Chapter 4
Pirate's Prize.
I do not know why the dream returns. Perhaps because of Bill, or Jason's laughing threat. I am annoyed with the dream. The part of me that observes sees me as a silly girl, much younger than I am, and with an unlikely German Governess. I recall bits and pieces ...! Gosh, is that the best my subconscious can do for me!
I am aware of something different and terribly wrong. I am frightened and I hurt. I am looking through the rigging of a ship at an azure ocean sparkling under a tropic sun. A gentle wind fills our sails, ropes and spars creak rhythmically as we slice the swells. I make to step forward to the wooden rail, but cannot. I am bound.
I recall the brief bitter thunder of guns, the looting, of which presumably I am a part, the slow sinking of the masts of the 'Plymouth Pride' into the depths. There were hands, hard brutal hands, and much coarse laughter. I suppose I fainted, or was hit on my head. I try to raise a hand to feel for wounds .... But my hands cannot respond. They are one of the reasons I hurt, the ropes on my arms and wrists are very tight.
I am tied to the mast of a ship, my arms dragged back on either side, my belly corded so that its small concavity is made smaller still, as from a cruel corset. That is all, but it is enough. I think I have struggled a lot already, I do so again now. It is quite useless. I am a part of this creaking timber, I belong to the mast. I expect also that I belong to someone else .... !
Voices drift my way, I shrink in terror. I will have no friends aboard this vessel, I can be sure of it. They are two men attired as ship's officers, no doubt the owners of the uniforms are dead. Under their amused scrutiny I become aware of near nudity, but a square of my torn garments has been tied over one of my hips. I try to lean forward to discern such modesty as I may possess, but the ropes defeat my need.
"For the moment it is respectably covered, madam." There is laughter in the male mockery. "But I must compliment you on your breasts, they are superb."
They are also very, very bare! I long for hands .... Never before have I been naked before men. Their eyes are not hostile but I feel scorched.
"She'll fetch a fine price, or grace thy bed, Captain."
"And why not both, Mr. Matlock, she's durable merchandise."
"Oh aye, she is that. I'd wager she's neer' been used."
"Is he right, girl? Have we caught a virgin?"
I am too frightened to answer, and know not what to say. I keep silent, surely my terror speaks for me.
"Come, lass, ye have a tongue."
I strain at my ropes and say, wearily. "I am a virgin. My family will pay ye ransom." Pathetically I add, "Please don't hurt me."
"They may pay, but they'd get back no virgin. Come, girl, you're the property of a man."
"I'll not do that beastly thing. Ye'd have to tie me down -"
"Methinks she asks for it, Captain."
"She wants the ropes to salve her conscience, 'tis an ancient comfort to a maid. But damme me, Matlock, we've got ourselves a beauty."
There is a commotion on the lower deck. I am alone again, still tied, but possessing knowledge, an inevitable knowledge I do not like, the thing a virgin most dreads is going to be done to me. I will be spread wide and pierced with a weapon I have never yet seen but about which I have heard much. Impalement by a man will break my maidenhead. The bit of cloth now fastened on me will be torn away to enable untrammeled entry to my womb. I pull fretfully at the bindings which refuse to let me go.
I must refuse to panic. That which is about to be done to me is done to every girl sooner or later, even though there is no sanctity in her piercing she will not die. Tentatively I make such play with my legs as my bonds allow, knowing that at their juncture is the secret thing, the value of which is the reason I am tied to a pirate mast instead of dead beneath the sea with the crew of the Plymouth Pride. In a perverse way I should be grateful. I think of the forbidden word I will soon be hearing. I am going to be fucked.
It is an ordinary seaman who now confronts me. For a Pirate, he seems unexpectedly tidy. True, his eyes are lecherous as he observes my nakedness, but his voice is mild.
"I'm a'goin' to untie ye, lady. Cap'n's orders."
"Thank you."
"I'll be a'tyin' ye agin, Miss. Would'ee be aiming to fight?"
