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Sweet Little Devil

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Leslie felt the wind kiss sensuously on her cheeks, and blew blushes into them. It was a very cold night, but she had no coat on her shivering, petite frame; only ropes tightly wound around her hands and ankles, and the gag between her luscious lips. But she was not alone. In this lovely night of cold, the moon shone brightly over a huge ship with dozens of captives lining up its clean deck.

Her mistress, Miss Prufrock, was very agitated beside her; before, her high hair had looked tight and neat in its bun, but now, it was in a messy array of hair sticking out like a wounded ball of wool. She had a dirty gag between her very thin, very cruel lips, and was fidgeting in anger and incredulity at her imprisoned state.

Like the other prisoners, they were sitting down or squatting or otherwise; and Miss Prufrock in her elaborate, brocade dress of fiery red, looked most out of place here, and in what she considered a very embarrassing unladylike position; the pretty lady of twenty-three years had been tied with a tight rope snaked on her hands and connected to her ankles. And as a lady of high rank in society, she was very indignant over this coarse treatment.

Next to her, Leslie, who, though cold and trembling, sat demurely and quietly in her position; legs folded beneath her, with her wrists tied securely and tightly to her ankles so much that it numbed her. She was forced to arch her back, creating a space of graceful curve behind her. She wore an ugly, plain black dress, the Prufrocks’ servant’s uniform for the personal maid.

Leslie, nineteen years old, who had worked for the Prufrocks ever since she was seven, worried over her mistress. Though her mistress had been unkind and sadistic to Leslie over the years she had been with the wealthy, noble family, Leslie’s compassionate soul did not like to see her mistress suffer through any indecency committed to her, and prayed that her young mistress and all the other prisoners would be able to escape from this unfortunate event safely.

A brawny man with dark chest hair sprouting out of his tight tucked-in shirt appeared with a few number of equally, physically monstrous men. They were pirates; they had attacked the ship Leslie and her mistress had been on, killed the ship’s captain and as many of the ship’s crew as they could, and captured the people travelling on it, who were mostly young people—excluding a couple of elderly persons.

Now, they were in the mercy of these uncivilized men. There had been rumors about pirates that Leslie had heard before stepping on this cruise—of how they attacked, killed, raped, and kidnapped people, demanding hefty ransoms for them and selling them into slavery—the first she had ever taken since entering the Prufrocks’s mansion, but she had never dreamt of ever meeting one.

They went on looking at the prisoners, leering and sneering and spitting and taunting. One kicked a young man, and his fiancée screamed into her gag. The huge sailor grabbed her, ripped the gag off, and forced a sloppy, brutal kiss upon her. She quieted down and with tears in her eyes, huddled closer to her fiancée. The sailor laughed cruelly, joined by his cohorts. It stopped abruptly, when their captain appeared. “What d’ya think we should do with them people, Cap’n?” asked one. “Looks good ’nuff to sell, don’t they?” said another.

The Captain was a tall, lean, and well-built man, and he had an aloof, cold expression. There was no visible compassion or kindness in his features, but there were ferocity, brutality, and the hints of a cold-blooded nature. He went about inspecting his captured goods, surmising what prices they could bring him if he sold them, should they not be bought back by ransom. Leslie saw him, watched him with fearful eyes as he used his sheathed sword and gloved hand to occasionally prod on his prisoners.

Leslie trembled for her mistress, for she knew her mistress was a very pretty lady, and was well-endowed with womanly features. But when he reached Miss Prufrock, she glared balefully at him, daring him to do something at her defiance. “Hmmph,” he said, his unmoved expression showing that he was unimpressed by her show of boldness, or of her often-admired beauty. She was pretty of course; though her hair looked messy, her lips too thin, her nose too small, and her cheeks too shallow, she was still quite pretty. He had seen many girls like her before, on the land and on this ship. She should fetch a reasonable price should he have any need to sell her—but he doubted that he would need to.

