Bound by the Buccaneer (9 page)

Yes, life was moving along and everything was back to normal with the exception of Gaston. He had been scarce since her tryst with the men, and when he had been around he’d been sullen and disagreeable. He continued to drink more than usual, and at night he’d been sleeping outside on deck rather than in the bunk with her. When asked about it he waved her off saying he had every right to sleep where he wanted, that if he chose to sleep in a tree it wasn’t her concern. Though she didn’t appreciate his recent foul mood, Frederica had shared a space with an ill-tempered captain before and she knew how to avoid conflict in such scenarios. She assumed he was feeling stressed about the upcoming voyage and hoped he would be back to normal once they were again at sea. They would sail in a matter of days, and though she told herself he’d be back in her arms by then, she wasn’t entirely confident that would be the case.

Chapter Eleven

Frederica sat on the cot in Gaston’s quarters braiding her hair. When she’d lived in England she had often twined ribbons into her long locks, but recently she had replaced the ribbons with strands of tiny round shells. She had taken the idea for her hairstyle from Hatch’s necklace and she had spent hours this week stringing the tiny shells into long strands which she then braided into her hair. The shimmer of the shells against her chocolate brown locks gave her an exotic appearance. She considered herself.

As she continued to braid her hair, she wondered what sort of mood Gaston would be in when he returned to the cabin. Ever since the day of her dalliance with Appling, Chatham, and Pugwash he’d been grumbling around and behaving unpleasantly. This confused Frederica because she’d thought that once she did her duty with the men the alliance would be strengthened and Gaston would be pleased. After all he had been the one who arranged the tryst and essentially forced her to go. He couldn’t be upset with her. He’d given her no choice in the matter. They hadn’t discussed whether or not she had enjoyed the experience so she knew he couldn’t be angry with her for enjoying it if he didn’t know.

Her mind went back to that afternoon and a shiver of excitement zipped through her as she recalled the feel of the men’s lips and tongues on her, their hands on her skin, their cocks in her…

Her reverie was interrupted by a knock at the door. It was Hatch and in his arms she was surprised to see the skinny white cat from town.

“Hatch! You brought him!” she squealed with delight. “Where did you find him?” She reached out and took the bundle of fur from him. The cat purred and nudged his head under her hand urging her to pet him. Happiness bubbled up inside her and she giggled.

Hatch bestowed a rare smile upon Frederica and the cat. “At the inn. He hadn’t gone far. I’ve been trying to fatten him up for you.”

Frederica pulled on his shoulder, and Hatch bent just enough for her to place a chaste kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, Hatch. He will make a wonderful addition to the crew, I just know it.”

Hatch made a snorting noise and exited her chamber.

Frederica danced around the room with the kitty. “What shall I name you?”

The cat meowed in response, and she ran through a list of possible names, “Bernard, Ronald, no. Maybe more of a cat name. Pouncer?” She knit her brows thoughtfully and lay down on the bed with her new pet.

She stroked his smooth yet slightly matted coat while considering the possibilities. When she thought the cat had fallen asleep she went back to entwining the strands of shells into her hair. She held one up in the air and the cat hopped up and started batting it in the air with his paws. This made Frederica laugh and she continued trying to braid her hair with the acrobatic assistance of the cat who balanced himself on his back legs and tried to swat at her braid each time she moved one strand of hair over another.

Just then the door flung open and a disheveled Gaston stepped through the threshold. He noticed the feline presence on his bed and a look of disgust crossed his face. “What is that thing doing here?”

“I know you said I couldn’t have him, but…” she protested, not wanting to get Hatch in trouble for bringing the cat onto the ship.

“Bloody hell. What is happening? This is my quarters, my castle if you will. Is nothing sacred?” Gaston blustered and picked up the cat and tossed it outside the room onto the ship’s deck. Frederica knew better than to fuss about it now. She’d find the cat later. They were surrounded by water and she doubted the cat would try to swim anywhere.

“Freddie! Didn’t I forbid you from bringing that animal onto my ship?”

