Her love.
Is that what he was to her? How had he leaped to that category from that of captor? Had Rodrigo’s venom been so severe as to inspire in her sympathy for the arrogant, domineering, wild-eyed king of pirates?
‘Events will transpire tomorrow,’ he continued, much hidden behind his dark eyes. ‘Contradict me in nothing, accept everything, and you and he both shall live.’
‘But,’ spoke Tesra out of turn, ‘if I am not allowed to warn him, then who will?’
‘The job is mine. I am his second.’
Tesra’s heart pounded in her chest. She was still reeling from what they had envisioned, and it did not take a seer to see that Rodrigo intended to use this information, concerning not his own fate, but that of Marcellus himself.
‘I must warn him,’ she defied, attempting to brush past. ‘I cannot let him die.’
Rodrigo struck her across the back of the head with the hilt of his sword. ‘And I,’ said he with cold calculation, ‘cannot let you live.’
Chapter 8
Marcellus awoke feeling as though there were hundred pound rocks pressing upon his skull, a quarry full, dumped on top of him in his sleep. Rolling to one side of his bed he saw the rum-stained floor and remembered. ‘Rodrigo!’ he cried, calling for his second.
‘I am here!’ The man dashed into the room, having been quite close at hand. ‘Thank the gods you have survived. We thought you might not.’
The pirate king brushed away the slave girl’s attempting to mop his brow with a damp cloth. ‘I want the man or men responsible.’ He sat up, gritting his teeth against the whirling pain in his skull. ‘It was an attempt on my life, that much is clear.’ By the beard of Nephisis, he’d never had such a hangover in his life.
‘Pardon, excellency,’ bowed his underling, second among the captains and his comrade-in-arms for nearly eight seasons, ‘but it was no man attempted to poison you.’
‘Not a man?’ he scoffed. ‘What then do you suggest? A ghost? A demon rose from the deep? Really, Rodrigo, I am as pious as the next man, but when it comes to matters of life and death I must trust in what I see with my own eyes, not some ancient sea tales.’
‘Then trust this.’ Rodrigo snapped his fingers dramatically, gesturing to the silent pirate beside him, a member of his own crew. He nodded and left, returning a few minutes later with the nymph.
Tesra was led in by two guards. Her mouth was gagged, she was chained and she bore the evidence of a whipping, quite recent from the redness of the welts decorating her breasts, thighs and buttocks.
The pirate king tensed at once. ‘What is the meaning of this, Rodrigo?’
‘We have already apprehended the would-be assassin, sir, and as I said, it is not a man.’ Rodrigo pulled her forward. ‘Behold the proof.’
Marcellus, his own hand cold and bloodless, examined that of the blonde nymph. Under the fingernails he could see the residue, quite plainly. A white powder, of the sort used in death potions. Almost as an afterthought he noted her as yet unmarked buttock. ‘I ordered her branded. Why was this not done?’
‘Therein lies further evidence of her treachery, majesty. It seems she was in cahoots with Montrego. He managed to hide her from the iron in the general melee, intent on saving her as his own bride. It was he who helped her poison your rum using powder easily concealed in any number of her orifices.
Marcellus pondered these things. Truly it was a bit overwhelming to think such things so early in the day, especially with his head splitting open as it was. ‘Fetch Montrego,’ he instructed. ‘I must hear his side of the story.’
‘Alas, that is not possible, majesty. It seems, in attempting to escape, the man was consumed by sharks.’
How convenient.
‘Tesra,’ said the king to the prisoner, ‘look me in the eye. Are Rodrigo’s words true? Did you attempt to kill me?’
‘Yes,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘I did.’
He regarded her, the dispassionate eyes, the luxuriant body he had helped her to understand and appreciate. He’d taught her many things. Could murder be one of them?
‘Do you know what is done to assassins - even unsuccessful ones?’
‘No, but I assume their fate is not pleasant,’ she said mechanically.
‘That would be an understatement.’
