Danielles Dark Daydreams Pt 02

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Chapter 8: Emerald on the Auction Block

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"How do you remain so calm?" I ask Naomi.

"My mother was a slave, so I've been a slave for all of my life," replies Naomi. "This will be my third time on the auction block, so I know what to expect."

"How well do you remember the previous occasions?" I ask.

"I was quite young on the first occasion, and I don't remember much about it. The second time it was the human pigsty that passed for the slave dealer's premises that I remember the most."

While the three of us are friendly to each other, Ruby, Naomi and I haven't known each other long enough to be close friends. We are simply passing strangers who have shared the common experience of being captives on board One-eyed Jack's ship. We have never met before, nor are we likely to see each other again after tomorrow's auction. That doesn't mean that I don't care about what happens to them, but I'm realistic enough to know that there is nothing I can do to alter any of our futures.

Ruby was taken away before I woke this morning, so I presume she is one of those on display today. I admire her courage in defying the overseer, but he has obviously taken his revenge on her body. The red marks on her bottom and back from yesterday may have quickly faded, but they must have hurt her like Hell at the time. And yet her spirit remains strong despite her cruel treatment.

At first it looks as though Naomi and I will be spending all day locked in the large cage with the other women who are not being put on display today. That can mean one of two things; either Naomi and I have attracted sufficient potential buyers already, or that nobody is interested in us and the market owner doesn't want to waste the limited space in the pre-auction viewing room. My intuition tells me that I have admirers from those who inspected us yesterday, but that doesn't mean I'll gain a good master.

According to Naomi the owner of this market is following the usual routine for Puskin's slave auctions. It means that tomorrow we will be roused at dawn, and told to wash ourselves thoroughly. The overseer will then sort us into groups depending on the order in which we are to be sold. We won't be fed breakfast as some slaves being sold for the first time have been known to vomit out of fear while being auctioned. Naomi said that she has seen that happen once, and it isn't a pretty sight. It is also rumoured to reduce the worth of the slave. Apparently, the more common occurrence of a frightened slave who loses control of her bladder on the block doesn't devalue her price at all.

"Those to be sold first will be ones who the market owner believes to be his inferior stock," says Naomi as though discussing the weather. "Most likely they will become slaves in some factory sweat shop, laundry or kitchen. The next group to be sold will be those who might appeal to the owners of brothels or other establishments which provide exotic entertainment in this male oriented world. The women regarded as the most valuable will be sold last. The men with serious money to spend will be waiting for them."

I've no idea where I will rank in this grotesque pecking order. Last night there were about twenty women who slept in this cage, and it's possible that there will be more arriving today.

An old woman in a plain white dress enters the cage and begins to clean the stone floor. She refuses to answer any of our questions and we give up after a while. Her filthy task would have been easier if the overseer had provided us with buckets to use for our calls of nature. At least the floor is cleaned every day in this establishment. Naomi said that the last slave market where she was held stank like a sewer and the only attempt at sanitation was to periodically add another layer of straw on the floor.

Just as I am beginning to think my entire day is going to be spent in the cage, the overseer arrives and one by one we are removed from the cage. I'm one of the first ones to be taken, and I feel very nervous at being separated from the other women. I relax when I realise that the purpose of this excursion is so that I can be weighed, measured and questioned so that a few on my attributes can be recorded.

"Your current owner tells me that you are the daughter of some northern king," says the man writing my details into a large book.

"Yes, master," I reply, remembering the honorific we have been told to use when speaking to any of the men who run this place.

"And yet your father allows you to be sold into slavery," observes the man.

"My father is dead. My brother killed him and seized his throne," I reply, remembering what Ruby told me about what happened at the Banded Parrot Inn.

The next thing I know my bottom is on fire. I let out a yelp of surprise mixed with pain.

"Master! You forgot to say 'master' when you spoke," snaps the overseer as he rewinds his whip.

"Master," I belatedly say to the man. The stinging in my arse is starting to change into a warm glow and my cunt starts to feel moist. I begin to realise why Ruby likes such treatment.

