The grim little fishing village of Portuselvan lies on the remote rock-bound east coast. Before the collapse of the Republic’s economy and the coup by the Generals the inhabitants had just about managed to make a living from fishing, setting drift nets from bluff rugged open clinker built boats launched from the open beach in the little bay.

But now there wasn’t even a market for the sardines caught there. As they no longer received any cash for their catches the inhabitants could no longer buy flour to make bread and had to resort to eating just the fish they had caught, along with the few vegetables they managed to grow in the thin stony soil in their gardens. More importantly the fishermen could no longer afford to pay boat builders to repair or replace their boats, nor to buy new nets, although their wives did quite a good job of repairing the old ones.

Shayla lived with her widowed mother in a small low two roomed cottage. For the last year since her father’s boat had gone missing during a storm they had lived mainly on the few vegetables they had managed to grow in their tiny garden, supplemented by the occasional few fish they had earned by helping to launch and recover the heavy boats through the surf.

Although assisting with the boats improved their diet it was at a cost to their stock of old working clothes which rotted from the salt water and were then torn apart by the breaking surf. Shayla sadly reflected that the men would manage with just the aid of their wives on calm days, when they could take their time pulling boats in with the winch at the head of the beach. But if the sea was up speed was of the essence and they would willingly pay a few fish from their catch for any assistance in quickly hauling boats in before they broached or were pounded apart on the beach.

In this wild remote hamlet it was the custom for some of the married woman to preserve their clothes by stripping from the waist down when working in the surf with their husbands present. In the frantic struggle to safely retrieve the previous yet increasingly frail boats and their catches men had no time to stare at their neighbours wives and the cold, wet and physical exertion precluded any lustful thoughts.

However “Black” Jak was known for scorning the wrath of the other men by staring at their wives with a leering concentration while making his own frail, subdued young wife struggle to recover his own boat wearing just a few shredded rags around her shoulders which afforded little modesty or warmth.

After the winter storms had torn holes in their roof, which the two women could only manage to repair by stuffing turf in the holes, and with their meagre stock of potatoes from the previous year rotted, Shayna’s mother kept pressing her to find a husband. Perhaps she could find a young man from another village along the coast, although as the increasingly decrepit small boats struggled to stay at sea there were far more widows than bachelors in every cove. Inland the situation was almost as bad. There were certainly a few more young men, but mainly redundant miners unsuccessfully trying to survive by labouring or, more often, thieving.

Early one Sunday morning, after four days of storms, the sea finally died down by enough for Jak to attempt to launch his boat. None of the other fishermen were up, but as Jak neither expected not got any help from them it made no difference to him.

With Jak on one side and his wife on the other they hurriedly pushed the heavy boat out into the breaking seas. A large breaking wave lifted the boat so that his wife lost her footing and slipped so that as the wave receded the keel crashed down onto her shins, snapping them and pulling her beneath the water. Jak clambered up into the boat and reached over the other side to grab at her. As the waves rolled over her head he managed to grasp her tattered shirt, but, as he pulled, the rotten material came away in his hand. Again and again the boat pounded on the beach, it sprang a plank near the keel and water started running in. Jak hurriedly grabbed a boat-hook and grappled for his wife’s pale body floundering in the surf. After several failures to get the hook beneath her armpits he managed to lodge it beneath her rib cage and roughly hoist her body aboard. Dropping her weakly twitching body onto the flooded bottom boards he leapt out onto the beach and hurriedly re-attached the winch cable to the bolt at stem of the boat and ran to winch the half flooded boat back out of the destructive surf.

Once the damaged boat was safely clear of the waves he walked round it and saw the water draining from a rotten plank which hung broken from its hull. He then scrambled aboard again and looked at his wife’s shattered body lying lifeless in the blood stained water, feet sticking out at unnatural angles and a broken rib sticking bloodily out from a few inches below her left breast, reminding him of the damage to his precious boat. He roughly jammed her crumpled naked corpse beneath the short foredeck before returning to assess the damaged planking.

If he could find a replacement plank, a few nails and some tar and old rope he hoped he could get his craft seaworthy again, if not he would have lost his livelihood. As he walked up from the beach to seek out old Tam Pollack he passed other fishermen with their families now heading down to launch their boats, as usual he said nothing to them and they said nothing to him, although a few did nod a silent acknowledgement to the big taciturn man. He stopped off at his cottage on the way and put half a dozen sardines from his store cupboard into a bag which he took with him. As he walked he wondered what to do with his wife’s body, he really couldn’t be bothered with a funeral; her family would no doubt come over from Ermehaven and keep belittling him like they did when he got married and all the villagers would expect food and ale or cider which he couldn’t afford. Perhaps he should just say she had left him, or indeed just say nothing at all. The only advantage in having her buried properly would be that he would be free to take a new wife and be married by the minister up at St Elvan. But then not all the “marriages” in these godless villages were recognised by the Chapel anyway. No, he decided, there was no need for a funeral, once he had repaired the boat he could just dump her corpse at sea, if he cut it up a bit it might even act as ground bait and get him a bigger catch.

Old Tam lived in a cave south of Portuselvan, Jak hadn’t been up there since he had been married and the pile of limpet shells which gave an indication of the old hermit’s diet had grown considerably. The cave entrance was protected by an upended rowing boat with a doorway cut in it and a metal pipe sticking out of the top alongside the stem issued a lazy wisp of smoke from a peat fire.

