Capture of the Sorus-e-Aftab

Everett nodded. "Thankfully, we convinced him to give us the antidote to the Silence Milk. As it so happens..." he withdrew a small vial from his shirt. "I happen to have some of that antidote right now."

Everett grasped the duchess's face with a firm hand. She tried to resist, to pull her head back, but she could not hope to overpower the muscled captain. Pierre saw actual panic start to appear in the duchess's eyes as Everett pressed on her cheeks, forcing her mouth open. Pierre cringed as Everett poured the vial into her open mouth and shut it quickly, preventing her from coughing any up. Everett pinched her nose and watched intently as she couldn't help but swallow the liquid.

Everett released his grasp and took a step back. The duchess gasped and wriggled to catch her breath, her hair wild from the struggle. Pierre saw her face and neck reddening, and her eyes were wide, darting back and forth. Rapidly disappearing was the duchess's stone-white, fearless, powerful demeanor that he had seen throughout his tenure on the ship. She now looked around with trepidation and fear, looking up at her bound hands, as though she finally perceived her actual predicament.

She pulled desperately on her bindings, throwing her body weight against the ropes, trying whatever she could to loosen herself. The captain looked coldly to her. "Look at me," he whispered. Her eyes danced to him and then back to the ropes, as if trying to deny her presence.

"LOOK. AT. ME." the captain roared. Her body shook as though struck. Pierre was so startled he didn't even translate. Her body froze, her face tensed with fear as she looked at him.

"You thought me stupid, didn't you?" the captain said quietly, starting to circle the duchess. "Some barbarian who would be satisfied by a simple fuck that you wouldn't even feel, and then ransom you back to your king? A peasant, like all the others you turn your nose down at before returning to your gold cutlery, eh?" The duchess only quivered in response, biting her lip.

Everett now stood behind the duchess. He reached up, and gently brushed her neck with a finger. He paused, then leaned into her neck. "Aye, I have my desires. Only a fool doesn't." Pierre clenched his fists as he translated, thinking of Suzanne. He had to do this for her.

Everett kissed the duchess's neck with a threatening gentleness. She tensed, a small tight hiss of air coming from her. "And you are beautiful, my lady. You know that yourself, don't you?" He drew his face up her neck, smelling her hair loudly. Pierre saw her lips trembling.

Everett pressed his face into her hair. His hands began to lightly brush against the sides of her body, a faint gesture that was felt like a punch by the duchess. She shut her eyes, her face clenching tightly. Everett's hands started to become more insistent, his fingers starting to press into her hips. He bit gently at the duchess's earlobe.

"Yes, you are indeed beautiful. But, my lady, you must know, that I am honorable." Everett's fingers travelled downwards, to the duchess's buttocks. He began to graze his hands over them, the fabric bunching up and wrinkling as he did. Her eyes flew open, as if she was perceiving the reality of the situation. He began to pull upwards on the fabric, drawing her skirt-line upwards, baring ever more flesh on her legs.

"Yes, I am honorable." He licked at her neck. "All you must do is tell me how to unlock the chest." He pulled more fabric, and her skirt was now pulled up above her knees. Millimeter by millimeter, her thighs were bared. "Tell me, and I will leave you be. You have my word. Otherwise I will do as I wish with you, and then I'll give you to my men."

Pierre could see Everett reaching downwards, his fingers grazing her now exposed thighs. The duchess now looked to Pierre, for the first time. Her eyes were full of pleading, as though she wanted him to make the decision for her. Pierre bit his lip, and nodded slightly to her.

Everett's fingers were now approaching the duchess's buttocks. They had almost reached their destination when the duchess finally spoke.

"Wait."

Everett paused his ascent, without removing his body from her.

The duchess swallowed hard. "I will tell you. You will leave me be, as you gave your word."

Everett nodded. "Aye, I gave my word."

The duchess shut her eyes. "The chest has a secret compartment on the back-right corner," she whispered. "My hairpin fits into a slot there."

Everett let go of the duchess. Her body relaxed with a shudder. With none of the attentiveness or desire he had displayed before, he reached up, and roughly pulled at her hairpin. As it was removed, the duchess's hair fell in waves down to her back. He stepped quickly to the chest, and Pierre saw him fiddling at the location the duchess had mentioned. Something audibly clicked, and the compartment was revealed.

