by Ward, Vivian
Good.
“Let me make something very clear to you, Victoria. Here, you are my prisoner, to do with what I please. I could keep you locked in this room until we make it to Botany Bay if I chose to, and there’s not a thing you could do about.”
“Pfft,” she spits in my face. “I hardly doubt that! Do you want me to scream? Because I can scream!”
She opens her mouth to do it but I quickly cover it and say one word. “Elizabeth.”
Terrified that I know her daughter’s name, she instantly goes limp in my arms. A sense of pride comes over me because I know that’s her one—and maybe only—weakness.
“As I was saying, I could lock you in this room and you wouldn’t do anything about it because of that sweet little girl of yours. What do you call her? Lizzy? Do you know what could happen to her? Especially if she didn’t have a mom to take care of her?”
All of the color drains from her face. That’s right, not only do I know her full name, I know her nickname, too. I overheard Charlotte when she was asking Officer Robert Addington about Victoria coming up on deck with her baby.
“You wouldn’t,” she cries. “My baby is all I’ve got! I didn’t come with extra clothes or money like some of the other prisoners. Lizzy’s all I have until I find Henry,” she sobs.
“Henry?” I ask.
She frantically nods. “Yes, he’s—he’s my husband, and I know he’s on this boat with us but I can’t find him since they’ve got us separated. And when I tell him about—,” I cut her off.
“Tell him about what?” I give her a daring look. “You won’t say anything to anyone. You’re too smart for that.”
Oh, Victoria, the things you shouldn’t tell your enemy, I think to myself. A man in my power can do a lot and right now, I’m seeing Henry as an obstacle. I’ll have to watch her even more closely now.
I can’t help but smile having the knowledge and power laid out before me. “I’m definitely keeping you in here.”
“What?! Why?!” She gasps. “What about my baby?!”
Shit, I’d forgotten about the baby for a moment. Even a man like me isn’t completely heartless. That baby girl will die without her mom to nurse her. I may not have compassion for certain things, but babies are different; vulnerable and fragile. But I can use that to my advantage because it’s something every mother knows and understands.
“To keep you from Henry,” I exaggerate his name.
The color her face once lost a few moments ago has found its way back. Her fists clench open and closed as a look of rage casts through her eyes. If looks could kill, I’d be dead. She’d kill me right here.
But looks can’t kill and she’s far too small to do anything herself—at least to me. She might be able to hold her own down in the hulk if a fight were to break out. The convicts are always fighting over the meals they’re given but it’s hard to blame them. With as little as they’re given, I know without a doubt that I’d starve to death if I were one of them.
But I’m not.
I get to sit up here and enjoy the water, fresh air, and sunshine. That’s what happens when you’re a low-life convict: you rot in jail, just like you ought to and that’s their problem, not mine.
A small trickle of blood escapes her palms as her fisted nails pierce her skin. The sight of it makes my cock jump and I want to throw her down on the bed and watch her struggle while I take what I want.
I could do so many things to her right now but I need to control myself. As a Marine, we’re taught self-control and discipline but being around her makes me want to throw all of that out the window while I let my animalistic urges take over. I shouldn’t like her this much, I hardly know her and that’s what’s most disturbing to me.
If I take her now and have my way with her, there’s no fun in that. I mean, I know I’d enjoy myself but I like her knowing that I have power and control over her, and that I can use it any time I want.
On the other hand, I’ve never been a rapist and don’t plan on becoming one now. I’ve seen far too many men give in to their weaknesses, and I’m not one of them. It’s better to play this little game of cat and mouse with her; it’s quite amusing to watch her try to guess what I’m going to do—or could do.
The pressure of my cock straining against my trousers reminds me of just how much power I have over her, and how much self-control I have to assert.
“You’re a bastard! I need my husband,” she pleads. “He’s all Lizzy and I’ve got. Please.”