"Hmm," says the man before turning his attention to the overseer. "Put her in batch four tomorrow. Make sure she is properly prepared."

The overseer acknowledges his orders and escorts me back to the cage. I've no idea what being in batch four means, or what preparations the man has ordered. For the moment, all I can concentrate on is the tingling sensation across my arse, and my overwhelming need to do something about my resulting arousal.

I attribute the cause of my recent obsession with sex to my treatment at the hands of One-eyed Jack and the fact that I have been kept naked for over a week. I can't explain why I don't feel afraid or horrified at the way I'm being degraded. It's a though I'm living in some sort of fantasy world. Whatever the reason I don't seem to be able to stop my primal urges from taking control of me.

When I return to the cage I find that Naomi has been taken away, presumably to undergo the same interrogation that I've just endured. I study the other captives held in the cage. The majority are about my age or slightly older, although there are a couple who look younger, perhaps about twenty. I know that only a few of them speak any language that I know, so trying to have conversation with them is a waste of time. I find a free space by the bars and sit down. Almost at once the third and fourth fingers of my right hand delve deep into my moist cunt while my left hand starts to play with my clit. I've spread my legs wide in full view of the nearby women, who look at me with a mixture of pity and disgust.

"Have you no pride, northerner?" asks one of the women in my native language.

"No," I reply in between my shortening breaths as I rapidly head towards my climax.

"I used to have pride in my appearance and how I behaved," I add once my orgasm has passed and I start working on building up another one. "But a week chained naked to the main mast of One-eyed Jack's ship has shown me the futility of such pride and arrogance. Men desire my body and I'm no longer going to discourage their attentions. I want a man's cock inside me, and I'm not bothered which hole the man chooses."

"Barbarian," grumbles the woman who had interrupted me. "No wonder the best prices are offered for southern women. I expect you'll be sold with the first group in the morning. I hope you like humping a pile of soiled laundry, because that's the only sex you'll get the chance of enjoying after tomorrow."

I do my best to ignore the woman's words, but I can't put them out of my mind entirely. Her interference has cooled my ardour and I stop playing with myself. Whatever happens tomorrow, I know that I'll need my sexual urges satisfying one way or another. But how can I ensure that? As Captain Jack said, I'm pretty enough and I'm endowed with tits which men have admired with blatant lust. But none of that ensures a good outcome for me tomorrow.

Naomi returns a short while later. She comes over to sit next to me and I tell her what the woman had said to me. Naomi laughs and tells me to ignore the sour bitch. Nevertheless I still feel uneasy. It's not until Ruby returns with the other women who have been in display today that I snap out of my despondency. It is obvious from the marks on her body that Ruby has been subjected to more harsh treatment from the overseer. But her happy mood is at odds with the state of her flesh. The other thing I notice different about her is the chain fastened around her neck and the yellow and green tags dangling from it.

"What has happened to you?" I ask Ruby as I make room for her to sit next to me.

"More of the same," replies Ruby with a contented sigh. "I defied the overseer and this is the result. Finally he gave up and placed this collar and tags around my neck."

"Do you know what the tags signify?" asks Naomi of Ruby.

"I assume they signify that I'm a troublemaker," replies Ruby.

"No. Not at all," laughs Naomi. "The tags signify that you've been sold. The colours on the tags identify the buyer who has purchased you. Whoever it is will probably collect you tomorrow after the auction."

"But I haven't seen anybody other than the overseer all day," says Ruby, surprised but not alarmed at Naomi's revelation.

"Nevertheless, someone must have been prepared to pay a high premium to acquire you before the auction. Private sales before an auction can be very expensive. Captain Jack will be delighted."

"I thought he had sold us to the slave dealer who owns this place," I say.

"He may have done that, but One-eyed Jack is a shrewd businessman," replies Naomi. "I think he will have decided to take a risk and opt to have a share of our final sale price, rather than the fixed sum the slave dealer will have offered him when we arrived."

"So the captain could lose money if we get sold for a small amount, or if we don't attract a buyer at all," I say.

