Tesra’s elevated buttocks were greeted by a hail of spanks. The feeling was sweetly painful, the touch of skin on skin proving deliciously erotic, all the more so for the very real pain she was enduring.
‘That’s it, lads. Show the slut what we think of her wrapping the king round her clit! Show him how we deal with cunts that talk and give orders.’
The worst part of her ordeal, as he spun her about, lifting and lowering her like a toy, was that she dared not scream out under the assault. A man like Rodrigo would not hesitate to slice off her tongue or any other part of her that interfered with his purposes.
‘Enough,’ he said at last. ‘It is time I took the sea slut and taught her some manners.’
‘Three cheers for Rodrigo, our next king!’ called a man, sounding like a plant.
There was some hesitation; the laughter subsided, there was now the more sober question as to Marcellus’ whereabouts and how he might respond to this little escapade.
‘Three cheers,’ the man repeated, as men strategically placed on the deck drew swords, and the pirates responded warily.
Tesra fought back blind panic. Was Marcellus truly dead? Could there be any other meaning?
Rodrigo was not gentle with her. Tossing her into the rowboat he seemed oblivious to the integrity of her person. Fortunately she landed on her bottom, her chained hands helping to steady her.
Jumping in after her he pushed off from Marcellus’ ship with one of his powerful legs. They were bound for his own ship, named appropriately, Dark Mayhem. Slave girls lived in terror of this vessel, for it was said there was no mercy for females there.
Indeed, as he lifted her onto the deck she could sense the oppression, palpable in the air. Two chained girls, heavily weighted in irons, their bodies covered in slash-like scars and wounds, knelt scrubbing the wood with primitive brushes. The bucket was filthy with black water, as was their skin. Upon seeing their master both girls fell to their bellies in obeisance. They remained so as he passed, Tesra’s hair clumped in his hands, her body stooped beside him.
She tried to keep up, but it was difficult with her bound hands. When she finally fell he twisted her to her back and dragged her along on her buttocks. From the main mast a third girl watched, her body wrapped in chain, attached to the wood from ankle to throat. There was no telling how long she had been there. Tesra noted the sign, I am a willful cunt. Her body was not so willful now, it seemed.
A fourth girl was literally hanging upside down by her ankles over the deck. Tresses of long dark hair swayed in the twilight breeze. Her hands an inch from the deck, she too bore an inscription, inked onto her belly. I am a proud slave.
Rodrigo’s cabin, just below the ship’s wheel, was already occupied.
‘That will be all, Vanya,’ said the man to the female busily licking the floor.
Tesra regarded her with fascinated horror. She’d been scrubbing the entire filthy surface with her tongue, dipping it over and over in a bucket of water. Moreover, she was completely shaved, her head shorn of all hair.
Vanya did not rise her to feet; pausing to kiss the master’s boot - and to sniff at Tesra - she shuffled from the captain’s quarters, no questions asked. It was only when Tesra saw the hindquarters that she noticed the protruding tail, a finely brushed mop attached to an anal plug.
‘I am not going to beat around the bush,’ said Rodrigo to Tesra when the miserable creature had closed the door behind her with her nose. ‘I have arranged this little meeting tonight to try your powers for myself. I’m quite sure it will all prove a hoax, but I’ve never been a man to take anyone else’s word on anything - least of all something that might make me rich.’
Looking at him piteously, she awaited permission to speak.
‘You will tell me how he does it,’ Rodrigo continued. ‘How he gets in your mind or whatever other nonsense is supposedly involved.’
‘If you don’t even believe in it,’ said Tesra, finding herself unable to resist speaking out of turn now, in spite of all his threats. ‘How will you know it when you see it?’
‘That’s a very good question,’ he agreed. ‘And the answer is quite simple. I shall take your testimony. And as is the case with any slave, I shall do so by means of torture.’
‘T-torture?’
‘Y-yes,’ Rodrigo mimicked. ‘N-now go and stand by that m-machine.’
Tesra did so, filling with wicked dread at the sight of it. In shape it was a vertical wedge, the apex of it fitted with a cylindrical shaft, the size of a very large man or a small elephant.
