A Captive of Chance

by Zoe Blake

  “You don’t get to choose your punishment,” growled Chance as he grabbed Belle by her up-swept hair and repositioned her on her knees.

  Belle clenched her eyes and her bottom cheeks as she braced for the next strike. She did not have long to wait.

  Once again, there was a scary whistle sound before the cane struck her vulnerable skin. Belle cried out and her thighs shook, but she remained on her knees.

  Chance watched as the cane pushed into the soft flesh of her ass with each strike. First, there would be an angry red slash, the thin shape of the cane. Then a pink blush would slowly blossom around the edges. Soon there was a patchwork of crisscrossed lines over a deep, pink flush. Stroking the length of the cane, Chance could feel the warm surface knowing it was Belle’s own punished skin which heated it.

  Belle bit her lip so hard she tasted the sick, metallic tang of blood on her tongue. Her fingers clung to the headboard so tightly, they were white. Every pulsing throb of her bottom sent another shiver of pain up her spine. The stinging blows of the cane seemed endless. Feeling like her skin had endured a hundred angry pinches, she begged him to stop.

  “Please, I’m sorry. Don’t! Don’t,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry.”

  Chance ignored her pleas, warming the skin of her upper thighs with the same intensity as her ass. He did not stop till he could feel the heat radiating from her punished skin. Satisfied with the deep, red glow.

  “Open your mouth,” he commanded.

  Belle hesitated, staring at him with pain-filled eyes. Chance struck her once more across her bruised ass.

  “Open your mouth,” he repeated.

  Sobbing, Belle opened her mouth wide. Chance placed the hated cane across her lips. “Bite down on it,” he ordered. Whimpering, Belle obeyed, feeling the warm wood against the edge of her lips, swiping her tongue along the smooth, bamboo surface.

  Belle was forced to hold in her mouth the very thing that just caused her so much pain and torment as Chance prepared her next punishment. Once again, she could hear him moving about the trunks in the cabin. Shivering with dread at the unknown, Belle moaned past her wooden gag as the pain in her bottom ebbed and flowed in hot, stinging waves.

  Chance returned with a large, cylindrical piece of wood in his hand. In answer to the bewildered look in her eyes, Chance explained. “This is a handle from a ship wheel and I’m going to force it up your ass.”

  Chance waited till his words cut through the fog of pain in her mind. He could tell the instant his words registered with her. Belle’s sapphire blue eyes turned a pale, bright blue with fear and agitation. Furiously shaking her head, she began to beg him through the wooden gag. Shaking his head, he removed the cane from her mouth.

  “Oh god. You can’t. Please, please don’t put that in me!” she cried.

  “You made a choice to defy me. This is the consequence.”

  Belle stared at the handle in horror. It was at least nine inches long and three inches wide. It had a long, bulbous tip that narrowed over four, thick carved rings at the base.

  “It’s not possible,” she whimpered in fear.

  “I assure you it is,” said Chance, his voice low and determined. “Place your cheek against the bedding and reach back and pull open your ass cheeks.”

  This was too much for Belle. Not only was he going to kill her by forcing that handle up her bottom, but he expected her to assist!

  Shaking her head no, Belle started to shimmy backwards on her knees, holding up her hands in a placating gesture.

  “No. I can’t. You can’t. Please stop this!”

  Chance slowly stroked the smooth wood surface of the handle without even looking up at her. “Either return to your knees and do as I say, or you will receive this same punishment tied naked to my mast with all my crew looking on.” Chance had no intention of ever exposing her to such a degradation let alone another man’s gaze, but she had no way of truly knowing that.

  Terrified at the threat, Belle scrambled to return to position. Kneeling, she placed her cheek on the bed, her bottom in the air. Gingerly grasping a reddened cheek in each hand, she pulled them open. Tears of fear and humiliation ran down her face. She had never felt so exposed in her entire life.

  Chance looked at her tiny, puckered hole. Watching as it quivered and shook with each breath she took. Not wanting to permanently harm her, Chance generously coated the tip of the handle with salve, also running two salve-coated fingertips over her back entrance. He took in the sight of the slightly dark pink skin surrounding her entrance as it glistened from the salve.

