The humbling – A Viking horror story
Brag stood facing the stranger outside the coastal village that he called home. To his right the beach and the cold Scandinavian ocean, to his back the three hundred thatch-roofed huts that he lorded over. The entire village had turned out to watch the challenge.
Brag was six and a half feet of rippling muscle. A chest twice as broad as most men’s, tapering past washboard abs to a narrow waist before broadening to massive hard thighs that had been used on more than one occasion to crush the life out of men who had stood against him.
But in front of him was a man who was equally formidable in his own way. Seven and a half feet tall; less muscular but powerful nevertheless. Over his shoulder he held a sword. Brag looked at it. It was five feet long – intimidating to the novice because of its reach and how hard it would be to avoid the arc of its sweep. But Brag knew better. It would be slow to wield, hard to retarget, and once it had swung past, its recovery time would make it all but useless. In the past Brag had toyed with such oversized weapons: axes, clubs, swords, but even with his physique they gave away more than they gained, and he settled instead on two long handled hand axes, lashed loosely by the handles to his hands using hide to prevent him losing them in a fight.
“So you’re Brag?” the stranger said in a voice given deep timbre by his size.
“And you’re Erik. How do you know me?” Brag said, louder than he needed to, unwilling to allow the stranger to appear more masculine.
“I am here for you. That’s all you need to know.”
Brag laughed heartily, but he felt the briefest tremble of trepidation flitted through his mind. Few men stood taller than him, and fewer still were foolish enough to challenge him in solo combat. All who had were now feeding the earth with their corpses. He pushed the uncertainty away as quickly as it has arrived and raised his axes one to each side. He grinned at the stranger.
“It’s cold. I could do with the exercise.”
“Perhaps if you helped around the village more? Or wore more clothes?”
Brag stood wearing nothing but a long bearskin loincloth lashed to his waist with a hide strip. On his feet he wore walrus hide boots. Both were impractical in the coming winter, and hardly in keeping with Nordic fashion at the best of times, but he liked the barbarian look – it showed off his physique and it intimidated anyone of lesser stature who might be tempted to challenge his brutal leadership over the village.
Brag was not used to being spoken to like this but he managed to muster another smile.
The stranger lowered the sword from his shoulder, and held it in front of him, point resting on the ground, hands relaxed atop the pommel. Brag stared the man in the eyes. He saw no sign of fear. The man stared calmly back at him. His sword was not in a ready position to fight.
Brag was excited now. Few dared face him at all anymore. He had to get his thrills by hunting dangerous animals. Maybe this man might provide some entertainment. Or at least it might sate his constant blood lust.
The man’s sword was even heavier than it had first appeared. It would surely be hard to wield, yet the impractically thick blade was pitted and scarred with the notches where it had been struck by other weapons. It had seen many battles. Its owner clearly knew how to use it.
Brag dived at Erik, rolling past the giant’s legs and swung one of his axes backwards at the man’s calves, hoping to literally cut him down to size. There was a thud as the oak handle of his axe met the side of Erik’s sword. The man had anticipated his move and blocked effortlessly by simply moving the sword behind him.
Brag continue his roll, rising smoothly to his feet. He turned and without slowing down, he aimed the other axe at Erik’s head, extending it on its lashing so that it swung like a Japanese nunchaku. The man’s sword was still held low and it looked for a moment as though the axe would bury itself in the challenger’s head. Then at the last second, Erik leaned away, almost casually, allowing the axe blade to swing past his face, missing by just a finger width. His expression was calm, but the watching villagers gasped. Many of Brag’s fights would have been over by now, but Erik didn’t even look unsettled.
Both of Brag’s axes were on one side of his body and his torso was twisted in the direction of his last stroke. He started to return so that he could continue his attack but before he had turned fully back he felt a thud and searing pain in his jaw. Erik had lifted his sword from the floor and hit Brag under the chin with the handle. Brag bit the end off his own tongue and his mouth was quickly filled with the taste of his own blood. He was outraged. To be struck was bad enough, but to use the hilt, as though he was a teenager being taught a lesson was a huge insult.
He took a step back to square himself, then immediately moved back on the stranger.
This time Erik was swinging both axes vertically, crossing them back and forth in front of his face, allowing the stranger no place to counter attack whilst simultaneously searching for a place to strike. Erik stared at him impassively, unimpressed. He lifted his inverted sword higher, and rather than trying to swing and counter attack with it, he simply turned the blade left and right, making small movements no more than a couple of inches, parrying the axes with the edge of his blade.
Then Brag was sprawling backwards onto his ass, legs splayed wide, his manhood flapping where the whole village could see it. Erik had kicked him in the chest.
