…try and convince him to help you.

You decide to go ahead with your plan, its first step convincing him to go along with it.

“Listen, whatever you thought before, however impossible you though it was, we have a better chance working together now.” You lay out a flat palm, walking him through it before he can object. “We go upstairs together. One of us is the prisoner, the other is the one who caught the prisoner. They focus on the prisoner and the guard attacks, bringing one down by surprise and distracting the other. The prisoner can then take down the other.” You end with a palm up, as though presenting the plan as reality. “It’s an old trick, but it has a good chance of working.”

You look into his eyes, holding his gaze with conviction. It could work. He looks doubtful but says nothing, prompting you to continue.

“If they’re talking then they’re not likely to be armed. We’re both in different uniforms so we can play them off each other as well; it will be less two vs two and more two vs one vs one! I even have a boat waiting a short swim out from the back of the island, so if the alarm is raised, its not impossible to just run. This is the best chance we have,” you scratch your head, looking sheepish, “the only problem is how to get upstairs without being seen.”

He continues to look sceptical but you can tell you’ve won. Step one complete.

Step two would be getting upstairs. Not being seen will increase the length of the element of surprise, and every second they’re shocked increases the odds of success. The main stairs are out for that reason, but there’s still the dumbwaiter. The maid is also a possibility, either the one you saw through the foyer or the one that just left, either would likely know if there’s another way up. You think on it while the bounty hunter chimes in.

“Getting up isn’t a problem. There’s a secret staircase on the other side of the house.”

Well that’s Stage two taken care of. He continues,

“but both are skilled fighters and you’re right that they don’t trust each other, which is why I recon they will be armed.” He sighs audibly, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I’m not promising anything. We go up, look around and if I call it off then we go, no questions asked. Deal?”

It was better than nothing.

“Deal.”

He grabs the lantern and walks out the room without a word, and you follow him down the corridor towards the kitchen, He makes sure it’s empty before cutting across it and down another corridor, turning left and down a short, dark hallway, and stopping before a small plain door that looks no different from any other. You think you hear the sound of two women talking nearby, in one of the rooms around you; there must be more than one wall between you so you can’t make out what they’re saying. Perhaps one is you guides wayward conquest, and if so, their gossip could relate. You find yourself wanting to hear, if just to know her side.

Your guide opens the door and reveals a narrow staircase heading upwards, and he follows it without comment, leading you through the windowless dark with bobbing light, stopping at another wooden door. The stairs continue up, likely to the roof, but rarther than follow it, he blows out the lantern and sets it down, plunging you into darkness before he slowly opens the door, checking and stepping out into the hallway. As before, you follow, and the corridor it leads out onto clearly stretches across the entire top floor, windows into the night at each end and yellow foyer light visible in the middle. The man looks at you, though it’s hard to tell for the unlit state of the hallway. His whispered words wash over you.

“Just so we both know what’s going on, you’re the prisoner right?” You start, looking at the shape of his head where is eyes should be.

“Why me? Doesn’t Captain Washkin already suspect you or something?”

He shakes his head, not in denial, but more of a side to side motion, weighing it up.

“Ehhh. Yes, sort of. She’s got folk out lookin for me, but she’s only got questions I don’t have answers to right now. I act loyal and we should be good.” He snickers in the dark for a moment. “Besides, we gonna say you caught me?”

You look up at him, your scowl hidden from his sight. You try to mentally beam your displease at him to compensate.

“You’re the prisoner,” he finishes.

You nod. Evidently, you’re the prisoner now.

You sneak along the corridor until you come to the light of the foyer. Its dimmer at the top of the stairs, and the lantern light below is spilt by the banister and the wooden beams supporting it, painting the wall in black bars of shimmering darkness. The merchants still huddle below and talk amongst themselves, their bowed heads and suspicious glances at each other keeping them well distracted from your antics. You listen for noise coming from the double doors and hear faint talking, extra muffled as though it comes from a room beyond the room behind the doubled doors.