The duchess's head sank. "Rotate the golden dial to the peacock. Then pull at the silver lever."

Everett did so, and soon Pierre heard a mechanism spinning loudly inside the chest. Everett looked intently at it, his breath held. And then the chest sprang open. Everett grinned widely for the first time since Pierre had met him. He withdrew a tall, glass bottle, filled to the brim with dark green powder. He nodded, acknowledging his prize.

"You have done well, my lady," he said. "I know this must have been hard on you, to give your family's secret up like this."

Her face did not rise. "You gave your word. I wish to go home."

"Home?" Everett said, with a questioning maliciousness. Pierre did not translate, confused. The duchess was confused by the translator's reaction, in turn. Everett raised an eyebrow. "I never said any such thing. I said that I would not touch you, and that I would not hand you to my men."

Pierre slowly translated, and the duchess's face whitened. "But..." she stammered. "But..."

Everett raised a hand. "I shall keep my word." Everett led Musgrave and Pierre out of the room. He looked to Pierre. "You. You are going to strip the duchess of her clothes. And then fuck her."

Pierre's eyes bulged. He could not breathe as he watched Musgrave blindfold the duchess, who resisted futilely. "What...what...?" he stammered.

"What?" Everett mocked. "You heard me. You are going to fuck her, and Musgrave is going to be sure you do it."

Pierre shook his head. "Why...why would I...?"

"Why?" Everett said threateningly. He shoved a finger into Pierre's chest. "Because noblemen like you think that you can be above all of this. Above the garbage and refuse that us common folk live in. That you can be above what you really want. I am going to show you what you really want. I'm going to show you what you can be, if you are in the wrong place."

Pierre pressed his lips together. "No. I won't do it."

Everett grinned. "You will, Sir Noble. Because if you don't, I will personally lead your wife to the galley and let each of my men fuck her in turn." Pierre's heart sank. Before he could utter another word, Everett had turned on his heels and walked away.

Pierre's mouth was dry. He quietly entered the room, taking care to not utter anything with his voice. Musgrave followed behind. The duchess head perked up, hearing footsteps enter the room. "Who...who is there?" she asked, softly. The blindfold concealing her sight was tight and thick, clearly. Pierre was thankful for that at least.

Pierre swallowed, hesitantly taking a step forward. His head spun, thinking of all possible ways for him to escape this wretched situation. What could he do? He could try to attack Musgrave and flee. Absurd. The pirate was a skilled fighter, and would surely overpower him. And then what? Overpower all the other pirates, and free Suzanne? Absurd. He realized he could not do anything which put his wife in danger.

There was nothing he could do. Everett had trapped him. He had to do this, and once it was done, he and Suzanne would go home, and everything could go back to normal.

He looked to the duchess. She was beautiful, no doubt. Her body was very unlike his petite Suzanne, with larger breasts and buttocks. He thought about Everett pulling up the fabric of her skirt, revealing more and more of her firm thighs. Musgrave was right; he had been erect the whole time Everett had been toying with her. Pierre always thought he would be horrified by the demonstration of such behavior, a man touching a woman like that. But yet, Pierre still found himself aroused. Do I want to do that? he thought.

Pierre approached the duchess, who continued to listen attentively to the footsteps in the room. Her breath was shallow and tense as she realized a figure was approaching her. His hand trembled as he reached up, towards her face. He tried to think what he would do with Suzanne to comfort her, but realized the absurdity of any situation where his wife was bound and fearful. Still, he thought, maybe we can do this in a way that doesn't cause shame to either of us.

His hand brushed her face gently, and she flinched as though whipped. Her breathing was shallow and irregular as Pierre felt her realizing that the captain had tricked her. Pierre instinctively tried to comfort her but gently massaging her neck. He realized that already a first boundary had been crossed, as he touched this woman who was not his wife. "No", he thought. "This is for your wife. Remember that."

Pierre had a full view of the duchess, and could see her breasts rising and falling underneath her blouse. His manhood strained against his pants, thinking of what lay underneath her clothes. He remembered Nyala, the beautiful slave, her immodesty and brazeness as she bared her naked body to all. "The sooner I get this done, the sooner I can return to Suzanne," he thought.

