Misty Dawn And The Raven Ch 12

Dawn lay tied to Charles' bed throughout the night, though she was vain to find the safe harbor of sleep within its finery, until the morning sun was warming the darkness of the cabin with its first yawning rays. As she drifted on the rolling tide of sleep, her mind was filled with dreams dancing on edge of her deep azure horizon. They were filled with the distant, translucent aromas of distant harbors and flashes of violence and power. Her empty palm clenched seeking the feel of the myriad of small diamonds of leather in the lash's grip once again. Her naked back flinched away from the soft, cool enveloping silks of Charles' regal sheets, as if they too were seeking the taste of harsh leather more preferred by her newly developed pallet. Her wrists strained at their moorings, more to simulate her own weight than in any desire for escape.

Out of the inkiness of her dreams she felt as if she had nearly found herself, but as yet was still lost; though she could feel that the gentle rolling of the waves beneath her were carrying her purposefully to herself. To a glorious freedom that she could not quite imagine, not quite grasp even while she restlessly wrestled it in her dreams.

All of this shattered instantly with a gigantic but ever tender caress of her cheek that snapped her gray-green eyes open. "Sultan's girl," the hulking moor whispered quietly through a pair of broad smiling lips, "I think you should eat something and recover your strength, we are almost there." With that, he slowly lifted his hand from her flushing cheek to her left wrist and began fumbling with the knotted curtain tie. Dawn gasped at his words, not quite sure if she had been awoken from her dream or if she had just fallen into one.

Her heart raced as her fingers tingled with the sensation of blood returning unobstructed to her digits. As her second hand was freed, Dawn moaned quietly and began rubbing her wrists with her tingling fingers. The large baldhead of the Moor darted from her ankle to her face then turned away without a word. Dawn sat up; realizing he had heard her and bowed her head, her fiery curls falling around her flooding cheeks.

"Do not be ashamed, Sultan's girl," Fazul said softly as he worked the knot loose freeing her ankle, "Sultan would be very pleased that his woman loves the feel of his bondage so. To have the freedom to offer yourself to another's every callous whim is a badge of honor, wear it proudly, Sultan's girl." With that, he patted her calf softly stimulating circulation with his massive hand and rose from the bed with a sorrowful creak as it begged for his presence upon it. Just as Dawn's flesh begged for the tyrannies of the cords upon her limbs. Dawn kept her head lowered as she fought with the Moor's wisdom within her own mind. Somehow, she understood, but had no idea of how she was capable of doing so. "Thank you, Fazul," She said haltingly though she was not entirely sure she was. The large man turned and bowed to her with a colossal smile before pulling the door closed quietly behind him.

Still rubbing the red dents from the curtain ties from her wrists Dawn glanced over to Charles' commanding desk. Upon it sat a platter of gold piled with fine fruits and hearty meats still steaming. A bottle of excellent wine stood beside it, the cork hanging loose on a short string about its tapered green neck. She smiled at the feast Fazul had left for her, he certainly was only so huge of chest because of the great heart that beat within it, and she smiled to herself.

Then her gray-green eyes fell upon Charles' chair and her mouth fell open. Draped over his carved wood chair was the most lavish gown Dawn had ever seen. It was made of sparkling silks, layers of transparent cloth spilled over the hidden shape of the chair. The cuff of one sleeve hung heavy to the just off the floor with a ring of pink pearls sewn into the dusty rose of the silk. There was a small folded parchment laid softly upon the billowing bodice's gilt drawstrings, sealed with a tiny drop of wax.

Rising slowly, Dawn approached the desk with caution, like a cat approaching a new bauble. She first plucked a slice of orange from the tray before she raised her curious gray-green gaze to the note once more. In an elegant pen across the folded parchment she read, "Misty Dawn." Sucking the orange wedge into her lips and feeling the citric taste of its delicate juices flood over her parched tongue she gingerly plucked the note from the dress and broke the seal.

Dawn,

What a good little toy you have been, my pet. I have a task for you that should come natural to one of your immense talents. As you know, I have bargained with Captain Olivia to regain her command. You, my sweet, have the lucky part of seducing her usurping captain.

Shortly we shall arrive in Port Royale, which is undoubtedly where Duval will be taking the Witch for refitting. You shall play the courtesan, Duval has a weakness for Venetian courtesans, and thus he shall have you. You, my sweet, must seduce him for the plan to succeed. Give in to him as if his touch were my own. I am sure you will have no difficulty with that, for he is a man led entirely by his maleness, and not at all by his brain.

