Danielle's Dark & Dirty Dreams #2 The Wench

Danielle's Dark & Dirty Dreams #2 The Wench

Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Status: Finished

Genre: Erotica


Another of Danielle's dark fantasies about wicked pirates and helpless maidens. Danielle imagines herself as a young tavern wench who has fallen into the hands of a notorious pirate captain.


Another of Danielle's dark fantasies about wicked pirates and helpless maidens. Danielle imagines herself as a young tavern wench who has fallen into the hands of a notorious pirate captain.


Submitted: October 18, 2018

A A A | A A A


Submitted: October 18, 2018



Danielle's Dark & Dirty Dreams

#2 The Tavern Wench

“Is this better for you, wench?” asks the ship’s captain, as he tears my bodice open, freeing my breasts from their tight prison.

I immediately regret complaining about my stained dress. The captain isn’t the least bit interested in the state of my clothes, and I realise he is about to resolve my problem by simply ripping them from my body. I cringe at the closeness of his body. His strong manly smell from the sweat on his bare chest competes with the reek from those around me. Not that the smell around us seems to bother the captain as he kneads my breasts and pinches my nipples. I feel ashamed that his attentions are making my nipples as hard as iron.

One-eyed Jack is no stranger to me, nor are many of the crew of the Red Hawk. Captain Jack’s a frequent patron of the inn where I work ... or rather, worked. I’ve a horrible feeling I’ll never see the Banded Parrot Inn again. Nobody knows for certain how the inn acquired its name, since there are no parrots, banded or otherwise, native to my home country. The inn is more commonly known as the Dead Parrot.

Working for Groat at the Dead Parrot would never be any girl’s first choice of employment. But he at least provided me with a home and work when I had neither. For six years I’ve waited tables and served drinks at the Dead Parrot. The inn is always popular with sailors and dock workers who frequent the bustling harbour nearby. They aren’t the most gentile of people, particularly towards the serving wenches. Being slapped, spanked, groped and fondled all go with the territory. I’ve lost count of the number of hand jobs and blow jobs I’ve given kneeling on the floor under one of the tables.

Groat left it up to me to decide whether I joined the girls upstairs. They provide the inn’s wealthier customers with more intimate services than I can provide under the tables in the public bar. I’ve been tempted at times when business is slow and the tips from waiting tables have been meagre. But I’ve stood my ground, waiting for my dashing hero who will sweep me off my feet and take me away to exotic lands. Now it looks like I’m off to some exotic land, but not in the style that I dreamed about.

For the last three days I've been held in this ship's hold with about fifty other prisoners. I and eight others were arrested on the orders of Prince Ethelred for the crime of witnessing the murder of his father by the prince’s bodyguard. I don't know why some of the others are here, or why we have been moved onto this ship rather than being kept in the castle dungeon awaiting trial. I'm no stranger to discomfort, but sitting shackled to all these other people is demanding on both my muscles and my nostrils. The stench of the human misery locked in this hold is almost unbearable.

The man sat to my right, Harris, was drunk when we boarded. He’s sober now, and in a very unhappy mood. Since he can't lash out at our captors, Harris is making life a misery for me and young Margaret who is chained on the other side of him. The serving girls at the Parrot know him as ‘Groper Harris’. He's run his hands over me a dozen or more times since we boarded this ship. Margaret has had to endure worse, although that’s partly her own fault. She should have let Harris grope her. Now he thinks she’s playing hard to get and he’s determined to fuck her at every opportunity.

The captain is making an inspection of his cargo when I take the opportunity to complain about my dress. I know better than to complain about Harris as he will only take his revenge on me later. Still, my futile complaint about my dress must have some effect on the captain.

“This hold stinks,” says the captain to the three sailors standing guard over us. “Get this lot on deck and clean them up. Then detail some of them to scrub their filth out of my ship’s hold.”

