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The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 01

By: Sabledrake



The balmy sea breeze stirred her golden hair as Constance de Granville walked onto the balcony overlooking the harbor. She tipped her head back to allow the cooling air better play over the curves and hollows of her throat.

Below, the docks of Veradoga teemed with activity. Constance could hear the ribald laughter of sailors, pleased to be in port at last, mingled with the singsong chant of the local merchants hawking their wares. Silver from Spain, fine clothes from France, silks and exotic spices from the Far East ... the markets of Veradoga were among the richest in the islands.

She sighed and fanned herself, for the gentle breeze had momentarily died away. The moist air caused her perspiration to bead on her creamy skin. One drop traced its way down the side of her neck and over the rising hill of her breast, then vanished into the lace that trimmed her bodice.

"Good journey," she said softly, waving one last time to the ship on the horizon. Her father, Lord William de Granville, was on that ship. As governor of Veradoga, it was his duty to inspect the smaller islands and their lush plantations, a duty that would keep him from home several weeks.

She wished that she could have gone along, but her father would not allow it. 

"With pirates growing bolder by the year," he had said, "I want you to stay safely at home. Robert will look after you."

Constance gazed wistfully after the ship. 

Although it was gone from her sight, she
imagined she could still make out a speck amid the blue of sea and sky. She imagined she was aboard it, standing by the rail, a real wind caressing her instead of the fickle breath of the breeze.

She closed her eyes and let her mind's fancy create the rhythmic swell of the waves, the creak and flap of the timbers and sails. In all of her eighteen years, she had never been at sea.

She could well understand her father's reluctance, knew that his fear of pirates was well-founded in tragic memory. Twenty years ago, before Constance herself was born and when Robert had been but a baby, Anna de Granville had set sail to visit an ailing friend in England. Pirates had seized the vessel, and while the life of Lady de Granville had been spared, it might have been better for her had it not. 

William de Granville had been wild with remorse and hurt love, and had ransomed back his ruined wife more than a year later. He had pledged to stand by her despite all. But the shame had eventually proven too much for Anna, and she had ended her own life by poison when Constance was barely more than an infant.

Constance had very few memories of her mother, and those were all tinged with a sense of failure. She had been the child meant to bring their family back together, but it hadn’t been enough. She’d never understood why it was that her mother would feel so shamed, what could have happened to her that was so terrible.

When girlhood had begun to give way to womanhood, and she gained more of an understanding of adult matters, Constance realized the truth. Though no one had ever told her directly, she had some idea of what men wished from women, and sometimes wished it so strenuously that they might seek to take it against a woman’s will.

To her own shame, she sometimes dreamt of it … dreamt that she was her mother, a young and beautiful Anna on a seafaring adventure, held captive by a dashing dark-haired and emerald-eyed rogue. And it was not terrible, but enticing, delicious.

She would wake fevered and confused, the bedclothes tangled as if she’d thrashed in her sleep. With pounding heart and flushed skin, she would go to the window and let the sea breeze blow the memories of those dreams into tatters.

A shout drew her attention back to the present, and she smiled as she looked down on the road. 

Two white horses were racing toward the manor, their riders calling to each other merrily as they raced. The lead horse's rider was tall and fair, with hair as golden as her own, her elder brother, Robert. The second rider was shorter and broadly built, dark-complected. Robert's companion Enrique.

Born only days apart, the two had been inseparable since childhood. They had only a week ago recently returned from a year’s visit to Jamaica and other of the islands. It was Lord de Granville's hope that travel would settle Robert's wild nature and make a serious-minded man of him.

Constance had her doubts about that; Robert had changed, yes, but she would hesitate to call it a serious-minded change. He seemed much older than a mere year could account for, and rougher, sharper. As if his travels had honed him like a blade, and left a glint in his eye of steel and danger. He spent as much time as ever in the gambling-halls, or out riding and sporting with Enrique. 

Enrique's horse found some untapped reserve of strength and charged ahead. Rob struck the flank of his own steed. They swept out of Constance's sight, around the manor toward the stables, their voices and laughter trailing behind them like the wake of a ship.

She turned from the window and began pinning up her hair, dressing for dinner without the benefit of a maid. The servants, even her dear old Nana Eva, had been given a holiday while the governor was away, which was one of the few times they would not be overrun with guests, dignitaries, and visitors on business. 

The emptiness of the house did not trouble Constance. She welcomed, even relished, the quiet and the peace. It was a rare occasion that dinner was not a boring and formal affair. And while her father's frequent guests had always been bringing their daughters and sisters in a parade of maidens to the wealthy, widowed lord and his son, lately they’d begun bringing their sons and nephews as well. Constance found them one and all to be flighty, vain, foolish creatures for all their status and education.

The great doors slammed as she approached the banister. She peered over. Robert and Enrique were stripping off their riding gloves, a bit dusty and disheveled but in high good spirits.

"Well, Constance!" Robert called, seeing her. "Father is off, and I am man of the house! Be a good lass and see about supper, will you?"

"Of course." She descended the wide staircase, trying not to notice the way Enrique's eyes greedily followed her every move. Once like a brother to her, since she’d turned thirteen she found him more and more unsettling, even a bit frightening.

There was no fault with his looks, no reason that they should give her cause for concern. His black hair was thick and wavy, his ink-dark eyes hooded and soulful, his features handsome if on the heavy side. 

Yet whenever he gazed at her as he did now, Constance was reminded of a boar, stubborn and greedy and not above bullying others aside to get at what he wanted.

Because she had in large part been raised by the servants, she well knew her way about the kitchen. It was too warm to do much cooking, so an assortment of sliced meats and breads, with plenty of cheese and fresh fruit, made the bulk of their evening repast.

When she brought the trays into the dining room, she saw Robert sitting in their father's chair, putting on airs and laughing at himself as he did so. Enrique sat to his right, in the seat usually reserved for important guests. 

As they ate, Robert even a time or two imitated their father, seeming almost mocking. The glowing tapers lent a shine of malicious humor to his eyes. It gave Constance the most unsettling feeling – that her brother, adored and looked-up to for as long as she could remember, was a stranger to her. 

A slim thread of disquiet coiled in her heart, but she told herself not to be silly, that of course Rob was different. He’d spent a year abroad, a year of excitement and adventure, while she had remained at home.

He ignored her for the most part, jesting with Enrique, talking as if she wasn’t even there to hear. They spoke of drinking and gambling, of wenches in town, of brothels throughout the Caribbean, as if they had done nothing in their travels except debauch. 

Constance did her best to ignore them, did her best not to blush when they laughed over bawdy events. She was keenly aware of Enrique watching her, until it was as if she imagined she could feel his eyes on her like a touch, and found herself wishing her neckline didn’t drape so fashionably low.

By the time supper was over, evening was settling over the island. Rob and Enrique headed to Lord de Granville’s study for brandy and cigars, something that might have been denied them had Father been in attendance, but they were taking full advantage of his absence.

Constance, more relieved than she cared to admit, first cleared the table and then went through the house, opening wide the windows to catch the cool air.

She had just completed the task in the parlor when she heard a sound behind her, a footstep. She turned and saw Enrique lounging in the doorway.

"Hello, Constance," he said, smiling with a sharklike expanse of teeth.

"Hello, Enrique," she said, feeling renewed unease at the way his glittering dark gaze slowly traveled over her body, lingering on certain areas.

"My, but you’ve grown up while Robert and I were away," he said. "As a child, you were always pretty, but now ... why, there’s not a woman in the islands to rival you!"

She forced a bright laugh. "You are too kind, Enrique."

"No, none like you. None so fresh, so innocent." He came closer, and she retreated behind the wide mahogany table while trying to make it seem that she was only moving to straighten the items on the shelves.

"Again, you are too kind." She cast a swift glance at the door, hoping to see Robert appear and free her from this awkward situation, but there was no sign of him.

"Constance." Enrique was beside her in a flash, his movements catlike and silent. His warm hand seized hers. "Lovely Constance. You inflame me. Have you any idea how much I desire you?"

She laughed again, and this time the forced nature of it was plainly apparent, like the jagged squeal of glass shards scraping together. "Don't be silly, Enrique, you've always been as a brother to me." 

His laugh was much more genuine. "But, dear Constance, I am not your brother." He brought her captive hand to his mouth and kissed it.

Good manners aside, she pulled away from him with strength born of sudden alarm. "Enrique, stop … are we not friends?"

“I hope more than that. A kiss, Constance.”

"No, I think not." She took a step back, and her bottom bumped into the edge of the table.

"Aha, trapped!” he chuckled. “Now you are mine!" He grabbed her by the upper arms and pressed his lips against hers.

Startled, Constance tried to pull away, but he held her fast. His mouth was urgent and demanding, and before she knew what he meant to do, his tongue was forcing her mouth open, darting within.

Her outraged scream was muffled. She struggled in his arms, ineffective and caught. Enrique paid no attention to her efforts. She could taste the brandy on him, smell the cigar-smoke of his breath. 

Constance, nearly in a panic, hammered her fists on his shoulders. He only pushed closer, pinning her against the table with his hips. She felt a hard bulge rubbing her belly and in a burst of instinctive awareness knew what it was.

One of his hands cupped a breast, pushing it up, making it bulge above her neckline. She nearly fainted from the shock, but retained enough of her wits to act. She stamped on his foot, and seized his groping hand to bend the fingers back.

Enrique cried out in pain and released her. She took advantage of his pause to squirm away from him and flee around the table.

"She-devil!" he snarled, and all the mirth had gone out of his eyes to be replaced with anger and fired lust. "Get back here!"

"Robert!" she screamed, running for the door. “Robert, help!”

Enrique vaulted over the table with a jaguar’s speed and caught her around the waist. She shrieked as her feet left the ground, saw them flailing in mid-air beneath the fluttering hem of her skirt.

He flung her down on the table, the impact knocking the breath from her body and sending a vase of dried flowers tumbling to its doom. Before she could recover her breath and her wits, he had clambered onto the table beside her and imprisoned her wrists above her head. 

He stared down into her wide, startled eyes. “I would have settled for just the kiss, but now you owe me for the insult! You strike me? You refuse me? I've had women beg for my attentions!"

"Let me go! Enrique, for the love of God, stop this madness!" It was a breathless plea that sobbed from her lungs.

"Not until you've learned your lesson!" He claimed her lips again, in a vicious, bruising kiss. 

"Dear Lord!" Robert's voice cried. "What is going on here?!"

Enrique raised his head, all but snarling in vexation. 

"Rob! Thank heaven! Help me!" Constance wept with relief as she saw her brother come into the room. In his shirtsleeves with a snifter of brandy cradled in one hand, he looked like a younger image of their father. 

"Enrique, explain yourself! What are you doing to my sister?”

"Hellfire, Rob, I couldn't resist. All I wanted was a single kiss, but she denied me and fought like a wildcat."

Constance gaped at him. He should have been cowering in fear and shame at having been caught, but he merely gave Robert a shrug and a wry grin.

Robert turned his gaze on her. She sat up, trying to smooth her tousled tresses and wipe the tear-streaks from her face. In dismay, she realized that in their struggles, her skirt had bunched above her knees, leaving her in utter disarray.

"Constance, I am surprised at you." Robert sadly shook his head. "Is this how you show hospitality to our guest?"

"What?" She gaped at him, nonplussed by his tone.

"Look at poor Enrique," Rob said. "You've aroused him with your beauty and charm, with your teasing kisses, and then you deny him satisfaction?"

"What … what are you talking about?” she stammered. “Teasing? Aroused him? I've done no such thing!"

"Oh, but you have," Enrique said. He touched himself obscenely, hefting and fondling the swelling in his trousers as idly as a vintner checking the ripeness of his crop. "What do you think caused this?"

"For shame, Constance," Robert chided. "Look what you've done! I think Enrique
deserves an apology."

"No, Rob, you don’t understand! I was in here by myself, and he came in … he grabbed me --"

He waved again, dismissingly. "That doesn't matter, sister dear. What matters is, you've brought our guest to a point of distraction, and he must be satisfied. Isn't that so, Enrique?"

"Quite."

"What do you mean? What satisfaction?" She hugged herself and inched off of the table, her confusion beginning to give way to the first stirrings of true fear. He didn’t mean … he couldn’t mean …

"Will her mouth suffice?" Robert asked Enrique.

Enrique grinned widely. "I'm sure it will!"

"What?" She looked pleadingly at her brother. "Rob, please, what's going on?"

"Simply said, little sister, Enrique is going to put his cock in your mouth."

"What?!?" She nearly fell into the nearest chair, all of her limbs galvanized and numbed by pure shock. She knew enough to understand what he meant, just couldn’t believe it.

"It is your duty. He is our guest, and as hostess, you must do everything within your power to make him feel comfortable.”

“Rob! This is wrong!”

“Oh, believe me, Constance, if one of the servants were here, perhaps she could take your place. But even your old Eva is away, and that leaves you the lady of the house.”

“I … I … I’ll tell Father, Rob, I swear I will!"

"She might do that," Enrique said. "Your father would be angry. He tends to put his daughter’s virtue before the comfort of his guests, after all."

"You're right." Robert scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm. Wait, I know. We can assure that she won't tell Father a thing."

“I will tell him! When he hears --” The thought occurred to her that perhaps he meant to kill her, a thought she would have only moments ago dismissed as absurd. Yet, so too would she have dismissed the thought that her own brother would be ordering her to … to …

“How will we convince her to keep her silence?” 

“We’ll just have to make sure she enjoys what she does,” Rob said. “If that’s the case, she’ll be none too eager to tell anyone about it.”

"Interesting," Enrique said.

“Enjoy --? Rob, what’s happened to you? I’m your sister!”

“And Enrique is my best friend.” Rob laughed. “Why, it’s not so far-fetched to think that Father might marry you to him someday … Don Martinez is a very wealthy and powerful man. It’d be a good match, assuming England and Spain ever quit warring.”

“So what harm in a sampling of the delights that await?” Enrique undid his belt.

“I will not!” Constance shrieked. “How can you think to do this? And how can you think I’d ever enjoy such … such a vile deed?”

“Oh, you’ll do it, dear sister mine.” His eyes, the same blue of her father’s and her own, had never looked so fierce, at once icy and aflame, like blue diamonds. “You’ll use that pretty mouth of yours to pleasure Enrique until he’s sated, and swallow every drop of what he spends. Do you understand me?”

“I won’t.” She could barely breathe in her horror, and edged for the door, meaning to bolt and run and escape to the village, seek haven there. 

But this time it was her own brother who seized her and flung her again on the table. “Father left you in my charge and you will mind me!” Rob commanded.

"Let me go! I'll scream!" She was very nearly screaming already, her voice high and shrill.

“Who will hear you? Behave yourself, Constance, you're embarrassing our family."

She tried to get away, a desperate lunge, but he held her down easily. All speech seemed to have deserted her and she could only whine and mewl like an animal as she fought with him. Rob batted her feeble blows aside, and slapped her smartly on the cheek.

It stung and surprised more than hurt, for she had never in her life been struck, not even spanked. Constance gasped harshly.

Enrique, meanwhile, had unconcernedly continued undressing. She caught a glimpse of what was revealed and snapped her eyes shut. She tried willing herself to awaken, sure that this couldn’t be real. Surely, any moment, she’d wake to find herself in her own bed –

That idea shattered when she heard him climb onto the table.

“There, yes, kneel beside her head,” Ron said. “That should do.”

“I won’t do this, you can’t make me do this,” sobbed Constance. “Father will disown you for this!”

“No, he won’t, because you won’t tell. I’m going to see to that.” 

She felt her skirt being rudely shoved up to her waist, and opened her eyes in time to see Rob’s fingers curl into the top of her linen undergarment.
“
No!” Bright, unformed panic shot through her.

"Oh, yes," Robert said. "And I'll tell you why. Because while you're busy with Enrique's cock, I will be licking your sweet cunny." 

Now that panic had a form, more monstrous than she ever could have imagined. Her shriek pealed to the rafters, but did not deter him from tearing away the thin lacy cloth. They both stared down at her, at the thighs Rob held indecently wide, at the plump mound of crisp golden curls between them.

“Beautiful,” Enrique said.

"Upon my word, sister, you have grown up, haven't you?" Robert murmured. He ran his fingers lightly over her mound.

She howled in abject terror but now Enrique was holding her too, and she was unable to move, unable to bring her legs together. 

“But if you lick her cunny,” Enrique asked, “isn’t that incest? After all, I’m not her brother.”

"No, no, my friend, it isn't. What sort of a brother do you think I am? It is only incest if I actually were to fuck her. Or if one of us were to spend. You can, and godspeed, but not I. I assure you, I have no intention of turning this into incest." So saying, he settled his palm onto her mound, and bent down to kiss her thigh. 


The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 01



"Please, no!" she begged.

Robert raised his head and looked at her over the curved landscape of her body. “What’s this, little sister? You don’t want me to lick you?”

"No! In God’s name, Rob, please!"

"Then suck Enrique's cock! The faster you satisfy him, the less of this you'll have to endure! I promise you!"

Shuddering, but with no alternative, she turned her head toward Enrique. His thick cock was only inches away from her face, the first time she had ever beheld such an implement. It jutted stiffly from a nest of thick black curls, and looked impossibly huge, chokingly huge.

He was looking down at her, a lustful grin on his face. “Make sure you use your hands, too," he instructed. Glancing to Robert, he asked, "May I open her bodice? I must get at those lovely tits."

"By all means," Robert said, in the manner of a generous host offering the finest wine. "They are fabulous, aren’t they? Enjoy!"

Constance slowly reached up and encircled the shaft of Enrique's cock. It lurched at her touch, eager, like a horse kept too long in a stable and ready for a gallop on a spring morning. She jerked her hand away as if burned.

"Oh, God, Rob, please don't make me do this!" she sobbed.

"No one is forcing you, Constance. If you want to suck Enrique's cock, you can. I'll just do this until you make up your mind." 

He bowed his head to her body, his shoulders preventing her from bringing her thighs together. His fingers parted her cunny lips and he ran his tongue along her slit in one long, slow, firm stroke.

Constance shrieked again, moved beyond terror at that invasive, intimate touch. Her cry was cut off as Enrique, impatient, thrust his swollen cock into her wide-open mouth. A meaty, musky taste assaulted her.

Robert's tongue moved along its slow course again, this time pausing at the top of her slit to flick at a tiny, fleshy nub hidden there. It sparked a memory in her, of how she felt upon awakening from the dreams of the pirates. But those feelings had always been short-lived, furtive, unable to withstand the light of day. 

The lingering firm sliding of Rob’s tongue, was anything but short-lived, anything but furtive. 

The thought of those dreams and the memory of that sensation, coupled with Robert's skillful acts, made heat pulse briefly in her lower belly. Her horror shot to new heights as she realized that her body wanted to react to these hideous events!

The only way to put an end to it was to do what they had commanded. So resolved, Constance began moving her mouth along Enrique's cock, sucking at the tip, lapping around it. He grabbed the sides of her head to steady it, his hips rocking as he thrust himself deep.

"Damn, Rob, she has an incredible tongue!" Enrique said. With one hand still fisted in her hair, he sent the other to rip at her bodice. The tight fabric gave way, freeing her rosy breasts.

"Enjoying yourself, Constance?" Robert asked, briefly looking up from his task, leaving his thumb to rotate in slow circles on her little nub.

As well as she could with her mouth stuffed full of cock, Constance shook her head. Tears were rolling down the sides of her face, but her nipples had drawn erect and pointed pertly.

To speed Enrique along, to end this repulsive deed, she began stroking his shaft in counterpoint to the movements of her mouth. His groans told her she was succeeding, and the pace of his movements sped up. Several times, he pushed so hard that the tip of his cock nudged the back of her throat, nearly making her gag.

Robert, smirking at her, lowered his head again. His long, slim fingers, artist's fingers, his tutor had always said, probed gently along her cunny lips. He pressed the tip of his tongue firmly against her nub, teasing it. Then he licked along her cunny in long rapid strokes while his fingers spread and released her lips, spread and released.

"She's slowing, Robert," Enrique grunted. "I think she doesn't want it to be over just yet." 

Fresh horror and shame crashed over her, moreso as she realized that yes, she had been sucking more leisurely! The forbidden sensations Robert's hands and mouth were evoking had distracted her!

"Why, Constance," Robert said, pausing. "Is that true?"

She shook her head again, then fell to sucking frantically, rubbing Enrique's cock with both hands. More hot tears leaked from her tightly-closed eyes.

Enrique gasped for breath. He plundered her breasts, roughly squeezing, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples. Again and again his cock bumped the back of her throat. She fought against gagging. A new taste was seeping into her mouth, salty, like the tears that trickled down her cheeks.

"I won't last much longer!" Enrique said.

Robert fastened his mouth to her cunny. His tongue slid partway into the tender opening, his fingers worked at her nub with gentle, almost loving, care.

She heard a low, drawn-out moan. It had come from her!

Robert immediately stopped, sounding highly amused and mock-offended. "Constance! You are enjoying this!"

Lunging away from Enrique as best she could, leaving his cock waving stiff and indignant above her, Constance cried, "No!"

"Sweet sister," Robert said, his fingers moving persuasively over her damp, slick cunny, "I have been with dozens of women. Hundreds. And I think I know when a woman is enjoying herself."

"No! Stop! Please!"

"I can taste your excitement," he whispered. “I can feel your dampness. You can’t fool me, darling Constance.”

She wailed in anguish.

"Now, look here," he continued. "Poor Enrique is ready to erupt. Why don't you finish what you started? As soon as you're done, I'll quit what I'm doing."

Shaking in humiliation and mortified arousal, she seized Enrique's cock and engulfed it again, as far as she could. Instead of gagging, she tried to suck it deeper, opening her throat.

"Oh!" Enrique shouted. "Oh, yes, that's the way! Do it, take it all!" His hands were all over her breasts, pinching the nipples, greedily, painfully. "Yes! I'm going to spend!"

"Swallow it," Robert reminded her. "Every drop."

Enrique's cock began convulsing. Hot fluid, salty like seawater yet thicker, suddenly flooded her mouth in spurts. 

Mindful of Robert's command, she swallowed the strong-tasting stuff as best she could. It seemed to go on forever, and all the while Robert kept at her, tongue and fingers moving, moving, not letting up until Enrique, exhausted, withdrew his softening cock from her mouth.

"Well, now," Robert said, rising from where he had been bent over her. "That is a much better way to treat guests, especially when you've teased them into arousal."

Enrique nodded. "Much better,” he said, a breathlessly.

"But now you have another problem, dear Constance,” Robert continued, relentless. “You've aroused me."

She looked up at him, eyes wide, unable to speak or even contemplate what he was saying.

"I'd be happy to trade places," Enrique said at once. "You must try her mouth. It is fantastic."

Constance didn't know which frightened her more, the thought of having her own brother's cock filling her mouth, or that of Enrique's wide, moist tongue on her most sensitive places. To her everlasting mortification, she knew she would not be able to keep from responding if her fevered cunny was touched much more. 

She lay helpless, not able to move, her legs still splayed and the ruins of her dress bunched around her midsection, staring numbly at her brother.

"I have a better idea," Robert said. He undid his belt and began removing his trousers. His cock, when it sprang free, was longer than Enrique's though not as thick, the flesh pale, the thatch of hair a deep gold.

"Sangre de Christo, Robert, are you really going to fuck her?" Enrique asked, eyes
bulging excitedly. “This I must see!”

"No!" Constance shrieked.

Robert rolled his eyes. "What sort of brother do you think I am? That would be incest! And remember, I have no plans of that! No, I just wish to rub my cock along her cunny for a while. I'd never think of putting it in her."

Constance tried to roll onto her side, the first step in escaping, although she didn't know how far her weak legs would carry her. It was a moot point, for Robert caught her even as she started to move. He pushed her down again and got on the table, kneeling between her legs.

She scratched-slapped-clawed at him, lost in hysterical weeping. 

"Hold her wrists," he ordered.

Enrique hastened to comply, once again pinning Constance's wrists above her head. 

She could only whimper in dread as Robert lay atop her. He shifted around until the long, stiff column of his cock was resting in the moist furrow of her cunny.

They were face to face. Although his actions had made him a stranger, she still saw her brother, their features so much alike, only his lustful expression unfamiliar. The mocking light in his eyes told her that he was delighting in this greatly, that the fun was by no means over.

The heavy pressure of his cock against her was unbearable.

"Please, Rob, don't," she begged.

A grin twisted his lips and he began rocking his hips, causing his cock to slide back and forth along her cunny lips. The pressure on her nub waxed and waned rhythmically.

"Do you like that, Constance? Do you like having my naked cock rubbing you? Your little cunny burns with need, doesn't it?"

"Stop it!"

"You liked my tongue, but you like my cock even more, don't you?" His hand covered her breast possessively. "I can feel how fast your heart beats. I can feel your breath, so fast! So excited!"

"No!"

"Yes! Tell me, Constance, how many village lads have you fucked?"

"None!" Her tears were flowing freely, her breath hitching. "I've never!"

He kept up his slow, purposeful movements. His own breath was coming faster, but his voice stayed even. "Never let them fuck you? Never had a man's cock stuck in you? Never even sucked a man, or let him at your tits?"

"No!"

"You probably thought you'd never like such a thing, didn't you? But you do! You like it. You love it! You want more!"

"No! Rob, please!"

"How does it feel, Constance? You're wetter than ever. That's your body's way of telling you that you like it. Don't you?"

She couldn't speak any longer, just wept bitterly.

"Your hips are moving," he murmured. "Moving to mate your cunny to my cock. For shame, little sister! Enjoying your brother's cock!"

Her hips were moving! Against her will, against her volition, rocking with him to increase the sensation!

She held still, not even daring to breathe. Her body felt on the trembling edge of some unknowable precipice.

"Why, Constance, what a little slut you are! You were going to spend, weren't you? Spend, and make this harmless game into foul, foul incest!"

"Please stop," she whispered.

"Is that what you want, Constance? You want me to -- stop?" And on the word, he did. He halted his motion and just lay against her, the length of his cock throbbing along her cunny lips.

She held her body still, frozen, every muscle taut and almost quivering with tension.

"You wanted me to stop," he murmured in her ear. "Were you wrong? Were you lying? Do you want me to go on? Do you want to lift your hips to me again?"

She bit her lip until she tasted blood.

Rob’s voice dropped to an insinuating purr. "Do you know what I think, sister? I think just a few more strokes would bring you to the edge. You'd spend. Spend like a common slut, but not even a common slut would do it on her brother's own cock."

She turned her head to the side. Tried to ignore his sly, persuasive words. But it was unbearable, the steady beat of his pulse thumping in the length of his cock, and just one little shift, one little movement --

"Your hips are moving again," he said. "Your cunny quivers like a lute string."

He spoke true! Even as she tried to ignore him, her treacherous body had betrayed her and acted on its own. And even as she tried to stop it, a new and overpowering sensation overtook her.

A great and tormented cry burst from her as she shuddered, the feeling of a giant fist of pure white light clenching and releasing, clenching and releasing, sending waves of radiance traveling outward from her belly and loins.

"You are spending, Constance!" Rob cried, sneering yet triumphant. He moved against her again, fast and slick, each motion hastening the incredible spasms that wracked her body.

Her long wordless wail dissolved into heart-wrenching sobs.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk," he said. "You've made this into incest. Since you've spent, I suppose I might as well too.”

“Only fair,” agreed Enrique. His eyes were wide, his face sweaty as he greedily watched the scene. 

 “And if that’s the case, I might as well fuck you!"

Her tear-soaked eyes flew open, but it was too late. A shift of his hips, a hard pushing thrust, and Rob’s cock plunged deep into her cunny. Its passage aided by the wetness her body had produced, it tore through her maidenhead and buried itself fully within her.

This time her cry was one of pain as well as outrage and shame, and it availed her as much as any of the others. Not at all. 

Before she had time to adjust to the horrific intrusion and splitting feeling of fullness, Robert began to move vigorously, rising and falling, lunging in and out in fast, forceful strokes.

"Put her hands on my ass," he commanded through gritted teeth. “Ah, God, I can’t hold it back much longer!”

Enrique moved her arms and held her palms flat on her brother's taut buttocks. She could feel them flexing as he drove into her again and again.

"Now, Constance! How do you like it? I'm about to spend in you, sister-slut!"

Most terribly of all, his pounding thrusts were spurring her body on to even greater heights. It was going to happen again, happen so powerfully that it would make the first one look paltry, and Constance screamed in helpless, shameful passion. She raised her legs, giving him greater access to her violated cunny. 

Rob hoisted her calves to his shoulders and battered against her, tendons standing out in his neck and jaw, his face now contorted and totally that of a stranger. He went rigid against her, his back a bow, and she felt what had happened to Enrique now happen to him. Except this was inside of her, deep within her.

He kept thrusting, his fluid overflowing her cunny, wringing every last bit of sensation from their bodies. At last, he collapsed atop her, sweat-damp and shaking.

“My God,” Rob finally said, easing off of her. He exhaled gustily. “What a delectable fuck you are, little sister!”

Neither of them were holding her now, and the way was clear for her to escape. But Constance couldn’t so much as gather the will to see if her legs would obey her, as she was still wracked with minor shudders that diminished like the thunder of a receding storm. 

"I'm ready again, Rob," Enrique said, curling his hand around his stiff cock and giving it a few tugs to prove it. "Let me have her now?"

A pitiful, broken sound emerged from Constance’s throat. She found words to go with it. “No more, please, no more, I can’t stand it if you do.”

Rob’s hand stroked her hair. “Shh, shh, Constance. No one is going to touch you right now.”

“But Rob! Watching that …”

“Sorry, old friend. Constance is my sister, after all.”

“A fine time to care about that,” Enrique protested indignantly. “You’re the one who fucked her!”

“And she spoke true, she never had before. I felt her virginity give way before me like a breached wall.”

“So there’s no harm in letting me have a prod,” argued Enrique.

“Not this time. Not this one. I think I’m keeping this cunny all to myself.”

Constance, who had gotten so far as to curl on her side, lifted her head enough to look at him without comprehension. “Wh—what?”

“Yes, what?” Enrique seconded.

“I was none too pleased when Father told me I had to stay on Veradoga until he returns. I thought it would be dull. But now, now that I have my sweet sister to keep me company, I imagine I’ll have never enjoyed being home more!”

***

Continued in Chapter Two



The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 02



Constance sat on the edge of her bed, brushing her hair as it dried. The balmy silver of the moonlight filtered through the gauze of the netting at her window, there to keep the bugs away while still allowing the cool night air to permeate the room. 

It was high summer, and the days were brutal. The sky was burnished pewter, the sun a blazing coin, the sea a flat green mirror stretching to the horizon. A lethargic doze lay over Veradoga during the day, muting the babble of the marketplace, and while squabbles were more frequent, they were short-lived and spiritless. It was just too hot to dispute.

When dusk spread her purple veil, and the temperatures dropped, the island revived with life. Even now, drifting in on the breeze, Constance could hear the distant strains of music and singing from the taverns by the wharf, from the field to the east of town where a festival was going on.

In years past, she might have gone to the festival. Her father might have escorted her, or she and Rob and Enrique could have gone together. Dancing, laughing, eating too many spicy delicacies, coming home late and pleasantly weary.

Not so this year … this summer. She remained a veritable prisoner in the house, but that was just as well, for she couldn’t bear to show herself in public.

They would know. She was sure of it. Anyone looking on her would see and know the shame written in large letters on her face. 

She couldn’t count how many times in her life Nana Eva had cautioned her about them. First boys, then men, but the lesson was always the same – a lady had to be on guard for the sake of her purity, couldn’t be ruined.

But now she was ruined. And not even in an excusable, overlookable slip of giving herself to her true love a bit in advance of the wedding. 

Ruined … by her own brother.

He hadn’t touched her in the week since, but his final words from that terrible, fateful night still haunted her. 

She’d fled the parlor to her own room, holding the torn remains of her dress around her, grateful that no one was about to see her in such a state. Upon reaching her room, she had flung herself into the tub though there was only the unheated water from the cistern on the roof. She had scrubbed until her skin was scarlet, soaked until she was wrinkled, and only then emerged to look at herself in the mirror.

What a sight that had been! The bath hadn’t been able to take away the soft puffiness of her lips, left so by Enrique’s punishing kisses. Nor had it been able to erase the darkening bruises left from his pinching of her breasts. No amount of rinsing could take the taste of him from her mouth. 

She bore a scrape on one thigh, done by the signet Rob wore, though she hadn’t felt it at the time, being far too concerned with what else he was doing. She felt it now, though, a stinging line that hadn’t bled but was reddened.

But worst of all, she could see it in her own eyes. She was impure. No longer a virgin. The prize of her maidenhood had been cruelly taken from her by her own brother, in an incestuous act that was made a thousand times more shameful and repugnant because she had responded. 

Oh, but her treacherous body had leapt willingly to his invasion! Had spent helplessly beneath his ministrations … twice! 

And so she had slunk to her room and endured an endless night, aching and exhausted but unable to sleep for fear of what her dreams might bring. When at last she had fallen into a fitful doze, it had been the old dream, the pirate dream, but this time as she looked out from her mother’s eyes at the pirate captain, he had Rob’s face.

When morning came, she wanted to stay hidden away in her room, but hunger had finally impelled her downstairs. There, gorging on a late breakfast on the patio, were Rob and Enrique, looking as if they’d had the best night’s sleep in all creation.

Acting as if nothing at all was out of the ordinary. Acting as if nothing unusual had gone on the night before. Acting as if it never was.

They had been jovial and cheerful as ever, but Constance had only been able to endure a bit of it before returning to her room. She did not know if they hoped to make her think she’d imagined it all – how could she, when the marks were still visible on her flesh? – or what their intent was. All that she knew was that she couldn’t bear to be in the same room with either of them.

Later that day, the servants had returned from their short holiday and resumed their normal duties. Nana Eva had been with them, fresh from a visit with her daughter in the village, brimming with tales about her clever grandchildren. 

Constance had claimed illness and stayed abed, waiting for the moment when the old woman would look sharply at her and know, the way Nana Eva said she always knew when a girl had been tainted. But that moment never came, and Nana Eva only fussed over her as she had done since Constance’s earliest childhood.

The week had gone by, and still that moment never came. The marks on her body faded, but the memory remained vivid, troublingly so. Rob continued carrying on as if nothing was amiss, living heartily in his role of governor while their father was away. 

But she began to notice a cloud over his friendship with Enrique, and it did not take her long to divine the cause. Enrique still looked at her, in that yearning and speculative way that had been so disturbing before, but it was underscored now with something more. With knowledge … he no longer had to wonder what she looked like beneath her clothes, because he knew. And resented, perhaps, Rob’s refusal to let him have his way with her?

Her relief when Enrique was called home to Santa Martina knew no bounds. His departure earlier today had lifted a weight from her soul, and for the first time as she got ready for bed, she felt safe. Enrique was gone, the servants were in attendance, and nothing more could happen to her. It wouldn’t be that much longer until Father came home, and when she told him …

No … Rob was right about that much! How could she tell anyone? How could she tell them that she’d writhed like a slut beneath her brother? That she had driven her hips up against him to bring on the first of her traitorous spendings, the one that had made it all into most vile incest?

A shiver raced through Constance as she remembered it, her body reacting with far less abhorrence than her mind. Her body cared nothing for their blood relationship, or the indecency, or the ruination. Her body only cared that his clever touch had brought her to melting, a sweet hot melting like butter flowing …

She caught herself, realizing that she was drawing the brush through her hair in slow languid strokes, eyelids dreamily half-mast, the movement of her arm making the fabric of her nightgown slide enticingly over her breasts. 

Her nipples poked at the silk, taut little points, and when she touched one, she gasped. An answering twinge came from her loins, as if her nipple and the tiny hidden nub tucked away down there were connected.

She set down the brush and, hardly aware of what she was doing, cradled her breasts in both hands, feeling their rounded shape and soft but firm weight as if she had never noticed them before. 

The silk was cool, the skin beneath warm, and Constance slid her hands up. She squeezed gently, rolled her thumbs over her nipples, and sighed at the delicious thrill. It did seem to reach all the way to her loins. She shifted her hips slightly, aware of a mild but not unpleasant discomfort.

It was … quite nice, in fact.

She reclined on the sheets, bathed in diffuse moonlight. She caressed her breasts with one hand while the other stole, seemingly of its own volition, lower to brush against the silk-covered mound at the juncture of her thighs. Her knees drew up and parted, causing the hem of her nightgown to slide up to her hips. 

For a moment, sense and reason tried to reclaim her. This was wrong, would be wrong even were it not inspired by her memories of that other night! To be touching herself like this was sinful and –

Those objections lasted only until that questing hand, still moving as if under its own will, crept between her legs. Her fingers combed through the lush curls and found the tender lips beneath, found them warm and moist. 

Constance sighed again, forgetting all thoughts of right or wrong, and slipped her fingers into the furrow of those lips. She brushed against the hidden nub almost by accident, and stifled a cry at the sudden surge of pleasure.

“Ohhhhh,” she breathed, and began moving her fingers in an instinctive, slow, spiraling motion. 

A draft belled the gauze at the window. Constance, eyes closed as she lost herself in the blissful sensations swirling through her loins, felt the cool push of air on her bare skin. 

She slid her other hand down to join the first, dipping her forefinger into the channel of her cunny and marveling at the way that soft inner flesh clasped at her. 

“What a naughty sister I have,” remarked Rob’s voice.

Her eyes flew open and there he was, standing in the doorway. The draft had been his opening of it, treating him to the sight of her sprawled across her bed with her hands thrust between her thighs and one breast exposed.

Riveted by shock, Constance couldn’t move for a moment. Rob took that moment to come into the room and close the door behind him.

“Look at what I catch you doing!” he said, one eyebrow at a sardonic tilt. “I wonder what you were thinking of?”

Constance yanked her hands away and pulled her nightgown down. “Go away!”

“Go away? But the fun’s just begun, sister dear! And you started without me.” He approached the bed, pulling his nightshirt over his head and letting it fall carelessly in a white heap. He was naked beneath, his skin silvered by the moonlight and his cock already standing straight and erect.

“Rob, no,” she said. “Not again.”

“But you need me, Constance. Look at you, resorting to yourself when there’s a perfectly serviceable man in the house. What a waste! We’ll soon set that right.”

She wrapped the sheet around herself. “I’ll scream, and this time there are people to hear me!”

“To hear, yes. To interfere? No.” He grinned, and for the first time she thought that her brother resembled a wolf, a tawny gold wolf with cold blue eyes. “I’m the master of the house now, and if they know what’s good for them, they’ll leave me to my own affairs.”

“Nana Eva --”

“Isn’t here,” he finished. “Didn’t you know? Her grandson is ill, and her daughter sent for her. You are right; she might have tried to stop us, but what she doesn’t know won’t harm her.”

“Rob, please, you must not do this!”

“After what I just saw, do you expect me to believe you don’t want it?”

“I don’t!”

“So you say, but you lie. I saw you petting that sweet cunny of yours. It needs to be fed, and I’ve its supper right here.” He stroked the head of his cock, and Constance watched, fascinated despite herself, as it rose to a new angle of stiffness. 

“Rob …” she protested, ashamed at how weak it sounded even in her own ears.

He stopped at the edge of the bed. “It’s for your own good, darling sister. I can’t leave you unsatisfied, now, can I? When I’m man of the house? That would be poor manners indeed.”

“It is wrong! It is incest! How can you even want to do such a horrible thing?”

“Oh, because I’m a man, Constance, and we’re all beasts ruled by our basest passions. You’ll have to learn that sooner or later. Honor, nobility, gentlemanly conduct … lies, all of it. Any man, given the proper circumstance, would prove himself to be a selfish rutting beast.”

“I’m your sister!” she tried in desperation. “Father --”

“He doesn’t have to know, and believe me, you don’t want him to. It’s you he’d blame, not me.”

“That’s not true!”

“Isn’t it? For one, he knows I’m a man and men are weak, unable to resist temptations. For another, he’s never trusted you. He thinks you’ll turn out just like Mother.”

“What?” She stared at him, confused yet aghast. “But he loved Mother --”

“Yes, but he never trusted her. Not after what happened. After all, she was their captive for more than a year. He thought she might have grown to like it, and he’s always been worried you’d be the same way. What would it do to him to hear that you are?”

“You wouldn’t! Oh, Rob, you can’t!”

“I’d hate to have to. But I’ll make a bargain with you, lovely sister-mine … you finish what you were doing, let me watch, and I swear, I’ll say not a word of it to Father.”

“You … you want me to … no!”

“Go on, do it. Caress yourself, Constance. Make yourself spend. You can, you know. It won’t be as good as having a man inside you, but you’ll like it all the same. I want to see you do it.”

“It’s wrong, it’s evil!”

“Forget all that. Think about how it feels.” His voice dropped to that persuasive purr she remembered so well, the one that haunted her thoughts. “Think about how it felt to have me down there, my tongue on you. Remember that? I do … your sweet taste, the clear honey of your excitement … oh, yes, I remember.”

“Stop it,” she moaned, his words bringing an unwilling resurgence of arousal.

“The way you slowed down,” he continued. “So as not to let it be over with? You wanted to spend, Constance. You needed it, craved it. Remember what it felt like to have me lay my cock against your cunny?”

“Rob, don’t do this, please!”

“I’ll never forget what it was like to have your hips start moving, rubbing on me like that. And the look on your face! A girl’s never more beautiful than in that moment, when she's on the verge of spending, oh, it’s wonderful, Constance. There’s such an expression of awe, yes, and a bit of fright, wondering if she’ll be able to stand it, wondering if any living creature can stand such pleasure and survive. I want to see that again. I want to see you do it to yourself, bring that look to your face. But it’ll be different this time, because there will be an awareness in it, an awareness that it’s you doing it, all you, your hands and your body, that the power is in you.”

She was nearly crying again, but also quaking as his impassioned speech fanned embers into flame. Oh, but she wanted to, she wanted to fall on her back and spread her legs and touch the flesh that was maddening her to the point of distraction.

Wanted to, and did … overcome, Constance unwound the sheet and let it drop. She stretched out on the bed and opened her thighs and thrust her hands between them. If her cunny had been warm before, it was burning now, and the curls of hair were damp with her arousal. 

Her back arched as she found the center of her demanding need. She cried out, low but intense, and it didn’t matter to her that Rob was standing at the edge of the bed, holding his cock and rubbing it in time with her motions while his gaze never left her. Nothing mattered except for the wanton desire that was building to a fevered pitch. 

She spent with such force that it seemed the world went soundless and white, her every nerve afire and her mind spinning apart into fragments that gradually drifted down and formed themselves back to cohesion. 

Drifting, floating, yes, she was awhirl in the sensations so that when she felt his hands on her, she first thought they were her own hands. But then, as he lifted her, coaxed her to swing her leg, Constance regained her senses and saw what was happening. 

Rob was on the bed, on his back. He had arranged her so that she was straddling his hips, the tip of his cock poised at the opening of her cunny.