“He’s all you’ve got?” I laugh. “Please, he has nothing to offer you here and is of no help to you or your daughter,” I say. It’s harsh, but it’s true. Even if she somehow manages to find her husband in the male prison hulk, he can’t do anything for her, except talk to her through the wall. Stalking towards her, I take slow, deliberate strides until her soft breasts press against my chest. “But me? I can do a lot for you and that daughter of yours. It all just depends on how nice you want to be to me.”
Her spit lands in my eye and that’s when I’ve had enough. “Piss off,” she says with such vile and conviction in her tone. “Take me back to the hulk so I can be with my daughter.”
“You’re not getting off that easy. Not with that temper,” I growl at her, wiping the spit from my eye. “Turn around.”
She stares at me, frightened and confused.
“Turn. Around,” I instruct her as I remove my belt.
Slowly, she turns to face my bed, forcing me to resist the urge to undo my pants and take her right here. It would be so easy to lift up that pathetic little dress of hers and fuck her until I exploded inside of her.
Self-control, I remind myself.
“Wh—what are you going to do?” Her voice quivers.
“Ten lashes,” I announce. “You’re going to see that I’m in charge here.”
Her back straightens, daring me to take my best shot as though she’s tough as nails.
“One,” I say, delivering a blow to her backside.
The belt whips through the air before crashing down on her. She flinches, but I know she felt the sting of the leather against her skin. Still standing tall, I go on to deliver the second one.
“Two,” I announce.
Whoosh!
The cracking through the air tells me this one is going to sting more than the last one. Her body falls forward against the bed but she picks herself right back up and resumes the same position.
“Three!” I swing the belt towards her other butt cheek to give this side a rest but it’s equally as strong as the last two.
A small yelp escapes her tiny body.
“Four!”
Whoosh!
Delivering another lash, another yelp escapes her.
“Five!” I go back to the original side and whip her there. Her body falls forward on the bed, but she doesn’t get back up this time. She remains slumped against the bed, using her hands to keep her upright.
“Six!” I say, belting her again.
Small sobs become audible but she’s brought this upon herself. I feel no pity for her and continue on.
“Seven!”
Whoosh!
The belt cracks through the air, sending a visible jolt of pain through her body. Collapsing on the bed, I wrap her in my arms, holding her upright as my cock presses against her ass through the thin material of her dress.
“Three more to go,” I whisper in her ear. “I’m not done with you yet.”
A whimper escapes her throat as a tear runs down her cheek and it takes everything I have not to lick it from her sweet, innocent face.
The urge is too strong and I have to taste her. I need to taste her.
My teeth nibble along her jawline as she sharply inhales. Completely still in my hold, my tongue flicks her tear-stained cheek and devours her salty tear. I release her from my arms because it’s too tempting to hold her this close to my strained cock.
“Eight!”
Whoosh!
The waterworks have reached the
ir dam and her light sobs turn into full-blown tears.
“Nine!”
Whoosh.
“Ten!”
I deliver the final blow before she collapses face-down on the bed as her aching body shakes with fear and pain. Lifting the back of her dress, I admire my handiwork. Both of her ass cheeks are candy apple red; they almost match the dried blood still crusted beneath her dirty fingernails.
I’m in over my head and if I don’t get a grip on things now, I don’t know how I’ll survive. The thought of being stuck on this boat with him for the next nine months terrifies the hell out of me.
If Officer Kent didn’t have my attention before, he does now. I’ve never met a man like him, so dark and carnal. Despite the agonizing pain from my lashing, all I can think about is Lizzy and Henry. I have to find my husband and get back to my baby. She’ll starve to death if I’m not there to nurse her.
What if my milk supply dries up before he lets me go back to her?
With the tiny amounts of food that we’re given down in the hulks, I’m already at risk of my milk supply diminishing. The whole reason why I stole food in the first place was that my milk supply was almost completely depleted since I wasn’t getting enough to eat. And not being able to nurse her? That’ll cause my milk to go dry, too.