Brag leapt to his feet, furious now. Nobody, NOBODY had ever shown him such contempt!
He allowed the axes to slip from his hands so that they hung by their leashes, then he charged at his enemy, swinging in a complicated weaving pattern made faster by the thongs. The giant continued blocking, moving seemingly in slow motion, but then he overturned to block a strike to his left and it was over. Brag’s left axe struck the man cleanly on the right shoulder, cleaving his arm off in a single stroke. The arm fell to floor, and Brag pressed his advantage, hooking both axes around the man’s sword. With a hard tug, the sword was ripped from Erik’s left hand and Brag allowed it fall to the floor alongside the man’s severed arm.
Brag gave the man a broad, bloody smile, then advanced for the kill. Erik stood watching, his expression as devoid of emotion as it had been throughout their encounter. If Brag had not been so intent on destroying his opponent and proving himself before his unwilling peons, he might have wondered at Erik’s strange lack of concern and dealt with him more cautiously, but he had the blood lust now, and nothing was going to prevent him from destroying the challenger.
Swinging his axes in a needlessly showy pair of figure 8s that was done purely for the audience, he moved in, and as he got into range, he took a huge swing with his right axe, allowing the handle to fall back into his palm, then he brought it down right on top of Erik’s skull. It embedded itself down almost to the man’s belly button splitting the man into two halves.
And now, finally, in what he thought was his moment of victory, Brag noticed the thing that could have saved him a lot of pain if he’d seen it sooner. The stump of the arm he’d lopped off was not bleeding. In fact it wasn’t even bloody. It was green.
Brag looked at the two half of the man’s body, connected now by barely a foot of lower torso. They were lined with green as well, and they were moving together, healing the wound that Brag had inflicted just seconds ago. Brag pulled his axe out and staggered backwards.
Plant-like tentacles reached down from the shoulder stump towards the amputated limb, and when they arrived, they burrowed into its green severed end, reuniting it, pulling it back up to its former owner.
Although Brag could not see it, Erik’s back was splitting open from anus to skull.
Dozens of green tendrils of various sizes flooded out. From Brag’s perspective they framed Erik’s upper body like a star burst.
His eyes widened in horror.
He was incoherent with shock but his instincts kicked in; two decades of daily training that had left a trail of dead bodies and crippled training partners behind him worked to keep him alive. His left axe snapped into his hand, and his right was at ready. He reasoned that if he could cut the thing before him into enough pieces, there would be nothing left to heal. He lunged forwards ready to strike, but before he could even swing, the tendrils flashed towards him, travelling faster than any human could ever move. They wrapped around his wrists, holding with vice-like strength. When Brag was a boy, his father, a blacksmith had once gripped him by the wrist to stop him swinging a stick at his mother. His father spent his whole life swinging a heavy hammer and lifting heavy tools. The man’s grip was so firm that young Brag had felt the bones in his wrist grinding together, and these tendrils held him just as firmly. Brag had killed his father when he was 15 but he was beginning to feel that he had already missed that opportunity with his current adversary.
Erik lifted Brag eight feet off the floor, pulling his arms wide apart. Brag twisted and turned in a futile effort to escape. The tendrils pulled Brag’s arms tighter and tighter, stopping just short of dislocating them. Then Brag could barely move at all and his massive chest became a liability. Supporting so much weight was making it hard for him to breathe. Brag kicked at Erik’s face, but the creature effortlessly avoided the blows. More tendrils reach out and ensnared Brag’s ankles. They also pulled wide, spreading his legs wider than they had ever gone. He was a warrior – he trained for strength not flexibility. He could feel the ligaments in his groin stretching almost to the point of snapping.
Then yet another tendril extended towards his waist. It curled slowly beneath his loin cloth, then in an instant the furry modesty covering was gone. The tendril held it in the air, waving it like a trophy for a few seconds, then it was discarded towards the ocean.
Brag was not a man ashamed of his body, but nor did he like his nudity displayed to his people for their assessment. As his large genitals flopped into view he roared at the creature the held him, and writhed in a futile attempt to break free, his bulging muscles veining at the effort. But he was like a fly caught in the web of a much larger spider.
A finger-thick tendril reached towards his balls. Even cold, and in the aftermath of his exertion they hung six inches low and plump. His scrotum, kept deliberately hairless was golden brown and shiny with sweat. The tendril looped around the neck of his bag, and he struggled anew, expecting his nuts to be ripped off. But instead the tendril formed a loose coil, then slid slowly down his slick sack until it reached his nuts. Then it continued to move downwards more slowly until his trapped nuts bulged like two chicken eggs in a bladder-skin; each one distinct, yet both squeezed together in their tight bag.