Duval is a brutal and dangerous man; I pray I have prepared you enough for him. Once you have sufficiently sated, we shall strike for the Witch. All our plans rest with your success in this matter. Succeed and I shall see you rewarded as a full member of the undertaking. I should not have to mention what failure in this shall mean for your skin.

Now, eat hearty, and get dressed in this Venetian gown. Fazul will help ensure it fits you perfectly. He is so very talented. Olivia and I shall put you ashore this evening with Catherine as your maid and Fazul as your protector.

It is paramount that Duval be kept amused on shore while we press for the Witch!

C.

Dawn dropped the parchment, her head swam, but before she knew what she was doing, she was devouring the feast Fazul had set for her and staring at the light rose silks across the desk from her. Her lips smiled softly as the crystal goblet tipped port to her tongue in a tiny sip. She could already feel the heat of her core glistening between her thighs at the danger of this task. Still in addition, were the fires of her desire to prove herself, yet again to her master?

Her thoughts disappeared with the shock of a small rap upon the cabin door. "Sultan's girl, are you ready for your fitting?" the familiar voice of the hulking Moor said flatly from behind the closed wood. "Yes, Fazul," Dawn said standing and setting the wine aside, "please come in."

************

Robbins peered painfully out of a porthole across the darkness of the night. He could see the twinkling lamps of Port Royale and he could hear the voices of his Captain and his bitch as a long boat was creakingly lowered past his small window to the world. His ass was still afire from the plundering it had sustained by his shipmates. Dried semen and coagulated blood laid a thin crust over his black and blued cheeks, the evidence of his sodomy. He forced himself to stand though his legs still were bowed, as his body had not yet recovered from his violations. "Damn you, Cap'n!" he cursed under his breath with a rage bent on vengeance.

Just then, the long boat past his porthole and he saw the pretty one all-gauded up in Venetian silks that sparkled in the moonlight. Her breasts were squeezed and thrust upwards, her areoles, rouged and protruding temptingly from above the line of the lace and sewn pearl edge of the bodice, pulled tight with gilt cords. Drooping down to the delightful furrow of her corseted breasts she wore a sting of pearls that ended in a Mary Magdalene medal, marking her a prostitute. The hated Moor and the older slut were in the boat with her as it drifted to the waves below.

Robbins pushed himself from the window and instantly knew what must be afoot. Mad with vengeance he carefully opened the door to his bunk and crept towards the deck. Once he made it to the deck, Robbins forced his rape weary legs to carry him to the far gunnel. Snagging a mooring line, he wrapped a lust-stained thigh about the hemp and slid himself quietly to the water. The coarse rope bit at his inner thigh, his bared cock bounced in the moonlight. He gritted what teeth he had left as the salt water of the Caribbean washed over his tormented flesh.

With a strength that only revenge can muster in a man, Robbins began to swim for land. Salt bit and stung at his bloodied flesh. His legs cramped in the chill waters. His old arms tired then complained with pain. The determination that once long ago before drink and age had dulled it, returned full force to Robbins' mind. No longer was this the doddering old fool that was the butt of so many jokes, gone was the impotence of an old seaman. Robbins' eyes blazed across the dark waves as he forced himself towards the shore. Every haggard breath, every twitch of a limb propelling him through the sea was a forceful act of vengeance.

Just when Robbins was beginning to feel, his new found strength leave his body. When the salty pain of the sea on his recently opened channel felt insurmountable, a drooping bare foot sank as his toes found sand just before his lips drifted beneath the waves. A maniacal laugh was drown out by the lapping waves upon the beach as Robbins walked out of the surf, panting and gasping for breath in the darkness. His tattered striped shirt clinging to rolls of alcoholic lard, his mass of gray hair shrouding his chill shriveled manliness in the night; but his heart was beating hard with a passion as great a power as greed or lust, and equally as dark and dangerous as either.

***************

Fazul's massive frame blotted out the boarding house window, his statuesque silhouette and his bare tattooed back of dark skin tightly stretched over titan like muscles was all that Dawn could see as he watched the harbor. He had been like that all morning and into the afternoon, unflinching, watching the horizon. Dawn absently accepted the glass of wine Catherine offered her without a word as she stared in turn at Fazul's back and tried to ignore the putrid stench of the cramped and barbaric city she had found herself in.

