Against the Wind

by April Hill

  “I shall say my prayers, now,” Margaret announced solemnly, casting her eyes heavenward. “And when the worst becomes inevitable, I will find a way to throw myself overboard. Do you agree, my dear?”

  Emily sighed. “I don’t wish to sound irreligious, Margaret, or even uncooperative, but when the worst becomes inevitable, I fully intend to pinch my cheeks until they’re rosy, comb my hair nicely, and shower my devoted affections on the least foul-smelling, scurvy-ridden savage of the lot! I once saw a picture of a man eaten by a shark—most of him, anyway. The shark apparently took a fancy to the poor fellow’s entire head, and his right buttock, and–”

  “Emily!”

  Less than an hour later, the door flew open and smashed noisily into the wall, startling them both. The women scooted quickly backwards, watching in terror as three identically filthy sailors entered the cabin, chortling at their captives’ futile attempts to crawl away.

  “It’s time fer the fun to begin, dear ladies,” snickered one of them, a squat, fat wretch with rotting teeth and a missing left ear. “The Cap’n sez we’re to bring ya up on deck, now—to make all our acquaintances, so to speak.”

  Margaret’s eyes rolled back in her head and she swooned dead away, but Emily managed to thrust a low stool between herself and the closer of the two louts, causing him to stumble and crash to the floor on his back. Swearing and rubbing a bruised hip, the one-eared sailor picked her up bodily and swung her over his shoulder. The remaining villains carried Margaret’s sagging form between them, dragging her middle section bumping along the floorboards and up the steps until the ragged parade had made its way on deck.

  It was very cold, and the night was pitch-black, but the fire that glowed in a blackened barrel cast an eerie glow on the wet deck, illuminating the cruel features of at least twenty gnarled deckhands. Emily’s sensitive nose told her than none of the louts had bathed in months (perhaps ever,) and the smell was enough to convince her that her earlier decision to consort with the enemy might not be the best option, after all. The three men who had carried them here paused long enough to dump them onto the deck, then stood back in apparent deference to a tall, dark man at whose black leather boots Emily was now staring.

  The man towering over her was heavily built, with thickset arms and a huge, pendulous stomach that drooped over his studded belt like a separate entity, not human, yet heaving in and out as if it were alive and breathing. He was dressed less shabbily than his companions, but his deeply-lined face was coarse and unshaven, and the greasy black hair that hung unrestrained to his shoulders was badly in need of washing. His nose was large and bulbous, and he wore several rings on each hand and in each ear. This had to be the bloody Gilbert Wallace, Emily thought. He could be no other. With one toe of his boot, he prodded the unconscious Margaret’s prostrate body, and then turned his attention to Emily.

  “What’s your name?” he demanded.

  “My name is none of your concern,” she said defiantly, trying to get to her feet. “I will–”

  With one swift movement, Wallace kicked her legs out from under her. Emily sprawled on her stomach on the rain-slick deck, painfully bruising her chin.

  “Watch your tongue, my dear,” he warned, with an oily smile. “Or I may be forced to cut off at the root.”

  Emily swallowed hard. “My name is Emily Fowler,” she replied, dusting off her skirts and pulling herself upright. “And this unfortunate, aged woman you have abused so ignobly is my friend and companion, Margaret Duncan. We are gentlewomen, sir, and unaccustomed to being treated in this manner.”

  “You have red hair, Miss Fowler, and a temper to match, I am told. As you say, both of you ladies are gentlewomen, and as such, you will bring a handsome price—should we choose not to rid ourselves of you immediately, that is.”

  Emily gulped again.

  “Our families will pay a ransom,” Margaret groaned. She was fully awake now, but still flat on her back on the slimy deck, staring upward. “A generous sum for our safe return.”

  When Wallace chuckled, his laugh was cold and devoid of mirth. “And indeed they shall, Madam. Indeed they shall, when we choose to ask for it. You will be returned safely to their loving arms, only a little the worse for wear. We have been at sea for many months, you see, and my lads have been without healthy female companionship for a very, very long time. I’m sure you will understand their eagerness to enjoy a few hours in the company of gentlewomen such as yourselves and the other ladies we have brought aboard, tonight.”

