Pleasure Island [The Chronicles of Lidir]

by Aran Ashe

  'Yes ma'a ... Mister Travix.'

  She turned quickly to the men in leather shirts. 'Bring Niri to my cabin.'

  Anya's mouth fell open; she looked up again at the young girl, still gagged, and tethered to the mast. But Travix had witnessed Anya's expression. 'Now do not tell me you are jealous?' she said. She tossed her head back and looked at Anya through half-closed eyes. Her top lip curled to a twisted smile. Her tongue licked out and slowly stroked the furrow of the cut. Anya's heart was in her throat. Travix came close but did not speak to Anya. The toe of her velvet boot simply eased Anya's feet apart, one foot then the other. Then Travix took from her pocket a soft, brushed-velvet cloth. She looked into Anya's eyes. With a pounding in her throat and a delicious sinking in her belly, Anya felt her fleshpot being gathered in the cloth, then, through the cool soft velvet, her bare and swelling sex lips being stroked. It was coming again - the feeling. The fingertips tasted the slow pulse through the velvet. Anya watched the blue impassive eyes, the scarred cheek, the full and severed lip. And everything she felt deep in her belly was delicious. She closed her eyes. Travix whispered in her ear: 'Do not be jealous, my Princess, for I shall attune you to my requirements too.' Again she shivered; the fingertips caressed her through the velvet and the soft and severed lip brushed gently against her ear.

  [4]

  A Punishment by Proxy

  'A princess, you say, Ratchitt?' The voice was sneering; the eyes looking down at her were harsh. 'We don't get many princesses down here in the brig.'

  Anya was deep in the heart of the ship, below the water line, and she was terrified, for Ratchitt meant to leave her with this man. But she did not want to return the way she had come: even now, she could hear the boisterous laughter directly overhead.

  She had been taken down a broad flight of stairs, then a narrower one, with Ratchitt having to coax her all the way, as she kept stopping. At one point, they had passed before a large noisy open area full of hammocks. At the far end of this place were tables and on them she had glimpsed women, their naked bodies disported before a raucous crowd of drunken crewmen. Opposite, Ratchitt had pointed out the captain's cabin, with large panelled doors over which was a carving of the goblin. Dangling from a chain beside the entrance was a cage containing a human skull. It had made her shiver. The walls were covered with other terrifying trophies - cutlasses dripping long-dried, blackened blood; plaits of hair with skin attached and other things that looked like tiny wrinkled human heads. Then he had led her down again and along a narrow lamplit corridor. As they hurried through, the lamps had flickered in the draught and cast giant swaying shadows across the ceiling. Her heart had sunk lower and lower with every step she had been forced to take, until her heart was in her belly. It was as if she could feel the pressure of the sea all around, just waiting to burst in, snuff these feeble lamps, trap her in the cobwebbed rafters and drown her in its freezing murk.

  Yet even that might have been better than the fate that she had seen reflected in the hard, cruel eyes of the man who had met them and looked upon her so unsparingly as her frightened body shook.

  They had emerged into a large, almost circular area. Through the centre, the mainmast passed from ceiling to floor. Anya stood with her back to it. On three sides were doors, each embossed with ironwork and studded with nails and bearing a heavy iron bolt. On the fourth side was an embayment furnished after the manner of a small cabin - there was a chair, a table, some drawers, a dishevelled bed and even a small stove. She could smell hot metal and hear the soft sizzle of the coals. The man had walked casually away from them and over to the table, where a mug and a bottle of wine stood and the remains of a chicken rested. It reminded her that she hadn't eaten. He ignored the mug and drank directly from the bottle, then took a bite from the carcass of the chicken. Anya's eyes moved round, beyond the cosy arrangement, to see rings and chains in the wall behind. More frightening still was a heavy post projecting horizontally at waist height for about an arms-length from this wall. The surface of the wood was smooth and highly polished. Above the post were two rings. Propped lengthwise against the wall a little further along was an angled table top with fetters attached. And there were whips of many kinds hanging from a rack to the right. She shivered. But none of these things terrified Anya so much as the man spitting out the chicken bone and returning to stand before her.

