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Year of The Oar 2 (Clare Seven)


Year of The Oar 2 by Clare Seven

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    • Average 4.0 from 3 ratings

Justine’s year as a volunteer in a slave galley continues under the cruel whips of the overseers, the unspeakably harsh conditions on that hellship, and the unrelenting, extreme physical exertion at the oar. Now committed, she has no choice but to continue and to suffer the hardships and degradations. As if life on the galley were not hard enough, her subsequent incarceration and labour on land, deep in remote coastal cliffs, brings horrors Justine could not have imagined in her worst nightmares. Perhaps Joshua might save her from the most severe of the punishments, but he and his employer, the bizarre, terrifying Emil Tarik, have another agenda that only slowly becomes clear. And still, perhaps, there is something in Justine that needs and desires almost everything that happens to her…

Product type: EBook    Published by: Strict Publishing Intl.    Published: 5 / 2014

No. words: 35300

Style: Male Dom - M/F, Bondage/BDSM and Horror

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle


Excerpt

Justine’s heart was pounding, though she eased and used her breathing, leaning forward to pull the oar in as the command was given. Sweat from the stretched legs of the rowers above her dripped on her back, stinging fresh lashes, though she ignored it. The collective sigh of the women filled the stinking deck, punctuated by pants and exhausted exhalations of breath and the creaking of wooden boards as the overseers walked the deck, some even starting to walk up the oily, wet steps to the deck above. Justine noted an air of happiness amongst them, as if some had indeed come home. She wondered what place this was, and what new horrors might await the poor prisoners.
“Unchain her,” she heard the words behind her, yet was afraid to turn around, in case her attention would attract the whip. The voice was familiar. Joshua?
“Yes, remove the chain from ankle fetters and unlock her from those wrist chains.”
Justine still had not turned around, yet she wanted to smile. Those damned chains. Her wrists would be free, at least for a short time. Her joy was short lived, however, as fear and paranoia rapidly gripped her. Why was Joshua having her released? Did he intend to have his way with her now that they had arrived at some sort of port?
The same fat Australian in shorts who had put her in chains so many days ago, now stooped, grunting with discomfort, to place his hands in the vile bilge water at her feet, unlocking the rusting chain and beginning to thread it back through the rings, gripping her calves as she winced, to pull them away. She wanted to scream ‘don’t touch me’ to him, wanted to kick him as he freed her, though a few days before she had been sucking his long, hard cock in order to avoid him whipping her back.
She limped up the deck as she was freed, her blistered soles taking the weight of her pain wracked body as she tried to keep pace with the strong arm that was pulling her along the filthy wet timbers. The last time she had been on her feet was when she was led to the spikes. She stepped over them now, eager to avoid the feeling of helpless oblivion that she had felt when last she had been forced to stand upon them for hours. Her legs and body were tired. Beyond training, this type of abuse no doubt built strong rowers, though there was no real recovery as there had been during her triathlon training in the past, no periods when the body could adapt.
One of her arms was being gripped tightly, pulled by the overseer as her feet slapped against the timbers. They were taking her toward the wooden steps. It had been months, or it seemed like months, since she had been brought down those very creaky wooden steps, clean, her hair freshly shaved, her ankles hobbled by her newly acquired steel fetters; so long since she had walked that deck with clean feet. And now, were they going to take up onto the deck, take her outside, into daylight. Dear God, was it true? Were they going to release her early? She wanted to ask them, determine exactly why she was being taken from her rusting chains, though she did not want to feel the whip.
She could smell the sea air as she emerged from below. She closed her eyes and turned away, yelping as the sunlight and the day stung her eyes – eyes that had been so unused to the normal day, a brightness that had become but a memory – then she hit the air.
It was air without stink, air without heavy humidity and the stench of sweat, urine and worse. She breathed in heavy gasps of the clean sea air, as if her lungs had for so long breathed nothing but fetid poison.
Her eyes eventually began to adjust to the light, as she stared at the surroundings of the deck through narrow slits. She was still getting used to the air, coughing and spluttering as she filled her lungs.
