‘Not yet.’ He met the confusion and pain in her eyes. ‘Not now.’ Not ever, he meant to say, though he hadn’t the heart. This poor creature had no idea what he must do to her, nor, in a doubly cruel twist, did she know what she must forego in order for him to have a pure and mental union with her, untainted by physical love. If he’d sought to break her down physically so far, and clearly he had, it was only for this greater purpose; one that did not allow him the luxury of taking pleasure from her willing and needful body.
‘You will go and find Montrego,’ the captain rose to his feet. ‘Tell him that he is to bind you to the main mast and give you a half-dozen lashes of the cat o’ nine tails. After this you are to be thrown back in the hole. Naked. Though if any touch you, male or female, they shall answer to me. Is that understood?’
Tesra looked up at him, more a child than a woman. ‘I don’t understand.’
He clenched his fists. How could she understand - how could he begin to explain to such an innocent creature that he must resist seducing her body so as to take later on her mind?
‘What is to understand?’ he said curtly. ‘You will leave now and do as you’re told, or face the consequences.’
‘Yes.’ His prisoner rose shakily, the heat of her more than a little apparent to his nostrils. ‘Sir.’
‘Captive,’ he called just as she was about to close the door.
‘Yes?’ she asked expectantly.
‘Tell Montrego to send Drusia to me. I am in need of a slut.’
The girl was unable to hide her fallen feelings. ‘Yes, sir,’ she whispered, her face a crumbled mask.
Tesra ran humiliated from the captain’s chamber, hot tears stinging her face like the man’s belt. How she hated him! He was worse than a monster; he was a sadistic, cruel madman, a deranged being who delighted in the senseless torture of living beings. How could he work her up like this and then abandon her? How could he awaken needs, show her things about her body not even the mother seers had known and then chase her away, spurning her cruelly?
More than anything she wanted to crawl into some dark corner and weep herself to death. Better to have jumped from the man’s rowboat and drowned in the sea than to have lived to see such a day! Better she should drown now, in fact, than live a moment longer. Climbing to the top of the railing she prepared to throw herself over the prow, but at the last moment, in the shifting pattern of the waves, she saw the face of the goddess, restraining her, warning her against the evils of suicide.
If she were to end her life now, this way, she would not see the Golden Hall of her mothers and grandmothers. Rather she would plunge to the pit - the dark inferno where Marcellus himself was destined, along with his minions.
‘I have no sin in this,’ she told the goddess, her reassuring face staring back. ‘Whatever is done to me is on their hands. Let the men-beasts be damned, and their hideous god, Nephisis.’
The sudden rush of wind knocked her back overboard on her bottom. She took the timing to be coincidental, in no way evidentiary of the efficacy or even the existence of the barbaric sea god. ‘I do your will,’ she cried, looking skyward. ‘Persistrata, my divine queen.’
Tesra drew stares, hungry and lean, along with outright leers as she made her search for Montrego. Twice she asked for help only to have sailors shrug indifferently, as though she were a mere fly pestering them.
It will soon be dark, she thought, carrying her search to the rear deck, where the sun could be seen as a great red orb slipping down beneath the waves, obliterating all in its wake including the memories of her island home. I will have to be onboard this ship at night. With no light at all. Why this should be any worse than the day she did not know.
‘You, woman, what do you want here?’ A dark-skinned man with an even darker beard was glaring at her, looking as if he wished to devour her in her wine-stained shirt, barely adequate to shield her from his lust.
‘Montrego,’ she managed to say, conveying as best she could her mission.
‘In the galley,’ he grumbled, pointing to a set of stairs.
Tesra descended reluctantly, the slave hold fresh in her mind. There was no darkness here, however, and no smell. Reaching bottom, she felt her feet impact pleasantly on dry sanded wood. So far so good.
The sound was coming from behind a stack of barrels, just to the right of some sacks of flour. It was a female sound, a kind of muffled whimper, half pain, half pleasure. Tesra felt an instinctive tingling between her legs. Once again there was moisture. Heart pounding in her chest, feet falling step by step toward an unknown fate, she rounded the corner to see what, or rather who was behind the barrels.
