A Captive of Chance

by Zoe Blake

  “Stop! It hurts!” shrieked Belle desperately twisting against her wrist binds.

  Ignoring her pleas, Chance continued her punishment, peppering her ass with red stripes from the unrelenting riding crop.

  Belle cringed each time she heard the whistle of the crop moments before it struck her exposed body. The throbbing sting intensified with each blow. This was nothing like the spanking with his belt earlier. The torment was more acute. The whipping of the thin wooden rod causing a bruising sensation. The flick of the leather tongue immediately after, stinging with red heat. The combination brought her to tears.

  “Have mercy! I’m begging you,” cried Isabelle, not sure she could take another flick from the crop.

  “Oh my dear, you have not begun to beg.”

  Giving her upper thighs a few slashes for good measure, Chance was pleased at the flaming blush that enveloped her ass. He placed one large hand over a reddened globe, wanting to feel the heat from her pain. Belle started at the contact.

  Prowling about her at a deliberate pace, Chance moved to her front. Running his knuckles down her tear-streaked cheek, he soothed, “It’s almost over.”

  “Please. I learned my lesson,” she cried. “The pain is too much!”

  Chance pushed the riding crop’s leather tongue against her pussy, forcing it between her legs, despite Belle’s best effort to keep them tightly closed. Rubbing the crop back and forth, he pulled it back and held up the damning evidence of her own traitorous arousal.

  “Is it too much or not enough?” he said, looking confidently pleased. “Admit it, ma petite, you like the pain.”

  “No, no!”

  Chance harshly flicked her left nipple with the riding crop till it glowed an angry red, the tip swollen and throbbing.

  “Stop!”

  “Admit it,” Chance ground out. The sight of her stretched and at his mercy, her skin glowing a glorious red from his own administrations was quickly fraying his limited self-control.

  Belle swallowed hard and raised her chin, glaring at him defiantly. “No!” She would rather die than admit the kiss of his lash aroused her.

  “Spread your legs,” he ordered. His voice hardened with desire.

  “Wh… what?”

  The riding crop fell swiftly against the delicate underside of her right breast. Belle cried out.

  “Spread your legs,” he commanded more savagely.

  Belle took in his clenched jaw and icy glare and prudently decided not to press him further. Hesitantly, she unlocked her knees and opened her legs… slightly.

  “Wider,” he barked.

  Startled, Belle opened her legs wide, giving him an unhindered look at the hidden gem between.

  His green eyes glowed with dark desire as he lowered the riding crop and then brought it swiftly up between her open legs, striking a stinging blow against her exposed pussy.

  Belle howled in pain as she quickly closed her knees.

  “Don’t make me tell you again, Belle,” warned Chance.

  With a tearful sob, Belle opened her knees again but not without begging, “Please. Please don’t.”

  Chance whipped the crop up a second time. The soft delicate lips of her pussy swelled and pinked under the assault. The sharp throbbing pain sending spasms through her body. With every vibration, she felt an unwanted twinge of pleasure. Belle bit her lip as she tried to contain her reaction, but it was too late, Chance saw every nuance.

  Dropping the crop, he lowered to his knees and buried his face against her stomach, breathing in the scent of her arousal. Pressing the tip of his nose against her soft curls, he ran the tip of his tongue along her pussy lips, feeling the heat from the riding crop’s punishment.

  “Oh god,” moaned Belle, unsure of what was happening. Lost in a duel of pleasure and pain.

  Chance swirled his tongue around her bundle of nerves, using every throb, every shiver, and every stinging rush of heat to his advantage. Sensing she was close to release, he reached around her to grasp each delicious globe in his large hand. Giving the heated skin a painful squeeze, he sucked her clit deep into his mouth, grazing it with his teeth.

  Belle’s thighs tightened against his jaw as her body shook with the power of her release.

  Light-headed and overwhelmed by the unwanted surge of euphoria, Belle did not react when Chance rose to his full height and once again placed her legs around his waist, until she felt the press of the cock he had released from the tight confines of his britches.

