'Sire ...?' She placed the linen garment down beside her and took up the dark blue tunic top. Light touches of her hands smoothed the densely woven material; every movement that she made spoke sensuality. Slender fingers slipped into the sleeve, then opened out the jacket, straightened it and caressed the interior, gently brushing, assessing it as if it were a lover's skin. Nervous fingertips tested the ornate brass walnut-shaped buttons, traced the edges of the collar, the tight, silk-lipped pockets - slipping within them - then stroked again across the surface of the lining. And all the while, as Anya examined this uniform, her body moved - smooth lithe movements, so innocent, yet so very sexual. When she reached, and her body rotated forwards as she balanced on her knees, the hollows of her underarms would deepen and her tight full breasts would sway and lift. Her back, narrowing so deliciously from the hips, would form a perfect down-sweep furrowed by a backbone supple enough to tempt a tongue to paint it from the shoulder-blades to the tip. And the temptation would progress further. Her thighs would tense, the rounded buttocks would rise, then separate slightly as she settled down again upon her upturned feet. Each time she rocked, peeping between those lifted, separating, rounded cheeks, was the gently bulging fleshy pouch - a twin fruit, with a fine infold of potential cleavage to tempt that tongue to make the split and to taste the salt-fruit moistness which was dusted very lightly by the soft bright curls of fire.
'Sire ...?' Anya reached and rested upon her elbows while she adjusted the belt. Her back arched down until her smooth round belly almost touched the ruffled sheets. And still the Prince of Lidir had not answered. He could not, for he was waiting for the gap to close, for her supple back to bend that little more, like a longbow drawn to its final curve of tension before the arrow is unleashed. He was waiting for the tight skin of her belly to stroke against the heaped-up silken sheet.
'Sire ...?' Anya sat up again and lifted her hair away from her densely freckled shoulders. The shoulder blades slid smoothly beneath her skin and almost touched. She turned to face him fully. The Prince waited. Anya placed her hands upon her hips and the wing muscles tightened from her shoulders to her breasts. Deep, delicious hollows opened underneath her arms. She raised her head; her elbows moved back and her nipples pointed upwards. They were black. Her breasts were milk white but her nipples were velvet black, and large, with no surround, as if a velvet-coated acorn had been fitted to each tip. She was sitting on her heels again with her slim thighs apart. Below her belly was the bush of soft red curly hair and the curls were slightly parted. The satin lips projected starkly - matt black against the red curls, inky black against the whiteness of the fold of sheet which pressed them to one side. As she breathed, her belly lifted and the pure black gently moved against the sheet.
'Sire? Why do you not answer? Come to me.'
But now, he did answer. He knelt beside the bed, looked up into the dark pools of her eyes and he could smell her scent of almond oil and butter. I love you - as I have never loved another,' he said.
Anya took his face in her hands. Her fingertips stroked his hair. She kissed him. He sucked upon her soft lips. Her small tongue pushed into his mouth. His hands moved over the smooth skin-coated shoulder-blades and down the warm slim back, and tickled, making the belly curve towards him. He touched her belly; then his fingers slipped between the silken sheet and her open thighs. The black and satin skin felt hot and soft. Her tongue pushed deeper into his mouth, assenting, touching against his own. His fingertips searched out that other tongue between those other lips. She murmured as he gently split its fleshy sheathing. He used his fingertips to kiss that small moist tongue and to milk it very gently. Anya lifted. He slid one hand beneath to touch the skin within the groove, which became deeper and warmer as she edged her thighs apart until his little finger touched the in-swirl of her bottom. It felt like very fine twisted velvet. The other hand held her sex lips open, nipped the bud and made it slip.
