by Colette Gale
Her hair was caught up and tied so tightly she couldn’t turn her head to either side. Nor could she tilt to look down. All she could see was the rough, pockmarked wooden mast in front of her face, and a bit to the side. The wind from the sea rushed over her naked flesh, bringing sharp little needles of salt that pelted against her skin like tiny, hard nails.
She didn’t know how long she stood there, trembling in the chill, before she heard someone moving around behind her. Over the rush of wind and the tossing waves, she heard the quiet slither of a familiar sound: a long, slender piece of leather being withdrawn from some mooring.
Jane tensed and closed her eyes as the whip snapped wickedly in the air. Thwack. Thwack.
Th-WACK!
She jolted, arching away from the bite of the leather as it laid over her arse on the third snap. It was a light, burning sensation, but she had no time to recover before the tail whipped through the air again and smacked into her flesh.
She bit her lip, closing her eyes, trying not to strain against her bindings—and trying not to remember the last time she’d been whipped. How she’d grown wet and full and swollen, how she’d sobbed for Kellan Darkdale to cease, and for him to touch her…and how there’d been no line between pleasure and pain…how she’d writhed and begged and needed.
Thwack!
She grunted and arched again, feeling the sting across her buttocks and then the answering quiver between her legs. Her breasts brushed against the mast, the wood rough and painful against her sensitive nipples. Thwack! Thwack!
Thwack-thwack-thwack!
By now she was twisting and shuddering, gasping in little pants as she fought to keep from pleading for them to stop. As the whipping continued, the burning sensation on her soft, round flesh roared over her arse and down over the backs of her thighs as if it glowed. Her breasts bounced and her hips moved, her ankles strained against the manacles that held them wide.
Suddenly, there were hands on her from behind. Rough hands, covering her breasts as a man grunted against her, his cock sliding along the underside of her quim, through her hot, slick juices as he squeezed her breasts, pinching her nipples, rasping into her bare neck. He smelled like sweat and sea, and his clothing was rough against her sensitive flesh. His mouth as full and wet as he panted against her ear. He cried out as he came, arching sharply against her from behind as, one last time, he thrust between her thighs along the swollen folds of her quim.
He’d barely finished when someone pulled him away, taking his place: more rough hands, another cock, and hot, wet breath on her skin as he nuzzled and licked her shoulder, pumping down along the cleft of her arse. He pressed and rubbed and Jane writhed and twisted as his fingers played with her pin-sharp nipples: pinching, pulling, teasing—but not enough to give her what she needed.
She sobbed a little, desperate, biting her lip as she swayed against her bonds, helpless to move her head or arms. He’d barely grunted his release, his cum spurting wet and warm along the crack of her arse, when someone pulled him away, leaving Jane’s back cold and exposed for a moment.
She braced herself for another onslaught, but this time two men came at her from the sides, easing around to each take a breast, wedging themselves between her and the mast.
Two mouths, hot and greedy, sucking and licking as her hips moved wildly and uselessly. Pleasure darted through her as a thick, warm tongue slid around her nipple, around and around in a long, wild swirling from which she couldn’t escape—while on the other side, a demanding mouth sucked, hard, hard—hard enough for her to cry out as the pleasure met the pain in long, sharp stabs.
Jane squeezed her useless hands and arched into her orgasm with a low cry and a violent shudder. She threw her head back with the effort, and was rewarded by sharp pain where her hair was tied tightly. Sobbing and panting, she blinked back the tears as the men rubbed their hot, hard cocks against her hips and thighs, straining against her as a set of thick fingers found the sleek lips of her quim.
She shivered and twisted, finding herself smacking into cloth-covered bodies, prodding, raging cocks, and pinching hands as she tried to free herself from the questing fingers. No penetration, she remembered Akenov warning—but it was even worse as those rough fingers slipped along her juices, pulling her flesh wide and rubbing, pinching, twisting her hot, swollen little pip.