Officer Kent left me to ‘think about things’ a few hours ago. Before he left, he reminded me that he has no reason to help me—he made that loud and clear—and that he expects to be repaid for his ‘favors’ if he allows me to bring the baby up on deck while I work.
The thought of being with him sickens me.
I’m a married woman for God’s sake! There’s no way I could ever cheat on Henry or tarnish my wedding vows. It’d be a cold day in hell before I ever let that happen.
And who does he think he is? With his violent nature and the way he talks, who would want to be with a man like that?
Yes, he has power. Clearly, he has all the power. He was definitely right when he said that nobody would know if I was missing. I’ve been listening through the wall to see what the other guards and convicts are saying and doing. Not a single person has mentioned a missing mother. They’re busy doing their own thing and it’s like I don’t even exist.
But surely, some of the women in the hulk will begin to question where I’m at once Lizzy starts crying for me. Nobody can ignore a crying baby, especially not when they’re all crammed like sardines and she doesn’t stop wailing.
I have no idea where he went or what he’s doing but for the first time in days, I was able to watch the sunset from the small port window in his sleeping quarters.
It was bittersweet, getting to see the pinkish-orange sun-streaked sky as I breathed in the fresh air. I wish my baby were with me instead of being stuck down in that rat’s nest with Charlotte. I hope she’s taking care of Lizzy while I’m locked away up here.
After he left, I tried the door handle so I could get out and sneak back down into the hulks with Lizzy, but it’s locked and I’m sure he’s got the key. I heard some keys jingling from his belt loop when I received my lashes.
When I received my lashes. It resonates so deeply within me. Who would’ve thought that I, of all people, would receive a lashing? It just shows me what kind of sadistic person he is and I hate him.
If anything, I probably should’ve received a lashing before we were brought to the prison hulks when I refused to give him the information he requested, but not today. I didn’t deserve it today.
With everything that I’ve gone through, being locked up in the jail, traveling through the sweltering heat, being shackled to other prisoners, and having zero privacy, my situation doesn’t seem to be improving. It’s getting worse!
Not only did I epically fail at staying off the radar, but I’ve also got him zeroed right in on me. And not only that, but now I’m separated from Lizzy AND Henry. On top of all that, he expects me—a married woman—to give him sexual favors in exchange for things that ought to be basic human rights. Fresh air, clean water, decent food, and living without bugs and rats while being surrounded in a few inches of excrement should be automatically given. We shouldn’t be made to beg for these things and we damn sure shouldn’t have to offer our bodies to get them.
I wonder how long Charlotte’s been doing it—the sexual favors? How does she do it?
I thought things would be better once they loaded us onto the boats—it seemed anything would be better than being locked in a jail cell—but these conditions are much worse. My self-hatred has more than doubled since we boarded. What kind of mother and wife am I?
A good mother wouldn’t be out committing crimes. A good wife wouldn’t make her spouse an accessory to her crime. And a good wife and mother wouldn’t be considering the fact that if I just gave Officer Kent what he wanted, at least Lizzy and I could live a little easier on this ship.
I mean, it’s just sex. Nobody said I have to enjoy it. I only have to endure it. If I just gave myself to him, maybe he’d allow us to be up on deck together; Lizzy and I. Maybe he’d even help me find Henry. And maybe if I played my cards right, we could get some extra food from him. I know I’m going to need it to keep my milk supply up and it won’t be too long before Lizzy can start eating some solid foods. She’ll need them to fill up her tiny belly.
Charlotte told me that her Marine even got her a new dress. Well, it wasn’t new in the sense that he went to the store and bought her one, but it was new in the sense that it was better than the rags she came with. My dress is fine for now. It’s a little thin and worn, but I can make do. It’s Lizzy who will need clothes soon.
But he doesn’t seem interested in helping with her. In fact, he seems annoyed by her. Anytime I’ve brought her up, he says nothing about her, except when he’s holding her over my head to get me to do whatever he wants.
