Right of Salvage

by Ashe Barker

  My eyes widen. I feel the blood drain from my face. Punishment!

  “Captain, I…”

  “Don’t look so stricken, Mrs Browne. I will not injure you, though you may find what I intend less than comfortable. It will soon be done, however, and you will learn from it.”

  “What do you intend to do?” I can hear the tremor in my voice, and I know he must discern it too.

  He turns to me, his gaze steady, unwavering. I want to look away, but I can’t. His eyes are dark, a deep vivid blue, deeper than the waves flowing below us. They’re hypnotic, drawing me in, holding me. Long, silent seconds pass as he studies me before he answers me.

  “I intend to spank you. My hand, your bare arse. You will scream, Mrs Browne, but I promise you I will leave no fresh bruises on your delectable body.”

  My knees feel weak below me, and I suspect this is would not be explained by the motion of the waves. “I thought, I mean, you said…” I pause, draw in a long breath. “You told me I would be safe with you. I believed that. I didn’t expect to be beaten, and for something so trivial…”

  “I said I would spank you, not beat you. There is a difference. And I don’t consider deceit trivial. I will insist on perfect honesty from you, and it starts here.”

  I straighten, dragging the shreds of my dignity around me like the cloak I hid beneath yesterday. I’m no fool, I can see the way this is going, the inevitable outcome. But I see no reason not to offer some protest.

  “Why wait until now? If this matter is so serious that I’m to be—spanked—why did you not make your displeasure known last night?” I feel a distinct sense of injustice. He knew I was awake, he spoke to me, told me about my trunk, and that I was free to roam the ship at will. He could have also informed me of the consequences of my actions.

  He chuckles. “Ah, Mrs Browne, that glare. So indignant, so outraged. You clearly feel badly used. Would you care to explain to me why?”

  Indeed I would. “You never told me what would happen. I thought, well, I thought you were letting it go. That you were being considerate. I should have known better.”

  He shrugs, but his expression has darkened, belying the apparent casualness of the gesture. “I was considerate. I could have dragged you from your bed, on your first night aboard the Rose, and in spite of the day you had had—attacked by pirates, nearly drowned, abducted. Oh yes, I could have put you across my knee and spanked you there and then. But I chose to leave you be, to reassure you and let you sleep. I could have treated you very differently, had I chosen to. You might like to thank me for my kindness and forbearance. After your spanking, naturally.”

  “And you, Captain, might like to go to hell!” I start to turn on my heel, intending to return to the cabin and sulk.

  “Stop!”

  He blocks my retreat with a word. That voice! I defy anyone to so much as contemplate disobedience. I halt at the top of the stairway, turn to face him. He’s leaning against the wheel, his gaze intent as he watches me. His eyes are now almost black. In that moment he is both utterly terrifying and utterly beautiful. My pussy clenches, dampens, I shiver despite the balmy tropical heat now starting to settle heavily upon the fine spring morning. My instinct this time is to lower my gaze. I do, contemplating the toes of my shoes with unaccustomed interest.

  “Come back here, Mrs Browne. I haven’t finished with you yet.” That tone again, stern, intolerant of even the slightest hesitation.

  Of their own volition, my feet move, carry me back to his side. Still, I don’t raise my eyes to his.

  “I haven’t yet had an opportunity to explain your ‘situation’ to you, what I require and expect from you. How you are to behave around me. So on this one occasion I will overlook your behavior and your rudeness. But understand this, Mrs Browne, if you ever swear at me again, or attempt to leave before I give permission, the consequences for you will be dire. Is that perfectly clear?”

  I continue to study my feet, quite unable to scrape together sufficient wit to answer. Apparently, though, he will be satisfied with nothing less. He lifts my chin with his fingers, forcing my gaze upwards.

  “Are we clear so far, Mrs Browne?”

  “I, yes, I think so.” My voice is a mere whisper, but he seems satisfied with my words.

  “I don’t want to frighten you unduly. And I have no intention of brutalizing you, so please put that from your mind. In fact, I will do nothing at all to you without your consent. I want your surrender, your willing surrender. Nothing less is of interest to me.”

