“Let us see what else we have to share!” The psuedo-captain had whipped out a long knife and the front of her light silk dress gave way easily, falling apart. She had resumed wearing her corset; front laced since she had brought no maid on her expedition. The tied bow of the lacing was revealed at the top of the corset and her posture, up on tiptoe with arms up-stretched, made her squeezed-in breasts bulge into prominence. The knife sliced quickly through the knot, instantly loosening all restraint. Isobel’s instinctive emotional reaction was to gasp, taking in a deep breath, with the unfortunate result that her up-drawn breasts, always large, burst entirely free, exposed to the open sunlight as nakedly as any island maiden’s. The man stood back to show his allies the result, glossy white globes faintly blue veined, liquidly wobbling above her corset and tipped with aureoles of strawberry pink.
Isobel squeaked in shame, her nipples tingling with the sudden exposure, her cheeks scarlet as the villain reached out again with a grunt, dragging loose her corset and pulling down the neck of her chemise to free her breasts completely. His dirty hands squeezed and bounced them like fruit on display in a market, fingers cruelly pinched her pricking nipples. His hands lifted her short chemise and the knife was used again, this time to slash apart the waist string of her drawers, which inevitably collapsed about her hips, only prevented from falling further by means of her keeping her thighs tight pressed together.
“Open your legs!” A sudden swing of the arm and the smack of the man’s hard hand upon Isobel’s already tender cheeks forced a squeal and an involuntary jerk forward that allowed the drawers to slip further before she clapped her stocking-clad knees together. The lace-trimmed chemise she wore beneath her corset barely covered her bottom and pubis, the hem fluttering loosely with the agitation of her movements about the white of her thighs.
“Wider! We have not seen a woman since we left France, have we, comrades!” That these villains intended to rape her seemed to make that fate inevitable. She only had two choices; to try to resist and be beaten into helplessness or submit to whatever demands they made and save her from further punishment; only one choice really, she decided. Non-resistance might at least soften them towards her. Reluctantly she let her trembling knees fall apart, so that the garment slid down into a white puddle about her boots, revealing her legs in black stockings with blue garters and the full expanse of naked white thighs exposed between the stocking tops and the lower edge of her chemise. Instinctively she advanced one leg a little, seeking to hide what was exposed between her thighs and if possible the gingery patch at the base of her belly, but she was foiled by the roll of the ship making her stagger. The psuedo-captain reached out towards the hem of her chemise and the unintentionally parted thighs but the others suddenly shouted their dissent.
“Play for who shall have her first!” He acceded with a sour grin and so Isobel was forced to watch while they played cards for which of them should make first use of her. They had let go the halyards, dropping the mainsail in a crumpled heap on the deck and the wheel was unattended while they all crowded eagerly to take part. The ship, left to wind and wave, rolled even more steeply and forced Isobel to take little quick steps to and fro on tiptoe, hampered by her drawers dragging about her ankles, sometimes being run completely off her toes to swing painfully by her wrists.
“Jacob! Lucky devil!” The card players were acclaiming the winner. Jacob was the big black man. A horrible black savage! Isobel protested at the idea, making a last pitiful attempt to evoke their sense of decency and looking appealingly towards the white Frenchman. She thought he hesitated, but at once the others growled angrily.
“All cocks are equal here!” he said, shrugging. “And you will have to take all of us sooner or later!” The untended ship rolled so wildly that Isobel was thrown off her feet, swinging haplessly by her wrists and kicking wildly. The black man strode to the shrouds and cast off the rope so that she landed suddenly with a stumble, her knees buckling under her and dropping in a heap. She recovered and scrambled upon all fours, reaching for her lost garments, but the appointed winner intervened, reaching out and, scooping Isobel up by the waist, tucked his threshing prize bodily under his arm while he slashed apart her tied wrists and stripped the remains of the ruined dress off over her arms. Suddenly free to resist, she retaliated wildly as the Negro carried her towards the companionway, raking at whatever she could reach of him; blindly, since along with the loss of her dress, her hair had been pulled down with an effect like a curtain but as his trouser-clad legs were all that was within reach, her nails had little effect.
