The Rogues Revenge

A story about an adventurer who gets more than she bargained for when she finally discovers the lost wreckage of the pirate ship, The Rogue's Revenge.

(MF, PIV, nonconsent, anal, fantasy)

...

Stepping down, Laura's boot slipped on the treacherous scree and she slid downward, falling on her ass. But instead of stopping, she kept on going, small rocks and dirt lodging themselves in unspeakable places as she screamed and struggled to find purchase to stop her uncontrolled descent.

Suddenly a hand grabbed her arm and yanked, halting her downward sprawl.

"Be careful babe. This hill is steep. Don't want to end up down there." He pointed down at the slope below, filled with cactus, which ended in a rocky cliff that fell several hundred feet to the ocean.

Steve smiled at her and helped her up. She smiled back, shifting her pack back into position. "Thanks."

She surveyed the damage: her ass was covered in dust. Attractive. She'd also soon have a nice welt on her left buttcheek that would make sitting on the hard ground fun. Fortunately, her thick hiking pants prevented her from getting too scraped up on the sharp rocks.

She brushed off the worst of the dust. Steve watched, but didn't offer to help. He would never dare to touch her ass in any way, as much as she might want him too. Sometimes she wondered if he had any desires at all. He definitely wasn't the typical guy ogling her rump and tits at the bar. But then again, he was very loyal and sweet. It was nice of him to accompany her on this trip, as arduous as it was to trek all the way across the uncharted lands to the remote and inaccessible cove where she hoped to unearth her treasure.

They reached the bottom of the hill and found a clearing of sorts. Laura pulled out her map and smiled.

"Well," said Laura, "As eager as I am to get there, I vote we stop here and set up camp. I'm exhausted. We shouldn't be too far from the cove. If we start early, we should definitely be able to make it before noon, giving us plenty of daylight to see what Dead Man's Cove has to offer."

"Sounds good to me," said Steve, giving her a little peck on the cheek. "By the way, you look adorable in your little explorer outfit, even covered in dirt."

"Uh... thanks?"

"Well, I'll get the tent started. Do you want to go find some wood for the fire?" he asked, already unfolding and assembling the tent poles.

"Yeah, sure. Might have to go down the trail a ways to find something that isn't rocks and cactus, though. I'll be back."

"Okay, babe. Be careful. See you when you get back."

Laura set off. There wasn't really a trail to follow. As far as she could tell, nobody ever came this way. Which was good for her, if she hoped to be the first to discover The Rogue's Revenge.

Legend has it that a navel captain married a poor fair maiden beneath his stature, elevating her station in society. His family disowned him because of it, but he didn't care: he was in love. She returned his love by cheating on him with richer, grander men, and he discovered her in his bed with a Duke.

Broken-hearted, he fled, leaving everything behind except his vessel and his loyal crew. They sailed the seas, pillaging and burning the ships and towns of the rich, fueled by his love-turned-hatred for his maiden fair. And so the vessel became The Rogue's Revenge.

After sailing for many years of terror, the ship disappeared, never to be heard from again. But local legend has it that the ship, in a terrible squall, ran aground in a cove where no one could find it, despite many who went looking. And the ghost of the Rogue still lingers in this world, held here by his anger and sense of betrayal, threatening any fair maiden that dares come too close to his ship.

Laura didn't believe in ghosts, but she did believe in the grain of truth that could be found in the rich oral histories of the local people. She had always had a passion for ships and history, and when she'd heard about the Revenge, she'd made it her mission to follow the bread crumbs and track down its last known location. She hoped to be the first to discover the ship's final resting place. Treasure wasn't her motivation, though she secretly harbored the cliché fantasy of digging up a treasure chest full of gold -- no, to her, the ship itself was the real treasure.

Lost in thought, she didn't notice that she had passed by several suitable logs and branches, and the sun was starting to set.

She imagined finding the ship embedded in the sand, waves lapping at the stern, timbers worn by wind and water and time. She imagined boarding the vessel and feeling its history in the palm of her hand. She would be the first to find the resting place of the Rogue and its crew.

For some reason, her mind conjured up an image, so realistic, it almost seemed a memory. On the old, worn down, water-logged ship, a shadowy figure loomed. Goosebumps rose up on her arms. She couldn't see its face, but she was sure it was staring at her with hunger, like a wolf tracking its prey.

