by Emily Tilton
“Oh, no,” Evangeline sobbed. “I... I can’t...” She turned her eyes to the shameful sight in front of her and she put out her tongue.
Philip knew that though the girl-cat brought a very great deal of sting, it would do no lasting damage to Mary’s backside. His anxiety stemmed from the effect it might have on Evangeline’s kind heart should her maid hold out much longer. Suddenly he had a notion he thought might serve: he shifted the cat from his right hand to his left and he thrust his hand between Evangeline’s thighs. He sought her clitoris with urgent fingers, spreading her wanton moisture upward so that she moaned with unmistakable pleasure and began to kiss Scarty’s ball sack frantically.
Mary heard her mistress’ helpless arousal, and turned to see what had befallen her. Her eyes met Philip’s just as Scarty growled and began to spurt his thick white seed upon Evangeline’s lovely face.
“Please,” Mary whimpered. “Please... me... me too.”
Captain Mountjoy chuckled. “Do you want to suck Mr. Grendon’s cock, you little whore? You must beg for it.” Again he moved the leather cords against Mary’s bottom, letting their knots linger teasingly where her sweet little cunny peeped out.
Evangeline sobbed with shame and pleasure, then, under Philip’s fingers. Her virgin slit seemed as wet as the ocean, and Philip had to resist the temptation to take her right there, giving her the hard fucking for which she had, abed in the inn with Mary just the previous night, demonstrated such a need.
Mulroy stepped up and took hold of her chin. “Do you want this one, too, whore?” he asked, tilting her lovely face up to look into his dark-bearded visage.
“Mary?” the noble girl whimpered, her hips still moving on Philip’s hand.
“Please,” the maid whispered. “I... I want to... to suck.”
Evangeline’s face crumpled and she bit her lip, as she watched Mary receive her first common pirate prick. Grendon wasted no time but imposed his manhood brutally between her lips, making her take him very deep from the start. Evangeline opened her mouth and put out her tongue, but Mulroy, pumping his long prick, said, “Beg, whore.”
Philip took his hand away, then, knowing it would help, and the denial had instant effect.
“Please,” Evangeline said. “Please let me.”
As Mulroy entered her mouth, using the same deep thrusts Grendon did, the captain put his hand between Mary’s slim thighs, and now both girls rode their barrels like wanton hussies, their greedy cunnies spurring them on as the pricks took their pleasure between their lips. The pirates made them beg for each prick, and spent where they pleased: in the mouths or on their faces or upon their surging flanks as the captain and the first mate made mistress and maid spend too, over and over.
When finally the captain told Philip to release them and bring them below decks to occupy hammocks by the first mate’s own, the girls he led down the ladder needed his strong arms to guide them as well as the protection he offered as first mate, so that the crew left them unmolested. The captain made the pirates’ fucking pieces sleep among the men, rather than keeping them in his cabin. The men, he had told Philip, were much less likely to mutiny if they had their needs seen to and they didn’t think the captain kept for himself cunnies and bottoms that should be common property.
It would pose a grave difficulty for Philip, however: his desperate plan to help Evangeline and Mary must unfold quickly if it were to succeed. At least, having had all their pricks sucked, the crew would remain amenable for the night, he felt certain.
“That was fine sport, Mr. Norris,” Mulroy called from his own hammock, his voice lingeringly mockingly on mister. “But I think it will be finer to fuck that tight little arse your lady love has on her, tomorrow evening.”
Chapter Nine
Evangeline awoke, supposing for a moment that she must be safe at home, so warm and snug did she feel. Then she realized that truly the warmth and the compression involved were of such an extent that a bed in drafty Hobberly could never have produced them.
A little whimpering noise came from her throat, into the close air, as she opened her eyes and saw the timbers of the Royal Anne above her in the dim light of the dawn that filtered around the edges of the gun port near her hammock. She heard the creak of the ship, felt its roll gently swaying the hammock.
She remembered, and she felt her face burn with it even as the soreness of her bottom from the cat-o’-nine-tails with which Philip had whipped her blazed as well. It had hurt so much. Evangeline had had no choice.
