Shipwrecked Into Slavery

The sea was rough, and for the hundredth time on this voyage the stowaway wished she could go up on deck for some fresh air. Catalina had discovered long ago the rejuvenating effects of the sea air on a queasy stomach; after all, she was a sea captain’s daughter. In general she had always been a good sailor, but this maelstrom of buffeting winds and thundering waves was beyond anything she had ever experienced or even imagined. For the first time she was grateful that she’d eaten so little on this crossing.

She could hear the running footsteps of the sailors and their frenzied shouts and knew this was no ordinary storm. The ship must be in trouble; this glorious Spanish galleon was being tossed about like a toy in a pond. Well, she’d be deuced if she’d let all her tribulations come to naught at the bottom of the English Channel. Carefully, Catalina unfolded her long frame from its cramped quarters in the hold and steadying herself against the violent pitch of the ship, made her way to the upper deck.

There she beheld an astonishing sight. The ship’s main deck was almost vertical, as wave after wave tipped it on its side. The main mast was snapped like a twig, and swarms of sailors were grappling with the remaining sails to right the ship. It was futile. In all the excitement, nobody even noticed that there was a slightly bedraggled woman standing wide-eyed in their midst. The groaning of the once mighty galleon and the sound of splintering wood filled the air as Catalina watched, as if from a great distance, the graceful ship break up into the cold, dark water. Soon she was plunged into this water, which immediately brought her to her senses. She wrestled out of her dress, which was dragging her down into the cold embrace of the ocean, and shed her petticoats. Desperately, she plunged forward to grasp a solid plank of wood from the rapidly sinking Santa Dominica.

She knew if she didn’t get out of this freezing water, she would die, but she wouldn’t let herself think about that right now. Instead she concentrated on maintaining possession of that plank of wood, and hoisted herself as much as she could on top of it to spare her body from the clutches of the sea. The storm, satisfied with its destruction for now, seemed to abate, and Catalina rested her head on her makeshift lifeboat and drifted along with the currents. She could only hope they would deposit her on the shores of her father’s land.

She was laughing up at her father, who seemed like a giant compared to the smaller Spanish men of her acquaintance. He was tall and broad with gleaming golden hair and eyes made bluer, Catalina convinced herself, by his years at sea. She loved him devotedly, even though she had come to learn later from her mother’s maid, that she was the product of a brutal rape.

After Queen Elizabeth I ascended the throne, England’s relationship with Spain had deteriorated. Never giving her tacit approval but not meting out punishment either, Queen Elizabeth ignored the plundering of the Spanish coastal towns by her English seaman; they were pirates really, and Catalina’s father, Donal Penlerick, was chief among them. Catalina’s mother lived in a small village outside of Cadiz; she was the overly protected daughter of a wealthy Spanish merchant with a fleet of ships. Donal with his band of English pirates raided the village, plundered its treasures, and raped its women. Donal saved the beautiful daughter of the house for himself, impregnating her that very night. He never married her of course, but he often traveled back to Spain to see her and his lively daughter. Catalina’s mother was an outcast, the mistress of an English devil, and as a consequence never married. She died when Catalina was just seven years old, but Donal continued his trips to Spain to see his daughter. Although he had a family in England, a wife and three sons, he always treasured his half-Spanish daughter and told her she was equal to any of his sons.

That was why Catalina was now lying half-dead on the coast of Devon, dreaming of her English pirate father. He had stopped coming to see her about five years ago; although Sir Francis Drake still made occasional forays into Spanish waters, it was becoming increasingly dangerous for English ships to do so. The Queen learned that Spain was assembling a squadron of war ships, an Armada, for an imminent attack on England. The Santa Dominica, a piece of which still lay under Catalina’s body, was acting as one of many scouts for the Armada. When Catalina learned that the Santa Dominica was to set sail from Cadiz for the English Channel, she stowed away on the ship, her eventual purpose a reunification with her father.

Now, as she slowly opened her eyes from her dream, she was simply happy to be alive. The shouting is what roused her; it was in English, but she was just as conversant in this tongue as in Spanish. She surveyed the scene beneath half-closed lids; the beach was littered with wood from the wrecked ship, and a handful of men was tramping through the sand exclaiming with glee as they recognized the sad remnants of a Spanish galleon.

A voice very close to her yelled out, “God’s Death, what be lying in the sand here? ‘Tis a woman.”