If he is a cutthroat he is a cautious cutthroat. Since a naked girl cannot escape from a ship at sea I assure him earnestly I will not fight.
"Yell no be throwin' yourself overboard, Miss, doin' a suicide like?"
"No. Why should I? Just get me untied, I'm hurting. I promise I'll behave,"
As the ropes fall away it feels so good to be free I almost forget what lies ahead. A rough arm gives me support I do not need. It clasps a naked breast no man has ever touched. Curbing my tongue, I thrust the man away and massage the livid rope marks in my flesh.
"Thank you ... May I have some covering please?"
"Cap'n didn't say nothin' 'bout that, lady." He surveys me appreciatively. "Pity to cover up what you got showing, Miss."
I cannot argue. Probably I must get used to nudity! I have often been told of men's desire for a girl's body. These men, whoever they may be, possess my body. all of me except my mind. With that I must defeat them. But, now, I eye with distaste the cord this man tugs between his hands. I make the best of it.
"How do you wish to tie me?"
"Hands behind your back, lady. Cross your wrists."
I despise this passive yielding of my freedom. But what else can I do! This oaf is at least civil. I turn my naked back and cross my already wealed wrists, the cord bites hard. I am well secured. I can slap no faces, nor can I cover aught of my nakedness.
"Cap'n's apology, lady. But this be best."
He is holding for me a length of rope and a noose. Its intent screams aloud, I am to be leashed. Outraged, I demand: "Why? It is an insult ... there is no need!"
"Even with their hands tied, Miss, gals have been known to jump the rail." He laughs bitterly. "They prefer the sharks to good honest men."
"Honest?"
"That's as may be, maam, 'tis in the point of view. Now, if ye just keep still a moment ... ?"
I blush for this indignity more than for my nakedness. But I stand with head erect while the noose is slipped over my head. My hair is gathered in a hand, almost reverent, so the rope may circle my throat in snug confinement. It is knotted so I cannot strangle. I can now be led, naked and helpless, anywhere my new owners please. I have a horror of force being used on me. Haughtily, I assure my jailor, "You will have no need to tug at me, I will follow where you lead."
"Oh aye, Miss, 'tis sensible ye are. And now Cap'n Oaks and Mr. Matlock be a'waiting."
I follow my rope to the stairhead, but there I pause in dismay so that it pulls tight and tugs. Below me are faces, too many faces for a naked girl.
"None will hurt ye, Miss."
Perhaps not, but their eyes sear me like flame. Obeying my leash, I descend to be led to face the Captain and his Mate. They stand beside the mainmast as on a stage. My humiliation is evidently a shipboard occasion. My hands work constantly at the cord by which they are joined. I can never free them, but the effort is solace.
"Thy name, girl?"
I am ready with a lie. They must never know my real name. If they wish to treat for ransom, then our family solicitor becomes my father. Sulkily, I fabricate. "Brigid Soames. My father is Obediah Soames of London. He will deal for my release."
He nods, unconcerned. For this moment I am a naked female body with breasts and pubic hair on a ship full of I know not what, all male. His command is curt. "Miss Soames, turn and face the crew."
Am I on trial? Am I to be executed? I take a deep breath and turn in my leash to show a crowd of buccaneers my total sexuality. My breasts seem to me unnaturally large and their nipples more erect, but I realize it is from the tug of my arms from my tied wrists. I can shield nothing. I gasp and long for oblivion as a deft hand looses the trifle on my hip and whisks away the covering of my secret place. I stand, utterly revealed, and have no hands ... !
"Look well, men. She is but a woman, Ye can get a dozen like her in any port."
They regard me with concentrated lust, I am ravished in every mind. I'll wager the doxies they buy in Port Royal have not my shape nor comeliness. Each desires me.
"By our Charter she is the perquisite of the Captain. Agreed?"