He passed her, and Leslie’s heart lifted for her mistress, only to plunge into the depths of gloom when he stopped upon her. Leslie ducked her head down, trying to hide her face with her thick tresses of light blond hair. But he wouldn’t let her get away easily; he used his long, sword to sweep a volume of her hair aside to catch the face beneath. He jerked her face towards him roughly with his hand. Doe-like eyes the color of calm sky stared back at him, tremulous and depthless in their deep emotions. Her chin quivered in his hand. When he saw her face, his heart dropped. It was such an exquisite, beautiful face. He had never seen anyone who had ever matched her beauty in its innocence and its goddess-personified loveliness. What’s more, he knew this face. He remembered this face from a long, long time ago.

In an instant, he shocked Leslie by kneeling on one knee in front of her. “Are you a virgin?” he asked in a harsh, impatient tone, as he jerked a black glove off one hand. The question shocked innocent Leslie, and she blushed at his audacity. When she didn’t answer and avoided his ferocious gaze, he grabbed a handful of her skirt and wrenched her skirt up. From her gag, Leslie screamed a muffled scream of surprise and protest; loud sneers and ribald comments greeted her from the unsympathetic sailors, who thrilled at her misery, and leered at the glimpses of snowy thighs that were slightly exposed from the skirt bunched somewhere near her knees; she struggled but her hands and ankles were tied very securely and his large hand was already making its way purposefully between her thighs. Leslie tried very hard to keep her thighs together, but he used both his muscular arms to easily rip them wide apart. He leant into her ear to deliver a quiet, spine-chilling threat, “If you fight me, I will fuck you right here in front of everyone.” Leslie trembled, and big tears of anguish over this crude action spilled over her smooth cheeks.

He edged closer, his knee between her, and pushed his middle finger into the heat of her cunt. Leslie gasped, jolted, and automatically tried to close her thighs but his knee was in the way. Her trembling thighs gripped him tightly as she whimpered, as he inched his finger deeper into her tight heat, and finally found what he had been searching—her virginity—it was still intact. Satisfaction flooded into him, and he felt strangely triumphant in knowing that nobody had possessed her yet. Pleased, he reluctantly pulled away from her delicious heat, and stood up. His eyes were enflamed with an inscrutable intensity as he looked at her and announced his commands in his smooth, self-assured voice. He ordered his trusted second-hand man to send out orders for ransoms for these captives, set in steep prices, and if they were not collected by the end of the deadline, the prisoners would be sold into slavery.

“In the meantime, bring this girl into my cabin,” he said, giving Leslie’s a searing look that terrified her, and shocking his crew; as far as they knew, the Captain never showed any interest—romantic or sexual—to any species of the opposite sex. They had already concluded that he was either attracted to men (for which there were no trustworthy evidence) or was so discreet in his sexual affairs that they were unable to discover them (to which they had never been able to disprove or prove for certainty).

Two members of the captain’s crew freed Leslie from her constraints and hauled her up. “Come on, hussy. Our captain’s waiting for ‘ye little pussy.” They chuckled. She looked at her mistress for sympathy, for help—anything, but all her mistress gave her was a haughty look mixed with variable emotions that did not in any way, pity Leslie’s situation; it was a disdainful look that told Leslie that her mistress thought her a whore for being chosen, that she was in fact, appropriately selected—a slut; and one Leslie could not decipher, which was Miss Prufrock’s jealousy. Her pride was wounded in that the extremely handsome captain, exceptionally well dressed for a pirate—by far the most dashing and most magnetic man she had ever met—had deigned to choose her own plain maid instead of her. Her mistress turned her face away, and it truly broke Leslie’s heart, as she was carried away.

They shoved her into the captain’s quarters, sneering as they slammed door shut. “Mind ‘yer to give him all he wants—he’s a dangerous man—the devil of the seas!” were the last she heard, as she stepped closer into the room. It was quite warm in here, warmer than it had been outside, at least. Still, Leslie could not help shivering. She was still feeling the aftereffects of the last few hours, and she was distraught and exhausted, both mentally and physically. She wrapped her tiny body with her arms, feeling tears glimmering in her eyes, threatening to fall. She had never been out of the Prufrock property, and now that she was out of it, to have such an experience happened to her! It was simply too much.

