Packard's Plunder

From all around her the sounds of a ship coming alive began. Hoarse shouts of bosun and petty officers rousing the crew from their slumber, water sloshing the decks and gun trucks squeaking as they were drawn forward to the readiness of dawn.

She sat huddled in the corner of the tiny room she slept in. She had long ago lost track of just how many times she had heard this chorus. It always started long before any greyness showed itself in the tiny scuttle hatch that was her only window of daylight or darkness.

She shifted on her blanket, hunger stirred in her again.

At first she had wept every morning. The voices of the crew would wake her, and she’d realize anew that she remained a captive. She would awaken and neither softness nor warmth would surround her. No canopied bed nor feather mattress, no servants would greet her, all smiles and obedience. No, instead she would awaken on the hard wooden floor, naked and shivering.

It had been an April morning when everything had come crashing down around her. Her husband, Lord Beck had booked her passage on an East India Company ship bound for Ceylon. A new and adventurous chapter of her life was about to open up. Her husband was the new governor of the colony, and she was traveling to be with him She would see to the household, and sample all that an English noblewoman could in the Far East. Silks, ivories and all manner of fine furniture would adorn her and her home. Everything that the exotic east could offer would be hers.

The sail sighted on the horizon didn’t alarm her at first, but the behavior of the crew around her did. Before she knew it she had been bundled below decks with her servant. The two women had sat there in the darkness, huddled against the bulkhead in confusion and growing fear. They clung to one another as the shouts from above became more frantic and gunfire shattered the forenoon. After that everything had been a whirl of sound and fury. Splintering crashes of shot hitting home, the shuddering of the hull as the ship took blow after blow. Then silence, eerie silence enveloped the very fiber of the ship. It seemed like hours later that boots came slamming down on the ladder and two large, powder-blackened and wickedly grinning sailors saw the huddling women.

Exploding in a whoop of glee one stepped forward and seized her servant by the hair. She was a girl of her early twenties; she screamed and fought like a cat as she was dragged up the stairs by the laughing villain.

That left Lady Beck, wife of Lord Beck, governor of Ceylon face to face with the other sailor. He was large, muscular and grinned like a predator. He frankly surveyed her form, not leering, but appraising her as a jeweler might gauge the value of a gemstone. She crawled back against the bulkhead as he slowly advanced on her. She was gasping in terror, unable to scream. Nothing in her life had prepared her for this moment. Privilege and position had taught her that to have her way, all that was necessary was to speak. Her wish was another’s order. “Stay back... Keep your hands off me!” she gasped through a suddenly parched throat. Terror welled up inside her. Confusion wracked her when he continued walking toward her shaking form. Gathering her last reserve of dignity she scrambled to her feet and shouted at him “I AM LADY BECK, WIFE OF LORD BECK GOVERNOR OF CEYLON AND I ORDER YOU TO KEEP AWAY FROM ME!!”

He stopped then, close under the deck head, smiled and removed his hat, wiped his forehead with a scrap of cloth and cast it aside. “Well, “Milady Beck,” he growled as if the words were coated in something bitter, “You ceased to be able to give orders when you and this ship came into the possession of Captain Packard, and the good ship “Harrier”

All the way up the ladder from the hold, Lady Beck fought and struggled, The sailor who had seized her kept her wrists pinned in an iron grip, bruising them with his uncompromising hold. When it was necessary he grabbed hold of her hair to subdue her. She was swung across to the larger, black-flagged vessel like the rest of the cargo and spoils. When she landed on the deck she had been taken by a large blond sailor and wordlessly thrown into the little room inside the great cabin, really not much more than a cupboard. This little room was to become her cell.

For quite awhile nothing happened, for hours all manner of mysterious sounds came into her room, shouted orders, the screams of the wounded and thumping of looted cargo. For a time she pounded on the door and screamed in fury. Eventually though, exhausted, fearful, Lady Beck fell into a fitful sleep there in the corner of that tiny space.

She was brutally awakened by the door being flung open. The sailor who had originally taken her from the hold stood there with his hands on his hips. “Get up wench,” he said conversationally, as if he were giving an order to a dog. She sat there, glaring at him, his big form outlined in the lantern light from behind him.

