"Get below! Now!" the captain bellowed. His shouted orders were barely heard in the tumultuous gale.
Besides, I knew every pair of hands was needed on deck, even a woman's.
In defiance of his orders, I remained on deck, even as his furious glare, the color of the deepest blue ocean, locked with mine. If we lived through this, the surly Captain Ford Sanders would remind me yet again that a woman on a ship was bad luck.
My long hair whipped by relentless winds, eyes stinging from the onslaught of salt spray, I clung to the rail and watched helplessly when the first mate split his skull on a cleat. I crawled across the deck to him and wrapped my scarf around his gushing wound.
Then the ship jolted violently, sending me hydroplaning across the slimy surface and into the arms of the glowering captain. The last thing I remember was the bitter salt water that filled my lungs as we plunged into the unforgiving sea, Ford's arms tight around me as if he would never let go.
I awoke to the pungent aroma of herbs smoldering over a banked fire. Voices from unseen faces rang like soft bells, but I understood not a word.
Then Ford roared, "Let me loose, damn you! She's not what you think she is, you savages. She's just a woman, for God's sake!"
What the hell was he blathering about? I sat up and regretted it instantly when the pain shot up through my neck as if it would blow the top of my head clean off.
"You live," said a soft voice from a friendly coffee-colored face that appeared suddenly before me. Strong hands eased me back down to a rough palette, but not before I caught a glimpse of the captain, stripped naked, and lashed to a heavy upright timber in the center of the room.
Even after I closed my eyes, I still saw his taut body, sinuous and hard, leathery, as tanned as the little native woman who now forced me to drink a bitter brew from a crude wooden bowl.
"Why is the captain tied up?" I asked, my aching head rebelling against every sound I uttered.
"Bad man. Try to drown Malina. He being punished."
"Who's Malina?"
The old native woman's laughter was an abrasive hiss through toothless gums.
"You Malina. You come back to us."
I drifted off again, wondering if being Malina was a good thing.
I awoke again to Captain Sanders' incessant roaring. This time I sat up gingerly, and the pain in my head was tolerable.
The Captain was in much the same state as before, only now his body shone with sweat, his face contorted with rage, and his erection rose with passion.
"For the love of God, Katie, tell these ignorant bastards to give me some water!"
"Why do I have to tell them? You tell them!"
"Just do it, or I'll die from dehydration."
"Would that be so awful?" I guess my head was feeling better, for I was ready to exchange insults again with the man who had made two months at sea a miserable hell for me. "Oh, all right, don't get your panties in a wad. Oops, I just noticed you're not wearing any panties."
He glared at me, the rage in his eyes matching that of his hard-on.
The toothless old woman was by my side again, and I told her, "Give the poor man some water, if you please."
"Yes, Malina, as you command." She gave a little bow of her head and held the bowl while the Captain slurped greedily.
"You may as well give him something to eat while you're at it."
The old woman clapped her hands and two giggly maidens came into the room, staring wide-eyed and smiling broadly at Ford's stiff penis.
One girl fed him some sort of rice mixture using her fingers as a spoon, and he ate ravenously.
The old nursemaid offered me a bowl of rich broth and a crust of flat bread, and then all three women left the room.
"Where are we and what's going on? And who is Malina?" I asked.
Ford leaned his head back against the rough wood where his hands were tied behind him, his eyes closed. "Some God-forsaken island," he said. "They think you're Malina, come back to save them. She left some 1500 years ago, according to the legends; said she'd be back with rain and fire and crops and fish."
"How could she come back after 1500 years?"
He opened his eyes and gave me a look full of malice. "Because she's a Goddess."
My loud guffaw was so startled and harsh, it brought the old witch-woman back to check on me.
"Why would they think I'm a goddess?" I asked him.
"Probably your flaming hair and green eyes. The fact that you're quite a bit taller than they are might have something to do with it. And her name's Nema," he said, inclining his head toward the old woman who stood protectively beside me.
"I'm fine, Nema," I reassured her. "It's just that I find the, er, prisoner very amusing."
"Yes, he funny," she agreed, eyeing his wilting cock. She frowned and clapped her hands again for the maidens, who entered and went to work over Ford's expiring penis.
Ford groaned while one maiden stroked his cock back to hardness. The other maiden pinched his nipples with a rhythm that matched her sister's stroking of his growing organ. As he closed his eyes and his groans became more primitive, the girl's skilled hand squeezed the head of his penis, cutting off his ejaculation, and he moaned in grievous frustration.
"Oh, God, no, no more."
"Nema, why are they doing this to the Captain?" I asked, forgetting the antagonism that existed between Ford and myself, and feeling a little sorry for his condition of unsatisfied excitement.
"Make him ready for you, Malina."