  “No, wait.”

  “Shhh…” he whispered as he used his shaft to stimulate her already sensitive clit, gently gliding, pressing its length, driving her to a second release.

  “No more. No more,” she moaned, tossing her head side to side.

  “I’m afraid there is a great deal more,” he quipped as he positioned the large, bulbous tip of his cock at her slick entrance.

  Re-adjusting his grip to hold her under her thighs, he pressed his hips upwards, pushing the tip into her warm heat.

  Belle gasped. “No. I’m a maiden! You cannot do this to me! This is my husband’s right, not yours!”

  Chance felt a rush of primitive fury at the thought of another man between her thighs.

  “You are mine,” he growled. “There will be no husband.”

  Surging upwards, he impaled her delicate frame on his thick shaft, pushing through her maidenhead with ruthless determination.

  If her wrists had not been bound, keeping her upright, Belle would have collapsed from the burning sharp pain as he forced her body to give way to his. Her tender passage cramped and strained as he thrust his shaft in deep. It felt like he was tearing her apart from the inside.

  After what felt like an eternity, a now familiar warmth started to spread across her limbs. The clamping, searing strain of her inner muscles gave way to a slowly building tension.

  Chance clenched his teeth and lowered his brow with strain. Despite his brutal taking of her virginity, he had no wish to really harm her. Tempering his powerful thrusts, careful to not go too deep, at least for his first taking of her tender pussy. It was taking all he had to restrain himself.

  Pushing into her small passage was like finding home. Despite her mind’s unwillingness, her body accepted its master. She was so warm, wet and tight. He felt every ripple of tension as it moved from her body up his shaft. He could feel her release against his cock before she was even aware of it herself.

  The moment her body fell slack from the effort of her release, he plunged in as deep as he dared. Feeling an extreme rush as he felt his cum coat her hidden pink flesh, Chance buried his face against her damp neck and breathed deep, needing a moment.

  Reaching up, he released the belt buckle and carried Belle’s limp frame to his bed. Belle kept her eyes closed, groaning and moving to her side the moment her sore and tender skin felt the cool bed linens. Without thought for his actions, without dwelling on how he had never done so for any other woman or captive, Chance reached into a drawer and pulled out a healing salve he had procured off a Chinese sloop they raided a few months ago.

  After bathing her with a cloth dipped in cool water, Chance carefully rubbed the healing salve over her breasts and bottom, even the soft skin between her thighs. Standing over her, he realized she had fallen asleep.

  Brushing back a thick black curl, he gave her a kiss on the cheek before quietly leaving the cabin… making sure to lock the door.

  * * *

  Chance joined his men down in the galley. Drake was supervising the division of the spoils from their last strike.

  “That little spitfire is literally worth her weight in gold,” observed Drake. “Her dowry trunk was filled to the brim with gold, jewels, even some silver.

  Chance nodded only half listening.

  “There was also an impressive amount of seaweed and hair bobs, but I gave it all to the mermaids and dolphins,” said Drake sardonically.

  “Hmm…” responded a distracted Chance. “Fine job, Drake.”
<
br />   “Chance!” admonished his closest friend. “You are not attending a word I’ve spoken!”

  “Sorry, friend, you are right. You have my full attention.”

  “The haul was great. We got twenty barrels of fine American tobacco. Countless reams of silk and damask. Provisions from their store as well as your captive’s dowry chest.”

  “Very good. Break into one of the tobacco barrels and give each man a ration along with their usual ration of rum. Leave the rest for us to sell when we get to port.”

  “And the dowry chest?” asked Drake.

  “The usual with allowances made for our additional good fortune,” said Chance, clapping his friend on the shoulder.

  As the captain, Chance would receive a third of the haul with the remainder being split among the crew depending on rank. Chance was scrupulously fair for a pirate, at least to his men. He would ensure his and Drake’s portion accounted for them both receiving the added booty of women from the haul. The rest they would sell at port and divide up the spoils.

