The Captive Ch. 01

The first thing that you notice is that there is a fog in your head. You hear muffled sounds as you struggle to consciousness. The clamor gets louder and more chaotic as your awareness starts to return to you. You hear laughter, though it isn't the playful laughter of children. The laughter is rough, guttural, and masculine. It is mingled with grunting and hollering of several men. It is then that you realize that you are bound and hanging by your wrists. You also notice a swaying gently, which contrasts the harsh reality that you know awaits your vision once you open your eyes.

You smell the pungent reek of alcohol and the musk of unwashed bodies. As this scent hits you, your memories push through the fog and you recall how you got into this situation in the first place.

You try not to open your eyes as you think back to the most recent memory you have, before the fog. You were on holiday, on the beach. The island home was always a favorite of yours, it was your escape from the doldrums of the social dramatics that comes with being a nobleman's daughter. You would spend hours there, daydreaming of romantic stories about bandits, brigands, and pirate kings. Some days, especially the really bad ones, you would come out here and pray as hard as you could that some pirate ship would make its way around the bend in the island and whisk you away to lead you on a life of excitement and adventure.

It appears that your dreams have become a reality, though this isn't how you imagined it.

You can't ignore the aches in your wrists any longer and reflexively, before you could stop it, your hand twists. You listen intently to see if anyone noticed. They did.

The noise becomes louder and the laughter a bit more sinister. The cacophony of sounds grows louder and buried within are hundreds of promises of desire and lust. You can feel them getting closer, the smell becomes that much stronger. You have not yet opened your eyes. That darkness behind your eyes is your last bastion of safety. Every other sense is screaming your helplessness to you, it is nearly overwhelming, but as long as your eyes are closed, you still have that shred of hope that this is all a dream. A bad dream.

The men grow louder and you can smell the breath of a man near you. You struggle to keep your eyes closed and your breathing slow. You feel a touch on your ribs, just below your breast on your right side as a rough, calloused hand slowly slides up towards your breast. Your eyes shoot open and light stabs your brain. You see a nearly toothless grizzled man with bloodshot eyes grinning at you, his hand close to your breast now. His breathing is quick and short. His hand slows as it nears your breast, yet his breathing quickens even more. The men around him all shout louder to goad him on.

He removes his hand from your side, opens it and looks at your eyes as he telegraphs to you, to see your reaction, your fear, that he is about to grasp your breast. You try to look as defiant as you possibly can, given your situation. You succeed only in making him amused. He shoots glances at his friends as his hand approaches, inches away. You feel your nipples harden and you are surprised at your own body's reaction. You know it's not proper to be excited about this, especially with this filth in front of you, yet there is something stirring deep inside you that longs to be groped, to be used. You quell that desire, grit your teeth and summon what strength you have, preparing to lash out at this lowlife with whatever you can.

A shadow moves next to your head which is followed by a loud "CRACK" and you see your would be molester sprawled out on the wood floor of the deck, unconscious and bleeding from his mouth, his jaw apparently broken.

"Silence you dogs or I swear I will flay the skin from each and every one of your backs to make my ship a new sail!" The potent voice comes from behind you, beyond the scope of your vision, and is so commanding, so powerful that it instantly has the desired effect. The voice rings of confidence and truth. You firmly believe, just from hearing that voice, that if these men weren't quiet instantly, they certainly would be flayed. They believed it too for each and every one of them made nary neither a movement nor a sound.

It is now that you realize that you are, indeed, on a ship and in fact tied to the mainmast. Your feet are resting on the deck so that your joints aren't damaged, but your arms are outstretched directly above your head. You are tied perfectly so that you have very little damage. You glance down and notice there is a rope around your ankles. You realize the futility in struggling. You also realize your hopelessness. You are at their mercy and there is nothing you can do about it. Again, that desire stirs deep within you, as you feel yourself moisten, a faint throb between your legs, and a stiffening of your nipples. You start to feel faint but fortify yourself and again quell that desire.

The man with the voice slowly, methodically, and with each step carrying purpose and authority, walks into view. This man is without a doubt, obviously the captain. He walks with such force of will that his men have no choice but to show deference. No, it's more than that in their eyes. It is fear you see reflected. These men are afraid of their captain, yet there is also respect. Well, aside from the man sprawled unconscious on the floor at your feet, that is.

"Give him a good dunking and tie him to the fore of the ship for his insolence in touching MY prize...and let this be a lesson to ALL of you. Touch anything that belongs to me again and I will not be so kind next time."

He punctuates the order with a strong kick to the man's side, cracking his ribs. The man stirs and coughs up a gob of blood.

The man with the voice stands glaring over the fallen pirate, anger radiating from his body and instinctively the men back away. The man on the floor tries to speak, fear in his eyes and an apology on his bloody lips. He never gets to finish it as a gloved fist smashes into it again. "SILENCE you worthless sea-rat and accept your punishment."

The man with the voice looks around at the stunned inactivity of his crew. There is a pause and then, "NOW you addle-brained fools, I gave you an ORDER."

There is a flurry of motion as suddenly everyone finds something to do. The fallen man is tied by his ankles and his wrists. The rope at his wrists seems to be coming from overboard. You see the rope be pulled taut and then the man vanishes over the side of the ship, leaving only the rope attached to his ankles as evidence that he was even there at all. The rope is still moving, however and then you see and hear the man appear on the other side of the ship, suspended by his wrists, scrapes along his front, soaking wet.

"Once more for good measure" says the man with the voice. There was no anger or spite present in that statement. It was simple and pure and factual.

Instantly the man vanishes, ankles first this time and shortly appears back on the other side, suspended by his ankles and a bit more bloody.

"Now, to the fore, and I trust, Old Bailey, that you won't be touching anything of mine ever again."

The man can only shake his head. The men take him away and he vanishes over the front of the ship.

The man with the voice turns to you and regards you as though he was looking at any item of value. Within those few moments, you realize you are nothing more to this man than an object, an item of value that can be ransomed for gold. There is no comfort in his eyes, yet no contempt. Within those few moments, you understand that this man has total control over you and you must do whatever he wishes. Those feelings stir once again, stronger now, sending a shiver of desire up your spine and down your legs.

"You, girl, are my captive" he says matter-of-factly. You have no choice but to nod in agreement. You see danger in his eyes, he is looking for signs of defiance, but you give him none, you have none to give.

He steps closer to you now. So close that you can feel the heat of his skin as his cheek brushes yours lightly and he speaks into your ear.

"You will not fight or try to resist" he says in such an authoritative way that you can only respond with a quiet, "Yes sir" as those desires are welling up within you. You begin to feel that this is more like your daydreams than it first appeared.

The ferocity with which he moves takes you by surprise and snaps you out of your desire-filled reverie. With one smooth yet strong motion he forcefully grabs you under your chin with his left hand, stepping back a bit to look you in the eyes, an inch from your face. Anger and power reflected in his eyes.

"I didn't say you could speak, wench" he growls. His left hand is painfully gripping your chin, his right is raised as if to strike you. Fear laces in and out of that desire you felt moments ago. You truly are his for whatever purpose he decides.

His right hand comes in and slowly traces down your chin, your neck, crosses your breast and across your nipple, which sends shivers through your body, and then moves to his belt. His eyes reflect none of the softness that one would expect from such a movement.

Your eyes are engaged with his as you hear a small "snap" from his belt line and then you feel the cold of steel, the flat of the blade of a dagger, against your bare-skinned stomach.

You start. He grins.

"It's time I showed you to my quarters, captive."