Pleasure Island [The Chronicles of Lidir] (13 page)

He watched the blonde girl's face - the sudden awareness in it that he waited. She glanced at him and she melted him with that glance. The dense dark eyebrows furrowed to total blackness, then she calmly took control. The beautiful strands of sun-snaked hair were lifted from her cheek and placed behind her ear. She dipped her arm into the bucket. Her full lips parted as she drew breath quickly and the fine hairs on her upper arm bristled with the cold. She dried the cockstem on a towel and placed it, cradled in the towel, beside the girl's hips. She lay alongside her and stared into the soft eyes, the pupils of which were like pools of perfect night. She stroked the belly, with the cold hand, once. It shivered. Working by touch while she watched the eyes, she held the fleshpot open with her warm hand, held the hood back, kept it back and inserted the freezing iron stem very quickly - bare iron to warm bare inner flesh - and still, she had to force it against the strength of the contraction.

Slipping up, the iron formed a freezing line of pressure through the inner wall and against the captain's stem as it swept up the underside to bed beneath the plum. She took his bag in her fingers and quickly moulded it to the freezing iron ballocks and his pleasure came in long thick spurts which were reluctant to desist. She could feel it pumping past her fingertips pressing underneath him. But her other hand still held the girl's flesh back through the tight contractions, keeping the nubbin isolated and exposed, preventing her deliverance, yet nevertheless delivering pleasure of a kind as the limpid eyes before her widened and the soft lips moved as if to speak, to beg - to try to kiss the bristling downy forearm that had administered such bittersweet pangs of pleasure and distress. The blonde girl pressed her own lips against those pleading lips very gently, very lightly. But she kept a small circle of free space around that nubbin until any danger of release was long past, until the captain's cock had squeezed out weakly and he had turned and was asleep. Then she washed the Princess between the cheeks, turned her on her front with the cock still inside her and the iron balls between her thighs, weighing her to the bed, and she lay beside her, stroking her through the night.

[6]

The Key

The sun was streaming through a gap in the curtains, but it was the noise of the cabin door banging that had woken Anya. She was still chained. There was no captain, but the girl was beside her on the pillow, staring into her eyes. The twisted blonde tresses curled across and touched her cheek. The girl smiled. Anya felt very tired. When the girl climbed over her and began to stroke her back, Anya fell asleep again. The second time she awoke, she was still chained between the wrists but no longer fastened to the bed. The iron stem had been removed. The girl was gone, but now there was something round Anya's neck. She looked down and saw it was a necklace of flat plaited twine. Anya curled up with her arms about her breasts and with her chin on her wrists. She was thinking of the girl. Where had she gone, or been taken? And why was Anya left alone? Suddenly, seeing the shaft of sunlight again, she remembered. She jumped up quickly, drew the curtains aside and squinted against the bright light as she scanned the horizon, looking for the ship.

'What are you doing up there?'

Anya gasped. She turned to see Travix in front of the bed. Beside her was a leather-shirted guard, holding a pair of shackles. The door stood ajar. But Travix didn't wait for a reply.

'Get up, Princess. There's work to do.' She walked over to the table, evidently looking for something. The guard took Anya by the arm, pulled her stockings off, lifted her down and fitted the shackles to her ankles. Travix returned with the pouch, which had lain where the captain had left it on the back of the chair. 'Put your hands on the bed.' Travix opened Anya's legs and touched between them, squeezing and flicking the lips to make them swell. Then she fitted the pouch quickly, expertly, very tightly, and the wanting that overnight had ebbed away came flooding back again.

Anya was taken up on deck, into the sunshine. A few sailors worked nearby, sewing a sail. Others were splicing a rope. A few more were aloft in the rigging. Today, they seemed to take little notice of a Princess, but last night, on the crewdeck, it had been very different. She bit her lip and looked out to sea.

A large empty bucket on a long rope was brought. In it was a scrubbing brush. 'Get on with it,' said Travix, 'scrub the deck.' Then, 'Wait!' she shouted when Anya stooped to pick up the bucket. 'What's that?' Her hand went to the plaited twine round Anya's neck. Travix looked at it. Then her jaw set and with a sudden pull she tried to wrench the necklace free. Anya was dragged to the deck, for the twine was strong and well fastened. Travix cut it with her knife and cast it over the rail to the sea. Then she and the guard walked away, leaving Anya on her knees. And had she stayed thus, the bucket would surely have filled with her tears. But she struggled back to her feet, tried to block those tears and took the brush out, walked to the rail, wrapped the rope around her wrist and flung the bucket over the side. It hit the water but would not sink until the current had dragged it back. Then it was so heavy that she could hardly lift it. A third of the way up the side of the ship, she could no longer hold it and the bucket dropped back in. But at the third attempt, she managed to lift it over the side and staggered across the deck.