An old bent man, with long grey straggly hair and beard almost merging with the ragged grey rags he wore, challenged Jak “What you after?”

Jak opened the bag he was carrying to reveal the fish inside before replying “Boat needs repairing.” He went on to describe the damage and the materials he needed to repair it. The old man disappeared into his subterranean home and Jak waited. He knew that anything with any conceivable future use which was washed up on the coast thereabouts invariably found its way into Tam’s cave.

As he sorted through the pile of broken pieces of planking Tam had produced from the depths of his cave Jak was unusually talkative to the old hermit. He knew Tam never spoke more than was absolutely necessary and, by the nature of his business kept a good many secrets. After discussing the best way to get the replacement plank to fit snugly he went on to mention that he wanted to make sure his wife’s carcass didn’t wash ashore.

“What a waste” the old man sadly replied, shaking his head.

“Aye, she were a good comfort at night. Though too weak to be much use handling the boat; after all that’s what killed her …” Jak admitted.

“No. No that wasn’t really what I meant” replied the old man. “Though those sardines you’ve brought will be a welcome change from limpets and gulls’ eggs I admit. No it’s a shame to feed her to the fishes.” The old man gazed wistfully out to sea “I was given a nice piece of pork about six months ago by a farmer I helped out. But since then ….” he looked down at the discarded limpet shells “Ah well, I suppose your sardines will at least be a change … though I do hate waste!”

Jak set off down to the village struggling to carry a small cask containing salt, as well as several planks, some oakum in the bag he had taken the fish up in and a rusty tin containing some sticky wood tar.

At first horrified by old Tam’s suggestion, the more he thought about it as he walked back, the more logical it seemed. Anyway now he had promised him a cut from the carcass, and no-one broke promises to Tam.

He waited until long after dark to remove his wife’s corpse from the boat. She felt even lighter in death than when she was alive. He had been daydreaming about giving her cold naked body one final fuck, but now she had stiffened into an unnaturally contorted pose he satisfied himself by just masturbating over her and smearing his sperm over the pale flesh of her torso with both hands. He then sat staring at her for a couple of minutes before getting to his feet and hanging her body up by the ankles from a rafter in a cool dark corner of his cottage. He placed a bowl beneath her then went to a drawer and got a knife to make deep cuts across her throat and both wrists, to allow any remaining blood to drain out before he started to butcher the carcass ready for salting.

The next morning it was calm and sunny and he could start repairing his boat. He cut out the broken piece of plank, leaving as much as possible to be pushed back into place and refastened. As he worked he thought about the several widows in the village. His first attempt at cutting one of the replacement pieces of planking to fit the hole was totally unsatisfactory, the problem with re-using old pieces of wood was that they wouldn’t bend to suit the slight but complex curves of the hull. The trouble was, he pondered, that the strongest of the eligible widows were also the least attractive. He started cutting and carving the next piece of old plank more carefully. He frowned as he wondered if he could take two ‘wives’, perhaps keeping one a secret in his cottage; but no, for women were such gossips the other would soon be letting the whole village know. The resulting plank fitted roughly and with some careful packing and caulking would probably do, but perhaps he should also see what he could make from the third one.

Another fisherman wandered nearby and stood watching for several seconds before Jak turned and glared at him. Not wishing to start yet another confrontation with the obnoxious black bearded man the other fisherman silently nodded approval then turned away. “Wife’s left me” he was surprised to hear Jak mutter behind him as he prepared his own boat for sea.

Jak decided the second plank he had worked on was the best fit, he wedged it in place and drilled holes to fix it to the frames. But to fasten the rivets he needed a helper to hold the heavy iron dolly on the rivet head outside while he clenched the point over on the inside. Usually around mid-day there would be several women gutting fish, mending nets or just chatting in the vicinity of the beach, often including the widows he had been thinking about, now would be a good chance to get one to help him and perhaps even proposition her. But as the other boats had only just put out again after the recent storms there was no such work to do and the only sign of activity was several filthy ragged children playing at the water’s edge and the slender young daughter of one of the widows he was after.

But he wanted to get the repair completed and to check the boat for leaks while it was so calm, so he bellowed across to the girl “Shayla! I need a hand.”

She turned and looked down the beach at Jak. He always made her feel uncomfortable, with his bushy black eyebrows and a perpetual frown he never seemed to have a polite or kind word for anyone.

Seeing her watching but motionless irritated Jak. What was it with women, they either ignored you or, at best, had to be told everything twice. “I can’t do this on my own, it won’t take long and I’ll give you some sardines afterwards.”

She started ambling down the beach towards him. Jak frowned, with her thin face and slender arms she reminded him of his wife and he doubted she would have the strength to hold the dolly firmly in place.

Jak was surprised how well Shayla managed, helping him with the riveting. Looking over the gunwale to direct her each time she repositioned the dolly he began to admire what he could see of her body and realised she was certainly stronger and fitter than his wife had been despite her half starved appearance.

Even as Jak was making that comparison she asked him “Where’s your wife then?”

“Gone” came the curt reply.