He was proud of his balls. He loved the sound as they slapped against the coccyx of one of the many village maidens that he bedded. But what Brag loved more was the feeling as they pounded into the nuts of one of the far more unwilling Karl sons whom he forced to lift their brown eyes to his eager cock.
Brag could have had his way with any of the thralls that his clan kept as slaves, but he felt it was a better show of his total dominion to use the sons of the working and middle class bonde who served beneath him. Their holes were less likely to have seen prior traffic, and frankly, were usually tighter than the slits of the maidens. Also, it gave him a special thrill to see boys crying as he took them, and better yet to watch the face of a young man, wisps of hair on his lip, glowering with resentment as he plowed them like bitches, forcing their legs over their heads, forever making it known to the entire tribe that he had used them. The simmering yet impotent hatred on their faces fuelled his artless but brutal couplings.
The villagers watched in silence as their Jarl; the man who had terrorised them, was toyed with by the man creature that held him.
A second tendril, thinner than the one that tugged Erik’s balls moved slowly towards his cock. It swayed sinuously, sensuously, in slow motion like a charmed snake towards his hefty cock. He watched it come, simultaneously apprehensive and furious at the public spectacle. The meat that he had used to cleave many a virgin ass, no longer bloody, hung seven inches soft. The tendril wrapped around it and tightened lightly, then it moved towards the base, just as his pumping fist had done so many thousands of times as a young teenager. The skin was drawn back revealing its oversized purple head. It was not so dangerous now.
More smaller tendrils reached for his cock, and Brag was surprised to discover that they were slippery, oily, as though they were covered in plant sap. They touched his glans and immediately started to work on him, sliding over its surface, teasing, arousing, and tantalising him. He realised that they were warm, like the inside of a maiden’s slit; like a squire’s unwilling hole.
In spite of his anger, images of his former sexual encounters with the unwilling youths of his village kept popping into his mind. And against HIS will, his cock thickened then rapidly hardened. It was a formidable piece of meat. Ten inches long, as thick as a child’s forearm, and now it strained, not because he WANTED it to, but because it was forced.
He struggled with renewed vigour, determined not to remain a spectacle before the entire village. It was bad enough that he had lost to this creature, but if needs be, he would sooner die than be humiliated before them. But he was as powerless as a leaf in a storm. The tendrils around his arms tightened just a little more, pulling his arms tighter and restricting his movement still further. His chest was tight and his breathing laboured, but it wasn’t just the tension on his arms that was affecting his breathing. He had never had his cock teased so skilfully and he felt as though he could squirt a wad at any moment. The tendril around his scrotum sensed his closeness to nutting and pulled downwards on his eggs, interrupting his body’s approaching orgasm.
Another tendril approached and rose in front of his face. It swayed, slowly and the tip swelled up, like the spade of an octopus arm. He watched it, wondering what it was going to be used for. It lowered then passed backwards between his legs. He felt the tip touched his hairy hole, taunting him.
“No, by Vignar’s ghost, don’t you dare!” he shouted.
The tendril moved away from his hole and Brag thought that he had convinced the creature not to penetrate him. Male holes were for him to take, not for him to have taken. But the villagers could see that Brag had not escaped so easily. The tip of the tendril drew back like the head of a cobra preparing to strike, then it darted forwards and struck, burying itself in Brag’s hole.
He couldn’t help himself. He screamed with shock as he was penetrated for the first time in his life. The tip tendril was narrower than a little finger, and it burst through Brag’s sphincter faster than he could react against it. Behind the tip, the tendril rapidly widened, plugging and filling his hole, stretching it just short of the point where the flesh would tear, treating him with more compassion than he had shown many of his victims.
Brag arched forwards away from it as far as he could move his pelvis, and more than a few teenaged boys amongst the audience grinned as they saw him suffer the same fate he had bestowed upon them.
The tendril forced its way up into him, probing and exploring until it found that special spot; the smooth bulge of Brag’s prostate. It rubbed the lump and thick milky fluid leaked from the end of Brag’s bloated cock. It was not the explosion of an orgasm that his body desperately yearned for. Rather it was the copious dribbling of a swollen prostate milked for the first time.
