The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 13

Constance woke feeling sated in body and mind. This was a state that she welcomed, and she lingered long in the bed she'd made up on the floor in a corner of Jacqueline's cabin.

Warm tropical sun slanted through the portholes in dustmote-dancing beams, playing over the brass and the rich wood. She closed her eyes and dozed to the swaying of the ship. All was quiet. The sea was calm, the winds low, and the sailors no doubt recovering from their lengthy debauch of the day before.

She wondered how Lady Beatrice was greeting this morning. And Marie? Naughty little Marie had no doubt spent the night in some crewman's bed or another. Perhaps even that of Michel, the lucky wench. They both probably ached from their many and vigorous fuckings.

And what of Jean-Pierre? Constance suffered a queer pang, part guilt and part heat, as she remembered how she had taken the young man in his drunken sleep. The look in his eyes as he'd realized what was happening to him … the way Jacqueline had held him down and instructed – nay, ordered! – Constance to complete the act.

He had probably passed the night on his knees in penance, perhaps even scourging himself with a knotted cord to drive the sinfulness from his flesh. Such a shame. Such a waste.

Should she attempt to speak to him? He might turn from her, or strike her and vehemently denounce her as a harlot. To imagine that he might react as Walter had done was foolishness.

She rose from her blankets and stretched. Jacqueline was not in the cabin but she had left clothing laid out. Not that of the long-legged blond captain, that was readily evident. A low-cut frock, lacy pantaloons. Possibly from some captured ship or other lady who'd met the same fate as Beatrice.

With no one to tell her otherwise, she made use of Jacqueline's washbasin and brush. Clean, dressed, with her hair spilling in curls and waves over her shoulders, she was rejuvenated and ready for whatever the day might bring.

The plans I have for you …

Those had been Jacqueline's words. And she had referred to Constance as the object of her revenge. Constance had no idea what that might mean, but she was indeed most interested in something that Jacqueline had added. Something about Michel.

The cabin's door was not locked, to her surprise. She opened it and went out. The deck was littered with men. Some had simply fallen where they stood when exhaustion, or rum, overcame them. Most were by now moving sluggishly as the sun grew bright and strong. More than a few wore only shirts, affording Constance many a peek at a well-turned backside, or dangling cock and balls.

It was madness to be wandering about out here. The men might have used themselves up with fucking, dallying with Marie or taking their turns with Lady Beatrice, but they were young and hale, and would recover quickly.

"Good morning, Lady Constance," Michel Merlion said, approaching her with a carefree gait. His grin was blinding against the bronze of his face, and knowledgeable. His emerald gaze dropped to her bosom in blatant inspection, and the grin widened. "I hope you rested well?"

"Very well, thank you."

"And you got on well with Jean-Pierre?"

She could not help a blush. Jacqueline had told him all, she was sure of it. He knew what she'd done to his brother, and what her own brother had done to her. And the tightness of his breeches did nothing to conceal his opinion.

Others of the crew were on their feet, dressing and making ready for the morning meal. Michel took Constance's arm and escorted her to the galley. It was a far cry from Greta's neat kitchen, and the food was not at all to the standards that Lord Cuthburt and Captain Whittington demanded, but it was plentiful. She ate with good appetite, until Lady Beatrice put in an appearance.

The dark-haired woman was walking spraddle-legged and wincing with every step, as if her clothes chafed unbearably. Her face bore a few bruises, and more were to be seen on her wrists. Glaring red marks stippled her neck and the skin above her wrinkled gown, marks left by forceful suckling kisses. Her hair hung around her in hag's knots and her eyes were glassy, absent, detached.

Constance once again felt a stab of pity. Sisterhood, even. She had walked gingerly after Robert's punishing assault on her bottom, leaving it sore and welted. Beatrice did not look at all like one who'd enjoyed her repeated ravaging, and Constance was ashamed to have envied her.

No one abused Beatrice. For the most part, they ignored her. She accepted a cup of boiled pork broth and a chunk of hard bread, and retreated to a secluded spot of the deck. Marie, who did look like one who had enjoyed herself, and tremendously, kept an overly solicitous watch on her mistress.

The routine of the ship claimed the attention of the crew. As Lady Beatrice had only recently left home, the island where her family kept their mansion and plantations was nearby. Jacqueline had given the order to set a course for it, that they might have what ransom would be offered for a ruined daughter.

Of Jean-Pierre, there was no sign. Michel absented himself to take a tray of food to his younger brother, and returned laughing to himself.

"Is he well?" Constance dared to ask.

"He's prayed himself hoarse for God's forgiveness," Michel replied. "What ever did you do to him? He wept like a raped nun when I asked him how his first fuck had been."

"Oh, dear. I … I do not know what to say."

Michel tipped her chin up so that she had to look at him. "Are you blaming yourself? Tsk, tsk, cherie. You made a boy into a man last night. Such a wondrous transformation, better than any the alchemists of old could have wished for. Not lead into gold, but boy into man."

"He did not wish it."

