The Syren: Atop the Capstan

The bright tropical sun shone down through the windows of Pennington's cabin. The heat of a Caribbean summer was tempered by the cool morning air trapped between the decks. Mercy sat on the smooth wooden planks, resting her head in her hand, bored. Weeks now she'd been kept captive, only rarely released from the shackles and chains that now bound her wrists. Her only solace, little though it was, could be found in her nudity. The sailors and marines sweat in their heavy wool, stinking under the oppressive weather, while she sat comfortably in his cabin. It brought her the memory of her own ship, now sold in some faraway colony to some fat merchant, she was sure. Her solace was gone.

Pennington was gone before she'd woken up, his neglected tea still steaming on his desk. She guessed his was one of the many heavy footsteps that resounded above her, strolling idle by the unused helm. They were at anchor, it must have been dropped during the night. Glancing through Pennington's windows, she saw that they sat a mile or two off of one of the thousands of islands in the West Indes. Taverns and chandleries and blacksmiths lined the crowded dock, where ships swayed in the breeze that rustled the palm fronds nestled between them. On the top of the hill stood a state house, partially veiled in the abundant vegetation of the island, but otherwise as unremarkable as the rest.

There was something different though. As she narrowed her eyes, straining for a better view, she saw bright silk fabric flutter with the fronds, crawling up from the state house. Orange, blue, and white rolled in the wind like waves to a shore. It was Dutch.

She smiled with a sudden enthusiasm. Six bells sang from above her, as if to aid in her plot. At eight bells, she knew, the crew would change their watches, and the ensuing movement of every member of the ship's company, jostling this way and that, would be enough confusion for her to swim. With a foreign nation commanding a busy port, Pennington wouldn't dare send an armed group ashore after her, and even if he could, she could disappear in the taverns and bawdy houses and crowded ships.

Mercy's enthusiasm disappeared as she glanced to the chains around her slender wrists. Oh, she thought, giving a dejected sigh as the imagination of her daring escape fled before reality, How could I slip away when I am still so bound?

Providence smiled in an unexpected way. The cabin door swung open, shutting behind Captain Pennington almost immediately. He strode to his desk, flipping through a few papers and sipping absentmindedly from his tea, apparently ignoring the nude prisoner against his wall.

Pennington flopped down, despondent in his chair, his hand still holding the paper he'd read a million times. The scratches of ink across the stained letter were scathing, as though the quill that wrote them was cutting into his skin. Shirtless, he still wore his coat despite the Caribbean heat, and the afternoon sun still shone uncomfortably on his back, but he could not bring himself to move.

This was the second time the captain sat so dejected in his chair. He'd gotten dressed in his pristine uniform and strolled the decks to clear his mind, but he couldn't rid himself of the shame that would follow the failure of his mission. Pennington hardly even noticed the curious look on Mercy's face when he'd left her chained in the cabin, and still gave it no thought, consumed in his worry.

Mercy leaned forward, trying to glimpse what was in his hand. It was a letter of some kind, but she was unable to make out any of the writing. Pennington had been out of sorts ever since it arrived, so it must be bad news of some kind. If she could only find out what that news was, perhaps she could find a way to use it to her advantage.

He stood, letting the paper fall carelessly to the floor, he walked thoughtfully to the window, staring out at the endless ocean, lost in his thoughts. He was dressed carelessly, without even shoes or stockings under his breeches, only the blue and white coat showing his rank or his usual care to clothing.

A gentle breeze pushed the paper across the floor to Mercy's feet. She looked down to find a letter from the Royal Navy. The words betrayed Pennington's worries, the implications and tongue in cheek references to past failures by other captains in similar situations, the suggestion that their fate might be his. It was all very official, very formal, and it was very clear...his entire career and standing as a gentleman was in danger.

Poor Roderick, Mercy thought. She shook her head. What?! she chastised herself, Great. Now you're sympathizing with the bastard? She leaned back against the wall behind her and closed her eyes. She had to think. Pennington was facing dismissal for failing to recapture the queen's treasure. How did that relate to her? Perhaps I can feign cooperation, she thought, I could lure him into a trap. But what trap? All of her crew had been captured. She had no one on the outside.

Pennington turned around, still distracted by his thoughts, but suddenly snapped back to reality. "What are you doing?" he demanded as he caught her reading the letter.

Mercy's mind raced as she tried to figure out her next strategy. "Reading all about your failure as a captain," she bit out, "I knew you didn't have it in you to command a ship."

He struggled to keep his anger in check, but instantly felt the flame of rage rising in his chest. "I find it rather telling that you criticize my ability to command, when you've lost your own ship, and been reduced to nothing but a whore in chains."

Her face flushed in anger. "And I find it rather telling of your lack of character and self-worth that you find it necessary to keep a woman in chains in order for her to service you."

Pennington grabbed at his buttons, carelessly tearing them from his breeches, shoving them to the floor. Mercy's eyes flew open in shock, she'd never seen him so angry before. He quickly grabbed her shackles from the wall, dragging her along as he strode quickly out his cabin door, slamming it open.

She blinked against the harsh summer sun that had been hidden from her for days, but Pennington didn't seem to notice. Clothed only in chains, she felt herself rudely shoved onto the capstan, bent over by her enraged captor.

The crew seemed to sense the bitter mood of their captain, so they gave him a wide berth, but they were unable to tear their eyes away.

Mercy chanced a glance back over her shoulder. There stood Captain Pennington, wearing only his captain's coat, his muscles illuminated by the hot sun, his eyes ablaze with anger.

