“And I leave myself defenseless with you,” he answered in return. “You are a fine whore.”
“Glad to please you, sir.” That was the truth.
They slept, then. The ship was rocking on the tumbling surf, fighting waves and tides and a seriously dark sky with threatening rain. They were cozy, coiled among themselves; black and white skin mingling, with Jolie’s wild red hair spread over their backs like a swirl of red seaweed pulled out of the depths.
***
It was dawn before the captive and the captor woke. The sea had eased overnight and the journey was smooth. There was no sun to warm the day, but there was a gentle undulating peacefulness about, inside the Captain’s cabin and inside the bed the redheaded slut shared with Patrick Dunleavy.
“How is it that a man of your color comes to have a such an unlikely name? You are African, I believe?”
“By ancestry, but not circumstance. My mother was a white man’s mistress.”
“But your skin’s not fair at all?”
“I’m still the result,” he assured her.
“And the fancy conversation, the manners, all from the same source?”
“My father was an evenhanded man who expected all of this children to be gentlemen and ladies. My mother learned the social graces from him and taught them to me as though they were my religion.”
“But you became a pirate?” This unusual man baffled her powers of understanding, even with this explanation of his parentage.
“A gentlemen pirate,” he corrected her err. “I confiscate from the wealthy…”
“… And give to the poor,” she finished for him. “Another Robin Hood?”
“Hardly. I give to no one but myself and those who cast their lives with me. I own my island, my castle, and my ship.”
“You own an island and a castle, too?”
“In a manner of speaking. Though you’ll find my island more humane than your homeland, and my castle not the kind that’s made of stone. It is my fortress, my preserve against the wars of life. You’ll live there. That’s where we’re sailing now. And if you have some grievance against that, I’ll lock you in my tower!”
“A tower?” She felt a little squeamish hearing that. “I thought you were just fooling when you mentioned that before.”
“Perhaps I was. But the tower is real.”
“You’ve had other maids in your tower?”
“A few.”
“And they die there?” she was being witty with her banter, though it was a serious desire for information that drove her questions.
“They could, if they are bratty enough to stir my wrath.”
“But none so far?”
“I’m not that kind of pirate. I have better uses for the women in my charge than killing them. If it’s pleasure they want, they will earn it. I will give it freely to those who obey me. If they wish to fight me, I have means of extracting their cooperation… and if they still wish to thwart their own best interests, I do have methods for punishment that rival a real villain’s.”
“Then you must have many women in your keeping.”
“A few now,” he answered vaguely.
“You have your favorites?”
“I love them all,” he said.
“Not one better than another?”
“I love them each for what they offer me in service, sex and adoration.”
“Then I must adore you, too?”
“If you don’t already, you will.”
This remark joggled her rudely—that he should be so presumptuous to think that any woman would adore him after making love just once—and that one time seemed more like fucking than love. It had been a good fuck, of course, perhaps in the category of the best she’d had in many moons. But it was not enough to make her adore him. That she saved for men she could trust. On reflection, she could not recall ever trusting a man enough to adore him—only for brief glimpses when their first lusts were engaged. Then it was mere infatuation. Having become a woman, leaving her maidenhood behind, she’d come to understand the difference between a young woman’s obsession and true love.
Chapter Six
Jolie stood before her pirate captor in his cabin. She glanced at the bed, which she’d neatly made earlier that morning, when the two had been driven from their quiet awakening by the first mate. She’d dusted and swept the room because there was little else to do and she figured he’d be pleased with the spontaneous gesture.
He was only mildly impressed when he returned to his cabin after conferring with his crew.
“Good start,” he acknowledged her work.
He was carrying her dress, now dry from being laundered. Though it was wrinkled, she assumed there was no way of ironing the thing in these crude circumstances, so she tossed it over her head and quickly knotted the ties into neat bows. When she came to the one at her bodice, Patrick Dunleavy stopped her. “Leave it be. I rather like the look of your breasts.”
“So immodest?” she questioned him.
“Be glad I don’t ask you to bare them completely, nipples and all, or better still, require that you go naked in front of my men. They would find you a pleasing sight with no clothes to cover you. I’d enjoy presenting you to them. But, I’m afraid the temptation to rape you would be too great on this ship. I won’t risk mutiny. They—and you—have work to do.”
“Then I should be grateful that you’ve only chosen to bare this much of me.” She stared down at the open bodice, showing a bounty of creamy flesh jiggling freely, just barely contained by the sides of her dress. Should she lean forward, her captured breasts would fall out, nipples and all. Imagining the looks of twenty sex-starved sailors eyeing that lewd picture, she shuddered with fright. Shaking off the image, she returned to her questions.
“So, sir, why would you choose me? Of all the women in my country, why would I appeal to you above the rest?”
He considered for a moment, his face finally breaking into a beaming grin. “In part, it is a matter of convenience. As a convicted felon, there will be little cry for your return. I won’t have the hounds of justice tailing me, since the majority would believe that a woman of your reputation is best left to thieves and rabble like myself. The only man who will have any reason to find me is Demetrius. Although, I suspect that he’ll quickly put you in the category of losses, since he has no where to start a search, and your worth is minimal.”
