One of these days, I’ll sleep instead of staying up all hours writing these… Or I’ll spend hours reading about sailing and lose complete track of time. Sea shanties, anyone?
So, this took considerably longer than I expected. What was supposed to be another 3K or so words to round out the first part turned into a whopping 13K words. Holy crap! But, I have to admit, I enjoyed this part—even if I was really anxious to be done with it. I wanted to publish it days ago, but there were so many things I wanted to cover, and while I thought about breaking it up into another part, every time I started to do that, I ended up writing a little bit more and couldn’t seem to stop myself! So, enjoy. I’m hoping to publish the next installment soon—maybe today since for once I have a bit of free time on my hands (it’s a weekend). I’m thinking it’s probably gonna be much shorter…but then again, I said that about this installment, too…
You grimace as a bubble shifts in your guts, moving up along your left side as you step out of the stateroom and close the door behind you. Stepping out onto the deck, all you see around you is water.
You leap back just in time to avoid being bowled over by an elk with a coil of rope slung over his shoulder. The rope itself must be three inches in diameter, and there’ve got to be a hundred feet of it or more. You momentarily forget the unpleasant feeling in your bowels as you marvel at the strength the sailor must have to move as briskly as he is while carrying so much weight.
“Starboard, all braces,” another sailor barks, and there’s a commotion as dozens of sailors all move to the sides of the ship and take hold of countless ropes.
“Brace up!” he calls.
A piercing voice rings out in a tenor’s pitch:
Gotta sweet thing down back on land,
But even if I’m dying, she won’t lend a hand.
At this, the whole crew starts heaving in time to the words and singing back a response:
Feed her to the sharks, lads, feed her to the whales.
Let’s all put her to good use while we tell our tales!
Your jaw drops at the audacity of such a song, but as it continues on, getting more raucous and irreverent by the verse and including such things as a king whose good use was being made into stew and a captain’s daughter doubling as a footstool, you can’t help but shake your head and grin. Looking up, you gasp to see the giant masts in front of you slowly turning a little bit each time the elks heave on the ropes. The sails billow and fill, and you see the sun start to move around in the sky as the ship turns into the wind.
If this were any other day, it would be exciting. Oh, who are you kidding? It is exciting! Being on your first ship, seeing the seemingly endless expanse of the sea for the first time, hearing and smelling new things on deck that you’d never experienced before, it all could make for such an adventure! But a grumble in your gut suddenly reminds you that you’re not here to sight-see. You look around and spy a door on the other end of the deck, past one of the huge masts. You make for it, careful to stay out of the way of the seemingly constant bustle of activity as sailors tighten ropes here, loosen them there, and continue singing their bawdy songs. You make it to the door and step through just as the shantyman sings:
Got a stout buck that we brought with us
But although he looked the part, he is quite a wuss.
To this, the crew answers:
Fuck him in the ass, lads, have him fetch some ales.
Let’s all put him to good use while we tell our tales!
You blush fiercely and close the door. How could that song possibly be about anything but you? For all the song’s irreverent charm, you can’t help but believe that this is gonna be your life: getting fucked and fetching beer for drunken sailors.
You turn around to see a burly elk sitting beside a table that appears to have been made from a large reel of something—probably rope. He squints his eyes as he looks at you, and finally lifting his hand up to shield his face from the sunlight coming through the window before you, he makes out your features. A knowing look crosses his features.
“Finished with you, has he?” he says, putting his half-emptied tankard of ale down on the table and getting to his feet.
You swallow. You’re not sure exactly how this is supposed to work as he steps up to you, towering a good two feet taller and looking down at you.
“Hmm. Not bad,” he says.
Without warning, he reaches out and grabs your balls. Your eyes bulge, and you reflexively swing your arm down to knock his hand away.
His hand doesn’t budge, and your arm bounces off harmlessly.
“I wouldn’t do that,” he says, squeezing your balls just enough to be uncomfortable without actually hurting. “I’ve been around enough to be prepared for anything, but these young guys? They’d have laid you out on the floor for trying to attack them.”
He sniffs abruptly, his nostrils flaring several times in quick succession. He smiles faintly.
“It sounds like congratulations are in order,” he says.
You swallow and shift your weight uncomfortably. He releases you abruptly, turns on heel, and returns to his seat.
“I’m not going to be the one to break the seal the chieftain made,” he says with a wry smirk as he lifts his ale to his mouth. “We’ll let one of the young, eager bulls make that mistake.”
He drains the mug and holds it up expectantly. You fix him with an expressionless, disbelieving stare. He cocks an eyebrow.
“Everybody’s got a purpose, concubine,” he says. “If you’re not getting me off, then you’re getting me ale while I’m off duty.”
Your expressionless face melts into shocked indignation. “I am not a bar-wench!” you snap.
“No?” he asks, putting his mug down and standing chest-to-chest with you—or, rather, your face to his chest, given his height.
You stare straight ahead; he’s so close that your eyes would have to cross for you to see the fur on his chest. He smells like someone who hasn’t bathed in quite some time. You can feel his eyes boring into the top of your head. You’re tense, but, you notice, so is he; he’s not nearly as self-assured as Bulkun or the Matriarch.
In other words, if this is a battle of wills, you actually stand a chance.
You double down, ignoring the feeling of his breath on your ears. You force yourself to relax, to appear serene even though your heart is racing. What if he tries to hit you? Do you defend yourself? Bulkun didn’t say anything about this, and he definitely didn’t say anything about getting drinks for the crew.
A hint of doubt creeps into your mind. Then again, would it hurt anything for you to do it? Is it worth making enemies on your first day?
In your mind, you shake your head, and your fists ball up subconsciously. It’s not that it’s hurting anything or that it’s hard; I don’t take orders from this guy. It’s the principle of the thing. And if he thinks he’s going to make me do it by getting in my space, he’s got another think coming!
Choose your battles…
Back and forth, you argue with yourself. You might have continued all day, but the elk abruptly takes a step back, letting out a snort.
“You’ve got some spunk in you, I’ll give you that,” the elk says. “So be it; don’t get my drink. But I’m gonna enjoy taking it out of your ass.”
The door opens behind you, and a couple more sailors walk in. They do a double-take on seeing you, then stop and size you up.
“Alexei, who’s your friend?” one of them says.
“The new concubine,” Alexei replies. He smirks. “He’s not a bar wench. He said so himself.”
“Well, fuck that; I can get my own damn ale. But damn, when I heard the chieftain was bringing back some fresh tail? Mmm, yeah, I’ll take me some of that.”
He proceeds to all but rape you with the look he gives you. You clench your jaw, fighting the urge to cover yourself. The smell of testosterone in the cabin is suddenly very strong; you realize that with three bulls—all of them at least a foot taller than you are—you’d better tread cautiously.
“Well,” Alexei says, “Hopefully his ass will make up for the lack of ale-serving.”
“I’m about ready to find out.” The elk looks around. “Alexei, hold your mug; there’s not a damn place to do the dirty in here but that lousy table.”
Alexei shrugs, stands, and steps off a few feet to give the newcomer space.
“Come on, you little deer-slut. Let’s see what you’re made of.”
“Don’t let the chieftain catch you talking down on him like that,” Alexei warns. “You know how he feels about everybody’s role having worth.”
The elk shrugs. “Chieftain ain’t here, and I know you guys won’t tell. As for you,” he says, grabbing your wrist with shocking strength and dragging you up to him, “You don’t strike me as a snitch; just a slut. A slut who’s gonna give me some much-needed relief. On your back on the table,” he orders.
You glance at the other elk; how many times are you going to get publicly violated today? “You guys aren’t much for privacy, huh?” you ask, eliciting scoffs all around.
“Too slow, slut, and what do you need privacy for? Everybody knows why you’re here,” the elk says, shoving you and knocking you over backwards.
