The Ravishing of Constance

Constance emerged slowly from sleep, as if wakefulness were a tower and she had to ascend from the lowest dungeon. Her every muscle ached, particularly those around her jaw. Her nipples throbbed. Her cunny and bottom felt sore and stretched.

Memories of the previous night's orgiastic encounter flipped through her mind like a shuffled deck of cards. She should have been mortified. That she had comported herself in that fashion, lewdly abandoning herself to three men while a woman who hated her looked on in contempt, should have made her cringe with shame.

And yet it did not. She ached, yes, but it was a pleasant ache, each pulse of pain a reminder of the cascade of climaxes, a reminder of the pride she felt each time one of her lovers cried out, and erupted with his seed.

She opened her eyes to see the captain's cabin, from the low angle of her bed on the floor.

Something was different. Not in the room, but about her.

A hard, cold, unyielding weight was around her loins. Constance touched it, and her fingertips found metal. She looked down at what seemed to be an iron girdle. It encircled her lower belly, and extended between her legs. Not a single curl of her golden pubic hair was visible. The metal continued to her backside, and small locks dangled at each hip.

"In days of old, when knights were bold," Jacqueline said from somewhere beyond Constance's line of sight, "and they'd go off on Crusade to the Holy Land, they'd leave their wives locked up in devices such as that. Chastity belts, they were called."

"What have you done to me?" Constance asked, sitting up.

The girdle dug into her flesh, constricted her movements. She tugged at it but the locks held fast. Running her hands over it, she discovered that there were openings front and back, for purposes of elimination, but when she probed a finger into one of the holes, she yanked it back with a pained cry. The edges of the openings were points of sharp metal.

"The holes are too small for even the tiniest of cocks," Jacqueline said, and sounded tremendously amused. "The serrated edges were to prevent frigging."

Constance looked at her finger, which was beaded in two places with blood. "But why?"

"Did you enjoy yourself last night?"

"You surely saw that I did."

"I'm pleased to hear it." Jacqueline came into view, carrying a small bottle. No more than a vial, really. "Here. Drink this."

"Take this … this torture implement … off of me!"

"I rather think not."

"Then tell me what this is about!"

"Drink this, and I will."

The vial contained some syrupy liquid, which smelled of spices. Constance took it dubiously, and looked at Jacqueline in confusion.

"I do not understand. What is the meaning of this? Why have you locked me into this thing? And what is this bottle?"

"Not poison, I promise you. Now drink, or I'll pour it down your gullet myself."

Seeing that she meant it, and knowing that she could, Constance put the vial to her lips and downed the contents. The spicy taste was palatable enough, and a sort of glow spread out from her stomach.

"I've done so," she said, handing the bottle back to Jacqueline. "Now, please, tell me! Why have you done this to me?"

"The chastity belt is to protect your virtue," Jacqueline said.

"Protect my … but … but you …"

"Yes, I know. Most of the fucking you've done on my ship was at my bidding, so why should I now care for your virtue? I do not. I merely intend to see you suffer."

"What?" gasped Constance.

"There shall be no more fucking." Jacqueline smiled. "No more cocks in your sweet cunny or up the rosebud of your plump, pretty arse. No more tonguing, no more fingering."

"No, you cannot!" Her very breath was stolen from her, and at the same instant she was conscious of arousal growing in her loins. Her nipples stiffened into hard little peaks.

"To further discomfit you, what you just drank was a potent potion from the Far East. An aphrodisiac. Had we sold you to some fat pasha, for his

hareem

, he might have forced you to take such a draught to ensure that you would go willingly to his bed."

Constance's head reeled. "Why would you do this? Why give me such a potion, yet lock me in this device?"

Jacqueline laughed. "Is it not obvious?"

"You mean to have me go mad with … with unfulfilled passion?"

"Think of it. For these next weeks, until you are ransomed, that is your fate. You'll see fine, handsome men day in and day out. You'll have Marie to bathe and dress you. Perhaps you'll still put that mouth of yours to good use, or those ripe, round bubbies. But no one, not even yourself, will get so much as a finger into you."

"How can you do this?"

"Quite simply. We took the belt and the potions from a ship off Madagascar, some time ago, and I rather suspected that they might someday be useful."

"I thought that you liked to see my humiliation," Constance said.