There is a chorus of agreement. I suppose they lose little. Divided among so many I have little value to any one of them. I have a strange vision of them laying on me one by one, plunging their rods between my legs ... My owner's , voice rings out again.
"None will touch this woman save by my orders. I will require certain things of her. Should she prove obdurate she will discover penalties. One of these might be for her to be shared among you. Ye would draw lots for order of precedence. But she may not sustain injury, and must be held safe from suicide. Understood?"
He has his crew well in hand, their assent seems well enough satisfied, the hunger with which they gaze upon my t nakedness is controlled. Perhaps they possess a secret knowledge that, sooner or later, I will be given to them. I try to thrust the thought from my mind but it returns ... again and again!
"Come, girl, we have things to speak of."
My arm is grasped, my leash trails as I am led to the Captain's domain. It is spacious, it is bright, it is luxurious - no doubt from the loot of a dozen pirated ships. I wonder how many other bound and naked maidens have preceded me. My captor thrusts me toward the huge bed.
"I'll not take you when you're weary, lass. Sleep. I'll join thee in the night." It is unexpected, a kindness to brim my eyes. My voice wavers in a request I have to make. "Captain, may my nakedness be covered?"
"No."
"My hands untied? The leash taken from my neck?" "No."
Well, that is that! I am alone and naked, still bound. I am suddenly very weary without the will to seek impossible escape. What matters it if I have no hands ... ! I throw myself face down upon the bed and go to sleep. Sometime far into the night I am joined by a naked man who thrusts my legs apart, lays me on my bound arms and, with a strange tenderness, ravishes me and breaks my maidenhead. For the first time in my life I have been impaled.
'Tis indeed a strange bridal night for any maid. My thoughts are incoherent, chaotic as are my emotions under the phallus thrust. My world is riven in great flares of pain which fade and yield before waves of sensation such as I have never known. For good or ill I am reborn, nothing will ever again be as I have known it. I hear a girl crying out fierce ecstasies in the darkness, it is the voice of the newly born. It is mine.
I am wakened to bright day by the man who bound me as I still am. I sit up nakedly, still shamed before a man's regard.
"Ye'll call me Zeke, Maam. I bring ye breakfast wi' Capn's compliments."
He sets down the tray and unties my hands. I do not question why he leaves the leash upon my neck, perhaps I can loose it myself or mayhap it is a symbol of my new condition I must wear.
"Captain Oaks will attend thee later, lady, ye may take thy time."
Alone, I run to test the door. It is locked, so too is every cupboard and drawer and window. With my leash falling at my back I return to the bed and to my food. For a spoiled virgin, a ruined woman, I have good appetite. Reflecting on the loss of my virginity I am glad it is gone. To be a single naked girl among a boatload of seamen, my maidenhead forever threatened, a source of barter, would become a suspense impossible to bear. If I am fucked now I will be no different after than before. It is an immodest relief.
Having eaten I sleep again. I have been sorely taxed. It is the Captain who wakens me. I wonder how long he has been looking at my nakedness with that infuriatingly amused stare.
"Good morrow, Miss Soames. 'Tis good to see ye so refreshed."
"Thank you, Captain."
I yield no inch. The words are his. I look up questioningly, resisting the impulse to cover my breasts. "There's a problem of what to do with thee, Miss Soames."
"Oh, you surprise me." I chill each word. "Have ye not found a pleasurable use for my person?"
"Oh aye, but there's still the days."
"Why not use thy brig? Put me in irons?"
"Ye'd not like it, girl, nor love me for putting thee there."
"Am I expected to love you, Captain? Dos't want more than to secure me from escape - or suicide?"
"Ye'd find the irons little to thy liking, Miss Soames. They rest heavy on such small ankles, wrists and neck. 'Tis passing lonely locked in there alone."
"No doubt you would visit me."
For a moment I think I have gone too far. But he is only irritated. "I have other concerns with thee, maam, beyond our coupling. Ye pose a problem I little relish."
My pulse quickens. I have a guilty secret. I suddenly realize fresh hazards unrelated to my pubic hair.