When they finished she stood up, her cotton shirt soaked with perspiration. Seeing Jak staring at her Shayla turned away embarrassed, aware of how her sweat was making her shirt stick to her body. Looking over her shoulder she asked “Where’s these sardines you promised then? “

“If you come up to my cottage in a couple of hours I’ll give you a better dinner than sardines” he replied with a smile which she found slightly alarming.

“Can my mother come too?” Shayla asked.

Jak paused a few moments to think about that. During that morning it had indeed been Shayla’s mother he had been thinking about. But now, looking at the girl, he decided he preferred her.

“She didn’t help, did she” he morosely replied.

“If you give me the sardines you promised I could share them with her” she challenged.

As she turned away he stated “See you in a couple of hours.” but she didn’t reply.

Back home Shayla found that, as she and her mother had not been needed to assist in the launch and recovery of boats for over a week, they no longer had any food left whatsoever, none of their few vegetables in the stony garden being ready yet. Feeling weak with huger following the afternoon’s work she apprehensively headed for Black Jak’s cottage.

Jak had had to work quickly. He jammed the partly butchered remains of his wife into an empty cask and built up his fire to fry some of the cut up pieces of flesh while setting aside a few gull’s eggs. He then hurried down to the north end of the beach and collected some kelp which on his return he started to boil.

As Shayla approached Jak’s cottage, a slightly larger building than her mother’s crude low hovel, she recognised the smell of boiled seaweed. Even when hungry she found the taste of kelp alongside fish quite disgusting, so she resolved just to eat the inevitable sardines or crab. Seeing the girl approaching Jak quickly started frying the pieces of meat. When she timidly entered the dark cottage she immediately smelt something unusually appetising. “What’s for dinner” she couldn’t help asking.

“Pork” came his monosyllabic reply.

With the rich taste of the lean fried pork Shayla actually found the kelp just about acceptable, while she mused that she really needed to make the effort to seek out gulls eggs herself, though, regretfully, she didn’t think her mother had any salt left.

Although she still felt uncomfortable in his presence Shayla assisted Black Jak with his boat on several occasions over the next few weeks, attracting curious looks from some of the other villagers who whispered amongst themselves about her inexplicable behaviour.

Several times Jak considered taking Shayla by force while she visited his cottage. Her only living relative was her mother and he didn’t really think that anyone else would bother seriously challenging him. On the other hand, although he felt confident he could beat and terrorise her into working for him, it was improbable that he would be able to prevent her from eventually running away. He decided to take his time.

Unfortunately although he tried to thoroughly salt the hacked apart remains of his wife he didn’t really know how to cure it properly, perhaps it wasn’t cold enough when he rubbed in the salt? Anyway a few weeks later what remained of her had become rotten, while Jak sensed that Shayla didn’t find the strong salt flavour as appetising as the fresh meat he had been able to offer her on the first two occasions.

He decided that if he was to continue his seduction he needed to acquire some fresh ‘pork’. So he headed inland, past St Elvan, to a larger market town. He hadn’t been inland since the coup and was surprised to find life seemed as bleak there as on the coast. Unemployed and displaced mineworkers wandered about the countryside barefoot, begging and stealing, being repeatedly chased on by worried farmers. In and around the town he found starving female ex-colliers indecently exposing their flesh as they offered their bodies to anyone with a few coins or some food while keeping a lookout for soldiers or police tasked with rounding them up. This suited Jak’s purpose admirably. He tried to look detached and uninterested as he assessed their possibilities, he decided to select a whore from the edge or, ideally, from outside town.

After spending nearly an hour surreptitiously following several girls who were exposing shoulders, thighs and abdomens to male passers by, imagining what he might do with each one, he finally selected a desperately tired and hungry looking young woman slumped at the roadside wrapped in just a filthy piece of old sack. As he stood looking at her from the other side of the road her thin arm reached out in his direction and she raised her head to look at him with big pleading eyes set in a thin, haggard face. Jak thought she might have looked attractive were it not for the black eye and several broken teeth, but as it was she looked unlikely to be missed by anyone.

He took her by the hand and she pulled back asking “Got any money?”

Jak didn’t reply but opened his bag to reveal four sardines tied together with a piece of string.

She nodded and got to her feet, then suggested “In the woods over there then?”

But he gently pulled her in the opposite direction saying “I heard there are troops in town rounding up prostitutes.”

“Oh shit! Not again” she sobbed, hurrying along with him “I’ve seen them marching captured whores from the City, none are ever seen alive again!”

She managed to walk less than three miles then, her bare feet bleeding and weak with hunger she stumbled to her knees “Please, if you’re going to fuck me do it now and give me something to eat” she pleaded, looking hungrily at his bag.

Black Jak didn’t waste his breath replying. Looking around the open moorland he could see that there was no-one within a mile of them, so he gently took her face in his left hand and turned her bruised face towards him. As she smiled up at him he swung his right fist into her face with all his strength, shattering her nose. As she fell from her kneeling position onto her back he reached down, grabbed her shapeless rotten sacking garment just below her neck and tore it from her body in tattered strips. She instinctively covered her bloody face with her hands and rolled onto her side. Jak noticed regretfully how little meat there was on her ribs before kicking her hard in the belly with his heavy boot. As she weakly flapped and jerked about naked on the ground she reminded him of a landed fish in the bottom of his boat. He bent and grabbed her right ankle to drag her into the gully of a small peaty stream.

