Danielle's Dark & Dirty Dreams

Yesterday I heard the pirate captain suggest that if we are lucky, we could find ourselves living in pampered luxury in some sheik's harem. I can't imagine anything worse. Belonging to just one man is the last thing I want. While I was working at the Dead Parrot I was surrounded by men, many of whom didn't hesitate to take liberties with my body. And Groat the innkeeper liked to give his serving wenches an intimate examination every now and then. Nor did he spare the whip when I accidentally spilt or broke something. And that was fairly often, since I find it very difficult to concentrate on serving the inn's patrons their beer while some man's hand is busy inside my skirt.

On board the Red Hawk I was put on display in a very lewd fashion. I'm not complaining since that was partly by my own choice. The lust in the sailors eyes only made me long for one of them to go a step further. However the bosun was quick to use his short knotted rope to make any admiring sailor get back to his work. The bosun would have been justified in using his knotted rope on me instead. After all, it was I who distracted the sailor in the first place.

The captain didn't hesitate to use me though. By the time we arrived in Puskin, I was becoming accustomed to being sodomised by the captain. My arse still hurts, but it's the sort of pain that is worth enduring for the pleasure I gained in exchange. And pain is something I'm used to ... even crave for at times. Applied correctly, pain and pleasure can be two sides of the same coin.

It may seem strange that I enjoy being punished, particularly by a man wielding a whip. However, to me it is a symbol of affection. Groat frequently used a belt or a whip on me whenever I deserved punishment but never too excess. To me a few red marks on my body are a sign that someone cares about me enough to keep me in line. Like many girls I knew when I was growing up, I lacked discipline. Many of those ultimately suffered as a consequence. The lucky ones ended up as beasts of burden in some man's kitchen or laundry. The unlucky ones ended up married. This isn't a gentle or kind world, particularly for a woman, and it isn't about to change anytime soon.

Perhaps I should add that I don't enjoy pain for the sake of it. Nor do I ever want my body to be torn into a bloody pulp. Groat always showed restraint when administering a punishment. His goal has always been to correct my errors rather than to torture me. For that I gratefully thank him, since I know there exist those who get their pleasure from the latter. Naomi said the Vizier of Puskin is just such a man.

I reflect on my own predicament. My neck is chained to a post in the viewing room of some slave dealer's compound. Naomi and Emerald are similarly chained to the posts either side of me. They are doing their best to entice the steady trickle of prospective buyers into wanting to buy them. Within a matter of days I will be sold into slavery, probably for the rest of my life. How do I feel about that? I can't prevent Captain Jack from selling me, so I am ambivalent about what is happening here. As Emerald said to him yesterday, no woman in our homeland is ever free in the real sense of the word. Every woman is the responsibility of some man, who can do with her as he wishes. Slavery is only a technical difference from my previous status in life.

The overseer wants me to copy Naomi's and Emerald's actions and for me to brazenly display my body to his clients. In reality all I want is to feel the taste of the overseer's whip. In that respect he is more than happy to oblige, even if he doesn't initially realise why I'm being so disobedient to his orders. Unfortunately for me, the overseer is no fool and before long he guesses my secret game. He goes to talk with the owner of this establishment and a short while later my neck chain is unfastened and I'm escorted into a different room.

The room I'm taken to is much smaller than the viewing room I've just left, although it is clearly used for the same purpose. I'm made to stand on the raised platform. A leg iron bolted to the platform by a short chain is locked onto my left ankle.

"Hands on your head, slave," orders the overseer.

I do as I am told since I can guess what is about to follow, and the prospect of such intimate attention excites me. The overseer is experienced enough to detect my arousal.

"How many strokes of this can you take before moving your hands or crying out, slave?" asks the overseer while brandishing his light whip through the air.

"Twenty or more on my bottom and back, or about ten on my breasts, master," I reply, making a reasonable guess based on my past experiences.

"What about this one?" he asks, fetching a much heavier whip from a rack on the wall.

"I've never experienced a whip that heavy, master."

"Then guess how many you might be able to take before moving or crying out," demands the overseer.

