…find another way to escape. You’re not doing anything like…that, to anyone, with anything!

You could be described as a lot of things, but you know that **** is not one of them and never will be. Maybe this ‘Blacky’ is an employee of this place, but the more you hear, the more you doubt it. Keeping your cool, you continue to stand in place by your guide and guard, and think of a better way to get out of this.

There’s always a way. Thoughts are like water, there is no place they cannot reach with enough time and volume.

You watch the black haired woman wonder around the room like a diplomat. She would lean in and whisper to some, grab the crotches of others and quickly rise them to bulges if not already. Others she would pause and stroke, or give deep kisses designed to be heard around the room in moans or wetness. You don’t like anything about this situation, but you can admire a master of their craft at work, even if that craft is whoring.

You close your eyes and try to shut out the sound of the man on the bed. His moist thrusting fills the room, louder than anything. Its slick slapping sound acts as a continuous knock at the door of your concentration. You try to focus on the matter at hand and think up the inventory at your disposal, each item a building block to action. You make a list of your equipment; the uniform, armour, stiletto, and poison. You make a list of the things you can use: there’s a limited selection of things on hand, but after much consideration you realise that the **** coursing through the two fool’s bodies could be of benefit. Drunk people make drunk decisions, and while you can’t change those already made, you could guide them better with a bit more ****. You know there is something, some perfectly convincing argument you can say to the man who brought you here. A way to take you back and get some information on Captain Washkin as well. After a moment of thinking, you finally get it; the perfect thing to say.

You open your eyes and turn to the oddly bearded man standing next to you, ready to lean in and whisper your instruction, only to see the dark haired woman dragging her hand softly over his chest. She seems about to lean towards him when she sees you looking at her, pausing under the surprised stare peeking out of your helmet. Giving him only a wink instead she moves to stand before you.

In the candle light, you can see her fully naked form, slightly goose bumping in the rooms open air and somehow far more naked close up. Her hourglass figure leaves her only slightly taller than you, but she looks down commandingly all the same. Her eyes are painted with a little bit of makeup, but otherwise, her face wears nothing but her own natural beauty. That, and the thick line of juices that cover her whole mouth, neck, and jaw line up to her ears. Before you can react, she pulls down the leather guard that covers your mouth and nose and puts a hand on either side of your face to turn it up to her, hiding it from the rest of the room like a horses blinkers. A curious expression crosses her face as you both look at each other; your clearly feminine features give away that you don’t belong and you’re not sure what she thinks of you dressing as a man. The fear in your eyes must be quite visible, and she seems to be factoring it into whatever is going on in her head.

Your fate and your face are quite literally in her hands as a single second stretches on and on. Before you know it, she moves in and gives you a deep kiss on the lips, her expert mouth guiding your surprised lips apart as a tongue darts in and slides across your own. You feel the warm wetness spread from her face to yours as her tongue, so recently lost in other lips, dances in your mouth like a fish out of water. A unique salty taste spreads as hers paints your own in passionate collision, and for the splittest of split seconds, your own lips twitch as your tongue is moved by hers.

You… think you kissed her back.

As soon as it begins, though, it’s over, and your mind is left frazzled by the unwanted intrusion. She leans in close to your ear and hear her whisper to you,

“Women stay for free round these parts sweetpea.”

She pulls the facemask back up and continues around the room, leaving you covered, with heart hammering. You look at her move through the candle light and admire her grace and confidence, the swish of her hips and the way she-

“Ok, whore charmer. Time to go.”

A thick hand on your shoulder pulls you back and out the room.

As you move, feet staggering and legs a little weak, the moustachioed man’s gravelly voice sounds, once again in an advice giving mood.

“The only time a shrimp like you’s gonna mount a whore like that is if she’s dead. You don’t got the money. Sides, she’s a licker. Never trust someone who fucks their own team.”

You feel the warmth of her lips still on your own as you’re guided down the hall. The salty taste remains in your mouth and in your nose; the outside of your mouth somehow feeling soaked in a coating of vaginal juices, despite the all the lips between the whore, her victim, and you. The side of your face is definitely wet from when she whispered into your ear. With shock, you realise that that was your first real kiss. Is it real if it was with a woman? You’re not really sure what to think; the whole situation has left you so confused.

“Right, blacky’s there, so get fuckin.”

Your guide shoves you forward and you realise that you’re in a new room with a small number of lit candles casting a dim light. Before you stands a set of wooden stocks, looming stout and strong in the gloom, bearing what looks like the usual holes for heads and hands at hip height. The room looks like a dungeon.

Didn’t you have something that would get you out of this situation? Some perfect response? Your breathing speeds up as you try to quickly think back. What was it? Think! Her tongue dancing in your mouth. No that’s not it. You refocus your mind and try again. The moment that you started kissing back. That’s certainly not it! Your face starts to glow crimson and you find it hard to keep your thoughts together. There was something, you’re sure of it, and it was far more useful to you than the image of her swaying hips!