Suddenly Fazul whirled around from his pose then snapped the glass closed, "The Witch is upon us, Sultan's girl, we must let you met the ship at the docks," Fazul boomed his instructions, causing both Dawn and Catherine to nearly choke on their sips of the tasteless wine of this place in sudden surprise.

Instantly, as if they were both seasoned veterans Fazul sent them out to meet the battered vessel pulling into the harbor. Dawn led the way her head held high in the afternoon sun. The rustle of silk announced her every dainty step on tiny slippers adorned with gems. She did not need to bother with holding her skirts above her footsteps, as the cut of the layered silks left the front of her stockinged legs open for accessibility, then tapered down to the sides and trailed behind in a train of translucent succulence. She giggled to herself as she glanced with her eyes at her exposed legs of how much more practical the dress of a courtesan was to those of ordinary women. It was open for movement, every step allowed a cascade of silk to tantalize her skin, and she had not bother worrying about treading, or indignantly tripping on the hem, which was lifted by the cut of the gown.

Catherine' palms were sweating as she lifted her own dark, plain dress hem while holding her mistress' silk and lace parasol above her fiery hair to shade it from the harshness of the sun. She marveled at Dawn's composure as they walked down the sloping cobblestone streets towards what dangers she could only guess upon. She also marveled at the beauty of Dawn, as the sun seemed to pry its way through layer after layer of her rustling silk folds, not unlike a rose peeling itself back towards the sunlight to reveal is inner most secrets.

Part of Catherine was quietly pleading with the rest of her to run, she was at least by some respects out of captivity. She could run for help, perhaps even find her husband at the governor's mansion and he could put a stop to these atrocities she had endured. But Catherine realized that it was a far easier task to face possible death in anonymity with this new threat upon the docks than it was to face her own humiliation to society. Therefore, she bit her lip nervously and followed in Dawn's wake like a dutiful servant to her matron.

Dawn and Catherine politely pushed their way through the crowd on the docks, Dawn saw him, the thin mustached man, now sporting a gentleman's jacket, bargaining with many shipwrights and carpenters for their services. As they approached, both of them ignoring every offer made for Dawn's services, Pierre Duval caught a glimpse of shimmering pink silks and blazing hair in the bright afternoon sun. Dawn's eyes met his gaze and she smiled coyly to his stare that was as ruthless and cold as a hangman's.

Pierre immediately stepped his bargaining and began passing out coins from a well-laden purse to the thankful hands before him. Ignoring all their thanks and promises He pushed his way through them, his dark eyes flaming with lust.

Dawn turned away from him as he approached and hearing his footsteps began to cheerfully speak to her maid, "Well, Catherine, it seems that no man of sufficient funds has a taste for us today, let us retire, perhaps tomorrow's tide will bring a real man to this empty nest of penniless cretins." Catherine nodded not daring to speak and reveal the tremble in her throat and was just turning around to walk back tot eh cobblestone streets when a black velvet purse landed and spilled gold that shone as bright as the sun on the wooden planks of the docks between her own and Dawn's feet.

No sooner had the purse hit the deck than Dawn was spun around with harsh hands on her bare shoulders. "Nay, bitch," a cruel voice hissed from beneath a mustache as dark eyes devoured Dawn's breasts, "I think ye have o'er looked one man amongst this lot, with both coin and strength to take up your time."

Dawn gasped as she looked into those eyes, cruel and pitiless they were, and as dark as the heart that beat beneath the broad belt that held the cutlass at his hip. Quickly she regained her composure even as her heart began to race within her tightly corseted chest, "S-so, I see..." Dawn said taking a breath and managing to bat her shadowed eyes. Locking his dark eyes with her own uniquely gray-green ones she continued without looking away, "Catherine, be a dear and retrieve this gentleman's purse." Catherine again only nodded and slowly knelt down to gather up the purse and it spilt contents, though the task was made extremely hazardous given the sweating of her palms and the trembling of her fingers.

Pierre's hands roughly slipped over Dawn's shoulder and raced down her sides until they plucked the top layer of veil thin silk from her hips and rubbed its smoothness between his fingers, as if she were hanging in a tailor's shop and he was determining the quality of the fabric. "It would seem sir, that you have coin enough," Dawn smiled as he explored her body. Reaching a hand delicately forward, she gripped at the swelling bulge in his tight breeches, her fingers massaging its firmness for a moment causing it to swell faster. "Aye, and meat enough for a famished chat, like you!" Pierre barked as he thrust his hips forward to her fingers as his hands roughly gripped her hips.