“Now, do it, Constance,” he murmured harshly. “Lower yourself. Ride me. Fuck me, sister dear, and all of the power is yours.”

Objections flew through her thoughts like fireflies and were gone. She moaned in delirious abandon and sank onto his upthrust length, taking him deep within her in one smooth movement. 

It was Rob’s turn to cry out, mostly in lust, partly in surprise that she’d actually done it. 

She rocked atop him in an urgent rhythm, relishing the feel of his cock engulfed in her cunny, first sliding nearly to the point of withdrawal and then sinking back down. There was no pain this time, only the wonderful sensation of being filled, of the thick base of his cock pressing against her nub and sending her racing toward the peak again.

He lay beneath her with his hands to her bouncing breasts, and now she could see what he’d meant, that the power was hers, he was in her power, as helpless in the face of his passion as she’d been. 

When he spent, when he emptied himself into her in a series of convulsions, he had to muffle his shouts with his own forearm, and his final frenzied thrusts were hard enough to raise her from the bed. 

Even then, she didn’t stop, but kept riding him, until her own spending crashed over her like a wave. Only when the last of the tremors had ceased, only when Rob’s cock slid from her in a flaccid, diminished state, did Constance crawl from him and fall limply to the mattress.

Rob rolled onto his side and draped an arm over her. His breath was hot on her skin as he whispered into her ear.

“I’m glad you understand now, Constance. This is how it’s meant to be. How it’s going to be. At least until Father returns … and after, if we’re discreet.”

She mustered the strength to look at him. “What? Oh, no, Rob, we can’t! We mustn’t! Ever again!”

“How quick they say that once they’ve spent,” he chuckled, then grew serious. “No, Constance, we will. Again and again. As often as I like. You must take that to heart, little sister. You’re mine now. My possession, my bedsport, my whore. That’s how I aim to keep matters, and there’s not a thing in the world you can do about it.”

Continued in Chapter Three



The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 03



The long days of the next week blurred into a sameness for Constance. She fell into a melancholy of the spirit, losing interest in reading and painting and all the other activities that had delighted her only a short while before. 

She slept late, and frequently napped her way through much of the afternoon, and the rest of the time was passed in absently wandering the garden or just sitting, sitting on her balcony and staring out at the distant line of the horizon.

Nana Eva finally became concerned enough to remark on it, but attributed Constance’s listlessness to the weather, which remained wretchedly hot and still. Never once did she hint at suspecting anything different. Neither did any of the rest of the servants, and when Rob granted them another night’s holiday they adored him for his generosity. 

Constance knew his plan from the moment he made that so gracious-seeming announcement, and wanted to scream out the evil truth. But her shame kept her silent, just as Rob wanted, until it was far too late. By the time she’d mustered the courage to confess, it had been going on for so long that she couldn’t bring herself to do it. How could she tell anyone, when it had been a matter of weeks? 

So it was that she watched the servants leave with a heavy heart, knowing what awaited her. 

And yet, most repugnant of all, as the gates swung closed behind the last of them and the house was blanketed with an expectant hush, her cheeks flushed and her pulse raced with anticipation. It sickened her and filled her with self-loathing, but those were swiftly lost in the rising storm of her depraved passions. 

That evening, Constance dressed with attentive care even as she hated herself for it. She descended to the dining room, the marble floor cool under her bare feet.

Rob was waiting for her, lounging in the chair at the head of the table. He swept his gaze over her approvingly.

“How luscious you look, dearest Constance! That gown I brought you is most becoming.”

She lowered her lashes, her blush darkening. The gown was unlike anything she’d ever owned before, and she had no idea in what brothel he’d found it. Of stunning blue-green silk, it was nearly transparent and swirled around her as if she were clad in sea water. Her bosom strained at the deep pearl-adorned neckline, and the slits up the sides of the skirt showed her legs to well above the knee whenever she moved.

“Yes, most becoming indeed,” Rob said. He swung his feet down from the table and stood, circling her to examine her from all angles. “Oh … lest I forget, I’ve been meaning to give you this, as well.”

Constance, expecting another gift, perhaps of jewelry, was surprised to be handed a plain flask stoppered with a cork. “What is this? Brandy?”

“Nothing quite so palatable, I’m afraid, but far more necessary. It’s a draught brewed by the island women. Drink up.”

She uncorked it, and wrinkled her nose at the bitter scent that rose from the flask. The liquid within was murky and brownish. When she dipped the tip of her tongue to it, she grimaced. 

“It’s foul, Rob! What is it?”

“A tonic to prevent you conceiving,” he explained with a matter-of-fact shrug.

The bottom dropped out of her stomach as she stared at him. “To prevent what?”

“Conceiving. That would give away our little secret and spoil all our fun, now, wouldn’t it?”

Like a slap to the face, the reality of her situation hit Constance. “You can’t mean that I could … get with child?”

“Well, that’s what the tonic’s for. Even if you already are, from our previous dalliances, this will put an end to it.” He chuckled at her expression. “Don’t worry, little sister. I’ve taken care of everything. Now drink it up, and then set three places for dinner.”

“Three?”

“I’ve invited Enrique to dine with us tonight.”

“But --” She made a distraught gesture at her gown.

“For pity’s sake, Constance, he’s already seen you with more on view than that. You look as beautiful as a sea-nymph, and I want to boast of my possession.”

Reeling, unable to come to terms with the idea that she might have conceived of her brother’s seed and the prospect of Enrique’s company, Constance floundered for words and then gave up, fleeing to the kitchen with the flask. She heard Rob’s laughter trailing after her like ribbons. 

The tonic was detestable but she quaffed it in a single gulp, then clung to a chair trembling and waiting to see if she would vomit it back up. Her innards churned horribly and her gorge rose in a series of short, sharp jerks, but in the end, everything stayed down and she was able to banish the vile aftertaste with a flagon of fruit juice. 

As she was fetching plates, she heard the toll of the bell-pull, followed moments later by Rob and Enrique’s voices coming into the dining room.

“Am I to believe that?” Enrique was scoffing.

“I swear to you, it is true. Constance! Where are you, my fine whore?”

Face flaming, Constance looked yearningly to the door that gave onto the back terrace. For one wild moment she considered running for it, escaping to the village, finding Nana Eva and telling her everything. That would put a stop to the perversity …

But then, in her mind’s eye, she imagined Nana Eva asking her how long this had been going on, and why she’d said nothing before. And Rob, even if they confronted him, was so clever and charming that he could probably convince them that she had been the seducer, and he only powerless to resist.

“Constance?”

She straightened her spine and went into the dining room. 

Enrique’s dark eyes widened in astonishment and appreciation. “Good God, Rob!”

“I told you.”

“What have you told him?” cried Constance.

Rob licked his lips. “Everything, sweet sister. How I found you in your room last week caressing yourself, and how you rode me like I was an untamed horse --”

She whimpered in dismay even as his words sparked flickers of lust in her.

“So it’s true,” marveled Enrique. “And she doesn’t resist?”

“Resist? My friend, she loves it, craves it, thrives upon it! Never have I known a cunny more hungry for cock! If I gave the command, she’d spread herself for me right now!”

“Dinner can wait,” Enrique said, all but salivating. “I’ve been able to think of nothing else for a fortnight!”

Constance let the plates fall with a clatter of crockery. “Rob … no, not with him here, not with him watching!”

“He’s seen it before,” Rob said again. “I want to show him what an eager little slut you’ve become. But we can at least have dinner first.”

Enrique grumbled in disappointment, but went to his seat. His eyes followed Constance as if glued to her while she set the table. Her movements were stilted and awkward, made clumsy by the knowledge that no matter which way she turned, he’d be able to see every curve through the thin cloth. Rob wore a grin that was half amusement and half pride.

As she brought in the first course, it occurred to Constance that there would be something even worse than having Enrique watch … Rob might want her to touch his friend, take him in her mouth as she’d done before! Or … or he might even let Enrique … might let him …

She vividly saw herself in Enrique’s arms, the contrast of his caramel-olive skin with her pale-peach complexion. Saw as if it was happening before her at that very moment his thick cock pushing into her cunny until his wiry black thatch was pressed to her downy gold.

No … Rob would never allow that! He was her brother …

That argument did little to ease her fears.

Her hands shook all through the meal, and her appetite was poor. Neither of them seemed to share her difficulties, eating hugely and downing glass after glass of the wine-and-rum cordial so popular in the village.

“Let us to the lounge,” Rob suggested.

“A wonderful idea,” said Enrique. “For the entertainment.”

A mad but not entirely unappealing notion came to Constance – when they began to rise from their chairs, she would seize the knife from the tray of meat and drive it into the nape of Enrique’s neck. 

But she couldn’t bring herself to do that, to do murder! 

“Please, Rob,” she whispered. “Please don’t make me!”

“Hush, sweet one. All is well.”

“I don’t want to!”

“You will … you always do.” He trailed his fingers down the crevice of her cleavage, and boldly right there in the hallway slid his hand into the gown to cup a breast. 

Despite herself, Constance gasped, and let him lead her into the lounge. 

Many of the rooms in the house showed their father’s English and French tastes, but the lounge was entirely furnished in an island style. The chairs and couches were low and wide, made of wicker and cushioned in bright colors and weaves. 

Rob settled comfortably onto one of these couches and pulled Constance down beside him, while Enrique chose the nearest chair, leaning forward with ill-concealed predatory interest.

“So Rob’s had you how many times now?” he asked. “Just the twice, or has he been a more regular visitor to your room?”

“Just the twice,” Rob said, idly twirling a lock of Constance’s hair. “It wouldn’t do to have the servants find out, and so circumspection has had to outweigh passion. I’m toying with the thought of being rid of them entirely.”

He was so smug, so confident, so utterly assured of himself, that for one bright instant, Constance despised him more than she would have thought possible to despise any living thing. If that meat-knife had been near at hand now, she might not have hesitated to use it.

“And she rode you. Willingly.” Enrique shook his head. “Forgive me, Rob, but I have my doubts. She wouldn’t do such a thing.”

“Are you calling me liar?”

“I’m only finding it hard to believe.”

“Well, then. I can’t have my integrity questioned.” Rob turned to Constance. “Tell him how it was. Tell him what you did.”

“This is cruel,” she said, barely above a whisper. “Why must you do this to me?”

“Tell him, Constance. Describe it to him. How did I find you?”

“I … I was … touching … myself,” she stammered, staring at the rug. 

“And what were you thinking of?” prompted Rob insidiously. His hand was on her thigh, a searing brand through the thin cloth. 

“Before,” she said. “What happened before.”

“In the parlor?”

“Yes,” she admitted.

“And how good it felt?”

“Rob, why are you doing this?”

“Because I think honesty’s best, don’t you, Constance? Tell him.”

Closing her eyes, she recited it in a rush. “Touching myself, yes, thinking of what happened in the parlor, how it felt, and Rob came in, told me to continue, wanted to watch me, and so I did, I let him, I made myself spend while he watched, and then he was on the bed, under me, and all I had to do was lower myself and he’d be in me, and I did, I couldn’t help it, I did, and it was so good, I didn’t care anymore, had to have him in me, had to spend again, oh, it was wrong, so wrong, but nothing’s ever been better!”

“Madre de Dios,” Enrique said after a pause. “I retract my doubts. She did, you got her to do it! I’m awed, my friend, awed to the core!”

“Show us,” Rob said.

Constance looked up at him pleadingly. “No, please, not that!”

He slowly wadded the fabric of her gown with his fingers, making the hem slide higher and higher. It reached her knees, climbed her thighs. “Go on, Constance … I can see how aroused you are. The light in your eyes, the roses in your cheeks … not to mention the way your lovely nipples stand so proudly hard against your gown. If I put my hand on your cunny, I’d find heat, wouldn’t I?”

She turned her head, knowing it was true. 

Rob smiled. He moved from the couch to stretch out on the rug, leaning on a pillow with his arms crossed behind his head. “Show us, Constance. Let us watch.”

His voice held her, and his eyes. Much as she might have wanted to flee, wanted to refuse, she knew that he had her trapped as much by the force of his own personality as by her perverse desires. 

She moved until she was lying on the couch, hiking her skirt and baring the lower half of her body to their view. With one foot braced on the floor and the other thrown over the back cushion, she felt tawdry and wanton, every bit the slut and whore Rob told her she was. 

But she had already sipped from this cup of damnation, and might as well drain the dregs … so thinking, she set to the task of pleasuring herself with both hands, head thrown back so that her hair dangled over the arm of the couch all the way to the floor. 

Her fingers slid and rubbed with tantalizing friction. What Rob didn’t know was that each night since, she had given in to the same urge, and become most practiced at the act of gratification. This part of her that she’d all but ignored for eighteen years was now as familiar to her as any other, moreso because she had explored it with great delight and diligence even as her soul wanted to cringe in shame.

Constance heard the rustle of clothing, and in the periphery of her vision saw that both of them were following suit, freeing themselves from trousers that had become much too constrictive. Enrique’s eyes were fevered and glazed, one of his hands pumping in steady strokes along the shaft and head of his cock. 

Rob toyed with himself more lazily, his amused grin still firmly in place. “Are you going to make yourself spend, little sister? Or would you prefer to fill that cunny with something more?”

Curse him, the bastard … she very nearly said those things, but such venomous words had never passed her lips, and at the moment, so close, so very close to spending, all she could do was moan.

“If it’s a fucking she needs,” Enrique said, thrashing the rest of the way out of his trousers so that he could stand, “I’ll give her one she’ll never forget!”

She saw it again, the vision, saw him atop her and thrusting deep inside her. This time the image was not unwelcome at all, for in her moment of crisis and need, she wanted a cock, any cock, to give the walls of her cunny something solid and thick to seize upon when the clenching spasms of her spending rocked through her loins. 

“Not so fast, Enrique,” Rob said. “Have you forgotten? That fair cunny is mine and mine alone!"

“But --”

Constance barely heard, barely cared. All that mattered was that her climax was onrushing, and her cries of need filled the lounge. Rob pulled her from the couch onto the rug with him.

“Here I am for you, Constance. Here I am, ride me!”

“Damn it, Rob!” Enrique sputtered. “I’m dying to fuck her! It’s my turn, confound you!”

“Her cunny is mine, my friend!” Rob groaned aloud as Constance frantically impaled herself on his cock. “Have her mouth … I grant you that!”

Constance herself, feeling the thick slide of Rob’s stiffness against her innermost nerves, was catapulted into a madness that swept her up like a whirlwind. She lost all sense of right or wrong and groped for Enrique’s cock as he stood over Rob. She took it into her mouth, unreserved this time, lapping and sucking for all she was worth.

Enrique’s protests were cut off by a strangled cry. He adjusted his pose to brace himself, feet planted to either side of Rob’s shoulders, and steadied Constance’s head as she bobbed her lips along the length of his shaft.

“Ah, yes!” Rob said, holding tight to Constance’s hips. “Take us both, sweet sister! How does it feel? A cock in your cunny and another in your mouth, two men at once, what a fine little slut you are! And you love it, don’t you? You don’t need to speak; your body answers for you!”

She had been teetering on the edge of spending, but as Rob purposefully slowed his movements and pressed her down more firmly onto him, she was catapulted over. She reared back to scream her ecstasy, but Enrique plunged his fingers into her hair and stuffed his cock back into her mouth, thrusting rapidly between her lips as he spent in copious jets. Rob yielded to the unstoppable only a moment later, pouring out his passion. 

Enrique, on legs that seemed loathe to support him, tottered back to his chair and fell into it. Constance crumpled onto Rob’s chest, shuddering from reaction. 

For a time, all three of them did nothing but draw and release ragged breaths. 

“Well, when, then?” Enrique asked, sounding aggrieved. 

“When what?”

“When is it my turn? How long do you mean to keep her cunny for yourself? We’ve always shared our women.”

“This is different,” Rob said, encircling Constance with one arm. “I was her first … you know I’ve never been with a virgin before. There’s something incredible about knowing that no other cock save mine has plumbed the depths of her.”

“There’s something selfish about it, rather. A cunny’s a cunny.”

“Then it shouldn’t matter whether you get at this one or not.”

“That isn’t what I meant, Rob.”

“Oh, Enrique, really.” Rob exhaled and tilted his head back to regard the ceiling. “I think I’m being very reasonable … for God’s sake, I’ve given you her mouth! All I ask is to save the rest for me. She is my sister.”

Constance, still crouched astride Rob, felt hot tears sting her eyelids. Once the thrill of her lust had passed and the tremors of her spending were but memory, the bilious self-loathing came bubbling up again. 

How could she had done this, how could she have let this happen? With two of them, two of them thrusting into her at the same time, and had she resisted? Far from it! And now they argued over parts of her the way they might argue over choice morsels of a roast fowl!

“I suppose you’re right,” Enrique allowed bitterly. “But can you blame me for wanting to at least try her?”

“It’s fully understandable.” Rob stroked Constance’s back the way he might pet a favorite hound. “She’s a born slut, after all. Only needed a bit of introduction.”

Disgusted and offended, by his words and tone as much as by the apparent truth in them, Constance climbed off of him and struggled into her gown, wiping furiously at the tears that kept threatening to spill down her cheeks. She knew that if she tried to say anything, she would break into wracking sobs.

“I could marry her, as you suggested,” Enrique said musingly. “My father and yours would be bound to give their permission.”

“I don’t know as I’m willing to give her up.”

“Know this … even once she’s my wife, I have no objection to sharing.” His gaze hardened. “I would not be so selfish with my woman.”

The prospect froze Constance in her tracks. Married to Enrique, never to escape him? Never to escape Rob and her new and unwelcome status of brother’s whore?

Ron laughed. “I doubt any other husband of hers would be so accommodating. Well, then, when Father returns, perhaps we should plead your suit. It’s high time my dear sister was wed, and I can hardly think of a better match.”

Enrique joined him in his laughter, and when she could no longer hold back the sobs, Constance fled from the room.

***

Continued in Chapter Four



The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 04



A balmy evening breeze stirred the curtains of Constance's window. She tipped her face into the welcome scents of mingled salt air, flowers, and spicy food being cooked in the village below. 

Festival time. How she had loved the festivals as a girl! 

Strange to think of it like that. Only a year ago, she'd gone to the festival with her father, the two of them enjoying the revelry of music and dancing. That time now seemed ages past. She was no girl anymore. 

Rob had seen to that. 

A hopeless sigh that nearly became a sob escaped her as she turned from the window to the silver mirror above her dressing table. The mirror had been her mother's, not that Constance had any recollection of sitting and watching her mother make ready for a party, a dinner. Anna deGranville had died too early for that.

The mirror, like many of her mother's things, had been saved for Constance to be of age. Yet now, as she peered into it and studied the cosmetics she'd applied, and the way she'd done her hair, she shuddered to think what her mother might say if she knew how that mirror was being used. 

Make yourself pretty for me, sweet sister-mine, Robert had told her. 

They were waiting for her downstairs. She had seen them arrive, thundering up the estate road as they always did. Racing hell-bent, as Father would have said. Their racing was nothing new on Veradoga. Now, though, it had a steelier edge to it. The boyish competition, the friendly rivalry, had grown sharper in recent days. 

Constance knew the reason for that, oh, knew it all too well. The tension between her blond brother and his dusky lifelong friend was solely because of her. Enrique wanted her. It had been his attempt to steal kisses that had led to her initial downfall.

She cringed to think of that first night, how Rob had slyly coerced her into pleasuring Enrique with her mouth while he did the same to her. How shamefully her body had betrayed her at that unexpected sensation! And then he'd defiled her, deflowered her, committed incest upon her all the while telling her that it was her fault. 

A terrible confusion held her in its sway. Was it her fault? She had never so much as kissed a man before that night, barring the dreams that she never dared admit to a soul. Yet she had writhed against Rob, against the slick sliding push of his cock, until her loins had shivered with release and prompted him to complete the act by sinking deep within her. 

Since then, he'd avowed to keep her for his prize, his whore, his secret plaything. It was this more than anything else that drove a wedge between Rob and Enrique. Privy to their lewd conversations, Constance now knew that they had long been in the habit of sharing their women. Yet Rob, selfishly according to Enrique, refused to allow his friend to plumb the depths of his sister's cunny. That, Rob swore, was his alone. 

Desperate to have her, Enrique had devised a plan. He would marry Constance, a match to which their fathers, both governors of prosperous islands, would have readily agreed. And then, once she was Enrique's legal-bound wife and property, Rob would become a frequent visitor. 

The notion terrified Constance. She thought of Enrique's family estate, rich and lush but remote. Private. No one there would be bothered to care that she was at the mercy of the two men. Her life would be a torment of sensual captivity, and who knew to what other atrocities they might eventually force her to submit?

She could hear them downstairs, the tenor of their voices testifying to their argument although the words themselves were indistinct. Constance knew well enough what they'd be. Enrique was mad to have her, to … she made herself think the word … to fuck her. Rob's refusal was adamant. Not until the wedding night. 

Her only solace was that a wedding night would be far in the future. With her father away on his business, no such arrangements could be made. She had to escape before the jaws of fate closed around her. 

Escape … but to where? She had been born on Veradoga, and her father, with memories of his wife's abduction and long imprisonment by pirates always a thorn in his mind, refused to let her travel elsewhere. School in England? Out of the question, for had not Anna deGranville been on her way to England when the ship had been seized? Visits to girls her age on other islands? No, for the rogues of the sea were a high plague this year – so it had been told to her every year. 

If she told anyone the true circumstances for her wish to leave, it would be the end of her. William deGranville could not bear such a disclosure. It would destroy him. It would destroy their family. How could she tell him that her own brother, his own and firstborn son and heir, had ruined her maidenhood? Worse, how could she tell him that it had happened more than once, and that she had become an eager – if not willing – participant in the hideous incestuous act?

No, if she were to be free of Rob, free of Enrique and the future that would be hers as their perpetual harlot, she would have to take matters upon her own shoulders. She would have to forego waiting on her father and beseeching him for permission to travel, permission that would be denied anyway.

She glanced at herself one last time in the glass. The gown was another of Rob's gifts, so fine and light that it might have been spun from the substance of a cloud. It floated around her and concealed nothing. The rosy peaks of her breasts were as clearly revealed as if she were naked. A miniscule lace cache-sex covered her mound of fluffy golden curls.

An urge seized her, an urge to tear off this whore's garment and burn it. To wash the cosmetics from her face, seize up her scissors and hack her hair into a boy's cut, and run away to sea disguised as a young lad. 

As suddenly as it came, that urge passed. She had blossomed in the past two years, attaining a figure far too ripe of hip and breast to pass as a lad. She'd be discovered in an instant. 

And loathe as she was to admit it, even to herself, a tingle of anticipation burned within her. She knew that the evening would be a debauch, for Rob had once again contrived to dismiss the household so as to be sure of no interruptions. Some of the servants had even remarked upon how considerate the young lord was, how easygoing in his stern father's absence. 

They would be waiting for her. She already knew what would happen. Rob would make her parade before Enrique, enjoying his friend's frustration. Likely, she would find herself stuffed full of cockmeat again, Rob plowing her cunny while Enrique's thick length filled her mouth. 

Or would this be the night that Rob relented? Surely he would not allow something so inconsequential as his own dear sister to stand between himself and his best friend. Perhaps he'd had his fun of seeing Enrique suffer, and would grant permission to the part of her he'd so diligently reserved for himself. 

As much as she inwardly recoiled from the thought, part of Constance did wonder what it would be like. Rob's clever lips and tongue knew exactly how to stir her into a treacherous lustful frenzy. Would Enrique's be so talented? Would he be as deliberate in wringing a response from her?

She hated herself for even entertaining the idea. She would not submit to Enrique in that fashion, could not. Strange, strange and awful to be grateful to Rob for his selfishness. 

"Constance!" Rob called, interrupting her turmoil. "Come and dine with us, sister!"

The filmy fabric billowed as she stepped into the hall, and headed for the stairs. As she descended, she saw them in the wide, arched doorway of the dining hall. Identical looks of hunger and appreciation greeted her. 

Rob, so comfortable in his temporary station of lord of the manor, was utterly at ease in an open-collared shirt and soft leather trousers. His feet were bare, his blond hair tousled, and an easy grin rested on his lips. One hand held a snifter of her father's fine brandy, which he swirled and sipped, his cerulean eyes never leaving her. 

Enrique was dressed in much the same manner, with the addition of low riding boots and a vest of rich scarlet. His dusky complexion flushed toward copper and his dark gaze devoured her avidly. 

"Can this be the same Constance?" Enrique murmured, shaking his head. "We've worked wonders on her, Rob. Wonders. Look at her. She sways her hips like a well-fucked woman now, to be sure."

"And indeed, she is," Rob said. "You do love it, don't you, Constance?"

She reddened and said nothing. At the bottom of the steps, she paused and looked yearningly toward the front doors. They were not locked, but they might as well have been the gates of a prison. No escape lay in that direction. If she fled, if she ran to town, what would she say? How would she explain her state?

"I thought we'd dine informally tonight," Rob said, taking her by the elbow and guiding her into the small informal dining room.

Not the parlor. Constance was glad of that, for the parlor had been the place of her initial downfall. The lounge, too. And her own bedroom. Was it his mind to shame and humiliate her in every room of the house? 

A casual buffet feast had been laid out before the servants left. In deference to the warm weather and the festival, the dishes were primarily fruit salads, cold cuts of meat, platters of cheese, and an assortment of rolls and pastries. The long table was pushed to one wall. 

"I may have lost my appetite for food, Rob," Enrique said. "Shall we move directly to dessert?" 

He reached for Constance, and to her own dismay she retreated toward Rob. Her brother's arm slipped familiarly around her waist, and his hand dropped to squeeze her buttock. 

"But Constance is going to serve us," he said. "Aren't you, Constance? As a good hostess and all?"

She nodded mutely. His bantering tone told her he had some game in mind. As he and Enrique took seats on the roomy, throne-like chairs, she moved to the table and collected plates of food for them. 

"Now, set the table," Rob instructed. At her puzzled look, he smiled. "You are to be the table, Constance. Hence your fine white tablecloth. Recline there on the carpet, and we shall dine from you."

"Please, Rob, no," she said, mortified. 

"I believe you might care for a morsel after all?" he inquired politely of Enrique. 

"All at once, my appetite has returned," Enrique said, and ran his tongue over his lips, making them glisten. 

Tears stung her eyes but Constance would not let them see her distress. She set the plates on the rug, then stretched out and balanced the dishes, one on her belly and one on her pressed-together thighs.

"Dinner is served," Rob said. He slid from his chair and knelt beside her, as Enrique took up a similar pose on the opposite side.

"My compliments to your house, mi amigo," Enrique said. "You set a most marvelous table."

They disdained utensils, plucking up food with their fingers. Constance closed her eyes and bit her lip, hoping that this would be all they'd want of her and knowing better. True enough, when they had eaten their fill, Rob carefully put the plates aside. He then raised his snifter of brandy and dribbled its contents over her breasts. 

"I've spilled a bit on the fine tablecloth," he said. "How slovenly of me."

Before she could protest – which would not have deterred him – Rob leaned down and brought his mouth to her breast. He sucked brandy from the sheer cloth, which drew her wet skin against the texture of it and made her nipple stand stiff and tall. 

A drizzle of tepid liquid over her loins made Constance gasp and open her eyes.

"I've spilled my wine," Enrique said. "Allow me to help you clean it up."

With that, he bent and applied his tongue to the spot in long, firm licks that made the lacy cache-sex pull taut against the flesh beneath. 

"You needn't do that," Rob said, and a hint of a warning had crept into his voice. 

Enrique stopped, and when he spoke his voice was tight with anger. "I was merely following your lead."

"While I pride myself on being a good host," Rob said, "my hospitality, as you know, only extends so far."

"Damn it, Rob!" Enrique shot to his feet. "I want to fuck her."

Rob stood too. From Constance's prone position, they towered over her. Their fists were clenched, their eyes flashing in anger. Would they fight? Would they kill each other? It was horrible to wish for such a thing, the death of her brother, but in that instant Constance would have wished for it, and happily. 

"You will when she's your wife," Rob said. "Not before. What kind of man would fuck his bride before their wedding night? Until then, allow me my privilege. If your hard cock is so in need of release, her hands, her mouth, and even her luscious titties are at your disposal."

"I want her cunny," Enrique persisted obstinately. "You haven't let me get so much as a finger or a tongue into her, and I'm going mad for it!"

"Oh, very well, a finger, then," Rob said, gesturing magnanimously. "Go on and frig her, but be sure you treat her well, and make her like it."

Both Constance and Enrique gaped at him in disbelief. But Enrique's disbelief soon turned to delight, while Constance's turned to horror. 

"No, Rob, don't let him," she begged, bunching the useless fabric of her garment over her thighs. "Don't let him, please, don't let him touch me like that."

"All will be well, Constance," he said. "I shall sit right here and watch."

So saying, he reclined in his chair, stretched out his legs, crossed them at the ankles, and beamed at them both. Yet there was a sharp gleam in his eye, and Constance knew that he was none too pleased with this business. He'd made a concession to soothe a friend, but he did not have to like it. 

Enrique, meanwhile, paid no notice of that dangerous glint. He cupped the back of Constance's neck and raised her head to seal her lips in a hot, probing kiss. As he explored her mouth with his tongue, his other hand inserted itself between her knees. 

She held them together, and covered herself. When he broke the kiss, she pleaded with him not to do this, but of course it fell on deaf ears. He took her wrists in a none-too-gentle grip and parted them. 

"Stay still, Constance," he commanded. "It won't hurt, and I promise you, you'll enjoy it."

"Go on, sweet sister," Rob said. She saw that he had unfastened his trousers and was idly stroking himself. "I'll be right here to take care of you."

She knew what he meant, what his intention for the next stage of this game was, and stifled a sob. 

Enrique pushed the hem of the outer garment to her waist and stared down at the wine-spotted cache-sex. He slowly rolled the thin straps down, exposing the golden curls, and removed the tiny piece of lace. His hand settled onto the mound. 

Constance closed her eyes again. She tried to send her mind away, tried to tell herself that it would be over soon and none of it would matter. It was a useless effort for she knew better. He would touch her, he would work his fingers into her and make her betraying body turn pliant and moist … and then Rob would finish what Enrique had begun. 

"Open your legs," Enrique said. 

She obeyed him. What good would it do to resist? They'd have what they wanted and she could not stop them. 

A finger slid along the furrow of her cunny. Her back arched helplessly at the spark of pleasure. 

"She's wet already," Enrique reported. "Ah, Rob, she's beautiful."

His rancor had passed. Constance realized that he probably took Rob's permission in this one act to be permission for all. He believed he was to be allowed to have her entirely, to fuck her here and now. It made him pause and savor the feel of her as he stroked her cleft, as the ball of his thumb pressed gently to her clitoris. 

"Ohh," she moaned, and a single tear ran from the corner of her eye. 

"Yes, how's that?" Enrique pushed two fingers into her while his thumb commenced a slow rubbing. "Still so tight, ah, the way her cunny clasps at me! Do you feel that, Constance? Is it good? Is it?"

She couldn't bring herself to answer, but the responses of her body did for her. Once again, she found her hips helplessly undulating, her breath coming in quicker and quicker cries. She was going to spend and couldn't help herself. 

"Yes, yes, come for me," Enrique panted. "Let me feel it happen."

"Noo!" Constance wailed. 

"Yes, just a little more, let it be good, Constance, so good."

It happened, rushing outward in turbulent waves and bringing a long, ululating cry from her throat. She coiled onto her side, dislodging his hand from her. Shaking, she crossed her arms over her chest and began to weep. 

"Constance, Constance," Enrique said. "Oh, how lovely that was! And now –"

"Now," Rob said, "I believe you've had what you asked for."

"But I –"

"Frigged her, yes, and a damned fine job of it, too. She went off like gunpowder."

"I'm not done. I want to lick her, to taste the sweet honey."

"I'm sure you do. Next time, Enrique. Next time. For now, Constance, come here."

"No," she sobbed into the rug. 

"Come here, sweet sister."

"What about me?" Enrique moved suddenly, and Constance heard a popping, ticking sound as of small items bouncing. "What about this?"

She didn't want to look but opened one eye, and saw that he'd torn the fly of his trousers open rather than unbutton them in his haste. The rigid spear of flesh, thicker than Rob's and of a darker hue, thrust aggressively out. The head of it was as turgid as a plum. 

"Once she's done with me, Constance will, I'm sure, happily take care of that for you. Won't you, Constance? Won't you give him a good sucking?"

She curled into a ball and covered her face. 

"This is not funny, Rob," Enrique said. "How long do you mean to toy with me? You know what I want."

"Her mouth, or your own hands, Enrique."

"Her mouth, then," he said grudgingly. "For now."

"Fair enough. Constance, come here."

Like a dog. He called her like a dog, and because she was afraid of what he might do – or let Enrique do – she rose and went to him on unsteady legs. He was slouched in the chair, their father's chair, massaging his cock. 

"Did you ever sit on Father's lap?" he asked. "While he was sitting here? Did you ever sit on his lap and feel his hardness pressing against your little bottom?"

"No!" He knew as well as she did how reserved, how distant their father was. Sitting on laps, hugging, and other displays of affection were not things the deGranville children had received from their parents. 

"Well, then," Rob said. "We'll have you sit on my lap. Turn around."

She did so. Enrique was still standing there, still disheveled with his face stormy and his cock jutting out. Rob caressed her buttocks and in a spurt of terror she thought he meant to stick himself there, which indignity she'd heard them talk about but thus far been spared. 

"Not like that, Rob, please."

"Not in the ass, little sister? No, not that." He looked at Enrique. "Perhaps that's one maidenhead we'll save for your husband."

His hands held her hips and began to lower her toward his waiting erection. 

The tip of it nudged her, and she was about to sink onto it – hating it and at the same time already craving the next climax – when a shocked scream split the air. 

***

Continued in Chapter Five



The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 05



The scream was followed by the sound of something shattering, and a rich, spicy scent filled the room. 

Constance's head, which had been bowed to watch with shameful fascination as Rob's cock nestled against her velvety folds in preparation for entry, came up with a jerk. Her eyes widened and a hot blush suffused her cheeks. 

Nana Eva stood in the doorway. A pot was broken on the floor at her feet, its contents spilled. Even from here, Constance knew the smell of the chicken-and-spice stew, a favorite of hers. 

Her former nurse and governess swayed in shock. Eva's hands had fluttered up beside her face, framing a mouth still gaping from her scream. She stared, and with a sudden burst of horror Constance saw how this must look through Eva's eyes. 

What a sight it must be! Constance, naked and flushed, poised on her brother's lap above the ready lance of his lust. And Enrique there with his manhood likewise exposed. 

"Aiii!" Eva cried. "Aii, Robby, no!"

She made the sign of the cross as if to ward off the evil before her, as if the good Lord would intervene and somehow set this terrible scene to rights. 

Robert swiftly set Constance aside and leapt from the chair, adjusting his disarranged garments as he did so. 

Constance's knees buckled. She crumpled amid the remains of the dinner dishes, overcome with guilt and misery. Her body shook with sobs. 

"Robby, no, it is not true," Eva whispered. "You would not be doing this to your own sister, you must not."

"Now we're done for," Enrique snapped, straightening his clothes. "The old witch will tell everyone, and your father will see us skinned alive."

Eva rushed past them. She swept off her crocheted shawl and draped it over the shivering Constance. 

"Oh, little one, it is all right. Nana Eva is here. They will not touch you." She shot a hate-filled glare over her shoulder at Rob and Enrique. "How dare you? That you would think to do that to your own sister!"

She gathered Constance into her arms, crooning. Constance tried to pull away, the sin of her deeds burning on her skin. 

"Nana, I tried to tell them … I tried to stop them …"

"Hush, now. Saints be praised I was here in time."

"In time?" Rob chortled and poked Enrique with his elbow. "If only she knew."

"What does he mean by that?" Eva asked of Constance. "Has he … he has not … tell me that you are untouched, little one."

Constance cringed and looked away, hot tears streaming down her face. It was answer enough for Eva, whose dusky skin went ashen. She let go of Constance and in that instant, Constance knew a greater heartsickness than she'd ever imagined. Not even Nana Eva could stand to be near her now, corrupted as she was. The ruination was so complete that the woman who had been as a mother to her after the death of Anna deGranville was revolted by her presence. 

"What have you done to her?" Eva demanded, advancing on Rob and Enrique. "Have you … damaged her?"

"If by that you mean her maidenhead," Rob said, smiling fiendishly, "I plucked that fine cherry blossom many nights ago. Did I not, Constance? Oh, and Eva, you should have heard how she whimpered and begged."

"Monster!" Her hand flashed out. 

Rob caught her wrist. "Whimpered and begged … for more. You think her such an angel, Eva, but she writhes and wriggles on my cock like the lewdest of whores."

"What do you mean to do, Rob?" Enrique asked. "The more you tell her, the worse our fate will be when your father hears of it."

"But my father will not hear of it. Will he, Eva? You shan't tell a soul."

"Horrible boy," she spat. "You have raped your own sister and you think I will keep it a secret?"

"As a matter of fact, I do," Rob said. "For the sake of Constance, and for the honor of this family, I rather think you will. You wouldn't want word of such disgrace to get out, would you? Poor Constance, poor defiled Constance … what would it do to her?"

She ripped her arm free of his grasp but said nothing. 

"You see, Enrique? She would want no harm to come to my pretty sister's reputation. She'll keep her silence."

"Can you be assured of that? You stake much on the promise of one old woman, my friend."

"True indeed, and we haven't yet had her promise, have we? What say you, Eva?"

"It would destroy your father to learn of this," she said. "Yet he must know what manner of devil he has under his own roof."

"Dear me," Rob said. "So we must find some other means of winning your cooperation. I cannot have my father know of this. It would spoil all my fun. Enrique, how do you suppose we can convince her?"

"Eva Marquez, isn't it?" Enrique mused. "Your son is Diego Marquez."

"Yes," Eva said guardedly. 

Constance, clutching the shawl around her more for comfort than for modesty, wanted to cry a warning. That bantering tone was too familiar. She feared more for Eva than she did for herself just then. 

"Diego has a family, I believe," Enrique said to Rob. "A wife, and a daughter, no?"

"I believe you are correct, Enrique. Marcella and Esperanza." Rob's smile was its most charming. "It would be a terrible shame if anything were to happen to them, wouldn't it? If little Esperanza were to replace Constance in our games, perhaps."

Eva swore at him in Spanish, her tone more of fearful desperation than of anger.

They laughed, but Rob's blue eyes were stormy, serious. 

"Hear me, woman," he said when the laughter ended. "If you breathe a word of this to my father or to anyone else, your family will pay. We'll take your son's wife, both of us, and make him watch. When we've had our fill of her, Esperanza will be next. Unless you give me your most solemn oath. It's in your hands, Eva. What do you say?"

Constance saw Eva's shoulders slump in defeat as she searched Rob's face, his cold gaze. "I will say nothing."

"Is that good enough, Rob?" Enrique asked. "Can we trust her?"

"What else could we do? Slit her throat?"

"No!" Constance cried. Eva gasped. 

"It would draw too much scrutiny if she were to disappear or be found dead," Rob went on as though Constance's outburst had not taken place. "Many people must have known she was coming here to bring us a pot of her delicious festival stew. For which, by the way, I do thank you, Eva. A shame it spilt. But as it happens, we'd already had a most … enjoyable meal."

Enrique licked his fingers. Constance, remembering all too well where those fingers had most recently been, covered her face. The lower parts of her body still glowed with the inner heat he'd stroked into flame. Those parts of her cared nothing for right or wrong, good or evil. They only hungered for pleasure and gratification, no matter how the rest of her might recoil and resist. 

"I will not tell," Eva said. 

She glanced at Constance, with such grief and despair that Constance's heart wrenched. Never again, she knew, would Eva look at her in kindness. The fate of her family, of her beloved granddaughter, would forever be bound up in this terrible night. 

"I've an idea," Rob said. "Enrique, do you remember that first time with Constance?"

"How could I ever forget?"

"We secured her silence, did we not?"

A slow grin spread over Enrique's face. "We did indeed."

"Do you recall how?"

"No, Rob, don't," Constance said. "Leave her alone."

"What are you saying?" Eva asked sharply. 

"Simply this," Rob said. "We made my sweet sister a willing participant in our debauchery. She couldn't very well cry rape when she'd enjoyed herself so thoroughly, could she? Was it twice, Constance, that you spent that night? Once before I even got it into you?"

This time, Eva's look at Constance was shot with accusing horror. 

"It wasn't like that," she pleaded. "He … he made me. He …"

"Go on, tell her," Enrique urged. 

"Yes, Constance, do," Rob said. 

"I won't speak of it!"

"Then I shall." Rob leaned close to Eva as if to whisper conspiratorially, but his voice stayed at a conversational pitch. "She'd teased Enrique until his poor cock was aching with need, and so I saw to it that she serviced him with her lovely young mouth. To make certain she applied herself, I applied myself as well. My tongue, to be precise, to her innocent cunny."

"The devil is at work in you," Eva said. She was on the verge of tears. "What happened to the good little boy I used to know?"

"And then," Rob said, "I laid my cock against her. Not penetrating, but rubbing her, and she moaned, she sighed, she rolled her hips, until finally, she spent. Well, by then, Eva, as I'm sure you can understand, I had to have her. So in I went, one good hard push that seated my cock to the very hilt in her. She squealed a bit when I deflowered her, but all too soon she was wrapping her legs around me and urging me on."

"I never wanted to," Constance wept. "I could not stop him."

"But you see, Eva, it made certain of one thing. She would never tell." Rob seized Eva's chin and raised her face to look into his. "And neither will you."

"I have promised –" she began in a rush. 

"I know you have. We require a bit more than that, I'm afraid."

"What do you want from me?" 

"Undress," Rob said. "Enrique here has been mad for a good fucking, since I've only let him frig Constance. He'll have you first. Everything he does to you, I suggest you attend well and remember, because if you forget your promise, the very same things shall be done to your precious Esperanza."

Enrique's brows knit as he studied Eva. He seemed dubious. "Your nursemaid, Rob?"

"Do not underestimate her, my friend. She can't be more than fifty, and I've heard that older widows are ripe and randy for it. What are you waiting for, Eva? Undress, I said."

She reached for the row of buttons that went from the collar to the hem of her long, shapeless brown dress. 

"Rob, please," Constance said. "Do not make her do this. Haven't you already done enough? Haven't you had your fun?"

"One can never have too much fun, Constance, or too much cunny." He took her by the arm. "Come and sit with me."

"Wait!" Eva said. She had undone three buttons, and could not meet Constance's eyes. "If I do this, I want you to let her go. She should not see this, and she has suffered enough from you."

"Oh, now, Eva, I am sorry," Rob said. "Constance is going to remain right here. In fact, I intend to carry on where I'd left off when you so unwisely intruded."