Though the tearful whore still struggled weakly Jak easily threw her on her back over one of the many boulders around which the stream trickled lazily. He hurriedly dropped his trousers then grabbed her knees and spread her thin thighs wide. He looked her in the face expecting to see terror or pleading in her eyes, bit instead just saw apathetic hopelessness. He had to use his fingers to get his swollen prick into her dry cunt, even though it was by no means tight. Still she just lay limply draped over the rock, the fingers of her left hand trailing in the water.

He realised that fucking her pliant unresponsive body wasn’t turning on, he reached forward and put both hands round her small neck and lifted her head to look at her face as thrust more vigorously into her. He started to squeeze; at last feeling some reaction as her body tensed and her slender hands futilely grasped his wrists he felt himself coming. Heedless of her fingers digging into his arms he crushed her windpipe and continued to a tighten his grip until he could feel the front of her neck vertebrae with his thumbs. At last her eyes widened and looked into his with terror. Smiling, Jak thrust two more times to empty his built up sperm into her. Panting, and feeling a bit light headed, he stood and looked down as her body started to slip sideways into the water.

He pulled her back into the centre of the rock before reaching across to his bag for the knife and hatchet he had brought with him. With three strokes of the hatchet he severed her head and watched for a few seconds as the reddish pink water rolled it away downstream, her long brown hair reminding him if eelgrass moving beneath the waves.

Jak lifted the carcass by its feet and watched the blood trickling into the water from the messy stump of its neck.

A quarter of an hour later he was on his way home with crudely butchered limbs and racks of ribs in his bag. He reflected that he should perhaps have cut her tongue out as a delicacy before her head was washed away. The discarded hands and feet and other small bits, such as the shattered collar bone, would soon be scattered by foxes once they had finished with the guts and lungs leaving just a mutilated pelvis, and perhaps a shoulder blade, at the scene of her death.

Approaching the turn off the main road for St Elvan Jak saw a newly erected gibbet from which hung the gently swaying pale slender body of a youth from which several other boys had just finished stripping the clothes and were arguing who should have what. Around its neck was hung a card label on which was scrawled the word THIEF.

Jak reflected that he needn’t have gone to so much trouble to get some more meat, if only he had known some would be hung up so conveniently nearer home. He also regretted not having picked a better fed victim. On the other hand he could at least partly justify his actions as putting a poor starving wench out of misery, and he had enjoyed the day out.

All things considered he supposed that, although people might not approve, he was doing more good than harm. Perhaps this time he should be more generous, rather than letting good meat rot and go to waste. Yes, he decided, he might even give some to the minister up as St Elvan, in exchange of course for some of the excellent vegetables he was renowned for.

Well, Shayla was delighted to find Jak serving fresh meat again, instead of the salty and increasingly unpleasant remains of the first lot; and with potatoes, parsnips and beans too!

Shayla’s mother was delighted too when her daughter brought back home some of the pork. But Shayla now became slightly concerned that others were sharing in Jak’s good fortune too. In particular Elza, a dark haired widow only about six years older than her who had started helping to launch and recover Jak’s boat. That woman was stronger than Shayla and had, she felt, been of more use to Jak in handling the boat on the beach. Furthermore Elza had more voluptuous breasts than Shayla and generally seemed more attractive, mature and confident.

The next time Jak was out a storm blew up unexpectedly. Shayla kept watch for Jak’s boat returning. Two other boats returned to the cove first, the difficult recovery up the beach of both those was helped by four or five other fishermen and their families. As soon as she saw Jak’s boat heading in round the rocky headland she ran down to the edge of the crashing surf. She waded into the breaking waves and reached for the gunwale of the boat as Jak steadied it with the oars, but as she caught hold a large wave lifted the boat and at the same time swept her off her feet. Jak had leapt out onto the beach on the the opposite side and couldn’t see that Shayla had been dashed back against the side of the boat before she could regain her feet. The bow of the boat pounded heavily on the pebbles and shingle loosening the metal strip which protected the stem and keel. Shayla’s feet found the beach again and she reached for the heaving bows but the dislodged end of the metal keel strip caught her shirt, ripped through it to cut her just below her left breast then, as the bows sank again pulled her back down beneath the waves.

Although he couldn’t see her Jak was yelling and cursing at Shayla as the boat started to drift sideways onto the beach. He was relieved to hear an answering shout, not from Shayla but from Elza who was now running down the beach to his aid. With Elza’s help the boat was got square to the beach again and as it was lifted on each successive wave they dragged it slightly further up. Satisfied that the keel was wedged on the shingle for a few moments Jak dragged the cable from the winch at the head of the beach up to the eyebolt in the stem and hooked it on. In just those few seconds the boat started to broach again, and Jak was surprised to see one of the other fishermen running to his aid. But as he reached the water’s edge instead of helping with the bucking boat he floundered in the surf for maybe half a minute before dragging Shayla’s unconscious body out; battered, bleeding and almost naked from the waist up. As Jak and Elza continued to slowly retrieve the boat from the waves several other villagers joined in to help revive Shayla then to help her, shivering and humiliated, back to her mother’s.

For the next couple of days all the boats in the cove were stormbound but Shayla sat in vain waiting for a visit from Jak. Her mother set out in the rain, shawl over her head, and returned, shivering and soaked to the skin, with some limpets and some kelp. Despite the hunger pangs gripping her stomach Shayla could only bring herself to eat one small spoonful of the revolting mush after they had been boiled together.