"Umm ... Perhaps ten on my bottom and back. I don't think I'll be able to take any on my breasts without moving or crying out," I reply. "Master," I add, belatedly complying with one of the instructions we were given when we arrived.

"We shall test the heavier whip later. For now let's see if your first boast is true," says the overseer reverting to his light whip.

I don't get any warning before the first stroke of his whip lands on my bottom. I feel incredibly proud that I hold my position and only let out a barely audible grunt. The whip lands with a light sting. I know it will leave a red line that will quickly fade. I'm ready for the second stroke, so I easily hold my position. The overseer seems determined to make me lose control, but so far I've defeated his best attempts.

Only when we get to the eighteenth stroke do I start to worry about losing my control. My bottom feels as though it is on fire and my insides are like a volcano ready to erupt. My tendency to have an orgasm when I'm treated in this way is partly why I desire such attention in the first place. I try not to let the overseer guess what is going on inside the hidden depths of my body. It's a forlorn hope. The man is far too experienced in his trade not to notice what is happening.

The nineteenth stroke comes from a different angle and lands between my legs. The end of the whip curls up between my legs to slap my lower belly. It's not a particularly hard stroke, but it undoes my composure completely. My hands instinctively drop to protect my abused slit and to hide the orgasm that rips through me.

"Interesting," muses the overseer, removing my hands from their current position and feeling the wetness trickling down the inside of my legs.

I briefly feel ashamed, but then console myself that I'm now a slave, so the concept of shame no longer has any meaning. A slave is nothing more than an animal, and nobody complains when an animal satisfies is base desires. I move my hands back to the top of my head.

"Good. You can obviously take more," observes the overseer.

I'm not certain provoking him into making further assaults on my body is the wisest thing to do, but that's what I'm doing. I'm rewarded by his skilful use of the whip on my back and breasts which draws two more orgasms from me in quick succession. I manage to hide my last orgasm from him for a while. When he notices the fresh liquid oozing down the inside of my legs he acknowledges my achievement with a grunt which I interpret as praise.

The overseer allows me to rest. I take the opportunity to sit, which is something I couldn't do in the other viewing room. Despite the punishment levied on my poor arse, the pain is well within my capacity to tolerate, so sitting isn't a problem for me.

The overseer leaves the room, presumably to attend to his other duties. I don't doubt that he'll return later. While I'm pleased about my ability to handle this morning's session, I'm apprehensive about what is to follow. The overseer said that he would use his heavier whip on me, and I'm not looking forward to that. At the moment, my bottom and breasts are a bright pink, although I know from experience that my normal colouring will return within a few hours. But using a heavier whip on my body will leave welts which will take much longer to heal. Perhaps he wasn't being serious. I can't believe they would want to sell damaged goods.

I look around the room while I wait. There's a single door through which I entered. A small viewing area is located between the door and the platform on which I am placed. The room is very tall, giving it the appearance of a shaft. Daylight streams through high windows which I can't see because a balcony above me. The balcony is about three metres above the floor and extends around three walls of the room. I can just see part of a door at one end of the balcony. It occurs to me that the balcony provides another viewing area of whichever slave is on the platform below. It's possible that someone was observing me earlier without me knowing.

About midday an old woman dressed in a rough cotton shift comes into the room with a pitcher of water and a bowl of the standard slave gruel. She simply deposits the items within my reach and leaves without saying a word. That's the only contact I have with anybody for the rest of the day. The overseer doesn't return until it is going dark. He unlocks my ankle fetter and escorts me back to the cage. Naomi, Emerald and the others who arrived with me are already there, as are a dozen new women.

"We thought you had been sold and that we would never see you again," says Emerald showing some genuine concern for my well being.

I explain where I've been but not my experience at the hands of the overseer. I doubt Emerald would understand my feelings about being whipped.

"When did these others arrive?" I ask.

"A couple of them arrived mid-morning and were chained to the posts in the viewing room with us," replies Emerald. "The rest were in here when we returned tonight."

