Chapter the First

Good morrow, fine reader! I am to be your humble narrator and am also the unredeemed Spirit of the Captain of the pirate slaver, "Saint Veronica", forced to wander the world still and share my tales.

For your mind's-eye view, I was six feet tall, broad of shoulder and powerful. My black hair matched my dark Portuguese complexion; faulted only by the blue eyes my mother had gifted me with.

"Saint Veronica" was a fine craft, fast as any of the merchantmen ships used by those who fled us.... or the ships of the line which hunted us. Bearing four posts and a flying jib, our sail aloft was more than any, and she flew before the wind, being constructed stoutly of the best-aged woods. Carrying an experienced crew of nearly 120, we outmanned nearly everything we hunted; having two gun decks with a total of 80 guns manned by seasoned crews, we outgunned the rest.

My ship had advantages over other Pirate craft, things which assisted us at our trade. We had doctors, trained in London and Amsterdam, able to treat our battle-wounds and those of our booty. We had entertainment for the crew: though not all slaves were available, many were..., and any slave used by the skipper was shared by all --- no selfishness here.

In example, I remember a fine French woman, daughter of some Duke. Flame red hair, skin fair as cream, and as fine a figure as ever graced a girl. She was tall for a woman, nearly five and a half feet, but light and delicate. A firm mouth, rouge colored to match her hair offset her emerald-green eyes. We took her off a small barque rushing from one "safe" island to another, and looked to offer her for sale at Jamaicatown. The bastards there would buy anything not English, and pay good coin whether the girl was experienced or fresh. (Could not say about the last; we never sold any in that condition!)

After being brought on deck, she cowered before the men who held her, and rightly so. They teased her while waiting for me, but held her clear when I approached.

"Good afternoon, fair maiden," I said in French (likely the last she'd hear that tongue for a while). "Why did you choose to undertake such a dangerous voyage, when rogues such as we are about?" The men shared a hearty laugh.

"Are you the Captain? I demand to be returned to my home at once. My father is rich and important; he will pay good ransom for my unharmed return!"

Again I laughed. "You have precious little rights on my ship to be 'demanding' anything. Your father's wealth and willingness will be tested, to be sure; our prize crew is already taking a message to him notifying him of your fate. While here, however, you belong to me, and to my men, and shall act in the humble ways of a slave or lose some skin. The choice is yours, as will be the consequences of your actions."

"You scum dare not threaten me, as your scurvy crew will rot in prison or the mines as soon as my father learns of my situation."

I turned to the men and smiled. This was the usual response from rich bitches. Motioning to the doctors and my First Mate, Jorge, I stood back from the girl and approached the wide rail on the port side of the ship. My men were high in the rigging and standing on the yardarms, watching the fun below.

The three men soon had the Frenchwoman stripped and in shackles, much to her distress. Unbroken as yet, she threatened one and all with the rope's end or the hangman's noose. Hearing slight response beyond laughter, she fought harder. She was brought to the rail in my near presence.

"Bitch, what was your name?"

"I am the Lady Marie du Rochforquet. How do you dare say, 'what WAS my name'?"

"Simply put, on this ship you will be Bitch, and you will be so until your father redeems your ransom, we sell you to slavery, or we drop you over as chum to attract the fishes! Will you submit with honor, or do you wish me to begin the process of breaking your will?"

"I shall never submit. You and your sewer rats will pay for this."

"It seems, Bitch, that you must begin an education in the world's ways. Put her tits on the rail, men!"

The three jumped to it, and two held her firm while the third put narrow shackles attached to the rail around her tits and fastened them. She was largely endowed so no extra straps were needed, though the hook from the mast chain pulled her arms up and behind her, while hooks from the rail spread her legs and trapped them. I bent to peer at her creamy bosom, enjoying the light freckles and brown treats it was decorated with.

"As you cannot keep a civil tongue in your head, we must begin to show you how to behave. Be thankful I have not yet cut out your tongue, nor even applied a brank to your unbowed head.

"So to begin, I shall use the Spanish Quirt your deportment demands, 20 strokes to your breasts. First Officer Jorge will treat your buttocks to the same and your thighs to the same then your back to 50 with the whip if you do not learn from the first. Be sure your breasts and bottom will suffer their fate notwithstanding any change of heart you might have; you can still save your back and thighs, however. Vouchsafe this in mind for after the forty are complete!"