Jolie wasn’t sure if this was good for her or not. But it was the plain truth about her current predicament, and something she should accept.
“Now, if you’re finished with your interrogation of me,” Patrick started. “You can be off to work. The cook is expecting you in the galley. The place is filthy—you’ll scrub it top to bottom.”
The days following her night with Patrick were long, the list of chores endless. One task finished, she was presented another seconds later, no time to rest, to even get a breath. She became the charge of the first mate, Grady, who ogled her breasts with a voraciously lascivious eye and piled on tasks as his thoughts turned sadistic. The way he worked her day and night, he must have enjoyed seeing a young woman sweat.
If she expected to be Patrick Dunleavy’s regular bed partner, she was unhappily mistaken. When he wanted her, he used her, often picking her off the floor of his cabin in the middle of the night and taking her cunt until he was satisfied, then throwing her down again. Only rarely did he keep her with him for comfort. She otherwise slept on the floor—anywhere else on the ship she would have been too vulnerable to the crew. Despite warnings against such unseemly behavior, Patrick was concerned enough about her welfare to keep her protected from an onslaught of horny sailors.
Constant in his use of her was his determination to widen her anal channel. He probed her with all manner of items to stretch the muscles so she’d be accustomed to his quick entry. He used his fingers often while they were having sex. But more often, he thrust the necks of bottles into her anus, or rounded sticks he’d honed to a smooth finish for
easy entry. The sizes varied, though there seemed to be a steadily increasing girth to the probes. She always shrieked at least on the inside, and grimaced and fussed if she was particularly tight that night.
“You’d better give in, lass,” Patrick warned. “Otherwise, you’ll find this treatment more gruesome each time. He normally greased the pathway, soothing the exterior with his fingers before he pushed the rod in place. Then, if she’d been particularly difficult expanding, he left the thing inside her ass and tied it in place with ropes. She’d spend her day impaled, though no one but she and her captor would be the wiser. Even if she grimaced and swore, or begged him to set her free, he would calmly answer her plea. “This is my business. Your body belongs to me and I will do with it what I will.”
She hated his attitude of ownership; but it could not be helped. The ship was her prison, the water, walls that kept her inside. She was afraid of drowning, being lost on the savage seas and floating helplessly adrift, food for fish.
If her captor was particularly scheming, he might—after securing the rod inside her ass—take her cunt with his excited erection. The fit was tight with the prodded places stretched to their very limits, and expanding even further as the man’s big penis forced her wide. Some days, she would float almost demented and happy with the screwing. The empty-headed nothing that prevailed in her mind was a sweet tonic for a woman who needed a place to escape. Other days, the ass rape was misery akin to being beaten with knives. Even when Patrick aimed at being gentle, his attempts failed to work. He fucked her still—perhaps less raucously when she was screaming, but he wouldn’t stop until she was filled with his cream and dripping afterwards.
“It makes sense to get used to this,” he would tell her when he finished.
She could agree; but had little power over how her body would react to the anal assault.
During their few weeks at sea, gradually, in small increments, Jolie’s rear channel and its taut portal did ease.
“There are other measures that I’ll use when we’re at the island,” he informed her. “This is a crude place to work.”
“It is, truly, sir. And wouldn’t you want to wait now until we make port? You said it was just a week off?” Any reprieve would be welcome.
“And lose the ground we’ve gained? No,” he answered directly. He was smiling, amiable in the face of her discomfort—as usual, but not about to retreat.
“Why is this so important to you?” she wondered. “Is not my pussy a delightfully wonderful place to romp?”
“Of course it is. But—being the fertile woman that you are, I’m not afforded this asset all the time. I want to make sure that I can use you whenever I want. Besides, there are special benefits to anal sex that I enjoy. In plain language, it gives me pleasure to take women in the ass.”
Jolie’s long days wore her down. Even the thought of dry land was no inspiration. Patrick said they were just a week from their destination, but that week was dragging on in tedious fashion. Her body ached, and she needed rest. Her temper was short, her attitude less compliant than was required of her. Patrick gave her some leeway, but her tongue was growing sharper by the hour.
She was swabbing the deck in the afternoon, listening as rough sailors taunted her with crude come-ons. She ignored their boorishness easily for many days, but not this day, not with the sun baking on her back against the hot brown dress, cramps in her belly from hunger, and her limbs tired and complaining to her weary head.
“Ouch! You vermin!” she scowled as one sailor pinched her ass as he strolled behind her.
“Lady ’aving a bad day?” he growled with a roguish glee.
“Keep your hands from me or I’ll talk to the captain,” she snapped.
“Yes, and he’ll listen to the sweet nuthins’ of a whore. Yer got a fine arse, I say.”
“Get out of here,” she pushed him hard.
He pushed right back and she landed firmly on her bum, from where she flew to her feet and went after the man fists flying.
He was a stronger brute than she was a lady—even a lady on fire with anger. The assault was put down in seconds as he held her to his chest and they worked their way to the stairs and the cabins below.