"Why did you think that I'd been sold?" I ask.

"Naomi told me that sometimes private sales are made rather than waiting for the public auction. When you were taken away and didn't return, I thought that someone had bought you."

"Nobody has shown any interest in me," I reply. "You, on the other hand, seem to have attracted interest from several young men. The one who was fondling your breasts seems very interested."

"Hmm ... I must confess that I wouldn't mind warming his bed," replies Emerald. "And Naomi has a few admirers among the young men as well."

"As long as I don't have to endure a man like the Vizier of Puskin, I don't care whether my owner is young or old," replies Naomi.

With darkness rapidly approaching we all settle down for the night. Some of the new women are restless and I can tell that it will be a while before everybody will fall asleep. I lie down thinking about today's events. The marks on my body have all vanished and the pain is only a faint memory. I concede that the overseer is very skilled at his trade. But I don't know what he hoped to achieve by today's performance.

Eventually we all fall asleep, only to be roused before dawn the next day. Not all the women are made to wake up, and I notice Naomi and Emerald are allowed to remain sleeping. I and the others are escorted to the washing area before being taken into the viewing room. The large viewing room has twelve posts on the platform, while there are thirteen of us who have been woken early. It comes as no great surprise to me that I'm the odd one out, and that my destination is the small room I was in yesterday.

"We will try a belt today, slave," says the overseer to me. "A little more pain for you to endure than yesterday, but no lasting marks."

I don't question why he wishes to do this since I've no say in the matter. Groat used a belt on me on occasion, but it was never a good test of my endurance to that form of punishment. The overseer removes two belts from the rack and brings them over to where I am standing.

"Do you prefer the plain wide belt, or the narrow twisted belt?" he asks.

"I'll take the wide belt, please," I reply.

"Certainly, miss," replies the shopkeeper, placing the wide belt into a bag.

Once again my dark fantasies have intruded into my real world. I like the wide red leather belt I've been admiring, but I've no clothes in my wardrobe that it will match. I'm going to need to buy an outfit to go with it. Perhaps I'll try on that sexy dress I saw earlier. A bit of retail therapy might stop my mind from wandering into dark realms. Or maybe not.

Friday

"How do you remain so calm?" I ask Naomi.

"My mother was a slave, so I've been a slave for all of my life," replies Naomi. "This will be my third time on the auction block, so I know what to expect."

"How well do you remember the previous occasions?" I ask

"I was quite young on the first occasion, and I don't remember much about it. The second time it was the human pigsty that passed for the slave dealer's premises that I remember the most."

While the three of us are friendly to each other, Ruby, Naomi and I haven't known each other long enough to be close friends. We are simply passing strangers who have shared the common experience of being captives on board One-eyed Jack's ship. We have never met before, nor are we likely to see each other again after tomorrow's auction. That doesn't mean that I don't care about what happens to them, but I'm realistic enough to know that there is nothing I can do to alter any of our futures.

Ruby was taken away before I woke this morning, so I presume she is one of those on display today. I admire her courage in defying the overseer, but he has obviously taken his revenge on her body. The red marks on her bottom and back from yesterday may have quickly faded, but they must have hurt her like Hell at the time. And yet her spirit remains strong despite her cruel treatment.

At first it looks as though Naomi and I will be spending all day locked in the large cage with the other women who are not being put on display today. That can mean one of two things; either Naomi and I have attracted sufficient potential buyers already, or that nobody is interested in us and the market owner doesn't want to waste the limited space in the pre-auction viewing room. My intuition tells me that I have admirers from those who inspected us yesterday, but that doesn't mean I'll gain a good master.

According to Naomi the owner of this market is following the usual routine for Puskin's slave auctions. It means that tomorrow we will be roused at dawn, and told to wash ourselves thoroughly. The overseer will then sort us into groups of four or five women depending on the order in which we are to be sold. We won't be fed breakfast as some slaves being sold for the first time have been known to vomit out of fear while being auctioned. Naomi said that she has seen that happen once, and it isn't a pretty sight. It is also rumoured to reduce the worth of the slave. Apparently, the more common occurrence of a frightened slave who pisses herself while on the block doesn't devalue her price at all.