Lacking any signs of restraint or fear, the bounty hunter moves towards the double doors at the top of the stairs in a slight crouch, making you wince at the boldness. He listens for half a second and then quietly opens one of the doors, slipping inside with only the slightest glance through. You give a nervous look at the men below before you dart out and follow him, gently closing the door behind you.

The room is relatively small and windowless, an antechamber for the room beyond as you suspected. Said room lies through a single door straight ahead of you, on the other side of a map strewn table, low but wide. A narrow path leads around it, framed by chests, lockers, and cabinets all lining the walls and leaving the room feeling both open and cramped. The man, who had once approached this idea with considerable ****, now moves quietly towards the other door, listening for noise through it as though he has every intent to walk through as he did the last. You see that he is now holding a dagger -some kind of long flick knife with a black handle- in his right hand. You join him at the door.

The sound of a woman’s voice, husky and promising, can he heard.

“You just lie down and I’ll show you why I’m right.” There’s a soft thump and a savoury seductive hum. “This is always the best bit of our little talks.”

Your face reddens as you realise what they must be doing in there. Twice in such a short time span? Is there something on this island that’s driving people to rut like animals in heat? You know it must be lonely out at sea, but such answers speak of a sinful mentality.

The bounty hunter puts his hand on your shoulder, casing you to jump slightly, and he leans in close, whispering right into your ear,

“Plans changed, we charge in. I go left, you go right. Kill whoever I don’t.” His orders are punctuated by a loud noise of pleasure from the woman,

“Ahhhh! Ohhhh. It’s so, mmmm, big...” A steady rhythmic slapping noise, familiar in unwelcome ways, begins to sound. The whisper in your ear follows up with,

“Really? Big? Oldest lie in the books. Are you ready?”

You draw your stiletto, not at all feeling ready. You nod your head,

“Ok, three,”

He puts his hand on the door handle.

“Two,”

He quietly turns it while the slapping sound continues, his words a ghosts whisper.

“One.”

He swings the door wide and darts through it, stopping it before it can bang against anything. He has the good sense to not make any excess noise in general as he sprints across the room, footsteps light, but quick and darting, voice still as quiet as a coffin carrier. Following behind him, you see the scene: it’s not as bad as you were expecting. A woman, who from her blond hair and blue eyes is clearly Captain Washkin, is perched on the edge of a large four poster bed, facing you, leaning forward and holding the two nearest posts. She’s wearing a white shirt and a pair of tight brown trousers that are currently pulled down to expose the top of her thighs, her pressed legs together in a near elegant sit. The other legs hanging off the bed at either side of her own spoil the image; she seems to be sat on the hips of a man, taking him into herself, using the bed posts as leverage to grind up and down across his penetration. You don’t see much though, which you are thankful.

Her eyes go wide as she sees you both, leaping to her feet and darting to the left as quick as she can, reaching for her nearby sword. The move means departing the man with haste and she staggers, the bounty hunter slamming into her with his blade and taking both of them to the floor. The man sits up and looks at them, looks at you, then darts right, restricted by his trousers currently around his thighs and stumbling. You leap at him with your dagger, plunging it forward, but his fall doesn’t leave him defenceless. He lashes out a wild arm, batting the blade out of your hand with his own, but you push forward, crashing into him and using all your meagre weight to pull him further down to the floor. Your arms try to wrap around his torso, his wet, hard, exposed manhood left to rub against your belly like an eel out of warm water. The pin fails in moments. He forces your arms apart and breaks free, punching wildly as you grab and doge as best you can against the stronger man. You dodge a punch aimed at your face, taking it on your shoulder instead, and he tries to grab your hair, unable to find any purchase on the tight confinement in your bun, all as you shower punches against his hard leather hide. Hair abandoned, he grabs your face instead, but can only squeeze your mouth with little effect, puckering you and crushing against your gritted teeth. Your punches end, the chaotic conflict for arms ended as his free hand grabs your wrists and yanks them away. The red face looking up at you in a twisted rictus of rage, takes on a cruelly victorious smile, and he moves his other hand on your face, positions his thumb over you left eye.

