Wild Woman

by Peter Marriner

  “Lick all that off and then clean up the rest!” Bowed over his sagging penis Isobel touched her pointed pink tongue to the white bead before it could drop, her taste buds sampling it fully now, slightly musty and in texture too, very much like wallpaper paste. She licked dutifully round and round until he dismissed her attentions impatiently, then she licked her fingers in turn and using a forefinger, cleaned the spatter from her breasts and licked that up. There still remained a few spots on the boards below and with no need for more than a gesture from Jacob, she got down on hands and knees to lick them clean.

  “A good first lesson! Plenty more to come!”

  So as the pirated schooner wandered before the wind across the long slow swells and empty horizons of the Western Pacific and the crew continued to drink and argue, Isobel remained immured in its cramped cabin among the grim reminders of the fate of its former occupant, being subjected to acts of rape by whichever of her captors had the turn that day, although Jacob seemed by common consent to have been appointed her general taskmaster. Early on she learned the penalty for recalcitrance, performing much of her servicing of her captors on her hands and knees, since when she failed to completely please, she was caned on the tender soles of her feet.

  “Bastinado it is called.” Jacob remarked. “A clever Turkish invention! It hurts but it does not disable your more useful parts. You do not need to walk upright to give a good fuck!” The first blows were painful and quickly became agonizing. When ordered below to resume her shameful service after such a punishment, she could not bear to put foot to the planking and could only make a few tottering steps on her toes, in the end reduced to going humiliatingly down upon all fours. When she was able to examine them, the results had been soles swollen and puffy, too painful to stand on, but not at all the destruction she had expected from the degree of pain it had caused. It was worse than being made to hold out her small palm to the cane, worse even, than having to hold up her breasts, moaning in terror, the soft flesh wobbling liquidly in her shakily cupped hands, as her eyes upon the raised cane she waited for it to come flashing down.

  She was made fully conscious that her efforts to satisfy Jacob had been monitored by his comrades in villainy. They had taken a keen interest, eager to present themselves as subjects for her to practice upon and asking what he proposed to teach her next, as if she were a performing animal that he was training to do tricks for them. She learnt to present herself to be taken seemingly in every position a woman could possibly assume with a man; from behind, bending forward on the bed, kneeling on hands and knees, lifted in the man’s arms upside down, both in her vagina and her anus. She was taken frontally, on the bed in different styles, with her legs spread wide, knees doubled back, and ankles hooked over the man’s shoulders. Sideways and upside down too! She made an effort to marshal all this information in her mind and to collate it with that she had from Oonea and her friends. However much abused and mistreated she was still a scientist was she not?

  Had this been all, it might have required no great participation on her part, but in fear of the cane she was made to emphasise eagerness to please. Her clothes had been restored and they insisted that she maintain a lady-like standard and be fully dressed to receive her visitors, having to curtsey as a prospective user descended to the cabin, addressing him fawningly in English.

  “Please come in…Master! I hope you will enjoy me… Master!” It would have sounded less shameful in French she thought. Her father had deprecated the use of the word, even by their servants. Jacob insisted upon maintaining the notion that they were training her as a fille de joye, to be sold to a house of ill fame in some foreign port, forced to repay her price by pursuing her trade there. She had heard of the White Slave trade of course but the very notion of landfall gave her some hope of escape if she could only survive her captivity.

  She found Jacob to be by far the most skilful of her captors, taking endless pains, and such was her plight, being forced to engage all her energy in propitiation of her captors, that she was sometimes betrayed into real responses. Having heard her distraught cries emerging from the cabin, the other men were made jealous and so she had to become an actress and learn to replicate this reaction lest they become dissatisfied. She had to be always alert to the villains’ moods, encouraging them with submissive cries and seeming enthusiasm into heedless paroxysms of lust, diverting their savagely thrusting shafts by discreet squeezing, and wriggling warm swells of her flesh around them, loosing their ejaculations into harmless recesses. Safer still she could masturbate and fellate the dangerous male members by simulating eagerness to show her expertise. Having had her virginity taken, and being now prey to the whole gang of villains, she was forced to learn from her debased instructor a whole series of shifts to which she might resort in order to avoid the fate she had first anticipated, always clinging to the hope that the voyage would soon come to an end and she might make her escape, unimpregnated by her captors.

  She resorted to morbid study of the sexual quirks of her half dozen rapists, endeavouring to engage their interest even though they only visited the cabin for their own villainous purposes, and not daring to go so far as to be troublesome, for they were liable to violent responses. The first time she had irritated Rigolet, the man who had seen her bare bottomed over the caning frame on the island, he had simply exploded. She was thrown face foremost upon the mattress so hard that she bounced, and Rigolet had the leather belt out of the loops of his trousers while she was still floundering. Holding her down across the bunk with her chemise up around her shoulders and her drawers ripped down to cling tangled around her ankles, he began to whip her. The stiff hard belt made a noisy smack as it came down across her bared bottom. Such was her demoralisation that Isobel made no attempt to grit her teeth upon the pain but shrieked and wailed, wriggling upon the mattress and clutching at the wooden sides of the bunk, while the brute delivered four more, the harsh leather laying broad tracks round the swells of her squirming flesh.

