Dream Captive

by Reese Gabriel

  ‘You are moist,’ he observed, his fingers accessing her female lips.

  ‘Yes,’ said Tesra, a bit more huskily, leaning back ever so slightly against him. ‘Sir.’

  ‘Do you desire penetration?’

  ‘As sir wishes.’

  The question had been the same, four, five, ten times a day as he worked to increase her sexual responsiveness to almost unendurable levels. He was pleased to see how much more quickly she was responding to him with each encounter. Just now it had taken only the lightest of touches for her to open for him.

  For a moment he listened to her heartbeat, confirming something he had suspected from her body language at the rail, the way she had seemed to him as she gazed out over the waters. ‘You are troubled by something.’

  Tesra said nothing.

  Marcellus employed the universal leverage of master over slave, working her clitoris with his smallest finger, putting her heavy in need, though denying fulfillment. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘Please, sir, it is personal.’

  The captain made her hurt in her need. ‘Whose are you, captive?’

  ‘Yours,’ she slumped, her back against his chest, ‘sir.’

  He cupped her breast beneath the shirt with his other hand. ‘Indeed. And whose breast is this?’

  ‘Yours,’ she conceded breathily, ‘sir.’

  ‘And this cunt?’

  ‘Also... yours.’

  ‘And your thoughts?’ he continued the logic, devastating and brutal.

  ‘My thoughts, too, sir,’ she nodded, wanting to come on his hand. ‘They are yours.’

  He held her at bay. ‘Tell me, then.’

  ‘I dreamed last night I was back home on my island,’ she replied, her words thickening to a gentle pant. ‘I was a young girl again, on my way to see Velacera-be-na, the First Mother, she who helped me into Initiation, kissing my breast upon the sacred wounding.’

  ‘I am not familiar with this ritual,’ said the captain, determined to appropriate all that was in her mind for his possible later use.

  ‘At the age of thirteen, sir, a sister is bled from the nipple, with the point of a gold claw on the finger of the First Mother. She drinks the blood which drips and then, into our mouths, in turn, is poured the sweet milk of consecration.’

  ‘Interesting.’

  This would be a simulation of breast milk, that which a normal woman produces. Though Tesra did not realize it, her little ritual was a symbolic reminder of her biological origins.

  ‘Press your arse against my cock, Tesra, move against it and tell me the rest of the dream.’

  It was a cruel command, for both of them.

  ‘Y-yes, sir,’ she quivered, her body visibly shaking with her dilemma.

  Marcellus had become far more expert in resisting her charms. His awkward first attempts at training her, where he’d nearly mounted her like a mountain goat, were long passed. He no longer even needed Drusia to drain him constantly. He could now hold this girl fast, his hand supreme, his will over hers.

  ‘I was climbing the carved stone stairs, up the great mountain of white crystal; Surasa, the white volcano,’ said Tesra, her splendid firm cheeks fitting to his genitalia, inviting her further plundering. ‘I was wearing the white robe of the initiate, attached at the neck and open from below the throat to the ankle, such that my body was exposed with every step. I wore the enta-sha, the body paint that is appropriate for this time. My hair was tied back tightly on my head. I was frightened, just as I had been at the time, in real life, but also excited. Somehow the journey took much longer this time and all around me there was thunder. I must have gotten very high, because banks of clouds made of whitest white were flying about me, though it was still quite bright out. At a certain point I recall looking down and seeing the sun below, and the moon as well. I thought this odd, but as one does in dreams, one keeps on, accepting whatever comes. The really strange part was that I was getting older as I climbed, so that by the time I reached the apex I was no longer thirteen, but the age I am now.’

  ‘A grown woman.’

  ‘Yes,’ she reached back, daring to put her hands on his hips. ‘Oh, sir, can’t we please go back to your chambers?’

  Marcellus clamped her nipple beneath the shirt. ‘Were you given permission to touch me?’

  ‘N-no,’ she winced, a punished captive.

  ‘Or to stop your story?’ He seized the other.

