The Northern Boy

The first thing I noticed was the cold. After that was the taste of the leather thong tied into my mouth, and the way it softened around my tongue. The smell of fire. The sound of men. I fluttered my eyes open and the smoke burned. I shook my head and tried to stifle a cough around the leather strap. The voices stopped. My head hurt.

I turned towards the sudden silence. A dozen or so men stared down at me. Tall, bearded, draped in furs with painted faces. I tried to move and noticed the binds on my hands and feet. Fuzzy memories started to creep into my aching head… The way I had struggled when I was taken, how it hadn’t mattered. Regardless, I was here now and I stared back with as defiant an expression I could muster. We looked at each other for a moment before they resumed their conversation. Their language meant nothing to me. The one I assumed was the leader made one final comment and then they all turned to move when a roar of protestation rang out. Another of the clan ran forward and began rapidly speaking to the first, occasionally throwing hostile glances in my direction. This one was different. The same furs and painted face of the others, but with short hair and a smooth chin. No tattoos that I could see, and eyes that shone. Hardly more than a boy.

The first man smiled warmly at the boy’s outburst, before clapping him on the shoulder and saying something that made a few of the others laugh. The boy straightened up, muttered something in agreement, and watched the others leave. When they disappeared into the darkness, he whipped around. The hatred on his face quelled me. He spit into the sand, snarled, and stalked off out of my line of sight.

When he appeared again right in front of me, I flinched, tried to make myself smaller. He stared down at me with disgust, then his expression softened to one of resigned contempt. There was no point in speaking to me, so he didn’t try, but he did unsheathe his axe and raise it up so I could see it. He twirled it around his fingers, even tossing it up and catching it. The warning was crystal clear. I closed my eyes when he extended his other hand towards me, and gratefully allowed him to pull the gag from my mouth. I blinked in the smoke, and he turned to the fire, then looked at me as if deciding something. I growled when he picked me up, but there wasn’t much else I could do to protest. He set me down more gently than I would have expected, leaning me up against a log draped in pelts. I was much closer to the fire here, though no longer down wind, and the warmth was a welcome relief.

He pushed a cup towards my face next. I refused. He rolled his eyes, sighed heavily, and took a drink himself before trying again. This time I accepted. Water. I drank greedily, draining the vessel and coughing and spluttering as I choked. When I met his eyes again I swore I saw the corners of his mouth twitch.

He left my side and moved across from me, sitting on his own log. The fire was between us and watching him through the flames gave an eerie, almost dream like quality to his movements. He glanced around us a couple times, but there wasn’t much to look at besides me, so that’s where his gaze settled. His eye contact was so intense it was hard for me to hold. I would glance down nervously between staring back. He stoked the fire, and it got warm enough that he pushed the furs off his shoulders until he was naked from the waist up. I tried not to let my face betray my surprise.

He was beautiful. His skin looked soft and well taken care of… youthful and hairless, but broad and strong. There was a pattern of stretch marks that webbed across his bicep where the muscles had come in. His sweat left tracks where it rolled through the paint on his face and neck, and there was a pendant that hung from a cord on his chest.
He reached down and set something next to him, then dipped his fingers into it before sliding them over his body. It was oil. His skin glistened in the fire light and my nostrils flared at the spicy, woodsy scent I could just barely detect over the fire. When I glanced back up to his face I saw that his chin was lifted and his jaw set, almost daring me to look at him. How could I not? His fingers grazed and pressed into his skin so delicately it was almost hypnotic to watch. It was obvious how much he liked touching himself, and though I got the impression he was showing off for me, I still felt like I was intruding on a private moment.

After a bit of that, he reached again for his axe, holding it up into the light. He took care to rub some of the oil into the handle, and tested the sharpness of the edge with his thumb. Then he glanced back at me, and with the barest hint of a smile, ran his tongue up the blade. Then he did it again, pausing at the top to gently suck his lips around it and flick his tongue against the tip. This was such a strange boy, but something about the deft way his mouth moved made me clench my thighs together.