"I do, and I shall like to watch your frustration all the more. You've grown quite accustomed to regular fuckings. You've become quite the harlot. How, then, will you manage without?"

She laughed again, and left the cabin. Constance stared after her in disbelief, then turned her attention to the belt. No matter how she tugged at it, the locks would not give. Nor could she open them by prying. She was half-crazed when Marie came in, carrying a folded frock and a tray of breakfast.

"That madwoman! That she-devil!" Constance howled. "Look what she's done to me."

"Yes, my lady, I know. She told me this morning as how she'd arranged to have you fucked half to death last night, so that you'd be ready for deprivation." Marie's eyes twinkled. "Was it good, last night? All three of them?"

"She made me drink a potion to increase my need," Constance said. "This is not amusing … I am dying!"

Marie examined her, clucking over the small openings with their rows of metal teeth. "How terrible! If you try even to get a pinkie finger in there …"

"Why has she done this to me?"

"Well, that I don't know, my lady. But here's a kiss to feel better." Marie kissed Constance on the lips, darting her quick little tongue into her mouth. "Your Marie still loves you."

The kiss only inflamed her futile arousal. She pushed Marie away and grabbed a utensil from the breakfast tray to attempt to pick the locks. No use. The keyholes were too small, the locks too strong.

"There must be keys about somewhere. See if you can find them, Marie."

"Oh, no, I mustn't. Her orders were very clear. Now come on and eat."

She had no appetite, but tried to choke down the food that tasted like sawdust. Her entire being was centered on the belt, and the infuriating tingle of heat locked away beneath it. She wanted to rub away that heat, bring herself to a powerful spending, but each time her hand started to stray down there, she remembered the sharp pain in her fingers and stopped.

With Marie's help, she bathed and dressed. Not even in the bath was she permitted to remove the chastity belt, and beneath her clothes it was weighty and uncomfortable. It pinched when she moved, made a dull clanking noise when she sat down, and the locks jingled on their hasps like the chains of a condemned criminal.

The potion worked its magic on her as well, so that she could hardly think of anything but sex. Her mind brimmed with mental images of naked men, sometimes faceless but often men that she knew. Michel, Jean-Pierre, Walter, Salvador, Rob, Adam, Enrique, even Lord Cuthburt. Women, too … Daisy, Greta, Marie, Beatrice, Jacqueline … all appeared in her feverish daydreams.

Nothing worked to break the belt or the locks. Nothing worked to wriggle up inside, and give her even a moment's relief. The rest of that long, long day dragged endlessly on. She could not bear to go on deck, for then she would see the men. She had to send Marie away.

When night fell, and Jacqueline returned to the cabin with Marie in tow, Constance was nearly clawing at the walls. She spared no thought for pride but flung herself at Jacqueline's high-booted feet.

"Please take it off of me. Please! I cannot stand it. I will surely go mad."

"And this only the first day," Jacqueline said. "Perhaps you'll become accustomed to it. Perhaps, but I find it doubtful."

Constance could have screamed.

"I hope you do not mind," Jacqueline added, "but I've invited two of the men to keep company with Marie tonight."

This fresh cruelty brought tears to her eyes. Sure enough, shortly thereafter, a pair of men came in. Michel was one, and to Constance's everlasting shock, Jean-Pierre was the other. He had forsaken his plain black clothes for attire slightly more in keeping with the rest of the crew, and sported a gold ring in his ear. She recalled now that he had gone ashore with the rest in Port Royal, instead of staying in his room to pray. At the time, she'd surmised that he would have sought the counsel of some priest, but now she wondered if he hadn't gone on a spree of debauchery with his elder brother.

It was her fault, she knew. All because she had, in that one moment of weakness, licked and sucked and massaged him into erection, then straddled him to quench the burning fire in her cunny. He had wakened to find her atop him, and when he could not escape, his traitorous cock had offered up his virginal sacrifice. Then, later, when she dared approach him again, he had been like a man possessed and hurled her to his bed, where he'd quickly and forcefully fucked her to their mutual spending.

Now he was here, the Jean-Pierre Merlion that he had perhaps always been meant to be. With a hoop in his ear and a hard look in his eye, a true son of the legendary Black Falcon.

They were going to fuck Marie. While Constance was made to watch, unable to join in. As she fully understood this, she could have cheerfully done violent murder on Jacqueline.

