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From: Toran Tarsus <valeria_posts@yahoo.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} ASSM [Pirate]:  The Oarlock Tier -- Valeria (slave, galley slaves, pseudo historical fantasy, NC, con, viol)
Date: Wed,  9 Jul 2003 08:10:02 -0400
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The Oarlock Tier

By Valeria

Copyright (c)  2002, 2003 by the author.  

Electronic copying for normal UseNet propagation, and
archiving at free services, including ASSTR and
google, is specifically granted.  One copy in hardcopy
or electronic, for personal enjoyment, is allowed. 
Other uses are prohibited, without permission from the
author.  

I welcome your comments.  Please write to me at
valeria_writes at yahoo dot com.  A human being should
be able to figure that address out, I hope no spambots
will be able.  :)

This is adult material with sexual content, violence,
fantasy, and is not presented as historically accurate
to any culture on any planet in reality.  

Please enjoy, and write me with your comments!  

--Valeria


--***
She never knew whether she displeased her master, or
whether he tired of her, or just wanted to experiment
-- or perhaps, desired to be rid of her, but did not
wish to waste the money to have a mere pleasure slave
executed. Whatever the reason, the chief eunuch
ordered her to accompany the guards, who conducted
her, collared, lightly chained, but otherwise naked,
to the Warf.  They then threw her down the hatch of
one of the master's warships, to the oarlock tier, for
the enjoyment and use of the galley slaves.  

These hopeless men used her harshly, passing her,
screaming and bleeding, from one man to another. 
Fucking her mercilessly, covering her with sperms,
dragging her through the filth of that living hell. 
She did not expect to live long, when she had any
consciousness to spare to consider her miserable
chances.  There were 40 oars to a side, each with a
gigantic slave chained to it.  Convicts, ruined
slaves, monstrosities unfit even for service in the
mines, these were the lowest of the low, living in
their own dung, les than draft animals.  And, she was
their plaything.  

Even as she suffered, she noticed that those who
seemed to be living better, not thriving, but clearly,
likely to survive more than a few weeks in this hole,
were barbarians like herself.  Some were the ebony
skinned ones from the ultimate south, while others
were like her, fair of skin, and light of hair.  But,
the men of imperial origin in this place looked on the
verge of death, and most just passed her on, unable to
use a girl to gain pleasure anymore.  Living dead, she
realized.  

She was saved by a complete accident.  The squadron
was called to quarters, and the slaves bent to the
oars, moving in time to the beat of a wooden mallet
upon a drum.  No one had time for her, and she lay,
forgotten, between the benches.  She felt the ship
move, and felt it roll as it headed out beyond the
breakwater.  

At cruise, the oars were shipped, for a time, and
still she was ignored. Apparently, the entire crew,
even miserable oar slaves, were on alert, an enemy was
near.  And, so, she lived.  

When battle was joined, she had recovered somewhat,
and fetched water for the men.  She helped dole
out their disgusting gruel, and she accepted, with
gratitude, the drops and drips that fell her way.  

By this time, her lovely skin was as filthy as theirs,
but miraculously, her long golden blonde hair was
still recognizable as hair, and still retained its
color.  The slaves accepted her as a helper, more than
tolerating any human contact in this awful place.  If
she was to be raped to death, it would be later.  For
the moment, she was an odd part of that desperate,
chained crew. 

Battle joined.  She saw the drivers, cruelly whipping
the straining slaves to greater effort as the drumbeat
kept up an inhuman quickstep.  It amazed her that men
could row that fast, and even more that they could
keep it up for so long!  She had forgotten, until now,
that in battle, men often struggled as hard for as
long.  But, she saw, these straining slaves were, for
the most part, barbarian warriors, fallen to this low
estate.  She had been in battle, when she had been
free, when she had been a shield maiden, and her body
well remembered the burning lungs, the screaming
muscles...

The great galley rammed something, and the sound of
splintering beams and the screams of men came loudly
over the water.  The drum beat differently, and the
slaves backed oars, accompanied by more groaning and
screeching of bronze ram and timbers, and, she
realized, the inhuman screams of men.  As she rushed
back and forth, fetching water to drink and to douse
over the heads of the sweating slaves, she glanced out
through an oarlock port -- straight into a vision of
hell.  

She saw another ship, on whose side she did not know,
afire, and the straining forms of screaming men
running, jumping, and writhing in the flames.  Being
at the water level, she saw the doomed chained slaves,
screaming as the flames, and then the water, took them
to Valhalla.  She hoped it was enemy, for the sight
made the blood sing again in her ears, the lust and
life to roar through her.  

