Danielle's Dark & Dirty Dreams

I do my best to ignore the woman's words, but I can't put them out of my mind entirely. Her interference has cooled my ardour and I stop playing with myself. Whatever happens tomorrow, I know that I'll need my sexual urges satisfying one way or another. But how can I ensure that? As Captain Jack said, I'm pretty enough and I'm endowed with breasts which men have admired with blatant lust. But none of that ensures a good outcome for me tomorrow.

Naomi returns a short while later. She comes over to sit next to me and I tell her what the woman had said to me. Naomi laughs and tells me to ignore the sour bitch. Nevertheless I still feel uneasy. It's not until Ruby returns with the other women who have been in display today that I snap out of my despondency. It is obvious from the marks on her body that Ruby has been subjected to more harsh treatment from the overseer. But her happy mood is at odds with the state of her flesh. The other thing I notice different about her is the chain fastened around her neck and the yellow and green tags dangling from it.

"What has happened to you?" I ask Ruby as I make room for her to sit next to me.

"More of the same," replies Ruby with a contented sigh. "I defied the overseer and this is the result. Finally he gave up and placed this collar and tags around my neck."

"Do you know what the tags signify?" asks Naomi of Ruby.

"I assume they signify that I'm a troublemaker," replies Ruby.

"No. Not at all," laughs Naomi. "The tags signify that you've been sold. The colours on the tags identify the buyer who has purchased you. Whoever it is will probably collect you tomorrow after the auction."

"But I haven't seen anybody other than the overseer all day," says Ruby, surprised but not alarmed at Naomi's revelation.

"Nevertheless, someone must have been prepared to pay a high premium to acquire you before the auction. Private sales before an auction can be very expensive. Captain Jack will be delighted."

"I thought he had sold us to the slave dealer who owns this place," I say.

"He may have done that, but One-eyed Jack is a shrewd businessman," replies Naomi. "I think he will have decided to take a risk and opt to have a share of our final sale price, rather than the fixed sum the slave dealer will have offered him when we arrived."

"So the captain could lose money if we get sold for a small amount, or if we don't attract a buyer at all," I say.

"Yes, but I don't think you would like the consequences of not being sold tomorrow," says Naomi. "Nor would you want to be sold cheaply. Slaves who are worth very little are sent to do the most dangerous work in the quarries and mines. I think the captain can be fairly sure of earning plenty of gold from our sale. Besides, you should be thinking more about your own future rather than the pirate's ill-gotten treasure."

"We have no say in our future," I reply. "Tomorrow we will each be another man's property to do with as he desires. Isn't it strange that despite everything which has happened to us, nothing changes."

"Yes, but generally the higher your price the more careful your new owner is likely to be with you. If you bought an expensive young filly, you would be more inclined to look after her and treat her well than if you bought some cheap old nag."

"So you are saying that we should do our best on the auction block to allure buyers."

"Definitely. The slave dealer will also do his best to talk up your price, so you only need to cooperate and be the wanton slut that I've seen you play."

I acknowledge Naomi's advice, but I'm still not sure I can make a difference to the outcome tomorrow. We settle down and try to sleep. Very few of the women in the cage seem able to stay settled, although I manage to get a few hours sleep. By comparison, Naomi sleeps like a log.

We are all roused before dawn and made to wash. As Naomi expected, there's no food for us this morning and we have to settle for a scoop of water. Ruby is removed from the cage first, and I presume she is being taken to wherever her new master will collect her. As for the rest of us, we are removed in groups of three or four at a time. The order of our removal must be important, since the overseer is careful in his choice of whom he takes next. Naomi is taken with the fifth batch, leaving only me and two other women in the cage. It looks like the three of us are to be sold last.

To my surprise three older women enter our cage carrying bowls of what I soon discover is some sort of perfumed oil. The women quickly rub the oil all over our bodies from the neck down. Minutes later the overseer comes to collect his three three glistening slaves. I don't have time to study my surroundings as we are marched through the viewing room and into a large open air arena beyond. There must be close to sixty men in the seating around the arena. In the centre of the arena is a platform with a set of posts about two metres apart. An iron neck collar is chained to each post, and the three of us are fastened into position.