Her mother told how she had heard that the minister had had words with Jak about the ‘pork’ he had given him in exchange for vegetables. Having kept several pigs over the years he expressed his opinion that the meat Jak had given him, supposedly acquired in exchange for sardines and mackerel, had come from a longer limbed creature than a pig. He had then started to lecture Jak about the fact that even the apparently wild ponies on the moors still in fact belonged to someone, but Jak brusquely interrupted and showed him the door.

Walking towards the cove in the evening after the rain had stopped she realised that she had taken the route past Jak’s cottage, from which came the mouthwatering smell of meat cooking. The wind having started to die down mid-day the sea was now a lot less rough and she guessed that the boats would be putting back out in the morning.

Soon after dawn Shayla was down on the beach helping Black Jak launch. Elza was there too. Tired and hungry, still feeling a bit stiff and sore from the battering she had received during the storm three days earlier Shayla sat watching as Jak raised sail and cleared the headland. Elza smiled condescendingly at her as she turned for home. Shayla hated the older woman, yet could find no outlet for her frustration.

When at long last Jak returned with his catch the evening was still, cold and misty. He was exhausted from having to row back after being becalmed for many hours and the two women easily retrieved hits boat for him. Both received generous portions of meat to take home as he was too tired to cook for them. Elza boldly wrapped her arms round his neck and kissed him farewell on his doorstep. Shayla felt sick and tried imagining sinking a knife deep into the widow’s broad back.

That night as she sat in front of the fire Shayla brooded on Elza’s increasingly close relationship with Jak. She was slightly sickened by the thought of hugging and kissing him as Elza had done and she tried not to even think about him making love to her, he seemed devoid of any tenderness or romance. Yet the increasing poverty and hunger she was suffering made her lust after the comparative luxury that it can seemed Jak could offer. Guessing what might be on her daughter’s mind her mother warned that Black Jak was an unpredictable, violent and dishonest man, little liked by the rest of the community. There were several boys of around Shayla’s own age either in their own village out on others nearby who may in a few years time be far more suitable husbands. “If I live that long” muttered Shayla, as she contemplated sneaking out once everyone was asleep and stabbing Elza as she slept. The thought of sinking the large kitchen knife into Elza’s belly just below her ribs cheered her up a little and she wandered over to the drawer to view the potential weapon.

As she lay awake in bed she recalled the local custom whereby a girl could persuade a reluctant fisherman suitor to accept her as his wife by offering herself as a whore to the whole community, her honour being redeemed by the man immediately taking her as his spouse. Traditionally this was done by going, in public view, to assist with his boat on the beach stark naked, her disgrace being avoided by the man immediately wrapping his shirt or jacket round her which signified that he had taken her as his wife. The consequences of rejection would of course be total and utter humiliation, the girl being left naked offering her body to be used by anyone in front of the whole community. In living memory no man had been so cruel as to reject his suitor on such occasions, but when the man in question was Jak , and with the persistent presence of Elza, Shayla knew she would be taking a tremendous risk. If Jak didn’t accept her she knew she would be forced to flee far from the village, but then, she reasoned, she might as well suffer the indignity of starving away to nothing well away from anyone who knew her. Needless to say the minister up at St Elvan made sure he had nothing whatsoever to do with such proceedings, in any case few of the ‘marriages’ along that godless coast were recognised by church or chapel. Having decided not to murder Elza in her bed Shayla at last dropped off to an uneasy sleep.

it was still , cold and clear the next morning. Two boats had already launched and the fisherman were pulling them round the headland with the oars in search of wind. A couple of older men had decided to wait a bit before launching in the hope of a breeze, while Jak had just arrived and was laying down the round pieces of wood over which his boat would be slid down to the water’s edge.

Even as Shayla stood momentarily at the top of the beach, her resolve weakening, Elza ran past towards Jak. Taking a deep breath Shayla removed her shawl, dropping it the ground, then started to unbutton her shirt. It was all taking too long, Elza was already helping steady the boat as it was slid down the beach, Shayla grasped her shirt with both hands and ripped it apart, heedlessly shedding buttons from one of her few remaining undamaged garments, and cast it aside before dropping her skirt and pants in a single movement and striding brazenly towards Jak.

Aware of all the eyes that must surely be on her stark naked body she stared straight ahead towards Jak’s boat as she walked down the beach. Moving to the opposite side to Elza she helped steady the boat as it entered the water. Even before it was fully afloat Elva abandoned her post and stepped back onto the beach then to Shayla’s horror, and Jak ‘s incredulity, hurriedly tore off all her clothes too!

As the two naked women continued pushing the boat into deeper water Shayla, hearing whistles and jeers from ashore, already sensed that she had lost. As she now feared Jak, after frantically unbuttoning his shirt and stripping to the waist, draped his shirt over Elza’s shoulders then, with barely a glance at Shayla, reached down with both hands and hauled Elza aboard with him.

Defeated, Shayla sank to her knees in the water so the sea could hide her nudity as Jak pulled the boat out towards the headland, pointedly averting his gaze from her. However Elza stared at Shayla with a broad grin and gave a little wave when she was sure Jak wasn’t watching!

