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.

Geraint’s Revenge

Jarl Arne, captain of the Drakkar longship, Mjothvitnir, sat in judgement of the two men his raiders pulled from the sea.

“Well, the old Warrior, Geraint, and Fjölkunnigr-Hrafn, Falke’s blót! I find it marvellous that two offerings to Aegir the Engulfer survive the Forbidden Island, only to be recovered here. I should slay you both outright, but I am curious: I have never before spoken to anyone who made that journey and returned. Tell me your tale.”

“Let Hrafn sit,” demanded Geraint. “The ordeal has much weakened him.”

Indeed, Brynnan was weaving on his feet, and he was pale, but his condition had nothing to do with exposure but everything to do with a work of Power that had taxed his spirit.

Arne silently beckoned a crewman who brought a cloak and threw it over Brynnan’s shoulders. Arne’s captive sank to the planking, sitting against a deck box.

Geraint launched into a highly selective rendering of events on the island, concentrating on his position as sexual mentor to the Snow King, and did not mention Brynnan’s powers. When he described some of their acts and the size of the cocks encountered, Arne leaned forward, a light in his eyes, and the raiders murmured among themselves. As the old Warrior was the first to admit, he was no Bard, unlike Brynnan, but enthusiasm for his subject coloured his tale with the varnish of truth.

“And to think, when I fucked you before, I was unaware of your talents. We shall delay your death until I explore this matter. Besides, we head for a rich settlement on the coast, named Esterhaven, if you have heard of it. I have a mind to slay you both when we land as a sacrifice for our success.”

Geraint’s anger grew at the mention of the planned raid, but Brynnan’s voice came into his mind before he could respond.

‘We are heading where we need to go. Let the raiders gather at Esterhaven; they will be surprised at the plunder they reap. In the meantime, if I am raped or otherwise fucked, accept it. It will not renew my spirit like my Father’s touch, but it may help.’

Arne came to a decision. “Show me, here and now, how you have sex with a god. I want a demonstration of your talents. Use Hrafn.”

“Well, this is hardly Aegir’s Realm, but I will just do my best,” Geraint replied, then he spoke to Brynnan’s mind. ‘He tries to unsettle and demean me, but I’ll spit in his eye. Are you up for this?

‘Right now, it will only aid me. Go ahead.’

Geraint spread Brynnan’s cloak down in front of the sea captain. Tenderly removing Brynnan’s wet garments (‘Again . . .’ Brynnan sent), he followed his friend to the deck after disrobing himself. He held Brynnan in his arms and kissed him with great sensuality, then ran his tongue over his friend’s body, pausing to suck at his nipples and working his way down to the cock. He worked his hands over his chest, stomach, and thighs, stroking and massaging them. Then, as his lover turned over, he ran his tongue down his spine and paused at his buttocks. He licked the perineal region behind Brynnan’s ball sack, then moved to rim his ass. Geraint’s touch was skilled and sure, eliciting the maximum responses from his lover.

Brynnan shut out the watching raiders, the heaving ship and the hard deck beneath the cloak, focussing solely on Geraint’s actions and the hot, moist tongue in his ass. Being watched by strangers had normalized, and he no longer felt self-conscious. Instead, he spread his legs wider to assist Geraint and allowed himself to succumb to the sensations that rippled through his body. His stiffening cock signalled his arousal as Geraint turned him on his back and positioned himself between Brynnan’s legs. As they held each other’s gaze, Geraint sank his thick cock into Brynnan’s rectal passage, holding his friend’s hips and deliberately going slow. In contrast to the raider’s rough style of fucking, he administered his strokes with a deep, sensual smoothness, establishing an even rhythm. Then he leaned over Brynnan’s chest and sucked his erect nipples again.

Brynnan responded, moving his hips in time to Geraint’s thrusts. He looked up at Geraint. “I am going to cum.”

Geraint increased his pace, fucking steadily now, and Brynnan gave a low moan as his orgasm took him and he released his cum, which sprayed over his stomach. Geraint followed shortly after, ejaculating in Brynnan’s ass. As his breathing slowed, the Snow King’s tutor leaned down, licked Brynnan’s stomach clean of the pearl-like drops, and then embraced and kissed him.

‘Feeling any better?’ Geraint sent to Brynnan’s mind.

‘It has strengthened me, thank you, old Warrior.’

*    *    *

“You indeed display a rare skill!” commented Arne. Are you able to do that to any man?”

“To one who has fucked a God, it is not too difficult to give a human pleasure he has not dreamed of,” Geraint replied outrageously.

