Devi's Paradise (4 page)

Armand relished Sabrina’s flesh. She was the chief of his concubines and obeyed him explicitly. Sometimes these willing submissives irritated him. He felt the need of a challenge and even as he reached a thunderous climax within Sabrina’s body, so he experienced ennui. He had everything, but longed for an extra thrill – that of conquering a personality almost as forceful as his own. A lady perhaps, a royal personage who would put up a fight, marking him with her vicious talons and showing such strength and purpose in defending herself that he would know he had met his soul mate. She might try to kill him, or rouse his followers to rebellion and, when eventually he subdued her, driving her mad with love for him, then he might know the peace that always eluded him.

Restless now that he had released his spunk he pushed Sabrina aside, stood to his impressive height and clapped his hands. The slaves looked up at him in awe as he summoned a giant of a man, with a black beard and scarred face. His head was shaven, his shoulders broad as an ox, his hands like mighty paddles. His chest was naked; the skin tattooed with weird symbols, and a wide leather belt above canvas breeches spanned his waist. These were unfastened, his penis jutting out, swaying from side to side as he walked – a powerful weapon, like that of a bull. Sea boots covered his lower legs, and a cutlass swung from an ornamental scabbard. He was one of Armand’s band of cutthroats, his second-in-command, who was feared almost as much as his chief.

‘Ah, Johnson, fetch that new girl, the one we took from the
Santa Royale
.’

‘She claims to be the governor of Cuba’s daughter, captain,’ Johnson replied, his deep voice gruff as gravel. Once he had been a mutinous English seaman condemned to death, but had escaped. Like many of Armand’s crew he was a fugitive from justice, signing up under the unlawful flag of piracy.

‘More likely to be his whore,’ Armand stated crisply. ‘Bring her here. She shall amuse me for a while.’

‘Why bother with her when you have me?’ asked Sabrina, standing tall and straight by his side, very conscious of her position in his household hierarchy.

He reached out and pinched one of her prominent nipples. ‘It is my wish,’ he said sternly. ‘Do you dare question this?’

‘No, master,’ she replied, lowering her head meekly.

‘Good. For if I thought for one moment that you were opposing me, then you would take your place on the crosspiece.’

Swinging a long pliable whip, Johnson went to the back of the cave where several prisoners were chained by the wrists to the rocks. He loosened one of the ringbolts and freed a young woman who cried and protested. He dragged her by a loop of manacle, hauling her along till she stood before Armand. She was a dark-haired beauty, though in disarray, her once fine gown torn and dirty. The ship they had taken had been Spanish, though vessels of any origin were fair game for them – pirates, not buccaneers who only attacked the Castilian navy. Armand showed little mercy to merchant shipping of all nationalities. He had no scruples. All that mattered were fat pickings.

My mother would die of shame could she but see me! The thought flashed crossed his mind to be rapidly erased. No time to dwell on the past. The here and now was all that mattered. He deliberately focused on the girl trembling before him.

‘Please, sir,’ she begged, her huge brown eyes awash with tears. ‘Send me to my father. He will pay any ransom you demand.’

Armand was conversant with Spanish and he smiled sardonically as he replied in her native tongue, ‘Indeed, and am I to believe you? Are you not a whore transported to the Caribbean in punishment?’

‘No, sir, I swear it. My name is Maria Gomez and I’ve recently left a convent in Madrid. Father wanted me to join him now that mama is dead.’

Armand knew she was telling the truth. She had the air of an innocent girl once surrounded by nuns, but he chose to tease her. ‘I don’t think so, Maria. You are curious about what takes place during the carnal act, aren’t you? Your thoughts dwell on it instead of on prayers to the Virgin Mary. You would like to share my bed, wouldn’t you?’

Johnson laughed, deep in his belly, and the slaves tittered too, guessing what was to come. When Armand was being jovial he was usually at his worst. Sabrina settled back to watch, quelling her jealousy and saying, ‘Don’t keep her to yourself, master. I want a share in such a fresh young body.’

