Gwen To Sea

"Would you like to talk about the pirates today, Gwen?"

My grin disappeared. I had told Dr. Annon that I did not want to talk about them today, tomorrow or ever for so long as the universe may turn.

"I think we'll have to talk about them sometime," he'd said, that little half smile playing on his sexy little lips. "You've been coming for two years." I'd told him I disagreed vehemently enough to shove a coat rack up his ass next time he asked.

"Gwen?"

"Oh, sorry...for a moment I thought you said you wanted a coat rack up your ass." The truth. " You didn't really say that, did you?"

Dr Annon got that thoughtful look and then looked deep into my eyes. "I said I think you should talk about that. I think that's what's doing it."

He'd confused me there. "Doing it?"

"Your frigidity?"

I was furious. "I told you I'm not frigid, I just..."

"Can't get close to anyone, can't stand to perform oral sex, can't masturbate to orgasm--"

"That doesn't mean I'm frigid, I mean, I still like sex--"

"You have sex because it's expected of you. That doesn't count." He gave me a little smile then, and my heart melted again. And then I realized that I still wouldn't fuck him if I had a choice, and knew he was right. It wasn't that I didn't like sex, it was that I didn't care about it. At all. "You are never ever passionate about sex, Gwen. You said so yourself."

"That doesn't mean I'm going to pour my heart out about some buried part of my past..." I realized that was a stupid thing to say to your psychiatrist. " About that, I mean."

"Who are you going to tell, if not me? Do you hope it will go away if you don't look at it, like monsters in your bedroom?"

"Yes. That's what I want. I hope it does."

"But it's not," he told me, and gave me that heartrending caring look. "It's shut down your sex life and your social life. What will be left when it's done?"

I was getting desperate, I so did not want to talk about this now, or ever. But he was insistent and I couldn't say no to him much longer. "I don't—some things you just--"

"They raped you, didn't they?"

I panicked. "You leave me alone!"

"Okay," he said right then. He sat down in his big chair and looked at me.

I sat down on the couch and he just looked. So I looked back, and we looked and it became like a fight. I knew he had to look away or say something, I wouldn't be the one to drop my eyes, so help me God, and my jaw dropped open and out it spilled.

Gwen was a virgin. She was old enough to be living a life with sex in mind but not in body, and too young not to be terrified that she wasn't 'normal' because of it. Old enough to know pirates were real, but too young to really believe in them. On board the Bellemae, her parents had said, it will be fun and leisure and plenty of time to read and think, and grandma telling her (she never asked) that she must "come with us across the sea to Portugal for our fourth honeymoon and we'll show you the new place...Have Jack take us over in the Bellemae."

But Gwen had found it a nightmare. Her first day at sea she was sick over the side most of the time. On the second day a deckhand she had come to know as Jacques, a dark man with an accent of indistinct origin, produced a hand-rolled cigarette that smelled faintly of skunk. "Take this, little now, little later."

"I don't smoke," she'd told him.

"Dat why you still sick," he'd answered, and gone on to explain how they were in international waters and no-one else was sick because they were all stoned et cetera. She know it was a line of crap but by then she was bored to tears and it was something to do.

Now, on day 8, she was smoking pot with Jacques most of every day and she liked him a lot, but she could feel tension starting and knew their friendship was almost over, that when she said "I'm celibate" was when he said "I'm gone".

"Hey woman," he called, head sticking up from below decks. "We done!" He grinned. "Cmon my bunk." She went after him without hesitation; he had a killer CD collection, and he was a dope fiend. He kept her amused with sleight of hand tricks and knew how to blow a tune on a comb and waxed paper. He was interesting, and after 8 days at sea, interesting is good.

She walked into his cabin and sat next to him on his bunk.

"It's boring now, at sea," he told her with an air of pathos. "always get boring now. 8, 9 day."

Gwen nodded. "What do you do to keep from getting bored?"

"Well," Jacques replied, eye widening, "we WRESTLE!" And with that he grasped her around the waist and dumped her on her head. She fought her way up, fists clenched.

"You die!" She screamed with laughter and threw herself at him. He caught her and skillfully pinned her beneath him on the bed. Gwen giggled as she caught her breath.

"We don't always wrestle," Jacques told her, and bent to kiss her.