"Yes, but I don't think you would like the consequences of not being sold tomorrow," says Naomi. "Nor would you want to be sold cheaply. Slaves who are worth very little are sent to do the most dangerous work in the quarries and mines. I think the captain can be fairly sure of earning plenty of gold from our sale. Besides, you should be thinking more about your own future rather than the pirate's ill-gotten treasure."

"We have no say in our future," I reply. "Tomorrow we will each be another man's property to do with as he desires. Isn't it strange that despite everything that has happened to us, nothing changes."

"Yes, but generally the higher your price the more careful your new owner is likely to be with you. If you bought an expensive young filly, you would be more inclined to look after her and treat her well than if you bought some cheap old nag."

"So you are saying that we should do our best on the auction block to allure buyers."

"Definitely. The slave dealer will also do his best to talk up your price, so you only need to cooperate and be the wanton slut that I've seen you play."

I acknowledge Naomi's advice, but I'm still not sure I can make a difference to the outcome tomorrow. We settle down and try to sleep. Very few of the women in the cage seem able to stay settled, although I manage to get a few hours sleep. By comparison, Naomi sleeps like a log.

We are all roused before dawn and made to wash. As Naomi expected, there's no food for us this morning and we have to settle for a scoop of water. Ruby is removed from the cage first, and I presume she is being taken to wherever her new master will collect her. As for the rest of us, we are removed in groups of four or five at a time. The order of our removal must be important, since the overseer is careful in his choice of whom he takes next. Naomi is taken with the third batch, leaving only two other women and me in the cage. It looks like the three of us are to be sold last.

To my surprise three older women enter our cage carrying bowls of what I soon discover is some sort of perfumed oil. The women quickly rub the oil all over our bodies from the neck down. Minutes later the overseer comes to collect his three three glistening slaves. I don't have time to study my surroundings as we are marched through the viewing room and into a large open air arena beyond. There must be close to sixty men in the seating around the arena. In the centre of the arena is a platform with a set of posts about two metres apart. An iron neck collar is chained to each post, and the three of us are fastened into position.

While the auctioneer launches into what I presume is his sales pitch, I study the faces of the men around me and the lustful look in their eyes. Surely one of these men will buy me. Without thinking my hands starts to work their devilish magic on my sopping wet cunt. Unashamedly I masturbate in front of all these men. I pay no heed to their calls of encouragement until one very loud voice penetrates the haze in my mind.

"Danielle! Are you daydreaming again? Finish getting changed! We are due at the Wells place in ten minutes."

Sally's frantic calls from the living room bring me back to reality. Only the juices flowing down the inside of my legs are just as real as they were in my fantasy.

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Chapter 9: Ruby and the Galley Slaves

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I wish I could see and hear what is going on. The thick leather hood over my head is blocking nearly all the light and sound from entering my personal prison. The slave market overseer had me shackled and hooded before my new owner arrived to collect me. A man with rough hands has guided me through the streets of Puskin to where I stand now. As far as I can tell I'm now on board a ship; but not the Red Hawk. Captain Jack's ship smelled like a summer meadow compared to the stink of this ship. The reek coming from all around me reminds me of the slave galleys which sometimes visited the harbour back at home.

I hear voices, but my hood muffles the sound so that I can't make out any words. Then suddenly I'm standing in daylight as my hood is suddenly pulled off my head. I go weak at the knees as I comprehend my situation. The man standing on the raised quarterdeck before me is none other than the self-proclaimed King Mathias. I've only seen him at a distance before, but I'd recognise him anywhere. His bare chest ripples with muscles and he looks every bit the barbarian warrior his reputation portrays. If only half of the stories about him are true then I'm in the presence of one of the most brutal and savage warlords ever known on the northern continent... possibly on the southern continent too.

"Turn her around," orders the king to the sailor who removed my hood. "Let her see the men she is here to encourage."

The sailor turns me around so that I am looking along the length of the ship's main deck. There before me sit row after row of naked men chained in pairs to the oars that power this galley. They look at me with dull eyes as though they are too downtrodden to admire the sight of the naked young woman shackled and helpless before them.