Suddenly Shayla felt her hair grabbed and was yanked backwards off balance. She looked up to see Ruth, her childhood friend, angrily pulling her ashore with tears in her eyes. “How could you do that, you whore!” she spat. Two other younger girls grabbed Shayla’s arms once she was ashore and roughly dragged her up to the iron boat winch. She felt herself being draped on her back over the hard cold winch and even as she sobbed in protest her arms and ankles were pulled down and bound to its rusty frame with coarse bits of discarded net rope.

“Don’t you dare touch her Albert!” she heard the familiar voice of Mrs Van Hoyle scream at her husband.

“Go for it Fredrik” called another young male voice “You can get to fuck a virgin for free!”

“No! No! Let me go!” screamed Shayla in shame and terror. If rejected she had just expected to be ostracised and forced to flee.

“Stupid, stupid cow!” she heard Ruth’s voice again, half screaming, half sobbing.

“That’s it Fredrik, go for it! ” yelled some other youths as he dropped his trousers.

Shayla couldn’t see what was happening between her legs but felt fingers probing her private parts then she instinctively realised either Albert or Fredrik’s penis was trying to enter her.

“No! Why are you doing this to me” Shayla screamed in disbelief.

“It won’t go in! Her cunt’s too tight!” That was definitely little Fredrik’s voice.

“She’s a virgin you prick” laughed another boy.

“Just force it in and she’ll pop!” With horror Shayla recognised Ruth’s voice encouraging Fredrik’s violation of her.

“No! Please no! Mrs Van Hoyle, please stop them! No!” There was only pain as she lost her virginity, pain in her cunt and pain as Fredrik dug his fingers deep into the sides of her abdomen.

Shayla’s voice was becoming hoarse from screaming “Ruth! Please stop him! Oh God, no!” she pleaded. As Ruth moved round into her field of view the pain started to transform into something enjoyable. Something shameful yet irresistible. “Oh God! Oh! Fuck! No! Don’t stop! No!”

The look on Ruth’s face changed from anger to disgust “Shayla, no! You whore! You slut! What’s happening to you ? No! ” She picked up a rounded pebble from the beach and hurled it straight at Shayla’s face. As the pain from her cheekbone beneath her left eye registered the next one struck her on the side of the neck. As she turned her head towards Ruth another stone struck her from behind. At the same time as her belly and groin exploded in her first ever real orgasm a heavy stone impacted on her rib-cage knocking the breath out of her.

Shayla turned her head towards her new assailant and saw two small girls together with Mrs Van Hoyle all with raised arms preparing to hurl another volley of pebbles at her stretched naked body. Turning her head the other way a fraction of a second before the stones viciously struck her upper body she saw Fredrik grinning happily at her. In that case, she thought in panic, who the hell was fucking her now?

“Fred …” she started to plead.

The moment she looked into his eyes he drew back his foot and, as he spat out “Whore”, kicked her cruelly in the right breast with his heavy boot.

The fusillade of stones must have knocked her senseless for a few minutes or two for when she came to no-one seemed to be fucking her any more and she was shivering uncontrollably. She couldn’t open her right eye as it seemed to be covered in a sticky fluid, probably her own blood. Looking around the youngsters must either have lost interest in abusing her or been retrieved by their parents. Two older fishermen sat staring at her, with their wives stood nearby staring equally intently at them. However ambling towards her from the direction of the short breakwater was old Tam Pollack.

“Well!” he exclaimed, as he got closer “You’ve fucked up well.”

He slowly walked round her. She’d heard of old Tam of course, and indeed seen him from a distance gathering gulls’ eggs on the cliffs and combing the debris left at the high water mark for anything of use.

Close up he looked even more colourless than she had imagined, lank grey hair half covering his thin filthy grey wrinkled face and merging into the tattered colourless rags he wore.

He stood alongside her, looked her stretched battered body up and down then grasped the bruised and bloody breast that Fredrik had kicked and squeezed hard.

Shayla screamed!

She had screamed before, at the agony of being bound and raped, at the climax of her involuntary ecstasy, at the pain from being pelted with pebbles, but this was a scream not just of pain but of terror at what unknown torment might happen next. She fought against her bonds until the ropes broke through her skin. Her already contorted body arched upwards so her lower ribs looked as if they were trying to burst through her tightly stretched, bruised and bloody, skin. Her mouth opened so wide that she dislocated her jaw. She pissed herself, a tiny fountain of yellow urine rising between her straining thighs before subsiding three or four seconds later.

As Tam moved round to stand between her legs he disappeared from Shayla’s view. She did however notice the remaining villagers hurrying away, back to their homes. Albert Van Hoyle had been hoping that she might be left bound to the winch all night, in which case he could stood a chance of sneaking back out once his wife was asleep. But he sensed that Tam Pollack had other ideas for the pathetic naked whore.

She felt his bony hands grabbing and feeling her, then he pushed four fingers of his right hand roughly into her vagina. The pain from her jaw stopped her from screaming loudly again and she lay back hopelessly and hoped that the waves of pain from his fingers probing, stretching and tearing at her soft tissues would just stop or at least lessen. Then he withdrew his fingers and his prick thrust deep into her. Compared with the boys’ cocks she had experienced so far this was something thicker, harder and, most terrifyingly, far longer. He thrust deep, so deep into her, at each thrust pulling her buttocks viciously towards him so the end of his cock felt as though it was a separate malevolent living creature trying to invade her abdomen by force. Shayla vomited the few remaining runny acidic contents of her stomach out of her mouth only for most of it to run into her nose, stinging her nostrils.