"Hey, whoa, there's something you gotta know..." She twisted her head to keep their lips apart.

He pulled back a little, but kept her pinned. "What?"

"I'm celibate," she replied knowing the type of response this usually elicited. However, instead of the normal distancing from the mating scene, as it were, Jacques pressed his body against hers. "What, are you a nun?"

"No."

"You mean you don't fuck? You sick dick doe, no?"

"'Fraid not."

"Hand job?"

"Nope"

"Facial?" He grinned.

Gwen didn't believe him. "Okay, I'll bite. What's a facial?"

By way of response, Jacques dropped his pants and yanked her arms up to pin her wrists while a large, erect cock came into view. Gwen almost shrieked.

"Oh my God Jacques, what the fuck are you doing!" Gwen struggled to get free from beneath him, but she was pinned, his cock right in front of her face. Her eyes widened as he began to stroke it gently.

"Jacques, please stop," she told him, but her voice was devoid of conviction. He continued, and despite her embarrassment and humiliation, she felt a slight frisson beneath her skirt; she became aware of the sensation of her underwear pressing against her vulva a quickening of the breath from more than the exertions of wrestling to get free.

"No girl," he answered her. "You asked, now I show you." His hand continued its slow stroke. "I show you..." He brought his penis close to her lips; she bit at him, snarling, more for show than out of a willingness to hurt him,. He tightened his hold upon her and drew deep breaths, and stroked himself with relish. Gwen knew she should scream but she couldn't. Jacques' long dick horrified and fascinated her; she found herself squeezing her thighs together a hard as she could while the man atop her—and he was a man, oh yes, no child he—began to make sounds that she had never heard before, but which made her pussy hotter and wetter than she had ever known.

She felt the tension in his legs first, and then the break in the rhythm of breathing, and then Jacques began to swell to a girth that frightened her...he pointed it at her, and she saw its eye, a drop of white weeping from it, and then Jacques grunted and the warm torrent hit her, it was come, his come, and it was on her cheek, and then it was on her lips too, and then on her chin, and she felt used, she was used, and made low, less than dirt—and she licked his spend from her lips.

That sent her over; she clenched her teeth and held her breath and noiselessly, motionlessly succumbed to her very first orgasm. She felt tingles through her whole body and a divine clenching deep inside her; she felt wetness running down her legs and she felt burning shame—and somehow, that made it even better.

She was astounded at his ferocity as he hurled himself off her. "You like dat, don't you?" She only looked involuntarily at his crotch. "Well ged on out heah, you had enough."

Hurt and humiliated, she ran back to her bunk and sobbed and dreamed.

"Did you see Jacques on board afterward?"

I felt weak, and the room sort of spun. "Ya..I did see him. You have to see each other, you're on board a ship."

"Was he ashamed at what he'd done?"

I had to smile at that. "Well, you'd think I would have gone away, every time I saw him, you know? But I didn't. I hung around him closer than ever. It started really creeping him out, and he started staying away from me. So yes, I'd say he was ashamed."

"Did you ever have sex with him?"

"No. I was cherry." I felt like I was about to cry.

"What happened after he ejaculated onto your face?"

"I told you, I saw him around--"

"No, I mean right after. Did he let you right up?"

I thought. This was the worst time in my life, but it had like a nostalgia all the same. "No. He wiped his prick on my cheek first."

"What did you do when he let you up?"

"I went back to my cabin on the other side of the ship."

"What did you do there?"

And I can't stop it, I can't keep it a secret for another second. "I TOUCHED MYSELF." And I'm crying before I even know it. "I touched myself and I liked it..I didn't have the guts to go all the way but I still had my first orgasm on the Bellemae."

"Why are you crying?"

"Because I felt soiled...because it's been so long I'd forgotten."

"You touched yourself. Why?" And I know I can't answer his question. I 'd take the worst possibly way out of it if I had to. So I did. I kept talking.