  Emily and Margaret exchanged glances, realizing for the first time that they were not the only victims of Wallace’s rampage.

  Suddenly, one of the burly sailors leaned down and lifted Margaret’s skirts. “I was jest wondrin’ if this here cow’s still a heifer,” he said. The other men roared with raucous laughter as he thrust a huge, grimy hand between Margaret’s heavy thighs and jabbed one thick finger into the slit of her drawers.

  Mercifully, Margaret fainted again.

  Wallace nodded to several of the crew and ordered them to carry Margaret below. When Emily attempted to go after them, Wallace pulled her roughly back.

  “No, my dear. Tonight, you shall be my companion, Mistress…Fowler, was it? Tomorrow, or in two or three days, perhaps, you will join your friend and the other ladies below decks with the crew, but tonight, you and I shall enjoy the pleasure of one another’s company— alone, and undisturbed.”

  Emily closed her eyes, trying desperately to clear her head well enough to concentrate on escape. A plan was needed, and quickly.

  Once they were alone in his cabin, Wallace indicated that Emily was to sit at the table, whereupon he reached into a cabinet and produced a bottle of red wine and two glasses.

  “I am not a barbarian, my dear, whatever you may have heard. I am as much a gentleman as Ethan McAllister. Oh yes, I know the man well, and I’ve heard of his affection for you. I must admit to you, though, that when my lads went out hunting today, I never expected them to return with a prize as dear to Captain McAllister as his personal whore. But I am very pleased. Ethan always had superb taste in women. He and I sailed together, you know. That was some years ago, of course, before I undertook a new and more profitable career. Since then, our friendship has been strained, as you can no doubt understand. Ethan sees himself as an honest man, whereas I, on the other hand, am by nature more practical than strictly honest. My needs have always exceeded my income, and I’ve found an excellent way to equalize the two. Are you offended?”

  Emily turned her glass up and dumped her wine on the table. “I am disgusted—by you and your vicious trade.”

  Wallace smiled patiently and wiped up the spill with the cuff of his sleeve. “Ah, you refer, of course, to the slave issue. Yes, it is sad, but true. Human beings are sometimes more valuable in this day and age than other trade goods. They are, on the other hand, considerably more trouble, as you, yourself, have just proven. Although—if I may be permitted a third hand—they are often more entertaining, as well. You are a perfect example, Miss Fowler. By the time we reach our destination, you and I will have gotten to know one another know extremely well, and yet you will be uninjured, as will all the other ladies on board … if they behave well. My men are a rough lot, but well-disciplined, and any one of them that leaves lasting scars or even bruises on an item in my valuable cargo understands that he will be dealt with most severely.

  “But enough of this,” he said suddenly. “Before we begin our evening of pleasure, we shall share a late meal.” He picked up a large bell from the table, and rang it twice.

  Emily ate nothing, and tried not to watch him eat, either. A short, dirty man had delivered a cold roast chicken, a bunch of grapes, and a loaf of bread to the cabin. After setting the items on the greasy table before them, the server backed out, his eyes fixed on Emily’s chest the entire time. Wallace gorged himself and drank heavily, while Emily waited, hoping he would become drunk. Two hours later, though, after consuming most of a full bottle, he
seemed unimpaired.

  “You’ve eaten almost nothing, Miss Fowler, and declined my wine, as well. One might think you didn’t appreciate my hospitality.”

  “What has become of Miss Duncan?” Emily cried, unable to restrain herself any longer. “Is that poor, innocent woman enjoying your filthy hospitality, as well?”

  Wallace winked his eye at her, and smiled slyly. “You mustn’t concern yourself about your friend, Emily, my dear. She will emerge tomorrow no worse for the evening’s sport, though perhaps a bit tender, fore and aft. The dear lady is very much too long in years to have kept her maidenhead, and overly stout, of course. But after so many months at sea, my lads are not especially choosy. I can assure you that the lady will be passed about in a most democratic manner, and may well even enjoy certain aspects of her experience, if she cooperates fully. If she does not, of course, her initiation into the arts of passion may be rather disagreeable. Were I in your place, though, I believe I would be worrying about my own situation, rather than that dear lady’s.”