His face suddenly changes to horror, his eyes tracking behind you, and a quarter second later, a heavy looking silver candle holder replaces his head in a red spray as it smashes down on to the floor. The hand on your face goes limp and falls, his other twitching digits tangled on your wrists in their phantom grip until they fall as well. The bounty hunter lifts the candle holder up and prepares to clobber him again but you can both see that he is very much dead.

Two people pant heavy with exhaustion, victorious against to two pirates. You stand, staggering back from him to lean against the bed, rubbing the spots that he manages to hit while trying to get air back into your burning lungs. The bounty hunter is doubled over, hands on knees, gasping to himself, and so you walk tiredly over to the body of the now deceased Captain Wendigo, her torso a mess of stab wounds and her white shirt now very red. The black hilted dagger sticks up from her chest, over her heart, and you carefully, respectfully open the top button of her ruined shirt, pulling the necklace gently over her head. The Amulet of Abyet. Un-forgeable, irreplaceable and invaluable, the perfect evidence of her ****. The centre jewel (an exquisitely cut blue tear stone) is strangely free of blood, even though the silver and gold that surround it and make up the chain are stained red. It catches the light, as though hungering for more.

The knife is wrenched out of her body unceremoniously, slightly lifting her lifeless torso in the process, leaving the bounty hunter squatting next to her, looking at you and the amulet, knife in hand. After a moment of silence, he hands you your stiletto.

“Back of the island right?” You say nothing, necklace dangling from you hand. He cracks a smile, “Let get going then.”

He stands up and walks towards the largest of the rooms windows, which stands half open on the room’s right side. You follow, as before, and it leads onto a small tiled roof that slopes down and ends about an arm’s length away. Climbing out and down first, he hangs off the edge before dropping, causing you to follow and mirror his movements. It’s quite a distance down, but he seems to be picking himself up and brushing himself free of grass stains and dry dirt, all without injury . You throw the amulet around your neck for safe keeping before climbing over and dropping, hitting the ground hard but fine.

No guards wait for you on this side of the house, so you both quickly cross the open lawn towards the tree line at the edge of the manor grounds, slipping through into darkness without alarm or pursuit. Once the distance between yourselves and the mansion grows enough and you both slow to catch your breath, the bounty hunter asks a question.

“Now, I know this is just a formality, but we split the reward 50/50, right? Not got any funny ideas about running off with that necklace?”

You give him a cool look, but nod to him. “It’s right to be clear, and no, no funny ideas. The reward stands at 50,000 gold and land rights to the island of Selka. We half the money, leaving 25,000 each. You can have the island as well.”

You had thought about it and it makes sense; you can’t trust the bounty hunter. Giving him the larger half of the reward and not asking for more should help buy some loyalty from him, you hope. Plus, he did kill both of the pirate captains, undeniably with your help. It seems fair.

He looks surprised, “Very generous. Any reasons for this display of generosity?” His voice is jovial and thankful but there’s a deep distrust buried underneath it.

“I just want what I’ve earned. No…funny ideas.”

Something in his eyes tells you your meaning is understood.

You look up at the stars through the canopy and use their position to guide you through the dark forest to the back of the island. He walks beside you, not saying a word as you walk through the woods, and every time you look at him he smiles back in what you think is meant to be a reassuring manner. It comes off as predatory. The woods give way to a grassy field, not flat and even like the manor lawn, but bumpy and thick, with some of the taller grasses coming up to your waist. You walk across it and find yourself at the cliff edge; a steep slope of broken stones that stretches down into the sea lapping at its base. You take the slope together in silence, sliding down its steep face and causing a mini avalanche of sliding stones to follow behind you. By the waves, you point to the island that your guide described, barely visible in the distance.

“There. We swim for that island. My guide is waiting for us there.”

You wade into the sea and he wades in after you.

