Lyla

Lyla took the early morning raid as her opportunity to escape from the horrible village she had been enslaved in. Skulking behind the huge raiders as they returned to their ship she hid in the shadows caused by the flickering flames burning the buildings she had been forced to live in for two years. Like a little mouse she darted from cover to cover running behind large men loaded with plunder. Using the chaos of conflict she reached their long boat run half way up the beach.

Nimble and spurred on by desperation she scrambled up the side of the boat with the warrior thieves. In the uncertain morning light, made darker from the smoke of burning houses, her small form mingled among the much bigger men. Keeping to periphery she slipped behind the bundles of goods they dropped as they boarded.

There were dozens of them all excited and full of bloodlust from battle; the risk she took was huge, yet the alternative was well known to her. Two years of enslavement had been unending torment, whatever these raiders had in store for her she would risk rather than carry on as she had been.

Inside the shallow boat there was nowhere to hide. Lining both sides of the narrow but long vessel low, flat, evenly spaced chests sat beneath banked oars. These were where the men sat to row and served as a place for their personal belongings.

There was no shelter.

Along one side, running half the length of the long ship a huge mast lay secured. Lyla was small enough that she thought she could slide beneath it and remain unseen. While the pillagers stowed their ill-gotten gains within their chests the small slave slipped low and stretched her lithe frame along the length of the mast, snuggling as far under and behind the thick beam as she could.

No one called out to her. No hand reached in to pulled her out. Voices speaking in a strange tongue rumbled from big men and she cowered fearfully hoping fate had a better life for her than what she had been living.

Soon the boat shifted and the men set sail once more having taken everything of value from the villagers while killing only those stupid enough to resist.

Most of her awful captors had fled as soon as the first screams erupted from down by the beach. Lyla had been awake and fetching water from the creek when the attack began. Running to see what was happening she hid and watched as the cowards who had tortured her escaped into the forest surrounding the landward side of the village.

Seeing a way to end her torment it only took an instant for Lyla to make the decision to slip away. Sprinting as fast as she could the cunning slave got to the beach ahead of the raiders. Then using patience and stealth she crept as close to the vessel as she could. When the men finished ransacking the village she slipped among them and onto their ship.

The marauders launched the boat and rowed to sea in moments. Lyla was impressed by their skill. In practised unity the big men drove the long, narrow ship through the waves into deep water. When she was discovered, as they lifted the mast, she was equally as surprised by how far out to sea they were as she was by the frighteningly large men suddenly surrounding her.

Lyla had never seen men like these. The smallest of them were two hands taller than she, her eyes were level with their muscular chests. The biggest men in the village she had just left were at most a hand taller than she. Each and every one of these strange sailors had arms and shoulders far more expansive than the largest warrior of the village.

The sheer size of them filled her with awe.

Many of the ravagers had bright, copper-coloured hair the like she had never seen, only a few had hair as dark as her own brown. The rest had a blend running from brown with bright highlights to grey, bleached white by the sun. Like she, they had fair skin but theirs was even more pale, including where the sun had darkened it some.

Most fascinating however were their eyes. Many of them were as bright as the sky filling with daylight above. Two of them that she could see gazing at her had eyes so pale the only way she could tell where the whites ended was because of the dark ring around the coloured centre. Inside that were two tiny pins of black pointed right at her.

Their unnerving eyes made her quiver.

What Lyla couldn't have known was how her own deep green eyes were just as fascinating to the men staring back at her.

The spell holding them still was broken by an older man with a huge white beard who looked as strong and fit as any other man aboard the ship in spite of his obvious age. This one spoke with a voice rough from years of shouting and even though he wasn't shouting now everyone reacted as if he were. Scrambling back to abandoned oars they got the ship ready to set sail as the older man assessed this stow-away.

