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It was ‘Maxy’ again, scruffy white beard and thick muscle leading the way as he shoves open the door. Your lower half clenches at the sight of him and you’re suddenly very aware that your womanhood is still exposed from his last visit.

“You girls look like you’ve been having fun.” He smiles at you in a way that makes you feel every drop of wetness he **** into you, new life tearing at the walls of your womb.

He walks up to you and squats before your face. You shy back involuntarily.

“Good news!” his smile is wide, his words genuine. “The captain don’t want to deal with no one stupid enough to get caught at the docks. You’ve been left in my care!”

Your stomach drops. Please don’t let him **** you again. Your hopes are crushed as he stands up and walks behind you.

He stops at your side, out of your vision yet leaning against your hips.

“Ahhh, I’d love to care for you...” A hand grabs one of your rear cheeks, squeezing and massaging it with careless ****. You cannot help but remember the feeling of his hips hitting them. “...Care for you and care for you and care for you, until you’re all spent.”

His fingers slip inside and start to stir the mess he left. They feel thick and coarse, with untrimmed nails that would scratch if not for the generous helping of his prior lubrication. You find it difficult to speak with him stirring you. What is there to say? Talking to him didn’t exactly work before and you have nothing to offer that he can’t just take. You try anyway.

“O-others know I’m here. They’ll come-“

“No they don’t.” He cuts you off with a tone of idle certainty. “At least not yet.”

How does he know? What does he mean by ‘not yet’? It’s so hard to concentrate with him inside.

“I-I-I can tell you things. A-all I know!”

He doesn’t even consider it. “You’ll lie.”

Your knees shake.

“I need to speak to Wendigo!” If you could just speak to her-

“Nope. Not gonna happen.” His two fingers split, spreading you. You feel a warm drop of his seed, now free, snake out and roll down your thigh.

“Please don’t **** me.” It comes out as a whisper. You didn’t plan for it to come out at all.

He sighs before removing his fingers and wiping them on your back, pausing before offering salvation.

“I won’t, if you tell me who you work for. Understand, I don’t need to know. I just want to know.”

You hesitate. “I,” should you tell him? How could it be worse? If they know who you are then maybe they’ll ransom you! “I’m an agent of the principalities. M-my n-name is-“

“I don’t care what your name is.” He walks around to your front. “But an Agent, ay? Huh. You’re the second one I’ve fucked.” He squats before you. “But definitely the prettiest.” He smiles as he strokes your hair and face, using the same fingers as before. “It’ll make it more interesting for sure.” He suddenly stands and walks away, leaving his words to echo in your mind.

He stops by your sister in stocks, leaning down and pulling up her head.

“Must be nice to have a friend now, ey?”

She spits at him. You don’t see it fly but you hear it land. He staggers back rubbing his eye furiously before breaking out in laughter. After taking a moment to clean himself, he walks back and lifts up her head before giving her a hard slap.

It’s awkward due to the angle of her face, but it still turns her cheek and rattles the lock on the wooden frame. He strides behind her and gives her upturned rump the hardest slap you have ever seen. It cracks the air and leaves silence in its wake. Even the squeaking upstairs stops for a moment. He pulls back and slaps her again and again, each impact deafeningly loud in the small room. She makes no noise, simply weathering his ****. Eventually, he steps back breathlessly.

“Blackest curse! But I got shit to do.” He walks out of the room without another word.

A minute passes, then another. The other woman breaths softly, accepting the price paid for actions taken. The squeaking upstairs fills the room, building pace once more. You think about what the future may hold and have a fair few sickening ideas. You think of his last words to you and what they could mean, and as you do, the waiting starts to get to you, gnawing at you like never before. You want this to end. You don’t want anyone to come. You don’t want to be here. You want to go home. It’s not fair.

You listen in horror as your worst fears come down the corridor. Dozens of feet clatter on the floorboards right outside the door. It swings open and the group walk in, 6,7,8,9 men, they all look at you like a beggar looking at a finely prepared meal. Your eyes are as wide as they can go as they move towards you, a sea of yellow, red, and white, all men, all of different sizes, different races and dispositions. They mutter excitedly to each other and you catch the word ‘Agent’ several times. A particularly large and dark skinned man (though not as dark skinned as your roommate) seizes the initiative, hopping behind the stocks and out of your sight.