"In front of Nana Eva?" Constance pulled the shawl tight around herself. "Rob –"

"Do not say 'please, Rob,' or 'no, Rob.' I grow weary of it, Constance, for it seems all I hear from you anymore. Cease your whining. I know as well as you do that it is empty and meaningless, because you want me as much as I want you."

"Get on with it, woman," Enrique said. "I'm about to burst if I don't fuck something."

To prove it, he stripped off his shirt and trousers. Eva, on her fifth button, paused and looked incredulously at his thickly-muscled body and the protruding length of his cock. Constance, mortified for her, was astonished when she saw a glint of appreciation in Eva's eyes. Her fingers moved more quickly on the buttons, soon undoing enough of them that she was able to shrug out of the dress. 

"Well, well," Rob said, bemused. He sprawled once more in their father's chair, having kicked off his trousers. "What did I tell you?"

Eva's body lacked much of the resilience and firmness of a young woman, but she was far more curvaceous than the series of shapeless dresses had ever indicated. Her breasts were large, her hips well-padded, her thighs and buttocks fully fleshed. The hair of her head was streaked with grey but the thatch at her groin was a bushy patch of jet-black curls. 

She made no effort to conceal herself, and as both Rob and Enrique made murmurs of approval, her back straightened and her head came up proudly. Her coin-sized dark nipples stiffened. 

"I'll never doubt you again, Rob," Enrique said. He encircled his cock with a hand and gave it a few absent-minded tugs as he feasted his gaze on Eva. 

"I will do what you want," Eva said. She looked at Rob. "But spare your sister."

"Let me show you something," Rob said. He took Constance around the waist and drew her to his lap. 

As before, her cunny brushed the upraised tip of his cock. A jolt went through her and she bit her lip so as not to moan. Her flesh there felt plumped and tender, moistening to make way. The little nub of her pleasure thumped in time with her pulse. It was all she could do to keep from sinking onto him. 

"Constance, do not let him," Eva said. 

"He will anyway. I'm sorry, Nana Eva."

Rob pulled her down. She went willingly, lowering her body onto his. 

Eva cried out in shock at witnessing the irrevocable act. Or possibly at witnessing Constance's rapturous expression. Wrong, oh, yes, it was most awfully wrong, but the feel of him sliding deep, filling her, was a sensation beyond any other. 

"Do not move yet, Constance," Rob said. "Hold still. Hold so very, very still."

She did so, and he did not move either except for the involuntary flex of his cock buried in her soft passage. It was exquisite torture to remain motionless. His arms held her snugly around the waist to prevent her from rising. 

"How does that look?" Enrique asked, stepping around behind Eva and filling his hands with her ample breasts. "See her face? See how she loves it? You will, too. It must have been a while since you've had a nice hard cock in you."

Eva did not reply, but Constance saw how she pressed against Enrique, and shifted her hips side to side. He dropped one hand to grope between her legs and laughed. 

"Already wet, Rob. She is a hot one, at that!"

"Perhaps she likes seeing darling Constance impaled on a man's cock," Rob said. 

"Is that so?" Enrique whispered into Eva's ear. "Do you like seeing that?"

"It is terrible."

"She doesn't seem to think so." He bit Eva's neck, sucked on the flesh there until he left a scarlet mark. 

"Ohh!" Eva arched her back. Her hands covered Enrique's and held them firmly to her body. 

"Tell me you like it," he said as he squeezed and fondled her. He pushed his fingers up inside her, and used his thumb to what Constance knew was great effect.  

"Yes, yes, it feels very good," she said. 

"You want more? Tell me what you want."

"Let me touch you. Let me rub your cock in my hands, and kiss it."

"On your knees." He released her. 

She turned and knelt, his cock bobbing on a level with her face. Her hands came up to clasp it, rolling the shaft between her palms. 

Constance couldn't help but be even more aroused by what she was seeing. That this was Nana Eva of all people … Nana Eva on her knees in front of Enrique and about to swallow down his enormous cock … and that she herself was sitting on Rob's lap like this, naked and thrust full of him … it couldn't be happening, and yet it was.

Rob's hand crept over her thigh and between her legs. His fingertips probed around where their bodies were so intimately joined. 

"Feel how it goes into you, Constance," he said, his voice very low so as not to distract Enrique and Eva. "Your honey-juices are flowing like a river. I could touch you here –"

"Ah! Rob!"

"—just slip my finger up and down right here, until you spend. Should I do that, Constance? I'd feel it, you know. I'd feel the walls of your cunny constrict on me, draw my cock all the way in. I wouldn't even have to thrust in and out."

In front of them, Eva was lapping and nibbling all along the shaft of Enrique's cock, licking it, making it shine with her saliva. She opened her mouth and took it in, and he groaned in a way that Constance had heard before. His hands clutched in her hair as he pushed his hips back and forth. 

"Rob … I'm …"

"Close? Coming? Ready to spend?" His fingers played over her clitoris and the lips of her cunny. His cock pulsed within her. 

Enrique withdrew from Eva's mouth. He was engorged, huge. Eva gripped the shaft and pumped it with her hand. Her lips were wet, her eyes starry, her chest heaving with quick breaths. 

"Go on, Enrique," Rob said. "Fuck her, and be sure you do a good job of it."

"Oh, I will," Enrique said. He looked at Eva, and pointed at the floor. "Get on your hands and knees."

She obeyed at once, raising her backside in the air. Rob and Constance had a clear view of her cunny, black hair curling around pouting red lips, until Enrique knelt behind Eva and brought the head of his cock to bear. 

The sight, or the slick pressure of Rob's fingers and cock, drove Constance over the edge. She tensed and quaked as her climax roared through her. Although she tried to keep silent, a long, broken moan issued from her throat. Rob waited until she was past the peak before driving his hips up, moving his cock within her, prolonging and increasing her sensation.

Enrique spared Constance a smoldering look that, even lost in the fog of her passion as she was, told her that it was her he wished he was about to enter. He mounted Eva with a single quick thrust, slamming so hard into her that her buttocks rippled and her breasts bounced. 

A startled but delighted cry burst from Eva. Enrique grabbed her by the hips and continued just as forceful a fucking, pulling out to the very tip and plunging home again, fast and relentless. His eyes never left Constance. She quailed from the heated lust in them, lust that wouldn't be sated no matter how thoroughly he fucked Eva. 

Eva was unaware of anything except for the diligent pounding that she was receiving. She bucked her hips back into Enrique, and a string of exhortations in Spanish and English urged him to go harder, faster, do it to her, yes, to fuck her with all his might. Enrique picked up his pace, his belly slapping Eva's buttocks, the heavy sack of his balls swinging. 

Rob coaxed Constance off of him. She huddled in their father's chair, her body trembling all over. She watched as her brother lay down on the floor near Eva and presented her with his stiff cock. Eva took it readily, sucking Rob into her mouth as Enrique battered her from behind. Her cries were muffled, her body writhing.

"Taste it, yes, that's Constance you're tasting," Rob said. "That's her spending on my cock."

Enrique stared at Constance. She met his gaze and gasped, seeing in his dark eyes the very real desire to pull himself out of Eva, drag her from the chair, and fall upon her. 

But before he could do that, if it was in fact his intention, Eva began to buck and writhe in an even greater frenzy, spending in such a torrent that Enrique was helpless to withstand the storm. He lunged against her, shouting in release. 

Eva tossed her head and howled in ecstasy, Rob's cock popping from her lips. He was on the verge himself, so finished the job with his hand and spurted his seed in milky jets all over Eva's face and breasts. As she apparently realized what was happening, she dropped her head again and sucked the last few drops from him. 

When the furor had passed, the three of them disengaged from one another and sprawled on the floor in various postures of exhaustion. Eva's eyes were half-lidded and she wore a very satisfied smile. 

She had done what they wanted. Yet somehow Constance knew that it wouldn't be enough for Rob and Enrique. Their threats against Diego Marquez's wife and daughter might have been spontaneous, but she knew that once an idea had entered their minds, they would pursue it to the very end. 

And was she … was she jealous? Did she envy Eva that smugly contented smile? Was she unwilling to see Marcella or Esperanza Marquez take any part in these acts? 

No. She would not allow herself to be. But she saw now, more clearly than ever, that she was not going to escape her situation easily. Father was far from home and might be months returning, and she could not count on rescue by anyone else. Not even Nana Eva. 




The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 05



It would be up to her, to Constance herself, to find a way out of this trap. 

She resolved that she would. Yet even as she did, a low part of her mind spoke up and reminded her that she'd made such resolutions before. Always after the fucking was done, after her lust was sated. 

Still, she knew she had to try. She had to do something, or else she would be given to Enrique as his wife and endure nights such as this from now until forever. 

***

Continued in Chapter Six



The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 06



Breakfast the next morning was an ordeal for Constance. 

She had managed to discreetly leave the room last night as Eva, Enrique, and Robert succumbed to their weariness. While they slept on the carpet, in the midst of their strewn clothes, Constance sought the solitude of her own bed. 

She had been awakened early by Rob, who was cross with her for leaving. He told her that unless her manners improved to the point that she did not desert her duties when they had company, she'd regret it. 

Boldly, Constance challenged him and asked him what more he could do to her. But his reply had floored her. 

"You honestly think we've plumbed the depths? Far from it, dear Constance. We do not necessarily have to save your pretty bottom for your wedding night, for one. I'm sure Enrique wouldn't object to shoving his cock right up." As he spoke, he'd worked his hand between the cheeks of her backside and attempted to worm a finger into that tight and untouched opening. 

Constance had sprung away from him, but Rob had only laughed. 

"And there's much more besides, sweet sister-mine. Did you like the look of Eva's cunny last night? We could force you down between her legs and have you give her a good tongue-lashing. Or she could do the same for you."

The thought had chilled her. 

"They say," Rob had continued thoughtfully, "that only a woman truly knows how to please another woman that way. Of course, I've heard the same thing said about men, and the one time I let a man suck me, it wasn't all that splendid. The fact that I'd been dead drunk at the time may have had something to do with it, I grant you."

"I do not want to do that with Eva," Constance had told him. 

"Good God, Constance, you nursed at her teats when you were a babe. This is not so much different."

A spark of anger had led her to retort. "That's akin to saying that since you were born of our mother's womb, there'd be no harm in trying to crawl back inside!"

Rob slapped his thigh and roared. "Spirit! She shows spirit! Ah, believe me, Constance, if what I remember of our mother is true, she was a lissome and lovely creature. Your age when she married Father, so she would be younger than Eva if she'd lived. Blonde and fair … why wouldn't I want to have a go at her?"

"You're a filthy abomination, Robert."

"At least I know what I am and what I like, while you seek to deny your true nature. Take it to heart, Constance, you have a wanton's way about you. Your body was made for fucking, and your soul was made to crave it."

He commanded her down to breakfast then. Eva was long gone, having cleaned up the mess of the broken stew pot and made the dining room to look as if the previous evening's events had never happened. But Enrique's look of contentment, and his lascivious leer as Constance came in, were proof that they had. 

The household staff had reported for duty that morning, which was the beginning of Constance's reprieve. Neither of them would dare touch her when there was a chance they might be caught by someone they couldn't ensnare as they had Eva. 

The betrayal of that still hurt Constance to the quick. Nana Eva had been as a mother to her, a warm and comforting presence in her life. Now that was tainted, tarnished. 

It would have been bad enough if Rob and Enrique had raped Eva, pinned her struggling and taken her against her will. But no, that was not their way. They conspired instead to make Eva partake willingly of their vile deeds, and she had. She had indeed, and enjoyed it utterly.

Constance had spent a largely sleepless night trying to figure out why. An inexperienced young woman such as herself knew so little about the ways of men and women, and did not know what to do when her body's reactions went against what she was taught was proper. Yet Eva was older, a woman already wed and widowed with children of her own. Grandchildren, even! How had she given in so readily to those lustful acts? 

She pushed food around her plate, mulling these questions in her mind. When the servants were absent from the room, Rob and Enrique amused themselves by recounting what had happened, marveling to each other at Eva's fervor. 

"Widows, I told you. They get accustomed to a good regular bit of rumpy," Rob said, "and when their husbands die, they grow to miss it. She's probably thanking all the saints and going about with a smile on her face this morning."

He went on to relate to Enrique what Constance had said to him that morning, and his replies. To her discomfiture, the prospect of seeing Constance made to lick at another woman's cunny only made the lusty gleam in Enrique's eyes increase. She might have expected him to object, since Rob still had not given him that opportunity. 

"Or better yet," Enrique suggested, his tongue running over his lips, "we could have her perform that service to the luscious little Esperanza."

"You promised to leave them alone," Constance interjected. "If Eva did as you wished and kept her silence, you promised to leave her daughter and granddaughter alone."

She knew it was hopeless, but for the sake of Esperanza, she had to try anyway. It did no good. She could see it in their scheming faces. They were already contemplating plans to lure Eva's young granddaughter from home and introduce her to adult delights. 

"I'm thinking of closing the house for a while," Rob said. "Of informing the staff that my sister and I are making a visit to your family."

Dread killed the rest of Constance's dwindling appetite. 

"Oh, are you?" Enrique raised an eyebrow. "To discuss wedding arrangements with my father?"

"I'd not tell them that. Nor would I want to sail right away. A week or so, without the servants constantly underfoot or having to devise some excuse to send them away … a week uninterrupted of indulging in Constance's charms … by then, my friend, I believe I might be ready to yield her hand to you."

"And the rest of her?"

"And the rest of her," Rob chuckled. 

"A week. With me as your guest?"

"Well, Enrique, therein lies the problem. I've noticed that you and I are much more inclined to argue these days. Over something so inconsequential, too. It pains me to see such a tension put on our friendship."

"There's one very simple way to resolve that, Rob." He eyed Constance significantly. 

She made herself chew up another bite of food, which had the taste and texture of paper in her mouth. Her face was flaming. Last night, Rob had permitted Enrique to use his hands on her, to insert his fingers into her and bring her to orgasm. If Rob had hoped that would forestall Enrique's desires, he was sadly mistaken. It only made Enrique want more. 

"What might be best," Rob said, "would be for you to return to Santa Juanita ahead of us, and broach the subject of your engagement with Don Carlos, your esteemed father. Tell him you wish to invite us to visit. He would be glad of a chance to inspect your intended bride."

"I daresay he would." Enrique scowled. "He'd likely want to get into her as well."

Constance spilled her glass. Don Carlos was as swarthy and dark-haired as his son but lacked Enrique's handsomeness. He was a squat, round man with greedy pig's eyes and an upturned nose, and everything about him seemed somehow oily. It had never occurred to her that the dreaded fate of marrying Enrique would bring her into such proximity with Don Carlos, who had once ran a hand over her bottom and made as though it had been an accident. 

"That is a matter for you to decide," Rob said. "A dutiful son might count such as a token of filial respect. I personally would draw the line."

"You would not share your wife with your father?"

Rob scoffed, blowing breath between pursed lips. "My father has lived a eunuch's life for so long, I doubt me what he'd do if I made the offer. I don't think he's even had a woman since Mother died."

"Well, mine has been anything but a monk," Enrique said. "There's hardly a woman on Santa Juanita he hasn't bedded, and I often wonder as to the virtue of the goats."

"I've seen the women on Santa Juanita," Rob said. "I wonder that you can tell the difference! But be that as it may, old friend, if you went ahead and made the preparations for our visit, Constance and I would follow after in due course."

Enrique sat sullenly, thinking. "You're sending me away so you can have her to yourself."

"Only for a while. Grant me that much."

"We made a pledge that we'd never let a woman divide us."

"And that pledge, we've kept."

"Have we?" His eyes flashed. 

Constance could not believe that Rob failed to see the depth of hurt and anger his blithe answers had caused Enrique. Was Rob so blind? Or was he making less of it, telling himself it did not matter?

The two of them had just agreed, however grudgingly on Enrique's part, to Rob's plan when a reprieve came. It was in the form of a messenger, bringing the tidings that Lord Adam Cuthburt, an old friend of the deGranvilles, had just put into port at Veradoga Harbor. He was requesting the hospitality of the governor's mansion for the night, and Rob could hardly refuse. 

A thrill of joy leaped up in Constance. One of Lord Cuthburt's eccentricities was that he never traveled without a complement of butlers, valets, secretaries, and other staff. In order to make them welcome, Rob could not close the house or send away the servants. Perhaps she could persuade Lord Cuthburt to linger for a week or more, a month … until her father returned! 

"Oh, Rob, that is unfortunate," Enrique said with a hard-edged smile. "A good thing that I'll be out from underfoot. I'll set sail to Santa Juanita this evening, and give word to my father that you and Constance shall be along in a week."

Rob looked rather as though he'd bitten into a sour fruit. He was in an ill humor all the rest of the day as he oversaw the preparations. A grateful Constance was able to retire to her room, even more grateful as she watched from the balcony and saw one of Don Carlos' ships making ready to set sail. 

Enrique gone, and Rob unable to lay a hand on her with a houseful of guests. She felt blessed. Salvation had finally found her. 

Lord Cuthburt, a jolly fellow of some ten years senior to their father's age, was a merry companion at dinner. He brimmed with tales of his travels, and had recently met with William deGranville at a reception held for the English ambassador. 

"He told me how you've been looking after Veradoga in his absence," Cuthburt said to Rob. "That's quite a burden for a lad your age, and with a sister to keep an eye on as well. I imagine, as pretty as she's grown, you've had your hands full keeping the suitors at bay!"

"You've no idea," Rob said dryly. 

"I told Will that I'd be more than happy to stop by and see how you're getting on, and offer the benefits of my experience. You may rely on me, young Robert."

Rob's polite smile was strained. Constance had to refrain from kicking her feet and giving in to a fit of girlish giggles. 

She went to bed that night with the highest of spirits. She was safe, for not even Rob would be so bold as to –

Her door opened a stealthy few inches. 

Constance was outraged. Had he no good sense at all?

Rob hissed her name. "Constance? Are you awake?"

She feigned sleep. He came in regardless, nervously glancing over his shoulder. When he reached the edge of the bed, she gave up her pretense and sat up, the covers bunched around her. 

"What is it, Rob? You cannot be here. If Lord Cuthburt found out –"

"I know," he said, and there was genuine anguish in his voice. "The fat old busybody is now saying he might stay most of the week, God help us."

She had her own ideas about God, ideas that had changed in the past several days. If God was in the habit of helping people, it surely wasn't those who needed Him the most. 

"I know we cannot risk being caught," he went on. "And I shall be on my best behavior until Cuthy shoves off. That is what I came to tell you."

"Why do I not believe you? I used to trust you, Rob. I used to love and trust you, my elder brother. I thought you'd be a defender of mine, someone I could always turn to."

"I still am, and you can still love me, Constance. It is but a … a different sort of love. More befitting a man and a woman than a brother and a sister." He ran his hand through his hair and sighed. "That, you see, is the trouble. I love you."

She said nothing, watched him. 

"I've fallen in love with you. That is why I am so reluctant to let Enrique have you. It is driving him mad, I know that, and I've never failed to share a woman with him before. He cannot understand. If I told him, he still would not understand."

"I do not love you, Rob. Not even as a brother, not anymore."

"Do not say that! You do love me. We are meant to be together. I'd marry you if I could, and have you always to myself."

"You're the one who's gone mad," she said. "Leave my room."

"One kiss, and I will."

"Rob!"

"One kiss, Constance, I swear it." 

"I do not trust you."

"The longer I stay, the greater the chance someone will happen by and hear us."

"A kiss, then, and go!" She offered her lips.

He brushed his against them and she thought he really did mean what he'd said. But then he groaned, and crushed her to him, his tongue delving into her mouth and his hands at the laces of her nightgown. 

She pushed him away. "Rob, stop, you promised."

"I'll be quick, so very quick." He opened the front of her nightgown and sealed his lips around her nipple. 

"Stop!" She yanked at his hair, telling herself that she did not feel a surge of heat as his tongue flicked and swirled. 

"Hush, we'll be heard," Rob said. "Don't fight me, sister-mine. I'll be quick."

Before she could protest further, he had pushed her down on the bed and was climbing atop her. He lifted the hem of her nightgown and tried to part her legs. 

"Robert, no!"

"One last time. Open your thighs for me, Constance."

He would not be dissuaded, and she hoped that if she did as he wanted, he would go. She gave him access and he entered her with no preamble. His thrusts were rough and quick, urgent. She was just beginning to warm and moisten, just beginning to feel the stirrings of pleasure, when he spilled into her and collapsed, breathing hard against her neck. 

It was over. Just like that, it was over. He withdrew and tucked his cock away, standing over her as she lay with her legs open and her nightgown in disarray. Rob studied her as if engraving the image in his mind, then left without a word. 

The door closed behind him. Constance slowly pulled down her nightgown and pulled up the covers. Her body was in a whirl of yearning and disappointment. He had never been like that before. Never just rudely taken his own pleasure and neglected hers. Indeed, it had been his pride to make her enjoy the depraved incestuous things he was doing to her, as if that somehow absolved him of his guilt. 

She thought of touching herself, seeking her own release. She burst into tears instead. What was the matter with her? She hated it when he took her, and was crying because it was over so soon? Because she'd been denied the explosive sensation she'd learned to expect?

An hour went by as Constance tossed and turned. She was so caught up in her distressed thoughts that she did not immediately take notice of the commotion outside. When she did become aware of it, she sat up and listened. 

Shouting voices. Running footsteps. Horses. Someone calling for Young Lord Robert. A fire. There was a fire at the docks. 

Constance hurried to the window. Yes, she could see a blaze down by the waterfront. People were dashing all around, bringing buckets, throwing water on the flames. 

Moments later, Rob and Lord Cuthburt and the men of the manor were racing down the road to help. She started to turn from the window, thinking that she would hastily dress and join the townswomen in helping in whatever ways they could. 

A dark silhouette loomed on the balcony, backlit by the fire. Constance took a step back, drawing in a breath to scream. 

"Constance," Enrique said, his voice caressing her name. "Constance, finally, Constance."

He rushed at her, bore her across the room and onto the bed where she'd so recently and unsatisfactorily lain with Robert. Her breath was driven out of her in a gust as his weight came down atop her.

"Enrique," she gasped. 

"Don't speak." He flung up her nightgown and buried his face in the soft nest of golden curls.

She had dreaded what his full lips and wide tongue would do to her. Now, as he attacked her sensitive flesh with the manner of a starved man, feasting on her, lapping and slurping in a frenzy, Constance immediately knew she'd been right to worry. He abandoned any skillful finesse in his fervor, but his very intensity demanded a response. 

And oh, but her poor body was already fraught with forestalled passion! It took but a moment for Enrique's hungry mouth to rekindle her into a furnace of need. She threw her forearm over her face, bit at it, to stifle her cries. 

He grunted and groaned against her flesh, mumbles perhaps meant to be words. Reassuring her? Threatening her? Professing her beauty and his lust? She did not know. More, she did not care.

It was too much, more than she could bear. She grasped his head, sinking her fingers into his dark hair, and pushed his face more firmly to his task. Her thighs clamped over his ears, and her hips rolled to bring his eager mouth where she needed it the most. 

Enrique's hands went under her buttocks and lifted, holding her to him. He caught her nub between his lips and played the tip of his tongue over it in quick pressure. Then, moving lower, he plunged the length of his tongue deep, softer than a cock but ever so much more pliant, exploring the walls of her cunny, tasting her – tasting Rob, as well, she thought suddenly, and the idea was strangely appealing. 

A tremor began at the core of her. She strove to the wet and welcome strokes, hating herself and him but unable to keep from surrendering up the sweet tribute of her body. It crashed over her in waves, wringing a cry from her that she could not possibly hope to contain. 

He kept at her, merciless, prolonging her climax until Constance thought she might swoon from the force of it. 

She did swoon, or at least lost herself a bit, for when next she was aware, he had left off and was looming over her. His face glistened from her juices, his eyes burned with his own as-yet-unmet need, and when she felt the naked press of his cock against her leg, she realized that he had undressed. That he meant to –

"Oh, no, Enrique, please," she whispered. 

"I must, Constance! If I do not possess you now, tonight, it will be the death of me!"

"But Rob –"

"Bugger Rob and all his selfishness! I let him believe I'd go, but I had no intention of leaving this island without fucking you. No matter if I had to burn down all the village to get him from the house."

"You … you set the fires?"

"Do not resist me, Constance," he said as she tried to bring her knees together, only to find that his body blocked her from doing so. "Not when you've just spent so deliciously for me, as I knew you would. It's better this way, you see. Better. You need feel no shame, for I am not your brother. This is not incest. Let me show you how fine it can be."

As he spoke, he moved against her, and the head of his cock slid up her thigh to lodge in the moist curls of her cunny. 

"Say yes, Constance. I'll do it whether you grant me permission or not, but say yes," he begged. "Give yourself to me. I feel how your body quivers beneath me, how your cunny aches to be filled. Isn't it true?"

"Yes," she said, and blinked away tears.

"Yes!" he echoed, and thrust victoriously into her. 




The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 06







The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 07



Enrique's cock was thicker than Rob's, if not so long, and it sundered into her with stretching pain despite the wetness that eased its way. Constance gasped in shock at the feel of him, pushing deep, so big. 

He stopped with his cock embedded, his body braced over her. His hair fell around his face in a dark tumble. 

"Ah, Constance, at last," he breathed. "At last I'm in you. And your cunny is so tight, so slick."

She turned her head away on her pillow, but he took her by the chin and made her look at him. 

"No, you will not wish me away. You will not pretend this isn't happening or think of some other man – of Rob," he added in a snarl. "You will look into my eyes as I fuck you, and I'll look into yours. When you come, I'll see. I'll know. You will not be able to hide it from me."

He sealed it with a kiss, locking his lips onto hers. Then he began to move. Slowly, in short strokes of no more than an inch in and out. The wide base of his cock rubbed maddeningly against her clitoris with each movement, and he seemed to be touching her, inside, in places that Rob had missed. 

She moaned helplessly into his mouth, felt him smile. He broke the kiss.

"Tell me you like it."

"Isn't it enough that you do this?"

"No. I want to hear you, Constance. I want you to beg me to fuck you, harder and faster. I want you to call my name as you spend."

In and out, those short firm strokes. His weight pinning her, heat and the scent of musk rising from his skin. His jaw was clenched, his muscles quivering with tension. 

And all at once, Constance understood. Enrique was close to spending already, so inflamed by his pent-up hunger for her. He could barely contain himself. It gave her a sweeping sense of power, such as she'd had that night Rob had lain beneath her as she rode him. 

So they had made her a wanton? Very well … let them live by it!

"Yes, Enrique," she said, her voice low and husky. "You're in me, at last, after all this time. How long have you wanted to do that? How long have you been watching me, wondering what it would be like to slide your cock into me?"

"Constance!"

Her ankles crossed and held at the small of his back. "Well, here you are. In me. Fucking me. I can feel your cock and it's good, Enrique, so good. Do it quicker now, do it hard."

She'd hoped that this, like applying herself when she had him in her mouth, would get it over with sooner and therefore she'd have less to endure. Yet the very sound of herself talking like that, saying such things, spurred her to a new height. She gripped his buttocks, thrust her hips up to him as he fucked with a faster pace. 

"Oh, Constance!"

"Fuck me, Enrique. Make me spend. Make me spend like never before!"

"Ahh! Yes, Constance, yes!"

"Harder," she pleaded. 

He was pounding away, battering her with a force that should have been punishing but felt absolutely wonderful. The bed shook and creaked from their violent movements.

"Now, I'm spending now," he said. "Now, Constance, coming in you."

"Oh, yes … fill me with it," Constance urged as her own climax overtook her in a glowing, tumbling crescendo.

"Ah! Ah! Ah!" With each of his cries she felt him loose a jet of his seed. He strained, his body a bow, every line in sharp relief, and then collapsed heavily atop her with his breath in hot, panting heaves. 

She lay pinned beneath him. They were both sheened in sweat and the smell of their sex. Enrique finally stirred, rolled off her to fall nearly insensate on her bed. 

"So," said Rob. "This is how I find you, sister-slut and dearest friend."

Constance sat bolt upright, and a beam of light fell full on her rosy skin as Rob opened a panel in the lantern he held. He had closed and locked the door behind him and stood there, soot and smoke staining his clothes, and his expression was livid with rage. 

Enrique sat up as well, but he moved with a lethargy that told Constance he'd been on the brink of falling asleep. He gaped at Rob for a moment before a guilty flush darkened his complexion. 

"Rob …" he said. 

"Behind my back, no less," Rob said. He set the lantern on a table and shook his head, glowering at the pair. "You could not have waited, could you, Enrique?"

"You never meant to let me have her," Enrique retorted. "You would have found some way to keep her for yourself, I know that now. You'd have made one excuse after another. I had to go behind your back, Rob. You left me no choice."

"Well. Now you've had her. Was she good?"

"Splendid," Enrique said. "As you already know."

"You've betrayed me. My friend, my best friend since boyhood, and you do this. You creep into my house under stealth and emergency – an emergency that my mind must wonder at, Enrique, for they believe that fire to have been purposefully set – when you were supposed to have been well on your way home. I find you here, fucking my sister. And her a willing slut in your arms, at that. Were you in on it, Constance? Was this some plan devised by the two of you?"

"No," she said. "No, it wasn't like that at all. He came into my room, and …"

"And raped you?" Rob sneered. "A likely story. Do you know how long I was there, watching you? I saw more than enough, dear sister. More than enough to know that you begged him for it. Harlot!"

"If I am, you made me such!" she shouted, no longer caring whether the household, or Lord Cuthburt, or all of Veradoga might hear. "This was all your doing, Rob, from the beginning. You cannot in good faith stand there and say that the blame is none of yours to bear when you were the first to fuck me!"

The ire in her voice took all of them by surprise, Constance included. She threw on a dressing-gown, cinching the belt tight around her slim waist, and tossed her tangled fall of hair defiantly back from her face. 

"That may be," Rob said, each word clipped. "But I had expected better from Enrique. Put your clothes on, man, before we're disturbed. It's a fair wonder that the house entire wasn't alerted by your rutting beast-calls. At least you had the foresight, or accident of luck, to distract them all with your little fire."

"Do not be angry with me," Enrique shot back. "It was all your fun, was it not, to dangle your sister's sweet fruits before me as Hades did to Tantalus? You made a mockery of my need, Rob. You set this between us. You drove me to it."

"Ah, well, it's all Rob's fault, is it? All Rob's fault that he has a rampant whore for a sister and a back-dealing louse for a friend? Yes, by all means, let it be Rob."

"Let it be!" Constance said. "For it is!"

He slapped her, a hard and stinging blow that knocked her across her bed and turned her cheek into a fierce sheet of pain. 

"And you," he said to Enrique, who had retrieved his clothes, speaking in a tone not reserved for a much-loved friend and companion but for a simpleton, or a dog. "I wish you to leave my house this very instant."

"You're turning me out?" Enrique demanded. 

"I am, and count yourself lucky I do not speed you on your way with a pistol," Rob said.

Enrique's brows drew down stormily. "You would fight me."

"I would whip you through the streets like a cur," Rob said. He pointed at Constance. "She was mine."

Swiftly, perhaps sensing as Constance did that the murderous temper of the room was no erroneous imagining, Enrique dressed and buckled on the belt that held his own pistol and long knife. 

He made for the door, with Rob stalking after. As he reached it, he stopped and turned to regard Rob with a mixture of defiance and pity. "You cannot keep her for always, Rob. She is not yours. I will still marry her, for that is a matter decided between your father and mine. Neither will disagree, and Constance shall be my wife. Mine."

A blood-curdling roar issued from Rob. He leapt at Enrique and the two of them, tussling, flew through the doorway and into the hall. Their curses and the sounds of fists striking flesh and bone resonated through the house. A knife flashed silver. Blood sprayed against the wall. Constance screamed. 

In mere moments, the hall was filled with people. Servants of both the deGranvilles and Lord Cuthburt milled around, no one knowing what to do as Rob and Enrique rolled and thrashed and pummeled each other. Rob stabbed again with the knife and Enrique, bleeding from a gash on his forehead, batted it away. 

"Here now! Here!" bellowed Lord Cuthburt, descending on the scene. The rotund older man had evidently been in the process of washing up, some soot still discoloring his doublet. He surveyed the scene and waded in, calling orders as he went. 

Various manservants hastened to obey. Under Cuthburt's direction, they parted the two combatants and divested them of knives and pistols. Rob was held against one wall and Enrique the other, and they glared venom across the intervening space. 

"Boys, boys," Lord Cuthburt said, shaking his head. "What on earth is the meaning of this?"

Rob spoke first, with a sly relish. "I caught my dear friend attempting to take indecent liberties on the person of my sister!"

All eyes turned to Constance, who was in the doorway of her room. She saw herself as they must see her, face wet with tears and red from a slap, hair mussed, the very picture of a damsel roused from a sound sleep to find her virtue under attack.

"I only thank God I was in time," Rob went on in the utmost of righteousness. 

"Good heavens!" Cuthburt said. "Constance, my dear girl, are you all right?"

She nodded. What else could she say? What could either of them say? Rob had trapped them neatly. Enrique blustered as if to protest, but said nothing. What would he do, tell Lord Cuthburt all of it? 

"I told him to leave this house, and he was in a fury," Rob said. After a malicious pause, he added, "I suspect him of starting the fire this evening just to have a chance to catch Constance alone and unprotected."

"And you the son of Don Carlos! He will surely hear of this." Cuthburt wagged a finger at Enrique. "You had best be going and hope that he'll be more lenient with you than I would! If a son of mine … oh, I'd give him the beating of his very life! As for you, young Rob, you'd do well to choose better companions. Your own dear sister might have … why, it is too horrible even to mention!"

"Yes, sir, it is." Rob bowed his head, but not before Constance saw the grin on his face. 

"Escort him out," Cuthburt said. "You there, girl, what's your name? Jane. Yes, good. Jane, you see to poor Constance."

A trio of men led Enrique away. The look he gave Rob was deadly, their friendship over as surely as if it had been a glass shattered on stone. Constance was sick to see that look. Enrique swiped at the blood trickling from his cut forehead, and allowed himself to be taken out with no further objections. 

Jane, an apple-cheeked girl who helped in the kitchens, came to Constance and ushered her back into her bedroom, closing the door against the inquisitive gazes of the rest of the staff. "Oh, miss, what a terrible night," she said. 

Constance hardly dared breathe. The room still smelled strongly of sex. Could Jane smell it? Would she know what it meant? And what if Jane meant to help her bathe? Enrique's seed was damp on her thighs. 

But Jane gave no sign of anything else being amiss. She had water brought to fill Constance's tub, then stayed outside the screen. She flitted about and set the room to rights as Constance sponged away the proof of Enrique's pleasure, and laved her aching body. 

Gradually, the noises of the household returned to their nighttime norm. Constance stepped from the bath when the water had cooled, and allowed Jane to bundle her into a clean nightgown trimmed all around with eyelets and lace and ribbons the color of blushing roses. 

Jane brought her some tea, which Constance drained although it was bitter and not sugared quite to her liking.

She sat before her mother's mirror as Jane combed out her hair. Although she had no right to, Constance felt well and content. Her life was in a worse plight than ever, as now the lust for her had turned best friends into direst enemies.

"Thank you, Jane," she said when her hair had been brushed into golden waves that curled damply around her face and shoulders. "You may go."

"Do you want me to stay, Miss Constance? I don't mind. You must have had quite a fright."

"I did, but it is over now. All is well." And all she wanted was sleep, hours and hours of deep and dreamless sleep. 

Jane left. Constance got into her bed, made up with pristine fresh linens. She sighed as her head touched the pillow, and her eyes drifted closed. 

A sharp pinch woke her. She was groggy, her head feeling stuffed with cotton, but the sudden pain in her breast – her nipple felt caught in a claw – brought her to a semblance of consciousness. 

Constance tried to open her eyes and could not. Something was covering them, something soft but implacable. She raised her hands to feel what it was and they, too, would not move. 

It was then that she realized she was no longer in her bed. No longer in her nightgown, nor reclined comfortably as she'd been when she went to sleep. 

She was face-down on her belly across something that felt like a padded bench, her breasts hanging free in the cool night air. Her knees were on a pillow, and bands circled her ankles, bracing them an indecent distance apart. Similar bands held each wrist, tied to what might have been the legs of the bench. 

"Finally awake, are you?" came Rob's whisper. 

A gag prevented her from answering. 

He chuckled. "Nothing to say, Constance? No excuses, no blame for Robert now? Oh, you've been a bad girl, sweet sister-mine."

Muffled noises, too low to carry more than a few feet, were the best she could manage. He chuckled again and something touched her back, trailed along it. 

"The draught I slipped into your tea did its work, I see. Now it's time for me to do mine. Do not hope for rescue, either. The hour is late, and I took the precaution of seeing to it that everyone had a nice, calming cup of tea before bed. We may as well be alone, Constance."

He pinched her other breast. She jerked in her bonds and made a plaintive sound in her throat. 

"I was very, very disappointed with you this evening. Fucking with Enrique like that when you knew –"

A searing line of pain striped her buttocks. Constance jerked again, and a scream rang in her ears but could not breach the gag. 

"When you knew I meant for you to be my own plaything," Rob said. "Didn't care for that, did you? It's a switch, Constance. I mean to switch you until you've learned your lesson. Perhaps when your tender bottom is a burning red, you'll remember what it means to go against my wishes."

Several blows landed in quick succession. He beat her buttocks and thighs, the swish of the rod slicing the air and striking with a vicious whipping sound against her flesh. Her tears soaked the blindfold. She yanked on the cords that held her wrists and ankles and only hurt them as well. 

At last, Rob stopped. He laid a hand on the welts, and even that touch was agony. Constance drooped limply over the bench, wracked with silent screams and sobs. 

"You don't much like that, do you, Constance?"

She shook her head. 

"It hurts you? It makes you want to beg for mercy?"

She nodded as best as she was able. 

"Well," he said in a mock tone of grief, "I'm afraid there's no mercy yet. Do you recall when we spoke of saving your pretty little ass for your husband?"

Icy fear engulfed her. She shook her head again, frantically, making smothered cries into the gag. 

"You've grown much more worldly these past few days, Constance. Not all that long ago, you wouldn't have known what I meant by that. Now, I see that you do. You guess correctly, sweet sister. As you and Enrique chose not to honor your part of the bargain, I see no reason to honor mine."

His fingers, cold with some greasy substance, parted her buttocks. Constance fought to free herself, wrenching her bound body side to side. 

"Only a bit of butter," Rob said. "I am not so cruel as that. Be still, do not struggle, and it shall be over soon enough. You may even come to enjoy it as you've enjoyed the rest, slut that you are."

The butter warmed on her skin. She cringed as he found the opening and worked a greased finger inside. The sensation was slippery and awful, an unnatural violation. She wept with relief when he withdrew his fingers, and went faint with horror when he replaced them with something else. Something meaty and stiff, feeling gigantic. How could his cock seem so much bigger there? 

"Here it is, Constance," Rob said. "We'll go slowly, shall we? Just the head at first. Here. Feel it going in? Ahh, but you've a snug arsehole, haven't you? A little more … there!"

The head of his cock felt like it was tearing her open as it pushed and pushed. It popped in and wedged there, her sphincter closing behind it on the remaining length of his shaft.

"Oh, that is nice," Rob said. "You should see it, Constance. Your pretty buttocks all white and striped with welts, all spread open, and my cock going in between them. I'm going to put more in now. I could do it all in one thrust, seat my cock all the way. Would you like that?"

She made more muffled outcries and shook her head again. Her hair, formerly so smoothed and neat, was dangling in her face. 

"I did not hear you," Rob said, and slapped her bottom. 

The pain of the slap on her lashed buttocks was so great that she barely noticed when he buried half his cock. Only when it subsided was she splittingly aware of him, and his steady invasion. 

"Halfway now, Constance. Do you know, I could reach down here, under you like this, and give your cunny a tweak?" His buttery fingers did just that. 

She bucked to get away from him and he chose that moment, aided by her reaction, to thrust his cock the rest of the way in. She felt the wiry tickle of his pubic hair on her abused bottom, and what seemed a bar of hot iron stuck up inside her. 

"There you are," he said hoarsely. "Entirely in, Constance. Now, what was it you were saying to Enrique? Harder, faster? I think I'll oblige."

One hand cupped her cunny, the thumb inserted up it while the fingers rested on her clitoris. His other arm snaked around her waist and he commenced a rapid, forceful fucking. 

Constance howled into the gag, sure that he was going to kill her, that he was going to tear her apart. His thumb and fingers jabbed at her, not coaxing pleasure from her but hurting. 

"Ready, sister-mine?" Rob panted. "Spending yet, you wanton little whore? No? That is a shame, because … unh! Oh!"

He lunged against her all the more brutally as he came. Everything was pain. She thought he might rupture something inside her, and she'd die, die with her buttocks stinging from the lashing he'd given her. His torso beat against the welts, his body bearing down and crushing her onto the bench. 

At last, it was over. He rose from her and smacked her bottom once more, contemptuously. 

"Well, Constance. I do hope you've learned your lesson."

Rob undid her bonds, removed the gag, and lastly the blindfold. She couldn't look at him, kept her head bowed as her tears rained onto her bare breasts. He left without saying anything else, closing the door behind him.

She moved carefully, feeling as though her insides might simply slide out. She washed, and saw her nightgown where he must have left it. 

"No," Constance said. "No more. Anything would be better than this. Anything."

She went to her wardrobe instead, and chose clothes suitable for traveling. 

Suitable for a sea voyage. 





The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 08



Lord Cuthburt's ship was the Ricarda, a stately vessel that proudly flew the British flag and held a crew of fifty stout men as well as a few women – a cook, maidservants, the captain's wife. Most were having a night ashore, leaving the shop moored at the docks. 

In the cool darkness of the hour before sunrise, when the eastern horizon was touched with the faintest blush of rose, the deck was quiet. A sole watchman dozed by the mast, a lantern resting beside him. 

Constance crept aboard, her heart hammering so that she was sure the noise of it would wake the sentry and indeed half the town. Every step caused her renewed pain as cloth scraped over the welts on her bottom. She had foregone her fancy gowns for the plainest and most sensible clothes in her wardrobe, pinned up her hair and covered it with a kerchief, and packed a small bag with other garments, jewelry, and what little money she possessed. 

It had occurred to her that she might seek open passage from Lord Cuthburt. As a friend of her father's, he might have obliged. But then she shook her head at her own foolishness. She could not possibly tell him the entire circumstance of her wishing to leave Veradoga, and anything less would lead to him merely telling her she was being a silly and irresponsible girl. 

Thus, she had to stow away. Over dinner, the genial lord had mentioned his plan to get an early start. She could only hope that her absence would go unnoticed until the Ricarda was well out to sea. 

She stood on the deck with her bag in her arms, looking about and wondering where she could hide. She had never been on a ship before, not even to visit the nearest of the neighboring islands. Her father would not allow it. He held it as a certainty that she'd no sooner set foot on a ship than pirates would descend, seize her, and carry her off to sell to some harem in Madagascar when they had sated their lusts on her young body. 

