I am on a ship, somewhere on a sea, in a land, far away. The sea does not exist, the land does not exist – it’s important, somehow, that the world exists only for me, only in my imagination. I am in the galley of the ship – I am a slave. Not a slave of labor, but a slave of pleasure. I am with others – we have been captured by warriors from another exotic land – and we are there, blindfolded, chained together. Occasionally, we are fed by the ship’s crew. They delight in tormenting us, providing a drink of water and then pulling the cup away – feeding us a few morsels of meat, and then walking away, laughing. In this way, they are cruel, but they do not beat us. At night, we sleep leaning against each other, swaying sometimes with the waving tipple of the ship. We do not talk – we cannot. As soon as there is a whisper, a nod, a bit of a conversation, there is a sailor there, babbling in some foreign language and providing a well-placed slap. We do not know where we are, nor where we’re going.
At last, however, we arrive at our destination. The ship docks with a sickening thump, and we are knocked, like dominos, off our bench. The crew rights us, soothing our hair and re-seating us. We are still blindfolded, but I can smell the smells of land – food cooking and aromatic spices – and can hear shouts – chattering – in the same foreign language the sailors use. There is the creak of a wooden door and ancient hinges – I can tell, against my blindfold, that light is leaking into the galley. I want it, lean towards it, and am pulled sharply back by the woman next to me. The sailors come to us and, grabbing our arms, raise us to our feet. We stumble a bit – we’ve been on the ship so long – but the sailors quickly right us, and we are on our way, shuffling over the wooden floor of the ship. I am barefoot, and dressed only in a casual, short leather shift. I can feel the boards beneath my feet, can feel the slight movement of the docked ship. We leave the ship and are soon on the dock. The voices are louder, the smells stronger. I breathe them in -- both the voices and the smells – it’s been so long since I’ve smelled anything but sailor and galley sweat – heard anything but the slap of the ocean waves and the occasional moans of the other girls.
We are led into some sort of conveyance. We are still blindfolded, so I cannot see what it is, but from the uneven shift of weight, the groans as we are lifted into the air, I imagine that we are in a chariot, carried by men. I can hear chattering – still the foreign language. I want so much to hear my own. I lean back, against the canvas wall of the carriage, and I can feel a breeze on my cheek, can smell again the cooked meat, the spices, the oils – the chatter, I thought, must be in a marketplace – haggling over prices, gossiping over local news. For a minute, I imagine myself back home, eating with my family, talking with family friends, gossiping over neighborhood campfires. Suddenly, the carriage jolts, then stops. The chattering is louder. There is a shout from somewhere, and we are lowered. I feel the soft “chuff” of the carriage landing on earth. Several men – I know they are men, from their voices and from the feel of their hands – guide us, walking us carefully, and we are led out of the carriage. Awkwardly, we stumble against each other but follow their lead. Underneath my bare feet, there is grass, a brief path of gravel, and then smooth brick. The brick is cool and somehow soothing. We are led up the brick path and we are soon stumbling, still chained, up steps. The guards try to guide us, but, since they do not speak our language, it’s rather tough going. A sound of a door opening – a large door, from the sound of it – and we are guided into a cool hallway of some sort. A collective sigh from all of us – the halls are scented, the floor carpeted – unexpected luxuries, for us so long at sea.
We are led down a hallway, up a stairwell, and down another. Finally, when we stop, we are unchained, our blindfolds lifted. We sigh – a sigh of relief and curiosity – and look at our captors, at each other. There is no doubt our captors chose the best of our land – around me are svelte blondes, curvy brunettes – beauty in all its resplendent feminine form. For a second, I feel ashamed – my feet are calloused, my hair always tangled. Then, we all notice where we are –
The room is capacious – there is a large swimming pool, scented, in the middle of it. Surrounding it are hot baths, attended by servants, both male and female. Fragrant vines climb the walls with colorful flowers, their vines reaching for the high windows. From the slant of the light and the placement of the windows, I can tell that the room is underground. The sailors who have brought us seem dirty and small here, but still they command us, and we are given to understand that we are to bathe in the hot waters, then the fragrant swimming pool. We are separated in groups of three. As I walk with the others, I gather my courage, and say, “Do you think we can speak now?” The bathing attendant pays no attention – no slaps, no reprimand. The buxom brunette beside me whispers, still frightened, “I think maybe we can.” The bathing attendant – a young boy, really, no more than 18, turns to us and smiles. “Of course you can speak. Here, at least.” We are startled – we’ve not heard our language for so long. “Here,” the boy continues, “You at least have some freedom – you can speak to each other, play with each other – laugh, talk. Of course, you cannot leave – but perhaps you will not want to.” Once again, I gather courage: “But – what is our purpose here?” The boy laughs, and his dimples curve, “Oh – haven’t you guessed? You’re for the emperor.”