When the old Warrior observed the speculative look in Arne’s eyes, he asked,  “Are you man enough, Jarl Arne, to take what a God is not afraid to enjoy?”

“I am afraid of nothing! Come, then, let me be treated as you did the Snow King! Do to me exactly what you did to him!”

“That would take days and nights, but I can do some of it. Have you some fine rope?”

While men went to find some, Geraint insisted that Arne needed to clean himself with seawater: “The gods do not play while soiled. Let us emulate them.” One of Arne’s companions went to the ship’s stern with him to help him accomplish that.

Meanwhile, Geraint looked around confidently at the crewmen. “Bring us mead: for myself, Hrafn, who will assist me, and a horn for the Jarl.”

Such was his spell over them that they complied with his request without protest. When they were handed horns of the precious store of mead, Geraint loudly invoked the sea-gods and poured a little on the deck before drinking his portion.

‘Not a bad accomplishment for a common soldier such as myself,’ he sent to Brynnan’s mind.

‘Hardly common,’ Brynnan responded.

Arne accepted his horn of mead and drank it down when he returned. Then, with great bravado, the sea captain stripped and allowed himself to be restrained with the ropes that Brynnan knotted upon him. Geraint approached him with a small jar of scented oil from the stores of plunder—not the fish oil the raiders used—and knelt beside the bound captain, who sat against the mast step with his back against it.

Leaning forward, Geraint gazed into Arne’s blue eyes. “Great Chieftain, accept what comes. Listen to my voice. Hrafn will assist me. There is nothing to fear.”

Arne laughed in scorn. “Many times have I been fucked when I was a youngling on my first raids, although now I prefer to do the fucking, as you had experienced when I plundered your ass. Fear plays no part in it.”

Geraint simply smiled. He bent down, stroked Arne’s cock as if assessing it at a slave market and squeezed his pendulous balls. “Your meat is substantial enough,” he commented. Then he deliberately and sensually kissed the raider: first, just his lips, then a second kiss, pushing his tongue into the man’s mouth. He tasted mead. As he did so, he ran his hands over Arne’s thickly-haired chest, squeezing his nipples.

Meanwhile, Brynnan knelt beside them and slowly jerked off the sea raider’s cock, pouring some of the oil over it so that the skin slid beneath his hand as the flesh stiffened. Then he bent down, licking and sucking the shaft.

Geraint now stood, straddling Arne’s chest. He brought his thick cock, already stiff, to the raider’s lips. Arne struggled briefly in his bonds, causing Geraint to scoff.

“Are you fearful of my hard cock?”

Arne sent him a dagger-pointed glance of hate, but he opened his mouth to accept the old Warrior’s insistent rod. But as he began to suck, he was caught in a tide of sensation as Brynnan sucked his cock simultaneously. He stirred, and a moan escaped him.

Brynnan poured oil on his hand and worked his fingers into the captain’s asshole as he sucked the substantial rod. Arne’s legs, bound apart, tried to open wider to accommodate him. Geraint and Brynnan kept up this play until the chieftain was fully aroused and moving his hips.

Then Geraint withdrew his cock from Arne’s lips, noticing with satisfaction that the man uttered a sound of protest. This was different from the plain and rough fucking he had endured from the raider chieftain when he had been raped.

“Let us change places,” Geraint told Brynnan. He approached Arne’s ass with his fist, oiling it well before slowly pushing his coned fingers inside.

Arne gasped, but it wasn’t from pain but from lust. Brynnan knelt beside the man’s chest and sucked his nipples as Geraint fisted the raider’s ass.

Arne’s cock oozed pre-cum. “One of you suck my cock,” he demanded.

“Patience, Jarl. Even the God of Snows did not make those demands of me when he put me in charge of fucking him,” said Geraint.

Arne’s frustration was evident as his body squirmed, but Brynnan said, “Suck me, and I will do it to you if you make me cum.” Standing, he straddled Arne’s body as Geraint had done and presented his cock to the raider’s lips, making him reach for it with his mouth. Arne began to employ some finesse in his sucking, deep-throating his captive’s cock in his eagerness: Brynnan’s promise was working.

As Geraint continued to rhythmically fist-fuck the raider captain, Brynnan allowed himself to cum again, taking his time, making Arne work for it. He chose the moment to ejaculate, shooting his load into the raider’s mouth and throat.

