I was naked. My wrists were bound behind my back. My bottom was throbbing in agonising pain. I was standing bent over with my nose against the wall of a noisy pub, like a disobedient child being punished. I fought back tears. This was the most humiliating experience of my life.
Not seventy-two hours before, I'd been the leader of a gang of pirates, one of the fiercest women - no,
people
on the high seas. People had feared my name, told stories about my prowess, and sometimes even sent tributes to me - often worthless or confused - in order to avoid my wrath and curry my favour. It had all fallen apart back in Owlreach Bay.
"Slave," said a commanding voice. It was my Master. He had a deep, gravelly, masculine voice. "You may stand up now. Turn and face me." I obeyed, sulking. The whole crowd was watching me now, most of them quiet, all of them with big, beaming grins. I was so fucking angry. My eyes burned with shame. My face was hot and surely red. Master himself was tall, clean-shaven, and handsome, with soft black hair. He carried himself with quiet dignity, not expressing a single emotion. I hated that. I hated him! "How many times did I paddle you?" he asked.
"Seventeen," I said softly. My throat was sore from crying and then the ten minutes of silence I'd had to endure. My bottom ached, reminding me of all seventeen paddles I had taken.
"What was that?"
"Seventeen!" I said. There were titters from the crowd. Shut the fuck up!
"That is correct. And why did I paddle you, slave?"
"Because I was rude."
"What were you rude about?"