You land on the table, your arms flying out to catch your fall on your forearms. You recover quickly, but not fast enough; the elk has already kicked your legs out of the way and is squatting over you, his fur already brushing against yours. Your tail instinctively clamps down, barring entrance.
“Don’t—mmf—fight it—slut!” the elk grunts as he fumbles to find your hole and then does his best to shove your tail out of the way. “The sooner you let me in, the sooner we get this over with.”
He’s right; you know that as pent-up as he is, he’s not gonna last, but again, it’s the principle of the thing. You’re not just an inanimate tool to be picked up, thrown down, and used at the sailors’ whims!
“Aww, fuck this,” the elk grumbles, slipping his thumb under your tail, curling his fingers around it, and wrenching back on it painfully.
You let out a yelp, and his dick shoves up into you. It’s sharp, and he doesn’t hold anything back as he drives himself in balls-deep.
“Whoo!” he says, snorting sharply, “Fuck, that’s a tight ass.”
You can’t breathe; your lips are pulled back in an agonized grimace, and all you can think about at that moment is how bad your butt hurts. The abrupt shove made a muscle spasm, and now it feels as though you’ve got some kind of anal cramp, the kind you get on a rare occasion when you take a particularly large and hard crap.
The sailor pulls back and thrusts in again, a little more contemplatively and less roughly. He blinks and frowns. “Really wet inside, too.”
Alexei smirks, and the sailor frowns again. “What, did you use him already?”
Alexei shakes his head. “Nope. Can’t you smell it?”
The sailor pauses mid-thrust and sniffs the air, then shrugs. “No. What?”
Alexei’s smirk turns into a grin. “The chieftain; he’s got him marked.”
The sailor purses his lips and gives you a few thoughtful half-thrusts. You can feel Bulkun’s urine and semen trying to leak out every time the sailor pulls back. In spite of the pain you’re feeling—which has subsided a little bit with time—you do want to keep your word to hold your gut’s contents inside you as long as you can. So, you clench down as hard as you can, gritting your teeth and lifting your shoulders off the table from the exertion.
“Ah, well,” the sailor says presently. “I’ve already got my dick in it; too late to turn back now. Clamp down, deer-slut; it’s three days until my next bath, and I don’t want to go around smelling like the chieftain pissed all over me.”
While part of you wants to forcibly shoot all over him just to be contrary, the idea of losing control like that is frankly too appalling to consider seriously. So, as he begins to thrust in earnest, making deep, sharp strokes, you clench your fists and resolve to keep yourself from leaking out.
“Damn, that’s a nice ass,” he says. “Chieftain sure knows how to pick ’em.”
He begins to thrust faster. Your ass reflexively wants to tighten every time he pulls out and loosen every time he pushes in. You find yourself panting, not only from the exertion of fighting your body’s natural inclinations, but also from the intensifying sensations as the elk’s prick rubs up against something sensitive inside your ass that makes you feel light-headed every time he slides over it. Sweat beads on your forehead, and you grit your teeth and press your head against the table, fighting the increasing urge to just give up, to relax your ass and become a passive participant.
“Wow, this guy’s really holding it in!” says the sailor who walked in with the one currently fucking you, “I wonder if he’s had practice.”
Alexei scoffs. “I doubt it. Chieftain says his tribe’s a bunch of backwards fanatics; I’m sure if he’d had any ‘experience’, they’d have kicked him out a long time ago.”
“I can only imagine the look on their faces when the chieftain took him. I bet they just about crapped themselves!”
“Speaking of crapping yourself,” Alexei says thoughtfully, “I wonder how long he’ll last? Think Fyrodir here will get to finish first?”
“Well, I dunno; depends on how long Fyr takes to get off. Hey, Fyr, you almost done?”
“Shut up, you guys!” Fyrodir replies as his thrusts begin to take on a frenzied cadence.
He’s thrusting so hard and fast, you’ve given up trying to match his pace with your breathing. The constant sloshing and stimulation on your ass is making you feel desperate. While you might still be focused on how intense it feels to be thrust into so vigorously, your body has decided that it’s really time to expel the chieftain’s mark.
Your whole body is now shaking from the exertion. Your bowels cramp, making you suck in a hiss and let out a groan.
“Fuck…” says the standing sailor. “Look, guy, don’t let Fyr wear you out; it’s just piss, after all. If you gotta go, hey, let it go.”
“Shut up, Liam!” Fyrodir snaps. “I’m almost off!”
He begins thrusting harder still, shaking the table. Your eyes bulge open, and your lips pull back tightly. You feel yourself getting dizzy. It would be so easy to give up, so easy to just let it all out.
Damn it, no! I can…I must…I have to hold it!
“You know what?” Alexei says presently, “Hold it back. Not because I’m telling you you have to, but because I want to see how long you can last.” He grins and says, “If you can hold it in until he gets off, I’ll serve you an ale.”
“Hey, yeah!” Liam says, “You get him an ale, and I’ll get him one, too. He’s already outdone the last guy by, sheesh, almost the whole time. Let’s see how far he can take it! In fact, you know what? I’ll go next. I’m so pent-up, I almost shot off while on the head earlier. Screw it. He’s got this!”
Alexei frowns. “What, after Fyr? Look at him! He’s about to pass out or have a stroke, one or the other—I bet he covers you!”
“Is that a real bet?” Liam asks, cracking a grin. “I tell you what: if he can’t do it, then you bring me an ale as a condolence. If he can, I’ll bring you an ale and a mugful of ‘I told you so’!”
“That’s a bet,” Alexei says, and they shake hands.
Great. Now they’re betting on me, you think as you let out several shallow, panting breaths, trying to get the cramping to stop and your quivering anus to firm up. You know that the moment you feel even a little stream out of your ass, it’s game over. You’ve got to hold firm!
“Hngh—gah—GAAH!” Fyrodir roars, jamming himself balls-deep into you.
The piss inside you sloshes around, but despite that, you still feel his cock throbbing as it spurts into you. Fyrodir pants a few times, resting one hand on the table beside your head as his twitching dick empties itself. At last, he stands upright. You grit your teeth and brace yourself. He takes a step back, and you hurriedly squeeze your ass closed as hard as you can and let your legs fall to the ground.
“Heh, heh, looks like I wasn’t the only one who enjoyed that,” Fyrodir says as he reaches up, grabs your rock-hard dick, and strokes once from base to tip.
Your eyes bulge, and you feel a squirt from your ass as you double over.
“Oh! That’s it! Wait, is that all?” Liam says.
“No,” you grunt, rolling over onto your side and then shakily onto your chest so you can get to your feet. “There’s more—a lot more.”
“Well, damn, here I thought Alexei owed me a beer.”
“No, but we owe him one,” Alexei chimes in.
“Deal’s a deal,” Liam says, nodding.
“But, uh, first…where do people, uh, relieve themselves around here? I don’t think I’m gonna make it, and I—I don’t want to do it on anyone.”
Liam and Alexei exchange glances.
“Oh, no,” Alexei says, giving Liam a wicked grin. “We’ve got a bet going, and I’m not about to be beaten that easily!”
“Psh, don’t be so modest, concubine! You’ve got an ass of steel! If you can take Fyr, you can take me easily!”
You shake your head. Your stomach growls loudly. “N–no, I—I really can’t. I—please, I don’t know if I’m even going to make it.”
“Buck-slut, shut up and let Liam fuck you,” snaps Fyrodir. “Fuck, all you gotta do is lay there and take it! Hell, I think you even enjoyed it!”
Something clicks in your mind, and in an instant, you whirl and give the elk a sharp uppercut, throwing your whole body into it. The motion unsettles your guts, and as your fist makes contact, you feel your ass give up. A stinging, hot sensation floods between your legs, and as a shocked Fyrodir falls over, you spray him in the chieftain’s piss and his own jizz.
The other two are on you in a flash, and before you can do anything else, they’ve each restrained one of your arms and are hauling you back towards the table.