Leslie looked around the room, relieved that the captain wasn’t in it, probably attending to some piratical duties. Should she escape? But how? More importantly, where? She had nowhere to go, even if she managed to survive her swim in the dark, cold ocean. Then she remembered that she could not swim. It sank her spirits even lower, to know that she had no skills whatsoever to support her mission to escape, even if she had any! And her mistress! Her master would beat her if he should find out what had transpired, and she felt sure he would. However, knowing that Miss Prufrock would at least return home safely—on account of the Prufrocks’s massive affluence—it brought a little bit of sunshine into Leslie’s soul. Leslie didn’t dare hope that the Prufrocks would spare any thought for her; she was simply a servant to them.

She sighed; she didn’t hear the door open and close quietly behind her, as the captain emerged, and locked the door behind him. But he heard her sigh, noticed that she was shivering. “What’s wrong?” he asked in a disinterested voice. “Tired of waiting?” Leslie whirled around at his voice, her heart stomping in her chest. She backed away as he tossed his long black coat and gloves onto a chair, poured his self some wine from a nearby cabinet, and sank down on a long couch opposite her.

He had his elbow resting on the couch beside his head, with his legs crossed, and drank his wine as sophisticatedly as persons of high titles that Leslie had seen at the Prufrocks’s many extravagant parties and glamorous dinners. Miss Prufrock had told her pirates were savages and barbarians, but this pirate’s manners were that of a person with high nobility. It was a surprising combination to his chosen vocation: pirating. She realized he was staring at her, and looked away, unable to hold her gaze with those hypnotic, dark eyes. They were too intense for her.

“Are you cold?” he asked, breaking the silence. Leslie shook her head. “But you’re shivering.” Again, Leslie lied by shaking her head. He continued staring at her; his eyes mysterious. “Come here.” When Leslie hesitated, that was when he lost all patience, and all the hell that he was capable of was unleashed. At once he flew at Leslie with the graceful agility of a predator, and before she could react, slammed her body against the wooden wall. She gasped.

He pressed harder into Leslie, using his marbled body of muscles and immense strength, and looked deeply into her frightened liquid gaze of sky blue. “When I address you, kindly remember to answer me in the way I want you to,” he breathed. “That is, answer me with words, and do as I say when I command you to. Understand?” His scorching gaze could have melted iron, and Leslie nodded. She gasped, when she saw his eyes narrow dangerously at her, for violating his law as soon as he said it, and hastily amended it by crying, “I-I’m s-sorry! And I u-understand. Please don’t hurt me,” she pleaded.

He softened. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close to him. She smelled so delightful, felt so warm and so soft, and her hair was like the tastiest cotton candy to his senses. Leslie didn’t dare struggle against a man with his strength; quietly she stood trembling in his arms, and allowed him to drag his hand down her long tresses and caress her hair. “You’ve become so beautiful, Leslie,” he murmured into her hair. “W-what?” gasped Leslie. How did he know her? She pushed him away—she did it easily, for he was too drunk on her just then—and backed away from his protective embrace. Seeing her big beautiful eyes shine with fear angered him. His eyes darkened. He took a step forward, to reclaim her, but Leslie backed away again, cowering. “N-no! Don’t touch me,” she said in a wavering voice.

He ignored her, and more forcefully this time, lunged at her and pinned her to the wall with his body, caging her with his arms. Leslie whimpered, and he silenced her with a forceful kiss that knocked her breath away. Brutally he raped her innocent, pouty lips, and slid inside her mouth to explore its moist warmth with his tongue; and Leslie, having never been kissed before, was at a bewildered lost, as he attacked her tongue with his vigorous one, and forced her to accept his mastery over her.

Leslie tried uselessly to push his body away, but he was relentless, and didn’t seemed to feel her fists beating at his solid chest, or her flat palms trying their mightiest to drive him back. Leslie couldn’t breathe. Finally he pulled back, when he realized that she didn’t know how to keep up with her breathing steadily as they locked lips. She was panting and breathing heavily. She stared up at him, wistfully, “Who are you?”

