See this through.

You sit, more forcefully than you intended, back on the flat topped chest you occupied before. Fortunately, Davod, the man you shared it with previously is hunched over some map and gives you only his leering, knowing smile instead of his company.

Your bottom lip feels wet, and heavy with pout. Laughter comes from the room beyond; instructor and subject both, with the unworthy student no doubt the cause. You listen for any words but like before, their meaning is lost in its attempt to push through old stone, mortar, wood, and plaster. Perhaps if you were nearer the door you could hear, but you doubt the two men would humour an attempt to listen in on the captains conversation. As it stands, only the mood comes through. Their mood is jovial. Yours is anything but.

The decision to stay could be playing into her hands; the dangling carrot of her **** keeping you on the path of usefulness. From what you have heard, her cunning is considered unrivalled amongst her fellow captains. ‘One of her best ASS-ets’, as said by a swarthy sailor you interviewed, who’s gesticulations allowed for no mistake as to what her other assets could be. What are the odds she will let her guard down around you, really? Slim, at best. Her ability to manipulate people can be confirmed by the taste that still lingers on your tongue and the acts you would have never done before today. Are you being a fool? Perhaps. If so then it’s your choice. The man in that room didn’t **** himself on you, you chose it, to some extent. There’s power in that. Besides, you’ve matched the stick and the carrot looks too good to walk away from just yet, and you aren’t ruling yourself out of this either. You can beat this opponent, in time. It’s just a case of when and how far you’ll go.

Feeling a little better at your introspection, you wipe your mouth and steel yourself, listening to the approaching footsteps and staying still as the door opens. The man walks out as you first saw him, decked in gaudy clothes and jewels. His hair is a little sweatier and his step a little lighter. You don’t know how much of him you swallowed, but you suspect that his lightness is more a thing of mood, as near confirmed by his wide and insipid grin. He passes by you without so much as a glance.

The door opening had ended the hook-nosed bruits snooping, springing away from the documents as though burned. He stands relaxed, but his hard face shows nerves as the captain looks at him. While bidding her guest farewell, her light tone sent to the departing mans back don’t match the hard eyes directed at her subordinate, and when the door closes, she tells him to bring up ‘Mr Bekinsail’ with a clipped and disapproving tone before disappearing back into her room. You don’t look as he scurries off, his eyes on the floor and mind on the future. Will ‘Mr Bekinsail’ be her **** or your next humiliation?

Time will tell.

As it turns out, Mr Bekinsail was neither. The older looking man brought forth by the returning guard looked hard and bitter, dressed in bright blue silks that would be lively if they didn’t look so old. You know little of fashion, especially in the fast turning world of nobility, but even you could see that his style is at least your age out of date, if not more. Too bright and with too much lace, his clothes have the look of those brought out rarely by someone who cared enough to get them right once but not enough to think about them ever again. Compared to the last man, his scraggly hair is mostly dark grey and tied back. He carried less gold than the last man as well, but what he has is all focused on his figures. Sigel rings still bearing flakes of wax spoke of their utility over frippery, though why a man would have so many seals without an equal number of enterprises you cannot say. With that in mind, they made him look more powerful than all the foolish expenses of Fainus and his gold chains and jewels. Each ring a leash to something bigger.

His visit passes without incident. He was welcomed by the captain, now with her robe refastened, and their conversation was almost as stiff and humourless as the man himself. They entered the room and talked and as far as you could tell, did nothing else. You weren’t called in, left instead to sit in silence and try to pick out the words of their deal through the walls. You remembered that, in some small way, he is one of the reason you’re here; his undercutting of his fellow merchants was one of the threads you followed to this island in the first place. Eventually, he left. Bid farewell by the captain with brisk tones. Despite it all, you think you see a hint of satisfaction from them both: two professionals treating each other professionally. Fainus left with the satisfaction of the foolish and the captain, whatever their deal, had come out on top. This Bekinsail had got what he wanted, and the captain had as well. Perhaps he warrants further investigation, when the captain is dead of course.

The next man, ‘Mojarieal’ as named by the captain, was coming up next; fetched by the still unforgiven hooknose pirate for Captain Washkin’s parley. You pick at the dark fabric of your trousers as you wait, listening to the sound of grunting effort and creaking floorboards. The door opens. He looks nothing similar to the last man. In fact, he’s more of an opposite. Where Mr Bekinsail was thin and hard, this man is fat and soft. A red gown hangs off his rounded shoulders, bulging at his gut and dangling over squat legs squeezed into fine sandals. The red is as bright as Mr Bekinsail’s blue, and embroidered gold, but there is nothing noble about it. The gown screams comfort above all, except perhaps the comfort of those **** to look at it. Rings are jewelled and ornamental, gold chains are small and lost the in fat of his neck, even his ears sport dangling green stones. His head is shaved and rendered the look of a giant pimple sitting in the middle of his melted neck. His look is closer to Fainus, shaved and aged ten or twenty years, with the **** swapped for food and taken to greater excess. His arms lift as he picks his way around the table, throwing the almost split sides of the loose dress wide at the arm holes, and revealing nothing but pale blubber beneath. A loud wet snerch rips the air of the room, dredging snot and sickness back and forth without care between throat and blotchy red nose. When he sees the Captain waiting for him, his pale sweaty head splits into a simpering smile.