He laid the axe down next to himself, and stood up. My eyes followed his ascent and then the movement of his hands down to his waist. When I saw that he was unfastenng his trousers I blushed and concentrated on the grains of sand next to me. I couldn’t completely remove him from my field of vision though, and once I saw he was again seated I slowly returned his gaze. I don’t think he had stopped looking at me once. A pelt draped between his legs gave the illusion of modesty, but his haughty expression goaded me, and I glared back. He was just a boy. I wasn’t going to let him take my power that easily.

He seemed to relish my stare, and dipped his fingers back into the oil, letting it run down his chest. He traced a finger over his skin, then massaged it in, working deep into the muscles. He arched his back and pulled at his pectorals, his obliques, even pressed just below where that pelt lie. He reached for more oil and worked it up his legs. Defined calves, strong thighs. His fingers digging in where he gripped the flesh. Why was my heart beating so fast?

His skin shone like jasper in the firelight. He looked down his nose at me and ran a hand past his chest and between his legs, losing his smirk for a second and letting his face go slack as he first touched himself. My breathing quickened as I watched the movement under the hide. Soon, it fell, or he pushed it away, and was naked before me.

I held my breath, not wanting anything to steal my attention away from him. I’d seen naked men before, but this was different. This was… mine.

It was easy to tell how much he loved my eyes on him. Not yet fully hard, he still displayed himself with almost an arrogant pride as he flaunted every inch of his body. I couldn’t look away. He didn’t stay soft for long though, and soon was pulling at himself with more persistence. Almost subconsciously, I started to clench and grind my thighs together.

His eyes weren’t as locked on me now. They were softer and moved from my face to his hands between his legs and back again. He leaned back on one arm, angling his body as pleasingly as possible. I drank in everything. The way his fingers flexed and gripped around his shaft, the trembling of his thighs, how his toes dug in the sand. His eyelids were heavy, his head thrown gently back. His chest heaved as his shoulder shook.

My hands were bound in front of me, and I pressed them to myself, rubbing against my fingers. He noticed almost immediately, met my gaze, and smiled. This moment of innocent connection made my stomach twist, and I moaned softly.

We stayed like that for a few moments. Staring at each other, our hands between our legs, watching one another’s pleasure. Just the visual of him was almost enough to send me over the edge, but not quite, and my own fingers pressed to my skirts just served to keep my frustration at bay. I would have eagerly watched him for hours, and resigned myself that that would have to be enough. He saw me stop and followed suit, slowing down gradually. We paused, gazing at each other, and I thought we might stay like that; that it was over. But then he stood up. With the fire between us it had felt like he was at a safe distance, but in reality it was just a small campfire, and he was a warrior. He was crouched in front of me before I had really even processed that he was moving closer.

I couldn’t read his expression. Maybe it was the paint, or those dark eyes that seemed to hold me even more tightly than my binds. I did see the firelight glint off the blade in his hand though, and shrank away from him. He reached out to me, slowly, and firmly grasped one of my ankles before deftly flicking his wrist and cutting the cord around them, tossing the dagger to the side.

I was so shocked I didn’t move. Just stared. He held my gaze and moved his hand under my skirt, placing it on my calf. I allowed him to touch me. His palm was warm, and that first skin to skin contact made me shudder.

He gave no indication of what he was thinking. He didn’t smile, didn’t speak. So I didn’t either, as he watched my face. His eyes held me, spellbound; and my heart seemed to pound harder with every inch he crept up towards my waist. When he passed my knee, my legs spread for him, just a little bit. He twitched an eyebrow, but gave no other sign he had even noticed. Was I welcoming him to me because I was terrified? Or did I want him to touch me?

His hand continued its slow ascent, and when he reached my sex my wetness betrayed my arousal. That’s when I broke eye contact, gasping at his touch and raising my gaze to the sky. I would have expected pain, an intrusion, but he was so gentle as he teased at me that it was hard not to push my hips towards him to beg for more. My eyes followed the curve of his arm past the hem of my skirt, his shoulder, his mouth, and finally his eyes. Still watching me. Looking for every reaction as he explored me with his fingers. I dropped my gaze again, and let myself feel him. The tips of his fingers dipping just inside then sliding out to massage over the rest of me. Drawing out my desire.