‘Sir,’ Rodrigo interjected, sounding far too obsequious for Marcellus’ comfort, ‘there is more. The girl tried to seduce me as well. She wished to use me as a vessel, through which to dispel her visions.’
‘I do not intend to execute her.’ He forestalled anymore arguments from Rodrigo along this line. ‘A king who has such fear of a mere female that he cannot master her except in death is no king at all. I sentence her to the hangman’s daughter. See to it that the arrangements are made.’
Rodrigo pursed his lips, the fury simmering just below the surface. Soon, all too soon, Marcellus reasoned, he must face this man, hand to hand. In the meantime he must think. And prepare.
‘Yellow Pelt,’ he said to the condemned woman. ‘I have ordered you to face the ordeal of the hangman’s daughter. Are you aware of such a sentence?’
‘No, sir.’
‘It is, essentially, a punishment at the hands of my crew, your body bound on a special device and muchly scourged.’
‘I see,’ she replied thinly.
‘The hangman’s daughter is essentially a rack,’ he continued, studying her facial expressions, or lack thereof. ‘Adjustable, from which a prisoner may be stretched or otherwise positioned for abuse. The condemned approaches it on hands and knees, passing the feet of a dozen or more men, each of whom, in turn, will have the opportunity to whip and fuck her for as long as they wish.’
Marcellus waited for a reaction. Hearing and seeing none, he continued.
‘As for the name, itself it is a very old piece of pirate lore, supposedly referring to an incident in which a comely wench, the daughter of a hangman, allowed herself to be seduced by a condemned pirate, eventually helping him get free of the dungeon in which he was being held by the captain.
‘In true pirate fashion, the stalwart buccaneer betrayed his rescuer. Having enjoyed the fruits of his prize, he left her bound and naked on the stone floor, the evidence of his having of her written all over her face, quite literally. He had tricked her all along, of course, for she had been promised an honorable marriage and much gold.
‘Finding his come-soaked, despoiled daughter hogtied on her belly, the father was furious. Devising what he felt to be a suitable punishment for the randy girl, he had her strung up on a rack where she was soundly whipped and then had by his men, each in turn. Afterwards, humiliated and fully broken, she was made to crawl from man to man, a full line of them, that she might beg one to accept her as his slave. Blubbering, she kissed the feet of each, desperate for a master lest her father kill her outright. None would take her and in the end it was the hangman himself who plunged the blade into her chest.’
Tesra looked as though she might faint if not supported by the two guards.
‘Having heard all this, do you wish to appeal the sentence?’
‘No,’ she whispered, all spark gone from her, along with the fight he had come to love so well, ‘I do not.’
Who was she protecting? Surely she was not in league with Rodrigo. Who else, then? Her wretched goddess?
Marcellus regarded the rising and falling of her chest, the visible buds of her nipples. The little slut was aroused, just like any common slave anticipating her ordeal. Was the matter so simple after all? Was she really just one more female born to suffer at his hands?
‘Prepare her,’ he said to the guards, feeling somehow cheated. ‘We shall carry out the sentence at once.’
Tesra knew she should not be aroused by what was to come, and yet clearly she was; her thighs slic
k and wet as she crawled catlike across the deck of Marcellus’ ship.
With each step it only grew worse, for with every pair of pirate feet, with every new set of boots, there was represented in her mind one more rock hard penis to fill her helpless sex, one more pair of hands to maul her flesh, to wield a whip on her bare skin.
By the time Tesra reached the hangman’s daughter she could hardly hold herself up. What she wanted more than anything was to collapse on her front and have someone pick her up. But a quick slash of the short stiff whip to her exposed bottom reminded her she must get up and put herself in place.
The cuffs were snug leather, set far apart, one each for her wrists and ankles. Another strap ran around her waist, securing her to the center of the wooden frame. At first she did not see the reason for this last accessory, but as the rack began to lift off the deck she saw it was to keep her steady. With her arms and legs spread-eagled like this Tesra was totally helpless and vulnerable, and the feeling only added to her sexual arousal.
‘The sentence of hangman’s daughter has been imposed,’ called a thin, dark-bearded pirate, apparently having taken Montrego’s place. ‘Think ye it just?’
