Taming the Duchess de Montfort Ch. 01

"I implore you, sir, reconsider what you intend to do with me."

Ignoring her entreaties, he reached up and unlocked the shackles that bound her arms. Grasping both her wrists in one of his strong hands he held her arms behind her back and stroked her hair, then bent to kiss her. As his lips approached hers she suddenly snapped at him with her teeth, attempting to bite him. But he was quicker than she was, and pulled back before she could sink her teeth into his face.

"Careful Captain," Jacques laughed, "the cat has teeth."

Jean-Pierre stepped up with a length of rope, and while she squirmed and struggled he pushed the long sleeves of her green velvet sleeping dress up and tied her arms behind her back with her wrists crossed. This pulled her shoulders back and thrust her chest forward, causing the fitted bodice of her gown to stretch tightly across her generous bosom. Then he kissed the nape of her lovely neck and shoved her toward Captain Renoir, who caught her as she stumbled against him.

"Hand me your dagger, Jacques," he said, as he held her around her slender waist.

She stared at the large knife as Jacques pulled it from his belt and handed it to Renoir. What was he going to do? Was he going to cut her? But no, he used the dagger to make small cuts in the sleeping gown. What was he doing, she wondered? He cut slits around the top of the skirt, at her shoulders and around the bodice before handing the knife back to Jacques. The slits breached the green velvet of the outer gown, but did not go through the white linen underdress she wore against her skin. Holding the puzzled princess by the upper arm, he grasped a fold of the dress near her waist and shoved her back toward Jean-Pierre. As she stumbled forward the fabric ripped, leaving Renoir holding a piece of green velvet as Jean-Pierre caught her. A long white strip of her underdress showed through the ruined gown.

"No, please, please. Please don't touch me, please I beg you, don't do this!" she pleaded, her noble demeanor crumbling.

Now Jean-Pierre grabbed a sleeve and shoved her to Jacques, who caught her as the sleeve parted from her dress. Jacques ripped a piece from the back as Edmond, the large African, received the frightened plaything. Edmond tore another large piece from the skirt as he passed her along. Slowly the dress was demolished and her linen underdress was uncovered. Renoir received the crying girl again and torn the entire front of the velvet bodice off with one pull, exposing the bosom of her underdress with her breasts thrust forward against the taught white linen. The men could now clearly see the hard nubs of her stiff nipples pushing at the front of her undergarment. The large fire had made the room warm, so there was no chill in the air. Was this a sign of arousal? How lucky they were if this turned out to be one of those rare women who cannot resist becoming stimulated by their little game of domination. Renoir had suspected she might be such a prize from watching her conversation with Captain Beaumont. She had been just a little too fascinated by the subject of pirates, especially her interest in the supposed atrocities committed upon their victims. Now she would have a chance to learn about those atrocities first hand.

Jacques pulled away the final shreds of velvet, leaving the young beauty clad only in her thin underdress. All the combs had now come out of her hair. With her long tresses loose and disheveled and her arms bound behind her she looked like a cornered animal as she glared at the brutes who surrounded her. Jacques moved towards her and she backed away right into the grasp of Renoir. She gasped as he gathered the white linen bodice in his fist and pulled, ripping away the front of her underdress and finally exposing her naked breasts to the hungry stares of his comrades. Several of them made sounds of appreciation at the sight of the trembling globes. They were firm and slightly conical toward the tips, with raised and puffy pink aureoles, which were rapidly puckering under the men's stares. She wanted to cover her breasts, to hide her long, stiff nipples from their eyes, but her hands were bound behind her and the men were all around.

"Oh God, please! Have mercy. Spare me, spare me!" the bare-breasted aristocrat begged.

Renoir cupped one of the silken mounds in his big hand and hefted it as if judging the weight. He stroked the soft skin and brushed his fingers lightly over her erect nipples. She shuddered at the unwelcome touch and cried,

"Oooh noo! No, please don't touch me!"

His response was to grasp the tip of her breast and roll the tender flesh between his thumb and forefinger. She cried out and he grabbed her around the waist as she sagged at the knees. He continued to torment her nipple, twisting and pulling the sensitive nub. Then he turned his attention to the other nipple, pinching and twisting it mercilessly.

