Surrender to Paige Pt. 01

Chapter 1: Bonny Bess

"Grunt ... Grunt ... Arrghhh! ... Take that, wench!" cries the stinking rum-stained pirate as he shoots his load into my well lubricated cunt.

A mind-blowing orgasm wracks through me as he thrusts even harder, draining every last drop of his cum into my innards. His gift joins those made by his two predecessors, who, along with other patrons of this wretched tavern, are watching my ravishment intently. For the price of a couple of drinks, any patron of the tavern can fuck one of the three serving wenches, although I seem to get more than my fair share of attention. The preferred location for the deed is over one of the tables in the public bar, but for a few coins more, it can be done in the privacy of an upstairs room. The low life scum who frequent this seedy tavern rarely bother with privacy. I don't fully understand why I find it so thrilling to be fucked in this way by such repulsive men. It's humiliating and degrading, and I'm loving every minute of it.

Disgusting as it is, this scenario isn't what a casual observer might mistake it to be. My violator is Rob, my husband of four years. Not that being my husband gives him the right to treat me this way, and we'll be having words about that later. The whole scene is a fantasy ... nothing more than a virtual reality game. Game? Well, perhaps something other than a game. A game has rules and a goal. This fantasy has neither. Which is what makes it appear to be so real. Did I do the right thing in agreeing to play? Perhaps I should have given more thought to the scene's description before I consented. Too late to back out now, though.

The pause in my debasement gives me a few moments to reflect. How did I get myself into this situation? I've always been a sucker for 'too-good-to-miss' promotions on social media and in glossy magazines. Welcome to your Personal Artificial Intelligence Generated Environment said the marketing blurb. 'PAIGE. Your ability to create your wildest virtual reality fantasies, all in the comfort and privacy of your own home'.

Rob has always been a keen player of virtual reality games, so I wasn't the only one easily seduced by the marketing. However, our reasons for showing an interest in PAIGE were very different. The sorts of virtual reality games Rob likes to play ... those featuring rampaging barbarians, deadly ninja warriors or nefarious thieves ... only confirm to me that he's a 27 year old teenager. While I've matured since Rob and I married, he keeps regressing into childhood. It's something which has been putting a strain on our relationship. The prospect of PAIGE helping to patch up our marriage was something I thought worth considering. Rob simply liked the idea of owning the latest virtual reality toy.

Rob is always happy for me to join in his games, and every now and then I do so. But I find the helmets and equipment needed to play regular virtual reality games are very cumbersome, and they limit the realism of the games played. And each time you replay a game you are faced with a nearly identical situation to the ones you've played before. Unsurprisingly, many games soon become boring and a new one needs to be purchased. Fortunately, Rob and I have well paid jobs, so it's an extravagance we can afford.

We responded to the advertisement and a large pack of brochures arrived by courier a few days later. After reading all the publicity material provided, I was at least willing to consider a 30-day trial. In the end it was my step-sister Mikaela who persuaded us to give PAIGE a try. A week later and we had our own PAIGE installed in our spare room. Ten days after that we are getting the hang of playing inside the fantasy worlds PAIGE can create. The scenes created by PAIGE are so lifelike, complete with sounds and smells ... or at least, the sensation of sounds and smells in my mind.

Because PAIGE is self-contained we don't need to use helmets or other equipment. Once you get used to lying in something alarmingly like a large coffin, the rest is easy. Well, easy if you take the sensible precaution of wearing one of the special diapers provided. Rob initially refused to wear a diaper saying that diapers are for babies and incontinent old men. Big mistake. Rob came out of our first full length game with soiled trousers. The games are so lifelike that apparently inexperienced players can sometimes lose control of their real bodily functions while they are immersed in a scene.

What makes PAIGE so special, however, is the ability for two players to mould a generic starting scene into their own shared fantasy. Furthermore, PAIGE analyses and stores any changes or customisations we make to a scene, and it adds compatible changes of its own. It means that each time a scene is replayed, it is unique. 'Deep learning' is Mikaela's term for the way PAIGE is able to evolve the scene over several iterations into our ideal shared fantasy. She's a computer software developer, so I guess she knows what she's talking about.