Jane cried out as the shock of a painful orgasm rippled through her body. She shuddered against countless hands and mouths, felt the hot, sticky spurts of cum raining on her legs, arse, hips, even her feet. She couldn’t get away from the salty, musky scent of it, for it filled her nostrils and clung to her skin as they fought to rub against her, to bite and spank and suck, to pull her flesh wide or taut or to pinch and poke and to rub and slide against whatever part of her skin they could.
When a mouth closed over her quim, strong fingers digging into her thighs to hold her steady, Jane screamed, for he was rough and desperate, and yet clever with his mouth and tongue: sucking, slipping, flicking. There was no escape, no relief as he ate at her—feasted, gorged himself on her juices as if he were a starving man. She came, rough and hard against the desperate mouth, but that wasn’t enough. He gripped her tightly, burying his face in her cunt, nibbling and nuzzling her tortured little pip until she screamed for mercy.
But he didn’t stop; they didn’t stop, and Jane came and came, over and over, sobbing and gasping and finally, at last, she fainted.
Jane became aware of the rolling and tipping of her world first; of the rough wooden mast against which she bumped and scraped.
Her body was numb and cold and sticky. She ached and throbbed between her legs, her arms had no feeling, and she couldn’t stand upright, so her sensitized nipples brushed and scrubbed painfully against the splintery wood.
She opened her eyes and saw that it was dark. Everything was quiet except for the tossing of waves against the hull of the ship, and the flapping of sails above. The bite of the ocean wind had whipped up into a salty frenzy, and the deck on which she stood rolled and rocked far more violently than before.
Jane tried to look around, but her hair was still bound tightly among her chains and she had no idea whether she was alone, whether someone watched her, whether the waves were growing dangerously violent. It felt as if they were.
Would Akenov really leave her out here during a storm? All night?
She blinked back tears and struggled halfheartedly against her bindings. Zaren. How could you do this to me?
How could he have let her go, so easily, after all they’d been through? It was incomprehensible.
Jane felt the presence only a moment before a hand snaked over her mouth, strong and tight, muffling her scream. He held her immobile, his mouth near her ear as she felt him fumbling with his trousers against the base of her spine.
She stiffened and struggled, trying to shake off the grip over her mouth, but the fingers dug into her cheeks and encroached upon her nose, nearly cutting off all her breath.
His cock brushed against the bottom of her arse as he breathed roughly in her ear, muttering, “Yes, yes, oh, finally, you hot sassy bitch, you’re going to feel a real cock, yes you are…”
He prodded at her as she struggled, twisting and arching wildly as the hand at his trousers slid around to cover a breast as he used a leg to bump her thighs apart even wider. He shifted against her, nudging his cock up into her quim, rasping and panting in her ear like a desperate man.
Then suddenly, there was a swift stirring of the air. The man was plucked from her body, his fingers loosening their grip over her mouth as the chill air swept over her back once more.
The sounds of skirmish were short and violent: thuds, bumps, and then the unmistakable noise of something heavy whistling through the air.
Then the splash of finality.
A large warm hand came to rest between Jane’s shoulder blades, then slid down in a slow caress over her arse.
“That’s two crewmen you’ve lost me today, my lovely enchant
ress,” said Akenov. “It’s a damned good thing I’m enchanted by you, or you might be joining them.”
She made no reply, merely stood still—allowing the stiffness of her body to telegraph her anger and disgust to him.
“Come now, my love,” he said, and began by unfastening her ankles. “I believe you’ve been punished enough.”
Moments later, she fairly fell into his arms when the manacles were loosened from her wrists. The prickles of blood flowing back to her limbs made her bite her lip to hold back the groans, and though his hands were tender as he gathered her up into his arms, she neither looked at him, nor allowed herself to relax into his grip as he carried her back to the cabin they shared.