“Here,” the sailor pushed her off to the first mate. “She needs ‘er hide tanned. Ya care to let me do ‘er?”
“I’ll take her below, mate. You get on with your work.”
Grady held her tightly as she was spitting fire, her eyes molten like the embers. He shoved her towards the captain’s cabin and knocked on the door.
“Come in!” he called.
“Your kidnapped bitch is giving the crew fits again, sir.”
“I am not! The blackguard insulted me!” she flew into a rage and out of the man’s arms.
“Easy, Jolie. Tell me your complaint,” Patrick answered mildly.
“The fellow above accosted me, and I threw him off, just as a lady should.”
“She ain’t no lady,” the first mate reminded him.
“But surely I command some respect, sir!” she cried to her captor.
“What is the complaint?” he turned to Grady.
“She kicked my man, moved on him like a wild dog.”
“Because he …” she started.
“Hush,” Patrick silenced her, though she was steaming like a raging bull.
“I will NOT hush, you ass! You’re all asses!”
“Shall I shove a gag down your throat?” Patrick wondered out loud.
She stopped short of yelling again, seeing by his lethal gaze that he was serious about the threat.
“No, sir,” she calmed.
“Is that all of your report?” he asked Grady.
“Ain’t it enough, Capt’n? She’s actin’ more like a bitch every day she’s on this ship. I know what I’d do with a nag like her.”
“Leave us,” Patrick decided, “I’ll handle the rest in private.”
Grady left, shaking his head, while Jolie still shook with anger she could not contain.
“You are a bloody bastard!” she vented as soon as the door closed behind the man.
“Am I now?”
“Indeed!” she snapped.
“Your sharp tongue will get you nowhere, lass. I’d suggest you squash that ire of yours.”
“I cannot squash anything. I’m tired, wounded, pained by your crudities with my body. I thought, perhaps, that you’d be different from the others. But you just pretend to be civil and humane. You are miserable and brutish like all the other masters who have abused me.”
“You believe that I’ve abused you? How could that be?”
She glared. “You worthless swine! You bugger my ass every night and think that’s not abuse!”
“Seems you get your fair share of delight in that. Is there not a time you haven’t climaxed?”
“That is not my point!”
“And what is the point?” he wondered.
“That I hate you and this life,” she shrieked from her gut.
“You need to calm down, my beauty. You’re simply tired.”
“That I am. But I will NOT be calm!”
“You will be calm or you’ll feel the back of my hand.”
“Not before you feel mine first.” Her hand flew back a second later, on its way to connect with the captain’s jaw.
But there was no smack of a hand on his cheek. Patrick’s quick reflexes had her wrist contained in his hand, his fingers clutching it so tightly that she was instantly paralyzed with pain.
“Sir, please,” she squealed from that agony.
He lightened his grip but he did not let go.
Revived as the pain receded, she began her assault, kicking at the man’s legs and struggling with all her might to free herself from the bullish animal. For her small size, she packed a mighty wallop, but she was like a mere child in his grasp.
He pulled her with him to his captain’s chair, and sitting down, he tossed her over his lap and raised her skirt, so he could spank her bare be
hind.
“You ass, don’t you dare!” she wailed.
She took a few smacks directly on the center of her ass cheeks, but she was flailing so hard, her ass jumping about so wildly that he could hardly handle the brawling wench.
“Let me go!”
Though he gripped her firmly, she still managed to whip about. And while Patrick was able to strike her buttocks with a furiously paced spanking, he was getting annoyed with the struggle.
“You don’t settle down, bitch, you’ll regret it!”
“I’ll regret it if I let you have me, bastard!” The wild talk only inspired her to fight more… so savagely that it took more effort than the spanking was worth to contain her.
“End it now!” he roared in a voice that should have enlightened God, though it did little to quell the belligerent brat.
She fought on, pouring every bit of contempt, pent-up rage and venom into her attack.
“End it now!” he tried one more time with the same wild result.
When he stopped the war, she was clamoring for more, but he was on his feet now, able to contain her with rope he wound about her wrists and more he used to bind her legs. That done, he threw her to the floor.
“I gave you fair warning, bitch. This could have been no more than a simply spanking… where a good thrashing was deserved. But you’ve engaged my ire, and I will see you punished just as you dread. There won’t be a next time after I’m finished with your sorry ass.” His speech was hot; though as he spoke his tone diminished in volume and the fire in his delivery slowly receded. The intensity was not lost however, nor was he flagging in purpose. He cooled quickly, moving into that immovable chilling place where no man or woman would desire he go. Had Jolie seen him just once behaving from those cold and gloomy depths, she might have halted her rebellion and given in. But without the knowledge of his darker mien, she was ignorant of the measures he could evoke to punish her.
Striding from his cabin, he left the woman to worry about what horror would take place to right her terrible wrong. Regret poured through her system, but she believed it was too late to remedy the situation.
“Patrick, please, sir!” she called. Either he had not heard her or he refused to answer the belated plea.
The Saga of a Naughty Lady Page 9