tavytamarason

[tavytamarason]

Steampunk Express Part 2 of 2

The Engineer turned and looked down at her sorrowfully. She should have lasted longer than that. There was another seventy miles to go to the water stop at Polboddi, it was a good job he had insisted on the third girl!

Drahaus leapt forward off the coal onto the back of the footplate. Looking up at the Engineer he asked "Shall I sort her?"

The Engineer gave a single nod in reply.

Drahaus watched the other two girls still giving their all to feed the voracious fire in the belly of 666. The blonde one's sweat sodden dress had by now been blown to ribbons which trailed from her now practically naked body in the wind. Her eyes bulged and her mouth was wide open as she gasped to keep her over-stressed body supplied with sufficient oxygen.

The other girl had somewhat shorter black hair and had managed to keep her frail dress a little more intact, though the right side was rapidly tearing to up above her thigh. She looked earnestly at the Captain with tears in her unnaturally wide open eyes and seemed to be trying to speak to him, but her drug driven body refused to stop toiling to feed coal into the firebox.

Dodging the two fire-girls still working he undid the polished brass buttons at the front of his black uniform breeches and let out his straining cock. Quickly grabbing the dead girl's legs and lifting them either side of him he inserted it deep into her burning hot cunt. He knew it was the action of the drugs rather than the heat of the fire which had raised her body temperature to such an unnatural level. He thrust vigorously into her tightening vagina thinking this was turning out to be a good fuck, sometimes the drugs had the opposite effect, causing the vagina to dilate to a useless, gaping chasm, then it would be necessary to continue with a different hole. As he was about to climax the Engineer climbed down from his seat at the throttle and helped just lift the girls head and shoulders up into the open firedoor.

He could almost see the flesh on her skull melt in the embracing flames as he came to a truly memorable orgasm. As he ejaculated into her useless burned out shell he yelled and thrust his pelvis forward for a final time, sliding the rest of her glowing corpse into the fire.

"Next one's mine" grunted the Engineer as Drahaus re-fastened his breeches.

He nodded in agreement and turned to clamber back over the tender to his train. The black haired girl made a last frantic attempt to speak to him. "My name is El....." was all she could say before her drug driven body turned her back towards the firebox.

As he walked back through the cars, nodding politely to the passengers he wondered if she did indeed have a name. He had certainly heard talk of citizens being seized by over zealous Bounty Hunters and condemned to the Workhouse along with the whores, peasants and beggars. But there was nothing he could do to help her now, the massive injections of drugs the Engineer would have given her were already irrevocably destroying her body, burning up her very flesh and organs to extract the last calorie of energy from her burning up carcass.

Oh well, he remembered there was an elegant leather clad beauty in Car 6 he was hoping to chat with a bit more.

Up front the Engineer was pleased to note that despite the early loss of one fire-girl the train was still gathering speed on the down grade out of the mountains. 132, 134, 135 mph! He turned and smiled happily at his loyal fire-girls.

But he now noted with sadness how the blonde, now stark naked, was getting unsteady on her feet. Her fine hands had become blackened and burnt, he thought he could even see bone exposed at the end of the middle finger of her left hand, fortunately the open flesh was cauterized by the flames so she wasted little blood. She was still firing the loco just as furiously but he knew her overworked heart, probably beating at well over 300 times a minute, could burst at any time.

He glanced back at the tender to check the Captain wasn't still watching. Unlike Drahaus the Engineer liked to fuck them while they were still alive. But strictly speaking that was against the Company Rules.

He found it added to the excitement when he had to deal with their arms and legs still trying to work as he shafted them. As he came into her over sensitized pulsing vagina he couldn't help giving an animal scream of ecstasy. He was glad that when he finished she was still twitching as she lay on the footplate. He kissed her burning lips before lifting her legs and poking both her feet through one of the firedoors. He then lifted her by the waist and slid her buttocks on into the consuming fire.

She screamed! Deafeningly. They didn't usually do that, he would have to mention that to the Chemist tomorrow. He felt slight regret as he watched her small, pert breasts disappear into the dazzling brightness of the fire. He let her matted blonde hair run through his fingers as her bulging eyes stared up at him before disappearing forever into the flames.

But with just one fire-girl left for the next few miles to the water stop he sadly realised ther was no no hope of making the record run he had hoped for.

At Polboddi Captain Drahaus looked at the empty footplate then up at the Engineer on top of the tender, re-filling it with water. "All gone?"

"Yep." he replied.

The Captain called back to the Stationmaster "Three more fire-girls needed!"

[tavytamarason]

Steampunk Express Part 1

The express waited to depart for the long run to Dinistrio.

The Engineer leaned out of the cab looking back at Captain Drahaus and shrugged, the fire-girls hadn't arrived yet and now they would be late getting away.

Drahaus pulled down the brown peak of his shiny leather cap and scowled. The Company wanted to make a record run tonight, with Lord Tywyll travelling in his private saloon attached to the train so the Engineer had asked for three fire-girls, instead of the usual two, to feed the great lumps of steam coal into the 666’s huge firebox.

The trouble was that the Western and Medusa Rail Road Company had already been using up the young women from the Workhouse faster than the Bounty Hunters from Social Services managed to drag in new ones off the streets. Indeed several recently had claimed to be proper citizens with names whom the hunters had beaten unconscious before stripping them of their shiny leather boots, studded skirts, suede jackets and steel boned corsets. Once dragged into the Workhouse either naked or draped in a piece of old sacking they were unlikely to leave alive; unless pressed into the Imperial Navy as a stoker in a battleship, required as movable ballast in a trans-oceanic airship - or as a fire-girl on a rail road locomotive.

Several male passengers leered at the fearful girls in their unbleached muslin workhouse dresses, some young men daydreaming about being an Engineer on the W & M R R themselves.

Drahaus rather envied the Engineer, although as Captain he was in overall charge of the Express he didn't get to work the fire-girls. But there was no time to dwell on that now, they were four minutes late already. He unfurled his green flag, blew his whistle and, as the train pulled out of the station he caught hold of the polished brass rail and hauled himself up onto the platform of the last car as it passed him.

Before setting the fire-girls to work the Engineer injected a cocktail of drugs including adrenaline, scopalamine and cocaine into the left thigh of each of them.

Although there were a couple of shovels on the footplate most of the great lumps of coal were too big for the half starved girls to balance them on them, so they had to resort to lifting the great chunks with both hands and pushing them through the firehole doors. The heat from the furnace singing their hands and turning their faces red.

They had a slower start than they had hoped for due to the last minute delivery of the fire-girls, they should have had their injections a few minutes before the right away was given.

But as the train left the city for the open countryside the drugs surging through the fire-girls' bodies took effect and they worked feverishly to feed the coals into the voracious firebox with their bare hands, reckless of the strain on their bodies and heedless of any injuries to their slender, but soon blackened and bleeding, hands.

Now, it's appetite for coal being satiated, No 666 really started to gather speed. It climbed the steady grade up into the Taranau Mountains, 50 mph, 60 mph. As the line levelled off it speeded up more, 90 mph, 100 mph.

The engineer looked back from his seat in the front of the cab at the fire-girls toiling to fetch coals giant lumps of coal from the tender to the firebox. Their long tangled hair trailed behind, fluttering furiously in the wind while the loose cotton dresses, now filthy with coal dust, flailed furiously behind them, the thin muslin tearing to tatters.

They entered Black Tunnel at nearly 110 mph, 666 still working hard. The exhaust from the smokestack hit the tunnel roof, cutting its draw on the almost white hot fire. Flames blew back up out of the open fiire-doors, the brown hair of the girl who had been pushing a piece of coal through the door just at that moment was sent alight. Buoyed up by the the cocktail of drugs in her blood she just turned back to the tender to fetch more coal as wisps of her hair, still alight blew back past the passenger cars, where they were noticed by Captain Drahaus. The flames spread to the trailing shreds of muslin, quickly igniting the rest of her coal dust covered dress, which blew away from her body as floating, flaming, rags. Oblivious to the burns covering much of her now naked body she continued hurling coals into the firebox even more frantically.

