Pirates, Passion and Plunder

by Victoria Vale

  Mesmerised by his gaze, she sucked his finger as directed.

  He cupped her breasts and gently massaged the full globes.

  “Ah, now that’s so much better. Good girl,” he crooned.

  Dread at his intentions overwhelmed her. Florence turned her head away, releasing his finger from her lips with an outlandish pop.

  “You should know that I am not a harlot, but a free woman of independent spirit,” she informed him, conscious of how shaky her voice sounded.

  “I rather think that wilfulness has been your problem, my pet. I am intrigued by your reaction to my caresses. You say that you are married, and yet I suspect you to be a virgin. Are you as yet untouched by a man, little Flory?”

  Florence knew her heated cheeks gave her away, and she concluded there was no point in deception.

  “I was recently married by proxy in England and have not yet…that is to say, I have not…”

  “Have not yet lain with a man, hmm?”

  “Quite so,” Florence snapped with a feeling of relief that he had spoken the words and not she.

  “You have never been ploughed?” he goaded.

  Her obvious embarrassment egged him into further obscenities. She covered her ears. His crude guffaw enraged her.

  “Ha! I see that I have roused your temper, my sweet little virgin. What fun I shall have teaching you about passion and how to please me. I consider my money well spent. Now allow me to show you to your quarters. They are situated next to my own. I have easy access to you when my cockstand demands.”

  She turned her hot face away, utterly mortified.

  “A woman who blushes…how delightful you will be to tease,” he taunted.

  “Please reconsider, Captain. Either my brother or my new husband will pay handsomely for my return. I am certain they would also refund your purchase price for me. You can walk away a rich man and find another lady with whom to bed.”

  She held her breath as he pursed his lips, as though considering her suggestion. His next words dashed her hopes.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart, but I am already so disgustingly rich that I don’t know how to spend my gold. I want you, Flory. I find that I want to be the first man to taste your sweet crevasse, the first to breach your maidenhead. I am afraid that I must decline your generous offer. Never fear, you will come to enjoy my attentions.”

  Disconcerting her at his movement, he strode past, crossing the cabin to fling open an adjoining door which led into a smaller cabin than his.

  “This way, please.” He waited until she joined him, then ushered her inside.

  Chapter 3

  As soon as she was seated on the fixed box bed, he grinned and bade her stay while he disappeared back into his cabin, leaving her alone, although the door between the two connecting rooms remained ajar. He called out, and a male voice answered.

  Florence trembled; she wrapped her arms around herself as she glanced about the small space. The bed took up half the floor area. Two dome-topped clothing chests sat side by side, and a washstand stood in the corner. Then her gaze settled on the cabin porthole. It was a square window with a handle which meant that it could be opened. More importantly, it was large enough for her frame to squeeze through. Her hips and bust were fashionably plumpish, but Florence was certain she could escape that way. However, just as the thought occurred to her, the ship listed, and she recalled that they were out at sea.

  Dejectedly, she dropped her chin to her chest. Why had she craved adventure? At home, living near Bristol, that fine shipping port, she had constantly bewailed her lot, yearning for more excitement in her life. Suitors had come and gone; she’d rejected many a gentleman’s offer for her hand due to their bucolic lifestyle.

  It was only when her father had suggested a match for her with the new Under Governor of Jamaica that Florence had sat up and taken a serious interest in matrimony.

  Letters were exchanged and likenesses sent; unfortunately, Carlton’s likeness arrived sea-damaged, his miniature rendered unrecognisable. Her father had hastily arranged a visit to Carlton’s parent’s estate and clinched the proposal before Florence could change her mind. A family portrait showed the likeness of the young sixteen year old Carlton stood straight beside his father. Florence admired her intended’s youthful face which showed a remarkable likeness to his handsome father. A marriage by proxy was soon arranged.

  Adventure finally beckoned, and Florence welcomed her destiny.