“You don’t remember me?” Leslie shook her head mournfully. “Then it doesn’t matter.” He dipped his head down to claim her bruised lips again, but this time, he was gentler with her, letting her get used to his passion. But as he distracted her with his deceptive mouth, his hands were swiftly unbuttoning the front of her plain uniform. Leslie gave a cry of dismay when she realized what he had done; he had bared her shoulders, had pushed the straps of her bra down, so that her uniform and the strap were pinioning her arms, and half of her upper body was exposed. Quickly he tore his mouth from her delicious lips, and lowered them to her snowy chest. He gave electrifying tiny licks before pulling her bra down and attaching his mouth to a plump breast.

He began sucking her rosy nipple, as if it was the sweetest candy in the world. But it wasn’t, and it filled Leslie with deep horror. “Stop it! Stop it! Please. I’m begging you. Please don’t!” she kept repeating, in between gasps and pants. Again and again, she tried to escape him; pushed against him, tried to pull her body away from him, but his grip on her was strong, and he followed every movement she made, sucking and licking intensely on her breast. He never let up; he rolled his hot tongue round and round her areola, before flicking the tip of his tongue over the tip of her nipple. He toyed with her sensitive nipple, teasing and seducing it, pushing it side to side, up and down. Again and again. He could feel it hardening, extending, and sucked harder, licked harder.

Meanwhile, his other hand was busy keeping up with his furious pace with her other breast; massaging the full breast and maddening it with his cheeky fingers; he pressed at the nipple and pulled at it. Every time Leslie tried to push his head away from her; he sucked harder, tweaked harder. It was absolutely frustrating, and helplessness grew inside Leslie. The sensation of his warm tongue and his hot breath over her wet nipple fed her feelings she did not understand. She wanted to scream, but instead, in its place, unbidden low moans came out of her mouth. They sounded very sweet and alluring to her tormentor, and he in turn worked harder in his sucking so that he might continue enjoying this beautiful music.

This sucking continued until he sensed her growing weaker and ceased fighting him, and had given in to the pleasurable agonies he wrought upon her. Slowly he detached himself from her breast, her dazzling, reddish nipples jutting out and looking shyly at him. Leslie moaned when he did, her breasts feeling oddly bereft and cold from the affections the captain afforded it, even though moments ago, the assault had frightened her. As she leaned against the wall, panting, the captain rained passionate kisses on her lips, her face, her neck, and her shoulder. He nipped at her earlobe, and whispered, in a husky voice, “I want to fuck you so bad.” Leslie’s eyes opened wider as she stared into his eyes—they were glazing with bright, feral lust. She quickly closed her eyes and shook her head wildly, terribly afraid—”N-no, please…no…I…wanted to s-save myself…f-for…”

She gasped when he pressed closer onto her, kicking her legs wider apart so that he could touched her body completely with his, even with their clothes on, to let her feel the hot, throbbing cock dying to be inside of her. “You wanted to save yourself?” He humped against her, rocking his hips persistently and steadily against her, letting her feel the iron rod of his manhood. It made Leslie dizzy. He continued stealing her breaths away as he gripped her hips and pumped into her. “What for?” he added wickedly, humping harder when Leslie whimpered weakly.

“Nobody will want you by the time I’m through with you.” He laughed when he saw the look of fear and despair in her eyes. “W-what d-do you m-mean?” She choked out in a trembling, low voice. He stopped dry-fucking her, but kept his cock so close to her cunt that Leslie whimpered again; he laughed huskily into her ear. “It means—” He pressed his damp forehead against her, and placed a big, warm palm over her belly, “—I have plans for us.” Leslie’s pretty mouth opened, and he took advantage of it by kissing them. But she didn’t respond to them; instead, she gazed into his eyes, which were also staring back at her, trying to read her—many emotions filled those transparent eyes: distrust, disbelief, shock, fear—especially fear.

“Y-you mean…” she murmured against him but didn’t finished; he continued kissing her, looking at her, making no effort to finish her sentence or understand her meaning, forcing her to express them on her own. “You…you would m-marry…m-me?” Her gentle voice contained incredulity in them. He pulled back, his eyebrows raised. “Are you asking me to marry you, precious?” Immediately, Leslie’s cheeks blushed crimson, and she looked away. Of course he wasn’t going to. She felt incredibly stupid; she should have known. Miss Prufrock had always told her no man would fall in love or marry a poor girl like her, because she was slow, stupid, weak, and clumsy; that she would be a burden, a useless mate.