"But he did. Some part of him – and I warrant you know which part I mean – did. Needed it, even. He should be thanking you, and asking for a second helping."

"Sir, please!"

"What a way to lose one's cherry," Michel chortled. "Mine was with a fine fat whore in a Port Royal brothel, paid for by my father. But to suddenly awake and find a lovely creature like you sliding up and down on my hitherto innocent cock? That would have been a delight!"

"We ought not speak of such things."

"When we could be doing them?" He seized her wrist and placed her palm on the hard bulge of his groin. She could feel him pulsing, stirring eagerly.

"Michel," Jacqueline said scoldingly. "What are you doing with our guest?"

He let go, no doubt expecting Constance to snatch her hand away at once. Instead, unable to stop herself, she gave him a good firm squeeze. He groaned and pushed his hips toward her.

Jacqueline, standing above them on the forecastle, shook her head in a bemused fashion. "I can see that there are certain matters that must be dealt with. Constance, come with me. Michel, find our dear Marie and bring her to my cabin."

"For what purpose?" Constance asked.

She received no answer, not until she and Jacqueline were in the cabin. On the way, the captain had given further orders to her crew. Lady Beatrice was to be put in with Jean-Pierre, and they were to make haste on their course.

"Somehow," Jacqueline said as she closed the door behind them, "I imagine that this prisoner will not take wicked advantage of our priestling." She laughed. "Though it would be a lark if he, rent asunder into a new fit of depravity, fell upon her with lustful intent."

"What is your intent for me?" Constance asked.

"It is clear to me that you have quite the fascination with Michel. Quite understandable, of course. He's an exceedingly handsome and virile example of the species. It was watching him that got you in such a state yesterday, was it not?"

"Yes," she admitted.

"Watching him and Lady Beatrice."

"Yes. I know it was wrong to think so, but …"

"But you wished you were in her place."

Constance could only nod.

"Well," Jacqueline said as the door opened again, and Marie preceded Michel into the room, "you shall be."

Realization blossomed in her mind. She looked at the two, and knew what Jacqueline had in store for her. Marie's sly little smile proclaimed that she knew it too.

"Oh, no, not that," Constance said, flustered. "Not her. Him, yes, all right, him, but not her. Please."

She could not bear the thought of that pert, pointed tongue delving into her hidden folds. The very idea made her skin prickle, and her nipples draw into points. Not Marie. No. She was too clever, too devious.

"You wanted to be in Lady Beatrice's place," Jacqueline said implacably.

"Ooh, you are a pretty one," Marie said. "Do not worry. I shan't hurt you."

"Please," Constance said to Jacqueline.

"This is what you wanted. Have it, and count yourself fortunate if I do not decide that you'll share the rest of Lady Beatrice's fate as well. Unless, that is, you'd like to be brutally done over by the entire crew? No? I thought not. You like your fucking too well, don't you, Constance deGranville? Well then, strip yourself and lie down, there on the floor."

With that, Jacqueline threw herself into her large leather captain's chair with a goblet of rum.

"Would you like me to help with your dress?" offered Marie. Behind her, Michel was already undoing his shirt and breeches.

"No … I will do it," Constance said.

She unlaced the front of her frock, allowing her breasts to spring free. And there was something so delightfully naughty in what she was doing, undressing in front of a man and two other women, that she succumbed to a warm wave of desire. As much as she dreaded what skillful Marie might do to her, she was fraught with anticipation. It would be worth it, anything would be worth it, to have Michel fucking her.

In moments, the dress was laid aside and so were the pantaloons, and she stood before them naked and golden. Michel, naked as well, could not take his eyes from her exposed curves. His cock was standing stiffly at attention, its tip already beaded with a pearl of fluid.

"On the floor," Jacqueline repeated.

Constance lowered herself to a sitting position, then reclined onto her back. Some vestige of modesty made her press her legs together, and although she longed to cover her breasts with one hand and her mound with the other, she kept her arms straight at her sides.

Marie, who wore nothing but a shift so fine that the gingery bush of her curls and the raspberry tips of her nipples could be clearly seen through it, knelt beside Constance. Her smile was now impish, foxlike. Her eyes danced.

"There, now, my lady," she said. "It won't be so bad, will it? Let Marie give you a kiss. You'll like it ever so much."

She bent, and the next thing Constance knew, Marie's clever little tongue had slipped between her lips to fence with her own. At the same instant, Marie touched Constance's breasts, pinched softly at the nipples, and elicited a startled gasping moan from her.

The kiss broke, and as Constance was reeling from it, she felt Marie shift position. Now that mouth was on her breasts, and those hands were on her thighs. Stroking. Coaxing them apart.

Constance could see Michel waiting expectantly, his fist curled loosely around his cock. A turn of her head showed her Jacqueline, sipping idly from her goblet.

"You've got such nice big ones," Marie said approvingly. "Lovely bubbies, they are. Now let me just … here … open your legs, put your knees up. Yes, right like that. You've a pretty cunny, too. Does it want a kiss?"

"Ohh," Constance breathed. Marie slid a finger between the plump pink lips, teasing her clitoris.