  Belle let out a long, plaintive wail the moment she felt the unrelenting push of the handle against her hidden passage. She tried squeezing the tiny entrance tightly closed but that only seemed to make the pain worse. Slowly, she could feel her muscles relent and open as the wooden object forced its way inside her body.

  Chance watched her body relent and open. Watched as the wooden handle stretched her open painfully wide. Watched the dark pink skin turn white from strain.

  Belle shifted her hips. An uncomfortable pressure began to build as the handle pushed further inside of her. There was the soreness at the entrance as it was stretched and pulled, but deep inside her passage there was a throbbing tension. Her stomach began to clench from both fear and pain. The cramping only seemed to increase her discomfort as her body spasmed trying to push the offending object out as it pushed in.

  Her little bottom slowly swallowed the wooden cock inch by painful inch.

  “What’s in your ass, Belle?”

  “A wooden handle,” she sniffed.

  “Why have I forced a wooden handle up your ass?”

  “Because I was a bad girl and ran away,” whimpered Belle.

  “No,” he ground out, giving the handle a twist that ripped a shriek of pain from Belle. “Try again.”

  Remembering what he said earlier, she answered, “Because it is your desire to punish me at your will.”

  “Are you mine, Belle?”

  “I’m yours,” she quickly answered and meant it. Despite all the pain, she knew she deserved it. Knew she had caused him far more pain from fear and worry. Knew he was lashing out at that fear more than at her.

  “Punish your own ass with the handle,” he darkly demanded.

  “What… How? I… I don’t know. I can’t,” stuttered a confused Belle.

  “You can and you will. Pull out the handle and force it back into your ass. Show me you’re mine. Show me you’re truly sorry for defying me.”

  Belle braced her weight on her left forearm and awkwardly reached back with her right. Grasping the circular edge of the handle, she gave it a gentle pull, surprised when it didn’t give. She pulled a little harder. Still it remained securely up her bottom. She tugged harder, it finally started to slide out. Belle gave a gasp and stopped when a sharp pang shot through her as the widest part of the bulbous top once again forced her tiny entrance wide.

  “Keep going,” edged Chance.

  Giving him an almost defiant look, Belle stubbornly gave the handle a harsh yank, completely dislodging it from her body. She gave a sigh of relief as the tension that had been building ceased.

  “Now force it back in,” said Chance, his voice sounding strained. His intention had been to punish Belle to force her to recognize his mastery. He was unprepared for the shaft of desire he would feel at her stubborn pout as she obeyed him.

  Readjusting her grip, Belle placed the tip of the handle against her sore entrance. Capturing his gaze, she rebelliously held it as she slowly forced the handle back up her own bottom.

  Despite it sliding in more easily this time, Belle was still surprised at how much pressure she had to use. She could feel the moment her bottom gave away and the handle surged forward to the hilt ripping a startled, painful gasp from her. Still she did not break eye contact with Chance. Wanting him to see her hurt and sacrifice for what it was truly.

  “Again,” Chance choked out, his own voice strangled with desire from
her bold display. The saucy wench was turning the tables on her own punishment!

  Smoothly pulling the handle free this time, Belle watched him intently as she pushed it back deep inside her body. She was becoming aroused. The pain had dulled into a warm throb that sent tingles and twitches between her thighs, but really it was his reaction to her punishing herself. His cock straining against his britches. His tongue as it swirled over his lower lip. The muscles of his strong chest rippling as he took broad, restraining breaths, trying to leash his lust.

  When the handle was buried to the hilt, Belle gave it a small twist, moaning at the delicious mix of pressure, pain and pleasure. It was Chance’s undoing.

  Launching himself onto the bed, he knelt behind her prone form. Pulling his engorged cock free, desire making his tone savage, he said, “I’ll be damned before you get pleasure from a fucking piece of wood.”