  Now she faced the fact that one may have too much of a good thing. Her own folly had brought her to this pretty pass. Instead of the prodigious life as the wife of an English nobleman, she had chosen to marry a governor and live far away on an island in the Caribbean. She had been overjoyed to board the ship to Jamaica and face the challenges her lifelong ambition to seek adventure would bring. Now those dreams were shattered by this crude buccaneer.

  He decreed I am his doxy. Hells bells, I absolutely refuse to become the hussy of some piratical blaggard!

  Florence stiffened. She was destined for better than this and would escape, but first she needed him to think he had quelled her spirit. It should be easy to convince him that she was cowed by him. Florence smiled wryly. She readily admitted that she was afeared, and yet as uncomfortable as he made her, she was honest enough to admit she felt some primal attraction to the man. His scent alone made her feel giddy. With a mental shake, she wondered at the direction her thoughts were taking and called a halt to her emotions.

  Clanking and banging interrupted her thoughts as a burly fellow appeared carrying a tin bath. The captain followed on behind, clutching a large linen bathing sheet. She watched uneasily while the men positioned the tub in the centre of the available space. A voice hallooed from beyond, and two men dressed in dirty sailor clothes entered, each wielding a bucket of steaming water which they poured into the tub.

  Each man raked her over with bold eyes. She shuddered nervously.

  “Take your scurvy eyes off what’s mine or lose a thumb for your insolence!” the captain snarled and stepped in front of her, thus blocking the men’s gazes.

  She could not help but feel gratitude towards him. Perhaps it would not be a bad thing to bathe? She could smell her own body odour, and a bath might also sooth her rattled nerves.

  Once the last man had departed, the captain locked the door. He swivelled round and tapped his chin with a forefinger.

  “I cannot decide whether to bathe you or to join you? Do you have a preference, sweetheart?”

  What?

  She spun to face him. “Yes, I choose to bathe alone!”

  Winking, his lip quirked with amusement. She noticed that he did that quite often.

  “Not anymore you don’t,” he stated firmly and moved towards her with slow, determined steps.

  She pushed herself back across the bed out of his reach, or so she thought. His arm shot out, and a large hand clasped her ankle, drawing her inextricably towards him.

  Florence twisted onto her stomach and gripped the bedcover, frantically attempting to pull herself away from him. All she achieved was a mess of bedding that slid along with her. She kicked wildly.

  “Naughty!”

  A hefty thwack landed on her backside. With a squeal of shock, she stilled, but more smacks landed. Florence struggled against him.

  How dare this blaggard spank me!

  “Oh, but I dare far more than this, my dear.”

  Is he a mind reader, too?

  Florence recalled her plan to pretend to acquiesce; she forced herself to remain still, clamping down on her bottom lip to halt the stream of abuse that threatened to escape.

  After a couple more slaps, he stopped. In truth, he had not hurt her, not through the layers of clothing that covered her posterior.

  Pulling her into a sitting position, he started to unbutton her bodice. This was too much. She couldn’t remain silent.

  “Please! Please just allow me to bathe alone. I beg of you, do not humiliate me this way!”
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br />   He cupped her chin and tilted her head to meet his deceptively mild gaze.

  “Flory, you are far too proud, and obstinate to boot. You need to be tamed, and I am the man for that. However, I shall give you a choice. We can continue or you may strip for me while I watch.”

  His offers horrified her. Florence opened her mouth to refuse either option. He began to count.

  “One, two… When I get to ten I shall undress you and spank your bare behind for causing a delay. Three, four, five, six…”

  “I shall undress myself,” she interjected hastily.

  He withdrew to lounge against the doorjamb.

  She clambered off the bed, her back to him.

  “No, about-face, please. Disrobe slowly, so I might enjoy the reveal of your delightful assets.”

  With a deep breath, she turned to him. He wants me to be slow—well, he shall have exactly what he demands.