The tenth day brought more sun and no wind. The Bellemae, now very low on fuel, lay becalmed for want of wind. Squalls on the horizon promised wind but none came. Jacques and Gwen circled each other on the deck to maintain the greatest possible distance between them. Rumors began to circulate that it was a lover's quarrel, that she was yet another of Jacques' long line of conquests. Hours ground by with nothing to do; she played chess with the captain but didn't understand the way the pieces moved and so he let her win. Around three in the afternoon—she wasn't sure how many time zones they'd crossed—the watchman's call rang out across the deck: "Ship to starboard, she's hailed us!" The captain, a stoic man who seemed to have no personality whatsoever, stood up and looked out a porthole, scanning the waterline, and then stopped. He whistled. "And?"

"They say they're out of water and six days out, they ask if we've any to spare."

The captain considered this carefully. Gwen realized he didn't have much to weigh; if he didn't give those people water, they'd probably die. There was nothing around them but water for days.

As if he'd heard her speaking in his head, he nodded. "Tell them they can come aside us."

"Why did you take so long to answer?" Gwen demanded of him when the watchman had left. "You can't let those people die. What were you thainking about?"

"I was thinking," he returned, "that we do not have a great deal of water to spare. Enough to give a vessel that size only 2 days more, if she's fully crewed. I was thinking that I have no weapons if they decide to take all of it by force, and leave us thirsty. Or if they didn't need water at all."

"You mean like pirates?" she asked, a flutter of excitement within her.

"Exactly like pirates," he replied. "Now, I see you getting the romantic picture of pirates in your head, but they're real, and they're very very bad. They will steal everything you have, but they will kill you first. And they might have...uses for you before they do you in, because you can't tell on them when you're dead, and you can't stop them until you are." His somewhat vacant gaze fell upon her. "I hope you never meet any, and trying to make sure you don't is the reason I took so long."

Gwen felt a small amount of fear and a large amount of excitement. For the first time that day, she stopped thinking about Jacques' cock exploding onto her, and the salty taste of him on her lips, as he held her, held her so tight she couldn't move-- "How can they survive out at sea? how can they do those things?"

"Those have the same answer: They are evil men who steal whatever they need from everybody they meet. Not even all men—the worst of the pirates have been women. They often became captains themselves, you know; captains of pirate ships."

Now Gwen was excited, and a little aroused, as well. "You mean I could be a pirate captain?"

The captain's expression hardened. "If you were lucky, you would be shot down as soon as you tried. If you were unlucky, you would be passed around like a whore and then chucked overboard." He glared at her. "So put your notions aside. Pirates are veil, and wrong--"

"Pirates to starboard!" The watchman's message was a scream this time. The captain looked out the porthole again, and what little animation his face possessed drained away.

"Oh fuck me, please God no.."

He ran from the cabin onto the deck and immediately staggered backward. Gwen felt a wet mist on her face and arms and the captain fell back with a two-centimeter hole right in the center of his forehead.

"Well, I freaked," I said, and ran down. I couldn't go on. The pictures were all there, the pictures I'd run from, took drugs to get away from, but I couldn't say it, I needed to say it but I couldn't.

"That's understandable," Dr Annon said and he was so sympathetic he made me want to cuddle him. "You'd just seen a friend killed right in front of you. That's quite a trauma."

"Well, I wouldn't call him a friend, he was just the captain. But I got his blood all over me. I was trying to wipe it off, with the blanket from his bunk, and that's what I was doing when I heard a shot and my mom screaming and I just, I went to pieces, I just ran out that door and tripped over my feet. I hit the floor and heard bullets whirring—no shit, they actually whirred—and then I heard gunshots. Is that weird?"

He nodded and motioned me to continue. He was so hot..

"I got up, and looked around the deck, and I saw two men throw my father over the rail. They way he flapped around, I knew he was dead." My whole body ached from the memory; I hadn't really thought much about him...oh God, goodbye, daddy—and I was bawling. Dr Annon gave me a tissue and I blew my nose.

"Where was your mother?"

"S...she...was in a a group off to the side, three or four of them were standing around Mom and one of them was pointing a gun at her. She was on her knees, and she was bowing to him...over and over. Another one had an hourglass. As I watched, the sand ran out in the hourglass, and the gun went off. She fell, and then I could see the pirate's dick and I realized she'd been sucking his dick, racing the clock and she lost."

I couldn't see because of the tears, and Dr Annon was sitting beside me, and his arm was around me. "Tell me what happened," he said in that soft soft voice. I melted again.