  Pushing her hand away, he pulled the handle free from her ass. Before her entrance had a chance to close, he had forced the bulbous tip of his cock through. Pausing to savor the feel of her body, closing tightly around his flesh, Chance placed his hands on her hips and prepared to thrust deep.

  Belle gripped handfuls of the bed linens as she buried her head in the covers, muffling her screams. Relentlessly his cock speared into her flesh, the feel of it nothing like the wooden handle. With each thrust, he pushed further, deeper, tormenting her with spasms of pain followed by pangs of pleasure.

  Chance slid his hands over her hips and up her sides to enclose each breast. Covering her with his warm body, his cock buried to the hilt, he harshly whispered against her neck, “What’s in your ass, Belle?”

  “Your cock,” she breathed.

  “Why’s my cock in your ass?” he asked with a quick thrust of his hips for emphasis.

  “Because I’m yours,” she moaned.

  “Mon petit trésor that you are… and I’m never giving you up.”

  Belle barely heard his vow as a powerful release racked her body. She fell forward, overcome. Chance continued to thrust into her tight depths, riding out each ripple of pleasure that coursed through her body, causing her inner muscles to clench and tighten.

  Feeling the pressure build, Chance threw his head back and roared like an animal as his cum filled her back passage. Collapsing next to her on the bed, Chance pulled her into his arms.

  Kissing the top of her head, he murmured, “I think you need another bath.”

  Belle laughed outright as she gave him a playful slap on his chest. “Es escandaloso, pirata! Este es en usted!” she said, chiding him for his scandalous words.

  “Ah, mon petit trésor, I beg to differ. This one is not on me as much as it is in you!” he said, laughing at her shocked expression at his dirty jest.

  Instantly forgetting the painful lesson of her very recent punishment, Belle struggled to get out of his grasp, looking about for a weapon, preferably another chamber pot to throw at his smug head. “¡Déjame ir!”

  Chance rolled on top of her, pinning her arms above her head, all trace of humor gone from his eyes. “No, my Belle, I will not let you go. Ever.”

  Belle ceased to struggle, startled at the vehemence of his words. Knowing what they cost him to admit.

  Leaning up, she placed a shy, chaste kiss on his lips. “Let’s play chess again,” she said, breaking the tension. Knowing neither was ready to admit what was really on their minds and in their hearts. “I will not let you win this time,” she teased with a saucy toss of her black curls.

  “Oh, my Belle, have you not learned? Le Chanceux never loses.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Her Choice

  “Ow,” exclaimed Belle as she placed the tip of her finger in her mouth, sucking the small bead of blood away.

  Marina laughed. “You really are rubbish at this. I mean, I’m not jesting. Rubbish!”

  “All right! All right!” laughed Belle. “But I am determined. Surely that must count for something!”

  Marina gave her a skeptical look. In the fortnight since Belle’s failed escape attempt, the two had become quite close. It seemed Belle and the captain had reached an understanding. She was no longer kept under lock and key. Marina suspected it was a similar understanding to what she had with Drake and Gregor but their new-found familiarity did not extend that far, so she did not pry.

  As a gesture to show her regret for ruining Marina’s dress in her escape and to symbolize their new relationship as friends and not employer and companion, Belle had insisted on sewing a new dress for Marina. There was just one problem. Belle did not know how to sew… at all. It was discussed to alter one of Belle’s gowns since Chance had surprised her one afternoon by returning her dress trunk. Of course with the stipulation that she was only allowed to wear them on the deck. When she was in his cabin, he wanted to only see her in one of his shirts. Marina refused mainly because she did not want to be a part of Belle essentially destroying one of her beautiful dresses!

  Marina offered to teach Belle during their afternoons whiling away the time on Fortune’s Fate. The men had thoughtfully brought up a pair of chairs onto the deck so they could enjoy some fresh air and sunshine. Looking ruefully at the irregular stitches and uneven panels of what was affectionately called a dress, Marina just smiled. Chance had already promised to replace her dress with a silk one the moment they reached port. No one told Belle, not wanting to hurt her feelings.

  “Use the thimble when you’re pushing the needle through,” cautioned Marina patiently.

