King of My Nightmare (King of My Nightmare, Book 1): Endless Horizon Pirate Stories

by Cristi Taijeron

  Willingly accepting my surge of passion, she touched me all over as I moved my mouth down her neck and across her chest. She didn’t have much for tits, but they were better than none. And once I had all of her clothes off of her, I was hardly impressed by her stick like frame and her boney hips, but she had what I needed and it was wet and warm to the touch. Oh, my God. I needed to be in there. Now. Opening my breeches, finding myself as hard as the rock she was shoved up against, I prepared to push myself inside her, but she stopped me.

  I paused for a moment, wondering what the hell I would do if she said no…To my great relief, she handed me a sheepskin. She wasn’t resisting. Good, and good thinking. I wrapped the protective sheath around me and then pushed myself inside her. She bit on her lip and clawed at my back as I thrust my hips against her, hard and fast. This was real. I was sticking it to a woman. And she was moaning and sighing and arching her back as she grabbed my arse to pull me closer. I wanted to be closer and deeper. Harder and harder and faster and faster. This was too much. It had been too long. I couldn’t hold out…Squeezing her tight, I exploded inside of her.

  Relieved of all the pent up pressure I’d been repressing for months on end, I fell limp on top of her.

  Lying on her like she was nothing more than the dirt beneath her, I could have fallen asleep right then. But she poked my shoulder. “You are heavy.”

  Pushing myself up with one arm, I looked at her unfamiliar, and not very pretty face and chuckled, “And inadequate.”

  She winced in confusion.

  I laughed, “Well, I don’t think you wandered over here in the darkness for a twenty second fuck.”

  “True. I was hoping more for an all-night romance that I would remember forever.”

  “Tell you what.” I wrapped my arm around her back and rolled over, pushing her up on top of me. “Show me what you can do and I’ll consider giving you more to remember.”

  After releasing a bashful little giggle, she started moving over me in a way that was quite contrary to the shyness she attempted to portray. This young girl, whoever the hell she was, knew what she was doing and she did it well enough to get me going again right away. Letting my arms fall to my sides, I laid there like a king as the Dutch smuggler’s rebellious daughter rode me in the moonlight.

  Maybe Barlow was right about whores being the best thing that ever happened to sailors. Not that Inga was a whore, but a woman who would sneak out to fuck a buccaneer in the dirt wasn’t much different. Thinking of the sheepskins she came prepared with, I snickered to myself about how this very well could have been the type of trouble she caused at home. But that was no concern of mine. Of the many things I had learned from the buccaneers, our past lives mattered not. Ah, with a wench like this—one who knew just how to please me, and knew how to keep from getting heavy with child—I was indeed benefiting from the joys of having a woman without dealing with any of the troubles.

  And just like with a whore, there was no love lost and no tears shed when Inga Zeeger sailed away two days later. With my moral dilemmas set aside, I was able to let loose and enjoy myself when I ended up in a fuck tent with the goddamn whores that Barlow and Peckadennel gifted me.

  They were all ugly, but I was drunk and there were at least three of them, so there were plenty of things other than faces for my blurry eyes to focus on. With women, just like with liquor, standards go down when options go down, and in that tent I behaved in a way that was no better than the jungle savages I was appalled by when these sluts showed up. Maybe one day I would look back on this mess and wince in disgust about what a boorish hound I had become, but at the moment, I had liquor and women, freedom and respect, and as far as I was concerned, that was fine by me.

  Chapter 17

  Spanish Territory

  Since the trade fair was now a month behind us, and all the smugglers were gone from our village, we carried on in our usual way. Well, almost usual. For the most part, we were still hunting and cooking and building things, but now we had a permanent fuck tent in camp and that changed the dynamic of the group considerably.

  Of all the whores LeRouge had for sale, the men chose to keep Fat Annie, the ugliest, but most willing whore of the bunch. She was just as crude and disgusting as the men who forsook their responsibilities to wait in line and sometimes fight over the duration of their visits with her. While others wasted their time with her, I spent most of the passing month hunting and fishing with Burton and Joshua, both of which thought the fuck tent was an abomination of all that was holy.

