One: The Next Day
Therese du Maurier, the beautiful young Duchess de Montfort, awoke with a start. In the unfamiliar surroundings it took her a while to realize where she was and how she had gotten there. She was lying on a bed, covered with a sheet. Sunlight streamed into the room through a space in the heavy curtains that covered the window. Under the sheet she was naked.
Looking around she realized it was the same room in which she had been confined when she was first brought to this place. Bits of broken pottery were still on the floor against one wall where she had smashed them in the tantrum she had had when first imprisoned. Is it possible that was only yesterday? It seemed ages ago, part of a former life, in a different world.
“
Oh, bon Dieu!
” she groaned as the memory of what had happened flooded back.
She had been captured by pirates – by the evil Captain Antoine Renoir and his crew. They had tortured her cruelly and forced her to submit to their depraved lust. She remembered now how they had used her in every perverted way they could devise. They had taken her in every entrance to her body and had used her as a receptacle for their vile seed. Their seed! The beautiful young noblewoman touched her face and felt the dried residue of the sperm that had covered her smooth skin. She felt filthy and defiled. A bath! She must have a bath immediately!
But another feeling tugged at her consciousness. A tickle of arousal that kissed her nipples and warmed her loins. She had given in! They had tormented her, humiliated her and degraded her in front of rough, brutal men and she had given in to her lust. She had become aroused, eagerly submitting and begging them to use her. She wanted to be possessed by them, controlled and even owned by them. Especially by Renoir. What was this power he had over her? Even now, soiled with the remnants of their lust and sore from the invasion of her body, she was excited by the memory of what she had done.
As a good Catholic girl, of noble birth and educated by nuns, she was horrified by these feelings. What was wrong with her? She had sinned terribly and must find a priest immediately to confess and seek forgiveness.
She looked around the room and saw a table with a basin and a pitcher. As she climbed out of the bed the soreness between her legs reminded her of her sins. The naked girl lifted the pitcher to find that it did indeed hold water. Too thirsty to bother looking for a cup, she drank from the rim of the pitcher, water running down her chin and dripping onto her naked breasts. It reminded her of the way the men’s hot seed had run from her mouth and dripped onto her breasts last night.
“Stop, stop!” she cried out loud, trying to chase the disturbing thoughts from her mind.
She found a towel and poured some water into the basin. Dipping one end into the water she rubbed at the dried sperm on her face, trying to clean the residue from her skin and from her thoughts. But there was more, it was all over her body, crusted on her belly and thighs. She touched her hair and felt the stiff, matted tangles of what had been her beautiful auburn tresses. It was the last indignity, and she sat down on the floor and began to sob.
While she sat there, feeling defeated and confused, there was a knock at the door. At first she didn’t respond, frightened by what they might be planning for her next and ashamed by the way she knew she must look. She quickly got up and grabbed the sheet that had been covering her on the bed and wrapped it around herself. The knock came again, this time accompanied by a voice.
“Hello? Are you there?” It was a woman’s voice, speaking English with a Spanish accent.
Therese heard a key in the lock. Then the latch rotated and the door swung open. The young Duchess blinked as the bright Caribbean sunlight streamed in, framing the woman in the doorway. She entered and closed the door behind her.
“
Buenos dias
,” she said, looking at Therese, who held the sheet more tightly around herself. “Are you all right?”
“Who are you?” Therese asked.
“My full name is Dona Isabella Theresa Alonzo de la Vega. But that was in my old life. You can call me Bella,” replied the young woman.
Therese noted that the dark-haired woman was about her own age, and very pretty. She was wearing a red silk blouse and black trousers with black leather boots. Held in the gold sash tied around her slender waist was a dagger. Therese thought she looked more like a pirate than a Dona.
“You are Spanish?” she asked.
“
Si, senorita
.”
“How did you get here? Are you a pirate, too?” the confused girl inquired.
“I was a noble lady, en route to meet my future husband, when our ship was captured by buccaneers. They sold me to Captain Renoir. I belong to him now.” She said this quite matter-of-factly, as if it did not disturb her at all to be the property of Renoir.
“I am Therese du Maurier, Duchess of Montfort,” the French girl said.
Suddenly remembering her condition, Therese turned her face away from Isabella.
“Don’t look at me, please. I must look like a horror,” she said, ashamed.
“But you are beautiful,” replied the Spanish girl, “and you have the most intriguing green eyes. Don’t worry, dear. You should have seen what I looked like the first time Captain Renoir and his men had their way with me.” This also was said calmly, as if the experience held no painful memories for her.
“You? They did this to you, too?”
“I’ll tell you about it sometime. I tried to fight it, but I’m afraid it was no use.”
“You mean you tried to fight them, the men?”
“Well, that, too. But I meant I tried to fight my feelings. I could not resist the pleasure I felt at being dominated and possessed by Captain Renoir and his men. The more they abused me, the more aroused I became. I ended up begging for it!” she said with a slight smile.
“I, too,” confessed the Duchess. “I’m so ashamed of myself. After everything the nuns taught me I have disgraced myself in the eyes of God. I must find a priest so that I can confess and be forgiven.”
“There are no priests on the island of Tortugas,
querid
, only buccaneers. You’ll have to be content with confiding in me,” Isabella replied. “For now I can only offer you more earthly assistance.”
“I’m filthy. I need a bath, and I need to use the toilet,” Therese said.
“Well, that I can certainly help you with. There is an outhouse near here. Follow me.”
A few minutes later Therese stood before Isabella wrapped in the sheet, one of her needs relieved. Isabella handed her a small pile of folded cloth.
“Put this on and I’ll take you to a place to bathe,” she said.
The Duchess dropped her sheet and pulled the white linen caftan over her head. Isabella handed her a pair of slippers, and Therese turned them over in her hand.
“These are mine,” she said, surprised.
“Yes, I recovered them from the cellar room. I thought you might want something of your own. I’m afraid there was not much left of your dress.”
Therese blushed as she remembered how the pirates had shredded her velvet sleeping gown. She slipped the shoes over her feet and followed Isabella.
Two: The Grotto
They walked for about a quarter mile, when Isabella led her through a copse of trees and they found themselves next to a sheltered pool of water. The banks were covered with thick moss, and tropical flowers clung to the rocks of a small hill that concealed the pool on the side opposite the trees.