"I'll make you talk, you bloody slut!" For the first time since she had been captured, she felt sure that she would be unable to fight him off. She hadn't thought him capable of such rage. She stood, paralyzed in fear and uncertainty.

He gripped her hips, barely noticing in his anger that she was inexplicably aroused, her juices glistening under the beams of the summer sun. His own erection was already gripped in his hand. "Tell me the proper bearing, pirate!"

"Never," her voice was unusually low and steady. Her fingers gripped the wheel tightly, bracing herself for whatever onslaught was coming.

He gripped her hips so tightly that his knuckles turned white. She felt the familiar intrusion of his thick shaft, parting her tight, if wet sex. She held tight to the edges of the wooden capstan, feeling the harsh sun on her back.

She grit her teeth, not willing to give him the satisfaction of her scream. Her muscles tensed as he began to plow into her relentlessly.

His hips rocked back and forth with a steady pace, not excessively fast, but methodical, and rough. Sailors and officers scattered about stood in shock, as if frozen in their work, eyes fixed on their captain and his prisoner.

Mercy lifted her head and her eyes locked with those of the first mate. She couldn't fight the flush of shame that crept over her skin. She dropped her head once more, her shoulders slumped as she resigned herself to the captain's impulses.

He felt her drip on him, and couldn't help but reveling in his control, lost in his own maniacal desire for power: over her, over the ship, over his men. It could all be gone with the next letter, and he was going to take it while he could. Pennington gripped her shoulders, demanding between his heavy grunts, "Confess the bearing, harlot, or I'll let the men have their way with you!"

A pair of burly sailors smiled, nudging each other knowingly as they admired her pale body taking their captain's thrusts. The look that passed between them shook her to her core and she shuddered violently. But suddenly, a thought occurred to her: If Pennington did hand her over to his men, she could easily overpower them - they were a bunch of idiots, after all. Her plan in mind, she almost smiled to herself.

She imitated an exaggerated yawn. "Is that all you've got, Pennington?" she goaded, "It's no wonder your superiors feel that you lack the balls necessary to do a proper man's job."

He grabbed the back of her neck, Mercy's nude breasts squeezed on the flat top of the capstan as he held her down, thrusting more violently, grunting loudly as he did. More leering eyes watched her, more quiet murmurs surrounded them, nearly drowned out by the soft breeze and fluttering flag high above the otherwise silent ship.

"Come now my prisoner, I'm certain you've performed better in the filthy whore houses in your damnable ports of call, surely my men deserve a better show than this!" He grabbed her chains, tugging back, forcing her to arch her back, lifting her ample breasts from the capstan for all to crave.

Her hands moved to the center of the wheel to support her weight, and in turn, her arms pushed her breasts together, causing a few of the men to cheer. Inwardly, she cringed, but she never stepped out of character. She rolled her eyes, purposely playing to the crowd, "What a man, this Pennington," she taunted, "He doesn't even know how to pleasure a woman!"

He released her chains, clutching her breast, teasing the nipple between his fingers, another hand slipping between her thighs, flicking softly at her tiny clit, even as he plowed into her. "You'll regret those words when they hear you scream for my cum, harlot!"

Her body trembled at his undoubtedly skilled touch. And yet, she continued, "Ha! You are all talk, Pennington." She turned her attention back to the men, "He's had me in his quarters for - how long has it been?" she pretended to count in her head, "Ah, yes: six weeks. And he has yet to satisfy me once." The men grew silent, as though sensing that she'd crossed a line. She turned back to Pennington, "Now tell me, Captain, is that because you are so unskilled and inept that you are unable to do so?"

He paused for a moment, his expression could've been confused for dumbfounded had she not seen the fire in his eyes. The murmurs and smiles of the crew all ceased. Pennington reached into the pocket of his coat, pulling out his handkerchief, dangling it for just a moment before letting it fall to the deck.

Mercy was unable to suppress the gasp that escaped her throat.

In an instant, he was savagely pounding her again, driving her against the capstan, teasing her nipple, teasing her clit, overwhelming her. "Cum for your master's cock, harlot! Scream for his cum, you bloody whore!"

"Never, you ... you ... prick!" she spat viciously, even as her own body instinctively bucked against his. The crew smiled again, and she knew her plan had backfired worse than she could have imagined. Far from earning her release to the foolish sailors, she only reinforced their respect for the captain. Some even cheered him as he rocked her back and forth, completely dominating her.

That thought barely had time to register before she felt liquid heat spreading through her veins. Her skin flushed and she began panting loudly. Still, she fought her body, refusing to give him the satisfaction of proving her wrong.

"Give that cap'n what 'e wants, girl!" laughed a sailor up in the rigging. Pennington drove her further and further, his handkerchief blowing away in the wind, forgotten as he took her. She thrashed under him, fighting a losing battle against the pleasure pooling between her legs. "Bastard!" she screamed, causing the crew to become even more boisterous.

"Give it to her, Cap'n!"

"Show 'er how it's done, Sir!"

He grunted and panted, groaning as he put all of his effort into ravishing her, driving her to what she must have known was now inevitable. She was going to lose.

After several tense, silent moments, Mercy's traitorous body triumphed and her scream was a mixture of pleasure and defeat, rebellion and surrender. The men cheered as a powerful orgasm overwhelmed her pleasure-starved body, causing her to all but convulse on the capstan.

Pennington pulled from her, splattering a few drops of her juices on the deck as he spilled onto her warm back.

As her screams subsided, she collapsed onto the capstan, her body now over-stimulated. She was sure that the slightest touch would set her off again, and this time, she wasn't sure whether she'd be able to stop. She prayed that he was finished, though part of her hoped he wasn't.