“Free woman, slave or indentured?” the fellow had asked.
“Indentured. Unwilling. She’ll need to be chained and guarded.”
They chattered on about the arrangements, while Jolie stepped back and smiled at her dark-skinned admirer. She blushed again self-consciously. Apparently, he found her quite comely even in her crude clothes, collared, chained and dressed for the sport of whores.
“Milady…” he bowed deeply.
She smiled again, blushingly. “Please, no,” she said very quietly, shaking her head.
“Patrick Dunleavy,” he went on.
Why was he introducing himself? Surely, seeing the collar, chain and the dress, he understood her status. What could she say? He appeared to be as much a gentleman as any man she’d met in many months. His dress was profoundly elegant from his necktie to his polished boots. Yet, underneath the finery she detected a man of great strength. His shoulders were broad and muscular, his waist quite trim, and his thighs were like two great mountains. His head was shaved and gleaming in the sunlight, the mulatto skin a rich, tawny brown, and his hands were the size of a giant. She could easily see him as a laborer on the docks, flexing his great body as he lifted huge crates, or pulled rigging into place, or dragge huge carts of goods to load for shipment. She imagined his oiled muscles radiant in the sunlight, working with great vigor. Leaping forward in an untamed moment of abandon, she imagined him as her lover, not taking her as gentleman would, but using her in the way one of the masters would use her. Her fascination drove more wild images into her mind, each one awakening her sex sleepy body. (Journeys overland do little to inspire erotic desire, even in horny masters; she’d been ignored the entire trip.)
“Tell me your name?” he asked in a whisper while he noted her master still engaged in his business.
“Jolie,” she replied.
“Ah, what a fair beauty you are, sweet Jolie!”
Her tummy fluttered with excitement.
She wanted to speak more, but her master was tugging at her neck, leading her forward again, oblivious to her kinship with the black man.
When she turned, thinking she might risk a wave of the hand in his direction, he’d disappeared.
***
The slow ambling vessel left the harbor on a Tuesday afternoon, three hours behind schedule. Jolie was berthed in a cramped compartment deep in the bowels of the great ship. The boat rocked all night on stormy waters so she could hardly sleep—a fact which added to her complete weariness. The collar at her neck remained around her throat all night so that she could be easily chained to the wall beside her berth. She slept with other slaves, chattel and the indentured in this luckless world beneath the water. It did not feel, or sound, or taste like the free and open spaces above; and the close confines played havoc with her senses. She’d wake in the night and think she’d gone mad because she couldn’t shake her dreams. Then she realized where she was—that she wasn’t dreaming. The horrible rocking was real. Her stomach had reason to churn. Her head pounded with the sound of the creaking boat. She needed some relief, but this test of her spirit went on for days as the ship and its occupants ventured into the untried waters of a vast ocean.
Three days out to sea, she was finally awakened at night by her master’s valet. Unchained and uncollared, she was taken to Demetrius’ cabin.
“Clean up, you look a fright!” her master said when she walked through the door unaided but unbalanced.
“Of course, I look a fright,” she jumped on the remark immediately, as her emotions hit the raw edges of any sane response. “I’ve been housed with slaves and rats, what would you expect?”
He smoldered as he stared at her. “I’d expect you to keep a civil tongue!” he snapped. “I bring you here for a reprieve from your confinement, and you bark at me.”
“Because I want to bark at you, sir!” She couldn’t stop. Days of melancholy and restraint poured out in one great gush of emotion. She was almost in tears, and almost flying for the man with both fists.
“What kind of ungrateful bitch are you?! I should throw you back down the hold.”
“Then do it!” she spit. “Do it. Do anything you want to me, you barbarous animal! I don’t care anymore. You’ve made me into a creature unworthy of anything.”
His heated eyes continued their focused stare.
“Do it!” she shouted as tears trickled down her cheeks.
Demetrius glared, she glared back. The silence for the next few minutes killed both their wills, oddly so… until Demetrius began to laugh, laugh uproariously. Jolie was dumbfounded.
“You ridiculous bitch!” he finally wailed aloud.
Reaching for her, he took her arm in his hand, and plunked her over the end of his bed.
“Don’t move.”
She was too scared to budge… “You’re going to beat my ass, aren’t you?” she found her voice enough to ask.
“What else would you expect when you act like a surly brat?”
“I forgot myself, sir.”
“Damn right you did. And it will be my pleasure to see you pay for the crime.”
He started with his hand, over top her thin skirt, spanking her bum with even strokes until she could feel the warmth through her clothes and began to squirm in a delightful little dance, ass bobbing, hips weaving… Soon her feet were dancing, too, as he picked up the pace of his strokes.
“Oh, my yes!” she was retorting absently, not yet realizing how much she liked the spanking and was communicating that fact to Demetrius. Even when he drew her skirt above her ass, baring the flesh for his abuse, she kept loving every second of the attack—swooning and cawing like a magpie, her voice filled with excitement and a dozen come-ons to encourage him further.
As he began to fondle the flesh, she oozed with delight, purring so sweetly that no man could stop this unless they were unconscious souls. Demetrius loved every second of the mutual arousal that grew in them both. His cock was hard, her pussy was wet—what more did they need?