I studied my twin targets further, prodding them to ascertain where to strike, and how hard. Some places on the bosom are better to hit than others might be, as more reaction will be observed and more pain felt. Jorge, too, was checking his targets. Our eyes met and we nodded, planning to alternate strokes as we usually did. This increased the pain, distracted the victim, and allowed an entertaining vista for all our crewmen.

Raising the quirts, the punishment began. My first stroke was to the top of the breasts near the middle, while Jorge's choice was at the bottom of the cheeks, just above the walking folds there.

We worked as to a system, saving the last five to be those remembered longest.

At 15 strokes, the girl fainted; Doctor Smith and Doctor van Zmoot checked her health and determined her fit to continue, as a bucket of brine splashed in her face. The coldness of the water awakened her, and the sting of the salt in her wounds helped remind her where she was.... and that this was no nightmare. Jorge and I resumed, laying on the last five strokes for all we were worth. Hard blows between her cheeks were matched by the first strikes to her nipples and their lovely halos. The twenty completed, she was given a drink of water to ease her scream-ravaged throat while Jorge and I enjoyed some ale.

Inspecting Jorge's work, I noted with pleasure the drippings from her quim. Not salt water but rather the fluids of excitement her body produced now stained her thighs and the deck below. The lady had become aroused! Here was a subject for some humiliation!

"Now, fine Bitch. How say you? Do you wish continuations of the whippings?" I continued in a voice to be heard by all, "Or would you prefer to become a plaything of the crew and properly subservient? I note clearly that the whipping has stimulated your cunt to becoming wet! Perhaps the pain is what you wish?" Those crew close at hand peered carefully to note the wetness I had claimed; rough laughter and coarse comments spread through the men. The quieted to hear her response.

"Captain, Sir, I beg you to discontinue the whippings and I ask for mercy. As a mere woman, I have no great reserve of strength to carry on with this, nor any desire for serious damage to my body or pain to my soul. I shall do my best to serve your needs, and those of your crew. I beg again for your mercy, great Sir."

Turning to the crew, I asked them, "And how say you all, my fine gang of bla'ggards? Will you have her screams, or her sighs?"

As one, they shouted for sighs as being their choice. I told the doctors to take her to my cabin, and treat her wounds as needed. First Officer Jorge was to stand guard on her and keep her under bond until I returned.

The Navigator and I took a shot of the setting sun and the first few stars, and set course for our meeting point with the rest of the crew and the barque, hopefully to return with the ransom.

NEXT: Her next surrender

Copyright 2005 chksng19. All rights reserved pursuant to all international conventions. Reproduction rights will be allowed to non-pay sites after notice to the copyright holder.

Chapter 2

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Once we had assured our course was correct, I instructed the Second Officer not to disturb me (with a wink) and received a grinning affirmation in return.

"Aye, Cap'n, I'll not bother ye for less than the likes of a great whale, or the Admiralty's flagship. I trust ye'll break the girl in well, sir, and quickly also. We're all lookin' for'ards to our turns, ye see."

Viewing the bedraggled face of Edwards, my Second, and hearing his words, one would never think of him as the son of an Earl. Child of a scullery maid, he was cast from his mother before he was seven, and grew up on the streets and wharves of Liverpool. He was mostly self-educated, being just patient enough to listen as an educated dock-whore taught him to read and write. She'd seen a fair young lad who'd grown tall for his age with a shock of blonde hair falling over his brown eyes. He'd made a deal with her, that in return for steering customers her way, she was to teach him things. Not among the things the 12 year old had imagined was reading, but she demanded he learn that before anything else. He absorbed the knowledge quickly, being strongly motivated. Sadly, he'd been impressed onto a British Frigate as a cabin boy before he gained the experience he really wanted, so he'd been making up for lost time since. At 29, he was 17 years at sea with wide sailing experience and a true touch for dealing with the men. Between Jorge and Edwards, the need to have ships' punishments was few and far between.

Laughing at the comment, I ventured aft to my cabin, and found Jorge guarding the door, as I had instructed. A solid mountain of a man and dark, he was child of a long line of Blackamoors who had settled in Spain centuries ago. His family had become Catholic to protect themselves from the suspicions of the Inquisition, but Jorge's heart had little concern about God in it. The only times I'd ever heard the word pass his lips was when he was in the midst of battle, damning an opponent, or 'tearing off a piece' as he says.