Michel swept Marie up in his arms, and gave her a deep and searching kiss that was nearly enough to send Constance into a fit of heat and jealousy. He handed her over to Jean-Pierre, and the younger Merlion cast a vengeful look at Constance before claiming Marie's mouth with his own.

He would never have done this if not to get back at her, Constance realized. To add to her misery.

"No!" she shouted, and ran forward.

Jacqueline tripped her up, neat as could be. Constance fell full-length on the floor, her pelvis striking with a metallic thunk. Winded, she rolled onto her back. Jacqueline seized her by the arms, yanked her to her feet, and in a trice had bound Constance's wrists so that one of the massive bed's posts ran between them.

She was tethered to the bottom corner of the bed, and it was there that Marie arranged herself once she'd removed her simple dress. Not the floor now, but the great captain's bed with its pillows and hangings.

Marie stretched and preened like a cat, running her hands over her pert breasts and the foxbrush of her reddish-brown mound. She beckoned invitingly to the brothers, and Constance strained against her bonds. If she could not join them, she had to avoid seeing … but she could no more turn her eyes away than she could snap the locks that secured the chastity belt.

Michel and Jean-Pierre had undressed and now crawled onto the bed, one on either side of Marie. She wallowed in their presence, an arm around the neck of each, swapping kisses one to the other. Their hands were all over Marie's body. She twisted and turned to give them freer access to every part of her. Michel's touches were confident, Jean-Pierre's less so but balanced by his determination.

Constance was in a frenzy. She tried to lean in such a way that the bedpost would be brought to bear upon her, meaning to rub against it, but her efforts were unsatisfactory, hampered by cold unfeeling metal. Jacqueline seemed to find this most entertaining indeed.

Jean-Pierre, at Michel's suggestion, slid down the bed until he could apply his tongue to Marie's cunny. He went hesitantly at first, but the more she writhed and moaned and urged him on, the more he gave himself over to the act with abandon and a natural talent.

He was so close to Constance that she could have reached him had her arms not been tied, could have grasped his upstanding young cock and drawn it deep into her own mouth. To be unable to do this was a terrible torment, the most terrible she had ever known. Her cunny pulsed with yearning, wanting so desperately to join the trio on the bed.

"Oh, put it in me," Marie gasped. "I'm about to come, and I want your cock in me when I do."

"You heard the girl, little brother." Michel raised Marie's bottom long enough to prop a pillow beneath it, elevating her lower half so that Constance had an unobstructed view.

"I … yes," Jean-Pierre said. "Yes, I'm going to fuck you now." He looked over his shoulder at Constance to see how she was taking this proclamation.

She wanted to beg him to forget Marie and fuck her instead, or at least let her suck him, but she only made an inarticulate moan.

A grin – very like Jacqueline's, and it occurred to Constance that she had never really noticed any other resemblance between brothers and sister – surfaced on his face. He poised himself at the entrance of Marie's cunny, fingering her with one hand while he tugged on his cock with the other.

"Oh, oh, yes!" Marie bucked her hips. "I'm going to –"

Jean-Pierre buried his cock in her, uttering a loud cry as he did so. His buttocks flexed as he thrust deeper. Constance could see his shaft glistening as it emerged from Marie's clasping cunny lips, only to then slam home a moment later.

It was quick, that first fuck, but thorough. When Jean-Pierre had finished, Michel turned Marie onto her side and lay behind her, entering her in the same way that Constance remembered being entered by Walter. Except that lucky Marie had Jean-Pierre as well, facing him, caressing him, even as Michel fucked her from behind.

Constance tried closing her eyes, but she could still hear the wet slap of flesh on flesh, the murmurs, the grunts, the sighs, the orgasmic cries. She could smell their sweat, their musk, the tang of semen. And had she been stricken of those senses, she would have still been able to feel the shaking of the bed. As large and heavy and sturdily-built as it was, it still shuddered from the movement of the three bodies.

So she had to watch, feeling the intense agony of unmet need. It would have been bad enough without the drug that coursed through her; with it, with the potent aphrodisiac, she would have gladly done anything for release. Anything.

Her earlier conversation with Jacqueline came back to taunt her. Any man? Yes, any man, Lord Cuthburt or the idiot stableboy Marie had spoken of, even Jacqueline's hypothetical hunchbacked dwarf. Any man, any woman. Any beast or inanimate object, no less … she would have been overjoyed with the candle she'd used on Lady Beatrice. Anything to put an end to the maddening fire in her loins.