After a half mile swim, you find yourself being pulled aboard the familiar little boat by the stringy arms of your guide. He gives you a brief smile through his bushy white beard, which you gladly return. After, you help him with the bounty hunter and you all sit down, your guide at one end and yourself and the bounty hunter sitting side by side at the other, legs and arms touching each other thanks to the boats narrowness. With you both drying on the boat, your guide begins to paddle out into the mysterious currents known only to hi, and as he does so, he looks at you.

“Y’get what you came for?”

You respond flatly, perhaps too tersely than you mean to.

“Yes, thank you. We did.”

You feel the weight of the amulet around your neck. The weight of 50,000 gold coins. The weight of a small island. The weight of a life. You wonder which is heavier.

The boat ride continues in silence, and as you approach the mainland the sun starts to peek over the horizon, bathing the world in its soft red light. The scrap of shore is rugged, more rock than sand, leading into a nearby patch of wild land. As you had agreed with the guide what felt like a lifetime ago, this was your destination. The maps you studded place a road nearby that will take you to a nearby village. From there you can find passage to the capital, only ten miles away up a nearby river.

“Are you sure you can’t take us straight to the capital?” you ask the guide, knowing the answer.

“It’s the strong season,” he responds, expecting you to know what that means. It was the same excuse he gave previously. Glancing at both of you and your clueless expressions, he provides more context, “Volm’s high, lots of current. Need proper oars or sail to get near.”

Volm is the vast river that the capital, New Lilia, is situated by. You knew it flows stronger and weaker depending on the seasons but it had never really affected you, until now.

Disembarking on the shore, you both watch as the old man returns to the sea, single paddle slowly taking him home. You don’t look at the bounty hunter as you address him.

“There should be a road this way that leads to a village. Let’s go.”

You head off, down the shore and towards the road, hearing him walk after you. The image of the map you studied floats in your mind, a route that was recorded by early settlers, but long since made by the natives before them. Rumer was it was still used. You orient yourself by the large rock formation ahead, giving you a good idea of the roads location, and as you walk on, you also walk up, the rock giving way to soil and grass and hills that turn your walk into a climb. You feel his eyes on your back as you go, only a short distance behind you. The village should only be about three miles away.

You crest a hill and walk down an old path into a wood, green summer leaves swaying in the breeze and the sounds of their rustle and of birds chirping fills the air. After a short march down the overgrown path, you reach the road, completely overgrown, with only the lack of tree’s signifying that this was ever used by horse and cart at all. Bushes and branches reach out from the roads side, eager to reclaim this slice of forest that was taken from them, and you walk the grassy thin line beyond their reaching claws as though you expected it, hoping that the village at its end will be a little bit more lively.

The road undulates up and down with the landscape, hills providing exhausting climbs up and traitorous footing on the slopes down. As you arrive at the bottom of one of the valleys and hop over a small dried up river bed running through the hills, the bounty hunter speaks up again, the first time in a while.

“Well, this looks like a good spot.”

Your heart sinks as you hear his blade flick out of its handle, and before you can react, you feel it rest against your lower back. You take a sharp breath in and straighten, stopping in your tracks.

“Hands up now.” You raise your hands to head height. “Right up there. Up, up, up.” Your whole arms stretch up into the sky, exposing your armpits. You feel his hand roughly reach into the slit of your trousers right hip and pull out your blade. Trying to keep your cool, you ask him,

“What happened to ‘No funny business’?”

Your fine stiletto sails through the air and into some nearby bushes. After a moments silence, he walks around to your front and looks you in the eye.

“It look like I’m laughing to you?” His expression is quite grim.

You assess your options. He’s right that this is a good spot for him; thick tangles of trees are on both sides of the path, and you’re in a natural valley ready to swallow any cries for help and make running away is more difficult. Even the dry riverbed is too small and overgrown to escape down. He holds his dagger at your stomach, sharp blade angled not to cut you. That could change in less than a heartbeat. It drags up, past your belly button, over the leather jacket you’re wearing. You look into his eyes as he moves the blade, fighting against the need to watch its point, but he has no such restrictions and his eyes stay low, looking at the knife point and tracing its progress up your body. You feel it tug at the single button that holds your jacket closed, cutting the thread that anchored it and letting it fall to the floor, and with a flick of the knife, he opens one side of the jacket, revealing your left breast to the woodland world. He gazes at its pink nipple and subtle curvature while you still look for an opening to attack, or run, or reason. He flicks the other side of the jacket to reveal its twin, both lessened by your arms being stretched into the air, making them soft bumps that sit stretched over your visible ribs. The necklace dangles between them, fine gold and silver setting with its rich blue stone in the middle looking in stark contrast of your pale white skin.