She vaguely remembered a warm bath—being eased into the tub that smelled of lavender and some other floral essence. Tears came to her eyes as the hot water attempted to soothe the bruises and aches she’d acquired, to wash away the dried patches of cum and the musky, sweaty stink that clung to her from the sailors.
That was three days ago. Three nights ago.
As she’d feared, there’d been a storm brewing, and for the next few hours, Akenov left her to sleep and rest in the cabin.
When he finally returned, after the sea had calmed and the sun had risen, Jane expected him to come to her, to take what he’d lured from her before.
But he hadn’t. He’d collapsed on the bed and slept next to her.
And so it had been for the next two days. Akenov fairly ignored her, keeping her locked in the cabin except when he or Meera was able to watch her walk around on the deck.
He didn’t touch her. He barely looked at her. Though they slept in the same bed, and every night Jane expected him to slide his hand over her, to tease and stroke and caress with the same demand and lust he’d used at Zenovia’s palace…he did not.
Thus, now, when he came up behind her at the railing as she looked out over the night sea, she was surprised by the way he pressed his generous cock against her arse cleft. How he was so obvious in his desire and intent after ignoring her for days.
She was not, however, surprised by her own reaction: the heat, the uncontrollable liquid warmth that surged through her, the smell of him. She hadn’t been able to resist him from the very first time. She wouldn’t be able to now.
“You’re chilled,” he said again. “Your hands are cold.”
Jane’s heart thudded harshly as Akenov opened the door to the chamber they shared. Her insides fluttered like that of a young girl on her wedding night—or of an experienced woman who knew she was about to be claimed and fucked by a man who knew how to do it.
Despite the fact that he was her captor, Jane knew she would take pleasure. That he would give it and she would take it…over and over.
Inside the chamber, he gestured to the large metal tub with its curving back. To Jane’s surprise and delight, it was filled—and steaming. She hadn’t had the indulgence of a bath since the night of her punishment.
“That will warm you,” he said, and began to strip off his clothing—leaving her to do the same.
Jane’s fingers were surprisingly clumsy as she plucked the light cotton shift from her shoulders and pulled it up over her head. Beneath was a simple, basic corset she’d worn, only to keep her breasts from bouncing and being completely outlined in front of the crew. Not that they hadn’t already seen all of her…
She shuddered a little, remembering that night with both shame and a little twinge between her legs. How had she ever become so greedy for pleasure?
Akenov tossed his clothing aside and she couldn’t keep from staring as he walked, naked and beautiful, to the tub. His cock, long and thick without being erect, swung gently as he climbed in. Water sloshed over the sides onto the wooden floor and he groaned softly as he sank into the heat.
Her skin prickling with expectancy, Jane approached a little hesitantly. But when he made an impatient gesture, she climbed into the tub, giving her own little moan at the pleasure of strong heat.
She’d bundled up her hair, tying it in a knot and using two sticks to anchor it on top of her head. The tub was so large the water lapped just over the tops of her nipples and she sat facing Akenov with her feet on either side of his hips.
Between them raged his suddenly thick, upstanding cock, bobbing in the water harmlessly—so far—between her widespread thighs.
“Wash me.” His command was flat and harsh, and not quite what she’d expected.
Jane scooped up soft, fragrant soap from a dish next to the tub and began to lather it over his muscular body. Her mouth began to water and her core shivered expectantly as she smoothed her hands over his smooth muscles, warm and slick from the water and soap.
His shoulders were broad and square at the edges, his arms bulging with long, firm muscles. He’d removed his metal cuffs and there were slight indentations in his skin from where they’d gripped him. His pectoral muscles were flat and solid, and the patch of hair there—now damp and sparkling with water droplets—was so different than Zaren’s hairless body.
Jane realized she was breathing hard, and that her breasts were nearly brushing against his chest as she rose up on her knees to soap his head. His mouth was right there, right in front of her nipple, and she quivered, waiting for him to take it in his mouth: to kiss or flick his tongue deliciously over it.
But he did not.