"Those to be sold first will be ones who the market owner believes to be his inferior stock," says Naomi as though discussing the weather. "Most likely they will become slaves in some factory sweat shop, laundry or kitchen. The next group to be sold will be those who might appeal to the owners of brothels or other establishments which provide exotic entertainment in this male oriented world. The women regarded as the most valuable will be sold last. The men with serious money to spend will be waiting for them."

I've no idea where I will rank in this grotesque pecking order. Last night there were about twenty women who slept in this cage, and it's possible that there will be more arriving today.

An old woman in a plain white dress enters the cage and begins to clean the stone floor. She refuses to answer any of our questions and we give up after a while. Her filthy task would have been easier if the overseer had provided us with buckets to use for our calls of nature. At least the floor is cleaned every day in this establishment. Naomi said that the last slave market where she was held stank like a sewer and the only attempt at sanitation was to periodically add another layer of straw on the floor.

Just as I am beginning to think my entire day is going to be spent in the cage, the overseer arrives and one by one we are removed from the cage. I'm one of the first ones to be taken, and I feel very nervous at being separated from the other women. I relax when I realise that the purpose of this excursion is so that I can be weighed, measured and questioned so that a few on my attributes can be recorded.

"Your current owner tells me that you are the daughter of some northern king," says the man writing my details into a large book.

"Yes, master," I reply, remembering the honorific we have been told to use when speaking to any of the men who run this place.

"And yet your father allows you to be sold into slavery," observes the man.

"My father is dead. My brother killed him and seized his throne," I reply, remembering what Ruby told me about what happened at the Banded Parrot Inn.

The next thing I know my bottom is on fire. I let out a yelp of surprise mixed with pain.

"Master! You forgot to say 'master' when you spoke," snaps the overseer as he rewinds his whip.

"Master," I belatedly say to the man. The stinging in my arse is starting to change into a warm glow and my cunt starts to feel moist. I begin to realise why Ruby likes such treatment.

"Hmm," says the man before turning his attention to the overseer. "Put her in batch 9 tomorrow. Make sure she is properly prepared."

The overseer acknowledges his orders and escorts me back to the cage. I've no idea what being in batch 9 means, or what preparations the man has ordered. For the moment, all I can concentrate on is the tingling sensation across my arse, and my overwhelming need to do something about my resulting arousal.

I attribute the cause of my recent obsession with sex to my treatment at the hands of One-eyed Jack and the fact that I have been kept naked for over a week. I can't explain why I don't feel afraid or horrified at the way I'm being degraded. It's a though I'm living in some sort of fantasy world. Whatever the reason I don't seem to be able to stop my primal urges from taking control of me.

When I return to the cage I find that Naomi has been taken away, presumably to undergo the same interrogation which I've just endured. I study the other captives held in the cage. The majority are about my age or slightly older, although there are a couple who look younger, perhaps about twenty. I know that only a few of them speak any language that I know, so trying to have conversation with them is a waste of time. I find a free space by the bars and sit down. Almost at once the third and fourth fingers of my right hand delve deep into my moist cunt while my left hand starts to play with my clit. I've spread my legs wide in full view of the nearby women, who look at me with a mixture of pity and disgust.

"Have you no pride, northerner?" asks one of the women in my native language.

"No," I reply in between my shortening breaths as I rapidly head towards my climax.

"I used to have pride in my appearance and how I behaved," I add once my orgasm has passed and I start working on building up another one. "But a week chained naked to the main mast of One-eyed Jack's ship has shown me the futility of such pride and arrogance. Men desire my body and I'm no longer going to discourage their attentions. I want a man's cock inside me, and I'm not bothered which hole the man chooses."

"Barbarian," grumbles the woman who had interrupted me. "No wonder the best prices are offered for southern women. I expect you'll be sold with the first group in the morning. I hope you like humping a pile of soiled laundry, because that's the only sex you'll get the chance of enjoying after tomorrow."