The Slave the Snae and the Sinner

NOTE: This chapter is a little less just-plain-nasty than the first part, but it's still non-con, so don't get your panties in a bunch when no one gets particularly doe-eyed . . . The story is in three parts, unless the epilogue goes rogue, and part three should be up before Xmas.

—:—:—:—:—:— III: The Sinner —:—:—:—:—:—

Marcus Rasim Sinter didn't want anything to do with the

Vixen Vacation Queen

or her passengers, but Sinter didn't own the

Sultana

, and the detour from route and routine procedure was out of his hands. If he'd had his way, he would have killed Kenneth Paulson III for getting him sucked into this cruise ship shit, and that was even before he learned the scumbag had sold his sister. But Ghanbar was in charge of the boarding party, and Sinter didn't know about Paulson or his sister it until it was already too late. Ditto his death, though Sinter wouldn't have saved him even if he'd known the guards' intentions. Kidnapping and ransom involved far too many opportunities for capture, and the risk didn't justify the return. Slavers substituted quantity for quality, and went home safe at the end of every trip.

Not so for their passengers . . . and that was only one of a thousand reason's Sinter couldn't wait for this damned trip to be over. After a year and a half, this was his last voyage on the accursed

Sultana

.

Thank any deity you felt like naming,

he thought. Sometimes it seemed like no amount of money could possibly justify the mental price he paid, and this was one of those times. As shitty as the job was, the

Sultana

didn't normally carry women, and the last-minute addition of Cassandra Pendergast to Sinter's already-exasperating list of orders was straining his disposition in ways he wouldn't have anticipated.

He didn't even last a week. "Fetch the princess from her castle, clean her up, and bring her here." He gave his first mate a hard glare. "Go easy, Ghan, we're closing in on a sale date."

No one would think anything of what he was doing at that point, since Sinter had done the same thing a few times in the past—bringing a woman up from the hold shortly before the end of the trip.

At the end of this particular woman's first day with him, he freed her feet from the shackles with which Ghan had bound her to his bed, and he lay quietly beside her, waiting for her reaction, because, after seeing how she dealt with his first mate, Sinter was absolutely sure the girl would have some kind of reaction when face-to-face with the man she blamed for her captivity. He released one of her hands, but kept her other wrist shackled to the wall. She was too small to do much damage, but he didn't want to risk injuring his captive while subduing her.

—o—

Cassia slid her free hand beneath the blanket, resting it on her belly while carefully avoiding the stripes of angry red skin left behind by the hated chastity device. Ghan had been grinning when he pulled it out that morning, and he'd

licked

the fucking thing, making Cassia want to gag as the act flooded her imagination with intolerable images. While Ghan and his ever-present automatic weapon watched over them, the guards roughly soaped her body and shoved her into a grungy shower cubicle to rinse her off. After the pain of having her raw skin scrubbed, the trickle of fresh water felt like heaven, but she was denied the luxury of lingering. A few hasty swipes of a dubiously clean towel, and she'd been hauled, still naked, through a serious of narrow hallways, back to the captain's cabin, where Ghanbar chained her to "the Sinner's" bunk. She'd stared stoically at the ceiling while Ghan fingered her, plunging a dry digit deep into her sore pussy. She couldn't help wincing at one especially enthusiastic thrust, whereupon he'd laughed and gone away, leaving her shivering with cold and delayed reaction.

If I'd known that was all I had to do, I would have let the pain show sooner,

Cass thought dumbly.

She didn't cry. She'd stopped crying altogether a couple of days ago, except toward the end of Snake's rapes, when the agony radiating from his wrenching grasp on her hips or thighs brought involuntary tears to her eyes. Even the anal penetration didn't hurt as badly, since Snake liked the feel of the petroleum jelly the guards had given him: he spent a good long time lubricating both her ass and his cock before each rape.

As a matter of fact, her ass still felt a little oily.