“Beautiful”, he says with a smirk.

You feel an irritated twinge of embarrassment at the exposure, unsure if he is referring to you or the jewellery around your neck.

He keeps his distance as he looks at you, standing side on for a quick thrust and less chance to be grabbed. You try to talk again.

“You’re going to risk 25,000 gold and an island ju-“

“Just so I can what?” he interrupts, “Just so I can get 50,000 gold and an island? Yes, I think I’ll ‘Take the risk’ thanks.” He looks at you for a moment and a small smirk just starts to appear on his face. You see something in his eyes that you really don’t like. “When you watched me fucking that maid, did you touch yourself?”

What? You almost take a step back at the ridiculous question. He smiles as he see’s your disgust and uncertainty and you curse yourself. He’s trying to throw you off balance. You think of all the weapons you still have at your disposal, but only one comes to mind. But how to reach it? How to use it?

His face now carries a full on smile,

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He takes several steps back from you, leaving a space between you twice as long as he is tall. You look for your chance. Your dagger is lost in the bushes, looking for it would end quickly and unfavourably. You could run. It would have to be back to the coast but you could escape if you’re lucky. Sensing your intensions, the bounty hunter turned traitor brandishes his knife and shouts.

“Don’t even think about running! I could throw this hard enough to bring you down easy.” He’s right, the woods are to thick and overgrown to move through quickly and the running up either hill will slow you down, making you an easy target. His voice calms back down.

“Now, do us both a favour and strip.”

Hearing this, your burning need to escape doubles within you. Bounty hunters are nothing but a bunch of honourless brigands, but you had hoped that money would be enough to keep him in line. Now it seems that his base urges have come to bare. He has you at his mercy, and in so doing, he has both the necklace and the body it’s wrapped around. Perhaps you could trade one for the other. You know which one is more valuable to you.

You take off the necklace and ready to throw it into the woods. His searching for it should give you more than enough time to escape. It seems such a great loss but you remind yourself that he already owns it; all you can do now is free yourself. You quickly toss it hard into the woods on your left and prepare to move. He doesn’t. He raises the dagger, preparing to throw it.

“Ah ah ah. Don’t move a muscle.” You remain frozen. “Clever, but pointless. It’s not going anywhere now. I’ll look for it later...” He looks at you for a moment. “You know, don’t feel bad. It would have worked about, oh, two years ago? Before someone much stupider and uglier than you did it first,” he lifts his top with one hand, pointing to one scar amongst many with his finger, “and gave me this for it. I’m telling you, with a bit of experience, you could be good. Damn good...” He looks you up and down, his eyes flicking between your own and what’s bared below them. “Tell you what, you do what I tell you and I’ll make sure you’ll live to see the day you’re as good as me.”

Your eyes remain locked on his.

He’s lying.

You look at the man before you, his toned muscles and steady hands, easy thrusting stance ready to go in a moment. He has the eyes of a killer and likely the skill to match, but you see his weakness, the one reason he hasn’t killed you yet; there’s an obvious bulge forming in his loose red and white clothing, his second weapon he wishes to use against you. All you have is a failed plan and you own rising fear to counter him with. His eyes their roving, down and down and down.

“Well? Strip.” He’s clearly enjoying this.

You start to sweat under his gaze. Perhaps it’s time for reason.

“You’re a bounty hunter right? Don’t do this. You catch criminals, don’t become one. You can have the necklace, take it. Just let me walk away.” You can’t keep the shake out of your voice, yet he still listens. He raises his hands in a placating gesture.

