The war chief gave two last thrusts into the unresisting form, grunting his satisfaction, and pulled out. A pearlescent flow tinged with pink followed his withdrawal, spilling down her thighs.
Those that watched cheered and stomped as he turned away from her, doing up his breeches. Most, anyway. Rurik, who had led the raiders who had brought the captive, had a face like stone.
"I do not question the right of your claim, war-chief," he grumbled, "but I am less than pleased as the man who took her to be following in your wake."
"Then there is no need for you to do so!" The war chief spoke loudly, so the captive woman might hear through her daze. "The wench has holes yet tight and unsullied- turn her about and sodomize her."
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