“Forgive me if this offends, because I do not desire to do so, but you seem too kind to sail with murderous bandits such as these men,” she said in a low voice.
He winked at her. “Could be that I’m soft when I see a pretty face.”
“Oh,” was all she could muster. His brazen admiration for her was unexpected, and she bowed her head and finished the rest of her soup in silence.
When he saw she was done, he offered her a hand and led her out of the captain’s chambers, through a corridor, and down to a dark area where they found Morgan.
“What have we here?” Morgan asked.
“We need you to cut these shackles from her wrists,” Bradford said.
Morgan glared at Frederica, though he spoke to the bosun. “Captain alright w’dat?”
Bradford nodded. “Not like she’s going anywhere.”
Morgan snickered at the joke. “Alright. Set your arm here on me forge, wench.”
Frederica stiffened, not used to being addressed in this manner, but she knelt beside the large metal slab and placed her right arm upon it.
Morgan dragged out some tools and rotated her arm so as the hinge of the bracelet faced upwards. He set the coal chisel to the hinge and struck it with his hammer.
Frederica’s bloodcurdling scream rang throughout the ship. Good lord, the man might smash her arm to bits! Panic overtook her, and she begged him to stop.
“Frederica, calm yerself.” Bradford placed a comforting arm on her shoulder.
Heavy footsteps were followed by the appearance of an imposing figure hulked in the door frame, taking up most of the space. She recognized him as the pirate in charge during the raid on the Adelaide.
“What is the meaning of this?” the captain barked.
“Trying to remove her shackles and she’s scared,” Bradford said sheepishly.
“Of what?” the captain boomed.
“I guess that he’ll harm her during the proceeding,” Bradford said.
“Nonsense!” The captain focused his attention on Frederica. “I’m Captain Humphrey, lass, and you’re my prisoner. You will do as I say, hear?”
Frederica nodded.
“Commence,” Humphrey said to Morgan, who took another swing with his hammer.
As much as she tried not to, Frederica squealed again. She was petrified that the man was going to smash her wrist. There was no guarantee his aim was sound, and he used so much force that her whole arm quaked with each blow.
“That’s enough. I’ll not have ye making all that racket, girl,” the captain said. “Don’t make me sorry I saved your ass. I can always feed ye to the fishies.” He chuckled at this idea. “Stuff a rag in her mouth, Bradford.”
Bradford pulled a rag from his pocket and approached Frederica.
She widened her eyes, pleading with him not to do it.
“Open,” Bradford said.
If she refused, she feared they’d break her arm for spite. Seeing no alternative, she complied. She bit down on the rag and her face pulled back in a grimace when the unfamiliar, bitter taste from the cloth registered in her brain. Morgan struck the chisel against the metal again, her cries muffled by the makeshift gag.
Humphrey laughed. “That’s more like it.” He walked over and pinched her cheek hard. “I’ll be seein’ ye later, lassy.”
After several more strikes the iron bracelet sprang open and Morgan grabbed her other arm and went to work on it. Frederica closed her eyes and prayed for the shackle to be removed safely.
“We’re done,” Morgan said and removed the second cuff from her wrist, and Bradford removed the rag from her mouth. Exhaling loudly, Frederica wiped the nervous sweat from her brow and thanked the blacksmith, who grunted an acknowledgment and went back to work.
“Let’s get you back to the captain’s quarters,” Bradford said.
The mention of the captain set her teeth on edge. The man was a brute, and she didn’t relish the idea of being in close proximity to him.
Bradford escorted her back to the small room, then excused himself, saying he had to get back to work. “See you around,” he said, closing the door.
She hoped so. He was the only advocate she had aboard this ship of murderous pirates.
Alone, she did her best to quell the feelings of desolation that attempted to overtake her. This was not the time to fall apart. She must be brave and find a way to escape her current circumstances, but her legs trembled every time the massacre on the Adelaide replayed in her mind. For some reason, she couldn’t stop the scene from playing in her head over and over, like a macabre theater scene. And to her horror, she was now in the hands of the devil who ordered the slaughter of a ship full of innocent people, including her best friend, the last person on earth who loved her.
The pain in her head still throbbed so she rested it on her arm and fell into a fitful sleep.
She was awakened hours later when the cabin door sprang open with a bang. Captain Humphrey stalked towards her, his gate unsteady. “Get up,” he growled, yanking a coverlet off Frederica’s sleepy form.
She bolted to a sitting position.
“What’s a matter, girl? Cat got your tongue?” he laughed heartily, pleased with his own joke.
“I beg your pardon, sir.”
“You’d best make yourself useful around ‘ere.” He stumbled over to the bed, smelling of rum. “You’ll be sleepin’ on the floor.” He directed her to the rug.
“Yes, sir.” Frederica scrambled out of the bed just before he fell heavily onto it.
Before she could say another word, he was snoring loudly. Relieved at the brief nature of their interchange, she curled up on the floor, cradled her aching head in her hand, and went back to sleep.
Chapter Three
Over the next several days, Frederica grew accustomed to her new life as a prisoner on the Neptune’s Damnation. In the mornings, the captain gave her tasks to complete. Bradford must have told him she could sew because he gave her armloads of mending to do, everything from men’s undergarments to the ship’s flags.
