by Aran Ashe
His lips moved downwards, teasing the bright red curls upon the soft skin pouch, exposing the warm dark fleshy lips and the hard projecting bud. He breathed warm air upon her, then drank the aroma of her flesh, the strong warm scent of earth and ocean. He brushed his lips against her. The outer skin of her sex lips felt dry, yet smooth and slippy, and swollen. When he brushed those lips to the side, they slowly rolled back, pulsing very slightly, swelling fuller than before. He nuzzled her and pressed his lips against her where her sex lips joined her body. He nipped them gently with his teeth. He dusted his lips with Anya's body scent. He lifted her legs and lowered her hips, then bent her knees, exposing her bottom and rocking her very gently while he stroked it with his thumb. Then he pressed his lips to her sex and pushed. She whimpered as her sex lips split. He tasted earth and ocean. He formed his lips into a tiny collar for the small hot tongue of pleasure to slip between. Then he sucked upon it as Anya, with her knees bent tight enough to touch the sides of her breasts, pressed her hands upon the bed to push her bottom up to meet him. And as her belly tightened to a ball, he held her bud of pleasure locked tightly between his tongue and upper lip and he stroked his thumb across the entrance to her bottom. He used this light stroke of his thumb alone to bring about her pleasure, for each brush, or simply the pressure of the thumb-pad in so intimate a place, forced her belly to contract, and his lips to tighten round her bud, until at last she tried to lift her knees and bring her legs together round his head. He sat up quickly, opened her legs, returned her knees to the sides of her breasts and slowly stroked her open moistness with his fingers until the soft gasps gave way to moans of pleasure overdue, whereupon he bent to press his lips against her sex. That first touch tripped her; he breathed upon her gently, drinking her aroma again, as he held her sex lips fully open while she spasmed with delight.
Then he unbuttoned his breeches, allowed his rigid cockstem to spring forth and, placing his palms beneath her buttocks, lifted her on to his stem and pushed until he would slip no further into the tightness of her warmth, until the underside of his cockhead, deep inside her, had touched against something hard. And, turning with her until they lay upon their sides, with Anya totally nude and himself still dressed, but with his cockstem clothed within her living flesh and her bare body moving against the close wool of his jerkin, he kissed her, pressed her tightly to him, closed his hands around her buttocks once again - one buttock fitting perfectly into each palm and cupped like an individual hard round fruit, while those fruits somehow seemed to knead his cockstem from inside, as Anya's legs began to move alternately, and the fruits independently in his hands. His fingertips sought the groove, touched the open earth, while the hard flesh knot inside her kept plucking against the end of his cock as if trying to spear him - as if the tip of her backbone deep inside was trying to spear his cockhead like a squirming fish that jumped and thrashed within an oily sea. And then he felt it pierce him - though he tensed and held his breath, he could not stop the swelling ball of pressure deep inside, then the bursting and the thick and lumpy milt being drawn out through his spine. But those perfect buttocks just kept undulating smoothly, squeezing independently of his tense, abated breathing and forcing him onwards, pricking him repeatedly with that hard bone deep inside and drawing every drop of fluid from his body, making him die slowly, drown deliciously, enveloped in her warmth, intoxicated by her scent of almonds, earth and ocean.
'Sire - these clothes. You wish that I should put them on now?'
Anya was sitting up beside him. Her words had shaken him completely from the sweet bed of his dreams. She had tried to sound confident, but her voice had been unsteady. Then their gaze met and the Prince of Lidir saw a fleeting vision in her eyes and it pierced him to the quick. It was a spectre of a goblin and a portent of the fate of precious doves.
