Misty Dawn & The Raven Ch. 3

Dawn woke after having fallen asleep with Charles at her side. The first sensation she noticed was an ache that permeated her core. As she pulled an arm towards the ache in her body, she felt the soft burning reminder of her being trussed up like a mainsail. Her gray-green eyes first focused upon the red roughing of her wrists in the lantern's flickering glow. Rubbing her wrists, forcing blood back into her slightly tingled fingers she sat up on in the bed and peered out at the cabin through the lace of the bed curtains.

As she stood on unsteady legs, she first realized that she had nothing on. Her cheeks flamed and her arms flung themselves over her breasts in an appeal to modesty. A nervous glance around the cabin revealed that she was alone, that momentarily comforted her. Then her eyes fell upon the pile of rags that had been her clothes. The memory of what had happened to her came flooding back and she sank down on the large bed. "What has become of me?" she asked herself softly. Her mind was grappling with the memories of her rape and her complete capitulation to it. Had she actually enjoyed it? Yes. She actually had wanted it, and more! Dawn burst into tears and flung herself at a satin pillow, burying her face in it. Her fingers welled into fists and she pounded the pillows in her futility.

As her mind raced and her fist flew, one and slipped beneath the thick layer of pillows, she felt something hard and cold. Lifting her face, her fingers drew out a heavy pistol. Her eyes flickered across the weapon. Its weight seemed to grow as she held it in her hand, regarding it. Somewhere in the depths of her mind, the last bastion of her dignity was lobbying her soul for the swift release of death. The cold black gun began to grow heavy and hot as she held it. She found herself holding it with both hands as the subconscious debate raged in the halls of her mind. A slender finger slid like a snake on a branch, coiling around the trigger. The undulating muzzle stared her straight in the face for several moments. Her tears dried up, and suddenly the gun was flung back onto he pillow from which it had come.

"No," Dawn whispered to herself in the dark, "if it is my fate and life to live, be it heaven or hell, I will not give my soul up. Not for Charles, nay, not for any man!" she cursed the pistol and backed off the bed. She stood proudly, her back erect, as she backed off in defiance shaking her crimson locks over her creamy shoulders.

Somewhere in the depths of her mind she had accepted that she had enjoyed if not desired, what had happened to her and she grudgingly desired more. Her life was all she had left to lose and she would not fold with the cards on the table. Besides, whatever happened from this day forward was to be an adventure that her old life would never have allowed. The Dawn of old was destined for a life of service to an old hag; she had no prospects to have known men. Not real men anyway. Her prospects of ever finding anyone above the station of a gardener were no greater than being struck by lightening. At this moment, at least, she had the attentions of a king, sovereign over whatever he wished, and possibly richer than many an honest man. The old Dawn had died, and now a new and wonderful, Misty Dawn, had risen from her own ashes to seek an unknown destiny. She threw her head back in a small quiet laugh of triumph.

Just then the cabin door flew open, Dawn spun round, remembering her nudity, vainly trying to cover herself. "Nay, lass," Charles sneered as he strode in, leaving the door wide behind him, "never cover the treasures which are mine from these eyes." He ordered as he pulled her arms aside. Dawn turned and lowered her head as he bared her by putting her limbs to her sides gently with his powerful hands. Charles smiled at her for a moment, she looked more desirable to his eyes every time he looked at her, and he mused to himself. Charles gently lifted her chin with two fingers as he leaned into her lips with a kiss of deep passion. Dawn at first stood still as his lips fell upon hers. Then as his tongue demanded entry she parted her lips and all but inhaled his tongue. Her arms found themselves, in a scarce heart beat, tight about his neck, her fingers toying with his thick blonde curls. Charles arms slowly wrapped their way around her thin waist, his fingers trailing over the soft skin of her hips to the small of her back as his tongue darted amidst her mouth.

Fazul stepped through the open doorway, his dark eyes widening as he watched Charles lift his jewel off the deck by her small waist, their lips locked as if they had not seen one another in months. He forced the wrinkling from his brow and straightened himself to his full height. Before he could speak, however, Mr. Starkly and old master Robbins pushed through the portal behind him. Starkly smiled a lusty smile and wetted his sun baked lips. The grayed Robbins grinned a near toothless grin and ran a gnarled hand over his scalp cropped white hair as he boisterously blurted in his usual half stupor, "Me cap'n, what a pearl ye plucked wit' dat tart, eh?"