  ‘No,’ she whimpered, the pain doubled, queerly mixed with the pleasure between her legs. ‘Forgive me, sir. I reached the top of the mountain where there is a temple, open to the sun and stars, with a series of four columns, one to each of four winds. It is there one meets the First Mother. As did I, long ago.’

  Marcellus chewed the girl’s earlobe as he massaged the imprisoned nubs of her breasts, driving her mad. ‘But it was different,’ he guessed, ‘in the dream than in reality?’

  ‘Yes. When the First Mother turned to face me, from her place at the white marble altar, in her black hood and robe, it was not her, sir, who I saw. It was not Velacera-be-na.’

  ‘Who then?’ the captain demanded, abandoning her cunt and leaving her stranded.

  ‘It... it was a man,’ she cried, the horror of the dream intermingling with her current predicament.

  Indeed, thought Marcellus, this was growing more curious by the moment. ‘Did you know him?’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘And I cannot even describe him. Black hair, black beard, very tiny eyes... beady eyes. He frightened me, sir.’

  ‘Why is that, captive?’

  ‘B-because,’ she stammered, approaching a place of brokenness he had not expected at this juncture, ‘he did not intend to initiate me as befitting a sister, but as something else.’

  It did not take a seer to guess as what.

  ‘What did he do with you, then?’

  ‘I was laid upon the altar, in my robe that clasps only at the neck. I was laid out for him in the colors of my people, my body painted and splendidly beautiful. I was helpless to him, sir, and I remember looking in his eyes, questioning, wanting to know why. He merely laughed and drew a carved stone knife from his belt. He told me he would not kill me, so long as I cooperated.’

  ‘Cooperated?’ He licked cruelly at her throat. ‘In what way?’

  Tesra had caved in completely against him, requiring his strong body to support her. ‘He intended to penetrate me, sir, with his male spear, and he told me that if I made it enjoyable for him he would allow me to live.’

  ‘And did you?’

  ‘I-I was scared to death, sir. I had no choice.’

  ‘What was it he wanted specifically?’

  ‘He wanted me to move for him on the stone altar, not to just lie like a wart on a beast as he put it. He wanted to warm himself in my mouth first and to have me wet between my legs when he entered me.’

  ‘You did all these things?’

  ‘I did, sir,’ she moaned, the shame deep in her voice.

  ‘Describe it in detail,’ he demanded.

  ‘First he climbed onto my face. He was naked under his robe and dirty. He stank like an animal and he had heavy swinging balls like an ox. He taunted me, asking me if I thought I was too good for this because I was a high and mighty seer. The whole time the knife was at my throat, pricking my skin. I promised him I was not too good and I proved it, taking each of his heavy, fetid ball-sacs into my mouth to lick and suck as though they were some sweet and luscious fruit.

  ‘He called me a good girl, a good little whore, and I just wanted to be sick because his hairy man-arse was pressed against my breasts, smearing my beautiful sacred paint. The whole time I licked his sacs he stroked himself, getting his organ as large as possible in anticipation of stuffing it down my throat.

  ‘“Beg f
or it,” he said when he was ready. I asked him humbly to desecrate my mouth, pleading with this wild-eyed invader to use me for his pleasure. I nearly gagged from the stench and the overwhelming size. When I resisted he plugged my nose, forcing me to open wider. In and out he went, faster and faster till I thought he would explode then and there, shooting his foul seed down my throat. But he had other plans, involving my lower lips, which by then had become sopping, much to my shame and humiliation. Again he wanted me begging, as though I should need or enjoy such a thing. He wanted me to tell him what a whore and cunt I was, though the words meant nothing to me. He told me he was going to fill my womb and that I would become heavy with his child. I screamed at this point, but he was very strong and he had the knife. Besides, I was no longer able or wanting to resist. I wanted him inside me, I needed it and when his spear sank into me I cried out and wrapped my legs, begging him to fuck me harder, to shoot his load deep inside me, burning hot.