My First was my strong right arm; I'd seen him loft two over the rail at once, with neither touching it. He was a head and a half taller than I, and nearly double my weight. The strongest of his characteristics was his loyalty, however: having realized him for the man he was, I offered him a Mate's position rather than running him through in an early conquest. Earning 5% of all our profits, he'd made out well and now shares in the ownership of a winery in Spain. Black of hair and eye, the man is pure of spirit: I trust him with my life.

He, too, smiled as I approached. "A fine one she is, Captain. Her price will be high, and the men will enjoy her spirit." A flash of grin brightened his dark countenance. "It was.... challenging.... to prepare her for you, Sir. The doctors bathed her, which she did not like. After both had been bitten, they asked me to hold her; this I would not do, as I hope for children some day. Instead I bound her spread and allowed them to do their jobs. They think her to be a virgin, Sir."

"Has she been noisy, Jorge?"

"Oh, Si, yes Sir. She has wished us all to the depths of the ocean and of hell too. She cannot seem to decide which is better for us, fire or water." He laughed heartily, and clapped my shoulder. "Go take care of her, Captain. I will get my sleep and be ready for my share of the enjoyment at dawn."

With a feeling of lust in my heart, I opened the door to my cabin and stepped inside. A wall of invective struck me full of filthy language and comments about the ancestry of my crew and me, as well as our likely final resting-places. Turning to see her hanging in the dim light, I saw her skin shine with the soothing oils the doctors had applied. Her breasts caught my eyes at first, and the weals the quirt had left behind. Her ass also had such marks, but more widely spread.

I took the time to inspect her more closely now. Her skin felt soft under my rough hands, and her belly flat below her bosom. Muscular legs demonstrated she did not only ride in carts but was likely a horsewoman. Clear eyes (and her command of the language) proved her educated... at least by the stableboys, as she knew every foul word I did.

The harsh words had begun vexing me. Such was improper for a lady of her standing, and it appeared it was my fortune to teach her otherwise. First warning her by word, then slapping her face, she appeared to be unwilling to change her way. I stopped to consider what to do: Frenchwomen can be so unpredictable. Finally grabbing a small 'pear' from my cabinet of tools, I forced it in her mouth and turned the key. Rapidly expanding, it blocked her from forming words.... and also delayed a pleasure I had looked forward to. She would certainly pay for that!

"Now that I have shut you up, Fair Bitch, I must teach you a lesson in obedience and respect. This tool is a flogger, and its target is anywhere on your body below your neck. I plan to beat you evenly, paying attention to the fact that your bottom and breasts have already suffered somewhat. As we have until sunrise, I'll not be in any hurry.... and can indeed take the whole night to teach you respect if you wish. The sooner you choose to give in, however, the quicker the agony ends and the ecstasy may begin. The choice is wholly yours."

The complaints became, if possible, louder. I stepped close to her face and told her that I would cease the beating when she made four of the same grunt in a row, over and over again. The fire in her eyes answered me, and thus I turned to prepare myself.

I stripped off my chemise and pantaloons, and stood before her in clout alone, otherwise bare. Taking the flogger, I rubbed it with a little oil and proceeded to beat her back, slowly, steadily, and evenly. After each five strokes, I checked her face; the only change was an increase in the number of tears after 25. Changing targets, her thighs and legs became the focus of my aim for the next 25; still she remained stoic in her response.

Fifty strokes had been given and I again spoke quietly to her, "Bitch, would you that I stopped before damage is done to your most intimate of treasures? You have only but to surrender: as a woman of quality, I would honor your word." For the first time, she was silent.

"Should I get you a drink, would you behave?" Silently, she nodded. I grasped the string to the wineskin and removed the plug.

"Remember your word," I admonished her, and carefully removed the 'pear'. Silence ruled her tongue. I raised the skin to her mouth, and allowed her to take a deep drought. She panted for a moment, and opened her mouth as to speak. "Civil, now," I said, and she nodded.

"Why do you do this, Captain? Why the effort to break my will?"

"Merely to teach you proper behavior around your master. You will submit sexually however you are requested to. You will beg for the chance to swallow a master's seed. You will do this well, or you will not eat, you will not drink, you will not sleep.... and you will suffer."

"I will submit to you, Captain. I simply request protection from the rest of your crew!"

"That is not what I said, nor is it possible. Those men are all my partners, and profits are always shared by all!"