  I’m at a loss. Surrender? What need does he have of my surrender, willing or otherwise? My position is hopeless, my vulnerability absolute. He can do as he likes, we both know that. No one on board this vessel will lift a hand in my defense. He sees my bewilderment, no doubt written plainly across my face.

  “Let me explain my intentions more clearly, Mrs Browne. Come, stand before me.” He steps back and gestures for me to come and stand in front of the huge wooden wheel. When I do so, he moves to stand up close behind me, leaning around me to grasp the spokes on either side of me. I feel the slight pressure as he strains to control the ship.

  My eyes are drawn to his hands as they grip the polished wood. Strong, powerful, capable hands. And bruised. Badly bruised, the knuckles red and swollen. His hands were not injured yesterday, I’m sure I would have noticed if they were.

  “You have been in a fight, Captain?” I already know who he has been brawling with, and the likely outcome, but I feel compelled to ask anyway.

  “In a manner of speaking, Mrs Browne.”

  “With Giles?”

  “With Giles. Yes.”

  “And—how is he today?”

  “I suspect he is rather less comfortable than either you or me, Mrs Browne. And no doubt feeling extremely ill-used. I’m sure he will improve, in time. Under Captain Carside’s tender care.”

  “Why?”

  “He deserved it. In fact, he deserved a rather more permanent form of retribution, but I promised you his life, and he still has it.”

  “Thank you.” I am pleased that he makes no pretense of not understanding my question, though I’m not convinced I know what I’m thanking him for. Several things, probably. For sparing Giles’ life? Yes, of course I am grateful for that. But also for defending me, for rescuing me, for taking my side.

  He leans in, his lips now beside my ear, and he whispers his response, “You’re very welcome, Mrs Browne.”

  I’m intensely aware of his long, hard, muscular body now, pressed up close to mine, and in particular of the bulge of his stiffening erection nudging the small of my back. I attempt to shift, but this only serves to increase the hardening of his cock, the sensation both wicked, terrifying and exciting.

  Did I do that? Cause that? How very interesting.

  “I’m delighted that I seem to have your attention, Mrs Browne. You will have realized how—stimulating—I find your company. I hope to be able to evoke corresponding enthusiasm in you, as we become better acquainted.”

  You already have.

  “Really? How very encouraging. Please elaborate.”

  I groan to myself, my irritating personal habit of thinking out loud serving me ill today. I need to curb that trait around this dangerous individual.

  “Mrs Browne, since I presume we’re done discussing your husband and the state of my knuckles, perhaps I could divert your attention to your new-found interest in my cock. It is that, I assume, which is causing you to wriggle and squirm like this. Not that I object, you understand.”

  With some considerable effort, I force myself to remain still within the prison of his arms. His low chuckle tickles my earlobe as he leans in to nuzzle my neck. I tilt my head to the side to allow him better access, my eyes closing as he trails his lips along my neck and shoulder. Despite my best efforts, I grind my bottom against him, my invitation clear despite my lingering reservations on the matter.

  “Please, Captain. I don’t think…”

  “What
don’t you think, Mrs Browne?”

  “I don’t like this. It’s not…”

  “But you do like it. Very much. Your nipples are hard, your pussy dripping.” To prove his point, he releases the wheel to place his right palm over the upper swell of my breasts, clearly offered for his touch by my low-cut dress. He caresses the soft curves briefly before dipping below the fabric to lift my left breast free of the bodice. Gazing over my shoulder, he murmurs his appreciation.

  “Gorgeous tits, Jane. And your nipples are like pebbles.” He closes his fingertips around the exposed peak, tugging and squeezing lightly.

  I gasp, entertain a brief flirtation with the notion of modestly demanding he unhand me, but instead lift my chin to roll my head back against his shoulder. He increases the pressure a little, then still more until I hiss in a pained breath.

  “Did I hurt you, Mrs Browne? Would you like me to stop?”