Jolie needed little more to reach orgasm. By the time Demetrius got there, his presence in her was no more than a formality. She was cumming, as she’d cum in Sir Roger’s dining room with her ass impaled.
For just this moment they suspended their argument with each other. They were fucking for the joy of it, almost as if they needed to enjoy it now—in case the opportunity never came again.
Once Demetrius had his penis back inside his pants he approached her as her master, not lover or conqueror.
“The Captain of the vessel is having a small gathering in his cabin. You will accompany me tonight as a lady, not a whore, not chattel, not bitch, not barbarous animal, not indentured servant. If anyone asks, you are Antoinette Gilbere. You converse as a lady converses with royalty. You hold your head proud, you smile, you nod, you wink flirtatiously as if you have sexual secrets. You perform all the petty rituals of womanhood that you are so accustomed to. You do that perfectly and that will please me tonight. And then, if I’m so moved, you can stay in my stateroom for the rest of the trip.”
She was still poised over the end of the bed, ass high, red and dripping from its last violation.
“Yes, sir,” she answered him in a breathless whisper.
Rising to her feet, she straightened the dingy dress and looked around the stateroom for the clothes she would wear that night. The dress was gorgeous. Pink—a strange color to contrast her red hair. Then again, she figured that this was probably all he had to choose from. She’d wear it proudly. Her generous bosom would float on air, as she walked in on his arm. She would bow, curtsy, smile and laugh like the noblewoman that she was. After a night of that, coupled with her general delirium of spirit, she’d be dead to the real world for hours the next day. She could put aside her anger, her qualms, her misgivings, and her frustration. Sleep would come to her even on these rocky seas.
***
It was the middle of the night, perhaps well past midnight, fast moving toward dawn. Regardless of the time, it w
as still dark, a pitch black dark no eyes could see beyond.
There was a light, then, bobbing in the compartment some distance from her eyes. The light moved closer, but she could not make out the source, or understand why she was about to be attacked.
It was difficult seeing anything but that wobbly flame and the shadowy shape responsible for this early morning apparition. She only wanted to sleep.
But there was more… more than just the brilliant light glaring in her eyes. There were hands, grasping and tugging at her body; and a fist pressed to her mouth, while a voice ordered her, “Don’t make a sound!”
She didn’t. Her mouth snapped shut, she was too stunned to speak.
Then, as if it had all been an apparition, the light before her eyes was gone and everything was dark again. There was no sound except shuffling feet, nothing to taste, little to hear and even less to see. She tried to feel her way around, but her hands could not comprehend what had happened to her world. Perhaps she was not supposed to understand the truth.
A second later, her new world went black, and her mind followed into the dark abyss.
Chapter Five
Jolie woke, body fighting to get free. Feeling her way around the strangely shifting void, she realized that she was wrapped inside a burlap bag. Struggling was useless, though this confinement was maddening and uncomfortable.
“Please help me!” she begged to anyone who would listen. Her cries went out for several minutes, but there was no response, at least none she could hear beyond the scratchy shroud around her. Once she realized that no one would rescue her, she stopped trying to get free. She sighed hard, attempting to calm herself, although her heart was pounding much too anxiously for that. Her belly was tight; a knot the size of a man’s fist seemed to jostle her insides. “Please, please, let me breathe,” she gasped despondently as if it were a useless venture to even attempt getting help.
“You’ll breathe much better, lass, if you calm yourself.” The sure and steady voice paralyzed her for several seconds.
“Please free me,” she finally begged.
“When it’s time,” the answer came. Then it seemed as if the owner of that kind voice disappeared as quickly as he arrived.
Several attempts to make her unknown companion talk were met with the same mind-numbing silence. For a time she closed her eyes, hoping that would ease the growing anxiety, but nothing seemed to quell the livid beast inside her.
Suddenly, a pair of monstrous hands jostled her bagged body, lifting her into the air and throwing her headfirst over a hefty shoulder.
“Ouch!” she groaned unhappily with something poking her in the side.
Thrown down, she hit the surface of something that was hard at the edges and soft in the middle.
“Ouch!” she mumbled when she bumped against the hard rail.
“Open the sack,” a voice ordered.
She felt like a swimmer moving toward the light, as she struggled toward the opening. With her head popping through the burlap, she gazed in wonder as her eyes adjusted to the brilliant rays of sunlight streaming through the window of a ship’s cabin—and the amazing sight that greeted her unsuspecting eyes.
“You?”
“Yes, me,” the deep timbre of the man’s voice resonated through her body with a deliciously sensuous thrill.
“Oh, my.” She was dumbstruck, unable to say more as she tried to understand why her admiring black man from the docks was now standing in front of her, dressed not in his fancy suit of clothes, but in a common seaman’s billowing shirt and a pair of slim black trousers.
“Sorry to surprise you so, and for the sack… must have been uncomfortable but it couldn’t be helped.”
“Couldn’t be helped…” she repeated softly being too perplexed to grasp the bizarre moment. “Why am I here?”
“Why?” He smiled quite broadly. “Because you’ve been kidnapped from your master’s ship.”