Tesra had to steady herself against the nearest one.
It was Vorra, on her belly, over a grain sack, her arse under assault from the stiffly engorged sex organ of Montrego. He was showing her no mercy, slamming the full length of himself inside the tightly puckered opening. Tesra felt her own buttocks clench instinctively. She had no idea such a thing was possible for a male, much less that a female could submit to it. But Vorra was a slave, which meant the say was not hers. If Montrego enjoyed this act she had no choice but to endure it.
Tesra wanted to retreat, to turn away, but she was too engrossed. Montrego was so big - did all men swell like this between their legs, Marcellus included? Was this what the captain had wanted to do to her - sticking his thing inside her, pushing her to the floor like Vorra, forcing her sweat-covered body to bear the weight of him, the smell, the press of his hand on her back, the feel of his saliva dripping disgustedly from the corner of his mouth? Was that what Marcellus had in mind? And what about Vorra? Was she enjoying this? Did Montrego care?
‘Worthless sluts,’ he snarled, talking to no one in particular. ‘The whole bunch of you. And you can take this godforsaken crew as well. And the captain; what possessed him to bring back that little slut and rub her in our faces, eh?’
Vorra’s head was bowed, the man’s craggy hand pulling back on her hair, threatening to tear the roots. ‘I - I don’t know master.’
‘Of course you don’t.’ He slid his dick from her arsehole, withdrawing it completely. ‘You don’t know anything; you’re a piece of flesh, nothing more.’
‘Oh, master,’ she moaned as he took her other hole. ‘Yes, master.’
‘The captain ain’t right in the head,’ the man continued, fucking her in punctuation to his cadence. ‘I’ll tell you that right off. First he drags us halfway across the sea for one little cunt, and he won’t even fuck her proper. Then he throws her in the hole, so all hell breaks loose and I have to clean up his mess. And do I even get to finish the job? No, because on top of every other blistering thing, now he has to have Drusia to bed for the night. When what she really needs is a few hours of being dragged in the ship’s wake, or maybe in the dunking cage.’
‘Master,’ Vorra dug her fingernails into the grain sack, ‘please, may I?’
May I what? Why did she not finish the sentence? Tesra wondered, her fingers slithering almost invisibly to her own wet opening. Yes, this felt good. Just as it had when Drusia touched her there, and when the captain looked at her where she knelt at his feet in his chambers, his deep voice giving her commands as he toyed with her, making her open her legs, spilling the wine and, above all, kissing her.
By the goddess it was happening again. That strange nether earthquake she had narrowly evaded in the hole with Drusia. Only this time it was far greater, stronger and more completely irresistible. ‘Oh, save me, Persistrata,’ she moaned, both hands at her pussy, leaning ever backward in the process and finally collapsing.
The barrels! Oh no, the barrels!
‘What in blazes?’ roared Montrego. A moment later he was towering over her, his interrupted cock dripping with the intimate juices of Vorra. ‘Are you demon possessed or just simpleminded?’ he wanted to know. ‘Do you know t
he penalty for eavesdropping?’
‘I - I didn’t mean to spy on you,’ she cried, scrambling to her feet and doing her best to cover herself. ‘I was sent by the captain to find you.’
‘Find me?’ he snorted. ‘And exactly how long were you standing there “finding me” as you put it, eh girl?’
‘I only just got here,’ she lied.
‘That’s not true, master,’ declared Vorra, kneeling at his side now like some kind of pet. ‘I heard her all along. Breathing. Masturbating. She wants to be a slave, in the worst way.’
‘Liar!’ cried Tesra, hating herself at once for becoming involved in such a demeaning and petty debate.
‘It’s true, master,’ wheedled the obsequious Vorra, kissing her way round Montrego’s hip to his hairy arse. ‘The yellow hair wants to be a slave, but she is nothing more than a frigid captain’s bitch. Like Drusia. She cannot please you like I can.’
‘I seek to please no one,’ Tesra declared, wishing for somewhere to wipe her wet fingers.
