Thread: Ritual (xanaphia & CharmSnake)

The men spent the rest of the afternoon feasting on roast chicken, fresh bread and potato soup with with corn and herbs. Casks of ale were brought out and tapped. As the sun was setting several basins were set about with warm water and the soldiers gathered around washing themselves, grooming their hair and shaving. What's all the fuss? one asked another. Cleaning yourself up for a woman tonight? The comment drew a round of laughter. Why go through the bother? You know that she will be tied down for you, no? And she will go as far as you want, said another drawing more laughs. The hour was nearing and inside the hut Jarren knelt at Ragnar's side. My brother, you will not die at the hands of these heathens, he told him. Ragnar did not move. His calm breathing remained uninterrupted. Jarren had cleaned himself up as well and wore a loose cloak and kilt. He stood to leave the hut and meet with the witch. Outside the moon was bright and three-quarter full. The stars were out and the sky was mostly clear with patchy clouds moving swiftly to the south. A gusty breeze fanned the bonfire. Isolde knelt in the square with a large hour glass before her, its sand fully spent to the bottom. A lantern of incense smouldered next to that. The witch faced the circle that she had drawn in the dirt approximately twelve paces in diameter. Four other lanterns placed around the circle with connecting lines forming the five points of a pentagram. The incense was sweet and enticing. In the circle Lynneth knelt on the blanket facing her mentor, the folds of her cloak hiding her figure, the hood back exposing her hair. On the north side of the circle was the bonfire with the breeze licking the embers away from the ceremony. So what do we have to do? Jarren asked. Inseminate her, she answered with a traces of both sarcasm and contempt. Must we assume a certain position? No, she said. Just stay within the circle. When do we begin? In the hour before midnight, which is nearly upon us, the witch said. You have that hour only, so I suggest that you work quickly. The more sperm that you give her the better chance of success. Jarren nodded and eyed the young maiden on the blanket. And I'd advise you not to damage the vessel, the witch reminded him tersely. The men had been gathering around, some in cloaks, some in furs, some in kilts, a few of them even naked. Drink had gone through many of them and they were generally in good spirits. I bet I'm the one who does it, said a voice in the darkness. I'll give you odds, said another. Is there any way of knowing who ends up doing the siring? one stepped forward. It was Jax. Isolde's head raised ever so slowly and cocked to the side to spy him from under the hood of her cloak. Her eyes flickered in the firelight. Perhaps, she said but declined to elaborate. Then she bowed her head again and began a low incantation. qui otaem perdi o animaem su seminae . As she spoke the words she reached into a pouch and withdrew a pinch of powder. After a moment she dropped the powder into the burning incense making a spooky puff. The men all looked to each other shrugging as to any translation of the chant or the meaning of the powder. Isolde raised her head to the stars and pulled back her hood. With both hands she lifted the hour glass and held it high for a moment. The she inverted it and set it back on the ground at her knees. Let it begin. The men gathered closer to the circle and began to snicker and sneer. I'll get this started then, said the captain as he stripped his cloak and stepped into the circle. Standing on the blanket he removed his kilt and tossed it aside, revealing his erection. His shoulders were broad, his body was pudgy solid and powerful. His dark hair showed waves of grey and his beard had been neatly trimmed. His large chest was covered in hair as well as his thick thighs. He stepped towards Lynneth and yanked her to her feet by the arm. He tugged at the shoulder of her cloak and pulled the sash causing it to fall open. The he gruffly stripped it and tossed it aside revealing the crimson runes and swirls that adorned her skin so intricately to a wolf whistle and a smattering of applause. I don't need to see her face, he said with a scowl. The comment aroused laughter from the crowd. Then he gripped her shoulders and swiveled her back to him before grabbing her hip with one arm and urging her to bend over with the other. Jarren was taller than Lynneth and needed to bend his knees to line himself up. He coaxed a wider stance of her to necessitate this. Finally, cock in hand he inserted himself. She seemed to be somewhat pre-lubed. Perhaps it was part of the witch's preparations and it didn't take too much force to glide in. Bracing her by the hips he began to fuck her with languid strokes. There became a stirring in the crowd as they watched. A couple of the men began fondling themselves. The captain's thrusts became more deliberate, deeper and quicker. He had a job to do. The slap of flesh as his hips struck her buttocks became louder and more rapid. Tightening his grip on her thighs, he shoved in deep and groaned. One pump, two pumps, three, then a fourth, he coated her cervix with sperm. After a brief moment he pulled out and that was it. Who's next? Among the shouts of applause the next soldier stepped forward to take over the captain's position. Almost simultaneously another from the other side was eager to get in on the action. The first man stood in behind her and braced her hips. He was lithe and not so tall as Jarren. His skin was fair his head was shaved and he had sculpted hairless legs. The leather of his cropped tunic top brushed on her back as he assumed the position and entered her easily. The other man was already naked. He walked right up to her, lifted her chin and stuck his cock in her mouth. He was pudgy with coppery leathery skin, scraggly hair and a goatee long enough to brush his chest. His cock was thick and stubby. They both began to stroke in and out of her, each employing a different rhythm and pace, which jostled her body.