The first thing that you notice is that there is a fog in your head. You hear muffled sounds as you struggle to consciousness. The clamor gets louder and more chaotic as your awareness starts to return to you. You hear laughter, though it isn't the playful laughter of children. The laughter is rough, guttural, and masculine. It is mingled with grunting and hollering of several men. It is then that you realize that you are bound and hanging by your wrists. You also notice a swaying gently, which contrasts the harsh reality that you know awaits your vision once you open your eyes.
You smell the pungent reek of alcohol and the musk of unwashed bodies. As this scent hits you, your memories push through the fog and you recall how you got into this situation in the first place.
You try not to open your eyes as you think back to the most recent memory you have, before the fog. You were on holiday, on the beach. The island home was always a favorite of yours, it was your escape from the doldrums of the social dramatics that comes with being a nobleman's daughter. You would spend hours there, daydreaming of romantic stories about bandits, brigands, and pirate kings. Some days, especially the really bad ones, you would come out here and pray as hard as you could that some pirate ship would make its way around the bend in the island and whisk you away to lead you on a life of excitement and adventure.
It appears that your dreams have become a reality, though this isn't how you imagined it.
You can't ignore the aches in your wrists any longer and reflexively, before you could stop it, your hand twists. You listen intently to see if anyone noticed. They did.
The noise becomes louder and the laughter a bit more sinister. The cacophony of sounds grows louder and buried within are hundreds of promises of desire and lust. You can feel them getting closer, the smell becomes that much stronger. You have not yet opened your eyes. That darkness behind your eyes is your last bastion of safety. Every other sense is screaming your helplessness to you, it is nearly overwhelming, but as long as your eyes are closed, you still have that shred of hope that this is all a dream. A bad dream.
The men grow louder and you can smell the breath of a man near you. You struggle to keep your eyes closed and your breathing slow. You feel a touch on your ribs, just below your breast on your right side as a rough, calloused hand slowly slides up towards your breast. Your eyes shoot open and light stabs your brain. You see a nearly toothless grizzled man with bloodshot eyes grinning at you, his hand close to your breast now. His breathing is quick and short. His hand slows as it nears your breast, yet his breathing quickens even more. The men around him all shout louder to goad him on.
He removes his hand from your side, opens it and looks at your eyes as he telegraphs to you, to see your reaction, your fear, that he is about to grasp your breast. You try to look as defiant as you possibly can, given your situation. You succeed only in making him amused. He shoots glances at his friends as his hand approaches, inches away. You feel your nipples harden and you are surprised at your own body's reaction. You know it's not proper to be excited about this, especially with this filth in front of you, yet there is something stirring deep inside you that longs to be groped, to be used. You quell that desire, grit your teeth and summon what strength you have, preparing to lash out at this lowlife with whatever you can.
A shadow moves next to your head which is followed by a loud "CRACK" and you see your would be molester sprawled out on the wood floor of the deck, unconscious and bleeding from his mouth, his jaw apparently broken.
"Silence you dogs or I swear I will flay the skin from each and every one of your backs to make my ship a new sail!" The potent voice comes from behind you, beyond the scope of your vision, and is so commanding, so powerful that it instantly has the desired effect. The voice rings of confidence and truth. You firmly believe, just from hearing that voice, that if these men weren't quiet instantly, they certainly would be flayed. They believed it too for each and every one of them made nary neither a movement nor a sound.