  He watched as their cook, Ol’ Salt, came shuffling in. Ol’ Salt had been with him since he first sailed. After losing the use of his left leg during one of their skirmishes, Chance had made him cook rather than put him ashore. The old man’s face, weather-beaten from decades of salt spray and unrelenting sun, broke into a huge grin. ‘Thought you’d never ask, Captain,’ he had said then. Chance smiled at the memory. Turns out Ol’ Salt knew his way around a boiling pot.

  “Eat up you scurvy lot!” groused Ol’ Salt as he slammed a pot of salt pork stew on the rough-hewn table. A cabin boy followed closely behind with a platter of biscuits and stewed vegetables.

  “Vegetables!” said Chance with a raised eyebrow.

  “Ah, your Lucky moniker served us well. The ship must have stopped for fresh provisions and were foolish enough to spend good coin on vegetables!” commented an amused Drake.

  “I got a tray for your lady friends,” said Ol’ Salt as he passed Drake and the captain. Despite his fierce appearance, he always had a soft spot for a gentle maiden. “There’s fresh butter for their biscuits.”

  “Why, Ol’ Salt, you old softy!” teased Chance.

  “Nothing about it,” grumbled the old man. “Be foolish to waste good churned cream on this lot. Might as well give it to the women.”

  Drake and Chance smiled, not the least bit fooled.

  Reaching into a nearby crate, Drake grabbed a bottle of rum with one hand and the tray the cook extended with the other. “Well, there’s no point talking with you two hairy beasts when Gregor and I have a pair of lovely thighs to get between,” he chuckled, walking away with his small feast.

  Chance tossed his head back and laughed. Grabbing the other tray from Ol’ Salt, he chose instead to grab some red wine before heading back to his cabin. Smiling as he wondered what state he would find his little spitfire in. Temperate or in a temper, either way she would be entertaining, he thought with a grin as he whistled a bawdy shanty on his way down the passageway.

  Chapter Six

  His Move

  Chance entered his darkened cabin and immediately ducked… just in case. It was a needless gesture. Belle was still fast asleep in his bed. Brushing aside the feeling of contentment at seeing her sweet form tangled among his bed linens, Chance crossed to the table and laid down the tray and wine bottle.

  Belle felt a warm hand on her waist.

  “Vete Quiero dormir,” she murmured before turning on to her stomach, giving Chance a view of her pert backside, which still bore the mark of his punishment.

  Giving her a playful swat on her bottom, Chance said smugly, “I can see your desire to lounge about in my bed, hoping for more of my cock, ma petite, but you really should eat something before we have another go at it.”

  With an indignant shriek, Belle flew out of the bed, only to quickly realize she was still bare as the day she was born. Grabbing the linen, she hastily wrapped it around her body and then over her shoulders as best she could.

  Chance just laughed as he gestured to the table.

  “Your knight errant has brought his fair maiden a feast!” he said with a theatric gesture.

  “You are hardly a white knight, sir,” she responded sharply.

  “And you are no longer a maiden,” he said with a strange gentle look in his eye that only served to confuse Belle further.

  Deciding it was not worth the fight, Belle raised an indifferent shoulder and crept closer to the table, drawn by the savory scent and inviting steam wafting above the dishes.

  “Come. Sit. I shall serve us both,” offered Chance, who was in a very content mood.

  “Could I have something to put on?” asked Belle shyly.

  “And rob me of the lovely visage of your ample bosom? No, my Belle.”

  Acquiescing, Belle sat at the table and watched from lowered lashes as he spooned great heaps of the tantalizing stew into her bowl. Hunger out ruling decorum, Belle picked up her spoon and sampled the savory dish before Chance had even taken a seat. She had swallowed several large spoonfuls before remembering herself.

  Sitting back, she apologized for her unladylike behavior. She may be the captive of a pirate, but that was no excuse to act like a heathen at the supper table!