Drahaus made his way forward through the passenger cars, jumping over the brass railings across the platforms at each end of the glossy black and gold cars. Reaching the back of the tender he climbed the steps on its rear to stand crouched by the water filler. Hanging firmly onto the coal rails along the top edge of the tender he stared at the toiling fire-girls.

One was now not only naked but totally hairless and covered in burns, sweat and coal dust. She was dashing to and fro with great pieces of coal and flinging them madly through which ever firedoor happened to be nearest. He recognised the signs of a body burning itself up to extract the last bit of energy from its poisoned flesh. Even before he took his eyes off her to look at the other girls her heart burst under the unnatural strain and she pitched forward against the firebox and crumpled onto the footplate.

[tavytamarason]

[tavytamarason]

SLEEPING BEAUTY PART 2

As autumn turned into winter, unseen by anyone, the belly of the naked body in the darkness of the tower filled then swelled. In the first week of spring Talia's body moved for the first time in generations. A slight movement deep in her belly, it certainly didn't disturb the growing family of mice scurrying about the floor. Her abdomen momentarily hardened then relaxed for a quarter of an hour. The next time it hardened her knees drew up slightly, yet her eyes remained peacefully closed. By nightfall her lower body was racked by contractions more frequently and a sudden gush of fluid from between her spreading thighs soaked the bed as she arched her back. Yet not a sound did she utter. Half an hour later a baby's head appeared, it paused for a couple of seconds then fully emerged to lie crying between Talia's spread thighs. The baby, a boy, lay desperately screaming to be nursed by his cold, unconscious mother. A second baby was born less than a minute later, this one, a girl, was more active than her sibling and first grabbed her brothers umbilical cord and pulled it into her toothless mouth. Unsatisfied she rolled about then managed to crawl over her mother's thin thigh, instinctively seeking her mother's breasts. Finding, instead, the thin, lifeless fingers of Talia's left hand she sucked at each of them in turn. Finding no nourishment she pathetically cried out again, sending the curious nice scurrying back beneath the floorboards. She sucked again at the middle finger, this time drawing out the small splinter of flax. Talia's eyes flickered open. She felt as cold as death, could see only darkness, yet felt something gentle sucking her fingers. Still confused, distressed and not even recalling who she was, her maternal instincts took over and she lifted the two babies to her breasts to suckle. Back in the great Royal City the King, for the first time in many months, suddenly had a vision of the girl in the tower as he dutifully made love to his wife, in the cause of siring a heir. But this time when, at the moment his seed gushed into his queen, the girl's eyes opened they were a beautiful hazel brown in colour, and looked deep into his soul. He leapt from their bed and hurriedly dressed. For the first time he felt real guilt at what he had done to the girl. He felt that, all those months ago, he had indeed betrayed his wife after all. That he really had lain with another woman and not just amused himself with an inanimate ... thing. Talia couldn't understand anything. Why she was cold and naked inside some ancient dark mouldering ruin. Why she was suckling a pair of newly born babies whose afterbirth she was only now expelling. Eventually, once she had settled the babies as best she could on the damp mouldering featherbed, she set about exploring the darkened room. The shutters seemed to have securely fastened closed from the outside, peering through the cracks it appeared to be a moonlit night and she had the impression that the ground was some way below. Talia waited until dawn, when the light of the morning sun shone through gaps in the shutters and birdsong echoed down from within the upper floors of the tower, to explore further. She walked unsteadily, one hand against the stone wall as she hesitantly descended the spiral staircase. The ground floor was, if anything, even more thoroughly secured. She screamed until she was hoarse and the babies' distant cries joined in chorus. She clawed at the rotten shutters until eventually she managed to tear one down into the room, only to find the window still blocked by solid oak planks securely fastened from the outside. She looked down at her hands, her fingernails broken and bleeding, then returned to her babies, feeling a wave of guilt at having left them alone on the bed for so long, so many precious few minutes. Talia continued to suckle her unexpected offspring while being less successful in feeding herself. She pushed rotten damp rags of bedding and tapestry into her mouth, chewed them, and sucked the moisture out of them. She kept trying to wrap the twins in pieces of damp, ripe, pieces of linen, but their tiny exploring fingers would soon shred them. Talia explored the tower thoroughly, every window was shuttered and nailed so securely as to make it a perfect prison. In one of the upper rooms was a full length mirror, cracked where it had slid and dropped in it's rotten frame to rest on the floor. She stood, transfixed by the filthy naked figure just about visible in the dim light, its lower body streaked with excrement from the twins as she nursed them, eyes sunken and hollow, hair matted and colourless. She felt as though her body was starting to shrivel and decay like everything else in that crumbling ruin. The King's nightmares got worse over the next month. The girl's eyes began to burn with an angry fire which painfully burned his soul. From feeling guilt at what he had done to the maiden's senseless body he began instead to feel guilt when he laid with his wife. The Queen sensed a change in her husband. It would be bad enough if he occasionally had sex with some whore during the drunken carousing after a successful days hunting or a victory on the battlefield - if he insisted on making a fool of himself; but she began to wonder if he was forming some deeper attachment to some other woman. She decided it would be wise to leave the city for a while. Therefore it was at her suggestion that the Royal Entourage set off for the remote castle they had last stayed at for the hunting a year ago. It wasn't until a couple of days after their arrival there that the King rather nervously set off, alone, for the Belvedere tower. He couldn't get in, his carpenter had certainly made a thorough job of securing the tower after his last visit. So the next day he returned with the necessary borrowed tools to allow him to force a way in. At first it seemed as quiet as before but then, for just a couple of seconds, he thought he could hear faint crying in the distance, perhaps upstairs. Normally the King was renowned for his courage and bravery, but this was not normal. His heart was pounding as he cautiously ascended the stairs. The door into the first floor room was ajar, he took a deep breath and, with a sense of dread, quietly entered. He hardly recognised the girl sprawled across the bed. Although it now seemed that she was, just about, conscious her body had taken the hue and form of a corpse. Her filthy white skin was tightly stretched over her protruding bones, her face thin and gaunt and the dark damp room stank of faeces and urine. He was surprised that he didn't notice the two babies immediately, but his concern for the girl was so great. He saw the shock and panic in her eyes as he leant over her. The same eyes that had been haunting him for many weeks. He spoke quietly, trying to reassure her, as he gently put his water bottle to her lips then tenderly persuaded her to eat some of the vittles he had been carrying. For the next few days he visited her daily. Fetching food, some of his queen's clothes, sheets and blankets. They both had so many questions for each other that they hardly knew where to start. He couldn't get out of his mind the thought that this girl, Talia, believed she was the daughter of a long dead Count whose estate this once was. Talia couldn't bring herself to believe that everyone she knew was long dead when her coming of age ball seemed so recent to her. She did however begin to realise that this handsome young man might be the father of her twins. She found herself overcome with guilt that she didn't hate him as she ought. Once the room was mafe a little cleaner and tidier, the shutters opened and the rotten featherbed replaced by a new one with fresh sheets the King asked Mathew, his Secretary, to arramge for a trusted and discrete maidservant to continue to supply food and drink, so his wife wouldn't get suspicious about his frequent absences. The Queen wondered who 'Talia' was. She heard the King cry out that name in his sleep. Many times over the following few months. Rather than question her husband, allowing him to come up with some excuse, she discretely made enquiries around the court. It seemed that his Secretary was complicit in some subterfuge. The Queen's enquiries had also revealed that Mathew, who was married, had a child with a secret mistress, who he was now supporting, getting himself into debt with the moneylenders. Armed with this knowledge, and a purse of silver, it didn't take long for the Queen to get him to tell what he knew. Seething with fury she sought out her husband to confront him, but by the time she had found him at the Royal Falconer's holding a more diabolical plan was starting to form in her mind, and she said nothing to him. The Queen retired to her dressing room after searching out a new sheet of