Volume I: Torment

Her screams were like music...

Many times he'd thought of them when she was not around; times when he was alone in his chambers, or on endless nights when he'd be stationed on the deck for patrol. Times like those never failed to get his blood surging in a somewhat uncomfortable manner for the situation. His favorite moments, however, were when he got to listen to them in person. Nothing but a thick wooden door separating him from her luxurious noises. Sometimes he wondered if The Wolf knew of his presence. Surely, he was not stupid. When a predator claims something, a level of protective nature forms, whether they realize it or not. It took time, this one did. Year after year, girl after girl, The Wolf never seemed to be satisfied. Until now.

This one seemed to understand, have a grasp of what her real purpose was. It didn't happen overnight. In fact, her first night with the crew was something he found himself reminiscing about quite frequently, among her delicious screams. The fighting, clawing, thrashing. Usual defenses for prey caught in a predator's grasp. Odin, it was fun to watch.

She was a fighter, she was. All the more to add to her beauty. Watching her strain against the ropes binding her arms, her beautiful teeth gritted in defiance. Smooth, porcelain skin marked with bruises from fists wrapped around her biceps.

"You monsters!"

Her voice resembled a growl. Even through the messy, golden hair falling over her face, he could see her expression. Hatred. Repugnance. Hostility. But most beautifully...

Fear.

He watched the two men who guided her intently, as they made their way to The Wolf's chambers. They seemed almost expressionless, doing their jobs as they'd been ordered. She was nothing more than a chore to be dealt with. To them anyways.

He, however, helped himself to the view. Though he was a few paces in front, he would take his time turning to look at her struggle as they walked. Several times, he made momentary eye contact with her. The green gems, still mesmerizing despite her position. The Wolf would like her, he was sure of it. He took the opportunity during one of these moments, speaking his first words directly to her, despite their lengthy journey to the ship.

"Go on, struggle." He said coldly, looking at her over his shoulder. "It'll only make it better for him."

His favorite moment of the night, however, was her delivery to The Wolf. As they entered the chambers, he could hardly contain his pride at her disposal. She was led through the vast entrance, still struggling ever-so unsuccessfully. The Wolf sat patiently at the end of his bed, light, blue-grey eyes staring intently at her form. He watched her every move with intrigue, not taking so much as a blink away from the sight. It was at this point she stopped struggling, letting her body fall limp in the arms of the men restraining her. She glared at The Wolf, hair still concealing most of her face. One of the guards took the opportunity to pull her hair back aggressively, finally exposing her features. Her hatred expression was now much clearer, never faltering.

The Wolf gave little expression, but his eyes grew a bit brighter. Seconds later, The Wolf dipped his head at the young woman, giving the guards a que they knew all too well. With a swift motion, the guards used their free hands to rip off the ragged, thin dress she wore, leaving her to bare all.

She gave another scream in fear, legs tucking together in a pathetic attempt to conceal her most intimate place. Her arms strained as well, and she tried doubling over to cover her now exposed breasts. Such an action just made the situation all the more satisfactory to The Wolf. Seconds felt like an eternity, but soon enough, The Wolf gave a devilish smile, looking at the guards for one final command.

He often found himself daydreaming about the way she cried as they moved her to the bed, binding her to the wooden posts by her wrists and ankles. The last image he saw of her that night was right before The Wolf closed the door, her, laying spread eagle on his large bed. Tears streaming down her cheeks as her sobs rang through the chamber. Chest heaving, breasts moving beautifully with each breath. Her perfect, virgin pussy shaved and just waiting to be destroyed. The Wolf always had one consistency with the young women he requested. They were always virgins.

Yes, that was a night he thought about often. He'll never forget seeing her battered form afterwards. The bruises lining her pale skin, the small pool of blood staining the sheets between her legs.

Then there was tonight. He waited patiently outside The Wolf's chambers, guarding, as he was ordered to do so. It wasn't unusual for The Wolf to send him in afterwards to clean up the mess. Though it was a bit below him to do such things, he was the one The Wolf trusted most. He was very protective of his property, after all. Besides, he loved doing it. Sometimes she would be passed out afterwards, which gave him the delectable opportunity to put his hands on her. Sometimes he'd play with her breasts, squeezing them and giving her perfect nipples little licks. Other times, if he was feeling more adventurous, he'd fondle her nether regions. He'd brush his fingers over her still-wet folds, occasionally sliding one into her gaping hole, dripping with fresh semen.

Tonight, she'd been very vocal. And when her screams died down, he knew they'd be finished soon. A few minutes later, The Wolf emerged, his clothes surprisingly kempt. Before he walked past, The Wolf stopped to acknowledge to him.

"You'll need a brush for the floor," His deep voice sounded emotionless, "She put up quite the fight." With this, The Wolf walked away, down the dimly lit hallway and out of sight.

There were several things that could mean, usually it meant blood, but there were certainly other possibilities. Taking the detour across the ship to the supply closet only fueled his impatience. He longed to see the aftermath of her struggle, it would undoubtedly be an arousing sight. After retrieving the materials, he swiftly made his way back to the chambers. Stopping at the end of the long hallway, he reached out a scarred, bony hand to open the large door.

It wouldn't open.

Pushing harder on the thick wood, twisting the knob more and more violently did nothing. Something was blocking the door. Part of him feared putting too much force into opening it, as it would without a doubt draw the attention of other men. But her bindings, how could she possibly…?

He ultimately decided the chances of being caught were better than the risk of something happening to her on his watch. He backed away a few steps, then ran at the door, slamming his shoulder into it with full force. Nothing. He heard no noise from inside, no footsteps, no gasps of fear. He backed away once again, and attempted slamming the door for a second time. It began to give way, but still refused to open. His tall, lithe form was certainly not ideal for this.

He heard patters of footsteps and confused voices from above, sailors no doubt making their way downstairs to see what all the noise was about. He stepped back a final time, then kicked the wooden surface with all his force. The door finally gave way, slamming open. He saw a wooden chair that had been wedged against the handle scatter to the ground a few feet away. The sight he was greeted to was one he would never forget.

She was in fact, still on the bed.

She managed to undo the ropes binding her. How? He did not know.

But there she was, motionless.

Green eyes glassy, face somehow paler than normal. Skin turning a sickening bluish color.

One end of the rope that used to bind her hands tied to the top-center of the bedpost, the other end wrapped tightly around her delicate neck...