“Where is Captain Packard?” She said. “I DEMAND to speak to him!”

The sting of his open hand striking her cheek drew the breath out of her. She reeled back, her hand on the burning flesh, her eyes huge in shock and terror.

“You... demand... NOTHING!” he spat at her, his lips curling, his teeth bared. “You need to understand this my little bitch, and your life may become bearable. You are no longer a highborn lady of England; you are the possession of Captain Packard. He alone will decide if you live, die, become his plaything, or are thrown to the crew to serve every single one of their depraved and disgusting wishes. Do you understand?”

She lowered her hand then, dismissing his last statement as far too outlandish to consider. She stood up, drew herself to her full height, which only just came to his chest. She looked him in the eye and said “Be that as it may sailor, I WILL see the captain, and you can be assured that I will make a full and complete report of your assault and threats. I am a lady, and will be treated...”

The next thing she knew she was looking up from the deck at him, her cheek stinging like it was swarmed by hornets. The big sailor crouched down beside her and smiled like an amused tiger. He reached out and took hold of her long hair, brought her face close to his and said “Lady Patricia Beck no longer exists, only this little slave exists now. Your last free choice will be to either serve Captain Packard, or serve his crew.” With that he let her head go, turned, and closed the door to the cell. Outside she heard him exchange words with another crewman and a padlock snap shut.

Later, how much later she had no idea. She had dozed, or slept, she wasn’t sure. All she knew was how hungry she was when she awoke. She sat on the wooden deck, hunger and thirst working their way into her consciousness. Outside the door boots thumped on the planks, the yellow glow of a lantern lit the break under the door. A key worked in the lock and the door opened again and there stood the big sailor. He put a hand on his hip and said in a bored voice “Get up” Slowly, half expecting another slap she stood up, trying to look defiantly into his eyes, but, in truth scared to.

“I am hungry, and thirsty,” she said trying to sound like she was still in control of herself, when really she was shaking with growing fear of this big man and all he was capable of.

“Come here” he said as if she hadn’t spoken. Then he turned and walked into the great cabin. She followed him hesitantly, wary of his violence. In the middle of the cabin he hung the lamp from the deck head beam and crossed his arms in front of his big chest. He looked her in the eye and said “Disrobe”

“I BEG your pardon?” she said, shocked at the suggestion.

“Take off your clothes” he repeated. “I’ve known high-born sluts like you to hide a knife or two in their bodices to drain the life out of honest businessmen like myself.”

“I will NOT!” she stood, glaring, terrified at the turn this had taken. She had feared rape, of course, but she swore she would fight to her last breath, would die first, before submitting. “I’d rather DIE!” she declared.

Before the last sound left her lips she had been taken by the hair once again and dragged off her feet, an arm was pinned behind her back and she was propelled through the door out onto the quarterdeck. The rail of the quarterdeck slammed her in the stomach and her shocked eyes focused on the sailors in the gun deck below. Filthy, leering men looked back up at her, jeering and hooting. They were calling up for her to come down and join them.

“Cap’n Packard sir!!” cried out the big blonde fellow she had met before, “Has milady decided this fine band of lads appeals more than you?” This question was met with a general howl of animal lust. Bottles were raised and bronzed seaman’s skin glowed in the lamplight. All eyes turned to Lady Beck and the big sailor behind her. He drew her up, feeling the breath gasping in and out of her.

“What’s the answer “Milady?” he whispered close to her ear “Learn to serve me? Or be tossed over this railing right now and serve each of them in every way tonight, and every night”

Her head spun, sobs wracked her body in horror and revulsion. “Take me back there,” she whimpered.

“I thought you’d rather die,” he sneered as his knife came to rest along her white, smooth throat. The coldness of the steel made her cringe. She stood stock still in horror and broke into loud sobs as she shook where she stood.

“Take me back,” she whispered, choking.

“PLEASE take me back SIR” he parroted in her ear.

“PLEASE! Take me back SIR!” she wailed, unable to take her eyes off the men in the gun deck, nor move for fear of that wicked blade. She felt a surge of relief and gratitude as she was yanked back and propelled into the cabin again. The hoots and jeers of the crew followed her, the door not quite able to banish them completely.