‘Get on it,’ he commanded, indicating in particular the simulated penis.
‘I will not fit,’ she protested.
‘Then you had best lubricate yourself and pray you stretch,’ he undid the shackles, freeing her hands, ‘because at the count of five I shall rain down leather upon you like the vengeance of the war god.’
One look at the uncoiled whip was enough. Horrid as it might be to endure penetration by a stick of wood, she could not tolerate another hard punishment, no matter how much she might deserve it.
‘I’ll do it,’ she said, seeing that he was already fixing to use the thing on her. ‘Please, don’t beat me.’
Tesra mounted the saddle-like wedge, lining the tip of the well-worn shaft up with her swollen nether lips. The thing was so massive, and she was so tender as of yet from her experience with Vorra and Drusia. But the whip proved excellent incentive. One bite of its lightning quick tongue and she was down on it, violated, brutally stuffed.
‘Marcellus has been most negligent in your training,’ observed the man, turning an ominous looking crank at the far side of the device. ‘You are a lax and lazy slut, a dishonor to your master.’
‘I am not his slave,’ she said, most foolishly risking his further fury. ‘I am his free captive.’
‘A free captive?’ He laughed. ‘Now there is an absurdity typical of the mind of a mere female.’
Rodrigo activated the primitive mechanism, now fully wound, and at once the shaft began to move up and down, slowly and cunningly.
‘The rules are simple,’ the pirate explained as the machine commenced pummeling her. ‘If you move your arse, or lift it in any way to avoid the shaft, you receive a lash. In the meantime you will answer my questions.’
The wooden cock felt good inside Tesra, very good. It knew all her secret places and its shape was perfect. And yet it wasn’t quite fast enough, nor was it quite as vigorous as it could have been. The urge to move against it, to rub herself, was growing; but this would mean displacing her bottom.
‘You seem a little too comfortable,’ he observed, and made the shaft rise higher. She would have to take more of it, and deeper. It was too much. She wanted to lift herself to find relief, just for a second. But then it went down again, leaving her empty. A second later it was back up, moving in and out. She moaned. It was too confusing. She couldn’t sit still.
The whip sliced at her back in merciless slow motion, a leather demon opening her, bearing her soul. Down she went again, onto the false penis. But already it wanted her to move and play. She needed to fuck it; her cunt demanded it. If she could raise herself, just for a second, it would be all right.
‘Who are you, really?’ he demanded, unleashing the leather snake a second time.
‘I am Tesra,’ she wailed. ‘Born of Persistrata, the goddess of the Isle of Dreams.’
‘Lying cunt!’
The shaft was attacking her. She could not hold out.
‘Sir, please, let me lift my hips, if only for a moment.’
He lashed at her like an animal. ‘You are a witch,’ he accused. ‘You suck the life from a man’s penis. You cast spells, like you did on Marcellus. Before he met you he was a man - you made him a slave.’
‘I have done nothing.’ She arched her back, squeezing the muscles
of her vagina in an effort to regulate the flood of sensations, the pour of liquid over the wedge.
‘You can’t see the future,’ he told her. ‘All you know is how to obey simple commands. Stay. Sit. Suck. You’re like any other bitch, aren’t you?’
‘Sir... I... no, I mean, yes.’ Tesra writhed, trancelike, nearly dislodging herself entirely from the juice-soaked seat. In the time it took her to resume her position of cunt-filled subjugation she’d earned two fresh stripes, one each across her heaving breasts. She had wanted to protect them with her hands, but she needed those to keep herself upright on the cunningly created intercourse machine.
‘You cunts go just as crazy for this contraption as you do a man,’ he declared disparagingly. ‘Only goes to prove you are animals, capable of no free thought, no refinement.’
‘Yes... please... I’ll do what you say, anything, just let me go.’ Tesra was climaxing on the shaft, wet and helpless, a mass of surrendered need.
‘How did you find him the treasure fleet? Tell me!’ Rodrigo whipped her full on the thigh, even as she bucked uncontrollably and the words came from deep in her throat, a low groan.
