Before I get started, I just want to apologize to all those readers who have stuck with this story so patiently; I'm sorry that it's taking so long. And for those who want to know why we don't see more of Tara Fields, our nominal heroine, or why we haven't even met the "Jungle Queen" herself yet, I can only promise you that I haven't forgotten them; there is much more to come, and they will both be featured prominently. Unfortunately, the next chapter after this one (which is nearly done) doesn’t feature either of them! Bear with me, though, OK?
Slave Ship.
The phrase would be a disquieting one for any woman. For Brenda King, generations of racial misery made her feel as though every syllable was a knife in her guts.
The small cabin that she and Chase Carpenter shared was spartan, but reasonably comfortable, with two beds, and a small sofa next to a table piled with recent magazines; the effect was not unlike some mad doctor’s waiting room.
The bathroom, however, was markedly different. Though the furnishings were polished chrome and steel, rather than porcelain and glass (probably to reduce suicide attempts, Brenda thought glumly), the assortment of linens and cosmetics would have done the most fashionable salon proud. Like cattle being fattened for the kill, she thought: the extreme indulgence given to their personal appearance underscored exactly what they were doing here.
It surprised her, how quickly they had succumbed to their new situation. Maybe it was the massive show of force, with armed pirates dotting every corner of the ship; it might also have been Mandy’s blithe assurances that she was all that stood between them and the depraved attentions of Bolton; Brenda suspected that their food was being drugged, too.
Whatever it was, Brenda and Chase had settled numbly into a routine made up of equal parts terror and boredom. They slept late, something Brenda had never done; it was one reason she suspected the drugs, but she had to admit that she had never had less reason to want to awaken in the morning.
Brenda’s first thought had been to refuse to eat, or tend to her appearance as they wanted; it was quickly made clear, though, that her young companion would be held accountable for any disobedience on her part, and Brenda caved in. Now, every morsel of the (admittedly excellent) food tasted like utter defeat.
The one luxury they had been denied was clothing. The first night, Mandy had made it clear that she expected to see their garments piled on the floor the next morning, and that they should not expect them to be replaced. “You get once chance,” she had smirked, “the boys are going to see you nude for the whole trip; it’s your choice whether they strip you or you do it yourselves.” Neither woman had any doubts about Mandy’s seriousness, and the next morning found them watching as their last, flimsy bits of dignity were taken away and trashed. The collars they were allowed to keep.
After that, it seemed to Brenda that Chase’s spirits grew ever duller and more defeated; the pirates clearly regarded the viewing of naked women as one of the “perks” of their job, and there was not the slightest attempt to hide the leering grins; in fact, there was often a casual indifference to the women’s plight that was, in its own way, even more brutal.
The worst part of the routine was the daily “constitutional”. On the first morning after their capture, after they had eaten and showered, the metal door to their prison opened, and Mandy, flanked by four of her armed thugs, greeted them brightly.
“Hi, y’all. How was breakfast?” Obviously expecting no reply, she breezed on. “Well, you gals can’t lollygag in here all day… don’t want you all pasty and lumpy for our customers—gotta get yer exercise. So, what say we have a bit of dancin’?” She tossed two pairs of slippers at her captives' feet. "Put 'em on."
Chase’s lip trembled as she stammered, “D-d-dance?”
Brenda felt a stirring in her spine. “Hush, Chase,” she whispered. Something… something she had read about in school… she knew what was coming. She picked up one of the slippers. “Do as they say.”
“ I just KNEW you were the smart one!” Mandy chirped at Brenda, as she watched the two women put on the slippers. “Boys—“
At her word, two of the men stepped further into the cabin; each was holding what looked like a set of leather straps. A shaggy Oriental began to advance on Brenda, grinning; to her surprise, the African pirate she had noticed earlier interposed his huge bulk, glaring at his compatriot. The Oriental shrugged, and turned instead to Chase, grinning widely.
“Hands, pretty girl.” Dumbly, Chase held her arms out, and the pirate encircled her dainty wrists in cuffs of soft, supple leather. Brenda noticed that what she had taken to be simple cuffs in fact included an arrangement of straps that formed a sort of harness.
“Now, honey,” Mandy was smiling at Chase. “These little beauties can be nice and comfy, like this, or…” she nodded at the pirate, who spun Chase around, and yanked her arms up behind her painfully… “or they can be really nasty, like this!”
“Aaahhhhhhh!” Chase’s whimper made Brenda take a furious step forward; the black pirate simply stepped in front of her, blocking her way.
“Whaddya say, sweetie?” Mandy was smiling into Chase’s tearing eyes. “You prefer comfy?”
“Leave her alone--” This time, a huge dark hand descended on Brenda’s shoulder, cutting off her protest; its grip powerful, irresistible… but not actually painful.