"Well...I was on the deck and one of the guys with the guns, that almost just shot me—he grabbed me and walked to the rail with me right under his arm, and I started to panic, I thought he was going to throw me overboard like he had my daddy, like the captain had talked about when we played chess that day. But when we got to the rail, I realized there was another ship alongside us, and he threw me onto the other boat and another guy caught me, he..." I stop, and just breathe for a few seconds.

"What happened?"

"He manacled me, looped the chain over a way-high hook on the mast, and I looked way up and saw their colors, if you can call them that, a white noose on a field of black. And while I was looking up there someone came right in and grabbed my tits, and I couldn't put my arms down 'cause they were chained over my head, but I tried anyway, like I had to. And those manacles hurt my wrists a lot and so I had to relax again, and as soon as I did they got grabbed again. I tried to kick but those damn iron bracelets tore at me, and then the pirates picked me up and their fingers were everywhere, God just everywhere." I rolled my eyes in pleasure of the memory. "Not too much, you know, just enough, kinda fucking me with their fingers, you know?" He nodded and I saw him gulp, but he stayed close. Oh doctor, if only I wanted to fuck...

"You enjoyed it?"

"I screamed and bit and twisted and thrashed like crazy. And I loved it. It was like being tickled all over with my own clit."

Gwen shook the chains that bound her to the hook in the mast, and cried out again, knowing that all hope of salvation or succor was likely dead but needing to call for someone. The pirates laughed and mocked her. She saw through widening eyes that some of them had exposed their dicks and were stroking them. She remembered Jacques with a quick twinge of excitement somewhere just north of her pussy, followed by a heartsick sob as she realized he was dead along with the rest of Bellemae's crew. The pirates' hands became repulsive to her and her screams and thrashing redoubled.

"Hold, men," came a voice with authority. The pirates set her down and parted like grass before the wind.

The man now looking at her was obviously the captain, by his presence. His face was shadowed by the light of the cabin behind him, but Gwen could see he wore a long brown coat and a large foppish hat with a plume. As he approached, she could see his face, a little at a time: first cheekbones, and a scar along the right one; then his nose, not long but too aquiline to be called pretty; then his chin and jaw, aristocratically chiseled. His eyes were too slitted for her to see their color. The overall impression of his face, clothing, and manner was of a rake: handsome in an unconventional way, a lover of women but too merciless to ever truly love anyone, and prone to expensive habits. He strode up to her and grasped her chin, pulling her head so she had no choice but to face him.

"Who are you?"

"Gwen Phillips," she replied. She shook the chains that looped around the hook in the mast and cut her wrists again. "Let me down," she told him.

The captain moved very close to her and his slap was sudden and stung the side of her face. The pirates gathered around her 'oohed' and laughed viciously. "I asked you your name, not your desires," he told her softly. "What are you prepared to do to get down from there, Gwen Phillips?"

She only stared at him.

He pressed himself against her and she felt him between her legs and rubbing against her. Gwen kicked at him, felt a knee connect almost solidly between his legs, but he did not fall; the crew hushed immediately and the heard whispers in the silence before the captain roared: "The wench plays with her feet!" and the heel of one leather moccasin slammed into her cheekbone. Her eye immediately watered and the side of her face felt heavy and hot. She sagged against the chains and two pairs of hands grasped her ankles, pulled them behind her, to each side of the mast. Her weight was completely supported by her wrists in the cutting manacles and the pirates holding her legs . He pressed against her again and, with her legs pulled behind her as they were, she couldn't avoid his hand rubbing her, terrifying her yet at the same time sending darts of pleasure throughout her body.

"You're pretty enough," he told her, then he ran a hand down her front. "You feel passing good to the casual observer, let's say—" and his hand came up between her thighs and her gasp sounded a little too much like a pleasure-moan. The pirate captain gave her a suggestive leer and began to disrobe her, one piece of clothing at a time; each piece of clothing he dramatically threw over the rail and out to sea. The message was plain: You will not need clothing for what you will be doing, and once you can't please one of us, over the rail you will go too. Gwen struggled, but the pirates holding her legs pulled backward until she felt split apart by the force against her pelvis and her strength waned. The captain continued disrobing her, this time using a cruel-looking blade to assist him. Gwen's skin tried to crawl away from the knife and the captain nicked her with it.