The attendants bathe us and, for the moment, we luxuriate in the warmth. The long days of sweat and sailor and smell are washed off. We are shaved – everything – arms, legs, pubis, armpits. We are given no clothes and, instead, are encouraged to enjoy the cool pool, naked, with our colleagues. I notice, though, that, three by three, the attendants are taking the other women somewhere – they are first dressing them in draped robes and jewels – from the corner of my eye, I see a woman’s nipples pinched with ruby clamps. She gives a small yelp, but the attendant merely rubs a finger against her lips, then soothes the reddened tits. I look around, but the other women are engaged in discussion, talking about missed families, talking just to talk. It does not take long. The attendants come to the edge of the pool. They signal to me, my brunette companion, and another, rather shrill-voiced blonde. Of course, we dare not refuse them. We climb out of the pool, hairless bodies glistening in the light from the windows and the sconces burning on the cavernous walls. We are taken to a corner, slightly hidden from the rest of the women, next to a deep closet. From it, the attendants bring white robes, strings of jewels – and then, they smile at us. One drapes the brunette first, than braids her hair with strings of rubies. She is smiling, nodding and talking with the attendants, relaxed. Suddenly, another attendant comes from behind and clips her nipples with the same kind of clamps I saw earlier. The brunette gasps, and the attendant covers her mouth. I watch her eyes widen. They are stringing the jeweled clamps from her nipples – a chain connects them around her neck, to her pierced ears. Whatever she does I think to myself, She will have to pull those clamps – and feel them tug at her nipples. The attendants lead her away – as the clamps pull, she whimpers softly.
It is my turn, and I follow the attendants with apprehension, dread, anxiety, and more than a little excitement. I am given no robes. I hear two attendants speaking to each other in their foreign, clicking language. I am frustrated. What are they saying? One smiles at me, runs a hand over my hair. “A wild child, eh? That’s what the emperor likes.” No robes, but a tiara of gold, delicately touched with flowers of sapphires and amber. Chains of silver, tinged with rich amethyst, are placed around my neck. More of the same, in miniature, are ringed around my wrist. Bejeweled nipple clamps – this time tinged with onyx – are attached to my tits, then wrapped around my wrist – and – horror of horrors – clipped to my clit. I gasp as the attendant smiles, smoothes my hair, and says, “You have the clit and the cunt for this, don’t you? So distended, so large – don’t worry – the emperor will like that, I think.” I cannot move without feeling the pull of the clamps on my clit, on my nipples. I try not to gasp aloud as the attendants guide me up the steps. I feel the bare stone against my bare feet.
The three of us are led up a steep stairwell, into a hallway – it is bright, here, as the sun shines fully in the windows. We three squint – we have not seen full sun for so long. We are walking on soft red carpet, and the luxuriance of it feels strange against my callused feet. We enter a spacious room, and I catch a glimpse of a long, stone table, covered with cups and various dishes. There is a dais, too, but as soon as I catch its sight, our attendants force us down, on to our knees. For the rest of the journey, we will crawl. With each movement, I gasp – the clamps on my clit and my tits pull with every crawling step. At last, we are made to stop, but the attendants hold our heads down, bowed, and we see only the lush red carpet. The attendant speaks in his language, sounding proud, happy. I hear an answering voice – brusque, but deep, a somehow soothing baritone. There is the sound of shuffling, slippered feet – the attendants are gone.