The sound sent a shiver through Dawn's soul, just as a fire had began to kindle deep within her being. Desperately she kicked her legs to find her footing on the deck. Her arms that had been sensuously wrapping 'round Charles neck were now trying to push his bulk away from her. Charles dropped her suddenly Dawn fought her weakened legs for control as she wavered on the deck. Charles spun on his black-heeled boots to face his shipmates, a half smile at his lips. "And Robbins, what of it?" He spat with a half amused, half annoyed tone. Robbins stared past his captain, his ancient brown eyes twinkling with dark lust as they locked, like a steely trap upon the unsteady parting of Dawn's thighs, transfixed. Starkly lowered his gaze somewhat, only peering out of the corner of his eye at the unfurled bounty that dominated the cabin. Fazul tried to salvage the situation as best he could, grabbing both men by the shoulders and with a bow of his head, "Forgive the intrusion, Sultan, we will leave you to peace," the giant of a man said softly as he took half a step in retreat through the door.

"Nonsense!" Charles barked, halting the trio at the doorframe. "You will dine with me tonight, gentlemen," Charles said with a smile. "Misty Dawn, will serve us, if Fazul, you would be so kind as to show her the way to the galley." Fazul fought back a frown and bowed deeply, "As you wish, Sultan." Charles gently took Dawn's wrist in his grasp and led her to the hulking man, whispering quickly in her ear, "No man on this ship would dare steal from me, now show me that pride that burns within you." Dawn was at once terrified and filled with rage, but she was in shock once again, as she took the large moor's open hand and followed him out the door and onto the deck passing under the flaming eyes of Robbins and Starkly. Robbins raised a withered hand as her creamy ass passed him, then feeling Charles eyes searing the flesh at the back of his neck coiled them into a fist and turned away from her filling his stubble surrounded lips with the neck of a rum bottle as Starkly slowly closed the door.

* * * * *

Dawn followed the hulking moor across the deck. The night wind was cool beneath the stars and bit her nipples to hardness. She had no sooner taken three steps than hooting whistles broke out from all sides. In her heart a fire ignited and she threw her shoulders straight. She kept her head low to avoid seeing the leering eyes of Charles' cutthroats, but she walked with all the dignity of a queen, erect and proud, her small hands clenching and unclenching into fists. Strangely, she felt so alive in her exposure, what should have been shame and humiliation was forged under the stars into pride in her beauty. By the time she reached the steps leading beneath the decks, she was feeling like a goddess. Dawn felt the flame within her soul burning out of control, the cool sea breeze lapping at her most feminine flesh, stirring it into a frenzy that she could not, no would not control. She forced herself to not think about what was happening to her and to just accept it, "Well," she whispered to herself as she placed her first dainty foot on the top stair, "if I am to be damned for my lustful pride, I be damned."

Fazul had to stoop to avoid hitting his tattooed head upon the timbers as he led her to a small doorway. She could feel the heat of fires before his massive hand pulled back the door. The room was full of light from the stove fires, and the heat washed over her chilled flesh like a wave on a beach. Dawn lifted her eyes and the sight before her stunned her gray-green eyes. Bent over a glowing stove was a tall thin man with a huge circle of gold in one ear lobe. His skin was as dark as fine rum. He was stripped to the waist and was stirring a large kettle of what smelt like beef stew. He wore only an apron, splattered with grease and the stains of the kitchen. The apron was tented in front of him in a peculiar way, and there was a garbled gasping sound from its depths.

The man turned upon hearing the door open and seeing the look of curiosity on Dawn's face, he pulled the apron aside. Beneath the apron was Lady Catherine, stripped nude with tears streaming down her cheeks. She was on her knees with her ankles bound behind her, her bony ass dangerously close to the glowing belly of the stove and reddening from its heat. Her wrists were bound before her and her hands were furiously working a small brush over the floor. However, the most intriguing aspect of her pitiful state was the long dark penis that was sticking half way out of her lips. "If she 'ould suck bett'r she 'ouldn't need to swab up so much, eh?" The black cook grinned as he recovered her with his apron.