Instinct kicked in and Lyla immediately scanned her surroundings for some way to prove her value and spotted a bucket with a sponge in. In a flash she went to it, lifted the sponge out and began to scrub the deck of the boat. The wooden planks were well polished but sand from the beach lay scattered everywhere. Sweeping it and brushing the sand to the side she looked for a hole to sweep it out and discovered the only spot was over the side. Scooping as much sand as she could she threw it over and looked back at the old sailor. He scowled and shook his head ruefully. Without further acknowledgement he went back to the far end of the ship and took hold of the tiller.

Scrubbing the deck Lyla allowed relief to flood her as she realized she was not going to be thrown overboard or immediately stabbed. With an urgent need to prove her worth Lyla cleaned everything in sight as the boat heaved and sunk over and through the deep ocean waves. Forcing herself to not vomit she worked and focused on each plank of the floor trying to ignore the up and down, nausea-inducing ride.

Before long her cleaning took her right up to the boots of two rowing men. Glancing at them while they worked she was fascinated by the size of their muscles as they pulled the big oar through the water. The two men looked impressive with big powerful hands gripping the oar. Corded muscles in their forearms bulged as they heaved, thick straining biceps swelled and flexed, the triceps expanding and contracting, and the tremendous shoulders rippled with ridges of gristle that amazed her.

They glanced at her as well but they were more focused on staying in time with the others. The shouting man at the end only called out periodically, generally the men seemed to be able to work as a team without guidance.

Having not looked over the side for a long time Lyla hadn't noticed that they once again approached land. She smelled it first, the trees and soil. Peering over the edge of the ship she saw they were driving straight for a sandy beach.

After they rowed the ship right up onto the sand the men rapidly set about stowing oars, dropping sail and putting away the mast. Other men leapt over the side and secured the ship. In no time at all the men had prepared the boat, set up camp and by climbing in and out of the ship utterly undone all her work to clean the deck.

The raiders kept their distance from her but never stopped examining her as they set up camp, perused their loot and prepared food. Scanning for a way to be useful she saw a man treating a wound from the raid with a gooey unguent.

Lyla's mother had been a healer and she had dim memories of helping treat wounds.

Approaching the warrior she tried to indicate that she could help him. Using gestures and an open expression of eager helpfulness she got him to understand she wanted to aid him. Using a wide leaf from a particular tree and not her fingers she spread the unguent evenly over his nasty leg wound. Then using other leaves from particular plants she covered the wound and he gave her a wrapping to tie around.

The big man nodded and he pointed to another man with an ugly cut on his back. By the time a meal had been cooked, the men settled and talking among themselves she had treated six men. With a reluctant grin the last one gave her a plate of bread, cheese and a mug of beer.

None of them were overly kind but no-one had slapped her, growled at her or threatened her in anyway.

The sound of their language was gentle with a few harsh noises now an again. Her own tongue was far more musical and she missed using it. Lyla never spoke anymore, not for years, but no-one had wanted to hear anything from her other than screams anyway.

After her meal Lyla scanned the group for another way to ingratiate herself to them. This secluded, sun drenched beach was not the place she wanted to escape to, this was nowhere. She needed to get... somewhere.

Nearby an older warrior twisted his neck and back in ways she had often seen men do when their muscles ached. With a shy smile she approached and mimed massaging him. The man's blue eyes widened with what looked like gratitude and he nodded for her to come sit behind him.

The fair-haired giant leaned against a big log and Lyla perched on it while he settled between her thighs and leaned against her. The intimacy of having someone sitting peacefully between her thighs was strange. It was familiar and comforting but not something she had experienced in years.

Kneading his thickly corded muscles was hard work but his moans of pleasure told her she was doing her job well. Focusing on the long bands of knotted gristle running from his skull to his shoulders she massaged and ground her fingers and elbows into muscle to appreciative moans and groans from her victim. Around them the other men smirked and looked envious at the same time.

Estimating the man to be in his fifties she appreciated his brawn. Clearly rowing the big ship built large muscles but the cost of doing it for years were knots the size of nuts. Lyla had her work cut out for her even if the feel of his warm skin and amazing physique distracted her.

