Rum, Sodomy and the Lash Ch. 08

It was like a vision of heaven, thought Kitty, as she watched the city of Barcelona unfold from distant smudge to clear definition over a period of an hour or so. She knew that Captain Prince had business here in the rookeries of the Raval district, and she also knew that this might be her best chance of escaping his maddening personal and sexual despotism and living her own life, however hazardous.

She had a pair of britches and a promise of a rowing boat from Tom; she had a bag of cunningly compiled treasures from the Captain's cabin, and she had picked up a couple of names of gem dealers from conversations she had overheard between Prince and his first mate. She had an opportunity. She was going to take it.

"So here we are, my dear," purred the Captain, standing behind her as she leant over the bulwarks, drinking in the scene. "One of the busiest sea ports on the Meditteranean, and an excellent place to do business. You know, I may even take you out to dinner in one of the fine seafood restaurants on the shore. Would you like that, my lady? You can wear the emeralds."

"That would be most pleasant, Captain," gushed Kitty, who had played the part of submissive mistress to perfection over the past fortnight. The Captain had been suspicious of her sweet passivity at first, but had soon grown accustomed to her demeanour and taken full advantage of it.

"Good," he said, dropping a kiss of approval on to the top of her head. "I'll go and give the order to weigh anchor. I suggest you go inside and prepare for lunch."

Kitty watched the Captain stride off to shout orders and rubbed her small hands together gleefully. Her moment had come. She raced inside the cabin and donned the britches and peaked cap Tom had stuffed inside her pillowslip. Then she took the pillowslip itself and stuffed an assortment of fine jewellery, plate and tobacco inside, tying it tight with cord and slinging it over her shoulder. She paused only for a second or two, to check her appearance in the glass and rectify any traces of over-femininity. No, she would do.

Her heart was lodged inconveniently in her throat and pulsing fit to disable her breathing as she skirted the cabin around to the aft of the boat, away from all the action.

"Tom!" she hailed the young man, who was hopping about in an agony of fear, holding on to a thick rope that dangled over the side of the vessel, down to a waiting rowing boat.

"Please be quick!" he pleaded, his voice cracking. "They'll be back here in ten minutes or so."

"Sure you won't come with me?" asked Kitty with an enticing wink, but Tom shook his head.

"The Captain will take it out on my family. I can't risk it."

Kitty shinned spryly down the rope and dropped into the boat. She had only rowed in a leisurely fashion on the lake in the grounds of Templecombe before and hoped she would have enough command of the oars to get to the quayside before she was reported missing. It was a long shot. But she thought it was worth it.

Her arms ached grievously, and she was tempted to throw the oars aside and just drift numerous times...but each time she looked back at the proud silhouette of the Occidental Orchid and was spurred on by vivid imaginings of exactly how the Captain would repay her disobedience. Half an hour later, exhausted and with limp arms, she dragged herself up the stone steps to the harbourside, gripping on to her pillowcase of riches for grim death and looking about the hurlyburly for a way out to the city.

Before she had even penetrated the thick wall of maritime humanity, an ill-favoured and unkempt man had sidled up alongside her and asked, "You come from Captain Prince? He send you?"

Kitty stared at him, calculating the most strategic reply to make. While her brain was ticking over, he spoke again.

"I am Paco; I can take you to Martinez. He want to see what you have; he very look forward to see your treasures. He can pay many moneys."

That made Kitty's decision for her. One thing she had to organise straight away was finance. Martinez was obviously somebody who had done business with the Captain in the past, and if she could pass herself off as his emissary, she could earn herself some easy money.

"Yes," barked Kitty with ersatz gruffness. "Prince sent me. He would have come himself but he's laid up with...scurvy."

"This way, Sir," bowed Paco obsequiously, ushering Kitty away past the hoiking and hollering of the quayside, past the feverish industry of the boatyards and into the walled city, through teeming slums by the side of the docks. Kitty craned her neck up to catch a glimpse of sky between the sheer faces of the buildings lining the dank alleyways up which they scurried. She could not help but feel vulnerable in the midst of such grinding poverty, knowing that her backpack contained enough to feed these waifs for the rest of their lives. The stench of disease flowed out of each doorway and over the cobbles, even emanating from the skirts of the dockside whores, a few of whom made suggestions to Kitty that she fortunately could not interpret.