I don't understand the technical gobbledygook, and I doubt Rob knows more than the basics. Even though the installation process seemed simple, I was relieved when Mikaela came to help with the set-up procedures. Mikaela and I don't always get on, and I know that she and Rob have a 'history' neither likes to talk about. Mikaela had already moved away from home when my father married Mikaela's mother ten years ago. Consequently she and I have never lived together as family. Our relationship is normally limited to family gatherings at Christmas.

Rob and I both had reservations about answering some of the very personal questions asked as part of the set-up process and we were tempted to give false answers. But we agreed that PAIGE needed to know something about our individual traits if it is going to help create our perfect fantasy. According to the set-up instructions, developing a fantasy scene with another person requires cooperation and mutual understanding ... that's not something Rob is usually very good at and our PAIGE needs to be ready to adapt accordingly.

The inbuilt training scenario was easy to play and we both felt confident as we started our first proper game. Our first attempt at jointly creating a fantasy was a bit weak, but it at least identified some common interests in how our fantasy scenes should evolve. Now we are playing out the fifth replay of our 17th century Caribbean Island scene ... plenty of swashbuckling pirates and skulduggery to keep Rob happy, and no shortage of sex hungry men for me to enjoy. We adjusted the scene's parameters before we started this iteration. It should have less violence and more sex than the previous iteration, which ended abruptly when Rob was killed in a tavern brawl. Getting the various settings right for the level of violence, sex and a whole host of other factors, takes some experimentation. The trial version we are using doesn't allow us to change all the settings, nor use the full range of options for those factors we can control. Nevertheless there are plenty of options open to us so I've no complaints about these restrictions.

Each time we play we have revealed new boundaries in our sexual fantasies. It's as though we are each pushing the other into more perverse sexual acts. I never realised Rob gets a thrill at seeing me being fucked by another man. I thought he'd be jealous, but apparently not ... at least not while the sex is confined to our fantasy world. The scene still needs some work before it satisfies my idea of a perfect fantasy, but we are making good progress.

My attention returns to our fantasy scene. Rob, in his role as a pirate on shore leave, isn't put off by my ploy of having two other pirates ravish me before he gets his turn. Nor am I put off by Rob's trick of dousing his clothes in foul smelling fluids of which stale sweat and cheap rum are the two most prominent odours. In fact both our acts seem to arouse the other towards more powerful orgasms. Rob finishes fucking me and prepares to join his comrades in another round of drinks.

"More rum, wench," he growls making a less than gentle swat at my bottom. "I'll take you with me when we leave. You'll fetch a good price in Tortuga's flesh markets."

No, no, no. That's not how I want this fantasy to play out. Being sold as a slave isn't my idea of a good ending to this fantasy. I wish Rob hadn't said that but PAIGE will have accepted his instructions and it will adapt the storyline accordingly. Perhaps I made a mistake by agreeing that Rob should have primary control over additions to the generic plot. It sounded like a good idea at the time given Rob's greater experience in playing virtual reality games. But now I'm not so sure. How do I change it now that Rob has introduced it into the plot?

"If you want to eliminate his threat then let the tavern owner know that you don't want to leave his employ," says the tiny apparition of a man who appears on the table before my eyes.

This is where the way PAIGE operates gets weird and a bit creepy. The tiny man is my daemon and only I can see and hear him. Each player has their own daemon created by PAIGE to advise and guide the player through the fantasy. The trial version of PAIGE is locked in 'beginner' mode, so each player gets a daemon whether they want one or not. More advanced modes apparently enable a daemon to be modified, or switched off entirely. Fortunately daemons only appear if they are needed, but how they know when they are needed is the creepy bit I don't comprehend. How much of what goes through my mind is PAIGE monitoring?

I stand up with some difficulty. Being ravished by three brutes has its physical consequences, even to a virtual reality character. The men's cum trickles down my inner thighs as I stagger over to the bar to fetch the rum Rob ordered. Had the events of the last ten minutes happened to me in real life, I doubt I'd be so clear headed or mobile. But I have some control over my fantasy, so the extent of any lingering pain and disability are entirely of my own making.