“Swallow it and lick Hrafn clean,” Geraint directed from behind them. Arne did so, after which Brynnan moved down again and began to suck the raider’s engorged penis. But Geraint was not ready to let the chieftain cum, and he signalled Brynnan mentally of his intentions.

Brynnan stopped sucking, but before Arne could protest, Geraint knelt upright and worked his own large and pulsing cock into Arne’s asshole, proceeding to fuck him skillfully but hard. He pounded against the man’s ass, and Arne, bound in the ropes, was powerless to stop him without calling on his men, which for pride’s sake, he would not do. But the captain seemed to be finding that his enforced, if voluntary, helplessness only increased his lust.

The Shadow Lord’s son grasped the raider’s cock in his hand, jerking it off in time to Geraint’s furious thrusting. And there was a fury behind it: Geraint claimed redress for his own rape by the man and his sea companions.

But Arne was primarily unaware, lost in his lust as he was. Indeed, he strained to meet Geraint’s thrusting hips. Then, with a great cry, he ejaculated, spraying himself with splatters of cum. Geraint then came inside him, overfilling him so that cum dripped from his asshole.

Brynnan did not lick Arne clean as he and Geraint had done with the Snow Lord but left him lying there. A man moved to intervene.

“Leave him for a little time,” said Geraint imperiously. “The act is not finished until the vict—the captain allows himself to ponder on the realization that he has been well and truly fucked.”

Geraint’s words could have been taken both ways, and the man glared suspiciously at him, but Geraint added smoothly, “He must have time to commune with the Gods and thank Freyja, the Divine Lover, who weeps tears of red gold when she is denied, for his good fortune and offer his orgasm on her altar.”

Brynnan sent his thoughts to Geraint’s mind. ‘You are incorrigible, old friend. We may yet have to name you “Bard” for your eloquence. Have you yet had your revenge?’

‘I am only just beginning!’ answered Geraint.

*    *    *

Arne summoned Brynnan to him. “I have questions for you. The Sea God’s legends make mention of Aegir’s Fire. Have you seen it?”

“Indeed I have. It fills Aegir’s feasting hall with a glorious golden light,” Brynnan replied. He was not about to tell Arne that he was responsible for the light’s dimming.

“But is it gold? What is its substance?”

Avarice shone in Arne’s eyes. Brynnan did not want to encourage the chieftain’s apparent dreams of chasing after the lure of the phantom gold; he needed Arne to join his fellow raiders in the planned attack on the settlement. So he told a partial truth.

“Jarl Arne, Aegir’s Fire is truly a wonder, but it is not the metal gold; it is an orb of gigantic size, its diameter as wide as a man is tall. It gives off a bright golden light that illuminates every corner of the hall.”

 “But the sagas say many bold adventurers have sought it!”

“All their quests must have ended in ruin. Yes, even though it is not gold, the orb would be of surpassing value. But put all thoughts of claiming it from your mind. If the orb was somehow taken, men would earn the enmity of Aegir and Rán, and the seas would become even more perilous.”

“You make a point, Hrafn. But it was a dream of mine. I shall have to content myself with the plunder of our raids. Our target, Esterhaven, is said to be rich in spoils.”

Then Arne asked him other questions about Aegir’s realm, and Brynnan answered in such a manner that made the sea captain desire more knowledge. Arne must have been aware of the value of the information he was reaping: secrets of the Forbidden Isle in Aegir’s realm. Then the chieftain was called to attend to his ship after Brynnan enticed him with the promise of further tales.

“We will talk again,” Arne concluded.

The ship sped onwards with a favourable wind. Geraint, being deemed too dangerous to be allowed his free movement, was chained to the step foreword of the mast. Oddly, the raiders left Brynnan unrestrained. He smoothly aided in adjusting the great sail, helping others haul on lines. Seeing this, Arne’s Helmsman, Thorvald, allowed him his place on deck. Brynnan silently thanked the young warrior, Arvid, of Falke’s vessel, Einheri, who had taught him the work of a mighty drakkar ship.

Late in the afternoon, the horn sounded from the watchman. The other longships had been spotted, and the fleet drew closer together in preparation for their raid. But Arne did not sail close enough to them to share communications.

Brynnan overheard him tell Thorvald, “Let me keep my secret of our two captives. I do not want Falke claiming Hrafn again. There is more I would learn from him and the old Warrior.”

That evening, men lit the orb lights along the ship’s sides, their red glow allowing the watchmen to see without spoiling their night vision.

