Trust Ch. 02

Iona was not sure how long she laid there. A pain in her chest made breathing exhausting. This pain moved through her body till everything ached. Tears were never a general thing with her; she cried till empty. This was worse than physical abuse; that could only break her back. This broke her spirit. Her spirit was her only pride. To her it had value. There were no memories without it. She clung to it. Her spirit was the only thing she truly owned. No man or woman could take it. Or, so she thought.

The process was gradual. When Kieren left the ship, he took her spirit with him. No one had to inform her of his departure. She felt the pull. As he drifted away, she felt it move with him. Then finally it disappeared. It was a mercy that he had not violently ripped it from her chest. There was no broken skin, just emptiness. He had no knowledge of what now clung to him. No one takes what they do not want. Her strength followed. The absence of strength left her motionless. Voice abandoned her too, an involuntary silence this time. She gave no protest.

Like Iona's depreciation, it was irrepressible. First she was less than silver pieces, second less than goats, then less than brightly colored cloth. That had not mattered. They could not own or trade her spirit. Without one she was less than a homeless dog and felt this to her core.

Days passed without notice. Soiling herself became more than a threat, which caused her to rise. Washing the bedding gave her nowhere to lie, which caused her to stand.

Someone saw to her food and brought her water, when they remembered. Even a dog was fed occasionally, she thought. It mattered not. Although keeping herself clean, she rarely stomached food. Whoever came moved quickly and avoided acknowledgment.

There were no restraints circling her ankle, no locks on her door. Without Kieren's interest or protection, Iona was left open. She was at the mercy of his men. They could do whatever they chose. Men without rules lack a heart. There have no form of natural affection within them. Just like animals that eat their own children, they have no conscience. She had seen men come close, but had stood still due to decrees designed for their kind. Decrees brought order. With no consequences there were no boundaries, no decrees.

Iona sat waiting, rocking back and forth with her hands clasped.

Maybe they would take her one by one. She was special. They would stand in line, sweating and desperate. They would lick their dry lips, eyes wild from the pressure of impatience. His men's stature was larger than most. Like Kieren they would be well endowed.

Maybe they would take her by threes, taking advantage of every aperture. At first, her skin would be a source of wonderment. They would work in unison. Together they would kiss and lick to experience her taste. Each would want to squeeze her firm breasts. One would suck one as another sucks the other. Jealous, the third one would pull from any available area. This would feel good and remove her fear. Then they would fuck her, one beneath her, one behind her and one in her mouth. She would welcome the abuse, having perversions never shared. They would congratulate each other on the extent of their attained depth. This would be a sign of manhood, a reward. They would pump in and out of her feeling the press of each other. The rhythm would take hold of her and she would move with them. She would come with them; her body would stream with a combination of thick liquids. To watch the crawl of cream against the darkness of her skin would be another great wonderment. Its taste would be on her tongue. Its lubrication would soothe her loosened opening and swollen pussy. She would be shocked by her own pleasure. Kieren's roughness and hunt for gratification would then pale in comparison.

No, the men in charge would take her first. They would have a strong need to finally taste this delicacy that once was denied. They would show tenderness. Having frequent experiences inland, a woman's touch would not be rare. This woman would request no fee, yet be most valued.

Maybe one would want to feel stronger, bigger, better, and last longer, with a desire to finally best Kieren. This one would want to bring her pleasure to have proof. This one would take his time, angering those that wait. No one would dare hurry him.

Iona would welcome him, thankful for his gentleness knowing this was a gift. But from this point forward Iona would not be herself. She would float above. She would watch, but later she would turn away. That which is not her would remain, knowing that she is only a vessel.

The one wishing to give pleasure would kiss her inviting lips, loving their soft lushness as he runs his hands down the sides of her body. She would be like fruit to him. He would suck on her neck as he works downward. He would circle her nipple with the tip of his tongue as if testing its sweetness. His lips would first kiss its tip before taking it fully. He would feed, pulling from it. Flicking it with his tongue and nibbling with his teeth would make her back arch, feeding him more. His other hand would knead the other breast as it waits for his fine treatment. He would find her special places and kiss them all appreciatively. He would fondle and explore every inch of her skin to rid the influence of myths.

