock was withdrawn.

But he did not have time for respite. Hands turned him over and jerked his hips up to expose his ass. He felt a hot tongue licking his asshole, dripping as it was with Snaer’s cum. He groaned and tried to move away.

A fierce voice growled, “Be still and take what I give you, mortal.” And Logi resumed his attentions.

Hrafn’s ass was thoroughly rimmed, and Logi’s tongue probing inside him felt like a hot iron. The heat seemed to spread and possess his whole body. Then, without warning, Logi’s pulsing member reamed into his ass, feeling as large as Snær’s cock. The God of Fire’s actions were impetuous, and Hrafn was fucked without finesse. This time, he definitely felt pain and a loss of control as his willpower was consumed by the Fire God’s raging lust. That lust transferred to him: suddenly, Hrafn didn’t care if he were torn inside. He just wanted that giant, thrusting, burning cock. He felt his erection rising again as he clutched the bed’s silk covering, tearing at it with his hands in the passion that gripped him. He barely had sense enough to remind himself it was the God’s power that spilled into him as he ejaculated yet again, and it seemed he was engulfed in fire.

Logi continued to fuck him beyond that, and he thought he fainted at one point. But finally, the God of Fire came with a roar. Halfway through his orgasm, he pulled out and jerked himself off, shooting the remainder over Hrafn’s ass cheeks. Utterly spent, the captive lay sprawled on the bed before reminding himself that the ordeal was far from over. He rallied himself.

Then the God of Wind spoke. “Brother Aegir, after Logi’s assault on the captive’s ass, it is not meet that he should be given over to me in his state. Let Geraint bring him wine that he may revive.”

“I will grant you that,” replied Aegir, gesturing to Geraint.

The old Warrior chose the green stone bottle Eldir had brought and poured a healthy cupful into a fluted glass beaker. He placed it into Hraf’s shaking hands, cupping his own weathered hands over them.

“Drink before you spill it,” and he added on the same breath, “Meet each assault, letting it flow into that endless Darkness you sang of to your heart’s love.”

As he downed the stimulating wine, Hrafn was minded of the Shadow-song he had composed and sung to the Warlord Samir, invoking darkness, despair and death. It had come out of his soul’s deep recesses as a response to an impossible situation that he had been put in. He reminded himself that the Abyss was an endless place, able to absorb anything that fell into it. His own heritage as the son of the Shadow Lord, the Hunter, was in him. He would survive this.

The respite given was not long before Kári approached him. “You bear the sign of Wind burned into your breast. You have a connection with me, whether you realize it or not. Therefore let the winds of my desire possess you and respond to me as you have responded to these others. I shall not be content until you give me your seed.

After this somewhat lengthy speech, Kári seated himself beside the captive and began to kiss him. His mouth was firm and sensuous. He pushed his tongue between Hrafn’s lips, and the captive responded to him, returning the kisses. After Logi’s ferocious assault, he was relieved to acclimate himself to this new round of desire. They embraced each other, and the interaction felt almost natural. But Kári’s cock was not: it was as large as his brother’s, and Hrafn resigned himself to having his ass invaded yet again. So he did not resist as Kári laid alongside him, caressing his body. Then the God whispered, “Suck my cock, mortal.”

Hrafn complied. He first sucked Kári’s balls, taking each one into his mouth. He had trouble sucking the cock; it was so large, but he did his best by licking it and sucking on the head, which he could manage. He pushed his tongue into the piss-slit, then licked around the frenum. Kári’s sighs of satisfaction told him his efforts were appreciated. All too soon, Kári knelt upright and pulled Hrafn’s body against his, facing him. He positioned the captive so that Hrafn’s ass was above his cock and the captive’s thighs straddled his. Hrafn’s hips were gripped firmly, and Kári sank his cock into his ass. It went in without much difficulty as Hrafn’s asshole was already stretched and still dripping with cum.

“Wrap your legs around me,” Kári instructed. He thrust his cock deeper and began to rock Hrafn’s hips, pulling him onto the great phallus. He fucked him in this way for a while before leaning forward and tipping the captive onto his back without interrupting his steady rhythm.

Sensations swirled again inside Hrafn, and his body felt carried away in a rushing wind of lust. The feelings became intense to the point of helplessness, and he clung to the Wind God’s form as he was battered by the colossal staff; then, he was cumming for the third time. The God of Wind was also cumming, filling him beyond capacity. Kári’s hand brushed the Wind rune branded on Hrafn’s chest, and a sense of displacement took him. He felt himself hurtling through the Shadow-ways towards his father’s kingdom of Annwn.

He was shocked back to the present by a deep voice saying, “Careful, brother. Do not let his spirit loose. My Queen asks that I preserve his life.”

“I felt him travelling towards the Land of the Blessed. The mark on him reacted to my own power, brother Aegir.”

