The Acquisition

by Louisa Trent

  "The Quaker lady has naught to do with this. This is between you and me."

  "Oh, it is, is it? Well, be that the case, I say give me what I deserve."

  "Harry," he warned, but his voice sounded uneasy, and she could tell he wanted to do it, wanted to exact punishment from her. Joshua had been angry with her for years; time for him to get that anger out of his system.

  His cock rubbed her deep.

  "That's right," she purred. "Go on. Do it. Your discipline feels so good. Too bad the Quaker lady will never do anything deserving of such punishment."

  "Damn your filthy mouth, and damn you for being a whore! I hate the thought of men touching you. You do deserve to be punished for selling your body, for disobeying me. You never did do what I told you to do."

  "Punish me," she cooed. "It's the only way I will ever learn."

  "You whore," he raged. "How many men have you let have you? How many men have paid for your cunt, for your ass, for your deep throat?"

  You, she wanted to cry. Only you, Josh.

  But she kept her quiet, giving herself over to the punishment of loving him.

  He kneaded her belly, his fingers dragging through her pubic hair, clawing into the curls to get at her. Then his hand fisted, the knuckles of that fist pressing to her opening.

  She knew what he wanted

  "Do it," she urged. "I need it done."

  She panted as he breached her, not crying out against the pain, riding the wave of it as his folded fingers worked themselves into her vagina, knuckle by knuckle.

  "Would your fine Quaker lady allow you this, would she allow you to fist her?"

  "I would never ask it of her, " he growled, sounding not at all like the Joshua she had always known and loved; this Joshua sounded ... hard. Cruel. Destroyed.

  Was she destroying Josh?

  She didn't mean to! Destroying Josh was not her intent. She was fighting for him, the only way she knew how; with her body. Giving him what that prissy lady never would.

  Delegating the pain to some far off region of her mind, she snorted. "Ask me? You don't have to ask me for anything. You have only to name it, and it is yours!"

  "Because you're a whore. That's the difference between you and the Quaker lady."

  No, the difference was she loved him! No one would ever love this man like she loved him, she thought fiercely, keeping the tears back as his seaman's wide hand worked its way up inside her until it was all the way in.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  It was much later, night again.

  Between bouts of carnality, Joshua released Harry from bondage and let her rest on his cot. When darkness fell, he walked her naked outside on deck, to give her a breath of fresh air, to stretch her limbs ... to watch the breeze off the water blow her knotted hair.

  A few minutes ago, he had re-tied her, and now his hardness rammed between her buttocks, prodding at the gate.

  As the pressure built around the head of his cock, he continued to push into her. He had spent much of the day readying her for this moment, stretching her, lulling her body's resistance. She was a whore, but he was a large man, and the sodomy could not be rushed.

  "Deep breath in now. Let it out slowly when you feel me enter," he said, kneading the slope of her bottom, gauging the relaxation of her muscles.

  Upon hearing the air fill her lungs, he began the entry, watching the head of his cock bury itself as Harry exhaled. No need to hurry, he made the breach carefully, as a gentlemen should when performing unnatural intercourse.

  He grunted, his mouth agape, his jaw raised, savoring the possession, but still rubbing her, still soothing her, still making sure she would get her pleasure too, the wail of her previous climaxes still humming in his ears. She had screamed like a banshee as she came, an orgasmic, high-pitched sound. He wanted to hear her cries of rapture split the air again and again. For him, only for him.

  He flexed his hips. Once. Enough to go deeper, to give her a taste of it; he was still just a mere fraction buried, the head totally in.

  She had started to pant, shallow nervous breaths, knowing it was too late to go back, feeling him there as he felt her surround him.

  A distinctive pop, and her body was drawing him in, easily in. He filled her, impaling with his thick man's flesh, until he was seated deep inside her buttocks,

  She gave a long sigh, her body accommodating the unsanctioned breech. No going back, too late to ever go back to what they could have had together, that sweet and innocent affection, that pure and meaningful devotion. It was too late. Harry was a whore, a lowly prostitute who allowed sodomy if the price was right.