Working from his scapula to the base of his skull she tenderized the bunched muscle until he finally sighed and leaned his head back against her chest. He smelled of wood smoke, the sea and of hard work and Lyla enjoyed his warm closeness. Slurring nonsense to her he elicited a chuckle from the men around them.

Testing his neck the grizzled old raider mumbled appreciatively while another grey streaked warrior called and got her attention. He gestured for her to massage him and Lyla went to him and performed the same duty again on another gnarled neck.

This man too affected her with his body. As this one rested between her thighs while receiving her attention she revelled in the intimacy of it. Yes he was a stranger but he hadn't forced himself on her, instead he lay passively while she touched him of her own volition. It was a unique situation for the slave girl and she found it confusing.

By the time she finished the third man her hands were shaking from exhaustion and the hopeful next sailor took a look at her, slumped and quivering from fatigue, murmured something and walked away. No anger, no threats, he understood she had reached her limit and accepted it.

A knot of tension released somewhere deep within her mind as she understood they didn't mistreat slaves, or women or strangers. Lyla was all three and had found them to be reasons people generally abused her.

The sun was lowering toward the horizon and a few men were cooking an early super as Lyla took stock of her situation.

As a child she had been raised by a tribe that foraged and hunted for sustenance and was certain she could live off the land here even if it was foreign. Yet she knew the people of these lands were slavers and still bore the marks of how they treated slaves.

The forty men in the raiding ship seemed to be indifferent as to whether she stayed or not. None of them had taken any captives in the raid and the worst of them were treating her better than the kindest person in that village ever had.

Lyla threw herself fully into staying with these massive men, feeling life with them would be her best option.

Finishing another casually offered meal, this of pillaged chicken, bread and vegetables, Lyla did as the sailors had done and went to the water's edge to wash her plate and hands. Then, inspired, she dared do the unthinkable once again and Lyla stripped the thin, dirty shift she wore from her petite frame and bared her body to the full view of the entire war party.

Shivering from far more than the chill of the water Lyla washed her thin linen dress and then stepped further into the ocean to wash her entire body.

Standing in water to just below her buttocks she washed herself while facing the pretty sunset. Enjoying the beauty of it while she sensually bathed herself Lyla tried to entice some of those imposing, muscular men to desire her.

When her hands found the juncture between her legs she found it already wet but not from the ocean. Cool fingers delved into warm, fleshy folds as she cleaned herself and anticipated what those big, powerful men would do to her when she walked out of the water. Shocked by how delightful her fingers felt Lyla rubbed her sex knowing she had an audience watching her lewd behaviour.

As a young slave she had discovered that the best way to avoid a beating was to anticipate what would be required of her. The first time she had dared dance for the assembled villagers had been terrifying but instead of being beaten she had been fed and coddled. It had worked for a few nights before the charm had worn off for her tormentors but on nights when the village celebrated something she would dance and could avoid the worst of their torments.

As she walked from the surf all eyes were on Lyla's nudity, her lithe body the focus of every man there.

On the packed sand near the edge of the water Lyla began to dance. The music she heard was her own breathing and the crash of waves. Inspired by salvation from torment Lyla danced freedom, she danced gratitude and she danced seduction.

Watching the tiny girl move the big men were captivated, never having seen anything like this before. The women of their kind were fierce, independent warriors in their own right and would never debase themselves this way. The novelty and overt offer of her body was mesmerizing. None were unaffected. Even the men in the group who were deeply in love with women back home felt the temptation this ethereal woman offered.

The men with no woman at home or with loveless unions gaped at her, yearning to feel her skin, to taste and thrust into the secret place between those slender thighs. None of them had seen a woman move like this, none had seen a woman expose herself publicly and the innate sexuality of her performance aroused them like nothing before.

Did all the woman of her people behave like this?

Where was she from?

Was it far?