The sailors don't seem very enthusiastic about carrying out the captain’s order, but they nevertheless do as they are told. Because of the cramped conditions in the hold, moving us all on deck is no easy task. We are all shackled to one long chain which has become tangled as some of the captives have tried to move about. It takes the best part of half an hour to get us all on deck.

I thought our conditions were bad in the hold, but they pale into insignificance compared to the plight of the poor girl chained to the mast. The girl is naked and exposed to the lustful stares of the sailors while they work. But I can’t spare long worrying about her because our coffle of prisoners is lined up facing the ocean and we are told to strip. Many refuse, but I’m not one of them. After Harris threw up his last flagon of beer all over Margaret and I on our first day in the hold, my soiled clothes are a burden which I’m glad to be rid of for a while. The sailors don’t force the unwilling prisoners and simply throw buckets of seawater over us, clothed or not.

“Unlock every fifth one in the coffle and send them into the hold to clean up their mess,” orders Captain Jack to the sailors. “And watch them carefully! They’re each worth more than your sorry hides in Puskin’s slave markets.”

It’s the first time many of us realise that we aren’t simply prisoners, but that we are about to be sold as slaves in one of the most notorious flesh markets in the world. It comes as a great shock to us all. A couple of women resort to wailing, while several men complain and vent their anger. I let the captain know my own feelings on the subject in no uncertain terms. Perhaps that wasn’t the wisest thing to do in my current situation and Captain Jack takes particular notice of me.

“And bring the mouthy blond to my cabin,” snaps the captain, unnecessarily pointing to me. Even the dimmest sailor must know who the captain means.

I don’t know whether to count myself as lucky or not. My position in the coffle means that I’m one of those the captain ordered to be sent into the hold to clean up. Harris ends up going in my place; something which he’ll undoubtedly look for recompense later. I grab my clothing and allow myself to be frogmarched naked into the captain’s cabin at the stern of the ship. I hold my clothes to my chest so as to protect my modesty, although in reality it is only a token resistance. I’m made to wait under guard for ten minutes until the captain arrives.

“I’ve seen you in the Dead Parrot,” comments Captain Jack when he enters his cabin. “Your name’s Judy or Trudy or something like that.”

“Ruby,” I say.

“So what crime did you commit, Ruby? Stealing, I bet.”

“No. I was a witness to a murder,” I reply defiantly, knowing it won’t make any difference to my fate.

“An unusual crime,” says Captain Jack.

“Not when the murderer was a prince and the victim a king,” I reply.

“Hah! I wondered where Ethelred found the fifty slaves he paid me. A neat way to silence witnesses to his wrongdoings, and a quick way to stamp out any dissenting voices to his new reign. I see we have a few sons and daughters of those who opposed Ethelred’s involvement in the government while he was still a prince.”

“Which proves we are all innocent of any crime. You must help us.”

“Help you? What a novel idea. I must think about this interesting development.”

“What are you going to do about our plight?”

“If you mean, am I going to let you all go free? Then no. I’m considerably out of pocket for involving myself in your little war against Mathias. You are my means of recovering my costs ... and a handsome profit as well, of course. But the situation does present a few alternatives to simply selling you all in Puskin’s markets. Selling fifty young slaves all at the same time is bound to depress the price.”

“You pirate!” I growl. “You peddle in human flesh for your own profit. Don’t you have any morals?”

“A pirate? Yes. A peddler in human flesh? Yes again. Morals? I have morals, but none which stand in the way of making a good profit. I’m a rogue and a scoundrel, and I’m proud of it. And you, my pretty wench could be worth a great deal of money to me if we can train you to curb your tongue. I bet you’d fetch almost as much as the girl chained to the mainmast.”

I’m at a loss for words. This man clearly intends to sell me like a piece of cargo. Unfortunately that’s probably all I am to him.

“So why have you brought me into your cabin?” I ask, fearing that I might know the answer.

“There is no need for you to suffer the discomforts of the hold during our journey.”

“Are you inviting me into your bed?” I ask, getting straight to the point of this conversation. “Your bed-warmer? Is that my only alternative?”