parchment from the King's library. She wrote as carefully as she could; a letter purporting to be from her husband to Talia, requesting her to send her children to Court with the servant bearing it. Her writing, explaining that the King thought it best for the babies to be cared for by a nursemaid who would be better placed to feed and look after them than Talia, was untidy and her spelling poor. The Queen was however quite pleased with the result, in any case she hoped that the girl would rely more upon her servant relating the message. Talia was delighted that the King loved her children so much that he had arranged to care for them, and joyfully bade them farewell. The Queen handed the babies over to Anton the palace cook, who she knew was in awe of her, with instructions that they were to be slaughtered and used to make tasty dishes for a banquet. The King enjoyed the unusual tasty meat morsels that were presented at the unexpected feast that his wife had organised in celebration of her second cousin's birthday. In reply to his expression of delight at the meal she replied "What you eat is yours!" The next time she said the same thing he turned to her, annoyed "Of course I provide everything we eat." He then carried on to enjoy the remainder of the feast. The Queen didn't get the satisfaction she had hoped for from that diabolical yet discrete revenge. She was aware, too, that sooner rather than later it would be reported to the King that his offspring had been sent to the palace. Her jealousy now combined with fear to brew into madness. The day before the King's next 'hunting trip' the Queen despatched her servant with a message for Talia that she could now join the King at Court. Of course Talia enthusiastically returned with the Queen's servant, delighted at the prospect of being reunited with her children. On arrival at the Palace Talia, tired after the journey, found herself pushed into a guardroom and locked in. Several hours later, thirsty and hungry, she was dragged out into the courtyard to face the Queen. "Where is the King?" she asked, looking round to see only angry, leering, faces. Hearing that question only maddened the Queen further, her face reddening she didn't answer that question but, looking the girl up and down, screamed out in indignation "Those are my clothes you're wearing!" The Queen seemed to be on the verge of choking, as she paused to draw her breath Talia noticed that wood had been piled up around a tall sturdy pole to which heavy chains had been fixed with staples. "Take them off. Now!" the Queen demanded. "And don't drop them in the dirt, you ignorant whore!" she cried out in exasperation. Talia cried and sobbed as she removed each item of clothing, the servants she handed them to each averted their gaze from her as she carefully placed garments into their hands. But once back with the watching crowd they couldn't take their eyes off her body. "Who is she?" "What has she done?" "She's a witch." "She stole clothes and jewelry from the Royal Apartments." "She used magic and witchcraft to attire herself in the Queen's garments." Rumours abounded, but all agreed she must have committed some heinous crime or have engaged in diabolical act. "Burn her!" "Burn The Witch!" Talia, tearful and ashamed at her nudity before such a crowd, sagged to her knees, only to be roughly pulled back to her feet by the soldiers guarding her. They dragged her, with her frail legs trailing in the dirt, towards the stake. Starved, confused and terrified Talia thankfully list consciousness. As the King's hunting party neared the Belvedere tower he had dismissed his servants to a nearby village. and set off, alone. As he passed through a grove of ancient oaks a woman dressed in black stood before him causing him to rein in his horse. She had long black hair and the most piercing blue eyes he had ever seen. Even though he was the King he couldn't help but dismount and bow to her. "My Lady, I don't believe we have ever met before, for I could never forget such entrancing beauty...." He was about to ask her name when she raised her hand to silence him "You must return with all haste to your court where your wife is in great and mortal danger." The King hesitated before replying "I am sure the Queen is perfectly safe with the household guard to protect her." The dark beauty who held his attention laughed at him "Your Queen is no wife to you. She has not borne your children. The old religion would not have recognised her as your wife." The King raised his whip to strike at this insolent enchantress who mocked him, but his heart suddenly felt as if it had been grasped by a hand of ice. "Talia!" he cried out loud and turned to ride at breakneck speed, alone, back to the City. As he rode into the courtyard he saw Talia's frail white body hanging limply from the heavy chains. Soldiers were holding flaming torches ready to cast them into the wood piled around and beneath the stake. "Stop!" the King roared. He commanded that Talia be unchained and her nudity covered then he turned on his queen and her retinue. As she glared furiously her servants told how she had previously deceived Talia and had the baby twins brought the palace where the cook had served their flesh to him. The King was furious with grief and demanded that both the Queen and Anton be burned on the pyre she had prepared for Talia. "Your Majesty!" Anton cried out, desperate to be heard above the noisy crowd. As he was bundled past the King, his arms pulled up behind his back by the soldiers escorting him, he at last got his attention "Your Majesty, spare me! Your children are alive and well!" The King ordered the soldiers to stop, as the cook continued "I could never bring myself to carry out such a diabolical order, instead I prepared dishes made of suckling pigs to deceive your Queen. The children are safe in my wife's care, being nursed by my sister in law." To Anton's surprise the King leant forward and kissed him, before turning his attention back to his wife. "Are you possessed by the devil, woman. However I may have wronged you, what you have tried to do is so cruel, so evil...." Unable to find the words to express what he felt towards her, he turned and beckoned to the Captain of the Household Guard. "Do with her what she would do to Talia." He paused then, to make himself perfectly clear, added "She is no longer my Queen. By her deeds she deserves no more consideration than ... than an animal, a rabid dog... " He turned away and went to comfort Talia as she was led to his private apartments. The crowd had swelled as word spread that a young woman had been stripped and was to be burnt. Having seen Talia, the supposed witch or thief, stretched naked and terrified for their delectation they were now excited to get the additional satisfaction of seeing their haughty young Queen stripped of her finery, exposed to their leering gaze then publicly destroyed. The Queen, instead of displaying the cowed terror Talia had, screamed, raged and fought. Instead of meekly removing her clothes she had hers ripped from her body, the knives the soldiers used to cut them free nicking her arms and torso as they slashed away the remaing bits of fabric which, despite their tugging and jerking had refused to tear free from her writhing body. Emboldened by the retreat of the King into the palace the crowd yelled foul abuse at the Queen, screaming at the soldiers to hideously mutilate her too perfect body. A single cry for her to be raped by the court jester grew into a chant of hundreds of voices. The Queen's face contorted with mad rage as she yelled incomprehensible curses back at the crowd, her subjects. To silence her one of the soldiers drove the hilt of his sword into her belly with all his strength. Held by both arms she was unable to double up on pain as she so wanted to. The crowd cheered in approval. Because she was fighting back and kicking so much the soldiers chained only her wrists together then, mounting a ladder one of them passed the end of that chain through the top staple, so her arms were raised above her head, and wound it back round the post securing it to itself with a shackle. The Queen twisted and tugged and kicked out, few in the crowd were close enough to hear her most un-queenlike obscenities she was screaming, though they could sense her desperation from the way the rusty links cut bloodily into her wrists as she futilely tried pulling them free. There was no sign of the King returning so it was the Captain of the Guard who raised his hand then gave the command for the torches to be cast into the dry firewood. For perhaps half a minute it was the smoke from the fire that most troubled the Queen but soon the heat from the glowing flames seared her bare skin. Then, as the flames spread from where the torches had landed towards the post in the centre, they started licking at her feet; she lifted her legs so her chained wrists painfully took her full weight, she drew up her knees and kicked her feet about trying to avoid the growing twisting tongues of flame. Some of the crowd jostled to get a view of the doomed Queen's most private parts before she totally disappeared amongst the smoke and fire. The last view the watchers had of the Queen before she was totally consumed and turned to ash was of her stretched upper body hanging limply against the post, the updraft of flames and heat lifting her long hair until it too caught alight and the burning red flesh became one with the conflagration. The King waited for a brief but necessary period of mourning to pass before summoning the Bishop to marry him to Talia, making her Queen. And it may, of course, be assumed that they lived happily ever after. Though he did request Anton to never again serve tasty morsels of suckling pig!

