Thread: streetlight swag

The barge pushed through the Indian Ocean, slicing through the water like a knife through butter. Deep blue water churned into a white color as it was circulated along the side of the ship. It was under management of Kosan Radich, known slave trader and owner around these parts. One of his reluctant slaves stood on the top of the ship, near makeshift railing that had been created by the crew. The wind and salt water bit at her mouth, nose and cheeks. She blinked to keep her eyes from drying, chocolate colored hair flowing behind her. Naila, Kosan wishes to see you. One of her new friends, Senay, stood near the stairs that disappeared to the interior of the barge. Naila turned, the wind pushing her hair forwards, a personal whip on her caramel colored skin. Nodding obediently, even though Senay was just like her, she let out a shaky breath and descended into the underground portion of the barge. Young boys and girls, like herself, sat around the perimeter of walls, knees either pulled to their chests or stretched out straight ahead of them. They were all upon the barge for the same reason, to be bought or traded. She thought the idea was ridiculous, but she did remember a few servants and slaves at her castle where she was to be queen. The thought of what had happened to her fianc, King Tapio Kitane, brought a metallic taste to her mouth. Wiping at her mouth with the tattered sleeve on her dress, which was more so a bed sheet with places cut for her head and arms, Naila knocked on Kosans door. It was thick, made of steel, and located at the end of a barren hallway. From her spot, she could see out the circular window, the waves crashing up against the outer body of the barge. What she would give to know how to swim, to be able to dive from the railing and swim to safety. Of course, she didnt know where they were and would be eaten by sharks before finding any evidence of civilization. Come in, A thick voice spoke, almost like a Scotland brogue mixed with molasses. Straightening her posture, Naila twisted the handle and applied her own body weight to move the door. She stood in the doorway, hair hanging limply below her breasts, feet bare, wearing a makeshift dress the color of mud. You called for me Master? The word stuck in her mouth like honey, trying its best to not escape past her lips until it had to. There was no way to become comfortable with the word, but as she was educated by a few of the younger individuals outside, that was the way to address Kosan Radich. He turned, wearing a black shirt and tan pants, eyebrows as thick as the beard that hung from below his lower lip. For the most part, Kosan had body large for his personality, a gentle face with too many worry lines for his apparent age. Yes, yes, close the door. Pressing her back against it, Naila forced it close and stood, trying to keep her gaze up when all she wanted to do was stare at the floor. Behind Kosan was a desk in the corner, a bed on the opposite wall, a stack of clothes on a broken chair. He approached her, hand beneath her chin to pull her focus directly to him. His eyes were the colors of emeralds, hers the color of the water surrounding the boat. She felt embarrassed and dirty her skin was freckled with dirt and dried sweat. Naila was sure she smelled also, there had not been any chance to bathe during the few days they had been aboard the vessel. Callous and experienced hands took to her waist, feeling her petite frame from beneath the oversized garment. Senay had told her that none of the slaves went long before Kosan got them into his bed. It was easy to say that she was afraid, holding her shaking legs still. There was nothing she knew about pleasing a man she had not once spread her legs for anyone. Tapio had spoken to her about it, telling her how special it would be once they were married, how he would love her like no one else did. Thinking of her perished fianc, Naila choked back a sob as Kosans hands traveled down, pulling the dress above her head. Once she was standing naked, she felt, wellnaked, exposed and her hands went to cover her breasts. He looked at her body as if he was an animal, hands roaming along her skin, pulling her hands free from her attempt at maintaining an inch of modesty. The bed, Bright green eyes flickered towards the pile of blankets, gesturing towards the mattress with an outstretched hand. Her master had not seemed to notice the pained expression on her face, and if he had, Kosan Radich must have been enjoying it. She crossed the small room, hands hanging pathetically by her side, itching to cover her exposed womanhood again. But, she didnt want to make Kosan any angrier than he possibly could. Crawling onto the mattress, Naila sat in the middle, only to have her master grab her roughly by the hips, yanking her rear towards his pelvis. P...Please, A soft murmur escaped her lips, a plead, head hanging in shame. His rough hands ran over her vagina as if he were petting a horse, fingers delving inside. He shoved her head towards the mattress, pressing her face into the mound of blankets, ass sticking straight in the air. Pirates! The cry from the top of the ship, and it sounded as if an army was running around the place. Kosan growled and paused, holding their bodies together, listening to the rampant happenings on the upper deck. Naila gripped the sheets, worrying more about the pirates finding the two in various states of undress than actually the action of having sex was Kosan. My boys will kill them, He spoke, lowly, as if it were a promise between them. There were more sounds of screaming and weighted objects landing in the water just outside of Kosan's bedroom. Kosan, please! Naila cried, her head raised to see faceless bodies floating in the water. The slave owner merely shoved her forward on the mattress and stood, admiring the scene from inside the room. He may have just figured that his own crew was taking care of business, not that he was losing them minute by minute. ---- On a usual day, the kingdom of Miribar was bustling and booming, thousands of events and things going on at once. Today, on this fateful day, the workers in the castle were off from work, encouraged