There was no sea. There were no ships. There never had been. It had been an illusion, a dream born of fever and nightmare, best left on the shoals of sleep, where all dreams founder upon waking.

 

Bright sunlight. The sound of the surf crashing and gulls calling and horkers shuffling their massive bulks across the shore. She noted them all in a distant part of her mind, but they weren’t for her. HE turned and began walking, HIS hand holding the lead to her collar in a negligent grip. She turned and followed without sound or hesitation.

 

There were patches of snow along the shore and more clung to the tops of the trees as they approached, but HE had provided warm fur boots and a fur cloak that covered her from shoulders to ankles. She did not feel the cold, even as her exposed face began to redden in the icy breeze.

 

A distant howling kicked up at the first signs of smoke over the trees. She thought at first that there must be wolves in the area but the sound didn’t seem to come from any particular direction. The wind, perhaps, forcing its way through some tight cranny. Only a tiny remnant of her recognized it as the sound of her own gibbering fear.

 

That remnant had long been silenced and could only watch in distant horror as they stepped out of the trees and the wooden buildings of the town appeared. Quaint homes and shops encircled an inlet. People walked and chatted along wooden walkways, children and small animals raced laughing through the streets. She noted them all with only brief inspection, keeping her eyes on HIS back, on the swaying silver-colored chain that linked HIS hand to her neck.

 

They approached one of the larger buildings – an inn or tavern, by the sign that hung swaying from a post in front - but instead of going inside, they pathed around to the space behind where a small empty stable stooped in the shadow of a tall pine tree. HE stopped and turned to her.

 

“Strip.”

 

Her hands moved without hesitation or thought of the frozen climate. She reached up and yanked at the cord that held the cloak in place, then caught it as it slipped off her shoulders. She folded it and held it out to HIM. Her hands shook from the cold already, but she ignored them. She reached for the first boot, but HE forestalled her as HE took the cloak. “Keep those on for now.” She stopped pulling at the boot as HE gestured behind her.

 

“Now wash.”

 

She followed HIS motion with her gaze to the empty stable and its stone trough. She shuffled forward and peered in.

 

A layer of ice covered the surface of the water, and she reached in and pushed at it. The cold seemed to burn her skin. She heard a mutter from behind her and braced herself as, from the corner of her eye, she saw HIS fist begin to swing. But the fist passed by her and smashed into the ice, sending shards and cold water into the air. She couldn’t restrain a small yelp.

 

“Wash. Don’t worry about the cold – you’ll be warmer than you probably like soon enough.”

 

She nodded and bent forward.

 

It was an awkward bath. She cupped her hands and splashed water on herself and tried to rub her skin but was only able to gather enough to turn patches of the dirt on her body wet. After a while she heard a sigh of exasperation. A moment later, a bucket appeared in the trough, then disappeared again. By the time her brain caught on to what was about to happen, the icy water was already pouring down her head and shoulders and she let out an involuntary screech from the shock.

 

The bucket sped things along, but by the time she was clean enough for HIS approval, she was quaking with the cold and her teeth chattered non-stop. She wrapped her arms around herself and matched HIS pace without hesitation as HE led them to the back door of the tavern.

 

HIS knock was met with an open door after only a few seconds, and then they stood in the blessed heat of a kitchen in full swing. The tantalizing smell of food – bread, savory spiced meats, steaming vegetables – made her mouth water and her body tremble from more than the cold. Her belly grumbled loudly for attention but she didn’t move even enough to look around.

 

A woman looked at her and laughed. “Sounds like she’s a hungry one.”

 

“She’ll eat after she’s done working. If she does her job right.”

 

“Well, let’s see to that, shall we? I have the ointment I told you about. Here.” The woman turned and grabbed a small container from the table. “Just spread that on her bits and you won’t have any complaints.”

 

“Obliged.” HE took the container and opened it, then took a sniff. “Lavender?”

 

“Well, you don’t want her smelling bad down there, do you?”

 

“I suppose not.” HE turned. “Present.”

 

Hours of tortuous training took over. She turned and dropped to her knees, then bent forward until her arms cradled her head on the floor as she lifted her ass, spread her legs, and arched her back.

 

“You’ve got this one well trained. Impressive.”

 

She heard HIM grunt a response but her mind was too distracted to hear what HE said because it was dealing with the sudden wet sensation of HIS fingers slathering something wet and slippery all through her folds and then dipping deep inside her.

 

It was far different from HIS usual forceful entry. So used to HIS heaving size was she that even when HE switched from her cunt to her ass and HIS long fingers pushed into her, they barely registered on her consciousness.

 

Finally the probing fingers left her and HE commanded her to stand.

 

She thought she would have more time, a few moments to process what was about to happen, to prepare herself in whatever way she might have imagined she could, but the transition happened with a suddenness that left her no time to think – one moment they were in the kitchen, the next she was grunting on her hands and knees in the busy common room as a cock entered her from behind.

 

It was a very different experience from her training in the cave. That had been many things, most of which her mind blocked the moment they tried to call themselves into her memory, but it had at least been personal.

 

This was anything but personal. She was dimly aware of the sounds of the tavern – voices shouting and laughing as a circle of them waited their turn, the more distant hubbub of voices from others who were doing other things, a bard who sang occasionally to light applause. She did not have time or energy to devote to anything except what was placed in front of her.

 

Which was a wide variety of cocks – their shapes were more or less the same but they differed in hue and size, not to mention smell and taste. Although after a while she no longer noticed details like these. Almost as soon as one had emptied its load into her, another took its place, so it was almost like having just a single cock in her mouth all night – it just changed size from time to time.

 

Her other end had a similar experience, broken up only by the occasional slide into her ass instead of her cunt. Even the pain of men shoving their way with forceful heaves into what was meant to be an egress was subsumed over time by an overarching pall that settled on her early and only deepened as the night wore on.

 

It was like a heavy translucent blanket covered her, blocking out all sensation except what was in her immediate vicinity. She was no longer aware of the room, could barely make out the endlessly changing faces that stood in front of her. There was only this moment, this heartbeat, this cock that she stroked and sucked and begged to come. She could feel the other one shoving and grinding at her far end, but even that seemed like a distant sensation.

 

The very short moments where the action ceased and she was allowed to lap water like a dog from a bowl were not the balm she might have thought – they only gave her moments where her focus widened, where time kicked back into motion, when she once again became aware of the buzzing room and the people around her. Of her own body, naked and splayed so that every part of her was open and available, all her secrets unlocked and put on display.

 

Though she felt no shame – or, rather, her shame was swallowed as quickly as it appeared by the same void that removed anything save what she needed for survival - she began to hate the breaks the most, those moments when she was allowed to think. It was at those times when she could nearly hear the tiny voice locked deep in her recesses. A voice she could not afford to hear, for were it to rekindle even a spark of the fire she had lost (no, that she had never had, it was all a dream, a hopeless dream of things that never existed), her entire self would be undone in moments. She found herself grateful when the cocks resumed their endless cycle, giving her the chance to fall with relief back into the darkness of the shroud.

 

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