The prostate massage was a new and unique sensation for Brag, and he hated the way that his body could be forced to give up its seed whilst he felt such abject ignominy. He looked down at himself as a small waterfall of cum drooled from the head of his bouncing cock. He felt something deep inside and he knew now how his male victims felt. He had never understood why some of them dribbled even whilst they remained soft. He had assumed that the tears many of them shed were shame, but now he realised it was probably also emotion at the unexpected sensations they felt inside. Brag felt certain now that this was how it felt to be a woman. He took brutish pleasure at treating the sons of the karls like females, and their daughters like whores, and now here he was being treated the same way, and in front of the whole village no less!
Another tendril rose between his legs. It was no thicker than his pinky finger. The thicker tendril around his cock gripped Brag’s throbbing meat tightly and aimed the head towards the new tendril. The thinner tendril swayed towards Brag’s meat, the tip circling in the air like a vine seeking a branch to wrap around. It touched Brag’s glans, then moved towards the slit. Brag watched in horror. He had already guessed where this tendril was headed. The tip forced its way slowly into Brag’s urethra, sliding implacably along inside it. But even with the combined lubricant of its own ooze, and Brag’s prostate induced drool, it was still extremely painful for Brag to have his urethra stretched so widely.
The progress of the vine into him was marked by the swelling of his urethra as it forced its way along his meat towards his bladder, stretching Brag’s flesh far wider than it had ever been stretched by urination. He let out a scream that seemed to go on forever. It started low as the vine initially entered him but it just kept rising and rising in pitch and intensity as the tendril slowly forced his piss hole to accommodate its finger-width diameter. By the end of 30 seconds, Brag’s voice was shrill and it had a gurgling quality almost as though he was choking on his own saliva. The inside of his urethra felt as though it was burning, on fire.
Brag turned his gaze towards two of the fiercest members of his personal guard and managed to compose himself a little.
“Gunnr, Knut – help me!” he command through a grimace of pain, “drop him.”
Gunnr, the stronger of the two me looked at the creature, then back at Brag. The tides of power in the village were changing.
He folded his arms but held his ground.
Another much thicker tendril rose and moved towards Brag’s face. It passed through his open lips, and in a gesture of defiance Brag bit down on it, removing the end, then he spat the severed part back onto the ground. The Erik creature smiled at him, then raised a much thicker tendril. He jammed it into Brag’s mouth, and it forced the man’s jaws so wide that he could no longer bite down.
The tendril in Brag’s urethra slowly started to slide in and out, fucking the Norseman’s hard cock just as Brag had fucked dozens of maidens. Then the tendril in his ass joined the action, sliding in and out of his hole. Last of all, ripples appeared passing backwards and forwards along the last hands’ length of the one in his mouth.
Brag hung, no longer even able to vocalise his discomfort, as he was fucked in every orifice in front of the entire village. Hundreds of people watched him taken, humiliated, turned into a bitch before them all. Some were fearful, most considered it justice to see their savage Jarl abused, and some of his victims were happy; even delighted to see justice meted out before them.
The creature fucked and raped Brag for twenty long minutes whilst hundreds of villagers watched. Brag squirmed as he was abused, but not even for a second did the hardness of his engorged member diminish. Veins bulged like cords along its length, and its bloated arrow-shaped head turned a darker and darker shade of plum, so full of blood that it was shiny.
Then the creature was ready to move to the next stage of Brag’s humiliation. It wrapped a thick tendril around Brag’s neck, then withdrew all of the others. Brag’s hands immediately rose to the tendril to support some of his weight. His cock bounced in front of him, finally freed, its slit gaping open like a dark eye at the end.
He only had to support himself for a moment then the creature lowered him and drove him face first onto to the ground, grinding the side of his face against the wet earth. Brag tried to rise but the creature’s hold was immovable. Another thick tentacle encircled Brag’s waist and lifted him onto his knees. Brag felt like a bitch offering its rear to a dog. Erik moved in behind him, dropped his breeches and knelt down. This time he didn’t plan to penetrate the man with a tendril. His cock was already hard. It swung upwards from its confinement like a battleship canon rapidly elevating to fire a salvo. It was two inches longer than Brag’s. Erik gripped it with the hand that had been reattached and guided it to Brag’s hole. Brag reached behind himself and tried to push the monster cock away. Erik immediately produced two powerful tendrils that wrapped around Brag’s wrists and pulled them outwards, holding them on the ground at right angles to Brag’s shoulders.
Erik placed the head of his cock at Brag’s already stretched hole and eased it in slowly.
“No, please, I beg of you,” Brag implored, finally heedless of how his words might affect his status in the village.
He had heard dozens of teenage boys make the same pleas to him over the years. They always fell on deaf ears, and his entreaty was not given any more heed.