Then, arrows flew in through the opposite side, and
rowers screamed and groaned as their bodies sprouted
shafts.  Fortunately, the blast only lasted a few
minutes, before distance or angle made further
slaughtering flights of such deadly archery possible
from the opposing ship.  

She scuttled to aid the wounded men, staunching blood,
using all of the woundcraft she had learned, long ago,
in battle as a warrior's aid in the frozen North.  She
did not realize it, but she was probably the most
skilled surgeon aboard, with true combat experience,
and she saved more than one life.  She also comforted
more than one dying man, a naked, soft, feminine
presence in his final extremity.  

The drivers shipped or cut the oar of any dead or
wounded slave, and slightly crippled, the ship swung
again, this time with full tailwind, and attacked
again. 

This time, she had time to attain full, slave-groaning
speed, for only a few heartbeats before again, the
shriek of timbers parting before a bronze ram reached
her ears, and the ship shuddered, stem to stern, under
the mighty impact.  Perhaps the tail wind, perhaps the
fear of more arrows in the rowers, perhaps the skill
of the helmsman, slicing into and through the stern of
the enemy, turned it this time.  But, there was no
"backoars" order this time, the ship sliced clean
through its foe, and horrified, she saw the
cross-section of the enemy vessel, astonished, doomed
slaves looking straight into her eyes, as they shot
past.  She had no doubt a ship cut in two would not
linger long on the surface, and that Poseidon would
take many sacrifices from that crew!  

She realized that her ship was like a lance, probing
and thrusting out the life of enemies, and her heart
again sang with battle lust.  Clearly, the other 
Northerners, slaves like her, felt the same, for she
saw the wonderful madness in their eyes, heard their
great breaths.  

As quickly as that, the battle was over.  Smaller
craft moved in, to pickup survivors, take plunder,
take galley slaves from enemy survivors.  Her ship,
once clear of the wreck, easily rode off, the slaves
now resting, oars shipped, and the screams of the
frantic, drowning enemy crew fading into the
distance.  They returned leisurely to port.  The
master expected, once the damage was repaired, the
dead slaves replaced, the rape to begin again.  

But, the galley slaves would not now rape their
angel.  Of course, being a barbarian girl,
they happily fucked her, often.  She slept on the
benches, entwined with her lovers.  

The master took note, and also took note of the
improved behavior of the slaves on that ship of his,
among the many of his squadron.  He was a calculating,
intelligent man, a good captain, a leader, a warrior
of great and deserved repute.  

When battle signaled again, she prepared to carry
water, to nurse the wounded, and to comfort the dying
again.  And, in the first, light engagement, she did
just that, although as they pushed through a decoy
screening squadron of light galleys, there were no
wounded or dying.  

The decoy squadron, however, masked a much larger
fleet, and soon, her ship was locked in a desperate
battle, her squadron seriously outnumbered. Her ship
was the only heavy craft left to the master undamaged,
and he had a momentary possibility, to clip the tails
of two of the pirate heavy craft, if only he could
persuade enough speed out of his slaves...

He gave the orders.  She was lashed, upside down, in
place of the drum, in sight of the rowers, her naked
belly, breasts, and face presented to them.  And, the
timing strokes were with a whip, not a mallet, on her
flesh.  

She found she was shrieking the beat order out with
the beater, as he struck her, as the oars pulled the
water,  as  the ship sped on, at a speed only dreamed
of before.  

She was being cruelly beaten, sexually beaten, naked,
suspended, chained, in time with the strokes of 80 men
at the oars.  

And, she screamed each time the whip hit her.  The
beater screamed "stroke!" with each blow, but as he
skillfully took her to a sexual frenzy

With his whip, nearer and nearer to her cunt with each
stroke, she cried "Harder!"

The rending crash of the ram into not one, but two
sterns, in rapid succession mixed, in her  reality,
with the  blows directly on her weeping sex, with her
orgasm.  

 Victory at sea!

--***

Explanatory note about the story title:

In the 18th and 19th centuries, on British warships,
the decks below the main deck, completely enclosed,
were called tiers.  So, for instance, a frigate had a
gun tier (gun deck) and below that, the cable tier,
above the hold. Consequently, this ancient warship has
a completely-covered tier for the rowers, most likely
below an open deck for war engines, archers, and
marines in boarding or defense parties.  Well, you
never see above the oarlock tier, so to some degree,
who cares?  All the good stuff happens there.    :)

Fin


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-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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