You feel his hands on your cheeks, spreading them apart and revealing your recently abused flower. “Looks like someone’s beaten me to it! Still, this hole looks fresh.”

You’re struck by the sudden feeling of his manhood pressing against your anus. Surely he can’t mean to-

He rams it home in one swift motion. You scream, long and loud at the new pain; one you had never imagined you could feel. The other men cheer, though one of them does come up and cover your mouth in an effort to spare the room.

You scream through his fingers as the man’s impossibly large member begins to slide out of the hole it just destroyed. He grunts with exertion before ramming it home one more. As the shock wears off, loud sobs begin to batter the fingers coving your mouth, fighting the screams for release. Fresh tears begin to stream down your face as the man takes you like an animal would.

“Ahhhh! So tight! She’s never had it up here before!”

You don’t see the increased look of hunger in the crowd as your **** boasts your inexperience. Your eyes, once wide with surprised intrusion, are now closed, trying to shut out the room, the world, the feeling. Would that all your orifices could be so sealed.

His penis, feeling so much larger than the last mans, slam inside you again and again, leaving you almost passed out as your dry hole is tugged to and fro with each movement, screaming its pain past your lips. It suddenly leaves you completely; pulled free and leaving the dire sensation of fresh air reaching in to areas that had never felt it before. Your mind, providing no sane answers, simply welcomes the moment’s respite, while your body is shocked into incomprehension, weeping like a child into the hand that holds you.

His hand mauls your cheeks again -squeezing and pulling and rubbing with bruising ****- and after giving some appreciation for your soft if small rump, he once again spreads your cheeks and reveals your red, burning hole.

You hear a long, dragging, phlegm noise cutting the room, dragged from his throat before being spat into your bruised colon. He stands back up and once again, you feel the hated invasion, only slightly lessened with the new lubrication.

He continues for far too long; in, out, in, out, each a font of pain and humiliation. He buries himself deep within your rear and you feel his hairy sack resting against your once sacred slit. Not soon enough, hot jets begin to squirt out of him, filling you with his foulness and slowing his hammer falls. New sensations that your rectum never thought possible **** your senses for a second time, completing its journey into the unknown and unwanted. Little hits, even as he stills himself, reach deep inside, and soon you feel his calloused hands on your hips, pinning you in place, holding you up while his hot, wet, limp snake slide out of you. A foul smell, both yours and his, fills the room and further **** you senses. You feel him wipe himself clean on your leg.

The man holding your mouth takes his hand away before moving behind you, replacing the dark skinned man who walks in front as he rejoins the crowd. You see his manhood as he tucks it away and feel light headed. That’s what was inside you?! All of it!? Oh Gods why! You once again feel hands on your hips, lifting them up into position, and the rest of the room merrily weather your cry’s and tears as the unseen man buries his rod inside your undefended womanhood.

He begins to sing, encouraging others to join in as he moves back and forth inside, and you, pinned, with nowhere to go save to endure it as he works his fun out of you, bow your head and try not to cry, try not to scream, try not to break.

You fail, but they let you try again and again and again and again.

It’s been eight months since that night. The longest night of your life. The men kept coming and cumming into the small hours of the morning with little break for your broken holes. You no longer remember much of it. It went on so long and there have been so many men since. At midday, when all your screams and all your tears had been spent, Maxwell finally returned. He cut a deal with Mistress Greada, the whore house owner; one that saw your aching body taken out of the stocks and placed on a bed of comparable luxury. Thread bare and almost featherless, you remember falling asleep from exhaustion more than you remember your first few patrons. Mistress Greada put you to work on your back, forcing men to pay her before they could use your body. She gave you food and water, forcing it down when you started to refuse. She gave you tonics that made you bleed and kept away unwanted children. She gave them to you again and again, at high strength, until she said they weren’t needed any more.