Little had he, or she, suspected that she'd find that fate lived out within the very walls of their home. What need was there of pirates when Robert was about? William deGranville had been so fixed on assuring that his daughter never shared her mother's fate, and look to what it had led. 

Pirates, indeed. She'd sooner take her chances with pirates. 

The very thought was enough to send a little thrill through her, one that she was ashamed to admit. She had been unhealthily fascinated ever since learning of Anna deGranville's time as a captive of the French pirate Philippe Merlion. The Black Falcon, the sailors called him, and to this day spoke of him in tones of fear and reverence. 

What had it been like for her mother? Nearly two years had passed between the day her ship was taken and the day she was ransomed back to her frantic husband, all of this well before Constance was born. Two years in the hands of the Black Falcon.

Had he kept the blonde Englishwoman for his own use or given her to his savage crew? Constance preferred to think that Merlion had been so enchanted by her beauty that he'd claimed her as his own share of the prize. Would he have been gentle with her? Had her mother surrendered, and lain gasping her pleasure in the arms of the pirate? Had Anna grown to love her captor?

Many a night, she'd dreamed such things. She had envisioned herself as her mother, helpless to resist a dashing rogue with hair dark as the night and eyes like emeralds. He would be handsome, and clever, and buried beneath his cruel exterior would be a gentlemanly nature. 

Those dreams had often stirred unknown longings in her loins. Even now, after Rob and Enrique, the ideas still held a power over her that made her go slightly breathless, and weak in the knees. 

Constance knew the truth of it was likely far from her imaginings. Even the best-kept of sailors, like those on Lord Cuthburt's ship, were rough men with rough looks and rough manners. 

She had to find a place to hide herself. Perhaps when the ship was well away from port, she could emerge and seek the aid of Lord Cuthburt. Perhaps he would take her to wherever her father might be rather than return her home. 

The ship was grand and luxurious. Its aftcastle was a manor unto itself, with cabins and staterooms and servants' quarters. Constance explored quickly and quietly, mindful that someone else might be awake. She found a kitchen where Lord Cuthburt's meals were doubtless prepared, a pantry stocked with finer food than that in the sailors' galley below. At the rear of the pantry was a small storeroom. She made a little nest of a bed there, on empty sacks, and settled down to wait. 

At some point, she slept. She would not have thought it possible, given the discomfort she was in, but her weariness and the remnants of whatever Rob had drugged her with soon outweighed the pain in her backside. 

When she woke, the tiny room was rising and falling, dipping and swaying, in a manner that made Constance feel green with illness. She could hear the creak and groan of wood, the flap of canvas, the voices of men calling orders back and forth. 

At sea! She was at sea, and away from Veradoga at last. 

She'd had the foresight to bring water and a bit of food with her. She had, however, neglected to make any arrangements for private functions. That need became overwhelming. 

Finally, knowing that if she did not find relief she'd soil herself, Constance inched the storeroom door open. She heard women in the kitchen, bustling about. One was scolding the other. 

"—what you think you're to do, Daisy-me-girl. His Lordship won't let you stay on with your belly rising."

"I'll marry Walter, that's what I'll do," came the reply. It was a young girl's voice, Daisy, sounding no older than Constance herself. 

"Walter, is it? So Walter's the one."

"Who else would it be?" Daisy retorted defensively. 

"He, and you, should have known better. You know how His Lordship is about servant-girls and sailors. Frowns on it, he does."

"Uhh … I fear I'm to be sick again, Greta."

"Here's the basin."

There followed the sounds of retching, and Greta's unsympathetic clucking of the tongue. 

"You'll have a sorry voyage, that you will. At least, God be praised, you can blame it on seasickness. I'll get you a bite of dry biscuit –"

The door to the pantry, ajar, now opened the rest of the way and a tiny woman came in. She was dressed almost as a man, in trousers that belled at the knee-length cuffs, and a white muslin shirt beneath a striped apron. She stopped short when she saw Constance, who had ducked back too slowly to avoid being discovered. 

"Here, now!" she cried. She might have been tiny, no more than a bird, but she strode forward fearless as a lioness and confronted Constance. "Who are you, and what are you doing lurking about in there? Come here, girl."

Having nowhere else to go, Constance obeyed and emerged into the kitchen. "Please, madame cook, do not tell anyone I'm here."

"I'll be the one to decide about that." Greta looked her up and down. "Why … you're deGranville's daughter! His Lordship mentioned you'd grown up to be the very image of your mother. What's the meaning of this?"

"I have run away from home. To … to find my father," Constance said, swiftly embroidering a tale that was not too far from true. "My brother is seeking to arrange a marriage for me. I'd hoped to reach my father and plead my case before Rob's letter does."

"So you stowed away?" Greta harumphed. "Unwise and dangerous, if you ask me. The best thing to do would be to march straight up there and tell your tale to Lord Cuthburt."

"Oh, no, I couldn't. He wouldn't understand. He'd say I should return to Veradoga and await Father there."

Daisy, meanwhile, was watching with a look of curiosity. She was Constance's age and of like height and size, with the shade of hair called strawberry-blonde and a dusting of freckles on her peach-colored skin. At the moment, she did not look as pretty as she warranted, being sallow from nausea. 

"And that is just what you should do," Greta said. "My land, your brother will be worried sick. Didn't he just fight a duel in your honor, too? He'll be frantic."

Word of that had gotten out, too? Duel, hah … Rob and Enrique had brawled like common hooligans, driven by their mad and insatiable desires for her. Rob had slashed Enrique with a knife and bloodied him, then driven him out of the house. His punishment for Constance, whose submission to Enrique he had not been willing to overlook, had been to lash her bottom until it burned, and then violate her in the only way he had not previously done. She was still sore from it. 

If Lord Cuthburt insisted on returning her to Veradoga, and to Rob, she couldn't imagine how he might deal with her rebellion. She threw all of her wit and will into persuading Greta, and in the end, the cook relented. 

"You'll sleep on Daisy's cot," Greta said, pointing to a narrow cot in a small afterthought of a room just off the kitchen. "Daisy will stay with me. That may serve to keep her from sneaking out a'nights to be with her Walter."

Daisy went a bright pink. She took a breath as if about to speak, then decided the better of it after a scowl from Greta. 

It was settled. Constance moved her bag to the alcove with the cot. 

For the first time in her life, she was on a ship, out at sea, and wanted to stand at the rail and feel the Caribbean breeze lifting her hair. She wanted to see the clear blue-green waters and the lush profusion of islands other than the one on which she'd always lived. She wanted to watch the sailors at work on the sails and lines, and hear their sea-shanties. 

But once she'd enlisted the aid of Greta and Daisy, she knew that to be found out would be to get them in trouble as well. 

So she did as she was told and stayed closeted, feeling like a prisoner in the small, windowless alcove. She spied through cracks in the door and walls when she could. On deck, where she had the tiniest slices of views of the sailors and the sea. Into the dining room where Lord Cuthburt took his meals with the captain, the captain's wife, and the ship's officers.

On her third night, she was wakened by a whisper. "Daisy … Daisy, love."

Constance was immediately and fully awake, her mind spinning. The tiny space was all in darkness. She could not see him, but she knew it must be Walter, Daisy's lover and the ship's first mate. She'd glimpsed them talking together, flirting as much as they dared under the stern eye of Greta. 

He approached the bed and touched her hip. She jumped. 

Walter chuckled. "Sorry, love. Did I startle you?"

She didn't answer. What to do? If she spoke, told him she wasn't Daisy, he would demand to know who she was and all would be undone. 

"You haven't come to my cabin," he said. "Is it Greta?"

"Yes," Constance whispered, keeping her voice a toneless hiss. "She said I mustn't go to you."

"Jealous old crone," Walter said. "Does she not care that we're in love? I miss you, Daisy." His hand touched her hip again, stroked it. 

Constance stiffened beneath the blanket. "You really must go. Suppose she hears you, and comes to look in on me?"

"She won't. I can hear her snoring from here." He lifted his hand away. Cloth rustled. 

With her ears so attuned to the blackness that left her eyes blind, Constance suddenly knew that he was undressing. He meant to slide into the cot with her … with Daisy … and …

"Walter, no, we cannot."

And yet … even as she said it, there was a furtive sort of appeal to the idea of letting the scene play out. A curiosity. He was a handsome man, lean and well-made, with rich auburn hair and a charming smile. 

To be taken by a virtual stranger, in the dark of the night … him mistaking her for someone else, calling her by his lover's name … it should have been abhorrent yet she found it intriguing. Perhaps Rob and Enrique had truly ruined her, that she would be allowing herself such thoughts. Perhaps the sensations they'd kindled in her had led her to need them, crave them. She had been several days without a man and was shocked by how much she missed being touched, being taken. 

"Shh, Daisy, love." He lifted the blanket and slid under it. She was wearing only a loose chemise, and could feel the heat of his bare skin through the thin cloth. "We'll be ever so quiet."

Constance was torn. Her body was already responding to his nearness, and she knew what would happen if she told him the truth or called for Greta. Yet he was not only a man she'd never met but Daisy's man as well, and Daisy was her friend. In so much as she could be said to have a friend, in her secret stowaway life. Rather say that Daisy had been kind to her. 

She was on her side, facing the wall. He crowded close along her back and reached around to cup a breast. Her nipple immediately grew taut in his palm. He kneaded gently, and nibbled at her ear. She could feel his erection pressing against her buttocks, which were still tender but no longer sore from Rob's beating. 

Walter kissed her neck, licked her earlobe. It felt good despite her misgivings. She couldn't help murmuring and pushing her bottom toward his hardness. He took this as a sign of assent and raised her chemise to her waist that he might fondle her mound while he breathed words of devotion into her ear. 

What if he realized the deception? But she could not tell him now, not when she'd allowed him into the bed and was giving him the run of her body. Best that he continue to believe her to be Daisy. They were alike in height, in build. He might never know. 

His fingers found the moist furrow of her cunny. "You've been thinking about me, have you, love?"

"Yes," Constance said, bending her knee and raising her thigh so he could bring his hand more fully upon her. 

He stroked diligently, and soon Constance was nearly melting. The very wickedness of it only made her enjoy it more. With some careful maneuvering, he brought his cock to the opening of her cunny while still spooned against her back. She tilted her hips to him. 

"Ah, Daisy," he sighed as he eased his length into her moist passage. "Ah, there we are, love. Is that nice?"

"Very nice," Constance said. For it was, very nice indeed, and terribly naughty as well to feel him enter her while calling her by another woman's name. 

He went slowly, holding her close. It occurred to her that he was, yes, making love to her. Not fucking, as Rob did, not playing a cruel game to abase her, but making a sweet and gentle love. Soon, he had her panting in quickening heat. 

"Oh, Daisy," he said softly. "Yes, oh, my dearest, yes! Let it be now."

She spent in a rush both turbulent and subdued, a melting tremor that drew from her a low, muffled cry. Walter showered kisses on her neck and cheek and shoulder, still hard and buried within her. 

"How delicious you are, Daisy, how dear to me!"

He waited until the storm of her climax had subsided before he began to move again, slowly, firmly.

"Mmm, Walter, that's lovely," Constance said, moving with him. 

"Oh, yes … it'll be soon now, Daisy … soon …" 

Walter gasped, then abruptly withdrew. She stifled a cry as she felt him leave her. The sudden emptiness was unbearable. 

His hand seized hers and brought it around to the throbbing slippery stiffness. She held him, unsure what he wanted her to do … so she guided him into her cunny again. 

"Huh – oh!" Walter cried. "Oh, Daisy … too late!"

His body strained against her. His cock spasmed, loosing its flood into her dark depths with several convulsive jerks. He trembled and let out a breath that was a shaky moan, and finally relaxed. 

They lay like that, curled together, still joined, for a contented while. Then Walter asked, "Why did you do that? Why did you put it back in?"

"I wanted to feel you come in me," she said.

This seemed to surprise him, for he was silent so long that Constance was grimly sure she'd committed some terrible blunder. He'd know now that he wasn't with Daisy, and what recriminations might follow, she could only fearfully guess. 

"But if I get you with child, we'll have to marry," he said at last.

It was Constance's turn to be surprised. Daisy was already with child, and surely Walter had to know that, because she had told Greta she meant to marry him. Or did he not know? Had Daisy not confided that news to him yet?

"I … I thought you wanted to marry me," she said. 

"I do, but you told me it was too soon."

"Perhaps I've changed my mind." She rolled enough to brush her lips against his, and felt him smile. 

"I hoped you would. You were so different tonight, Daisy, so … so wonderful. So passionate. I hoped it was for a reason like that."

Constance winced. "But now you really must go," she said. "Before we're found. It's best if we say nothing about this, not even to each other."

"Yes." He kissed her again, then disengaged from her and groped in the dark for his clothes. 

Moments later, he was gone and Constance was alone in the narrow cot, unable to believe what had just happened. What she'd permitted, and what she had done. Daisy would be furious if ever she knew what had gone on this night, and Walter … what might he do? 

She rose and washed herself, then climbed back into bed. Her sleep was full of soft-hued dreams of what had just gone on. Made love, she had been made love to for the first time. Not taken, not used, not made to succumb to foul desires. 

All the next day her thoughts were consumed by it. This was perhaps how it was meant to be. Something pure and right … yet even as she thought that she would blush to recall how she had deceived him. Her pensiveness was remarked on by both Greta and Daisy, and Constance could barely meet the latter's eyes for fear she would give herself away. 

And what of Walter? What if he, in one of his murmured conversations with Daisy, happened to mention the previous night? Daisy would know. What would she do upon learning that her lover had bedded Constance by her name?

Her mind was busy with these questions even after she had finally retired again to bed. Then new questions joined in. Would he return tonight? Would he make love with her again? The very possibility left her breathless and aroused. Sleep eluded her, so busily did her ears strain for the stealthy click of the latch or the rasp of the hinges. 

At last, she was rewarded by the very sounds she'd been waiting to hear. She did not play at sleep this time.

"Who's there?" she whispered coyly. "Greta?" 

"Only me, my little dumpling."

The voice was one she knew, and she was so astounded that she could not formulate a reply. 

"Where are you, my pet? I cannot see a blasted thing in here. I should have brought a candle, but it'd be the end of us if that nosy cow Greta were to find us out." 

His shins bumped the cot. Constance scrambled to a sitting position. Her jaw was hanging agape. 

Lord Cuthburt and Daisy? 

And it was suddenly clear to her that the babe in Daisy's belly was not Walter's after all. He had been so careful not to plant his seed and give their affair away, while she had been rutting behind his back with none other than their own lord and employer. 

And now Lord Cuthburt was mistaking her for Daisy as well! 

What was she to do? Surely she couldn't … not with Lord Cuthburt, who had been a friend of the deGranvilles for as long as Constance could remember. He'd brought presents for her and Rob, given them candies, patted them on the head. She never would have imagined that he'd be visiting the bed of a girl young enough to be his daughter. 

He reached out in the darkness and touched her shoulder. Constance was too late to squirm away. 

"Aha, there she is," he chortled. "Now, I've got a pretty bauble for my favorite lady. Would you like it?"

"Lord Cuthburt –"




The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 08



"Tsk, tsk, you know I like you to call me Uncle, and I'll call you Margaret. You look so like my niece, after all. It's uncanny."

The word stuck in her throat. Call him uncle? Pretend not only to be Daisy, but Daisy pretending to be his niece Margaret? This had gone much too far. 

"I don't feel well tonight," she said. 

"That's too bad. Lie down, now, Margaret. Lie down and be a good girl for Uncle."

"No … not tonight. I cannot. Please."

His tone took on a sharp edge. "Lie down, I said, unless you want me to take my good right hand to your backside."

She was numb with shock. If she told him who she was, he would hate her for stumbling onto his dirty little secrets. His ire would probably rouse the entire ship, and then Walter would realize what Daisy had been up to, and it would come out that Walter had been with Constance … too many lives would be thrown into chaos if she spoke up. But the alternative was to go along with Lord Cuthburt. 

"You're not minding me, Margaret." He pushed her onto her side and swatted her buttock. It stung and she yelped. "No, hush now. Be a good girl and you may have a chocolate later. Lie down as Uncle wishes."

Constance did so, closing her eyes. Her fists were clenched, the nails biting into her palms. 

"Pretend that you're asleep, my darling niece," Cuthburt said hoarsely. His hands were on her, groping along her legs, bunching up the skirt of her chemise. "Asleep and dreaming."

Oh, how she wished she were! But she complied, trying to make her breathing sound deep and even as he raised her chemise all the way to her neck. 

"Sleeping ever so soundly," he said, and crawled on top of her. 

His mouth, all wet tongue and bristly moustache, descended on her breasts. He shoved her legs apart with his knee and thrust his hand between them. She could feel the hairy bulge of his fat pot belly, and below that the insignificant poking of a cock that felt no bigger than a twig.

"Now you're waking up," he said, breathing hard. "Waking up and finding that you're about to be fucked. But you want to be fucked. Tell me so. Tell me, yes, Uncle, fuck me, I want it."

And all at once, absurdly, it was all Constance could do to keep from bursting into gales of uproarious laughter. That tiny worm of a cock, and his desperate play-acting … 

Yet she mastered herself and pretended to stir as if awakening. "Oh!" she said in a high, little-girl voice. "Uncle? What are you doing?"

"Fucking you, Margaret. I'm going to shove my great cock into you. Would you like that?"

"Ooh, yes please," Constance said in her most simpering tone. She'd met Margaret, whom Lord Cuthburt had brought around once to parade in front of Rob as a prospective bride. It was easy to imitate her. "Yes, Uncle, please do fuck me with that great cock of yours."

He thrust, and as he began a clumsy fucking, Constance found herself wondering if he had actually gotten into Margaret. She always seemed so prim and demure, a prig, Rob had said with disdain. Was it genuine? Or were all families as secretly depraved as hers?

Lord Cuthburt humped frantically, and spent so soon that the act was over almost before it had begun. He left her room quickly, as if embarrassed. Constance felt more bemused than molested, and rather sorry for the fellow. 

She got up and braced a chair under the door before going back to sleep. 





The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 09



Constance woke the next morning to the discomfort of something digging into her shoulder. She rolled, blinked, and sat up. A necklace was on the bed. She had lain on it in the night, and impressed its shape into her arm. 

The necklace was an inexpensive thing, a silver chain with a pendant of a flower in painted enamel. Not just any flower, either, but a daisy. 

She remembered Lord Cuthburt saying something about a bauble. This must be it, then, a gift he intended for Daisy. 

Another complication. Surely he'd expect to see the intended recipient wearing it, and might wonder or even ask where it was when Daisy turned up without it. Yet Constance couldn't very well turn it over to the girl. That would mean having to explain how she got it. Being discovered as a stowaway would be bad. 

Having Lord Cuthburt realize what had truly gone on the previous night would be even worse. Not only had he fucked Constance believing her to be Daisy, but he'd wanted her to pretend to be his niece, Margaret. How could any of the deGranvilles face any of the Cuthburts ever again if that came to light? 

And there was yet the matter of Walter to consider. Constance watched through her spyhole as the morning's shipboard activities went on and had frequent glimpses of the handsome auburn-haired first mate. She even saw him once with Daisy, the two of them acting at nonchalance. 

Constance's heart hammered. What was he saying to her? Was he remarking on the other night? She waited with held breath for the moment in which Daisy would comprehend, and the anger that would have to follow.

That moment did not come. Credit Walter for his circumspection. But as she spied on the lovers, Constance felt a twinge of anger of her own. Walter was a good man, a tender lover, and thought the world of Daisy. All the while unbeknowing that she was fucking with Lord Cuthburt behind his back, bearing the lord's child, and planning to trick Walter into marriage. 

She was upset most of all by the unwitting part she herself had played in that last. When Walter had shared her bed, thinking her to be Daisy, she'd allowed him – nay, encouraged him! – to spill his seed inside her. Only after, when he wondered that she'd done so, did she understand that Daisy had not let him for fear of pregnancy. Now, when Daisy confessed to being with child, Walter would think that one lapse had been the cause. 

Both women had misused him. Constance knew how wrong it had been to stay silent and go along when he got into her bed. She had known all along and had not been able to bring herself to speak up, tell the truth. At first, it had been fear of being found out. And then, as the event progressed, she had been overcome with desire and responded willingly to his caresses. 

The mere thought of it was enough to bring a flutter of heat to her loins. She barely thought of Lord Cuthburt's pathetic cock except with pity and amusement, but whenever she thought of Walter, her body recalled the feeling of him against her, within her. Making love to her with such gentleness. 

But she could not dwell on it. She had to find some way to handle this complicated mess she'd gotten herself into. There was the necklace, for one. She had to give it to Daisy, but if Daisy knew that Constance knew about her affair with Lord Cuthburt... 

She would tell Daisy that she'd awakened to find it under the door, as if slid there in the night by an anonymous admirer. It would be assumed that it was Walter, and Daisy need not give up her secret. 

At mid-morning, the captain of the Ricarda regularly called all hands for an assembly. With the sailors accounted for on deck, and midday meal still hours away, the galley was at its least busy of times. Constance waited until she heard the shrill blast of the captain's whistle, then crept out of her small room.

The galley was ship-shape, everything in readiness. Neither Daisy nor Greta were to be seen. Constance took a biscuit and a chunk of salted fish from the pantry to ease her growling stomach, then went to the door of the cook's cabin. 

There were voices within. Greta's, and Daisy's. Curiously muffled, but recognizably theirs. Constance opened the door. 

Her bite of biscuit lodged in her throat. Her eyes widened. 

Greta's bed was a good deal larger than the narrow cot in the smaller room. It was of quite adequate size to hold the two women, and was doing just that at this very instant. They were nude, their clothes draped on a chair, and their bodies were entwined so that the head of each was buried between the thighs of the other.

"Oh, Greta, please, no more," Daisy begged. "No more, please, I don't like it."

From where Constance stood, half-choked on a biscuit and frozen with astonishment, she had the better view of Greta. The cook had one hand firmly holding onto Daisy's bottom, the other on her cunny with fingers slipping quickly in and out. Her mouth was over the red nub of Daisy's clitoris and her tongue darted and swirled teasingly around it. She stopped long enough to speak. 

"No falsehoods, Daisy, you know that you do. Now lick me, damn you, lick me the way I taught you."

With a stifled whimper, Daisy dipped her head to her assigned task. Greta sighed, rubbing her thumb on Daisy the very way that Enrique once had done to Constance, and smiled. Her eyes were blissfully shut, else she surely would have seen their startled observer. 

"Ah, yes, Daisy, that's right. That's good, very good. I told you that no woman needs a man to make her happy. Oh, right there, yes, don't be shy. I should thank that deGranville girl for making this arrangement necessary."

Daisy made some noise that might have been a sob. Constance drew the door nearly to, just enough that she could still peek in without being seen. She spit out the bite of biscuit and dropped it into her pocket. In her other hand, the necklace dug into her palm and impressed its outline there, too. 

"Don't you be crying about it," Greta said. "You liked it well enough that first night when you came cuddling over beside me. All I did then was frig you a little. Bless me, but it's not like you're a helpless virgin."

Greta rolled. For such a small and slightly-built woman, she had wiry strength and turned Daisy onto her back. Now Greta's knees were planted on either side of Daisy's head, Greta's cunny lowered against Daisy's mouth so that the younger girl had no choice but to do as she was directed. Meanwhile, Greta parted Daisy's legs wide, and for a moment Constance had an unobstructed view of Daisy's cunny with its fringe of reddish curls. Greta gripped Daisy's buttocks and bent to apply her tongue once more. 

It was strangely fascinating to see them together. Constance remembered how horrified she'd been when Rob threatened to make her do this very thing with Nana Eva, or with young Esperanza. At the time, she had thought it the most vile and unnatural of acts. That had been before Rob's brutal abuse of her backside, first lashing it bloody and then raping it. Compared to what he'd done, a vigorous tonguing by another woman would be far preferable. 

Indeed, as Constance watched Greta, she thought of how Rob and Enrique had both brought her to delicious spendings that way and wondered if a woman, who knew from personal experience how it felt and what felt best, might not be better at it. Surely Daisy, for all her mumbled protests, seemed to be enjoying it. 

The sight and the memories it evoked combined to make Constance turn liquid with arousal. She considered throwing all caution to the winds and joining them. Off with her clothes, and onto the bed, and there they'd be all three of them wrapped around one another. Hands on breasts, fingers probing into tight cunny passages, tongues coaxing at the stiff buds of nipples or clitorises.

But she was not bold enough to do that. Rather, she closed the door as stealthily and quietly as she was able. She hurried back through the kitchen to the small room, the food in her pocket forgotten, the necklace forgotten. All she wanted to do was pull up her skirt, slide a hand through the damp downiness of her cunny hair, and stroke herself until reaching exquisite release. 

"Hsst! Daisy!"

The hiss came as she was just about to close the door behind her. She resisted the urge to slam it and then hide, but what else could she do? He was there, right there, blinking in the dim light and starting as he saw her. 

"Who are you?" Walter asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. 

Constance could not speak. He was inches from her, the first time she'd seen him so up close though she'd felt him much closer. Russet hair, eyes of some light color either blue or grey, a tanned and handsome face, a lean body whose contours she knew well by touch if not by sight. Her throat worked. 

"A stowaway?" he asked. 

She nodded. 

"You've been hiding... here?"

"Walter, please, I can explain." 

"You know my name! It... it was you?"

"Hear me out," she said, and then had no idea what should follow. She could explain? How in the world could she explain?

He glanced over his shoulder, then pushed her into the room and closed the door behind them. Constance saw him shoot a furtive, hotly guilty look at the narrow bed before his gaze returned to her. 

"Who are you?"

"Constance deGranville. Please, Walter, you mustn't tell Lord Cuthburt that I'm here. I've run away from home."

Walter blanched. "Tell Lord Cuthburt? After what I did to you? My God! Why did you let me? I came into that bed and thought you were Daisy, why didn't you scream out, or say something? How was I to know?"

"I did not want to let on," Constance said. "I was afraid that if I was found out, Lord Cuthburt would force me to return to Veradoga, to my brother."

If anything, he blanched further. "Your brother, who nigh slew his best friend in a duel for attempting to take liberties with you, if his lordship is to be believed. And I... I took... such liberties... why? Why, Constance deGranville? You let me ruin you!"

"I thought you'd mistake me for Daisy and no one would ever know."

"I did mistake you for Daisy. I swear, I never would have... would have..."

"Am I so unappealing?"

He stared at her, shocked. "What?"

"I am sorry." Constance was shocked herself, that she'd said such a thing. 

"It's I who should apologize. I ruined you. A noblewoman and a..." he trailed off, and new suspicion came into his eyes. "But you were no virgin, I'd stake my life on it. The way you... welcomed me. The way you moved. And you spent, too, I'm sure of it."

"Yes," Constance breathed, and trembled. "Yes, Walter, I did, it was lovely. You were so kind, so gentle. I'd seen you through cracks in the wall. I knew who you were, how handsome, how charming. It's so wicked, but once I sure of what you meant to do, I wanted you to do it."

Walter reeled back and leaned against the wall. He scrubbed his palms up the sides of his face. "You wanted it?"

"I liked it."

"Not Daisy," he said, as if to himself. "Not Daisy at all."

"I know it was wrong," Constance said. "You never meant to do her false."

"I thought that she was finally ready. She'd never been like that before. Always, there'd been a withholding, a sense that she was keeping herself from me, not letting herself enjoy what we shared. She wouldn't let me... finish in her, for fear that –" He hitched in a sudden, alarmed breath. 

"You did not get me with child, Walter," Constance said. "I've, well, been given a tonic to prevent conception."

His fingers combed, then curled into fists, in his hair. "How is any of this possible? What are you doing here, and why? What are we to do?"

"I ran away from home to escape my brother. He fought Enrique, yes, but because he wanted to keep me all to himself. He gave me the tonic. He took my maidenhead. But promise me you'll not tell a soul. It would destroy my family to learn of it. Please, Walter."

"What of Daisy? I said I'd always be true to her and now look what I've done. That I believed you to be her will not matter. She'll never forgive me."

Constance warred with herself. At last, she took Walter's hands in hers and looked at him solemnly. "She has not given you the same courtesy, I fear. I learned that she has other lovers."

"Other lovers? No!"

She couldn't bring herself to confess to her visit from Lord Cuthburt. Instead, she showed him the necklace and told him what she'd intended to tell Daisy, how it had been left under the door.

"That is not from me," he said in a hopeless tone. 

"There is more, and I tell you only because I feel badly for having tricked you. I do not want to see you tricked further. I heard she and Greta talking. Daisy is already pregnant, and means to marry you."

Neither could she tell him that this very minute, Daisy was in Greta's bed. She had done more than enough, and the hurt in his eyes was terrible. 

"Who are these other lovers?" he asked. 

"I do not know."

"No, you do. I hear it in your voice. You know." He squeezed her hands. "Tell me."

"I believe one is... Lord Cuthburt himself. I believe he left the necklace."

"Damn him! Damn them both! Have I not pledged to give her the best life that I could? Have I not saved up my wages for more than a year? Have I not loved her as much as any man could love a woman? She thanks me by rutting behind my back, and with a fat old man who could be her grandfather?"

"Walter, I am so very sorry."

"Why would she do this? Am I not man enough for her?"

She couldn't help smiling wryly. "Perhaps you are too much man for her."

Walter let go of her at once, as if she burned him. "Forgive me. Here I stand and bewail my fate when I should be making my apologies to you. It was inexcusable of me."

"I do not hold you to blame."

"You should. A stranger comes creeping into your bed and fucks you against your will?" He said it bitterly, and full of self-loathing. 

"It was not so much against my will," Constance said. "I could have stopped you. Nor was it fucking, really."

Her use of the word made him jump with surprise. "What? It wasn't?"

"You made love to me," Constance said. "No one had ever truly made love to me before, and it was wonderful. I felt safe and loved and cared for in your arms, even if called by the wrong name. In all honesty, it is I who should be apologizing to you, for taking such advantage of your love for Daisy."

Perhaps it was because of what she'd been planning to do once she was alone in the room, perhaps it was because she wanted to wipe the pain from his eyes, but whatever the reason, Constance stepped up to Walter and put her arms around him. 

"You made me feel so beautiful," she whispered, and kissed him. 

He did not respond immediately and she was about to move back and release him. Then he returned the kiss, and embraced her so that her lush body was held tight against his. When their lips parted, he looked gravely down into her eyes. 

"You are beautiful," he said. "Any man should want to make love to you."

"Even you? Even now?"

"God, yes," he said. 

"Yes, I think so," Constance said, and moved her lower body to brush against the hardness she felt. 

His hands closed on her upper arms and he set her away from him, turning so her back was to the wall. "Constance... what are you doing? We cannot."

"Because of Daisy?"

"Not because of her; she's taken me for a fool."

"Then why not? Why not make love to me again, Walter, this time by my right name?"

"But I... but you... how can you forgive what I did to you?"

"I already told you that I hold you blameless in that, if you can forgive me for deceiving you."

"I can and do, now that you've explained it to me. Are you doing this that I'll keep your secrets?"

"No. I want you to make love to me, that's all. Will you?"

He studied her for such a long time that she was sure he was about to refuse, and leave. Part of her was amazed by her boldness. What kind of a wanton had she become? Most of her was quivering with anticipation, wanting him so much that she ached. 

"Here?" he asked. 

"Right here."

By way of answer, he reached out and began undressing her. Constance helped with hasty fingers that fumbled over her laces. Piece by piece her clothing was stripped away until she stood by the wall entirely nude. Walter, who had gone to his knees to remove her stockings and undergarments, sat back on his heels and regarded her with evident awe. He touched her hip, the side of her breast, the taut point of her nipple. 

Constance leaned against the wall with her head back, sighing in pleasure as Walter's hands explored her body. He caressed every part of her, from her face to her toes. Her skin tingled under his touch. 

Kneeling again, he petted her golden mound and pushed his nose into the crisp fluff of hair. The pressure of his hands urged her to stand with her feet slightly apart. He rained kisses down there, stroked her velvety furrow, opened her nether lips with his thumbs and tenderly delved into her with his tongue. 

It was all Constance could do to keep her balance. She rested her hands on his head, moaning in delight. The wooden wall was rough against her back and buttocks, and somehow the contrast with Walter's slow, soft kisses only heightened the sensation. 

He continued until she was gasping, until her cunny was drenched with her juices and desperate to be filled. The urgency had descended upon him, too, and he was quick to undo his breeches. His cock sprang forth and Constance grasped it eagerly, rubbing her thumb over the ruby-red tip. 

Walter lifted her against the wall. She raised her legs, clasping his hips with her thighs. He settled her so that he was at the very gateway, and looked inquiringly into her eyes one last time to be sure that she wanted this. 

Constance kissed him. As their lips met, he lowered her and pushed, his smooth hard shaft filling her so completely that she cried out, low and ecstatic, against his mouth. It was delicious and slow, the rhythm that they set, and still the rough wall on her back only made the lovemaking all the gentler by contrast. 

"Oh, yes, Constance, yes," he murmured, and her name rang so sweetly in her ears. "Such beauty, such passion, oh, the feel of you is like warm silk."

"Mmm, so good, Walter, it feels so good."

His lips were on her throat, on her breasts. She held him close, liking the way his clothes felt against her skin, rocking her hips, rising and falling to meet him. They soon were unable to go slowly, their need demanding more. Walter thrust faster, more forcefully. 

"I'm close," he warned. 

"Yes, yes, so am I, oh, Walter."

"Can I --?"

"Come in me, yes, do... I'm almost... I'm... oh! Oh, now, yes, I'm spending now," she whispered. 

He spent with her, their low voices mingling into a shared cry of satisfaction. He leaned against her, pressing her body into the wall without a word of complaint from Constance. She clung to him, her breathing gradually resuming a more normal rate. 

All at once, the precariousness not only of their position but of their situation seemed to dawn on them both simultaneously. Constance remembered how she'd opened the door on Greta and Daisy, and looked toward it half-expecting to find accusing onlookers standing there. The door was still closed, but through the wall she could hear the crew going about their duties. The thought that they might have been overheard quelled the last of her passion. 

Walter withdrew from her and set her down to adjust his breeches. He gave her a final, thorough kiss before tiptoeing to the door and opening it just enough to peek out. The kitchen, luckily, was still abandoned. She wondered if she should send him to see for himself what Daisy was doing, and decided against it.




The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 09



"Constance... thank you."

She smiled, and then he was gone. With the door closed again, she gathered up her garments and began dressing. 





The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 10



The day was hot and calm, the sea like a mirror. Constance dozed on the narrow cot, her skin beaded with perspiration. A lethargy held sway on board the Ricarda. The crewmen were cross and out of sorts, uninterested in doing their work. The officers bickered among themselves. In the galley, Greta and Daisy were snapping irritably at one another as they went about preparing the evening meal. 

Constance was dimly aware of this, hearing it without paying any of it much heed. She couldn't fully sleep for the discomfort of the heat, nor could she rouse herself to move. If there had been a breath of wind, she would have risked much to go above deck and feel its cooling kiss, but the sails hung slack in the motionless air. 

Only with the coming of the evening did the temperature drop and a brisk breeze arise. It was like a revitalizing serum to the Ricarda. Constance left Daisy's tiny room in search of a washrag and clean water.

The other two women were setting the places on the long table. Constance could hear Daisy fretting. 

"He's hardly been himself these past few days," she said. "The way he looks at me … do you think he knows about us?"

"I can't see how he would," Greta said. 

"Well, he knows something, or suspects," Daisy said. 

She was not wearing the necklace, which Constance had given to her two days before along with the made-up tale of how it had been anonymously put under the door one night. The look on her face had been one of immediate guilt, which Constance affected not to notice. 

The burden of the secrets, though, was becoming too much to bear. Walter had not dared visit Constance again, and neither had Lord Cuthburt, but she knew that any night it might all be bound to change. 

She pretended as if she had not been listening to Daisy and Greta, yawning like one freshly awakened. There was a barrel of fresh water in the corner with a dipper hung over its side. Constance dunked the dipper, used it to soak a cloth, and wiped her face. She wrung the cloth so that the water ran in a stream down her neck and into her bodice, and suddenly realized that Greta was watching her avidly. There was something in that calculatingly shrewd gaze that made her know what was about to happen even before Greta spoke. 

"Daisy's been feeling very poorly," Greta said. "I hate to discommode you, my lady, but it might be better for her health if she had a bed to herself for a night or three. Mine has more than room enough if you're willing." Neither did Constance miss Daisy's look, which was at once relieved, sympathetic, and smugly satisfied. It was as if she could read the other girl's very thoughts. The notion of Constance waking to find Greta's hands all over her somehow appealed to Daisy. 

Yet how could she refuse? One word from Greta would make everything known to Lord Cuthburt. She could not let him find out she was a stowaway, and she most certainly could not let him find out that she had been the one in Daisy's bed when he had come to her in the darkness and told her to call him Uncle. 

"That would be fine," Constance said. "I am most grateful to you both for helping me, and maintaining my secrecy."

Would Greta dare to touch her? The cook's every remark and gesture toward Constance thus far had shown deference to her rank as a governor's daughter of good breeding. It might become a different matter when they were hip to hip and shoulder to shoulder in the same bed. 

She should have been horrified at the thought but a definite curiosity nibbled at the corners of her mind. Greta was a good many years her senior, but her short figure was nonetheless trim. And having seen her with Daisy, Constance knew that Greta was quite adept at bringing even a reluctant woman's body to pleasure. 

Surely not, though. Surely Greta would not attempt such a thing with Constance. 

As the two of them left to serve the crew, Constance moved her bag of belongings into Greta's room. She eyed the bed. It was far wider than the cot she'd been sleeping on, with a better mattress and better blankets. 

Constance ate a hurried dinner and peeked out at the lively conversation going on among the crew. She saw Walter, his auburn hair gleaming under the lantern light, and a sharp pang of envy went through her as she imagined him attempting to visit her, only to find Daisy back in her own bed. 

He'd make love to Daisy, of course, for how else would he explain his presence there? It would be Daisy to feel his hardness thrusting into her cunny, Daisy to have his mouth on her breasts. While Constance might or might not be fending off the advances of Greta. 

She did not know what she would do if Greta did try to caress her. As far as anyone else knew, with the exception of Walter – and Rob, Enrique, and poor Nana Eva – she was a sheltered virgin. Would that matter to Greta? Or would she seek to convince Constance that there was no harm in a bit of girlplay, so long as no cocks were involved? 

A new thought struck her. If Greta did try, and Constance did allow it, could the cook tell by touch that Constance's maidenhead was gone?

The bell clanged for the changing of the watch. Full darkness had fallen. The majority of the crew sought their hammocks, or makeshift beds in enormous coils of rope. Lord Cuthburt, his face ruddy from wine, wished all a good rest and headed off for his cabin. 

Daisy sent an appealing, inviting look Walter's way. She maneuvered to get close enough to him to whisper. Constance knew just what it must be. Again, she suffered that envious pang. Walter seemed thoughtful, and then he nodded. 

Greta returned with a sprightly step, humming to herself. "Well, now, we should to bed. I'll have to rise early, you know."

"Yes, of course," Constance said. She undressed down to her chemise, feeling Greta's eyes on her all the while. 

"Such a beautiful girl," Greta commented. "If it's no imposition to say so."

"I hardly know about that," Constance said. "A quick wash here and there … I'm dying for a proper bath. My hair is filthy."

"Nonsense. It's lovely. But if you'd like, I have something that can fix it up right smart."

"You do? What is it?"

"A powder." She fetched a tin from her dressing table. "It sprinkles into the hair, soaks up the dirt and oil, and then brushes away to leave it shining and clean. I use it all the time on long voyages. See?" 

Greta's hair was up in a braided bun. She undid it and fanned it out, letting it fall midway down her back. It was dark, salted with grey, but Constance could see that it was indeed far cleaner than her own. 

"I do see," she said. 

"I could brush it through your hair, if you'd like."

There was more lurking beneath that innocent-sounding offer, but at the moment Constance was so captivated by the prospect of having clean hair that she barely gave it a second thought. She nodded vigorously, and at Greta's direction, sat down in front of the dressing table and unpinned her hair. 

"Tsk," Greta said. "I should have said something before. Just look at these glorious blond locks."

She shook powder from the tin. It sifted onto Constance's hair, dusting it white. Greta worked it in with her hands, massaging close to the scalp to get the powder entirely through the long golden strands. It felt good, and Constance allowed her eyes to slip half-shut. She did not object when Greta's hands moved down to rub her neck, and shoulders. "We'll let it soak in for a little while." The cook's voice had grown husky.

Constance opened one eye a fraction and through the fringe of her eyelashes, saw Greta's reflection in the polished disk of metal that served as a mirror. Greta's expression was one of ill-concealed arousal. Constance heard her breathing quicken. When Greta leaned forward to reach the brush from the dressing table, her small breasts pushed against Constance's back and she felt stiff little nipples through the layers of cloth that separated them. 

"Do you have a particular young man you fancy?" Greta asked as she began to draw the brush through Constance's hair in long, smooth strokes. 

Walter's visage flashed in her mind. "Back home? No, not as such."

"Why, that is a shame. I'd think they'd be swarming around you like honeybees to a flower. What about this fellow your brother wanted you to marry?"

Enrique. Constance shuddered. She had known him for as long as she could remember, but in recent years he'd begun to ogle her with a lust she now understood all too well. 

If not for him, she might not even be in this predicament. It had been his insistence for a kiss that had led to Rob's pronouncement that her duty as hostess included seeing to the needs of their guests. He'd made her suck Enrique's cock then, and ensured her cooperation by licking her cunny, promising to stop when she'd successfully made Enrique spend. But then Rob, his own lust inflamed, proceeded to rub his naked cock against her until she was brought to a shameful climax, whereupon he decreed that she had made a harmless game into vile incest, and promptly commenced to fuck her. 

Yes, if not for Enrique, none of this might have happened. She would have liked to think so, at any rate. But knowing her brother as she now did, she supposed it would have only been a matter of time until Rob found one way or another to get at her. 

Greta was still brushing, waiting for an answer. Constance shook off those memories. 

"I did not want to marry him," she said. "I did not love him."

"Love often has little to do with marriage among the upper class, so I'm told," Greta said philosophically. "Was he handsome?"

"Yes, I suppose he was."

"Did he court you?"

Constance suppressed a rueful laugh. Court her? He had kissed her bruisingly, stuck his cock in her mouth on more than one occasion, pleaded with her brother for access to her cunny, fingered her to climax under Rob's permissive eye, taken her nursemaid in front of her, and then finally become so desperately impassioned that he'd started a fire to distract the house while he surprised her in her room where he first tongued her, then fucked her. If that counted as courting …

"No," she said. 

"Have you ever kissed a young man?"

She knew where this path would lead, could see it as plainly as if it had been written in letters of fire. Perhaps she would not have understood where Greta was leading a month ago, even a week, but the girl who'd waved farewell to her father's ship from the terrace might have been a Constance of some much earlier age. 