“I warned you about that,” Alexei says, but you hardly even hear him.
“I’d like to see you just lie there and take it!” you yell at the elk as he gets back to his feet, a furious look on his face. “You try holding back all of that while some asshole fucks you senseless!”
“Oh, it’s gonna be a lot easier for you to lay there and take it after I’m done with you,” Fyrodir growls, advancing on you.
“Come on, Fyr,” Liam says, “He’s just new, and you have to admit, he lasted way longer than the last guy!”
“Fucking slut has no right to punch me!” Fyrodir bellows.
Your anger has subsided just enough for you to take stock of your situation. The elk holding onto you are plenty strong; there’s not much chance of getting free of them before the raging bull gets into punching range. With his height, even if you weren’t restrained, you’d be at a disadvantage.
You time his movements, and just as he cocks back to hit you in the gut, you lift up both feet, leaving yourself suspended by the arms, and fire off a double-barrel kick at the elk. His face doesn’t even have time to register the action. By the time your feet touch the ground again, he’s flown back against the wall, the indentations of your hooves in his belly-fur showing for just an instant before he collapses, out cold.
There’s going to be hell to pay.
You’re not wrong. Within seconds, a dozen elk rush into the room to see what the commotion is. Everybody is yelling at once, and Alexei and Liam still haven’t let you go.
I’m gonna die like this. This is how I go. You snort. Better dying fighting than taking it up the ass for the rest of my life! An image of your parents’ expressions flashes into your mind. You fight it for a moment, but then a flood of shame washes over you. It’s been less than a day, and you’ve already broken your word. Your body goes limp, startling the elk carrying you as they readjust to carrying dead weight.
Better dead than living in shame.
As the newcomers all seem to get their bearings and decide you’re the one to blame, the biggest of them leads the rest in advancing on you.
Make it quick.
“Chieftain on deck!”
Abruptly, everybody stops mid-motion. Everybody turns towards the door, and everybody salutes. Alexei and Liam release you and stand at attention.
“What is the trouble here?” Bulkun asks. His voice is calm, but harsher than you’ve heard it before—it’s almost icy.
“Got to be the new concubine,” someone says.
“Were you a witness?” Bulkun asks him.
“Then get out. If you weren’t here, then get back to your posts.”
After a little jostling, the sailors all file out, leaving you and the three elk alone with the chieftain.
“Vales?” the chieftain asks. “Did you have something to do with this?”
You take a breath and set your jaw. “Yes, sir,” you reply.
You swallow. You know no good can come of this, but having broken your word, you are determined to at least tell the truth.
“I attacked that elk, the one they call Fyrodir,” you reply.
You hesitate. While part of you wants to rat Fyrodir out, you know that’s not an honorable thing to do. You’re not here to get someone else in trouble; you’re here to answer for your actions. Still, to say you were unprovoked is a bit of a stretch of the truth.
“There was provocation,” you reply at last, “But I was the one who escalated.”
“I see. Alexei, Liam, is he telling the truth?”
Liam nods, but Alexei hesitates.
“Alexei, what’s on your mind?”
You can practically hear the gears turning in his head to your left and a little behind you. You hear his mouth open and then close.
“He is telling the truth; he has not told any lies,” he says at last, “But, I think he is not telling the whole truth.”
Bulkun raises an eyebrow. It’s both piercing and menacing at once. “Well?”
“The things that were said,” Alexei says carefully, “Speaking for myself, sir, I would not have permitted them to be said either.”
“By Vales? The concubine? Or by Fyrodir?”
“What was said?”
“With respect, sir, it’s not my place to say. All I will say is that I told him I didn’t think you would like what he said to the concubine.”
“Enough games,” Bulkun growls. “Either one of you tells me what I want to know without hedging, or I’m going to give you each a hundred lashes to loosen your tongues!”
“Go on, conc—I mean, Vales,” Alexei says, nudging you from behind. “You’re just responding to a question from the chieftain; it’s not snitching. Right, Liam?”
You sigh and purse your lips. “Master, I—it’s not right to speak out against someone over a personal argument. Please, what was said doesn’t matter. I should not have reacted as I did, and I’m ready to accept whatever penance is appropriate.”
“It does matter, Vales,” Bulkun says, “Now answer the damn question!”
Startled and taken aback at his abrupt yelling, you shake your head. You tried to do the honorable thing—just like you tried to do the honorable thing by kneeling, naked, in front of your tribe—but doing the honorable thing just doesn’t seem to be working out for you today.
“He said I was a slut, repeatedly. Alexei told him you wouldn’t like him talking down on me like that, but he said we didn’t look like snitches. Honestly, Master, that part was annoying, but it didn’t bother me so much as when he told me that I was just lying there, taking it. I tried to do as you told me, Master, and tried to hold in your, uh—”
“Mark, and by the smell of things, it appears you failed.”
His words burn your face, but you press on. “Uh, yes. I was not just lying there, Master. I really was trying hard, and for him to say I was just taking it—it made me angry.”
“Took it like a champ,” Liam interjects. “Fyrodir managed to completely get off—and he was going really hard. It wasn’t until Vales punched him that he lost control.”
“I see. So, in other words, you being offended and retaliating was more important than doing what I told you to do?”
You hang your head, and he shakes his.
“Vales, Vales,” he says, “What am I going to do with you?” He sighs. “Well, you’ll learn.” To the others, he says, “Lash him down to the table. Tie his legs apart, and make sure his mouth is kept open. When you’re done, tell the first mate.”
“Yes, sir,” the others chorus.
“Uh, sir?” Liam asks as Bulkun turns to leave.
“What do we do with Fyrodir?”
“Lash him to the mainmast to await his punishment.”
Bulkun leaves, and Alexei and Liam bodily force you onto the table. With adeptness that only sailors could have, they bind your wrists and ankles to the underside of the table and then apply additional ropes to your knees, forcing them apart. You struggle, but as soon as your arms are bound, you give up; you don’t dare repeat the attack that got you into this mess in the first place. Still, as you feel your legs spread lewdly apart and feel the air brush up under your tail, you shudder and grimace, feeling disgustingly exposed.
Lastly, Alexei grabs your muzzle and drives his thumb and middle finger into your cheeks, forcing you to open your mouth. In a quick movement, Liam slips a rope into your mouth, ties it behind your head, and ratchets it tighter and tighter, wedging your mouth open. He ties it off, and without a word, the sailors leave.
You’re left alone in the room. You can feel the gentle rocking of the ship, the creak and groan of the boards. You shiver in spite of yourself, half from trepidation about what’s to become of you, and half from the clammy, stagnant air. You turn your head from side to side, but there’s really not much to see; a few tables like the one you’re strapped to, a few barrels for chairs, and that’s about it.
You hear a whistle and the first mate’s muffled voice. You can’t make out what he’s saying, but from the tone and cadence, it sounds like he’s giving orders, punctuated periodically by laughter from the crew. The voice continues, and then there’s a guttural acknowledgement by the men. The voice stops, and you hear the numerous, erratic sound of dozens of hooves going every which way. Some of them are coming towards you. You can hear them getting louder. It’s more than one or two pairs of hooves, too. Your stomach turns.
You crane your neck to see as several sailors enter the room. They’re all looking grimly at you but say nothing to you or to each other. Nevertheless, with a series of exchanged glances, they seem to communicate something among each other, and one of them takes the lead and approaches you.
You look up at him helplessly. He smirks faintly. You don’t get the idea he’s malicious, but that smirk makes you uneasy. You test your bonds, struggling in particular to close your legs as he steps up between them. You can feel the heat from his body on your thighs. It kind of makes your skin crawl.
