FROM THE DEPTHS
by
SHIRA ANTHONY, WRITING AS SARAH ALEXANDER
SMASHWORDS EDITION
* * * * *
PUBLISHED BY:
Shira Anthony on Smashwords
From the Depths
Copyright © 2010 by Shira Anthony
Smashwords Edition License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.
Acknowledgements
Special thanks to SeveRemus for her outstanding work editing this novella. Her pen is as sharp as her wit, and for that, I am truly thankful!
Chapter One: Awakening
She
heard the cannon fire from below decks as the pirate ship had
approached. The cabin boy who waited with her cowered in terror as
the men descended the steps to the captain's quarters and broke down
the door. Defiantly, she held a pistol at the ready, pointing it at
one of the men– a weathered-looking man with several teeth missing
and a leering grin that made her physically ill.
"Nice
one 'ere," laughed one of his comrades as her shot went wide,
and another man wrestled the gun from her hand. "Bring the boy,
too. Been needin’ some extra 'elp aboard."
She
struggled against the man who had taken the gun, biting him hard on
the hand as he sought to stifle her screams. He slapped her across
the face, and she spat at him. One of the other men laughed and
stuffed something that looked like a dirty cloth in her mouth,
causing her to retch. She reached up to pull it out, but her hands
were yanked hard behind her and bound with rope. Another bit of cloth
now covered her mouth, tied behind her head. Out of the corner of her
eye, she could see that the cabin boy had received much the same
treatment. The largest of the five men lifted the young boy up and
tossed him over a shoulder.
She felt the butt of a gun in her
back as they led her up the stairs to the main deck. The sight there
was hardly reassuring; every able-bodied man aboard the H.M.S.
Victory lay dead. The sight of their bodies lying bloodied on
the deck made her shiver in fear. She felt her eyes fill with
tears – these men, any of them, could have been her own brother or
father. They had shown her nothing but kindness, transporting
her back from the Americas at her father's request. But there
was little time for grief, as she found herself flung over the
shoulder of one of the pirates and carried aboard a launch tied to
the side of the vessel.
***********
She
was taken aboard the pirates' ship, a surprisingly well-kept vessel
which she imagined had been won in some battle from an English
shipping company, given its build. Her arms still bound behind her,
her mouth still gagged, she was escorted by several of the men below
decks to the captain's quarters, fighting every step of the way. It
would do her little good, she knew, but she had resolved to make her
captors' lives as difficult as possible.
The large cabin was
well-appointed with heavy, carved furniture reminiscent of that in
her father's London home. A wooden desk was placed by the aft windows
and behind it sat a large man with a rough beard, dressed in fine
burgundy velvet, much like the heavy green velvet she wore. He eyed
her with only slight interest. Several feet to the left of the
captain of the pirate vessel stood a young man of about nineteen or
twenty, perhaps only a year older than she. His hair was deep black,
his eyes a brilliant blue, and his expression inscrutable. A slave,
she guessed, judging by his bare chest and the cloth wrapped around
his waist that dipped almost to his knees. She had heard about
slaves, boys stolen from the New World to serve on pirate vessels,
often from wealthy families. Around his neck was a black leather
collar. He was quite handsome, with perfect skin and a well-chiseled
face.
"Welcome aboard," the Captain said after a
moment. "Ye 'ave had the good fortune to've come upon the finest
pirate vessel in these parts. I am Captain of the Royal Fortune, John
Taylor. My men tell me ye are Elizabeth Prince of London. Yer father
is a captain in the Royal Navy."
The name she had used aboard the Victory was not her own; she had chosen to keep her identity secret to avoid any special treatment by the men of the Victory. That her father was not a mere captain but an admiral in the Royal Navy would have made it more difficult for her to have freedom aboard the Navy ship. "Elizabeth" she would be for now, at least. "Sarah" would wait.
