The Pirate's Captive (closed)

[scribe_m]

Angela's soft footsteps padded down the well-worn hallway in the lower decks of her ship. Above board, when day meant adventure, she was The Captain. The mighty wind would blow through her red hair, wafting through the ocean wind like her great ship through the currents. The heel of her well-worn boot solidly announced her presence. She wore a black three-cornered hat, and bandanna complimenting her wild red hair. Her rough peasant's blouse was once white. But the travails of work made it a tattered off-white color. Around her torso she wore a worn leather corset, which pressed up her beautiful breasts, the tops peeking above her blouse. Her black cropped pants fit into her leather boots.

But not this night. She wore a diaphanous nightgown, which flowed over her curvaceous body. The flickering light from the oil lamps touched her skin, just visible through the soft gauzy fabric. Without the wind or her hat, her beautiful red hair flowed down her shoulders, cascading down her back and around her bosom. The shadows made a thin outline of her body, her breasts still round and full, the curves of her torso accented by the loose dress. As she walked into the room, a silhouette of her nakedness underneath could be seen, her long legs striding with the confidence of the captain, covered by the thin nightgown.

Her captive, the Lady Isabella, sat on the stool in front of the boudoir mirror. Her hair was brown, beautiful, flowing down her body. The light golden wafts of hair within reflected the yellow light of the cabin. She too was dressed in a simple nightgown. Its fabric was less revealing, yet still clung to her body. Her bosom were well-rounded, beautiful globes. The nightgown caressed her torso, flowing to her hips and legs. Only her hands were bound, lightly, for she was still a captive. Angela stood next to her, looking at her in the mirror. "Lady Isabella, thank you for being our guest." Angela's words were soft, as her eyes looked upon Isabella's beauty. Angela slowly touched her hair, her fingers running through the soft strands. "Your hair is beautiful, and so are you," she continued. "I am not sure I wish to ransom you. I understand you are not treated well at your estate." Angela's strokes through Lady Isabella's hair became soft touches upon her cheeks. Angela picked up the carved ivory comb from the stand. It was intricate, a unique item of pure white. Angela gently ran the comb through Isabella's hair, loose strands of hair accumulating on the comb. Angela picked out the hair from the comb, then tightly wrapped them around a small ball of reddish hair. The oils and ball of hair would be used to store needles in. Angela spent a fair time on Lady Isabella's hair, combing it, looking at her through the mirror. Angela's gentle hands caressed Lady Isabella through her hair, as she combed her. "You are very beautiful," Angela finally said, leaning down and just touching her lips to Lady Isabella's hair. Angela held the comb in the tip of her fingers, as she began to massage Lady Isabella's shoulder and neck. "Very beautiful."

 

[scribe_m]

(Repost from wanna_be)

The strip of cord was soft, fashioned from silk and bound about her hands. It wasn't uncomfortably tight, but it was tied in such a fashion that it would be impossible for Isabella to release herself. It was not how she had expected to find herself imprisoned. She had imagined heavy ropes, manacles and a leaking cell in the brig. Not her own nightgown, fine silk rope and a boudoir mirror that was finer than the one she had grown up with.

If it weren't for the rope she could almost have imagined that she was at home, on the estate. Her husband would have been out hunting, and she would have been sat here preparing herself for his return. He didn't like it if she did not look fresh for him. She imagines, glancing out of the large windows, that she can see the wide lands of the estate. The rolling waters of the ocean aren't so different from the rolling hills of home.

She is startled from her introspection by the soft words at her ear. The captain.

Lady Isabella stiffens as the woman's fingers run softly through her hair, though she does not speak. Instead she sits and watches as the captain begins to run an ivory comb through her hair. It's what Lady Isabella would expect of a maid, not someone who only the day before had come screaming out of the fog.

Angela's lips touch her hair, and Isabella feels a strange thrill run through her body. That thrill returns as Angela's fingers move to her shoulder and bare neck.

Hesitant, not sure she wants to here the answer, Lady Isabella finally brings words to her lips. "If you are not going to demand a ransom, then what are your plans for me?"

 

[scribe_m]

Angela leaned forward, her warm chest pressing against Lady Isabella's back. Angela's locks of fine red hair brushed against Isabella's fine skin. "What are my plans for you? It depends on your answer. Tell me. Tell me of your fate were I to ransom you back to your newfound manor." Angela's fingertip stroked Lady Isabella's cheek, a soft touch, exploration. "Did he treat you well? Did he make you happy? Or did he confine you to the estate, permitting you to leave only upon his word?" Angela nuzzled Isabella's hair, as she stroked its fine locks. "When we captured you, we expected wealth. Instead, we found little besides a woman with baggage for travel, with but a few attendees." Angela touched Isabella's cheek, Angela's hands caressing Isabella's skin. "Now, tell me. Why were you alone on that coastal road when we captured you? Were you escaping your fate, to be kept within your confines forever, at the whims of the man you call husband?" Angela's fingerips lightly massaged Isabella's chest, above her breasts, through the fine nightgown she wore. "Or was this a ploy to dispose of you, to tell your father of your unfortunate fate, yet keep your family's interests close to him? You are not the first woman he has taken for a wife. You are not his first wife that left her life young. If we return you, I am not sure of your fate."

Angela continued, her hands slowly moving down Isabella's arms to her hands. "I am giving you your freedom. Or only as much freedom as I can give. You are a daughter from a merchant's house. I am a captain of a pirate's ship. So different, yet we are trapped within our worlds. A daughter cannot inherit her father's wealth, and must be married off to secure her parent's ambitions. A pirate captain must be ruthless lest she be devoured and destroyed by her own men. Yet both of us are here," said Angela, lifting Isabella's hand to her lips, kissing them. "Within my quarters, and only there, can I allow you to be your own. Only here, can I, too, be my self."

