Ostnordia at War - chapter 1 of 3 - Sex Stories

Ostnordia at War - chapter 1 of 3

... but they stole my power away. I lost my sense of self-worth, safety, and confidence. They didn’t injure me, but did whatever they wanted. I tried to stop them many times, but was helpless as a kitten in comparison.

One of the bearded and burly brutes would hold my arms above my head while another laid on top of me, played with my breasts, and stuck his big penis in. They usually did it missionary style and thrust into my vagina bareback. Several times I asked them if they could at least use condoms, but they didn’t seem to understand. They were careful not to hurt me, but all three of them did it nearly every night.

The sons were 19 and 20, and would usually rape me after breakfast too. I fought and resisted as strongly as I could the first few times, but each of them was nearly twice my weight. I’d have the same chance of success if I tried moving the ocean uphill with a fork. When I didn’t struggle they were gentle, but it was still rape.

Every night before supper they forced me to strip, then washed my whole body with wet rags and a pail of warm water. After the first week, I convinced them to let me wash myself. They let me, so long as they could watch. They bathed the same way and seemed to like it when I watched them. I made a point of looking away most of the time, at least for the first few weeks.

Our conversations started out in an adversarial way. Well, adversarial from my side. I demanded they quit touching me, quit raping me, and let me go. I ...

... insisted they needed to take me to a city and release me, or at least quit watching me in the damn outhouse. They smiled and looked amused.

They let me rant and shout all I wanted. When I was finished venting my rage, they would hold me firmly as they kissed my face and told me I was pretty. They’d smile as they squeezed my tits, then they’d force their dicks into me again.

One day all three of them went somewhere. I picked up my cane, put on an old parka they kept as a spare, and made my escape. I hobbled an entire thirty meters before I tripped on a rock. I rolled over fifty meters down the steep mountainside. I grabbed a shrub near the edge of a cliff, just before falling to my death. I clung there and yelled for help at least half an hour, until they returned and saved me again.

I attempted to get away again a week later. I struggled to walk a kilometer down the winding switchback road in two hours, and knew it was over ten more kilometers to the closest town. I did my best to ignore the pain in my ankle and keep going, only to see their truck coming around the corner. Arik kindly picked me up and rested me in his lap on the ride home. I was surprised they didn’t punish me. Escape seemed as impossible as resisting their strong muscular arms or their powerful lust, so I didn’t try to get away again.

One day I finally had a meaningful conversation with Arvid. He said, “On mountain life hard. Much work, very much. You have bad leg, you no work. You no get wood or food. ...