Cassia shifted uncomfortably, her eyes flitting sideways to find the captain wide-awake and staring at her. It was the first time she'd met his eyes since Ghan brought her here, though the Sinner had spent forty minutes or so tending to her wounds when he returned to his cabin. He applied antibiotic salve to the raw red skin left by the straps and Snake's shallow scratches, and lotion to everything else, all while rolling her back and forth in the shackles, examining every millimeter of her body, and never saying a word. Then he'd left her alone until suppertime, when a crew member delivered the captain's meal and Cassia's bowl of compost. He'd released her wrists and helped her to sit upright, even stuffing a folded pillow behind her back for Cassia to lean against. Then he'd handed over both her bowl of compost and his metal tray of much more palatable fare, leaving her alone to eat while he went back to working at his ancient desk.

Shock took a back seat to hunger: Cassia fell to eating immediately, and she kept her head down when he came to collect the empties, but drained the bottled water he held beneath her nose. When he reattached her shackles, one end was hooked to the wall and one to her left wrist. He left her right hand free, and another full bottle of water on the bed beside her. Cassia lifted the bottle, stared sightlessly at the label and its illegible Arabic text, and thought "What. The. Fuck?" She'd been kidnapped, whipped, raped, and generally treated like cheap chattel for the past five days, but this was by far the most befuddling thing that had happened to her. She drank the water, though.

That night, in the silence of Captain Sinner's cabin, the confusion came rushing back to her. If she'd bothered to wonder what would happen, she would have expected to be enduring another rape right now. The sound of their breathing was loud in the closed cell of his tiny cabin, but the throb of the diesel engines and the muffled thuds of faraway footfalls receded into nothingness as they stared at each other. His eyes were dusky pits, his expression barely visible, but tension held his big body taut against her. His height and the short bunk forced him to bend his knees, which in turn forced Cassia's legs sideways, leaving her awkwardly angled, with her calves pinned against the bulkhead. She shifted restlessly, trying to get comfortable, and the captain sensed her plight. Without warning, her knees were lifted. When he set them back down, her legs were draped over his upper thigh, her feet behind his, and her shoulder was pressed against his chest. They were so close together that the captain's breath brushed over Cassia's cheekbones and eyelashes.

He'd been lying atop the bedcovers, but the blankets were as narrow as his bunk, and they'd been tugged about when he rearranged their bodies. Cassia couldn't see much, but she could feel his bare skin against her bare side. Unlike her, he was wearing something . . . she had to stop herself from wiggling around to test the texture, though it suddenly seemed very important to know if the captain wore boxers or briefs. In any case, some kind of non-blankety cloth separated his hips from hers, but didn't stop Cassia from feeling the large, soft mound pressed against her bottom.

The events of the past few days became as distant as the sounds of shipboard life, while her breath caught and her brain froze. Feminine instinct and biological imperative didn't give a shit about Stockholm Syndrome: the man in bed with her was big and warm, he smelled good, he'd fed her and touched her gently, and suddenly, defying all reason, she wanted him. Cassia trembled. She was unaware of her reaction, but not his response: the bulge beneath her ass began to harden and grow, pressing more firmly against the cloven swell of her female flesh. One after another, primal reaction called for equally primal response, setting off a tumbling, involuntary avalanche of sensations. It was so fast neither Sinter nor Cassia could keep track of what was happening, much less call a halt to it. The following day, neither would be able to offer an explanation for what they'd done.

Her breathing caught, then quickened; nostrils flared and lips parted; his pupils dilated in the darkness, and so did hers; flesh swelled and softened or swelled and grew stiff; the captain's fingers twitched and Cassia's hips lifted; his cock hardened and her pussy wept. Neither moved, yet they were somehow much closer. Tension grew between them until the silence was a living thing. Male called to female, female to male, with conscious choice running a poor second to the baser needs of brain and body.

With an involuntary whisper of sound rising from his cavernous chest, Sinter reached for her. Cassia turned into his embrace. Sinter dipped his head, hesitating on the verge of something immense. Their breath blended, and he was suddenly, terribly aware that he was on the verge of losing all control, consumed by the heat of the moment in a way he'd never allowed himself to be consumed.

Cassia's lips...

"Fuck, this is bad," he muttered, only the warmth of his breath brushing against her eager mouth. If he kissed her, he'd never . . . Sinter couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.

"Mmm," Cassia moaned in response, struggling to pull his head down or her body up, desperate to close that last little inch between them.