[tavytamarason]

[tavytamarason]

SLEEPING BEAUTY PART 1

Count Storslat pulled off the sheets covering his wife Isabella, rolled her onto her back and pulled her nightgown up above her waist. “No! Please, not again…” she sobbed. He pushed her thighs apart and without a word, or any foreplay, massaged his cock until stiffly erect and thrust into her. Isabella sobbed silently. Nearly every night since their marriage seven years earlier, he had made love, well no longer love, not even lust, any more. Just a routine, physical ritual attempt to sire a son and heir. Isabella desperately looked forward to those days when he drank himself into a stupor after a day’s hunting and was carried to bed by his servants, or to that time of the month when the flowers were brought on, which no longer seemed a curse to her. The Count had almost decided she was barren and infertile. He guiltily found himself hoping she might die, perhaps of some accident, so he could re-marry. Whilst he would not, of course, kill her he did start to neglect her, while his attempts to impregnate her took on a rougher, almost violent, aspect. The Count’s physician realised what might be so vexing his lord and felt pity for the Lady Isabella who had, of late, become increasingly prone to ailments and was becoming of an increasingly worn and haggard appearance. She was, it seemed, barely fed other than at public feasts and banquets; after which she often vomited back much of the rich food to which her digestive system had become unaccustomed. “My Lord.” The wise old man approached the subject carefully when the Count was in a good mood. “I have heard that there are still some people of the Old Religion who can help with fertility when a woman has been unable to conceive.” So it was that Count Storslat found himself riding, with only his Squire as company, into the densely wooded valleys where the Romans had once mined iron. A short bearded old man wearing a pointed hood answered their questions nervously, but eventually directed them to a cave in a steep ferny gully lined with moss covered rocks. As they cautiously entered the cool dark cave a woman’s voice echoed from within “Come alone, leave your squire outside.” Count Storslat hesitated, feeling as though the woman was expecting him. He sent his squire back then entered the small, dark, ominous cavern. “What will you give me if I help you?” she questioned. “I will decide that, once I hear what you say.” The Count haughtily replied. The woman, whose dark outline he could just about make out, told him that he could only conceive a child if he impregnated his wife with tenderness and love for her and that the union must take place on the night of a full moon in the house of a blacksmith. “And now, my guest, what shall you pay me?” the woman asked. Count Storslat shivered a little, perhaps from the cold or perhaps because he found her strange soft voice so alluring. “Your life” he replied. “The punishment for heathens and witches is a horrible and painful death. I have taken vows to defend the Faith from such as you. However my payment to you shall be my silence.” At that he turned and stepped out into the daylight. For some reason he paused, with a sense that something was missing, or left undone. Turning back, his heart beating fast, he called to the woman whose presence he had found entrancing “What is your name?” “Maleficent” her voice echoed back. Lady Isabella was puzzled, yet delighted, as her husband became more attentive to her and less demanding of his sexual advances. She was even more puzzled as to why he decided they should have to ride many miles and spend the night at the cottage attached to a forge in a remote hillside village. Their delight upon discovering that Lady Isabella was with child seemed to brighten the whole of their realm. The child’s birth was the occasion of great feasting and celebration. Silently the Count was disappointed that it was a girl, not the hoped for heir. However if, when she came of age, she married the right man, he might be able to ensure that his grant of dowry entailed her husband taking the name of Storslat, so continuing his line. But he had to be sure. So on the evening after the child was christened Talia the Count again sought out the enchantress of the Old Religion. “Maleficent!” he roared at the entrance of the gloomy cave. The woman came to the entrance so he could see her beautiful pale face and long straight black hair almost shining in the dappled light of the setting sun. “What is the future for my newborn daughter, Talia? Who shall she marry? Can she ensure the future of the house of Storslat?” The Count’s heart quickened as her alluring lips parted with her reply. “Your daughter will grow beautiful and be loved by all who see her.” The Count nodded. “But before she is of age she will be endangered by a splinter of flax and you will never see her married or bear a heir. You are the last to bear the name of Storslat which will be unknown to future generations!” She laughed hysterically but disappeared back into the Stygian darkness as he lunged towards her. For several years the Inquisition sought for the witch who, according to the King, called herself Maleficent but in the end the Cardinal began to doubt that she had ever existed. Meanwhile the baby Talia grew into a pretty little girl. Determined that the prophesy should not come to pass the Count ordered that no flax should ever be brought into his estates and that all linen should be bought in ready made. The pretty girl grew into a slim elegant young lady. Even before she came of age suitors were desperately vying for her favours. A great ball was held. Count Storslat and Lady Isabella were proud and delighted at the attention from princes and young lords from throughout the Kingdom and, indeed, the whole of the Holy Roman Empire. But the Count wanted a suitor who, while of aristocratic blood with ancient estate would also be in sufficient need of the great dowry he could bestow to agree that it would entail changing his name. However while her parents deliberated her future young Talia continued to entrance the Count’s subjects as she strolled round his estates with her servants and chaperones. She revelled in the attention she drew from young men, she delighted in the welcome given to her in each village. In one small hamlet at the edge of a great forest her entourage were welcomed into the low roofed cottage of a humble widow as a storm gathered . As the wizened old white haired woman offered to prepare a simple yet wholesome meal for them Talia stared open mouthed at her daughter who returned with some water from the well. She had been excited by the rapt attention she received from handsome young men, yet this pale black haired woman with piercing blue eyes brought on similar feelings in her heart. While her entourage helped the old woman at the hearth her daughter showed Talia where she had secretly been spinning flax. She watched entranced as the younger woman’s slender fingers deftly spun the flax on the spindle. Talia asked if she could stretch the flax herself, but as soon as she began to spin, a splinter of flax stuck under her fingernail. Without even a cry Talia dropped to the floor. The woman rushed through to her mother, grabbed her hand and hurried her out into the darkening storm. Seconds later the hovel was filled with screams as Talia’s chaperone found her body sprawled on the floor by the spinning wheel. Count Storslat was desolate with grief. For a whole day he sat staring at his beloved, adorable, daughter’s body which had been brought back to the castle. He just couldn’t bear the thought of burying his beautiful child in the cold, damp ground. Instead he had her carried to the Belvedere tower in his deer park. There, dressed in her finest clothes, she was gently laid on a great gilded bed. The shutters were closed and barred, the doors locked and a great fence erected round it planted with hawthorn. The years passed, the Count went slowly mad, beating and raping his wife daily even though her child bearing days were now long past. Eventually, on the death of the Count the estates returned to the King. Decades later a new King rediscovered the delights of the hunting available in the nearby forests and restored a part of the empty castle as a hunting lodge. His son was also an enthusiastic huntsman and when he was married to a princess from a powerful neighbouring Principality they spent their honeymoon at the castle. They returned to the castle a couple of years later, just after he had become king. He had previously noticed and enquired about the overgrown boarded up tower on a hill in what had once been a deer park and was told it was a hunting lodge built by a Count who once owned the castle. He paid no further attention to it until one day, when out hunting, his falcon flew in through the broken shutter of one of the upper windows. The King waited, whistling to recall it, but it did not return. Drawing his sword he cut a swathe through the tangle of hawthorn to get to the gate in the surrounding fence. Despite its solid appearance the fence was rotten and disintegrated after several kicks. Close up, the tower was clearly in much worse condition than it appeared from a distance. However the locked door wouldn’t yield to the pressure of his foot He then focussed his attention on one of the small ground floor windows. Prising his sword between the shutter and it’s frame the rotten wood there yielded and within a couple of minutes he had cleared the opening so he could climb in. It took a while for his eyes to become accustomed to the darkness within. It seemed that the roof was no longer completely watertight for only damp rotten portions of what he assumed were once magnificent tapestries hung in shreds on the peeling plaster work of the walls. Dead leaves and bits of rotten wood littered the floors. He listened, there was no sign of his missing bird. Carefully he ascended a rotten spiral staircase, testing each decaying wooden tread before putting his full weight on it. At the first landing there was a door which the King tentatively opened then stepped through, all the time aware of the sponge-like feel of the floorboards beneath his feet. Light coming through a crack in the shutters dimly illuminated heavy, ornately carved, bed with a few bits of peeling gilt still visible in places. The damp yellowed sheets, speckled with mildew, covered what looked like the form of a person asleep in the bed, but the King’s eyes were first drawn to his falcon perched imperiously on the great carved headboard. Then he looked down to see the pale face of a girl. He hurried across the room to her side. She looked so beautiful, so peaceful, as if she were sleeping. “Wake up.” He said gently. He repeated it more loudly. The third time he shouted at her, feeling slightly foolish; it was hardly likely that a young girl could wander in, though the thorny thicket, the admittedly rotten fence and past the locked doors and shutters then go to sleep in an ancient damp, mouldy bed. And yet… He gently eased his arms beneath her head and shoulders and gently lifted her slightly. Her body though cool was soft and supple, it certainly didn’t have the feel of a rotting corpse. The King felt a desperate sadness and he eased her up into a sitting position so he could view her more clearly. But the thin rotten silk of her dress, yellow with age, tore across her shoulder so its tattered remnants fell to the girdle bound round her slender waist. For a few seconds the King stared at her dimly illuminated small but perfect breasts, then he gently slapped her face trying to wake her. But he knew it was futile. In his heart he knew she must be dead, yet his loins ached to posses her. Frustrated he slapped her face harder. With both the palm and the back of his hand he beat her face from side to side. Tears welled up in his eyes as he screamed “Wake up, please, for God’s sake awake!” But he couldn’t arouse her, though he himself was becoming greatly aroused. He pulled her towards him, then hugged her, ashamed at his tears - crying for something lost which he had never first found. He ran his hands up and down the soft skin of her bare back and nestled his face against the side of her slender neck. But then, realising he was cuddling a corpse, he let go so she fell back onto the bed as he took a step back. He knew he should leave, yet he felt a tender love for this girl such as he’d never felt for his wife. He bent forward to give her a farewell kiss on the cheek. He kissed her cheek, then her lips, then pushed his tongue into her mouth. The inside of her mouth didn’t feel as cold as the surface of her body. The King closed his eyes, yet couldn’t stop seeing the vision of her loveliness. He took a deep breath and willed his legs to take a step back. They didn’t. He reached down to loosen her girdle, he had only half undone it when the rotten cord parted, he pulled it from her waist, more of the rotten silk dress ripping as he did so. Upon the sight of her bare belly he lost all his regal self control. Within seconds he had torn the fragile remains of her dress and tunic from her body. He quickly, almost frantically, disrobed then lifted her limp naked body from the bed and held it tight to him. He ran his hands from her shoulders town to her firm, cold, buttocks. He pulled her slender arms round him, but they immediately slipped back to her side. He knew he could do what he willed with this exquisite pale body, she was beyond feeling shame, pain or love. He pushed her backwards onto the bed, falling on top of her. The musty cloud of dust from rotten fabric was almost choking, the watching falcon fled to the mantelpiece. The King involuntarily remembered that when he put his tongue between her lips the inside of her mouth had seemed warmer; he wondered if a similar warmth might be found within the body’s other lips. He first gently explored her with his fingers, she did indeed feel a little warmer inside her tight. vagina. Temptation overcame his inhibitions, by now his cock was rock hard and he gently eased it into her. As his rigid cock gently forced her tight maidenhead he thought that, in the absence of any foreplay, this would almost certainly hurt her if she were alive. He withdrew a little, wondering if he should feel guilty, then thrust firmly back into her. The damp featherbed squashed beneath her as the King’s full weight repeatedly bore down on her body, the stinking grey mouldy dust he disturbed so choked his mouth and nose that he had to get up and stood back coughing, with his eyes streaming. After a minute, as the dust settled a little, he dragged the body off the bed by the ankles so it dropped heavily down onto the debris covered floor. He felt foolish as he caught himself about to say “Sorry.” Telling himself he had no reason to feel guilty he lowered himself onto, and back into, her and with a growing sense of fulfilment and ecstasy ground her delicate flesh into the rotten floorboards, holding her delicate unresisting arms in a desperate grip. Finished, he lay still on top. of her while his cock relaxed. When he eventually got back to his feet he saw his falcon, still on the mantelpiece, staring accusingly at him. He lifted the girl’s used body back onto the bed then guiltily gathered his hastily discarded clothes. Then as he looked down he realised, with horror, that his cock was streaked with blood. The King fled the tower with his clothes in disarray. As soon as he returned to the castle he directed the Steward to go to the Belvedere tower and firmly secure any loose shutters, with the strict instructions that under no circumstances should he actually enter the tower on pain of death. That evening his Queen sensed that something had happened or gone wrong during his day’s hunting and quizzed him as they retired for the night. Eventually he admitted that he had lost his falcon for quite a long time and had for a while feared it lost. “So, my dear, you are not the perfect huntsman you make yourself out to be, after all!” she laughed. For months afterwards, every time he made love to his wife he was haunted by the beautiful, cold, pale face of that girl in the tower. Her eyes closed until moment he reached an orgasm when, each time, they would suddenly open accusingly, dark and lifeless. The Queen sensed that something had changed between them.