  ‘The lightning flashed about me and thunder roared. I knew something was terribly wrong and as the man exploded in me and I around him, there came a hot white rain down from the sky, as if the gods were ejaculating on us from above. And then, just as he was finishing himself off, I began to feel it... in my belly.’

  ‘What, Tesra, what did you feel?’

  ‘The swelling,’ she sobbed, her voice so pitiful that he turned her about to offer her an embrace. ‘In my womb. I became great with the man-beast’s child, just as he told me. Heavy and full, as if I were a cow or some other female animal.’

  ‘It was but a dream, Tesra.’

  By the windy breath of Nephisis she had turned the tables, forcing him into the position of her comforter, her defender and, if left unchecked, her virtual slave.

  ‘To my chamber,’ he announced, sweeping her off her feet. ‘It is time for another lesson.’

  A lesson in captivity, one that would change things between them. Forever.

  Vorra moved steadily between the pair of pirate cocks, doing her best to split her time evenly. Captain Thrace, to her right, had been given the use of her for the day by Marcellus, though Rodrigo, to the left, he who was second only to the pirate king himself, could hardly be ignored. At present they sat at table, dividing a roasted pigeon with their stabbing knives. The unfed slave, naked and heavily chained on hands and knees, remained hopeful as she bobbed back and forth that they might deign to drop some small scraps to the deck.

  It had been two days since she’d eaten, on account of Rodrigo’s great anger that she’d not been able to meet again with Tesra since their initial encounter, which had yielded precious little that Rodrigo could use to his advantage. Vorra did not see how it was her fault, though, that Marcellus now kept the little blonde bitch by his side night and day like a poodle, but slaves were not given the chance to question the actions of their masters.

  ‘I tell you, Thrace,’ Rodrigo was saying, his mouth stuffed with the meat of the bird that only an hour ago had gotten itself caught in the main sail of Thrace’s ship, the Dread Endeavor. ‘The man is no longer right in the head. One worthless blonde cunt, that is all his latest folly has wrought. And do you think any of us will even get to taste the fresh meat, pathetic as it is? No, my noble friend. Look what you and I get - the stringy, worn out cunts like this one.’

  Vorra dared not object as she deep-throated the thick-knobbed Captain Thrace.

  ‘She’s not so bad as all that,’ Thrace came to her defense. ‘Still, the point is well taken. We are not spineless worms to crawl in the dust our whole lives before some hereditary land-loving monarch. Our kings are made by steel, and so too are they brought down if they fail to deliver to us our life’s blood.’

  Out of the corner of her eye Vorra saw the tiny scrap of meat and gristle that Thrace had just now spit out onto the deck. Was it for her?

  ‘Well said, Thrace. I myself, were I captain, would serve tirelessly to make us all filthy rich.’

  ‘Such words,’ he mused, ‘could be interpreted as treason. Feed,’ he snapped his fingers, giving Vorra permission.

  Vorra dove for it, mouth to floor, eagerly devouring the pathetic bit of half chewed food.

  ‘You spoil her,’ Rodrigo complained.

  ‘It makes them all the more eager, later on.’

  Taking no chances, she showered Thrace’s feet with kisses then scooted immediately to deep-throat Rodrigo’s waiting penis, reassuring him that she was, in fact, totally unspoiled.

  The man ejaculated quickly down her throat, neither acknowledging her presence nor in any way interrupting the flow of conversation. ‘That’s what the whip is for, my friend. But tell me this; is it treason to speak openly as a free man? Are we not pirates answerable only to the sword and the whims of Nephisis? What will you do, Thrace, when the day is done? Confront Marcellus as a man, eye to eye, or cower at his feet, licking in supplication like a slave?’

  Vorra drank him down and then continued to suck till he was hard again. To leave a pirate’s dick without permission, even after an orgasm, was not something a slave girl did idly, not unless she wanted to be separated swiftly from her tongue or even her pretty head.

  ‘Your words bear thinking, Rodrigo. They do not fall on deaf ears.’

  ‘That is all I ask,’ he reached forward to clasp the man’s arm, ‘that you keep your eyes and ears open. Watch what occurs. Witness what Marcellus does, in comparison to what you and I know should be done.’