And it would do no good to lie. Her rosy blush was already betraying her. Greta, seeing this, laughed.

"Well …" Constance said. 

"Your secret's safe with me," Greta said. "There, now … how's that?"

The powder had worked wonders. Her hair was rich and full again, and she ran her hands through it reveling in the silken feel. 

"Splendid," she said. "Thank you."

"My, but you're a pretty one. I shouldn't wonder that you'd been kissed before. Did you like it?"

She had when Walter had done it, but she could not very well say that. All at once, she thought of Daisy. Was he with her yet? It was too early, it had to be. He'd wait until the wee hours of the morning when there was less risk of being caught. 

Again, her blush told more than her words. Greta smiled wisely.

"What else did you let him do?"

"Nothing!" she denied, too vehemently. 

"No?" Greta's smile was still there, had grown bolder. "You've never let a man put his hands here?"

She trailed her fingers from Constance's shoulder to her breast, stroking the firm swell just above the lacy frill of the chemise's neckline. Constance gasped. 

"It's all right," Greta breathed. "No harm done, you see? No harm done at all."

Her fingers moved lower, barely more than a feather's touch, toward the spot where the fine fabric peaked over the taut nipple. Greta abruptly bent and gave Constance a wet, open-mouthed kiss. Her tongue plunged into Constance's mouth with urgent prodding thrusts, and now both of the woman's hands were on her breasts, tweaking her nipples, tugging at them. 

Constance pushed her away. "What are you doing?"

"I'm not hurting you. I only want to make you feel good. Here, isn't that nice? What ripe bubbies you have."

"Greta, stop."

"We'll make it fair." She took Constance's hand and guided it to her bosom. "Go on, touch me, and you'll see there's nothing wrong about it."

Indecision battled in Constance. Part of her did want to touch Greta, to feel another woman's curves and find out what a female lover would be like compared to a man. But the rest of her was confused and hesitant, and it was this latter part which won out. She broke away from Greta and backed toward the door, shaking her head. 

"Oh, dear," Greta said. "I am sorry … I shouldn't have rushed you so. Let us to bed and forget about it."

"To bed, and what then? Do you think to do with me what I saw you do with Daisy?" It leapt out impulsively and there was no calling the words back. 

Greta went white, and then scarlet. "I don't know what you mean."

"I saw you a few nights ago," Constance said. 

"Well, what if you did see? What of it? She enjoyed herself, the little tart."

Constance picked up her gown and lowered it over her head. "I need a breath of air." She buttoned and laced herself back into her clothes. 

"Where do you think you're going? If you're found, they'll know you to be a stowaway."

"And if I stay, what will happen to me?"

"Nothing you don't want to happen."

"I find that hard to believe." She opened the door onto the kitchen. 

The cook came after her, heedless of her own state of undress. "Wait, please, wait … I meant nothing by it. I was not trying to harm you in any way."

They both fell silent at what they could hear, low but distinct, from behind the door to the tiny alcove-room where Daisy slept. Stifled moans and cries, and a steady creaking. Greta's red face darkened toward purple. Constance donned a wide-eyed look, trying to mask the jealousy she felt. 

Just then, the outer door opened and a man came quietly in with a lantern. He stopped short as he saw the fully-clothed Constance and the chemise-clad Greta standing by Daisy's room. 

Walter. 

Constance had an inner sense of a fragile structure, a house of cards perhaps, trembling on the point of catastrophic collapse. If Walter was out here, it must be Lord Cuthburt in Daisy's bed. 

He looked at the door. The sounds coming from behind it were nearing a crescendo, the creaking more rapid. Greta seemed stunned, unsure of what to do. It gave Walter a precious moment to dissemble and stare quizzically at Constance, the very picture of a man who wanted to ask who the devil she was but had more important matters to attend to. He strode across the kitchen with the lantern in his fist, and flung open the door to Daisy's room. 

The light fell across the narrow bed and the two bodies. A man was on top of Daisy, his hips pumping as he drove into her. His head whipped around as the light banished the pitch-darkness of the room, but he was too near his climax to stop and could only keep fucking. 

It was not Lord Cuthburt, but the bosun, a swarthy man with blue and red tattoos all up and down his arms. He had Daisy's knees hooked over his elbows and her bottom lifted. The trio in the doorway could clearly see his thick cock slamming in and out. 

Daisy, pinned beneath him, peered out from beneath his arm and screamed to see Walter there. She looked up at the man atop her and screamed again. 

The bosun's back arched. His buttocks flexed one final time, impaling Daisy to the hilt. Constance couldn't tear her eyes away. She was helplessly fascinated by the scene for all she knew it meant disaster. The bosun uttered a glottal cry as he came. 

The girl's screams had alerted the officer o' the watch, and alarms were being raised all over the ship. At any moment, half the crew would storm in to see what was the matter. 

"Get off me, get off me, you bastard!" Daisy shrieked, slapping at the bosun. 

He obliged, his cock leaving her cunny with a wet sucking sound. He was still partially erect. Pearly trails of semen leaked from Daisy. She scrambled to her feet and clutched the blanket around her nudity. 

"Bosun Guthrie," Walter said in a cold, deadly tone. "What have you to say for yourself?"

"Walter, Walter, listen to me," Daisy said, hurrying to him. "It isn't what you think."

"Isn't what I think?" he echoed. "Do you mean to tell me you weren't fucking him?"

"I was … but I didn't know it was him. I thought it was you!"

Constance's eyebrows went up. She and Greta, their own quarrel temporarily forgotten in the light of this new development, exchanged a glance. The bosun stood there, naked but unbowed, his jaw set in a line that said he was ready to face his fate. 

"You thought Bosun Guthrie was me? And I'm to believe that."

"He came to my room … it was dark … he got into my bed …" Daisy's chest hitched. "He pretended he was you so I would let him …"

"A likely story," Walter said curtly. "A likely story indeed. I've suspected for some time that you had another lover, Daisy."

"You did? No! I mean, I haven't!"

Hurrying footfalls heralded the arrival of various members of the crew. Walter snapped a glare at the bosun. "Cover yourself, man! I'll deal with you later."

Guthrie grabbed for his breeches. As he pulled them on, Constance saw a quick grin, there and then gone, flash across his face. 

"What's the trouble down here?" demanded the officer o' the watch. He spied Greta in her chemise, Daisy in a blanket, the half-dressed bosun, and Constance, and floundered. "Who … what's this? What is this?"

"We seem to have picked up a stowaway," Walter said with a jerk of his head at Constance. "As for the rest of this bloody mess, leave it to me."

"Who are you, miss?" The officer o' the watch, a rugged old salt of perhaps forty, frowned at her. "What are you doing here?"

It was no use dissembling. "I am Constance deGranville. My father is a friend of Lord Cuthburt. I've been hiding on your ship since Veradoga, and your kind cook has very generously been helping me."

"Greta?" the officer asked. "Is this true?"

"Yes, Mister Hollister," Greta said. 

His gaze dropped to the sheer chemise. He coughed and cleared his throat. "Ahem … you might want to …"

The stairwell and other door into the kitchen were crammed with sailors. Greta made a futile effort to cover herself, then spun and fled into her room. A few whistles and a bit of ribald laughter followed her, but most of the crew were quickly quelled by a hard glare from the officer o' the watch. 

"Good gracious, what on earth …?" Lord Cuthburt shoved through the crowd, puffing and absurd in a long striped nightshirt and matching cap. His mouth flopped open when he saw Constance. 

She curtseyed as gracefully as the situation allowed. "Good evening, Lord Cuthburt."

"Constance? Constance deGranville? My word! What are you doing here?"

"The young lady appears to have stowed away, sir," the officer o' the watch reported. "She says that Greta has been helping her to hide out ever since Veradoga."

"Is this true?" Lord Cuthburt asked Constance. 

She nodded, privately thinking how like a toad he looked with his spindly legs sticking out from beneath the hem of his nightshirt, the front of which bowed out over his pendulous belly. She thought of him calling her by his niece's name as he poked at her with his insignificant cock, spending almost the very instant he got it inside. 

"Why, my dear girl … this is most irregular! What your father would say! And your poor brother. He must be climbing the very walls with worry over you."

Climbing the walls, perhaps, but knowing Rob it was more in anger than in worry. He would be furious when he saw her again. That she had dared first to let Enrique fuck her, that she had urged him on and enjoyed it … and then that she'd had the temerity to run away! 




The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 10



Walter had closed the door to Daisy's room, and the sounds of his voice raised in accusation and hers in tearful protest could still plainly be heard. Bosun Guthrie, with his shirt in his hands, slunk past and up the stairs. He earned many a sly look from the other sailors as he went, and more than a few socked him on the upper arm as if in congratulations. A few, though, regarded him as one might regard a man whose warrant of execution had just been signed and delivered. 

"I'm frightfully sorry, Lord Cuthburt," Constance said. "I know it was a foolish thing to do, but I had to leave Veradoga. My brother was trying to arrange a marriage for me against my will."

"But to stow away on a ship! My word!" He bustled toward her, all paternal concern. She found it hard to reconcile this fussy, benign man with the one who'd wanted to play that he was molesting his niece. "This will not do, my dear, this will not do at all."

"Please, Lord Cuthburt, do not take me back to Veradoga." "What I meant was that it won't do at all to have you staying in the ship's galley. Especially with these sorts of goings-on." He turned to the officer o' the watch, and the bleary-eyed captain who was now beside him. "I'm quite surprised at Mr. Smythe, Mr. Guthrie, and Miss Fitzworth, Captain Whittington."

"Yes, sir," the captain said. 

"See to it that you get to the bottom of this. In the meanwhile, Miss deGranville is going to need more suitable accommodations."

So it was that, in a flurry and bustle of activity, Constance found herself in the cabin of the ship's navigator, while he in turn moved into the bosun's quarters and the bosun, disciplined, was relegated to a hammock among the rest of the crew. Captain Whittington's wife, Lisabeth, took charge of her. 

The next morning, after a restful sleep, Constance was properly bathed courtesy of the captain's own clawfoot tub, and attired in a simple dress of dark blue that Lisabeth Whittington had been about to discard for being too small. The captain's wife was a large and statuesque woman, more solidly built than was fashionable. But she had a genial disposition and treated Constance like a high-ranking passenger and not a stowaway who'd fled her own family. The dress was loose on Constance even laced as tight as could be, and the hem bunched around her feet, but she welcomed it. 

She paid close attention to the gossip of the crew over the next two days. No mention ever reached her ears of her own presence in Daisy's room for the first several nights of her time aboard the Ricarda. 

Walter had broken his engagement with Daisy, and her tearful plea of being with child fell on an unforgiving heart – how, he asked, was he to know that the babe was his? He had always been careful, at her insistence, not to spend inside her. While as had been blatantly clear to the witnesses, Bosun Guthrie had not been so careful. 

Lord Cuthburt never spoke up as regards that matter. He never made the slightest sign of impropriety toward Constance. She did not think that he could present such a blameless façade if he had known what had truly taken place that night when he believed himself to be paying a visit to Daisy. 

As for Greta, it became the chief topic of conversation when she and the officer o' the watch were caught embracing in the kitchen one evening. 

Constance could not approach Walter. She dined with Lord Cuthburt, the captain, and the officers at supper, and it was almost a sort of torture to sit across the table from him, making polite conversation, while the memory of their encounters burned in her mind. She felt sorry a time or two for Daisy, but always reminded herself that Daisy had been the one to play Walter false. What was most interesting was that Walter and Bosun Guthrie never came to duels, or blows, or even harsh words after that initial confrontation. Many of the crew supposed that it was because both had received a severe lecture from Captain Whittington and were under orders to let the matter drop … but more and more it began to seem to Constance that the entire affair had been orchestrated. That Walter had given Daisy back some of her own by putting Guthrie up to it, thereby also giving him convenient reason to rescind his offer of marriage. 

As for Daisy, it was perhaps no great surprise that she left the Ricarda at the next port of call. Lord Cuthburt was on good terms with the governor of this island as well and was able to secure her a spot on the household staff. A noble gesture, many said.

The governor had seen Constance's father not long in the past. He offered to take her in as a guest to await his return, but as Lord Cuthburt had no objections, Constance chose to stay on with the Ricarda in hopes of catching up with her father. She was frankly afraid that word would get back to Rob and he would come find her first. 

They set sail again after three days. Constance had accepted when Lord Cuthburt insisted on sending her shopping with Lisabeth Whittington, that she might have a trunk full of clothes more fitting to her station. He did not want to deliver her to her father in a cast-off dress, perish the thought. 

She relished finally being able to go openly on the deck. The sea air was as refreshing as she had hoped it would be, the panorama of the vivid blue Caribbean waters and the lush profusion of islands as dazzling to the eye. The sailors were unfailingly polite and answered her many questions about the ship and their travels, and when the sea-shanties were sung, she quickly learned the songs and joined in. 

Her worst hardship was seeing Walter all through the day, dining with him, and then returning alone to her empty bed. Time and again, she resorted to pleasuring herself with her hands while thinking of him, wishing he were there with her. 

While those sessions never failed to bring her to climax, she was always left feeling unfulfilled. It wasn't enough. She needed a man, wanted a man, craved one with every nerve and fiber of her being. 

And then, when they were four days out of port and passing through a stretch of uninhabited islands, the lookout sighted a ship on the horizon. 

A ship flying the flag of the Black Falcon. 

***

Continued in Chapter Eleven



The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 11



The Falcon fired a cannon blast, a single warning shot. It was apparent even to Constance that the Ricarda had no hopes of outrunning the other vessel. Whittington gave the order to come about, and surrender.

"On your head be it," Cuthburt said to the captain, glowering darkly. 

The two of them had been arguing bitterly since the sighting of the pirate flag. Lord Cuthburt wished to fight. Captain Whittington said that those who resisted the pirates were treated in the most barbaric fashion. By yielding, he hoped to spare the lives of his crew. As for the women, Whittington claimed that the pirates had their own curious brand of honor. 

Constance hoped he was right. Although this was the very fantasy that had lived in her girlish daydreams, she found that she had no desire to see it carried out now that it was upon her. 

The pirate ship came up alongside. Its rails were lined with men who bristled with cutlasses and guns. They were hooting and cheering and shouting, waving knives. Some threw lines and secured the two ships together, side to side. Then the pirates swarmed onto the deck of the Ricarda. 

"Stand as you are," Whittington told his men. "No bloodshed."

Laughing pirates surrounded the crew. A few men were shoved, knocked to the deck planking, but it was more in a spirit of rough good fun than malice. Lord Cuthburt put an arm around Constance. 

"Fear not, my dear," he said. "I shall not let them touch you."

She did not know what to say, but it was just as well for speech failed her in the next instant. She saw the man, the pirate, the very image from her dreams. 

He was tall and well-muscled, in scarlet breeches and a loose white shirt. His straight teeth were startlingly white in his bronzed face, his long hair was jet-black. Vivid green eyes avidly took in the scene, and lingered boldly when they happened to fall upon her. 

Constance averted her gaze, feeling roses bloom in her cheeks. Her fear was still present but a sneaking desire was slowly growing in her nonetheless. She clung to Lord Cuthburt, breathless. 

The pirates were busily looting the Ricarda. Some had sacks and were shaking them in front of their captives, demanding that money and jewelry be dumped within. Others were raiding the galley and stores, making off with rum, sugar, grain, cloth, tools, and other provisions. 

The black-haired man approached Captain Whittington, grinning. "Thank you for your cooperation, sir," he said, with the barest hint of a French accent. "You have a fine ship here. I would have hated to scuttle her."

"You have what you came for, Merlion," Whittington said. "I pray you, allow us to continue on our way."

"Is this your lady wife?" Merlion kissed Lisabeth's hand. "A pleasure, madam. Please forgive us this intrusion. You and your servant-girls are in no danger from us."

A short pirate with sun-bleached hair stopped before Lord Cuthburt and held the open mouth of a sack at him. "Pay up, squire, lighten that fat purse."

Cuthburt blustered, but quickly stuffed his valuables into the sack. "There, have it, just leave us in peace."

"An' who's this? Yer daughter?" The short pirate ogled Constance. He had squinted hazel eyes and a scar that hooked up from the corner of his mouth. "Got any jewels, darlin'?"

She had only brought a little money and a few pieces of jewelry when she fled Veradoga. Now she dropped them into the sack, not letting herself wonder how she'd possibly make her way in the world with no money. 

"Good, good," the pirate said. "How about a kiss?"

Constance turned her head away and shut her eyes. She heard Walter utter an angry oath. 

"Oh, now, there's no need of that!" Lord Cuthburt said. "You've robbed us, isn't that enough?"

"Just one kiss is all I want. Ye c'n look away if it offends yer sensibilities."

"Please, sir," Constance said. "Do not."

"Oh-ho-ho, the girlie's shy!" he chortled. "I'll soon cure ye of that." 

He curled his fingers into the neckline of her dress and yanked her toward him. His lips clamped over hers, his tongue poking rudely into her mouth. He cupped a breast, squeezed hard. 

She pushed him away and slapped with all her might. Her palm cracked smartly against his cheek. The short blond man touched his cheek and looked at her with mean, narrow cruelty. 

"Ye'll pay for that, me fine girlie."

"Leave her be!" Lord Cuthburt said.

"And who's t' make me?" 

The pirate seized Constance and flung her to the deck. She screamed, but it turned into a gusty cough as he leapt atop her and drove out her breath. His coarse hands were under her skirt, pawing at her thighs. She hitched in a breath and screamed again. 

A gunshot split the air. Constance knew a moment's horror when she was sure someone must have been shot, and her innards turned cold and watery. 

"Here, belay that," Merlion said. "Adam, what's this?"

The blond pirate, sprawled half atop Constance, scowled guiltily. "Michel –"

"On your feet, man."

He grudgingly obeyed. Constance rearranged her garments, her face flaming with the knowledge that half the ship had been afforded a view of her legs clear to the waist; only her silken pantaloons had shielded her nudity. 

"I was after a kiss, an' the wench slapped me," Adam grumbled. 

Merlion was standing over Constance, one dark brow raised speculatively. He held a smoking pistol at his side, but must have fired into the air because no one seemed to be hurt. "My, my. I can see how you were tempted, my good fellow."

"Sir," said Lisabeth, "you did promise me that we women would go unmolested."

"As I recall, my precise words referenced you and your servant-girls," Merlion said. "I was not then aware that we had a noble lady on board. Who is she?" 

"The daughter of a good friend," Lord Cuthburt said as he helped Constance stand and set her behind him. 

"This friend, I take it, is a wealthy man?"

"A governor, in good stead with the Crown."

"And this lovely young miss … is she a virgin?" He inquired it casually, with a slanting smile. 

Constance gasped.

"I say!" Cuthburt roared. "Have you any idea about whom you're speaking? This is the only daughter of Lord William deGranville! A fine and proper lady. Her virtue is beyond reproach."

It was all Constance could do to keep her emotions from showing. Virtue? If Lord Cuthburt knew but the half of it! To have him here, vehemently defending her chastity when he himself had unwittingly fucked her once … under other circumstances, it might have been funny.

The utterance of her family name made Merlion regard her with renewed interest. A slow, sly smile curved his mouth. "William deGranville, the governor of Veradoga? I'm sure he would pay highly for the safe return of his precious daughter."

Cuthburt sputtered. "Now … now just you … now, see here! This is an innocent girl! Have you no decency?"

"No one shall harm her," Merlion said. "We're not novices at this, my lord. We know that the ransom we receive would be less if she were ruined. Profit is what we're after." His green eyes mocked Constance as he spoke. "Personally, I'd rather have a skilled whore than an unschooled virgin any day."

Walter's expression was agonized. Constance knew that he must be in a quandary, on the one hand wanting to act in her defense, on the other knowing that to do so would be to bring questions as to how well the first mate happened to know her. If Merlion learned that she was not, as he believed, a virgin, he might decide that she was worth more in other ways. 

While the thought of being carried off by the handsome black-haired pirate did fill her with a shameful thrill, she quailed at the prospect of being turned over to the crew at large. Adam, sulking and nursing his slapped cheek, sent stormy glares her way. He'd probably like nothing better than to punish her, hurt her. Perhaps he'd want to go up her bottom as Rob had done. The very thought made her stomach churn and her backside ache with remembered pain. 

"We've loaded up a good haul, Michel," another of the Falcon's crew reported.

"Well done," Merlion said. He addressed Lord Cuthburt. "You, my lord, are to bear a message. Go to Lord deGranville and tell him that the ransom shall be a thousand pounds, and must be delivered to the fortress at Falcon Bay within the month if he ever wishes to see his daughter again. Miss deGranville, you're coming with me."

Doing her best to warn Walter against any rash actions by the silent appeal of her eyes, Constance took the pirate's proffered arm and let him lead her to the rail. He lifted her over, set her down on the deck of the Falcon. Walter stayed where he was, fists clenched and body taut, but he did not do anything foolish.

The pirates all crowded close around her, leering and making crude remarks. Merlion waved them away, laughing. 

"Steady, now, lads. She's a guest, not a prize."

The lines securing the ships were cast off, and the Falcon and the Ricarda went their separate ways. Constance watched the other ship dwindle into the distance. She was surrounded by pirates gloating over the goods they'd brought back. They swigged rum, dressed themselves frivolously in clothing, gorged on food, draped themselves in cloth. 

"Well, and what are we to do with you, Miss deGranville?" Merlion stroked the line of her jaw with his forefinger. "Ah, but you are a beauty. What a pity you're a maid, else we'd have a fine time."

She cringed away from his touch. "What do you mean to do with me?"

"My very question. I suppose it's for the captain to decide."

"The … you are not the captain?"

"First Mate Michel Merlion, at your service. Much to the disappointment of my father, Philippe, I grew to be much more capable at carrying out orders than issuing them. My baby brother Jean-Pierre is even more hopeless. So it falls to Jacques to captain us."

He indicated the aftcastle of the ship. Constance went with him apprehensively. 

The cabin was comfortably furnished in gleaming dark wood, polished brass, and dark red fabric. A desk and a bed, both monstrous in mahogany, vied for dominance of the room. 

"Wait here. I'll inform Jacques that we have a guest."

She looked at the bed, looked at Michel. "You gave your word I'd be well-treated."

"So I did."

"But what of your captain? How am I to know your word will be honored?"

"Are you afraid that Jacques might ravish you?" He lowered his voice to an insinuating whisper. "That you might find yourself on your back in that big bed, your pretty wrists and ankles bound to the great mahogany posts, entirely at the captain's mercy? Mon Dieu, but that's a sight I would give a goodly price to see."

"You lied to me. This has been your intention all along!"

"Not at all. Jacques will be greatly interested to know that the daughter of William deGranville is our captive." He dipped his head to her, and left by a different egress than the one through which they'd entered. The heavy door closed behind him. 

Constance hugged herself, rubbing her upper arms. She wondered why it was that the pirate captain hadn't led the attack on the Ricarda. Perhaps Jacques was ugly, terribly scarred, missing an eye or a hand or a limb. Perhaps some grizzled monstrosity was going to appear, stinking of rum and rotted teeth and sour sweat. 

The sounds of the ship were much the same, sailors going about the business of tending sails and lines. They sang sea shanties as they worked, and burst out often in gales of hearty laughter. She went to a porthole in the wall and looked out through the brass-framed ring. They were running with the wind, making good brisk time. 

"So. The cherished daughter of William deGranville is my prisoner."

The voice was a throaty contralto. Constance spun to the door, and gaped at the woman who stood there with hands on her slim hips. 

She was quite a bit taller than Constance, tall enough to look down scornfully from her lofty height. Her body was lean and athletic, with long legs encased in snug breeches. A cap of unruly golden hair framed a face that was both strikingly attractive and hard-edged. Her eyes were a piercing blue, her skin almost as bronzed as that of Michel. A swordbelt girded her hips and flat belly, a cutlass swinging at her side. She wore a necklace of gold and matching hoops in her earlobes. 

"You're a … a woman," Constance stammered. 

"And you are a pampered, spoiled, coddled little girl. I should turn you over to my crew and when they're done with you, throw your battered body to the sharks."

"Wh … what? Why?"

"Constance deGranville. When your father learns what's become of you …" She shook her head, and smiled coldly. 

"Your first mate swore I'd be unharmed," Constance said. 

Michel, lounging in the doorway and observing with a wry glint in his eye, nodded. "That I did, Jacques."

"And you actually believe that pirates will keep their word?" Jacqueline asked. 

"I … well …" 

"Look at you," she said, nose wrinkling. "The perfect genteel lady, never known a day's work or hardship in all your life. All safe and locked away on your sheltered little island with no idea of what the real world is like."

"So what are we to do with her?" Michel asked. 

Jacqueline paced around Constance, who dared not move as the other woman examined her the way one might examine livestock.

"I suppose she is pretty," Jacqueline admitted. "Fat, though."

"Fat!" The outburst startled Constance, but then, so had the insult. 

"All hips and titties and pale, creamy skin."

"Some men like it," Michel said. 

"Do you, Michel? Would you tumble her?"

"Is that a query or an order, mon capitane?" He winked lewdly at Constance. 

"A query," said Jacqueline. "Of course, you'd take a poke at anything with a hole, from what I've heard."

Michel looked wounded. "That's unkind, Jacques, not to mention untrue. But, yes, I'd have a go at her. She's a luscious little piece of pastry."

"Men." Jacqueline rolled her eyes. "And the crew, no doubt, are slavering with anticipation. If I gave the word, they'd line up six deep for their turn."

"So they would. But they also know there's the ransom to think of."

"An excellent point." Jacqueline raked her fingers through her short, wavy hair and blew out a sigh. "We'll hold her, then, until deGranville himself arrives to buy her back. To keep her from proving a distraction to the men, she can share quarters with Jean-Pierre."

"Bon fortune for Jean-Pierre," Michel remarked. "Are you quite confident it'll assure her virtue? He is a Merlion, after all."

"It may show in his features, but hardly in his actions. Pere Philippe tried to make a man of him, you've tried, I've tried, we've paraded wench after wench in front of him and all he does is make the sign of the Cross and then drink himself into oblivion. She'll be as safe with Jean-Pierre as she would in a convent."

"Safer," Michel said. "One hears such things about those nuns."

"And should our devout little priestling falter and be lured into sin," Jacqueline said with a Gallic shrug, "it may well be worth it to lose out on the ransom. Put her in with him, and then set a course for Martinique."

Constance had not ventured to say anything more while these two discussed her fate. She held her tongue, sensing that one more wrong word might lead to Jacqueline carrying out her earlier threat. 

She followed Michel through the door by which he and Jacqueline had come into the cabin. He brought her to a narrow room with portholes looking out to sea and out onto the main deck.

A young man dressed all in simple black was stretched out on one of the two cots. He had a Bible open on his chest and an empty bottle loosely held in one dangling hand. The furniture was plain, almost stark, and the only decoration on the walls was a plain wooden cross. It lent the chamber a monastic feeling. 

"My baby brother, Jean-Pierre," Michel said. "He's much better company when he's sober."

"Why does your sister hate me so?" she asked. 

"You're a lady of privilege and breeding," he said. "We may have been raised with the wealth of a pirate king, but no amount of gold earned under the jolie rouge can buy nobility."

With that, he left and she was alone with Jean-Pierre.

His resemblance to Michel was quite distinct. They had the same black hair, though Jean-Pierre's was cropped short and neatly groomed, and similar features. Jean-Pierre couldn't have been much older than Constance herself, perhaps even the same age. His skin was fairer, less browned by the sun. Dark eyelashes rested sootily against his cheeks. Were his eyes that same vivid green?

A month, they'd said, until her father was to meet them at the fortress of Falcon Bay. She tried not to imagine her father's face upon hearing the very news he must dread most of all. He had never wanted to let her leave Veradoga for fear she'd share her mother's fate. And now, behold … she was. 

She hung a blanket as a curtain around her cot, ate when Michel brought a meal, and sat glumly trying to think her way out of her predicament. 

Jean-Pierre did not stir until the next morning. He woke with a start and a bleary mumble. The bottle rolled clinking into a corner. As he sat up, the Bible slid from his chest and hit the floor with a dull thump. He blinked owlishly at Constance. 

"What's this? Who are you?"

The green eyes. He had them as well, bloodshot and puffy though they were. 

She introduced herself and explained how she'd come to be in his room. He sighed wearily when she had finished. 

"Then I am to be your keeper."

"Until I am ransomed."

Nodding absently, he retrieved his Bible and riffled the pages. 

"Have there been other noblewomen taken prisoner?" she asked.

A shadow passed over his face. "Yes."

"What happened to them? Were they returned to their families?"

"Most of them."

"Untouched?"

His haunted gaze met hers briefly and slid away. "Some."

Jean-Pierre, Constance quickly found, was not muchly given to conversation. He passed his mornings in reading or in prayer, and drank himself to sleep each afternoon, where he'd remain dead to the world for hours on end. He rarely looked at her, not even when they were speaking. Yet in his quiet, odd way, he was good company. 

On her third morning aboard the Falcon, a general cry went up. A ship had been sighted, and the pirates were preparing to attack. No sooner had he heard this than Jean-Pierre went right to his bottles. He drank as if his very life depended on it, and when Constance presumed to ask him, all he would tell her was that if he couldn't stop the attack, at least he did not have to witness it.

Not that there was much to witness from their portholes. Constance could hear the sounds of battle – the other ship had decided to fight back – the cannons booming and pistols cracking, cutlasses clanging, men screaming in mortal pain. She turned at one point to ask Jean-Pierre a question but he was already insensate, flat out on his back with the bottle tilted against his side. 

She heard the triumphant return of the crew, and as the Falcon swung about to leave, saw the burning hulk of a merchantman wallowing in the sea. The merchantman's surviving crew had taken to the longboats and were rowing away, while the pirates amused themselves with cannonshots in their direction. 

From her vantage point, she could see the main deck where the men gathered around a pile of goods. They had captives, as well. Two women, a fairskinned brunette in an expensive gown of apple-green silk, and a chestnut-haired girl in the drab blue-grey of a maidservant. 

"Unhand me, you villain!" the brunette cried, tearing her arm from Michel's grasp. She had a haughty and imperious look. A necklace of silver and jewels graced her slim throat, and she snapped open a lacy fan to wave in front of her face, as if to ward off the smoky stink of gunpowder. "When my family learns of what you've done, they shall not rest until every last one of you hangs from the gallows."




The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 11



"Now, now, Lady Beatrice," Michel said, as the men slapped their thighs and guffawed. "We were kind enough to take you with us when your ship was about to burn to the waterline. Is this the thanks we get?"

"The only thanks you'll get, knave, is a noose 'round your neck."

"And what of you, pretty lass?" Michel asked the other one. "Have you a name?"

"Marie," she said. And she was pretty, with a pert nose and pertly pointed chin, wide-set grey-green eyes, and a dusting of freckles. "I'm Lady Beatrice's maid."

"Tell me, Marie," Michel said in a tone that suggested conspiracy. "Is your mistress a virgin?"

Beatrice shrieked in outrage.

"She …" Marie began.

"Of course I am, what manner of trollop do you take me for?" Beatrice cut in hotly. "The very idea!"

"Tell me the truth, Marie, and you'll be the better for it," Michel said. "I promise you good treatment if you're honest with us."

"I –"

"Don't you speak to this rogue," Beatrice said. "I forbid it."

"So she's a virgin?" Michel asked. 

"I told you that I was!"

"Marie?"

The girl's chin quivered. She looked from Michel, who was holding his cutlass, to her mistress, whose eyes flashed furious sparks. 

"No, she isn't." She said it in a rush, as if the words burst from her against her will.

Beatrice shrieked again. "Why, you lying slut!" Her hand darted out and fetched Marie a hard cuff on the ear that sent her reeling to her knees. 

At Michel's nod, his men rushed in and held the two women apart. Michel himself solicitously offered Marie his hand. Beatrice hissed and spat and scratched like a wildcat at the men who restrained her, clawing at the air as if she intended to have the very eyes from Marie's head. 

"She isn't, then?" he inquired. "Do tell."

Marie cowered before the wrathful glare of her mistress. "She … she …"

"There is nothing to tell," Beatrice said vehemently. "Because I am a virgin."

"No one else knows," Marie said. "But she … the stableboy …"

"What?" screeched Beatrice. 

"The stableboy, go on," Michel encouraged. 

Her head hanging as if ashamed to look anyone in the face, Marie said, "He's a halfwit, and mute, but he's … enormous. She likes to have me … make her ready, and then have him do her roughly from behind."

Beatrice swayed and went chalk-white. 

"No one else knows," Marie repeated, raising her eyes imploringly to Michel. They were brimming with tears. "She made me swear I'd never tell, no one, not ever."

The pirates were swapping knowing, randy glances. "Make her ready how?" one of them, Constance's dear admirer Adam, asked. 

"With … with my mouth," Marie said, turning scarlet. "While Gerald – that's the stableboy – watches and … and, well, rubs himself."

"That is all entirely a lie, a ghastly vicious lie," Beatrice whispered. 

"He may not be able to speak, or think, but he knows what to do then," Marie went on. "The first time, it took him a bit to catch on but once he was … you know … in her, and started pushing, he figured it out."

"Lady Beatrice, my, my, my," Michel said. "Who would have known to look at you, so well-dressed and elegant."

"You cannot possibly believe her!"

"Do you know what this means to us?" he asked. "This means that when we ransom you back to your family, the first thing they'll do is have a doctor or midwife examine you to be sure you're intact. And when they find that you aren't, they'll hold us responsible. No matter what we, or you, tell them. We'll have the blame of it but not the fun, and that is hardly fair."

"What are you saying?" She had gone nearly transparent in her paleness. 

"That we may as well have the fun. I may not be as … how did you say, enormous? … as your Gerald, but among all of us we should be able to give you the rough swiving you need."

She began to shout and struggle in earnest, but the men holding her were more than a match. Michel turned to Marie, cupped her pert chin in his hand, and looked into her eyes.

"I know that was not an easy thing for you to do, cherie," he said. "But it was right for you to tell us the truth. Would you be willing to make this less of a trial for your mistress?"

"How?" she asked tremulously. 

"Nothing you've not done before," he assured her. 

Understanding dawned. "Oh … you want me to …"

"If you will oblige."

"I will."

Constance could not tear herself away. She watched as Beatrice was borne down on her back, several pirates pinning her arms and legs while others bunched her skirt around her waist and stripped off her undergarments. Still, she tried to kick and fight, and when one man attempted to cover her mouth, she bit the side of his hand and drew blood. 

Marie removed her bonnet and fluffed out her curly chestnut hair. She knelt beside Beatrice and patted her soothingly. 

"Get away from me, don't you dare touch me!"

The men opened Beatrice's legs and held her spread-eagled. The bush of her pubic hair was shockingly dark against her white skin. Marie bent down, stroked her furry mound as if it were a kitten. Beatrice's body jerked and contorted. 

"It's all right, mistress. It's only your Marie, doing what you so like for her to do." With that, Marie lowered her head between Beatrice's thighs. 





The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 12



Lady Beatrice screamed at the first touch of Marie's tongue. She fought the men holding her with desperate but futile strength. The pirates whistled and clapped and urged Marie on, their excitement quickly becoming visible in the erections that strained at their breeches. 

Constance, frozen in place by the porthole, looked on in mingled embarrassment and horror. She knew that she should not watch this cruel abuse of Beatrice, that she certainly should not be warmed by it, and yet she was helpless to shut her eyes to the scene taking place on the deck. 

She imagined herself in Beatrice's place. Pinned half-naked and defenseless before the admiring gazes of the pirates, some of them holding firmly to her arms and legs. Marie's knowing, clever mouth on her, making her wet, coaxing her into a fever of need. 

Yet Beatrice was unwilling to submit. She wept and wailed and tossed her head from side to side, hair flying in a dark storm. At one point her body arched, and shuddered, only to resume struggling an instant later. 

Had she spent? Constance suspected she had, and envied her. She'd been many days without a man now. Her time with Walter seemed very long ago. 

She hiked her skirt enough to slip a hand beneath. Her pantaloons were damp with arousal, the lips of her cunny full, pouting, tender. A pulse throbbed deep within her. She touched herself through the silk, and she moaned softly. 

Marie sat back on her heels and wiped her glistening mouth. There was a flash of something sly in her expression. She licked her lips with her pert little tongue and looked up at Michel. 

"She is ready," Marie said. 

Beatrice thrashed about with a renewed vigor. She was laid wide open to the hungry view of the pirates, the pinkness of her cunny peeking through. More than one of the men had unlimbered himself from his trousers. From where Beatrice lay, she would be staring up at a ring of bulging crotches and exposed cocks. 

Constance put her hand into her pantaloons and caressed herself. She worked two fingers into her furrow, parting them enough to rub along the sides of her clitoris while her fingertips probed at her opening. The surge of sensation made her knees buckle but her other hand clutched at the wall to steady herself. She kept watching. 

"Turn her over," Michel said. He undid his belt, stepped out of his breeches. He was magnificent, with muscular thighs and taut buttocks, and an impressive length of cock with a slight curve like a cutlass. 

"No!" Beatrice cried. "No, please, she's lying! I am a virgin, I am!"

The men lifted her, flipped her onto her stomach over a barrel. Her white bottom stuck up. Michel went to his knees behind her. 

"There's no need to pretend now, Lady Beatrice," he said. "You might as well give in, and enjoy."

The handsome first mate positioned himself, nudging at Beatrice's cunny with the swollen head of his organ. Beatrice begged and howled, promising him rewards, gold, jewels, if only he would not do this terrible thing, he must not do this to her, he must not deflower her, please!

"She likes it rough," Marie said. 

No one else was looking at her, but something in her voice made Constance tear her eyes away from the spectacle long enough to see an expression both sly and smug flit across the girl's face. 

Michel rammed himself into Beatrice. The brunette's shriek was ear-splitting. At that same moment, Constance pushed her own fingers deep, and wished it was Michel's cock. She mimicked his movements, matching him thrust for thrust, hard, relentless. 

"Unh, she's tight as a drum," Michel said, gripping Beatrice tightly by the hips and driving his body against hers.

Constance's hand moved faster, in time with Michel. How she envied Beatrice, how she yearned to switch places with her! And did the foolish girl appreciate her good fortune? No, Beatrice was sobbing and carrying on as if it was the end of the world, no doubt trying to resist and deny the delicious feelings that Michel had to be creating in her loins. 

What she'd give to feel a man inside her, a good stiff cock buried in her cunny! The fire was burning in her, raging out of control. 

Michel fucked faster, groaning, his eyes closed as he neared his climax. He cried out – "Ah, yes!" – and pumped wildly for several more strokes. His body gleamed with sweat, his chest heaved as he caught his breath. 

Fingers rubbing, sliding in her heat. Constance thought of Michel suspended over her, filling her, and the first waves of her climax crashed on her shores. She muffled her cries in her forearm, and leaned weakly against the wall. 

Beatrice lay limp over the barrel, whimpering. Michel withdrew from her, and a startled exclamation arose from the crew. 

His cock, and her inner thighs, were streaked with crimson. 

"Blood," Adam said. "Blimey, she was a virgin!"

They all turned on Marie, who raised her chin defiantly and said nothing. Michel got slowly to his feet, wiping himself clean with a rag, and pulled on his breeches. He stepped toward the girl and his face was thunderous. 

"You lied, Marie."

She nodded. 

"You lied," Michel repeated. "You spun that yarn about the stableboy … why?"

"Because I knew that if you thought she wasn't a virgin, you'd fuck her," Marie said, not backing down as the pirate loomed over her. "I despise the bitch. I wanted to see her ruined. Do what you will with me, rape me, kill me, I don't care. It is all worth it to have seen her violated."

He raised his hand to her as if about to strike her down. Marie remained unbowed. 

"You cost us a ransom!" he snarled. 

Jacqueline's husky laughter stopped him as he was about to unleash a blow. The tall, blonde captain strode forth, shaking her head in her mirth. 

"That she may have, Michel, but it was amusing. A revenge worthy of a Merlion, I daresay. You, Marie, come here."

Marie went to Jacqueline. Her body was tense, braced for a gunshot or the swipe of a blade, but she refused to show fear or repentance. 

Beatrice made no move to rise or cover herself. She stayed draped over the barrel, weeping. Constance remembered how she'd bled after Rob's first violation of her, the misery she'd felt as she washed the evidence away. It almost made her pity Beatrice, but her envy was still too great. 

"What has your mistress done to you, that you'd see her treated so cruelly?" Jacqueline asked. 

"The tale of the stableboy was true in part," Marie said. She shot a hate-filled glance at Beatrice. "She was curious about men, about fucking, but wouldn't risk her precious maidenhead. So she ordered me to go on my hands and knees for Gerald, and watched while he fucked me."

"Is this so, Lady Beatrice?" Jacqueline's voice was ice and steel. When Beatrice did not reply, she seized a handful of dark hair and forced Beatrice's head up. "Is it?"

One look at that guilt-ridden countenance told all. Jacqueline let go of Beatrice's hair and brushed her palm on her shirt as if she'd touched something repulsive. 

"What are we to do now?" Michel asked. 

"Well, pretty little Marie here did lie to us, and lost us some gold. That cannot go unanswered."

"I will pay whatever penalty you set forth, captain," Marie said. 

"Any penalty? Should I, for instance, sentence you to service every man of my crew with that saucy mouth, you'd do it?"

"Yes."

A rumble of interest passed among the men, along with many grins and elbowings. 

"But isn't that the very thing that made you hate your mistress so?"

"I was young and innocent then," Marie said. "Thanks to her, those days are long gone. You do not know the half of what she made me do. Permit me to join your crew and I shall happily whore for them, at your orders."

"You wish to join my crew." Jacqueline's golden brows rose. "An interesting proposition indeed."

"I'm for it!" someone in the crowd yelled, and was immediately seconded by several other voices. 

"Whatever you require of me." Marie's eyes met Jacqueline's frankly. "Anything at all, for your men … or for you, if that's to your liking."

"We'll start with the men," Jacqueline said. "Welcome, Marie."

A general cheer resounded, men tossing their caps in the air. Michel seized Marie around the waist, kissed her, and passed her to the next crewman. As she made the rounds, the first mate looked at the captain. 

"And what of Lady Beatrice? I am sorry, Jacques … I did not know."

"She'll still be worth some ransom to us," Jacqueline said. "And since she's no virgin, however it happened, there's no reason not to do as you will with her."

Jacqueline walked off. Michel called for rum, and music. Soon the atmosphere was one of high revelry. Constance remained at the window, captivated by the sights she beheld. 

Marie made good on her word. She was soon as naked as the day she was born, flitting like a nymph from one partner to the next, sometimes taking on men in threes and fours, utilizing both hands and her mouth while offering up her cunny for one lusty fuck after another. 

Nor was Beatrice ignored, although the violated and defeated noblewoman did not relish her fate the way that Marie did. Constance saw Beatrice raped again and again, thrown on a pile of sacks, one man no sooner finishing and rising from her prone body than another took his place. 