"Your name is not Soames."
I cling to silence as to a garment.
"You are Dorcas Cavendish, daughter to the Admiral of England's Caribbean Fleet. Matlock has searched papers we took before the sinking of the 'Plymouth Pride'."
I sit there on the bed, stupidly naked, guilty of nothing yet feeling guilt. It is useless to prevaricate further. Boldly, I throw at him a single word: "So?"
"You know where his fleet sails, and you must tell me."
"'Tis no concern of yours."
"His Majesty's Parliament and I are at odds, lady. There's a price on my head and on this ship. The whereabouts of your father's Command concerns all of us aboard."
"You'll not learn it from me."
His sombre regard tells me I am foolish. I should have tearfully denied knowledge. Now he is certain I possess it. His tone is as serious as his features: "Ye had best tell me, girl. This ship can do thy father's squadron no harm."
"He is bound for Barbados, the port of Bridgetown."
He sighs gently in patience for a bad girl. "That I know to be false, Miss Cavendish."
I shrug. "Then I am sorry, Captain, I cannot help you." He nods in understanding. "Loyalties are elusive to deal with, Miss Cavendish, they have no logic. Think on this for an hour. I will then send Zeke for thy answer. Ye will demand of him escort to my presence, or to the ship's blacksmith for thine irons."
"You have my answer now, Captain."
But he is gone, and I must wait. I suspect I am being foolish, but my father's face is vivid in my thoughts. I can be sure of nothing save that I must not betray him. When Zeke comes I accept my fate without the shame of quibbling. "You must take me to the Smithy, Zeke." I tell him soberly.
He nods. He has been briefed. His voice is decently respectful. "Thy piece of rope, lady?"
I find it for him, and turn so he may tie my hands. I see the virtue of the leash upon my neck, by it he leads me to the smith.
I am measured and fitted as for garments. Zeke holds my leash while the blacksmith leers and fingers me with bit of string.
" 'Tis a smaller fetter than I'm used to, Zeke me boy. But when I'm done with her she'll be well secured."
I am fascinated. This glowing metal, shedding sparks, will circle my flesh. This thud of hammer and ring of anvil is for me. When the first fruit of the blacksmith's skill is fitted on my ankle and riveted fast I am almost proud.
"Best sit her, Zeke, I'll have need of both her feet."
I am planted on a box, my leash still in good hands. The smith grasps my other leg and raises it to examine my pubic bush and that which it normally hides. "Has't a way to chain that as well?" I ask bitterly.
"Oh aye, me gel'. I'll fashion thee a chastity belt an the Captain wishes it."
Fascination returns as the hammer and the rivet enchain my limbs. My heavily linked ankles are swept from the forge to be replaced by my freed wrists. I am safe now, I cannot run. I kneel, my arms outstretched, and watch my wrists similarly gyved.
"A pretty lass, ain't she!" The smith enthuses. "These baubles will make her prettier. And now I'll be needing her neck."
The nadir of humiliation! I lose my leash and bend my neck within the open iron circlet awaiting it on the anvil. I am breathless in fear of injury as the iron is bent and turned and hammered fast. I dare not move as the rivets splat beneath the blows.
"She'll run but little, and sink fast if she jumps the rail." The smith chortles, happy with the snug fit he has contrived on these new and shameful bonds.
It is true I cannot run, I do not even walk. Zeke picks me up with my weight of iron and carries me to the brig. Sailors smirk as we pass, but I have nothing more to expose than men have already seen.
" 'Tis a poor sad place for a lady, Miss."
I heartily agree. The Brig is gloomy and dank, its timbers creak. I watch the chain from my collar padlocked to a huge ring set fast in the oak. There is a plank bench on which to sit, that is all.
"I'll be leavin' ye, maam. I'd try and please the Captain if I was you, he's a kindly man."