Maria shrank back, trying to conceal her breasts and her hairy mound, though this was part-hidden beneath the rags of her satin gown. She couldn’t understand what Sabrina said, but the look in her eyes spoke volumes. Yet, as Armand scrutinised her, so a change took place. She blushed, sighed and reached out as if begging him to hold her, recognising his aristocratic bearing and hoping he would be lenient and do as she asked.

‘You would like me to free you, honour you, treat with your father?’ he said mockingly.

‘Oh, yes. I know you could do it. You are a man of principle, not like the ruffians who ransacked the ship, slaughtered seaman and kidnapped officers.’

‘I am their commander,’ he corrected. ‘They do nothing without orders from me.’

‘How could you be so base?’

‘I have been taught by experts,’ he retorted coldly, stepped forward and dragged her against his firm, bare flesh, letting her feel his burgeoning phallus. One climax was never enough for him. The sap was rising again, sending urgent messages through his whole being, demanding that he take and enjoy this girl. ‘On your knees, wench,’ he growled.

She hesitated but Johnson placed a hand at the back of her neck, forcing her down till she knelt on the hard floor of the cave. Her legs were bunched under her, buttocks raised high. Johnson grabbed a handful of skirt and ripped it from her waist. Now her rounded bottom was on display, with its intriguing crack, and the plump, split-fig of her pudenda surrounded by crisp black curls.

Armand leaned over and inserted a finger into her virgin delta, smiling mockingly as he discovered it to be wet and slippery. She was gaining enjoyment from this, despite her protestations, confirming his opinion of women. The more they screamed the more they wanted to be ravished. ‘Higher, higher,’ he instructed the trembling girl. ‘I want to see your ripe little cunt.’

It was satisfying to be able to speak several languages, each of which had its own particular terms for the genitals. Maria may have been innocent, but she obviously understood him and lifted her hips even further. Armand enjoyed deflowering maidens. It was hard work, and nothing like as easy on his cock as a well-worn pathway, but had its own special pleasure for the man who liked domination.

His nostrils flared and his grey eyes shone like steel. He could not resist touching her, insinuating a hand beneath her and fondling the ripe breasts with their coral tips that bunched under his caress. She moaned and her bottom cheeks parted even more, as if begging him to penetrate her arsehole and inexperienced cleft.

‘And so I shall, my dear,’ he muttered. ‘But first you’ll have a taste of subjection and pain.’

But would it be new to her? he wondered, taking whip from Johnson and snapping it through the air. Convents were notorious for their harsh treatment of malcontents and the sisters, often frustrated spinsters who had never had a man, regularly relieved their desires in congress with other nuns or novices. If they had not actually corrupted Maria then, at the very least, she might well have been flogged for some real or trumped up sin. The idea made his prick throb.

‘Don’t hurt me,’ she sobbed, and this entreaty added further fuel to his fire. He nodded to Johnson who stood, spread-legged, restraining her by the manacles. Then Armand raised his right arm, relishing the movement, the whip an extension of himself and his passion. He brought it down with full force across Maria’s backside. She shrieked and writhed. The spectators cried out their enjoyment. Johnson tightened his grip on her chains. Armand narrowed his eyes as lust, sharp as a spear, pierced his groin. His penis thickened and rose past his navel to his waist.

‘No… no…’ Maria sobbed, the mark of the whip etched on her pale skin, but Armand was beyond listening or stopping. The whip slashed down, landing on a fresh spot and, as she screamed and begged for mercy, so this roused him to an even greater fever pitch and he lashed her ruthlessly.

He paused, arm aching, and Sabrina leaned over the fainting girl. She ran her fleshy pink tongue over her red lips and then opened her mouth and licked the livid marks, wetting them with her saliva. ‘Oh, master, how appealing she looks, how young and vulnerable,’ and her tongue went lower till it reached the puckered brown rose of her anus, sampling it, and then the pink wings that protected that vital channel of love.

‘Stand aside,’ Armand ordered. ‘She is mine and so are all her treasures. You may use her when I’m done.’ He threw aside the whip, pushed Johnson out of the way and lifted Maria, one arm round her shoulders, the other beneath her buttocks.