She started in the corner by a hatch. She didn't mind the work, but the sun was hot and the water quickly soaked into the wood. The bucket was soon used. She went back to get another and then she saw, far away, just at the horizon, three double flecks of white - the sails. Her heart leapt. She just stood there looking out, hoping against reason that she would be seen, that he would know that she was alive. She didn't hear them approach; they must have been watching her and waiting for an excuse.

'Idling ...' Quickly, Anya dropped the bucket over the side, but it was too late. Her upper lip was already trembling at seeing this woman so soon after her callousness over the necklace. Travix looked cruel. She said, 'Give her something to remind her what she is about.' The man in the leather shirt took the rope from Anya, wound it round the rail, then took her by her wrist chain and held it up. He pulled the strap from his belt. 'No ...' said Anya, trying to back away. Travix stepped forward and whispered to the man. Anya's hands were dragged back above her and forced behind her head. Her legs were parted as far as the short chain would permit. She began to plead. Her breath was wasted. A shiver touched her belly as he took her pouch in the fingers of one hand and held it. Then he smacked her with her legs apart, holding that leather pouch, making her keep still while the strap smacked across the backs of her legs - only in that place, four smacks below the buttocks, across her upper thighs, while her small tight pouch was held and Travix looked on, her thin lips smiling, her fingers gently pulling at the earlobe with the ring. Then he and Travix walked away, leaving Anya with her hands upon her neck still, the backs of her legs scalded with the smacks and her sex lips throbbing, swelling tight inside the pouch. And she was frightened, for that kind of smacking, though not across her bottom, reminded her of things that had been done to her in the forest. At those memories, her throat tightened until she could hardly breathe.

Later that day, as Anya was kneeling on the deck, still scrubbing, Travix came again and found some excuse to scold her, shouting at her till Anya felt a lump in her throat, for she knew well what was coming. And this time, though it was still the man who smacked Anya, it was Travix who held the hard round pouch, with Anya's legs parted, angled outwards and bent at the knees, her hands upon her head and her elbows out, so her breasts were pushed forwards, while the scalding smacks turned the tender skin bright red at the backs of Anya's thighs and Travix's face dissolved into a blur with two hard eyes and a grotesquely twisted mouth above a swath of blue. At that point, the smacking was stopped, the face reappeared and a small white kerchief took the tears. 'Keep your legs apart,' whispered Travix and her fingertips stripped down the moistened pouch firmly, as if it were a thick rubbery teat which she was milking. 'What is the feeling? Tell me.' The action was repeated six times. Each time, Travix whispered, 'Tell me ...' But Anya could not answer, though the feelings were very clear. The feeling between Anya's legs was pleasure, very strong and near, the feeling at the backs of her legs was burning and, at the sixth slide of the fingers, which slipped like soap now, the feeling in her throat was inability to breathe. And she knew that if Travix herself were ever to smack her, she would die. Her heart would burst right through her breast. Did Travix know it too?

That evening, Anya was returned to the small cell down below. Her knees were raw and she was very tired. Despite her chains, she turned on her back and fell asleep.

Suddenly, her eyes snapped open. She was on her side again, with her head pressed to the wall. She had heard a sound, a door being opened, but it wasn't her door. Light streamed through the wall beside the bed: there was a hole in the woodwork, where somebody had picked at it and broken it away. It was a small hole, not large enough to get a hand through, but certainly large enough to see through. Anya edged across as far as her chains would permit.

In the room was the girl with blonde hair and the plaited twine about her waist. Why had she been sent down here? She was sitting up on the bed and rubbing her eyes. One of the men in leather helped her, for she moved as if in a dream as the man now led her to the middle of the small room, to where the two long chains hung, as in Anya's room. The chains were not designed to take her wrists, for they hung to the level of her waist. The large looped leather straps attached to their ends formed two rings. As he took hold of her behind her thighs and began to lift her, she tried to shy away, kicking out her feet. She did not wish to step into this thing. But he made her. He threatened her and she acquiesced. Her sylphlike body was lifted and her slim ankles were threaded easily through the loops, which slipped up to her knees.

'No. She must face the other way.'

