 |
|||
|
|
Part 3
Everything seemed to happen so very fast after that. After I had said the words, that I wanted to be a
galley slave.
Joshua had made arrangements, efficiently leaving me little to do but turn up at the right place at the
right time. Thoughts of how well organised he might be however were tempered with the knowledge
that he had the benefit of obtaining a willing slave for chaining and the ‘lash’ as he called it.
His solicitor and mine made short work of the contract. On paper it was a was a twelve month
arrangement which meant that I would earn the money that I was paid up front. It was entered into a
secure bank account. I checked and signed for everything without really thinking about what lay ahead.
Instead, I focussed on what I would do with the money, even though a clause precluded me touching it
until I had completed the contract successfully. I remember asking what that meant and Joshua
indicated that I should merely be at the locations required for the full twelve months. I nodded in
agreement, assuming that the lawyers knew nothing of what was about to happen to me.
I signed confidently as Joshua gave me papers with a summary of the itinerary for the coming days. I
would get a flight in the morning, stay a night in a hotel and be driven to a remote port during the next
day, where the galley would be anchored. It was all happening so very fast.
The city was hot, even at night. I found it difficult to sleep, knowing that the next day saw the
beginning of my galley service. I slept little, rising early for breakfast, wearing only the light clothing,
of a disposable nature, that Joshua had told me to wear. I had tied my hair up, and sat in the blouse,
jeans and sandals that I had brought, with practically no other luggage. The sun shone through the large
windows at the front of the hotel, as the black car pulled up slowly and Joshua stepped out.
***
“I said, remove your clothes!”
The muscular unshaven man hefted the whip. I nodded. It was too late to turn back now. Joshua had
said very little during the journey to the port, which seemed to house only a few rough buildings, which
were not air conditioned, and the massive galley which sat along the pier. I had gasped when we left
the car, not at the sheer size of the massive wooden ship that sat at the dock, but at the smell that came
from it. Joshua had laughed when I said that it smelt like a zoo, or even a sewer.
I had been taken to a large corrugated steel shed, a workshop of sorts. Tools and steelwork were
scattered about. Benches with assorted stamping machines with steel tags, rings and thick rounded steel
pieces. I gasped as I realised that they must be fetters, for chains.
My hands were shaking as I began to undo my blouse. The overseer watched me slowly undress.
“The boss says you’re to be left alone woman, since you’re not a prisoner. But that doesn’t mean that
you won’t be treated like all the others on board otherwise. That clear?”
I nodded, pulling the blouse away now, revealing my bra.
“Will I get my clothes back…after…after a year?”
“No.”
I stared at him.
“I said clothes off NOW!” The whip had a long handle, which ended in a thick leather lash, maybe a
metre long. His muscled arm flicked it expertly as the lash caught the flesh under my ribs, slapping
hard.
“YAHHH.” I reeled back as I screeched, having tasted the whip, its sting and fire, for the first time.
“By the time you leave the galley bitch, you’ll be a lot thinner and those rags won’t even fit you.
Though your thighs and back will be crisscrossed with the marks of the whip by then and your nice
round mouth will have tasted my cock!” He laughed, his large muscled chest vibrating, as I shivered.
I closed my eyes, body still stinging from the lash, removing my bra. I still had large breasts, despite
the training and they were still firm, a fact which the overseer noted. I grimaced at the smile on his face
as he stared.
“A pity you’re to be left intact, otherwise…” he whispered, staring at me, the reaction in his jeans very
prominent.
I undid my own jeans and slid them down my muscular legs
Pulling my feet from the sandals I took the trousers off and lifted my clothes. The overseer, still staring,
lifted a clear plastic bag, indicating that I should dump my things inside. I did so and embarrassed,
brought my hands back to my body, slowly hooking my thumbs into the black thong that I wore.
“I don’t get to keep this?” I said, my voice shaking as I slid it down my legs, revealing the small
triangle of dark pubic hair.
“No, Now hurry up. I have to get you tagged and fettered!”
He let the lash slide out from his grip as he said it, angling it with expertise and lashing out at my chest.
The tip of the leather strip struck me near the nipple and I cried out in pain, almost falling over as I let
go of the thong and it slid to the ground at my ankles.
Staggering to one side, gasping, I stepped out of the garment as it lay on the filthy stone floor, grasping
my breast with one hand, looking back at the smiling overseer.
“Gnnn…tagged?”
“Yes,” he muttered, moving to one of the workbenches. “You’ll have a steel tag, with your release date
stamped on it, on a piercing through your nipple. Helps us know when you’re to be freed.”
“A..piercing? I wasn’t told about that!” I said, almost defiantly.
He looked up, his stubbled face ugly and angular in the sunlight and shadows of the sweltering hut.