But...
The question of why she had begged threatened to overwhelm the mental walls Evangeline placed around it.
There is no question at all: an intelligent girl, a brave girl, a noble girl understands necessity. She does what the circumstances require, to stay alive and avenge herself upon her foes, even if those foes have shamed her utterly.
Even if she has begged to suck their cocks, and had them all thrusting between her lips, seeking the vast pleasure it seems her mouth can give to a rough man who knows how to master a wanton young lady.
Evangeline shifted in the hammock, frowning deeply as she felt how the lingering smart of the cat stirred another feeling between her thighs. Putting her hand down there, she remembered with a blush that Philip had put mistress and maid to bed naked, even their shifts taken away.
“Girls aren’t allowed clothing on the Royal Anne,” he had said sternly—though as often with the young first mate Evangeline thought she could hear something else behind the shameful words.
“Aye, you young cocksuckers,” had come the voice of Mulroy from a few hammocks down the line of guns. “So we can have your cunts and arses when we like. You won’t be going above for a long time, now, so there’s no need to worry about the sun.”
“Shut your foul mouth, Mulroy,” Philip had said.
Was it true, though, about not being allowed to leave the gun deck, because... because of that? Philp had not denied it, had he? Evangeline had been too frightened—and indeed too weary—to ask. The expression in Mary’s eyes had said that her friend—for how could Evangeline think of herself as the other girl’s mistress, now—felt the same way. Philip had put what it seemed would be their bedding, canvas-covered straw, in the hammocks, and helped them get in.
In the night, Evangeline had thought she awoke once to the sound of shouting, but it had come from above, and though a thrill of fear had gone through her—if the shouting had not made part of a dream—no one had seemed to come near her. In any case, sleep had shown no intention of releasing her, dreaming or waking, and now she felt truly well rested for the first time in days.
It made her blush deeply to think of the circumstances of that rest—naked and covered in the seed of the pirates who apparently delighted in shooting their pricks’ thick white jets all over a girl’s tender body. Then Evangeline’s blush deepened, because she found that the thought of it, and of the shameful promises the pirates had made concerning her new life as their plaything, had made her fingers start to move gently between her thighs.
Here... her wicked mind whispered. This is the place they will have me. Where the nest of golden curls shows that even nature feels shame, when it comes to a girl’s maiden charms.
The hammock held Evangeline’s legs so tightly together that she could hardly work her fingers down as far as necessary, to find the slit of her warm cunny. She felt their tips move easily, though, once she had put them inside the pouting, sensitive inner lips, and she knew she must have grown wet at the idea of fucking, of receiving a hard prick there where a girl had to have it, when a man decided to fuck her.
She spread the wetness greedily upward to the place Philip, it seemed, knew so well how to touch when he desired to awaken her wickedness. She wished she could whisper to Mary, to ask again what it felt like to be fucked.
You will know soon enough, the wanton part of her mind whispered, sending a thrill of fear through her that only seemed to make the warmth down there worse. She couldn’t help i
t: Evangeline emitted a little whimper.
“Evangeline?” said Philip’s voice, very near to her. “Are you awake?”
She tried desperately to suppress the little cry of alarm that accompanied her jerking her hand away from her cunny and then trying to replace it in a position that would appear natural upon her naked thigh. Because she had never slept without her clothing on shipboard before, however—indeed had never slept in the nude at any time!—she could not discover any such position.
When she heard the creak of a rope that must betoken Philip’s clambering out of his own hammock, she thus could only try to cover her cunny with one hand and her bosom with the other, her face hot as the sun. To Philip’s eyes, she knew, as he peered over the side of the hammock a moment later, she must look absurdly like a girl who wished to pretend she had not served a pirate crew like a common whore the previous night, had not yielded her mouth as a place for their hard pricks to revel, had not surrendered every claim to modesty.
Every claim but one, she thought now, biting her lip as the notion floated into her mind.
For, she realized as she looked into Philip’s sea-blue eyes, she had not yet been fucked, had she?