  “Hey! Hey!” The other men poked their heads in grinning. “Stop that Rigolet! That’s our property you’re damaging!” Cursing, the belt wielder suddenly threw his belt on the pillow alongside Isobel and dragged his penis from his trousers.

  “Alright! Put your backside where I can get at it!” The belt serving as an effective admonishment, Isobel did just that, tremblingly inviting his entry, into which he transferred most the strength and violence he had put into the belt. He appeared quite calmed after he had finished, complimenting her with horrid good humour upon her performance. All the while she was reluctantly accumulating such shameful skills, she was assuring herself that by carefully noting arguments and jealousies among her captors she might find hints of rifts within their solidarity that would prove of use to her whenever the voyage should come to a resolution.

  In the heat of a tropic afternoon, quite naked beneath her thin shift and kneeling upon all fours on the thin hard mattress with it drawn up about her waist, Isobel was pretending to mew with anticipatory pleasure as the Annamese pressed the head of his penis to her anus and began to work it within. That orifice was still quite tight, Ne Dong being the only one of her captors to prefer that particular mode of entry. He was, as she was now all too well qualified to appreciate, a man of small dimensions, but even he could get no more than the head in at the first thrust. She had reached back with both her hands, spreading the cheeks of her bottom wider for him, and with further reluctant cooperation she wriggled her hips as well to assist him in deepening the penetration. With each wriggle, the tight ring of straining flesh gave way a little more, swallowing another inch or so of his male meat until at last she felt his balls bob against her unoccupied pussy. He was fully up and they both rested panting.

  “Move your bottom you lazy slut!” Ne Dong slapped her bottom in high glee and with renewed enthusiasm began to withdraw his shaft, pulling a rim of half-resisting flesh outward with it. Isobel gasped and set her teeth wait
ing for the inevitable returning thrust. Another slap, and tears of humiliation ran down Isobel’s cheeks as she was reminded of her duty to assist, setting her rectal muscles to clench upon his sliding penis. To and fro it went, Isobel forced to follow its progress minutely. She could feel its every irregularity, every standing vein like a ridge as it rasped her anus. Both of them were sweating in the hot cabin, drops from her enforced partner falling on her back onto a patch already soaked with her own efforts. Sweat and other things were at least making an increased lubrication between their interlocking parts. The solid penetration now seemed like a red hot bar and every surge sent unwilling spasms through her belly, but she dared not stop or rebel. Her hands had dropped back, sliding beneath her belly and reaching between her legs. She gasped and groaned, hollowing her back and bucking her plump bottom against the man’s scrawny loins as he drove in turn at her. At last it was enough to take him over his limit and she felt him pulse and spurt deep into her bowels, hooting with satisfaction above her.

  “Ship! Ship!” Isobel heard Depuise yell. “Coming round the headland!” Hastily thrusting her crumpled garment down her sweat soaked hips and thighs, and without pausing to draw on her drawers she tumbled off the bed where she had been gathering her breath. When not engaged in providing her unwilling services below, she had surveyed the horizon at every opportunity hoping for a sail or an island, some hope of release.

  “Get the woman out of sight! Quick!” No sooner had Isobel emerged from the stairway than she was grabbed and bundled into temporary concealment in the ship’s boat, along with the half a dozen young pigs that already occupied it. She only had time to take in the sight of a steep coast close-to, clothed in dense green forest like a rumpled woolly green rug, uninterrupted by either house or clearing with no distinguishing feature other than an occasional tree taller than the rest. The sole mark well inland, was the neatly conical peak of a distant volcano above which, hung a puff of white smoke. What raised her hopes more was the sight of the equally white sails of another ship beyond the sloping end of the land. The usual debate was raging on the L’Allouette’s deck and in the end the pirates did nothing. Isobel’s attempts to cry out were drowned by the indignant squeals of the animals and she was quickly subdued by the two men who had first grabbed her as the approaching vessel smartly rounded to, her sails briskly taken in. As she ranged up level, Isobel heard the conversation shouted back and forth, between Rigolet and the newcomer, in a medley of broken English and bad French. The vessel turned out to be a sandalwood trader commanded by an Englishman with a Kanaka crew and bound for Macau with his holds nearly filled. He accepted the pirates’ tale but warned them that the Melanesian tribes were much more dangerous than the Polynesians and about the risk of treachery, arising from their conviction that the rich goods aboard the ships came as gifts from their ancestors and that the white people were wicked sorcerers who had intercepted the intended gifts.

  The evil crew had begun muttering between themselves during the latter part.

  “Keep silence if you value your tongue!” The two men with her in the boat seized Isobel by an arm apiece and drew her up into view, white shift fluttering, one holding his knife between her cheeks through the material so that she dared not even wriggle.