Taylor’s
weathered face reflected years spent at sea. His brown eyes were
hard, his skin marked by the sun. Across his forehead was an old
scar, visible against a sea of wrinkles. His dark hair was graying
at the temples and he wore a ragged beard which was broken up here
and there by small scars where his facial hair no longer grew. Sarah
guessed he was older than her own father by at least a decade, but
she knew the sea was not always kind, and the captain could be far
younger.
Taylor nodded to the men standing behind her and they
exited the room, leaving behind two of their comrades, who held her
arms and kept her standing in one place. The young man beside the
desk had not moved, although she'd caught his eye briefly. He
remained impassive.
"Joshua,"
said Taylor brusquely. "Let's see what we have here."
The
young man walked from the desk over to her, avoiding her eyes, and
with deft fingers he proceeded to unlace her heavy velvet overdress.
She struggled to pull away, but the two crewmen held her immovable.
Taylor nodded to Joshua, and without hesitation, he pulled down the
front of her underdress to reveal a white corset and large, round
breasts. Taylor smiled slightly, and Sarah felt her stomach
heave.
"Unbind her arms, but hold her still," Taylor
ordered. One of her guards held her hands tightly behind her back as
the other untied the ropes that bound her. She could hear his thick
breath by her ear, and heard him lick his lips. She struggled again,
but to no avail. Joshua pulled her dresses off, and they fell
to the floor in a heap.
"Touch her," Taylor told the
young slave.
Joshua put his right hand gently to her breast
and, in spite of herself, she felt her heart beat faster. This boy –
no, this man
– was quite beautiful. His hand felt like the softest silk against
her skin as he took her nipple between his graceful fingers.
She at once tried to recoil from him, even as she found herself
respond to his touch.
"What
are you thinking, Sarah?"
she chastised herself angrily. "Have
you no shame?"
She
had almost forgotten to breathe, and she had completely forgotten
that they were not alone in the cabin when Taylor ordered the young
man with the turquoise eyes to suck her breast. Her eyes grew wide
and she tried to fight it, but his lips made her cry out, the sound
barely muffled by the gag. He continued to suck, brushing his tongue
against the puckered flesh until it was hard and demanding, then
proceeded to do the same with the other. She felt her face flush and
she closed her eyes, momentarily forgetting everything but the
enticing, arousing touch. She felt the shameful heat between her
legs; the same feeling she had first experienced as a child, having
stolen her brother's copy of a French men's magazine.
Another
command, and Joshua pushed her onto a small table so that she leaned
back, her breasts heaving with her breath, her legs dangling. She had
stopped struggling momentarily, so taken was she with his touch and
his presence. She didn't notice the soft hands that removed her
shoes, nor those which pulled her bloomers down, leaving her naked
but for the corset about her waist. She could smell the sweetness of
the boy as he reached behind her and freed her long, red hair, which
fell about her shoulders and wildly over her breast. He smelled like
citrus and the ocean, and she inhaled deeply, even as she struggled
to sit back up again.
"Please,"
she thought, closing her eyes. She could think of nothing but him,
his haunting eyes, the feel of his hands, the sweetness of his breath
as he nipped at her breast. If she was to be a captive, a slave
herself, she could think of no better way to suffer than this. And,
as his hand slipped gently between her legs, she whimpered at the
pleasure of his touch – reaching, rubbing, and probing her body.
His fingers slid easily into the warmth of her, and she thought she
heard him sigh in her ear. In and out his fingers moved, and she felt
dizzy, hungry, overcome.
She was vaguely aware of Taylor's
voice once more and she opened her eyes to find that Joshua was now
completely naked. From the angle at which she was being held, she
could see only the gentle curve of his lower back and the smooth skin
over the hard muscle of his buttocks. Softly, he ran his fingers
through her long hair, pausing ever so slightly at the nape of her
neck. She could feel his breath once more at her ear, and she longed
for him to remove her gag so she could taste the unknown sweetness of
his lips. And then the words, in barely a whisper, for her ears only:
"I am sorry."