The very last claim to modesty. The very last one.
Or... Evangeline’s tummy seemed to fill with moths as her treacherous imagination took flight yet again, into the deeper darkness. Or the last two. Mulroy’s words, like the final seal on the other things the pirates had said in passing, echoed terribly in her mind: cunts and arses. She squirmed involuntarily in the hammock, the memory of the cat returning and lighting a flame there once again. Surely... Surely not?
She felt her eyes widen as the handsome first mate looked upon her, his own expression kindly though it seemed he could not keep his gaze from wandering up and down her naked body, taking in the way she attempted to cover herself. She felt that the captain, or Mulroy, or Scarty, would not have allowed her to hide the places rough men, it seemed, most enjoyed seeing. Evangeline chewed upon her lip as her mind—for it now appeared she had not the slightest control over her thoughts—wondered whether perhaps Philip should learn from such men how to deal with a captive girl.
“Is...” she began, seeking a way to turn his gaze away from her, so that she might attempt to compose her thoughts and feelings a bit. “Is Mary well?”
“I shall see,” Philip said gravely, turning away and beginning to move around Evangeline’s hammock to the one into which he had helped Mary, upon her other side, at the very end of the gun deck.
How could she wish him less respectful of her modesty? Surely, were he not there to protect her—albeit to the small extent he had shown himself able—she would wish desperately for a man who would allow her even the smallest shred of modesty, who would allow her to hide the tender, untried cleft of her cunny from masculine sight. Had Philip’s kindness somehow made it possible for Evangeline to feel that her lewd ordeal aboard the Royal Anne had to it an element of romance—lascivious and wicked as that adventure might be?
Suddenly Evangeline found that the hand with which she had covered her cunny had begun to toy there, with its fingertips, once again. Worse, her other hand decided to pinch her little nipple, gently, to make it stiffen into a tiny peak. She closed her eyes, biting her lip harder and feeling her brow crease, not caring—or perhaps caring, but in a way entirely inconsistent with the modesty an earl’s daughter should display—about the danger of Philip seeing what she did.
Her back arched in the hammock. Her fingertips moved faster. Philip was so kind to her... would save her, but surely he had also whipped her as hard as he chose, had he not... and surely he would have to whip her again, to show the other pirates that he...
“Evangeline,” his voice said, then, “what are you doing?”
Her hands froze in place, her face blazing, as she opened her eyes to see him again looking over the side of her hammock. His face had less compassion in it, now, and the authority there made Evangeline’s eyes go wide and her heart thump.
“I am...” she replied in a fierce whisper. “I am doing as... as I please.” She did not know why she would say that exactly—except that the answer held a strange but essential truth... one that she wished Philip to know: Lady Evangeline Stratford, or just plain Evangeline as it seemed he had decided he might call her now that she had become the fucking piece of a pirate crew, would at least do as she pleased, if she could not go to America and earn her bread in a way the world would call honest.
“I can see that, you filthy little whore,” Philip said softly, but with a menace, combined with a hunger, that made Evangeline emit a little whimper of fear through her nose. “Now take those hands away. Your titties and your cunt don’t belong to you anymore.”
Suddenly her kind protector sounded like the captain, or Scarty, or Mulroy. Evangeline swallowed hard, but her hands stayed in place. Something inside her felt desperate to find out what he would say or do next.
He reached out his own long-fingered hands, not as rough as Scarty’s, certainly, but still clearly weather-beaten and toughened by his time at sea. Evangeline tried to draw back, but the hammock held her fast and still, and Philip took her slender wrists in his, and drew them down her sides, so that he could drink in the sight of her nudity. Evangeline felt her face reddening, but the idea of a man who cared for her examining her in that manner also seemed to set her on fire between her legs and to make her nipples tingle at the slightest touch of the sea air wafting in from the gun ports.
Looking into the first mate’s eyes, now, she thought she could see that he had discovered, in finding her with her naughty fingers at play upon her shameful private parts, the thing she had only just learned about herself. I need it. I need a firm hand. I need a hard prick.
