Posted by Ed on April 29, 2000 at 02:18:48:
CONFESSIONS OF A VANDAL
With due respect, I blame it all on Thrag.
Thrag had fought beside me that first battle. I was barely a man, the sword still felt clumsy in my grasp as I had hacked into the two sole Roman warriors I had managed to defeat that day. Thrag, that battering ram, had hewed through the rank and file beside me, and then, still beside me, he announced it was time to celebrate. The smoking ruins of the once-majestic city Rome before us, we descended into the night to find what booty we could.
Booty we found, o merciful friends. Thrag and I by sheer fortune stumbled upon the hiding place of many a fair young Roman girl. My heart skipped a beat as I caught sight of them. They were all about my age, perhaps a little younger, and startled even more to see us. All I had ever seen before of the female species had been the craggy, weather-beaten Vandal women of my tribe. These Roman girls were like something out of a dream.
"Treasure!" Thrag cried, leaping out as they scattered and snatching the closest girl by her long, flowing hair before she could react.
Dear audience, I was not a cruel man then, as I am now. I will remember that girl always in my mind: the brown locks that trailed down her bare shoulders, the robes that failed to conceal her alluring curves, the face of a goddess with dark eyes wide and full of fear. I was naturally repulsed but undeniably aroused by the way Thrag wound her locks around his fist and pushed her thrashing body to her knees. I watched the way her body played against her robes as she twisted and struggled. Pleading in that melodic Roman tongue, her terrified cries and grunts fell sadly on very deaf ears.
"What are you going to do, Thrag?" I asked. How young I was.
Thrag looked over his massive shoulder and smirked, the way that scar made him always smirk. "Roman servant girls're fighters," he said. "There's only one way to calm 'em down, make 'em agreeable to our needs..."
The girl was shaking her head and tugging at the fist clasping her hair, her sharp elbows in the air. Her legs and arms were almost totally bare, her robe became so disheveled. She looked up and pleaded desperately, lips trembling. In another life I might have reached out to comfort her, but I only watched. I remember it so well.
Thrag looked down at her, traced her soft, delicate face with a calloused finger. She tried to recoil, but couldn't escape. Thrag's free hand slid down to her neck as she gulped reflexively. Without a word, the Vandal warrior wrapped his iron hand around that girl's throat and squeezed.
The girl's eyes went wide as her words were cut off into a surprised croak. Her mouth gaped, trying to suck in breath, and found she couldn't. Her body began to thrash about wildly, arms pulling and prying at Thrag's hand, her legs kicking out violently, her whole torso bucking and twisting. Thrag held her neck in place unwavering. It wasn't fair. She had no chance.
Thrag chuckled and tightened his iron grip. Huge cords of muscle bulged in Thrag's terrible forearms. I couldn't believe the pressure he must have brought to bear on that poor girl's tender neck. She spasmed and bucked, her eyes wide in pain and fear, gagging and choking as her tongue swelled inside her mouth. Her breasts heaved, trying to suck in breath, trying to live.
Her strength dwindled as the life was slowly squeezed from her. Her hands clutched feebly to Thrag's iron hand, long, bare legs kicking and twitching mindlessly. Thrag chuckled as her life ran out. She convulsed one final time, her whole body cramped in tight agony for one silent, suspended eternity. My own breath caught as I watched her hover at the threshold. Her eyelids fluttered, her lips twitched, her whole body shuddered.
Then, just like the fading of a candle, she was gone. Her body relaxed and sagged in Thrag's grip. Her hands loosened and fell to her sides, swinging slightly, her head rolled to the side, trailing her long, waterfall of hair down her pale shoulder and arm. She hung still and lifeless from Thrag's grip.
"You killed her," I said, too stunned for intelligent comments.
Thrag grunted in agreement. He regarded the girl still hanging from his fist. She twitched not a finger, but he did not let go. Then, as if finally satisfied that every scrap of life had been purged from that small, pale body, he released her. She sank to the floor with a long, stale sigh. Her cheek came to rest on her shoulder, bare legs splayed, arms flopped to either side.
"Yep. Dead alright," Thrag concluded. "Pretty little thing, isn't she?"