She looked at him in surprise, then
understood, as he cupped one hand on her buttocks and she felt his
hardness push into her. She felt a brief pain and shuddered
involuntarily as the length of him entered her. She struggled to
breathe, then relaxed into the rhythm of his body moving in and out
of hers. She strained to bring her body against his.
"Take
off the gag," Taylor said. "I want to hear her."
She
felt rough hands remove the gag and calloused fingers pull the fabric
from her mouth. For a moment, she choked and Joshua stopped moving,
until she whispered, "Please," the word sounding far more
like a prayer than the protest it was meant to be. He looked at
her in surprise, his bright blue eyes meeting hers for the first time
since she had walked into the room, and she saw hunger there, as
well. She realized that her hands were now free, and she
instinctively reached for him, pulling him close, so that she could
no longer tell where his body ended and hers began. He was panting
now, tiny beads of sweat on his brow.
"Ahhh," he
moaned, jerking towards her in one final rush of movement. She
moaned, writhing beneath him until she thought she might lose
consciousness. She found herself wanting more, hungrily clasping him,
her hair wildly splayed across her face and his, and her nails
digging into his flesh. For a moment, their eyes met once more.
Reality intervened in the form of a gruff voice, and she
found herself pried away from Joshua. She felt something warm and wet
between her legs. Taylor sat, looking quite pleased with
himself. "That's enough, Joshua," he said simply, motioning
for the dark-haired slave to return to his side. Joshua picked his
rags off of the floor and returned to his place at the pirate's side,
his face a practiced blank slate once more.
"Bring her to
me," said Taylor.
Sarah felt two strong hands on hers,
pulling her from the table. Taylor backed up a bit in his chair,
allowing them to place her in front of him on the desk. She
struggled, repulsed by the old captain. She could smell his
foul breath and hear him wheeze when he inhaled.
"Hold
her down," Taylor ordered, and her hands were caught in
vice-like grips. Taylor stood up and studied her for a moment. Then,
quite roughly, he ran his fingers between her legs and looked at
them. They were slightly bloody.
"A virgin," he
laughed. "If I'd known, I mightn't have let ye have the first of
'er, Joshua." Sarah thought she saw a flicker of anger in
Joshua' eyes, but then it was gone, and she wondered if she had
imagined it. Then, without hesitation, Taylor shoved his rough
fingers inside of her, and she cried out in pain.
"Pain
and suffering arouse him,"
she thought, gritting her teeth and holding back her tears.
"Not
as soft as 'is
fingers, are they?" he laughed, grabbing one of her breasts and
twisting the nipple painfully. She winced and looked away from him,
knowing that she could not escape, knowing what was to come.
Taylor
pushed her back on the desk, then reached for his belt and dropped
the top of his pants so that he stood, his erection trained like a
weapon upon her. "No," she begged. "Please. I beg
you…" But her words were cut short as he jabbed his width into
her violently and, pulling on the tops of her thighs, began to move
quickly within her. Tears of pain and humiliation began to fall from
her eyes, and she forced herself to look away from the young man with
whom she had just experienced such pleasure.
Taylor continued
to pump, in and out, as she struggled against the hands that still
held her. The damp skin on her back caught on the surface of
the desk, and she felt it burn as her body was rubbed raw against the
wood. She cried out in pain, begging him to stop once again, but he
continued to thrust, grunting and grabbing her breasts, pulling her
nipples to and fro until she thought they might bleed. And still he
moved, thrusting bestially, until his breathing was rough and she
knew that he was nearing the end. Finally, with something between a
cry and a growl, she felt his body stiffen, and felt warm liquid fill
her and run down to the desktop.
He pulled out from her,
leaving her to lie limply on the wood, sobbing, too demoralized to
notice that her hands were now free. He wiped himself on a
handkerchief which he handed to Joshua, then said, "Take 'er
below. Tend to 'er. I'll call for 'er again when I 'ave need."