“Don’t worry, I said I’ll let you go didn’t I? I just need you to do some things for me first. Now, strip.”

“You’re a good person,” you lie, hoping to convince him it’s the truth. “No good can come of this and you know it. Think of the money you have now. Think of the women you’ll have. You can have everything if you just walk away.”

He smiles at you but you can see his eyes harden with anger,

“I know. I’ll have all the money and I’ll be able to do whatever I want. But there’s some unfinished business here. Something I’ve wanted since we met. Now no more words. Do as I say. Strip.”

He saw through your trick and now he sees through your words. Your heart hammers in your chest as there is nothing more to say. You take a deep breath to try and calm yourself, the action lifting your chest up and down, much to the delight of the scum before you. Very much to your own surprise, you succeed, feeling a renewed sense of determination. Your plan didn’t work, it true, but you can outsmart this opponent. Neither of you have the amulet, but you still have something he wants, and he’ll have to come close to get it. You still have one weapon left after all, and with a flash on inspiration you think of a way to get it and use it.

You lower your arms and shrug the open jacket off your shoulders and onto the ground behind you, looking up and down the path on instinct first. Seeing no one, you slip out of your shoes and move them next to the jacket with your bear feet. You feel the grass between your toes and small rocks digging into exposed souls; there’s no running now, not through this terrain of sharp stones and encroaching brambles. Before you bring down your trousers, you hesitate and take a risk by undoing the bun of hair at the back of your head first. Mousy brown hair spills down your front and back, its ends tickling your small pink nipples while providing more cover than the open air. You gulp audibly, shifting from foot to foot before the next step. He looks on in anticipation and in the quiet, peaceful wooded valley, you lean forward and slide your trousers down, keeping your legs straight as you do so by bending at the waist and offering a view of your most private area to the overgrown road behind you. To him, your long cascading hair covers your legs and the deft motion of your hand as you remove the poison vial from your thigh strap. Subtly holding it in your right hand, you slowly straighten and reveal yourself to the man.

Your skin is practically white as milk, especially on your legs and chest, the principality blood of your mother and father better suited for cool and cloudy weather. The unkempt tuft of dark hair between your legs seems more visible because of it, standing in stark contrast to your under-tanned body, while redness spreads across your face so aggressively that your neck and shoulders are not spared either. From embarrassment or rage you cannot be certain. Perhaps both. You feel cold, sheltered from the newly risen sun by the hill behind you, and blown upon by the whipping movements of his eyes and the satisfied breath he blows from his cheeks. I won’t be long before the sun shines its light on areas it hasn’t seen since you were a careless babe.

You step out of the trousers and move your hands over your breasts and crotch in a small attempt to retain some modesty. The fiend of a bounty hunter looks on with a grin on his face,

“Very good. Very… nice. Now put your hands on that tree and keep them there.” He points to a nearby tree, wide enough that you could probably just reach your arms around and tall enough to have deterred the nearby by bushes from growing too close.

You slowly march towards it, calculating your next move as you go.

Placing your hands on the tree, you manage to flick the cork out of the vial in the process and pin it between your palm and the rough bark. He walks up behind you and you jump as he grabs the sides of your hips. The knife in his left hand, hard handle held against your rump. Not yet, please not yet, you’re not ready!

“Now, you keep holding on to that tree sweetheart.” You whimper as he begins to pull your hips back but are surprised when he keeps going. You’re **** to take a step back and he slows down when your arms are fully outstretched. “Let go, and this blade goes somewhere you really don’t want it to go.” He keeps pulling your hips away from the tree and your eyes go wide when you have to bend over sharply at the waist and slide your hands down the trunk.

You add a twist to your wrist, upending the vial and coating your hand with the poison, covering your palm, your fingers, and your nails. He stops pulling when you’re bent over at a perfect angle, legs straight and torso straight, bending at the waist and presenting him with you most private place. Despite your plan, tears squeeze out of your eyes. You blink them away. Not long now.

He takes a step back and admires the view, giving an appreciatory hum in the process.