  “If you do not continue to attack that stew with the same amount of relish, I will bend you over my knee,” replied Chance with mock severity. It was a beautiful sight to watch a woman enjoy her food, particularly this woman. The way her small mouth closed over the spoon. Her appreciative moans each time the flavorful stew slid down her throat. The pale pink flush that spread across her caramel skin as the warm food replenished her.

  Belle was aware of his scrutiny, repeatedly adjusting the linen to cover her shoulders as much as possible. At least it gave her something to focus on. The last thing she wanted to do was look at the man eating his own portion of stew with gusto across from her. It really was not fair that so handsome and well-spoken a man should be a pirate!

  In her opinion, people should resemble their natures, but there again, she ran into trouble with Chance. There was no question he was selfish, ruthless and arrogant. Everything she assumed a pirate would be. Yet, she could not say he was blood-thirsty or overly cruel, which she had also assumed would be the nature of a pirate. It did not escape her attention that he let the crew of the ship she was traveling on continue with their journey unharmed. It was obvious he was rather charming.

  True he had taken her captive, but was her fate now worse than it had been before? She was on her way to a joyless marriage with a seventy year old man. While Chance had yet to mention asking for a ransom, Belle assumed he would demand one from her father. She would insist it covered her companion, Marina, as well. It would be only a matter of weeks before she could return to her beloved island home. Given her now soiled state, her father would not be able to force her into another marriage.

  There were of course the punishments. Belle blushed at the recollection. Shaking her head no, she refused to think about the punishments or her body’s embarrassing reaction to them.

  “You have been quite pensive and are now shaking your head no. Is the stew not to your liking?” asked Chance. He had been having a pleasant time reading the play of emotion as one after the other crossed her comely face.

  Her blush deepened at even the possibility he could have guessed the direction of her wayward thoughts. “The stew is very fine,” she responded softly. “Can I ask what has become of Marina?” she beseeched, wanting to take advantage of his unusually still mood.

  “At this moment, I believe she is enjoying some very fine rum and two of my finest men,” he pleasantly replied.

  “But you can’t mean… you don’t mean to say…” Belle could not finish.

  Chance leaned over the table to stare directly into her shocked eyes. “Your sweet, innocent companion is apparently more sassy than sweet and very much not an innocent even before my men got to her.”

  There were virtually no, what
society would call, respectable women on the tiny island in the Azores from where she hailed who were willing to take the sea voyage from sunny warm shores to cold, dank England. So her father had to be content with a respectable looking one. As such, Belle was hardly shocked she was not a maiden, but the idea of her bedding two pirates was beyond what she could comprehend. Belle could barely handle the one!

  Chance pushed their plates aside and poured them both a draft of wine. “No more talk of your companion. Let us have a game. Do you play chess?”

  “Why yes, I do.”

  “Try not to look so shocked that a pirate does as well,” he said as he rose to get the board, tweaking her cheek as he passed. Belle took a long sip of wine to steady her nerves. Yes, it was obvious the man was charming!

  Setting up the board between them, he said with a twinkle in his eye, “Let me explain the rules of pirate chess.”

  “Pirate chess?”

  “Yes, every time you forfeit a piece, you must also forfeit coin.”

  “But I have no coin, you have taken it all.”

  “Hmmm… well that is a dilemma,” he said, seeming to stroke his chin in deep thought. “Well, we will just have to come up with something else for you to forfeit.”

  Belle held her breath in expectation of what he would ask, not daring to admit what she secretly hoped.

  After a dramatic pause, Chance said, “You shall forfeit a few inches of skin.”

  “What!”

  “Yes, that is it,” exclaimed Chance, warming up to the idea. “You shall raise… or lower… that troublesome linen that is covering up your delectable body from my sight.”

  “And what shall be your forfeit?”

  “What does mon petit trésor want?” His voice a seductive purr.

  “Answers.”

  Now it was Chance’s turn to look perplexed.

  “You must answer my questions,” clarified Belle.

  “We have ourselves a game!” he declared. “Ladies first.”

  She was the white pieces, of course. Belle boldly moved her knight forward. Chance followed suit with his own dark knight. After several moves, her white pawn was the first to fall.