“Haaa, it’s so good to see you Captain.” His relaxed sigh gurgles slightly with phlegm.

When they reach, they hold hands and worse still, he plants a kiss on each of her cheeks, leaving wetness with both his lips and his nose, and the captain, an experienced whore, accepts the disgusting gesture with perfect outward sincerity. His piggy little eyes see you waiting by the captains door and he continues his almost effeminate tone at you. “And who’s this? A new hire of yours?”

You feel as though you’ll catch something simply from sight, if not the tone of his voice alone. The Captain follows his very visibly meandering gaze to you and the parts of you he lingers on.

“Hm? Oh, yes, she’s very new. I’ll tell you all about her.” His stare, half admiring, half evaluating, seems appeased as she wraps an arm around his and guides him inside. She takes on a concerned tone. “I meant to ask, you sound a little bunged up. Not the stress of travelling here I hope?” His response is lost to the closing door.

The hairs that stood up when she said she would tell him all about you, don’t go down with their absence. If anything, you feel more scrutinised, their every muffled laugh one taken at your expense. She’s not going to make you... Not with him... Surely not. The men in the room sit and stand with arms folded. The hooknose brute sitting by the far exit, looking very pointedly at the floor this time, while the handsome one- You pause in thought; you really need a better description for him than handsome but for some reason it’s stuck in your head now. His square jaw, clean shaven face, neat hair- is that all it takes? If he wasn’t a pirate, had a job, and was better educated... and hadn’t listened as you sucked a man’s dick, or debased yourself with his captain, or... Well, anyway, he rests against the wall, unmoved from where he last lent, looking at you with eyes full of... is that sympathy? Surely not... Not with him.

You jump as the door opens. It hadn’t been that long since it closed; a few minutes at most. The captain’s head leans around the frame to look at you.

“In you come. Don’t dawdle now.” Her smile is the same as before; painted red slugs twisted into a happy dance. You feel like a gladiator before the arena, ready the fight some behemoth, and perhaps in some ways, you suppose you are.

Fine. She wants you to suck another dick? Fine. It’s nothing you haven’t done before.

You get up head to the room, leaving the two men behind to enter what has quickly become your most hated place in the universe. They wait for you there; him standing corpulently, her closing the door behind you. You’re going to kill her. When you do so, and you tell the tale after, what happens now doesn’t happen in the version people will remember.

Gods, the mechanics of it! His fat disgusting form looks at you with lustful disinterest. He likely won’t even remember this. If he can afford those jewels then he can afford professionals to suffer him as he pleases. The stiletto still sits forgotten and almost lost in the folds of the clothes is was dropped in. A distraction is all you need. Why is your mouth so dry? Had the last man not wet it enough?

“Hey sweetie.” The Captain walks to you and places a hand on your shoulder, guiding you forward as before. “You’re going to need to strip now, then get on all four on the bed.”

What? You can’t even get the word out as you stare in disbelief. She wants you to what?

“You...want...”

Her hand grips your shoulder, massaging its tense length idly as she finishes your sentence. “...you to take those clothes off, slowly if you can, then get on the bed on your hands and knees so my associate here can fuck you from behind, ok?” She turns to the man and whispers quite audibly. “She’s a little slow.” You’re supposed to hear it. You don’t.

She takes a few idle steps back, as though to watch the show. She can’t be serious. But she clearly is. The reality of the situation hits home as you look for a way out. Running? The door behind leads to two men who would stop you in seconds. The Captain, you realise, has placed herself between you and the open window, likely on purpose. The only other door in the room is now slightly ajar to show one small bathroom and an even smaller number of exits inside. Did she leave it open on purpose? So you could see there was nowhere to run? Regardless, running is out. Which leaves fighting.

You stand closer to the knife than she does to the gilded sword resting against the far wall. It catches all the light, drawing the eye, but it may not be the only weapon she has around. If you grab the knife and attack her, or use the blob as a hostage and...what? Jump out the window? Run? If she gets that sword, it’s over. She seems relaxed, but she’s standing where she is for a reason. The odds of fighting your way out are slim, but it’s your only choice... Your only choice...

Even as the alternative waves to you in your mind, you repeat the lie. Fighting your way out is the only choice. Letting this...man anywhere near you. Letting him... The argument quickly rages; common sense vs a colder, more calculating kind of sense; you don’t want to touch him vs you were going to anyway; you don’t want him inside you vs better him than the captains steel; you don’t want to get pregnant vs you don’t want to die. You want to get out vs you don’t want the captain to win. That last one hits you harder than it should. You still remember the look on her face as she looked down at you. Her feel. Her taste. You’ll never forget it unless you erase it, erase her. You look at the bald bag of fat and the gut that bulges his bright red garb, shuddering at the new memories he wishes to **** inside you.

They wait, with grins on their faces. After considering the situation and your place in it, there really is only one choice...