After a number of twists and turns, Paco led Kitty through a blank doorway and down a dark staircase to a basement room lit by a couple of gaslamps and no daylight. He rattled off a rapid succession of sentences in a language Kitty did not understand – she did not even think it was Spanish – and a man emerged from the gloom, smiling sinisterly.

"Hello," he said in strongly accented English. "I was expecting your Captain. Who are you? You are from the Occidental Orchid, yes?"

"Yes," confirmed Kitty, suddenly overwhelmed with fear. What on earth was she doing? These were not people to be trifled with. Surely they would work out that she was just a clueless girl and leave her for dead in this murky underground cavern. She fought back an urge to start crying and said, "My name is Tom. Captain Prince sent me; he is unwell. I have many treasures for you to look at."

The man stepped further into the flickering light and Kitty began to discern his features. He was quite tall for a Spaniard, of a lean, hard build with hawkishly sharp features. His brown eyes were alert, his lips thin and cruel and he sported three earrings in his left lobe. On his right forearm Kitty noticed a tattoo of an eagle flying amongst the whipcord tendons.

"You are just a boy," objected Martinez. "Prince would not insult me by having me do business with children."

"I am not a child," asserted Kitty. "Please let me show you what I have."

Martinez nodded and gestured for Paco to bring Kitty a chair. "I have cognac," he offered. "And cigars. Even opium, if you like that."

"Oh...no, not for me. I would like some wine, perhaps?" Even as she said it, Kitty bit her tongue. Now of all times she needed a clear head.

"Muy bien. Paco! Wine!"

Kitty sat down and faced Martinez fiercely.

"Well, then, niño, show me what you have," murmured the Spaniard.

Kitty emptied her sack on to his table. He raised an eyebrow and made little crooning sounds in the back of his throat that frightened Kitty far more than anything he could have said.

"This is nice," he said. "Very nice. But Prince mentioned more. Why is he holding back? Where is the rest?"

"He wanted to bring the rest in person. He will be well again soon. Two, three days. Can you wait or would you like me to bring it myself?" The confidence in Kitty's tone was very far from heartfelt. She felt as if she had jumped ship at midnight and was floundering in dark, shark-infested seas with no hope of finding a way out.

"I prefer not to wait," hissed Martinez, clearly insulted for some reason. "I will tell you what, boy. I keep this here until you show up with the rest. Not a peseta will change hands today. You bring me the other things tomorrow without fail or I keep this as a free gift. Prince needs my goodwill more than I need his, you understand?"

Kitty leapt up, alarm etched across her face. "No!" she cried, and Martinez stood opposite her, drawing a blade from somewhere. Oh Christ. She could not fight him; she had no weapon and he would work out that she was a girl. Bloody hell, what now?

"I need money now," she told him desperately. "I have stolen this from Prince – there is no more. Give me what it's worth and I'll....be very grateful."

Martinez chuckled slowly and not at all reassuringly. "A little thief," he said throatily. "Even more reason why I should not give you anything. Captain Prince would not appreciate that, would he? And I value his trade."

Kitty scooped an armful of the best pieces up from the table and hurtled at full pelt towards the door, having no idea how she would deal with Paco when she got there, but giving it a game go all the same. In two strides, Martinez had caught up with her and crooked a steely arm around her throat, his blade touching her skin while his other hand pinioned her upper arm painfully. She screamed piercingly and he almost dropped the knife.

"You aren't a boy, are you?" he exclaimed, his voice exultant.

"I've told her before, she makes a very unconvincing male," drawled a familiar voice from the foot of the stairs. Seconds later the imposing figure of Captain Prince filled the doorframe.

Kitty did not know whether to laugh or cry. Despite the mocking curl of his lip in a feline smile, it was clear from his eyes that he was furious with her. Her shoulders slumped and she stared at the floor. Martinez took the knife from her throat and let her flop listlessly forward.

"Captain!" he exclaimed, clapping Prince on the shoulder and kissing both cheeks. Prince did not return the gesture, but took Martinez's hand firmly in his and greeted him with apparent warmth.

"Please accept my apologies for the inconvenience this silly girl has put you to," he said to Martinez, who shrugged in an open, villains-together gesture of forgiveness.

"It was no trouble; just a little amusement to pass a dull day," grinned his Spanish counterpart. "Now I look at her properly, I see she is very pretty. I wish I'd worked it out sooner..."