While the auctioneer launches into what I presume is his sales pitch, I look at the faces of the men around me and the lustful look in their eyes. Surely one of these men will buy me. Without thinking my hands starts to work their devilish magic on my sopping wet cunt. Unashamedly I masturbate in front of all these men. I pay no heed to their calls of encouragement until one very loud voice penetrates the haze in my mind.

"Danielle! Are you daydreaming again? Finish getting changed! I thought you were meeting Sean in ten minutes?"

My flatmate Sally's frantic calls from the living room bring me back to reality. Only the juices flowing down the inside of my legs are just as real as they were in my fantasy.

Saturday

I wish I could see and hear what is going on. The thick leather hood over my head is blocking nearly all the light and sound from entering my personal prison. The slave market overseer had me shackled and hooded before my new owner arrived to collect me. All I know is that a man with rough hands has guided me through the streets of Puskin to where I stand now. As far as I can tell I'm now on board a ship. But not the Red Hawk. Captain Jack's ship smelled like a summer meadow compared to the stink of this ship. The reek coming from all around me reminds me of the slave galleys which sometimes visited the harbour back at home.

I hear voices but my hood muffles the sound so that I can't make out any words. Then suddenly I'm standing in daylight as my hood is suddenly pulled off my head. I go weak at the knees as I comprehend my situation. The man standing on the raised quarterdeck before me is none other than the self-proclaimed King Mathias. I've only seen him at a distance before, but I'd recognise him anywhere. His bare chest ripples with muscles and he looks every bit the barbarian warrior his reputation portrays. If only half of the stories about him are true then I'm in the presence of one of the most brutal and savage warlords ever known on the northern continent ... possibly on the southern continent too.

"Turn her around," orders the king to the sailor who removed my hood. "Let her see the men she is here to encourage."

The sailor turns me around so that I am looking along the length of the ship's main deck. There before me sit row after row of naked men chained in pairs to the oars that power this galley. They look at me with dull eyes as though they are too downtrodden to admire the sight of the naked young woman shackled and helpless before them.

"See how my slaves lack any enthusiasm for their job," says Mathias from behind me. "The journey here was slow and tedious. Painfully slow as all of my slaves learned to their cost. My slave-master has worn out three whips in as many days, but still I receive no enthusiasm from these men. So I shall try a different approach to encourage my slaves to work harder."

"Listen up, slaves!" interrupts the man who must be the man Mathias refers to as his slave-master. "Your lord and master is talking."

A few of the slaves raise their head in response, but I can easily see that these are defeated men who have lost all hope. The stories I heard while I worked at the Dead Parrot said that a galley slave has a notoriously short life. I dread to think how many of this ship's slaves have died at their oar and their body thrown overboard for the sharks. I notice a few empty seats among the forty or so slaves seated before me.

"This fine specimen of womanhood is here to encourage you to do better," continues Mathias. "Earn my slave-master's favour and you can each take your pleasure of her body. Perhaps if your cocks receive some exercise you might perform your labours with more enthusiasm."

I stand mesmerised by the king's words. Surely he doesn't intend for me to be fucked by forty men. The thought of it is simply ... um ... mind blowing. I know I didn't want to be restricted to having sex with just one man, but forty is going to extremes. Whatever the king's intentions regarding me are, they look as though they are going to be reserved for later. The king leaves his position on the quarterdeck and disappears from my sight. The sailor standing near me lifts my arms above my head and attaches the chain linking my wrist shackles to a hook above my head. There's enough slack in the chain for me to be able to kneel on the deck, but sitting or lying down is out of the question. I'm effectively in the same situation I was when I was chained to the foremast of the Red Hawk ... naked and on display for the ship's crew to admire.

Despite all this rough handling I'm very aroused. It's my guilty secret. By rights I should be terrified. But I'm not. I feel as though I'm living in a dream world where my darkest fantasies rule everything I think and do. So far I've been lucky that nobody has discovered how moist my cunt has become since boarding this vessel. The stink of the slaves easily masks the perfume of my arousal. Unfortunately for me my secret doesn't escape everybody's notice. The slave-master comes over to me and promptly gives me a close view of his latest whip. It's a nasty single tail plaited leather instrument which I know will leave welts and cause lingering pain to its victim. I've never felt the effects of such a whip on my body, and my guilty thoughts make me wonder how I would react to its wicked kiss. While my attention is on the slave-master's whip his other hand is thrust between my legs and his fingers are delving deep into my slit.