  Wallace smiled again, an ugly, cruel smile that frightened Emily far more than she had expected.

  “Now, Miss Fowler, the evening is growing late, and I must ask you to stand up and remove your clothing.”

  “No,” said Emily firmly, drawing herself to her full height, which was some twelve or more inches less than his own. “I will not do that. You may overpower me, of course, and force me to submit by way of your superior strength. I cannot prevent that, but I’ll not lift a finger to cooperate, of that much you can be assured!”

  Wallace sighed. “Tsk, tsk. What a brave little speech that was, my dear. You must have read a great many cheap novels. Please believe me when I say that I have no need whatever to exert my superior strength, as you so charmingly describe it. I need merely to call two of my strongest men to assist in your…well, call it what you will. Still, men being what they are, these fortunate fellows will expect to be paid for their assistance. And they shall be paid handsomely—by being second and third in line, after their beloved captain.”

  Once again, Emily gulped.

  “Now, remove your dress and your petticoats, very, very slowly, and then your corset and stockings, if you will be so good. I will remove your drawers myself, if you don’t mind. Or even if you do mind, actually.” He chuckled. “In the interest of modesty, though, you may leave your shift on.”

  Emily did as he ordered, slowly. When she was down to her shift, corset and drawers, she paused. There were still perhaps thirty tiny hooks down the front of the corset, and she intended to take as long as possible to undo them. This was not the manner in which she had hoped to be fully naked in a man’s presence for the first time.

  But finally, Wallace tired of the game. “When I said slowly, Emily dear, I had hoped you would have completed disrobing sometime before summer arrived. If you had rather I called those men I mentioned earlier to assist in…”

  Emily reached under her shift and moved her shaking fingers quickly down the line of hooks until the corset fell open and then slithered to her feet. When Wallace stood up and came toward her, she knew she was going to throw up, but fought back the urge. Above all else, she realized that she must keep her head and wait for the right moment.

  Wallace stood back for a moment, and then, with a grandiose sweep of his arm, indicated the wide bed.

  “After you, my dear. On your back, I think, for the first tryst, to be followed by many more, I’m sure, of a novel and vastly more inventive nature. As you may have heard, Miss Fowler, I have always prided myself on being extremely creative in my amours.”

  Emily trembled and closed her eyes tightly, trying not to cry, then moved slowly toward the bed.

  “One moment, please,” he cried. “It seems I’ve forgotten something. Stand still, my dear.”

  He came up behind her, lifted the hem of her shift, and opened the back of her drawers. Emily shuddered as his hands gripped her buttocks, squeezing them painfully. When he slid one finger between her shivering cheeks to probe the puckered spot in the warm cleft, Emily bit her lip.

  “What a soft, warm ass you have, Emily, my sweet. Have you ever had a man part those sweet cheeks and ram his… No, of course you haven’t. I forgot for a moment that you’re a ‘gentlewoman’.” He reached around to undo the ribbons on her drawers, then knelt behind her, drew the garment down to her ankles and ordered her to step out of it. A moment later, when she felt him raise her shift again and put his hot mouth on her right buttock, she moved quickly away, shaking with disgust. Suddenly, Wallace got to his feet and dealt her a vicious slap across the face, a brutal, back-handed blow that caused her to her stumble forward.

  “Did I tell you to move?” he bellowed.

  He hit her again, this time with a heavy, open-handed blow between her shoulder blades that made her cry out and again lose her balance.

  “Open your legs!” he hissed, and she did as he asked, looking up at the ceiling and squeezing her eyes even tighter as he stood behind her and moved his hand between her thighs. He thrust his fingers inside her, and Emily flinched.

  Wallace gave a low whistle, and chuckled softly.

  “Well, well, what have we here? A virgin, is it? I must confess that I am quite taken aback by this development. Miss Fowler. I had always thought Ethan McAllister a randier fellow than it appears he has been. Perhaps the good captain is in poor health, and no longer the stallion he once was? Ah, well, it’s no matter. Ethan’s neglect in this regard will simply provide me an even more pleasant evening than I had expected. There are few things more enjoyable to a man like myself than vigorously deflowering a genuine virgin. They are so rare in these modern times, you know. A virgin is much like a young peach tree, you see, coming into its first spring. I hope you will explain to Ethan how much I enjoyed plucking and eating that first sweet blossom, in his absence.”