I gave a sharp outtake of breath, some horrible form of laughter. "But she's..." I took a step closer to the body and peered at her. Up close, she was more beautiful than I could have guessed. "Goddess" had not done enough to describe the slender limbed, graceful featured perfection of her form. Her long hair fell about her head like a brown, silky halo. I gazed at her limbs splayed, eyes shut, and red tongue protruding slightly from rosy lips in stark contrast to pale flesh. She was the most beautiful creature I had ever seen. I tried to answer again, but couldn't make my mouth work.
Thrag guffawed. "Yep. Pretty little thing. Care for a go?"
I looked back as Thrag in shock. "I couldn't! She's... it's a corpse!"
"Pretty one though, eh? Like to grab me a handful of those tits, I would. But, seein' as how it's yer first battle, you get first crack. I'll be off to find my own now. Have fun." With that, Thrag left me alone with the girl's body.
I can't say I resisted my urges long. She was really quite bewitching, living or no. Creeping forward, shaking more violently than I had on the front lines, I reached my hand out. Slowly, gently, I pressed my fingers to her full, parted lips, trying to feel for breath. I felt her warm tongue and soft, full lips beneath my fingerstips, but no air passed between them. My other hand reached out, touched her chest. Her breasts had practically spilled out of her robes as she had collasped. No heartbeat. No excuses.
Her skin was still warm. Very warm, in fact. Hot. And smooth, so wonderoulsy smooth. Her, smooth, hot, supple flesh welcomed my embrace. I ripped her torn robes away and sighed at the vision of her nakedness, yet I hesitated one last time. I lifted her head into my hands and gazed into the flushed face and dark, vacant, staring eyes of a girl not much younger than myself.
"Forgive me," I whispered as I shut her eyes.
Her supple warmth consumed me as I entwined myself around her dead body. I kicked her thighs open farther, and pierced her limpness with a spear of burning passion. I was home.
What came next was a jumble of energy as I used her body in every way I could, every way I could manipulate that limber, willing body I did. She was my unasking, uneeding, unquestioning servant of pleasure that night as I slapped, bit, squeezed and licked every part of her. She was mine, and I was locked inside of her, thrusting with all the strength I had. I forced every bit of satisfaction I could out of that body, until I tensed, gripping warm globes of flesh, and erupted inside of her, screaming in joy.
Finally I fell back, sweat-drenched and exhausted. I laid beside the dead girl awhile longer as I recuperated. I opened her eyes and stared into their blankness, wondering who she had been, what those eyes had seen, what had been taken away after Thrag had finished his work, and she had collapsed, dead and empty before me.
I found that, in the end, I didn't care. She was dead, and I was satisfied. I drapped her arms around me and used her belly as a pillow.
It was almost dawn when a noise woke me from blissfull slumber. I heard a noise and leapt to my feet, sword drawn. If a Roman found what I had done to one of his countrywomen...
But it was only Thrag. He had the naked body of another girl cast over his wide shoulder, her arms swaying with each step, his killing gauntlet pressed securely to her rump. He stood over me and released the girl, letting her fall atop the other. His was a blonde, and quite voluptuous; her breasts quivered and bounced as she landed atop my girl appealingly. Her bent legs fell to either side, like the unfolfing wings of a buttefly. The sight of both of them, naked, pale flesh pressed against the same, I was ready for another go.
"Comeon then, time to go." Thrag announced. "There'll be plenty more where they came from after next battle, providing you live. We've exhausted these two pretties enough for one lifetime, best let 'em rest here. Off we go."
I cast one last look at my sweet girl, my first, and left her there underneath the dead blonde, cooling and stiffening.
I did indeed survive the next battle, and I did indeed find more of the same. This time I picked and prepared my own. She was a slim and athletic girl, probably a runner, though even younger than my first. How she struggled! I was not as big or experienced as Thrag, and the female will to live is strong, very strong.
But after the vigorous rough and tumble was all finished, and she was limp and hot beneath me, I was more addicted than ever. I looked forward to the next campaign with burning lust.
For 20 years I have been a soldier, though I am hardly the same man, so scarred and horrible am I now. I am considered one of the supreme Warlords of our tribe, now that Thrag has since passed to dust. My people worship and revere me, my enemies fear me, and, in the end, why?
Because I like to fuck dead girls.
Very well, dear audience, you have heard my terrible weakness in good faith. You understand that should you violate this trust, you will be hunted down like dogs and butchered for the evening meal.
Fair thee well, gentle friends.