The Erik creature continued to drive his immense erection into Brag’s abused hole. Brag felt his anus tearing as the girth stretched beyond his hole’s capacity to accommodate it. It was an intense pain, but it was nothing compared to the shame he was feeling at his abasement. He could see the villagers watching. Most were watching the cock in his ass. Others were looking at his tears of powerless rage and humiliation as he looked up at them from his sidewards perspective, his face pressed into the dirt. He notice that Gunnr was looking at neither his ass end or his face – Gunnr was looking at the erection that still remained rigid beneath Brag’s hips. He had a look that was somewhere between amusement and contempt. And that was the worst of all. No matter where Brag looked, he no longer saw respect or fear.
Brag felt Erik’s hands on the crests of his pelvis as the man thing prepared to fuck him. It pulled him on until it was balls deep. The creature’s penis passed by Brag’s prostate and pressed against his insides, repositioning his internal organs. Then it started to fuck him.
It withdrew its cock to within an inch of the end, then slammed it all the way back home. It withdrew and repeated, then again, and again. On each inward stroke it hammered into him as though it was trying to impale him to the ground. Brag groaned, trying now to avoid eye contact with any of the villagers. In a moment of sudden clarity, he realised that he was reaping the reward for the way that he had treated them. That their lack of interest in saving him; their amusement at his public violation was the inevitable price for the years of maltreatment that he had meted out to them.
He could feel the creature pounding into his hole, smashing home its complete authority over him with every humiliating thrust. Then Brag became aware of something. It’s massive balls were slamming against his each time it reached the end of its stroke. It was something Brag liked to do to the older boys. He’d fuck them from behind like this, dog style, so that they could feel his massive nuts smashing against theirs. It was his subtle way of demonstrating that he was more of a man than they would ever be. And now the creature was doing the same thing to him, to the same effect. Brag’s ego was shrinking in direct proportion to the level of sexual abuse that he was experiencing. He knew that after this he would never again be able to dominate the village. That he’d have to wander off to distant lands if he was ever to assert himself again.
Then he heard the creature climax. It groaned with theatrical loudness and pounded him with shorter, lightning fast strokes. Brag felt it squirting inside him with all the pressure of a stamped on water skin. It produced so much seed that Brag could feel it filling him. He felt like his belly was stretching, but in reality it was his bowels. And then the ultimate degradation: Brag started to squirt too. In spite of his stretched piss hole, he still squirted more than he had ever done before, sending a gusher of seed up towards his chest in rope after thick rope of pearly whiteness. It splattered onto the dirt, where it lay like shimmering trails left by a multitude of giant snails. Brag heard villagers laughing at him.
The creature withdrew and a full pint of seed followed its gargantuan cock, not merely dribbling, but squirting from Brag’s bruised and bloody hole.
Four rows back amongst the throng of villagers, one man watched Brag’s debasement with greater satisfaction than most. Brag had visited their house and insisted upon taking the man’s 17 year old son back to his longhouse. When the boy returned an hour later he was quiet and withdrawn, and it was only after much coaxing that the man had managed to get the story of his son’s rape from him. Ever since that moment, the man had been saving money for the contract with a distant witch, the results of which the entire village had just witnessed. Including his son. He only hoped that seeing Brag laid so low would finally bring a measure of comfort to the boy and restore some of the boy’s shattered self confidence.
Holding Brag effortless down in the dirt; a naughty child to be controlled ready for a spanking, Erik addressed the crowd.
“This man has abused and tormented your village for many years. Let what has happened here today serve as a warning to anyone else who would terrorise these people in the future.”
A tendril emerged from the creature’s back and approached Brag’s scrotum again. Brag felt it wrapping around the neck trapping his balls in the bottom once more, but this time instead of stopping there, the tendril continued to coil around and around until the testicles were completely encased. Then the coils started to constrict and like a boa crushing a small animal, the soft eggs, still tender from their epic ejaculation, were squeezed tighter and tighter until they were reduced to offal. Brag screamed into the dirt as he was unmanned, his screams more like the plaintive howl of a terrified child. The tendril continued to contract until there was nothing left within. Then it uncoiled and merged back into the Erik beast. Brag’s scrotum hung empty, no more than a mere flap of skin.
And finally, after what seemed like hours of abuse, the creature released the man. Brag rolled onto his side, immediately cupping his empty scrotum and sobbing. The Erik creature withdrew all of its tendrils, reintegrating them into its body, and its spine closed. It hefted its sword back over its shoulder, turned and walked off unchallenged along the beach. The villagers looked at Brag, and slowly, one by one, they returned to their daily business.
Eventually he was alone in the dirt with nothing but his pain and his humiliation to keep him company.
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