Iona was not sure how long she laid there. A pain in her chest made breathing exhausting. This pain moved through her body till everything ached. Tears were never a general thing with her; she cried till empty. This was worse than physical abuse; that could only break her back. This broke her spirit. Her spirit was her only pride. To her it had value. There were no memories without it. She clung to it. Her spirit was the only thing she truly owned. No man or woman could take it. Or, so she thought.
The process was gradual. When Kieren left the ship, he took her spirit with him. No one had to inform her of his departure. She felt the pull. As he drifted away, she felt it move with him. Then finally it disappeared. It was a mercy that he had not violently ripped it from her chest. There was no broken skin, just emptiness. He had no knowledge of what now clung to him. No one takes what they do not want. Her strength followed. The absence of strength left her motionless. Voice abandoned her too, an involuntary silence this time. She gave no protest.
Like Iona's depreciation, it was irrepressible. First she was less than silver pieces, second less than goats, then less than brightly colored cloth. That had not mattered. They could not own or trade her spirit. Without one she was less than a homeless dog and felt this to her core.
Days passed without notice. Soiling herself became more than a threat, which caused her to rise. Washing the bedding gave her nowhere to lie, which caused her to stand.
Someone saw to her food and brought her water, when they remembered. Even a dog was fed occasionally, she thought. It mattered not. Although keeping herself clean, she rarely stomached food. Whoever came moved quickly and avoided acknowledgment.
There were no restraints circling her ankle, no locks on her door. Without Kieren's interest or protection, Iona was left open. She was at the mercy of his men. They could do whatever they chose. Men without rules lack a heart. There have no form of natural affection within them. Just like animals that eat their own children, they have no conscience. She had seen men come close, but had stood still due to decrees designed for their kind. Decrees brought order. With no consequences there were no boundaries, no decrees.
Iona sat waiting, rocking back and forth with her hands clasped.
Maybe they would take her one by one. She was special. They would stand in line, sweating and desperate. They would lick their dry lips, eyes wild from the pressure of impatience. His men's stature was larger than most. Like Kieren they would be well endowed.
Maybe they would take her by threes, taking advantage of every aperture. At first, her skin would be a source of wonderment. They would work in unison. Together they would kiss and lick to experience her taste. Each would want to squeeze her firm breasts. One would suck one as another sucks the other. Jealous, the third one would pull from any available area. This would feel good and remove her fear. Then they would fuck her, one beneath her, one behind her and one in her mouth. She would welcome the abuse, having perversions never shared. They would congratulate each other on the extent of their attained depth. This would be a sign of manhood, a reward. They would pump in and out of her feeling the press of each other. The rhythm would take hold of her and she would move with them. She would come with them; her body would stream with a combination of thick liquids. To watch the crawl of cream against the darkness of her skin would be another great wonderment. Its taste would be on her tongue. Its lubrication would soothe her loosened opening and swollen pussy. She would be shocked by her own pleasure. Kieren's roughness and hunt for gratification would then pale in comparison.
No, the men in charge would take her first. They would have a strong need to finally taste this delicacy that once was denied. They would show tenderness. Having frequent experiences inland, a woman's touch would not be rare. This woman would request no fee, yet be most valued.
Maybe one would want to feel stronger, bigger, better, and last longer, with a desire to finally best Kieren. This one would want to bring her pleasure to have proof. This one would take his time, angering those that wait. No one would dare hurry him.
Iona would welcome him, thankful for his gentleness knowing this was a gift. But from this point forward Iona would not be herself. She would float above. She would watch, but later she would turn away. That which is not her would remain, knowing that she is only a vessel.
The one wishing to give pleasure would kiss her inviting lips, loving their soft lushness as he runs his hands down the sides of her body. She would be like fruit to him. He would suck on her neck as he works downward. He would circle her nipple with the tip of his tongue as if testing its sweetness. His lips would first kiss its tip before taking it fully. He would feed, pulling from it. Flicking it with his tongue and nibbling with his teeth would make her back arch, feeding him more. His other hand would knead the other breast as it waits for his fine treatment. He would find her special places and kiss them all appreciatively. He would fondle and explore every inch of her skin to rid the influence of myths.
