Dream Captive Read online

  ‘Sir, if this is punishment, I pray reconsider. I promise I will be better in the future.’

  ‘Hands on top of your head,’ ordered the captain. ‘Yellow hair.’

  The derogatory term, one descriptive of the hair both on her head and between her thighs made her blush. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘I will have this done because it pleases me,’ Marcellus informed her, his cock stirring visibly beneath his tight leather breeches. ‘Just as I will have you lick and suck the cock of this right-less bond male, also for my pleasure.’

  Tesra swooned to have the act put into words. The slave’s penis, hard and throbbing, was going to be put between her lips, making sacrilege of that sacred place reserved for speech and song unto the goddess. A flash of humiliation crossed her mind as another thought occurred to her: was she in part piqued because she wanted to do this instead for Marcellus - to serve him and not his mere slave?

  ‘You will not hold back,’ said Marcellus as Drusia began to lap at her sopping sex.

  ‘Y-yes,’ she shuddered, feeling herself melt in the presence of this party of barbarians, her body an open book, a sordid story of degraded seduction, ‘sir.’

  Sir. The word on her lips was sounding more and more natural, more and more representative of his status, his true power over her, absolute, uncompromising and even desired, as her heart desired blood, her lungs air. Was there another word, though, that she longed to say to Marcellus instead? A far stronger word which every time it fell from the lips of Drusia and the others in her presence made her hate the chained, sexually vibrant little slave sluts all the more?

  How much she’d learned, she thought bitterly, from these arrogant, proud men. Hatred and jealousy, enmity against her oppressed sisters and all kinds of dark feelings within herself, feelings which threatened to break her apart the more she heard them echoed in the minds and bellies of the other girls.

  Voices, bespeaking pain and yearning, along with a deep, deep desire to submit, a desire whose roots tunneled deeper than she could comprehend into the psyche. Could it be they ran to the very core of creation?

  ‘Tell us what you are thinking,’ Marcellus demanded as Tesra bucked her hips against the face and tongue of the kneeling slave, her fingers entwined in her hair.

  ‘I... I want to feel a cock in me, sir,’ she cried. ‘I want to feel... your cock.’

  ‘I do not copulate with free women,’ he told her. ‘Do you understand the implications?’

  Implications? Yes, he was telling her that to follow her heart’s desire - or rather her cunt’s desire - she would have to beg and obtain his mastery over her. ‘Sir, please, I can bear no more!’

  ‘Drusia, come here.’

  Tesra wailed in sudden need, her voice approaching that of a child. ‘Sir, what are you doing?’

  Marcellus patted the head of the slave girl whose face was covered in come. ‘I have changed my mind,’ he told Tesra. ‘I am denying you the right to orgasm.’

  Tesra’s fingers gripped her scalp fiercely. Could she lower them? Was she allowed to throw herself on his mercy? ‘Sir, tell me what I must do.’

  Marcellus hauled Drusia onto his stiff cock, just now released by him from the opening at the front of his breeches. She made a slight gagging noise as he pushed his large, thick member to the back of her throat. ‘I am tired of playing games with you, Tesra. I have been far too patient for far too long.’

  Her heart thundered in her chest. She did not wish him to be angry with her. In fact, it terrified and pained her to think she’d displeased him in any way. Was this how low she was sinking? Had his subtle controls and so-called training come to this?

  ‘I have done my best, sir, at every stage.’

  ‘Lying cunt!’ he snarled, tossing the hapless Drusia aside once more, flinging her by the hair to her belly practically at the feet of the male slave, who might as well have been carved in granite.

  ‘Please, sir,’ cowered Tesra, instinctively falling to her knees as he stormed towards her, fury writ in his clawed hands and wild eyes.

  ‘Down!’ he pointed imperiously to his feet.

  Tesra collapsed to kiss them, grateful he had not struck her, grateful too that she was being given this chance to beg forgiveness.

  ‘It is time you woke up, yellow-haired bitch,’ said he to her, his hands on his hips, a million miles above her looking down. ‘You think that being born on an island of dreams you may float all your life on illusions. Dreams are not real, nymph of too many names for her own good. From this point forward your name is Yellow Pelt. Say it.’