“Disrobe,” he repeated as she stood under the spiraling lantern there in the great cabin. This time she set to undoing her green satin dress. Her hands were shaking in panic and shame, and in truth she really wasn’t sure how it came off. All she had ever done was stand and have her servant undo it. The tears were falling from her and she sniffled, whimpering in frustration as ties retreated out of reach, and buttons were stubborn. She cried out suddenly as his hand slipped into her field of view. This time though, she wasn’t struck, but the last of the fasteners of her dress was ripped away. It fell in folds around her ankles and she stepped out of it. She stood there uncertainly, her stockings and petticoats exposed. The sailor stared impassively and motioned her to continue.

“You’re Captain Packard?” she questioned hesitantly as she untied her crinolines and hoops.

“At your service milady,” he stated with a sarcastic flourish.

The clothes piled up beneath her, and as every piece was removed she grew more and more agitated. Soon all that remained was her corset and stockings. She stopped, looking askance at him. “All of it,” he said.

“Surely you can tell I’m not armed by now?” she flared and flinched suddenly as she anticipated a blow. She opened one eye to find him standing before her.

“If you have a request milady. I expect you to make it with good manners; “Please” and “Thank you” are mandatory here. Now do you have a request you rude little bitch?”

“Please...” she hesitated, the word unfamiliar on her lips, “Please may I keep the rest of my clothes on?”

“No,” Captain Packard replied evenly and spun her around by the wrist, producing the dagger again from his boot. He slashed the cords on her corset in one move. Suddenly freed it fell off her body before she could catch it. He spun her back, now naked save for her stockings. She had never been naked before a man before, the coolness of the cabin air played over her skin. She was married, but her husband was much older than her, and any time they had been intimate it had been quite businesslike and impersonal. He wanted an heir, and so their lovemaking, if it was to be called that, was brief and unadorned by any kind of passion. This was something different. She stood in the flickering light and felt his eyes upon her. She flushed with embarrassment and shame, but she was confused as well, because there was a hint of a thrill too. It was like a voice in a dark house...whispering, hard to hear, but there nonetheless. Her nipples stiffened in the cool air, but as she looked at him appraising her frankly there in the cabin, she felt a surge of desire as well, unfamiliar and unwelcome. She rolled off her stockings then, having untied the garters and stood erect, completely naked finally.

“Turn around,” Packard ordered and she swallowed, sobbed and did as she was told. She saw the open door of the little cell she had stayed in and feared it. “Good, now go back in there. I have work to do”

“I’m hungry and I’m thirsty,” she said, almost in a whisper.

“Well my dear,” the captain said, “When you learn to ask you might get fed.” With that she was pushed through the door and heard the padlock snap shut. She was wracked with sobs then, her body shook at the shock and indignity that she had been through, and with the fear of those leering faces on the gun deck below.

She cried for how long, she had no idea. The thirst and hunger grew inside her. Finally, as if watching someone else do it, she crawled, sniffling to the door and knocked softly on it “May I please have some food and water?” she whispered.

There was no reply.

“PLEASE! Captain Packard! May I please have some food or water?” she called louder, plaintively.

In the fullness of time the door opened and Captain Packard stood there, a tin plate in his hand with some bread and cheese. She reached for it reflexively and he pulled it just out of her reach. She stood up and reached for it again and he smacked her hand painfully with his big paw. “On your knees “Milady,” he growled, though he was smiling in that infuriatingly superior way of his. She couldn’t take her eyes off the plate of food. She had never been so hungry in her life. How long had it been, two days? Three? She had no way of knowing. She lowered herself to her knees then, looking at the deck and whispered, “May I please have some food?”

“Sir,” he corrected her

“May I please have some food sir,” she repeated.

He held out a piece of bread to her, she reached for it and ate hungrily, tearing at it and swallowing it in chunks. Gasping as she swallowed the last of it, he held out a piece of cheese. She reached for it and he pulled it back. “Hands behind your back,” he said calmly.

“What?” she stammered incredulously. He shrugged and made to close the door. “I’m sorry!” she blurted, and surprising herself she reached both hands behind her back. She knelt there, naked before him. Her eyes were downcast to the deck as he held out the scrap of food to her. She stretched her neck up to his hand and took the cheese between her teeth, biting it and swallowing convulsively in her hunger. When she had finished he held out a pewter mug of brackish water. She reached her lips to it and he tipped a small measure into her mouth. She burst into sobs when he stopped the flow; such was her need.