“Please…” wailed Chase… “I’ll be good.” Mandy gave a satisfied nod to the Oriental pirate, who proceeded to fasten the leather straps to Chase’s wrist cuffs. He allowed her arms to hang loosely at her sides, then tightened the straps, belting the harness around her waist. Her arms were immobilized, her wrists fastened to the side of her waist, but at least she was spared the agony of having them strapped up behind her. More straps went up over her shoulders, and crossed in front of her chest; Brenda noted that the harness had several buckles and fasteners that were not being used, and she grimly imagined just how miserably restrictive the device could be if their captors chose. After he finished, the pirate lewdly brushed the tips of his fingers across Chase’s bare breasts, and there were giggles at the sight of Chase’s futile attempt to raise her hands to protect herself.
The huge hand left Brenda’s shoulder, followed by a deep grunt of “Now, you.” Brenda held her hands out toward her hulking captor; as he fitted the leather about her wrists, his calloused fingers showed the gentleness of a man whose strength is such that he has no need to demonstrate it. She tried to look him in the eye, but he was so much taller that he avoided her gaze easily. His big hands nearly encircled her waist as her wrists were bound to her body, as Chase’s had been. Brenda felt a strange chill as he snugged the harness just beneath her breasts; the large fingers seemed to linger for an extra moment, then returned to fastening the harness. When he was done, he stood just behind her shoulder, frustrating Brenda’s desire to see his face.
“All right, girls… just one more tiny detail.” Mandy was holding more of the webbed leather in her hands; these appeared to be smaller harnesses, and the gleam in Mandy’s eye made it all too clear what she intended with them.
“Please,” Brenda kept her voice low and calm. “We’ve already promised to do as you ask. That’s not necessary.”
Brenda had scarcely finished the last word when her head snapped back as Mandy gave her a full, open-palm slap on the cheek. Was it her imagination, or did the massive black form next to her stiffen at that?
“My merchandise giving me backtalk?” snorted Mandy. “I’d sure say these are necessary!”
Brenda glared, furious at herself. Why had she imagined the bitch would listen?
Mandy stood before her, holding the harness right under Brenda’s nose; at this distance, she could clearly see the leather pad that she would soon be tasting.
“Now, Oprah darling,” the slaver sneered, “since you feel like opening that big mouth of yours… let’s see you! Nice and wide.” Wiry fingers snaked into Brenda’s hair, yanking her head down and back. Common sense told her to go along, and not give her captors the satisfaction of watching her struggle; but, to Mandy’s amusement, fear and anger won out as Brenda fought to keep the pad from her mouth. Of course, the pain in her scalp soon defeated her efforts, and she felt as foolish as she did angry when the foul-tasting leather pad was jammed between her teeth, and her grinning captor fastened the straps around her head, buckling the gag firmly. Brenda choked; she could already feel herself beginning to drool around the leather plug. It was clear that the gag was more for her discomfort than her silence.
“There.” Mandy patted Brenda on the cheek, and made an exaggerated gesture of wiping saliva off her fingers. “Eww—icky.” Exhausted, defeated, Brenda let her head droop, but felt her chin seized in bony fingers, and Mandy hissed into her face, “That’s right, bitch. Every time you tell yourself that you can’t be broken… I’ll find one more way of showing you just how WRONG you are!” The mad blue eyes drilled evilly into Brenda’s for a moment, then Mandy moved on.
Mandy approached the trembling Chase, now, clearly savoring the girl’s terror. She ran her fingers through the smooth dark hair, smirking at the helpless squirms this produced in her captive. Chase’s lips quivered as she tried to open her mouth wide enough to suit her captor, but Mandy gave a fierce yank on the hair, anyway, and forced the gag between the fine, white teeth, silky tresses catching in the fastenings.
Leashes were fastened to the captives' collars, and Mandy led the strange parade of pirates and prisoners up on deck. They stepped out into the blazing sun, and Brenda realized that, without the slippers, the hardwood deck would blister their bare feet. As her eyes adjusted to the brightness, Brenda could see that the deck was ringed with Janos' men; from the looks on their faces, they were expecting to be entertained.
Brenda's attention was caught by movement from another darkened stairway: two of Janos' priates were dragging a stumbling, naked blonde, bound and gagged just as she was-- Jennifer Templeton. Her… well, “former” boss, Brenda realized, now… (there was no real chance they would ever see that office again, she admitted to herself).. her former boss was moaning under her gag: a low, distracted humming sound. There was a vagueness in the ice-blue eyes, and a cringe in her posture. They've beaten the defiance out of her. Once, Brenda would have thought that a fine thing.
Mandy was standing to one side, now, before a huge boom box. The pirates grinned as the captives stared, confused.
“All right, girls. Time to ‘work it on out!’” At that, she reached over and punched a button, starting a tape playing through the enormous speakers. A blast of trebly guitars hit Brenda’s ears, and she winced in pain at the volume; a moment later, she yelped into her gag as the pain shifted to her thigh—Mandy had cracked the whip sharply against Brenda’s skin.