A twig snapped, jolting her out of her trance. Panicked, she unsheathed a knife from its hiding place at her waist and turned, brandishing the weapon, ready to strike.

"Woah there! Babe, it's me!"

Steve.

"Shit Steve, you scared the crap out of me. What are you doing sneaking around like that?"

"Uh, I didn't sneak. I was just coming to see what happened to you. You've been gone nearly an hour. It's almost dark."

"Oh. I must have lost track of time..." Blinking, she realized that the sun had mostly set. They were standing in the grey of dusk, and she hadn't even managed to collect a single log for the fire.

"No matter. I already started a fire. Managed to find a downed tree nearby that was perfect. Why don't we head back so we can get a quick dinner before bed?" Taking her arm, he led her back towards their camp. Laura let him lead, still lost in thought. How had she gotten so far off track?

"Sooo," said Steve, "Where in the hell did you get that pig sticker you almost killed me with?"

"Dagger," Laura said softly.

"What?"

"It's a dagger," she said, raising her voice.

"Okay. Where'd you get a dagger? And where have you been keeping that thing? Did you have it on you this whole time?"

"I keep it in a sheath under the waist of my pants. It's made to be concealed. Like a true marauder of the seas." Laura couldn't help but nerd out over the weapon. Anything that got her closer to history was cool in her book.

"Where'd you get it?" Steve asked again, clearly not ready to drop the subject. "You didn't have it when we left on this trip."

"Um... I bought it. At this little local shop in the harbor. While you were getting supplies. You know, one of those little trinket shops that sells all kinds of shells and swords and wooden carvings..." Laura trailed off, remembering.

She'd only gone in to pass the time, the little bells jingling as she opened the door. But almost immediately, her eyes had lit on the dagger. It was hidden in the corner in back of the main counter, behind much more impressive weapons displays, swords and cutlasses and even a few old guns. But she'd been drawn to the slightly rusted knife like a moth to the flame, ignoring everything else.

The shopkeeper had noticed her interest. A gypsy-looking type, dressed to draw in the local tourists, Laura though, she pulled the dagger from its stand and held it out for Laura to examine, her eyes seeming to glitter with the knowledge of some mystery Laura couldn't possibly understand.

True to her role, the gypsy shopkeeper opened her mouth and told Laura, without ever saying so much as a hello: "I can feel adventure and passion in your soul. The heart of the blade calls to you." She indicated the blue jewel in the pommel.

Laura examined it. It must have once been very valuable, indeed, but now the ocean blue sapphire was cracked, the handle where it rested, dented. The blade, once sharp, had been dulled by age and rusted by the elements.

It was perfect.

Laura was already sold on it when the gypsy told her: "This dagger once belonged to a great and terrible man. A pirate captain, bent on revenge. Legend says it was given to him by his lover, and he lost it in the sea in a fit of rage in the midst of a storm. Some say he threw it into the ocean, so as not to be reminded of her any longer. But of course, he never was able to get over her. Ultimately, she was his downfall. The storm that sunk his unsinkable ship.

"Now the dagger sits, cursed by the blood it has shed over the long years, its heart troubled still, longing to be reunited with its master in rage and despair."

Laura simply asked, "How much?"

And then she forked over the exorbitant amount the woman quoted without a second thought.

As a parting gift, the gypsy woman offered her the worn and beaten sheath to keep it in, and said, "Beware. Destiny is upon you. I can feel it. Danger lies ahead if you stay on this path."

"Sure..." Laura said, amused by her little act. It was quite convincing. "Okay, well... thanks. I'll be sure to watch my back."

Then she stashed the dagger at the small of her back and left. She didn't think it was important to mention the encounter to Steve. She was sure he wouldn't approve of her spending all their petty cash on a rusty old knife.

And sure enough...

"You spent HOW MUCH? On a rusty old knife? Oh Laura... That gypsy woman took you for a ride. This piece of garbage would barely fetch $10 at home. The sheath would probably go for more. We should return it when we go back."

"...there are no refunds..." Laura said softly, without any intent of ever returning the dagger, even if she could get her money back.

"Oh great. Of course. Well, I will say, that shopkeeper knows exactly how to play you. Sigh. Oh well. I hope you are happy playing pirate with our savings."