  ‘I am Yellow Pelt,’ she licked miserably, forming the abominable name as best she could with her parched lips and tongue. But what did he mean that her life was an illusion? Was he referring merely to her hidden sexual needs or was there something more?

  ‘How was it you were born, again?’ he asked her, ‘Yellow Pelt.’

  Still not daring to cease her ministrations completely, she alternated repeating her tale of autochthony while continuing to clean his boots. ‘We are birthed from the sacred volcano. We come from the goddess, her divinity mixed with the life fluid of that woman who is to be our mother-teacher, she who was birthed from her mother-teacher.’

  ‘Wrong, Yellow Pelt, that is a lie told to foolish little girls so they will not question the absurdity of life on an island of fools, of haughty bitches too proud to take their true place in creation at the mercy of men.’

  A lie? How could he speak such blasphemy? How could he even know enough as a mere male to even address the subject?

  ‘Beg to suck the cock of the slave,’ Marcellus commanded her. ‘Say with your own lips what I have already determined for you as your captor, the possessor of your body and soul.’

  Tesra plunged fingers unbidden into her beckoning sex. ‘I beg it,’ she hissed the words, craving her own humiliation at least as much if not more than him. ‘I beg to suck the man-dick of your slave. Please, captor, may I show you my desire, my readiness to suck?’

  To suck you, she’d meant to say.

  He removed her dismissively with his foot. ‘Make it good and slow, Yellow Pelt. Begin at his toes and lick your way up. Give him a good bath with your tongue. Nephisis knows it is the first he’ll have seen in two moons.’

  Drusia laughed cruelly, drawing a harsh reprimand from the captain. ‘Drusia is a naughty little slut,’ she purred, offering him her arse. ‘Please punish her while Yellow Pelt bathes your man-slave.’

  ‘Come here,’ he growled good-naturedly.

  Tesra burned at the subsequent giggles and the sound of the girl shrieking as he tossed her noisily upon the bed.

  ‘It should be you,’ Marcellus was saying to her, ‘abasing yourself like that.’

  ‘But master can’t part with his little Drusia, can he?’ she taunted. ‘Master can’t bear to share her, even with a Talassian slave dog.’

  A Talassian. By the goddess, Tesra cringed as she inched ever closer on hands and knees. Is that what this unearthly man was, with his long gold braids and soulless gray eyes? According to all she had discerned from the minds of everyone she’d encountered off the island, they were a bloodthirsty people possessing of a vast empire on land and sea under which suffered dozens of nations. But this man was yellow-haired and from the minds of those with experience, she’d garnered the Talassian men were generally dark-haired and kept their locks short. Perhaps he was already a slave when the pirates caught him, having been taken earlier from some other land by the forces of Talassia?

  The stench of the slave grew overwhelming as she reached her objective. Will Marcellus not even watch me? she thought, her head lowering slowly, inevitably. Was he that insensitive and uncaring?

  ‘Oh, master,’ Drusia was saying far too theatrically for her to think it meant for anything but Tesra’s own ears, ‘how your touch
reminds me, how it teaches me all over again my place.’

  She pictured the girl using her body as the tiny weapon it was. Did the captain not know that Drusia had power over him, how far more often than he realized he was following her whims and not his own?

  The Talassian slave’s skin was surprisingly soft beneath the layers of dirt. With her saliva, working moisture into the pores, she was able to restore it to life, a small spot on his thigh. But at what cost? The smell and taste made her gag and retch.

  ‘Slowly,’ Marcellus reminded her, interrupting his nice little wench-fuck. ‘And be thorough. The toes, the nails, all of it.’

  Tesra groaned in misery. When she’d finished the tops of the feet Marcellus barked an order, impelling the slave to lift his feet one by one for her to clean the soles. Her loins burned as she sunk deeper and deeper into subjugation. Meanwhile Drusia screamed out her slave girl’s pleasure as the pirate took her with brutal efficiency, rocking her tempting little body, a siren’s trap to any and all males within a hundred miles’ radius.