“Yes. Yes, that will do”, he mumbles to himself. He raises his voice to address you directly, “There, doesn’t that feel better? More natural?” As humiliating as this is, you thank him for the delay and take the opportunity to coat your fingernails more thoroughly, rubbing them in the clear liquid coating the palm of your hand. You’ll need to wait for the best possible moment. All you need to do is scratch him enough to draw blood. Preferably without getting killed in the process. He responds to your silence.

“Hum? Yeah, I suppose work before play and all that.” He rubs his hands. “Now it’s never too late to learn something and I don’t want you walking away thinking this was a waste of time, so I’m going to teach you some real important stuff.”

You try to twist you head around to look at him but can’t in your current position. The best you can get is a red and white blur at the very corner of your vision. You listen and watch what your able as he continues his sadistic pantomime,

“Lesson one: ‘Things you shouldn’t do’.” He talks in an exaggerated tone, like he’s explaining something to a child. “You talked back.”

His hand smacks your rear, hard, jolting you forward with its ****. Your eyes go wide with shock, and the crack of sound causes several nearby birds to take flight. Your petite left bum cheek stings with the impact. The hit caught you completely off guard and your mind struggles to rationalise the fact that you have been spanked like a petulant child.

“Twice.”

Again, his open palm slaps against you little left cheek, jolting you forward and filling your rear with pain. In your outrage, you wonder how he dares do this. Why would he humiliate you like this?

“You through my property away.”

Smack! Fresh tears cloud your vision and you blink them away. There is no one around to see, so it must be for his benefit. But how? Why would he do this?

“You disobeyed once.”

Smack! You feel the impact whip his fingers around your behinds gentle curve, spreading the sting across the whole cheek.

“Twice.”

Smack! You grit your teeth, wondering if this hurts more thanks to your narrow hips and limited rear padding. You try to focus on the feel of the tree, the grass between your toes.

“Three times.”

Smack! You yelp involuntarily when his stinging fingers catch your sensitive spot. He lets the high pitched noise hang in the air for a moment before continuing.

“All because of what? You were afraid I was gonna fuck you? Hum? Like a whore?” He pauses for a moment. You can practically hear the smile on his face.

Your left cheek burns with a fierce throbbing. If he would just grab your hips again, place his hands somewhere in easy reach, then this would all be over.

“Heh, well, Lesson two then: ‘Honesty’. Why don’t you just say it? Ey? Say ‘please don’t fuck me’.”

He can’t be serious. If that had even a remote chance of working then you would have said it already!

Smack! You watch your loose brown hair jolt as you do. It was on the right cheek this time. Your left must be red raw with all the effort he puts into each swing.

“Say it!” You jump slightly at his shout and hurry to get the words out.

“P-p-please don’t fuck me!” The very real tremor in your voice sounds almost foreign to you. He responds in mock confusion.

“But that’s what whores are for! Say ‘only whores touch themselves’.” His words try to get through the confusion and rising panic in your brain.

Smack!

The hardest one yet crashes into your right cheek, leaving your legs feeling week.

“Say ‘only-”

“O-only w-whores t-touch themselves” you interrupt. Your rising hysteria makes it so hard to think. You’re almost crying. All you can think of is the last time you were spanked, the sweet treats you took without permission and your father’s disappointed punishment. You must have been only six or seven at the time. You fight back the tears and try to keep your legs from shaking.

He pauses before continuing, his voice seeming huskier and slightly breathless.

“An we both know you touched yourself when I was pounding that slut last night...” He rests his left hand on the small of your back, pressing the handle of the knife into your skin. His other hand runs its fingers over you soft, exposed folds. You breathe in a sharp, ragged breath at his unwanted touch as his fingers travel down your sensitive skin and reach the little nub of flesh at the front of your flower. He begins to circle the spot, rubbing his fingers over it in a lewd manner.

“...Like this”, he finishes.

Many emotions compete inside your mind; disgust wars with humiliation while confusion looks on uncomprehendingly, rage has a lot to say as well and throughout it all your focus is losing ground.