She wouldn’t see Humphrey until the evenings, when he would often pass out before they had much interaction. With few exceptions, Humphrey kept her locked in his room. Once, when she asked if she might be allowed to get some fresh air, he refused, claiming that the sight of a comely woman such as herself would drive the crew to distraction. He said locking her away was for her own safety, protecting her from savages who would only do her harm.
The solitude of the days drove Frederica mad. She longed for interaction with other people, and she wished Bradford would come to her door again, just so she might hear a friendly voice. She owed him a debt for saving her from the same violent end that met the other two hundred and sixty-one passengers of the Adelaide, and he was the closest thing she had to a friend on this blasted pirate ship.
Pangs of guilt feasted on her gut whenever she thought of the Adelaide. If Cassandra had not gone along with Frederica’s ill-conceived idea to seek a life in the colonies, the girl would still be alive today. Many nights she lay sleepless, mulling over her part in her friend’s demise. When she did find sleep, nightmares of the Adelaide sinking awakened her, the victims’ voices haunting her, begging her for help from their watery graves.
One afternoon, Frederica was quietly humming to herself when Humphrey came barreling into the room, waving a tan garment. “What the bloody ‘ell is this?” he shouted and shoved the cloth in her face.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Frederica stammered.
“Look ‘ere at this hole. Thought I told you to sew this up.” He pointed to a new rip in the shirt he’d handed her.
She gulped. “That’s a new hole, sir. I did sew it up when you brought it to me before.” Humphrey was always grumpy and loud, but Frederica couldn’t remember seeing him angry like this before.
“Don’t try to pass off shoddy work to me, lass. You’re lucky to be standing there. The least ye could do is the simple tasks I ask of ye.”
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nbsp; She attempted to appear contrite. “Yes, sir. My apologies, sir.” Something in his tone told her this was not the best time to defend herself.
He sat down on the bed and motioned her towards him. “C’mere.”
Reluctantly, she tiptoed across the small space until she was just out of reach.
“Lift up your skirts.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “Excuse me, sir?”
“Are ye hard of hearing?”
“No,” she squeaked.
“Then lift up your bloody skirts!” he bellowed.
Fighting back tears, she gathered her skirt and petticoats in her arms and lifted them up.
“‘At’s more like it,” he said and reached for her.
She instinctively took a step backwards, but he was too fast for her, grabbing her by the waist and hoisting her over his lap. Within seconds she was slung over his knee.
“Eeeh! What are you doing? Let me go!” She tried to wiggle free, but she was restrained by his big burly arms.
“Kindly shut yer yap, or ye’ll be getting the worst of it.”
Humiliation coursed through her, and the cold air on her bottom reminded her that her bare ass was exposed to this man she barely knew. A rough, calloused hand scraped across the tender flesh of her ass, followed by a hard slap to her rear. The pain almost made her forget the humiliation. Almost.
She whimpered.
“I’ll have ye take yer punishment quietly or ye will earn double the strokes.”
Another smack, this one harder, landed on her cheeks.
She groaned.
“What did I tell ye?” Thwack! The next blow landed even harder, as if to drive his point home. This time she bit down a knuckle, hoping to muffle her cries.
“Better. This ass is getting mighty red,” he chuckled.
With each smack, she fought to hold back her cries. But her posterior stung, and water welled in her eyes.
“You’re doing better. Lie there and take your punishment like a good girl,” he crooned, swatting her ass again. And again.
Just when she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he stopped.
Though he loosened his grip on her, she was too wrung out to move.
“I’m the one who’s in charge here, girl.”
“You are, sir,” she mumbled, dazed.
“That’s right. I own you, pretty little slave.”
“Yes, sir.” It was as if her head were filled with clouds, and she was so relieved that he’d stopped swatting her she just wanted to stay there, in the strangely happy space where the spanking had taken place.
When he slid his hand up her inner thigh between her legs, her brain urged her to protest. A slight, “Umm” was all she could manage.
“What was that?” he asked in a taunting voice.
“Nothing, sir.” Frederica felt as though she were in an altered state. Deep inside, something told her she should stop him, but at the same time, she was curious about what he would do to her next.
“That’s a good girl.” He stroked the inside of her left thigh, then her right. “A smart girl.” Gently, he cupped her sex in his hand, and she sighed involuntarily.
His fingers explored the folds between her legs.
“Open yer legs, girl,” he ordered.
She obeyed, though she wasn’t sure if it was because she wanted to or because she feared the repercussions if she didn’t.
He caressed her pussy with broad strokes before entering her with one finger.
She squirmed under his grip.
“Be still!” he said in a menacing voice and slapped her bum hard.
She stopped struggling and began to relish the incredible sensations brought on by his ministrations. Her breath came faster and she noticed her hips bucking to meet his imposing fingers.
“I knew ye were a little whore, I did.” he said, removing his fingers and setting her upright. “Take off your clothes.”
“I beg your pardon?” she asked, disoriented by the surreal situation.
“You heard me!” he howled.
