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Trendil's Story part 4 - A Lesson Hammered Home


jfraser

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She should have seen it coming. Should have known. That made it her fault – no one else’s. Including the man who was currently raping her.

 

“How about that, whore? You like that?” He panted the words in her face as he pumped. His hands pinned her wrists to the floor of the tent, but he had otherwise given up his only advantage – his weight no longer held her legs down, so engrossed was he in his own dick. She could have killed him a dozen times, could still, right this moment, throw him off. Instead, she lay still, allowed him to use her body, kept her eyes open and upon his sweating face as punishment for herself.

 

She deserved it. She had been careless, had set up her tent and gone to sleep as if she were at home, had assumed her companions would honor the unspoken bind that held those walking the same path usually kept. She had allowed her imagination to pretend his words in the courtyard two days ago, and continuing on as they walked through the day toward the distant north, had been just that – words. Male piss, as her mother had always called it.

 

“They like to hear themselves talk.” Her mother taps Trendil’s arm. Too high. Trendil adjusts, and her mother nods. “So let them. Keep ke us.”

 

Trendil shifts her stance and extends the blade, outward, parallel to the ground, elbow in.  

 

“Like this stance, let their words flow over you. Lebzus êzhaa.”

 

A shift forward, a strike, a reset. Twelve different options could follow the Precise Strike, but her mother had not called for a follow up. Trendil resumes her Keep ke us.

 

“Pick out their true meaning. They will always tell the truth, whether they mean to or not. Once you have it…hanne ee, bêj lebbûshrâ, âj beewmeb. And they are yours.”

 

Trendil shifts through the moves, a sweeping block leading to a reverse thrust to an imaginary gut, a spin and a slash from above.

 

“Jêl tûs gêngâ.”

 

Trendil straightens, flips the sword out then back until she holds in behind her back, point up, and stands at rest. Her mother approaches, looks her in the eyes. “This, my daughter, is where real power sits. Anyone can wield a sword. Only a master can wield their opponent."

 

“I understand, my mother.”

 

Except, clearly, she had not.

 

Koren’s hands shifted to her breasts, still pumping away. He had closed his eyes, which seemed foolish. Her hands and arms were free, her sword and dagger were both within easy grabbing distance. The man was an idiot. Which just made it all the more galling that she had allowed him to do this to her, had allowed herself to relax in the presence of two men she did not know. Her mother, had she been around to see this, would be appalled.

 

No, not appalled. Ashamed. Beyond ashamed. After everything…EVERYthing we’ve talked about… She could hear her mother’s voice as if the woman were in the tent. Where she would, no doubt, be rooting on the man currently astride her. Harder, you lazy cur! She’s never going to learn her lesson if you go easy on her!

 

It was likely mere coincidence (although Trendil would not put it past her mother to have somehow actually screamed those words at him) that it was at that very moment that Koren let out a guttural groan and squeezed her breasts as he strained into his climax. Trendil forced herself to watch every last contortion and twitch of his face. He was not at fault, after all – she was to blame. This was her punishment for failure. She accepted it.

 

He heaved himself off, shaking his rapidly dwindling dick over her, sending a few final droplets of his essence to splash onto her skin.

 

“Get used to it, whore. This is how it will be every night.”

 

She did not speak – his gloating was a part of her punishment – but did not shy away from his gaze either. She met his eyes for a long unblinking moment before his leer faltered. He covered it up with a loud guffaw and ducked out of the tent.

 

Trendil sighed and lay back. She could feel his spunk dripping out of her, forming a slippery film on her inner thighs, sliding down her ass. It would be dry and sticky in the morning. She would wash it off in the river and, at that point, consider her punishment complete. Certainly she had learned her lesson.

 

It was one she would not need to learn again.

 

________________________________________________________________________________

“Ah, you’re up, whore!” Koren seemed in good spirits as he crawled out of his tent to find Trendil already dressed and stoking the fire. “Good! Make us breakfast, then pack up our things. We…”
 

“That was the last time.”

 

A pause, then a belligerent glare. “I told you last night, whore…”

 

She stood, faced him, and though her hands were empty, something in her eyes must have penetrated his tiny brain. His words stumbled to a halt.

 

“You had your fun. It will not happen again.”

 

All trace of humor left his face. He reached back and picked up his warhammer with what he probably thought was casual ease. Trendil noticed the slight tremble in his fingers.

 

“All right, bitch. You’ve been acting all high and mighty, telling us what to do since we started. I’ve been playing along because the things you said were what I was planning on doing anyway, but it’s time we all come to an understanding just who is in charge here.”