"Do her, Marie, make her ready for me," Michel said thickly.

"She doesn't need much readying," Marie said. "She's already soaked with her honey. Who'd have thought a lady-born would be so hot for it?"

"Lick her anyway," he said. "I want to see."

Marie moved until she was resting on her elbows with her head poised above Constance's downy nest of curls. She looked at Constance over the creamy hills and valleys of her body. "Ready, my lady?"

"Yes." She was overwhelmed by need, no longer caring that it was a woman about to do this to her. The touch was what mattered, the sensation.

Opening Constance's folds with her fingers, Marie swept her tongue in a quick tantalizing flick. Constance cried out and bucked.

"How does she taste?" Michel asked.

"Sweet as berry wine," Marie said, and bent to her task again. This time, she went slow and with great deliberate purpose, avoiding Constance's nub of pleasure but licking diligently all around it until Constance was moaning and wriggling.

"What would Lord William deGranville say if he could see this?" Jacqueline asked, and chuckled.

"Shall I make her spend?" Marie stopped long enough to glance over her shoulder at Michel. "She's very near."

"Please, oh, yes, please, make me spend."

"Take her just to the verge," Michel said. "Hold her there until she is nigh on going mad from it, and then when I put it in her, she'll be a wild woman."

"Oh, oh!" Constance sank her fingers into Marie's curly chestnut hair and tried to guide the girl's mouth where she needed it most, but clever Marie eluded her, tormented her. Blissful release was so close, so close and unattainable. She nearly screamed her desperation.

"Now," Michel said.

Marie abandoned Constance. "Turn over for him," she said. "Roughly from behind, that's what you want, is it not? Like you saw before?"

Her fervent passion left Constance's limbs shaky and weak. Nonetheless, she was able to roll over and rise onto her hands and knees. She pushed her bottom out, craned her neck to watch as Michel knelt behind her.

His hard cock thumped against her bottom cheeks, rested momentarily in the crevice between them, and then he was rocking back, placing himself at the opening of her cunny.

"Yes, yes, do it, please," Constance moaned. "Do it rough, like she said."

He grabbed her hips and yanked her body backward. His cock ploughed into her, a sudden battering ram that drove her breath from her explosively.

Before she could even begin to accommodate the fullness, he pulled out and slammed home again, and began a hard and pounding rhythm. It sent her into an immediate climax, which Michel prolonged by not letting up, showing no mercy, going at her with violent thrusts until she was screaming from the sheer ecstasy. His loins and belly smacked her bottom with each lunge.

She was not sure whether she spent once continually in ever-increasing peaks, or whether she spent repeatedly. All Constance knew was that she was being well and truly fucked, that it felt incredibly good, and that when Jacqueline suggested to Marie that Marie place herself in front of Constance to see if William deGranville's precious daughter might give as good as she got, there was not so much as a single qualm of hesitation in her mind.

Marie sprawled on her back before Constance, shift hiked up. She parted her cunny lips invitingly.

"Come on, then, my lady … be kind to your dear Marie."

Michel slowed, still moving with forceful earnestness, but leaning forward to observe as Constance lowered her head to Marie. She had never seen a cunny this close and was enraptured by the sight.

She had to kiss it, taste it, give back to Marie a portion of the pleasure she herself was experiencing. And so, without a second thought, she pressed her face between Marie's legs. Her lips and tongue worked inexpertly but with conviction, and Marie encouraged her with moans and directions.

"Up a bit, yes, right there, but gently, my lady, go gently, and put your finger up me if you want to, like that, oh, that's so nice, frig me and lick me at the same … ah! … time …"

"How is she, Michel? A good fuck?" Jacqueline inquired.

"A splendid fuck, one of the finest!" Michel said. "I can't last much longer. Her cunny grips me so snug and slick."

"Ooohh, my lady! Yes, just like that, bring your dear Marie to spending, do!"

Constance was lost in a stormy sea of climaxes. She felt Michel swell within her, and his pace picked up again as he drove his cock deep and hard. Marie's hips were rolling, and the fingers that Constance had buried in Marie's cunny were suddenly clasped tight in a series of clenching spasms.

"You're coming, Michel? You're pouring your seed into her?" Jacqueline asked.

"Yes!"

She was awash with him as he flooded her, and all three of them cried out together. For a long moment they were locked like that, in tableau, none moving, but then Michel sat back on his heels and his cock slid free of Constance. She collapsed onto her side, head pillowed on Marie's thigh. They were all panting for breath, trembling with reaction, and the scent of their combined musks hung heavy in the room.

Jacqueline clapped her hands together thrice, applauding them. A sparkle in her sapphire eyes, and a bit of high color in her face, were the only signs that showed she'd been affected by the entertainment. She had certainly not given in to any urge to caress herself, let alone shed her garments and join them, and Constance found herself vaguely disappointed by this.

"My word," Jacqueline said. "Well, Constance. What say you, now that you've had what you craved?"

Constance could not speak, could only groan as the tremors in her well-fucked body began to gradually subside.

Continued in Chapter Fourteen