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She stared out at the cold ocean, watching as steel-black clouds rolled across the sky. It was the first time she had ever seen so much water in one place before, even though it had only been a three day journey to sea. Three days in which she had spent bound across back of a horse, her captor’s hand playing between her legs to relieve his boredom as he and his men rode back to their ships. Three days since they had fallen upon the village she had once called home, putting all the men and any of the women they didn’t want to the sword before burning the houses. The prettier girls had been taken as prizes, forced to march behind the men who had claimed them, while the children thrown into wagons to be sold later as slaves.

Only she had been special enough to ride. The man who had toyed with her had not been the largest of the warriors, or the strongest, or the cruelest, but it was clear that he was their leader. He had personally selected her from the crowd, pulled her in front of his men and her village, then drawn his sword. For a moment she had thought he was going to cut her down as well, some sort of twisted example, but after his blade had whistled through the air the only thing to fall was her clothes, much to the delight of his men. They were even more delighted as he took her right then and there, forcing his cock into her mouth until she felt something hot and bitter spill across her tongue. Even then her humiliation was not through. Tears had filled the corner of her eyes as he threw her to the ground and mounted her the way her father’s dogs had taken the bitches when they were in heat. This was no spring-time coupling, no dalliance beneath the maypole, but a simple, brutal introduction to her knew life. Once he had finished he had tossed her the simple, ill-fitting shift she now wore. It fell constantly, exposing her breasts to the hungry gazes of his men. He encouraged their jests as a way of reminding her of her new status. She no longer even had a name. Now she was just “Bitch” or “Slut” or “Whore”, whatever they felt like calling out as they rode past.

Now as they set to loading their ships, guiding their other captives into the hold, she knelt on the coarse sand and let it run between her fingers. This would be the last time she would ever see her homeland, to have the chance to hold it’s rich earth in her hands. They were going to carry her across those merciless waves back to the land from which they had come. They would mark her with their brand, bolt an iron collar to her neck. She would be made to work his home, his farm, then be used each night in his bed until she was too broken down to be used any longer, or they found a new toy to entertain him. She knew this.

Just as she knew the dampness between her legs had nothing to do with the sea air that blew around her…