New Barbarian Erotica:
A young woman runs for her life as marauders chase her into the woods. Broken and bleeding, the rogues surround her. But something crashes through the woods to her rescue. Something large, and handsome, and mostly naked.
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After a long distance following the stream, he leads the horse through a network of narrow trails in the dense woodland. Twice I try to slip away from the saddle, but only once do I succeed in actually making it to the ground. The barbarian catches me and lifts me without any effort. He gives me a disapproving, warning grunt and squeezes my neck, urging me to stay.
We enter a small clearing of even earth and fern. In the center there is a cindering fire lined with rocks. Beside the fire pit is a fallen tree trunk covered in moss and mushrooms. What I presume is a skinned deer is strung up from a tree in the fire’s smoke. Dried strips of meat hang in a twine net nearby. Scraped deer hide dries over the log. Cured furs from two or three large animals are stacked on the ground near the fire.
It’s his camp. There are no other barbarians in sight. Despite the thoughts of my skin and flesh hung like the wild animal’s, I’m strangely calmed by the sight of the wild man’s dwelling.
He carries me near the fire, and for a panicked moment I think he’s going to drop me on the flames. But he lowers me to the pad of furs.
He leaves me for a moment. Fear rushes through me and I grasp the thick furs, trying to hold back tears. The barbarian returns. My panic is sated by his calm, strong face.
“What do you want with me?”
By the expression on his face, I doubt he understands. I look down, and my panic returns when I notice he carries with a handful of coarse twine made from moss and vine. I try to stand and avoid him, but with frightening speed he captures my arms and starts to bind them. There’s no point in trying to resist, his hold is tight and the twine is tighter.
“Please, let me go,” I beg. “I just want to return to my village.”
The barbarian grunts. If he has any kind of language, he isn’t using it. He stands, his huge form looming over me like a giant. Trembling, I don’t move. He’s got to be five times my size. He could do anything he wants to me and I would have no way to stop him.
I watch his massive form move to the fire and stoke it with a branch. He gets up from the log and approaches me slowly. He is trying to communicate, but I don’t recognize his grunts. He speaks some other language than the common tongue of my township and neighboring communities.
I pull back as he approaches, but he holds up his huge hands. He doesn’t want me to be afraid – but if he was going to kill, cook and eat me, then I suppose he wouldn’t.
His pace doesn’t falter. Each step makes him seem more like a giant, a solid hulk of rippling muscle. I can smell his musk and coating of dirt, the powerful odor of sweat on him. He reaches for me and I make to scream, but he doesn’t lift me, only rolls me from my side and onto my stomach. He pins me down, shifting his solid body atop me.
I kick and shout, but there’s nothing I can do to get away. I squeeze my eyes shut, waiting for the tear of my clothes… Instead, there is sharp pain on my shoulder. He is pulling out the knives, which are still in my flesh after the attack. I whimper as the first one leaves my shoulder. My flesh is relieved that the knife is removed, but this action has reawakened all awareness of my wounds.
His firm hand holds down my objections as he removes the second knife from my back. I try to kick to get away, but his knee presses into my thigh and just beside it he pulls out the third knife. I cry into the thick fur.
Despite the pain, I am acutely aware of his fingers wrapping around the hem of my dress. I turn, trying to move my bound wrists to stop him, but I’m pincered against the ground.
“No, no, no,” I beg as I feel him pull my dress up my legs. I feel the chilling night air on my bare skin. He speaks in his guttural language, as if he’s trying to soothe me, and continues to pull up my dress until he’s exposed my back. I’m afraid next he’ll go for my undergarments, which gives me a wave of panic, along with excitement. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be taken by a husky barbarian.
But he doesn’t try to expose my womanhood. He rinses my wounds, then dabs them with the soft side of some cured leather. Then he pushes a wooden bowl filled with a greenish-white unguent under my nose. It smells of flowers, natural oils, and leaves. He shows me a finger that he dabs into the salve, and then rubs the stuff over my deep wounds. It is deliciously cool and I feel numbness spread out from his gentle touch. I bite my lip when he rubs the salve on my thigh, and not from the pain.
If he’s going to eat me, then why heal me? Perhaps he’s keeping me alive until he’s eaten his other stores. I sigh, relieved the sting is lessening.
The barbarian’s hands return to my back. I shudder and tense out of instinct. But then the firm roll of his hands on my muscles sends me into a deep relaxation. The tension fades from my body. A deep weariness comes over me.
The barbarian sets the sweet smelling bowl just before my face and I can’t help but breathe in the strong scent with every breath. There’s a pinching sting against one of the cuts on my back, but not as painful as before. When I feel the pull of my skin, I recognize that he’s sewing shut the wound. My concern fades with my strength, and I relish in the warm softness of the furs around my body, and the touch of the barbarian’s hands against my skin.