Authors Note: While this story does have raceplay elements, it is not intended to demean or insult any ethnicity. It is simply for entertainment purposes. I encourage anyone reading to first review the story tags and read this warning in full before proceeding. This is a work of fiction and in no way glorifies or condones any past or present behavior. Inspired by a letter written by Columbus.
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My first officer marched her into my quarters. We had been at sea for a few days, and I was beginning to feel restless. We had purged a heathen settlement full of godless brown-skinned pagans and taken a few of the remaining survivors as slaves. One of which was their former queen. She marched in wearing iron chains around her ankles and wrists as she stared at the floor. My attention turned to my commandant.
"Leave us; I demand privacy for the next few hours." I ordered. My officer nodded and left her at my door before turning away and closing it behind him.
She looked almost completely devoid of hope at that moment. Her people were wiped from the face of the earth, her village torn to the ground, and now she stood in bondage before the man who took away her way of life. She didn't know a word of my language, and I sure as hell wasn't about to start learning hers.
She wore a few silk robes that did nothing to hide her curves. Her lack of clothing was likely due to the hot climate we found her in. She had large, ample breasts that were hardly obscured and a rear end so protruding that it was as if she was asking to be groped. Her body was unlike the wenches of my home land. The prideful and prudish who hid their bodies beneath layers of what they deemed to be high fashion. This woman, however, was to me the living embodiment of the raw sexuality a woman can possess. And I had her all to myself.
I stood forward, and she flinched and looked up back at me. It was now that I noticed her face still had some tribal heathen paint on it, albeit now unkempt and smudged. I moved around behind her, and I could feel her shudder as I got close enough to smell her. I lifted some of her hair with my hand and leaned in close, savoring my prize. It was here, however, that I learned she still had plenty of fight left in her.
I felt both her hands press up against my chest and shove me back a few steps. Her fingernails dug into my chest through my garments as she did, leaving deep red marks. With one fell swoop, I grabbed both her wrists with my large hand and held them down against her waist. With my other hand, I held her face tightly with my thumb and fingers, squeezing her cheeks together. This woman needed to be disciplined.
"Resist me again, and I will throw you to the sharks, you foul-skinned heathen." I spat out through clenched teeth. She looked back at me, her eyes full of a mix of fear and resistance. It was clear that, despite not knowing my language, she knew I wouldn't accept such unruly behavior. Nevertheless, she began to try and kick at me, despite the shackles around her ankles only allowing her to barely reach my shins.
It would be a waste to throw this woman away. Since I first laid eyes on her, my mind has been polluted with indecent thoughts. How my white hands would look contrasted with her dark skin. I wanted to hear her moan in her native tongue as I amused myself with her full-figured body.
I decided a correction was in order. I pushed her aside and picked up some rope I had spare in the corner of my quarters. I looped it through her wrist chains and over a horizontal support beam on the roof of the cabin. In doing so, I was able to hoist her into the air. She was now suspended about thirty centimeters off the ground, hanging helplessly. She tried to kick, of course, but in doing so, the chains around her wrists would only dig deeper into her flesh, causing severe discomfort. After some feeble resistance, her cries of protest became nothing more than meek cries of pain. Little did she know what was to come.