His fingers pickup speed and begin to rub your button more fiercely, tugging and turning some of the hairs around it and spreading a strange heat up into your core that can’t all be friction. He keeps talking, half to himself and straining with effort.

“Four months a pirate serving on that ship, swabbing decks and going on raids and I got to say: I really enjoyed one thing they did a lot of.” He removes his fingers from you and, from the sound of it, puts them in his mouth, licking and slurping them into a state of heavy wetness. “Can you guess what it was?”

You feel his fingers enter you, managing to stop any noise from escaping your lips. They sit inside your folds, two bony rods side by side, moving and twisting against your skin. You want to attack now but know that his calloused hands are a poor place to scratch if you want to break his skin. You need an arm, a leg, his torso, any fleshy skin that he brings close to you. His fingers start to move back and forth. You close your eyes and try to convince yourself that this isn’t yet real ****.

You fail and start to weep softly.

Seeing the reaction his fingers are getting out of you, the man remarks,

“You remind me of this fucking baker’s daughter a while back. She didn’t want it either, but I do this enough-“, he speeds his fingers, making it harder, faster, and far less pleasant, ”-an ya become as wet as the one copper whore you are. See? Your body wants it already. What are you?”

He’s right; an unknown wetness seems to seep out of you as the strange tingling warmth stretches up the more he works. His movements **** a sobbing cry from your open mouth, to inarticulate for him.

“No, say ‘I am a whore’.”

You can still feel the sting on your cheeks, merging with the feeling inside you. It’s so hard to concentrate. The bark under your fingers, the grass under your feet, even your own short breath, all get drowned out by the unwanted feeling between your legs and the wet sounds that fill the still valley air.

You get as far as “I...” before the full blown sobbing begins.

A sigh blows in from behind you, and another finger get added to the mix, punching your insides and shocking you back to your unwanted senses.

“I a-am. A. Ah! A a w-whore.” You feel a drop of warm juice slide down the inside of your leg and for a tiny fraction of a second you almost believe your words. That shocks you far more than his extra finger did, adding strength to the glowing fire of rage inside you. This isn’t fair!

“What was that?” he mocks, still ramming his fingers back and forth. Through gritted teeth, you respond flatly,

“I am a whore.” He stops and removes his soaked fingers.

“I know” he responds carelessly, “As long as we’re being honest, I was always gonna fuck you. Hope you don’t scream too much.”

Your breath catches, you knew this was coming, you prepared for it, and still it manages to disturb you.

You drop your head down, looking at your legs. You see his striped trousers drop to the floor and see his feet take position behind you. Time slows and your heart hammers as you feel his wet right hand grab one side of your bony hip and his dagger holding left hand slide down to the other.

The governance of your mind is in disarray, your cold intelligence telling you to wait until he’s inside you and completely distracted before attacking, while a combined front of fear, disgust, and humiliation, led by overwhelming rage, shoot down the suggestion, demanding action. You spin right, throwing the loosely held dagger out of his left hand with your posterior. Your right hand flies out as you turn, poison fingertips ready to slash and aiming for his surprised face. They miss him by a hairs breadth. He catches your right arm with his left, lifting it up out of harm’s way. You curl your other hand into a fist and drive it into his side, making him grunt and bend. Before your second blow, you hear a flicking sound and feel the worst pain you have ever felt in your life.

“Thought I only had one knife?”

You look down in shock at your side, under your arm and between your ribs, just under your breast, sits another black hilted dagger, buried in your heart.

You look at it in wide eyed disbelief. The shocked pain triples when he twists the blade and you have to hold on to him to keep standing. He releases your arm and grabs your neck, forcing you back against the tree. He looks down into your eyes. You can feel you heart unable to beat. You can’t breathe.

“Stupid whore! You would have enjoyed it!” He’s very close now, his face fills your vision. “I still will...”

The world fades. He’s still holding your neck as he looks down at something. You lift up your arm. Your vision fades to black. The last things you feel, the cold knife in your heart, something warm pushing up between your legs, and your raking nails breaking the skin of his arm.