[2]
Amongst the Pigs and Pickles
'You will be safe here. Open the door to no one - whatever you hear. Trust me. I will return for you - I promise.' Those had been her Prince's parting words before he kissed her for the last time. And now Anya was on her own. But how long would she have to wait here, and what if something were to go wrong and prevent him from returning? She looked down again at the uniform she had been forced to wear and her cabin boy's cap fell off. It had done this twice already. She picked it up and pulled it on again, but with her hair tied up, it would not fit properly. And the tunic was too tight. Her breasts hurt from the way it buttoned so tightly. Then the trousers were the wrong shape for her hips. She knew she must appear foolish in this outfit: nobody would ever take her for a boy.
She looked around to see whether there might be a mirror here. In the half-light filtering through the porthole, she could make out barrels and sacks and boxes. She could smell dried fish and vinegar and cheese, and there was a sweet aroma too, like that of apples. There were sides of bacon hanging from the ceiling. This place must be the pantry. She was about to investigate when, without warning, the ship shook with a jarring thud which made her stumble to her knees, then with a crash which sent her sprawling. Her cap rolled across the floor and was crushed by a falling barrel. Suddenly, all the order in the cabin was gone; there were boxes everywhere, still falling. And there were more thuds, seeming to come through the floor; she could feel them thump against her body. She was sure the ship had struck rocks. A shelf support broke; jugs of vinegar shuffled to the end then crashed down, narrowly missing her feet. She twisted round and covered her head with her arms. A side of meat shook free, fell diagonally across her and lodged against the wall. Then there was a deafening bang very close by and she realised what it was.
The cannonade had begun; the Prince had warned her this might happen. He had told her to stay away from the porthole, but he hadn't prepared her for this. She heard shouting, then screams. Now she was petrified. There was another bang, of bursting planking, and the ceiling shattered; giant splinters angled downwards through the dust cloud and deep into the room. The terrible cries came louder, against a background of moans. There were three more thuds in quick succession, then nothing more seemed to happen. Anya heaved the carcass of the pig aside, crawled over the sacks of peas and through the toppled boxes and managed to reach the door. With her eyes shut tight, she crouched behind it, coughing from the dust, and waited. It began again. This time, she heard the salvo being fired, then two loud splashes in the water, then one direct hit aft, then two others somewhere above her. She curled up tight, with her hands around her ears to try to keep at bay the pitiful sounds of newly splintering wood. Every impact caused the ship to shudder. But why had she heard no cannon fire being returned? All she heard were the cries of dismay, the sounds of running feet and the agonised creaks and groans of slowly yielding timbers high above. The rigging came crashing to the deck and splashed into the water. How long could the ship survive this punishment? Suddenly, the cannonade ceased a second time and all the shouting stopped.
For many minutes, Anya was afraid to move, though the ship now seemed quite steady. She could hear the waves lapping against its timbers. The room was littered with fallen crates, spilled apples, split pigs and pickled cabbage. But Anya was unhurt. Slowly, she got up. Was the danger past? Was her Prince safe? Why had he not come to get her? What if he were injured? She tipped a box of dried fish out of the way and put her ear to the door but she could hear nothing.
She waited - still no sound could be heard - then tried the door. It was stuck. Surely he would never have locked it? Again she tried it, but it would not move. Perhaps the frame had twisted? She tugged the handle of the latch with all her might, but still to no avail. She was trapped in here and her fear was turning to panic. She clambered back over the debris towards the porthole, then stopped in her tracks. There were footfalls and agitated whispers from above, and shouts, but distant shouts; they seemed to come from outside, across the water. She climbed up a stack of tumbled crates and warily peered outside. What she saw there made her gasp.