[tavytamarason]

Halloween Vampires Girls’ Night Out

[tavytamarason]

Halloween Vampire Girls' Night Out

It was Sophie's idea to dress up as sexy vampires for Halloween. It was quite enjoyable selecting outfits and perfecting each other's makeup. Her long dark brown hair was OK as it was but I bought a dressing up wig with long straight black hair. I carefully applied the dark lipstick and the fake blood trickling from her mouth to Sophie, then she did the same for me. I enjoyed that bit, but felt slightly Ill at ease when we went into a busy town centre bar. Lots of people were in fancy dress. In fact nearly all the girls were, yet I couldn't help feeling self conscious., particularly as there we quite a few other students from school there. I did feel a little more confident after several drinks, but worried each time a guy started chatting up Sophie that I would be be left alone for the rest of the evening. I would certainly never have gone out on my own that evening. I think she sensed my discomfort, for after little more than an hour she whispered in my ear "Zoe, let's get out of here and disappear into the darkness where creatures of the night belong." Feeling a bit lightheaded after my third drink I felt an impulse to kiss her when she suggested that, but realised it might mess up my make-up. I noticed Sophie's lips were already a little smudged. We walked a little way back from the busy town centre, the chill Autumn air cleared my head a little. Sophie nudged my shoulder "That's Richard Beale's house" she said, pointing out a large detached house behind a high laurel hedge. "Is it?" I replied dismissively. Unsure why anyone really cared where that little nerd lived. "His parents were in the bar of the White Hart, all dressed up to the nines. I bet he's alone in there, let's give him a fright." "Okay" I said reluctantly. "Our outfits are good, but no way is he going to think we're real vampires." Sophie laughed. "I think that just a pair of girls calling on him when mummy and daddy are out will give the little wimp enough of a fright." "That's just cruel." I replied. I didn't like Richard but could sympathise with him, he did get picked on a lot. Far more than I did, and sometimes the other kids made my life a misery. But she gave me no choice and, grabbing my wrist, pulled me with her to the front door. She rang it twice before he came to the door and cautiously opened it. Seeing our fancy dress he immediately said "Can't you read?" and pointed to a notice in the window saying 'Sorry. No Trick or Treat Here.' Sophie put her foot in to stop him shutting the door on us. "Go away!" he shouted then pushed at the door trying to crush her foot. I didn't want to be there. I remember thinking that vampires aren't supposed to be able to enter a house unless invited in. Sometimes. Richard opened the door, to try slamming it harder onto her foot, but this allowed Sophie to get her body in the gap. He pushed it shut squashing her breasts and hitting her head back against the post. "Bastard!" she yelled and forced her way on in. I was shocked at her behaviour, yet curious, so I hesitated on the doorstep. Sophie's hand reached out and pulled me on in. Ignoring the boy's protests she pushed her way into the living room. "Very nice" she said looking round. She picked up a porcelain figure from a shelf on her left. "Will mummy be cross if she finds you've broken this?" she asked, dangling it above the hearth by just two fingers. "Stop it!" he said in a slightly panicky voice. "Give Zoe a kiss." "You've told him my name!" I hissed. "Of course I know who you both are." he said. "Kiss Zoe." Sophie repeated, swinging the delicate figurine precariously. Richard stepped over to me and gave me a dry peck on the cheek. I cringed. "Of for fuck's sake!" Sophie shouted at him. "Zoe, show him how to so it properly." "Sophie!" I protested. "Go on, stick your tongue down his throat or bite his neck." Sophie said, somewhat mockingly. She slammed the figurine down on the mantelpiece, luckily without breaking it. "For Christ's sake lighten up everyone. "Richard..." She paused "Can I call you Dick?" She laughed hysterically. "Little Dick, is it? Where do your parents keep their booze?" He looked at me, frightened, but didn't answer Sophie. She went through to the kitchen and after only a short while clattering around in there returned with a bottle of vodka and a half empty bottle of brandy. "Drink this" she said, handing Richard the vodka. She passed me the brandy. Richard shook his head but then Sophie picked the delicate ornornament up again and swung it about while gripping its head by just two fingers. "Drink or the little lady loses her head!" Richard drank. Until Sophie decided she wanted some too and, to his obvious relief, snatched the bottle from him and put it to her own lips. "There" she said. "You've just saved this little lady." Still gulping down vodka she unsteadily placed the ornament back on the mantelpiece. Too near the edge; it wobbled then fell to shatter on the marble hearth below. Richard cried out and sprang at Sophie. But the pathetic little worm got kneed in the groin then punched in the face by her. I did notice that she'd split her knuckles, perhaps on his teeth but she was obviously too drunk to notice. "Zoe, help me strip him." Sophie was already unfastening his trousers. She suddenly cried out "Look, here's his phone. Let's see what secrets he's got." "What d'you mean?" I asked as she turned away from him so he couldn't grab the phone back. "Well Zoe, when I borrowed your phone I saw your Tumblr blog re-posting all that thinspiration crap and the selfies you post of yourself from the neck down in just your underwear in the bathroom." I just wished the ground would open up and swallow me. "No! You nosy bitch... " Then I burst into tears. Sophie was muttering something about birdwatching sites on Richard's phone then exclaimed with glee "Well look at this!" I looked across at Richard and saw a look of terror on his face. "You fucking little pervert!" Sophie exclaimed. "An album full of photos of girls being stabbed in the guts." She paused for a moment. "Oh my God! I hope some of these aren't real. Zoe look! They're pulling the guts right out of this bitch's belly!" I didn't know where to look. At that moment I wanted to kill Sophie. "Hey, you'd like some of these Zoe. Look how hollow these sluts' bellies are and how their ribs stick out when they're hung up by the feet... " She laughed slightly manically "Shit! They hung them up to cut out their guts too." She paused for a moment, engrossed by Richard's phone. "They end up roasting and eating them." She handed the phone to me then turned her attention back to Richard. "Stay there you little bastard." He didn't really have anywhere to go anyway and seemed to be stunned into inaction until Sophie returned from the kitchen with a large knife. His expression of terror became more fearful and he backed away. "Would you like to stick this in Zoe's belly then?" she said. "Sophie! Stop it. This isn't funny any more." I pleaded. She spun round to face me. "Take off your cape and lift your shirt up so he can see that flat belly you seem to be so proud of." "That's it, I'm off." I said and made for the door. "OK." She said. "I'll just share all your skinny bathroom pics I've downloaded to everyone we lknow." I froze. I shouldn't have, but I just hoped that the next day, when she was sober, I could persuade her to delete whatever she'd downloaded. Sophie moved to stand in the doorway. With the fake, somewhat smudged, blood dribbling from her lips and brandishing the large kitchen knife she looked quite intimidating. Brandishing his phone she told Richard