  Just this morning, Burton suggested we get away from the slapping, growling and howling ringing out from that tent, by rowing my canoe up the coast for a cattle hunt. Knowing that Barlow’s friend Brass would be here with a ship any day now, I was more than happy to take my prized canoe on what could very well be my last adventure around the island I loved.

  Quickly, I dressed in my old bloodstained clothes, armed myself with all my weapons, and coated my skin in war paint. Joshua decided to stay at camp this time, but agreed to help Peckadennel watch over the prisoners. After Burton laid out the ground rules for them, he helped me round up some hunting hounds for the adventure. As I pet and fed Stripes, Tallulah, and Calahu and told them what we had planned for the day, Fat Annie stuck her pox-ridden face out of the fuck tent. Shoving Ziare out of the flap, she cat called in my direction, “Bring that big ol’ cock back over here, Mason Bentley. You know I like the young meat best.”

  Blech. I gagged in my mouth. I’d only made a few drunk and desperate visits into that godforsaken place, but Fat Annie’s frequent hoots about why she liked Ziare and me, the youngest of her visitors, the best, served as a constant reminder of the debaucherously drunken occurrences I could hardly remember but would never be able to forget.

  Far too sober for any of that shit today, I ignored her completely and led my dogs toward the water.

  Ziare caught up with me and huffed, “That was so awful, again.”

  He had visited Fat Annie’s tent more than once, but his humorous regrets over his weakness for her beckon call always made me laugh.

  “Ah, you know you like her as much as she likes you.” I slapped his arm as we wandered down the sandy path that led to the beach.

  “I don’t. I swear I don’t.” He shook his head in dramatic shame. “But the things she does with that mouth of hers…”

  Faintly remembering what that ugly wench could do with that mouth of hers, I agreed out loud and even chimed in as he carried on with the details.

  By now we had caught up to Burton who was dragging his sea chest to the canoe. Catching on to our conversation, he grumbled, “Don’t say another word about it or I’ll steal this canoe and leave you two here with that soulless hussy and those mindless men I’m trying to get away from.”

  “All right, all right,” Ziare laughed at the prudish old cur.

  I agreed to change the subject as I tossed my sea bag in the canoe and then helped the happy hunting hounds in.

  From up on top of the bank, Barlow hooted, “Wait! I want to go, too!”

  Considering how I spotted him passed out drunk on a rock, I had not thought to invite him. While watching him lose his footing and tumble down the sandy pass, I almost wished he had stayed asleep. Billy Barlow was one of those men who could not handle his liquor, and it’d be better for the whole world if he could come to terms with that and quit drinking altogether.

  The moment he landed, face down in a mud puddle, Naked peered over the bank. “Where are you people going?”

  “Far from you people,” Burton responded while I helped him lift his sea chest—full of guns and ammunition—into the canoe. I was happy to see how well Eraiza Lace carried the weight.

  Bounding down the bank with his dog, Pretty Boy, in tow, Naked giggled, “I love you too, Burton, you sweet old man.”

  As he hopped over Barlow, who was still struggling to rise from the puddle, I told him where we were headed, “We are going for a hunt up the coast. Ziare and I
have spotted cattle grazing a meadow overlooking the shore not far from here.”

  He clapped his hands. “Oh, can Pretty Boy and I join you? There is a certain herb that grows in those meadows and I could use it for a stew I love to make.”

  As Pretty Boy jumped in alongside his dog friends, I waved my hand to welcome Naked aboard. “Sure, hop on in.”

  Naked held his hand out for help like a dainty woman. I laughed at myself for assisting him just like I would with a woman.

  Once he was in, sitting crossed legged and grinning like a happy little girl, I went over to get Barlow out of the damn mud puddle.

  He was slipping and sliding and nearly pulled me down with him a time or two, but I somehow managed to help him up without making a mess of myself. Once he was standing somewhat solid, I stroked my goatee that had already grown an inch since I had last shaved it and asked, “Can you keep yourself focused enough to not scare away the cows with your stumbling?”