  He was strong - his muscles rippled - and bare to the waist and clad in black leather. He could have lifted Anya easily and carried her under his arm. There were thongs tied round his upper arms and diagonally across his chest. His head was shaved, apart from near the back, where the hair had been allowed to grow very long and was gathered into a heavy plait which hung down between his shoulders. And he had only one ear. When he turned, there was a small hole in the side of his head, as if the ear had been abraded away and the side of the head polished flat. Anya winced to look at it. But the ear hadn't been rubbed away. It had been cut off: it formed a grotesque rounded amulet of flat and wrinkled thick dried skin that hung from a thong round his neck.

  'Well - what are the instructions?' he growled, looking straight at Anya. He tucked his thumbs into his belt. That gesture made Anya back away, for tucked there too was a broad black leather strap attached by an iron ring to a short wooden handle. Both the wood and the strap looked shiny - from use, she knew. Then her eyes, downcast now from fear, fell upon a greater terror yet, which she had so far tried to ignore. Below the belt - projecting, threatening, already half erect - was a thick and bulging codpiece; his sex and ballocks were gloved and outlined separately within a tightly moulded pouch.

  Ratchitt shuffled his feet. His small round face lifted up as he looked at the man. 'The captain says to treat her kindly, Kasger,' said Ratchitt warily, as the muscles across the shoulders flexed and the heavy fingers closed firmly about the handle of the strap.

  Kasger chuckled. His gaze lifted from the downcast form before him and fell instead on Ratchitt. 'Then why did he send her to me?'

  Then he stepped forward. Anya could not move away any further; her back was pressed against the mast. Kasger wore cutaway leather gloves which buckled at the wrist but left his fingers free. The fingers lifted Anya's chin and held it, though only lightly. But even so, she knew this man was capable of great cruelty. She could see it as he stared again into her eyes. One by one, his questions set the seal on Anya's fate.

  'And did the captain say to treat her any differently from the rest?' From the way he said it, it was clear he knew the answer; he was playing games with Ratchitt, while his eyes continued to search Anya's face minutely and his fingers held her chin.

  'No ...'

  'Did he say not to chain her?' He lifted a strand of still-damp hair from Anya's face and placed it behind her ear.

  'No, but -'

  'And what about the strap?' His gaze worked downwards to where the jacket was slightly open, lifted by her breasts. 'Is the Princess to be punished?' The skin upon her breasts and belly tingled.

  'Well, er ... the captain never mentioned that, Kasger, and I wouldn't think -'

  'Ratchitt, just tell me - who sent her down here? Was it the master's mate?'

  Ratchitt looked away. His answer was a barely visible nod.

  'Then that's all I need to know.'

  'But Kasger, Travix didn't -'

  'Ratchitt ...' The cruel eyes turned to fix upon him. 'Remind me - and the Princess - of your job aboard this ship.'

  Ratchitt looked hurt, to be so demeaned in front of Anya. 'You know that I look after the hens.'

  'And who looks after the prisoners and the slaves?'

  Ratchitt bit his lip. Kasger waited, still holding Anya's chin while he stared down at the small, round, quaking form beside him. Anya hated him for his cruelty to the one person aboard this ship who had shown her any kindness. Kasger looked again at Anya; Anya looked away. 'You do, Kasger,' Ratchitt finally admitted.

  'Then go about your duties, Ratchitt. See to your hens. Leave men's work to the
men.'

  Ratchitt nervously twisted the single thick stray curl that stood out from the rest and pressed it to his forehead. He opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. He looked one last time at Anya, then he left with head hung low, hurrying away - as always. But this time he was not fast enough. Before he even reached the far end of the corridor, the torment rent his ears - the first cruel crack of the strap against that innocent, perfect form. The short legs moved faster and the small round body speeded up. He scuttled up the stairs towards the deck, towards his chickens, towards escape from the iron fist that squeezed around his heart.