  “We have a white whore aboard here.” Rigolet shouted invitingly. “She serves us all! She will give you a good fuck too! Come aboard and enjoy her services if you please!” Isobel heard this with a mixture of hope and terror. Did these pirates really intend that she should be given to this entire stranger, risking her appealing for help, or did they intend to fall upon the unwary libertine leaving his crew leaderless and his ship easy prey? There was a pause. Any faint hope was soon extinguished by his reply. He already had a black girl on board he said, purchased from a native chief for a couple of pigs, and whose attentions he much preferred to any poxy, carrot-headed, Sydney whore. He added that black women could be obtained cheaply from the natives who had stolen them from enemy tribes, and that the women were soon used to white men, grateful to have been rescued from being eaten by their captors, finding life better on board than ashore, with less hard work and no fear of being eaten.

  By this time the other ship was drawing on past and its commander turned to calling orders to his crew. Only a last faint call, something about, “Watch out for…” was heard as his voice gradually faded away. Isobel collapsed into the bottom of the boat among the pigs, and lay there for some time, temporarily disregarded by her tormentors and thankful for the respite, conjecturing as to what shore they might be upon and listening to the men arguing again in the growing darkness. With the rapid onset of tropical night the wind and sea had increased, filling the sails and giving a good speed. Then without warning there was a tremendous crash from forward and a sharp lurch. Yells of terror accompanied the ensuing fall of the main mast with a prolonged splintering crash, ropes whipping in the darkness and canvas billowing and flapping. The origin of the lurch had been movement of the boat in which Isobel lay. Never having been properly made fast, it moved bodily once again, scraping and bumping across the inclined deck with salt water deluging its terrified occupants. Then the bumping suddenly stopped and the boat lifted buoyantly and went surging away into the darkness, washed by a breaking wave right off the listing deck into the sea.

  Carried bodily over the reef that the schooner had lodged upon, by dawn the boat had drifted across the intervening distance to the shore and was lying only slightly tilted in the shallows, with no more than a few inches of water in the bottom. There, natives prospecting the wreckage, discovered Isobel and her porcine companions.

  “Don’t hurt me!” she pleaded as their ferocious faces appeared above her, eyes and teeth gleaming but they seemed not to speak the same language as the Polynesians she had known. They wore their frizzy hair in a huge bush of stringy plaits stuck through with feathers more extraordinary than any a London milliner commanded. Their big hooked noses bore ornaments of bone or wood thrust through the septum. They seemed moreover to be hugely muscular brutes, very black and very naked. Their one concession to modesty was only barely that, for their male appurtenances were rather celebrated than concealed, by long upright casings like pointed tubes apparently secured at the upper end to a belt of twisted fibre. As further adornment, mother of pearl, animal teeth, or boar tusks were formed into barbaric necklaces, arm-bands and ear ornaments, altogether complete savages, with no trace of civilised contact about them. They seemed to be drawing one another’s attention to Isobel’s hair at first, then her shift was dragged abruptly from her body and they shifted their surprise to the naked fact of her sex.

  Framing her ideas upon her treatment aboard the schooner, she felt that must be an advantage. She no longer had any illusions of inviolability. Being used sexually was better than being butchered and eaten. But they seemed no less enthralled by the pigs and soon turned their attention from examining Isobel to hauling the protesting porcines out of the boat, expertly lashing their legs together and laying them in a row on the sand. They treated Isobel no differently, dragging her out in her turn and tying her wrists and ankles together, then leaving her lined up on the sand with the trussed porkers. Others meanwhile had been busy smashing up the timbers of the boat and throwing the pieces on the fire and now were snatching or raking the metal fittings out of the ashes, quarrelling over the spoils.

  A flurry of foam and flailing black shapes amongst the breaking waves was resolved into a distinguishable human body. Isobel’s nemesis Jacob, guided by the fire, had reached the shore and was crawling out of the water. Rising to his feet he staggered forward, at which the bushy headed warriors on the shore instantly rushed forward howling to surround him, and wielding their huge clubs furiously in succession, battered him down. Dragging his body clear of the blood-tinged waves they hacked at his head and limbs with their stone axes, like barbaric demons only ceasing when his head had been completely severed from his shoulders.

 
Of this, Isobel saw little further, since she was being dumped onto a fibrous net and rolled up into bundle, to be slung like that from a warrior’s shoulder. The pigs were being treated the same way. She was carried inland in procession with the rest of the spoils, bumping against the man’s knobbly backbone, only a short journey uphill ending by being carried in through a wooden gateway to be spilled from the net onto a wooden platform attached to a large edifice built apparently entirely of plaited leaves, with a high thatched roof. Before the platform was a well-trampled open space within in a cluster of similar large huts, beyond which were glimpses of a high stockade of closely planted wooden poles. The trussed pigs were laid out to either side of Isobel and a circle of the savage’s females, most of them quite naked except for a few leaves strategically placed, with many small black children totally so, gathered to gape at this booty until the warriors, dispersed them. Doffing most of their warlike finery the male savages settled in a circle before the platform, contemplating in their turn the array of spoils they had brought up from the shore, sipping drink from bowls made from half coconuts and conducting a long, arm-waving discussion, concerning Isobel’s fate she thought, from the occasional gesture of a speaker in her direction. About her she saw with renewed terror, the platform was ominously filled with human skulls impaled upon sticks, some old and discoloured, but others appearing brand new, still having scraps of skin and hair adhering and one fresh black head with a tight cap of woolly hair.