  “No. Please don’t stop…” Did I say that? Were those my words? How odd. I’m standing here, on the top deck of a ship full of rampant males, my breasts exposed, nothing but the ship’s wheel to protect such modesty as I may lay claim to. And I’m allowing a man I met only a day ago to fondle and play with me as he pleases. The same man who I know intends to spank my bare bottom sometime very soon. What on earth has happened? Why am I behaving like this?

  “I won’t stop. There is much, much more I plan to do to you. And you will love it, I promise. All of it. Eventually.”

  “I wanted to come after you?” I blurt the words out, uncertain why I feel the need to tell him this. But I do, and now it’s out there.

  “Yes, I know. On the Golden Star yesterday. You were afraid, you wanted my protection.” He continues to nuzzle my neck, his fingers now squeezing and twisting my other nipple.

  I wince, then lean against him, arching my back to thrust my breasts into his hand.

  “Then, too. But I mean last night, after you left the cabin. I wanted to come after you and ask you to, to…” I can’t seem to form the words, but he understands my meaning anyway.

  “You wanted me to fuck you, is that it, Jane?”

  Silent, I nod, my cheeks burning at the admission.

  “I see. If at any time in the future you find yourself seized by a similar sentiment, please do not hesitate to seek me out and make your condition known to me. I will be happy to oblige you.” He pauses, now releasing his grip on the wheel entirely to place his other hand under my chin. He turns my face toward his, brushes his lips across mine. “I will fuck you, Mrs Browne, and I will do it very, very well. But you will have to ask me. I might even require you to beg. Would you beg me to fuck you, do you think?”

  In a heartbeat.

  I must have uttered my thoughts out loud again. “Good. I look forward to that, then. But first, we have unfinished business to address.”

  Ah, yes. My spanking.

  More inadvertent mutterings. I really must learn to control this. “Indeed. You are to return to my cabin, undress, and kneel on the floor. I will be along shortly. I expect to find you naked and ready for me. Is that clear? Do you have any questions?”

  “No, Captain.”

  “Or objections?”

  I hesitate, then, “No. No objections, Captain.” Oh. My. Word.

  He brushes my lips with his once more then takes care to rearrange my bodice to something approaching decency before stepping back to allow me to step away.

  “Go then, Mrs Browne. Prepare yourself. I won’t be long.”

  I offer him a quick nod then scurry for the stairway.

  Chapter Nine

  He watched her climb quickly down the ladder and make her way across the lower deck, back toward the hatch leading to his private quarters. Her maneuverings were surprisingly nimble, given her unfamiliarity with the ship, and he hoped this might be an indication that she entertained no heart-felt objection to complying with his wishes.

  Christ, she’s delightful. Absolutely lovely.

  His appreciative gaze followed her out of sight, whilst his swelling cock shifted within his tight leggings. Uncomfortable, he drew in one long, ragged breath. His time would come, but first, he must ensure his delicious little guest fully understood the nature of what was shortly to pass between them. He needed to know that she was ready to apply a degree of tolerance to the proceedings, if not yet unbridled enthusiasm. That would come, though, he knew it. It was there, in her nature, bubbling sensuously below the surface. It was there in the way she allowed him to kiss her, to touch her, to explore her naked breasts, even to cause her pain.

  She could have asked him to stop. She did not. Instead, she arched under his hands, offered herself to him.

  And she would not ask him to stop later when he treated her to her first erotic spanking. He’d presented it as a punishment, knowing that this would make it less complicated for her to accept. For now, just until she could come to terms with the reality of her desires, her submissive nature. But truly, he could not do other than seek to please her on this, her first encounter with his lifestyle. He wanted the experience to leave her curious, tingling, eager for more, and anticipating his next move with interest.

  Would she be naked when he joined her in a few minutes? He thought there was a decent chance of it, though if not he would insist. She would obey him—she wanted to obey him, he could sense that. By seemingly taking away her control, by exploiting her imagined vulnerabilities, he would set her free. Free to enjoy, and to pleasure.

  “Quinn, take the wheel, would you?” Hawke called to his first mate and most trusted crew member, now emerging from below decks where he had been eating his morning meal of ship’s porridge.