You choose to buy time by examining the contents of the only occupied stock. She’s definitely a woman, but one clearly from the southern empire. You’ve never seen skin so dark; it’s practically black in the half-light; almost invisible. You see that her hair, while shoulder length, is made of a wire like fuzz of black curls, similar in kind to the few dark skinned immigrants and merchant you have seen. She’s bent at the waist, contorted to **** her head and hands into the waist high stocks with her hips out, and kept that way by some unseen means. At a gesture from the mutton chopped man, you move behind her, and the haze over your mind’s eye is stripped away in an instant. You have seen the results of a gang **** before; interviewed victims of such and seen a body of one who didn’t survive the process. None of them prepared you for the sight of this poor woman’s rear. Both her vagina and anus were ‘loose’ for lack of a better word, and were drenched inside and out with sticky white seed that coated the inside of her legs. Some of it was dry and some of it was fresh, and the same could be said for the various cuts, bruises, burns, and other unidentifiable marks of ****. Whatever she had been through, it had lasted days if not weeks.

“I know she looks like shit and smells like piss, but stick it in anyway. Come to think, some rank bastards prolly actually pissed in er. Did somthin to Wendigo or somthin so she gets locked up ear an fucked by all guys on shore till she breaks, I donno.” He shrugs, uncaring for the details.

Looking at the state of her, you’re sure that can’t be the case. No one could go through this and not have broken a hundred times over. You give your head a slight shake and try to come up with a plan.

You look about the room and note the location of things. The two idiotic shadows you picked up are standing by the door while the stocks are facing them, giving a good view of the woman’s head and hands as well as her legs. Apart from that there wasn’t really anything else. Two candles on a shelf to the right and a lot of stains on the floor. If they stay by the door then you may be able to fake an **** on this woman. Her wide hipped dark rear looms before you like an un-climbable mountain. If they came up to you during your fakery however, then there would be little you can do to hide the parts you have and haven’t got.

Seeing no other alternative, you stand behind the woman and drop your trouser shorts to the ground about your ankles. You flush again as you stand facing two drunken men, glad of the helmet to hide behind. The climbing black fur of your pubic region was never meant for display, and feels quiet exposed even while the leather tassels of your amour and the darker, but equally fury pubic region of the woman in front of you. Lifting the tassels and placing them on her lower back, you put both hands on her hips, angling her towards you and aligning your phantom member to her very real cavernous nethers.

You move your hips towards her and heavily breath out before pulling back are repeating the process.

“Come on! She ain’t gonna feel it unless you put yer back into it!”

The rusty, chiding tones of your guru mock your performance, in which you had hoped not to touch her, and so you decide to make a slapping sound by thrusting your hips against her checks. While your muff deadens the sound somewhat, the room begins to reverberate with the desired effect, clapping against her and casting ripples through her thighs and behind. You wince at the wetness of it. Looking down, you see to your disgust that the **** of your impacts against her rear has caused some of its gooey contents to make its way out of her. Seed, still warm, starts to coat the hairs of your privates, and before long, a sticky spider web of the white gloop start to stretch from each of your hips, making a continually changing cat’s cradle of lines with each impact.

You begin to hear a moan coming from the woman, steady at first but occasionally interspersed with little yelps of pain. You’re not hitting her that hard and your imaginary penis only exists in the heads of the two observers. Is she...

Is she playing along with you?

You decide to take advantage of this, talking in the gruffest, most strained tone you can manage.

“Ok guys. Uff! I may be a- Hah! -a while.” You tilt your head to the door, your helmet tilting dangerously as it pivots on your bun. “Fuck off would ya.”

You try to imitate the bearded man’s casual cursing and feel that you do a serviceable job of it. He turns and drags the big drunk out of the room, who looks rather sad to go.

“Save me HAannn ale!” you shout after them, trying to plant the idea of returning to the inn in their drunken minds.

You continue your phantom **** for the next twenty seconds, letting the slapping be heard from outside, before slowly coming to a stop. Listening for a moment, you look down at yourself and despair. White cum soaks your hips and hairs, and several drops make slow process down your pale legs in their bid to reach the floor. You pick up your trousers and to wipe most of it off your legs and hips, making sure to wipe your own folds with the cleanest parts for the shorts before wearing them. You move in front of the stocks and look at the lock. A simple enough mechanism to open unless you’re the one trapped inside.

You see two eyes looking at you with curiosity, staring through cascading black curls. You lean down and try to say something like ‘I’m going to get you out of here. Don’t worry. Everything is going to be ok’ but the words just don’t form. How could they be? Everything probably won’t be ok for this poor woman. You open the lock on the stocks and lift the wood off her via the hinges on the side. You ready to catch her, but she slowly and calmly begins to stand on her own, cracking and clicking her back as she does so.

You look away as more semen streams out of her, falling down her legs or pattering on the floor like fresh rain. To think you were worried about the stuff that got on you.

She completes her stand using the stocks for support, and you see that she is quite tall, for a man; for a woman, she’s a near giant. Either way she towers over you. You know for sure she is a woman, but not helping the image is her physic; she has a lean taught body with athletic muscles, and breasts smaller than your own that sport little pointed nipples even darker than the rest of her skin. She turns and gives you an appraising look. She seems… ok, mentally if not physically. She looks your dead in the eye and asks a simple question.