"Those three over there say they want to acquire my contract from you," I say to Gregor, the tavern's owner, while I wait for him to pour the rum. "You'd lose good income if you sell my contract."

"You don't get a say in the matter," grunts Gregor. "They won't be the first to show an interest in you. You've another two years of indentured service before you are set free. Long enough for your contract to still be worth good coin around here."

Fortunately my ever helpful daemon explained the concept of indentured service to me during an earlier iteration of this scene. Now I can follow and participate in a conversation on the subject. Apparently indentured service is something like a community service sentence a magistrate hands out to petty criminals. I'm required to work out my term of indenture as the servant (or more accurately, slave) of the man or woman who paid the magistrate for my services. My 'owner' can sell my contract if he or she wants, which is what is being proposed here.

"They want to sell me in Tortuga," I say. "I'll never be freed if they sell me in that cesspool of a town. Let me work out my time here. I earn more for you in one night than Sarah or Ruth earn in a week."

I doubt Gregor keeps financial records to prove or disprove my claim. I've delivered the message my daemon suggested, but I fear it has fallen on deaf ears. I pick up the three mugs of rum and take it back to the pirates' table. The fact that drinks are never served in a glass in this tavern indicates the low quality of the regulars. At this time of night it's usual for more drink to get split on the floor than consumed by the sozzled patrons. In another half an hour the fights will start breaking out.

I take the drinks to the table, but Rob doesn't seem to notice my presence. I look towards where he is gawking and I nearly drop the drinks in surprise.

"Gods, she's beautiful," sighs Rob, looking at the stunning woman standing by the door.

The young woman in question is indeed exceptionally beautiful. By contrast, the three men with her remind me of the mythological Cerberus ... the vicious three headed dog which guards the entrance to the underworld. The woman's jet black shoulder length hair gleams in the lantern light of the room. Her dark brown eyes survey the scene with an air of indifference. Her unblemished skin wouldn't look out of place in a palace. It's only her shirt and trousers which label her as anything other than a fine lady of the town's elite upper crust. Equally her spotless clothes place her in a different category to the ruffians accompanying her. The cutlass and pistol tucked in her broad belt give a clue to her occupation, if not her identity. In these parts, anybody dressed in that style is invariably a pirate. Women pirates are not very common, but the few who exist are among the most feared brigands around.

"Bonny Bess," mumbles someone nearby, providing a name for the dark haired angel standing before us.

Several patrons suddenly remember that they have urgent business on the far side of town. Only those who are too far gone in drink fail to show any reaction to the arrival of Bonny Bess and her crew.

"Go ask the lady to join us," says Rob to me. "And fetch a mug of whatever she's drinking."

Yeah, right! Like this dark angel is going to want to spend time socialising with three stinking drunks. But I'm not paid to argue with the patrons ... well, I'm not actually paid at all, but that's beside the point. I do as I'm bid and go over to the table Bonny Bess and her men have claimed. The former occupants of the table are among those who have eased their way to the door. Fortunately nobody is in a rush to talk with the new arrivals, and neither Sarah nor Ruth have mustered the courage to take their drink order.

"The men over there invite you to join them," I say with remarkable calmness, indicating Rob and his cronies. "They'd like to buy you a drink. What can I get you?"

"Cider," replies Bonny Bess, accepting the offer of a drink but making no attempt to join Rob. "Rum for these three. And not the gut-rotting piss Gregor normally serves up."

I wasn't aware that Gregor stocked more than one type of rum but it isn't my place to point that out. My main problem is Bonny Bess's order for cider. Gregor stocks rum, beer and occasionally something which he passes off as wine. Cider is only available if some hapless merchant ship was carrying it when it was captured. Most of Gregor's stock arrives in his cellar by less than legal means.

I go to the bar and relay Bonny Bess's order. To my surprise, Gregor provides the drinks requested, although the rum looks and smells like the usual stuff. I return to Bonny Bess's table only to discover that she's joined Rob after all, leaving her three men behind. I leave the three rums with the men and take the cider over to where Rob is sitting.

"You man enough to satisfy me?" purrs Bonny Bess as she fondles Rob's cock.