He saw her broken heart reflected on her starry, watery eyes; it filled him with instant guilt and anger at himself. Remorsefully, he tried to amend things, “Hey, hey, princess—” But she pushed him away; he never knew where this new energy came from. “I’m not your princess!” she cried, her eyes blazing. “Stay away from me!” she screamed, and her eyes blurring, ran towards the door, intending to do god-knows-what, if the captain hadn’t gone after her, slipped his arms around her, and hauled her back. She thrashed in his arms, kicking her feet in the air. “Let me go! Let me go!”

“Silence!” his thunderous voice scared her, and Leslie stopped, whimpering and sobbing in his arms limply. He carried her to his desk, and dropped her in front of it. “Bend down!” he ordered; still crying, Leslie bent herself over the table, not knowing what he intended to do. The captain fetched some rope he spied on the desk, yanked Leslie’s arms behind her back—making her cry out at his harshness—and tied them together, securely—tight, bruising, and painful enough to let her know the futility of her situation.

Then, the captain dropped down on a nearby chair, lifted Leslie’s skirts high, and yanked the dazed Leslie towards him. She fell onto him, her thighs around his and her legs dangling on either sides of the chair. She was still crying, but quietly now. He ignored it. He was still fuming over the fact that she had tried to run away from him. It made him sick to his core to think of his sweet, innocent, ravishing Leslie running out there, with her beautiful, long, thick hair wild and enticing, her swollen, pouty lips, her cheeks flushed, and her lovely breasts spilling in front of her freely, and his men, lusty and greedy as many of them were, would have attacked her, used her, and broken her. They would have scarred her so much to the point where he would never find her in the way she had been before.

His Leslie….Beneath her skirt bunched around her hips, the captain pushed his fingers into her underwear, and felt her dewy heat. He parted them by pressing deeper with his fingers. But he stopped when he felt something pointing against his thigh. It was a bit blunt, but he could feel it pressing down insistently, intent on producing damage. He looked up at Leslie; her face was still stained from tears, and she looked exhausted, yet the eyes that stared back at him—it glittered with trepidation, but also determination. “I’ll kill you,” she stammered. “If…if you touch me…I’ll kill you. I really will,” she said in a stronger voice.

To demonstrate that she truly was genuine about her threat, she dug the letter-knife she had behind her deeper into his thigh. He could feel her hand shaking, but she managed to keep the knife still on his thigh. She kept her gaze level on him, trying fiercely to hide how scared she was at what she was doing, or what he’ll do. She had seen the letter-knife on the desk, among others, and without thinking, she had reached for it, had pulled it to her chest. When he turned her around, she had grabbed the knife behind her, her heart exploding inside her, cautioning her to hold it carefully or risked having him find out before she could do anything with it. She waited for him to give his reaction, her stomach fluttering.

Slowly he took his hand away, making no other response. His sweet, innocent Leslie…did he say that? No, she was his sweet, innocent little devil. Part of him wanted to laugh, part of him was aroused and intrigued, another part wanted to tell her how provocative she was when she looked serious, deadly, when her pouty lips opened a little, waiting for him. But he didn’t want to spoil the tension she had built up. She did look very serious; her eyes flashed with hardness. “What do you plan to do if you did kill me?” he asked, holding her gaze. He could see that she distrusted him, wary that he was planning something.

“My men will be waiting outside if you come out.” His eyes narrowed meaningfully, “You know what they’ll do to you, especially as you’re tied up as you are now.” Leslie gulped, but she kept her resolution. “After I kill their captain, I’ll jump into the sea and drown myself,” she replied, and nothing in her voice told him that she would not carry it out; it had no false heroism. She truly was authentic about all this. His heart was quickly beating harder in his chest—she meant to go for suicide! He couldn’t allow that. He tried to suppress his rage over her reckless decision. He had to calm down. “But—” he said in a controlled voice that held no hint of the turbulent emotions swirling inside him. He tried to caress her hair, but she arched away, suspicious, digging the letter-knife harder in the same spot. He stopped. “—you can’t really kill me with a letter-knife. It’s blunt, precious.” Leslie bit her lip, but answered, “I know. At the very least, I could hurt you badly if I push it hard enough.” Boldly, she added, “We could try, if you want to.”