“We know what works with this English lady, don’t we, comrades?” the man chuckled richly and gripping Isobel tight under his arm, head downwards and, despite her white arms flailing wildly and black stockinged legs kicking fruitlessly, he began delivering hard spanks in an unhurried fashion to her upturned behind. From her head-down position, Isobel could see through tear-blurred eyes and drifted hair that the front of her captor’s white cotton pants were now embellished with a strongly thrusting bulge. Though the weals left by her caning had since subsided, the lines where they had been were still tender. His masculine hand hurt abominably, far harder than the island woman’s and it was all too evident that in the process her chemise had ridden up so that beyond its lace-trimmed hem her bare bottom and much else was fully displayed to view. That was enough and Isobel fairly shrieked her submission. If she must suffer the ultimate shame, at least let it be in decent obscurity and without such a humiliating accompaniment.
“You are a fine shapely piece!” the black man, Jacob, said with relish as he dumped his tearful burden below decks in the tiny cabin, speaking in French, which seemed to come perfectly natural to him. “You will make a good whore!”
“But… Please…! I am a virgin!” Isobel pleaded breathlessly.
“Don’t lie to me! That young fellow on the island told Rigolet that you opened your legs in his bed quick enough!”
“He… well… he… didn’t… do that…” she faltered. He grinned and looked sceptical.
“I trained as a doctor of medicine in Paris,” he declared. “Lie back on the bed and spread your legs!” Evidently he wasn’t prepared to take Isobel’s word for it, but meant to examine her for himself. She could see no alternative but to submit in the hope that the proof might save her somehow. He slapped her wavering legs aside with un-doctor-like lack of ceremony and, holding her in place with one hand flat on her belly, instantly penetrated her vagina with the forefinger of the other. Ignoring her gasps and her humiliated attempts to close her thighs again, he slid his finger in further, as far as the second knuckle. “So!” he said, surprised and seeming pleased. “The cunning dog! And yet he said you orgasmed! Such subtlety in an Englishman!”
Finding Isobel’s understanding of French was adequate for her to follow him, he explained that he and the others had escaped from the new French penal settlement in New Caledonia, boarding and stealing the vessel anchored offshore. He spoke some English, though said sourly that he had not been the one to go ashore because no one would have believed a black man was the vessel’s captain.
“The real captain we killed in here! See the stains!” Jacob claimed to have been the stepson of a rich colonial planter and to have studied medicine in Paris, but being accused of rape by a patient, had been disgraced. Drink, gambling and women had dissipated the rest of his inheritance. He had been sentenced to life imprisonment in New Caledonia after knifing a troublesome customer in the course of his employment as a bully for the most expensive brothel in Paris.
“Any speciality a man might require could be supplied by Madame Diablon, if he was prepared to pay her price,” he boasted. “She employed me to train girls to serve her special customers. Very rich men with very particular tastes. You say you are an English lady! There were English Milords among Madame’s clients and a lot of her girls were English. I have trained many an English girl to become a g
reat attraction!” His hand had remained, covering the soft bulge of Isobel’s mound, warm and broad. A soft throbbing seemed to emanate from beneath it, inspiring a quickening beat to her heart and trembling tension in her limbs. Now his thick thumb found the little nub of her clitoris and strummed it, gently but insistently, producing a further pulsation that made her arch her body involuntarily, half-protesting, half-agitated.
“I dare say my methods will work as well with you!” he declared. “You are not too much of a lady to be made into a whore!” Numbed to the indecency by the thought of much worse shame impending, she answered falteringly the probing questions that followed on the state of her periods.
“Well, you are probably safe enough at the moment, according to Holy Church’s calculations!” he joked callously. “As to your future fate, the ship’s cargo was a disappointment to us, consisting largely of medical supplies for the colony, but as it happens that included a large parcel of English Overcoats.” She looked blank.
“If you are to make a good whore there are things you will have to learn. Not all the ways of satisfying a man end in a full belly! English Overcoats are protection for a man but they will serve the woman too!” He lifted Isobel, handling her as easily as a child with a doll, her toes off the floor, her hands clinging in reflex to his bulging biceps.