Without warning, he steps forward, presses his groin into the space between your legs, and thrusts his cock into your ass. You bite down on the rope and clench your fists, but it has no effect; he fucks you brutally, as if he’s on a time limit to get off. You feel yourself hyperventilating, your breathing getting faster and faster as pleasure, pain, and uncomfortable intensity vie for your attention. You squeeze your eyes closed. Without needing to preserve Bulkun’s seed inside you anymore, you will yourself to just pass out.
Something pointed, firm, and musky pokes into your mouth. Your eyes spring open, and you see two upside-down legs on either side of your head. But there’s no time to contemplate them; the penis in your mouth slides against your tongue and jabs against the back of your throat. You cough, your whole body convulsing and jarring the penis in your ass into poking you savagely in the perineum. You feel like you’re going to gag as the dick in your mouth hits the back of your throat again.
“Damn it,” the elk in your mouth says.
You feel something pressing forward on your forehead, bending your head back further. The dick shoves down your throat, and you dry-heave around it. But before you can throw up, it pulls out and thrusts back in again, alternately suffocating you and letting you breathe between agonized lurches from your stomach. Then it goes in deeper and doesn’t pull all the way out. You can’t breathe. It’s rubbing your throat raw, and you desperately need air! You try to scream, but nothing comes out. Your arms and legs strain against their restraints, but the ropes hold fast. You bite down as hard as you can on the rope, desperate to convince the elk to get out of your mouth, but it holds fast, and the elk continues fucking your face hard and fast, slamming his hips against your cheekbones.
You feel a sudden, hot spurt in your ass, followed immediately by emptiness and the disgusting feeling of that hot spurt leaking out of you, trickling down your buttock, pooling on your tail, and falling to the floor below you. Even as this new, awful sensation momentarily distracts you, the elk in your mouth suddenly thrusts in so far that you can feel his balls pressing against your nostrils. You feel your throat expand as his cock throbs and pumps his seed down your throat. Then, as abruptly as the one in your ass, he pulls out, finally letting you gasp in a breath as you drool saliva and cum down your nose.
You let out a groan and try to lift your head to see if it’s over, but before you can, you feel another set of thighs pressed against your buttocks. A split-second later, you feel yourself stuffed full of elk penis, and before you’ve even let out a yelp, another dick has shoved itself into your mouth and down your throat. Again you feel yourself doubly violated, again you feel yourself suffocating and nauseous, and again, the bulls thrust hard, dump their loads, pull out, and leave you dripping their fluids out both ends.
Your head swims; you just want to pass out. This time, you don’t even try to lift your head, a good thing, because this time you see the elk coming and manage to suck in a breath before he closes off your windpipe with his malehood. That makes the ordeal a little less terrible, but at the same time, it frees your mind to notice other things, like how loudly the elk is squish-squish-squishing into your ass, the fact that you can feel him drawing cum out of you each time he pulls out, or the fact that when he pulls out, your ass feels like it won’t close quite right.
This goes on for—you don’t know how long. It feels like eternity, but it might have been only an hour. At any rate, it stops as abruptly as it started. You cautiously dare to lift your head, coughing up and spitting out a glob of cum as you do, and see the last two elk filing out.
You breathe a sigh of relief. If this was your punishment, then you survived. Now you just have to wait for them to untie you. Your ears pick up on the sound of hoofbeats, and you swallow, regret it, spit, and try to breathe easily as you await your release. But once again, it’s not just one or two elk that are on their way.
Another group, even larger than the last, files in, and just as before, one of them takes the lead and begins to fuck your ass while another ravages your mouth. Tears stream down your face, snot drips from your nose, and cum trails unimpeded down the crack of your ass, hardening in your fur and irritating the tender skin under your tail.
Your punishment wasn’t over; it was just beginning.
For hours on end, your mouth and ass are stuffed full, rubbed raw, filled, and allowed to leak. By the time this group finishes, another has already replaced it, and your silent penance continues without pause.
A blood-curdling scream pierces the silence. The elk all exchange glances and begin talking amongst themselves.
“Whoo, one down, 299 to go,” one of them says.
“It’ll be a miracle if he survives. I heard the chieftain himself was delivering some of them.”
“I heard Alexei warned him not to talk down on the concubine, but he did it anyway.”
“Yeah, it was 50 lashes for ignoring the warning.”
“But what are the other 250 for?”
“Another 50 for what he said—”
“—and 200 more for deliberately disobeying the chieftain.”
“I knew the last one would be the lion’s share.”
The fuckings continue in spite of all this. In fact, if it’s possible, the elk fuck you even harder. As your body is violated over and over, past the point of you being able to process it anymore—or your mouth or anus to stop drooling out cum—you find your half-formed thoughts wondering if this will ever end or if this is how you’re going to die.
The hours continue on. The screaming stops at some point. You still feel the dicks as they go in, but your ass is so stretched that you don’t feel when they pull out, and your throat has been rubbed so raw that you’ve progressed from panic to discomfort to pain to agony to dull, defeated exhaustion. You become vaguely aware of a need to piss at some point, and then the urge passes. You’re too out of it to realize that you pissed all over yourself while two elk were fucking you; you didn’t notice the way the other elk jeered at you. You pass out at some point, you think, but you can’t really tell. You were getting fucked either way—be it reality or passed-out dreaming.
But at some point, the fucking stops. Your body keeps waiting for the next round to start, but it doesn’t. After a long while, you realize that you’re alone in the room and have been for some time.
There are footsteps approaching. It’s more than one or two pairs. You sag against the table and resign yourself to your fate.
“The chieftain will see you now,” says the first mate as he and several sailors stride in.
The sailors untie you while the first mate watches, hands on his hips. Once freed, you find it agonizing to move; your limbs have been in the same position for what you will eventually be told is 24 hours, and your muscles have locked up from the immobility and stress. But, desperate not to incur any more punishment on yourself, you grit your teeth—now that you can close your mouth—do your best not to swallow, cough, speak, and above all scream, and roll painfully over onto your side. Panting, you recover from the first round of agony and then slowly get into a sitting position. After another round of recovery, you try to slide off the table onto your feet, but your legs give out from under you. You fall onto your hands and knees, face burning with embarrassment and knowing that the first mate and the sailors are staring at you and silently judging. You shudder at seeing a large, flaky circle about the size of a large dinner plate and realizing that all of that dried cum used to be inside you.
But, at long last, you finally get to your feet and stumble forward, following the first mate. He escorts you to the chieftain’s stateroom, opens the door to usher you in, and closes it behind you.
The chieftain looks up from a map as you walk in. You’re barely standing, let alone at attention.
“Ah, Vales,” he says, shaking his head, “Are you ready to begin your usual duties, yet?”
You purse your lips. “You mean those weren’t my usual duties?” You wince; feeling your vocal chords move after so much trauma to your throat is excruciating. Still, you force yourself to continue. “I thought it was punishment at first, but then it kept going.”
“No. Your usual duties are 12 hours—three bells back-to-back—and then you are off for 12 hours.”
“You didn’t hear the bells going off every four hours?”
You shake your head, and he shrugs. “You’ll hear them going forward,” he says. “If we stayed at sea, your body would eventually come to just know when it has been four hours, but we’ll only be at sea a few days more.”
“Am I supposed to serve ale?” you ask abruptly.
He frowns. “No. Why?”
“Alexei told me I had to serve him ale.”
A faint smile crosses Bulkun’s lips. “Alexei is a trickster. Don’t hold it against him. After all, if he hadn’t stood up for you, you might not be alive now, you probably wouldn’t be standing, and you certainly wouldn’t be intact.”
You blink and frown. “Intact?”
He rises, comes up to you, and grasps you by the balls. “Intact,” he says again.
You swallow, then wince and wish you hadn’t.
“Make no mistake, Vales: while we may share a special relationship, if you want to keep your testicles, you shall never attack anyone again. Is that clear?”
You nod. “Yes, sir.”
“Good. Because frankly, Vales, while you may have a role to play as a concubine, you don’t need your testicles to bottom, and I do not have a need for your testicles, either as part of our special relationship. Don’t prove to me that you’re too aggressive with them intact; they are easily expendable.”