She saw a bald man of dark Moorish complexion force Beatrice to suck his cock, slapping her when she tried to turn away. He finally just held her by the sides of the head and fucked her mouth, pulling out at the last possible moment to spurt his seed all over her face, hair, and breasts. 

It was horrible, what they were doing to her, and yet Constance could not help but be fascinated and aroused. There seemed no end of men, a parade of cocks of all shapes and sizes. Her body ached with longing, and all she had was her own hands. 

Unless … 

Jean-Pierre had not moved since passing out from drink. He was on his back, his head pillowed on one folded arm. An empty bottle tilted against his side. His other hand clasped his Bible to his chest. 

But what was she thinking? The very reason they'd put her in with the youngest Merlion brother was because he was so devout, wanting to become a priest, frowning on the sinful life his father and siblings led. He had barely looked at Constance, as if the sight of her might burn him. 

If he woke to what was taking place on deck, it would not set his blood to boiling with lust, but with righteous fervor. He'd seek solace in prayer and rum, and certainly not succumb to temptations of the flesh. 

And yet … he was so very handsome, like Michel but with an air of innocence about him. She wanted to touch him, kiss him. 

As drunk as he was, he probably would not even know. 

That thought first stunned Constance, and then brought a mischievous little smile to her lips. Why, she could do anything to him and he might not notice, or remember. She could keep her secret safe while assuaging her urgent passion. 

She went quietly to the edge of the cot. Jean-Pierre's steady pattern of breathing did not change. 

Could she really do this? Take liberties with some poor young man in his sleep? Not only that, but one who intended to become a man of the cloth?

If he woke, she would desist immediately. No one would be the wiser. 

She took the bottle and set it aside, then leaned over and kissed Jean-Pierre. He tasted of rum, and his lips were soft for a man's, pliant. She ran her tongue along their seam and parted them to delve into his mouth. He coughed and rolled his head to the side, but his eyes did not open. Moments later, he was breathing regularly again. 

Constance rested her hands on his chest. She felt the even thumping of his heart, the play of muscle beneath the black cloth. He was no weakling, at least. It felt so good to be touching a man again! She knew she should hurry, lest he revive, but there was such pleasure in savoring the feel of him. She opened his shirt and caressed his bare skin, which was warm and smooth. 

Jean-Pierre rolled his head the other way and swallowed. Constance waited until he was still again, and then unbuckled his belt. She had to lift the lower half of his body to remove his trousers, but he did not waken. 

She hadn't often seen a cock in its dormant state. Jean-Pierre's was curled small and detumescent atop the loose sac of his balls, resting on a thick nest of black curls. She extended one finger and touched him, ran her fingertip along the shaft. 

When he still did not react, she curled her hand around him and gave a gentle squeeze. Her thumb played over his cockhead. He twitched, and began to stiffen. She bent down, her hair spilling gold across his thighs, and licked him. He tasted clean and good, only faintly musky. She licked more eagerly, and took the half-erect length into her mouth. 

Soon he was entirely rigid, his cock standing up at an angle from his lean belly. His eyes fluttered beneath closed lids. She wondered if he was truly awake and only playacting, encouraging her to be even bolder. Well, if he was, he'd have his wish. 

She shed her clothes and climbed onto the cot with him. His face betrayed no response. She whispered his name. Nothing.

"Jean-Pierre," she tried again. "I want you."

He was not awake. Only part of him was, that uncontrollable part she held in her hand. Perhaps he dreamed. 

It occurred to her that he might be a virgin too, that she might be taking from him something that he was reserving either for the marriage bed or denying in the service of the Lord. But it wasn't as if he had a maidenhead to lose, it wasn't as if there would be any physical proof. He would never have to know, and she could satisfy her demanding desire. 

She straddled him, and guided his cock to the entrance of her cunny. That first touch was nearly enough to make her spend, so afire were her emotions. She sank down onto him, taking him within her, feeling the delicious sense of being filled that her fingers could not provide. 

"Ohhh," Constance sighed wonderingly. She leaned forward, her breasts brushing his chest, and rocked her hips in a slow, languid motion. 

Now that she was actually doing it, she wanted it to last because she might not have another chance. She wanted it to last as long as possible. 

Jean-Pierre made a murmuring noise. His eyes fluttered again. He moved his hips lazily, sleepily. A sigh escaped him. 

Constance rode him slowly, the sweet tension gathering in her loins. She was going to spend soon, she knew it, and the temptation to fuck him faster was nearly overpowering. To keep at this careful pace was unbearable … and wonderful … and she never wanted it to end. 

Her orgasm built, built, and then tumbled through her in a warm cascading glow. She arched her back, her hair tickling the backs of her knees, the walls of her cunny closing around him, loosening, closing. He was breathing harder, hips rising and falling, pushing his cock in and out. 

"Is he a good fuck, then?" 

The sound of Jacqueline's voice slashed at Constance like a shard of glass. She stifled a cry. There stood the pirate woman, arms akimbo, expression stern. 

Caught! Constance froze, knowing there was no way on earth she could make this seem anything other than what it was. 

"Jacqueline, I …"

"He's waking."

She looked down. Jean-Pierre's eyes opened, his brow knit in confusion. He focused on Constance, astride his naked hips, and a sudden horrified understanding burst over him.

Jacqueline moved faster than Constance had ever seen a woman move before. In a flash, she was at the head of the cot and seizing Jean-Pierre's arms, pinning him as he was about to shove Constance off in a violent lunge. He only bucked against her strength, and then she had him trapped. 

She flung her short hair out of her face and looked at Constance. "Fuck him, go on, finish it."

"What?"

"He's in you, isn’t he? And hard?"

"Yes." She instinctively ground her bottom against him a little. 

"No, no, I must not," Jean-Pierre gasped. 

"Move your arse, damn you," Jacqueline spat at Constance. "Before his conscience gets the better of him and makes him go limp. Don't give him the chance. Go on, fuck!"

"Stop, oh, God, stop this!" He tried to throw Constance to the side by twisting his body, but failed. "Be still, baby brother," Jacqueline said. "You've already lost your cherry. Might as well shoot your seed."

"No, Jacques, I mustn't!"

Astounded by this turn of events, Constance did not move. Jacqueline bared her teeth. 

"Fuck him, I said! Make him spend."

Over Jean-Pierre's pleading protests, Constance began rocking her hips. She could not quite believe it of herself. It was tantamount to what Rob had done to her. She was taking him against his will … and worse, she was making him be a participant in his own ruination. 

He had lost some of his stiffness, she could feel it, but as the walls of her cunny clasped at him, slid along his length, he soon grew hard again.

"There, yes, like that," whispered Jacqueline. "She's fucking you, Jean-Pierre. Doesn't that feel nice, her hot little cunny swallowing you up? Oh, and it’s so wicked, isn't it? Just like Eve and the apple."

Constance wouldn't have thought it possible, would have thought that her fright at being discovered would put an end to any passion, but incredibly, she was climbing toward another orgasm. The seductive whispering of Jacqueline, plying Jean-Pierre with talk of sex and wickedness, was working on her, too.

Jean-Pierre tried to pray. Jacqueline overrode him. 

"Look at her, baby brother. Bouncing up and down on your cock, the way it plunges in and out of her. And look at those plump titties. Wouldn't you like to suck on them? She's fucking you good and proper. See her face? She's going to spend, I think. And so are you."

"No," he choked. 

"Yes," she hissed. "There's no way to deny it or forestall it. Are you spending, Constance?"

"I'm almost … oh, oh yes!" 

This time, it burst over her with even greater intensity. She felt Jean-Pierre suddenly turn taut as a harpstring. He cried out like a doomed soul as his cock pumped its creamy seed, a copious torrent of it, flowing around the mingled joining of their bodies. 

"There," Jacqueline said, and her tone was as satisfied as if she'd been the one to come. "There, Jean-Pierre, you are finally a real man."

He was trembling all over, his eyes tightly closed, lips moving in silent prayer. Constance stayed atop him a while longer, until she had subsided into a comfortable state of satiation. At last, she disengaged from him and stood beside the cot on slightly shaky legs. 

"Well," said Jacqueline, looking her over. "I imagine you have an explanation? Michel and the crew were under the impression they'd abducted a virginal maid."

Constance blushed crimson. "It's … rather a long story."

"Get your clothes on, then, and we'll discuss it over wine. I think Jean-Pierre needs some time to himself."

"Are you angry with me?"

"Angry? You've done me a favor. Have you any idea how long we've been trying to get him abed with a woman? It never struck me to have someone fuck him in his drunken sleep."

Jean-Pierre had covered himself to the ear with a blanket, and turned so that he was facing the wall, his back to them. He trembled, perhaps weeping. Constance felt a pang of guilt. She hurried into her clothes and accompanied Jacqueline to the captain's cabin. 

There, with the sounds of the ongoing orgiastic revelry less audible, Jacqueline brought goblets and a bottle of wine, and sat down in her large leather chair across from Constance. Those keen blue eyes studied her over the rim as Jacqueline sipped the ruby liquid. 

"So the cherished daughter of William deGranville is not so sheltered after all," she finally said. 




The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 12



"No, not anymore," Constance admitted. She tasted the wine. French, exquisite. 

"Whatever put it into your head to fuck poor Jean-Pierre?"

"It was … I just needed … I saw what happened to the other captive, Lady Beatrice, and it …"

"I see. That aroused you, watching her being well-tongued by her own maidservant and then given a good hard fucking by Michel?"

"I know it shouldn't have. I should have pitied her, been horrified for her."

Jacqueline scoffed. "Tell me, though. What turned a naVve girl like you into such a wanton wench?"

Constance swirled her goblet, studied the play of the light on the wine. She no longer felt that Jacqueline despised her. She felt, in fact, a certain trust and kinship toward the lovely blonde pirate queen. Perhaps Jacqueline was truly grateful for what she'd done to Jean-Pierre. Perhaps she had found someone to confide in. 

"It was my brother," she said. "My brother, Robert."

Haltingly at first, but the words coming more freely as the wine and the sympathetic ear loosened her tongue, she told Jacqueline all of it. 

Rob. Enrique. Nana Eva. Their jealousy, their fight. Her punishment. Stowing away. Walter. Lord Cuthburt. What she'd witnessed between Daisy and Greta. 

All of it. 

When she had finished, she waited to see what Jacqueline would say. To her surprise, the pirate woman threw back her head and laughed uproariously. 

"Oh, Constance," she said. "Oh, my, but this will be splendid. The plans I have for you … I can hardly wait."

"What plans?" Constance asked worriedly. 

"You'll be the perfect object of my revenge. But do not fear. Michel promised that you'd be well-treated, and well-treated you shall be. Since you were so fascinated by the plight of Lady Beatrice, perhaps we'll begin there."

"I do not know what you mean."

"You'll find out." Jacqueline stretched. "But for now, it has been quite the long day. You must be tired. I think for Jean-Pierre's sake, it would be best if you slept here and gave him his solitude."

Constance stared at her. Surely she did not mean for them to share a bed?

Jacqueline laughed again as if reading her very thoughts. "No, no. I am not that way, Constance. There are blankets, and cushions. You can fashion a bed from those. I prefer to sleep alone."

***

Continued in Chapter Thirteen



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.





The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 14



"Go and fetch the Lady Beatrice," Jacqueline said. "See to it that she's clean and dressed, and fit to meet her family."

"You wish me to do this? I am no maidservant." Constance gestured to Marie, where the chestnut-haired girl was sleeping curled in a tangle of linens on the floor, in Constance's makeshift bed. "Why not Marie?"

"Be sensible, Constance," scolded Jacqueline. "Do you imagine that Beatrice will be at all pleased to see our wicked little Marie? All matters considered?"

She supposed Jacqueline was right. It had been Marie's lie that led to Beatrice's brutal use at the hands – more, at the ready cocks – of the entire pirate crew. That Marie had not been punished for this, but had instead been almost instantly elevated to a position of great favor, could only be salt in the wound. 

"But you ordered her placed in with Jean-Pierre," Constance said. "Do you imagine he'll be pleased to see me?"

"I rather hope he might, but knowing Jean-Pierre, he has likely convinced himself it never happened, or was all some drunken dream. It'll do him good to be face to face with you. Unless you fear him."

Her amused smile suggested to Constance how ridiculous Jacqueline found the prospect. Ever since the blonde pirate captain had made Constance succumb to wanton sex with Michel and Marie, Jacqueline's attitude toward her had continued to be one of scornful amusement.

Yet Constance still felt a bitter and genuine hatred beneath it, and was at a loss. She would have liked to befriend Jacqueline. Would have possibly liked to be more than friends with Jacqueline. 

This last should have shocked her, finding such an admission in herself. But in the two days that she'd shared the captain's quarters, and particularly since discovering for herself the delights of another woman's body – she no longer balked at opening her legs to Marie, neither did she refuse to return the favor – Constance had taken to admiring Jacqueline's lithe body, wondering what she might be like, how she might feel, and taste. 

But her speculations were for nothing. Although the rest of the crew were peopled by lusty, virile, and attractive men, although Marie had more than once offered her tender services to the captain, Constance had yet to observe Jacqueline express any sort of interest. The only time she'd heard so much as a husky note in Jacqueline's voice had been during the incident with Jean-Pierre. 

Was she uninterested? What a sad and dreadful thing that would be. Mere weeks ago, Constance had been ignorant of the ways of men and women, and now she could not stand to think of living without the glorious crashing climaxes. Never mind how she had been introduced to it. The horror of her incestuous violation by her brother paled against the splendid pleasures she now craved. That Rob was far from here, and she would never have to see him again, only made her happier. 

These past two days had been a glut of fucking, until Constance fell into her blankets each night sore and sated. She and Marie had put Michel to the very test of his stamina, with no complaint from the first mate. Then, too, there had been the Moor. Salvador. 

Constance closed her eyes and could see again him, his skin glossy and dark as polished mahogany, his head smooth and shiny-bald, standing over her. His ebony eyes were unreadable, but the jutting of his cock said all that needed be said. They had been alone then, but for Jacqueline. The captain remained in her usual chair, watching, seeming to take some triumphant glee in seeing Constance's pale body covered, and impaled, by Salvador's darkness. 

He'd been surprisingly gentle with her. After having seen him fuck Beatrice's mouth, slapping the noblewoman when she protested, and then shooting his seed into her upturned face, Constance had expected similar treatment. Instead, she'd been helpless beneath Salvador, her body doused in the scented oils he claimed would further inflame her passions. He held himself above her as he thrust slowly in, each movement taking long breathless seconds, and then withdrawing with the same exquisite slowness. His will was iron, his cock iron, and he wrung spending after spending from her. 

She had even taken him up the bottom, with only a qualm of fear. By then, he had seen to her so expertly that she was willing to do anything, anything at all. She had gone to her hands and knees, once more sticking her backside into the air, and only once worriedly beseeched him to be careful, to not hurt her. 

Salvador had promised, and been as good as his word. The oil eased his way, and the pain she'd felt when pierced by Rob was not to be found. Instead, there was pressure, oh, and a stretching, pushing sensation that she needed several moments to acclimate herself to, but soon he was fully sheathed within her bottom, and reaching under her to penetrate her cunny with fingers nearly as long and thick as an erect cock. 

This, too, Jacqueline had observed with evident satisfaction. She had asked Constance at one point how it felt to be fucked by a Moor, and what her father might say if he could see his precious daughter having that hard black shaft pumping in and out, but by then Constance was only able to gasp and moan. 

Rumors had gotten out among the crew. Whenever she went on deck now, Constance saw them looking at her, and whispering sidelong to one another. Each man was waiting, with ill-concealed impatience, for a summons of his own to the captain's cabin. 

Too, they were disgruntled that Constance took so much of Marie's attention from them, although the girl did spend a goodly portion of each day on her knees for the sailors, or letting them bend her over the rail, or wrapping her legs around their waists as they did her standing against the mainmast. But Marie had confessed to Constance that as much as she enjoyed a good fuck, she found women preferable. 

"They're not just concerned with finding a hole to stick their pegos in," she had said last night, as she washed Constance's back. 

They'd been sharing a bath in Jacqueline's large brass tub, while the captain herself was actually out seeing to the running of the ship instead of sitting in audience of Constance's ongoing depravation. Marie soaped Constance liberally, hands slipping in warm frothy lather, then embraced her from behind so that her small but pert breasts rubbed along Constance's back.

"I'd never been with a woman before you," Constance said. "I never knew what it could be like."

"Well," Marie giggled, "you're learning right quick, I can tell you. Quite a knack for tongueplay you've got, my lady."

"What do you make of the captain?" she'd asked. 

Marie frowned. "I've offered every day, seems like, but she's never keen for it. At first, I wondered if she mightn't be having it off with Michel or one of the others, but none of the crew says as she's ever had a lover. Male or female. There's some that are dead inside, you know, that have no lust at all, like a dried flower, but she doesn't strike me as one of those."

"No, she doesn't," Constance said. 

"But perhaps she just likes to watch. I've heard there's those as do. Maybe she frigs herself when we've all gone to sleep." 

They had finished their bath and ended up on the floor, rolling around all nude and squeaky-clean until they ended up lying on their sides, each with her head gladly imprisoned between the thighs of the other. In this fashion, Marie licked Constance's cunny while Constance did the same to Marie, and so adept was Marie at mimicking what she felt that it soon seemed to Constance almost as if she was somehow, by a contortion not otherwise possible, doing it to herself. 

Now, though, Marie was asleep, Michel and Salvador were off attending to their duties, and Jacqueline had sent Constance on an errand. As if she were no more than another member of the crew.

That thought made her stop short. A member of the crew … a prisoner … what was she to Jacqueline? Not a friend, surely, for there was that bitter hatred. Yet not distrusted, for they slept in the same room and Jacqueline never acted as though she feared Constance might seize up some weapon and do her harm in the night. 

She was to be ransomed, she knew that, but whenever she contemplated it, her stomach turned to knots. Would her father insist on having her examined, to see if she was intact? Of course he would. He'd hate her for it, never knowing that she had been deflowered long before she'd even set eyes on any of the Merlions. 

His pride would not let him admit the truth to any of his acquaintances, so he would take her home. To consign her to a convent, for instance, might be seen as an admission of her ruination. No, he would take her back to Veradoga, and either try with all haste to find her a closemouthed husband – Enrique? she shuddered with the knowledge that it could likely be Enrique – or keep her a veritable prisoner in the villa for the rest of her life. An old maid … with only her brother for company. 

She shuddered again. Rob would argue for keeping her at home, she knew. He would pledge to look after her and protect her, his poor dear sister. And whenever their father's back was turned, Rob would be there. She could already hear him, wanting to know everything that had gone on. Jealously punishing her for fucking other men, for enjoying it. 

Would that, or marriage to Enrique, be preferable to convent life? A few days ago, she might have said so. At least with Rob or Enrique, she'd still have that which she'd come to need. But now, thanks to Marie, she knew that women could be almost as fulfilling. Weren't there stories about convents, and the lewd practices that went on therein? Not even the godly were immune. 

Which brought her to Jean-Pierre. 

A tropical storm loomed on the horizon, piling clouds and distant slanting sheets of rain drawing steadily nearer. The breeze was fresh but laced with the scent of lightning. All over the Falcon, the crew were busy with preparations for the storm.

Constance rapped on the door, heard his call for her to enter. She did so, and the first thing she saw was his pale, haggard face. He looked decades older than his years, his chin dark with a sprouting beard, his eyes red-rimmed from drinking. At the sight of her, he visibly flinched, and cast his gaze at the floor. 

Lady Beatrice was on the cot that was to have been Constance's. The bruises on her fair skin had faded to a greenish-yellow, dappled here and there with smudges of blue. She had not made any effort to care for herself since the multiple rapes, save to nibble at food and use the privy. Her dark hair was a snarled mess, she was grimy, and her gown of apple-green silk was stained and rumpled. 

"Jean-Pierre," Constance said, and he flinched again at the sound of her voice. "I had hoped to speak to you."

"I have nothing to say to you," he said, refusing to look at her. 

"I'm so greatly sorry."

His jaw clenched. 

"There can be no excuse for what I did to you," she said. "But I do wish you'd allow me at least to explain. I never wished to harm you. I only … I needed … you were there, and so handsome, and I was so needful, and I thought you wouldn't know."

"And that's meant to make it all right?"

"No, of course not. I am sorry."

"Are you?" His head came up and his eyes flashed green fire, so like Michel except that she had never seen Michel in the grip of a fury. "Do you expect me to forgive you?"

"I would not blame you if you did not." Just as she, in her heart, would never forgive Rob. No matter that she had learned to like, and even hunger for, the things he'd done. 

Through all of this, Lady Beatrice had remained where she was, sitting on her cot with her hands in her lap and her head bowed. She hadn't even stirred when Constance came in. Now she glanced up once, quick, furtive, as if she sensed something alarming. 

"Why are you here?" Jean-Pierre barked. 

"We are nearly to port," Constance said. "Your sister asked me to help Lady Beatrice tidy up, for she's to be ransomed."

"Oh, why, yes! The ransom will be paid and then it will all be as it was before. She'll be returned to her family, and all of this will be just an unpleasant memory, no more than a nightmare to be forgotten upon waking. You're a fool if you believe that!"

"I did not say I did."





The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 14



"I bled too, my first time. But that did not stop me from spending. And how I envied you with Michel!"

"Clearly, I was wrong," Beatrice said. "You are not a lady. Jean-Pierre had the right of it. You're a slut as low and common as Marie."

"Perhaps Marie had the right of you," Constance said, feeling rather cross. "And perhaps I was mistaken. You must not have spent at all, not frigid as you are."

"I am not frigid."

"Do you pet yourself?"

"What?"

"Your cunny. Do you pet it? Stroke it? Finger yourself?"

"I'll not sit here and listen to such disgusting –"

"As I thought." It was spiteful, yes, but she was finding it strangely fun to pick at Beatrice in this way. "Frigid."

"I had been saving my virginity for my rightful husband," Beatrice said. 

"Well, when that's too late, you may as well enjoy yourself. I could show you, if you'd like."

"What do you mean?" Beatrice snatched up a drying cloth and covered her breasts with it. "I'll not have you touch me!"

"Watch." 

Pulling a chair near to the bath, Constance braced her knees wide apart. She had already tucked up her skirt to keep it from getting wet, so now Beatrice would be able to see all the way up. The other woman looked once, blushed, and looked away.

"Have you no shame?"

"Watch," Constance said again. "It can be so nice."

She commenced frigging herself, her cunny slick from her own juices and Jean-Pierre's seed. When she had been at it for a while, she noticed that Beatrice was rosier than the water's temperature could account for, and was in fact watching quite intently. 

Abandoning her pursuit, Constance slid from the chair and plunged her hand into the bathtub. She had it between Beatrice's legs before Beatrice could react. Her forefinger parted smooth dark hair and insinuated itself. 

Beatrice made a soft exclamation of surprise, but did not try to fight her off or escape. Constance went tenderly, mindful that Beatrice was probably still aching from the rough invasion of so many cocks. The water and the bath oils helped her along. 

Soon Beatrice was trembling, her hands clutching the sides of the tub, eyes tightly closed. She parted her legs as wide as she could. Constance did not penetrate her, just kept up a circular massaging of Beatrice's clitoris, and was finally rewarded with a drawn-out sobbing cry as Beatrice surrendered to orgasm. 





The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 15



The meeting at the rendezvous point went according to Jacqueline's plan. Constance remained aboard the Falcon, with a skeleton crew, as the longboats carrying the captain, her first mate, and an armed contingent of pirates escorted Lady Beatrice ashore. Marie, too, stayed behind. 

They used the spyglass to witness the exchange. Beatrice, her bruises bearing testament to her cruel handling, was nonetheless pretty in her gown of cobalt blue. She gave no outward sign of being the same woman who'd eventually yielded to the persuasion of Constance's fingers whilst in the bath. That climax, and the ones which had followed when the two of them forsook the tub in favor of the heap of blankets that comprised Constance's bed, might have happened to someone else entirely. 

She left her captivity as a woman who had been sorely used but was recovering, not as one who had allowed Constance to bring her to release again and again, with hands and mouth and ultimately with the careful insertion of a well-greased candle. Her head was held high as pride demanded, and she did not look back. 

Marie was overjoyed with the way all had gone. So, too, were the pirates when they returned laden with gold. Jacqueline instructed the helmsman to set sail for Port Royal, where the crew could shed their money in a wild spree of rum and whores. 

Later, when they had reached the harbor and most of the men were ashore in the teeming lively town, Jacqueline sent for Constance. She eyed her pensively when Constance entered her quarters.

"I understand you have been making free with Jean-Pierre again," Jacqueline said, tapping her foot. "And that you were most attentive to our erstwhile guest, Lady Beatrice. You've quite the appetite, haven't you, Constance deGranville?"

"I meant nothing by it –"

"I am not angry with you. Sit down."

Constance did, smoothing her skirt around her legs. 

"You only prove what I've long believed," Jacqueline said. "It's widely known that lust can turn any man into an animal. Codes and vows, friendship and taboos, none can stand in the face of the lure of sex, given the proper provocation. We saw that with Jean-Pierre, did we not? His best intentions notwithstanding, when presented with a chance at a hot cunny, he became a beast."

"Yes," Constance said, thinking of how Rob and Enrique's lifelong friendship had shattered under the strain of their rivaled passion for her. Too, the fact that she was his sister had most certainly not stopped Rob from sinking his cock into her. 

"But women, ah, Constance, are women any different? Take yourself, for example. Mere weeks ago, you were a demure and proper young lady who'd never so much as seen a man naked, whose primary ambition was to remain pure for your husband. True or false?"

"True."

"Yet now, look at you. Wild for a good fuck, absolutely frantic for it, to the point that you'd seduce a would-be priest, and engage in all manner of activities of which you might never otherwise have even dreamt. You've taken a great black Moorish prick up your arse, you've diddled a woman with a candle, you've learned to lick cunny to the point that Marie gives you high praise indeed."

Constance could only nod, and flush warmly. It was true, all of it, and the girl who'd once stood on a Veradoga villa balcony looking out at the sea was a vision impossibly far distant, a stranger to her. 

"What wouldn't you do, Constance? Where would you call a limit, and say 'no more!' What perversity would be too much for one such as you?"

Warily, she studied Jacqueline. The blonde pirate woman lounged sideways in her great leather chair, swinging her long legs over one armrest, apparently enjoying Constance's sudden discomfiture. 

"I do not know what you mean," she said. 

"Oh, but you do."

"I shouldn't want to do anything … painful," Constance said.

Jacqueline's golden brows arched. "No spankings, then? No birch rod applied to your rosy cheeks, no pinching of the nipples?"

"No."

"What of dogs, horses?"

"No!"

"But men aplenty, and women too."

"Well, certain of them."

"Aha!" Jacqueline laughed. "So you're choosy, are you? Not just any cock will do. If I brought in some hideous hunchbacked dwarf, you'd turn him away?"

"Yes, I –"

"Even were he hung like a stallion?"

"That does not matter."

"Suppose that your brother were here. Rob, wasn't it? Robert deGranville. Would you fuck him again?"

Constance roused with a heated anger. "I would sooner see Rob made to suffer. Whatever I am now, 'tis what he made me. He stole my innocence, used me as his whore, and when he caught me with Enrique, he beat me and raped me. I should like to see the same happen to him."

"Would you truly?"

"I would! Let Rob be strapped over a bench and have his bottom striped with lashes, and then let someone stab an enormous cock up his arse and fuck him until he bleeds!"

The vehemence of it astonished her. That she could think and feel such things, that she could say them! When in some peculiar way she felt almost grateful to Rob for setting her on this path. If not for him, she would still be ignorant of the marvelous pleasures her body could give her. How could she be so diametrically conflicted? 

"Do you mean to say that if your brother were here, that is the fate you'd wish upon him?" Jacqueline asked. 

"Oh, I do not know what I mean." Constance raked distracted fingers through her hair. 

Somehow, the idea of Rob being bent over while a large man – the Moor, Salvador, sprang to mind – pounded into him and made him weep and beg effected a stirring of slippery warmth in her belly. She would like to see that, yes, she would like that very much. 

"You have been very well-sexed on this little voyage thus far, haven't you?" Jacqueline said. "Jean-Pierre and Michel, Marie and the Moor, even Beatrice. Who else among my crew would you like to have?"

"I … what? You're asking me?"

"There's not a man among them who'd turn down such an opportunity," she said. "I could give each of them a turn at you, but I must confess that many of them are selfish. Surely you've heard as much from Marie."

"She did say something of that nature."

"I wouldn't want you to be left unfulfilled," Jacqueline said. "Not that I think it's much of a danger, in truth. Michel says you come at the drop of a hat. But I would like your next few encounters to be as pleasant for you as possible."

"Why?" she asked, with a creeping sense of unease. "What is it that you mean for me? I know that the days are passing until the appointed meeting at Falcon Bay, and that you do still mean to ransom me. Yes?"

"I suppose," Jacqueline said indifferently.

"Then I am still your captive."

"Quite so."

"In which case, why should it matter to you whom I wish to fuck with or not? You are my captor. You could hand me over to the men and let them take turns at me, or take me four at a time, as they did with Beatrice. As they do with Marie. You could bring a dog or a horse or a hunchbacked dwarf aboard and I would have no choice but to do as you said. You could order me to your own bed, for that matter."

A slight grin turned Jacqueline more beautiful than ever. "Would you like that, Constance? Would you like to share my big bed, and do whatever I wished for you to do?"

"I would," she said, returning Jacqueline's gaze frankly. "I've wondered why you do not make more use of your bed, in fact."

Her grin became a roguish laugh. "Oh, have you! Wondered why I do not fill it night after night with a succession of my crewmen? Wondered why I will watch Michel apply that magnificent cock of his, but never allow it into my own cunny? Or why I never did as you did to Jean-Pierre?"

"Yes, I do wonder. Although, with Jean-Pierre and Michel, I gather I understand … their being your brothers and all."

"As if that would make a whit of difference to you."

"Rob was not my choice!"

Jacqueline waved off her protest. "But, you are right. I would have no objection to fucking either Michel or Jean-Pierre, or both, until they pleaded for mercy. After all, it would not be the first time I'd had a Merlion cock in me. Philippe Merlion, the first Black Falcon, came to my bed one night when he'd had too much to drink and was grieving for his dead wife."

"Oh, no," Constance said.

"I woke to him lifting my legs over his shoulders," Jacqueline said. "I did not know what he was doing, what he intended. I saw his erection – rum affects some men poorly, increasing the desire but sapping the capability, but I must say that the Merlion men have never been so afflicted – just before he ploughed me with it. He was not so generous as your brother, either. He did not make any effort to ready me beforehand, only caring for his own need. It hurt terribly. I bled for days. All his remorse and apologies could not take back what he'd done to me. Not even when he bequeathed me his entire pirate's empire, ships and villas and treasures and all, could it undo that one unforgivable night."

"I am so awfully sorry," Constance said. 

"I had never believed such betrayal of trust was possible." Jacqueline's blue eyes had gone as stormy as the spate of bad weather they'd ridden out, and her face was tight with the memory of pain and shame. "I loved him, I idolized him, I very nearly worshipped the ground he walked upon and the sea he sailed upon. Yet when he had a stiff cock, his only thought was that I had a place to fit it. What he told me after made no difference. I still felt betrayed, for in my heart he had always been my …"

She trailed off, and sighed. Constance was stunned, for she had never before heard Jacqueline speak with such intensity. The scornful amusement, the distanced disdain, that was her usual manner had been stripped away. 

"But he is dead," Jacqueline said briskly, as if shaking off the past the way she might shake rainwater from her hair. "And to answer your initial question as to why I sleep alone –"

"I think it is answered," Constance said. "You were hurt, and you do not wish to be hurt again. Jacqueline, if you would allow me –"

Jacqueline burst out laughing, slapping her trim thigh. "You'd think to make it better for me, is that it? Damnation, Constance deGranville, it was not my purpose to leave you believing I'd had no man since! I've had lovers aplenty."

"Have you? Then why …?"

"I am a female pirate captain," Jacqueline said as if this should have been self-evident. "Any pirate captain must win and keep the respect of the crew, if there's to be discipline and obedience. For a woman, it's all the more challenging. If I dally with any of them, it will foster grudges among the rest, and if I dally with all of them, I'm no captain at all. I must let my romances stand apart from my captaincy."

"You believe that if the crew saw you as a woman, rather than a captain, they would cease to follow you?" Constance asked.

"The very reason." She smiled, with a glittering edge of teeth. "And so I have learned to stow my desires away until such time and place as they are more befitting."

"I do understand, now," Constance said. "Though I do think it sad to deny yourself."

"Yes, well, sacrifices must be made. I derive pleasure enough from other ends. Battle, plunder, ransom, and revenge."

"Why do you hate me so?" The question was no sooner articulated than it was out, hanging in the air between them. Because even now, with what had just been disclosed and an atmosphere that should have engendered a closeness, she could still feel it. Could still see it in Jacqueline's eyes. 

"Hate you? Do I?"

"Do not toy with me. I know that you do."

"If you would have me admit it, then, very well. I do hate you, and why? Perhaps it is because you've lived the life I always yearned for. A life of wealth and privilege and high society."

"But you are wealthy," Constance protested, more distressed than she would have thought possible at hearing this vital, exciting woman say it right out like that. "If what I've heard is true, you're wealthier by far than my father."

"That may be, but will it win me acceptance? Try being raised a pirate whelp, Constance, and see how favored you would be at court. Grow up learning to use a cutlass instead of a fan, and see how many governors' balls you're invited to. All my treasure still wouldn't buy me out of the hangman's noose if the British, or the Spaniards, or any of a number of other enemies, caught up with me."

"I see," Constance said after some thought on this. "And so, because I was born to these things, you bear me ill will for it? Forgive me, but that is unfair. I did not ask to be born a deGranville, any more than you asked to be born a Merlion."

Jacqueline's eyes narrowed, and something deadly sprang up in her expression. Constance knew that she'd somehow said exactly the wrong thing, yet had no idea what it might have been. 

"No, neither of us asked to be born who we are," Jacqueline said. Her voice was ice and steel, cold, sharp. "Nary a man nor woman on this earth has that power. But we make the most of what we are given, do we not? You made the most of the deGranville name, the money and the prestige. Or am I mistaken, and you spurned fine clothes, rich foods, expensive wine, jewelry? You gave these things to the less fortunate, non?"

"Well, I …"

"I thought not. While I may not have those things myself, I do have others. I have a certain power, you see. The power of metal and gunpowder, of stout ships and stout-hearted men, to allow me to seize what I can, and do with it what I wish. I have seized you, Constance."

"And you mean to punish me for having that which you could never attain?"

"You've put your very finger on it." Jacqueline smiled. 

Constance did not feel that it would be wise to mention that she hardly considered her time aboard the Falcon thus far to be one of punishment. She went to sleep that night sure that she understood. It was envy that inspired Jacqueline's hatred of her, a not unreasonable envy. Had the pirate queen been raised among the nobility, Constance did not doubt that her beauty and grace would have won her many a wealthy suitor, and a life of ease rather than the hardship of the sea. 

The crew returned the following afternoon, with aching heads and sour stomachs from their revelry, their shares of gold fed off into the coffers of the city's brothels, taverns, and gambling houses. A few sported new tattoos, or fine colorful garb, and some had brought back lavish gifts for the wily Marie. They set sail with the evening tide, and after a late meal, Constance was summoned again to Jacqueline's cabin. 

This time, the captain was not alone. Three men waited with her, Michel, Salvador, and Adam. Jacqueline was in her customary spot, the deep leather chair. 

Adam in particular was grinning ear to ear. The short pirate, he of the sun-bleached hair, hazel eyes, and hook-shaped scar, rubbed his hands together eagerly as Constance entered the room. She paused, a faint tremor of apprehension running through her, and looked inquiringly at Jacqueline. 

"I want to see you take on three men tonight," Jacqueline said by way of reply. "Three men at once, Constance, does that turn your knees weak with desire?"

Her throat was dry, and a blush of embarrassment reddened her face. Three men at once? Not since Rob and Enrique had she been with two men at the same time, Rob beneath her as she rode him, Enrique standing over them with his cock pushing in and out of her mouth. But three? And one of them Adam? His disposition toward her had been distinctly unfriendly since he'd groped her aboard the Ricarda and been stopped by Michel. She was unaccountably afraid of him, of what he might do. 

But any arguments she might have had would have failed to sway Jacqueline. This, too, was part of the punishment. By making her rut with all three men, Jacqueline somehow expected to strike a blow of revenge against lords and ladies everywhere. 

She stripped obediently, and with each bit of fair skin revealed to the hungry eyes of the men, Constance felt tingles of excitement. She was a slut, no better than any lowborn harlot, as Beatrice had said. She was cock-mad, as Jacqueline had surmised. An insanity of lust had overtaken her mind and left her caring only for the marvelous pleasures of the flesh. 

The men were quick to undress and join her, on that spot of floor that had seen such use lately. Adam was first to touch her, greedily fondling her breasts and then smothering himself in them, sucking hard on her nipples and burying his face between the creamy globes. 

"I knew from first I saw ye that ye were a saucy one," he said when he raised his head for a breath of air. "I knew ye'd be a right jolly good fuck."

Meanwhile, Salvador was embracing her from behind, his big hands on her waist and the stiff bar of his erection rubbing along the base of her spine. Michel dropped to his knees and commenced stroking and kissing her thigh. 

"Hold her," he said to Salvador. 

The Moor supported Constance as Michel hoisted and opened her legs. She hung suspended between them, Adam to the side of her now and still feasting on her breasts like a starved child. Her feet dangled. No part of her had contact with the floor, or anything but the bodies of the men. Michel began to lap at her cunny, and Constance moaned with delight. 

They held her like that for a sweet eternity, until her every nerve was afire. She was at the brink of spending when Michel stopped. He stretched out below her, his cock pointing up. 

"Lower her," he instructed. 

Salvador did so. Constance bent her knees and sank onto Michel, feeling him fill her as her weight settled across his hips. She would have moved, rising and falling on him, making him slide in and out, but Salvador held her steady and bent her forward until she was braced with her hands to either side of Michel's shoulders. 

She felt the Moor's dark fingers rubbing something around her bottom, some warmed and scented oil, and knew what he meant to do. Her gaze flew helplessly to Jacqueline, but there was no mercy to be found in those sapphire eyes. 

Constance opened her mouth to plead, but that was when Adam, kneeling beside Michel, caught her head and poked his short but thick cock at her lips. The tip bumped her teeth, nudged her mouth open, and anything she might have said was muffled. 

"Suck me now, thar's a good lass," Adam said. 

"Easy, girl," Salvador's deep voice rumbled, in a tone he might have used to soothe a skittish mare. He drove steadily forth, parting her nether opening, a huge hot length pushing slowly in until he had pierced her to the root. 

They were both buried in her now, Michel in her cunny and Salvador up her arse, and the sensation was of almost unbearable fullness. She wanted to object but Adam was diligently fucking her mouth, and protest would have availed her naught. 

Michel and Salvador moved with great care, synchronizing their thrusts so that neither of their cocks slipped out of her. The fullness that had bordered on pain became something different, not quite pleasure but … she could not describe it. 

"How's that, Constance?" Jacqueline asked. Her voice, light and mocking, seemed to come from much further away than the short distance to the chair. "Three cocks in you, every orifice stuffed full."

She made some garbled reply, not knowing what she might have said and not caring. By then she had found that her position, sandwiched between the two men, was in just such a way that the base of Michel's shaft was pressing squarely against her clitoris, and each movement sent thrilling waves of heat tumbling out from her center. Too, her bottom had relaxed enough to allow Salvador to fuck her with a smooth and even rhythm. 

Lost, oh, she was lost in it, and the taunting laughter of Jacqueline came from very far away. Constance rolled her tongue around Adam, sucking as he pushed his hips back and forth, the tip of his cock hitting the back of her throat at each forward apex. She could already taste the salty droplets of his impending climax, and hear it in his ragged, gasping breath. 




The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 15



Michel's hands held firmly to her hips, steadying her as she started to shake. His eyes were tightly closed, his face contorted, as if in concentration to prolong his performance. Salvador kept on with that even rhythm, exhaling a low groan with each thrust. 

"Ah, now, ye take it all, drink it down, don't ye be spillin' a drop!" Adam cried as his cock convulsed in her mouth, and loosed its jets of fluid. "Ah, God, yes, that be the very way!"

She did as he bade her, sucking, gulping down the salty mouthful, keeping at him until she'd drained him. Only then did he remove himself from between her lips, and sit down with chest heaving. 

Constance knew that her own crisis was nearly upon her. She heard a string of incoherent obscenities issue from her, crying their names, begging them to do her, yes, fuck her arse, fuck her cunny, make her spend. Then her words were gone into a wailing cry as her orgasm thundered through her veins. The force of it was such that she nearly swooned, and was only aware through a floating cloudy detachment of first Michel, and then Salvador, reaching their own heights. 

She did drift away then, for an untold time. When her mind rejoined her body, swaying down into it like a leaf fluttering to the surface of a pool, she realized that she had been rearranged. She was on her back with Adam busily fucking away at her cunny. Salvador knelt astride her, tunneling his length along a passage he'd made by squeezing her breasts together around his cock. Michel saw that she was with them again, and presented himself to her lips. 

It went on for hours, and Constance could not count how many times she came. Even when all three of the men had exhausted their passions, their organs lolling limp against their thighs, they kept at her with fingers and tongues, until she was breathless with pleasure. And then one or another of them would be ready again, standing stiff and tall, and take another turn. 

And so it was until the small hours of the morning, when at last Constance's overused body could endure no more. She swooned away into a fathomless sleep, and the last thing of which she was consciously aware was one of them – her weary eyelids could not open long enough to tell which – penetrating her yet again. 





The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 16



Constance emerged slowly from sleep, as if wakefulness were a tower and she had to ascend from the lowest dungeon. Her every muscle ached, particularly those around her jaw. Her nipples throbbed. Her cunny and bottom felt sore and stretched. 

Memories of the previous night's orgiastic encounter flipped through her mind like a shuffled deck of cards. She should have been mortified. That she had comported herself in that fashion, lewdly abandoning herself to three men while a woman who hated her looked on in contempt, should have made her cringe with shame. 

And yet it did not. She ached, yes, but it was a pleasant ache, each pulse of pain a reminder of the cascade of climaxes, a reminder of the pride she felt each time one of her lovers cried out, and erupted with his seed. 

She opened her eyes to see the captain's cabin, from the low angle of her bed on the floor. 

Something was different. Not in the room, but about her. 

A hard, cold, unyielding weight was around her loins. Constance touched it, and her fingertips found metal. She looked down at what seemed to be an iron girdle. It encircled her lower belly, and extended between her legs. Not a single curl of her golden pubic hair was visible. The metal continued to her backside, and small locks dangled at each hip. 

