He'd expected them to ransom him. He'd at least expected them to treat him like the nobleman's son he was.

They showed him no such courtesy, making lewd jokes as they tugged him along on a rope, naked as the day he was born, to one of the houses clustered near the settlement's longhouse. It was only when he was alone with her that he fully grasped what was about to happen; only when she drained her drinking-horn, beer dribbling over the corners of her mouth and down her chin, before picking him up like a sack of potatoes and dropping him down on the bed, before settling herself down, legs spread around him, that he realised what she was going to do.

He fought, of course, for the few seconds it took her to reach between her legs and slip his feet into her; after that, his struggles simply heightened her pleasure. As her powerful muscles began gulping him down the stench of her arousal, her sweat, her ass, all rolled over him, filling him up, making his cock stand to attention, and he moaned pitifully.
This was no fitting end for a duke's son; and that was exactly what she wanted. Her swollen belly would be a trophy for the next few weeks, everyone knowing the battle that was being fought inside her, a battle that he would inevitably lose. And when he was reborn, another trophy for her clan.
As he watched his legs get swallowed up between the fat, slick lips, he realised he wasn't afraid of that fate; he was afraid of the part of himself that wanted it.

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