“I’m sorry, master,” she said getting up to help him off with his coat in an attempt to appease him. “I’m certain he will earn his keep as a mouser.”

He pushed her hands away, refusing to be placated. Despondently, Gaston sank to his knees in front of her and clutched her legs.

“Gaston, what is it?” she asked confused.

“Nothing, only that I’ve missed you.” He lifted his eyes to her and she bent to kiss him. His mouth pressed against hers insistently, his tongue swirling in her open mouth. She tasted the salt air on his lips and inhaled his scent, so masculine and unique to him. They kissed for awhile. His mouth felt good to her, like home. She had missed him too.

Moments later she pulled away, still holding her unfinished braid in her hand. “Master, might I finish up this small braid first?” She batted her eyelashes flirtatiously.

“By all means.” He rose and settled next to her on the cot, his weight sinking into the mattress, causing her body to shift toward his. He slid an arm around her waist and leaned in to kiss her neck just below her ear. Hmm, one of her favorite spots.

Distracted, she clumsily did up the last quarter of the braid she was working on, tying it off at the end with the leftover fishing line. Gaston left a line of kisses in his wake as he moved from her throat to her bosom. “Get undressed,” he growled tugging at her blouse.

She stood and began to remove her skirts and blouse. Gaston hurriedly unlaced the back of her corset, then he ripped off her shimmy and it fell to the ground, leaving her completely naked. With a sly smile he took off his shirt and unfastened his breeches.

“May I help you with your boots, master?” Frederica inquired.

“Yes,” he said, his eyes savoring every inch of her body.

She knelt and pulled off his boots one by one. Then, her face between his legs and knowing how much he loved her to service him with her mouth she tilted her head expectantly.

“Now suck my cock, but I want you to do it slowly, with your hands behind your back.”

Obediently, she grabbed her right wrist in the palm of her left hand behind her back. Swinging her hair behind her shoulder and out of the way, she leaned in as he pushed the fabric of his breeches aside giving her access to his engorged cock, the purple veins of its underside throbbing with excitement. She licked the head, paying special attention to the frenulum before dousing the bulbous tip with her saliva. She then coated his length with soft caresses of her tongue and slipped him between her lips. Opening her throat wide, she dipped her head to take him all the way to the back of her throat.

Gaston groaned. She knew that he relished the feel of his cock bumping the stopping point of her mouth, and she answered with a garbled moan of her own. Suckling him awakened a wanton lust inside her, making her wet and ravenous for him. She bobbed up and down on his cock for several minutes until he grabbed her by the hair and pulled her off of him.

“Did I please you, master?” She looked up at him with a saucy smile, certain that she had.

“Of course. I’ve taught you well, girl. Now get up and lie down on the bed, arms above her head.” He rose and went to a chest in the corner of the small room.

A little thrill ran through her as she complied. This usually meant he was going to restrain her, and she adored that.

As she had hoped, he returned with a coil of rope and began tying her wrists together. She loved the feel of the rope against her skin. It had a unique smell and she’d grown to the point where the smell of rope alone aroused her. Gaston usually took his time, draping the rope across her breasts sensuously, but tonight he was all business as he secured the ropes to an iron ring he’d bolted to the wall. “Spread your legs for me, wench.”

She opened her thighs, but he smacked them and pushed them wider apart. “That’s better,” he said.

Helpless, Frederica lay on her back wondering what he had in store for her this evening. As a lover he was many things, and boring was never one of them.

He took a riding crop off the wall and struck it against his leg then tested it with his opposing hand.

Frederica wriggled in her bindings as her anticipation increased. She both loved and fretted over the crop. The pain it inflicted was bearable and often increased her arousal, but if he used it too hard or too frequently in the same spot it could downright hurt. She hoped tonight he would use it in a pleasurable way.

“I see you jumping around over there.” He raised an eyebrow rakishly. “Are you looking forward to me using this on you?” he chuckled.

