Lady Beatrice screamed at the first touch of Marie's tongue. She fought the men holding her with desperate but futile strength. The pirates whistled and clapped and urged Marie on, their excitement quickly becoming visible in the erections that strained at their breeches.
Constance, frozen in place by the porthole, looked on in mingled embarrassment and horror. She knew that she should not watch this cruel abuse of Beatrice, that she certainly should not be warmed by it, and yet she was helpless to shut her eyes to the scene taking place on the deck.
She imagined herself in Beatrice's place. Pinned half-naked and defenseless before the admiring gazes of the pirates, some of them holding firmly to her arms and legs. Marie's knowing, clever mouth on her, making her wet, coaxing her into a fever of need.
Yet Beatrice was unwilling to submit. She wept and wailed and tossed her head from side to side, hair flying in a dark storm. At one point her body arched, and shuddered, only to resume struggling an instant later.
Had she spent? Constance suspected she had, and envied her. She'd been many days without a man now. Her time with Walter seemed very long ago.
She hiked her skirt enough to slip a hand beneath. Her pantaloons were damp with arousal, the lips of her cunny full, pouting, tender. A pulse throbbed deep within her. She touched herself through the silk, and she moaned softly.
Marie sat back on her heels and wiped her glistening mouth. There was a flash of something sly in her expression. She licked her lips with her pert little tongue and looked up at Michel.
"She is ready," Marie said.
Beatrice thrashed about with a renewed vigor. She was laid wide open to the hungry view of the pirates, the pinkness of her cunny peeking through. More than one of the men had unlimbered himself from his trousers. From where Beatrice lay, she would be staring up at a ring of bulging crotches and exposed cocks.
Constance put her hand into her pantaloons and caressed herself. She worked two fingers into her furrow, parting them enough to rub along the sides of her clitoris while her fingertips probed at her opening. The surge of sensation made her knees buckle but her other hand clutched at the wall to steady herself. She kept watching.
"Turn her over," Michel said. He undid his belt, stepped out of his breeches. He was magnificent, with muscular thighs and taut buttocks, and an impressive length of cock with a slight curve like a cutlass.
"No!" Beatrice cried. "No, please, she's lying! I am a virgin, I am!"
The men lifted her, flipped her onto her stomach over a barrel. Her white bottom stuck up. Michel went to his knees behind her.
"There's no need to pretend now, Lady Beatrice," he said. "You might as well give in, and enjoy."
The handsome first mate positioned himself, nudging at Beatrice's cunny with the swollen head of his organ. Beatrice begged and howled, promising him rewards, gold, jewels, if only he would not do this terrible thing, he must not do this to her, he must not deflower her, please!
"She likes it rough," Marie said.
No one else was looking at her, but something in her voice made Constance tear her eyes away from the spectacle long enough to see an expression both sly and smug flit across the girl's face.
Michel rammed himself into Beatrice. The brunette's shriek was ear-splitting. At that same moment, Constance pushed her own fingers deep, and wished it was Michel's cock. She mimicked his movements, matching him thrust for thrust, hard, relentless.
"Unh, she's tight as a drum," Michel said, gripping Beatrice tightly by the hips and driving his body against hers.
Constance's hand moved faster, in time with Michel. How she envied Beatrice, how she yearned to switch places with her! And did the foolish girl appreciate her good fortune? No, Beatrice was sobbing and carrying on as if it was the end of the world, no doubt trying to resist and deny the delicious feelings that Michel had to be creating in her loins.
What she'd give to feel a man inside her, a good stiff cock buried in her cunny! The fire was burning in her, raging out of control.
Michel fucked faster, groaning, his eyes closed as he neared his climax. He cried out – "Ah,
yes
!" – and pumped wildly for several more strokes. His body gleamed with sweat, his chest heaved as he caught his breath.
Fingers rubbing, sliding in her heat. Constance thought of Michel suspended over her, filling her, and the first waves of her climax crashed on her shores. She muffled her cries in her forearm, and leaned weakly against the wall.
Beatrice lay limp over the barrel, whimpering. Michel withdrew from her, and a startled exclamation arose from the crew.
His cock, and her inner thighs, were streaked with crimson.
"Blood," Adam said. "Blimey, she
was
a virgin!"
They all turned on Marie, who raised her chin defiantly and said nothing. Michel got slowly to his feet, wiping himself clean with a rag, and pulled on his breeches. He stepped toward the girl and his face was thunderous.
"You lied, Marie."
She nodded.
"You
lied
," Michel repeated. "You spun that yarn about the stableboy … why?"
"Because I knew that if you thought she wasn't a virgin, you'd fuck her," Marie said, not backing down as the pirate loomed over her. "I despise the bitch. I wanted to see her ruined. Do what you will with me, rape me, kill me, I don't care. It is all worth it to have seen her violated."
He raised his hand to her as if about to strike her down. Marie remained unbowed.
"You cost us a ransom!" he snarled.
Jacqueline's husky laughter stopped him as he was about to unleash a blow. The tall, blonde captain strode forth, shaking her head in her mirth.
"That she may have, Michel, but it was amusing. A revenge worthy of a Merlion, I daresay. You, Marie, come here."
Marie went to Jacqueline. Her body was tense, braced for a gunshot or the swipe of a blade, but she refused to show fear or repentance.
Beatrice made no move to rise or cover herself. She stayed draped over the barrel, weeping. Constance remembered how she'd bled after Rob's first violation of her, the misery she'd felt as she washed the evidence away. It almost made her pity Beatrice, but her envy was still too great.
"What has your mistress done to you, that you'd see her treated so cruelly?" Jacqueline asked.
"The tale of the stableboy was true in part," Marie said. She shot a hate-filled glance at Beatrice. "She was curious about men, about fucking, but wouldn't risk her precious maidenhead. So she ordered