He turns his back to you and clasps his hands behind his back, then turns back around.
“Vales,” he says, a hint of irritation in his voice.
He sighs. “I know that you have just undergone quite an ordeal, but that does not excuse you from your duties to me.”
You rack your brain and then gasp, drop to your knees, and spread your legs.
“I’m sorry, Master,” you say hoarsely.
“It’s all right, Vales, but do not make that mistake again.” He steps up to you, caresses your chin, hesitates, and then turns his back again.
“Now that your punishment is over, it is time for you to join the crew. But, first, I want you to take the next three bells to rest and recover. After that, you are to report to me. You will perform your duties for me, and then you are to report to the same place where you served your punishment.” His voice turns menacing. “You will serve any sailor who asks. If a sailor wants to be serviced more than once, you are to finish servicing everyone else a first time and then service the second round, within your 12-hour watch. When that is over, you will take your rest and recovery, which may be interrupted from time to time if I have need of your services. During your rest time I expect you to focus on strengthening your anus. You are leaking on my floor.”
You gasp, look under yourself, and desperately try to tighten your anal muscles, but without success.
“Don’t worry about it now, Vales, but over the next few days, I expect substantial improvement.”
“Good. Now go to sleep.”
You frown. “Um, sir? Where am I to sleep?”
The chieftain points to a pallet next to his bed. “There, Vales, where I can grab you if I need you.”
With that, he returns his attention to his map, and you make your way achingly over to the pallet. It’s little more than straw, but it’s a big improvement over being tied face-up to a table. The second your head hits the straw, you’re out cold.
“Vales, wake up. The bell will sound within the hour.”
Your eyes open one at a time, and you look up to see Bulkun standing over you.
“Before you go out to serve the men at the bell, Vales, you are to rouse yourself and come to me so that I may enjoy your service.”
You sit up, wincing; your throat feels a little better, but those protracted hours of tensing up and immobility have taken their toll. Crawling off your pallet, you kneel in front of Bulkun and spread your legs.
“Very good, Vales,” he says. “I expect that you are still very sore today; however, you brought that on yourself. So, while I am understanding of your predicament, I am not under obligation to aid you in it.”
You nod, downcast.
“I want you to lean over the bed, Vales,” the chieftain says. “I wish to fuck you standing today.”
You get to your feet, go over to the bed, put your hands on the footboard, and bend over, spreading your legs.
Without a word, Bulkun steps up behind you. You feel his hand cup your buttock and squeeze—almost lovingly. You feel the heat from his groin between your spread legs, and then you feel him push up into you. Unlike your punishment, though, he is in no hurry. He is gentle and gives you time to adjust to his girth, and he builds himself up slowly, as if savoring the feel of your ass around him. You can’t help but feel a little guilty as he seems to be sliding in and out with very little resistance. Nevertheless, he never hurries, never rushes, and yet just before the bell, he climaxes, painting your insides, and then pulls out smoothly, giving you time to clamp your anus down before his essence can leak out.
The bell chimes.
“That’ll do, Vales,” he says. “Report for duty.”
You nod. Squeezing your buttocks together, you leave the stateroom and make for the quarterdeck. As you walk in, a dozen elk look up from their ales, games of cards, dice, and conversations. You swallow hard, bite your lip, and slip in next to the wall, standing there uncomfortably while everybody watches your every move. They all seem to be expecting something of you, and while you know you’re supposed to serve them, you don’t have the first clue as to how to get started.
“Uh… Open for business?” you say weakly.
There’s an awkward silence, and then the elk burst out laughing. As the laughter dies down, they all go back to what they’re doing, ignoring you completely. You breathe a sigh of relief. Maybe you can just take a seat and wait out the twelve hours in peace.
No sooner does that thought cross your mind than an elk comes up to you.
“Kneel,” he says.
Please, you think to yourself, but after your punishment, you’re not going to argue. You do as told. He puts his hand on your head to steady himself and looks down at you expectantly.
“Well?” he demands.
You look up at him, perplexed. “Well, what?”
“You gonna start coaxing it out of my sheath, or am I gonna report you for insubordination?”
“I’m sorry; I—I don’t know what I’m doing,” you say.
“No shit. Get to it.”
His furry legs, sheath, and balls sit about a foot away from your face. You lean forward and nuzzle the sheath’s opening. It pulls back, revealing a hint of pink. You ignore it and keep nuzzling.
“It’s out, now suck it,” says the bull.
You fight the urge to tell him to learn some manners and reach forward to lap at the pink nub. HIs sheath retracts further, and you bring your lips up over the tapered tip.
“Ah, yeah…that’s it,” he says, hunching over you and pulling your head forward, impaling you on his prick.
As if by instinct, you stretch your neck out just in the nick of time, and rather than hitting you in the back of your mouth, his prick glides down your throat. While you ought to feel a gag reflex, this is easy by comparison with yesterday, and you feel remarkably at ease as his shaft goes down your throat so deeply that you feel his balls on your chin.
“Keep sucking and be still,” he says.
You continue to lap at and suck on his prick, and he grabs your head with both hands and proceeds to ram himself up and down your throat. But by now, your body has adapted: you took a deep breath without thinking the moment he grabbed your head. The slightest bit of gag reflex is easily overcome. Most importantly, though, the ability to position your head differently means you can accept his cock without the sharp prick of it scratching your throat. In short, by comparison with yesterday, this is…easy.
A movement out of the corner of your eye catches your attention, and you realize that everyone is looking at you again. You blush fiercely; you’re almost certain they’re all making disparaging comments under their breath.
At that moment, the bull decides to cum and yanks your head up against his body. His balls quiver under your chin as you feel his cock swell in your throat and your stomach fill with his load. He pulls out unceremoniously, and before his prick has even disappeared back into his sheath, he returns to the table where he was sitting, takes up his ale, and resumes the conversation he was having with some other sailors.
You watch him go, feeling a little…used. Physically, this was much easier than yesterday, but when you have your liberty—or at least the ability to move about freely—it feels worse when someone comes up, uses you, and then ignores you.
“All fours,” a voice beside you says.
You whirl to see Alexei standing there.
“Oh,” you say, your face clouding. “Yes, sir.”
“Hey, now, it’s not like it’s your death warrant or something!” the elk replies, cocking an eyebrow. “But I did tell you I was gonna have fun taking it out on your ass.”
“You also said you were gonna get me an ale,” you reply.
He shrugs. “Two things can be true at once.”
Feeling a little bit hopeful at that, you do as he tells you, turning your back to him and dropping to all fours.
Your legs abruptly go out from under you and then float up into the air.
“Waugh!” you cry as Alexei holds you by the ankles, spreads your legs, and positions his dick pointing at your ass.
“Awkward position for you, but amazing position for me,” he says, now grinning broadly.
Without overture, he thrusts in. As he thrusts, he pulls your legs apart, driving himself in balls-deep and giving himself unrestricted access to your darkest places. As he pulls back, he pulls your legs together, pushing you away and making you hold up your weight on your forearms. It takes him no time at all for him to reach his maximum speed, and his penis drives so deep into you that you can’t help but feel violated all over again in spite of yesterday. It seems impossible for him to be thrusting so hard and fast, especially while manhandling you in such a way. You begin panting, feeling light-headed and a little panicked; if you pass out, who knows what these guys will do to you? You fight the urge to groan, but as the intensity keeps notching up and up, you hear a whimper escape your lips.
“Told ya I was gonna take it out on your ass,” Alexei grunts behind you.
You silence yourself, resorting to just breathing hard. The feeling of being plunged into this way, of feeling the intimate contact between his balls and your ass, of being used like an oversized sex-toy—they all make you want to curl up into a ball and hide. You’re not sure what disturbs you most: the sense of helplessness, the feeling of emasculation, or worst of all, the notion that you might actually enjoy this. You quickly shake the last thought out of your mind, shuddering. Yet his balls slapping against yours and the surprisingly pleasant sense of fullness when he thrusts in make your dick poke out, and you quickly form a bead of precum that threads its way down until it touches the ground.