The one that is Iona would watch from above in anger. Because of his ministrations, the one that is not Iona would be a traitor. The betrayal would be with her body. This betrayal readies her to accept him. With a pussy fully saturated, her legs would spread wider.

He would lie on top of her like lovers do, but only to read her expressions. He would ask her to place her arms around his neck. Wanting the others to hear her moans, he would enter slowly. She would feel every inch of him and know where he falls short. Still she would welcome him. His fucking would be deliberate. Often pausing, he would suck, bite and mark her breasts thinking it extends his longevity. It has the opposite effect.

He would ask, "Am I stronger?"

Her hands would feel the curve of his shoulders and slide to his upper arms as she lies.

"Yes, you are stronger."

He would pull himself out of her, glistening with proof of her eagerness. Sitting between her legs on his knees, holding himself, stroking his length with proof of his eagerness forming droplets at its tip, he would wonder.

He would ask her to touch it and she would feel the heat of its firmness.

Finally he would ask, "Am I bigger than him?"

She would lie again, nodding her head, and say, "You are much bigger than he is."

One push to the hilt would enter her this time, while he intently watches her face. With satisfaction he would begin to move and fuck her faster. He would work harder than before, grunting as his control weakens. He would become thankful for this feeling that she gives. He would begin to forget himself, wrap himself with nothing but her. Then to avoid the appearance of such, he would force himself to stop.

Sweating profusely and breathing heavily, he would ask, "Am I better than he is?"

She would nod her head, bite her lip and moan deeply, to avoid expressing this lie.

The thought of being stronger, bigger and better than the man he idolizes would increase his pride, give him a new sense of manliness. This would increase her sweetness. Pursuit of her pleasure would become stronger as he reaches for his own. She would be a taste far better than any tasted before. He would be hypnotized by her willingness to except the man he has become—longing for him more than she did the other. He would be sure of this fact by the look on her face and the reaction of her body. His fucking would become frantic and hard to control. He would remember that he should out-last Kieren-this proves to be his greatest obstacle.

Grunting would come from low in his chest, in union with his progress. He would begin to say "Yes." repeatedly until the name of his favorite god replaces it. Concern for what was heard would no longer be of importance. His release would cause his body to spasm. His pleasure would borderline pain. Nothing could have prepared him for what he feels.

She would have turned her face to the side, so her eyes avoid the sting of his sweat and the bizarre look on his face. The feel of him filling her would bring shame.

Iona is no longer herself; it would not be her shame.

She would then rise up on her elbows in curiosity because he had slid down her body and put his face between her thighs. He would look up and smile, a boy finding unintended sweets. This would be his perversion, the one he will not tell the others about.

He would suck his own fluids from her as if pulling from the neck of a bottle. Sounds of his tongue lapping at her pussy would remind her of a starved animal licking an abandoned dish. He would be thorough, moaning with his own satisfaction. She would find herself moaning too, not out of pretense. Her eyes would close from the feel of it. For the second time, the vessel would betray Iona. This time the betrayal would be greater. He would continue to suck and lick till she shudders. She would grab at his hair, hair not blond or as lush as Kieren's, unable to endure the feeling he gives. It would be more than she can handle.

She would feel guilt for having responded. This would not be Iona's guilt. There would be tears though, Iona's tears. Iona would cry because it is Kieren who is missing in so many ways.

Before this man leaves, sitting beside her and slipping on his leather foot coverings, he would say, "I was in you for far too long, that is why my seed filled you so."

She will not respond to that; there is no need. He would no longer need her reinforcement. He would now have what he feels to be himself. This man would rub his hand down the curve of her back and kiss her skin for the last time. He would lick it with appreciation. He would be thankful. He would know that everything that is her will be missed.