  The sailor waved and grinned his agreement up at his captain before vaulting over a pile of coiled rope and heading for the stairway. He took over Hawke’s grip on the wheel, his knowing smile following his leader as Hawke made his way down toward the lower deck.

  Hawke entered his cabin no more than five minutes after Mrs Browne—Jane—but was gratified to note that she had not been idle in that time. Her dress was removed, neatly folded and placed on the chair beside his desk, her undergarments on top of it. Her delicate slippers were tucked under his bunk. The lady herself was kneeling, quite naked, on the woven rug in the middle of his cabin floor, her back to him. He saw her shoulders shift and stiffen as the door clicked shut behind him, but she did not turn to face him nor did she raise her eyes. Her hands were folded on top of her knees, her small heels just visible below her luscious bottom. He took a moment to look, just look at her, his mouth watering. In moments, he’d be drooling. Christ, she was quite, quite exquisite.

  He’d known, the first moment he’d set eyes on her, that Jane Browne was pretty. Beautiful even. But this lush perfection, now this he hadn’t bargained on. He leaned back against the door, in no hurry to disturb the vision before him. He noted, with considerable displeasure, the slight smudge of bruising around her lower ribcage. That bastard of a husband, no doubt. He knew none of this was his doing nor that of his men. And it meant he would have to take particular care with her today. He would dominate her, he would require her submission, but there would be no rough handling, no more bruises. Not now, and probably not ever. He would have no need of it. And he had no desire for it either.

  Stepping past her, Hawke dragged the heavy chair from behind his desk, turning it to face Jane. He sat down, treating himself to a few moments more leisurely perusal of her delicate profile. Her breasts, small but full, the soft curves supporting nipples still swollen and reddened from his attention on deck. Her neck was slender, fragile, her shoulders finely formed, graceful. A small woman, her proportions were perfect. And she seemed perfectly composed, given the circumstances. Right then…

  “Are you ready, Mrs Browne?” His voice was low, deliberately gentle. He wanted her to come to this, come to him of her own free will.

  “Yes, sir. Captain. I… What should I call you?” There was a tremor in her voice. Not quite so composed then. She turned her
head to face him, her eyes briefly meeting his before dropping again to contemplate the wooden floor.

  “Sir will be fine. Or Captain, if you like. Or you could just call me Rob.” He leaned forward, his smile warm. There was a time, a place, for stern treatment, and this was not it. This woman needed to feel cared for, cherished. It was enough that she had done as he’d asked, surrendered to this, to him. He would apply no undue pressure to make the experience harder for her. Soon, lust would take over, and after, she would have knowledge and experience to draw on. But not yet.

  She glanced up again at his words, and this time she held his gaze. He saw the flicker of—what? Confidence? Desire perhaps? Trust? Whatever, he would fan that flame. But first…

  “You are afraid?”

  Her nod was wary, as though she was uncertain whether she could, should, admit to it.

  He took care to keep his tone low, even. He needed her trust, or at least that she be resigned to the inevitable. He’d do the rest.

  “You fear the unknown, and we’ll soon be past that. I intend to be gentle with you, Jane. This will hurt, but there will be pleasure too. More pleasure than pain. You can bear it. You’re a grown woman, you can do this.”

  “Yes.”

  Her response was just a whisper, but he heard it, and knew she needed to proceed. Now. Fast. She needed to get to the next stage, that of pleasure, exploration. The place where her own emotional and physical response would be a much more powerful motivator than his calm reassurance.

  “I promise I will not hurt you more than you can tolerate. But if you need me to stop, I will. You need only ask me. Tell me, Jane, did you have a pet as a little girl. A puppy perhaps, or a kitten?

  “Yes, Sir. A kitten.”

  “What was her name, your kitten?”

  “It was a he. I called him Marmaduke.” There was puzzlement now in her voice, and Rob smiled to himself. Her mind was no longer focused just on her current predicament and what was about to happen to her. That was good, for the moment. He would re-focus her attention totally in the next few moments.