"See how my slaves lack any enthusiasm for their job," says Mathias from behind me. "The journey here was slow and tedious. Painfully slow as all of my slaves learned to their cost. My slave-master has worn out three whips in as many days, but still I receive no enthusiasm from these men. So I shall try a different approach to encourage my slaves to work harder."

"Listen up, slaves!" interrupts the sailor who must be the man Mathias refers to as his slave-master. "Your lord and master is talking."

A few of the slaves raise their head in response, but I can easily see that these are defeated men who have lost all hope. The stories I heard while I worked at the Dead Parrot said that a galley slave has a notoriously short life. I dread to think how many of this ship's slaves have died at their oar, and their body thrown overboard for the sharks. I notice a few empty seats among the forty or so slaves seated before me.

"This fine specimen of womanhood is here to encourage you to do better," continues Mathias. "Earn my slave-master's favour and you can each take your pleasure of her body. Perhaps if your cocks receive some exercise you might perform your labours with more enthusiasm."

I stand mesmerised by the king's words. Surely he doesn't intend for me to be fucked by forty men. The thought of it is simply... um... mind blowing. I know I didn't want to be restricted to having sex with just one man, but forty is going to extremes. Whatever the king's intentions regarding me are, they look as though they are going to be reserved for later. The king leaves his position on the quarterdeck and disappears from my sight. The sailor standing near me lifts my arms above my head and attaches the chain linking my wrist shackles to a hook above my head. There's enough slack in the chain for me to be able to kneel on the deck, but sitting or lying down is out of the question. I'm effectively in the same situation I was when I was chained to the foremast of the Red Hawk... naked and on display for the ship's crew to admire.

Despite all this rough handling I'm very aroused. It's my guilty secret. By rights I should be terrified. But I'm not. I feel as though I'm living in a dream world where my darkest fantasies rule everything I think and do. So far I've been lucky that nobody has discovered how moist my cunt has become since boarding this vessel. The stink of the slaves easily masks the perfume of my arousal. Unfortunately for me my secret doesn't escape everybody's notice. The slave-master comes over to me and promptly gives me a close view of his latest whip. It's a nasty single tail plaited leather instrument which I know will leave welts and cause lingering pain to its victim. I've never felt the effects of such a whip on my body, and my guilty thoughts make me wonder how I would react to its wicked kiss. While my attention is on the slave-master's whip his other hand is thrust between my legs and his fingers are delving deep into my slit.

"Good and wet," observes the slave-master. "It makes a change to have a slave eager to undertake their duty. Don't fret, my pretty. You'll get to know the loving caress of my whip soon enough and, if you are lucky, you'll get fucked good and hard as well."

The slave-master chuckles to himself as he returns to his duties, licking my juices from his fingers in the process. Orders are shouted from someone on the quarterdeck behind me that we are to set sail. The single sail is unfurled and it soon catches the breeze. The ship moves forward, but at a barely noticeable pace.

"Lower the oars!" comes the order once we are clear of the inner harbour.

The slaves adjust the angle of their oars so that the blades are dipped into the water. A sailor with a drum takes up position near me and he starts to beat a slow and monotonous rhythm. The slaves pull their oars to the beat of the drum and galley picks up speed. Even with the slaves straining every muscle, the ship doesn't move as fast as I've experienced on the Red Hawk. After an hour we are past the fortress at the outer harbour's mouth and into the wide channel that leads to the open sea. A few moments later the sound of cannon fire from the fortress behind us causes the sailors a moment of alarm, but I can hear the officers on the quarterdeck laughing.

"That's the Red Hawk the fortress is firing on," comments someone behind me. "One-eyed Jack must have overplayed his hand for once. Helmsman, pull into the bay on our port beam and we'll watch what happens."

The ship veers to the left and the slaves heave on their oars as we head for the bay. For twenty minutes the steady boom-boom of the fortress's cannon competes with the beat of the drum on board the galley. While I can see the fortress from my position, the Red Hawk is out of my line of sight. The occasional cheer from the quarterdeck suggests that the fortress guns have struck their target.