  With a trembling hand, she slid her stockings painfully languidly down her leg one by one, then peeled them off individually at a snail’s pace. Unhooking and untying each petticoat in turn, Florence lowered them from beneath her dress and stepped from them, again taking as much time over the task as she could. Next, she took a moment to fold each garment, placing them neatly stacked upon the rumpled bed. Then she spent long minutes slipping each arm from the sleeves of her already unbuttoned gown.

  A growl from the doorway halted her progress, and her gaze flashed to his. The man’s dark eyebrows drew together, his face fiercely set. Florence shuddered; he had suddenly taken on the sharpened gaze of a predator. Like a lion she had once seen on display at the White Tower in London, although that one had been caged, of course. The animal’s malevolent glare was directed at the crowd that had gathered to see the king of beasts. Except this time there were no bars between herself and the beast, and this one appeared more than ready to devour her.

  “Step out of the gown,” he rasped huskily.

  She hastily obeyed, sensing the man to be at the end of his tolerance. In only her shift, Florence moved towards the bath and lifted a dainty leg to step in. Her intention was to sink into the water and then remove her shift. He was too fast for her and grasped the thin muslin at the shoulder; it rent asunder, tearing from neck to hem. Florence squealed in shock. He tore the garment from her body. Covering her breasts and mons, she cringed, bending at the knee to quickly sit. The reprobate snatched her wrists, keeping her upright, keeping her arms wide whilst taking in his fill. She closed her eyes against the embarrassment, too acute for her to look him in the eye.

  “You have no need for shame, or modesty, for you are beautiful, Florence.”

  She opened her eyes. He had used her full name and not the hated abbreviation. His face filled her vision, and too late, she realised his intention to kiss her. Florence stiffened at the touch of his lips, but after the lightest butterfly caress, he withdrew.

  Letting go of one wrist, he helped her to seat herself in the bath.

  Despite his presence, the warm water felt wonderfully refreshing. Florence sighed with pleasure; the heat soothed and calmed her. She leant back against the linen used to line the tub which protected her tender skin from rough rivets and sharp edges.

  Slippery, male hands moved gently across her shoulders, and before she could protest, they slid downwards, covering the mounds of her breasts. She froze. The firm pressure of his palms created a flare of sensation which speared her from breast to core.

  He took his time discovering her, trailing his fingers over her peaked bosom, tracing the indentation at her waist, down over the flare of her hips. He buried his nose in her hair and inhaled her scent, a mix of soap and musky female.

  “Submit to me,” he commanded softly.

  Florence lay still, she could barely tolerate his exploration, flinching when he pinched her nipple. The bud hardened to a peak under his ministrations, begging to be teased. A guttural moan escaped her throat. Why did she not fight him? What hypnotic power did he exert over her body that could extract such sweet pleasure? Looking down at the brown weathered hands moulding her pale flesh, she sucked in a shuddering breath. His long fingers plucked each of her nipples in turn. Florence cried out with surprise at the delicious tug as he rolled each of her engorged buds. For the first time ever, a stirring of consciousness flickered in her virgin womanhood.

  Heated breath grazed her ear; his teeth nipped her earlobe. Meanwhile, his soapy hands continued to weigh, massage, and torment her bosom in a delightfully fulfilling way. Florence had never dreamt that such feelings of bliss were possible.

  She arched mindlessly into the intensity of his caresses. He seemed to take her movement as an invitation to kiss her. He leant over her. His tongue entered her virgin mouth, and one of his hands glided downwards and over her stomach to cup between her thighs. The moment his fingers caressed her there, something unravelled inside her. Florence was no longer cognisant of anything other than his molten touch.

  The plunge of his tongue and movement of his fingers stirred her to such a pitch, she keened against his mouth. A spiral twisted so tight in her gut that something threatened to spin her out of control. She was conscious that she should stop him from taking further liberties yet she wanted these unknown delights to continue. Powerless against her own traitorous flesh, she craved whatever came next but willed herself to try to stop him. Florence fought her senses and finally overcame her internal struggle. She dragged her mouth from his, intending to plead with him but he took her mouth again, silencing her incoherent nonsense.