“Hmm . . . there is something about my sea-raven. He has not given his truth to me yet, but I will find out what he keeps hidden. I will fuck him before he has recovered himself too much.”

So saying, Aegir arose and approached Hrafn, who lay on his side awaiting this further assault. Aegir’s cock was the largest yet, but Hrafn had survived it the previous day, so he had hope. Yet the Sea God’s acumen troubled him. He wondered if he would be able to hold his silence.

Aegir employed no foreplay. He made Hrafn kneel on all fours and took him from behind. Hrafn was sore and weary; still, the Sea God’s cock seemed to tear into him, causing burning pain, yet he was aware that Aegir had gone in slowly. Only the hard usage by the previous cocks made him feel so ravaged. The pain continued as the God thrust in and out of Hrafn’s rectal passage. Then it translated into something else: a deep, unnatural pleasure that incorporated the pulsing depths of the sea. Yet another orgasm was torn from him, draining him completely, and he was only dimly aware of Aegir’s own.

Then he heard the Sea-God say, “My son, one final wager: if your Geraint can now bring my sea-raven to cum one more time, I will grant him his desire, as long as it does not cross yours. You boasted what an excellent teacher he is, and we have seen his skills upon you. Now let us see if he can accomplish what might be difficult even for you in Hrafn’s present condition.”

Hrafn was weary beyond belief and drenched in the cum of the four Beings who had raped him. He doubted whether anyone would enjoy handling his body in its present condition. Yet, as Geraint sat beside him, he felt an odd sense that he should trust Geraint totally, as he had done so often in the past when the Warlord Samir had appointed the old Warrior to be Hrafn/Brynnan’s keeper, caring for his injured body and training him to please his Lord.

Geraint stretched out beside him, saying in a low voice, “Be still as you are. Rest. I am going to tell you a tale. I am no Bard or Skald, but I believe you will hear my tale and respond to it. Now, close your eyes.”

As Geraint began to spin a tale for Brynnan’s ears, the Fire God, Logi, complained, “What does he do? How does this bring a man to his orgasm?”

But Snær said, “Just hush, Uncle, and watch.”

Geraint suspected that these Beings could hear every word he spoke, even if he pitched his voice low, but no matter: his tale was understandable to Hrafn alone. He told of specific nights spent with the Warlord, himself and Hrafn (he dared not use Brynnan’s name), making love to each other. He spoke in detail of their mutual arousal, of Hrafn giving his body to his friend and to his lover. The feel of the Warlord’s powerful cock and, in exquisite detail, how Geraint would suck Hrafn’s cock to ejaculation.

Incredibly, Hrafn’s body responded. The watching gods saw his cock become hard and stir from its dark nest of silky hair. Their captive’s hips slowly moved, his nipples contracting into points, and his moans and sighs expressed his arousal. All the while, his eyes stayed shut, and he appeared to be asleep.

With a long sigh, Hrafn ejaculated. Cum pumped from his cock, painting his thighs with cream. Then he opened his eyes and looked at Geraint with an expression of love and trust.

There was silence from the watching Gods of Water, Fire and Wind. Then Snær gave a low chuckle.

“Thus, he sings me to sleep when I am also weary. I think you owe him his wish, Father.”

There was an indefinable expression on Aegir’s proud face. “I am known to keep my word. Geraint, teacher to my son, name your wish. I will grant what you will, except your freedom.”

Geraint did not hesitate. “By your leave, m’Lord Sea-King. Let your captive be cleaned up and fed, and let him be given to me for the night in my Master Snær’s chamber, where I sleep. I would let Hrafn recover and see if he will give me more of himself. Living continually on the heights with a God is rich fare for a man of my simple appetites, and sometimes I just need to fuck another mortal man like myself. Besides, there are things I would try which may benefit my Master Snow.”

“Very well: one night only will I grant you, and my son had better tell me what benefit he derived from it. You can lesson us all.”

Snær said, “I do indeed look forward to your next lesson, Geraint. Let us see what my father’s sea-raven can teach us.”

Kári looked on, amused, but Logi scowled, and his eyes smouldered. Hrafn made note of it.

The King summoned Eldir, who took one look at Hrafn and shook his head. “Let me bathe and revive him, then I will bring him to your chambers, my noble Lord Snow.” He turned to King Aegir, “I think he is in no condition to attend the King’s feast tonight if you will give him leave to rest, your Majesty.”

Aegir nodded graciously. “I give him leave. The session was most instructive. But tomorrow evening he must attend my court. I will expect his presence.”

As Eldir took Hrafn in his grasp, ready to travel with him, Geraint looked at Eldir. “I thank you for your assistance, Brewmaster. Your drinks and potions are indeed effective. My Lord Snær and I will expect you both soon.”

Once more, he winked at Hrafn.

*    *    *

To be continued . . .