It was with a sense of relief that she so soon felt the old man’s foul seed gushing deep into her in what felt like a prodigious quantity. Moments after he had fully withdrawn his huge cock he moved back round to Shayla’s dangling head and to her immense relief untied the bindings from her arms, carefully putting the bits of rope into his pockets. Moving back to her legs and feet he unbound her ankles from the rusty winch but to her dismay immediately tied them both tightly together, then taking the other bits of rope from his pockets added a long loop. Moving alongside Shayla as she weakly struggled to lift her head and shoulders he stared expressionlessly into her eyes as he lifted his right foot and placed the worn sole of his boot against her ribs and pushed her sideways off the winch, the top edge of the rusty cast frame tearing across her back before she toppled sideways to fall heavily onto the pebbly ground.

Stunned and in pain she struggled onto her hands and knees. Unable to close her jaw because of the pain Shayla’s pleas for mercy only came out as incoherent moans. Suddenly Tam jerked on the loop of rope attached to her ankles pulling her knees from beneath her so that she sprawled onto her belly. He jerked the rope again and this time kept pulling so she was dragged along the stony path up from the beach.

Whichever way Shayla twisted the stones and rocks set in the dust of the path battered and cut her elbows, ribs, breasts or pelvis. Looking back down towards the beach she could see wet streaks and smears of blood on the path, her blood she knew. As the path steepened it became less stony but more uneven with tree roots and muddy dips where small streams crossed. Exhausted from futilely trying to protect her broken body she realised with horror that old Tam must be dragging her to his cave nearly two miles away. She doubted she would survive that long. As she lost concentration, eyes shut tight with the pain as her already badly bruised right breast was gashed by a sharp piece of protruding root, she failed to anticipate a series of rough stone steps down to a small brook and as her pain numbed body dropped her face slammed down onto the stone bloodily crushing her nose and breaking a couple of her front teeth. In torment she rolled onto her back, her thin arms weakly reaching towards Tam in useless supplication.

Tam looked back just as her pathetic blood and mud streaked body dropped down the next step and the back of her head cracked onto the stone below knocking her unconscious.

Her limp carcass was much easier to drag, though after about a quarter of a mile Tam, not wanting her to die just yet, dropped the rope binding her bloody ankles and, instead, dragged her by the left wrist for the last couple of hundred yards to his cave.

As Shayna’s consciousness slowly returned she experienced nothing but pain, disorientation and darkness. Of course, this is death she thought. She drifted in and out of consciousness. Each breath she took hurt her ribs, her jaw hurt but when she tried to shut her open mouth a stabbing pain shot from her jaw to her ears. Her broken nose was still bleeding, and the blood from her nose was trickling into her eyes. This puzzled her a bit then she realised that she was upside down. She couldn’t feel her ankles but she did seem to be suspended by them.

She had lost all sense of time when she heard noises then saw a flickering light approaching. She was puzzled that she could see a small flame flickering downwards, then she remembered that she was upside down. She wiped some of the blood away from her right eye to be able to see better; old Tam was settling down on the cave floor in front of her next to a hurricane lamp.

“Still alive then?” he asked. “Something wrong with you mouth is there? Lost a few teeth?” He leant back and chuckled then picked up the lamp and stood up to study her battered stretched body more carefully “You stink, but you’ll probably keep a bit.” Sitting back down again he made himself comfortable again “We’ll need to get some water in you to make sure you last long enough.”

Shayla struggled to get the words out without moving her jaw “Why? Why I u’side doun?”

“What?” he laughed at her efforts. “Broken your jaw have you?” Then he snarled a gap toothed smile “I can think of quite a few women who’d benefit from that!”

Again she painfully tried to speak “Wha’ you doing to ne?” her chest heaved as she took another breath “Why you hang ne u’side doun?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I needn’t have done that yet, but when we want you later I’ll need to drain the blood from your body by cutting your throat.” Tam chuckled to himself at her shocked expression.

Shayla struggled and writhed trying to reach up towards her ankles with her hands, but just gasped with pain at the effort before allowing her arms to hang limply again while her body now swayed gently.

“You didn’t really think it was pork you’ve been eating with Jak did you?” he asked. “His wife’s death was an accident. But to get more he had quite a trip inland to find a whore.” He leant forward and grinned at her “Aren’t we fortunate to find a whore so close to home now!”

Shayla wished he would just get on with it and cut her throat.

“But her meat will last us quite a few days yet, so we’ll keep you alive so you’ll be nice and fresh when we’re ready for you.”

Tam then shuffled off, but shortly returned holding a filthy mug of water. He caught hold of her hair and pulled her head up towards him and poured water into her mouth. She coughed and only managed to swallow a small amount without shutting her mouth. Then she was left alone in the cold darkness again.

