"Go and fetch the Lady Beatrice," Jacqueline said. "See to it that she's clean and dressed, and fit to meet her family."
"You wish me to do this? I am no maidservant." Constance gestured to Marie, where the chestnut-haired girl was sleeping curled in a tangle of linens on the floor, in Constance's makeshift bed. "Why not Marie?"
"Be sensible, Constance," scolded Jacqueline. "Do you imagine that Beatrice will be at all pleased to see our wicked little Marie? All matters considered?"
She supposed Jacqueline was right. It had been Marie's lie that led to Beatrice's brutal use at the hands – more, at the ready cocks – of the entire pirate crew. That Marie had not been punished for this, but had instead been almost instantly elevated to a position of great favor, could only be salt in the wound.
"But you ordered her placed in with Jean-Pierre," Constance said. "Do you imagine he'll be pleased to see
me
?"
"I rather hope he might, but knowing Jean-Pierre, he has likely convinced himself it never happened, or was all some drunken dream. It'll do him good to be face to face with you. Unless you fear him."
Her amused smile suggested to Constance how ridiculous Jacqueline found the prospect. Ever since the blonde pirate captain had made Constance succumb to wanton sex with Michel and Marie, Jacqueline's attitude toward her had continued to be one of scornful amusement.
Yet Constance still felt a bitter and genuine hatred beneath it, and was at a loss. She would have liked to befriend Jacqueline. Would have possibly liked to be
more
than friends with Jacqueline.
This last should have shocked her, finding such an admission in herself. But in the two days that she'd shared the captain's quarters, and particularly since discovering for herself the delights of another woman's body – she no longer balked at opening her legs to Marie, neither did she refuse to return the favor – Constance had taken to admiring Jacqueline's lithe body, wondering what she might be like, how she might feel, and taste.
But her speculations were for nothing. Although the rest of the crew were peopled by lusty, virile, and attractive men, although Marie had more than once offered her tender services to the captain, Constance had yet to observe Jacqueline express any sort of interest. The only time she'd heard so much as a husky note in Jacqueline's voice had been during the incident with Jean-Pierre.
Was she uninterested? What a sad and dreadful thing that would be. Mere weeks ago, Constance had been ignorant of the ways of men and women, and now she could not stand to think of living without the glorious crashing climaxes. Never mind how she had been introduced to it. The horror of her incestuous violation by her brother paled against the splendid pleasures she now craved. That Rob was far from here, and she would never have to see him again, only made her happier.
These past two days had been a glut of fucking, until Constance fell into her blankets each night sore and sated. She and Marie had put Michel to the very test of his stamina, with no complaint from the first mate. Then, too, there had been the Moor. Salvador.
Constance closed her eyes and could see again him, his skin glossy and dark as polished mahogany, his head smooth and shiny-bald, standing over her. His ebony eyes were unreadable, but the jutting of his cock said all that needed be said. They had been alone then, but for Jacqueline. The captain remained in her usual chair, watching, seeming to take some triumphant glee in seeing Constance's pale body covered, and impaled, by Salvador's darkness.
He'd been surprisingly gentle with her. After having seen him fuck Beatrice's mouth, slapping the noblewoman when she protested, and then shooting his seed into her upturned face, Constance had expected similar treatment. Instead, she'd been helpless beneath Salvador, her body doused in the scented oils he claimed would further inflame her passions. He held himself above her as he thrust slowly in, each movement taking long breathless seconds, and then withdrawing with the same exquisite slowness. His will was iron, his cock iron, and he wrung spending after spending from her.
She had even taken him up the bottom, with only a qualm of fear. By then, he had seen to her so expertly that she was willing to do anything, anything at all. She had gone to her hands and knees, once more sticking her backside into the air, and only once worriedly beseeched him to be careful, to not hurt her.
Salvador had promised, and been as good as his word. The oil eased his way, and the pain she'd felt when pierced by Rob was not to be found. Instead, there was pressure, oh, and a stretching, pushing sensation that she needed several moments to acclimate herself to, but soon he was fully sheathed within her bottom, and reaching under her to penetrate her cunny with fingers nearly as long and thick as an erect cock.
