She woke in a small, cramped, urine-smelling cage among what looked like a dozen or so other naked, attractive young women between approximately eighteen and twenty-eight years of age and of an even mix of races. Each girl had her own cage, but the cage itself was only about five-by-five-by-five feet in dimensions, which meant that few of the girls could come to a full standing position. Her arms were chained behind her back and her feet chained approximately a foot apart, which would have made her incapable of anything faster than a slow shuffle had she been able to stand or walk in the first... Continue»
The lights in the ship seemed to be on 24/7, but even without the stimulation of light and dark for her circadian rhythms, she had to sl**p sometime. At what would have been eleven or midnight, she fell into a fitful sl**p, curled on the cold floor of her cage. She dreamed, unfortunately enough, of the ****. She did not, of course, remember Vorkarm’s violation of her body, but her imagination, fuelled by the continuing pain in her vagina, filled in the blanks.
She dreamt that she was limp, paralysed but not u*********s, like a tiny rag doll in Vorkarm’s massive arms. He threw her over his shoulder and scrambled down the ladder with remarkable agility for a man his size. Once he had alighted, he threw her rudely upon the grass, drew a knife, and cut her black tank, black sports bra, straight-cut jeans and black panties down the middle and tore them off her body in a few swift motions. Looking up, she could see the massive tent in his trousers and feel a thrill of both fear and desire as he unlaced the codpiece and released his enormous tool.
It truly was an awesome sight, rising smooth as ivory from the thick nest of coarse, dirty-blond hair; pale with a beet-red tip and thick, twisting blue veins running along the sides, throbbing in its urge to dominate her small body. He gave it a light slap, making it rebound like a huge piece of stiff rubber, then knelt in front of her prostrate body and grabbed one thigh in each hand, forcing them apart. She could feel his calloused fingers bruising the tender flesh, and wished that she could struggle, but she was completely inanimate from the d**g. Yet her mind was torn. She knew that she was wet for him, despite the fact that she wanted to draw her knife and cut his bull-necked throat. Nevertheless, what she thought or felt about the matter was beside the point. This disgusting, Viking-like bastard was going to have his way with her whether she liked it or not, and she had no choice but to withdraw into her own mind and pray that he didn’t injure her too badly in the process.
The brute seemed about to take his pleasure, but then, inexplicably, he stopped for a moment, seemingly remembering something. With an exasperated frown, he shoved his huge fingers inside the entrance of her tight, wet vagina, expertly feeling for a hymen. Finding none, he grinned with his horrid brown teeth, seized her breasts in his calloused hands, then lined up his tool with the small entrance of her delicate, black-furred sheath and with one swift stroke encased himself entirely in her warm flesh.
The pain was astounding, but in her d**gged state she couldn’t even whimper. She lay limp as a boned fish while Vorkarm shoved his massive rod in and out of her bl**d-lubricated hole with a wet, sucking sound. After a while, her abused vagina seemed to go numb, then more than numb. Yes, it was pleasure! A twisted, backwards pleasure that should not exist, but did. It was not only bl**d facilitating her **** now, but natural fluids of pleasure; her body mindlessly and diligently going about the task of reproduction even when it had no just cause to participate.
The slaver heaved and thrust, harder and harder as his face behind his scraggly beard began to turn red and he emitted grunts that announced his proximity to orgasm. Victoria too felt the strange pleasure grow, hot and pulsing like the pain. She tried to hold back, enraged that her body would dare defy the orders of its mistress, the brain, but she had no control.
Suddenly, with an especially brutal thrust, the filthy Northman came with an a****l roar, spewing his thick, white seed into her tight sex, mingling with the bl**d and her unwilling juices. She felt the jet pump against her battered cervix, and the sensation seemed to trigger a chain-reaction inside her that built into an explosive, half-painful orgasm. She had never, even by herself, come so hard. The orgasmic contractions came one after another, forcing more bl**dstained juice from her punished opening. Her limbs, still paralysed, did not move, but her miserable, confused vagina clenched tightly around Vorkarm’s massive shaft, spasming as it devoured his essence.
Vorkarm, who had possessed tens of women in his time, perhaps even hundreds, laughed at the inadvertent response of his u*********s sex-toy. “Yes, my little doll!” He grunted mockingly as he slid his limp, but still fearsome, weapon out of her bruised, now-sloppy opening. “You might be out, but you’re not down!” His well-used doll gave no answer, but simply lay there floppily, seed and bl**d dribbling down her slim thighs.
Victoria woke from her dream, gasping for breath. She looked down at her body and realised with embarrassment that two of her fingers were encased deep inside her channel. No longer sore, her sex now ached with passion, and as she furtively withdrew her fingers the sucking sound and the translucent strings of feminine submission oils alerted her to the fact that she had not only been aroused in her sl**p, but had experienced a strong orgasm.
She wiped her sopping fingers on her bare thigh with a look around her to see if any of the other slaves were watching. To her relief, the girls on either side of her were sound asl**p, and she thanked any potential higher power that they had not seen her shame. With a sigh of exasperation, she lay on her side once again and tried to abandon herself to sl**p. After all, it was well enough to get sl**p now, before Vorkarm or another slaver made his rounds once again.