“I have? By you?” she was shocked.
“Indeed.”
“And why would you want to do that?” The emotion of betrayal burgeoned freely in her gut.
“I’m a pirate. I take women as prisoners and I’ve taken you. Last night I boarded your master’s ship. And when you were sleeping I captured, drugged and brought you to my ship—all without a single soul on that vessel knowing. We are miles from the site now; you’re sailing another future.”
“And what right have you to do that?” she spouted out haughtily, regaining some of her wits. Her anger was restored.
“The right I give myself. Although I can’t see why you should care, the way you’re batted around by a barrage of men who want no more but to poke your quim.”
“And you offer me something better?”
“Perhaps.”
She stared at him for several seconds, until she had her feelings clear.
“Well, sir, I am tired of bowing to men. And I’m not particularly thrilled with the idea of bowing to you.”
“But you will,” he replied in an assuring voice.
“Perhaps,” she pouted. “And perhaps not.”
He was a fine looking fellow, as handsome to her as he’d been when they flirted with each other on the docks—perhaps more so. She found his casual attire more earthy, more suited to his feral personality. He exuded tranquility and firmness, without the mean-spirited manner she’d known from other masters. He would not be the kind of man to sneer or scowl at her. But she wanted no master at all, even this one.
“There is no perhaps about it, Jolie. You will do as I say.” His matter-of-fact assumptions left her without much to reply.
“And if I don’t?” she ventured.
The black man swaggered from his spot, moving to the center of the small room where Jolie stood challenging his prowess.
He stood inches from her face, so close that she could feel his warm breath on her cheek and at her neck, tickling the end of her hair.
“If you don’t, I will lock you in the tower of my fortress, and there you will languish until I gain your compliance. I will have you beaten to keep your spirit roused, and you will otherwise be ignored.” He put his hand to her crotch and played. “To be certain that you don’t find a means of release, you’ll be manacled with your hands behind you, so you can’t even play with this pretty quim. If anyone is going to satisfy this little treasure, it will be me.”
“I thought you were a kind man when I was on the dock.”
“I was then, and I am now.”
“You show that strangely,” she answered tersely.
“That’s only because you haven’t seen all that I will offer you.”
“Then tell me.”
“I don’t take orders from slaves.”
“I am not a slave, I am an indentured servant.”
He nodded, “Yes, indeed you are.” His was a clever look with a deeper meaning that she could not quite fathom. “I believe that you’ve been taught to bow. Let’s do that now, show me the respect that I should be given.”
She flushed hotly. For reasons beyond her understanding, she needed to fight this man, as if this was the last fight she could ever wage. As if giving in to him she would never see her freedom again. If it had been Demetrius or Sir Roger or the authorities at the court, she would have obeyed the order without thinking: she would have been that scared. But she was oddly calm now. She was used to being treated this way, and she knew it wouldn’t matter what she did—her actions had little effect on outcomes for a woman in her position. Why not object this time? What would it hurt?
“I bow before men I understand,” she replied to the order—feeling quite proud of herself for saying so, “and, I do not understand you.”
The remark took him by surprise. “You think I’m too weak to make you bow?” He put on more airs himself.
“No, sir,” she answered respectfully. “I know that in a moment you could put me to the floor with your hand. You’re hardly weak. But I know you’re not a bully as my other masters have been. Wha
t I want to know is; are you a rescuing angel or a villain I should fear?”
“I pulled you out of Demetrius grip. You would have suffered seriously in his hands. The man is a beast I would not wish on any woman—or man.”
“So, you’ve sought to rescue me?” she replied to him hopefully.
“On the contrary, I’ve decided to abduct you and make you my servant.”
“To be the master fulfilling my sentence?”
“I don’t think the authorities that oversee your agreement would be pleased with me. No, you have been seized. And our arrangement will be permanent.”
“Permanent, as in I’ll never have my freedom?”
“Yes, exactly.”
“You can’t mean that!”
“And why not?” He was tired of being put off. She could see that in his glance, but she wouldn’t back down. Not with the news that he had her captive for good. No! She would not bow! And with that thought, her entire being was feeling more alive and wild than it had felt in some months. Her challenger was a worthy adversary and she would relish the contest. After days without any sex; this steamy, virile sensuous man standing before her—she was on fire with sexual feeling…
“I have saved you from a despair worse than death, and you can’t be grateful for that? That would make me a rescuing angel.”
“But you deliver me a twisted fate.”
“That depends on how you view your predicament, fair lady. I hold your life in my hands. And while I have no intention of hurting you unless it is for pleasure, you will be punished when you provoke me.” For an instant, his expression turned bitter and cold. “Right now, milady, you are provoking me. I asked you to bow and you give me a barrage of meaningless questions. Not only will you bow for me, you’ll take your first beating. You may think that it’s worth your time to challenge me. But I assure you, it is not. Let’s get that fact clear. Now, bow!”
His gaze was extremely fixed, like daggers cutting into flesh. Such an instant of wrath followed his speech that she banged her knees to bruise them dropping to the floor. She bowed as Demetrius had instructed her and waited for the man’s further command.
The Saga of a Naughty Lady Page 7