“A genuine lady, in full bloom of figure and still a virgin! You would have been worth a bit to Madame Diablon! Or to us if we could sell you intact somewhere! Well! You would lose it to one of these clowns sooner or later, so you might as well set your mind to enjoy having it taken by me!” Setting her upon the bunk, he undressed her carefully, stroking and caressing her all the time, ignoring her trembling uncertainty and commenting upon the value of her assets and their capacity to please a man all in a low teasing tone. Isobel felt the shame of having such a lady’s maid but tried to lie still and ignore his attentions. She trembled nevertheless under the effect of the dark fingers as they roamed over neck, ears and throat, then breasts, belly, thighs and bottom. Teasing one of her breasts, he placed his mouth over it, tonguing the nipple until she gasped and arched her back, half in protest, half in reaction. His kisses moved on down to her navel and then over her belly until they reached her softly furred mound. Isobel failed to repress a whimper of alarm as he closed his warm mouth over it and began kissing the crinkled lips of her sex. His tongue penetrated deep into her vagina like a fat wet animal wriggling there as if to take refuge. When it suddenly drew back and the tip lingered to touch the little fleshy bud of her clitoris, then she really arched, biting her lip but parting her legs quite involuntarily and almost without realising it.
“A hot little piece for all your protests!” His strong hands spread over Isobel’s bottom cheeks, moulding their soft mass and pulling her to him, belly to belly. Her bottom clenched in reaction and her legs kicked violently but aimlessly, their soft inner surfaces brushing across his hard muscular thighs. She felt his penis as a long hot column pressed stiffly into her flesh and reaching up almost to her navel.
He spread her out beneath him, lying on her back upon the narrow bunk. She felt every touch of the hot heavy penis drawing down and bobbing, first at the base of her belly and then between her widely splayed thighs. It nudged once, lodged firmly and then, despite her panicking reaction, slid inch by inch in where his tongue had left its wet traces. The bulky head parted and penetrated her from the first with an ease that surprised Isobel, but she moaned out loud with every further ominous thrust, then cried out in sharp dismay as she felt her hymen swiftly give way before the ruthlessly pressing head. Her instinctive struggles only seemed to encourage the beast. He manipulated her expertly, transforming her bucking attempts to escape into surges that helped his penetration. Though painful and humiliating, Isobel recognised something remained deep within her, reminding her of the excitement that had possessed her while engaged with Ben and Oonea. Confused, she was torn all ways, fury at her helplessness, acknowledgement of her plight, fear of painful punishment, and alarm at what he might succeed in arousing from her. He went in and out with long firm strokes, stretching her yielding channel around him, his strong hands on her hips, holding her firmly in place. Not knowing what to do with her own hands, Isobel clutched first the framework of the bunk, then her breasts, then her assailant’s shoulders, her tongue moistening her dry lips between wavering groans.
His hands slid round to clasp the soft cheeks of her bottom, lifting her hips towards him as he drove deeper and deeper, sending waves of reaction through her belly and thighs. Submission was her only course, she told herself. She closed her mind to everything but the feeling of his thick masculinity moving purposefully inside her and was shortly rewarded by a flush of excitement that impelled her own body to begin to move in rhythm with his thrusts, so easing his passage. Soon she became aware of the effect this was having upon her, the beginnings of an orgasm building. In that moment, her resolution almost faltered. In a panic, she thrust these hopeless inhibitions to the back of her mind, fervently concentrating only upon bodily reactions. Her captor would have disregarded any dissenting cries or pleas in any case, never letting up in his relentless fucking, pounding in and out of her vagina with ever faster and more powerful strokes. Orgasm built inexorably and Isobel’s spread thighs began to quiver. The feeling that her insides had liquefied and were pulsing within her overwhelmed all reserve, her wail of ecstasy at the sudden release, only becoming one of shame when the passion faltered and ebbed.
Her tormentor was grunting in satisfied fashion meanwhile, driving fast. Though still dazed by what had occurred, Isobel could still feel every inch of his shaft sliding deep into her unresisting body, she could feel his testicles bouncing off her bottom every time he went in. He gave a sudden shout expressive of savage triumph and then, after two or three more quick deep thrusts, she felt a sudden spurting wetness and recognised with despair that she was being filled for the first time with a man’s sperm.
