Rum, Sodomy and the Lash Ch. 02

Kitty's heart was pounding in her ears, her breath short and ragged, as she struggled to process Captain Prince's words. She knew objectively that this was an undesirable situation of dire jeopardy, so why was she so uselessly fixated on the sight of the scattered black hairs on his chest and the fabulous novelty of his scent? It was an aromatic intoxicant of musk, perspiration, leather and spices and it was shooting a starry path straight to the part of her brain that she desperately needed to function properly NOW if she was going to avoid something unpleasant happening. The warmth of his body radiated from him, transferring a little of his heat to her nude flesh. She liked that feeling. Her nipples were painfully hard and there was a dampness about her thighs. Why would he not draw back from her, why did he persist in breathing into her neck in this way? It was intolerable.

With a gargantuan effort, she pulled her thoughts back from the brink and stammered, "I....don't...agree."

"Hardly surprising, Kitty, as this seems to be the template of all our exchanges. I say something and you disagree." Captain Prince unravelled his spine and loomed above her once more, regarding her with taunting amusement. "I am unaccustomed to being disagreed with, wench; do you know why that is?"

Kitty shook her head dumbly, trapped in the charismatic beam of his attention.

"Because I am master of this ship and all who sail in her." He leaned down once again so that their eyes were level and enunciated distinctly. "Including you."

Kitty fumed impotently. She was a lady! She was Catherine Tremayne, the only child of Lord Tremayne of Templecombe. And this...ruffian...was a pirate! It was too topsy-turvy to be borne.

"Who the devil do you think you are, Sirrah!" she shrilled irately. "You can't speak to me like this."

The pirate captain laughed long and loud.

"And to think I was going to go easy on you," he chuckled into Kitty's livid face. "Thinking you were just some timid little chit who had bitten off more than she could chew. Well, let's see how ready you are to take that imperious tone after I've given you the sound spanking you have just asked for so eloquently."

"You've...WHAT?" spluttered Kitty, springing backwards violently, but not quickly enough to elude Captain Prince's bruising capture of her wrist.

"You heard," he said grimly, dragging her over to his chair by main force.

Kitty was beyond speech. Never in all her born days had she even been spoken to with less than reverence and respect. Her father had treated her as if she were made of rare porcelain and she had grown up more used to commanding staff than conversing on equal terms. She had always been given anything she desired immediately and had a perception of herself as some kind of Empress, designed to be adored and flattered. Spanking, or discipline of any kind had certainly never been a feature of her experience, and she had never expected it to be.

But now Captain Prince had her bent face-down over his knee, both her wrists encircled in a vice-like grip while she kicked and hollered her dissatisfaction with the scenario. In an effort to contain her lusty protestations, the corsair nipped her earlobe with his teeth and hissed, "You can behave yourself and submit to my hand, or continue your disobedience, in which case I will tie you down and use my strap. Which is it to be, Kitty?"

A final shriek of rage passed through Kitty's clenched teeth before she brought her writhing body to stillness, having no doubt that the Captain was a man of his word.

"Sensible girl," he said drily, running a rough-skinned hand across the smooth surface of her untouched bottom. "Peachy little arse, too," he noted. "Though I plan to paint it cherry red before I've done with you."

Kitty whimpered piteously, not quite able to bring herself to plead with him. If he was going to do this, she wished he would just hurry up and get it over with.

"I'm going to show you what happens to foolish girls who can't keep a civil tongue, Kitty," he promised, and suddenly the first stroke landed with an echoing smack that she was sure could be heard the length and breadth of the ship. It hurt. The imprint of his hand was sure to be visible on her backside, and this was just his opening blow. But she prided herself on her dignified demeanour and refused to shout or cry. He could do his worst; she would not give him the satisfaction of tears.

It was far from easy to keep this vow, though, as cracking smack after smack fell, sometimes rapidly and stingingly, sometimes weightily and hard, on her quivering behind. The Captain meant business, and she had the feeling he would not let up until he could see the evidence of her contrition. Damn him, he would get nothing of the kind from her. She bit her lip and squirmed for what seemed like a very long time, but his arm seemed not to tire in the slightest, and his hand was constituted of some impervious material that felt nothing despite its frequent harsh contact with her bottom.

The spanking itself might not be quite so bad if only he didn't feel the need to keep up a maddeningly patronising commentary throughout.

"Any regrets yet, Kitty? Hmmm? (Smack) Seeing the error of your ways? (Smack, smack, both sides) You will be addressing me with courtesy, young lady, if I have to spank you until daybreak (smack, smack, smack, smack, very fast and hard, drawing gasps of discomfort)." And so on.

