tagNovels and NovellasVoyages of the St. Veronica Ch. 02

Voyages of the St. Veronica Ch. 02

bychksng19©

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 it's 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, 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.

(Next: Submission or continued punishment?)

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