“Yes, master,” she said. By now her nipples puckered and her pussy creamed with need. Even though he had her spread her legs wide for him regularly, it never failed to excite her. It felt incredibly naughty to expose her most private parts so brazenly. He knew that she loved every minute of it, that it aroused her to rebel against the societal mores she’d been brought up to adhere to.

“I’ll wager you are.”

He came closer and gently traced the curve of her breasts one after the other with the tip of the crop. The tickling sensation made gooseflesh rise on her arms and legs, and her already excited nipples tightened into hard little buds.

He brought it down with a sharp
fwap
to her breast and his eyes twinkled as he watched her come alive under the touch of his tool.

She took a deep breath and found that submissive place within herself, settling into herself, ready for whatever punishment Gaston chose to bestow upon her.

A few more blows of the crop rained down on her chest and midsection. Each one delivered a zip of light pain through her nervous system, and her increased heart rate thrummed in her ears.

Gaston moved his ministrations to her legs, swatting the tops of her thighs, then the flesh of her calves, and ending with smacks to the soles of her feet. These strikes got her attention as the crop stung her feet.

When he tapped at her inner thighs inching closer and closer to her aching mound she felt as though she might simply melt into the mattress beneath her. Her teeth closed over her lower lip, and she held her breath silently praying that he would touch her
there
at her very core. She ached for his touch, and her muscles clenched in anticipation as she willed him to use his crop on the delicate petals of her female flower.

As if reading her mind he brought down the crop on the top of her mound then slapped at her pussy lips, already swollen with desire. The blow smarted, and she yelped as much from her relief at being touched there as from any pain.

He swatted her breasts again, maintaining her nipples’ excited state, and then he went back to working her pussy over with his crop. Finally, he stopped long enough to inspect his subject. Entering her with his index finger, he swirled around her channel, scraping against her ringed walls until she could hear the swishing sounds of her juices as he inserted another finger.

Curling his fingers up against the soft, sensitive button at the top of her front wall, she jerked at the intensity of the sensation. He massaged the spot from inside her with one hand then dropped the crop and pressed firmly against her pelvis from the outside with his other hand. She moaned with an ecstasy so intense that she wasn’t sure she could stand it. The pressure was too much, but before she had a chance to complain, she reached the edge of the precipice and toppled over it. The gush of fluid from her satiated pussy seeped into the bedsheets and she felt the warm liquid creep under her bottom. She was surprised that she didn’t mind the wetness, but she was in another world, that dreamy place you went after exploding into a million rays of rainbowed bliss.

In the afterglow of her climax, she regarded him through half-closed lids and watched him drop his clothes to the floor. He carried a lantern to the bed and placed it on the small chest that served as a makeshift bed stand.

Without preamble he spread her legs wide and swiftly entered her. Her drenched cunt offered him easy access to the depths of her canal, and he drove into her like a man possessed. His strokes were long and languid but powerful, dragging out their pleasure as if he wanted to wring every drop of passion from her. His deliberate pace increased her anticipation by making her wait for him to fill her each time. She writhed underneath him, thinking that his cock plundering her pussy was so delicious she might never be able to get enough. But then he buried himself so deep inside her that she felt the tip of his penis smash into her cervix. The result was the sweet combination of pleasure and pain. It hurt, but she desperately wanted more.

His fingers fisted her hair, and he yanked on it as he fucked her. Her scalp screamed, but her pussy clamped down hard on his cock, her walls contracting around him like a vice. She arched her back and he pinched both her nipples, rolling them between his fingertips. Then he pulled them upward until her cries of lust morphed to something darker.

Then he withdrew, reached over and removed the candle from the lantern. He held it over her body, a devilish look on his face.

She felt her body stiffen, her eyes widen. He’d done this once before and the experience had been an extreme combination of pleasure and pain. Overall she’d enjoyed it, but she remembered some of the hottest droplets of wax scorching her skin.

“Scared?” he taunted.

She struggled for something to say, but nothing came to her. She couldn’t honestly say no, but if she dared to deny it, she worried if he’d think of something even more dastardly to do to her. Yet her pride kept her from admitting to fear.