“Is she dead?”

She felt the toe of a boot push into her ribs as she rolled over. Her eyes fluttered and she gasped in pain.

“Nay, she be alive, a dirty Spaniard, a poxy Spanish whore.”

One of the men roughly scooped her up under her arms and unceremoniously threw her over his shoulder. The movement and the pressure against her stomach made her cough up water, and she actually felt a little better. She would have to explain to them who she was; surely they wouldn’t mistreat her once they knew her father was Donal Penlerick.

They left the beach and approached a dwelling uphill from the shore. Catalina was fast recovering her wits and began to raise her head and look around her. This was more than a mere dwelling; it was a castle of immense proportions with crenellated towers hugging the coastline.

A loud, commanding voice called out, “Were we right? Was it a Spanish ship?”

“Aye, it was, Sir, and we found this baggage among the wreckage.”

The man dumped Catalina at the feet of the other man. She could feel his eyes upon her and raised her own to meet his gaze. He was startled at what he saw – a Spanish beauty, no doubt. She was wearing nothing more than pantaloons and a camisole, which were plastered to her comely body with the damp from the sea. She had full breasts and a tiny waist, but she wasn’t a tiny woman; rather she was long limbed and tall. Her skin was brown but not too dark, and her thick black hair hung down her back matted with sand and debris.

She said in English, “Please, Sir, I was a stowaway on the wrecked ship. My father is English, and I’ve come to find him. His name is Donal Penlerick.”

The man gave a great shout of laughter. “Donal Penlerick I know well, but he has no Spanish daughter; three fine sons he has, English sons, who will follow him in fighting the Spanish until we destroy you. Send your Armada, send all the ships you have, send your spies; you’ll never defeat the English fleet.”

Her heart jumped. “You know my father? Then please send him word of me. I’ve no doubt he will acknowledge me, Sir, and he will be exceedingly grateful to you.”

“That convinces me of your deceit. Penlerick has been dead these past two years, killed by one of your Spanish dogs.”

Catalina’s eyes filled with tears. How could she have come so far only to be thwarted?

“Then my brothers, Sir. I’m certain they’re aware of my existence. Please send word to my brothers. My name is Catalina…”

He cut her off brusquely. “Enough of this nonsense. We’ll make good use of you here, girl. We’ll even protect you, for you’d be torn apart if you dared venture beyond the castle lands.” He turned to one of his men. “Take her to Mrs. Bascomb; I daresay, she’ll know what to do with her.”

“But my half-brothers, surely you’ll let them know I’m here.”

He turned to one of his men. “What are you waiting for, man? Take her away, out of my sight. I’ll not have this Spanish spy in my presence a moment longer.”

“I’m not a spy; I’m half English. Tell my brothers.”

The man grabbed her by the arm and pulled her up, dragging her, struggling and twisting, across the courtyard. The blond man watched in amusement, and she screamed out at him, “You bastard!”

The man who pulled her up compelled her to walk through a side door in the castle. Jake Botrall, Lord Haverstoke, the master of the castle, stared after her thoughtfully. He wasn’t a sailor himself, but he benefited greatly from the shipwrecks off his coast. Unfortunately, the Santa Dominica was carrying few wares and treasures, but he would make good use of what it did carry…that Spanish beauty with the haughty air and the wild stories.

Catalina was made to stand before Mrs. Bascomb in the kitchen, and she raised her head imperiously as she stared down at the housekeeper.

“Awk, what does his lordship expect me to do with a filthy Spanish whore in my household?”

Catalina opened her mouth to protest when Mrs. Bascomb slapped her hard across the face. She gasped and reached out instinctively to return the assault on Mrs. Bascomb, but the man who had seen her inside, grabbed her arm and twisted it behind her back.

“We’ll have none of that here, Spaniard. Do you think anyone would much bother with the dead body of a poxy Spaniard that washed up on shore from the wreckage of a Spanish galleon? ‘Ee don’t know Devonshire; there’d be rejoicing in the street. Why, Sir Francis Drake himself is a Devon man. Now you be a good girl and do what Mrs. Bascomb tells you to do. You owe your very life to us.”

Considering what he said, Catalina knew him to be right. What chance did she have on this hostile island, especially with her father dead? Although her father was English and she spoke the language well, there was no doubt she was Spanish. She stood still in front of Mrs. Bascomb, awaiting her orders; however, she couldn’t believe those orders when she heard them.