  His kiss pressed harder, demanding more from her. The feel of his fingers as they danced across the slick sheen of her skin, pressing relentlessly against the pulse of her desire, finally narrowed to a pinpoint of need which centred hotly between her legs. His fingers delved deep. Mindlessly, she thrust back onto them. Her body undulated, determining its own route along this hitherto unexplored path. Florence spiralled, her senses reeling. She soared until something shattered and with intense spontaneity she combusted. Her quim spasmed as the ecstasy ripped through her. She experienced the sweetest after sensation, a drift into clouds of previously unknown bliss.

  He brought her back to earth with nonsensical murmurings and gentle caresses. Floating down into the cabin, Florence came to in the arms of a stranger, the man who had purchased her.

  She lay stunned, disgusted at herself.

  “There now, sweet girl, see what pleasures I offer you? You were so wonderfully responsive,” he crooned and petted her breasts proprietarily.

  Florence felt choked. This was not how it should be. The amazing feelings this man evoked belonged to her husband, not to this…this thief. She was no better than she should be; a hussy, a harlot, and a whore.

  Ruined... Sullied.

  No Christian woman would have reacted the way she had, enjoying a stranger’s intimate touch.

  Florence drew up her knees into her chest and bowed her head in shame. She was somehow flawed. Scalding tears spilled. Escape was fruitless; she was doomed to her fate and she accepted what she was and where she belonged. No decent man would want her now, especially not her husband.

  Chapter 4

  The way she’d reacted to his caresses had not only excited him but also moved him. She was so satisfying to watch, a joy to pleasure, a princess among women. That jewel of a female, one who lost all awareness of self once under the spell of passion. In short, she was a treasure. He’d discovered a rare pearl, one far more precious to him than a casket of plundered gold.

  Taking the large jug of warm water, he tipped a little over her head as she bent forward in a huddle. He grasped a cake of the oily, exotic coconut soap that he so loved, made by local islanders, and lathered her hair. He pushed his hands over her scalp and circled her head fully with his hands, massaging and easing the tension that he could feel beneath the surface of her skin. He was rewarded by her soft exhalation of breath, a sure sign of her enjoyment. He rinsed her hair with water from the jug then, soaping his hands, he
ran them over her silky flesh, under her arms, over her stomach, between her legs, onwards to her toes.

  He bade her stand and carefully rinsed her naked form with the remains of the water. Then he wrapped her in a linen bath sheet and lifted her from the tub. He deposited her on the bed and dried her briskly. The sight of her rosy nipples and triangle of dark gold betwixt her thighs had him rampant hard. He had to force himself to control his baser needs, for while his cock reared in this desperate state, it was not the time to take a virgin. He went to the domed chest and extracted a night-rail which he pulled over her head in order to cover the sight of her tempting flesh.

  No, he had a strategy, and he rarely deviated from a plan. Next he would feed her, then she could sleep—tomorrow was another day. After she was rested, he intended to make her his. The ache in his cock reminded him that he would need to take care of his member. The edge must be taken off his lust before he made any attempt to mount her. She was precious; he wanted her to enjoy their consummation. This princess deserved some gentle prowess for her deflowering.

  He watched while she crept beneath the sheet, presenting him with her back. Striding through to the door of his cabin, he called for victuals to be brought. The boy who responded placed a tray upon his desk and left. The food was as he’d requested. A delicious choice of sliced pineapples mixed with other exotic fruits. Cold ham and large prawns lay in separate dishes along with bowls of pickled limes and relishes. He carried the tray into her cabin.

  “Come, sit and eat,” he urged. There was no response. “I asked you to rise,” he said, hardening his tone. A small, muffled sob sounded, and so he set the tray upon his desk to return to her. With a gentle hand, he caressed her bare shoulder. How smooth and warm, her skin felt silky, soft. Gently, he circled his palm over her flesh. She shrugged him away, cringing from him. He frowned. This would not do.

  “Flory, I command that you sit up and tell me what is troubling you.”