Bilge

The captain's calloused hands roughly tore me from the grasp of the remaining men, my bruised flesh slapping against the damp planks. A trickle of semen and blood slid down my thigh as I was dragged toward the hatch, my toes scraping the rough wood.

The smell of mold and vomit rose in putrid waves as the hatch opened, revealing the rotten staircase leading to darkness.

My bruised body hit the rotting steps, each shock ripping open the raw wounds on my skin. The captain's fingers dug into my flesh like grappling hooks, drawing a hoarse groan as he hurled me toward the stinking darkness.

The icy air of the hold hit me like a slap, laden with the acrid smell of stagnant water and excrement. Prisoner sailors caught up with us. I sensed they meant us no good, the captain told them.

• Hold on, distraction, you're here because of those five bitches, especially the redhead pointing at me. I want them alive, the rest do as you please.

The prisoners rushed like starving animals, their hooked hands caressing my body. A slap brought me back to the reality of my situation. Greasy fingers parted my thighs with a sound of wet flesh while the other girls begged in vain. Their nails, black with filth, dug into my hips, tearing a hoarse cry that the humidity of the hold immediately muffled. A greasy laugh erupted near my ear as a calloused hand **** my mouth open, pushing in fingers that reeked of rotten herring.

My arched back slid across the slimy floor, each movement reawakening the bruises left by previous rapists.

I was taken by a cock that clearly wanted to satisfy itself while making me pay. A brutal pain ripped through my stomach as he thrust into me with calculated ****, each thrust tearing a harsh gasp from my dry throat. His thick hands crushed my hips, his fingers digging into my bruised flesh like vices. The smell of sour sweat and moldy leather filled my nostrils, mingling with the metallic tang of my own blood on rotten wood.

Each of us passed from hand to hand, from sex to sex, playing our part, but I knew that, like me, they were realizing fantasies they had never dared to realize and that only the fantasy island could allow us to fulfill. But our bodies would remember them for a long time, pushed beyond their limits.

The pain dissolved into a wave of guilty pleasure when a second man threw himself on me, his eager mouth crushing mine while his fingers wound into my red hair to immobilize me. The rotten wood plowed my back with each brutal thrust.

We spent two days in hell when sailors came for us; we were nothing but rags.

• Would you rather stay there or be sold? they asked, amused.

Without waiting for our answer, they took us out onto the deck.

• Clean this up, and you, doctor, get them back on their feet. You have four days before the **** market sale. The captain yelled.

The sun pierced my eyelids like a red-hot blade, its harsh light searching every wound, every trace of **** and defilement on my skin. I staggered, my scraped knees hitting the hard wood of the deck, the salt from the sea spray burning the cracks on my lips.

The sailors' calloused hands plucked me from the sticky planks, their fingers digging into the bruises on my arms like rusty pliers. A bucket of water splashed my face, the ship's doctor worked miracles; four days later, we had nothing but blue waves.