"In days of old, when knights were bold," Jacqueline said from somewhere beyond Constance's line of sight, "and they'd go off on Crusade to the Holy Land, they'd leave their wives locked up in devices such as that. Chastity belts, they were called."

"What have you done to me?" Constance asked, sitting up. 

The girdle dug into her flesh, constricted her movements. She tugged at it but the locks held fast. Running her hands over it, she discovered that there were openings front and back, for purposes of elimination, but when she probed a finger into one of the holes, she yanked it back with a pained cry. The edges of the openings were points of sharp metal. 

"The holes are too small for even the tiniest of cocks," Jacqueline said, and sounded tremendously amused. "The serrated edges were to prevent frigging."

Constance looked at her finger, which was beaded in two places with blood. "But why?"

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

"You surely saw that I did."

"I'm pleased to hear it." Jacqueline came into view, carrying a small bottle. No more than a vial, really. "Here. Drink this."

"Take this … this torture implement … off of me!"

"I rather think not."

"Then tell me what this is about!"

"Drink this, and I will."

The vial contained some syrupy liquid, which smelled of spices. Constance took it dubiously, and looked at Jacqueline in confusion. 

"I do not understand. What is the meaning of this? Why have you locked me into this thing? And what is this bottle?"

"Not poison, I promise you. Now drink, or I'll pour it down your gullet myself."

Seeing that she meant it, and knowing that she could, Constance put the vial to her lips and downed the contents. The spicy taste was palatable enough, and a sort of glow spread out from her stomach. 

"I've done so," she said, handing the bottle back to Jacqueline. "Now, please, tell me! Why have you done this to me?"

"The chastity belt is to protect your virtue," Jacqueline said.

"Protect my … but … but you …"

"Yes, I know. Most of the fucking you've done on my ship was at my bidding, so why should I now care for your virtue? I do not. I merely intend to see you suffer."

"What?" gasped Constance.

"There shall be no more fucking." Jacqueline smiled. "No more cocks in your sweet cunny or up the rosebud of your plump, pretty arse. No more tonguing, no more fingering."

"No, you cannot!" Her very breath was stolen from her, and at the same instant she was conscious of arousal growing in her loins. Her nipples stiffened into hard little peaks. 

"To further discomfit you, what you just drank was a potent potion from the Far East. An aphrodisiac. Had we sold you to some fat pasha, for his hareem, he might have forced you to take such a draught to ensure that you would go willingly to his bed."

Constance's head reeled. "Why would you do this? Why give me such a potion, yet lock me in this device?"

Jacqueline laughed. "Is it not obvious?"

"You mean to have me go mad with … with unfulfilled passion?"

"Think of it. For these next weeks, until you are ransomed, that is your fate. You'll see fine, handsome men day in and day out. You'll have Marie to bathe and dress you. Perhaps you'll still put that mouth of yours to good use, or those ripe, round bubbies. But no one, not even yourself, will get so much as a finger into you."

"How can you do this?"

"Quite simply. We took the belt and the potions from a ship off Madagascar, some time ago, and I rather suspected that they might someday be useful."

"I thought that you liked to see my humiliation," Constance said.

"I do, and I shall like to watch your frustration all the more. You've grown quite accustomed to regular fuckings. You've become quite the harlot. How, then, will you manage without?"

She laughed again, and left the cabin. Constance stared after her in disbelief, then turned her attention to the belt. No matter how she tugged at it, the locks would not give. Nor could she open them by prying. She was half-crazed when Marie came in, carrying a folded frock and a tray of breakfast. 

"That madwoman! That she-devil!" Constance howled. "Look what she's done to me."

"Yes, my lady, I know. She told me this morning as how she'd arranged to have you fucked half to death last night, so that you'd be ready for deprivation." Marie's eyes twinkled. "Was it good, last night? All three of them?"

"She made me drink a potion to increase my need," Constance said. "This is not amusing … I am dying!"

Marie examined her, clucking over the small openings with their rows of metal teeth. "How terrible! If you try even to get a pinkie finger in there …"

"Why has she done this to me?"

"Well, that I don't know, my lady. But here's a kiss to feel better." Marie kissed Constance on the lips, darting her quick little tongue into her mouth. "Your Marie still loves you."

The kiss only inflamed her futile arousal. She pushed Marie away and grabbed a utensil from the breakfast tray to attempt to pick the locks. No use. The keyholes were too small, the locks too strong. 

"There must be keys about somewhere. See if you can find them, Marie."

"Oh, no, I mustn't. Her orders were very clear. Now come on and eat."

She had no appetite, but tried to choke down the food that tasted like sawdust. Her entire being was centered on the belt, and the infuriating tingle of heat locked away beneath it. She wanted to rub away that heat, bring herself to a powerful spending, but each time her hand started to stray down there, she remembered the sharp pain in her fingers and stopped. 

With Marie's help, she bathed and dressed. Not even in the bath was she permitted to remove the chastity belt, and beneath her clothes it was weighty and uncomfortable. It pinched when she moved, made a dull clanking noise when she sat down, and the locks jingled on their hasps like the chains of a condemned criminal. 

The potion worked its magic on her as well, so that she could hardly think of anything but sex. Her mind brimmed with mental images of naked men, sometimes faceless but often men that she knew. Michel, Jean-Pierre, Walter, Salvador, Rob, Adam, Enrique, even Lord Cuthburt. Women, too … Daisy, Greta, Marie, Beatrice, Jacqueline … all appeared in her feverish daydreams. 

Nothing worked to break the belt or the locks. Nothing worked to wriggle up inside, and give her even a moment's relief. The rest of that long, long day dragged endlessly on. She could not bear to go on deck, for then she would see the men. She had to send Marie away.

When night fell, and Jacqueline returned to the cabin with Marie in tow, Constance was nearly clawing at the walls. She spared no thought for pride but flung herself at Jacqueline's high-booted feet. 

"Please take it off of me. Please! I cannot stand it. I will surely go mad."

"And this only the first day," Jacqueline said. "Perhaps you'll become accustomed to it. Perhaps, but I find it doubtful."

Constance could have screamed. 

"I hope you do not mind," Jacqueline added, "but I've invited two of the men to keep company with Marie tonight."

This fresh cruelty brought tears to her eyes. Sure enough, shortly thereafter, a pair of men came in. Michel was one, and to Constance's everlasting shock, Jean-Pierre was the other. He had forsaken his plain black clothes for attire slightly more in keeping with the rest of the crew, and sported a gold ring in his ear. She recalled now that he had gone ashore with the rest in Port Royal, instead of staying in his room to pray. At the time, she'd surmised that he would have sought the counsel of some priest, but now she wondered if he hadn't gone on a spree of debauchery with his elder brother. 

It was her fault, she knew. All because she had, in that one moment of weakness, licked and sucked and massaged him into erection, then straddled him to quench the burning fire in her cunny. He had wakened to find her atop him, and when he could not escape, his traitorous cock had offered up his virginal sacrifice. Then, later, when she dared approach him again, he had been like a man possessed and hurled her to his bed, where he'd quickly and forcefully fucked her to their mutual spending.

Now he was here, the Jean-Pierre Merlion that he had perhaps always been meant to be. With a hoop in his ear and a hard look in his eye, a true son of the legendary Black Falcon. 

They were going to fuck Marie. While Constance was made to watch, unable to join in. As she fully understood this, she could have cheerfully done violent murder on Jacqueline. 

Michel swept Marie up in his arms, and gave her a deep and searching kiss that was nearly enough to send Constance into a fit of heat and jealousy. He handed her over to Jean-Pierre, and the younger Merlion cast a vengeful look at Constance before claiming Marie's mouth with his own.

He would never have done this if not to get back at her, Constance realized. To add to her misery. 

"No!" she shouted, and ran forward. 

Jacqueline tripped her up, neat as could be. Constance fell full-length on the floor, her pelvis striking with a metallic thunk. Winded, she rolled onto her back. Jacqueline seized her by the arms, yanked her to her feet, and in a trice had bound Constance's wrists so that one of the massive bed's posts ran between them. 

She was tethered to the bottom corner of the bed, and it was there that Marie arranged herself once she'd removed her simple dress. Not the floor now, but the great captain's bed with its pillows and hangings. 

Marie stretched and preened like a cat, running her hands over her pert breasts and the foxbrush of her reddish-brown mound. She beckoned invitingly to the brothers, and Constance strained against her bonds. If she could not join them, she had to avoid seeing … but she could no more turn her eyes away than she could snap the locks that secured the chastity belt. 

Michel and Jean-Pierre had undressed and now crawled onto the bed, one on either side of Marie. She wallowed in their presence, an arm around the neck of each, swapping kisses one to the other. Their hands were all over Marie's body. She twisted and turned to give them freer access to every part of her. Michel's touches were confident, Jean-Pierre's less so but balanced by his determination.

Constance was in a frenzy. She tried to lean in such a way that the bedpost would be brought to bear upon her, meaning to rub against it, but her efforts were unsatisfactory, hampered by cold unfeeling metal. Jacqueline seemed to find this most entertaining indeed. 

Jean-Pierre, at Michel's suggestion, slid down the bed until he could apply his tongue to Marie's cunny. He went hesitantly at first, but the more she writhed and moaned and urged him on, the more he gave himself over to the act with abandon and a natural talent.

He was so close to Constance that she could have reached him had her arms not been tied, could have grasped his upstanding young cock and drawn it deep into her own mouth. To be unable to do this was a terrible torment, the most terrible she had ever known. Her cunny pulsed with yearning, wanting so desperately to join the trio on the bed. 

"Oh, put it in me," Marie gasped. "I'm about to come, and I want your cock in me when I do."

"You heard the girl, little brother." Michel raised Marie's bottom long enough to prop a pillow beneath it, elevating her lower half so that Constance had an unobstructed view. 

"I … yes," Jean-Pierre said. "Yes, I'm going to fuck you now." He looked over his shoulder at Constance to see how she was taking this proclamation. 

She wanted to beg him to forget Marie and fuck her instead, or at least let her suck him, but she only made an inarticulate moan. 

A grin – very like Jacqueline's, and it occurred to Constance that she had never really noticed any other resemblance between brothers and sister – surfaced on his face. He poised himself at the entrance of Marie's cunny, fingering her with one hand while he tugged on his cock with the other. 

"Oh, oh, yes!" Marie bucked her hips. "I'm going to –"

Jean-Pierre buried his cock in her, uttering a loud cry as he did so. His buttocks flexed as he thrust deeper. Constance could see his shaft glistening as it emerged from Marie's clasping cunny lips, only to then slam home a moment later. 

It was quick, that first fuck, but thorough. When Jean-Pierre had finished, Michel turned Marie onto her side and lay behind her, entering her in the same way that Constance remembered being entered by Walter. Except that lucky Marie had Jean-Pierre as well, facing him, caressing him, even as Michel fucked her from behind. 

Constance tried closing her eyes, but she could still hear the wet slap of flesh on flesh, the murmurs, the grunts, the sighs, the orgasmic cries. She could smell their sweat, their musk, the tang of semen. And had she been stricken of those senses, she would have still been able to feel the shaking of the bed. As large and heavy and sturdily-built as it was, it still shuddered from the movement of the three bodies.

So she had to watch, feeling the intense agony of unmet need. It would have been bad enough without the drug that coursed through her; with it, with the potent aphrodisiac, she would have gladly done anything for release. Anything. 

Her earlier conversation with Jacqueline came back to taunt her. Any man? Yes, any man, Lord Cuthburt or the idiot stableboy Marie had spoken of, even Jacqueline's hypothetical hunchbacked dwarf. Any man, any woman. Any beast or inanimate object, no less … she would have been overjoyed with the candle she'd used on Lady Beatrice. Anything to put an end to the maddening fire in her loins. 

Yet no release was in sight. No relief for the bound and belted Constance. She watched as Marie bent over Jean-Pierre and bobbed her head on his stiffness while Michel knelt behind her and shuttled his cock in and out of her cunny. She watched, watched, until finally it was over and the three of them sprawled among the blankets, sweating and breathless. 

"And to think," Jacqueline purred in her ear. "This is but the first day."

The first day. 

With each day that followed, similar scenes were played out as Constance was made to look on. Marie and various members of the crew. Marie alone, frigging herself. Marie kneeling over Constance's head, cunny presented to Constance's questing tongue. Once, Jacqueline lined up half a dozen men and told Constance to service each in turn with her mouth, and she did, sucking them fervently. 

Constance savored those occasions, although it was all the worse when she was allowed a taste of pleasure but her own needs remained unsatisfied. The days became a week, the week became two, and she was sure that she would lose her mind. Sometimes she thought of throwing herself into the sea just to have an end to the torture. 

Her lusts might have dwindled, as an untended fire will with no one to add wood, but Jacqueline would not allow it to be so. Each day saw another dose of the aphrodisiac, and some inventive new display aimed at keeping Constance in a state of perpetual arousal. 

The ship soon reached Falcon Bay, which had its name from a massive outcrop of stone guarding the harbor. This outcrop bore a shape not unlike that of the head of a bird of prey, with hooked beak and the suggestion of keen, alert eyes. Sheltered in its cove was a fortress, flying the flag of the Black Falcon. A lowly village surrounded the forbidding structure. 

They docked here, amid other pirate vessels. Constance, still with the belt a stern presence beneath her clothes, was taken to the fortress. She was installed in a room with a narrow window that offered a view down into a courtyard. At the center of this courtyard, rising from the flagstones, was a raised stone platform that made her think of virgins deflowered in pagan rites, or criminals executed by a swing of the headsman's axe. 

The next morning, that same window allowed her to watch in dismay as the Falcon departed with white sails belling gracefully in the wind. She had been left behind, as had Marie. 

"Soon, your ransom will be paid and you shall be reunited with your family. Doesn't that please you?" Marie asked as she brushed out Constance's hair. Every sensual caress of the brush was an agony that she never wanted to end. 

"Reunited with my family?" she echoed. "I cannot face my father like this, not when I can barely keep a thought in my head!"

"But will he not be happy to know that you've passed these weeks untouched?"

"Quit your mockery!" Constance lashed out before she knew she meant to, and would have fetched the maid a smart slap had Marie not been so quick. 

"Oh, my lady … do not take on so."

"How can Jacqueline be so cruel?"

"I was told," Marie said in the manner of one imparting a confidence, "that she wants your father to see you in this state. Had you noticed the platform in the courtyard below?"

She led Constance to the window, and pointed. The raised structure of stone had a wooden platform erected upon it. This platform had rails along three of its sides, and a short post at the midpoint of the fourth. 

"What is it for?" Constance asked. 

"It's a sort of bed, I suppose. A girl could be tied upon it, don't you think? See how her wrists could be bound to that one rail, tied above her head? Her ankles might be bound, one to the rail on the side, the other to the post. She'd be widely spread, wouldn't she? And the platform's of such a size, really, that there's room enough for two, side-by-side."

"What evil is Jacqueline planning now? She's told you her plans, hasn't she?"

"Do you honestly wish to know? It isn't as if there would be a thing in the world you could do about it, my lady. Not when she's set her mind to it."

"Tell me!"

"As I understand it, they've gone off to meet up with your father's ship, intercept it on his way to Falcon Bay. Instead of approaching under a flag of truce, the pirates mean to seize the ship, and capture your father. Jacqueline wants to bring him here, to see with his own eyes what his daughter's become."

"You cannot mean …"

"Oh, yes, my lady," Marie said brightly. "There, on that very platform, she'll have you bound and fucked while he looks on."

"No! Not like that, Marie, say it is not so!"

"It's just as she told me. Imagine his face when he sees you there, naked and writhing and surrounded by the men, begging to be fucked. What would be the worst for him, do you think? Salvador? I know my papa would die on the spot to see me with a Moor."




The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 16



Constance had gone numb with horror. "No, no, he cannot see me like that."

"Or should it be with me, your own sweet Marie? What would your father think to see you pleasured by my tongue? Or should it be as many men as can find some part of you to prod with their cocks? You could handle half a dozen, I'm sure. I know I've done. One up the arse, one in your cunny, one in your mouth, one in each hand, and one rubbing off between your tits."

Constance clutched at her. "But why, Marie? Why must she do this? She did not do such a terrible thing to Lady Beatrice."

"Wasn't hers terrible enough?" Marie smiled, eyes sparkling with the memory. "Oh, my lady, but that was the prettiest sight I've seen in all my days, when they turned that bitch over and raped her good and hard. How I hated her! It would have been worth it, had they killed me for lying and thrown me to the sharks, just for the look on her face when she felt Michel shove it in."

"But in the end, she was ransomed, and not shamed in front of her family," Constance said, on the threshold of tears. "Why do this to me?"

"Because that's the way the captain wishes it," Marie said with a shrug. "That's all I know, my lady, and that's all, really, that matters."





The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 17



Constance passed several miserable days in her lonely room. She was permitted to roam the fortress or the village, but escape was impossible because there was no way to leave the island save by ship. And all the ships were those of the Black Falcon's fleet. They ranged from swift sloops to monstrous galleons bristling with cannons, and every man, woman, and child in Falcon Bay was loyal to the Merlions. 

She had Marie for company, and took a peculiar sort of comfort in knowing that her mother had spent two years here, during Anna deGranville's time as a captive of Philippe Merlion. Not that she sensed any lingering ghost of her mother's presence.

Daily, she was plied anew with the potion that fanned the flames of her arousal, while being unable to relieve the turbulent pressure. She felt she might burst, might fly apart into a thousand pieces. Sleep eluded her at night, when she would toss and turn in her bed, unable to rest comfortably with the belt locked around her loins. She picked at her meals, and gave up seeking what empty solace she could in Marie's arms. 

Oh, this could not go on, this must end. One way or another, it had to end soon or she was certain she would take leave of her sanity. 

And then, five days after the Falcon had sailed away, its flag was sighted returning. Cheers rose up all over the village, and people swarmed to the docks to welcome the crew home. Constance could only see shapes, not enough detail to recognize any of them in the dusk's purple light. 

She waited with dread, but nothing happened until the next morning. Then Marie, flushed with excitement, hurried into Constance's room. 

"Marie, what news?"

"Success, my lady!" It dawned noticeably on Marie's face that perhaps Constance might not react gladly to such news, and she faltered. "I mean … they've come back."

"And my father?" She almost hoped that in the attack, her father had been shot and killed. He would have at least then died believing her innocence. Much as she loved him, she would rather he'd been slain than witness the show Jacqueline seemed determined to put on. 

"They have him," Marie said. 

Constance's heart sank. What hideous anguish for him … and a familiar one, reliving how it must have been when her mother's ship was taken. Except this would be worse, far worse, for he had always been so diligent in protecting her. He couldn't have known that her doom would come from within the very walls of the sheltered family estate. 

"Time, my lady. Time to make you ready."

"I shan't," Constance said. "I'll not let her do this. It isn't fair that she should hate me so, when I've done nothing to her. Have the Merlions not harmed my family enough? Did you know, Marie, that my own mother was kidnapped by Philippe Merlion, and held by him for two years?"

It was as if she hadn't spoken. Marie was bustling about, laying out a fine dress of white linen more suitable for a bride than a prisoner. She pulled at the laces on the frock Constance was wearing, and looked puzzled when Constance batted her hands away. 

"No!"

"But it's Jacqueline's orders."

"Bugger her orders!" Constance spat, startling herself. "And bugger Jacqueline as well! I will not go."

If her father saw her as Jacqueline would have him see her, arranged on a platform like a sacrifice, and taken by one man after another, it would shatter his very soul. Hers, as well. How he would look at her, never again with love in his gaze, always thereafter seeing her as the naked whore. 

Bad enough if he had to observe her ravishment. But for him to see her respond … as she was cursed to do, by weeks of neglect and the heightened effects of the potion … that would be the unkindest thing of all! He might, though it was only the slimmest of chances, hold her less to blame for what happened if he thought her to be suffering, or merely enduring. Should she allow her terrible, vile passions to arise …

Marie had the insolence to give her a chiding look, as if Constance were being a difficult child who did not want to don her Sunday best for church. "Now, my lady –"

"I will not, I say!"

With a world-weary sigh, Marie went to the door and called into the hall. Moments later, Michel appeared, and gazed sternly at Constance. 

"Please, Michel," she pleaded, extending her hands toward him. "You know that what your sister means to do is beyond cruel."

"We lost two men and six others were wounded taking your father's ship," he said. "I won't have that be for naught, Constance."

"Jacqueline caused that with her insistence on this abominable act," she said.

"Be that as it may, cherie, we've not gone through so much for nothing. Put on your lovely white gown, and let us to the courtyard. Your father and brother have whiled away the night in the dungeon, and –" "Brother?" She tottered, nearly swooning. "Rob is here?"

"He was aboard the ship with your father. It amused Jacqueline mightily to bring them both. Lord William has been ranting, foaming at the mouth like a dog, damning us to hell and back, demanding to see you. Do not disappoint him."

"I will not do this. Have you no heart, no decency?"

"You are a prisoner, Constance," Michel said. "Ours to do with as we will. We could have used you as we did Beatrice, we could have flayed you for our amusement, we could have sold you to some sultan … you are not a guest here. This is what Jacqueline wants done, and so it shall be done."

"She is a madwoman!"

"She is a great captain. If she has ill will toward your family, well, she has her reasons."

"What reasons? Why should she hate us so? None of your other captives have been mistreated this way."

"We haven't time for this. Permit Marie to dress you, or I'll hold you down and strip you by force."

There was no compromise in his tone. She saw that he meant what he said. It broke something within her, some fragile dream she hadn't even realized she'd had. There might have been a time when she felt fondly toward this emerald-eyed rogue of her dreams, and fancied that he found her special as well. But he would not take her side against Jacqueline's. He would not rescue her. Indeed, he would take part in her public shame, if that was Jacqueline's bidding. He would fuck her in front of her father, and fuck her so well that she could not possibly fail to spend. 

Constance quit resisting and stood motionless as Marie slipped off one dress and replaced it with another. She had been bathed only the night before, so her skin was satiny and powder-smooth, her hair a rippling golden curtain. 

It was going to happen, she knew. Nothing could stop it. The British fleet was not going to arrive in the very nick of time to save her, nor was Michel going to defy Jacqueline. She would be placed on display, made a spectacle, and her poor dear father would have to see all. 

She could not let him think that she enjoyed in any way what would be done to her. She must not. She must show no signs of pleasure, no matter what acts were performed upon her body. 

When she was ready, Michel and Marie escorted her downstairs and out into the balmy sun of the courtyard. A crowd was already gathered, sailors and townspeople jostling for position. 

At the bottom of the steps, in an enclosure momentarily shielding them from the gaze of the spectators, Marie hiked Constance's skirt and Michel produced a tiny key. He used this to open the locks at her hips, and her skin sobbed with relief as the constricting metal of the chastity belt was finally lifted away. 

Marie brought out a bucket of warm water and a rag, and sponged the regions that had been concealed. Red, chafed spots marked her body here and there, but the water coursing over her was purest bliss. She let her head fall back, and sighed, as Marie tenderly washed her. 

"It'll be better soon, my lady," Marie said, rubbing the rag in slow circles on Constance's mound. "Soon you'll have a nice cock seeing to you."

"I cannot go up there like this. Please, Michel," she said, turning tearful eyes on him. "Do not make me spend in front of my father."

His reply was to kiss her, and nudge Marie's hand aside to probe with a long, strong finger into her. She shuddered and pressed against him, hating herself even as she nearly screamed with delight. 

"The state you're in, cherie," he murmured against her mouth, "I don't think that's possible. Now, up you go."

He slapped her on the bottom, making her squeal. Her skirt fell around her shins, the cloth caressing her buttocks. As Constance climbed the steps, feeling like a condemned woman on her way to the gallows, or the stake, or the executioner's block, she was vividly aware of the way her legs rubbed together. No metal was in the way, and when she squeezed her thighs together, she felt the wonderful friction on her cunny lips, and clitoris. 

She climbed onto the platform, and the crowd whistled and cheered as she came into view. Most of the crew stood around the wooden bed-like construction. She saw that Jacqueline's familiar leather chair had been brought from the captain's cabin and set up at the edge of the bed. The blonde pirate woman was lounging in it, in her customary pose, but her relaxed posture was belied by the wild merriment in her eyes, and the white knuckles where her hands gripped the armrests. 

"Tie her," she said. 

"Jacqueline, please, no, do not do this," Constance said, although she knew it was useless. 

Michel picked her up and placed her on the wooden structure. Its surface had been covered with a padded cushion, a consideration that seemed absurd in light of the rest of it. Some of the men stepped forth to help him as they brought Constance's arms over her head, and bound her wrists to the rail. Her ankles were spread apart, one tied to the rail, the other to the short post. The skirt of her gown draped her curves, rising in peaks over her breasts, falling into the long valley of her parted thighs. "Now send for the prisoners," Jacqueline said. She grinned at Constance. "Your devoted brother is here with us, as well."

"Why, Jacqueline? At least tell me that! What has our family ever done that you should hate us so? Have not the Merlions done enough to the deGranvilles already? My own mother was –"

Jacqueline's grin vanished. She fixed Constance with her cold blue gaze. "You still do not understand why I have such good reason to hate you, and your family?"

"Would that I did, for then this heartless business might make sense to me!"

"When your mother set sail from Veradoga all those years ago, she was with child. She had only suspected it and had not yet told her husband. Her ship was taken by Merlion and she knew that even if she were ransomed to safety, her husband would never believe that she'd been pregnant before. He would think the babe to be the rape-gotten bastard of a pirate. And so, your mother beseeched Merlion to keep her until the child had been born and weaned. She left that child with Merlion and his wife, to be raised as a sister to their sons. That child, Constance, is me. I am your sister."

"My … sister?"

"The second child of William and Anna deGranville."

"Oh, dear Lord!"

"And she left me. Left me with pirates, to return to her comfortable, privileged life. You were born to replace me, and all that you have, everything that is yours, should have by rights been mine!"

"Jacqueline –"

"But what did I have? I grew up believing Philippe Merlion to be my father, until the night he raped me in my bed. Only then did he tell me the truth, as if the fact that we were not blood kin should make it all right. I vowed, on learning this, that I would never rest until I'd had my revenge against the deGranvilles. Fortune was with me indeed that you should have fallen into my hands. Now, at last, my hour of vengeance has come."

Stunned, Constance did not know what to say, or even if she could speak. 

Jacqueline leaned close. Looking at her, Constance was amazed that she'd missed the fact of their resemblance. The blond hair, when Michel and Jean-Pierre were both dark. The blue eyes, that same cerulean shade as in a portrait of Anna deGranville that Constance had once stumbled over in the attic of the villa. 

"Now you know," she whispered, lips curved in a cold smile. "But if you breathe even a word of it to our father, I'll have him shot dead without a second thought. Do you believe me?"

"Yes," Constance said tremulously. 

"Then our brother, rapacious lecher that he is. And then, while their life's blood pours out onto the stones, I'll draw my dagger and cut your throat."

With that, and a final icy stare to assure Constance that Jacqueline entirely meant what she'd said, the captain turned away to face the disturbance in the crowd as the prisoners were brought forth. Michel, standing nearby, offered Constance a small, sympathetic smile. 

"It is true, you know," he said in a low, conversational tone. "I remember your mother. I was only a little boy, but I remember. Golden-haired, she was, with eyes like the sea. She was very kind, sad, but kind."

"Michel, please … help me. I beg of you."

He somberly shook his head. "The last thing she told me before sailing away was that Jacqueline was to be my sister now, and that I should always care for her. After my father hurt her so, I swore I'd always be loyal."

The crowd laughed and called as Salvador, Adam, and a few other sailors dragged the figures of William and Robert deGranville to the platform. Their hands were bound before them, ankles hobbled on short lengths of rope, and both were disheveled. A bandage stained with dried blood was around Rob's arm, and William's face was bruised. But it was them, unmistakably them. Constance yanked at her bonds, burning with humiliation that she should be bound here like this, but she succeeded only in causing the cords to dig into her wrists. 

"You've had your fun, you devil's witch!" her father shouted at Jacqueline as he was pulled up the steps. "And you have your gold, your ransom. Now, damn you, where is my daughter?"

He saw Constance then, and the world seemed to momentarily stop in its tracks. The anger drained from him, replaced by fear, and in that instant he looked old. Not fifty, his true age, but ancient. The sun hit his fair hair at just the right slant to turn it silvery, and sunken hollows ringed his devastated grey eyes. 

"Constance," he choked. 

Rob saw her as well, and a turmoil of expressions battled for dominion. Fury and envy, spite and lust … he was not her brother but a monster. Perhaps their father held to the hope that she was untouched; Rob seemed to pierce her very mind and know the most intricate details of everything she'd done since fleeing him. 

Jacqueline's warning had not been needed. Constance couldn't have spoken a single word. Her throat closed with grief-stricken shame, and tears overflowed her eyes. 

"Release her!" William raged, lunging against those who held him with such sudden force that he nearly tore free. 

They grappled him into submission, and bodily hauled him nearer to Jacqueline, nearer to Constance. His chest was heaving, his face ashen but for scarlet blotches of ire. He was unkempt, having been indifferent to shaving while so consumed by worry for his daughter, and barely looked like himself at all. Yet it was him, her beloved if distant father. 

She wanted to convey the truth somehow to her father. By the very transmission of thought, perhaps. That here was another child of his, her and Rob's blood sister. If Jacqueline were somehow welcomed, accepted into the family, loved, given the status and comforts she felt she had been denied, perhaps there was a chance at healing this enmity. But her father only saw her mute appeal, and mistook it for a helpless plea. 

"Fiend!" he spat at Jacqueline. "What have you done to her?"

"She has been well-treated. Haven't you, Constance? Very well-treated indeed."

"If you've let these villains of yours lay a single hand on my sister –" Rob began.

Jacqueline's laugh cut through his words. "Such concern for your sister's virtue, Robert deGranville! How noble!"

"You have your money," William said, fighting to calm himself enough to speak reasonably. "If it's blood as well that you want, let my children go, and spill mine."

"Why, my lord, you must think we're bad-tempered indeed." Jacqueline studied him, perhaps searching his face and comparing it to her own, this first glimpse of her true father. "You, and your son, and your darling little girl, may all leave once my demands are met."

"What demands are these? If it is more gold –"

"No. Look at your daughter."

"Father –" It was the tiniest of gasps, the word so fragmented by silent, shaking sobs, that only those closest to the tableau might have heard, if not understood.

He turned his attention back to Constance. "Spare her. Free her."

"I will free her only when she has been well and thoroughly fucked," Jacqueline said harshly. She indicated the men of her crew. "Choose whom it shall be, Lord deGranville, and we'll have it over with."

William gaped at her. So, too, did Constance, and Rob with fire in his eyes. 

"You cannot expect me to … to …"

"To pick the man who'll defile your daughter. While you watch."

"I will do no such thing!"

"You will," Jacqueline said, "or none of you shall leave this island alive."

All around them, pistols and cutlasses were drawn. Adam pushed the barrel of his gun to Rob's temple. 

"Ye'd better do as the cap'n says," he snarled. "Or I'll blow yer boy's brains out the side o' his head."

"To save her life, your son's, and your own," Jacqueline said, with the air of one who was enjoying herself beyond even her expectations, "you will do this."

"Father, please," Rob cried, the pistol against his head. "They'll murder us."

"You'd have me surrender your sister?" William rounded on him. "Surrender her honor?"

"They'll do what they want with her anyway, whether we're alive or dead," Rob said. "And probably already have, since she was no virgin." He winced as if he wanted to call the words back, but it was too late. 

William went very still. "What?"

"Virgin," Jacqueline repeated clearly. "So you needn't concern yourself with protecting her maidenhead. She'd already been divested of that, long before she fell into our hands."

"Constance, is this true? This cannot be true." Every line of his face implored her to deny it. 

Again, she could muster only that tiniest of voices, and each word punched into her father like a blade. "I never wanted to. He … he made me. Oh, Father … I am so … sorry!"

"No, I will not believe it." William perhaps meant to shout, but the utterance was hollow and strengthless. 

"Perhaps," said Jacqueline, "you should ask your son."

"Robert?" It was a groan. "Surely you would not …"

"Yes, I did," Rob said. He drew himself up, trying to edge away from the gun. "I fucked her before, and I'd do so now if it's the price we must pay to get out of this with our lives."

The dead look in her father's eyes, and the way his shoulders slumped in defeat, tore at Constance's heart like a thorn. He turned away from Rob as if the very sight of his son disgusted him, only to find Jacqueline standing before him, hands on her hips, teeth gleaming in a cruel smile. 

"There you have it, deGranville," she said triumphantly. "Your own son. It's quite a tale. You should have him tell you all of it sometime, how he raped her and made her like it, and so selfishly wanted her cunny for his own that he fought his closest friend over her. For all the good it did, eh, Rob, because he got into her too, didn't he?"

"Witch," William groaned. "Lying witch … I will not believe it."

In a movement swift as lightning, she had out her dagger and the edge of it was against his neck. "And now," she said, "returning to my demand?"




The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 17



"You name the man, then!" he said wretchedly. 

Her manner became teasing. "Should I name your son? What say you, Robert? Would you fuck your pretty sister here and now, in full view of us all?"

"Gladly," Rob sneered, and William flinched.

"Would you rather see your son take her, or a stranger?" Jacqueline asked. She pressed the edge more firmly, drawing a thin line of blood. She touched her thumb to it, and held it so that he could see the red stain. "Answer me, deGranville."

"God, forgive me!" he said to the sky, tears running down his face. "Constance, my dear one, forgive me as well … I must allow this monstrous thing, if it will save us from death." 

"A wise choice," Jacqueline said. "Marie? If you'd be so kind as to strip her, and make her ready?"

Marie, tossing her hips saucily, walked past the men and climbed onto the wooden bed with Constance. 

"No, Marie! If ever we were friends –"

"Sorry, my lady, but I must do as I'm told."

She raised the hem of the skirt, exposing Constance's legs, and lifted it slowly until she was revealed to the waist. William deGranville would not look, but Rob ogled openly. Marie slid the dress up and up, over Constance's breasts, over her head, until it was a bunched white heap on her forearms and tethered wrists. "Look at her, deGranville," Jacqueline commanded. "See how ripe and lovely she is. Her cunny is so desperate for a touch, too. See how she tries to resist it, but our clever Marie knows how to make her feel good."

Constance did try to resist, holding her legs as close together as her bonds allowed, but that still left Marie ample room to get a hand between them. And yes, Marie did know … the languid slide of fingers on flesh that had been deprived for so long … a melting thrill coursed through her body. 

"Stop it, please, don't …" She arched her back, twisted her head from side to side, but Marie kept on. 

"She does like it, Captain," Marie reported smugly.

"Go on, Marie … you know what to do," Jacqueline said.

"Be calm, my lady, be at ease." Marie got into position, her own dress gathered for ease of movement and to display her nicely-shaped legs to the crowd. She kissed the fluff of Constance's pubic hair, then burrowed down to apply her quick and sly tongue where it had such devastating effect. 

Constance leaped in her bonds, unable to help it, the feeling so incredibly good and needed after her enforced celibacy. "Marie! No!"

"You've never seen her like this, I'd wager," Jacqueline said to William. She was gripping him by the chin, pinching his jaw, making his head turn toward the scene on the wooden bed. "She can hardly wait for a fine hard cock to fill her."

"Only not Rob," William blurted. "If it must be done, do not let it be Rob!"

"But, Father!" Rob's voice was whining and petulant, as if denied a treat. "Why not? I've had her before!"

Jacqueline raised a hand for silence, and even Marie stopped what she was doing to attend to the captain. Constance had managed not to moan while Marie had been so sweetly engaged, but now she locked her jaws against a protest. Her pouting cunny was aching for more. 

"Here's a thought," Jacqueline said. "Lord deGranville, I'll give you another option. You be the one to fuck her."

He recoiled as if from a snake. "What?"

"I know I spoke clearly. Fuck your precious Constance, and you'll all go free. She won't have to endure the attentions of strangers or her vile brother. It would be an act of mercy."

"Mercy! You would … you would have me … I could never commit such an abominable deed!"

"Rob?" Jacqueline asked. "How badly do you wish to live?"

"I'll do anything," he said. He looked her over lewdly. "Anything at all, for you."

"Anything?"

"Name it."

"Have you ever fucked a man?"

"A time or two," Rob admitted. 

"Excellent. Here, deGranville, is your final choice," Jacqueline said. "Either you will fuck your daughter, or your son will go up your arse."

"I'd rather you or Constance –" Rob began.

"Choose now, deGranville!" she barked, and with one hand still holding the dagger against his throat, also drew her pistol and braced it over his heart. "Choose now, or die!"

***

Continued in Chapter Eighteen



The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 18



A hushed eternity spun out as William deGranville, Jacqueline's weapons ready to end his life with a slash or a shot or the both at once, stared wide-eyed at the pirate woman. Her ultimatum hung in the air, and the crowd leaned forward expectantly, breaths held, to hear his reply. 

"Not that!" Constance shrieked, the words erupting from her. "No, Jacqueline, anything but that, please, if you have any mercy in your heart –"

"I … I will do as you … as you demand," her father said, shuddering. 

"Father, no, oh, please no!"

"Marie?" Jacqueline stepped back, wiping the thin sheen of deGranville's blood from her dagger before sheathing it. She kept the pistol leveled at him. "Help the good governor with his breeches."

"Right away, Captain."

"Constance, forgive me," William said wretchedly, unable to look at her. "It is … it is the only way."

But it was not! She wanted to scream it at him. It was not the only way! Jacqueline had given him another choice, to be buggered by Rob, but had he spared it a moment's consideration? He'd sooner fuck his own daughter, commit the worst of incests, for that would still leave him a man? She wanted to scream all this, peal it with a banshee's terrible howl, but words failed her. 

Marie knelt before William and reached for his belt. He shied away, but the men flanking him – Salvador, and a stout sailor named Rafe with a huge fiery beard – held him in place. Marie trilled with amusement. 

"Why, Captain, he's half-hard already!" she crowed.

"What’s this, deGranville?" Jacqueline inquired mockingly. "Aroused by what you've seen, eh? Did you perchance like watching our Marie work her tongue in your Constance's cunny?"

His eyes were squeezed shut, and brick-red colored his cheeks. As Marie slid his trousers down his legs, exposing him from the waist, Constance glimpsed over Marie's shoulder that it was true. His cock stood at half-mast, a slim and elegantly-shaped lance rising from a tuft of silvery-gold hair. 

She averted her gaze in horror. Of all the cruelties she'd expected of Jacqueline, never had she imagined anything so terrible as this. All at once she would have given anything to be allowed to take on a dozen men, would have whored herself to them on hands and knees, anything to stop this most hideous thing. 

In looking away from her father, she met Rob's eyes. The fuming anger in them sent a chill spiking into her heart. 

"Lift your foot, my lord," Marie said, attempting to remove his boot.

William kept his foot firmly planted, until Salvador poked the tip of a cutlass meaningfully into his back. Then, grimacing, he acquiesced. First one boot, and then the other, were tossed aside. Marie peeled away his trousers and underclothes. Constance could not help watching, drawn against her will to the scene, as the kneeling girl reached up and gently grasped William's cock. It twitched, eliciting a general laugh, and deGranville went even redder. 

"Give him a lick, Marie," prompted Jacqueline. 

Marie did so, playfully flicking her tongue against the head of his cock and then licking the shaft in quick, firm strokes. Although his face was screwed into knots, perhaps in dire concentration not to respond, he stiffened toward full erection. 

"Please, Father!" Constance wept. "Do not let them do this to us!"

"You've quite a nice one, my lord," Marie said approvingly, and opened her mouth to engulf him. 

William groaned. His hands were so tightly clenched at his sides that thin rills of blood trickled from the points where his nails cut into his palms. 

The gathered sailors and townsfolk cheered Marie on. She bobbed her head, one hand holding the base of his cock, the other between his legs to toy with the dangling sac of his balls. When she allowed him to slide out from her lips, he was swollen and rigid, glistening from her saliva. 

And surely it meant she was damned, doomed to the fires of Hell for all eternity, but at the sight, a loosening expectance relaxed Constance's loins. Her cunny ran with a fresh flow of juices, anticipating the contact, the penetration. 

"Nooo," she whimpered, more to herself than to them. 

"Put him on the platform," Jacqueline said from her chair. Rather than lounge, now, she was sitting forward with an avid expression, that of someone at long last seeing a coveted dream made true. 

Constance wailed and lunged in her bonds, this way and that, abrading her wrists and ankles. Her father, practically carried by Rafe and Salvador, came toward her with a stiltlike gait. He reached the edge, and Salvador struck him sharply on the backs of the legs. This caused his joints to unhinge, and he dropped to his knees on the edge of the platform between her widespread feet. 

A babbled string of pleas issued from her. William's eyes opened. He looked down at her, at the lush young body, and he was in tears, chin quivering, face torn with despair. And yet, for all of that, his cock loomed over her. 

"Forgive me, Constance," he said. "I must. Do you not see? There is no other way. We have no choice. It is our lives at stake, our lives, our family, and –"

The mention of family incensed Jacqueline. "Go on and stick it in her," she snapped. "Do it, deGranville, fuck the little whore."

"No, Father, no, not this," Constance said. 

"I must," he repeated woodenly. "It is the only way. Forgive me."

He bent down, bracing his hands on either side of her trapped body. His cock touched her belly and she jumped. He lowered himself, only that part of him in contact with her. It brushed through her downy-gold fluff, and he was quaking now, his arms straining, his jaw knotted. 

"Oh, please, no!" She felt his cockhead part her soft hair and nudge into her furrow. For one shattering moment, it was pressed full against her clitoris, sending a jolt like lightning through her. 

"Close your eyes, Constance," he said thickly. "Close your eyes, and think of other things, and soon this terrible deed will be done and we'll be free."

He moved down, an excruciatingly slow movement that made her traitorous flesh want to lunge upward and capture him. She held herself motionless, for if she did that, if she took an active and willing part, he would hate her more than ever. Yet he had to be feeling the damp heat rising from her cunny, had to know that she was ready, craving it. 

His cock lodged at the opening, against her but not within her. William's arms were shaking from the effort of holding himself up. All he had to do was thrust his hips, or even let his weight drop onto her, and he'd be seated deep, buried in her. 

"How is it, deGranville?" Jacqueline asked. "Has she a nice, hot cunny?"

"I cannot do this," he said. "I cannot … not my own and only daughter!"

Jacqueline was out of her chair and onto the platform in a flash. Constance could see her, scowling, standing behind and over her father. 

"Enough of this!" she cried. "You will fuck her!"

So saying, she planted her high-booted foot against his buttocks and shoved. William gave a cry and lost his balance, and fell full onto – and into – Constance. His cock plunged into her, impaling her to the very core, and they screamed together at the sudden invasion. 

Constance only hoped that the genuine horror in her cry masked the low and slinking sound of ecstasy. For it felt good, appalling as it was, it felt exquisite to have a cock filling her cunny. Never mind that it was her father's, the very organ of her own generation, in fact … it was a fine stiff prick, and everything Jacqueline had said about her was true. 