That most mortifying of thoughts made her face feel like the sun had dawned not over the ocean but in her cheeks.
“Mary is asleep, sweetling,” Philip said softly. “She will not hear you having your first fucking.”
A sob came from the back of Evangeline’s throat through her nose. She gave the slightest of nods. Philip let go of her wrists and reached into the hammock, threading his strong arms under her knees and her shoulders to lift her out of the bedding. She clung to him as he swung her lightly around, and then she whimpered when she saw where he meant to put her, to take her maidenhead.
“Oh, no,” she whispered. “Not... not there. Please.”
Chapter Ten
Over the breech of the eighteen-pound gun Philip put her, despite her quiet protest. The emptiness of the gun deck, with all hands on deck to set topsails, made for the perfect occasion, whatever should transpire later—whether it would be the success of his plan or its failure. Either way, he had no intention of leaving the noble girl a virgin any longer, especially after witnessing her wanton self-pleasure, an act of which he had not suspected such a modest young lady capable, even the one who had seduced her maid, abed in the inn.
Lady Evangeline Stratford would have a fucking now. Philip would take her maidenhead, if only in order that her first time not be with Mulroy or even with the captain. They, after all, would not bother to make her defloration aught but a shameful ordeal for the lovely, noble girl as they took their pleasure with a bloodstained prick in her tight young cunny.
“Take hold of the gun carriage, Evangeline,” he said in a low voice, “with your hands. I will prepare you gently, but it will hurt when I enter you, and you will bear it better so.”
She turned her face over her bare shoulder to look at him, eyes wide and cheeks very pink. Philip saw that she had done as he instructed, and taken hold of the wooden gun carriage. She looked so lewdly submissive bent over the gun that his prick leapt between his legs. He had spread her knees a bit when he placed her there, so her sweet cunny peeped out in its golden nest of sparse curls under the pert cheeks he had punished. The girlish coral-colored pout of her virgin quim seemed to invite the stiff shaft that would make a woman of her.
“Prepare me?” sh
e whispered. Philip could hear in her voice the struggle between the modesty she had learned as an earl’s daughter and the randiness she had shown when she begged to suck the crew’s hard pricks.
Philip narrowed his eyes. “You must be quiet, sweetling,” he said. “You do not wish to awaken your maid.”
Then he stooped down to do what he had longed to do since he had first seen the tender slit between Lady Evangeline Hobberly’s thighs, when she had played so lasciviously with Mary at the inn. He planted a kiss upon her cunny, and he began to tongue the whole length of her maiden slit, as she shuddered and moaned, hips bucking over the cannon as she felt, it seemed certain, more pleasure than she had ever known.
“Oh, heavens... what are you... oh, Philip...”
He tasted the wonderful tang of a needy, girlish cunt, ready for fucking, and he used his spittle to prepare her even better than her copious feminine wetness could do. He gave a little nip, with stiffened lips, to her rosy clitoris, and Evangeline cried out.
“I am getting you ready for the prick, my darling,” he told her, then, pulling his head back and speaking as softly as he might. “Hush, and hold still.”
Now the first mate put his hands on the girl’s backside and spread it open, pressing a finger against her tiny bottom-hole as a promise that she must yield to him there as well, when he chose. Evangeline gave a little sob, her body shuddering atop the gun, as Philip examined the whole of the inviting region between her legs. He planted wet kisses from time to time, until he had satisfied himself that despite her virginal tightness he would be able to get his hard cock into her and enjoy her properly.
Then he rose and lowered his breeches. Evangeline turned her head again to see, apprehension in her eyes at the sight of him bringing his manhood to bear, even as she craned her neck desperately to keep the penis in view. Her bare bottom, prettily adorned with the marks of her whipping, rose over the iron of the gun at the perfect height for him to bring the head of his prick to the mark. His feet on either side of hers and his knees slightly bent, he could press the soft tip inside her warm wet cunt easily, and move it gently back and forth as he stroked her back with the other hand, soothing and quieting her trembling.