Dawn shrieked at his words as she found herself hoisted from the dock, one slipper falling from her stockinged toe as a billowing of silk caught the offshore breeze and she was slung unceremoniously over the man's shoulder like a sack of booty. Dawn felt the cool air of the breeze on her naked ass as her silk folds fell away from her flesh. The pink rose of her skirts unfurling in the wind, her own rose protruding to all the eyes of the dock, as she was perched upon the pirate's shoulder.

Catherine gasped and blinked just as Dawn felt two calloused fingers pull her lips wide apart, "Look ye swab!" Pierre shouted to the crowded docks as he opened her glistening pussy broadly to the sun. "Look well at this 'ere little rose I just plucked. Fore when I have 'ad me fill o' 'er, this little bitch will be payin' you randy lot to keep yer cocks to yeslves!" With that, he broke into a boisterous laugh that led a burst of laughter from his audience, as he spun around lowly so that all could see her opened pussy.

Pierre stopped his spin abruptly and glared down at Catherine who was still knelt to the dock, "Now, missy, show me to your mistress' chambers, si vous plait," Pierre laughed, a twinge of threat hung on his voice. Catherine nodded and rose, clutching the purse tight in her hand, she turned to lead Pierre, and Dawn back thought he crowded, polluted streets of the filthy port.

Catherine stammered as she slowly raised to shaky legs, "Of-of course sir." Catherine led the way back through the streets to the smelly boarding house with its sea and sun weathered paint. Dawn hung loosely over the Frenchman's shoulder. As they walked through, he crowded streets of the dung heap of civilization. Dawn felt the broad leather of the shoulder slung baldric against her stomach through the thin layers of silks. Two malicious fingers held her lips parted wide, allowing the light breeze buffet her opened channel as he carried her. The bareness of her ass was available for the entire town to see, and their jeers and whistling hoots sent a fire to her cheeks as they dangled beneath her up ended skirts and drooping curls. Occasionally as Dawn was bounced like a heavily laden sea bag on Pierre Duval's shoulder she could feel her wide spread orifice tested by prodding fingers as Pierre continued to sample her wares. Pinching her exposed clit, then jabbing her painfully spread lips with a greedy finger, then an occasional loud resounding slap of an open palm across one cheek then the other, warming and reddening her shoulder hoisted posterior.

All this she endured with growing excitement. As her ass was slapped causing her to bounce on the man's shoulder, she could feel her internal heat rising. Every pinch, every prod, every shouldered step rising the tide of her own lust; her displayed petals were thick with her juices that cooled most pleasantly in the wind. Her head was rushed with blood, and Duvall's ministrations were driving her mind from its skull. Dawn began arching against his deeply wiggling fingers. Her red, sunbathed ass tingled and reached for another blow. Dawn's clit throbbed and pleaded for more attention. Duval was keeping her at the edge of lust with well-practiced cruelties.

Dawn felt her body becoming restless as she breathlessly and she lifted her hand running them along the curve of the pirate's ass. Duval grunted with lust as he felt her fingers over his breeches and beneath the tail of his coat. With relish, he slapped her opened pussy hard with his open palm. Dawn's spread and dew covered lips took full force of the blow with a squishing clap, and her lips gasped as a pain soaked wave of pleasure crested and threatened to break over her, just then her searching fingers wrapped around a smooth with use pistol butt tucked into Duval's belt. The realization of what she had gripped held her from release, and field her fires further, something awoke within her, a dangerous feeling of power; and she began to caress the insides of Duval's thighs with her other hand while she gingerly slid the heavy pistol from his belt.

Dawn held er breath as she folded the polished wood, and black steel of the pistol into the layers of silk of her right sleeve. Just as Dawn was about to allow she to draw a breath, she felt Duval shift his weight and bury three fingers deep within her honey dewed opening. She gasped again, this time with more fear of discovery than with desire for those plunging and undulating digits griped tight by her slickly coated walls. Dawn had not realized that they had reached the narrow doorway to the boardinghouse and Duval was only adjusting her on his shoulder to gain entry to the tight portal.