“C’mon, Miss Cocoa—lift those legs! Here we go, now---“ Mandy began swinging her hips in time to the music—“You shake it to the left, you shake it to the right—higher, girls—knees up, kick!” Another biting kiss from Mandy's whip, and Brenda found herself raising her legs in an obscene can-can.
"That's right, ladies--" Mandy punctuated this with a crack of the whip across Chase's bare buttocks-- "nothing like a little dancing to keep the merchandise in trim."
Merchandise, again. Brenda remembered the stories. How, in the days of the slave trade, the slaves had been brought out on deck, in their chains, and made to dance, to keep them in prime condition for their new owners. The sailors would watch, just as these bastards were watching today. Salt stung her eyes, tears and sweat mingling. She had always thought she understood the misery that was part of her heritage; how wrong she had been. No one could understand this humiliation without having experienced it. Brenda was now a slave; chattel to be disposed of as her new owner would have it.
“We need to up the tempo a bit, I’d say.” Mandy popped out the tape, and prepared to insert another.
Brenda’s chest heaved as breath rasped desperately past her gag. She hadn’t even taken a full breath when the next song screeched out of the speakers.
“C’mon, now—Ohhhhh, Daddy was a preacher, Momma was a go-go girl… Kick those legs, bitches! That's it, blondie-- jiggle for the boys!"
Through the haze of pain and shame, Brenda could see the men appraising the tortured dancers. There was something in the eyes… these men weren't even aroused by the sight of naked women, breasts bouncing to the music-- they'd seen it all before. What they were savoring was the women's degradation. One pair of eyes, in particular, gazed back at her with a terrifying cruelty: the pasty-faced Bolton smirked, as if to say, You think this is bad…
After half an hour, Mandy had turned the women back over to the pirates, to be returned to their quarters. Exhausted, Brenda didn't even speak to Chase once their gags were removed; she simply pulled the covers over her head, and retreated into a blackness that she wished desperately would claim her forever.
As with most things on the nightmare voyage, though, Brenda found herself gradually getting used to the exercise routine;Mandy's promise to break her gave Brenda the strength to refuse to be beaten. Instead, she forced herself to act as though this ordeal was somehow "normal", simply another of life's trials to be endured. This had the effect of not only infuriating Mandy, but of intriguing some of the pirates, who were more accustomed to the sort of terror that Chase Carpenter continued to exhibit. In particular, Brenda noticed that the massive black pirate now seemed to have the sole responsibility of bringing them their food each day, and seeing to their other needs.
"Well, you know why that is," Chase gave the first laugh Brenda had seen from her in the two weeks they had been on the ship.
Brenda felt her cheeks grow hot. "I'm sure this is just another assignment to him."
"Oh, sure. You know, the first week, we saw a different one of the bastards each meal; now it's usually just him. It's not a coincidence-- it's his idea, and I doubt any of those other pigs would dare to try and tell him 'No'. And from the look of it, I doubt you'd tell him 'No' either."
Brenda didn't answer. She wished she could scoff at Chase's assertion, but she still vividly remembered the touch of that huge hand on her shoulder. And what if there is something there? Do I accept it? Or do I owe it to Chase and Jennifer to use it as a means to escape?
There was no question that there was "something" there-- by the beginning of the third week, the huge man had begun to speak to Brenda occasionally, in a lilting French accent. He gave her no name, and for the time being she preferred not to ask. Instead, she let him talk as he would, gleaning such information about their situation as she could.
By the end of the second week, Brenda could sense a difference in the air, the sky around them. She reasoned that this must have something to do with approaching land. She didn't ask her new admirer directly, but as he delivered their lunch, he did confirm that they would, indeed, be ashore the next day.
"And you girls will have company," one of the African's fellow slavers giggled. Brenda dared not ask him to elaborate, but for the next few hours, the pirates were busily preparing equipment of some type, outfitting themselves for some sort of shore-bound expedition. Brenda finally worked up the nerve to ask the huge African just what was going on, and what was to become of herself and the others.
His reply was a grunt. "You will be kept at compound; wait for buyers. We go to find other women."
Brenda swallowed heavily, having nearly allowed herself to forget just what this huge man did for a living. Before she could even formulate a response, the man turned away. After he locked the door behind him, Brenda could still hear him in the hallway, exchanging words with some of the other pirates.
"B…Brenda…" Chase stammered. She, too, had been reminded of the acute danger of their situation.
"Shhhh." Brenda leaned against the door, desperately hoping to hear something useful. After a few moments, she stepped away from the door.
"What did they say?" Chase whispered.
"Not much," Brenda sighed. "Nothing he hadn't already told us. Just one thing I hadn't hear before. I think it was a name. They were talking about someone named Ayesha."
"Who's she?"
"Damned if I know," Brenda shrugged.
"Well, whoever she is, I guess she's in big trouble."