I am alone again, and survey my new home. It is small and implacable. I am attached to the hull only by my neck, but that is enough, the chain prevents me reaching the door and there is nothing else to touch. The irons on my hands and feet must be for punishment only, if they were not there I would be just as helpless. I sit down.
It is hateful. There is nothing to see and nothing to do. I am totally naked and totally helpless. I can play with the metal things riveted on me and I can think, that is all.
This is punishment, not just to keep me safe. After awhile I will be visited and asked a question. My answer will determine how long I stay like this. I sniff disdainfully in certain knowledge of my fate. I wonder how many days or weeks we are from port ... !
No one comes. I am to be subjected to the improbable and unexpected. I am being made to sit, chained, in a growing anxiety. At night my bed is hard and my chains unkind, there is no blanket. I am absurdly grateful for Zeke and breakfast, and more grateful still, an hour later, to behold Captain Oakes. He surveys my condition gravely.
"You make a charming prisoner, Miss Cavendish."
"Please, Captain, don't keep me in this hateful place. Take me hence, I will be obedient?"
"I have asked a question?"
"Oh that!" I clatter my wrist chains in disgust. "You would believe nothing I said."
"Try me."
I shrug unhappily. "It's no use, Captain ... Can't you understand - I'd only tell you another lie to get myself out of this mess."
"You prefer to stay here in irons?"
"Nooooo, oh no!" I peal my denial out beyond dispute. I hate this, I hate it!"
"Shipboard disciplines are severe, Miss Cavendish." His tone has become that of a Judge. "If you find yourself unable to answer I will try and provide incentive. Before the assembled crew, you will be triced up, naked, to the rigging and flogged."
I gasp at the enormity of it. I cannot speak.
"The regulation 'cat' will not be used on you. A more simple whip without knots or metal inserts will suffice."
"Am I supposed to say thank you?"
We look at each other, each in our own despair, seeking the right words. But the right words do not come, perhaps there aren't any. Abruptly, he turns and leaves, the thud of the door and its bolts sound like an epitaph. I fling myself down on the bench and weep.
I am to be a Roman holiday. The crew's dull duties will be enlivened by a production elaborately staged: the flogging of a naked girl, an uncommon treat for the underprivileged. I pick up the details from Zeke as he returns me to the smith. He is decently regretful but obviously excited.
" 'Tis a waste o' my time." The smith is annoyed. "I'll be chaining her again afore long."
But his work is simple now. Only the chain links are taken from me, the shackles remain. Each metal band has its own ring by which I can again be chained, or tied, or fastened in any way that may please my captors, a most convenient facility which has about it the implacable portent of long use.
"Ye'll come and see her whipped?" Zeke asks.
"Oh aye, can't miss that!" The smith agrees heartily as he pats my bottom. "Ye'll put on a good show for us, Missie, I haven't a doubt. That pretty skin O' your'n will bear some fine stripes. Right proud of 'em, you'll be, you mark my words."
I am among friends. They love me for the diversion I provide.
A roll of drums greets my nudity. I would turn and flee from the many eyes, but Zeke has my arm. He has cautioned me to be brave and not to fight him when the time comes. I expect he is wise. But, oh, it is so hard to be passively obedient at such a time! I catch the Captain's eye-there will be no reprieve.
For insubordination and the giving of comfort to the enemy - fifty lashes on the bare back.
I hear my sentence. It is hard to believe it relates to me, even though my stomach knots hard in fear. I have no experience by which to know if fifty whip- strokes on my bare skin is merciful or cruel. I obey Zeke's nudging fingers and move to where I must stand. I raise my arms.
I face the infinity of the Sea through the taut latticework of rope to which my wrist rings will be tied. The rigging to which I am about to be handily triced slopes from the rail up to the Mast. I look up to observe the loss of my freedom as Zeke cords my shackles far apart to the thick and rigid ropes. Behind me are the male faces I do not want to see. I am thankful my breasts do not point at them or my open legs reveal my sex. I wonder if I will kick in agony, I still can. But for the rest of me, I cannot move enough to matter. My corded shackles hold me fast.