Anya gasped. The voice was Travix's. She must be in the room. Anya tried to peer to the side but still she could not see her. The man grunted, pulled the girl's legs out from the loops again, lifted her round and reinserted them with her facing now away from Anya. The girl tried to keep her legs horizontal but the man pushed her forwards, lifted her and made her point her feet down. The leather loops - or collars, each about two inches wide - slipped up the backs of her legs and bedded at the tops of her thighs, against the base of her buttocks. The girl's toes, though stretching downwards, were still a good six inches above the floor. Her body and her legs shook as she tried to balance. Her hands reached up to grasp the chains, but much as she tried, she could not keep steady. The man retreated.

Travix appeared and Anya's heart began to thump. She still wore the velvet boots and the blue suit with the ruffled sleeves. Her coarse blonde hair was still tied back with a black ribbon. It seemed so stark a contrast to the free and silken snakelike tresses of the girl. Travix stood calmly now, beyond the girl and facing her, intent only on her. Slowly she unfastened the plaited twine, which fell away from the belly. Travix then examined this belt. 'You have acquired a new friend, I hear, kitling,' she said, rubbing the girl's belly with the flat of her palm. Anya moved her head back from the spy-hole; she felt a sudden chill of fear. The girl trembled but did not answer Travix. Her buttocks moved uncomfortably in the leather slings, which sank gradually deeper into the creases of her thighs. 'Ah - my kitling is impatient,' Travix said, then whispered something to the girl. The thighs opened and the toes now pointed out and down. Travix's right hand moved down but her left hand moved up to lift the blonde strands out of the way and lie against the girl's neck, against the thick and thumping vein. 'Open, my precious,' she said. 'Wider - for Travix. There ...' Travix's fingers had surely eased the small soft lips aside and slipped inside that body, for now the hips moved in the slings, the legs arched and the toes formed perfect points. And between the open thighs, Anya could see the wrist writhing gently as the buried fingers sought submission. 'Move ... move against my hand.' The girl moaned. Her buttocks began to tighten and relax. The fingers lay against the girl's throat, tasting her heartbeat. The hips careened, the arms strained and the legs, still arched, began to move together. 'No, do not close. Keep open. There ... Let it press against my thumb.' The girl's breath snagged. Travix emitted a soft deep grunt and Anya held her breath. 'Kitling ...' Travix whispered softly. The girl's head moved back. The hand still lay against her neck and she was panting, moaning. Travix, her wrist scarcely moving now, watched in fascination. The head lolled forwards and down.

She looked over the girl's bowed head and nodded to the man in the leather shirt. He held something which seemed a cross between a switch and a strap. It had a short handle but a thin and supple stem of tightly twisted cord which fanned out at the tip to a thick leaf of leather. Anya felt a wave of icy prickles across her belly and up the front of her body, turning her nipples hard. Between her legs, where the pouch gripped - where Travix had held her wet-sheathed sex and milked her like a cow - she felt a pulse which should have shamed her.

'Shh ...' whispered Travix again. The girl had become very tense. Travix did not move. She stood before the girl, looking calmly into her face, with one hand still at her neck, the other hidden in her belly. The scar was visible as a fine deep purple line on Travix's face. Against the cool paleness of Travix's cheeks, the colour of this scar seemed to have deepened. When the hips began to twist, slowly at first and then more definitely, the hand at the girl's throat moved down to play with her breasts then to join the hand that bedded in her belly. The two hands worked in unison. The girl began to moan and to push against them. Travix's wrist movements slowed. The girl's head arched back again and Travix nodded to the man. 'Quickly, she is near ...' He spread the bottom cheeks and held them. The girl gasped. Her legs angled diagonally down; her feet pointed as straight as if drawn out and pinned to the floor by invisible twine. 'Keep her open,' Travix told him. 'Smack her in the crease.' He used the leaf of leather, whipped upwards quickly. The first smack made her whimper. 'Shh, kitling, shhhh ...' murmured Travix. They waited until the trembles had subdued. Then he smacked again, downwards, directly in the centre of the crease. 'So slippery. Let me hold it ...' The girl was sobbing. 'There ...' Travix's wrist began to move and the sobbing turned to grunts. 'Now, keep very still. Again ...' The smack came, upwards. The girl bucked. 'Shh ...' Three fingers slipped through the girl's legs from the front to smear a shiny wet slick within the groove. Then Travix took her upper body, bent it forward and supported it with one hand under her arms and the other still between her legs, yet not moving. 'Now smack it wet,' she said. 'Keep smacking. No - keep it open. Smack it ...' The pad of leather cracked down upon the small wet mouth four times, then the girl's body turned rigid. She began to moan continuously.