“Too late to back out now. And if you do decide to protest, I’ll have you whipped and put on the horse
before you even get rowing blisters on your hands and feet. Clear?”
I wanted to run, but realised that not only was the place surrounded, but he was much stronger than me
and I was naked. I might get to the road, but without being caught? It was unlikely. I closed my eyes,
almost in despair. Had I really done this for money?
I yelped as he pulled me toward the bench by the arm.
“Do I have to tie you, for the tag? You seem strong?”
He drew his face close, smelt me. “You’re defiant, but the lash will make you obey. So, you’ll take the
tag without much of a word I think.”
I stared at him, watched as he raised a hammer and punch, moved toward a flat plate, maybe six
centimetres by three, attached to an open metal ring. I tried not to react, realising that he intended to
stamp it and place it through my breast. I watched silently, naked and vulnerable as the date was
stamped, noting with dismay that the date was in the future, exactly one year in the future.
I gripped the bench with each hand as I was pierced, watching with gritted teeth as he inserted the ring
and tag and closed it with pliers. I did not cry out, though I could see that leaving me untouched was an
effort for him. Clearly he had been ordered. My breast ached as I gasped, pushing away from the
bench, the large tag on my left nipple feeling awkward and big. I felt his hand rub along my thigh,
toward my pussy as I shuddered.
“You’re strong. Very strong. It will be good to see you row.”
I stared at him, still defiant.
“Put your foot on the anvil. I need to fit your fetters, for the chains onboard.”
The anvil was filthy, He saw the look on my face and laughed.
“Oh don’t worry. This place is clean compared to where you’re going. At least the dirt here is honest
grime from metalworking. You’ll be sitting above a river of shit! HA!” His laugh was evil and intense.
I raised my head, still defiant, and placed a foot on the grimy anvil, hooking my toes around its
curvature as he lifted a hinged steel fetter, coated with brown rust and obviously heavy. I winced as the
steel encased my ankle, the weight already grating against my skin. A ring dangled from the fetter,
destined, I guessed, to carry the chain that would restrain me to the ship that I would row upon.
***
My heart was pounding now. It was bad enough that the rusted steel fetters grated terribly on my
ankles, bad enough that I had been handcuffed for my walk to the galley. Neither the tag nor the cuffs
had been the greatest indignity however. Sitting on the rough steel chair, having my head and pubic
hair shaved had been obscene. Worse even than the slave accoutrements which had been attached to
my body, the shaving had seemed to bear my soul for all to see. I had held back tears. He had told me
that I was strong, that many broke down during the shaving, He had told me that it prevented lice on
board and that I might not be shaved again for the year, though by halfway through my contract, I
would be craving it as my hair grew back and provided a home for the parasite population. I had tried
not to let the degradation affect me, tried to convince him without words that I was strong and would
be one of the best rowers on board, better than any prisoner. There would be no need to punish me.
“You’ll be forced to offer the mouth. Do it without resistance, or the overseer has every right to have
you punished. Do it badly and he can do the same. You won’t be touched in any other way.”
“Uh? Offer the mouth?” I winced as the weight of the fetter grated against my ankle. I limped along,
trying to avoid letting the weight nudge against my ankle bone.
“You’ll be chained to the bench, “he sighed, as if explaining in simple terms. “You’ll have to suck their
cock.”
“What? But I’m a volunteer, not a prisoner!”
“It makes no difference. Do it, or you’ll be punished.”
I was sweating now, in fear, anticipation and, even though I tried to deny it, excitement.
My shaven head felt cold as I placed a bare foot on to the wide gangplank that led onto the deck. The
stench was awful, like an open sewer. It had got much worse as I had got closer. I could see movement
through the open oarports, flesh, dark skin. Were they the prisoners? I heard rattling of heavy chains
from inside, some speech in a foreign tongue as I paced slowly up the creaking wooden boards. More
rattling and then the swish and slap of a whip. I flinched instinctively as I heard a desperate cry of
anguish. I reached the upper deck, the cry had faded away. My movement attracted the attentions of
another overseer, in sandals, shorts and t-shirt, smoking by the handrail. Were it not for the long
handled whip that he carried, I would thought of him as just another tourist, though he was well built
and muscled.
I shuddered as he approached as I was pushed forward.
“Another prisoner?” he smiled, intent in his eyes as he said it.
He reached for my tag and pulled it, stretching my breast, as I cried out, wide-eyed and staring, pulling
on the cuffs that held me bound. I gasped as his hand played with my shaven mound, fingers exploring
my pussy.
“No. This is one of Joshua’s finds,” the man who had tagged me said. “But she’ll still offer her lips I’m
sure.” They both laughed as I was pushed toward the wooden steps that led down to the rowing deck.
|
|
|