to take off the rest of his clothes himself. He did slowly start unbuttoning his shirt, but Sophie seemed to be losing patience with him. "Zoe, give him some help,. The little fart can't even undress himself." "I'll do it!" he called out. In half a minute he was wearing just his underpants, stood nervously looking towards the door to avoid eye contact. "Zoe, pull his underpants down." I shook my head. "OK, no problem." She pulled out her own phone. "Posts of Zoe in bathroom exposing her disgusting bony body going viral... " "Stop. Please Sophie." "Pull his pants off then." I knew she was looking straight at me even though I was watching Richard, feeling sorry for him. Then Sophie laughed loudly. "Of course. You're feeling left out. You strip to your underwear too, Zoe!" "No! Please let's just go home Sophie." "OK world, uploading pics of dirty Zoe... " She was clearly enjoying this. "Stop!" I almost screamed. That stupid little wimp of a boy was shaking and looked as if he was about to burst into tears. "I'll strip." As I dropped my black trousers on top of the rest of my clothes on the floor I realised that Sophie wasn't going to stop there. "Ha ha! You skinny little tramp; your knickers and bra don't even match!" She sneered. I was determined that I wouldn't cry like Richard, no matter how much she taunted and humiliated me. "Stay there. You look good together!" Laughing she momentarily disappeared back into the kitchen, quickly reappearing with a coil of green clothes line. She threatened Richard, holding the knife close to his face then proceed to bind his wrists together with the clothes line. She seemed to have trouble tying knots with the shiny plastic cord so I took the opportunity to sidle nearer to the door. "Zoe, I'm watching you. Just stand still." She admonished me. Once she had the knot pulled tight she bustled Richard past me into the hallway then called for me to go up the stairs. She passed the end of the line up for me to pass it round a banister post and back down to her so she could pull his arms up tight above his head. I could have escaped out of the front door then, but feared she might go too far with her persecution of the little pervert. She suddenly embraced his stretched body and bit at his neck, drawing blood. "Sophie!" I screamed at her. "What are you doing?" "Feeding." She replied, turning to face me with blood on her lower lip. "This is what vampires do, isn't it?" "So that's your secret fantasy is it?" I challenged her. "This is why you wanted us to dress up as vampires?" She stepped back from him and looked at his stretched body. "Does he turn you on? Look how skinny he is now he's stretched up. Perhaps you envy his flat tummy?" She playfully slapped his belly then paused for a moment. I wondered if she'd finished her stupid game. Suddenly she passed me the kitchen knife. "He gets off on pictures of girls being stabbed. Stick that in his belly so he can feel what it's really like!" "No!" I screamed at her, realising that she was serious. "Do it, Zoe." I looked down, trying to think of a way out of this. I suddenly saw the front of his underpants go dark with moisture then a trickle of urine run down between his legs. As I watched him wet the carpet I thought of a way out. "Sophie! If I stick the little bastard here there'll be blood all over the place, in the carpet, everywhere . You'll be arrested for murder as well as me." I couldn't tell if she even cared, but I continued "Let's get him down by the river so we can get rid of his body when we've finished." She shook her head, but then hesitated. I feared that she was too drunk to think logically. But then she said "OK." To my dismay she didn't let us get dressed. When I protested she took the free end of the plastic line and looped it round my neck. As she dragged us out of the front door in just our underwear she said "It's OK, people will just think its part of a weird Halloween fancy dress outfit." It wasn't OK. It was bloody freezing outside! Only two cars passed us during the short walk to the grass area with seats alongside the wide still river, one tooted its horn at us. We continued upstream for about a hundred yards to where there is a small wooded area. Here Sophie untied me then threw the free end of the line over a sturdy branch and pulled down on it until Richard was stretched on tiptoe, shivering violently. Sophie handed me the knife then produced his phone again. She showed me a picture of a slim blonde arching her body backwards as a man plunged an ornate serrated knife into her belly. I liked her slim hollow belly. "Go on, Zoe. Do that to him. He gets off on that sort of thing, so let him find out what it feels like." Instead I first held the knife against the side of his neck, where Sophie had bitten him and put my face up against his. "Look Sophie." I said. You can see the fear in his eyes when you look deep into them." Sophie pushed me aside a little and stared close up at his face. In a single quick movement I flicked the knife away from his neck and sliced it deep across the front of her throat. She could only make a gurgling sound as she put her hands to her neck in an attempt to stem the gushing blood. Seconds later she fell, writhing, to the ground. I used the knife to tear away her flimsy vampire fancy outfit then to cut apart the rest of her clothes. I pulled off her boots then her trousers, then sat her up to remove her blood soaked blouse and bra. Finally I used the knife to cut away her panties so she lay naked and weakly struggling on the ground. I hurriedly untied Richard then handed him the knife. "Go on then. Sink it into her belly." He hesitated. "I thought you'd enjoy that." I said. "It's only fantasy!" he sobbed. "Please!" I said. "Hopefully no-one will find her body but if they do it will surely be self defense if you killed her after what she's done to you." I paused, realising what I had done. "if they think I killed her it'll be murder." I didn't expect him to kiss me at that moment! Then he knelt down and plunged the knife into her belly, right up to the handle. He hesitated before pulling it out and stabbing her again, twisting it before he pulled it out. Altogether he plunged the large knife deep into her belly at least six times. I took Sophie's wrist and tried feeling for a pulse, but didn't really know what I was doing. Her eyes were open and staring blankly into the night sky. "I think she's dead" I said. Richard got to his feet then held me tight against him. I could feel the bulge in his underpants against my lower tummy, I reached down and slid my hand inside his pants saying "So you did enjoy it in the end?" I was surprised how long and rigid his cock suddenly became. I slid my own panties down then unfastened my bra before lying down alongside Sophie's still body. I'm sure that few girls can have lost their virginity in such memorable circumstances! I couldn't believe the waves of pleasure I was experiencing at such a dreadful time. But cold and fear stopped us after perhaps 15 minutes and stark naked I furtively searched the grounds of nearby houses until I found an iron boot scraper by someone's front door. We bound that to Sophie's body before rolling it into the river. On the way back to Richard's house, half naked and carrying a bloody bundle of clothes, we had to hide in front gardens a couple of times as cars passed. Once dressed I hurriedly helped him clean up a bit before leaving him to explain the broken ornament to his parents when they returned. "Please never come here again" he said as I was about to leave, but just as I was about to shut the door he took my hand and pulled me back to give me a brief kiss on the cheek. "Until next Halloween."