He was amazed at her imagination, but even more astonished that she would try to take a risk on a plan that had a higher probability for failure than success. Ironically, it was making him become supremely more attracted to her, drawn to some passionate energy that emanated from the deep soul hidden beneath all her innocence. “Which will it be?” her eyes blazed. “Leave me, or I’ll truly hurt you.” Then, after a few seconds of quick musing: “You’re really making me very hard right now, baby.” He said them in a quiet, dangerous voice. Leslie was thrown off her guard, and shuddered; despite her audacity, she was still an innocent girl after all, and he knew that. “So very, very hard,” he let the words flow out of his lips slowly, emphasizing them; watching her eyes grew in confusion. He held her gaze, and moved his hands over his trousers.

“W-what are you doing?” she looked terrified. “D-don’t!” He ignored her; he undid his trouser, while still keeping his deep eyes on her, who was watching where his hands were. She realized what he was doing. “N-no!” she cried. Was he truly intending to violate her after what she had told him? This time, she desperately plunged the letter-knife into his thigh—there was a sickening noise as it cut through flesh and muscle—and this time, it really did drew blood—and pain. He grimaced. Yet, to Leslie’s horrified fascination, he kept moving his hands, and her eyes widened, when she saw a huge, thick pole emerged from a thick nest of dark hair, pointing upwards, leering lecherously at her, seeming to throb for a nice piece of flesh. What was he? He didn’t seem much affected by the pain coming from his wound. Leslie trembled, feeling more afraid than before. His lips curved into a wry, cruel smile. He licked them.

With Leslie’s slower reflexes against his better, superior ones, the next actions he did were too fast for her to catch in time; he leant forward, grabbed the knife from his bleeding thigh and flung it to the far side of the room. Leslie didn’t even hear the thud of it as it hit the wall, as he was already dragging her to him. With one arm gripping her securely, he easily tore her underwear off. “No! No! No!” Leslie writhed violently but of course he was stronger than her; all her efforts to thwart him were useless—especially with bound hands—and its one singular effect seemed only to drain her out of her energy and will to fight back. He forced a kiss onto her lips, distracting her, but vaguely she felt big, warm palms on either side of her bare hips, lifting her to him. To it.

He spread his thighs wider, consequently spreading her irresistible thighs apart as well, and without mercy, he slammed his cock into her, ramming through her hymen in one painful rip, his furry balls coming to settle at her bottom in a loud, wet kiss. Leslie screamed into his mouth, but he kissed harder, making her whimper pitifully. Tears of hurt streaked her face.

Not giving her time to adapt to his hard cock, he pulled out, groaning at the exquisite tightness of her vaginal walls, clenching itself on his cock as he dragged himself away, until the tip rested on her wet entrance, then—he forced himself back in, riding up her tender walls with desperate intensity. His feet firmly planted on the ground, he determinedly worked his hips into a frenzied motion of torturous thrusts—pushing his tight ass from the seat to stab his hungry cock into her, to meet her cunt in delicious, mind-blowing crushes—thrusting deeply into her again—and again.

His bruising grip on her hips forced her trembling, fragile body to concede to the brutal rhythm of his relentless pumping, to surrender all of her to the cruel fucking he subjugated upon her. It went on and on. Leslie’s moans and whimpers of pain only persuaded him and encouraged him to continue driving them both mad in the throes of their—commanded by him—animalistic passion. He was so lost in her—together, moaning and grunting in their conjoined world—lost in a place of intoxicating ecstasy, that he was no longer capable of rational thought or empathy—fuck all those things to hell—all he wanted to do was to pound himself into her, deeply and deeply more, deeper than even that deep—as deep as he could go with her. And do it all over again.

He fucked her hard—fast, furious, urgent, possessive. Every motion was like a blurry, steamy performance. He held her jealously close to him, feeling her soft breasts licking his chest up and down, feeling her feverish, quivering body against him. As he pumped savagely and endlessly into her, he crushed his lips against hers, capturing all her pants and moans, turning them into something that’s part of him. He wanted her to know how delirious she made him feel—what he could be like when he held her in his arms. As the fucking increased in its frenetic speed and intensity, he could feel her nearing the heights of great pleasure, could feel the flame inside her preparing to explode—as much as his was.