She started to talk once again, but it was an order, not a request or a surrender. I pushed the 'pear' back into her mouth to quiet her, and decided it was time to attend to my baser instinct.

My erection had been rubbing against my clout for quite some time. Removing the garment, I grabbed some lubricating fat from my bedside and greased the erection, and it's target arsehole. She screamed the loudest yet, but my need was not to be unanswered any longer. I spread her bottomcheeks widely, and inched my hard cock into the dark hole. Screams changed to whines and mews as I reamed out her hole. I reached forward with one hand to steady myself, grasping her left breast and rubbing her nipple. My other hand reached for her cunt, which to my surprise I found quite wet. I began to rub on that little 'false prick' as the Jamaicans called it, in time with my deep strokes to her ass. Her warm sheath squeezed and massaged me, feeling as though it did not wish to let me go.

The sounds she made had changed again, and had become lower in her chest and deeper in tone. I had no doubt then that she was enjoying the attentions my hands were paying her, and slowed my stroke while increasing the hand activities. I left my cock deep inside her as I heard and felt the nearness of her climax: I wished us to finish close to each other. The clasping of her bowel as she peaked carried me over the edge, and soon I had fallen to the chair behind me, momentarily consumed.

Allowing a time for recovery, I grasped the washing cloth and cleaned myself, pleased to find no blood. Wetting the cloth again, I carefully washed her bottom, applying more oil when I had finished.

Chapter 3

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Faithful reader, I was well and truly depleted at this point; my day had been long and arduous. I decided to spend some time with the girl in conversation. I used my sleeve to brush away her tears, and again carefully removed the pear from her mouth after warning her to keep a civil tongue in her head.

"So, Fine Bitch; now you have experienced the loss of one of your virginities, and I will take your two others by morning. The most painful is done: the most pleasant will be last. Tell me, wench, how do you fare?"

"Captain, Sir, I feel to have suffered the pains of the damned. As a Convent-raised girl, I beg your mercy. My heart is a-flutter thanks to your clever hands, while my back and bottom ache in spite of your careful behaviors, Sir. Beyond that, although the memories of the pain are vivid, the stripes from the beating are only a burn. I am actually surprised, Sir.."

"How say you then, Bitch, about your submission to your masters?"

"Master, I feel sure you would not turn me over to your officers unless I were to be safe; as you have said, you wish my value to be high at Jamaica or my health to survive for ransom. Will you be sure, and be able to assure me, that such a submission will not lead to harm at the hands of your crew?"

"And what kind of submission is this? Dare you BARGAIN with me on my own ship? Your surrender must be unconditional, Bitch, or punishment will continue! I WILL break you! " The tears began to flow once again, and her and she began to wail. I picked up the pear and approached her; she made an effort to control herself and begged me to wait.

"Captain, Master, please! Understand that I am an educated woman, and daughter of a slaveowner. I know how the slaves are treated! Why would I not be afraid?"

Putting the pear back down, I sat down again. "Tell me about your life at home."

"I was never at home for very long, Captain. As soon as I was born, I was given to a wet-nurse for care. Later, I was sent to France, to Convent School, for proper education and training. My father never wanted a daughter, you see. When Mother gave him no son, she was sent back to France. He wished me around while I was still "cute", but at schooling age wished me gone so he might take other women to his bed for his pleasure, and for a son. Still none produced a son, so father turned to other sources of.... enjoyment, you might say. He would find things slaves did incorrectly, and punish them wickedly. Many tongues were removed, eyes plucked, brands applied. When I finished school and returned home, it was my - obligation, he said, as one to be Mistress of the plantation on Martinique, to learn and master the ways of punishment.

"He had me beat a man's privates to shreds who had simply dropped a piece of crockery. I was required to use a small guillotine to remove a new scullery maid's breast for 'sassing ' my father, that being her resistance to his physical attentions.

"But worst of all, the treatment of a couple discovered fornicating after they had escaped our land.