  ‘She is good at this,’ said Drusia as Tesra reached his calves, the skin below her a glistening trail of restored whiteness, the dirt and grime of ship slavery now re-posited neatly from his body onto her own face and tongue. ‘Maybe she’s had practice after all.’

  ‘If I did not know better,’ observed the pirate. ‘I would think you were attempting to tease our little Yellow Pelt. Could it be my Drusia is jealous?’

  ‘Never,’ the girl hissed. ‘I am ten times the woman she will ever be. Let me show you, master. Ravish me... now.’

  The girl groaned, no doubt entered in one or the other orifice. Was she on all fours, on her back?

  ‘If I hear your tongue again, girl,’ he warned, his voice deep and predatory like a lion’s, ‘I shall take it for my own.’

  ‘Yes,’ she moaned, reduced now to nothing more than another subjugated female at the hands of her dominant male, ‘my master.’

  Drusia grunted in her taking. There was no dissimulation now. Marcellus was putting her back in line, disciplining her with his cock. Tesra, meanwhile, had reached the heavily calloused kneecaps. How this man must have suffered. Many of the scars she’d found on the backs of his legs and calves were too deep and jagged for the whip. Someone had tortured him. Deliberately. Would the pirates be so cruel or was it the mark of the Talassians?

  With her initial revulsion passed, Tesra longed to press on. It was exciting her to be so servile, to be giving pleasure to a man whom all discounted as sub-human. Certainly it was not by virtue of his body. He was a strong man, in his way handsome. Would his penis be large? How would it taste?

  Tesra mingled her licks with kisses; shy, communicative of her newness to this form of contact. How many women had he had this way? How long had it been? Was there a lover he’d left home somewhere - or a wife, as it was called in the minds of these people?

  She gave a little gasp of wonder as she lifted the loincloth with one hand. He was well endowed, very male and very hard. Licking her lips, restoring what moisture she could, she moved her head in to deliver what Marcellus had commanded of her.

  ‘No,’ cried the pirate king suddenly, ‘that is enough.’

  The slave himself stepped back, breaking the near contact, and left once more in the lurch Tesra turned her head towards her mercurial captor.

  ‘Away,’ he was telling the equally frustrated Drusia. ‘Leave us alone. Take the other slave with you. I am done.’

  ‘But master,’ Drusia reached for him as he rose to his feet, cock still stiff and ready, ‘your little girl will please you more. Please do not abandon her.’

  ‘You may sport with the other one if you are so desperate to have your hole filled.’ Once more he spoke in the unknown language, and this time the male slave moved with obvious eagerness, scooping up the squealing, very unhappy Drusia.

  ‘Let go of me, you animal!’ she squealed. ‘You don’t touch me, I belong to my master.’

  ‘Take her,’ he said to the male slave, this time in the common tongue of the pirates. ‘Beat her and then fuck her. Do so on deck, in plain view that it may be known she is merely another slave, subject to my cruelties.’

  Tesra was too shocked to gloat. ‘Sir,’ said she when the girl had been carried kicking and screaming over the shoulder of the suddenly fortunate male. ‘Am I to assume that you desire to be intimate with me, as a man is to a woman?’

  ‘No,’ he retrieved the whip from the floor, shaking it out, ‘you may assume that you are to be punished. On your hands and knees,’ he commanded. ‘Arse in the air.’

  The whipping was unlike anything Tesra had experienced in her life. On the deck, when she’d been chained to the main mast, she’d experienced some suffering, but not the concentrated viciousness of Marcellus’ blows. Unlike the crop, which was a short burn and sting, the long whip was like fire, being dragged over her skin. He seemed to know just where to strike her too, on her back, her calves, the very crack or her arse to cause the greatest agony. It did not help that she was covered in sweat, that of herself and the male slave who had dripped upon her in his heat.

  ‘Please, sir!’ she cried, till her voice no longer sounded coherent to her own ears. ‘I beg mercy.’

  ‘Well?’ he demanded at last, pushing her down to her throbbing back, redoubling her torture. ‘What have you to say for yourself now?’

  ‘I do not know,’ she sobbed, broken before him, as aroused as she was terrified. ‘I only wish to please you, sir. Do not be angry with me... do not be angry with... Yellow Pelt.’