He leaned in for a kiss on the duchess's shoulder. The duchess shuddered, but did not pull back. Perhaps she knew what was coming, and was realizing that avoiding resistance would be the easiest way to ensure her safety. Pierre decided to be a little bolder and kissed up her neck, as he grasped her nape with his hand. He smelled her hair as Everett did; it was deeply and richly perfumed, unlike any smell Pierre had experienced before. He kissed across up to her cheek. She pulled back slightly, perhaps instinctively, but Pierre did not let her go far. "This is happening," he thought to himself. "I will make this as pleasant as I can for both of us."

He drew his hand down, across her back, rubbing lightly at her shoulders. And then he pulled her body towards him, and lowered his face onto hers. He kissed lightly at her lips first, and then pulled her in closer. Her lips were tightly pressed together, as though not responding at all to him. Frustrated, he probed with his tongue at her lips, seeking a way in. "I have to keep going," he thought. "There is no turning back." His tongue probed insistently at her as his hands worked their way down her back. One hand found its way to the knot that bound her sari together. Impatient from her lack of response, and feeling his desires growing stronger, he began to tug at the knot, attempting to undo it.

And then she bit him.

Pierre pulled away from her before she could truly wound him. His stomach sank, his head spinning. A million thoughts entered his head. "How could she do this to me?" he thought, feeling absurdly rejected. "After I attempted to make this easy, pleasant for both of us?" He looked at her, panting, his face reddening. Her face was full of rage. She angrily spat in his direction, hitting his shirt. Pierre's lips curled in anger. "She doesn't care. She doesn't care how hard this is for me. She doesn't care about Suzanne."

Pierre thought about Nyala, talking about how this duchess abused her husband, the man who loved her dearly. He couldn't believe it then, when the duchess was under the spell of the Dead-Juice, but looking at her sneering face, he believed it now. Pierre thought about Everett, his face full of disdain at this preening princess, speaking about how this woman viewed anyone remotely beneath her as animals. Beasts.

"Everett was right," he thought. "She considers me a beast, no matter how well I treat her." He clenched his fist. "Then a beast I shall be."

Pierre sneered in anger and strode forward heavily. The duchess, hearing him, almost immediately seemed to realize she had gone too far. But it was too late. With clawed fingers he grasped at the laces of her blouse, and he pulled with a strength that he did not realize he had. The laces resisted stubbornly, but Pierre pulled harder, his face fierce and focused. One by one, the laces gave way. Pierre watched with great satisfaction as he gave a final pull, and her blouse was torn asunder. Her breasts bounced free, and Pierre's eyes widened happily.

Her nipples were brown and large, such that Pierre had never seen before. His cock strained as he reached forward and grasped at her breasts, caressing them roughly. With his thumbs and forefingers he pulled at her nipples and she howled at the sudden sensation, trying to pull away, which only made it more difficult for her.

Pierre's eyes were grim as he licked at her nipples and up her chest. "This is what a beast must do," he thought. He looked to the duchess's skirt. "She does not yet look the part," he mused. Pierre looked to Musgrave, who was watching with a combination of surprise and approval.

With one hand he reached downwards, pulling the fabric of her skirt upwards. Pierre's fingers were hungry and determined as they moved under her skirt, and up her thighs. The duchess attempted to pull back, moaning, but Pierre placed his other hand threateningly below her chin. She froze as Pierre's fingers crawled upwards like a spider. Pierre's eyes widened as he discovered what he was hunting for, and found her to be deliciously moist. The duchess shuddered quietly, as though she had lost a secret. "She is aroused," Pierre thought. "Of course she is. She thinks herself so mighty, but see her succumb to her basest instincts."

Pierre withdrew his hand, and deftly undid the laces on her skirt. Her skirt bunched up around her waist, refusing to fall. Pierre grabbed roughly, and pulled down.

The duchess was now completely naked, bared to her captors for the first time. She perceived her sudden vulnerability, and attempted to cross her thighs and breasts together to conceal her private areas. Pierre guffawed at her attempts to preserve her honor in front of her inferiors. His eyes drank her in, examining every curve, every feature, every flow. Her cunt peered out despite her effort, glistening with wetness. "Everett was right," he thought. "He was right about me. I want her."

He ripped his own shirt off, and threw it at the duchess. She winced and drew back. "Not because I'm worried about my own safety."