to mourn the death of their prior king. Six days had passed since King Tapio Kitane's slaying, his body had been preserved in a wooden casket lined with silk. A place for him had been prepared in the cemetery, a cross erected beneath a leaning willow tree. This was certainly not his time to pass, he was meant to rule the country for years to come, creating heirs with his soon-to-be wife, Naila Makani. Nor he or Naila had been given the chance or opportunity to born heirs before his untimely death. Many citizens in Miribar blamed Naila for her fiancs death, saying that she had plotted the murder from the day they met. She had fled, and Troen Johari stated that her escape was based around the fact that she had killed their king. At first, the people of Miribar wished not to believe the words that filled their ears. They did not understand why such a sweet and polite girl could house such an evil demon beneath her skin. After she left the kingdom and the death was announced, the citizens chanted that Naila was a witch. Everyone wanted her to be burned, to be set aflame or at least punished in the way that she had killed her own love. The ending was unfortunate, but the outcome of everything that had happened was spectacular. Pieces were falling into place, uncharacteristically, and Troen had managed to off his own brother without a single person finding out. Well, except for Naila, but that was soon to be in the past now. If she set foot in Miribar again, Troen was sure that her own people would kill her before his men were able to. Hopefully, because he had sent his men to kill her in the first place, after seeing her in the doorway, a bloody knife in his hand, her eyes wide and scared. He couldn't risk her running her mouth, telling her maids and advisors what she had witnessed. At that point, Troen had ordered his men to find her and kill her, or at least cut out her tongue and slice off her fingers. She would be left mute and stupid, able to be made a mockery of by Miribar's own. To his displeasment, his hounds had returned to inform him that she had disappeared into the forest. As much as he had preferred to have her returned to him so he could take his anger out on her body like a real man, or at least put her head on stake, Troen was pleased to not have to deal with her any longer. The wretched whore would no longer be a cause of stress in his life and he could work towards being the king that his brother could never be. That started with him gaining a wife. He wished not to put the work forward, and simply requested that any girl be brought to him for marriage. His hounds did as they were asked, this time, and produced a woman, one that was more than displeased to be in his company. The two were set to wed a few days after Tapios service, Troen wanted to give his people time to mourn before celebrating their new King and Queen, and the new king was more than impatient with the entire deal. It was a very tedious process of pretending he was actually affected by his brothers death. But, truthfully, each time he stared out at the spot where his brother had been recently buried, a smile crept onto his face in secret. The color scheme in his feasting hall was the darkest of colors, blacks and grays. The women wore blackened veils over their faces, dark gloves covering their slim fingers. The males, on the other hand, were dressed in the finest garbs, as if they were always ready for a funeral opportunity to arise. They donned hats, shined shoes and even canes that clicked on the floor as they roamed around from grieving person to person. Troen was doing the same, wearing a cloak the color of coal, gray breeches and a black tunic. His left arm was tied to his torso with a cast his story was that Naila had snapped his arm when he had attempted to help his brother, along with a long scratch on his face, also supposedly from Nailas anger. The injuries permitted even more empathy from the patrons at his hosted mourning service. On the other arm was his beautiful fianc, Samosa. Seeing the two of them in each others arms gave the feeling that even the royal families were capable of feeling. Standing alongside Samosa, hand resting possessively on her hip, he chatted easily with one of the more important males attending the service. I am very sorry about your brothers passing. His voice was light, almost cocky and entirely British. Troen was surprised to not see the male sporting a female on his arm. Knowledgable, quick with words and educated, that's who the other was, and he was deemingly by himself. Yes, yes. I do not understand why my brother had to be taken from this world so quickly. He spoke solemnly, trying to play the part of the mourning brother and not the murderous king. I do promise to be the best King possible. Patting the male on the shoulder, Troen pulled Samosa closer to him and brushing her hair from her face. Murmuring in her ear, he kept his eyes on the party around them, I wish to attire to my sleeping quarters and for you to join me. Releasing her almost as quickly, he spoke his goodbyes with the males that lingered around the grand ballroom, speaking to each other about the terrible event that had occured. I am sorry to say, but I am dreadfully exhausted and must get myself to sleep before I do so on this very floor. Biding them the night, he announced that they were all free to do as they wished, stay as long as they wanted, eat the food they desired. The night was quickly approaching, so his random leave for bed would go unnoticed. The hallways were empty as he walked along them, the sounds of footsteps echoing down the abandoned corridor. Candles were lit and lined the pathway, ending in front of his room. He let himself inside, and removed his cloak, leaving it to lay upon the back of the nearest chair. His arm was throbbing, a wound that he had inflicted upon himself and blamed on Naila's doing. Leaving the bandages that pinned his arm to his torso, Troen laid down on the mattress and barely acknowledged Samosa as she entered their shared bedroom. I would like you to pleasure me, His voice sounded calm, almost tired, as he was very ready for bed. At least, until Samosa was able to get him excited.