‘Silence, both of you,’ Montrego barked. ‘Or I’ll feed you to the sharks myself. You,’ he grabbed for Vorra, ‘finish me off.’
Vorra gave Tesra an evil smile before planting her lips around the man’s penis, and Tesra’s eyes widened in shock as inch by inch the girl took him, till the whole of his cock was buried in her cheeks. Eagerly, making little gurgling sounds, Vorra sucked him, intending to bring him to what Tesra understood would be his climax, the shooting of the sperm which biologically belonged in the girl’s womb.
‘What was the captain’s message?’ Montrego wanted to know, his interest shifted for the moment from the naked, utterly abased girl at his crotch.
Tesra flushed crimson, as much for what she had to say as for what she was seeing. ‘The captain has ordered me whipped,’ she said, her voice barely audible. ‘Half a dozen lashes at the main mast. Then I am to go back in the hole. Naked. But no one is to touch me. And also,’ she swallowed, feeling the need to clamp her legs together, ‘he orders Drusia to be sent to him... though it seems you already know this.’
‘Aye, he sent me another messenger, he did. Seems you were a little slow.’
Tesra feared Montrego would be angry with her, but he had already shifted back to Vorra, his eyes rolled back in his head as he pressed his hands to the side of the girl’s skull. The look on his face both frightened and aroused her; his teeth so fiercely bared, the sinews on his neck so thickly exposed as he manipulated her into place for maximum penetration. What was going on in Vorra’s mouth? What was she feeling and tasting?
For several moments he held her like this, the spasms continuing as he released himself with the deepest satisfaction.
‘May as well take it off now,’ Montrego told Tesra, indicating that she should begin her sentence of nudity.
Her fingers moved to the hem of the damp shirt, numb, her senses oblivious to everything but Vorra who - having taken his seed - was now licking him clean, paying homage to this organ which had been not only in her mouth but in her sex and arse as well. For some reason Tesra was not revolted, but rather jealous. Vorra seemed to know this too; from the way she was licking her lips and narrowing her eyes catlike, staring directly at the free woman who she somehow had deemed her rival.
‘Was I good, master?’ she looked up at the pirate, for Tesra’s benefit.
‘To the hold with you,’ growled the cantankerous yellow beard, kicking her away.
‘And you, to the main mast,’ Montrego turned Tesra about, moving her forward with a cupped hand hard against her bare buttocks.
To Tesra’s shame she lingered, deliberately, so that by the time she reached the mast he’d had to spank her twice more, each blow a little hotter and more exciting than the last.
‘I’ve never been whipped before,’ she told Montrego as he commanded her to lift her hands over her head while pressing her tummy, breasts and sex against the rough wood.
‘I’ll be sure and hold your hand,’ he mocked.
Montrego - who was scarcely taller than her and a full three inches shorter than Vorra - yanked Tesra’s wrists high so as to affix the well-worn manacles dangling down in front of her. The steel bit cruelly into her wrists, forcing the girl to her tiptoes. Tesra did not like what was being done by the wood to her nipples, or to the tender slit between her legs. Sensitized as she was, she feared the effect of any additional rubbing she might experience.
The cat o’ nine tails was long, with a series of braided leather strands. From the man’s mind she garnered that he was looking to teach her a lesson with it. It was happening with more frequency that Tesra could read the thoughts of these male beasts. Unlike the females with whom she had grown up, they seemed to have no guard over their minds, no discipline in their consciousnesses. The only exception to this was Captain Marcellus, whose inner sanctum was as well guarded as any fortification of stone.
Was he with the girl now; the small and eager slut Drusia who had tried to take from Tesra the pleasure that belonged only to her captor? She hoped the slave would be richly punished for her crime. On the other hand, she did not wish the girl to in any way arouse Marcellus, provoking him to her use. No doubt Drusia would sweat and squeal for him, as well or better than Vorra. The thought made her sick. The curvy brown-haired girl had no place with the handsome captain, no right to his kisses, to his commands, to the back of his hand at the side of her face, correcting her when she’d done wrong.
‘One,’ called Montrego, wielding the device with devastating accuracy.