‘He touched me... he put his hands on my head... he was in me, and on me... I let him... do it...’
Tesra sucked at the air, her lungs starved, her breasts rising as she inhaled. Like a woman demon possessed she grabbed them, holding them like Marcellus would if he were here. Blessed Persistrata let him not be dead.
Abruptly the shaft stopped its motions.
‘Since everything that comes out of your mouth is nonsense, you don’t need to speak,’ Rodrigo decided, holding up the leather gag with the built in shaft, a much smaller version of the one she was currently sitting on.
Tesra opened obediently, taking the foul-tasting object into her mouth. It was designed both to silence and humiliate a woman, for at the same time she was rendered mute she was also forced to suckle the artificial penis, the drool from her actions meandering down to her throat and breasts.
‘Now,’ he lifted her unceremoniously by the hips, ‘it’s time to see if you’ve been lying to me. And I truly hope you have not, because I have far, far better means of torture at my disposal. Trust me, sea witch, compared to my slave hold, that of Marcellus is a royal boudoir.’
Tesra clawed at the wedge, her cunt muscles clutching. She did not wish to leave the shaft now, for it had claimed her and it was making her hornier and hornier, like an alley cat wanting to rub and fuck and fuck some more. Tesra, beyond all manner of degradation, endured the sting of his laughter as he put her on the floor on her back.
‘If only Marcellus could see his little prize now. You’ll excuse me if I don’t use the bed. Personally, I believe slaves should be used on the floor or in the dirt at all times. Keeps them humble, don’t you think?’
Tesra pleaded with her eyes. Let him do what he wished to her, but if it was not too late, let him spare the pirate king.
‘This is what Marcellus should have done from the beginning.’ He opened his breeches to reveal a stubby, thick-veined organ. ‘Open your legs, wide.’ He kicked the thighs of the gagged girl. ‘This,’ he said, descending to claim her in one swift and imperious motion, ‘is what separates a man from a woman. A man abused will rise to anger, prepared to fight. A woman will oil herself for capitulation.’
He was referring to the slick canal that received him to the hilt. Tesra fought the roiling spasms induced as he settled himself. If she did not control herself she would orgasm for the pig at any moment.
‘Lock your ankles behind me,’ he commanded. ‘You will be holding back nothing this night.’ Tesra did as she was told. His arse was hard beneath her heels and as she pressed his buttocks he gave her an extra deep thrust, enough to induce whimpers from her imprisoned mouth. ‘Look at me, cunt.’ Tesra did not want to open her eyes, did not want to regard this man for whom she was a mere object of contempt, a rude little animal in need of his brutal training. But she was his captive now, in every sense of the word, and when he dug his fingers into her defenseless breasts she knew she must obey lest he go on hurting and hurting her. Regarding him she felt instantly violated, in a way no mere physical penetration could manage.
‘You are nothing special to me,’ said he, as if this were some surprise. ‘I have beat down women twice as strong and clever as you. Any tricks, any attempt to play with my mind when we connect and I will smash you like an insect. Nod if you comprehend.’
Tesra was losing herself already in those eyes, narrow and depthless, unspeakably cruel. Agreeing to her own mental ravishment she gave him the affirmation he needed.
‘See?’ he sneered. ‘What took your pirate king days to accomplish I did in an hour. You are mine now, little bitch, as simple as that.’
The smile was pure gloat, undisguised malevolent glee. How much the man must hate Marcellus, she thought. How jealous he must be of the more handsome, stronger and more able king, to whom everything came so easily - women, power, treasure. No wonder he couldn’t bear the thought of Marcellus having his own personal genie, to grant wishes and find him wealth untold. Truly this man would stop at nothing to destroy the king, and she feared in fact that he might already have done so.