  By the goddess she’d said it, acknowledging what she was to him, a thatch of golden fur, a sleek pet for his amusement - and his cruelty. What was next after such an admission? She dare not imagine.

  ‘Use me,’ begged the captive, spreading her virgin legs, beckoning him with her untried tunnel, that secret place no female of her island should ever speak of. ‘Have me as you do Drusia and Vorra.’

  Marcellus’ face danced with emotion, subtle, perhaps to the untrained eye, but somehow readable to her. He wanted her. He needed her. He was afraid of her. She lay there, watching the man as he scrambled for his sword, discarded on the large oak table where he sometimes drank with Rodrigo and the others. ‘Submit,’ he demanded, pointing the drawn blade down at her belly.

  He was over her, astride her hips, his cock and balls yet exposed and straining. She drew in her breath, seeing if the blade would take up its place at the depression of her retracted stomach.

  It did. With one slice, he could cut her open.

  ‘I submit, my captor.’

  ‘Offer yourself to be my slave.’

  ‘I am,’ she testified, eyes unblinking, ‘your slave. If you will have me.’

  He shook his head, the answer somehow unsatisfactory. ‘You do not know of what you speak.’

  ‘Teach me,’ she arched her back, wincing as the pointed tip pricked her skin, drawing forth a drop of blood.

  The pirate, tricked into wounding her further, growled. He did not like this game, as he called it, any more than the others.

  ‘It is time,’ he bent to grasp her head, ‘to teach you.’

  Marcellus placed his body upon hers, not for sexual contact but for mental; his purpose simply to effect the grip of his hands on her skull, the touch of his forehead to hers, the rest of her body immobilized beneath the weight of him, which was perfect for the task at hand. The moment had come, and as he’d expected, it was in the throes of her sexual heat. Tesra’s mind - Yellow Pelt’s mind - seemed to be activated by desire, especially that for submission. Which made for a dangerous game given how much he himself seemed to be desiring her as well.

  He told himself that everything so far was according to plan, that he was not behaving erratically, but only with deep cunning in an effort to unbalance and ultimately upend
her defenses. Marcellus the pirate king was not captivated by the yellow-pelted slut, he was acting in his own best interest. Greed. Pure and simple. Which is why he was going to do what he had to now, penetrating her mind, cunt-like to his cock.

  ‘Listen to me, Yellow Pelt. Yes, that’s it. Look deep into my eyes. Trust me, girl. Let me in. Let me take you where we need to go.’

  She was trying to shake her head, but there was nowhere for her to go.

  By the gods she was a stubborn one. He’d have to employ other means. It would mean risking physical penetration, but what choice did he have? Did he even want one if there was? Could he resist this much temptation? The luscious virgin, for days having begged him to do what any man would kill for the chance to do?

  She moaned as he sank his cock into her belly, full and satisfying. No man had been there. He was the first, and he would be the last, as well. This was a prize he would never share, even at the cost of his own life.

  ‘Yield, Tesra, do not fight me.’

  She clutched at him with fierce but unresisting strength. Truly she was a delight; her cunt as good as he’d imagined it and better. Just the merest seepage of blood and then pure honey, tight, the channel made by her precious goddess to be his vessel. And the tits, sculpted for his mouth, made to be nibbled, suckled, the tips so convenient to control and tease and punish.

  ‘Have I your attention now?’

  ‘Yes,’ she looked up at him, eyes wide as her breeched cunt and full of wonder, ‘sir.’

  He still had hold of her head. ‘We are going for a ride,’ he told her, though this was not exactly what he’d planned. They were supposed to connect in mind only, not in flesh. Tesra moaned, already climaxing. He followed the waves, in her eyes, in her body and then, miraculously, he was with her, upon the ocean, the depthless blue robe of Nephisis, laid long ago over the rocky dry earth to give life. They were skimming the surface together, hand in hand, no ship beneath them. Remarkable: this sailing without a vessel. He knew not the place, nor could he identify it clearly as day or night. There were stars and a moon, but the black was bright and glowing as if it were midday.