"Fuck," Sinter muttered again, his shock giving way to desire. Ignoring the giant questions in his head, Sinter rolled his upper body away from her, disregarding Cassia's mournful whine as he fumbled on the floor behind him. Her lips found his nipple while he scrabbled through his pockets, and he groaned, nearly dropping the key. Finally she was free, the shackle clattering against the bulkhead and the key bouncing loose with a metallic ting, disappearing beneath his bunk. Cassia was already climbing his body when he fell back upon the pillow, her mouth landing on his neck as he arched away from the kiss. His hands went directly to her bottom, and together, they jostled and writhed until her pussy landed on the bottom ridge of his erection, pinning it between them. They both shuddered.

"Oh, god," she whimpered.

Sinter's hands clenched the sweetly rounded globes of her ass until he remembered the scarlet stripes he'd treated earlier. For a second, shame and regret held him hostage, but Cassia didn't notice his hesitation. Her hips rocked as she used his erection to pleasure herself, forgetting the kiss she'd been denied. The warmth and wetness of her body roused him, and Sinter responded, helping her to move, lifting his hips to press his cock more firmly into her weeping slit.

"Fu-u-ck." Awkwardly, he twisted, trying to rid himself of the frustrating barrier of his briefs.

"Yes," she moaned, responding to a question Sinter hadn't asked. The moment she felt the touch of his bare penis against her inner thigh, she reached between them.

"No," he argued roughly, "not yet."

Cassia whined when he pushed her hand aside and curled his shoulders upward. "Oooh," she cooed, her disappointment fading as he captured her nipple between his lips.

Sinter ignored the faint taste of aloe from the lotion he'd slathered over her body, but it nudged his conscience, and caution curtailed his passion, making him far more gentle than he might otherwise have been. Instead of nipping and suckling, he limited himself to teasing the tender bud, pinching it between his lips, and laving her flesh over and over with the broad, flat pad of his tongue. When he might have squeezed her breasts, he chose to map the contours of her ribcage, holding her high above his teasing lips as she writhed, trying to tug his head closer.

Some corner of Sinter's subconscious took note of her gasping desperation: apparently none of her lovers had been burdened with oral skills. On that thought, he rolled, putting her beneath him to devote himself to the project. By the time he finished with her nipples, Cassia was keening in frustration. She pushed his head south with such enthusiasm that Sinter smiled against her breast, and briefly considered tying her hands again. Fortunately, he was a lot bigger. His bunk was not. Finally, he tumbled off the bed and onto his knees, pulling her with him. Cassia wrenched herself sideways and lifted her heels to his shoulders, grateful he'd finally conceded to her unspoken demand. She was still shaking from the feeling of his tongue tracing leisurely circles around her nipples. She'd never seen the point of having a man's mouth on her breasts before. She couldn't imagine how good it would feel elsewhere, but she damn well wanted to find out.

Running his hands from her knees upward, Sinter gradually forced her thighs apart. He stopped with his thumbs almost touching her perineum, and leaned forward, placing tender kisses in the diamond shaped area of silky flesh between his hands. For a moment, Cassia feared he might tease her with this, too, but the captain took pity on her. A few gentle strokes of his pointed tongue to part her labia, then he lapped her swollen clit, all the way from her puss to the lightly-furred vee at the crest of her mons. Over and over, Sinter's tongue repeated the silken trek, but Cassia was so aroused, it took very little stimulation to push her over the edge. He slowed drastically, trying to make it last for her, but after only a minute or two, Cassia's body tensed. Her back arched and she held her breath for a long, aching moment, and then she exploded.

Fluid drenched his tongue, but Sinter didn't stop. Not-so-subconsciously, he wanted to prove that pleasure didn't come with a price like the pain Snake had doled out. He held her legs up, dipped his head, and went to town. Cassia's first orgasm was nearly silent, not so the ones that followed. She screamed and moaned and begged and pleaded.

"No! No! No-o-o-o-o!" she wailed, her pussy throbbing against Sinter's grin. There was no chance the crew members on duty would miss the noises Cassia was making. Her lesser gasps and moans would probably be hidden in ambient noise, but her screams would pierce the insulated steel, reinforcing his reputation with the crew. If it hadn't been serious, it would have been funny. He could have kept a girl in here for months, and none of the cutthroats out there would have thought twice about the nature of the relationship, Sinter mused, softening his final few strokes.

