Lithuanian Raid
In the grim, cold dawn of the 14th century, Lithuanian warriors, led by the fierce chieftain Vytenis, had ravaged a Polish village, leaving nothing but destruction in their wake. Among the spoils of this merciless raid were not just riches but people - Polish men, women, and boys, taken as captives. Vytenis, proud of his conquest, returned to his stronghold, his sons, all still very young, eager to see what their father had brought back. "Look at what we've won, my sons," Vytenis bellowed, his voice echoing through the stone halls. "These young men are yours now, to mold as you see fit."
Part 1: The Raid's Aftermath
The cold, harsh light of dawn barely pierced through the thick, grey clouds as the Lithuanian warriors, under the command of Chieftain Vytenis, returned from their brutal incursion into Polish lands. The village they had left in their wake was nothing but smoldering ruins, its inhabitants either dead or taken.
Vytenis, riding at the head of his men, wore a triumphant sneer, his armor splattered with the blood of his enemies. The spoils of this raid were not just material; they included human lives. As they approached the stronghold, the captives stumbled along, bound and broken, their spirits as shattered as their village.
Upon entering his fortress, Vytenis called his five sons to the great hall, where the captives were lined up like prized cattle. The air was thick with the stench of fear and the cold stone's dampness.
Part 2: The Division of Spoils
The captives were brought forward, fear in their eyes, their bodies bruised from the journey. Among them were five young Polish boys, their youth and perceived beauty making them prime targets for what was to come. Each bore the marks of the journey, their clothes torn, their faces smeared with dirt and dried tears.
Vytenis, with a father's authority, began the distribution. "Each of you will have a servant, a bedmate, a toy," he declared, his words heavy with the weight of his power. His sons' eyes lighting up with a mix of excitement and malice.
Algirdas, the eldest son at twenty-five, stepped forward first, his eyes scanning the captives with a predator's gaze. He chose a boy with hair like spun gold, defiance still flickering in his gaze. "This one," he said, pulling the boy by the arm, his grip a promise of the control he would exert.
The other sons followed, each selecting their 'prize'. The second son, Mindaugas, chose a boy with dark, curly hair; Kęstutis picked a muscular peasant boy, whose eyes showed a haunted look; Vytautas, the youngest, went for one who seemed the smallest, perhaps thinking him easiest to dominate; and Skirgaila, the fourth son, selected a boy whose physique suggested he once worked the fields, now to serve in a much different capacity.
The division was more than just the allocation of slaves. Each boy was handed over with a sense of pride from Vytenis, as if bestowing great honor, when in reality, it was the start of a life of servitude, abuse, and sexual exploitation.
As the boys were led away by their new owners, the reality of their situation began to sink in. They were no longer free; they were property, to be used, broken, and reshaped by the desires of Lithuanian youth eager to prove their dominance, to follow in the footsteps of their conquering father. They picked their prizes with a sense of ownership that chilled the captives to their bones.
Part 3: The Initiation of Servitude
The Lithuanian stronghold, with its cold stone walls and dimly lit corridors, became the new home for the Polish captives. Each son, with a sense of entitlement and eagerness, led his chosen boy into his personal chamber, to a life of subservience.
Algirdas wasted no time in asserting his dominance. In the privacy of his chamber, lit only by the flickering of a hearth, he stripped his boy of his ragged clothes, revealing the young Polish boy's muscular form, a testament to his life of hard labor now to be used for different toil. "You will serve me in every way," Algirdas commanded, his voice cold, his eyes raking over his prize with a mix of disdain and desire.
He forced the golden-haired boy to his knees, the cold floor biting into his skin. Then Algirdas made him to clean his leather boots with his tongue, a humiliating task meant to break any spirit left. Then, he used the boy as a human footrest while he dined, his hands roaming, exploring, asserting his ownership over every inch of the captive's body. Touching, claiming every part of him, from the curve of his peachy ass to the tension in his muscles.
The other sons followed suit in their own quarters. Mindaugas had his boy wash him in hot water, the act turning from service to sexual exploration. He stood naked, commanding the boy to wash him, his hands guiding the trembling hands of his servant, ensuring every touch was a lesson in submission
Kęstutis made his captive entertain him, performing degrading acts for his amusement. He had his boy dance for him, naked, and then crawl. His laughter was echoing off the walls while he made the boy perform these acts.
Vytautas, driven by the zeal of youth, was the most cruel. He tied his captive with ropes, testing his resistance with small, painful punishments—pinches, slaps, and the occasional bite, teaching him the price of disobedience. Skirgaila, with a more physical approach, tested his boy's endurance using brute strength, making him perform menial tasks until exhaustion.
Night fell, and with it came the true problems of the captive boys. The sons, now in their private quarters, revealed the full extent of their dominion. Each captive was taken to bed, to be used as body-servants, as bumboys. The beds in each room were not for rest but for the sons to claim their bodies.
Algirdas pushed his boy onto the bed, his hands rough, his intentions clear. He bent the captive over, his entry brutal, meant to break both body and spirit. The boy's cries were ignored, his pain a melody to Algirdas's ears.
In Mindaugas's room, the act was no less harsh. He forced his captive onto his back, his movements punishing, his words degrading, making the boy feel his hard cock with his hands. He bent the captive over, his entry was brutal. Kęstutis took pleasure in the struggle, enjoying the fight before the inevitable submission, his laughter mixing with the sounds of the forced buggery. Tcaptive's resistance only heightening his excitement
Vytautas, a reckless young man, used his boy in ways that were more about proving his dominance than pleasure, his actions erratic, his cruelty a badge of honor. Skirgaila, the strongest, the most physically imposing, treated his captive like a beast of burden, his strength overwhelming, his desires insatiable as he took what he wanted without regard for the pain he inflicted.
The night was long, filled with the sounds of enforced buggery, of the breaking of wills. Each son, in his way, exerted a dominion that would define the captives' lives henceforth. There was no gentleness, no compassion.
As dawn approached, the captives lay broken, their bodies sore, their minds reeling from the night's degradation. They were no longer just slaves; they were playthings, tools of pleasure and pain, their lives now bound to the whims of their Lithuanian masters. Their servitude had truly begun.
Part 4: The Daily Life of Captivity
Days turned into a routine of servitude and sexual exploitation. The Polish boys were trained to anticipate their masters' needs, from the mundane tasks of serving food and drink to the more degrading roles as bedservants. The authority of their Lithuanian masters was absolute, their control over every aspect of the captives' lives unchallenged.
Physical punishments were common, a whip or a fist used to correct any perceived disobedience. The captives learned to submit, their bodies and minds reshaped by the relentless cycle of abuse, their former lives a distant memory, replaced by this new, harsh reality.
Over time, the resistance faded, replaced by a hollow acceptance. The sons had not just taken their bodies but had begun to break their spirits. They would make the captives perform for their pleasure, in front of each other, turning humiliation into a spectacle. The boys learned to serve, to please.
Years passed, and the Polish captives became fixtures in the Lithuanian stronghold, their identities as anything but slaves and sex toys forgotten. Vytenis watched with pride as his sons wielded power over their human spoils. He saw in them the making of future chieftains, their cruelty and command over others a reflection of his own. The legacy of the raid was not just in the wealth taken, but the lives reshaped under Lithuanian rule.