He roughly pulled his own boots off and tossed them to the side. The duchess's breathing grew more panicked, realizing he was fully disrobing. "Not because I want to save my wife."

Finally he pulled his breechers off, his cock springing upwards and free, pointed towards the duchess. He stroked himself, staring at her naked, vulnerable body. "But because I want her. I want to fuck her."

Everett gestured to Musgrave with two fingers. She nodded, and grasped the rope near her. She undid it and slackened it slightly. The duchess fell to her knees, her hands bound above her. Pierre stepped forward until he was standing directly in front of her kneeling body. With three fingers, he reached underneath her blindfold, and pulled it off of her.

The duchess blinked, her eyes adjusting. She looked in front of her, and realized with alarm that she was staring at a man's veiny cock. She attempted to pull back, but Pierre's firm hand on the back of her head prevented her from motion. He grasped her head and forced her to look up, at his face.

Pierre chuckled at the duchess's reaction, his face dark and full of intent. She seemed to shrink and cower before him.

Before she could utter a word, he started to firmly pull her head towards his cock. She looked to him, her eyes pleading, her face trying to shake in weak disagreement. But she knew now who was ruler and who was ruled. Her lips gave way this time. Pierre groaned in satisfaction as her wet mouth embraced his cock head. He pulled her face in slowly, with determination. His shaft slowly slid into her mouth with a glorious sucking sound.

Pierre's fingers ran through her hair as his cock fully slid into her mouth. Distantly, Pierre realized that this was the first time his cock had been sucked. Operating purely on instinct, he withdrew her face and then pressed it back. Realizing he enjoyed it, he began to thrust his hips into her face slowly, allowing her lips and tongue to run over him. As the duchess began to work her tongue over his cock, he realized that she was quite experienced at this.

She sucked deeply on him, with loud slurping noises escaping her mouth. As his pace quickened, she began to gag, but her throat still accepted his length. With one hand he prodded her to open her eyes, and tilted her face towards him. He stared at her icily, and demanded that she return his gaze. He saw a satisfying cowardice in her face, a prostrate subservience to his needs.

"This is your true state, is it not?" he finally said out loud, deadpan and whispery. "Debased, degraded. Stripped of your finery."

Her eyes attempted to look away as she sucked but Pierre jerked her head back to look him. She said nothing but her eyes spoke volumes; she had woefully underestimated Pierre, and now had little idea what he would do next.

He exulted in his victory. "You are meat. As am I." A rush of strength came to his head. With a vigor he did not know he had, he thrust faster, fucking her face, which accepted him with a quiet understanding. As he felt his cock boil, he remembered the semen-splattered breasts of Nyala, from what seemed so long ago. On his last thrust he withdrew from the duchess's face, his cock pointed directly and threateningly at her.

"Open your mouth. Do not close your eyes." he commanded. To his satisfaction, she obeyed. He groaned and winced as he felt his cock convulse. The first jet hit the duchess's nose, splattering across her cheek. The second jet found its mark, hitting in an arc from the roof of her mouth down to her chin. The third hit her lips, some bouncing into her mouth, some landing on her breasts. Pierre felt himself growing faint as he climaxed, watching his semen splash on her face and neck.

As his climax subsided, he pushed his softening cock into the duchess's mouth. He shut her mouth over it, and held her nose as Everett had done before. She obeyed the gesture, swallowing his semen already in her mouth and continuing to pour in from his cock. Finally he released her, and took a step back. Pierre looked upon her. Her face, neck and breasts were satisfyingly smeared with cum. "My cum," he mused in his head. Her body was reddening from the exertion, her hair messy and strewn about. Gone was the regal, powerful woman from an hour ago, transformed into an animal.

She looked up to him, a small pleading in her face. Pierre took a breath and felt a battle in his mind. As his cock softened, he suddenly felt a slight tinge of guilt. "Should I have done this?" he wondered for a moment. He then looked down, and saw something peculiar. Her cunt was positively gushing, with her juices staining her thighs. As the duchess saw him looking at her wetness, only then did she seem to realize herself how unwittingly aroused her body was. She shifted uncomfortably and looked away.

Pierre chuckled darkly. "Your mind is begging you to leave, to stop," he said to her. He gestured for Musgrave to raise the prostrate duchess. Her body was lifted up, until her feet were off the ground and his face level with hers. "But what is your body telling you?"