Joshua, looking quite pale, nodded and walked over to the table. He
picked her up gently in his arms and carried her out. One of the
sailors leered hungrily at her and she buried her head against
Joshua's bare chest, still sobbing.
**********
Minutes
later, he sat her down upon a simple straw mattress in the ship's
hold, which had been modified to contain a locked cell. She
watched him, too tired and overcome to speak. His manner was
gentle and kind.
"Shhh," he said softly, taking a
threadbare blanket and draping it over her shoulders. "Let
me wash you so you can sleep."
He poured some water into
a small bowl and, taking a rag off of a small, wooden crate, began to
gently wipe her body, pausing briefly to dab at the scrapes on her
back. He washed her arms, her legs, her breasts and, finally, the
place between her legs that now felt raw and sore. She groaned at the
pain there, and wondered if she would ever be able to walk
again.
Finally, he helped her lie down on the mattress, taking
several more rags and creating a makeshift pillow for her head. She
whimpered slightly and reached for his hand. "You must rest,"
he said, softly. He sat down next to the mattress, his back against
the hull of the boat. "Don't worry. I will stay here
with you. I promise you will be safe here with me tonight."
Chapter Two: The Price to be Paid
Sarah
slept fitfully that night, dreaming of Taylor's rough hands on her
skin, the foul smell of him, and the way he seemed to enjoy her pain.
As she tossed and turned, she heard male voices in her
near-delirium.
"He
wants 'er again."
"She is weak and exhausted. She
can't take it right now."
"The Capt'in'll be
angry."
"Tell him he can take me
instead."
Laughter,
then, "Ye'll
get the cat for this, ye know!"
This
was followed by the sound of a metal door closing and footsteps.
Later, she thought she heard cries of pain.
**************
She
awoke as light began to stream into the hold from above. Joshua was
sitting, his back against the hull, watching her. There were dark
circles under his eyes as if he hadn't slept the night before, but he
smiled at her nonetheless.
"They brought some of your
clothes," he said, lifting up a simple green cotton dress for
her to see. "Seems they took your entire trunk from the other
ship."
Sarah, who had slept in nothing but the dirty
corset, looked at the dress and underpinnings with a sigh of
relief.
"May I help you?" Joshua asked, as she stood
up.
"Thank you," she replied. Any hesitation or
sense of discomfort on her part that he might see her naked was
fleeting. After what they had shared the day before, Sarah knew that
there was little room for modesty between them.
He gently
helped her remove the corset, unlacing the back with a practiced
skill that made her wonder how many other women there had been aboard
the Royal Fortune. She stepped into the soft cotton bloomers, and he
carefully pulled the clean corset around her. His hands were deft,
but there was nothing overtly sexual in his touch. If anything, it
was chaste and simple, much like the chamber maids who had attended
her in England under her father's roof. He gently lifted her
hair to fasten the last button on the dress, then asked, "May I
brush your hair?"
"Yes, please," she said
softly, as he motioned her to sit down on the mattress. He picked up
the brush that had been delivered along with the clothing and began
to gently work through the tangles of her long, red tresses. His
movements were firm but careful, and she soon found herself relaxing
and thinking about him. When she closed her eyes, her mind
drifted unbidden to the memory of his lips on her breasts, the
smoothness of his skin, the feeling of utter release when their
bodies had joined.
"Joshua," she began after a few
minutes of silence, "how did you come to be aboard?"
For
a moment, he said nothing, but she could hear him breathe in deeply.
"I was apprenticed aboard a cargo ship when I was sixteen,"
he finally said. "My father runs a shipping company out of
Boston. I wanted to make my own way in the world, so I arranged to
work my way across the Atlantic. We first made a run down to the
Caribbean on our way to London. The ship was intercepted. Taylor
spared only the lives of the boys."
He paused for a
moment, as if considering what more to tell her. "I'm sorry,"
she said, "I shouldn't have pried."
"It's all
right," he replied. "It's just that I haven't thought much
about that time lately." He started to brush her hair once
more.