"Stop! Stop! Oh dear Mother-of-God don't do this!" she moaned.

He passed her to Jacques, who similarly amused himself by squeezing her breasts and pulling cruelly on her nipples. She was passed around the room, allowing all eight of the buccaneers a chance to abuse her breasts and fondle her full round bottom-cheeks through the linen skirt. The villains held her squirming body against theirs, her soft breasts pressed against the hard muscles of their bare, tattooed chests. She averted her face as they tried to kiss her and nuzzle her graceful neck. Her nipples became red and swollen and exquisitely sensitive from the rough handling. The top half of her underdress hung in tatters, and Jacques ripped the remaining shreds away, leaving her naked from the waist up. From a nearby table Jean-Pierre picked up a thin silver chain two feet long. Attached to each end was a silver clamp with a strong spring to hold it closed. While one of the men held the sobbing girl's upper arms and pulled her shoulders back, Jean-Pierre squeezed one of the clamps and placed her nipple inside the jaws, then let it close on the tender flesh. The delicate princess screamed as the metal clamp bit into the tip of her lovely young breast. Jean-Pierre repeated the process with her other nipple, causing more screams of anguish. The men were enjoying the sight of the once haughty young aristocrat, her naked breasts adorned with a silver chain connecting her clamped nipples. Edmond grabbed the chain and tugged, pulling on her captive nipples and making her cry out deliciously. The man holding her let go of her arms and Edmond pulled on the chain, forcing her to scuttle forward to relieve the strain on her nipples. He took another step back and she followed instantly. And so he pulled the half-naked girl around the room by her nipples, the men laughing and applauding as she stumbled over the straw-covered dungeon floor, sobbing and begging him to stop.

He handed off the chain to another man, who took his turn amusing his drunken friends by pulling the darling captive around the dungeon by her clamped nipples. They enjoyed this game for some time, until each pirate had led the young Duchess around by her nipple-leash, and they were ready for more fun with the sweet noblewoman. Now Jean-Pierre grabbed the chain and pulled her by her clamped nipples into the center of the circle.

"Time to unwrap the rest of the treasure," he said as he unceremoniously yanked down the bottom half of her torn linen underdress. She froze in shock as she suddenly stood before them completely nude except for her silk bed slippers and the silver chain connecting her swollen nipples. There was silence in the room as the buccaneers stared at the trembling naked aristocrat, her arms still bound behind her and the remains of her dignity gathered around her ankles. Her eyes were tightly closed as she avoided the looks of the evil pirates, and she squeezed her thighs together as if to protect her sex from the hungry gazes that feasted on her exposed beauty. Her legs were long and shapely, with rounded calves and slender ankles. The ivory columns of her thighs led to full hips and a round firm bottom. The delta of her sex was covered with silky auburn fur, which was straight rather than the more usual curly hair.

"By the balls of Satan, what a tasty morsel she is!" exclaimed Jean-Pierre as he approached the naked Duchess. She made no attempt to escape, but stood meekly as he drew his dagger and sliced through the ropes behind her back. Grateful for this tiny mercy she immediately tried to cover her clamped breasts with one arm and held her other hand over her mound. But her relief was short-lived as he lifted her and threw her over his shoulder with his arm holding her legs around the backs of her knees. Her long hair hung down his back and the plump lips of her sweet pussy protruded from between the backs of her clenched thighs. He patted her naked bottom, squeezing the round cheeks. But not all of the fight was gone out of Therese du Maurier yet, and she kicked her feet and pounded his muscular back with her tiny fists. As she struggled, her silk slippers went flying off her delicate feet.

"Stop it, stop it! Put me down, take your hands off me, you beast!" she yelled. His response was to smack her hard on her precious bottom with his open hand, making the flesh jiggle.

"Ow!" she screamed, "Stop! God will punish you," she warned, having now abandoned her earlier threats of earthly retributions.