  'Princess ...' Now that Ratchitt had gone, the intonation was more mocking. Kasger had stepped back. His hand was at his belt again, at the handle of the strap and Anya was at his mercy. She felt as if an icicle was being drawn slowly down the furrow of her spine. She knew what he would do to her; she knew he had decided in advance. 'We are not at court now - Princess.' This time he had spat the last word out. 'Life, you will find, is simple aboard this ship, provided you obey the rules.' He withdrew the strap, stepped back again and cracked it down upon the table. Anya immediately jumped. 'Ah, good - you learn quickly. For that is lesson number one. But there is a second lesson to be learnt - in fact, an association to be made. It may take time. But we have the time.' He smiled; his arms swept out to indicate the various trappings on the walls. 'This is why we are here. I will attempt to demonstrate, then we will see if you - or rather your body, for the association is made by the body rather than the mind - have made the correct connection.'

  He looked down at her, at her bare belly, and that belly shuddered, for it understood. He lifted up the strap. 'Turn round, Princess ... Ah, do not fear. We proceed by stages.' Yet she was afraid. As she turned to face the broad solid curvature of the mast, the shivers came, turning the backs of her thighs and her bare buttocks to gooseflesh, making every skin hair bristle. Before her, spaced wide apart and set into the mast, were four polished thick brass rings attached to staples. Two were above shoulder height; the other two were a few inches above the floor. 'Roll your sleeves back.' Then he showed her what to do. The cold brass slipped over her wrists and, when she lifted her heels slightly, to her elbows. When she bent her arms, her weight was taken and she was hanging from these rings. Yet seemingly, this was not enough. 'Open your legs,' he said very quietly. She could not breathe. She felt the strap - cold smooth flexible leather - against her, directing her to edge her feet apart. The shivers kissed her inner thighs and belly. Then she jumped - for his half-gloved hand had touched her right ankle. He was kneeling; she felt his breath against the back of her knee. He lifted her ankle, carefully bent the foot, pressed the backs of his fingers against the sole and stroked, making her try to lift the foot away. He sighed. Nervously, the foot returned and touched then pressed into the half-gloved palm. And when she did that, Anya felt a soft wave - a peculiar pleasure - travel up her leg and draw within her belly. Under the guidance of his hand, the leg gradually angled, the toes pointed down, the smooth calf muscle trembled. One hand closed over the upper surface of the foot; the other stroked the fine downy hairs upon that trembling calf, then stroked behind the knee, then rubbed the curving sole of the foot very gently. The toes were now directed through the brass ring near the floor until the slender ankle was encircled. The left foot was taken, stroked and similarly installed.

  'Grip with your forearms - tight!' She gasped as her body lifted and her belly touched the cold wooden surface of the mast. With her legs so wide apart, she needed to balance on tiptoes. It hurt her to have to do this; it tensed the muscles of her inner thighs; her buttocks shook. She felt Kasger behind her, very close. He opened her jacket, pulling it back beneath her arms. He took each breast and lifted it to the side. Then the jacket fell back against her. 'Grip tighter,' he said. The tight and tender skin of Anya's breasts was pressed against the wood. Kasger stroked the nipples through her jacket, rolling them between the unyielding rough hewn wood and the soft silk of the lining. The nipples became larger. He slid his right hand beneath the jacket and pressed his cupped palm against the warm round of her breast, as if trying to contain it. Though his palm was large, her bosom would not be contained. He pressed the breast against the wood and touched the tip. He laid his fingers underneath her arms, against the dry salt of her curls; his fingertips followed the lines of her ribs, at her back, beneath the jacket, across her skin, then down, cupping the narrow waist between the two palms, containing her. His hands approached each other and pressed; he tried to make them touch and the pressure took her breath away. He took the strap; she felt it stroke the surface of her buttocks, down, then up. She was so afraid. Why did he taunt her, when she knew what he would do? Why did he not just do it?

  Her buttocks were lifted; she held her breath; her eyes were wide, for suddenly, she thought he would open her and smack her in her split. 'Keep still, Princess.' Again the cheeks were lifted apart. She gasped. A fingertip touched her, precisely in the centre. It was held there while the cheeks were drawn more tightly apart. Then the fingertip began to rub, back and forth across the mouth of the funnel of silky black flesh. She shuddered and the fingertip withdrew.

