The Barbarian Way

by Lobo De La Sombra

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© Copyright 2011 - Lobo De La Sombra - Used by permission

Storycodes: MF; M/f; bond; strip; naked; leather; gag; sex; cons/reluct; X


Shuffling along the dusty trail, the young man in the furs and armor stopped and gazed upwards. Above him, cliffs towered on both sides of the trail. Shading his eyes, he gazed at the tops of the cliffs, then continued forward.

“I said halt!”

Again, the youth halted and gazed upwards. “Or what?” he asked.

“Or I’ll skewer you.”

“Skewer? As in shoot me with an arrow?”

“Umm, no.”

“A spear?”

“Um, no.”

“A dart gun?”

“A what? Never mind. Stay right there.”

More curious than anything else, the youth waited. Soon, a figure appeared from behind a rock at the base of the left-hand cliff. At the sight, the youth’s eyes widened slightly.

The figure striding confidently toward him was as tall, bronzed and nearly as muscular as he was. Not surprising in these lands. The long blonde hair and large, bouncing breasts were the surprise. As the woman reached him, he found himself eyeing her appreciatively.

“Who are you?” she asked, “and why do you travel the forbidden trail?”

“I am a barbarian, of course,” the youth replied. “Please note the furs, the armor, and the absurdly long sword strapped to my back in a most useless manner.”

“I can see you’re a barbarian,” the woman replied. “I was requesting your name. As is only proper, so that I may know my enemy.”

The youth bristled. “And who are you to call me enemy?”

“Why, a warrior woman, of course. Please note the short skirt and skimpy laced top. Who else in their right mind would dress this way?”

“Of course, forgive me. I’d heard of warrior women, but you’re the first one I’ve actually seen. But I thought warrior women carried swords and bows.”

The woman blushed slightly. “We do. I’m still in training, so I haven’t earned my weapons yet.”

“Oh. Well, good fortune in your training. Now if you’ll excuse me, I do have someplace to go.” The youth started to move away, then stopped as the woman jumped in front of him.

“Not so fast, barbarian. This is our land, and none pass unknown. Who are you?”

The youth drew himself up straight. “I am the son of the great leader of the northern barbarians.”

“Of the Krete tribe?”

“Are there any other northern barbarians?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” the woman replied, “but you know how these things change. So your father is Kahn Krete. What is your name?”


The woman nodded. San. Ok, San Krete, know that you may not pass without my permission.”

“And do I have your permission?”


“And how do I pass without your permission?”

The woman frowned. “As a barbarian, you should know perfectly well that, without permission, your only option is to defeat me in mortal combat.”

“A fight? But you have no weapons. How do you propose to fight?”

For answer, the woman kicked him soundly in the shins. Startled, he jumped away, limping slightly.

“What did you do that for?” he asked.

“I’m fighting you. Now fight back.” Moving forward, the woman aimed another kick at his shins. The youth reacted by dodging the kick, then hooked the woman’s other foot out from under her. For a moment, she lay still, the breath knocked out of her, then she moved to rise.

“That was unfair. Wait till I get back up, and I’ll show you.”

“I don’t think so.” Reaching out with his foot, the youth flipped the woman over, then placed a foot on the small of her back, pinning her to the ground.

“Ouch! Get off me”

“If I do, you’ll just get up and kick me again.”

“Well, you can’t keep your foot on me forever. Sooner or later, you’ll have to move it, and then I’ll really kick you.”

“True enough.” The youth pondered briefly, then drew a huge knife and sliced up the woman’s top.

“Hey! Do you know how hard it is to get a good laced top around here?”

“Sorry,” the youth replied. Quickly, he rolled her over, stripped the top from her, then rolled her back, this time lowering himself to place a knee in her back. As she squirmed, he removed the lacing from the ruined top. Laying the top aside, he drew her arms behind her and bound her wrists securely with the lacing. Noticing shorter laces on the sides of her skirt, he then stripped her of that garment and removed the lacings. These proved too short to tie her ankles, so he settled for tying her big toes together.

Stepping back, he watched as she squirmed in her bonds, finding the view strangely pleasant. Finally, realizing her helplessness, she relaxed and glared at him.

“Ok, you got me. Now what.”

He frowned. “I’m not sure. I think I have to kill you now.”

“Kill me? All I did was kick you?”

“You attacked me,” he replied.

“I attacked you with a kick! And for that, you’re gonna kill me?”

For a moment, the youth gazed at her, looking thoughtful. Then, reaching into a pouch at his waist, he withdrew a sheaf of battered parchment.

“What’s that?” the woman asked.

“The Barbarian Handbook,” he replied. “Third edition.”

Flipping through the parchments, the youth studied the writing, lips moving as he read. After a few minutes, he glance up.

“You wouldn’t happen to be a virgin, would you?” he asked. “If you are, I have to ravish you.”

The woman’s eyes widened as he continued to read. “A virgin? Ravish? Um, well, technically……..”