Prince's smile became a little less genuine then faded altogether.

"Please stay and eat with me," invited Martinez. "Paco! Go up to Xavier's and get me a zarzuela sent over. I need the good sherry too." Paco loped off up the stairs. "I always think you should mix business with pleasure." At the word 'pleasure' a lingering look was directed at Kitty, who maintained her stiff, petrified stance.

"There is certainly business to be done," nodded the Captain. Clapping Kitty on the shoulder he ordered her to stand facing the wall until he was ready to deal with her. Kitty shuffled over and faced the cold tiles that lined the room, crossing her fingers that nothing too appalling awaited her in the line of punishment. A faint hope, she had to admit.

Agonising scenarios played a continuous shadow-theatre in her head while she stood vaguely listening to the men talk commerce. After half an hour or so of haggling and discussion of the easiest fleets to rob, a delicious smell of cooked fish wafted over and she knew that the food had arrived. She heard the uncorking of bottles and glugging of liquid, the clashing of cutlery. She realised in a rush that she was very, very hungry, but had been too wound up with adrenaline and terror to acknowledge it. She longed for a bowl of the seafood stew and her hopes picked themselves out of the trench where they had been languishing when Martinez said, "We have plenty – perhaps the girl could take a bowl with us?"

But the Captain kicked them back down with a terse, "I think not; she is to stand there and contemplate her fate until I am ready."

Martinez tutted sympathetically. "Is she your mistress?" he asked curiously.

"She is a stowaway who thinks she can outwit me and play me at my own game. I have been bedding her, but she thinks herself much too good for the likes of me. It is time she were taken down a peg or two."

Kitty did not like the sound of this; and being discussed in this way while she was physically present was making the hairs stand up on the back of her neck.

"She is pretty. Good figure," said Martinez approvingly. "Even in those ragged britches, her arse looks shapely. I would love to see what her tits are like under that baggy shirt too."

"Well, then you shall," said the Captain expansively. "Kitty, take off your shirt."

"I..." gasped a stunned Kitty.

"Or should I say, take off my shirt," continued Prince implacably. "Do as you are told, my lady, unless you want me to remove it for you."

Kitty hesitated, then wriggled out of the garment, holding it over her breasts at her front.

"You may turn around so that Senor Martinez can have a good look at you."

Kitty stalled for time as long as she dared, then slowly half-circled to face the avid Spaniard.

"Drop the shirt; show him your breasts. No need for false modesty; every man on my crew has seen them."

Kitty's lifeless fingers let the silky fabric flutter to the floor. She put her arms down at her sides and stared rigidly ahead while Martinez stepped up to her, making admiring noises.

"Guapa!" he exclaimed. "The nipples stand out so strongly, and their colour is perfect."

"You may handle them if you wish," offered the Captain in a bored tone, and Kitty turned her face away sharply as the rough Catalan weighed the globes of flesh in practised hands. "Surprisingly heavy, aren't they?"

Martinez continued to knead for all he was worth, flicking his thumb across one nipple then the other while his heavy breath warmed Kitty's face and neck. "I don't know when I've seen a finer pair," he said hoarsely.

"She is an enticing little package altogether," said the Captain. "Would you like to see more?"

"Oh, I would, I certainly would like that," breathed Martinez.

"Sit back down then and pour me another glass of sherry, if you would be so kind. Kitty. Take off your britches."

Kitty's eyes popped wide and she stood stock still, hoping that she had simply misheard or was entering a surreal realm of waking nightmare. But no.

"I want you fully stripped, Kitty. You can disobey me, but I wouldn't advise it, considering the severe punishment you already have coming to you."

Surely this is punishment enough of itself, Kitty wanted to object. But, as if mesmerised, she unbuckled the belt and lowered the britches to her ankles, having no underwear beneath. She stepped delicately out of them and stood, head lowered, before the appreciative diners.

"Turn and show us your bum, Kitty," commanded the Captain, and she did as he bade her.

"Beautiful," endorsed Martinez. "It is so round and soft, such skin like cream."

"Hm, it will be red enough later," grunted the Captain. "Touch it, Martinez. Give it a good squeeze."

Martinez grabbed a plentiful handful of each cheek and followed Prince's dictates, stroking from her tailbone down to the crease of her thighs and running one finger along the central crack until the Captain judged that it was time to move on.