The man and woman were exposed beneath the sun all day for three days, and turned so they always faced the sun. This was to equal the amount of time they were gone. At night, they were bound facedown on the sand, to increase the pain of the burn on their skin. Both had guards who tickled them when they fell asleep, so they would wiggle in their gritty beds. The evening of their third day the woman was forced on her back on a grillwork. Her legs were brought up and tied next to her head. Spread like a dockside whore, her lover was forced to watch as every slave on the plantation used her. Men used one hole or the other, while the women straddled her head for satisfaction. When all were done, her holes were filled with black powder and a fuse, then sewn shut. Her lover, freed from his bindings, was brought into her sight: he was hugely erect. Protesting over his betraying reaction, she screamed when he fell to his knees and closed her mouth with his hard rod. He was pushed forward until he closed her throat and massaged until he came. Both were released, then tied face-to-face around the whipping post. His hole was packed with powder as well, then both dowsed with oil. The lit fuses soon burned to ignite the oil, and they screamed until the explosion of the powder silenced them. Their bodies were left in the courtyard for days.

His cruelties terrified me, as did his joy in the administration of them. I was on a voyage of escape when you captured me."

Interesting story. She had reason for unusual behavior, not just 'protecting her purity'. A different direction would be required, now that she'd broken open.

"Bitch, I feel some small sadness in my soul for your story. Though you cannot be spared the sexual training, you can learn to enjoy what you do.... and my men will enjoy it as well. Have I then the assurance of your submission to all masters?"

"Captain, Master, you do indeed. I give you my word.” Releasing her from her chains, I resolved to lead her to the loss of her remaining virginities differently.

Our tale continues.

Walking to my cabin, and further delights with my Bitch, I noticed Jorge's door ajar and peeked within. My eyes widened in surprise: the beautiful captive had overpowered my First officer, binding him in the hanging chains and gagging him as well! She was swinging on his back with a short whip, and appeared to be enjoying it: her nipples were hard and her nether lips swollen.

She stopped for a moment, reaching around his hips to stroke his rampant cock. At once he responded, moving his hips in time with her motions. The sleek beauty allowed it only a moment, then her hand slid down to squeeze his balls, earning her his screams.

Moving back to whipping distance, she stroked his muscular ass, making it dance and jiggle in answer. His moan was pitiful and I truly considered rescuing him, but chose to hold back as a lesson. She proved her versatility, switching the whip to her other hand to ease the beating of his other side. Again, after perhaps ten minutes, she rubbed against him to tease, stimulated him, then once again squeezed his jewels. He screamed louder this time.

Stepping around his front side, she stood on a small stool and rubbed her tits against his face, using her fingers to transfer her sweat and pussy juices to his moustache. When she finished, the juice was running down to his lips, and he was again moaning with excitement. The cruel wench laughed with delight, stepped off the stool, and stropped the whip on his hard cock while staring into his eyes. Her fingers ventured to her love button, and she watched the tears of frustration fall from his eyes while she flagrantly frigged herself before him.

He watched (as did I) while the strumpet slowly stroked her clit, moving her rubbing fingers up and down her steaming slit. Her lips were swollen and puffy, purple with the blood which engorged them. She dropped the whip, and used both hands to bring herself to a tremendous climax. Collapsing against Jorge, she reached up and released him from his chains.

"Enough playing now, handsome man! Throw me upon the bed and take me roughly, fuck my cunt, my ass, my mouth, as you will. I am yours!"

Jorge had pulled the gag from his mouth, and his long tongue licked the juices from his upper lip. "I did not tell you that you could whip me, cunt, only to tease and excite me!"

She looked at him from under half lowered eyelids. "And is not the First Officer teased and excited?"

He shook his head quickly, as though to clear a foggy brain. "You are a temptress and siren! I will teach you the proper behaviors of a sex servant!"

Picking up the whip from the floor, he pushed her down upon the bed, and began to wildly whip her. She did not try to avoid the blows, but only protected her face.

At this point, my blue eyes blazed with anger. I will not abide abuse! Rising to enter the room and stop him, I watched as he suddenly controlled himself. He knelt on the bunk, raising and spreading her knees until they bracketed her chocolate breasts. Again he stared into her eyes, this time in control. She whispered, "YES!", and he pushed home between the wet lips. Keeping eyes locked, their hands roamed each other's bodies, teasing and caressing.

With that, the two lovers fell into nature's oldest dance, the beast with two backs. Their overwhelming excitement did not allow either to last, and they soon peaked at lungs' full volume, crashing to sleep in mid-embrace... mid-kiss.

I walked into the room on cat's feet, slipping to bunkside.  Gently, gradually, her hands were slipped within the shackles there and locked in.

Walking again to my door, I anticipated the embraces of my Sweet Bitch.