[tavytamarason]

The Coffin Ship

Colleen refused the mug of cabbage and nettle soup her mother offered her and told her to drink it herself. She knew her parents needed to eat too. For several weeks they had starved themselves in order to provide food for their son Sean as well as a little for his younger sisters Colleen and Mary.

It wasn’t just the Reilly family who were starving. All their neighbours were in equally dire straits after the potato crop had failed for a second successive year. Sean reported how, further south, the tenants of Sir Charles Fisher were being sent off to America by their landlord, at his expense. It would be cheaper than paying the workhouse for taking them in.

“Do you know how much passage to America costs then?” Sean’s mother enquired.

“About four pounds I’m told.” he replied.

“Four pounds!” his father exclaimed. It took him a minute to do the sum in his head. “It would cost twenty pounds for us all to go.; a fortune!”

However Sean’s mother pulled a small wooden box out from beneath the bed. She first took out two gold rings saying “These were my mam’s and my grandma’s”. Then she produced a jewelled brooch “and this was given to your great uncle Patrick by a Spanish nobleman he rescued from the Froggies when he was a sergeant in the Duke of Wellington’s army.” She stared at them in her hands before continuing “Take them to a reputable jeweller and maybe you could get twelve pounds for them. Enough to pay passage for the girls as well as yourself.”

In their weakened condition it took them more than a day to walk to Waterford. The three youngsters spent the night huddled in the shelter of a clump of bushes. Not having eaten for twenty four hours, Colleen was reluctant to to get to her feet again the next morning.

Neither of the two jewellers in Waterford would give more than nine pounds for the rings and brooch so it seemed likely that one of the girls would have to be left behind. Sean decided that, as the younger and weaker sister, Colleen would be the one left to make her way back home.

None of the shipping agents would sell tickets for passage from Liverpool to New York, including the packet ship from Waterford to that port, for less than three pounds fifteen shillings. Sean was about to buy just two tickets when a dishevelled, unwashed young sailor got his attention and took him aside.

“You know there’s a good chance of you getting a passage from Liverpool for half what the agents charge if you wait on the dockside until a ship is about to depart after unloading cotton. They may be glad to fill any spare berths for whatever they can get.” The sailor did sound as if he knew what he was talking about.

“But we’re not yet in Liverpool?” Sean replied.

“Aah. Now I can help with that. Our schooner sails empty for Cardiff on Thusday morning to pick up coal. You’d have to make your own way from there to Liverpool, which might take you the better part of a week, but at least all three of you would have a chance of getting to America then.”

“How much?” Sean asked.

“Now let me see… ” said the young sailor. “Of course I’ll have to check with the Master but I think he’s charging five shillings for passage to Cardiff.”

When, a week ago, the master of the Nightingale had discussed his plans with his crew Tom Smith questioned why they didn’t tell prospective passengers that they could sail direct to Liverpool.

“Because,” Captain Mathews explained, “the Waterford Harbour Master will know how many passengers we have embarked and such are his links with Liverpool word could get back to him if we didn’t disembark any of them there.”

He paused to sip from his mug of ale. “Whereas no-one expects passengers at Cardiff, where there’s just a small dock for loading coal, so as far as anyone knows we landed them there and they got lost afterwards. After all Liverpool must be well over a hundred miles from there.”

Tom then asked “But how do we know they’ll have their money on their persons when they come aboard?”

“How else will they be expecting to pay for their passage across the ‘lantic to Americky, boy?” The master laughed and ordered another ale.

Colleen found that there were a total of thirty seven passengers on the small two masted topsail schooner 'Nightingale’. There was no special accommodation for passengers who just had to climb down into the almost empty hold. Two barrels, one containing drinking water, were lowered down after them, but no food.

“I thought you said there’d be food for us on the voyage!” called up Sean.

“I’m just a keeping it safe in the galley to make sure it’s distributed fairly and made to last the voyage.” Captain Mathews called back down.

The hatch was boarded over, sheeted and battened down before leaving port, but after being at sea for a couple of hours the canvas was rolled back and a few boards removed. The ship’s boy, James, tossed a bag of hard tack biscuit down to the ravenous passengers who fought over it. Neither Colleen nor Mary got any; Sean looked at the pieces of biscuit he had managed to grab, then at his sisters who were staring at him. Despite their pleading eyes he ate both bits himself.

“I need to keep strong to make sure no-one steals our money from me.” he guiltily explained to them.

The little ship, lacking ballast, rolled heavily as it crossed the Irish Sea. When it rained just after dusk water leaked through the deck dripping onto the sickening human cargo. Most could only retch bile and water, occasionally with a few bits of chewed biscuit, for their stomachs were empty.

Colleen couldn’t see anything in the darkness and hadn’t the strength to stand and brace herself against the little ship’s ceaseless rolling. On her hands and knees she braced her body against the solid timber keelson running down the centre of the hold. Bilge water and vomit started sloshing about beneath her. Though starving she doubted she would be able to eat anyway unless the ship stopped its endless rolling.

It was the following morning when she sensed a change in the ship’s motion. Now it was heeling to one side and pitching more than rolling.

“Are you ready, young wizard?” Captain Mathews asked Tom with a chuckle. “Time for your little magic alchemy eh?”

Tom nodded.

“Remember, as soon as you’ve mixed the vinegar with the chloride of lime you get back up out of the hold and batten it back down.”

“As you say, Cap'n. But I wish we’d been able to play with a few of those young maids down below first.” Tom added regretfully.

Colleen watched apathetically as the young sailor dropped down into the hold caryimg a glass carboy in a wicker basket. She didn’t understand why he broached the top of the second, smaller barrel then, using a metal funnel, poured the contents of the jar into it. She didn’t really care what he was preparing, she felt too sick to eat anything anyway.

She was surprised that instead of distributing the barrel’s contents he hurried back up the ladder and replaced the hatch covers.

Shortly after she felt a burning sensation in her throat and heard her companions coughing loudly. Then her nostrils started feeling inflamed too and she sneezed, followed by a fit of violent coughing.

