Chapter 4: Sapphire and the Merchant

I’m not sure whether my new surroundings are much better than the hold of the pirate’s ship. Fortunately, it seems that I’m not going to be sold into slavery. At least, not yet. My betrothed will surely pay the pirate’s ransom to free his future wife from this misery. Or failing that, my father can dip into one of his many treasure chests in the interests of saving his daughter. The same glimmer of hope can be seen on the faces of the other thirty four captives being held in this old warehouse. There were originally fifty of us forcibly taken from our homes and stripped of our citizenship when Prince Ethelred seized the crown. Fifty-one if you count Ethelred’s sister. I’m not sure what she did to offend her brother, but even Captain Jack realised the futility in trying to ransom her. She has joined the sixteen captives who aren’t blessed with wealthy relations. It’s no secret that the pirate now sails towards the vile slave markets of Puskin to sell his remaining cargo.

As for those of us here, some were sold to the pirate because they are opponents of Ethelred’s ambitions. Others, like me, are the wives, sons or daughters of influential men whose loyalty Ethelred wants to secure by showing his vassals what happens if they dissent. Unfortunately for Ethelred, the pirate captain has a mind of his own. And his mind is focussed on maximising his profit.

“Sapphire?” says Grady, a young man about my age who lived in the same street as me. “What happens if my parents don’t pay my ransom?”

“We won’t be abandoned, Grady. Don’t worry about such things. Everything will be alright.”

My words are as much to reassure myself as Grady. In truth, I’m not so confident that everything will be alright. I had effectively been sold into a different kind of slavery weeks before the brief war that resulted in Ethelred seizing the crown. My father had no hesitation in promising me in marriage to one of his business rivals. A future partnership in business and in bed. Returning to that life holds no more appeal to me than being sold into a man’s harem. I’m not free in either situation.

It’s common knowledge that the merchant who owns this warehouse has struck a deal with Captain Jack. For a share of the ransom, the merchant will be an intermediary to negotiate the payment of our ransoms and eventual release. It might seem strange that the merchant doesn’t fear any reprisals afterwards, but our world is rife with corruption and greed that such complicity is rarely punished. Ethelred used his royal prerogative to sell us to the pirate captain, so what the pirate does with us is his own affair.

“How long do you think we will be kept here?” asks Helena, an attractive young woman who is shackled in the same coffle as Grady and me.

“I don’t know,” I reply. “I suppose it will take a few days for the merchant to contact all our relatives, and a few more for the money to be raised. I’m sure the merchant will work as quickly as possible. After all, he is the one who is paying for our food, and he won’t want to do that any longer than necessary.”

The merchant has kept us all shackled by leg irons in coffles of three captives. There’s a small yard outside that we are allowed to use for some fresh air, but getting there is an exercise in cooperation that usually results in us falling over each other. Although the warehouse is only lightly guarded, our irons make escape impossible. Besides, where would we go?

Each morning we are lined up for a roll call and inspection. Our clothes are dirty and torn, but we must make do. We are given ample water, but the food is bland and provided in minimal quantities. We won’t starve, but those among us who have eaten heartily in the past might soon find their clothing falling off them.

“I need to relieve myself,” whispers Helene to Grady and me.

The merchant doesn’t want his warehouse despoiling by our presence any more than necessary. Covered buckets for our waste are located nearby, although using them requires the cooperation of the other two in the coffle. The stench is kept to a minimum by a cover over the bucket. A pair of the merchant’s own slaves periodically replace the used buckets. The provision of drinking water follows a similar routine. As for water for washing, we must wait until it is raining outside.

The three of us shuffle over to the nearest bucket so that Helene can relieve herself. Our timing is unfortunate as it coincides with one of the irregular patrols the guards make of the warehouse.

“Stars! Look at all these beauties,” comments one of the guards to his companion. “A man could die happy reaming all these delectable cunts.”

I look at the grizzled guard. He has seen much better days. I suppose being assigned as a warehouse guard must be the bottom of the barrel for those who have chosen a military career. Standing guard over a coffle of slaves must add insult to injury. The guard’s companion is even older, but no less enthusiastic for a taste of some young female flesh. Chained as we are, we could only put up a token resistance if the guards decide to ravish us. Several of the women clutch to to their group in fear at such a prospect. Helene practically melts into Grady’s arms, almost kicking over the bucket she has just used to relieve herself.

I’m in a dilemma. I was wanting to use the bucket after Helene, but doing so in front of the guards requires a degree of brazenness I’m not sure I can achieve. But holding on for much longer is going to be really uncomfortable. I wait a few seconds until the guards attention is focussed on a well endowed young woman among another coffle of captives. I lift my tattered skirt and squat over the bucket. My movement attracts the guards’ attention.

“What are you doing there, my pretty?” asks the grizzled guard.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” I reply angrily, allowing the sound of my offering to the bucket to provide an additional clue to the brainless man.

“Shit! What a cunt!” exclaims the second guard.

“Yes, and yes,” I reply, standing up and giving the guards a better view of both.

Perhaps I’m overplaying my hand, but shackled to Helene and Grady doesn’t allow me a lot of movement. Both guards push one of their hands down the front of their trousers. Within seconds they are vigorously massaging their cocks. A younger man would probably have shot his load into his trousers by now after such a rigorous masturbation, but these two probably need twice the effort to rouse their cock into action.

Finally they pull their cocks out of their pants. It isn’t the most inspiring of sights. Sure, their cocks are erect, but such pitiful tools aren’t going to earn them any accolades. I doubt if either of them would be capable of fucking more than one of us in a day.