"Taylor put several of the boys to work on the
decks," Joshua continued. "But he had found no woman on the
ship with whom to share his bed. He decided I would suffice."
"Why
didn't you tell him who your father was?" Sarah asked, shocked
at his words. "Surely he would have ransomed you. Surely you
were more valuable as a hostage!"
"I did not want my
father's intervention," Joshua replied, and Sarah could hear a
note of defiance in his voice. "I was young and quite naïve. By
the time I realized what Taylor had in mind for me, I knew I could
never face my father again. I had brought shame to him and my
family."
"But surely your father…" Sarah
began.
"Would not have forgiven me," Joshua
finished, his tone suddenly hard. "Regardless of whether the
fault was mine or not, he would never have understood."
Sarah
wondered silently if she were too quick to believe that her father
would treat her any differently. And what if he were to learn of how
she had failed to fight off her assailants? How she had screamed in
pleasure? She felt hot tears burn in her eyes and looked down at the
wooden deck.
"Why didn't you escape?" she asked,
unwilling to continue entertaining thoughts about how she might be
rejected should she be rescued.
"For the first four
years," Joshua said, "I tried. Many times. Each time, I was
recaptured and beaten. The last time I tried to flee, Taylor's men
beat me to within an inch of my life. I finally decided this life was
better than death."
"Better?" she asked him,
feeling a wrenching pain in her gut at his words.
"I am
fed and I have a warm bed in which to sleep," he replied
matter-of-factly. "Perhaps there will come a time when I will
try to escape again. But for now, I am resigned."
Sarah
remained silent. Joshua stood up and walked over to the crate, laying
the brush down on top of it. For the first time that morning, Sarah
could see his bare back. There were long gashes across it, punctuated
by red marks where the skin had been cut. The blood there was
fresh.
"What happened to you?" she demanded,
standing up and walking over to him, tracing the outline of some of
the marks with her fingers.
"It's nothing," he
replied dismissively.
"No," she said, a hint of
anger in her voice. "It's hardly nothing! Sit down and let me
wash your wounds for you." He turned to look at her, clearly
surprised by her reaction. "You would clean my body and care for
me, yet you will not let me do the same for you?" she asked
indignantly. "I am not such a princess that I faint at the sight
of blood."
He smiled hesitatingly, then said, "There
is a bowl of sea water by the door."
He watched her with
an expression of surprise and admiration as she picked up the bowl
and tore a piece of her petticoat for a clean rag. She then motioned
him to sit on the mattress and kneeled beside him, dipping the rag
into the salt water and gently touching it to his raw skin. He winced
but did not complain, although she knew his pain must be
severe.
"Who did this to you?" she asked, appalled
by the depth of some of the gashes.
"The cat o' nine
tails is a favorite plaything of the Captain," he said
simply.
"Plaything?"
"The Captain
pleasures himself with the pain of others," Joshua replied.
"It was he himself who has always punished me when I
escaped."
"But last night," she pressed.
"Why did he whip you?"
"That is not important,"
Joshua replied. "The cat is simply a fact of life aboard a
ship such as this. Certainly a woman of your background must know
this. The cat is not uniquely a creature used by the
pirates."
Their conversation was interrupted by footsteps
and the turning of a key in the lock of the cell. Joshua moved to
stand in front of her, a move clearly meant to be protective, and one
which surprised her yet again.
"What do you want?"
he demanded of the sailor who opened the door.
"Cap'n be
wanting both of ye," the man replied, looking at Sarah with
undisguised lust.
"She's not ready," Joshua
insisted, scowling at man.
"He'd be tellin' me ye might
say that, boy," the man replied, grinning. "Said he don't
care none fer yer 'scuses. Told me to bring ye in chains, if need
be."
"Joshua," Sarah replied, "it's all
right. I'm fine. Really."
Joshua turned and looked at her
for a moment. She smiled kindly at him. "Really," she
repeated. "I'll be fine."