Arne summoned Brynnan again. “The men are eager to fuck one who has been taken by the gods of the island of Hlér. They think to share in any benefit you received. But, Fjölkunnigr-Hrafn, I insist that none of them will come to harm. They remember what happened to the Seer at Aelgud’s funeral feast, who died as he was fucking you. You would suffer greatly if you betrayed us and would have to watch your friend be killed most painfully.”

Brynnan replied promptly. “I am in no position to harm anyone, and I am powerless to stop your men.”

Arne gave his captive a long, shrewd look. Then he called his Helmsman. “Take him, give him to the men, but see that the others do not forsake their regular duties to watch the play.”

*    *    *

Arne’s warriors treated him differently than they had on the first day of his capture. He was not beaten or carelessly fucked. Instead, the men were full of questions. Brynnan elaborated on how he was raped by the four gods of Aegir’s Island, stressing their skills and supernatural prowess.

The men had watched their lord being washed, prepared, and fucked by Geraint, and consequently, they took buckets of seawater and bathed themselves. Brynnan encouraged it, emphasizing the cleanliness of the gods.

Then the first warrior in line demanded to be sucked like Hrafn had done to the Sea King. Brynann took the man’s cock in his mouth and used some skill, licking the cock, then sucking the head. The raiders were impressed when he paused to explain that the god’s cocks were so large that they couldn’t be adequately swallowed, and Geraint had made him learn new techniques.

When the raider was near ejaculation, he switched from being sucked off to penetrating Brynnan’s ass, laying the captive on his back. He actually asked Brynnan for advice on how to fuck like a god. Brynnan gave it as it made the rape easier to endure. The man employed some skill, and the others cheered him on.

As other raiders took their turn to fuck Brynnan, they also vied with each other to show the most skill in arousing their captive. Brynnan’s ability for repeated orgasms impressed them, and some joined in, sucking his nipples or masturbating his cock while he was fucked by others.

Brynnan did his best to manipulate his rapists into transferring their energy to him when they would cum. It was no substitute for the loving engagements he shared with his Father, King Arawn, but it alleviated his overused spirit’s weariness.

Then he caught Geraint’s sending. “Arne is aroused by what they are doing to you; he wants me to fuck him again. I will fuck him again, alright! I believe he’s turning into my bitch. I am encouraging it.’

Brynnan had to admire Geraint’s strategy. Arne seemed not to realize it, but if word spread around the raiders’ fleet that he had allowed a mere slave to sexually dominate him, he would be humiliated and his reputation damaged.

Geraint’s mind-voice entered his consciousness again, ‘I am fucking him once more and telling him he is like a god.’ There was laughter in the sending.

But eventually, the raiders finished with Brynnan, and he was allowed to wash with buckets of seawater. He was stiff, sore and physically tired and asked leave of the Helmsman to rest. He sought out Geraint, who was again chained near the mast. Sinking down beside him, he embraced the old Warrior.

Geraint murmured, “For your sake, I almost hope this raid happens soon. It is hard for me to see you so abused each day. But you were wise to spin them tales. It has helped reduce the severity of the assaults.”

Brynnan replied directly to the old Warrior’s mind, ‘I am just grateful they allowed me to wash myself afterwards. I was filled with cum.’

‘I have to hand it to you, lad: “the cleanliness of the Gods”! And you call me incorrigible,’ Geraint chuckled out loud. ‘You put your Bardic talents to good use, convincing these men to wash.’ He continued, ‘I just want an ending, whatever happens; whether they attempt to slay us, or we join the people of Esterhaven and fight them. I hope you have a plan.’

Brynnan responded to Geraint’s mind, ‘I have no plan, but I have hopes. Like throwing stones into a still pool and watching the ripples, I have cast what elements I can that may come together to deliver us from this scourge. Now let us sleep.’ 

For days the Mjothvitnir sped onwards, surrounded by the other marauding drakkar. Brynnan was subjected to daily rape even as the captain, Arne, fell under Geraint’s spell as the old Warrior used his skills and experiences to enthrall him. And Geraint knew that he was leading Arne to his ruin.

But eventually, the morning dawned that land was sighted: the thrusting point of headland they called Hvítr Haugr.

The fleet of longships followed the coastline. With their target being two days away, the raiders onboard began to prepare for conflict. They saw to their gear, polishing, sharpening and oiling their weapons. They discussed clothing, wore ornaments and even braided each others’ hair. Stories and songs centred on conquest, and their attitudes became more savage. And their rapes of Brynnan became more frequent and sometimes brutal.

The raid was imminent.

*    *    *

To be continued . . .