4 comments/ 50784 views/ 5 favorites The Captive Ch. 01 By: baldirishman 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." The Captive Ch. 02 The ropes at your wrists and ankles bite a bit as two of the more muscular men of his crew carry you, by those ropes, below deck and through the dark, maze-like corridors to the quarters of their captain. You hang limply between them, like so much meat being hauled to the spit. You have no choice. Your instinct is to rebel and fight against these captors, but you quickly realize the futility of that action. You relent yourself to your fate, for now. They are neither unkind nor compassionate in their handling of you. You are just a piece of property to them, HIS property. You are tossed upon the bed in the room, which has a sturdy oak frame and four stout posts at each corner. Quicker than your eye can follow, a knife materializes in one of their hands and in two skillful strikes, sever the ropes that bind you. They then step back and stare at you, eyes soaking in every detail of your naked body. Every curve is being absorbed in their observance, lingering upon your breasts and rigid nipples and then, of course, upon your neatly trimmed nethers. Once again you feel the stirrings of desire. These men obviously want you, want to take you, but you and they both know they can't. Suddenly your state isn't as nightmarish as you once thought. You have power over them. You know they can't touch you and you can use that. You move slowly, as to not startle them into bellicosity, and looking as helpless as you can, you massage your wrists where the skin is flushed red from the irritation. They're eyes never leave you nor barely do they blink. They have noticeable bulges in their trousers and you can tell that their breathing is get heavier and quicker. You then move your hands down to your ankles and rub some of the irritation away. Enjoying this newfound feeling of strength, knowing that they are staring at your hands, you slowly trace them up your calf, straightening out your fingers, sensually making a trail toward your ever dampening slit. They are mesmerized. You feel powerful. A rush begins to extend from your stomach and that rush turns into a wave of desire as your hands are lingering on the inside of your thighs. You lay back, the natural extension bringing your hands the rest of the way that their eyes were wanting them to go. Your breathing becomes quick and your nipples are achingly hard, begging to be licked, or pinched. The crewmen's erections are as obvious as their dazedness. You feel control for the first time in your life. You have never felt such exhilaration, not even at your mansion, nor in the strokings of your daydream fantasies on the beach at your father's island home. You have barely started your masturbations as a calm but strong voice fills the chamber. "I see the young lady has found power of her own. You two are...dismissed". The voice is riddled with arrogance. The men, now suddenly clumsy, embarrassedly trip over themselves and hastily depart. Your power is gone. Gone with the rush of desire that was your control. You have gone from being the controller back to being the controlled. You hear the door close and the latch lock. You see his back is to you as he is locking the bottom latch to the door. Anger rises in you, both at your capture AND at his simple yet arrogant dispelling of the power you recently felt. Almost without thinking you lunge at your captor, only to be stopped short by self preservation. He obviously anticipated the attack and you are currently staring down the barrel of his pistol. He has a smirk on his face when he says, "Try that fool's trick again and I will not hesitate to end you, your beauty nor ransom not withstanding. Now get back on the bed". The forceful will present in his voice that is so used to giving commands and having them obeyed, as well as the pistol currently pressed into your nose, leaves you no choice but to comply. You slowly back towards the bed and are about to lie down upon it when you feel a strong gloved hand upon your chest, strongly shoving you the rest of the way. You sense that danger in his touch, a flash in his eyes. You know you can't resist or fight, and are his to do with as he pleases. Again that desire sends pulsations to your nethers. You feel you want to be defiant, yet know that it's futile. He seems to sense that defiance as well for he still has the gun trained on you. That arrogant smirk is still on his face. He walks over to you, slowly, to tower over your naked and supine form on the bed. He holsters his flint-lock in his belt and reaches over you. You hear the rattle of chains and your heart skips a beat. You start as he quickly grabs your wrists and forcefully pushes them above your head. You feel soft leather around your wrists and glance up at them and notice the restraints are worn leather. As you are straining to notice those restraints that are on your wrists, you feel similar ones upon your ankles. You glance down and see more worn leather. You see him walk purposefully to the foot of the bed, bend down and grab a strong length of rope. He plants himself and gives a good pull and you feel the slack in your arms and legs tighten. He pulls harder and even more slack comes out of the chain until you are pinned to the bed and spread-eagled, open for his purposes. He lashes the rope off at a belaying pin near the porthole. You feel more helpless than you've ever felt before as you realize that you are completely at his mercy. Thoughts fly through your head at lightning speed. How could I have gone from being helpless to being in control and then to being helpless again? Why isn't this like my daydreams? You feel like crying in hopelessness, yet your body is responding as if it's what you've always wanted. Your desperation is turned to arousal, your fear to desire. You understand that you are his property to do with as he pleases. Your mind doesn't want it, but