"Now then, Kitty, sit up on the table in front of Senor Martinez and open your legs so that he can see your juicy little pussy. What are you waiting for? That's it...nice and wide....he wants to see everything you have to offer, my dear."

"My God," said Martinez in awe, "I can smell her. I can see how wet she is. She has a gorgeous pussy; what a fine dessert it would make."

Kitty's eyes were screwed shut and her face aflame, but she could not deny that this forcible exhibition she was making of herself was arousing her, even against her higher judgement.

"It is tighter and hotter than you could ever dream of, Martinez," murmured the Captain, "and that is only slightly less tight and hot than her rear entry."

Martinez gasped and stared voraciously at Kitty's display, looking up at the Captain as if to accuse him of torture.

"You take her that way as well? Holy saints and angels, you are a lucky man. I want to feel it..."

"No," cautioned the Captain, holding up his hand. "She might be a wanton ungrateful little whore, but she's my wanton ungrateful little whore. Her most intimate parts are for my possession alone."

Martinez looked as if he might put a knife to Prince's throat for a second, but he settled back in his chair and waved his hand, conceding the point.

"I think she owes you a substantial apology though," said the Captain, cutting into Kitty's short-lived relief. "And I think she should make expiation for the waste of your precious time she has been guilty of. Kitty, please place yourself across Senor Martinez's lap."

"What?!" chorused two voices, one startled, one alarmed.

"Don't you think she has earned herself a spanking, Martinez? Be my guest. Take as long as you need."

"Very well," said Martinez with relish. "Come here, then, guapa." He slapped his thigh.

Kitty closed her thighs and slipped off the table, shooting one last desperate look at the Captain, who stared piercingly and uncompromisingly back. She dropped obediently over the Spaniard's lap and gritted her teeth. Surely he could not spank as hard as the Captain.

He did not, but he took his time, heating up both sides of her bottom with plentiful swats and moving down her thighs almost as far as her knees. He seemed to take pride in the thoroughness of his coverage and occasionally deferred to the Captain's running commentary of suggestions, laying it on harder in certain areas, and speeding up the pace when Kitty seemed too relaxed. Halfway through the performance, Paco and a couple of other swarthy rogues appeared in the doorway and observed proceedings with remarks and jokes whose vulgarity Kitty could thankfully not translate.

Martinez kept up his blistering assault for the time it took Captain Prince to take two glasses of finest Amontillado, finally relenting when the bottle was drained. Kitty lay, on fire and exhausted, across the Spaniard's lap, hoping that now she would be offered something to eat or drink.

And she was.

"Well, then, Kitty, Senor Martinez has punished you, and I think it is time you thanked him for his time and energy," said the Captain. "Which you will do on your knees, with your mouth. If that is acceptable to you, Martinez?"

"Oh, yes," said Martinez greedily, scarcely believing his fortune.

"Oh pleeeeaaaaase," wailed Kitty, but the Captain held firm and gestured her impatiently to her knees. She dropped down to the unforgivingly hard floor and waited for Martinez to unbuckle his belt and pull his leggings down to his ankles. His erection was perhaps not as formidable as Prince's, but it was still of a heft to be taken seriously.

Kitty wrinkled her nose at the stale sweaty smell emanating from Martinez's dense pubic hair, screwed her eyes tightly shut and bobbed down over the empurpled helmet of this instrument of torment.

"Properly, Kitty," reminded the Captain languidly, perfectly impervious to her suffering. "As I've taught you. If I catch you going back to your lazy old ways I'll be offering the same service to Paco and his friends."

Kitty breathed in sharply before sealing her lips tightly over Martinez's shaft. He growled appreciatively and sat back, enjoying the unexpected bonus. Kitty worked diligently at pleasuring the rascally Catalan, fondling his testicles with practised fingers and flicking her tongue up and down his shaft until he hissed with the imminence of his climax.

"Are you ready to drink it down, Kitty?" rasped the Captain, sensing Martinez's closeness to his goal. "Take it all, and then you can thank him with words as well as your hot little mouth."

Martinez spurted his thick, sour emission all the way down Kitty's throat. Her stomach churned but she swallowed every drop, then withdrew gracefully and murmured, "Thank you, Senor."

"De nada," gasped Martinez, his face flushed and eyes sparkling. "Any time."