A little bird told me.
adult situations and language
Monette saw stars as she was struck hard across the face. She was lashed to the mast of a fishing smack somewhere out in the Northern Currents between the Broken Shore and the Howling Fjords. The little boat flew the snapping Alliance Colors as it coursed over the five-foot swells. Monette turned her head back to the Man in the Dark Coat, who was holding on to a rope to keep his balance in the swell. Monette looked black and blue, but the Man in the Dark Coat looked distinctly green.
The side of her face was numb and the rocking and pitching of the boat had her nauseous. The punches to her guts did not help either. Monette’s eye had swollen shut, and wrists chafed as she worked the rough salt-ropes. The cold sea wind had frost forming on the rails and had Monette shivering; her hair a dark flutter before her.
The Man in the Dark Coat sneered, “I am going to ask again,” he shouted over the winds “Where is Doctor Wellson or Quai Mason now!”
“I don’t know,” she called back.
The Man in the Dark Coat backhanded the other side of Mo’s face.
Mo shook her head and tried to put things together through the maze of pain and the early stages of cold-sickness, the deck was deathly cold. “This man does not know how to interrogate proper,” Mo complained to herself “he doesn’t even know to wait between . . . ;” Mo’s thoughts were derailed as he grabbed the back of her hair and twisted her face to his. Mo had studied his face intimately over the past half-day’s interrogation, and now Mo knew he liked garlic shrimp.
“Answer me woman!” shouted the man, and he gave a superior-sneer as Monette shivered in his grip. He started to speak and Monette cut him off.
“Don’t ask stupid questions!” she shouted back over the winds “Why don’t you ask me a question I can answer? Do I Have to conduct this this interrogation my-“ but her reply ended with Monette getting another punch to her breadbasket. She doubled over as far as she could go, the coarse rope biting against her skin, and a stream of bile and breakfast came from her lips. Mo coughed hoarsely.
The Man in the Dark Coat shook his head in exasperation. Behind him the hatch came open and the Lieutenant came forward unsteadily, his hands reaching for one rail, and then the other. He was still in his fighting leathers of the studied non-descript variety. Behind him an Old Salt kept the tiller true as he studied the skies as the fishing smack crashed through waves. He dressed in a warm woolen coat and puffed a pipe.
“Sir?” The Lieutenant addressed the Man in the Dark Coat, while eyeing the woman lashed to the mast. The Man in the Dark Coat turned and swayed on the rope, it helped neither of their lunches to rest easily. “What do you want!”
The Man in the Dark Coat was taken aback by what he felt was a stupid question; and then he leered “This brown bint is going to go to the men if she does not answer my questions.” He looked over his shoulder “Arent’cha?!” Monette was too busy gasping for breath to retort.
The Lieutenant nodded and leaned close. “Sir, according to the file provided, the prisoner avails herself of various treatments and potions for the various venereal diseases . . . like children.” He still had to shout over the wind “. . . many of our commando do not! I would rather that we not have to see to them getting treated!” There was only wind on the deck for long moments. “. . . and, I do not think your prisoner will last long out here. We’ll put the Tanari below decks . . . “
“SHE ESCAPED!” he bellowed, “The real reason she’s naked is she still got out of the fetters! Okay!” The Lieutenant looked to the Man in the Dark Coat and then to the prisoner and then back again “Prisoners do that.” The Man in the Dark Coat glared at him.
The Lieutenant nodded “Let me get the prisoner out of the weather, let her take time to realize her pain, then we can question her properly.” The Man in the Dark Coat shook his head and looked to the horizon and his stomach flipped over, finally he nodded “Your responsibility if she goes over the side, or ruins this mission!!!”
Mo watched the Lieutenant come up to her. She glared at him, but he raised both his hands to her neck in a peculiar way and squeezed. Mo began to gasp for breath and her eyes went wide. She tried to keep her calm but she could only hear her heartbeat. Mo’s head rolled back as strong hands held her throat tight, and overhead the blurry winter clouds overhead came to blackness.
Monette came to gasping for breath, “No, No, NO!” she cried. She looked to her arms overhead, twisted, and pulled. She strained like a madwoman in the long moments as her senses found her and the headache filled her mind after the fear had receded. Mo breathed as she left the panic behind her. She was in a tiny cabin, her arms secured over her head as she sat lotus on the floor. The Lieutenant looked up from the stack of parchments he was reading by the shark-oil lamp. The lamp and the pale winter glow around the aft windows were the only light in the room. It wasn’t the oubliette, and it smelled of old fish.
“A bad dream?” The Lieutenant set the yellowed parchment down, and pushed them into the folio on the table next to a long leather wallet, where both promptly slid to the ridge at the edge with the wave.
Monette’s eyes snapped to the Lieutenant, like a frosted cat. “So, you get first whack?” The Lieutenant chuckled shyly “No.” Monette looked down at herself and judged what they might have had done to her while she was out. After realization dawned, she carefully looked at her surroundings in worry; at least they put her in a shirt. Unbuttoned, but a shirt. Monette could tell a man had worn and worked in the shirt since it had last been washed.
The Lieutenant turned on the bench and leaned forward with his elbows on the armored leather of his thighs “But, you know how these things work. Or at least your record hints that you do.” He reached out carefully and put a hand under Monette’s chin. Monette looked to the hand and raised her head a fraction. She ached, it was still cold, and she was hungry and thirsty. Her un-swollen eye bore into his.
“So, tell me, where do you think this Doctor Wellson and Quai Mason might be?”
Monette shook her head in his hand “I don’t know.”
The Lieutenant reached back and opened up a leather wallet. From there his hand slid out a small metal tool the end of which was a small steel hook, the type that gnome dentists used. He turned it easily in his hand and brought the sharp tip up under Monette’s cold-hardened nipple. Mo flinched and raised her chest to escape the drag of the steel bite.
Mo’s face was then twisted in the Lieutenant’s tightening grip. He looked at her teeth appraisingly as he unhooked her nipple and brought the dental instrument up her forced-open lips.
In the tiny bunk cabin, the Man in Black looked up as he started to hear the real screams and sincere begging out of the brown cunt through the wooden bulkhead. It was all the better because he did not hear the distinct words, just the broad strokes of satisfying pain and humiliation. He smiled and nodded; he still thought the Lieutenant was an ambitious smug prick, but he knew his business.