  He jerked his arm away from my hold. “Yes. I’m fine, oh father dear. I just need to get away from this place. And that rotgut.” He gagged a little and looked like he was ready to throw up his breakfast.

  “All right, then.” I patted the one dry spot on his otherwise mud covered back. “But if you vomit in my canoe I’ll mop it up with your face.”

  He squinted at me and then staggered his way into the canoe.

  Ziare and I gave our beloved boat a good push from the shore. Once she was floating on the clear water of the calm and beautiful bay, we hopped in. We made this thing big enough to carry about twenty men, but this was the biggest load we’d carried so far. She was riding smooth and evenly and the ledge was still high above the water line. Another job well done.

  As I rowed alongside my friends, thinking about how proud I was of the canoe, my favorite hunting hound, Stripes, laid his face on my lap and snuggled up for the journey. While the other dogs would peer over the edge and liked to feel the wind on their faces, Stripes would always sit with me like this as we rowed. The love these furry hunting partners showed me and the fun we had together, reminded me of the dogs I had on my grandfather’s farm. Which in turn, got me to thinking of what my life was at home.

  Home. The more I thought about that faraway place, the more distant it seemed. And as I eye the rugged yet scenic coastline we were following, I began to think that perhaps I had found a new home. I truly liked it here on Hispaniola. These unruly buccaneers had become like a family to me, and I had become comfortable in the routines I established to make my way among them. Days like this were my favorite. Things couldn’t get much better than rowing along in this fine canoe with good friends, feeling the gentle breeze sweeping the surface of the sea and cooling my body with the salty spray.

  I was drawn from my thoughts by the sound of Barlow shouting, “Clam it up, Ziare. You know I had her first!”

  “First this morning,” Ziare taunted while digging his oar into the face of the sea.

  Naked tenderly patted Barlow’s hand. “Ah, don’t take it so hard, Barlow.”

  Ziare chortled, “Aye, leave the hard taking to Fat Annie.”

  While most of us laughed, Barlow growled like a bear and shot up to lunge at Ziare. To everyone’s surprise, the mud covered drunkard tackled the war-painted African to the deck between the benches. In an instant, fists were swinging, dogs were barking, the canoe was rocking violently, and Naked was screaming like a damn woman.

  This fight had to be stopped. Wedging myself between my two friends, getting punched and shoved a few times myself, I finally gained enough of an advantage to shove Barlow off of Ziare.

  While Burton and Naked held the spitting and cursing Ziare at bay, I forced Barlow onto a bench of the swaying canoe and shouted, “That’s enough!”

  He flung himself free of my hold on him. To my relief, he settled in his seat and whined, “It is more than enough, it is too much! It’s all too much.”

  Smelling rotgut on his rancid breath, I fanned it away from my face and said, “What the Devil has gotten into you, mate?”

  Rubbing the lump developing on his temple, he said, “To all of you, Fat Annie might be a whore, but I love her and I don’t like hearing you talk bad about her.”

  Stunned by the news, I tried not to laugh. “You love her?”

  “I do.” Barlow spit blood into the bay. “We do more than just fuck. We go on walks and talk, sometimes. She’s a nice person with a shitty past, just like the lot of you. And I’ll tell you what, when Brass sends that ship, I’m going to take Fat Annie as my own and I’ll kill any man who tries to touch her thereafter.” He pointed at me. “Including you, Bentley.”

  “Oh good Lord,” I huffed, laying my face in my hand.

  Barlow took a swig of rotgut—which he said he was leaving behind—and then belched, “I know she likes you and your African arse-lover best, but if you’re my friend at all you’ll leave her be.”

  “Arse-lover?” I winced.

  Ziare started shouting in defense of the ridiculous statement. Of course, Barlow barked right back at him. Ziare was shouting from where the others held him back, but I could hardly hear his words over the murderous things Barlow was shouting at him. At that moment, I decided that Billy Barlow needed to have the liquor slapped out of his system. With an open palm, I whacked him across the face. His big ol’ head whipped to the side. As he spit and stuttered in shock, I yanked the flask of rotgut from his chubby hand and hurled it into the sea. “If you want more of that shit, you can swim out there and get it, but don’t think for a second that you’ll be heading back over here with it in hand.”