Dawn, almost smiled at him, Lady Catherine, sucking the penis of an African buccaneer while scrubbing the decks at his feet was overwhelmingly amusing to Dawn. Fazul asked the man about the Captain's supper, ignoring the spectacle. Dawn only continued to watch the pumping of the apron. Her eyes drifted over the curve of the black man's ass in her curiosity. Fazul broke her musings with his soft words, "Sultan's Girl," he began, "here is the meal and the finery for the Sultan. Please be careful while you are carrying it, he does get angry if things are spilt or spoiled before they reach his lips." His words puzzled Dawn for a moment as she was distracted, but upon seeing the large silver tray laden with filled plates of solid gold and crystal goblets off the end of Fazul's finger her mouth dropped.

Fazul frowned, "Sultan's Girl, the Sultan was very specific, you are to serve the meal. Your master does not take failure in duty well." The warning sunk in, Dawn glanced once more at the bobbing apron and nodded. Gingerly she hoisted the large tray and turned to the door. Fazul held it open to her and smiled. As she was stepping out, she felt a hand on her rear. The goblets teetered briefly, then she heard Fazul bellow in his melodious tongue of his birth just before she heard his massive fist land upon an unsuspecting jaw. There were a few heated words and the door shut behind her. Somehow, that warmed her a bit and she placed her foot upon the first steep, roughhewn stair.

By the time she reached the deck and the new wave of howling cutthroats, her arms burned with the strain of the tray and its balance. The fresh calls somehow strengthened her and she took a bold stride. Fazul was following her at a distance. He marveled at how proud her stride was. It was as if the audience gave her perfection. The more their words and whistles boomed the more sure her steps and footing. These Irish are a proud people, Fazul smiled inwardly; she would not allow anyone to see her fail. She seemed unsure of herself, but would not show defeat to anyone. No wonder the Sultan desired her so.

Fazul raced to reach the door before she did and politely knocked. He smiled at her, like a father would a small child who had taken its first steps while they waited for the laughter from the cabin to die down and the invitation to enter. Charles' voice gave it, "Enter, Fazul," he ordered with a laugh. Fazul opened the door slowly and motioned Dawn to enter. She nodded quietly and stepped slowly into the cabin. The three men were seated around Charles' ornate desk, which would not have looked out of place in a Spanish governor's office. Dawn quietly stepped to the desk and squeezed between Starkly and Robbins' shoulders to set the tray down.

Charles inspected the tray with a serious eye for a long moment in heavy silence, a forefinger crossing his lips as he thought. "Well, pet," he began coolly, "not bad for a first attempt. But it would appear that you have spilt a few drops of master Robbins' wine." Turning to look deep into her eyes, he continued, "Clean it up." Dawn's face fell and flushed she glanced around quickly, searching for a rag somewhere, but could see none, then she felt Charles' fingers locking upon her chin and pulling her eyes to his, "Lick it up!" He snarled coldly.

Dawn blinked, her lips half pursed then she straightened her back and leaned far over the desk. Her breasts swinging low, brushing some rolled charts with her wind swept nipples. Lifting herself onto her toes, to further her reach, her ass rising wonderfully behind her as she held her arms tight to her sides, she parted her lips and lapped the silver tray with a slow moving tongue. The wine and the silver sparked upon her tongue. She felt the burning eyes of the sailors, charting every inch of her flesh. Dawn could not believe the intensity of the moment, every fiber of her being was inflamed, and she feared she would melt. Her tongue began to dart quicker, flicking circles around the crystal stem of the goblet. It was as if she had never tasted wine, it was as if she was dying of thirst, and it was so much more she could not begin to comprehend.

Charles swept Starkly and Robbins' face with his piercing eyes as they devoured her display and cocked a half smile to himself. "Thank you, my pet," he breathed heavily finally and sat back into his chair. He waved to Fazul who took his own seat in the last remaining chair. Dawn stood by dumbfounded suddenly noticing the ache of starvation in her stomach as each of the men pulled a plate form the ornate tray. Her heart sank, there were but four. "Come, m'pet," Charles cooed, "sit beside me." he motioned to the floor. She nodded sullenly and sat on her legs by his chair.

Charles fingers found their way slowly to her hair, which they stroked lovingly. After pushing a few pieces of pork into his mouth, he stopped and looked down at her then offered her a piece of meat with two fingers. Dawn hesitated but a heart beat, then she literally sucked the morsel from his fingertips. Her tongue lapping at his fingers as her lips closed around them.