‘Aye,’ called the hoary lot, as if they might say otherwise.
‘What say the prisoner?’ he said now, speaking words belonging to some ritual or other. ‘Be it just according to she?’
Was Tesra supposed to speak on her own behalf? If so, they would be sorely disappointed, for she had been sworn - nay bullied and blackmailed - to muteness on this and many other topics regarding recent events onboard ship. Much as she hated to put herself in this position, she could not allow Rodrigo to harm Marcellus and if her torture and her silence could save him, then so be it. She could only hope the man would honor his end of the bargain, as she was about to honor hers.
The first man delivered a few quick flogs with the cat o’ nine tails, then announced his intention to penetrate her. Tesra assumed he would have to take her standing from behind, but as it turned out the rack was collapsible, pivoting on points midway up the side of the frame. Thus could she bend to any angle, above or below the horizontal.
Choosing a position of maximum openness, the pirate let Tesra’s bottom hang higher than her head, and stepping between her swinging legs, he grabbed them for support then pushed himself inside her. ‘By the salty sea,’ he growled, ‘I’ve been waiting to do this for a long time.’
Jackknifed as she was there was little for Tesra to do but hang there, her hair sweeping the soggy deck, waiting for the man to finish with her. She felt nothing but frustration as he climaxed, for while she was more than ready he had taken no interest whatsoever in reciprocation.
It was the same with the second man, who beat the soles of her feet with a thin wooden rod of some kind and then went round front for her mouth. Setting the height of her face exactly at the level of his crotch, with her body at the horizontal, he greedily stuffed himself between her lips, using her mouth more or less as one would use a vagina.
‘Mmm!’ he exclaimed, handling her ears to keep her on task. ‘That’s it, you little bitch, drink it down.’
Tesra choked on the creamy load, and when a bit of it dribbled down her chin afterward he made her lick it along with the entirely of his cock, and his balls.
The next man didn’t even wait for the first to dismiss himself. Taking advantage of the well whipped, upwardly sloping curve, he made for Tesra’s rear hole, which at this point was still virgin.
She protested and received five sharp blows from the stinging, razor-thin riding crop, the one she was growing to dread most. Tesra had no idea who was hitting her, whether it was the man who wanted her bottom or another. In any event, she was made to beg for the very thing she had just squealed over. ‘Please,’ she pleaded huskily, the unbidden words in her mouth tasting like an invader’s penis, ‘use my arse.’
‘Fuck me hard,’ elaborated the new man, the words obviously to be repeated by her. ‘Use my tight, unworthy arsehole.’
Tesra said all that, flush and spasming over the new depths they were pushing her to, and the pirate obliged, breaching her without benefit of either anal foreplay or lubrication.
‘Oh...’ she groaned, ‘this can’t be happening. This can’t be - ’
Tesra blinked and a fresh penis was staring her in the face, demanding entry. The last man had finished himself off and was already replaced. She took it to the hilt, whereupon she found herself partaking in the novelty of double penetration, a male dominating her in front and back both. Now if only someone were attending to her loins, left forgotten and burning. Was it appropriate to plead to be fucked on the hangman’s daughter? Was it allowable to cry out, either in pleasure or pain?
And which was she feeling? The physical sensation aside, there was the great weight on her heart, the burden she now carried, worrying about Marcellus but also seeking, as always, to be free. Might it be in her interest to seek alliance with any of the captured Talassians? Would she fare better under their administration? Given the native cruelty of the now tamed Ameliadora, she doubted it. Then again, could anything be worse than what she was living now? Better, perhaps, an honest slave in Talassia, a brand on her thigh, than her current existence, neither slave nor free, here nor there.
The arse man finished, yielding to another.
‘The bitch is hot as a forge!’ declared a showman type, plumbing her with his fingers. He had the pirates chanting as he teased her opening with his uncircumcised head. ‘Shall I?’ he called.
‘You have our blessing,’ cried a bald man with an eye patch, and the others laughed.