The drum roll is fearsome, and it is all mine! It is for me and signals the beginning of my flogging. It will rise to an unbearable crescendo, and then ...! It is suddenly silent.
It cuts across my bare shoulders with unspeakable agony. I scream in disbelief. I do not wish to be a heroine, I scream. I scream again as the lash curls around my taut waist beneath my tensioned ribs. When it slices my bottom from hip to hip my feet flash and flail at the unseen enemy they cannot reach.
I do not count. I simply hope the pain will stop. It does not stop, not for a long, long time. When it does stop my head is bowed, I am panting, I am wet with sweat. Twenty-five.
There is much shuffling of feet. I steal a backward glance to behold my audience dispersing. From beside me comes the Captain's voice. It bears no malice.
"Half your punishment is done, Miss Cavendish."
Only half! I find it hard to believe, but know he speaks truth. I moan in desolation, I do not want to be whipped any more, not ever. I blurt out urgently: "Please forgive me ... forgive my sentence ... don't whip me any more?"
"There remains the question, maam?"
I weep. It is all I can do. I sob and sob.
"Then you remain as you are for a few hours, Miss Cavendish. The men enjoy your situation. You will then receive the second half of your sentence."
"Cover me. Please cover me?"
"Your nudity is routine in punishment, madam."
He is so formal, I don't want him to be so formal with me. I cry all the harder.
"You have no need to be so cruel to me. You could stop my flogging, you could, you could ... !"
"There are lives at stake, Miss Cavendish. I must consider my crew. Their concern with the question I ask is as great as mine."
"If you continue my flogging it will kill me."
"Nay, maam, you underrate yourself. You are suffering pain but no harm. Think not of death with me ... never!"
"Torture then! Is this not torture?"
"Of a mild kind. I ask you to end it - you can." His voice is heartbreakingly sincere. "Miss Cavendish, I implore ... ?"
I moan but do not answer. I moan and moan! He goes away and leaves me triced to his rigging to await the rest of my stripes and gaze out to sea.
This waiting is a punishment, cleverly designed. I will think and think of the whip and how easily I can avoid it. Temptation will never leave my mind ... betray my father! Men come and go, I suspect their errands feigned for the pleasure of beholding this naked girl who is stretched taut to their ropes. They will look at the whip-marks on my skin and become sexually aroused, lingering as long as is plausibly possible. When there's a pair of them they talk. "Lovely bit o'stuff, eh!"
"What I cud' do with that there, it don't bear thinking!"
"Pity to waste 'er wi' the whip though."
"Hell, man, the Mate's just tickling 'er up a bit. I seen worse whippings on a kid."
"Oh aye, she's a lady, see! And the Captain's a gent. He's havin' her warmed up for his bed tonight. She ain't lost a drop o' blood yet, and ain't likely to."
"Should lay 'er across a barrel and let us all 'ave a bang at 'er. Wouldn't do 'er no 'arm."
"That could 'appen, matey. Peeved at 'er 'e is. She rub 'im the wrong way long enough, and we'll all 'ave a go at 'er-and more'n once too!"
My fate is simple.
But all of this is new and impossible and still has the quality of nightmare. The men speaking of me so lewdly was disgusting and frightening, but it compels me to consider the strange heat within my secret place, the place that once was secret but is so no more. This heat is a demanding sensation and I fear I know its origin and purpose! Does a harlot, whipped at the cart's tail through the streets, know this same shameful feeling when her whipping is done! Or is it only me ... am I wanton! I am smitten by a fearful vision of the faces when I am set free.
All will know I was a pirate's prize and the only female on his ship. They will be polite while they ponder my ravishments, I will be used and spoiled ....! My very survival will condemn me, a pure virgin would have killed herself or blithely walked the plank.