The days blurred together as man after man would come into your one room world. They would enter you, mostly your cunt but sometimes your shitter. Occasionally, someone would demand your mouth and you would simply open wide, waiting until they were done, as usual. Mistress Greada was, and still is, good at what she does. Each time your will broke further, she would make it easier to escape, knowing that you never would. Even now, as you sit on your bed, you know you could walk out the door. Know that only the island would await you. Know that its men would recognise every familiar curve of your body, and use them all hard before dragging it back.

It was six months until the shows started. Whores performing to a crowded room to bring in fresh clients and coin. At first it was just another client, only you were onstage when he fucked you. Before long, new shows were dreamt up. You weren’t on stage for most of them; clients would simply get you to straddle their lap as they watched, bouncing you up and down as needed. You would often marvel with them as you watched the things Molly could do with her vagina; picking up, taking in, squeezing out; she could fire things clear across the room! Yours was so loose these days that you can scarcely stop wetting yourself on accident.

Come to think of it, the shows are what killed Blacky, in the end. They would **** whole wine bottles up her, front and back, but all it took was one man’s insistence that he could get ‘up to the elbow’. He made it. She didn’t.

As the show’s popularity grew and fresh talent was needed, they used every trick and threat they could to get you onstage smiling. The performances with Amarena were almost enjoyable; her short black haired head in your short black haired crotch. Tied down and **** to cum before the crowd. As fun as it was, the extra attention you would receive after the show was not. It was far harder when they asked you to return the favour. Harder still when they made you do it to the red haired girls.

Last night you didn’t have a choice. The promises and threats weren’t necessary, just strong rope. You can still feel were it bit into your wrists and ankles. A new show, with a new star; Roaden. A four foot tall Coronac bull hound. The time that it took was the worst in your life, even worse than the day in the stocks. Pinned beneath its weight, slobber dripping into your messy hair, the crowd cheering as it humped you. You’ve had some monstrous men inside you, but never an actual beast. It’s strange and bulbous cock was never meant for human hips. The dog took you like a woman first, and when it had finished that, it took you like a bitch. Both rounds broke their respective holes in new and unwelcome ways. You hate the clients with stamina.

The worst part of it all is that it was a hit. The crowd went insane for your hurt yelps, disgusted moans and pitiful tears. Your name is on the lips of everyone on the island and your rear has yet to heal after all those men wanted to use it. Disgusting men who wanted to follow the lead of that literal son of a bitch. You were treated like meat before, but now you’re treated like a dog; clients forcing you to crawl on all fours, to lick things, to present. It was always the dirty side they ended up in.

You sit in silence, a brief reprieve before the next show. Somehow, all the other whores had convinced the mistress that a unique show needed a single star; a name to be whispered from ear to ear. You know they did it to spare themselves. You think of the monster that will soon be inside you, breaking you all over again, and you cry. You put your head in your hands and cry; silent sad little sobs. Let them fuck you, let them play with you, make you do and say the things they want, takes turns or all go at once! Just let then treat you like a human being! Every travesty that has been **** upon you, the lines of men, the competitions, the shows, the women, the children, the humiliation; it all pales to this! To be an animal! A dog! A Bitch! Not again!

You look at your wrists through your tears, direct lines to your broken heart. You can’t see the ropes on them yet, but you know they will come. Escape from this place may not be as impossible as you thought. The gods frown on suicide, but your belief in them had eroded with every man that **** himself on you.

Picking up the sharp peace of broken mirror from the dresser, you turn it over in your hands. You had been saving it for today; in your mind, there was only ever one person it would cut. You catch a glimpse of a strange woman looking back at you with broken, tired eyes. Those eyes. They beg you to do it.

You slash your right wrist, cutting deep. Blood gushes out onto the floor, the bed, the walls, the cabinet. Every place the blood lands you are reminded of a time you were fucked there. Innumerable drops for the innumerable violations.

It hurts. Not as much as the rest of your life, but it hurts. You consider your other wrist if only to speed up the process but find the fingers of your cut hand aren’t working very well. You spread your bare legs one final time, bruised and sorry looking pussy seeing the room it suffered so much in. The glass comes down, into your thigh and its artery. You would think the silver backed glass cutting through your creamy white skin would hurt. Pain leaves you now with every second.

You lean back onto the bed and ignore the blackening world around you. Why did you ever come to this island? It seems so long ago. Your vision fades to black. You think of your parents.