“Why?”

You think for a moment. How should you respond? She looks lean and dangerous, and clearly no friend of the pirates, but she is also unknown in motivation. She was far from what you came for, though come to think of it, you still have no idea where the captain is. Can you really tell her that her rescue was incidental? You decide that complete honesty is probably the best policy, sensing a potential ally, and perhaps a source of the information you need.

Removing your helmet and returning to your regular voice you respond.

“I’m here to kill Captain Wendy ‘Go’ Washkin, also known as Captain Wendigo. I know she’s on the island but not where. I dressed as a man to get the information but they took me to you instead.”

She looks at you for a moment, deep hazel eyes considering.

“Huh.”

She begins to slowly shuffle around the stocks, stretching her leg and bringing much needed movement to aching joints. It looks very painful, but she very gradually starts to speed up, losing the limp and reaching an almost average walk.

She sighs and continues, “I just wanted to talk to her and she put me in here.” Her accent is richly southern, each word painting mental pictures of exotic cities and strange customs. After a long pause, she follows with, “I tank you for freeing me. De woman you seek is in a small manor house on a hill behind dis place.” She points her hand to a corner of the room, “in dat direction.”

You look at the wall, as though seeing your target through it. Perhaps it’s a little callous, but you decide to push for some more information.

“Is there anything you can tell me about it that would help?”

She continues her circular pacing, not even needing the support of the stocks anymore.

“It’s full of people like dese,” she gestures vaguely, disgustedly, to the building, “but dat shell you wear will stop you. Few are allowed to enter armed for combat. Dat’s how they took my weapons. Wid smiles and good faith.”

Ok, that’s very good to know; perhaps it’s time to shed your masculine disguise for the more feminine one beneath.

“Don’t trust her. She is like a snake, wid a black heart and a black mind. She watched, for de first day.”

You itch to ask why; to ask what anyone could have done to deserve such a fate. You glance at the door that any pirate hungry for a piece of the southern empire could come through and save your questions for later.

Mind made up, you breathe a sigh of your own.

“All right, let’s get you off this island.”

In freeing this woman, you have taken a life into your responsibility. You may not be able to save others trapped on this island, like the poor girl you saw, but the life of an innocent takes priority over the life of a criminal. The entire justice system of both Eastern and Central law revolves around the principle. There is little way around it without trading lives. You think of how close you’ve got to your target, all that you have suffered to get here, the lives you’ve taken, mentally grumbling to yourself for the delay.

Honour is heavy indeed. You shake your head and almost chuckle; ‘how else will the south learn honour if they do not see it?’ You start to work on your escape plan.

“You would abandon your mission for me?” the woman asks, somewhat incredulously.

“Well...yes. I freed you. I won’t see your life end here or return to the stocks.” It’s fairly obvious from your perspective. Perhaps not to a southerner? “Besides, it’s less abandoning and more delaying. We’ll get you on a boat and I’ll start again. I still have many hours till sunrise after all.”

Upon saying that, you see something that genuinely amazes you about this woman. Something that you’re not sure you could ever do again if you had received such punishment. You see a smile slide across her face, wide and genuine.

“Nordern barbarian.” She says it softly, dismissively, respectfully. “You are like milk; soft and white… but good for life. I will not take you from your mission any more dan I will stray from mine. All dose men did not manage to rob me of my honour.”

So, the mud skinned southern woman has a sense of honour, warped as it may be. She stops her walking, which she can now perform with dangerous grace, and looks directly at you.

“De person I seek is not here. I will find my own boat and continue my search alone. For you, I will keep quiet and only kill dose dat I must.”

She hesitates for a moment before walking up to you, revealing her full height as she levels the minor slopes of her exposed and battered breasts to your face. Are all southerners this tall? Or, as life has continually taught you, are you really just annoyingly short? Probably a bit of both. She leans down and gently kisses your forehead, making you feel more like a child. You’re not sure what to make of the gesture but she looks sincere when she speaks.

“I owe you my all for dis. If we meet again later and my mission is done, I shall repay you.”

You sense that you have earned a friend for life today. Touching your forehead were the ghost of the gesture of friendship lingers, you think back to the words whispered in your ear. ‘Women stay for free round these parts sweetpea.’ Was she was referring to patrons, professionals or people like the woman in front of you? You also blush slightly as you only just realise that she probably wasn’t referring to the vegetable when she called you that. The flush rises a curious expression on the other woman’s dark face.

If this woman is strong enough to smile then you believe her when she says she’s strong enough to escape. Perhaps you could convince her to join you? It would be asking much of any woman, let alone one recovering from a sustained gang ****, but you could use all the help you can get. Perhaps going it alone would be better, her face is likely known to all the pirates on the island (or at least the male ones). Though she said she’d ‘only kill dose dat I must’, you don’t yet know if she has the skill to backup such a claim.