 

[wanna_be]

That the captain knows so much of her life startles Lady Isabella. Her husband's past wives aren't exactly a secret amongst her social circles, but they aren't the sort of circles one would expect to find a pirate moving within. She'd heard of the losses that Lord Fox had suffered long before she'd married him, but upon meeting him it had seemed that he was a charming man that had just suffered misfortune in marriage. Once the wedding vows had been signed however, he had changed.

Her dowry had been generous, her father looking for a way into the aristocracy. Lord Fox had seemed perfect. Still young, tragically unmarried, with great lands and a title would be passed on to her children.

Outside of his great manor he was the same man who had wooed her and asked her father for her hand in marriage. He was charming, intellectual, kind-hearted and generous. The moment the door closed he was cold and distant. They didn't make love, he fucked her.

And the other rumours of course. She'd left his manor to visit her family only once, and only for a week. Her father hadn't wanted to hear of her worries and fears, too concerned with the title that would be due his family once she had a child. She'd returned to the house rife with rumours of the woman that had been entertained there while she was away. Lady Isabella brought money to Lord Fox, but the Lady Genevieve brought a title. Her father was a Duke, with but one child. The husband of his daughter would inherit his title and estate. She had been a means to an end, her generous dowry and the money that would pass to Lord Fox on the death of her father would allow him to climb the ranks of society in much the same way her father aspired to.

Dragging her attention back to the woman she can see in the mirror, summoning her best haughty voice she goes on the offensive. "You seem to know so much of my life captain. Yet I know so little of yours?"

 

[scribe_m]

"This is indeed true," said Angela. "Yet before I tell you of myself -- no, so that you know more about myself -- I must tell of a scene, a scene that had played once and perhaps more." Angela saw the candle almost at its end, and blew it out. She took some oil and placed it in a lamp. She then carefully lit it, to recall her tale...

"My Lords... Ladies... Gentlemen... lend me your ears! For we are destined to rule the earth, the nations, everything that we can see, everything within our reach. For tonight, I have melded with another house, another entity that will not stand, indeed, they shall assist us -- be part of us! -- in our quest to rule the world." Lord Fox turned toward a small number of invited men, all wearing masks and wigs, and the few personal servants of either Lord Fox, or the newly betrothed Lady Isabella Fox. Lord Fox continued, "I am naked, as you can see, willing to consummate my marriage with the fair Lady Isabella, there, there on my bed for all to see. I am happy that you all have traveled many a land and league to attend my marriage, and you shall be far happier to partake with me my wedding night with my wife!" Nervous laughter from the younger men combined with the lurid smiles of the older ones, evidently experienced in this hideous ritual. "By allowing you to have my woman, we shall further cement our bonds of friendship, our worldly alliance, and promising future. As is custom, I shall have the first taste, I shall spend my seed into her, the we shall all devour her and consume her -- symbolically, at least," he smiled. A few of the men laughed, wry smiles on their faces. Words within circles mentioned how these men had taken a good number of wives over their reigns, many of whom had untimely deaths or simply disappeared. One figure who stood out from the servants was the high matron. She needed no mask. And another man, who had a vague familiarity, stood behind the others, a slightly different smile on his face. Lord Fox magnanimously strode to the bed, where sat the Lady Isabella, having changed and wearing a night dress, for the consummation of their wedding night.

 

[wanna_be]

This was not what Isabella had been prepared for. She'd known few enough of the wedding guests, Lords and Ladies on her new husband's side, merchants and traders who knew her father on hers. The feast had been lavish, the celebrations raucous. Lord Fox had been charming and kind as always. It hadn't been that long ago that she'd been led away to be prepared for her wedding night by several maids.

This was not what she had expected, and she wasn't quite sure how to react. It was clear now what her new husband intended. She had not yet lain with a man, yet it seemed clear that tonight she would lay with many. Her face grew paler and she sat up, turning towards her new husband.

"My Lord?"

There was an unspoken question in her voice, as if she still faintly believed that this was some kind of strange joke that she simply didn't understand. As she looked around the room she saw amusement in several eyes, though the rest of their faces were mostly hidden behind masks. It wasn't amusement that suggested a joke she didn't understand however, no, this was a dark amusement at her expense. An anticipation of pleasure that was to come.

She stood from the bed suddenly. "Please explain what is happening my Lord!?"

 

[scribe_m]

"Ho, ho. Why should I give an explanation to mere pawn within the game? For we are the ones who shall rule the world," he continued, noticably not including his new wife, "and you are but a piece of machination on our whimsical conquest for it. You are our plaything. You are but a link between our great families to cement our houses and our destiny to rule!" Lord Fox let out a raucious laughter, followed by both loud and nervous sounds from his coterie, his audience.

His demeanor, then, turned from false forced jocularlity to dark desire and contempt. He suddently grasped her by her hair, pulling her head, forcing her eyes to meet his, as if they were glowing. "You..." his voice became loathesome and gutteral, "You will be our toy for tonight, as we fill you with our seed, or dispose of you entirely. It is our whim, it is yours to decide," he said. "Now, release my member and partake. Partake willingly and you shall embrace pleasure and become my bride. Refuse and perhaps you shall not last the night!" He growled, revealing his massive member in front of her, its slitted eye staring at her blindly.