When he leaves, she would know that he was the last act of intended kindness. He was the exception.

Nothing of that sort had ever happened to Iona. She had been fucked, but never like that. She knew what was possible though. Awful things had been told to her by a supposed wise slave.

The slave had told her things in a hushed voice. Iona had looked at her in fear. However, the woman seemed to gain some type of satisfaction from the telling. Iona thought that suspicious.

"How could you possibly know and sit before me?" Iona scoffed.

"My master once had two of us," the woman continued. "He had a debt. She was the payment."

"You saw this?" Iona did not whisper her words.

"I hid in a position that allowed me to witness all."

Those words were hard to believe; anger flooded Iona.

"How could you witness such a thing and not attempt a rescue?"

"You are so young and naïve. There would be no point in two when one suffices."

Iona spit in the woman's face.

"To be born a female slave means a life of undeserved suffering and continuous tokens of insignificance," she told the woman with disgust. "To sacrifice one of your own by choice deserves more than just suffering, more than just tokens. You are less than insignificant."

At the time, Iona's rareness was highly prized by her master. Her master was greatly revered with a large house and many sons. To make him angry would have deadly results, not just from him but those born of him. The woman's master had already proven to be weak. Not only was he the type that did not pay his debts, Iona thought he could not protect his household.

Iona screamed out in pain and dropped to her knees. When her master ran to her aid, he found a frightened and terrorized Iona. With fear gripping her, Iona was forced to reveal the source. She pointed to the woman. There was nothing else required. When the woman made way to protest, the backhand of her master silenced her.

This was a serious matter. If an animal was damaged, then the one damaged must be replaced by its equal in value. Slaves were no different. Iona was checked for damage. Although no physical damage was found, her master did not like her mental disposition. Iona was lost in uncontrollable tears; she could not be calmed. So great was her distress that she could not describe the offense.

Her master demanded retribution.

Iona's master had been gentle with Iona. This did not prove to be the case with the other slave. Given permission, he punished her as he saw fit.

A devastated, but sympathetic, Iona pleaded to bring the woman water.

"It will sooth her," she told her master.

Iona's master pondered her request. He thought his beautiful, spun gold child to have a heart too tender. But if this was what she desired...

Through tears Iona brought the woman water. In pain the woman attempted to grab at it. Iona began to put it within her reach. The link between the two never completed. Iona fed the water to the ground. This was an act not seen by others.

With no tears Iona bent to let the woman hear her clearly.

"I curse you," she whispered. "Now the blood of your sister slave cries out for vengeance. As of this day, she will touch everything that enters your mouth so that the God's recognize you. They will never let you enter into the afterlife. You will be forced to stand at the base of Helgafjell. You will stand at this door forever suffering the pain you witnessed. No one will attempt to rescue you."

It was on that day, still not yet a woman, Iona discovered the power of silly speculations. She was never a slave to their Gods. If there were Gods, she would not have this life. If the people that influenced her existence thought her impious, she called on that fear for relief.

"See," she said at full height, "I am young and I am naïve. I am also one of the living. You are already dead."

From that day forward the woman refused sustenance. People whispered that she had harmed the female Blåmenn, for that offense she shriveled up and died.

Iona had felt no guilt at the time. It was a fair trade for the life of her unknown sister. To her that was honor.

With the situation she found herself in now, Iona pondered the possibility of Gods. They were now viewing her and not pleased. She had prayed on the fears of their people far too long. Reason then took hold of her. If the Gods now looked upon her, why had they not noticed the actions of others? She decided that no loyalty could be given to Gods that found justice in her state. She would take her punishment with her back straight. Even without spirit, she would keep her honor.

She waited for what was to occur. For the first time, she could not hew a path to safety. There were no choices here.