When she eased back onto her haunches, Akenov’s eyes were closed and his expression was taut. His cock seemed to have deflated a bit, and wasn’t quite as prominent and bulging between them.
Jane couldn’t stop herself from reaching down into the water between them, closing her hands around that thick, hot tool—but Akenov’s eyes flew open.
“No.” His voice was as flat as his expression, and the look in his eyes brooked no disobedience.
Confused, Jane sank back down and watched him warily. The water surged up against her breasts like an insistent caress, lapping against her ready nipples. Her fingers trembled beneath the surface as she curled them together to keep from reaching for him.
Perhaps he meant to wait until they got out of the tub. Less mess on the floor; more room to move.
She scooped up more of the soap and began to wash herself—taking her time, moving the scented lather over her sleek skin, taking her time at her breasts and nipples and enjoying the flashes of pleasure from her own touch.
Akenov watched her, his eyes hot and greedy, and Jane arched prettily, thrusting her torso toward him a little as she rose up from the water. It cascaded down over her skin, and her breasts shivered with the movement.
But again, he made no move to touch her, even closing his eyes and resting his head back against the edge of the tub as if utterly disinterested.
A stab of uncertainty caught Jane by surprise. This she didn’t understand. This was not the man who’d been willing to give up a fortune in tariffs from Zenovia in order to sleep with the Amazonian’s slave. This was the man who’d risked his life to save her from the fire, who’d kidnapped her out from under the nose of her mistress—at great peril to himself.
This was the man who watched her with hot, avid eyes…who’d just moments ago imprisoned her against the ship railing and demonstrated his lust for her with his great, hard cock.
“Finish and get out,” he said in that same emotionless voice.
Jane did as directed, her knees a little weak and her insides hot and shivery with anticipation. She took her time drying herself off, feeling the weight of his eyes on her as she did so.
“Lay on the bed. Facing me. I want to see every bit of your plump, red pussy.”
— III —
Her plump red pussy was even more red and swollen, and it was growing slick with her juices. Her pip was so large and full she felt as if it were the size of a walnut, bulging between her legs.
Jane arranged herself on the bed, legs spread wide, facing him as commanded.
Akenov looked at her, his dark eyes glittering with lust as they traveled over her as
heavily as his hands had done. “Touch yourself.”
She didn’t need to be asked twice. Jane started by brushing her hands lightly over her taut nipples. They were still sore from her bout with the mast, but as always, they were sensitive enough that she felt herself begin to pulse immediately in the little, eager pip beneath its delicate hood.
But the light teasing of her own flesh wasn’t enough, and Jane propped herself up on one elbow as she moved the other hand to settle between her legs. She used three fingers to slide up and over her pip and its covering, spreading her own slick wetness over the sensitive folds of skin.
Her breath came quickly and she began to touch herself with more urgency, stroking and jiggling the tiny pearl that was so eager for it. She flushed and heated, swelled and dripped. She shivered and gathered herself up—
“Stop!” Akenov’s voice lashed out like the whip that had stung her backside.
Jane gave a soft moan, but allowed her hand to fall aside. Her quim throbbed and her tiny pearl quivered expectantly as she waited for Akenov to rise from the water. His cock would be full and hard, just as tight and ripe as her own body.
He’d slide it inside her, where she needed it—filling her, slipping and slamming, pounding and driving—
“Jane,” he said, still coolly. “You may stroke yourself three times. Slowly. Very, very slowly. Don’t disobey me or you’ll be punished. And do not—you may not come. Do you hear me, Jane?”
That very command made her tighten and shiver. As always, the very idea that she dared not allow herself to orgasm made her hotter and more ready. More desperate.
“I shall count for you, my lovely enchantress. Three strokes. No more, no less.” His voice carried its own breathless heat, and yet beneath it was steel. “One…”
She complied, sliding her fingers along her hot, sleek flesh, pressing lightly against her swollen pip, then stilled her hand.
“Very, very good, my darling. Now…two…”