Beyond the floating wre
ckage of the topsail, and sweeping silently towards them, was the great ship, so large it overshadowed their own. Her bows were painted to look like the mouth of a vicious saw-toothed sea beast. Flying high above the deck was the sinister black and red emblem. For the first time, Anya could see the detail of the wicked image upon this flag. It was a bristle-haired humpbacked goblin and its eyes glowed evil green - they seemed to stare straight down at Anya, as if the monster could see her hiding place. Between the evil icon's legs was a grotesque black barbed cockstem, sticking upwards and pointed like an arrow. As the flag flapped in the breeze the creature seemed to leer at her and thrust out its lower belly. She would not look at it again. Her gaze lowered and now her heart leapt to her throat. Fastened to the mainmast was a naked woman - not a painting nor a statue but a living woman, bound and gagged. What manner of creatures would do this thing to her? Then she saw another prisoner, and another; the ship was full of slaves. Each mast had a naked woman fastened to it. A fourth woman was slung below the bowsprit. Amid the brightly coloured throng of pirates seething at the rail were other women, secured at intervals to upright wooden beams.
Anya now understood the reason for the lack of retaliation from her own ship. No gun could have been fired without injuring these women. Each mast was protected by an innocent. The women spaced along the rail were there to protect the men - cruel men, to hide behind defenceless, tethered women. It made Anya's heart beat faster; she bowed her head from fear of what such men might do to her if she were caught. She had been a slave; she knew that they would never show her any mercy.
And now, as the great ship drew nearer until it dwarfed their own, Anya, frightened yet unable to prevent her eyes from bearing witness to this awesome scene, could see the evil glee on those pirates' faces and the terror on the faces of the gagged and tethered women, in fear for their lives. Her heart went out to them; they could not know that her Prince would never allow his men to endanger any women, but would rescue them if he could and then vanquish these cruel beasts - burn their flag and mayhaps sink their ship and bring them back in chains to Lidir - and punish them in the kitchens and the dungeons. Her Prince would have some plan, she was certain. At least, she hoped and prayed he would, for now the ship had almost come alongside.
She could see the women clearly - some were blonde and pale-skinned, others golden or dark, and there was one whose body appeared entirely bound in chains. It made Anya shudder; it made her wonder what might happen to these women after the battle. Would they be shared amongst the men for their pleasure and reward?
When the first grappling irons were flung across and bit into the woodwork and the belly-tightening screams of the attack went up, Anya backed down from the porthole, crouched beneath it and hid her head. She wanted to keep as far away as possible from the door.
The cries came louder. Now she could hear the clash of swords and the screams of pain, then many stampeding feet above. Frightening shrieks were followed by splashing sounds, as of men being tossed into the water. She covered her ears again. The stampeding sound was now below her, in the hold. She knew the defenders were losing. There were doors and hatches banging, as if a frenzied mob was raging through the ship. The footfalls came louder, nearer, on the same level. A door banged in the next room. There were shouts and laughter, the sound of bottles breaking, then muttered curses, thuds and cries. It sounded like several men, their voices coarse and guttural. Anya held her breath. Suddenly, the voices were outside. She could not take her eyes from the doorway. She prayed the door would hold. There seemed to be some argument. The latch moved. She froze. It lifted, then dropped again. There was a grunt as a shoulder was unsuccessfully put to the door. The door was kicked. Her heart was bursting. Then the footsteps and the voices retreated.
Anya covered her face with her hands and tried to breathe steadily. Suddenly there was an abrupt shout which made her jerk with fright and, with a bang like a thunderbolt, the door bulged, then splintered as it was hit a second time. A wooden beam burst through it and jammed. There were grunts from the corridor. She had to will herself to move and find a better hiding place. Shaking uncontrollably, she crawled between two crates in the corner by the porthole, then managed to pull a plank of wood part way across the gap. More grunts signalled that the beam had now been freed; it was slammed against the door repeatedly until the obstacle was finally battered down and the contents of the pantry stood revealed. There were deep-throated chuckles of satisfaction. The voice was coarse:
'There, what did I tell you, lads? - Grub. Just look at it.' Peeping out from her hiding place, Anya saw three men. They all looked evil. Their hearts were black, she knew, despite their bright attire. The pirate who had spoken was a swarthy villain, in a sweat-stained orange shirt and striped blue pantaloons. He had wavy, unkempt black hair. A cutlass was tucked through his thick leather belt. One eye was half closed. His face was gnarled; his right ear looked as if it had been chewed by a dog. In his hand was a short knife. He crouched and, with a quick movement that made the others dive out of the way, the knife stabbed to the floor. It reappeared with an apple impaled on it. The pirate rubbed the apple, then took a bite. 'Mmmm ...' His thick lips pouted wetly, then his eyes rolled upwards as he munched. His mates - one of whom hadn't stopped scratching since walking through the doorway - watched the look of delectation on his face. 'Here ...' Now he collected up an armful of apples and handed them round. 'Taste - as fresh as if you'd picked 'em from the tree.' But the others seemed hesitant.