  Evidently, the price had been right.

  Josh looked down to where their bodies were joined, a taboo connection a gentleman never speaks of, but about which all men secretly dream. His cock swallowed within those shapely buttocks, his mat of wiry black pubic hair flattened against the pale silk of her flesh, signifying she had taken everything he had to give, and that he had taken everything she had to give. The last bastion of the female reserve was his, completely his. He would never forget the dark thrill of this moment.

  "You are skilled at this, madam," he praised, in supreme satisfaction.

  Two hands on her hips, he pulled out, all the way out, only for the illicit sensation of entering her again.

  "Do you feel me stick you?" he gasped. "Do you understand how undeniably I am inside you?"

  She didn't honor the question with an answer, and he didn't expect she would. His was a question decency forbade a gentleman ever ask, but he had paid for the pleasure of asking it, and her realization of what he was doing to her was part of the price he had paid.

  To think he'd once wished to wed her! To think she had once thought herself too good for the dark likes of him! To think that had he wed her, he would have missed out on this debauchery; no husband defiles a good wife, a woman he respects, in such a manner.

  But Harry wasn't his good wife, no man in his right mind could possibly respect a whore, and now that his cock was stuffed up in her hindquarters, she couldn't believe herself too good for the dark likes of him! She rode no high horse now.

  But he couldn't tell her so, he couldn't speak the poison that had festered inside him all these years; it was enough he knew that she was not too good for him now.

  Still, despite the bitterness eating at him, he was careful with her. She was daintily made in back and still virgin tight, though wholly receptive, wholly aroused. So aroused and so receptive to everything, he predicted it would be a long, lust-filled night before he had sated his little whore's appetite.

  "Mmm," she moaned, when he started to move. "Mmm. Oh, yes."

  "You like it?"

  "Oh, yes. It's lovely."

  Smiling, he glided in and out of her buttocks, as his lustful whore purred.

  Her bottom started to pump, meeting each of his invading strokes. She actually had the temerity to recklessly push back against his loins, trying to engage him deeper, thinking she would control this. Well, she was not in control here!

  "No, girl," he cautioned.

  Heedless of his warning, she continued to meet his strokes, mewing for him to go faster, harder, deeper. This, he would not allow. Call it vanity, call it pride, but it suited him to pleasure her. But she was very mistaken if she thought he would give her joint partnership in this. Regardless of his continued softness for her, he dared not encourage Harry's willfulness. She had always been too headstrong for her own good, and now more than ever, it was imperative she remain under his authority. To allow her an inroad into his thoughts, a free and equal sharing of his life, would imperil her and others.

  His cock still buried in her buttocks, he clamped his hands down atop her shoulders, pressing her down. Firmly. No room for compromise, no mistaking his word was law, letting her feel the weight of his authority.

  "Good girl," he praised, when she ceased struggling and submitted. "That's right," he whispered in her ear, his cock easing in and out of the
cavity. "That's right. Take it. Just take it."

  She did.

  He should have done this long ago, he thought. Long ago, he should have managed her with a decisive discipline. That same long ago night he had taken her virginity, he should have had his ship captain wed them, regardless of her disinclination. He should have dragged her on board the whaler by the fiery hair on her head, and made his providing for her legal. He should have pulled her off her high horse, taken a switch to her hide, and put it to her just like this, so she would understand she was not too good for the dark likes of him. Their lives would have been so different then.

  So different, he mused, his cum shooting up inside her anus as she sobbed out her woman's release.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  The rattan had been put away in the cabinet, and Joshua was walking back toward her.

  "Are you all right?" he asked politely, pushing the hair from her eyes.

  What could she say? She didn't know if she would ever be all right again, ever the same again. That wild and impetuous hooligan she had once been, the one who ran free and wild along the docks, was forever gone now. She had come of age this morning. She was a woman now. Joshua's woman.