  “I will die first!” Emily shouted, turning around to face him.

  Wallace smiled the evil smile with which she was growing horribly familiar.

  “No, Emily, you’ll not die. Not for some time, at least, although if you continue to be this difficult, you may well wish yourself dead. I can be very stern fellow with a cat o’ nine tails, my dear, and the lovely pink flesh of your soft buttocks and slender back is so very, very tender. It would be a shame to bloody it, don’t you agree?”

  He didn’t wait for an answer, but pushed her backward, toward the bed, and when she resisted, he punched her in the abdomen with his fist. Emily fell to her knees, gasping for air and writhing in pain, and Wallace dragged her the rest of the way to the bed, shoved her arms above her head, and lashed her wrists to a ring in the paneled headboard. Emily screamed with rage and kicked at him furiously with both legs.

  He said nothing else, but knelt over her, trapping her legs between his while he yanked her shift up to expose her breasts. Frantically, Emily twisted from side to side to avoid the touch of his mouth, and was rewarded for her resistance with a resounding slap across her face. As she felt his lips sucking at her breast and biting her nipples, she gagged, and spat in his face.

  Wallace sighed. “Emily, my dear, since you persist in insulting me, it seems I will have to forgo your seduction and take my pleasure where I can find it. Get your knees up, bitch, and spread your legs. This will be painful, I’m afraid. I will certainly endeavor to make it so, I assure you!”

  With that, he forced her knees up, shoved her thighs open, and pressed down on her with his entire body, effectively immobilizing her. As he moved one hand between her legs and thrust several callused fingers inside her, Emily bit her lip hard. Smiling down at her, Wallace moved his fingers deeper, watching the pain on her face with obvious pleasure.

  “A moment longer to test the waters, so to speak, and I’ll show you what it feels like to have a real man inside that hot little cunnie of yours,” he boasted. Emily began to buck and writhe, but Wallace was heavy and very strong, and within seconds, he had his erect member in position, ready to plunge
.

  “Are you quite ready, my dear?” he asked, leering down at her. “A foolish question, I suppose, and of little importance, in any case. I believe you will find these next few moments very–”

  Suddenly, Emily lunged forward as far as her painfully bound arms would permit, and bit the end of Wallace’s bulbous nose with all her strength, grinding her teeth deep into bone and gristle. Wallace screamed, leaping from the bed with blood gushing from the wound, but even now, he held on to her, twisting her arm so tightly she felt it would break. He slapped her twice, and then, with Emily’s hands still chained painfully to the bed, he rolled her onto her stomach, yanked the thin shift up to her waist, and pried her legs open. Ignoring her screams and the droplets of blood that dripped onto her back and buttocks. For at this point, he was being driven not merely by lust, but by an insane rage and need for revenge.

  “Maybe this will suit you better, my dear. If you fight like a damned bitch, I’ll damn well fuck you like one!” Emily turned her head and sank her teeth into the flesh of his forearm, but Wallace didn’t seem to notice. “After I’ve finished deflowering this first delicious part of you, my dear, I will force open the lovely cheeks of your virgin ass and ravage that second puckered little maidenhead, as well. Afterward, I will make a gift of your dripping young cunt and ass to my crew. I’m afraid that you’ll find none of those fellows the fine gentlemen that I am!”

  Unable to see a way out of her predicament, Emily closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. She was beginning to see the positive aspects of being consumed by sharks.

  She continued to fight, though, twisting from one side to the other to avoid his thrusts, and for a few precious moments, managed to fend of his efforts to enter her. Gilbert Wallace was a very powerful man, though, and Emily could feel herself tiring, her strength fading. She was about to lose the battle of her life, and more than anything else, she resented it. From somewhere above, she heard a thunderous racket and the stomping of many boots, and knew that Margaret and the other women were probably sharing her own terrible fate.