“Well, the foremast is unoccupied,” muses the captain. “You could join my beautiful Emerald in enjoying the fresh sea air while chained to a mast. But personally I’d like to give you a good ploughing. You obviously need one.”

“You’re not very good as a slaver if you deflower a maiden before selling her,” I say, knowing that a nubile virgin fetches a good premium in any slave market. A moment later my brain catches up with my mouth. I silently curse myself for my hasty words. It would serve the captain right if he lost some of his profit from my sale. Besides, he’s right. I do want to feel a man’s cock reaming my innards and I’m sure the captain is amply endowed to perform the task to my satisfaction.

“A maiden?” replies the captain in surprise. “Are you saying that you are a virgin? I didn’t think such a thing existed at the Dead Parrot. You had better not be lying. You wouldn’t like the consequences if you are.”

“I’m not lying,” I reply, pleased that I’ve disturbed the captain’s arrogant air of confidence.

“Well it’s the mast or the hold then,” replies the captain, seemingly content to accept my word about my virginity.

“Not much of a choice,” I reply. “Being chained naked to a ship’s mast, or lying in filth and squalor in the hold.”

“Naked? I didn’t say anything about you being naked? Why does every woman on this ship want to take off her clothes? I have enough trouble getting my men to keep their minds on their work without the sight of naked women confusing their simple minds.”

“Um ... Err ... I ...,” I stammer, realising my mistake.

“Hold or mast?” demands the captain.

“Mast,” I reply weakly, not able to contemplate any more time spent shackled next to Groper Harris in the hold.

To my mind I’ve chosen the lesser of two evils. We can’t be far from Puskin, so I won’t have to endure the indignity for too long. What I didn’t know at the time, of course, is that the ship is no longer sailing towards Puskin. The opportunity to ransom some of the captives back to their families is a much more profitable deal from One-eyed Jack’s point of view. A change of plan that requires a diversion in our route and an additional stop before Puskin.

For several days I endure being chained naked to the foremast, while Emerald remains shackled to the mainmast. Despite my wretched situation, I’m sure that being locked in the hold in this sweltering heat is much worse. Evening is my most challenging time, as the captain regularly chooses to take liberties with his two mast-bound captives before going for his dinner.

Emerald always gets the first turn. She’s obviously never taken a man’s cock in her mouth before this journey, so the captain decides that it would please him to have her practise with him. The look of delight on Emerald’s face when he finally spills his seed down her throat is a relief for all three of us. The captain gets to empty his balls, Emerald achieves a milestone in her sex education, and I finally get my turn.

The captain is very careful not to deflower his two virgins before selling us. For Emerald, her mouth is the receptacle of Jack’s lusty attentions. For me it’s my arse. I’ve never taken a man’s cock up my arse before and I’m not in a rush to experience one there. But I don’t get the choice and I’m hardly in a position to refuse.

Fortunately for me, Captain Jack has some consideration for the practicalities of what’s involved. A cruel man would simply use his cock to rip my tight hole wide open. The captain’s patient approach means that I must endure the humiliation of having a wooden plug shoved up my arse during the day. Each day a thicker plug is used which has the effect of stretching my sphincter. Finally the captain decides that my arsehole is wide enough to accommodate his cock.

To my surprise, he doesn’t bother unchaining me from the mast to perform the deed. I end up in an incredibly uncomfortable position with my ankles resting on his shoulders. I can’t see what he is doing, but I can sense that he’s preparing to push his cock into my waiting hole. The mast pushing hard against my shoulders is making me dizzy with pain. If only I could stop the bells from ringing in my head.

“Danielle! Stop daydreaming and answer the phone,” comes Sally’s loud voice from the kitchen.

“Oh! Sorry,” I mumble as I come back to reality and I run to answer the telephone. Captain Jack and the slave markets of Puskin will have to wait for another time.

[The end]

Another fantasy to follow. Comments welcome.

© Copyright 2019 Rachael Jane. All rights reserved.

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