"Just leave it alone will you? What's done is done. Let's get back to camp. I'm starving."

To her relief, he did drop it. He made her a nice dinner of lukewarm canned vegetable soup, which they choked down in the dark. Steve was acting weird during the whole meal, but Laura just figured he was still peeved about her ill-advised purchase. Laura caressed the sheath under her waistband. She couldn't explain why she found it so special. But she kept it tucked in her pants, even heading to bed, unable to part with it.

Steve hastily went into the tent while she put out the fire and brushed her teeth in the dark. Odd that he didn't offer to help clean up.

She turned to find the tent lit up. Steve must have brought a lantern. How nice. If only he'd offered it when she'd been trying to pee in the bush.

She unzipped the tent flap and her jaw dropped. Then she burst out laughing.

Steve was sprawled out on top of the sleeping bag in nothing but his "sexy" underwear (the only pair of underwear he owned that wasn't tighty whiteys). He was surrounded by a halo of small battery-powered tea candles.

He looked absolutely ridiculous.

He waited for her to stop laughing. It took a while because she kept looking at him and bursting out again. After a few moments, she finally was able to reign it in, wiping away tears of mirth from her eyes.

He looked at her, his face red, a sad, embarrassed puppy dog.

"... I'm sorry, babe, but..." she held in another wave of laughter, "you thought I was weird for buying a dagger on a hunt for a pirate ship, and yet, you packed frigging tea candles. Tea candles!" She succumbed to laughter again, cackling. He deserved it for making fun of her.

Finally she finished cackling and sat down next to him. "Look, I'm sorry for laughing. Obviously, you were just trying to be nice..."

Steve sighed and said dejectedly, "I just thought... this trip is your life-long dream. And here we are, less than a day away from finding the Rogue. I figured it might be nice to celebrate a little. No matter what happens tomorrow... you followed your dream. And I'm proud of you." He kissed her. "My little adventurer."

Now she felt guilty about having laughed so much. She was a little peeved at being called "little," but overall... it was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for her.

"Aw. Thank you. For going on this trip. For your support. Even for the tea candles, stupid as they are. It really means a lot to me. I don't know if I could've done it without you."

He smiled. "Of course you could have. I didn't do anything. It was all you, babe. You're amazing. Rusty daggers and all. Now come here, and take off those filthy clothes."

As he unbuttoned her shirt, she stealthily removed the dagger from her waist and stowed it under her sleeping bag. No need for him to know she still had it. And it remained in the back of her mind, its shape reassuring, pressing against her back as he laid her down and caressed her, kissing her gently, his soft touch on her nipples as he entered her slowly.

While they made love, she imagined that shadowy figure from her fantasy. Staring, hungry, watching...

Waiting.

...

She woke to pitch blackness. Disoriented, she sat up. The rustle of her sleeping bag reminded her she was in a tent, camping. Less than a day away from her dream. Looking at her watch, she realized it was exactly midnight. Weird.

She tried to go back to sleep, but it was no use. She was wide awake. With no idea what had woken her. Only... she felt a restlessness in her heart that could not be ignored.

Must be too excited, she thought. With my goal so close by.

She decided then, probably against better judgment, that she would press on in the dark. She didn't think about the mysterious pull she felt leading her northwest. Nor did she think twice about the fact that the dagger was tucked away safely in her waistband -- she'd replaced it there, along with her clothes, before she had fallen asleep.

She stopped only long enough to pull on her boots and leave a note for Steve before setting off into the darkness. If she'd been in her right mind, maybe she would've realized that it was probably unwise to set off without a light or any supplies.

But for some reason, she wasn't concerned with losing her way. She stepped confidently into the wilderness as if she'd lived there all her life, guided by nothing more than a feeling that this was the correct way. She'd no map, no food, no water... just her, her clothes, and the dagger, whose jeweled pommel glinted in the starlight as if it had a life of its own.

In a trance, the hours passed by like minutes, and before she even knew where she was, Laura found herself looking out over a small cove. The descent to the beach was even more treacherous than her fall the other day. Any sane traveler would have turned back or gone around. But Laura forged onward, climbing down the nearly vertical rock cliff, somehow finding the only hand and footholds available, as if she were following an internal map.

And then there she was, standing on the beach, cold foamy waves crashing around her feet, chilling her to the bone. But she didn't care. Because there, in front of her, was the ship -- The Rogue's Revenge, in all its rundown glory.