‘Hearing no objections,’ he relayed, obviously enjoying his own bad joke, ‘let’s begin this little mind meeting, shall we?’ He spit into both his hands before pressing them to the sides of her head. Unlike Marcellus there was no finesse, no real passion in his touch. Only a cold grappling for power, the muscles in his fingers calculating just how hard to clench, restraining themselves, but just barely, from busting open her skull like a ripe melon. Right away she could feel his rude attempt to batter at the lining of her mind. If she did not let him in he might well destroy them both, blowing their brains to pieces. But if she did let him in, then she would be at his mercy, as much inside as out.
In the end Tesra had no choice, for he was also using his cock on her as well, turning her physical body to mush. Finding herself in a white room, in a long white gown, she awaited him, her eyes fixed on the open door. It was a vision place, a place of her inner life. Rodrigo’s boots tromped down the hall, closing perilously. She could feel wetness between her thighs in anticipation. Bracing herself, she stood for him.
He entered dressed all in black, boots and silk shirt, vest and pants. The sword at his belt gleamed like polished silver. His gloves were fine calfskin, reaching nearly to his elbows. Without hesitation he marched up to her, struck her across the face and knocked her to his feet.
‘Get up,’ he said coldly.
Barefoot in her sheer gown, wounded and degraded, she rose shakily to her knees.
‘All the way,’ said he, his cold voice echoing off the walls of the bare, windowless room.
Tesra stood and he hit her again, harder.
‘Get up,’ he repeated. This time she required help, but as soon as he had restored her teetering onto her feet, he knocked her down once more.
This time, when he merely unfastened the black pants, she was grateful, and moving to her knees she took him deep.
Rodrigo’s hands went to her head, in the dream just as they had in reality. Tesra made no never mind as he played with her hair, patting and stroking. She kept on sucking, knowing this was where she belonged, that before such a man as this she could never stand as equal. A pang of sadness passed through her as she thought how Marcellus had taught her something similar.
‘Concentrate, bitch.’ Rodrigo’s voice came to her as a loud boom, an echo, internally and externally. Eyes within eyes she shut herself, spreading the wings of vision. She was the bird again, soaring, bridled, the man on her back. But unlike with Marcellus she was not in daylight, not in open air.
By the gods she should have anticipated this! Rodrigo’s mind was too filled with hate to sustain the ethereal air of the heavens. They were plummeting straight
down into darkness, to the infernal pit of dragons.
‘Let go,’ she cried out to him, mind to mind. ‘You are going to kill us both.’
‘A vision,’ he gasped madly. ‘I will not release you till you give me a vision.’
Her wings were tearing. The air was heating as they spiraled down, down to the edge of a vortex from which nothing could escape, neither divine nor mortal.
‘A vision of what?’ she cried. ‘You are rich. What more do you want?’
‘The future,’ he demanded, his voice thick and hot with greed, his eyes blind with the stupidity of a wounded animal. ‘Mine. And his.’
He meant the pirate king. So Marcellus was alive after all. Could she reach him somehow, even from here? Could he help her escape, physically or mentally?
‘Obey me, bitch!’ Rodrigo was shouting, his voice as shrill and ultimately powerless as was his petty and undisciplined mind. ‘Show me the future!’
The future. That which no man should see. The veil. The Wall. He wanted to cross it, just as Marcellus had. Only his way was straight down to hell. Praying she would be able to pull back in time, she braced herself.
‘Yes!’ cried Rodrigo. ‘By the gods,’ he dug his spurs into her side, ‘yes!’
There were explosions around them and the blooming of fires. All manner of strange creatures copulating and devouring one another in the air, while in the midst of this claws rose, seeking to rip them to shreds.
She thought they were dead, but at the last possible second Tesra kissed the sky, and they were allowed to swoop free of the tornadic winds of the underworld. But not before they saw something that was perhaps worse than hell.
‘You will speak of this to no one.’ Rodrigo released her afterwards from the leather gag. ‘As you have no doubt guessed, Marcellus is not dead. I merely drugged his rum. But next time, if you even hint of what took place between us, I shall kill him outright.’
‘Yes,’ said Tesra, numb and bruised, ‘I understand.’
It hurt her jaw to say the words, and also her heart. She was going to have to betray her love to save him.
Dream Captive Page 15