“Now take off those rags you be wearing.”

Catalina opened her mouth to protest, but shut it quickly when she caught sight of Mrs. Bascomb’s raised hand. She glanced nervously at the man behind her. Given the circumstances of her birth, she hadn’t been brought up as demurely as her mother had with duenas shadowing her every move, but she still had never been completely naked before a man. She wasn’t a virgin, but her previous attempts at lovemaking had been hurried affairs with most of her clothes still in place.

Mrs. Bascomb gave a short, hard laugh. “Don’t be giving yourself airs, Spaniard; you’ll have no privacy nor any rights in this house. Take off your clothes.”

Catalina slowly began to unbutton the tiny buttons of her camisole when Mrs. Bascomb, in her impatience, seized the front of it and ripped it off her body. The man guffawed and then gasped sharply when he saw her heavy coffee-colored breasts with their rose-tinted nipples released from the confining material. Catalina then hastily pulled down her pantaloons before Mrs. Bascomb could rip those off as well. By this time, news of the shipwrecked Spanish woman had spread around the household, and most of the servants were gathered at the kitchen entrance to gape at the naked girl with her bronze-colored skin, black hair, and soft down of black curls between her legs. Mrs. Bascomb was irritated by the girl’s beauty.

“You need to be punished for your insolence.”

Two men grabbed her arms and pulled her out into the courtyard. The men from the beach were still scurrying around, bringing debris up from the Santa Dominica, under Lord Haverstoke’s direction. They all stopped and stared as the naked Catalina was led into the courtyard. Jake narrowed his eyes and watched the scene as he leaned his shoulders against one wall. Catalina noticed him at once. He reminded her of her father in a way; he was tall and muscular, a sportsman, an outdoorsman; his blond hair was curly and shaggy, hanging down to his shoulders, and he wore a golden beard and mustache, which framed even white teeth.

The two men pulled up her arms and tied them to a beam that jutted out from one of the castle walls. Catalina was tall, but the beam was taller, and she was stretched out with her toes just touching the ground. She didn’t know what to expect now; everyone was staring at her. Most of the men had pure lust in their eyes; some of the women discretely looked away, sympathy in their eyes, and a few of the women were enjoying the spectacle as much as the men were.

Mrs. Bascomb approached her with a whip in her hands. Before she could even cry out, the whip licked at her buttocks, and her body lunged forward in an attempt to escape the cruel lash. A few of the men moved around to the front of her to get a better view of her bouncing breasts, while others preferred the sight of her delectable bottom trying to wriggle away from the whip’s savage caresses. Catalina tried not to give them the satisfaction of crying out, but then Mrs. Bascomb commanded her to spread her legs apart. The men in the crowed murmured agreeably, as she spread her legs out with great difficulty. She soon realized the reason for this request, as the whip’s tip found its way between her legs and stung her private area. Not satisfied with her reddening and welted bottom, Mrs. Bascomb moved to the front of her and lashed her breasts. She aimed a few quick flicks at the dark triangle of hair that protected her nether lips before Jake called an end to the amusement.

“Leave her hanging there, so all can take a good look at the enemy.”

Catalina raised her dark eyes to Jake’s and gave him a withering look; there was an answering gleam of humor in his own blue eyes. She knew very well that he didn’t consider a mere woman the enemy of England, even if she was half Spanish. It was simply that her humiliation was giving him pleasure, sexual pleasure, if she were to judge the bulge in his breeches correctly. The idea that it pleased her to satisfy him in this way flared in her head, but she quickly stamped it out. How absurd. She didn’t care to please this man, and especially not with her own humiliation.

“Mrs. Bascomb, this Spanish slave is to remain naked at all times. Use her in the kitchen and around the household as you would a maid, but remember to be harsh with her and don’t be stingy with physical punishment. She has a defiant spirit, which we will endeavor to break. Daily humiliations will profit her training as a proper slave. She is to be the lowest of the low in the household, beholden to all to do their bidding, even of the most menial tasks. I also have a mind to use her to tame the wildness of the young men in the household, to channel their natural lust away from the more respectable girls in my employ. Do you understand me?”

“Yes, my lord, certainly.”

Catalina understood him as well and directed a baleful gaze at him while tossing her head and raising her chin. Jake gave her a crooked smile and turned on his heel.