 

“What’s going on?” Rell, half-dressed and yawning, stumbled from his tent. He rubbed his eyes as he looked from one to the other.

 

Koren tossed him a contemptuous sneer. “I’m going to teach this bitch who is boss. After I’m done, I can teach you the same lesson.”

 

Rell held up his hands. “Hey, I’m just trying to get this ice heart thing. I don’t think we need to fight each other.”

 

“Good! Then you agree I should be in charge.” Koren smirked as if he had made an especially clever statement. Trendil silently berated herself once again for allowing the idiot to get the best of her.

 

Rell frowned. “That’s not exactly what I…”

 

“Fine, we’ll discuss it once I’m done with her.” Koren turned away from Rell and took two steps toward Trendil. “You can just get on your knees now, bitch. It will save you from the headache I’m about to give you.”

 

“I can see there is no gainsaying you.” Trendil clasped her hands behind her back. “Very well. I accept your challenge. The winner is in charge. The loser must follow their orders, no matter what, until we have finished our task and have re-entered the gates of Windhelm. Are we agreed on these terms?”

 

Koren frowned, a look of suspicion on his face. “No matter what?”

 

Trendil nodded. “No matter what. Any command must be followed.”

 

“So if I were to win and told you to suck my dick?”

 

“I would be on my knees before you finished speaking.”

 

He smiled and hefted the hammer. “Then let’s get this started! Grab your weapon!”

 

“I am prepared. Attack as you will.”

 

Another suspicious pause – he wasn’t completely stupid, it would seem – and then a shrug. The hammer rose, a yell roared from his throat, and he stepped and swung, an overhead blow that likely would have caved in her head, had she remained where she was. She did not, of course. She flicked her foot and the three-foot branch she had stuck in the fire as Koren left his tent and then tucked her foot under as they talked lept to her hand even as she sidestepped.

 

In a different time and place, she may have toyed with him a bit. Allowed him a few close calls, danced about as if struggling to keep up with his speed. But they were on a mission, it was bloody cold, he had raped her last night (fine, it had been her fault, but still!), and she didn’t want there to be any doubt about the outcome. Besides, hammers were so bloody slow, it would have been near impossible to pretend she could barely keep up.

 

He had put his entire strength into that swing, leaving him woefully unbalanced. Trendil shifted into vod enmê and struck with the flaming end of the branch. To his credit, Koren was faster than she had expected – even off balance, he managed to twist away, so the blow struck his shoulder instead of his cheek. He shouted and swung the hammer on a perpendicular plane, demonstrating rather impressive control considering the swing was with one arm while he was falling backward. Trendil used the hammer itself to escape, placing her off hand on it and pushing off as it were a fence, its own momentum helping lift her as she kicked her feet up and over and, while she was at it, smashing his fingers with the heel of her boot. He shouted again as the hammer’s follow-through once more left him overexposed, and this time the glowing end of the branch caught him in the ear. He howled as the hammer flew from his grip in one direction while his body fell to the ground in the other. She stood over him, holding the branch like a sword to his throat.

 

“Are you prepared to yield, or will your stubborn male pride convince you to continue?”

 

He glared up at her but, again to his credit, lifted his hands. “You were the victor, there is no doubt.”

 

“I am pleased to hear you say so.” She tossed toward the fire without glancing back, hoping her aim was true. It would be a little embarrassing if she missed…

 

Clunk.

 

Ah. She suppressed the smile at the gratifying sound of wood hitting wood. It was important at times like these to make it appear that she had never doubted her accuracy. She held out a hand, offering to help him up. He ignored it, rolling to the side and climbing to his feet, facing away from her. He stomped to his hammer and picked it up and Trendil had a brief moment of concern – if he decided to resume the fight, she had just disarmed herself. She would still be able to…

 

But this time her fears were allayed. He tossed the hammer toward his tent, then dug through his pack until he found some food, then stomped to the fire and sat in a huff. Rell joined him after a moment and Trendil let out a quiet, relieved sigh. Maybe this had been a good thing, maybe he had learned to respect her a little mo…

 

“So what are you orders, oh wise leader Bitch?”

 

Or maybe not. She turned to face them and tried to impress upon them with her body language that she held no ill will. Well, not much ill will, anyway. After all, it had been her fault. Mostly.

 

“Just what we’ve been doing. Get to the island. Kill the serpent. Return. Nothing has changed.”

 

His glare told her two things: he disagreed on the “nothing has changed” bit and he was not picking up what her body language was trying to tell him. Or he was just too angry and bitter to care. She let out another sigh as she turned toward her tent and began to tear it down. It was going to be a long journey.

Edited by jfraser

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