Mary grabbed her hands and looked at her. Colleen’s eyes had now started stinging and looking back at her older sister she saw that she too had tears streaming down her face. “What’s happening to us?” Colleen croaked. Mary, unable to speak from a paroxysm of coughing just shook her head.

Colleen was then knocked flat face down on the floors by the writhing body of a man clutching desperately at his own throat.

The 'Nightingale’ having previously turned close to the wind now beat towards the shelter of the leeward side of a high rocky island separated from the shore by a few miles of turbulent fast flowing water. Home only to sea birds it was difficult to access by small boat from the mainland because of the strong tides where the waters of the Irish Sea meet the strong tides flowing from the Bristol Channel, Captain Mathews had selected this location to dispose of the evidence of their wicked deeds.

It was just before dawn by the time the old schooner was securely riding to its anchor. The crew grumbled about the stench carried on the wind from the seabird colony on the rocky island.

When the hatch was uncovered Captain Mathews was disappointed to still hear weak coughing and sneezing from those in the hold. They waited a few minutes, peering down into the darkness.

“I don’t think they’re in a condition to give us any trouble.” he decided. “Start bringing 'em up.”

Tom and the other sailor had no difficulty dragging the limp, and in many cases light and starved, bodies up the ladder but the boy, James, struggled and held up the others.

So the master set him to searching the bodies, alive or dead, for money and valuables. As James gleefully held up a purse containing nine guineas he had taken from a still gasping woman dressed in tattered rags Captain Mathews changed his instructions. “Strip their clothes off too and pile them up by the galley door. We’ll burn them all later to make sure there’s no evidence that we didn’t land them all at Cardiff.

Colleen had lost consciousness but came round again when dragged up on deck. The first light of dawn illuminated a ghastly pile of naked bodies, men and women indiscriminately thrown together.

A boy of no more than thirteen or fourteen years old, holding a purposeful looking knife, pulled off her shawl then tugged down the front of her blouse so he could insert his knife down inside the top of it and quickly rip the front open; no wasting time fiddling about undoing buttons. Within a few more seconds the ruined remains of the rest of her clothes ended up in the pile by the galley.

Through streams of stinging tears she saw her brother’s limp body dropped on deck. With a broad grin Tom Smith handed Captain Mathews the purse of money he had found on Sean, then he proceeded to hurriedly strip all the boy’s clothes too.

Once he had pocketed Sean’s money Captain Mathews took hold of Colleen’s thin left ankle and dragged her face down, pathetically scrabbling at the deck, across to join the growing pile of naked corpses.

Once all thirty seven would be emigrants had been dealt with the master told his crew to launch the boat to take the bodies ashore.

"It would be much easier to just pitch 'em over the side.” Tom muttered to the other two crew members.

“Shut up, Tom” Captain Mathews ordered. “We can’t have any bodies washing ashore to be found by the Coastguard.”

“It’ll take ages to ferry this lot ashore.” the third crewman complained.

“There’s no need to actually put the whole lot in the bloody boat. Just tie 'em together and you can tow 'em to the island.” came Captain Mathews reply.

Having found a long rope James started tying the bodies together.

“Leave a bit of rope between 'em boy,” Captain Mathews suggested “we need to tip 'em over the rail one by one.”

The first corpse, a skinny young man, had the rope tied around its waist, but as James moved along the rope it was immediately evident that he would need to tie each corpse to it by a short length of smaller rope. Some he tied by a wrist, some an ankle. One he tied by the neck, but he found the young girls lifeless staring eyes disquieting.

Four or five still seemed to have a bit of life in them; one girl, who didn’t look much older than himself, he groped while the master’s back was turned. He squeezed her tits as hard as he could until she hoarsely cried out in pain and weakly tried to twist away from him.

Captain Mathews couldn’t help quickly counting the haul of money and valuables before turning to rid his deck of the pathetic pile of naked bodies. This venture had earned him well over a hundred pounds in specie as well as some rings and jewellery; all together an excellent result.

The crew then set to lowering the daisy-chain of dead, and a few not so dead, bodies down to Tom, waiting in the boat below.

Colleen felt herself dragged across the deck by a rope tied round her left ankle. Then the rope suddenly snatched and lifted her foot up to painfully hit the rail on top of the bulwarks. Someone grabbed both her arms and lifted her body up over the rail. The weight on the rope from the preceding body over the side toppled her on over towards the grey sea below. But her fall was cut short as the rope snatched on her ankle when the body following hers snagged on the bulwarks.

The rope cut through the soft skin of her ankle and forr two or three seconds Colleen hung head down, arms trailing into the swirling water alongside the anchored ship. Then the body above was dislodged and she was plunged head first into the cold sea.

The shock of her naked body being plunged into the chill sea took her breath away and it was nearly half a minute before the terrified girl gathered her wits enough to take a gasp of air and turn to float on her back. By then the ship’s boat was well under way the crew rowing hard to slowly tow the line of almost submerged bodies towards the steep rocky shore of the island.

The small boat bumped, crashed and scraped against the high rock shelf it was moored against while, one by one, the bodies were untied then lifted and pulled onto the ledge nearly six feet above. Threatened by this disturbance of their territory, angry white gannets wheeled above the struggling sailors.

“Get them up the cliffs and wedge 'em in that cleft gully near the top” the master ordered his crew. “Them birds will soon eat the flesh away leaving just piles of un-traceable bones to be found by anyone else who might come here.”

Captain Mathews stood on the cliff top nervously scanning the horizon for any approaching craft while he allowed his crew to amuse themselves with some of the female bodies.

The boy, James, was delighted to find that there was still some life left in the battered skinny girl he had randomly chosen to thrust his cock into.

Colleen had thought she had finally been abandoned to die of cold, if not from the painful damage to her lungs, when she felt coarse hands spreading her thighs then tentatively exploring her most private parts. She had never felt an erect penis before and was surprised how hard it felt and how much it hurt when it was inserted into her. Perhaps those stinging, choking, fumes in the hold of the ship had irritated her vagina too? It didn’t matter anyway, she would very soon be dead like most of the other naked bodies lying jumbled together in the rocky gully. Just as she felt herself drifting from pain towards unconscious a warm wave of intense fulfilment swept up her body, emerging as a croaking gasp from her burning throat.

Colleen shamefully realised that she was damp, almost wet between her legs as the boy withdrew his penis from her. He gave her a brief but tender kiss on the cheek before getting to his feet and pushing her over with his boot to roll down on top of the other bodies in.the stony cleft.

Once his crew had finished their gruesome fun with the corpses Captain Mathews took a last look at them. Pale, some almost grey, with thin arms and legs entangled he felt no guilt, for surely these pathetic, indecent, creatures, the peasant Irish, hadn’t been real people in the sense that he, his crew and his family were.

Then he noticed some slight movement within the pile. Stretching fingers, a straining torso, a knee drawing up trying to cover exposed genitals. He had brought with him the club used to kill baby seals so he jumped down onto the bodies and proceeded to stamp on them while viciously swinging the club down wherever he perceived any slight movement. Also the blood and shattered bones should attract the birds to start feeding sooner.

Colleen concentrated on staying absolutely motionless, staring at a boulder on the skyline so that even her eyes didn’t move. She did wonder why she didn’t want to be swiftly despatched by the sailor’s swinging club, but instinct made her hopelessly cling on to life.

Drifting in and out of consciousness she vaguely noticed the 'Nightingale’ setting sail then turn slowly away from the island. A bit, or perhaps a lot, later she disinterestedly saw a smaller vessel, setting a tower of white sail on its single mast, swing into view as it turned towards the shelter of the island’s cliffs.

Pilot Edward Davies, owner of the cutter “Guiding Star” had decided, as a birthday treat for his nephew who crewed for him, to let him spend an hour or two gathering eggs for a later feast on one of those desolate rocky seabird roosts they had so often passed yet never approached. It would prove to be a birthday that young Simon Davies would remember for the rest of his life!

[tavytamarason]

Full tragic story to come soon

[tavytamarason]

How women were abused and mistreated in the days of the slave trade from Africa to the West Indies