  Belle bent to her task, feeling very pleased with how the dress was turning out.

  * * *

  “That is by far the ugliest dress I have ever laid eyes on,” mused Drake from the bridge where they were observing the women.

  “Shut your trap,” groused Chance. “That is my woman you are talking about.”

  “Not at all,” corrected Drake. “Your woman is beautiful. The dress is beyond ugly.”

  Chance laughed good-naturedly. “I think I will have to buy Marina two dresses at this point. One for the ruined one and one for the patience she is showing supposedly helping Belle replace it!”

  “What the hell are you two laughing about?” asked a surly Gregor as he topped the steps to the bridge.

  “Don’t take your sore mood out on us,” said Drake. “No one makes you play Shut the Box with Marina.”

  “Damn wench is the devil with a pair of dice! If they weren’t my own, I’d swear she weighted the damn things!” complained Gregor.

  “What did she make you do this time?” asked a thoroughly amused Chance.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” said Gregor, blushing slightly.

  “The lass has proven herself to be as creative as we are in bed sport,” offered Drake. “And as handy with the cat-o-nines.”

  “Don’t you two have something better to do?” griped Gregor. “It’s my turn at the helm.”

  “I think I will rescue Marina from Belle,” said Drake with a wink. “It’s time she put those fingers to better use.”

  Thinking time spent with his own woman was a jolly good idea, Chance went to follow suit, when he heard the alarm call from the crow’s nest.

  Grabbing a scope, he scanned the watery horizon. Then Chance spotted it. A British galleon two leagues away and closing fast.

  “God dammit!” he shouted. “Raise the alarm,” he ordered to the closest crew member, tossing him the scope. Chance jumped over the steps leading to the lower deck in his haste to reach Belle. The women were already on their feet having heard the first alarm cry from the crow’s nest.

  Drake was already ushering Marina down to the lower passage to safety.

  “What is it?” asked a frightened Belle.

  “A British galleon,” answered Chance.

  “Are you going to fight?”

  Chance shook his head no. He would not risk it with her on board. “We are far out gunned. Our best shot is to outrun it.”

  “Can we?”

  “Fortune’s
Fate is the fastest clipper on the sea. Her speed is no match for the gun-weighted galleon.”

  It was one of the reasons for Chance’s overwhelming success at sea. He valued speed and agility over cannons. Preferring to outmaneuver his prey, sparing their ship, rather than poking holes in a perfectly good vessel.

  “I need you to go to the cabin and stay there,” said Chance as he gripped her shoulders. “Do not open the door for anyone but me.”

  Belle nodded her head yes, not trusting her voice to speak. Chance gave her a quick kiss before pushing her toward the passageway.

  Drake had already returned. “I put Marina in your cabin so the women can be together.”

  Chance nodded his head in agreement, already lost in thought over the possible battle ahead. Looking over the horizon, Chance watched as the ship rapidly closed distance. “The wind is not in our favor. We can’t outrun her.”

  “Well then, who are we this time?” asked Drake. “Merchants from Venice? Rum Runners from Africa?” he asked, referring to the different duplicitous ways they had avoided getting caught in the past. Chance was never stupid or arrogant enough to fly his own flag like some other pirates, preferring the strategic advantage of not flying a flag until one was necessary.

  “French privateers I believe,” said Chance.

  “Excellent choice!” agreed Drake as he motioned for a crew member, instructing them to retrieve the French flag from a trunk below and lower the wooden placard over the Fortune’s Fate script to hide the name of the ship.

  “Have half the crew ready arms and stash below. We will allow a small party from their ship to board, if things go wrong, we will be ready. Hopefully we can get the drop on their captain and convince them not to broadside us with cannon shot,” said Chance ruefully.

  Drake gave Chance a tense look that conveyed all that was not said. They had played this dangerous game more times than they could count. It was one of the ways Chance had earned the moniker “Le Chanceux”. This time was different. The stakes were higher. They did not just risk their own necks but the lives of the two women below. Two women who had come to mean a great deal to both of them.