She cried out in agony, but he didn’t stop until he’d reached the divan and laid her down. Then with hardly a pause he was on her and in her, his phallus carving its way through her maidenhead. A moment of resistance and he was inside and Maria was no longer a virgin. The tightness of her clasping his member like a velvet glove, the gush of fluid as her pain was transformed into pleasure, her moans that changed to a keening note of ecstasy, worked like yeast on his overexcited cock. He kissed her neck, her throat, and forced his tongue between her lips, just as he was thrusting his member into her vagina. And Maria stopped struggling. Her limbs went lax as he slid his fingers between their bodies and found the hard nodule of her pleasure button, rubbing it steadily.

‘Oh, God, I’m dying,’ she gasped and convulsed in orgasm.

‘No, you’re not dying,’ he murmured. ‘You’re living… have come alive after years of repression. Now feel me reach my apogee, you dirty little bitch.’

He was climbing that stairway to bliss – up and up – only death could stop him now. He reached the peak in a spasm of ecstasy so acute his head reeled. He came back to reality completely drained of spunk and, as always after fucking, experiencing that disillusion and self-disgust that always tormented him.

‘What is it, master?’ queried Sabrina, as he abandoned the girl and reached for wine. ‘Didn’t she please you?’

He scowled at her – the blackest scowl she had ever seen on his handsome face, as he barked, ‘Another spineless virgin. Is there no female left on God’s earth who will fight me?’

‘Well, here’s a to-do!’ exclaimed Lady Alvina Segar, after she had listened to Romilly’s tale of woe.

They were in the bedroom, seated on a dainty walnut couch, with a little table drawn close on which stood a silver teapot, milk jug, sugar basin and plate of fancy cakes. Jessica Wade and Alvina’s maid, Kitty Rigg, were out of earshot near the window embrasure. Romilly thought it grossly unfair that her friend was allowed to drive out with only the sprightly girl as chaperone. But then Lord and Lady Segar were of liberal views and gave their daughter a great deal of freedom. She had been brought up in the company of her brothers and their friends, the youngest child with married sisters who had families of their own.

‘It’s too awful, isn’t it?’ Romilly wailed, springing up and pacing about, driving her fist into her palm.

Alvina helped herself to another iced fancy, then said with a careless shrug, ‘I’ve heard of worse.’

‘What?’ Romilly stopped dead in front of her, breasts heaving with indignation. ‘Are you trying to tell me that anything could be worse than banishment to the Caribbean?’

‘Calm down, dear fool,’ Alvina advised, laughter lifting her wide crimson mouth and lighting up her face. She looked even more beautiful when she laughed, and this was often.

She was a stunning woman of nineteen, with tumbling red hair and hazel eyes. Fashionable and popular, she was as yet unmarried but had suitors aplenty. There was ample opportunity for a lady in her position to encourage potential lovers as well as prospective husbands, and she had recently surrendered her virginity to a virile groom from her father’s stables. Romilly had been shocked.

‘Weren’t you worried about getting with child?’ had been her first question after she’d listened in disbelief to Alvina’s graphic description of what had taken place between her and this commoner. It beggared belief and she still wasn’t sure if she’d heard her aright. It seemed so crude, so reminiscent of the barnyard, but this was before her dalliance with Nathan.

‘How can I be calm?’ Romilly raved. ‘I am being sent into exile.’

‘Very dramatic,’ Alvina said, still smiling. ‘You say that Jamie will accompany you, so that’s all right. And what were you doing with Nathan Westbury anyway? And why did you allow yourself to be found out? Tell me about Nathan. Is he well endowed?’

‘Oh, Alvina, he seemed very big, but how can I judge? I’ve not seen a man’s thingy before.’

At this Alvina rocked with mirth. ‘Lack-a-day, listen to it. All of eighteen and you’ve never handled a cock. Shame on you! What about Jamie? Hasn’t he tried to seduce you?’

Romilly’s face was fiery, but she stuck out her chin and answered sharply, ‘Not really. Not like Nathan. I think he wants to, but respects me.’

‘Respect, fiddle-sticks!’ Alvina retorted. ‘Every man wants to find a nest for his prick. I’m sorry, dearest, but these home truths have to be said. You’re far too naïve.’

‘And you’re so confident. I wish I was more like you.’