It was in even worse condition than she'd imagined, it's hull smashed to bits in places by the rocks it was stuck on. It must be low tide for her to be able to walk up to it. It looked like the water normally covered it. The biggest hole in the hull was half filled with sand, and the boards of the hull were covered in barnacles and algae.

Reaching out a hand, she hesitated... then touched it. She felt the history, the stories, the legend, roll through her like a tidal wave. It was even more amazing than she'd imagined. She could feel the life of the ship like a tangible force. How astounding to stand in the presence of bedtime story made real.

Then she stepped inside.

...

Inside the Rogue, Laura could see nothing.

She heard the loud shhhhhh of the waves and the boom as they hit tail end of the wrecked vessel. The sounds echoed through it like an enormous drum. Or a jumbo sea shell, which she'd put her ear up to in order to hear the sounds of the ocean.

She closed her eyes, swaying, listening.

Suddenly the hairs on her arms stood up. She had the feeling like she was being watched. She felt that mysterious pull stronger than ever. She could no longer deny that something was happening. Perhaps the gypsy woman wasn't crazy after all. Was she in danger?

She grasped the hilt of the dagger for reassurance. It felt warm in her frozen hands. She pulled it out of its sheath. To her surprise, the sapphire was glowing with a fluorescent blue light, like the moonlight reflected on the sea.

The dagger suddenly glowed red-hot and she gasped, dropping it in the sand. She examined her hand: it had burned her.

A hoarse gravelly voice, loud and seeming to come from everywhere at once, echoed through the empty ship:

"Whoooo daaares boooard my ship??? Yooou aaare nooot weeelcoome heeere!!!"

She turned, but there was no one in sight.

A vision flashed in her mind. The shadowy figure. A chill ran through her body. But she could not move. She couldn't leave.

A strong pair of masculine arms gripped her waist and pushed her against the wall, hard. Still, there was no one in sight. Shocked by the impact, she fell in the sand.

The dagger!

She fumbled in the dark, but before her fingers could find it, she was again lifted up by an invisible force and pushed against the hull of the ship, held there a few inches off the ground. Slime brushed her cheek, creating a wholly unpleasant sensation.

A terrible tearing sound and her shirt was forcefully ripped from her body, baring her chest. Her pants and underwear were similarly ripped from her legs, until she hung there in midair, naked, skin glowing an eerie watery blue in the light of the dagger's jewel.

Unexpectedly, she dropped again, landing on her feet. But this time, instead of an invisible force, she felt the masculine arms encircle her waist, mauling her breasts. A rough, bearded pair of lips scraped against her neck and bit her.

"Yoooooouuu!!! Yoooouu beetraaayeed meeee!" the gravelly voice whispered roughly into her ear.

This time she could feel and smell his breath. Funny, she thought, out of her mind with terror. I didn't realize ghosts had breath.

"Yoooouuu shaaaaall paaaay, weeench!!!"

Then she was bent in half, ass in the air. Hands roamed her body, mauling and grasping and squeezing hungrily at her curves. A belt buckle clinked and then she was nearly split in two by a huge, but very tangible, ghost cock.

She cried out as he began to fuck her harder than she'd ever been fucked in her life. Certainly harder than anything Steve had done.

But instead of being disgusted or ashamed, she found herself enjoying it. Her nipples were rock hard, not due to the cold, but due to the sheer eroticism and intensity of the moment. She felt all his frustration, his rage, his anger... his desperation and heartbreak. He took it all out on her, pounding her into oblivion. She felt the tension build, and before she could stop it, she was orgasming, wave after wave of sheer sexual energy flowing through her, heightened by emotional release of the Rogue.

Just when she thought she couldn't take anymore, he pulled out. In that moment, she saw the dagger -- it was just out of reach of her right foot. Before she could make a break for it, the rough seaman's hands, worn from years pillaging at sea, grasped her hips firmly again.

She felt something pressing against her ass. No. Oh no, not that, she thought. But it pressed insistently, struggling to find the opening. She braced herself as the enormous pirate dick found its target and stretched open her virgin asshole far beyond what it was used to. She thanked Christ that her arousal had provided some level of lubrication. Even so, as he pushed in for the first time, she screamed out in pain, dropping to the ground.