To my surprise and annoyance, I see that Rob has an erection far larger than anything he's achieved before. Not to mention that after emptying his balls inside me not ten minutes earlier, he normally can't manage an erection at all. I'm seething with jealousy but two strong hands on my upper arms prevent me from tipping the cider in his face.

"Put that drink down and come with me," says the deep voice behind me.

Chapter 2: Entertaining a Pirate

"Your cider, ma'am," I say as I place the drink on the table occupied by Bonny Bess, Rob and his two shipmates. None of them pay any attention to me or the drink. The sight of Bonny Bess massaging Rob's cock into an unbelievably large erection has all of us gazing in amazement.

"Come with me, girl," repeats the man behind me, who has only relaxed his grip on my arms long enough for me to serve the cider to Bonny Bess. "I'm gonna fuck your brains out."

I'm used to being mauled, groped and manhandled by the ruffians who frequent the Green Parrot. It's all part of my everyday life here. From first light until the last patron leaves late at night, I'm expected to serve food and drinks, and allow paying patrons to fuck me. I don't get days off, and I can't recall the last time when I saw the world outside of this tavern. But I don't mind in the least. Far from it ... I love it ... I live in a state of almost constant arousal. My cunt is always wet ... if not from my own juices, then from the plentiful male seed regularly deposited inside me.

I take a quick look at the man who is steering me towards the stairs. He's not a regular, but that isn't unusual. Most patrons are seafaring men who only visit the tavern when they are in port. He must have paid Gregor the premium to be allowed to fuck me in the privacy of an upstairs bedroom. I glance at Gregor to check that he's OK with me going upstairs with this man. The slight nod in reply is Gregor's approval.

The man doesn't release his grip on me as we climb the stairs. It's as though he's worried that I might run off or something. When we reach the landing I try to turn right, towards the guest bedrooms, but he twists my body the other way. I'm not supposed to enter the rooms on this side of the stairs and I momentarily resist the man's efforts to guide me.

"I'm not allowed in any of these rooms," I say.

"Don't argue," growls the man, pushing me harder.

Fortunately the forbidden rooms aren't our intended destination. The man guides me to the bannister overlooking the tavern below. He uses his body to pin me against the bannister making me look downwards at the tavern's few remaining patrons. Directly below me is the table where Bonny Bess has Rob practically whimpering to be allowed to do something with his rock hard erection. I watch intently, picking up some useful tips from Bonny Bess on managing Rob's cock.

Bonny Bess may look like an angel, but she's nothing of the sort. She's tormenting Rob's cock with a clever mix of pain and pleasure. More than once I recognise the signs of him losing control and about to shoot his load in the air. But she always manages to bring him back from the edge ... usually painfully ... and he whimpers some more. Bonny Bess has Rob firmly under her control and he seems to like it.

My own situation is far from that of an idle spectator. The man behind me has lifted the back of my skirt and his right hand is taking liberties with my nether regions. In response, my juices begin to flow and I let out mewling sounds as his hand works its miracles. His left hand is holding the back of my neck, forcing me to lean over the bannister. The result is that I get a bird's eye view of what Bonny Bess and Rob are doing below.

"You ready, Gunner?" asks Bonny Bess to nobody in particular.

"Yes, Capt'n," replies the man behind me. "This one's good and ready. Practically dripping for my cock."

"You ready, Red Dog?" calls Bonny Bess to one of the three men who came into the tavern with her.

"Yes, Cap'n," replies Red Dog. "How long?"

"Two minutes," replies Bonny Bess before turning her attention to Rob. "Now listen well, pirate. We're going to fuck, and as soon as Red Dog signals that two minutes are up you are to spill your seed ... not before, and not after ... or you'll be really sorry ... really really sorry. Do I make myself clear?"

"Y... Y ... Yes, ma'am," stutters Rob, still recovering from Bonny Bess's less than gentle handling of his balls when he nearly shot his load prematurely.

Without warning a pistol shot echoes around the room. Before I can recover from the unexpected loud sound, I'm again crushed against the bannister as Gunner rams his cock into my cunt. Down below Bonny Bess has mounted Rob, who is still sat in his chair. His two shipmates have decided to move to the side of the room to watch from a safe distance. They obviously have the same lack of faith as I have in Rob's ability to avoid coming too soon.