Yet no release was in sight. No relief for the bound and belted Constance. She watched as Marie bent over Jean-Pierre and bobbed her head on his stiffness while Michel knelt behind her and shuttled his cock in and out of her cunny. She watched, watched, until finally it was over and the three of them sprawled among the blankets, sweating and breathless.

"And to think," Jacqueline purred in her ear. "This is but the first day."

The first day.

With each day that followed, similar scenes were played out as Constance was made to look on. Marie and various members of the crew. Marie alone, frigging herself. Marie kneeling over Constance's head, cunny presented to Constance's questing tongue. Once, Jacqueline lined up half a dozen men and told Constance to service each in turn with her mouth, and she did, sucking them fervently.

Constance savored those occasions, although it was all the worse when she was allowed a taste of pleasure but her own needs remained unsatisfied. The days became a week, the week became two, and she was sure that she would lose her mind. Sometimes she thought of throwing herself into the sea just to have an end to the torture.

Her lusts might have dwindled, as an untended fire will with no one to add wood, but Jacqueline would not allow it to be so. Each day saw another dose of the aphrodisiac, and some inventive new display aimed at keeping Constance in a state of perpetual arousal.

The ship soon reached Falcon Bay, which had its name from a massive outcrop of stone guarding the harbor. This outcrop bore a shape not unlike that of the head of a bird of prey, with hooked beak and the suggestion of keen, alert eyes. Sheltered in its cove was a fortress, flying the flag of the Black Falcon. A lowly village surrounded the forbidding structure.

They docked here, amid other pirate vessels. Constance, still with the belt a stern presence beneath her clothes, was taken to the fortress. She was installed in a room with a narrow window that offered a view down into a courtyard. At the center of this courtyard, rising from the flagstones, was a raised stone platform that made her think of virgins deflowered in pagan rites, or criminals executed by a swing of the headsman's axe.

The next morning, that same window allowed her to watch in dismay as the

Falcon

departed with white sails belling gracefully in the wind. She had been left behind, as had Marie.

"Soon, your ransom will be paid and you shall be reunited with your family. Doesn't that please you?" Marie asked as she brushed out Constance's hair. Every sensual caress of the brush was an agony that she never wanted to end.

"Reunited with my family?" she echoed. "I cannot face my father like this, not when I can barely keep a thought in my head!"

"But will he not be happy to know that you've passed these weeks untouched?"

"Quit your mockery!" Constance lashed out before she knew she meant to, and would have fetched the maid a smart slap had Marie not been so quick.

"Oh, my lady … do not take on so."

"How can Jacqueline be so cruel?"

"I was told," Marie said in the manner of one imparting a confidence, "that she

wants

your father to see you in this state. Had you noticed the platform in the courtyard below?"

She led Constance to the window, and pointed. The raised structure of stone had a wooden platform erected upon it. This platform had rails along three of its sides, and a short post at the midpoint of the fourth.

"What is it for?" Constance asked.

"It's a sort of bed, I suppose. A girl could be tied upon it, don't you think? See how her wrists could be bound to that one rail, tied above her head? Her ankles might be bound, one to the rail on the side, the other to the post. She'd be widely spread, wouldn't she? And the platform's of such a size, really, that there's room enough for two, side-by-side."

"What evil is Jacqueline planning now? She's told you her plans, hasn't she?"

"Do you honestly wish to know? It isn't as if there would be a thing in the world you could do about it, my lady. Not when she's set her mind to it."

"Tell me!"

"As I understand it, they've gone off to meet up with your father's ship, intercept it on his way to Falcon Bay. Instead of approaching under a flag of truce, the pirates mean to seize the ship, and capture your father. Jacqueline wants to bring him here, to see with his own eyes what his daughter's become."

"You cannot mean …"

"Oh, yes, my lady," Marie said brightly. "There, on that very platform, she'll have you bound and fucked while he looks on."

"No! Not like that, Marie, say it is not so!"

"It's just as she told me. Imagine his face when he sees you there, naked and writhing and surrounded by the men, begging to be fucked. What would be the worst for him, do you think? Salvador? I know

my

papa would die on the spot to see me with a Moor."