  ‘We shall speak of this further,’ agreed Thrace. ‘But first you must return my property to me. Even if it be only mine for the day.’

  Rodrigo kicked Vorra away from him. ‘Go, bitch. Are you deaf as well as stupid?’

  Not stupid, thought Vorra, and certainly not deaf. For it did not take a wise man or an astrologer to foresee that what was coming soon would be a bloody struggle, a battle for supremacy between sword-wielding men. But where in the midst of that would mere naked slaves such as her find safety?

  Was there a goddess to whom she could pray? A goddess like the high and mighty one Tesra knew? Vorra continued to contemplate the matter as she finished off Captain Thrace, her lips and tongue bespeaking the only prayer a slave can know: that of absolute submission.

  Tesra beheld uneasily the body of the naked male before her. ‘I do not understand, sir,’ said she to her captor. ‘What it is I am to do.’

  ‘The matter is simple enough,’ replied Marcellus. ‘You are to please the slave.’

  Tesra attempted to hide her arousal, the uneasy stirrings which were becoming second nature to her in the clutches of the pirate king. ‘P-please him how?’

  Marcellus unfurled the whip. It was a snake, quick and black. Kissing the deck, it wanted more. Much more. ‘You are not an ignorant female, Tesra. Your intelligence exceeds that of all the others, probably even that of Drusia here.’ He gave a nod to the collared slut at his side, kneeling, head to his booted foot. ‘Given this fact, I find it hard to believe you have not observed enough from the others to know what is expected of you now.’

  Tesra continued to regard the statue-like male. The slave was strong and blonde like herself. He wore a cloth about his middle, originally white, now filthy gray. He clung to scraps of pride in his demeanor and stance, though perhaps this was only his training. Like the female slaves his body bore the mark of the whip. Was there a brand upon his buttocks, too?

  There were few of the male slaves on the pirate ships. Most of those captured from among their enemies were slaughtered at once. The ones allowed to live were worked like dogs and kept in a state of terrible abasement. They performed the most grueling and dangerous labors of the ships and when they were not in service, they were kept in a special hold. Tesra had heard rumors that a female slave might be punished by being thrown in with these males, like an innocent lamb among wolves. It made her knees weak and her belly quiver to think what would be done to a fem
ale slave, how she would be richly used and put into subjugation by these creatures so long deprived of the natural sexual releases they obviously required.

  ‘I... I do not know where to begin,’ she said foolishly, blushing before the man, her nipples throbbing beneath his shirt, her thighs still moist. Only moments ago he had brought her back to his chambers in tears, cradled in his arms. She had expected softness and sympathy, or at the very least the physical relief she so badly needed. Instead this pair of slaves had been fetched, one male one female.

  ‘Strip, captive.’

  Tesra hesitated, amazed that she had so quickly developed modesty. Among her people there had been no taboos against nudity, no particular significance to the viewing of one another’s flesh. She’d thought that a mark of the superiority of the sisterhood, now she wondered if it was not simply a function of their living as they did in complete segregation from males.

  ‘Must I repeat myself, captive?’

  ‘No, sir.’ Tesra removed the garment quickly, knowing that if she did not he would not hesitate to use the whip on her, or any other means at his disposal. It had been two days since she’d required punishment and she did not wish it now.

  The thought made her all the wetter. Was he training her to obey, like one of his slaves or pets?

  ‘Drusia,’ said he to the groveling, lovely female, ‘kneel between the captive’s legs.’

  Drusia crawled on all fours, her face expressionless, her mind occupied, seemingly with nothing but the will of the cruel captain, a man whom, increasingly, Tesra was coming to think the brown-haired girl loved with an affection much deeper than mere slavery.

  In fact Drusia’s thoughts, or what she could read of them, were consumed with Marcellus; the details of his body, every facet of his being along with scads of facts concerning his moods and preferences and how to please the man. It was as if she were literally an extension of him and no matter how he might spurn her - which he did on a regular basis - she would never be capable of doing anything other than crawling back to him.