This, too, Jacqueline had observed with evident satisfaction. She had asked Constance at one point how it felt to be fucked by a Moor, and what her father might say if he could see his precious daughter having that hard black shaft pumping in and out, but by then Constance was only able to gasp and moan.
Rumors had gotten out among the crew. Whenever she went on deck now, Constance saw them looking at her, and whispering sidelong to one another. Each man was waiting, with ill-concealed impatience, for a summons of his own to the captain's cabin.
Too, they were disgruntled that Constance took so much of Marie's attention from them, although the girl did spend a goodly portion of each day on her knees for the sailors, or letting them bend her over the rail, or wrapping her legs around their waists as they did her standing against the mainmast. But Marie had confessed to Constance that as much as she enjoyed a good fuck, she found women preferable.
"They're not just concerned with finding a hole to stick their pegos in," she had said last night, as she washed Constance's back.
They'd been sharing a bath in Jacqueline's large brass tub, while the captain herself was actually out seeing to the running of the ship instead of sitting in audience of Constance's ongoing depravation. Marie soaped Constance liberally, hands slipping in warm frothy lather, then embraced her from behind so that her small but pert breasts rubbed along Constance's back.
"I'd never been with a woman before you," Constance said. "I never knew what it could be like."
"Well," Marie giggled, "you're learning right quick, I can tell you. Quite a knack for tongueplay you've got, my lady."
"What do you make of the captain?" she'd asked.
Marie frowned. "I've offered every day, seems like, but she's never keen for it. At first, I wondered if she mightn't be having it off with Michel or one of the others, but none of the crew says as she's ever had a lover. Male or female. There's some that are dead inside, you know, that have no lust at all, like a dried flower, but she doesn't strike me as one of those."
"No, she doesn't," Constance said.
"But perhaps she just likes to watch. I've heard there's those as do. Maybe she frigs herself when we've all gone to sleep."
They had finished their bath and ended up on the floor, rolling around all nude and squeaky-clean until they ended up lying on their sides, each with her head gladly imprisoned between the thighs of the other. In this fashion, Marie licked Constance's cunny while Constance did the same to Marie, and so adept was Marie at mimicking what she felt that it soon seemed to Constance almost as if she was somehow, by a contortion not otherwise possible, doing it to herself.
Now, though, Marie was asleep, Michel and Salvador were off attending to their duties, and Jacqueline had sent Constance on an errand. As if she were no more than another member of the crew.
That thought made her stop short. A member of the crew … a prisoner … what
was
she to Jacqueline? Not a friend, surely, for there was that bitter hatred. Yet not distrusted, for they slept in the same room and Jacqueline never acted as though she feared Constance might seize up some weapon and do her harm in the night.
She was to be ransomed, she knew that, but whenever she contemplated it, her stomach turned to knots. Would her father insist on having her examined, to see if she was intact? Of course he would. He'd hate her for it, never knowing that she had been deflowered long before she'd even set eyes on any of the Merlions.
His pride would not let him admit the truth to any of his acquaintances, so he would take her home. To consign her to a convent, for instance, might be seen as an admission of her ruination. No, he would take her back to Veradoga, and either try with all haste to find her a closemouthed husband – Enrique? she shuddered with the knowledge that it could likely be Enrique – or keep her a veritable prisoner in the villa for the rest of her life. An old maid … with only her brother for company.
She shuddered again. Rob would argue for keeping her at home, she knew. He would pledge to look after her and protect her, his poor dear sister. And whenever their father's back was turned, Rob would be there. She could already hear him, wanting to know everything that had gone on. Jealously punishing her for fucking other men, for enjoying it.
Would that, or marriage to Enrique, be preferable to convent life? A few days ago, she might have said so. At least with Rob or Enrique, she'd still have that which she'd come to need. But now, thanks to Marie, she knew that women could be almost as fulfilling. Weren't there stories about convents, and the lewd practices that went on therein? Not even the godly were immune.
Which brought her to Jean-Pierre.