"Good and wet," observes the slave-master. "It makes a change to have a slave eager to undertake their duty. Don't fret, my pretty. You'll get to know the loving caress of my whip soon enough and, if you are lucky, you'll get fucked good and hard as well."

The slave-master chuckles to himself as he returns to his duties, licking my juices from his fingers in the process. Orders are shouted from someone on the quarterdeck behind me that we are to set sail. The single sail is unfurled and it soon catches the breeze. The ship moves forward, but at a barely noticeable pace.

"Lower the oars!" comes the order and the slaves adjust the angle of their oars so that the blades are dipped into the water.

A sailor with a drum takes up position near me and he starts to beat a slow and monotonous rhythm. The slaves pull their oars to the beat of the drum and galley picks up speed. Even with the slaves straining every muscle, the ship doesn't move as fast as I've experienced on the Red Hawk. After an hour we are past the fortress at the harbour's mouth and into the wide channel that leads to the open sea. A few moments later the sound of cannon fire from the fortress behind us causes the sailors a moment of alarm, but I can hear the officers on the quarterdeck laughing.

"That's the Red Hawk the fortress is firing on," comments someone behind me. "One-eyed Jack must have overplayed his hand for once. Helmsman, pull into the bay on our port beam and we'll watch what happens."

The ship veers to the left and the slaves heave on their oars as we head for the bay. For twenty minutes the steady boom-boom of the fortress's cannon competes with the beat of the drum on board the galley. While I can see the fortress from my position, the Red Hawk is out of my line of sight. The occasional cheer from the quarterdeck suggests that the fortress guns have struck their target.

An hour later we reach the bay and the slaves are ordered to stop rowing. The fortresses guns stopped firing long ago and I've no idea whether they have sunk the Red Hawk or if it has sailed out of range. Although I owe Captain Jack no thanks for my current predicament, I find myself wishing that he has escaped unharmed. Unfortunately there is very little conversation on the quarterdeck, so I have no means of learning the outcome. I suddenly sense there is someone standing by the quarterdeck railing above my head,

"I feel like having a good fuck," orders King Mathias to the slave-master.

I lick my lips in anticipation. As far as I know, I'm the only woman on this ship, so I presume the king intends to fuck me. The slave-master's whip has been mesmerising me for the last hour, although I've been trying hard to disguise my fascination with the evil thing. As a consequence my moist cunt is dribbling with an almost constant flow of my juices. It will take very little to tip me over the edge into a powerful orgasm.

"Have one of the slaves unshackled and prepared. You know which ones I prefer."

I suddenly feel very disappointed. I'm no stranger to being around men who prefer to fuck men, so I quietly sigh at the lost opportunity and wait. The slave-master salutes the king and promptly goes to one of the younger men shackled to an oar. He fumbles with the lock holding the man to the long chain linking all the slaves together. The slave-master drags the poor wretch off his bench and into a standing position. Then the slave-master marches him to an empty space on the deck a few metres in front of me. It looks as though I'm going to get a grandstand view as Mathias takes his pleasure of the naked slave's arse.

"Prince Francis awaits your pleasure, your majesty," reports the slave-master.

This Francis is good looking if you discount his abused body and his pitifully limp cock. But I suppose the state of his cock is to be expected given what he has had to endure. Even so, it would be nice if the sight of me standing naked a couple of metres in front of him would cause a slight twitch of interest from his cock. It is obvious King Mathias shares the same disappointment in the state of Francis's cock as I do.

"Do you have a name, wench?" asks Mathias of me.

"Ruby, your majesty," I reply.

"The slave dealer said that you are a virgin. Is that so?"

"Yes, your majesty," I reply, puzzled by the question. If my virginity is important then why didn't the king have that fact verified before he purchased me.

"And you respond well to the whip," he continues.