But freedom is something I need not concern myself with. When the Captain and his men have done with me I will be sold to a bagnio or to one of the Planters on the islands. Dorcas Cavendish is lost. It is almost with relief I hear the re- assembly and the drum, and brace my nakedness for the rest of the lashes it must bear. If these frightful cuts I receive across my skin be no more than a `tickling up' I must be thankful I am not being properly flogged. But as the blows impact on me from shoulder to thigh I cannot be thankful for any of this. I scream and scream and scream.
Zeke does not return me to the brig, but to the Captain's quarters. I am euphoric with gladness that I have been whipped and it is done. I care little for his apologetic explanation of the rope.
"Cap'n wants ye tied, Miss. Ye'll no be minding?"
"No, Zeke, I don't mind." I put my hands behind my back so their metal bands touch, and say blithely: "There, you see, I'm a model prisoner."
"That ye be, Miss. Sorry, I am, to treat ye so."
He cords the rings of my shackles so that my hands and arms are held fast behind my back. He sits me on the bed and similarly secures my feet. Then he asks me to arrange myself, face down, on the coverlet. When I have done so, wriggling desperately as no lady should, he ropes my ankles to my wrists.
" 'Tis to stop thee roaming, Miss. Real sorry I be."
I assure him of his innocence, his concern is real. When he has gone and I am alone I better comprehend his regret. I cannot move! I am bowed back and can only flounder painfully in a choice between laying face down with my breasts finding hard friction on the covers, or I can fall on my side. If I do too much floundering I will wriggle myself off the bed and on to the floor. I lay quite still and know that very soon I will hate to be thus bound.
I cling to gladness, as to an anchor, as time works its will on me. This is a wearying way to be tied. It exposes my breasts and my sex more than need be. Surely I could be made helpless with less shame! I am like some farmyard creature trussed for the Market. I shed a good many tears before I hear my owner's step.
Without greeting or comment I am untied. I sit up stiffly and say a meek 'thank you' while I rub my weals. I will not ask him again for covering, to be refused is too demeaning. I look up at his enigmatic regard and inquire, innocently. "What are you going to do with me now, Captain?"
"You took your whipping well, Miss Cavendish."
"That isn't true, Captain, I screamed outrageously. I am ashamed of myself."
"Don't be. The crew admired your courage."
"Your crew admired my body. They would like to use it."
Impatiently, he waves away my flippancy. "You are sorely marked, have ye no wish to speak?"
"I heard men say my whipping was a child's punishment. Nay, Captain, I have nothing to say save to ask my fate?"
"Ye called it torture. I can impose more?"
"Yes?"
This is a battle of wits which I must lose. My female curiosity prompts me to provoke. The captain recites, as though after much debate, his tone weary. "I can have ye hung from the yardarm - to let thee sway back and forth like a pendulum, high above the ocean."
I churn inwardly but say nothing. "I could have ye keelhauled. ..."
"Or you could have me whipped again." I offer helpfully.
We survey each other, wary, on guard, alert for weakness. I raise my iron encircled wrists and ask: "Ye wish to keep me thus?"
"Of course. They become you. You look passing sweet in irons."
I turn my right hand in a way to emphasize its metal band so snug upon the wrist. "Could I not use this as a weapon against thee, Captain. 'Tis a heavy chunk of iron?"
He smiles at my innocence. "Why tell me, girl? Why not wait 'till I am unaware?"
I wish this handsome rogue no harm; if rogue he be! But can I tell him so! Ruefully, I admit my dilemma. "To what end would I stun thee, I would still be captive, and 'tis something I could not bring myself to do."
The Captain nods, pleased. He locks the door and reaches for the buttons of his jacket. "I'll take temptation from thee, lass. When we are done with love I'll tie 'em behind thy back."
I am quite shameless. I want this man terribly, I am afire. He enters my open arms, my open legs and me. My whipped back upon the bed cries out its own delight, my loins rear in welcome. Sometimes in the hours of our play the metal riveted on me makes contact and rings metallically. It has a joyful sound.