  Everyone behind me fell silent.

  A sober expression crossed Barlow’s face. I had no idea what he was going to say or do. Tightening his now empty fists at his sides, he clenched his jaw and looked straight into my eyes. “I don’t want it back.”

  “All right, then,” I said. “And the next person to raise a fist against one another in this boat will feel more than my open palm against their face before going overboard with that flask.” I looked around to be sure everyone agreed. Once each man nodded and promised to play nice, I returned my attention to Barlow. “Now, with that out of the way, I hereby promise to never lay another hand on the woman you love. Unfortunately, I cannot speak for the rest of the men. For now, Fat Annie is the rightful property of the camp, and it’ll do you good to keep your feelings out of it until that ship shows up.”

  He splashed his face with sea water. “That day can’t come soon enough.”

  Naked wiped the sweat from his sun beaten brow. “I am eagerly awaiting that day, myself. It’ll be better for the entire community once she is gone.”

  He didn’t elaborate on his mention, but knowing he was jealous of the time Renard had been spending with Fat Annie, I slapped my forehead. “See what problems women cause? She isn’t even here, yet she has us all up in arms. This is stupid.”

  “You just wait until the day you fall in love, Bentley.” Barlow scratched his sun burnt and mud coated chest.

  “Love? Ha.” I got back to rowing the strong and stable canoe that I was even happier with, after seeing how it handled all that turbulence. “Love is nowhere on my list of things to do in life.”

  Lighting his pipe, Burton said to me, “Love isn’t the kind of thing you plan for, Mason. It’s a mighty force that can blindside even the strongest of warriors.”

  Setting sight on the shore we were headed for, I yawned like I was bored, “Yeah, yeah. Let’s hunt.”

  X

  Once Eraiza Lace was beached in the shade and the dogs were fed, Naked and his hound, Pretty Boy, pranced off for the meadow that grew the herb Naked was in search of. With them on their way, the rest of us hauled our spears and guns up the eastern embankment surrounding the cove. This grazing field was one we could see from the shore, but was high on a bluff overlooking the beach, and was quite the trek to reach by foot. After scaling the sandy path, climbing over boulders, and then wedging between eroded cliffs, we
finally reached the field.

  I had so far enjoyed the hike and had already begun daydreaming about the things I would soon make from the cow hides we’d soon acquire, but once I hopped up on the pile of rocks that acted as a barrier to the field, I saw something that threw all my plans off course. There, in the sunny meadow, the peaceful cattle that often roamed and grazed all lie dead among the tall green grasses.

  After staring in dreadful shock for a moment, I hopped off of the rock and knelt before the nearest cow. Examining the multitude of bloody wounds on its lifeless body, I said, “It’s been stabbed. All over.”

  “Stabbed with spears. All of them,” Ziare said, pulling a bloody spear out of another dead cow’s back. Examining the weapon, he hummed, “This was done by the Spanish.”

  Coming alongside him, I eyed the identifying crosses burned into the wood. They were painted red. “Why would they kill this good meat and leave it to rot?” I peered around at the carnage.

  Swatting at the swarm of flies that had laid feast to the already rotting meat, Ziare said, “To kill our food is to kill us.”

  Damn. He was right. We wouldn’t be able to eat, or make our wares without the meat and hides of these animals. Bastards.

  “Keep an eye out, men.” Ziare said, scouting the area with his dark eyes while gathering spears from the field. Following behind him, collecting spears as well, we listened closely as the experienced buccaneer told us what he thought about this situation. “This is strange. We have been shot at by Spaniards for traveling too far inland, and attacked from the coast by ship, but I have yet to see them do something like this on our side of the island. And these spears. You see how fine these blades are and how well they are fastened to the sturdy poles. No man would leave such valuable tools behind…Unless…” His eyes widened. “They left them as a warning. This could be a trap. We need to get back to camp.”