  'Has the captain examined you?' the voice asked calmly. Anya stopped breathing. 'Answer me ... Has he examined you here?' The fingertip pressed against the funnel.

  'Yes ...' she whispered, then she closed her eyes and she relived that first deep drawing feeling, as the captain had stood above her, watching her so coolly, while he touched her there. The touch, so brief yet searching, had triggered memories so profound, memories of prolonged submission and of pleasures sweet as warm mulled wine dripped slowly in her throat.

  'Did he say anything?'

  'No,' she answered quickly, then remembered. He had said something and now the memory made her blush with shame.

  'And he expects you in his cabin, tonight?'

  'Yes,' she whispered softly to the mast.

  'I see.' He took hold of her right leg behind the knee and lifted it, so her foot slipped out of the ring, then he bent the leg and raised the knee to the level of her waist. 'Keep it there.' He left her and began doing something behind her, at the table. Then he returned. 'Keep your leg up.' She was very frightened. The finger again touched the mouth of her bottom. It smeared something on it. A small dollop of something soft and cool - a paste - now filled the small well. She found it very difficult to keep her leg up. Her leg ached. She heard him unhurriedly drying his fingers on a cloth. 'Keep still.' She pressed her hot flushed cheek against the wood and closed her eyes. 'Relax ...' But that threat only made her buttocks tense. What was it he had put there? She felt his hand pressing against the left cheek of her bottom. The hand held the strap and the leather dangled down and brushed against her thigh. 'Relax it ...'

  It, he had said. Waves of premonition kissed the small and painted mouth. He took the leg that was bent and raised it higher, until her knee lifted her jacket away and brushed against her breast. Then something touched her; something small and round was being slowly turned and pressed against her bottom. The waves of delicious fear came stronger; the cool paste spread against her. The pressure increased. 'Push ... There ...' Her bottom opened and the cool paste slipped within. Then the narrow object holding her bottom open slowly turned. The peculiar feeling - deep and drawing inside her, the same one that she had experienced when the captain touched her bottom - came again. But this time it was stronger.

  She could hear Kasger's breathing; she could feel this thing that held her body open slowly turning inside her, while her leg was tucked up high, while her belly trembled and her short curls brushed and snagged and twitched against the rough wood of the mast. Her leg was then released, but Anya did not lower it. She kept it pressed against the mast. Kasger stood back and watched her body's gentle shaking cause the leather strap to sway upon its ring and to kiss against the hard tense muscle of her upper thigh.

  The handle of the strap was taken out of her. As she was wiped dry with
a cloth, she felt her face and neck turning hot. She was overwhelmed with shame at the feelings that this terrible intimacy had provoked. And she was afraid too - of what this man had done, of what he might have put inside her - the paste. Already, she could feel something, a soft warmth there. But most of all, she was frightened by the thought of what these preparations might mean, and of how they might relate to the captain - what he might want to do. Her leg was lowered and carefully replaced within its ring, so the cheeks of her bottom were kept apart. The half-gloved hand patted them. 'You are learning,' he whispered, 'but we are not finished yet.'

  The cloth was returned to the table, then the strap was hung on a hook above her head, leaving Kasger with both hands free to explore her. Reaching beneath, he took her fleshpot, still sticky and half swollen from Travix's prolonged touching. The fingertips took the coated, clinging, roughened curls and pulled the lips apart, then the two thumbs slipped within to test their fleshy thickness, and though Anya did not want it so, her tiny tip of pleasure bestirred itself to make a bone. Each lip was squeezed between a finger and thumb; each lip thickened quickly. The thumbs slipped out, then the lips were held together - not squeezed now, but simply held - in the fingers of one hand. The fingers of the other hand, beneath her jacket, stroked the smooth skin in the small of her back. They found the sensitive downy hair and brushed against it gently while, between her legs, her flesh was held with the small bone of pleasure trapped inside. The fingers slowly moved her flesh lips and her body stayed still and tense; the small bone peeped out from its hood and her body seeped new oil which liquefied that stickiness, wet those curls and soaked into the leather of his glove. She murmured softly, though she did not want it so.