"There," Jacqueline said, her foot still pressing down hard on William's buttocks. "Now you're in her, deGranville. Your cock is sunk to the root. Isn't she tight? Isn't she hot and wet?"

"She-devil," he gasped, and whether he meant Jacqueline or Constance was unclear. 

"Stop, please, oh, take it out," Constance said, although she feared she would convulse and die of unfulfilled need if he did. 

"What is it like to be inside her cunny?" Jacqueline asked. "To be violating her, your own precious child?"

"Damn you," William sobbed. "Damn you to hell, witch!"

"But it isn't enough just to be in her," Jacqueline went on, undaunted. "Now you must fuck her. And that brings you a new choice. Will you want it over with fast, and thus pump her vigorously –" she pushed with her foot in rapid succession, driving him against Constance, forcing his cock to make short, jabbing strokes, "fucking her like a madman, eager to spill your seed …"

Constance tasted blood and realized that in her desperate effort to not betray herself with impassioned outcries, she had bitten her lip. 

"Or," Jacqueline said, slowing the pace of her foot, "will you seek to deny the inevitable, to forestall the ultimate moment of incest when you spend in her snug and clasping cunny, and therefore make it a good, long, leisurely fuck? Like this? Each thrust so slow and deep, trying to resist. What do you say, deGranville?"

"Oh –" Constance silenced herself, but too late … she had moaned at the pressure of Jacqueline's steady, deliberate, unhurried push driving her father's cock so deliciously into her. 

"Hah," said Jacqueline. "Methinks your daughter prefers the latter."

William's eyes flew open and he looked beseechingly down into Constance's. "No, daughter, no …"

The boot was withdrawn, Jacqueline still standing over them. William had stopped moving, staring at Constance as if discovering some new and loathsome species of spider. 

"S… sorry …" she stammered. 

"Constance, you mustn't, no, bad enough that we should be made to commit this abominable act, but you must not …"

"Get with the fucking, deGranville, or do you need my help?" Jacqueline tossed her head, laughing. "Or should I have your son climb up here? He could put it up your arse and his every thrust would set the pace."

"No! No … I … I will …" He moved his hips, a moderate rising-and-falling. "I will, only do not …"

Jacqueline bent over Constance, the sun behind her blonde head turning her short waves of hair into a corona of brightest gold. "And you, Constance, how does it feel to have your father fucking you? Is it nice? Is he a good fuck? Do you like his cock pushing in and out?"

She did, heaven help her, she did … even the perfunctory motion was stirring glorious sensation, and all in the world that she wanted to do was rock her hips to take him deeper, and tilt down with her pelvis to make him rub more fully against the nub of her clitoris. 

William made a noise like that of a trapped and dying animal. His breath hissed between clenched teeth. "No, no, she is a good girl, a decent young lady … she would not … she would never …"

"Are you going to spend, Constance?"

"No!" William answered for her, and his expression now transcended horror. "No, Constance, you must not take any … pleasure … in this affront, you … must not …" He broke off as she, entirely unintentionally, tightened the walls of her cunny to nip at his cock.

"Stop, Father, you must stop … I … ohhh!"

"Why, Lord deGranville," Jacqueline said. "Could it be that you're making your dearest daughter feel so very, very good? Could it be that you are about to make her spend? What a wicked slut she must be, that she'd do such a thing, but can you not feel it? Feel her juices, flowing like oil? Feel how she wriggles her bottom?"

"Constance, I forbid it!"

And yet, even as he said it, he quickened his thrusts and was fucking in earnest now, not just moving in and out by rote but grinding his hips against her, and in a style so practiced and skillful that she was sent rushing toward the peak, rushing. After weeks of stifled arousal she was finally going to spend … it would be a torrent, an earthquake, an apocalyptic orgasm that would blot out her senses and leave her dissolving in sheer bliss, she was going to –

"Get him off of her," Jacqueline ordered, and Salvador, Michel, and Rafe seized William and hauled him backwards and up. His cock popped out of Constance and waved in the air. 

"No! Ahh! No!" Constance howled. 

"Let me go, you devils!" Her father fought them furiously, but the three were too strong for him. They dragged him down from the platform. 

"Jacqueline!" Constance pleaded. 

"What's this? You want him to make you spend? For shame, Constance," came the amused reply. 

William suddenly quit fighting, slumping in the grip of the three pirates. His eyes were glassy, numb with shock. He seemed unable to believe where he was. 

"My dear lord governor," Jacqueline said, swaggering to face him with a jolly grin. "Well done, well done indeed. I would not have thought you could go through with it. Fucking your daughter But we could not allow you to cross that final line, my word, no. What would you take us for? Making her spend, oh, that would have been a shameful thing indeed."

He voiced something neither groan nor whimper. Self-loathing had robbed him of his pride and his strength, and the only part of him that was as straight and upright as ever was his scarlet and indignant cock. 

"I'd be happy to take over, and never mind the shame," Rob said. He was all but frothing at the mouth, still held at bay by Adam and two others of the crew, but with Marie standing near him and playfully rubbing at the tented bulge in his breeches. "Let me fuck her, what say you?"

"Oh, you'll have what's coming to you, Robert deGranville," Jacqueline said. "I promise you that." She tipped Constance a wink, but so lost and churning with desire was Constance that she did not know, or care, to what the pirate queen might be referring. "First, though, there's your father to attend to. Governor?"

William rolled his wide, dazed eyes to her. His throat worked. "Yes?"

"I'm quite familiar with the urges of men," she said conversationally. "I know how maddening it can be for a man to be aroused to the breaking point and left unfinished. Thus, to further prove to you that we are not as cruel as you might think, you'll be permitted to relieve your throbbing need. Marie?"

The girl, trailing her hand along the outline of Rob's erection as she moved away from him, approached Jacqueline. "You sent for me, Captain?"

"Off with your frock and up on the platform, Marie." As Marie hastily obeyed, shedding her clothes in graceful movements that showed she was aware of, and enjoying, the effect her pert body was having on the onlookers, Jacqueline turned again to William deGranville. "Our sweet Marie is graciously going to allow you to finish your fuck in her. Yes, Marie?"

"Oh, gladly, Captain!" Marie, entirely nude, took to the other half of the platform, beside Constance. She raised her knees and opened her thighs, presenting her cunny with its bush of gingery fur and delicate pink lips. Her arms extended toward William. "Here you are, my lord. Come and put that lovely cock in me, and I'll make you feel so much better."

"Unless," added Jacqueline with a silky chuckle, "you'd rather finish your fuck in Constance. It's up to you, but if you climb back on her and resume what you'd been doing, she'll surely spend and you'd be solely responsible. You wouldn't be taking her under duress this time. You'd be fucking her of your own free will. Michel, release him."

Michel, Salvador, and Rafe let go. William staggered for a moment, and then stood unsupported at the bottom of the platform. Marie beckoned invitingly. Constance only looked at him in stark shock. He couldn't … he mustn't … surely he would not …

He took a single lurching step toward Marie, who lifted her hips to him and ran her agile fingers along the insides of her thighs. But then he turned to Constance, and she saw it in his eyes, the intent. 

"No, Father, no, not me," she said, despite the excitement that was racing, whipping, along the pathways of her nerves. He had gone mad, she saw. Temporarily, perhaps, but it was as Jacqueline had said. A beast, driven to distraction by sex … and he was going to fuck her. 

"Hush, Constance," he said, his voice distracted and faraway. "Hush, now … it's all right. The damage is done … there's no further harm in finishing what was begun."

William climbed onto the platform again. Jacqueline's look was one of utter vindication. There was no hesitation this time as he brought his cock to bear. 

Constance stifled another moan as he explored her with his fingers, then guided himself into her depths. 

"Please don't," she said, but he already was, with a firm rhythm that could not be denied. 

"Ah, Constance," he said. "Ah, your cunny is just like your mother's …"

"Father, stop, I'm so close, please do not make me!"

"Lift your bottom for me, Constance, fuck back at me, and spend for me, yes, I want to feel you spend." He belabored her with skillful, powerful strokes. "Oh, darling Constance!"

As this most forbidden of all climaxes crashed over her, she did as he wanted and frantically pushed her bottom up at him, meeting each thrust, flinging her head side to side and voicing a tumultuous outcry. She forgot everything else around her, caring only for making it last and wringing every possible bit of satisfaction from this sinful, dreadful, wonderful act. 

He joined her in that wordless wail, driving so deep she felt him push at the very barrier to her womb when his cock turned from steel to molten iron and filled her with his seed. 

Even then, he did not stop, but carried on thrusting as if he meant to burrow entirely into her and merge their bodies. His cock had barely lost its stiffness before it grew hard again, sliding about in their mingled fluids. Constance had only begun to descend from her heights when this renewed assault brought on another series of volatile convulsions. 

Her father fucked her wildly, calling her name amid a torrent of crude obscenities. She felt him come again, as fiercely as before, and then his weight was sinking onto her, crushing her into the wooden platform. His eyes rolled up until only the bulging whites could be seen. He smiled once, beatifically, and then with a heavy sigh, he collapsed insensate. 

Constance lay trapped beneath him, with his limp cock slipping out of her and the inferno of her need finally – if temporarily – quenched. She had very nearly lost consciousness herself, her mind feeling fragmented into spinning motes adrift in darkness. Only the thunderous reaction of the crowd pulled her back when she was about to float down into the black. 

She roused herself enough to lift her head and open her eyes. Pandemonium reigned in the courtyard of the fortress, the onlookers so inspired by what they had witnessed that everywhere she looked, she saw men and women abandoning themselves to orgiastic excess. An absurd flicker of pride – she had caused this – went through her. 

Rob's voice brought her sharply back to the here and now. He was belligerently demanding of Jacqueline that he have his turn now, if not Constance at least he should be allowed to have Marie … unless Jacqueline herself was in the market for a man. 

"Are you so hungry for a fuck, then, Robert deGranville?" Jacqueline asked. "So very eager?"

"What says this?" He yanked down his breeches, freeing his cock. "Does this not look eager to you? Come and have a taste of it, you splendid pirate vixen, and I promise it shan't disappoint!"

"Ah, but I have other plans for you, Rob," Jacqueline said. "Your sister has been such a help in obtaining my revenge that I think I'll oblige in helping her with hers."

Rob laughed, with as much charm and confidence as he could muster in the rather odd picture he presented – breeches pushed to his knees, shirttails hanging to either side of the outthrust prow of his erection. "Constance? What might my delectable little sister have in mind for me?"




The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 18







The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 19



Jacqueline nodded to Michel and Salvador. They moved in on Rob, seizing him before he realized that they meant to. When he uttered a loud protest, Michel smote him a hard blow in the belly, and Rob coughed out his breath. He raised his head, inhaling with a thin gasp, and Constance saw bewilderment and pain in his eyes. 

She was as revitalized as if she'd been dipped in clear spring water, and with Rafe's help in untying her, got out from under William's unconscious body. Her dress fell back down over her, fine white like a cloud, but it stuck to her sweaty skin. She was better off without it, and wadded the material to wipe her body dry. 

"Constance?" Rob asked again, plaintive now. 

Marie scurried from the platform, and another sailor swung a bench into the spot where she'd been. It dawned on Constance with a sort of incredulous gratitude that this, too, had been Jacqueline's intention all along. She very nearly forgave the pirate woman – her sister! – for coercing their father into such depravity. 

The men bound Rob face-down over the bench. His shirt was rucked up to his shoulders, and his taut buttocks were bared to the world. 

"Hah, an excellent jest," he cried with a sort of frantic cheer. "I was almost taken in by it. Very clever. Now, untie me and –"

"Would you care to do the honors?" Jacqueline held out a switch that could have been the very selfsame one with which Rob had beaten her so cruelly. 

Rob, seeing this, went first white and then plum-colored. "She wouldn't dare!"

Constance accepted the switch, liking the feel of it in her hand. She swept it experimentally, hearing the whickering noise as it sliced the air. Rob bleated as if he had already been struck. 

"None of that, now," he blustered. 

A coward. He was a bully and a coward, Constance realized, adept when it came to devising and delivering torments, but weak as water when he was on the wrong end of the switch. Or the cock! She glanced around, and got a nod from Salvador in return. The big Moor was half-naked already, and Marie was rubbing a good slippery coating of oil onto his cock. 

"Constance, sister-mine –"

She brought the switch down in a whistling arc. It cut across Rob's buttocks and he screamed. 

"That's for my virginity," she said, and was not particularly surprised to find that she sounded more than a bit like Jacqueline, cold and scornful. "And this is for my bottom, and this for Nana Eva!" She whipped him twice more, laying vivid red welts in criss-crossing lines. He yipped, he yelped, and it was veritable music to her ears. 

A vicious spite descended on her. She strutted around him, not caring that she was as naked as the new day. A flurry of blows, one after the other, and his backside was covered in stripes, positively covered, and Rob was crying like a baby. 

She leaned over him, her breasts on his back, her loins against his scarlet buttocks. They were hot as a bed of coals, and the touch of her skin made him jerk with pain. 

"And now, brother-mine," she said, "here's something else for you. Let's see how well you like it, since you so readily do it to others."

"No, Constance, please," he said. "Not that, I know what you mean to do and not that, I beg you."

It did her a world of good to hear him beg, to hear the fear and humiliation in his voice. She looked at Jacqueline, and the pirate woman smiled encouragingly. Incredibly, this made Constance feel a surge of actual sisterly affection. 

"I'll give you a choice, then, Rob," she said. "This is Salvador. See what a cock he has, so big, so dark?"

Rob's eyes were wet with tears. "Don't, Constance. I'm sorry for everything, so very sorry, don't let him near me."

"Sorry? Are you truly?"

"And I'll make it up to you, I swear. Anything that you ask of me, anything, and I'll do it."

"I am not interested in your repentance, Rob. I am interested in my revenge. Here is your choice. Take him in your mouth, or up your arse."

"No!" He recoiled, as well as he was able. 

She lashed him again. "Choose! You told me you'd let a man suck you, once, so surely you know how it's done. And is your bottom untried, that you so vehemently protect it?"

"I will not do this, and you cannot force me to choose."

"Oh, but you’re wrong, dear brother," she said. "I can."

The switch came down again and again, and this time she did not restrict herself to his buttocks but striped his thighs, even landed a few blows so that the supple end of the switch bent under to strike his balls. Rob shrieked and carried on with such a clamor that William deGranville muttered and turned over, but did not wake. 

"Choose!" Constance barked, winded and sure that her shoulder would ache on the morrow but not minding in the least. "Mouth or arse, Rob?"

"No," he sobbed. "No, no, no."

"Or both," Jacqueline suggested, sharing a devilish look with Constance. 

"Both, it is!" Constance agreed. 

"Oh, my lady!" chirped Marie, who had flung herself wholly into the spirit of this as much as she did anything. "If we place him just right, he can suck his father's cock while Salvador fucks his bottom."

Jacqueline raised an eyebrow at Constance. "This one is your revenge, sister. It is your decision."

She looked at their father, lolling unconscious on the platform. Yes, it had been under duress, but he could have sacrificed himself for her, and when the freedom had been his, he could have sated his urge in Marie instead. He was a beast, and the fact that she had enjoyed it, perhaps as much a beast herself, did not change the fact that he had still abandoned his nobility to fuck his daughter. 

"Let them both be shamed, then," she said. "Arrange it, Marie, if you would."

"You cannot expect me to …" Rob could not even say it. 

"To suck Father's cock," Constance said harshly. "You'll not be so apt to try and bite him, I think. And be sure you do a good job of it. Remember how you made me do the same to Enrique? You'll take it in your mouth, and you'll lick and suck, and you'll make him spend and swallow down what he gives you."

Rob looked sick, and ready to faint, but she got his attention with a brisk open-palmed slap of his bottom. Meanwhile, Marie had enlisted the help of Rafe and Michel, and they'd moved William deGranville so that he was stretched out below and in front of Rob's head, his now-slumbering cock within easy reach of Rob's mouth. 

"I'll help him, my lady," Marie said, "and hold it up until it's nice and hard to stand on its own."

"Anything," Rob said. "Anything, Constance."

"It is far too late for apologies." She glanced at Salvador. "Are you ready?"

"Oh, yes," he said. His finger poked at Rob's bottom. "I like a nice tight virgin."

"Ah! No! Don't let him put it in!"

Salvador paid him no heed, rotating his finger to work it in to the first knuckle. Rob's response to this would have shattered glass and made dogs fall stunned, so high and piercing was his cry. 

"And that only his finger," Constance chided. "How ever will you handle his cock?"

"Please," Rob said. "Please stop this."

Oil trickled over the cheeks of his bottom, stinging in the welts, and greased the passage where Salvador's finger pressed and twisted. It was to the second knuckle now, and Rob was whimpering.

"Is he ready?" Constance asked. 

"Ripe for ploughing," Salvador replied. 

"Then have at him, and do not bother to be gentle."

The Moor withdrew his finger. He laid the meaty length of his cock in the cleft of Rob's bottom. Rob tried with all his might to get away, in his absolute panic even lifting the bench from the platform as his body bucked and heaved. Jacqueline raised her booted foot and braced it on one side of the bench. Constance did the same on the other side with one smooth, bare leg. They held it in place as Rob thrashed. 

Salvador set the tip of his cock at Rob's clenched opening, and leaned his weight forward.

"Noooo!"

Constance looked on in fascination and savage glee as the puckered ring of flesh was forced open. Salvador gave a sudden short lunge and embedded the head of his cock within. He paused only a moment, long enough for Rob to choke out another plea, then steadily pushed. 

Oh, that is nice," Constance said, remembering what Rob had told her when the positions were somewhat rearranged, and she was the one being split asunder. "You should see it, Rob. Your pretty buttocks all white and striped with welts, all spread open, and his cock going in between them."

Bit by bit, his dark, veined shaft disappeared into Rob. The Moor's wiry thatch was flush with Rob's welted cheeks. 

"Well, brother-mine," she said, "how does that feel? He's all the way in now. Do you like it?"

Rob, tearful, shook his head. 

"And I could reach down under you, and give you a tweak," she said, and did just that. She found his balls contracted defensively against his body, and his cock semi-erect. "What's this, Rob? You couldn't be liking what he's doing, could you?"

"No! Ah, it hurts, it hurts!"

Salvador drew back, slowly, until only the head was still lodged in Rob's arse. Rob gave a shaky sigh, perhaps thinking that his punishment was over. Then the Moor slammed home again, and with ebony fingers indenting Rob's hips, pounded in and out in a relentlessly hard fucking. Rob screamed again and again, with each thrust, but the cock that Constance was fondling swelled in her hand even as a bit of blood from his torn anus oozed down his thighs. 

"You are liking it," she said.

"Don't forget this one, my lady," Marie said. She, too, was fondling a cock. William deGranville was still insensate, but had risen to the occasion at her skillful manipulation. She held him straight up, near to Rob's head. 

Constance seized her brother by his mop of tangled golden hair. She wrenched his head up and stared into his overspilling eyes. They were full of pain and shame, just as she'd hoped. 

"Open your mouth, dear brother."

He clamped his lips shut. 

"Open your mouth, or once Salvador's filled your arse with his spend, I'll have another take his place. And another. And if we exhaust all the men before you comply, I'll ask the captain here for a belaying pin, and bugger you with it myself."

Reluctantly, miserably, he opened his mouth. Constance forced his head down toward their father's waiting erection. Marie was massaging William's shaft in firm-handed strokes like those of a milkmaid, and drops of fluid were already forming. 

"Not this," Rob managed to say, the words broken into grunts by the battering he was taking from Salvador. "Not this, Constance, not our father, it isn't right!"

"You never balked at doing whatever you pleased to me, your sister," she said. "You told me that you'd gladly have a go at our mother, were she still alive. And you watched with greedy eyes while Father fucked me. There's no room left for protestations of what is wrong and right."

She drove his head down, and Marie brought William's cock to Rob's lips. He squeezed his face into a mask of revulsion, but allowed their father's erection to slide into his mouth. 

"Now suck him good, my lord," Marie said. 

"My word, Constance," Jacqueline said. She had returned to her chair and was lounging there in her usual pose, one leg thrown over the arm. "This is inspired."

Constance stepped back to survey the scene she'd created. Rob, his bottom in the air while Salvador busily rocked and thrust, William splayed out on his back with Rob's lips slurping along his cock – and Rob's tongue no doubt tasting the mixture of Constance's juices and William's spent seed. Rob was perhaps trying to distance himself from this, detach his mind from his tortured body, but each time Salvador rammed into him, he flinched. 

William moaned, and yawned, and smiled a sleepy, blissful smile. He opened his eyes. Saw people standing around him, saw Constance naked with the switch still in her hand, saw Marie on her knees next to him. He raised his head and looked down his body to see who was so ably servicing his cock. 

"Rob!"

He made to scramble away, but Marie was too quick for him. The girl swung a leg over, straddling William's chest with her knees on his shoulders. 

"Rob, no, stop it!" he cried. 

"Oh, but Father," said Constance sweetly. "There's no other way. And the damage is done."

He looked at her, uncomprehending. She saw abject shock and chagrin in his gaze. That he should be being sucked by his own son, that it should feel good! She saw his inner struggle as he tried to resist and deny what was happening to him, but his hips were already bumping up and down, driving his cock into Rob's mouth. 

Marie scooted forward and presented her cunny to William's face. He blinked at it, and then eagerly dove at her with his frantic tongue. She arched her back, hair tumbling down her naked shoulders, and giggled.

"Ooh, that's so nice!" she said. 

"I am ready to finish," Salvador panted. He was jabbing into Rob, quick and hard. 

"Did you hear that, Rob?" Constance asked, combing her fingers in Rob's hair as his head rose and fell. "Salvador is about to spend in you." She reached with her other hand underneath him, and felt his cock hard as an iron bar. 

Salvador groaned and his body bowed backward, skin shining like polished mahogany, muscles standing out in cords. Rob tore his head away from William and wailed again. William seized Marie around the waist and tried to lift her from his face to his waving, pulsing cock, but she held him by the ears and kept his mouth to her cunny. 

"Someone's wanting another fuck," Marie said, still giggling. 

With a sigh that was nearly a growl, Salvador pulled out of Rob. His wilting cock trailed tendrils of creamy fluid, streaked with red. He rose, on somewhat unsteady legs, and inclined his head politely to Constance. 

Rob's head drooped. His upper body was wracked with sobs. "Are you satisfied, Constance?" he wept in a low voice. 

"Not yet." She gestured to Marie. 

The girl climbed off of Constance's father. William looked around in lustful perplexity. His lips and chin were wet, his cock still standing rigidly at attention. 

"Michel, Rafe, would you kindly grab hold of my father, and bring him here?"

"Constance, no!" Rob divined her intent. 

So, too, did William as he was manhandled roughly by the two pirates. Now he was in position behind Rob, with his daughter's small but knowing hand around his cock, rubbing it, tugging him forward. 

"What … no … Constance!" he said. "What are you doing?"

"You've already fucked me, Father. It's Rob's turn."

"But he is my son!"

"I fail to see the difference!" She punctuated this with a snap of the switch. It landed on Rob's already flayed buttocks, eliciting another shriek. 

"It … it is … I am not a … I …"

"What is it you're saying, Father? That it is permissible to fuck your daughter, because she's a woman, but not to fuck your son because that will make you less of a man?"

"I … well, yes."

This time, the switch striped him. William jumped with surprise and pain, and looked at her like he'd never seen her before. In a way, she supposed he hadn't. Not this Constance, this new and relentless one. 

"Put your cock in him this instant, or I'll whip the skin from you."

"Excellent," Jacqueline remarked. 

William shuffled a step closer to Rob, helped along by the pirates who held his arms. Constance, even as she'd been wielding the switch, kept up milking her father's cock, keeping him ready. She pointed it toward Rob's stretched and bleeding arsehole, then in a swift combination of motions, whipped him again and let go. When he instinctively lunged forward to escape the switch, he plunged unerringly into Rob. 

Father and son loosed horrified cries together. William tried to back up, but Constance switched him again. 

"Now, fuck him," she spat. "Salvador's opened the way, and he should be well-greased. Fuck him."

"You have gone mad, this is a nightmare, a nightmare!" William said, but obeyed. 

"Reach beneath him while you're at it," Constance said. "Feel how hard he is, how much he likes having your cock up him. Go on, take him in hand."

"Father, please don't," Rob said.

He did as Constance commanded, bending over his son's body while his hips pumped, pumped. He reached under Rob and encircled Rob's cock. 

Astounded that she had done this, that it had gone so far, Constance retreated a bit from the display. She heard someone call her name and turned to see Jacqueline. Her sister had made room for her in the big leather chair, and they sat side by side watching as their father fucked their brother with increasing speed. 

William's eyes were blank in his mindless pleasure. He had perhaps gone insane from the day's events, but it did not impair his ability. He worked his hand on Rob's cock in time with his thrusts into Rob's arse, moaning wildly. Rob was clearly in tremendous pain, yet afire with a demented need of his own. His seed splattered on the platform an instant before William erupted deep in his bowels. 

"What shall we do with them now?" Jacqueline asked as the two deGranville men subsided from their orgasms. 

"You are the captain," Constance said. 

"But my revenge is more than complete. Even I could not have anticipated such as this. And I must admit, I had not looked beyond to see what was next."

"Do you still hate me?"

Jacqueline considered this, pensive. "No … not after today. You are a sister after my own heart, it seems."

This seeped through the daze that held William deGranville. He looked blearily at them, and his eyes cleared. "What … what was that?"

"Sister," Constance said. "Jacqueline is my sister, your daughter, the child that Mother unknowingly carried in her belly when she sailed from Veradoga all those years ago."

"Our sister?" Rob asked weakly. "And she … she did this to us?"

"To your own family?" William added, aghast. 

"My true family is here," Jacqueline said, spreading her hands to encompass her soldiers and the people of Falcon Bay. 

"A deGranville, raised as a pirate? No wonder you could commit such malicious deeds, and upon your own blood kin!" William looked scornfully at Jacqueline, just as if he wasn't stripped bare and recovering from fucking not one but two of his children. 

"How, then, do you account for Rob?" Constance shot back. "He was raised a deGranville, and that did not stop him doing what he did to me. And you, Father! You are no better. Nor am I."

"Perhaps our beloved father and brother need some time to think on their various misdeeds," Jacqueline suggested. "There are good sturdy prisons here in this fortress, where they could be locked away."

"Together," Constance said. "Let them be locked away together, in the same cell."

"They'd murder each other," Marie cut in. 

"Or carry on fucking each other," Constance said. "If I know Rob, he won't rest until he's had his own back, and been up Father's bottom to even the score. Especially, Jacques, if you have more of that wicked potion about."

"You are my sister," Jacqueline said, laughing. "So be it. We'll lock them away, and have them brought out now and again to amuse us. I'd like to see them on their sides, each with his cock in the other's mouth."

"Yes!" Constance said. "And we might also find the hunchbacked dwarf you mentioned, the one with a stallion's prick."

William was up and charging at them in a trice, face flaming with fury, hands outstretched as if he meant to throttle their slim throats, or dash their heads together. He only got two paces before he was knocked down by Rafe, and then quickly manacled hand and foot by Michel. 

"Take them away," Jacqueline said. "Find them a suitable cell." She then rose from the chair, and offered her hand to Constance. "As for you, sister, I have been unkind to you these past weeks. Allow me to make up for it with the offer of better accommodations."




The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 19



As William and Rob were carried off toward the prison cells, Jacqueline led Constance to a fine suite near her own. Although the rooms were sumptuous, with a magnificent view, Constance could not hide a twinge of disappointment. She had hoped, secretly, that Jacqueline's cold demeanor had thawed, and they might share a room … a bed. 

***

Concluded in Chapter Twenty



The Ravishing of Constance Ch. 20



She had a bed of her own, in a spacious lovely bedroom with drapes of gauze that fluttered like the softest wisps of clouds. She was alone in it, but by choice this time. No unkind chastity belt bit into her skin. Yet she had been wearied to the very bone and wanted only sleep. 

Her weeks of deprivation had culminated in the day's adventure. What had begun as a public shaming and horrendous breaking of the most primal taboo – being bound and displayed to the eyes of all of Falcon Bay, and then subjected to a coerced fucking by her own father – had ended in utter satisfaction. She was avenged on her brother, whose incestuous lusts had set her upon this path. 

She was avenged, too, on her father … not that William deGranville had committed any crimes against her until today. But call it, rather, revenge for her mother's sake. Anna deGranville had passed the final years of her life in melancholy, knowing that she had been made to give up her second-born. And why? Because her husband would never have accepted that child as his own. He had never fully trusted his wife thereafter, either. 

Constance knew this to be true. Her parents had kept separate rooms, and a chill distance between them. She now suspected that her conception had been more dutiful than joyful, and might even have been the last time her father could bring himself to bed his wife. 

For Anna had been tainted in his eyes. Even unknowing of the child – of Jacqueline – Anna had been tainted to him. William could not look on her without seeing her in the arms of a pirate, could not touch her without wondering what Philippe Merlion and his men might have done to that fair body. 

What had been done? Constance did not know. Had her mother confessed such acts to her father? Surely not. They would never have spoken of it. William would have wished to believe that it had never happened, and yet he had not conducted himself in that manner. Instead, he had shunned her, ignored her. 

The more Constance thought on it, the more she remembered Rob and his jealous possession of her. No other man but him should ever have at her cunny … as if it were his and not her own. Thus must it have been with her parents. Anna, wife to William and therefore chattel, had given that which was rightfully his to others. Whether it had been done by force or not. As if she were no person at all, only a belonging. 

She hoped for her mother's sake that Philippe Merlion had been a splendid lover. It was hard to believe when she thought also of Jacqueline's reported abuse at the hands of the pirate lord, but perhaps it had been different with Anna. Perhaps she had enjoyed a passionate affair before being returned to the loveless arms of her husband. 

William had never trusted her again. And he had extended that distrust to Constance, even as an infant or blameless girlchild. He had kept her as a prisoner on Veradoga, always claiming it was to protect her. Now Constance wondered if it had been meant to punish Anna, through her daughter. Or to protect the family name instead. 

There had been talk, sly whispers and knowledgeable looks, their sphere of acquaintances so merry and malicious. It may have been that as much as anything else that drove Anna to her suicide. Wherever she went, she had to know that others were spreading tales about her. Anna deGranville, taken by pirates … no doubt ravished again and again, and likely moaning with a wanton's pleasure all the while. 

Her father had gotten through that somehow, but was never going to chance the like happening again. And perhaps he believed it, as well. Perhaps he believed that his fair Anna had indeed moaned and writhed and exhorted her rapacious captors to greater efforts. Perhaps he believed that Constance for all her seeming innocence, would turn out to be the same. As all women were.

Well, that had been proved to him beyond any doubt. It had been Rob's doing, but would her father see that? 

Then again, he might not be so willing to favor Rob now. Not when he had regained consciousness to find Rob sucking frantically on his cock, not when he had been made to put it up Rob's arse. 

Constance wondered how they had passed the night in their cell. She thought of paying them a visit, speaking to them through the bars. But better to let them stew in each other's company for a time. 

She rose instead with inspiration blossoming in her mind like a rose, and swiftly sought out Jacqueline. 

Her sister was in a robe, newly from the bath, hair damp and curling around her ears. The animosity that had always before been in her blue eyes was absent, for they had settled the accounts between them.

"Did you sleep well?" Jacqueline asked, offering with a wave the sideboard's tray of pastries and fruit. 

"Far better, I imagine, than our father and brother did."

"How very true."

"But it struck me this morning, Jacques. With the pair of them missing, presumed lost at sea or slain by pirates, that would mean that the estate on Veradoga, and Father's fortunes – less the ransom he has already paid to you – would fall to me."

Jacqueline licked crumbs from the corner of her mouth. "Is it not a governorship? Appointed by the crown?"

"It was," she said, momentarily distracted by the sight of Jacqueline's tongue sliding luxuriously over her lips. "But Father was of great service to the Crown. When asked what reward he would have, he requested and was granted that his holdings be made ancestral, to pass down to his legal children."

"Ah," said Jacqueline. "Which I, never acknowledged, am not. Else it would be mine for I am your elder."

"You have already your pirate empire," Constance said. "All of Falcon Bay, and Merlion's many ships, are yours. What I propose is a venture of cooperation."

"Speak on, sister."

"Veradoga, located as it is, would make a fine pirate's port. Your ships, my island estate … together, we could reap quite a profit."

"Hmm … an interesting offer."

"I'd only request one thing," Constance said, already sure that Jacqueline was going to agree. "If you could, perchance, stage an attack on Santa Juanita, and abduct the son of Don Martinez, the governor? I should like to portion out some of my revenge unto Enrique, as well."

The very thought of it … dusky-skinned Enrique, such an eager participant in her downfall … she owed him. She owed him for striking the flint that set Rob afire. Had Enrique not been attempting to steal a kiss that evening, Rob might not have caught him at it, and called her a poor hostess for allowing her guest's physical needs to go unfulfilled. She might never have ended up thrown on her back across the dining-room table, Enrique feeding his thick cock into her mouth whilst Rob licked at her cunny in order to make her comply. 

He'd told her he would stop when she had brought Enrique to spending, but he had only been as good as the letter of his word, not his spirit. For once she had swallowed down the salty, creamy effusion, Rob had declared his intention to rub his cock against her, claiming that it was not incest unless one of them came. But he'd known too well how to see to it that she did, and then saw no reason why he should not immediately fuck her. That had been the beginning, thanks to Enrique. 

She had even fled because of him. The prospect of marrying him had been bad enough, but it was his sneaking into her room and bed, so determined to have a poke at her cunny that he forewent his friendship to Rob, that led to their discovery and her ruthless beating. Rob had switched her, then brutally raped her bottom, and that was when she had known she had to flee. 

Rob had been repaid for that. His own tender cheeks would still be stinging from the welts she'd applied, and after the hard fucking he'd taken from Salvador, he must be feeling as if his innards had been gouged with a broomstick.

But Enrique needed to repay, as well. Constance imagined him at her mercy, and felt a warm tingle run from her breasts to her loins. The things she could do to him, make him do, have done to him! It would be wonderful to hear him weep and beg as Rob had done. She might even arrange for the capture of Don Martinez as well, Enrique's father, he of the eyes that crept so lewdly over a woman that it was as if he could see through her very garments and feel, by some stroking of vision, that which was beneath.

"Why stop there?" Jacqueline asked. "Why not Lord Cuthburt, too?"

"And his niece, Margaret!" Constance clapped her hands. "I never liked her, the times we met. Such a prig, she was. Always with her nose in the air, and never improper in the slightest. We'll see if there's truth to his nighttime games!"

"You have a cruel stripe, Constance."

"But will you seal this bargain with me?"

Jacqueline smiled. "How can I not?"

They shook on it, the pact between sisters made. For the next hour, they made their plans, and then Constance took her leave. 

With a spring in her step, she went out to the balcony to breathe of the fresh sea air, and admire the ships at dock. The stern granite outcrop that gave Falcon Bay its name brooded over the harbor like some protective stone idol. 

"Constance?"

She turned, strands of golden hair tossed into her face by the errant breeze, and saw Jean-Pierre. A peculiar shyness swept her. He had not been present yesterday, not that she could see, while the absolute ruination of the deGranvilles was taking place on that platform in the courtyard. 

Nor had she much seen him since that night when he and Michel had enjoyed Marie in the captain's bed. She had been made to watch, prevented from participating by the belt, and envy had burned in her like bitter green marshfire. 

Yet here he was, Jean-Pierre, his jet-black hair stirred by the same wind that disarranged hers, his emerald eyes flicking to hers and then away, as if he were seized by a shyness of his own. 

"Good morning, Jean-Pierre," she said. Carefully, unsure of where she stood with him. He was so very handsome, especially now that he was sober and no longer muddled with rum. 

"I have just spoken to Jacqueline. She says that you shall be returning to Veradoga," he said. 

Constance nodded. 

"I wonder if you'd permit me to accompany you."

She gasped. "Jean-Pierre … I thought … I thought that you despised me for what I did to you."

He colored briefly. "I did, but only for a time."

"Whence the change of heart?"

"I do not know. Only that I have been unable to keep you from my thoughts. I should like to be with you again."

"Although I am wicked?"

A rare, fleeting smile brought a light to his eyes. "Perhaps because you are."

"You must know that Jacqueline and I have plans, sinister ones."

His smile widened. "Involving me?"

Constance laughed, feeling a warm and wonderful relief, possibly even joy, unfolding within her. "Of a certain, involving you!"

"When do we begin?"

She moved to him, cuddling her lush body against his lean strength. Her lips sought his and kissed him deeply. "Why not now?" she asked, leading his hands to her breasts. 

Jean-Pierre returned her kiss with a passion that left Constance breathless. She could only murmur encouragement as he unlaced her frock, raining more kisses on the creamy slopes of her breasts. Lower and lower, he tugged the fabric, until the rosy buds of her nipples were revealed. He took first one and then the other into his mouth, flicking his tongue across them. 

As he did this, she was not idle. Her fingers traced the stiffening outline of him through his breeches, undid his belt. 

"We'll be seen," he whispered. 

"What of it?"

"No matter, I suppose."

And then he was kneeling before her, raising her skirt. Constance leaned against the wide balcony rail, thighs apart as he nuzzled her, licked her. She held onto his head, thick black hair coarse yet silky in her hands. 

"Oh, yes!" she gasped. "Yes, like that … oh, Jean-Pierre!"

He kept on until her legs would hardly support her. As he stood, she wanted to slide down and return the favor, but he had his own ideas in mind and lifted her so that her bottom was resting on the rail. Behind her was open air, dropping into the courtyard, gave a dizzying sense of danger to the proceedings. Jean-Pierre moved between her legs. He entered her with one smooth thrust. 

"Ah!" She crossed her ankles at the small of his back. Her arms wrapped around his neck.

"Constance, oh, Constance," he groaned, embracing her tightly. 

The open air all around her, and the awareness that anyone in Falcon Bay might be looking up at them, only added to Constance's thrill. She hoped that the prison cell where Rob and her father were being kept had a tiny window, and that they were watching her right now through the bars as she was rocked back and forth on the balcony rail. 

The contrast of the cool stone beneath her buttocks and the heat of Jean-Pierre inside her was exquisitely pleasant. He clung to her, his face buried in the hollow of her neck and lost in the fall of her hair. She could hear him repeating her name fervently, amid kisses pressed warm and wet on her throat. 

"Yes, my darling," she cried. "Oh, yes!"

He quickened his pace, now kissing her jaw, and then her lips. She opened her mouth to his tongue. Her cunny quivered with impending climax. All at once, he broke the kiss and held her face by the sides, peering deeply into her eyes. 

"Are you, Constance?"

Her eyelids fluttered. "Mmm, yes, I'm going to spend."

"Open your eyes, darling, and look at me." His voice was thick, his body tense, and she knew he was near as well. "Let me see it happen."

She did as he wished, and they locked gazes as the sweet cascade tumbled through her. Somehow, the eye contact made the moment all the more intimate. Seeing him, emerald eyes darkening with passion … seeing him seeing her, and the look of wonder and awe that came over him as she shuddered and moaned in ecstasy … 

And then he was pushing into her rapidly, his lip caught between even rows of white teeth, spending in her while she saw the sheer pleasure suffuse him. He claimed her lips again, kissing her, holding her to him as if he never wanted to let go. 

They clung to each other for quite some time, oblivious to anything around them. At last, Jean-Pierre disengaged, and lifted her down from the rail. 

"I want to be with you," he said. "I … I believe, Constance, that I'm falling in love with you."

She touched his cheek. "Oh, Jean-Pierre, do not say such things. My heart could not stand it."

"Why should I not, if it is the truth?"

"But what is there for it?" she asked, dismay and hope all whirled within her. "I could not have only one man for all of my life, not now, not after all I've done. I would need more, my dear Jean-Pierre, and I have had enough of jealous and possessive men seeking to keep me for their own!"

"I would not do that," he said somberly. "I would not do anything except that which caused you joy. I … Constance, I watched you on the ship. I saw you yesterday. I know that you've a greater appetite than any one man, even Hercules himself, could satisfy. And yet, I liked what I saw. I love to watch you giving and receiving those delights. To be a part of it, that is enough for me."

"You are too good a man!" she cried, holding him. 

"Too, you will need someone on Veradoga to help with your plans," he said. "I may have resisted my father's piratical ways but I could not escape them altogether. I know much of how such business is conducted, and what must be done. You'll need me, Constance."

"I do need you, Jean-Pierre," she said. "If you will have me as I am."

"I'd have you any way you desire."

"Then let us go and seek Jacqueline's approval." She put her arm through his and leaned her head against his shoulder. "I only pray she'll grant it."

"I am certain that she will," said Jean-Pierre. He paused, then added slyly, "Perhaps Marie might come with us."

"Devil!" Constance laughed, swatting at him. "Now I see your true shape!"

"Is it so strange that I am dying to do as Michel did, and savor the fruits of the both of you together?"

"I should like that very much."

They reached Jacqueline's rooms, which gave onto the long balcony through a separate door. It stood partly ajar, with curtains billowing gently through the gap. As they neared it, Constance stopped Jean-Pierre short, hearing voices from within. 

"Michel!" There was no real anger in Jacqueline's tone, just a mock-scolding playfulness. "What do you think you are doing?"

"What I've waited long years to do," Michel replied. 

"Shh," Constance hissed, and crept closer with Jean-Pierre close at her side. They came to the door, plucked enough of the curtain aside to see within. 

It was Jacqueline's bedroom, and Michel was striding across it with Jacqueline in his arms. Her robe had fallen open, exposing her long-limbed body with its taut belly and small but ripe breasts. He set her upon the bed and stood over her, looking down at her nudity in appreciation while she rose up on her elbows. 

"This is insubordination, Merlion," she said, but extended one long leg and walked her toes up his thigh. 

"Are they going to --?" Jean-Pierre began incredulously.

"Shh!" Constance jabbed her finger into his ribs, then held it to her lips and tilted her head toward the scene. They crouched outside of the door, only able to see a slice of the room but as it was the slice with the bed, it was quite sufficient. 

"Aye, mon cher captaine," Michel said. "Insubordination indeed."

He caught hold of the foot that was caressing his leg, and raised it. Jacqueline allowed him to bring it to his mouth, where he nipped at her toes and tickled the sole with his chin. With his other hand, he opened his breeches and freed his impressive cock. 

"Bordering on mutiny," Jacqueline said. 

Michel knelt on the bed, and then lowered himself onto Jacqueline's welcoming body. "You'll have to punish me for it."

Jacqueline sighed in contentment as he slowly, rapturously, eased into her. She flexed her hips to meet him. "A hundred strokes should do."

He fell to with vigor. Out on the balcony, Constance and Jean-Pierre watched intently, and soon were swept up in renewed arousal. They did not quite dare join the couple on the bed, but Constance knew that they would not always be so reticent. 

Indeed, her new life promised many glorious pleasures, and this was only the beginning.