“Ahh, yeah,” Alexei grunts.
His thrusts get harder and more spaced out, and he starts making some pretty guttural sounds above you. Finally, his cock throbs, and you feel his cum pumping much deeper inside you than it did yesterday. He finishes quickly, pulls out, and has the decency to put you down gently rather than dropping you.
“When you get off watch, come find me,” he says, and with that, he walks out the door.
After that, you’re in constant demand. A sailor walks up to you, states his demands, and you get started. Some get off quickly, like the guy who poked into your ass one time and fired, but some take an agonizingly long time. One such guy takes a whole hour, during which time he puts you into eight different positions, fucks your mouth and ass with equal gusto, and while he’s fucking your ass, another sailor, growing impatient, begins fucking your mouth and finishes before the other guy does. Sometimes it feels good—the ones who can’t seem to help hitting your prostate make you feel mentally hazy and giddy—while others just hurt, like the ones who go to jab into you, miss, and hit your perineum instead.
And then there are the particularly conflicting ones: the ones who like to grab your balls and member while they fuck you. The first one is taking you doggy-style and reaches around to grab your dick. Your eyes flash open, and you freeze, uncertain of what to do. But he doesn’t even slacken his speed. As he thrusts, he grasps your dick like a handhold. It’s not exactly painful, but it’s incredibly sexually frustrating to have something grabbing you and occasionally incidentally stimulating you while not making any actual effort to get you off. Or, there’s the guy who insisted that you lie on the ground so that he could lie in 69 position with you, fucking your face while he reaches down to caress and squeeze your balls. Again, not painful, but frustrating and bewildering. You find yourself trying to grind against them, but you’re always corrected with sharp words reminding you to focus on getting them off. You desperately wish that they would either make the effort to get you off—as pent-up as you are, it wouldn’t take much—or to at least leave you alone.
What feels like a lifetime later, you hear the ship’s bell. You’ve heard it before; you’re pretty sure this is the third one. Yet there is still a line of guys waiting to be served.
Too bad, you think.
As the guy in your mouth finishes off, you say in a raspy, cum-choked voice, “That’s it, guys; my shift is over.”
There are groans, but nobody tries to force the issue. Groaning and sore once again, you get to your feet and stagger out the door. One thought consumes you: you need to get off, and you’re not going to stand in front of all of those elk and do it.
You make it into the chieftain’s stateroom. Not seeing him, you collapse on your pallet, flip over onto your back, and immediately begin stroking yourself. Images of sexy does pop into your head. Your tribe had its share of attractive ones, though you hadn’t quite been old enough to appreciate them. Now, in retrospect, you wish you would have made a move, would have gotten to feel what it was like to be on the other end of things. You realize that you don’t quite know what female anatomy even looks like; unlike this elk tribe that seems to have no concept of clothing whatsoever, your tribe has always worn clothes, and you’ve never had occasion to see a female without any on. But, not to be deterred, you imagine slipping your dick up under her tail, finding a nice, warm place to poke inside, and feeling yourself swallowed up by that warm hole.
You bite your lip and stroke a little harder. But as you’re getting close, you suddenly imagine Alexei grabbing you, taking you from the doe, and proceeding to pound you ruthlessly. Yet despite the change of circumstances, you’re troubled to find that you actually like it. Your dick begins to throb much harder than it did while you were fantasizing about the doe. You shake your head and force Alexei’s image out of your mind. You are not…that way. You might not be able to help it when sucking off Bulkun makes your dick hard, but you certainly don’t have to go around fantasizing about elk bulls!
You try to focus on the doe again, to get yourself back to where you were, with her bent over a bed and your dick rhythmically pounding into her. But in a flash, you imagine Bulkun standing in front of you, lifting you onto the bed, and then taking you missionary-style. Your face burns at the intimacy, but he orders you to gaze into his eyes as he takes you. You feel as though you could get lost in those eyes, and you can’t help but turn your head away, afraid that he will see your very soul. He reaches down and turns your head to face him, giving you that calm, confident smile and looking you in the eyes. You squirm, trying to escape, but then you feel him spurt inside you.
Your dick aches with desire, throbbing desperately as you stroke harder and faster. You’re so close. You don’t want to fantasize about Bulkun, but desperation is taking over, and you don’t care what it takes to get off. You imagine Bulkun tying you to the mainmast and fucking you in front of everybody. You feel humiliated but also, somehow, safe, as if this public spectacle locks in everybody’s mind that you are his and under his protection, like he did with Fyrodir.
Your balls contract. Just a few more strokes now. You can feel yourself about to get off. You can—
“Vales!” Bulkun barks in a voice so loud that it manages to rip your mind away from getting off, even if for just a second. “What are you doing?”
You blush. “I, uh—I was…”
“Crew members do not pleasure themselves, Vales,” he says sternly. “Let go of your penis right now.”
You let out a whimper. Just a couple more strokes; just get off, and then you can suffer whatever punishment he has for you. Just…get off!
Groaning, you force yourself to take your hand away from your aching prick. It drools precum liberally down your shaft onto your balls, twitching furiously at him.
“There is no masturbation under my command, Vales,” he says firmly, stepping up to you. “It’s the concubine’s job to ensure that the men are well sated.”
“But,” you protest, feeling almost panicked with desperate concupiscence, “If I’m the concubine, how do I get off?”
“Learn to take pride in your role, Vales,” Bulkun responds. “Only when you are comfortable in your role will you be able to take pleasure from it. After that, the sheer joy of a job well done will provide you with all the climax you need. Strive for it, Vales, and show always your submission and devotion.”
Wincing and still a hair-trigger away from getting off, you uncomfortably sit up and prostrate yourself before him in your usual pose.
“Oh, I didn’t mean now, Vales,” Bulkun chuckles, “Though you are right to get into position; you should have done that the moment you saw me. But what I mean is, devote yourself entirely to your role, and it will eventually come to provide you with a sense of purpose and fulfillment.”
“You always tell me to show my submission and devotion,” you mutter, still frustrated. “But what does that even mean? How am I supposed to devote myself to something when the words themselves seem like little more than just a mantra?”
Bulkun does a double-take. “But, Vales,” he says, “You show your submission and devotion admirably! There you kneel with a strong, proud posture, but humbled by force of will and made to lower yourself before me. That is showing your submission.”
“But I don’t feel anything about it,” you reply. “I’m doing it because you told me to, not because I want to or because I actually feel submissive.”
The chieftain cocks his head. “Don’t you, Vales?” he asks. He steps up before you, his sheath mere inches from your face. “Are you saying,” he asks calmly, “That you don’t feel the slightest desire for me to unsheath myself and allow you to pleasure me?”
It’s as if he’s reading your mind. Your mouth waters as your nostrils flare, trying to be subtle as they inhale his musk. Your eyes dart to his face, and you realize that his question wasn’t rhetorical.
“Yes,” you whisper, your face burning at the admission, “I want that very much.”
“And there you have it,” he replies. “Your submission and devotion come so naturally to you that you’re not even aware of them!” He frowns. “But why do you blush? If I told you that I wanted very much to rise to power in my clan, to overthrow our foolish dictator, and to elevate my tribe from abject poverty to being the most powerful tribe for hundreds of miles, do you think I should blush?”
You shake your head.
“If I told you that Alexei desires very much to bring both levity and calmness to the tribe, do you think he should blush?”
You shake your head again.
“But these are the things that come naturally to us,” he says. “And we are good at them. I say without hesitation that I have done very well for my people. I am not perfect, but I am a far cry better than what we had before. And Alexei has both improved morale and introduced a certain serenity to the crew that they didn’t have before. We take joy in our roles, Vales, and if you will, too, then you will unlock so much more in yourself.”