  She had always suspected that beneath the fond smiles and gentle touches, lurked a hard and dominant man, and she had been right on that score. After the second sodomy, he had whipped her soundly. And now--what could she say?

  She let a shrug serve as her answer.

  "You will have some bruising."

  The teeth marks ... the skin discoloration ... the stripes that must surely adorn her posterior were of no import; what mattered was refraining from begging for more of the same.

  Joshua was not the only person in this cabin to reveal his true nature this day.

  Harry loved the sea captain's brutally tender mastery, every pain and ache of it.

  He poured water into the basin on the stand above the commode, then dropped a cloth into the shallow water. "You need a wash."

  "I suppose I do," she said noncommittally, so much in love with this unforgiving man that she felt sick with it, leaden with it, despairing from the hopelessness of it, desperate to stay with him regardless of the cost to her pride.

  Joshua respected his Quaker lady, as he did not respect her.

  "Rain water," he specified. "Your skin is much too delicate for salt water, especially now." He touched a buttock.

  She bit her lip. Her bottom stung like the very dickens.

  She liked it.

  No, that was a lie. She loved it, loved what he had done to her. Loving it was her final humiliation.

  She groaned when he licked her bottom cheeks, then kissed along the path of the rattan. He hadn't gone easy on her. The switch had flayed her skin. She hadn't asked for mercy, and he hadn't volunteered any. He had delivered five strokes, exactly as he said he would, all of them falling across the fullest part of her bottom.

  "You will recover quickly. These should heal quickly too," he said, and rubbed a hand across the point of each breast, back and forth.

  Her nipples were sore, swollen, bitten ... elongated with excitement ... and she gasped in pained pleasure.

  "Oh, yes. Just like that," she moaned, squirming against the restraints.

  "I need you to promise me you will not tell anyone about what you saw this morning. The Quaker lady's name cannot be linked with mine. You are to give me your solemn word, or this thing between us stops here."

  Her brow puckered. "Why?"

  "Because she is decent and kind, and I have no interest in wedding her, and that is what a lady like that expects and deserves."

  "You will never get in her drawers without vows."

  "I but kissed her cheek, girl!" he said in exasperation. "I have no desire to kiss her pussy. Yours is the only pussy I want my tongue up inside."

  Triumph! "You like kissing my pussy?"

  "Yes, I do. We are well matched in carnality. And I am not opposed to giving you what you need. My only regret is I didn't tie you up and whip you sooner."

  She laughed, impatient for the next time. Joshua had never lost his control before with her, but she felt the remnants of that lost control now on the inside of her buttocks. She was slippery with his intemperance. His semen gushed out of her in a viscid stream, a slick that coated the back of her thighs. She loved the decadent feel of his cum between her back cheeks, loved how he had thrust his cock into her buttocks as though he couldn't help himself. She had never felt so cherished as when he took her despite himself.

  "I guess we do get along well enough together. But I grant you, your lady is quite pretty."

  "Yes, she is pretty, but she is not my lady," he reproved her. "She is a friend, a good friend. And there is no need for jealousy. You are quite beautiful." His hand went between her thighs. "This is beautiful." His eyes wore a heavy-lidded look as his fingers rubbed her. "The lady dulls in comparison to your luster."

  A woman without pride, when his finger slipped into her opening, she pulled against the ropes and begged, "Please? I'll do anything you ask."

  Anything to stem the longing. She felt so empty without him. She was naked and bruised, her bottom seeping cum, and she wanted more of the same.

  "Give me your word you will not tell anyone what you saw here today."

  "You have it! Now do me again."

  "Not yet," he answered. "If you behave yourself, I will give you what you need in a while."

  A while was too long to wait.