Iona braced herself each time the door opened. Each time only saw the delivery of necessities and the removal of waste. Sometimes one would come to the door and just listen, then move away. After waiting for days, Iona opened the door to step into what must befall her with no fear. The rowers did not look at her. They must be of lower status she concluded. They would have her last if she survived long enough. She soon discovered no recognition of her presence was to be found. She thought this odd.

Then as she slept it occurred to her. Iona sat up in anger. "They think me not worthy of abuse."

She was offended.

Her non-existence left her free to roam the Longship, but she limited herself. Found vile and thus shunned, Iona thought it best to not get in the way.

One day while gazing at the waters, dread left her. Iona thought of how refreshing the waters would feel. It would give her a final cleansing. It would envelope her in its arms and she would finally know how it felt to be loved, to be held with love and found still intact—no pieces of her soul stolen. She remembered no mother rocking her. Now the sea would be her mother. The sea would be her final pleasure. The song of its movements would be her music. The vastness and coldness would make her last breath painless. The beasts of the sea would not bother acknowledging her. She would go in peace. No one here would bother to notice as she climbed to her descent.

Kieren's words were truth, whispering in her ear.

"Do not be a fool," an unrecognizable voice spoke behind her. "Men will lose their lives if you give yours away."

"You are the fool," she declared without turning to face her accuser. "Something that has no worth could never be compared to the life of one man, let alone many. Your precious men are safe."

"He warned us about your tongue and its ability to draw anger," he said. "The burden you are makes your words true. Nevertheless, I am no fool. My leader has given the order that no harm should come to you. Self-harm, no matter how appropriate, would hold no dissimilarity to him. Men would still lose their lives. The process would be painful, even if he takes no joy in it. His words never contain lies. His actions are consistent."

"Go away from me," she spit out with the wind in her hair. "No man of your kind is incapable of lying. He cares not for me and you care less. I can relieve you of your burden. Believe me, with assumed consistency or not, your master will be relieved. He has said these words to me directly. Shall I believe you, in which I do not know, or shall I believe the words of someone having proved dominance over you? "

"You senseless bitch," he declared.

Iona was immediately lifted off her feet by two men she had not realized there and thrown back into Kieren's space.

The burly owner of the voice towered over her as she lay on the floor. He was older and the front of his silver hair was tethered. At the back, long and thick hair flowed. On his face he wore a full beard, from his chin hung a long braid. He could have easily been Kieren's father.

Iona recognized him in spite of the anger that twisted his face. He was Kieren's second.

"First I shall clarify what your minuscular brain may not be designed to comprehend. I have no master. I have never been enslaved by anything. By free will I release my life to a superior leader for the greatest cause. Because of you, our leader has departed. He is out there in battle without us. We are his finest, the favorited ones, his most trusted. We are his warriors. I am his friend. Nevertheless, we are stuck with you. And you..."

Shaking his head, he forced himself to gather words that would only replace the cutting of her skin and not the satisfaction of cutting her in two. It was a hard task.

"You are a demon, just as first thought," he determined.

"I have no witchery," she said, awkwardly picking herself off the floor and hoping that he would not return her there. "I am not even a woman. I have nothing within me or outside of me. Kieren has taken my spirit; this leaves me without heart. You are the ones that have me at a great disadvantage. He values his men. You are a part of him. He cares for what is his. I have been assigned anywhere that is of distance from him. I am not his. I have no care. He will never claim me. You have not allowed me to claim myself."

Exposure brought no shame. Her sayings were undeniable. This man, one she had seen often at Kieren's side, was surely aware.

"I beg to differ; one could never claim a lack of spirit within you. You leave these men in constant fear of losing their lives. All you give in return are dramatics."

"With no thought Kieren seeks out a place to deposit me. Or, he lets you leave me where you please. The latter is most likely. Knowing this, you should sanction my self-termination. If you had any mercy you would allow me that right. Why make me wait to be disposed of. My life means nothing. There is no reward in me. I am a slave without a master. I am the dog, the nuisance that wanders your ship and catches itself in your legs. Wherever I am situated, I will be at the mercy of someone's foot. "