Ignoring her cries he continued slapping her behind until she went limp and stopped struggling. She was crying again, and her ass cheeks were red from the spanking. Jean-Pierre rubbed the blushing flesh, squeezing her ass and stroking the backs of her legs. The pirates noticed that she was no longer holding her thighs tightly clenched, but had relaxed and allowed them to part slightly, making her sex more visible from the back. They could see the tight slit glistening with moisture, and they knew her resistance was weakening. Jean-Pierre walked around the circle of men with the naked princess over his shoulder, presenting her bare ass for them to fondle and spank. When he came to Renoir, the Captain said,

"What's this? Can it be that our pretty guest is getting moist?" he said in a mocking tone. Then he touched his finger to her wet crevice, gently sliding it along the crack and spreading the juice over her sweet labia. She tried to muster one last attempt at resistance.

"Nooo, please don't! Have pity! This is wrong. You must not touch me there."

But her voice was softer now, and the protests were closer to moans than to cries. Renoir continued to stroke her slit, causing the lips to part as her heat grew against her will. The inner labia were visible now, wet with arousal. At the top of the open lips her shy pink clitoris was peeking out from the wet folds of tender flesh. He brushed his finger over the tiny nubbin of pleasure, drawing gasps and a moan from the heated princess. The scent of her stimulated young pussy began to drift on the air, filling the dungeon with her musky perfume.

Therese du Maurier was by nature a passionate young woman, and before her marriage she spent much time letting her thoughts wander to romantic, even sensual, dreams of dashing and dangerous young men. She felt quite guilty about these impure thoughts, and was too embarrassed even to reveal them to her confessor. She had, of course, been a virgin when she married the much-older Duke. The Duke had consummated their marriage the night of the wedding, but it had been more a matter of ceremony than one of pleasure, and had been disappointing for the young bride. In the brief time before his fatal accident they had been together in bed only two other times, both of which had been in darkness and had ended rather quickly. She had therefore never found release for her passionate urges, and had not even seen a man's penis before.

"No," she thought, "I must not let this happen. I must not surrender to lust!"

Renoir stroked the fur-covered outer lips of her vulva, then said to Jean-Pierre,

"Did you bring your razor, mon ami?"

"Of course, Capitaine, I always do," the First Mate replied, smiling.

"Then would you do the honors?"

"Gladly, gladly," he answered and carried the whimpering Duchess over to a long narrow table. Taking her off his shoulder he laid her down on the table, which was less than two feet wide. Her large breasts jiggled as she settled on her back, the clamps still on her nipples and the silver chain draped across the firm mounds. He pulled her hands together and wrapped a chain around her wrists, drawing her arms straight back along the table over her head.

Hanging from the ceiling above the table were long black iron chains on pulleys, and Jean-Pierre pulled two of them down and wrapped one around each of her ankles. Then he pulled on another chain and her delicate feet rose in the air until her long legs were held up in a wide 'V', pulled back and spread as far apart as seemed physically possible, with her bottom near the edge of the table. She was immobilized, chained tightly before the watching pirates. Her tear-streaked cheeks blushed furiously at the shame of having her most private place thus exposed. The humiliated Duchess looked at the men standing around the table.

"What are you going to do to me? Please don't hurt me!" she pleaded.

With her legs spread wide and angled back, her pussy was completely open to their stares. The reddish brown hair on her mound was soft and straight, and sparsely covered the plump lips, which were parted from the forced spreading of her legs and from her growing arousal. They could clearly see her inner labia, rosy and swollen, glistening with her juices, and even the hairless pink rosebud of her tight little asshole was fully exposed to their gazes. Renoir resumed his gentle stimulation of her pussy, running his fingertips over the slick membranes, painting the wetness along her slit. His finger brushed over the sensitive little bump of her tiny clit, once again eliciting an involuntary moan from the bound princess. He spread some of her juices from the tight entrance of her vagina down to her puckered asshole, rubbing it around the snug circle of muscle.

"Oh no, please don't touch me there! How could you?" she protested, but Renoir could feel her back hole rhythmically clenching, and he knew she was fighting her own desires.