Therefore, it went on. She would wait patiently while Charles and the men ate slowly and talked of things nautical and criminal, much that she did not understand, and some that she wished she had not heard. Charles would pause and offer her a bite of potato, a cooked carrot, a sip of wine. It was maddening. When the men were finished they all leaned back in their chairs and poured large flagons of rum. Fazul belched his approval, to which Charles smiled. The conversation began again. Dawn looked over the plates of food and her mouth watered at the remnants of food that still hid gold on the tray.

Charles noticed Dawn looking over the food. He smiled broadly as he reclined further and asked, "Pet, are you still hungry?" Dawn flushed and turned to him hesitantly, "Y-yes, Captain Charles, I am still hungry." Charles' fingers locked behind his head and he pushed his chair back further still, "Well that will not do child. Show me how hungry you are." Dawn was dumbfounded. Panic began to rise in her throat when her eyes landed upon the growing bulge in his breeches. Her eyes narrowed and she scrambled between his legs. Her fingers fought a desperate struggle with the large buckle of his belt. Releasing that Dawn tugged and tugged his breeches down. Robbins began banging his flagon on the desk and slurring lewd comments behind her, but she did not care.

Finally pulling his breeches down his thighs, Charles' cutlass sprang high before her eyes. Dawn wetted her lips with her tongue, as she looked at it in the soft glow of the lamplight. Then like a lioness lunging at her prey she covered it with her mouth and tried to force it down her throat. Her tongue began to trace long the flooded veins of his lust. Her teeth grazed over his skin. She bobbed her head, burying herself into his dark nether hair, filling her nostrils with his heady masculine scent.

The men watched with glee as her enthusiastic cheeks filled and collapsed surrounding his shaft. Charles began to lift his hips to fill her mouth more fully. Starkey's eyes were wide and staring as he stood from his chair for a better perspective of the spectacle. Robbins was making strange gasping noises and banging his flagon on the desk in time with her bobs with one hand while the other had slipped beneath his own belt. Fazul hid a frown in his flagon and lowered his eyes.

Dawn rolled her tongue around Charles' engorged head, feeling every contour of his heated flesh. Her fingers found their way to his purse and she began to massage it softly as her lips held their tight grip n his shaft. Her fingers matched the rhythm of her head as she lowered and rose herself. Pulling his rigid cock deep to her throat then sliding it to where only the head was snared in her mouth.

Charles savored Dawns mouth and held himself back to enjoy the moment. The combination of her hand and mouth was causing his seed to press and boil. He began to pump her lips in earnest and placed his hands on her head. His fingers tightened upon her red curls. Dawn felt his cock leap in her mouth as his fingers held her tight to his groin. She intensified her efforts, her tongue felt the first heat drops leak form his tiny slit. The flavor was salty like the sea air that had blown him into her life. She plunged herself hard upon his cock, sucking desperately, pleadingly.

Her ears were ringing with a mixture of noises that she could not comprehend. There was Charles gasping and growling in approval. The hideous Robbins was gasping and wheezing, though his flagon stopped its pounding. There was the rush of blood in her ears that coursed her veins like flames of the fire that burned in her depths. There was the sound of heavy breaths near to her right as Starkly watched and panted with lust. All this she ignored and pressed herself on, as if she was devouring the last morsel of food on the entire earth.

Charles thrust deep into her mouth and held her head tight beneath his powerful fingers. Dawn felt her throat fill with the hot eruption of his lust, firing like cannon shot into her mouth and throat, bathing her mouth with his taste. She coughed around his cock and moaned as her body trembled itself from deep within, her hurried tongue shot round gathering all his nectar from his flesh.

Charles gasped and slowly pulled his hungry pets lips from his emptied shaft. "Very good," he beamed, "very good my pet." Pulling her onto his lap, his fingers sliding across her skin, to dip into her heated down, sliding over her heated lips, he pulled his finger up and his tongue savored her juices, "Aye, lass, it would seem you were hungry indeed." He teased. With a gesture of his hand, "Please eat your fill my sweet," Charles smiled softly to Dawn who was still trembling from his touch and the fires that shook her frame from within. As she turned to the table her tongue circled her lips cleaning up the last drops of his escaped release before she picked up Charles fork and stabbed a piece of pork.