She could see a figure in front of her, in the blurry hazy light. She thought she could recognise the stance, even as she instinctively held up her arms to shield her vision from the light.
Was it Joshua? She was forced to look away as an overseer pulled her arm down.
“Justine, how perfectly filthy looking you are. Has it been a while since the slaves were hosed?”
She could sense the Australian man behind her fumbling for his words.
“It’s been a while, sir…. ahhh… sorry, sir. Pierre hadn’t mentioned…”
She saw Joshua brush the lack of slave cleanliness away with a movement of his arm, as if dismissing the entire act that each galley slave had slowly began to see as her sole comfort. Her eyes were indeed adjusting now, and she could plainly see Joshua’s arrogance as he looked her up and down. She could sense the overseer’s relief in turn as he realised that he had not made a mistake. Perhaps, because he was new and wanted to impress, or perhaps he realised that on a ship where women could be naked, chained and put to the lash or worse, punishments for unruly or careless overseers might be equally harsh.
“How are you faring with your ordeal, Justine?” Joshua asked, almost politely, his voice reminding her of how he had been at the party, so long ago, when he had told her about the galley and the slavery, though she considered that no amount of words laced with any amount of red wine could soften the impact or hope to reflect the reality of what a year in chains might hold for a woman.
She looked up, stared into his eyes, cold eyes. No matter how much he tried to make himself seem appealing or even affectionate, he was simply cold.
“Oh,” he added ruefully. “Of course, you have my permission to speak.”
Her eyes narrowed at his vindictive ruthlessness. When last they had spoken, Pierre stood behind her, thick cane in hand, and struck the backs of her legs and buttocks whenever she had paused or given the wrong answer. She could feel the fiery welts, even as she thought back on the interview, as it had been called.
“I… am well, though…” she rasped, instinctively dropping her gaze from Joshua. Damn it, she thought to herself, she had wanted to maintain eye contact. Was she becoming some chained animal who bowed in deference to her master? With effort, she raised her head again.
“Though… I have been put back in wrist chains,” she replied.
He smiled slightly, a practiced movement perhaps, since the ‘smile’ entailed curling the ends of his lips in a fashion that looked markedly evil rather than simply happy.
“Of course, my dear slave. You were made to stand on spikes then put back in chains, as you were caught being pleasured by another slave. Had you been in her position you would be riding the horse.” He reached forward to touch her sex lips, hidden amongst the mop of sweaty and matted pubic hair that had remained overgrown for weeks now, and he teased her as she gasped.
“These lips would be played and stretched under your weight, and pulled harshly by the bucket below. I think you came off lightly in the whole affair, don’t you agree?”
In response, the Australian overseer sniggered, an act that was rewarded with a stare full of malice from Joshua. Justine stiffened, seeing the face full of malevolence now as the overseer quietened rapidly.
She stared at Joshua, as if to ask why she was here more than anything else. As if in answer he raised his hand to the vista behind him. Both her sight and body had now begun to accustom themselves to the outside world, or at least the environment outside the stinking hell within which she had toiled for so many long months.
“Welcome to the Galera, Justine.”


Reviews

a little bit disappointing. Though the storyline is great, it lacks spice somewhat. There seems to be no real sadist in this story. The overseers seem to only make their job, the chief overseer always protects the heroine (out of affection?), the main instigator only watches on monitors. If a third novel is planned I recommend an eager, sadistic female overseers. 3 out of 5 (SirSteve)

Author Information

Clare Seven comes from one of the remoter parts of the United Kingdom. She writes erotic fiction, often involving dark, dank dungeons and exploring the relationship between pain and pleasure. Her scenarios are often wicked and, at times, downright terrifying, although she claims that many of her ideas come from the twisted fantasies of her ex-boyfriends rather than from her own imagination or experiences.

When she is not writing or dreaming up new and ever more devious plots for her novels, Clare is a management account and spends her spare time training and taking part in triathlon events.

 

Publisher Information

Publishers of erotic and mainstream literature.


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