By the end of the afternoon, Catalina’s arms were aching. The courtyard was a busy place that afternoon, with most of the men employed at the castle finding multiple reasons to saunter through the courtyard. Neither was she spared the curiosity of the women. The men weren’t allowed to touch her…yet, but Mrs. Bascomb wanted to consistently remind her of her place in the castle hierarchy, so every time she came into the courtyard, she’d give Catalina a smack on the buttocks with whatever she happened to have handy. Once it was a wooden spoon, once a rag from the kitchen, and several times she just used her bare hand. She wouldn’t say a word to Catalina, just come up behind her and spank her. Catalina would soon learn that Mrs. Bascomb took great delight in spanking her.

She was finally untied and led back through the kitchen. She was allowed to collapse on a pallet that was laid out for her in a small room next to the kitchen, and she was given a bowl of stew and bread to eat, although she wasn’t allowed any cutlery and had to eat with her hands. She didn’t care at this juncture; she was starving. As yet, she hadn’t been allowed to wash up, so she collapsed in a dreamless sleep. All thoughts of escape had fled her mind.

The next morning a maid roused her early to work in the yard. She was still naked, as she walked into the cool morning air across to the barn to feed the chickens. The other servants went about their business casting surreptitious glances at the beautiful nude woman working amongst them.

Soon enough Mrs. Bascomb called her into the kitchen to peel potatoes and carrots. She glanced over at her a few times and seemed to come to some decision.

“You’re a brassy piece, aren’t you, Spaniard? It doesn’t seem to shame you much to walk around naked; you’re probably accustomed to doing that in that heathen Papist country you come from. Well, the master did authorize me to administer daily humiliations, didn’t he?”

Catalina tried to ignore her and peel the vegetables, while Mrs. Bascomb called the other servants in for their midday meal around the big kitchen table.

“We’re going to be eating in style today. The Spaniard is going to serve us.”

Catalina scoffed inwardly to herself, that she could do and it wouldn’t bother her a bit.

“But first she must suffer her daily humiliation.”

That got Catalina’s attention. To serve the servants was not to be her humiliation?

“Come here, girl, and lean over the table.”

Catalina trepidatiously leaned over the heavy, solid wooden table where the servants would be having their meal. Mrs. Bascomb then chose the hardest working maid and the hardest working stable lad and called them to her. She discussed something with them that Catalina couldn’t hear, but they nodded in obvious excitement.

The young man and woman went to the vegetable counter and selected a carrot and a cucumber from the pile. They walked up behind Catalina, the maid blushing and giggling and the man with slightly glazed eyes and a slack jaw. The maid went first as she told Catalina in a meek voice to spread her legs wide. While Catalina hesitated, Mrs. Bascomb shot out with the ubiquitous wooden spoon and laid a smack on her tender bottom cheeks. She hurriedly spread her legs. The maid then placed the tip of the carrot at Catalina’s vagina and worked it in while Catalina gasped and the other servants broke out in peals of laughter. Everyone was urging the maid to shove it in further, which she obliging did much to Catalina’s shame. The carrot was shoved in so far just the green stem was hanging out of Catalina’s bottom. The servants applauded and cheered when the maid was finished, and she bobbed a curtsy, pleased with her accomplishment.

Next came the stable lad’s turn. The cucumber’s target was Catalina’s other hole, and she clenched her bottom together in anticipation. That earned her another sharp smack from Mrs. Bascomb, so she tried to relax her muscles. The man wet the cucumber with his saliva, as the other men in the kitchen grinned in anticipation; the women looked on in some amazement; although some of them had experienced an invasion of their own holes in this manner, none would admit it.

Catalina felt the cold head of the cucumber against her anus. The cucumber man wanted to get the most out of this opportunity, so he eased it into her bottom slowly, appreciating the way her hole opened to accommodate the rounded edge of the vegetable. She gritted her teeth and grasped the table’s edge. Methodically, he worked the cucumber into her hole until just the other rounded end was visible.

She was left spread-eagled over the table for several moments, as Mrs. Bascomb allowed all the servants to view her openings.

“Now, you’ll serve us with your holes filled up, and if you let either one of the vegetables fall out, they’ll be reinserted without compunction. And I want to remind the rest of you servants, if she spills something or is not fast enough, do not hesitate to slap her bottom or her breasts. If you see either of the vegetables slipping, you have my permission to secure it in its place.”