'But what about the captain's orders?' asked the one with the continual itch. 'The girl?' He began scratching the back of his head.
'Girls, lad? You're as bad as Travix. Can't you get it into your skull ...?' Anya crouched back as his good eye roved round the room. 'There's no wenches aboard this bucket - a score of our lads have been through her from stem to stem and what's been found? Net so much as a stocking.' Then he stepped across the crates to drape his arm about the one piece of smoked pork still attached to a hook in the ceiling. 'But this lot here is surely prize enough for any man.' His grimy fingertips caressed the meat lovingly; his nostrils dilated wide and drank its fragrance. 'And it'll do you far more good than any girls.' But his companion was unconvinced. 'Cheer up, lad. Look - all that talk of a princess was nought but eyewash to a haddock. Take it from me - I know.' The good eye opened wide and the finger pointed as if to hold the other's itch at bay. 'Now think, lad. Would a princess travel without a gaggle of maids, trunks of finery, a treasure trove of jewels? And what did we find of those?'
The lad, looking downcast, did not reply. His expression told of long lost maids-in-waiting and of the poor consolation in a barrel of apples and a side of salted pork. His hand moved up across his belly; his fingertips began to delve beneath his arm.
The eye now distributed its encouragement more widely, taking in the third pirate, who had not spoken. His face had maintained a fixed frown throughout, as though completely baffled since the start of the proceedings. 'Never mind lads - you'll be heroes on the Goblin when you get this lot aboard. Then Travix is sure to find you some little wench to keep you busy.'
He shouted along the corridor; many more pirates appeared and began crowding into the small space at the pantry door.
Anya cringed in terror as they started removing the crates, refilling the barrels, trundling them out and gradually emptying the room. She tucked her feet up tight and tried to make her body very small, knowing that at any second she might be discovered. Yet it seemed to take a very long time for the jumbled mound of provisions to diminish. The men kept stopping for a break. Those times were the worst, for with nothing being moved, the room went very quiet and she was afraid they would hear her breathing. In the confined space, she felt cramped and very hot; there was no air. As she peered at the men through slitted eyes, as they yawned and rubbed their necks or scratched their knotted hair and stared vacantly round the room - perhaps in her direction - she almost became convinced that they were playing games with her, that they knew
all along she was in there, and that they were simply waiting to pounce on her when she least expected it and drag her screaming from the room. And when that vision took shape, fed by the passing minutes, the constant grunts and sounds of scratching and the constriction of the airless space, she did begin to panic. She felt an overpowering urge to scream - to fling herself at them, kicking and spitting and tearing their hair out by the roots, so they would not need to scratch at it any more.
When work resumed, she breathed deeply and closed her eyes until a sudden noise reminded her the men were drawing ever nearer. And then the panic rose again to suffocate her.
Finally, deliverance came. As a sack of peas was lifted, some boxes collapsed sideways and the plank of wood that covered her hiding place tilted. She gasped and tried to catch hold of it, but a shout from the corridor made her hand jerk and the plank fell to the floor. She hid her face in her hands. There was a muttered curse. A box was dropped. She cringed. Any second, the crates would be kicked aside and she would be dragged out, screaming for her life. She kept her eyes screwed up tight. But her hands closed into fists now, held before her and squeezed so hard that her forearms shook.