The longer I stay locked in his tiny sleeping quarters, the more I have to wonder if I should give in to him or not. If I did, I’d be a horrible mother and wife, but I’d also be doing what any woman would do to ensure that she and her baby survive.
I was so damn stupid for not giving him the baby’s name back on the shore. It was the dumbest thing I’ve done so far. All I wanted to do was stay invisible, blend in with the others, and stay off their radar.
But I was too foolish to do that. My attempt at blending in didn’t last long and now I’ve wound up locked away in his room, away from my baby and husband, and wondering when the hell I’m getting out of here.
I’ve got to get out of here. I have to go back to Lizzy.
Maybe I could try to pick the lock. Approaching the door, I study it for a moment and it doesn’t look too strong. I could pick it and sneak back down to the hulks without going through too much trouble.
Searching the room, I try to find something—anything—small enough to fit through the skeleton keyhole to trigger the locking mechanism inside the door. I need a bobby pin, a pencil, a knife—anything will do. All I have to do is stick it in that hole and wiggle it around until it opens the door. But there’s no such luck. After a search of his room, the smallest objects that I’m able to find is a pair of scissors and comb; neither of which will do the trick.
Sliding down the wall, my bottom flops against the wood floor and I think about my options—not that I have many, but I do have some.
I could make this all backfire on him. Nothing is stopping me from banging on the door, screaming bloody murder, and drawing attention to the fact that he has a low-life convict locked away in his room. A convict that he wants to have sex with!
But who would believe that? He’s a Marine officer and I’m a disgraceful convict who’s been charged with theft. He could tell them that I snuck into his room to steal. They’d probably all assume that I was the liar and that he was telling the truth. Knowing my luck, I might even get more prison time added onto my sentence for making such accusations.
Then another thought is born. One much darker and sinister. Yes, I like this one much, much better.
I could kill him when he comes back. I could take these big, dull scissors and rush him as soon as he comes into the room. Vivid, corrupt images flash through my mind as I fantasize about the scenario.
He’d come in and turn to shut the door behind him, and that’s when I’d make my move. I’d rush him the moment he turned to face me and attack him before he knew what was happening. My hand would brandish these old, silver scissors and I’d jab them right into his neck. Blood would spray all over me and the walls as the color drained from his face and I’d take great pleasure in watching him gurgle and choke to death on his own blood until his bulky body hits the ground with a thud.
But then there’d be a lot of problems with a murdered Marine, so that’s probably not my best idea.
No, I’ve got to think. Think, Vic, think. Lizzy’s probably down in the hulks screaming her head off; I’ve got to get out of here.
Looking around the room, there’s no feasible way to escape. There’s only one door—that’s locked—, a tiny port window that I could never fit through, his bed, a small chest with his military-issued uniforms, and an area where he can groom himself. There are no real weapons—aside from the scissors—and nothing that would give me an upper hand in the situation, so that leaves my options very limited.
Pacing the room, I do my best to come up with another escape plan—one that’s more feasible. If I do this, I know I’ve only got one shot and I’d better get it right the first time. There is no room for error because I’d hate to see what would happen to me if I got caught.
I’ve got it! I know exactly how I’ll get out of this stupid room and get back down to my baby and try to find Henry. Since I don’t have a key, I’ll have to fashion one! Surely, I can find some things around the room—in the walls, floors, ceiling, anything—to make an object small and sharp enough to pick the lock.
Dropping to the floor, my knees bang against the dirty wooden boards. Splinters and rough straw break my skin, but I don’t care. My hands frantically search the floor while my eyes constantly scan the area. There has to be something somewhere that I can use as a makeshift skeleton key. With nothing but scampered straw thrown about the room, I decide to try to make a key by twisting pieces of straw together. If I can twist it tight enough, I might be able to make it hard enough to pick the lock.