Renoir moved aside and Jean-Pierre stepped closer. Therese whimpered as she saw him draw his dagger and bring it close to her unprotected pussy. He pinched a small clump of her soft pubic hair between his fingers and cut it away with his knife. She was frozen with terror that he might cut her, but she remained unharmed as he proceeded to slice away her auburn fur bit by bit, until only short, uneven stubble remained. Putting the dagger away he removed a folded razor from the leather pouch on his belt and placed it on the table. He lifted a goblet containing soap, and used a shaving brush to work up a thick lather. She gasped when the brush touched her, and she was unable to suppress tiny whimpers as he spread the lather over her mound and along the lips of her pussy. And although it was not necessary, he worked the soft brush up and down her slit, stroking it repeatedly over her erect, pulsating clit until she was moaning softly. While he teased her pussy with the soapy brush, another man was tugging on the chain attached to the silver nipple clamps, sending little jolts of pleasure-pain through the ends of her firm breasts. Lifting a long leather strap attached to his belt Jean-Pierre opened the razor and stroked it along the strap to hone the edge. There was a sharp intake of breath from the Lady as he placed his hand on her flat lower belly and pulled up to tighten the skin over her mound, the motion transmitting a gentle tug to her clit. Slowly and methodically he stroked the sharp blade over her tender flesh, pulling her pussy lips this way and that as he removed the last of her pubic hair. Opening her eyes and looking around she saw the evil brutes intently observing her torment.

"Oh, dear God," she thought. "They're watching him shave my sex! Is there no end to my shame?"

When he finished he took a piece of her ruined linen underdress, dipped it in the fresh water bucket and wiped the remaining shaving soap from her naked pussy, taking his time rubbing the cloth over her bare cunt. The shaving had further stimulated the poor girl, and the men could see a tiny trickle of her cream leaking from the tight entrance to her vagina and running down to her hairless puckered asshole.

Jean-Pierre finished his handiwork by reaching for a small flagon. He held it above her bare crotch and poured a stream of perfumed oil over her freshly shaved pussy. He then rubbed the oil over the smooth flesh, coating her mound and lips with the slippery liquid and working it into her slit and down to her anus. She was aroused almost beyond caring by now, and did not even try to suppress her moans as he spread it over her silky thighs and hips. He continued to cover her body, rubbing the fragrant fluid over the soft skin of her legs, then over her belly and up to her chest, squeezing her breasts as he oiled the firm globes and coated her clamped nipples. He then returned to rub more oil over her bald, leaking pussy.

As Jean-Pierre stroked the slick oil over her body, the naked, bound and shaved noblewoman looked around to see that now all the pirates had removed their shirts and trousers and were stroking their hard cocks. Most of the men were covered with tattoos across their bare chests, and even their backs, which made them appear yet more dangerous. She was hypnotized by the sight of the stiff, throbbing erections, which were much larger than she had imagined even in her most secret reveries. She desired to touch one of them and to know what it would feel like in her hand. She even, God help her, wanted to know what it would feel like in her mouth.

"No, no," she mentally screamed, "don't think about it! God will surely punish me for such impure thoughts!"

But they were not in her thoughts, they were right there in front of her eyes; eight hard, throbbing pirate cocks. The feeling in her pussy was driving all reason from her lust-clouded mind. Thoughts of God, of sin, of the nuns who had admonished her about the fires of Hell, all were lost, replaced instead by the fingers on her shaved, oiled pussy, the clamps on her swollen nipples, and the wonderful hard cocks surrounding her.

Jean-Pierre stood between her suspended legs. Her crotch was spread wide, shaved slick and glistening with the mixture of oil and her own wetness. She gasped when he stroked his throbbing hard-on along the backs and then the insides of her oily thighs, then over her smooth mound and along her wet outer pussy lips. The friction of his hot cock sliding over her sensitive, exposed skin was driving her insane, and she nearly passed out when he began to rub the head along her slippery slit. He rested the full length of his rod in the crevice between her labia, the underside in contact with her sensitive inner lips, and slowly moved his hips back and forth, sliding his cock along the moist slit at the center of her sex, coating it with her juices. The Duchess was whimpering loudly, moving her hips to meet the delicious friction of his hot probe as the underside of his cockhead slid over her straining clit. She expected him to enter her soon, and she prayed that God would forgive her for what she could not prevent.

But Jean-Pierre did not enter her, instead he stopped the teasing stimulation of her swollen pussy and moved away, around to her side. There he continued to stroke his oil-covered cock along her outer thigh, then over the swell of her hip and along her quivering belly. He was rubbing his erect manhood all over her body, teasing her while spreading the scent of her aroused pussy over her feverish skin. At the same time another of the men began using his cock to stimulate and torment her sex, repeating the actions of Jean-Pierre.