Cassia lay limp and moaning, breathing like a runner at the end of the road, while Sinter held his body still above her, his aching cock just barely touching her wet raspberry folds. He bit down on his back teeth, determined to wait for a clear signal.

Cassia gasped herself into sanity and felt the soft nudge of his penis between her open legs. In the near-darkness, she could see his hard expression and feel the heat of his eyes on her face, but his body was a mountain, stony and motionless. She blinked.

Was he waiting for her?

Another tremor shook her body, this one born in neither ecstasy nor fear. She wriggled her hips and ribcage into line and reached down between her legs. With her calves around his forearms and her fingers on his waist, she pulled him into her body.

Sinter groaned, long and low, as he buried himself in Cassia's hot, forgiving flesh. He should have stopped, should have backed off, more than once, he realized later. She was sore, no doubt, and young, and small, and he should have been gentler as he entered her, but he couldn't wait. From her body's first damp embrace, Sinter was desperate. He wanted to consume her, to be consumed, to lose himself, body and mind, in the blissful comfort of Cassia's flesh. Slowly, unstoppably, the swollen column of his cock forged a path through her delicate inner tissues. Cassia moaned and whimpered, but she never objected.

At the very last, Sinter backed off an inch, reversing immediately to slam his cock all the way home. She uttered a startled shriek just before he collapsed atop her, but her hands crossing behind his neck reassured him. As he stroked her sides, Cassia relaxed. When she linked her feet at the base of his spine and rocked her hips against him, Sinter crawled back onto his bed, steering them both toward his pillow.

He paused when he got there, lifting his head and wishing he could see her face more clearly when their eyes met in the semi-darkness. To Cassia, the moment seemed to last forever. At least until he moved his hips again, setting every molecule of her body afire. She moaned, closing her eyes to savor the sensation, and he complied with her unspoken wishes, doing it again. When Sinter retreated, fullness and friction pulled hard at her sore channel, despite her wetness. He leaned forward, filling her, and Cassia grunted inelegantly when his cock bottomed out against her cervix. She was near to bursting, pressure spreading from her pelvis to her breasts. She ached, she burned—and she wanted more. Another long pull, another hard thrust, again and again. Cassia's body soon stretched to accommodate the thick invader. Her arch became a curve and she buried her face in the nook between his neck and shoulder, inhaling his warmth and vitality. Sinter turned his head slightly, and she felt his breath against her hair, sensed him scenting her in return. Her spine curled, her knees lifted, and she tilted her hips upward, offering her body.

Sinter took what she'd given, dropping downward with enough force to drive the air from her lungs. She oof-ed, but her next breath was a shaky gasp of pleasure. He did it again. And again. With each plunge, her arousal grew, until her juices coated his cock, drenched the hair at its base, and seeped outward, audibly squelching between them.

In another world, Cassia would have been embarrassed by the sound, scent, and sheer abundance of the liquid seeping from her body, but not now. In the half-light of Sinner's cabin, everything was as it should be. His cock, her cunt . . . the sounds they made, the way he smelled and the head of his body . . . everything was perfect.

Above her, Sinter groaned, muttering imprecations between the pillow and her hair. The muscles of his neck began to cord against her temple, the liquid thunder of his carotid loud in her ear. Breathless in the heat radiating from his body—or was it hers?—she gasped and moaned sporadically until the awful, swelling ache in her belly became a constant, throbbing whine, high and soundless until it exploded, whiting out her vision. She screamed and didn't know it, and only vaguely heard Sinter's answering shout as she collapsed, ceding consciousness to the aftereffects of her completion.

—o—

Cassia was chained to the wall again when she woke, and the captain acted like the night had never happened. She supposed it was the least-awful thing which had happened to her in the past week, but it didn't feel that way at the time.

As usual, Ghan brought her meal, and as usual, the scraps were barely edible. He dragged her off to the showers when he collected her empty plate, which was drastically different than the occasional bucket of cold water being thrown over her down in the hold. The difference was both good and bad. Good, because she got to pee somewhere other than where she slept, and she was cleaner than before; bad because Ghan and the guards watched over her, touching her and taking pleasure in her discomfort.