  There was a terrible pleasure in what he was doing to her, a shameful pleasure. She was hung from the ceiling like a slab of venison on the hook. Naked and splayed, she had never felt so undefended or so powerless. Modesty had never governed her; still, the positioning of her body exposed her in a fashion no woman wishes to be exposed. With her legs spread wide, her openings--both back and front--fully revealed, she felt like her whole being was situated in her cunny, between her buttocks.

  He knew it too, for he slipped two fingers up inside her back passage too, to give her relief there as well.

  He had kissed her genitals and anus like some gentlemen kiss a woman's mouth, and probably with more enthusiasm, as though he couldn't get enough of tasting her.

  She would die if she didn't have him again.

  Her breasts bounced in rhythm to the manipulations of his fingers, faster and faster.

  "I bought you plugs in a gentlemen's club on this past voyage. They're a very pretty jade. I would like you to start wearing them."

  Whore plugs. Of course.

  "Fine," she said through clenched teeth. She would agree to wear a leather dog collar around her neck, so long as he filled her.

  "The wash comes first." His touch was removed.

  With Josh, duty always comes before pleasure. "Damn you!"

  "Temper, temper, my dear." Picking up a cloth he had left to soak, he squeezed it, dribbling water over her shoulders. The warm rivulet raced down her breasts, dripped off the tips.

  "Oh, God," she moaned, her eyes closing against the sensual torture.

  Next he cleansed her vagina with the warm cloth, gently opening the folds to rinse away the honey of her lust.

  "My fist is large--did its size discomfort you?" he asked.

  "No," she lied. Childbirth would have been easier than accommodating his massive fist, but she had done it. She had given him what he wanted, and that's all that mattered--her pleasured pain was but a secondary reward.

  As Joshua had shaped her life in the past, so he continued to shape her life now.

  She was a woman who took money for the use of her body. That use included sodomy. With that acceptance, guilt died and excruciating pleasure reigned. And so when Josh had asked the fateful question, his voice thick with need, "Can you take it again, the same way?" Shameless in her love for him, she had given him her swift agreement.

  Sodomy or missionary, the form the lovemaking took mattered very little to her. What mattered was that hoarse need in his voice.

  Joshua
needed her!

  Only her body, naturally. Still, never before had the independent, self-reliant, damned selfless Joshua, ever needed anything from her. She had always been the needy one. And when he sodomized her for the second time, so transparently soon after the first, she knew his need was her triumph.

  Now he walked behind her again...

  Only to place a compress on her backside. "The flesh is reddened, but I didn't break the skin," he told her. "There are ... raised welts." He tracked one with a finger, the same path his mouth had taken. "You took it well. Like you were born to it."

  Because of the second astounding orgasm she had experienced with the sodomy, she had felt very little straight pain. Is that why Joshua had used the switch directly after her climax, to reduce the sting of the rattan?

  Most likely. He was the very definition of consideration.

  "We must start practicing more care," he said, coming around front again and tenderly circling the lips of her vulva. "I won't chance conception."

  "Because I'm a whore?"

  "No, because I'm a bastard myself, and of unspecified origins."

  "You are who you are, Joshua Kane, as I am who I am."

  "A mongrel bastard and a fallen angel-whore. What a rare combination." His circling finger dropped away. "Where are my manners? You must be famished. What delicacies have you in that basket you brought me?"

  He left her to investigate the small captain's table set off to the side in a corner of the cabin. "My, doesn't this look good," he said, raising the basket lid. Taking a china plate from dish cupboard, he made up a plate, carrying it back to her. He fed her, exclaiming over each tasty tidbit that went in her mouth, saying such foolishness as, "Yummy! "And, "Doesn't this make your taste buds sit up and beg?"

  She didn't taste the food she had labored over for hours, selecting only the finest and freshest of ingredients--sailors at sea for any length of time soon develop a craving for the greens of vegetables and the citrus of fruit, both of which she had included in her menu's selection--but she did lick his fingers with every morsel he fed to her, her tongue lathing his dark skin, up to the buttoned cuff of his pristine white shirt.