After about eight hours of this (in actuality it was eight minutes), Kitty could no longer keep her voice from wailing out the proof of her pain. It was on the tip of her tongue to beg him to stop, but her aristocratic Tremayne blood kept the pleas at bay.

"Starting to feel the burn now, Kitty?" enquired the Captain infuriatingly. "I'm hardly surprised; your pert little bum is as red as that wine on the table. A full-blooded burgundy, my dear. You know, you can stop all this by telling me the truth about your identity."

He waited a fraction of a second for Kitty's response, but an angry "Nnrggh" was all he got, so his arm swept upwards to strike once more.

More than ten minutes, and frequent exhortations to tell the truth, later, Kitty had broken her resolution and tears were dripping from the end of her nose and staining the wooden boards. Captain Prince's reputation for brutality was not undeserved, but he judged that his attractive little prisoner had had enough for one evening. She would hold out a while longer, but he would have broken her by tomorrow evening, without doubt. Her buttocks were an angry flame red all the way down to the middle of her thighs; a little more attention to that area tomorrow would get the desired results. He released her wrists and allowed her to flop exhaustedly over him for a few restorative minutes before brushing his fingertips across her scorched flesh.

"You took your punishment bravely, Kitty," he crooned, "but we'll see how you get on tomorrow, when the process will be repeated after breakfast, dinner and tea."

Kitty made an incoherent sound of half-rage, half-despair.

"Oh yes, Kitty, surely you didn't think I would let the matter drop so easily? I will get to the bottom...the very red bottom...of this, young lady. You will tell me who you are or you will resign yourself to never sitting again."

Kitty screwed up her face. It was impossible. She could never tell him the truth. She would work on a convenient fiction while she lay abed tonight. Anything to get out from under his merciless hand.

"Is that understood, Kitty?"

"Yes, Captain," she moped.

"Good. And now that I have warmed your bum, you may go and warm my bed."

"WHAT?"

"Calm yourself, my dear. Do you expect to bunk down in the hold with my crew? Your maidenhead would be a distant memory within seconds. It is the only...relatively...safe place for you to sleep. Don't fret, I won't touch you. Unless..." His fingers drifted wickedly down to harvest some of the mysterious juices that slicked her inner thighs, "...you want me to."

She kicked indignantly. How dare he?

Chuckling, he lifted her to her feet and guided her, hand in the small of her back, to his bedchamber next door.

"Sweet dreams, Kitty," he enjoined aggravatingly, leaving her to collapse on the bed on her stomach, burying her face in the rumpled linens. It was too much! How on earth was she going to get away from this scoundrel? She moved a hand behind herself to soothe her roasted rump, throbbing away as if it had a life of its own. She had never been so humiliated in her life, and he had promised at least one repeat performance tomorrow.

She determined to put her mind to weaving a convincing lie to put him off spanking her again, but somehow the tingly warmth down below wouldn't let her think straight. Instead, she found herself stealthily moving her hand from the heat in her rear to that between her legs. Why was it so wet there? She began to flick gently at the button of flesh at the heart of her pink petals, as she had done so back in her bed at home on occasion, without knowing entirely what she was doing or what it signified. It felt lazily delicious, the afterglow of the spanking having engorged the area and as her crisis hit her, she was thinking of lying over the Captain's knee, of him touching her there, of his rough scent and raised eyebrows and dark-voiced authority. "Ooooh, yes, Sir," she whispered into the pillows.

But seconds later she was furious with herself. What could she be thinking? She had to get away...make up a story...but the pleasuring had made her even sleepier...and the rocking and swishing of the sea against the bows was like a lullaby...and before she knew it...she was fast asleep.

*

Kitty woke in the night, blearily unsure of where she was but coming to quite quickly on noticing that her wrists were bound together with a wide strip of soft black leather which tethered her to the bedhead. Similar arrangements had been made with each ankle, gently parting her legs so that her sex would be visible if she weren't covered with blankets. She still lay prone, though she noted that her bottom no longer radiated such a cruel heat; it was only a little tender now. God's teeth, what was his game? She almost woke him up to ask him, but stopped herself judiciously; who could tell what his mood would be?

She turned her head to the side and saw his back, naked, though still with a sword strapped to it; surely that must be uncomfortable? She supposed the life of a pirate captain must be a dangerous one, and a flicker of sympathy for him crossed her mind before she scorned it. Don't be a pirate if you want a quiet life. And don't stow away on a pirate ship either, she added ruefully, before falling back into the welcome refuge of sleep.