“But I didn’t choose this role!” you protest. “You came into my village, demanded me as your concubine, and have proceeded to make my life living hell ever since! I own my actions, but if it weren’t for you, I could still be happy in my village; I had friends, a family who loved me, a role as a hunter-scholar. And one day, I would have had a wife, and we would have had fawns…” You trail off, sighing. “Now I’m forbidden to see any of those people again unless I’m there serving you.”
Bulkun shakes his head. “Vales, the wool still covers your eyes.”
He reaches forward and rubs his palm over your eyes as if wiping away whatever it is he thinks has you fooled. Then his hand slips behind your head, and he gently pulls you forward to bury your nose in his crotch. His other hand rests on your shoulder, embracing you lightly as he continues.
“When I first saw you, Vales, I knew you were the one,” he says, stroking the back of your head as the tip of his penis pokes out half an inch from your mouth.
Your eyes dart to it, and you feel your pulse quicken, but you resist the urge to wrap your lips around it.
Bulkun chuckles. “There. That right there is how I knew.”
You frown and look up at him curiously.
“You may not have known it, and I don’t know whether your Matriarch did or not, but I was watching from the tent-flap the whole time before I came in to claim you. I saw how you resisted the Matriarch’s demands, how you eventually relented. I saw how you resisted my orders, but how you have slowly been coming around. To be clear, Vales, the only time someone has forced you to do anything was when I had you lashed to the table. You giving in to the Matriarch—conceding to let her fondle your balls, to jack you off—was completely your own doing, just as you agreeing to pose, nude, in front of your whole tribe, was your own decision. I did not rip your clothes off and force you up there, Vales, nor did the Matriarch bring you bound in chains. No, Vales, ultimately, your inherent submission and devotion drove you to do as you were told.”
You shake your head fiercely. “It was a matter of honor! In my tribe, you do not disobey the Matriarch; you do not embarrass the tribe in front of foreigners. Your tribe may not understand concepts like honor and decency, but we do!”
“And here, once again, you resist, Vales,” Bulkun says with a faint smirk. “But deep down—deep down—do you really believe that?” He shakes his head. “No, Vales. You’re not resisting me now, nor were you resisting your Matriarch.” He lifts your chin and looks into your eyes. “You’re resisting yourself.”
It’s like he is probing my soul… You look away, unable to bear the vulnerability.
“It doesn’t matter what the Matriarch says or what I say, Vales. More than your respect for her or your fear or whatever it is you feel towards me, it is your fear of giving into your base desires that drives you the most. The moment you saw me, your devotion was evident. You resisted because your former tribe frowns on such targets of devotion. The moment you stood naked before your Matriarch, your devotion was evident. You fought it down without even realizing it, but I saw it. And when your Matriarch began to pleasure you, you may have told yourself that it was out of respect for her that you resisted reaching orgasm, but if it were truly about respect, you would have done what she bade you without hesitation. What does it matter if you get off if you’re commanded to do so by your Matriarch? Her will should have trumped your embarrassment, and watching the others around you, I could tell that they would not have fought her. Not even Janus, the buck whom you see as your fiercest friend. I saw him, Vales: it was your fists that were clenched when she gave the order. His were completely relaxed. He was not fighting internal demons.”
Like a worm eating its way into an apple, his words gnaw at your psyche. You try to squirm away from him, but despite his apparently gentle embrace, he holds you firmly in place.
“And when you resisted Fyrodir, it was not—as I’m sure you convinced yourself—because he had ordered you to do something or demeaned you. You did not resort to violence when Alexei ordered you to bring him an ale, but you did when Fyrodir said that all you had to do was passively take your poundings. He struck a nerve, didn’t he, Vales?”
Your throat is pinched; you can’t talk. Meanwhile, Bulkun’s penis has grown slightly and is angled just such that if it keeps growing, it will glide right past your muzzle without even touching you.
“But it wasn’t even about being passive, was it, Vales?” he continues, either oblivious to his cock’s position or sadistically blithe. “It was far worse than that.” He lowers his voice to a whisper again. “You were afraid you would like it.”
Something snaps in you, and you shove away from him, scramble backwards, and watch him fearfully.
“See?” he says, chuckling and advancing.
You feel frozen to the spot. You want to run away, but if you do, you’ll be punished. If you don’t, then—”
What if he’s right?
“No!” You shake your head violently, holding up your hands defensively to keep him away.
“Ah, Vales,” he says, shaking his head and taking another step forward, “When will you learn?”
He sighs and shrugs his shoulders. “Well, a lesson for another day, perhaps. In the meantime, fake it if you must: go through the motions, and eventually they will feel natural. And, once we reach land once more, I will give you something to make showing your devotion a little easier. But I urge you, Vales: give in to those desires! Do as you were made to do. Throw the fear and humiliation pounded into you by your former tribe out the window and into the sea; they have no place here. Embrace your role, and you will discover all the joy and fulfillment you need.”
He reaches you and once again pulls your head gently to his crotch. Your mouth waters in spite of yourself.
“But for now, come, Vales,” he says. “I will spare you any more of this kind of talk for the time being. At this moment, I want you to get up on the bed once more and lie with your back to me.”
He lets go of you, and as if in a daze, you do as he bids you, crawling up onto the bed and lying on your side. He gets up behind you, lifts your leg, and presses inside. That familiar hot, stinging feeling floods into you again.
“I want you to hold this in while you sleep, Vales,” he says as he finishes, pulls out, and lowers your leg. “Practice tightening your anus, and do not let this out until you report to me when you awaken.”
With that, he orders you to your pallet. Now full and sloshing, horny, and conflicted, you lie awake for what feels like ages before sleep finally takes you.
You awaken feeling bloated and desperate to piss. But the moment you get up, Bulkun speaks.
“Have you done as I bade you, Vales? Did you keep my mark inside all night?”
You wince. “Yes, sir,” you say. “I—master, I really need to, um…you know.”
He inclines his head towards a door on the opposite end of the stateroom from the door leading to the rest of the ship. “Let’s see how you’ve done,” he says.
Your bladder threatening to burst, you make your way to the door and open it to find a head—a ship’s toilet—behind it. Relieved, you stand and aim.
“No, Vales,” Bulkun says just as your flow starts; you stop it, gritting your teeth. “Sit down and face me.”
Is it possible to do anything in his presence without feeling humiliated by it?
You reluctantly do as told, but not too reluctantly: your bladder won’t allow for any hesitation. You sit on the pot and let your stream start again.
“Look at me while you void, Vales. I want to see whether you have done as you were told.”
At his insistence, you look him in the eye, your eyelids twitching as you fight the urge to look away, to not feel so vulnerable while in such a compromising position. Yet as the slosh of your water against the wooden walls that direct it into the sea reaches your ears and the smell of your urine and his reaches your nose, his expression goes from neutral to pleased.
“Well done, Vales,” he says as your stream finally subsides. “Now rise, turn, and bend over.”
You do as he bids, and he sniffs up under your tail.
“Very good,” he says. “It will stay with you now. Go serve the men.”
You take your leave of him and go across the ship to start your task. The moment you enter, the elk are on their feet, jostling for position.
“Whoo, the boss has marked you good!” the first one in line says, and then he proceeds to fuck you senseless.
“Ah, Vales, there you are,” Alexei says, stepping up and squatting next to you as the sailor fucks you.
“Hey, Alexei, back of the line’s over here!” someone says.
“Relax; I’m not cutting,” he replies and then returns his attention to you. “Missed you yesterday, concubine.”
“I–I’m s–sorry,” you manage through poundings. “I–I was e–exhaust–ted.”
“Well, show up today,” he replies, “Or I’ll take it as an insult.”