Oh yes, by the goddess, she thought, do it please.
‘Do you think the slut wants it bad enough?’
‘Do it,’ she moaned out loud, ‘fuck me, sir, please.’
He sank his erection into her. ‘Oh I will, bitch,’ he grunted, ‘don’t you worry.’
‘Here,’ someone handed him a whip, ‘flog her at the same time.’
The crowd pleaser whipped her in time to his pelvic thrusts, the long cords biting into her flesh in exact duplication of the pummeling of her sex. Tesra was out of her mind, wanting to take them all on, coming and coming and coming. On and on it went, the crowd pleaser milking his turn for all it was worth. Sweat dripped and trickled over her fevered flesh. Tesra’s new orgasm was like a creature all its own, with claws digging at her back. Eyes sealed tightly shut she retreated, or rather imploded, to the interior worlds Marcellus had helped her to open up. Could she soar even now, she wondered, on her own, in the midst of all this, her breasts weighed by gravity, nipples burning to be plucked and squeezed, perspiration seeping, wounds gaping, men coming, one upon another?
By the goddess, they were switching again. A new man for her cunt and another for her arse. But not before she was briefly put upright, to be whipped, fore and aft, breasts and buttocks. Then came two more. And two more after that.
Tesra’s dark world flashed into light. Oh, goddess, there it was again, the terrible vision. Marcellus being struck down by a mighty hand, metal gloved, the spiked fingers themselves the size of a man, and on the back of the hand the stylized eagle, a world in its talons and sprigs of laurel.
The insignia of Talassia.
This is what she and Rodrigo had seen - or rather, foreseen. The death of the pirate king at the hands of the emperor himself - he who in the Talassian language was called the dragar.
‘Oh, goddess,’ she cried in unspoken voice as yet another man exploded down her throat, a second following suit in her womb, ‘let it not be writ in stone. Let it be undone.’
Stone, her mind echoed. Like the rock of a tomb. Like the great walls of the dragar’s palace. The veil lifted and she saw it. She, Tesra, would be going to that ominous gray castle, and soon.
A voice laughed in the background of her mind, mocking her as she
stood upon a nameless plain before a colorless sky, the sun invisible, its rays giving no warmth. ‘There is much to be learned, my child,’ it said. ‘And soon you will know it all.’
It was the dragar’s voice; she was sure of it, though she’d never met the man. Up to a few days ago, in fact, she had never even known of his existence. How had he breached her mind like this? Could the dreaded emperor already be here, laying a trap, possessing and burrowing into her mind as these others took her body?
Tesra lost consciousness, this last thought pressing upon her soul. It had all been too much for any one mortal to bear. ‘By the foam of the sea dog!’ she heard a pirate call as from the end of a tunnel. ‘She’s gone!’
‘Fetch a bucket of sea water and wake her up,’ suggested one. ‘Then we’ll start all over again.’
‘Please, my lord,’ cowered Vorra, her head to the man’s feet, ‘spare my life.’ She could hear the breathing of Rodrigo, the low growl as he stood above her, the curved blade in his hand thirsty for blood. Having found her waiting for him in his cabin he’d flown into a rage, blaming her for something the king had done.
‘Up,’ he commanded, inducing her instant obedience as she placed herself back on her heels for his inspection, legs apart. ‘Have you any idea how much I hate them both?’ he said.
‘You mean the yellow hair, master?’ she supplied helpfully, the point of the sword beneath her chin, lifting her head back painfully. ‘And the king?’
‘Of course.’ He pricked her, drawing a drop of blood. ‘Who else? Somehow she’s bewitched him again, and he has refused to execute her.’
‘But, master,’ she offered, a bit hoarse, ‘won’t this give you another chance to learn what you need from the girl so as to defeat him?’
‘She tells me nothing. I’ve seen him die, in a dream, at the hands of the dragar. That could mean almost anything. His hands number in the thousands across the seas. And what has she shown of my life? Nothing, that’s what.’
‘Master, you do not need prophecy. You are strong enough to take care of your own fate.’
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