He stopped before I wanted him to. The removal of his hand felt like an abandonment. My wetness glistened on his fingertips and I watched as he brought his hand up towards his face, examining himself almost curiously. Then, looking right at me, he slid his fingers over his tongue.

I stopped breathing. I stopped thinking. I barely noticed that his hands were on either thigh, spreading me further until his head was under my skirt. My squeak of surprise turned into a shuddering exhale as I felt his mouth on me. Warm, and so soft it almost tickled. He licked me gently, teasing and toying at me playfully like he was asking for an invitation. So I gave it. Pulling my thighs away from the rough stubble on his jaw, I opened myself for him, lying my head back against the tree.

Thousands of stars sparkled in the sky like the firelight shone off the muscles rippling beneath his skin. The moon was full behind wisps of clouds that would glide past like his tongue stroking up my center. I could smell the smoke, the salt, and his oil and sweat. My ears pricked at the distant crashing of waves and every pop of the fire, but they were drowned out by his moans of pleasure and laughter between my legs. I felt the warmth of the blaze and the chill of the breeze and the heat of his mouth as he sucked, kissed, and lapped at me.

The pleasure built inside me until I gasped and trembled against him. He stayed with me through it, a chuckle rumbling low in his throat. He wiped his face on my thigh as he rose up, but my wetness on his chin was still obvious in the firelight. He gazed at me, a devious smile playing at his lips, while I tried to catch my breath; then he grabbed for the dagger, and taking my hands gently, slowly turned them over so the wrists were facing upward. He stroked a thumb over my bruises, then cut through the cord, freeing me. I flexed and stretched my fingers then reached forward, wrapping one hand around the back of his neck and pulling myself to him, pressing my forehead against his. With the other hand, I went low; taking ahold of his cock. He gasped at my touch… at first. But that turned into a snarl and he pressed against me, moving me backward and pinning me against the tree.

He kept his forehead to mine, and I worked my hips towards him, searching. Insistent. When I finally felt his hardness against me, I paused, and he waited. Then I spit into my hand and reached back down, guiding him into me.

The softness and teasing from before didn’t last now that I was pulling him in deeper. He gave me a few thrusts to adjust, but picked up speed and intensity quickly, like he didn’t want to wait. I relished the way my body conformed around him, his panting in my ear, the taste of his sweat. Since my eagerness was so apparent, he fucked me for his own pleasure, knowing that I was working to get mine. His cock kept rubbing against that spot I loved, and I gripped his shoulder with my teeth to keep quiet. He growled, and bit me back, causing me to let go and cry out. He pressed his lips to mine to muffle me, surprising me with a deep, long kiss.

The taste of him washed over my tongue, and with him filling up my pussy I felt like he was everywhere at once. I swooned in his embrace, and moaned into his mouth, arching my back and giving him all of my pleasure for a second time. I felt myself squeeze around him, and he locked his hips into mine, shuddering as he emptied himself into me.

He stayed inside me a moment while he got soft, nuzzling his face against mine. Then he pushed away quickly to look over his shoulder. I strained my ears and heard distant laughter and a shout. The men were returning. When he turned back to me he grasped my chin and moved me into the light. His paint had smeared over his face, meaning that some of it must have transferred to me, marking me as his as obviously as the fluid leaking from between my legs. He smiled at this.

He looked back towards the approaching party, sighing at the end of our solitude. Then seemed to remember his own nakedness, and glanced towards his pants on the other side on the dying fire. He met my gaze one final time, reaching down to smooth my skirt over my legs, protecting me from prying eyes. Before he got up though, he leaned towards me and whispered a single word in a language I understood… “Mine.”

Source: reddit.com/r/Erotica/comments/tr0m0x/the_northern_boy