The one that is Iona would watch from above in anger. Because of his ministrations, the one that is not Iona would be a traitor. The betrayal would be with her body. This betrayal readies her to accept him. With a pussy fully saturated, her legs would spread wider.
He would lie on top of her like lovers do, but only to read her expressions. He would ask her to place her arms around his neck. Wanting the others to hear her moans, he would enter slowly. She would feel every inch of him and know where he falls short. Still she would welcome him. His fucking would be deliberate. Often pausing, he would suck, bite and mark her breasts thinking it extends his longevity. It has the opposite effect.
He would ask, "Am I stronger?"
Her hands would feel the curve of his shoulders and slide to his upper arms as she lies.
"Yes, you are stronger."
He would pull himself out of her, glistening with proof of her eagerness. Sitting between her legs on his knees, holding himself, stroking his length with proof of his eagerness forming droplets at its tip, he would wonder.
He would ask her to touch it and she would feel the heat of its firmness.
Finally he would ask, "Am I bigger than him?"
She would lie again, nodding her head, and say, "You are much bigger than he is."
One push to the hilt would enter her this time, while he intently watches her face. With satisfaction he would begin to move and fuck her faster. He would work harder than before, grunting as his control weakens. He would become thankful for this feeling that she gives. He would begin to forget himself, wrap himself with nothing but her. Then to avoid the appearance of such, he would force himself to stop.
Sweating profusely and breathing heavily, he would ask, "Am I better than he is?"
She would nod her head, bite her lip and moan deeply, to avoid expressing this lie.
The thought of being stronger, bigger and better than the man he idolizes would increase his pride, give him a new sense of manliness. This would increase her sweetness. Pursuit of her pleasure would become stronger as he reaches for his own. She would be a taste far better than any tasted before. He would be hypnotized by her willingness to except the man he has become—longing for him more than she did the other. He would be sure of this fact by the look on her face and the reaction of her body. His fucking would become frantic and hard to control. He would remember that he should out-last Kieren-this proves to be his greatest obstacle.
Grunting would come from low in his chest, in union with his progress. He would begin to say "Yes." repeatedly until the name of his favorite god replaces it. Concern for what was heard would no longer be of importance. His release would cause his body to spasm. His pleasure would borderline pain. Nothing could have prepared him for what he feels.
She would have turned her face to the side, so her eyes avoid the sting of his sweat and the bizarre look on his face. The feel of him filling her would bring shame.
Iona is no longer herself; it would not be her shame.
She would then rise up on her elbows in curiosity because he had slid down her body and put his face between her thighs. He would look up and smile, a boy finding unintended sweets. This would be his perversion, the one he will not tell the others about.
He would suck his own fluids from her as if pulling from the neck of a bottle. Sounds of his tongue lapping at her pussy would remind her of a starved animal licking an abandoned dish. He would be thorough, moaning with his own satisfaction. She would find herself moaning too, not out of pretense. Her eyes would close from the feel of it. For the second time, the vessel would betray Iona. This time the betrayal would be greater. He would continue to suck and lick till she shudders. She would grab at his hair, hair not blond or as lush as Kieren's, unable to endure the feeling he gives. It would be more than she can handle.
She would feel guilt for having responded. This would not be Iona's guilt. There would be tears though, Iona's tears. Iona would cry because it is Kieren who is missing in so many ways.
Before this man leaves, sitting beside her and slipping on his leather foot coverings, he would say, "I was in you for far too long, that is why my seed filled you so."
She will not respond to that; there is no need. He would no longer need her reinforcement. He would now have what he feels to be himself. This man would rub his hand down the curve of her back and kiss her skin for the last time. He would lick it with appreciation. He would be thankful. He would know that everything that is her will be missed.
When he leaves, she would know that he was the last act of intended kindness. He was the exception.
Nothing of that sort had ever happened to Iona. She had been fucked, but never like that. She knew what was possible though. Awful things had been told to her by a supposed wise slave.
The slave had told her things in a hushed voice. Iona had looked at her in fear. However, the woman seemed to gain some type of satisfaction from the telling. Iona thought that suspicious.
"How could you possibly know and sit before me?" Iona scoffed.
"My master once had two of us," the woman continued. "He had a debt. She was the payment."
"You saw this?" Iona did not whisper her words.
"I hid in a position that allowed me to witness all."
Those words were hard to believe; anger flooded Iona.
