The ninth century was a time of uncertainty for many people that had settled on the East coast of Britannia. There seemed to be nowhere to hide from the recent raids that saw villages destroyed, men killed, women raped, and for no apparent reason other than greed and wealth. Monasteries were laid bare and monks watched helplessly as the horned invaders made off with their riches.
It was written, that the longships would power themselves out of the mist and onto the beaches, hit towns and villages without any compassion for the peasants. Men would rush ashore striking all those that got in their way. Villages were plundered and women, taken away, to God knows where.
An Anglo Saxon cleric once wrote that during the Lindisfarne raid, the church was splattered with the blood of priests, treasures were smashed, gold and silver hoarded and people were mercilessly killed in front of their children. What befell the women was a fate far worse than death. Or so it was told.
As time progressed, raids became more frequent, often involving more longships and more men. They had certainly become more organized and more desperate for new lands to rule.
Beci had heard so many tales; most of which horrified her and left her cold. Some excited her.
At nineteen Beci was impressionable. She had done a lot of strange things since she matured, since her breasts got bigger and golden red hair grew between her thighs; her sex would often ache and throb until she found ways to take care of it. If nothing else, Beci was inventive when it came to pleasuring herself.
But, Beci seemed to be wired differently. Most women of her age were already betrothed; some even had children or were heavily pregnant with their second. She seemed to have avoided that. Perhaps it was the status of her father as one of the elders; needless to say, Beci could have done with a quick fuck from time to time. She often looked at her friends with more than a slight hint of jealousy. Emotions of want and need spread through her body; often at night. Men were interested in her, of course they were, but that wasn’t what interested Beci. No, Beci’s thoughts were much darker, more devilish than anyone else could think up; thoughts that had to be hidden from sight. Her thoughts!
Beci would visit the central roundhouse of their village every day to hear the stories from wanderers or the survivors fleeing the Vikings, referring to them as the Dani.
The tales of woe and pillage uninterested Beci, but she stayed to listen nevertheless. She would often leave those sessions with a sense of dread in her heart. The Dani were getting closer and closer to her village and preparations were being made to move everyone Northwards, not that that would have made any difference, she thought.
But it was the other stories those wanderers told that interested Beci more.
One evening, a horse wandered into their enclave, its rider slumped over the reins, dazed and only just alive. His hair matted in blood, big gashes on his arms oozed blood despite the tourniquet he had wrapped about them. Yet he was alive. His wounds were tended and he survived to tell his tale.
A few nights later, when the wanderer had regained enough strength, he sat in the roundhouse to recount the events of a raid on his village. It was one of dread, with death waiting around every corner.
“And then, I saw the woman, faced with three of the Dani, two of them holding her by the arms and the third – ”
He stopped and looked at the floor, shook his head and then raised it to look into the eyes of all the people in the room. Beci was stood at the back, pulling up at her skirt and balling it into a tight bun in front of her. Her lips quivered.
Yes, thought Beci, what was the third Dani doing.
“- The third pulled at her garment, ripping it and separating it from her body. She was helpless. They marched her into a hut and that was when I ran for my very life. And then –”
His story continued but Beci let out a slow and not too silent moan at the word helpless. She thrust the hard knob of the dress she had been gathering into her groin and started to rub it into the wetness that was gathering there.
The wanderer shook his head once more. He made eye contact with an elder sitting cross-legged in front of him and related more of his story.
Beci had made up her own version of the story. She was no longer listening. Her eyes turned to the ceiling. She shouldn’t have been thinking in that way. She should have been horrified, distraught, overcome with grief.
They fucked her, Beci finished the sentence for him. All three of them fucked her.
Beci rushed from the roundhouse via an entrance near the back. She could listen to no more of the wanderer’s tales. She headed back to her own hut and located the cucumber from her store of items that weren’t really used for food, and within minutes Beci experienced the biggest self-induced climax of her life. She actually sobbed as her orgasm swept through her.
Beci was still sobbing when her father, Rufus, called out to her. She quickly hid the tool that she used to pleasure herself and beckoned him in. He immediately comforted her, reassuring her that it was not going to happen to this village. Beci nodded and smiled at her father. Reassured by his words, and disappointed by his confidence.
It was only four days later. A good proportion of the village had already left for lands further North. Horse pulled carts were leaving as the mist clung savagely to the land and the people took what little belongings they could muster.
“Dani! – Dani!”
A shrill cry pierced the air.
“The Vikings are coming! The Vikings are coming!”
More shrill voices rang out the warning as people rushed and scattered. Men took up their arms but what use were they against a hoard of trained marauders. Women and children ran for whatever safety they thought they would get from the surrounding huts and roundhouses. It was futile.
Fighting in the village was relentless and it was carnage by the time the Vikings got to the top of the hill. Many huts were already burning forcing their occupants out and into the arms of the waiting Dani.
There was no mercy.
Three men came across an elder on their way up a hill and made short work of him. He was no fighter and not trained in the art of swordsmanship or the art of killing. What use were words against such men? Reasoning was unheard of.
Three angry horned men made their way to the door of Beci’s hut and stopped dead in their tracks as the soft fur covering was flung open. They took their time to look at each other in disbelief and then back to the figure that adorned the entrance to the hut. It was surely a trap.
Beci stood naked in front of them, hands on her voluptuous hips and her breasts heaving as she took in lungfuls of air. Her red hair fell loose about her shoulders. She looked at the three men and started to retreat back inside; inviting them with each careful and deliberate step. She held the covering up so that they could feast on her body. Her red hair glinted from a momentary shaft of light that found its way between the clouds and through the mist. The Dani followed her inside, careful at first in case they would be ambushed, but seeing that no one was present they lowered their weapons.