This was only the third raid of the season. If all the women from her land were so brazen...

The thin woman danced, her smooth skin gleaming in the glow of sunset. The exposed flesh showed bruises and scars from misuse but they couldn't mar the perfection of how her muscles were shaped, the delicate beauty of her inner structure, the perfection of her firm breasts or the allure of the lightly fuzzed juncture between her legs.

The fearful glance of her green eyes was momentarily hooded by her sleepy eyelids as she looked inward while dancing to the music only she could hear. None of the warriors present had a musical instrument but they could sing very well as people who row in time often do. As one of them figured out the pulse of her rhythm he was inspired to sing along with a haunting song the skalds sang of a girl driven mad by Loki the trickster. The lass throws herself into the sea but this girl emerged from it. Still, other's joined in and soon the beach echoed with forty voices in three part harmony as her tiny form whirled and undulated for them.

The song excited Lyla, her people were musical but her captors had not been. Thrilled by their voices and the mournful quality of the harmonies she danced closer and passed among them. The men were so large that those sitting on logs were still as tall or taller than she as Lyla passed. The ones on the ground looked up at her body as she danced, their pale eyes raking over her flesh leaving a blush in their wake.

Lyla felt a quickening inside as the men leered at her with obvious lust. Even when she had danced in the past she had never felt such intense passion focused on her body. They were riveted on her nudity and it was inexplicably pleasurable.

In the whole of her life she had been granted little to no privacy so being looked at without clothes was bound to happen, still she'd never been exposed to so many watching eyes. Even when she had danced before many of the audience were indifferent or otherwise engaged. This dance had the full attention of everyone and they were adding to it with their beautiful voices. It made her feel appreciated like she never had.

If the price of having so much positive attention was exposing herself like this she was happy to pay. Lyla cared nothing for her virtue, that had been stolen long ago. Modesty and humility were for girls with the prospect of marriage and respect. A slave was given none of that so Lyla felt none of the humiliation or mortification another in her place may have. Instead she gloried in bringing pleasure to so many people and feeling certain she wouldn't be killed.

Reaching a space between three fires Lyla danced until the men's song ended and a tense silence hung over the group, the slosh of waves the only remaining sound. Lyla hadn't anticipated gathering quite as much attention as she had and now that so many men were gazing at her with lust she wondered if she may have made an error.

Before any bloodshed could occur the men began to speak among themselves, most listening to the words of the older tillerman. A young man ran to the boat and returned with a weighed down sack and an empty one. The men all nodded approval at the sight of the bags and the energy shifted, although few took their eyes from the slender female nudity displayed provocatively before them.

Lyla dripped onto the sand as the fires dried her and the sun set.

The old sailor approached and held out the heavy sack for her. When she attempted to take it he held it tight and shook his head. Gesturing he indicated she should put her hand within. Uncertainly the girl reached inside and felt small, round, wooded disks. Pulling out a few she saw that they had runes carved into them

The old fellow took them from her and held them aloft. There were five. The men cheered and looked impressed by how many she had pulled. If she'd known five would be impressive she could have taken a much bigger handful, she thought.

The old man called out five times and five burly men shifted closer through the crowd. When they confirmed each disk it was placed into the empty bag and the rest of the men settled back on the ground or on logs and watched the centre of the loose camp.

The five men remained standing in the centre with Lyla looking at her expectantly and she realized she had chosen them by picking their tokens.

These were to be her partners for the night.

Perhaps five had been ambitious after all.

Uncertain just how to begin whatever she was meant to do now that she had their undivided attention Lyla ran her fingers through her damp hair and gazed at the five big men. One of them removed his cloak and spread it on the ground at Lyla's feet. The others took off their cloaks and outer layers while she stepped onto the make-shift bed and knelt before the man whose cloak it was.

At a glance the big men looked roughly the same, lots of hair, big beards and layers of thick wool and leather. But as the day passed they had become individuals to her.