He smiled and said “You may take it in your hands “Milady.” She reached for it, but he pulled it back, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

He raised his eyebrows again, and inclined his head in a “Continue” gesture.

“Sir,” she choked out.

She drank the water greedily, though it was stale and swilled from barrels in the hold, it tasted better than the finest of her wines ever had.

The next day the door to her room opened and Captain Packard motioned her out. The sun shone through the skylight in the great cabin, bathing the room in the bright light. On the chart table was a bowl of hot water, soap and a small cloth. The Captain lowered his big frame into the chair and surveyed her once again. She stood before him. He stared at her silently for a full minute before she realized what he expected of her. She quickly knelt in front of him, the color rising to her cheeks in embarrassment and shame.

“Better,” he said.

“Do you wish to bathe yourself “milady?” he asked.

“Dear God yes!” she said frantically, thinking how good being clean would feel. She was almost accustomed to her constant nudity, but being dirty was something she still couldn’t get used to. For a moment she forgot herself and reached for the soap and cloth, half rising in her haste.

“You forget yourself,” the deceptively mild voice whispered, freezing her in place. She glanced over and saw the hooded eyes, locked on hers. A chill ran through her and she dropped to her knees again, lowering her eyes.

“Forgive me sir,” she said, as if hearing a stranger’s voice coming from her mouth. “I couldn’t believe my good fortune.” He smiled at her then, baring his teeth in a wolfish stretch. There was silence for a few seconds, and she ventured “Sir... may I wash?”

“Why certainly “milady” as you have asked in such a polite way you may,” he said half laughing. His approval confused her, there was a secret place inside her that liked it, wanted it though her submission to him still bothered her. She took up the basin of water and cloth, turning to retreat to her room he stopped her with a word. “Here,” he said. She turned and saw him pointing to a spot on the floor in front of him.

Flushing with embarrassment she stood before him, bathing herself in the sumptuously warm water. She recognized the soap as having been looted from her luggage so long ago. She forgot any shred of modesty that remained as the hot water caressed her and the sweat and filth of the previous days was rinsed away. As she finished washing the last inches of herself and rinsed her bruised skin one last time she looked up and saw Packard appraising her once again. He reached into a leather bag beside him, and pulled a silver-chased hairbrush from it, tossed it to her saying nothing. “Thank you,” she gasped as she caught it. He leaned his head curiously to one side, raising his eyebrows ever so slightly. ”Sir,” she quickly corrected herself. He waved her back to her room then. She rose and walked away with the brush in her hand, held like a talisman.

She sat there for hours, the brush running luxuriously through her hair, She was confused, staring at the closed door. Why was she feeling gratitude toward this brute of a man, why was she trying to please him? Debasing herself, kneeling and begging for the simplest of things. Why... why were these tiny scraps of approval feeding her desire like the bread and cheese had fed her body? She could no longer deny the desire, though God knew she had tried.

Once the light had fled, she was called out again. The great cabin now held three candles, bathing the dark oak beams in a yellow light. Packard stood before her once again, this time he indicated a spot on the floor with a black riding crop. Lady Beck stepped quickly to the spot and knelt, looking down, not wanting to gaze at him, his chest bared through an open loose shirt, the hair, dark and thick standing out even against the tanned skin.

“Your hair has benefited from the brush,” he murmured as the leather fob on the riding crop slid along the long tress hanging beside her face. Lady Beck saw it hover there, inches from her eye. She shuddered as it slid ever so lightly along her shoulder. Its stroke was hypnotic. She followed it as it traced her flesh like the flicking tongue of a snake, touching, whispering its promise of pain or pleasure. It caressed her, its touch gliding over her, making every nerve-ending tingle. Anticipation welled in her, would he strike? Where? When? The leather trailed over her cheek, her eyes closed as its cool smooth surface slid along and down her throat. As it traveled to her cleavage she inhaled deeply and arched her back toward it. As if someone else she suddenly craved its touch, and pressed herself toward it, whimpering as it wandered as if of itself along her erect nipple.