And he wanted to be there with her, to feel the quake of their heart-pumping union. He pulled her body even tighter against him, his arm wrapped across her smooth ass cheeks. He used his other free hand to dip into the point where their wet bodies met, to rub and stroke her weeping cunt of hot honey at her sensitive clitoris—Leslie moaned into his mouth at this invasion—before taking the wet finger out and bringing it to her back. She gasped as he pushed a finger into her tight little hole, and whimpering, tried to run away from it, but she was trapped, snugly imprisoned between his obsessive cock, his arm, and his insistent finger. She was locked in his demanding embrace. He touched her nub, driving her into melodious gasps, and imitated the crude fucking of his cock—up and down, up and down, up and down, breathlessly, repeatedly—together.

Finally, unable to hold back any longer, Leslie’s body exploded into fierce ecstasy; her head rolled back, her face concentrated and intent, her shaking body arching, her thighs clamping tightly and tremblingly around his—he could feel her contracting powerfully, rocking him, mesmerizing him. Soon, he joined her, groaning along to the sounds of her cries, his body jerking inside her heavenly body. “Yes yes yes!” he roared triumphantly, digging his fingers into Leslie’s ass cheeks. He threw his head back, eyes closed, as hot jets of cum spurted aggressively into her womb. “Ungh!” –they crashed together.

They were both breathing very hard right now. Leslie rested her flushed face on his broad chest. Her whole body was vulnerably sensitive; her heart was still going berserk inside of her, unused to this foreign excitement, and her eyes were glazed from the overwhelming sensation that had just overtaken her with its extraordinary madness. She had never experienced emotions so raw—was it supposed to be so…exposing? She felt as if not only her body had been wrenched away from her, but also her soul—it had been stripped away to a bareness that frightened her.

The captain enveloped her in a fierce hug, his arms touching every part of her that he could embrace, and peppering the back of her upper body with tender, butterfly kisses. He was still inside of her. It filled Leslie with anguish. It reminded her of how he had abused her body, imprinting himself upon her forcefully. It drowned Leslie with a sense of lack of control that it drove her almost insane.

Leslie wept silently, her eyes becoming blank orbs of ice. “You…brute,” she said, in a quiet, hoarse voice. “Are you satisfied now? Are you done? Do you wish to take more from me?” she demanded in intensifying passion, though her voice was broken and spent. He hugged her harder, burying his face into her thick hair. “You’re mine,” was all he could say, uselessly, callously; he only wanted her to know that. Leslie laughed bitterly, “Of course I am. I’m yours to…to bed whenever you desire.”

‘I love you,” he whispered, kissing her butter-colored head. He worshipped her. He was sincere. “Of course you are. You’re in…love…with the idea of…possessing my body…but—” she pushed her head weakly to gaze at him, “You’ll never have my heart. Never. And as far as I’m concerned,” she reached up to his ear to whisper, “if you can’t master it, I will…will…never…be yours.”

Leslie closed her eyes and dropped her head onto his shoulder, finally won over by fatigue and overexertion. The captain tentatively caressed her hair, knowing he would try very hard to win her heart after this; he may have possessed her body, but it was only a vassal for the deep, sensitive soul inside. And he wanted the soul as intensely as he desired her body. He vowed to have both.

Slowly he got up, ignoring his thigh, though it was bleeding profusely, and gently carried Leslie’s small body towards the bed situated on the other side of the room connected to his study, this room. He placed her on his big bed with as much sensitivity as the most loving mate would have given to his beloved, cherished partner, and draped the bed sheet over her.

He pushed a few strands of damp hair from her rosy face, and kissed her forehead; the touch of his lips on her was brief, almost didn’t brush against her skin—he was afraid he would break her. Because, when he looked at her, fragile and delicate like a lovely flower trying its hardest to blossom in a wild, unwelcoming environment, enormous remorse stormed his whole body—and he felt like a brute for violating her. He wanted to protect her, love her—not hurt her.

“Forgive me, precious,” were his last words before he left his sweet little princess to a long, restful slumber.

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