"A soft or light whip, yes, your majesty," I reply.

"Hmm. We don't bother with such little toys on this vessel. No matter. You'll soon get to appreciate my slave-master's whip if you fail in your duty."

"What duty am I to perform, your majesty?"

"Your duty is whatever I demand of you, Ruby," replies the king with a hint of amusement in his voice. "You first task is to make this slave's cock hard. He's going to fuck your arse while I fuck his."

The king pushes Prince Francis closer towards me so that I can reach his cock with my mouth if I kneel down. My task would be easier if they would unlock my wrist shackles so that I can use my hands, but I'm clearly not going to be allowed that luxury.

"Get to work, Ruby," orders the king.

I kneel down and position myself to take Francis's cock into my mouth. It's dirty and smelly as though it hasn't been washed in weeks. I nearly faint at the smell, but the sight of the slave-master's whip in the corner of my eye makes me overcome my churning stomach. Francis makes no attempt to help me and he just stands there like a marionette. The prince's cock is so flaccid that the drunks and feeble old men whose cocks I've sucked at the Dead Parrot seem like virile young studs by comparison. I do my best but I soon sense that my efforts aren't going to meet with the king's approval. The arrival of the slave-master's whip across my back doesn't come as a great surprise, although it stings like Hell. One unintended benefit of my torment is that it causes the prince's cock to harden. I work hard to encourage the tiny erection that's developing. A second slash of the slave-master's whip on my back has the desired effect on the prince. I feel grateful that the prince is at least showing some ardour, even if my back's suffering is the cause. Finally I think his erection, although very small, is hard enough to penetrate my arse. The king agrees with my unspoken assessment even though his own erection is well over twice as large.

I twist around and present my arse to the prince. I must rely on him taking the initiative now since my hands are chained above my head and are useless. I doubt the prince would make any effort to penetrate me were it not for the king's intervention. He grabs Francis's cock and guides it into my waiting hole. The slave-master encourages Francis's cock to remain hard by laying another stroke of his whip across my back. I gasp in response to the combined effect of the whip and the penetration of my arse. I feel rather than see the moment when the king mounts the prince. It's the king's thrusts which determine the pace of our fucking. It is also the king who determines when it is over. His satisfied grunts indicate he has filled the prince's arse with his cum. As for my arse, I've no idea whether or not the prince spilled his seed. If he did, it wasn't noticeable by me.

With the entertainment over, the king returns to the quarterdeck and the prince is dragged back to his oar. I'm not left unattended for long. As soon as the slave-master has finished with the prince, he returns to where I am standing. He holds his whip close to my face so that I can smell the oiled leather. On impulse I lean forward and kiss the instrument which has left my back feeling sore and the juices from my cunt flowing freely.

"What are you doing, Danielle?"

"Um ... I'm taking a close look at this," I reply feebly, backing away from the snake like whip hanging on my boyfriend's bedroom wall.

"I didn't realise you were so taken with my grandfather's old whip," replies my boyfriend.

"Um ... yes ... my grandfather was a stockman too, you know. He used to have a whip like this one when he drove his cattle to market."

"Really? Would you like to feel it?"

I think I've just wet my panties!

Sunday

"I paid three hundred gold ducats for you, so you will do as I command," snaps the old sultana.

"But he's half mad," I stutter in my defence.

"No, he's not half mad. He's completely mad. Just like his late father," persists the sultana.

"And you intend to let him fuck me?" I quail, not liking the prospect of being sent into this madman's cage one little bit.

"He's the Vizier of Puskin," replies the sultana. "He's the hereditary ruler of this cesspit of a city. Unless he produces an heir soon then this city will disintegrate into a bloody factional war before very long."

Personally I can think of two perfectly good reasons why that solution might be preferable. Firstly it rids this world of one of its worst hellholes, and secondly, I don't get fucked by an insane monster. But the sultana is the vizier's mother, and, as she says, she outbid the dozens of other eager buyers for my body. I'm her property and I must do as she says or suffer the consequences. And she's made a point of ensuring that I understand what the consequences of disobedience will be. Being boiled in oil isn't something I'm in a rush to experience.