By dawn the remainder of the piratical crew had become fascinated and aroused by the sounds emerging from the skylight. Having been first deflowered, Isobel had been violated again by her relentless black mentor several times during the night. She had been taken for a second time lying upon her back on the bed, on this occasion forced to take a more cooperative role by gripping her ankles, holding her thighs apart with her knees bent and legs in the air. This tightened her vagina to his penetration, her mentor pointed out, and her upturned thighs formed an excellently springy cushion upon which to rest his weight between thrusts. Next she had been initiated into the mode of taking a man in what Jacob called ‘doggy fashion’, kneeling upon knees and elbows, allowing herself to be taken from the rear and learning to cooperate in this by hollowing her back and pushing her rump against his thrusts.
There had been an interval then, while Isobel desperately hoped that her captor had reached satiation. But a thin rattan cane was now produced and a new phase began. She was made to kneel before him and handle his lank penis to coax it back to rigidity, beginning by kissing its length up and down. The dark barrel felt slitheringly mobile under her tremulous lips but she kissed on assiduously, clutching at its black length like a length of empty hosepipe in her hand. Soon she found that she was no longer able to get her fingers completely around the meaty erection she had reawakened, only curling them as far as she could around its thickened stem and feeling the outer skin slide under her fingers as she moved them gingerly up and down. The swelling head bobbed in and out of the end of the moving sheath, a dark partly cloven apple with a deep puckered opening.
“Clasp it more firmly, and move it up and down in long slow strokes!” She obeyed and felt the foreskin build under her fingers into a heavy roll as it slid down the shaft, this time exposing the smooth and glossy head completely, a ragged ridge of flesh connecting the two.
“Don’t yank it like a bell pull, you little fool!” Isobel whimpered. Her hand still stung from when he had made
her hold it out, extended palm up to be smacked with the cane and she could hardly tell whether her palm was heating the penis or the penis heating her hand. He leant back, looking down his stretched body with narrowed eyes at her, while Isobel concentrated anxiously upon obeying his instructions. Within the clasp of her moving fingers, she was sure that the shaft was pulsing with potential and her eyes were nervously fixed upon the pouting orifice in the swollen head.
“Speed up gradually,” he said tightly and her hand stroked reluctantly faster, feeling as if she was pumping juice up out of the depths and into the already burgeoning shaft.
“Curl your free hand under my balls!” They felt loose, unlike the tightness of the shaft, slithery on her hesitant palm, slipping between her fingers and she was afraid of squeezing them too much. Her stroking of the shaft slackened a little, producing a warning growl and she had to juggle her attention between the actions, looking up at the grim expression on his face and clinging to the huge projection she manipulated with both hands that seemed almost like a separate being.
“Good… so far!” he said sharply. “Now… use your mouth on it!” His loosely swinging penis thumped heavily against her nose teeth and lips, while she struggled to bring herself to comply. In the end he had to lean over and pinch her nose to make her open her mouth fully, pushing his enormous penis between her teeth and along the length of her flinching tongue. She didn’t dare bite and, at his further impatient urging, closed her reluctant lips firmly about its girth, feeling it jerk even as she enclosed with her warm mouth. Under his relentless instruction she began to nod her head, going forward and back, the tumescent flesh moving back and forth along her sensitive tongue as a result, the head smooth and slippery, the veins of the stem feeling like huge ridges to its touch. Incredibly the intrusion seemed to grow even more, extending into her throat until she almost gagged on it, having to breathe heavily through her nose. Jacob was moving too and of her own volition she endeavoured to respond to his motion, if only in order to exert some control over what was happening to her, fearing that he might choke her otherwise. After some panic on her part and impatient urging upon his, they eventually achieved a cooperative sequence of thrust and withdrawal, gradually increasing in speed until almost before she was aware of the danger, he had ejaculated right inside her. She gurgled in desperation, wanting to pull away but fearing his wrath if she did. Her mouth was full of his flesh as he thrust in deep and the cum he was producing, spilled in consequence from the corners of her mouth, until in response to his more specific orders she reluctantly swallowed the stuff down. Satisfied, he withdrew from her, the heavy black penis slipping out past her lips and leaving a snail trace of goo down her chin the last few drops of it falling on her breast. It had gone suddenly slack and even as she took it gingerly in her fingers again, it shrank into the curve of her finger and thumb. A little white blob, the last to ooze out, still clung to its tip.
Wild Woman Page 3