“Here it is,” he said, interrupting her stammered reply. Dropping to sit beside her, he held the parchment in front of her, pointing at a particular set of lines. Craning her head, she began to read.

“In the event of an attack,” she read aloud, “a barbarian must always respond in kind. Any attacker must be dispatched. Proper methods of dispatch may include decapitation, disembowelment, or some form of impalement. If a weapon is not available, strangulation is acceptable.”

Her eyes still wide, the stared at him. “You’re gonna do one of those to me? For kicking you?”

“Well,” he replied, shrugging, “you did attack me. And you did call it a fight. It’s the barbarian way, you know.”

“Well, the barbarian way sucks!” she cried, struggling against her bonds. Watching her, he found himself fascinated by the way her bottom wiggled as she squirmed. Flipping her over, he watched her large breasts heave with her motions.

“Are you sure you’re not a virgin?” he asked hopefully.

She paused. “Well, um, define virgin.”

Puzzled, he turned back to his handbook. “Well, it says here that a virgin is anyone who has never had sex.”

“Does it specify sex with a man?” she asked.

“No. Just no sex.”

“Oh. Well, then, no.”

“Too bad. If you were a virgin, I’d have to ravish you. But I guess I’ll just have to kill you. Please don’t take this personally. It is the rule, you know.”

Saying nothing, the woman tried to wiggle away. As he watched her, an idea began to form slowly. Barbarians, after all, are not quick thinkers.

“Maybe there’s another option,” he said, unbuckling his harness and dropping his sword to the ground. As she watched, he divested himself of fur and armor.

“Um, what did you have in mind,” she asked nervously, squirming as he picked her up and draped her over a boulder.

“Um, what did you have in mind?” she asked again, eyeing him. Naked, he was still large, though not quite as large as the furs and armor made him look.

“Well, the handbook does list impalement as an option. But it doesn’t specify impalement on what.”

Shocked, she gazed at what stood proudly from between his naked thighs. “You’re gonna impale me with that?”

“Would you rather die?” Reaching down, he cut the thong binding her toes together, then spread her legs, sliding his hand up between her thighs.

“Hmm, damp,” he said. “Looks like someone is enjoying this.”

“Ok,” she grumped, “so I’m a kinky warrior woman. Warrior Women are required to be extremely passionate. So stop talking and let’s get this o….. oh…….OH!”

For long moments, the only sounds were those of passion. Finally, though, her voice rose from among her moans.

“Does the handbook say you have to grunt like that?”

He paused. “Well, no, the handbook doesn’t say anything about it. It just seemed like a properly barbaric sound to make.”

“Well, stop it. You sound like a hog at a trough. And why did you stop? You’re supposed to be impaling me, aren’t you?”

“Well, yes.” he replied. “But I had to stop and think about your question.”

“Stop thinking and get back to work,” she commanded. “And don’t stop until I have been well and thoroughly impaled.”

Some time later, sprawled across the boulder, she whispered, “Are barbarians always so thorough?”

“We try,” he said, donning fur, armor and harness. Once more looking every inch the barbarian, he gazed down at her.

“Ok,” he said. “You have been impaled. That means the fight is over. So I’ll be on my way.”

“Not so fast,” she replied. “Do you have any idea what you’ve just done?”

“I was there at the time,” he pointed out.

“Do you see the boulder at the bottom of the cliff?”

“Which one?” he asked, eyeing the boulder-strewn ground.

“The reddish one, with the smaller boulder on top of it.”

“Ok, I see it.”

“There’s a pouch behind it. Could you get that for me? I need what’s inside.”

The youth retrieved the pouch, from which he drew a handsomely bound book. “What’s this?” he asked.

“That’s the WWC.”

“The what?”

“Warrior Woman’s Creed. Read Chapter 8, Paragraph 5.”

“The youth found the requested paragraph. “As Warrior Women are, by definition, lovers of women, no WW may have intimate knowledge of any man for reasons other than procreation. As such, any intimate knowledge of a man for any other reasons will be considered grounds for immediate exile from the tribe. Any WW overpowered and possessed by a man will, in addition to exile, be considered the property of said man.”

“You see,” she demanded, “you’ve ruined me. According to that, I now belong to you. So why don’t we just pretend this never happened, ok? We don’t have to tell anybody. You go your way and I’ll go mmmmmppphhh! Mmmph!”

Watching her chew on the front panel form her ruined skirt, which he had stuffed into her mouth, the youth cut the shoulder strap from her pouch, wrapping it around her head, securing the makeshift gag in place.

Lifting her, he draped her across his shoulders, then strode away, her muffled protests trailing behind him.

“When we get home, you’ll have to read the handbook,” he said, smiling. “But I’ll give you a preview of one of the main rules. Never give anything back. So I intend to keep you. And impale you quite often.”

Remembering what had just occurred, her struggles stopped. After all, she was, by rule, required to be passionate, even if she was no longer a WW. Considering the possibility of being impaled quite often, she found herself hoping his journey was a short one, and that he would return home to impale her again soon.

After all, it was the barbarian way.


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19.09.11 | updated - 06.05.17