you can't deny the wetness you feel and the gentle ache inside your groin. You don't have much more time to evaluate the dichotomy between your thoughts and feelings, as you realize your captor has removed most of his clothing. He is strong of frame, with broad shoulders and a barrel chest. Well muscled arms that were hidden by his billowed shirt remove the rest of his clothing and you see that he is not even the slightest bit aroused. You can't hide your disappointment, especially since you are very much aroused, and start to utter a sound relaying that fact when a hand clamps over your mouth with the speed of a striking viper. "I don't recall ever telling you to speak, wench. You still haven't learned your lesson. I will have to coax the insolence out of you then..." The grip is intense, strong, unrelenting and unforgiving. You feel blood rushing to your jaw where his fingers left impressions and know that you are going to be bruised. "Go on, try to struggle" returns the arrogance. You don't move. That helpless feeling returns and you feel that duplicitous hoplessness/arousal that you felt before. "No? Well, let's see if we can't get you to move, just a bit." He goes to his pile of clothes and retrieves a dagger. He stares at it as he brings it closer to you. You can't seem to take your eyes off it as he hovers it over your naked body. You feel extremely exposed and vulnerable now knowing that he could plunge it into you without any resistance whatsoever. You start as he suddenly places the flat of the cold steel blade against your firm belly. He starts to slowly slide it against your skin, up and away from your very damp nethers, blade towards your breasts. He is obviously skilled with a blade for you haven't felt the dagger's bladed bite yet. "Still no struggle? What a challenge. Most of the others have exhausted themselves into a whimpering puddle by now. I suppose I will have to start by removing one of your breasts..." Your eyes widen and lock his. The struggle begins. You throw your entire strength at the restraints, ineffectually, while the blade makes its cold trail up toward your breasts. You can barely move and your greatest heaves only have the effect of rotating your torso slightly. You are truly pinned to the bed. Your heart is racing and your teeth are clenched. You can feel the adrenaline coursing through your veins and it is enhancing every sensation you are feeling from the smooth cold blade to the worn leather restraints to the now soaking wetness between your legs. He is wearing that same smirk and staring into your eyes, unblinkingly, when the dagger pulls away. Your breathing is rapid and shallow. Your breasts rise and fall with that rhythm, your nipples erect and aching. It is that smirk that draws your attention to his now hardened cock. He tosses away the dagger without another moment's thought where it sticks in the wood at the base of the porthole as if the wood suddenly sprouted it. He climbs onto the bed, suspending himself over the top of you, muscles flexing beneath tanned skin. You can't control your breathing or your arousal. You are afraid of this man yet want nothing more than for him to enter you, to ride you, to press chest against your breasts which are aching to be touched. You are almost lost within that desire when your eyes lock again and you know that he sees it, he sees your admission to his power, your admission of your own desire to be used. You know that he knows. So he hovers over you for another moment. You lurch up to try to reach him, but his body is just out of reach. The aches begin to get worse and your desire is increasing. You try at your bonds for any kind of give and there is none. You are but mere inches away from his muscular frame and yet your body cannot reach it. You are shy of satisfaction by mere inches. Your desire increases and you are in nearly a frenzy trying for some kind of contact, some kind of sensation on your charged flesh. You are too afraid to close your eyes, the scene with the dagger still fresh in your mind and his eyes telling yours to stay open and looking at his. Still he suspends himself over you, making you struggle more fiercely than you did with the dagger. Finally, you dare speak a word, just one word to break the cacophonous roar of your breathing, and with it you pour all of your desire for contact, for pleasure, for release... "Please" A smirk was all he responds with at first. Then, slowly he begins to lower himself towards you. You arch your back to meet him yet he is still not in contact with you. He lurches his pelvis forward and you feel the head of his hardened cock press against your wet lips. "Ohhhhh...please" He raises and lowers his hips, sliding the head of his cock up and down your slit without actually entering. It grazes your clit and shockwaves are sent through you. You shudder and moan, aching worse than ever before. "Beg for it my little whore" he says, matter-of-factly. It's an order and you can't refuse. You know you're not a whore, but you want to comply in any case. In point of fact you have never known the pleasures of a man, but that matters little to you now and matters nothing to him, you know. He wants you to be his whore and so you are. "PLEASE" you beg and arch your hips and raise your breasts. He stopped the head of his cock near your sopping wet opening and thrust himself inside you. You feel the weight of his body on top of yours as his thrust spreads you and fills you. You scream in pleasure as his cock is fully inside you and his pelvis is grinding against your clit. The walls of your pussy spasm and massage his cock as your breasts are slid against the firm muscles of his chest, nipples running along his skin. He begins to thrust in and out of you now in earnest as you feel another orgasm building deep inside you. Before long that orgasm ripples through your pinned and helpless frame as he continues to pound away. "As you wish" was all he replied, and then he granted it...