As the hours passed the pain seemed to ease lightly, being replaced in part by a dull numb sensation. Then she heard voices, she couldn’t hear what old Tam was mumbling but Jak’s voice echoed down the cave: “Where is she then?” … “I hope you didn’t fuck her as well …”

Jak followed Tam as he walked towards her holding up the flickering lamp. The moment he saw Shayla’s blood stained body hung up like an animal carcass he exploded – “What the fuck have you done to her? Why’s she hung up like that?” He grabbed the lamp from Tam and held it up to where Shayla’s ankles were bound to each end of a piece of wood about three foot long, itself hanging by a loop of rope from a hook in the ceiling. He reached and felt one of her grotesquely swollen blue grey tinted feet.

“You fucking bastard, she’ll never walk again!”

Rather shocked at being on the receiving end of Jak’s notorious anger Tam stammered “But, why? But … since when did meat need to walk?”

“Meat!” Jak exploded. “Meat! You stupid, addled, stupid old git! I want to fuck her not eat her …”

“I didn’t know … how was I to know?” Tam stared fearfully at Jak. “You’ll be out of meat soon won’t you?”

“Yes, but the preacher’s reminded me there’s ponies for the taking upon the moor. And perhaps some sheep?” Jak seemed to calm down a bit, then slowly turned to face Tam. His fist shattered the old man’s nose and cheekbone and sent his head back against the rock with a sickening crack. As Tam slowly slid to the ground Shayna could see the bloody smear left on the cave wall.

Jak quickly unhooked the beam from the rusty hook and lowered Shayna to the floor. Once he had unbound her feet he dragged her nearer to the cave entrance, where Tam had been living,wrapped her in a blanket and offered a mug of water to her lips. Only then did he notice the injuries to her jaw and mouth. “This will hurt, but it’s got to be done” he said, firmly grasping her jaw then sharply pushing it up and back. Shayna passed out as the sudden excrutiating pain seemed to shoot to the very centre of her brain.

When she woke up again she was still slumped in the cave entrance and dusk was falling. When she tried to move she could find no sensation or control below her calves, she burst into tears and fell on her side. Shortly after Jak reappeared and told her that he was waiting for darkness before taking her back to his cottage. She then heard him rummaging through old Tam’s huge hoard of collected odds and ends for the next couple of hours.

Shayla had dropped off to sleep when Hall pulled the blanket off her and hauled her upright. Half asleep she tired to stand but with no feeling or control over her feet she fell forwards into Jak’s arms. He hoisted her up face down over his right shoulder and set off for the village.

Elza was waiting for him, puzzled where he could have been for so long. At first she didn’t recognise the filthy body he carried in with him. Shayla’s bloodstained face was swollen and distorted and her hair was matted with blood. As it dawned on her that it was Shayla she shrieked “What’s she doing here! What the fuck have you done to the little bitch? “

“I’ve done nothing to her, I think old Tam did most of the damage” he said as he gently laid her on the hard wooden floor.

“But why have you brought her back here?” she persisted.

“To fuck of course” he answered “She’s a whore now, isn’t she?”

“In case you’ve forgotten, I’m your wife now. Get it out of here! And it stinks …” Elza tried to sound in control.

“Clean her up then!” retorted Jak “I’ll get us dinner.” He went outside and returned with a rusty bucket containing water and a rag which he handed to Elza.

She stared at him indignantly then tipped the bucket-full of water over Shayla just as she rolled onto her side, drenching the floor “Will that do?”

Jak shrugged in resignation and turned back to frying a couple of small pieces of meat, muttering “You should be doing this instead of just whingeing and making a mess …” Once it was cooked he served it with some pre-cooked kelp to himself and Elza, He put some more of the cold mushy brown kelp on a third plate and set it on the floor in front of Shayla.

Jak didn’t sleep with his new wife that night. He pulled a straw mattress out from wall cupboard and rolled it out on the floor. Elza grumpily commented “So you’re taking good care of your whore then?”

“No, that’s for you. Sorry the floors a bit damp.”

“Where’s she sleeping then” Elza sneered.

“I suppose she can have the mattress if you’re that concerned about her” he replied “I’ve brought some blankets down from old Tam’s.”

Elza stood in the light of the spluttering lantern and slowly stripped off, then stood proudly pushing her chest forward to display her ample breasts. Jak passed her a blanket. “This is our wedding night” she pointed out “unless you count last night out at sea when you kept me rowing half the time! “

“Yes, you’re good with the boat” he conceded “That’s why I’ve taken you as my wife!” He looked her naked body up and down, noting her sturdy thighs and thick upper arms “But there’s no way I’d want to fuck you, or even share my bed with you.” Smiling he looked down at Shayla who looked up at him with her one good eye as she dragged herself into a corner on all fours. Like an obedient dog, he thought “The whore will do for that once she’a healed up a bit and been washed, properly.”

“You fucking bastard” Elza spat at him. “You just want a slave to work the boat, while you sleep with that little tart!”

“Sounds fair to me” Jak replied. “You help with the boat and the nets, and get well fed for it. She gets fucked, stays locked in the house doing cleaning, washing and anything else she can do on her knees and gets fed kelp and leftovers.”

Shayla sagged to the floor and lay prostrate. Elza glared furiously “Well Black Jak, if you don’t change your ideas you’ll find you’ve lost another wife, left you like the last one did!”

Half stared at her, then looked again down her sturdy nude body “Like the last one went, you say?”

“Yes, you selfish loser” she replied.

Shayla smiled for the first time in several days. She looked up at Elza’s pale belly and wondered where Jak kept his knife …

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