Frightened, Frederica began to unfasten her dress. She soon stood in her undergarments, staring at him as he retrieved a leather strap hanging on the wall.
“All of ‘em.” He smacked the strap on the edge of the bed, causing her to shriek with fear.
Hurriedly, she slipped off her petticoats and stood, naked and shaking in the middle of the floor.
“Lie down on the bed and hold still,” he said in a menacing tone.
Frederica lay on her back, certain he would rape her. She screwed her eyes shut tightly, preparing for the worst.
Whoosh! She heard the strap before she felt it, then the hard leather struck her breasts. He flicked the torture implement over her torso with an expertise that told her he’d done this before, and the gleeful little sounds coming out of his mouth told her he enjoyed it.
He stopped once to grope her breasts; rough, awkward hands fondled them, flicking her nipples until they grew hard. Then he pinched the little nubs and pulled them away from her body, stretching them until she cried out in a mixture of pleasure and pain. To her dismay, she felt her pussy growing wet, and she wondered how her body could possibly respond to such a vile man.
“Open yer legs,” he commanded.
Too scared to disobey, she inched them apart.
“That won’t do, wench.” He forced her legs wide apart and brought the strap down on her swollen pussy lips.
“Ahhhhh!” Her body rose up in the bed and she screamed with all the air in her lungs.
“Ye can yell all ye like—there’s no one to save ye,” he chortled, and she felt as if the devil himself had taken hold of her. “I said hold still. If ye can’t do it, I’ll clap ye in irons again and keep ye in ‘em.”
“No, sir. I’ll be still,” she said, wishing her bottom lip would stop quivering.
“Such a pretty little cunt ye got there,” he crooned as he thrust his finger in and out of her wet opening, then brushed another over her delicate little button. She refused to give in to the pleasure that threatened to overtake her like an ocean swell. Biting her lip and clenching her fists, she hoped to shut out the delicious sensations that were making her squirm despite herself, but the more she tried to squash her arousal, the more it intensified. Writhing under the captain’s attentions, Frederica realized that she had no control over her body in this situation, none whatsoever. In a final effort to resist, she shut her eyes and tried to remain silent.
Soon her body tensed, her muscles coiling as tightly as a cobra preparing to strike. Then to her shame, she succumbed to the pleasure-filled waves that washed over her in a crescendo of sheer bliss, moaning in spite of herself as an orgasm racked her body for long moments. But while her climax had been physically satisfying, it made her furious that her captor could be the source of such enjoyment.
To her great horror, he climbed on top of her and thrust his lower half against her satiated pussy. She closed her eyes and prayed it would be over soon.
Humphrey grinded his pelvis hard over hers, his groans turning to curses before he finally climbed off her and threw the leather strap across the room. “Damn me. Blasted war wounds,” he mumbled to himself, then looked at Frederica scornfully. “If only I could, I’d give you the rutting you deserve, ye wicked temptress!”
She lay there, a sheen of perspiration atop her skin, completely confused over what had just transpired.
“Get dressed!” he barked.
She stood, her legs still shaky, and put on her clothes as quickly as possible.
Humphrey looked at her sternly and said, “Now, what do you have to say for yourself?”
She stared at him blankly.
“Ye will thank me for your punishment,” he snarled.
“Thank you, sir,” she parroted back.
He gave her bottom one last swat and said, “See that you do a better job in the future.” With that he got up and left the room before she could respond.
* * *
Late that night, Frederica sneaked away from the snoring captain and found her way onto the ship’s main deck. She needed to get out of the room she shared with the captain—so badly in fact, that she risked another punishment like the one she’d endured earlier in order to escape his presence, if only for an hour.
She was grateful the moonlight saved her from fumbling around in the pitch black. She knew where to find candles, but no one on the ship was permitted to use them after sundown. The pirates would not risk being seen by another vessel. Bradford had told her they used the element of surprise to their advantage when approaching unsuspecting victims like the passengers of the Adelaide. In fact, life onboard came to a screeching halt once the light disappeared and the men retired for the evening, under strict orders to keep silent. Humphrey liked his ship to maintain the ghostlike ability to magically appear and disappear whenever the mood struck him, so the ship moved through the water stealthily, camouflaged against the night sky.
Still trying to wrap her head around what Humphrey had done to her earlier that day, she stared into the black water and tried to make sense of it. The man had spanked her bare bottom for something she perceived as an imagined infraction. Frederica hadn’t been spanked since she was six years old, and certainly never by a grown man who was no relation to her.
In a large part, Frederica was outraged by Humphrey’s treatment of her. But she was his captive, and she had no choice but to swallow her pride and endure the humiliation and sore bottom. She was his slave, and from what she knew of how most pirates treated their prisoners, she considered herself lucky. She knew there was worse he could do to her.
But the way he’d toyed with her womanhood had made her climax… She resented the intrusion, but as she recalled his fingers in her pussy, pinching her nipples so hard, blood rushed to her quim, making her throb with need, and she was tempted to touch herself. She didn’t dare do it there on the ship’s deck because someone could come by… She couldn’t endure any more humiliation in one day.
Rescued by the Buccaneer Page 2