Twelve grueling hours later, all you want to do is crawl back onto your pallet. More than horny today, you’re just wiped out. Who knew that even passively getting fucked could be so exhausting? But, determined not to offend Alexei, you get to your feet and search the ship for him, exploring other decks and parts of the ship that you didn’t know existed. You finally find him in the cargo hold.
“Ah, there’s the concubine,” he says, wearing his trademark faint smirk. “I was getting ready to be put-out.”
“Long day,” you reply. “What is this about? I–I really want to sleep.”
“I owe you an ale,” he says. Gesturing towards the ladder, he leads and you follow him up to the steward’s room.
“Two ales, Marty,” he says to the steward.
You recognize him as he narrows his eyes at you. He was the one who the day before had gotten impatient with the sailor taking a long time and had used your mouth in the interim.
“Finally ready to wash down all that cum, eh?” he chuckles.
Your face burns, and you avert your eyes.
“Not at that point, yet, huh?” he asks, shrugging. “You’ll get there. If Bulkun is chieftain, you’ll definitely get there eventually.”
He opens the cock on a large barrel sitting next to him and precisely fills two tankards, getting the amount of ale and head exactly the same on both.
“Thanks, Marty,” Alexei says, grabbing the ales and leading you up a flight of stairs.
You look around, surprised to realize that you’re back in the quarterdeck, having come up a back way.
“You didn’t think you’d have to walk all the way across the ship to get an ale, did you?” Alexei chuckles. “With the ship rocking and rolling? Goodness, no; that would be a waste of ale, and if Bulkun hates anything, it’s waste.”
He puts the ales down on a table, and you both sit. You try your best to ignore the glances you get from the other elk in the room, chatting, playing cards, or just drinking their ales in silence.
“Here’s to you, Vales,” he says, picking up his mug.
You lift yours, and you tap your mugs together. Following his lead, you then tap your mug on the table and bring it to your lips. A slightly acrid taste hits your tongue, and you grimace and quickly remove the mug from your mouth, gagging as you force yourself to swallow the pale yellow liquid.
“First time drinking ale?” Alexei laughs. “It’s an acquired taste.”
You frown and then lean forward uncertainly. “Is this—is this piss?” you ask.
Alexei slams his mug down on the table, roaring with laughter. “Hey, mates!” he says, “Concubine here wants to know if we’re drinking piss!”
“It’s really to tell,” says a sailor.
“If it’s piss or it’s ale,” says another.
“But if it gets me drunk, oh well! Huh!” choruses everybody.
A fiddle and flute materialize out of nowhere and begin playing to the tune of seemingly innumerable hoof-beats on the wooden floor.
“What did I start?” you ask.
“It’s our new favorite tune!” Alexei replies, grinning. “Come on, lads!” he yells, holding up his mug, “Let’s teach the newbie the words!”
The shantyman, always up for a good song, started them off:
I know a pale drink—
Did it come from the sink?
The purser calls it ‘ale’ with a wink!
Not a man to whine,
I figure it’ll be fine,
And down the hatch I pour my stein.
With this, the group chimes in with the chorus, followed by a brief musical interlude:
It’s really hard to tell
If it’s piss or it’s ale,
But if it gets me drunk, oh well! Huh!
The shantyman takes over:
That first drink was rough—
Gosh, it’s frightful stuff—
As if sea-life weren’t hard enough!
I have to admit,
When I was done with it,
I found I couldn’t even sit!
The chorus starts back up, and you can’t help grinning as you join in. The song goes on for many more verses, and as you feel yourself relaxing, you notice that not only is the song catchy, it’s also a drinking game. It starts out subtly, but every time the shantyman starts singing, the sailors all tap their mugs on the last word of the first and second lines and then drink as soon as the first stanza is over. For the second stanza, they tap their mugs but don’t drink until after the chorus, while the musicians are playing. As the song progresses, the tapping gets louder, and the chorus gets more boisterous. Picking up on this, you decide to try joining in the fun.
Tap, tap, drink!
You bring the mug to your lips and take a sip, grimacing but swallowing it in time to go tap, tap, chorus—huh!—drink! It’s a bit of a challenge to time everything right, but you realize it’s a lot of fun to try, even if you do botch it a few times. And, more importantly, trying to keep up takes your mind off the awful taste. Before you know it, you’re slurring your words and moving completely out of sync to the rest of the group. Alexei winks to someone, and before you realize what’s going on, the song has abruptly changed, with the shantyman singing:
We’ve got a stout buck that we brought with us,
But though he seemed that way, he is not a wuss!
Then, everybody looking at you, they all chorus:
Fuck him in the ass, then go get him an ale,
Let’s all put him to good use as he joins our tale!
When you hear the first line, your face burns, feeling mocked, but as the song finishes, you can’t help but grin ear-to-ear. At the end, everybody holds up his mug and toasts you, and then everybody—yourself included—finishes what’s left of his ale and slams his mug down on the nearest table.
The elk all go back to doing what they were doing before, and Alexei leans over.
“It’s not all misery and humiliation,” he says, nudging your arm. “If you can learn to enjoy what you do—or at least laugh at it—then it makes things go so much easier.”
You nod, thinking back to what Bulkun said about Alexei’s positive influence on the crew. But before you can say anything, you suddenly feel a wave of inebriation wash over you as that big swig of ale suddenly hits.
“Un–un-ah-nah-na,” you manage.
Alexei shakes his head and chuckles. “Come on, Vales,” he says, effortlessly sweeping your feet out from under you and carrying you out of the room.
You wrap your arms around his neck, your eyelids heavy as he takes you to the chieftain’s stateroom.
“Alexei? What’s this?” Bulkun asks, more surprised than anything.
“Vales here had an elk-sized ale—his first,” Alexei replies with a knowing smile.
“Mm. Well, put him down on his pallet, then.”
“Go easy on him, sir,” Alexei says gently. “You don’t want to break him.”
Bulkun shrugs. “I had no intention of punishing him,” he says. “He’s supposed to take some time to relax. Here we are a day out from land, and he’s finally getting his first taste of the freedom that comes with his liberation from that—that backwards place.”
You say nothing to all of this. As Alexei lays you on your pallet, you close your eyes immediately. There’s one more thing that can be said for the ale:
When you’re drunk on it, you are not horny.
The remaining day proceeds much like the last: Bulkun uses you again, taking his time, and when he finally gets off, he tells you to report to him before you go carousing. Then it’s getting fucked in every conceivable position, sometimes two-at-a-time, but now that the sailors are beginning to see you as more than just a piece of ass, some of them begin talking to you as they or others fuck you. While it’s still a little humiliating to be talking to someone while getting your ass plowed, you’re slowly beginning to get used to it. You report back to Bulkun, who admonishes you against getting too drunk tonight; while he confirms Alexei’s statement that he hates waste, he would rather see you waste half an ale than end up wasted and of no use to anybody. You do as he tells you, drink only half an ale, and make it back to your pallet on your own two legs.
When you awaken the next day, the chieftain is not in his room. You go looking for him, but when you make it out onto the deck, you stop abruptly and stare.
In the distance, you can see land, a sandy shore pushing steeply upwards into white bluffs sprinkled with bits of green vegetation. Sitting atop those bluffs, you see something you’ve never even heard of: a real city. The buildings are made of stone and are covered with some sort of hide or maybe tree fronds. Square windows overlook the ocean, and even from this distance, you can hear the shouts of the city’s denizens.
“Ah, Vales,” the chieftain says, startling you from your amazement.
You quickly prostrate yourself at his feet, but for whatever reason, your penis chooses not to show itself. You feel a little guilty for it; you know you’re supposed to “show your devotion”, but it’s not like you can force yourself to—can you?
“Rise, Vales, and be ready to accompany me. I want you right behind me and to my right the whole way,” Bulkun says. “Stand close enough that if I wish to fondle you idly, I can.”
You move into position, feeling awkward standing so close. As you watch, the land you saw before looms larger.