Tesra’s back exploded with red-hot pain. Compared to this Marcellus’ belt was nothing but a delicate tap, his hand imprinting her face the merest tickle. It was different too, in that here she was exposed, gawked at and lusted after by one and all, attacked with impunity by an uncaring stranger, while with Marcellus there was an intimacy, a connection born of their relationship as captor and captive.
But what was she saying? Marcellus was no less a stranger than any of these others. In fact, whereas these men were merely following orders the pirate king was the one who had invaded the sacred pool in the first place, dragging her from her home, humiliating and beating her till she agreed to go with him to his ship. And then he’d systematically teased and brutalized her, reducing her to a mass of quivering need, a bundle of confused, surrendered flesh with no will, no backbone.
‘Two,’ called her abuser, letting loose the terrible rain of leather for a second go. This time he struck low, across her bottom cheeks. Tesra moaned, having no option but to retreat against the unforgiving mast. Predictably her sex was split, the delicate lips puckering open against the un-sanded wood. She was wet, the juice of her female self flowing freely, enhanced it seemed by her brutalization at the hands of the man-beast.
The third blow found her panting, her cheek scraping against the mighty cylinder. Shamelessly she was humping it now, her body in tune to her beating.
‘Four,’ he called, striping the back of her thighs.
How thorough he was. How well qualified to mark and humble a woman. For all his ugliness Tesra was beginning to see why tall and beautiful Vorra so willingly abased herself, allowing him to use her orifices at will, to treat her little better than one might a household animal.
She shuddered at the fifth blow. Was this what Vorra was seeking? Some kind of resolution or release to this building tension, to this spiral of need and satisfaction, of pleasure spiked with pain?
‘Six,’ growled Montrego, his voice coming to her as if in slow motion. It was in the time between his call and the fall of the last blow on her defenseless, beaten back that Tesra experienced her orgasm. How she knew the name she was not sure, but there was no doubting what it was, and the power it had over her body. It was like all the good feelings of life, all the itched scratches, pleasant tickles, cool spring rains and hot cups of milk combined, in one sudden burst
of energy.
Enough energy to lift her high, but also to send her crashing back down. For in as much as this experience must be empowering for Montrego and the other male beasts, she knew instinctively that for her gender it was a sign of intimate submission, a profound confession that the deepest controls to her own body belonged to them - to whichever man was clever enough or strong enough to take and exploit her.
‘What a waste,’ muttered Montrego, running a ripe thumb down the crack of her backside, lightly teasing the entrance to her still spasming hole. ‘A hot little piece like you would serve half the Talassian navy and beg for more, wouldn’t you?’
The man was directly behind her, his hands on her arse, his mouth an inch from her ear, pronouncing the words, hot and wet.
‘Oh yes,’ she moaned, on the verge of another explosion, far, far bigger. ‘Oh yes, master.’
Montrego let her go, cackling in triumph. She’d called him master, though she was purportedly a free woman, beholden to no one at all, except the man who claimed her as captive.
‘I didn’t mean that,’ she made a point of telling him as he released her from the manacles. ‘I was under stress... I misspoke.’
‘To the hold with you, milady,’ he grabbed her by the hair, his voice crusty with sarcasm. ‘Time for your beauty rest.’
The last rays of the sun, angry red, were already below the horizon as Montrego forced her down into the dank black hole for the night. She contemplated begging him to keep her in the open air, just a little longer, but she knew in her mind it was no use. Wasted breath to a man - to men like these.
The air felt damper to her than before, the moisture already clinging to her naked body, and as the hatch was slammed shut above, Tesra got that closed in, panicked feeling she’d had in here the last time.
‘Hello?’ she called out, hearing no one about in the unlit hold. ‘Is anybody here?’
‘Silence, slut,’ sizzled the voice of Vorra. ‘You have nothing to say down here.’ Vorra’s fingers came from nowhere, clamping her nipples. ‘Isn’t that right, you little whore? The men may drool over your perky tits and yellow hair up there, but down here you’re my bitch. Is that clear?’
Dream Captive Page 4