Still the kiss continued. Her neck craned forward; he could feel her warm breath coming quickly through her nose. His lips closed about her tongue and sucked; her thighs began to move; he could feel her sex lips pressing moistly about his fingertips while he milked her, pumping the tiny tip up hard until it could not be retracted. It remained pushed out like a small hard ball which touched the backs of his fingers as he brushed them up and down the soft skin pouch. Finally, she pulled away from his embrace, but he would not release her. He held her hips while he took the black and fleshy nipple tips to his mouth and sucked them until they hardened and became wet. As he sucked she arched back tighter until he was sucking the undersides of her breasts, then sucking her belly, then tracing the fine line of downy hair below her navel until she was arched back with her shoulders to the bed and her feet still tucked beneath her and the soft fine downy hairs that he kissed were replaced by wiry curls.
His lips moved downwards, teasing the bright red curls upon the soft skin pouch, exposing the warm dark fleshy lips and the hard projecting bud. He breathed warm air upon her, then drank the aroma of her flesh, the strong warm scent of earth and ocean. He brushed his lips against her. The outer skin of her sex lips felt dry, yet smooth and slippy, and swollen. When he brushed those lips to the side, they slowly rolled back, pulsing very slightly, swelling fuller than before. He nuzzled her and pressed his lips against her where her sex lips joined her body. He nipped them gently with his teeth. He dusted his lips with Anya's body scent. He lifted her legs and lowered her hips, then bent her knees, exposing her bottom and rocking her very gently while he stroked it with his thumb. Then he pressed his lips to her sex and pushed. She whimpered as her sex lips split. He tasted earth and ocean. He formed his lips into a tiny collar for the small hot tongue of pleasure to slip between. Then he sucked upon it as Anya, with her knees bent tight enough to touch the sides of her breasts, pressed her hands upon the bed to push her bottom up to meet him. And as her belly tightened to a ball, he held her bud of pleasure locked tightly between his tongue and upper lip and he stroked his thumb across the entrance to her bottom. He used this light stroke of his thumb alone to bring about her pleasure, for each brush, or simply the pressure of the thumb-pad in so intimate a place, forced her belly to contract, and his lips to tighten round her bud, until at last she tried to lift her knees and bring her legs together round his head. He sat up quickly, opened her legs, returned her knees to the sides of her breasts and slowly stroked her open moistness with his fingers until the soft gasps gave way to moans of pleasure overdue, whereupon he bent to press his lips against her sex. That first touch tripped her; he breathed upon her gently, drinking her aroma again, as he held her sex lips fully open while she spasmed with delight.
Then he unbuttoned his breeches, allowed his rigid cockstem to spring forth and, placing his palms beneath her buttocks, lifted her on to his stem and pushed until he would slip no further into the tightness of her warmth, until the underside of his cockhead, deep inside her, had touched against something hard. And, turning with her until they lay upon their sides, with Anya totally nude and himself still dressed, but with his cockstem clothed within her living flesh and her bare body moving against the close wool of his jerkin, he kissed her, pressed her tightly to him, closed his hands around her buttocks once again - one buttock fitting perfectly into each palm and cupped like an individual hard round fruit, while those fruits somehow seemed to knead his cockstem from inside, as Anya's legs began to move alternately, and the fruits independently in his hands. His fingertips sought the groove, touched the open earth, while the hard flesh knot inside her kept plucking against the end of his cock as if trying to spear him - as if the tip of her backbone deep inside was trying to spear his cockhead like a squirming fish that jumped and thrashed within an oily sea. And then he felt it pierce him - though he tensed and held his breath, he could not stop the swelling ball of pressure deep inside, then the bursting and the thick and lumpy milt being drawn out through his spine. But those perfect buttocks just kept undulating smoothly, squeezing independently of his tense, abated breathing and forcing him onwards, pricking him repeatedly with that hard bone deep inside and drawing every drop of fluid from his body, making him die slowly, drown deliciously, enveloped in her warmth, intoxicated by her scent of almonds, earth and ocean.
'Sire - these clothes. You wish that I should put them on now?'
Anya was sitting up beside him. Her words had shaken him completely from the sweet bed of his dreams. She had tried to sound confident, but her voice had been unsteady. Then their gaze met and the Prince of Lidir saw a fleeting vision in her eyes and it pierced him to the quick. It was a spectre of a goblin and a portent of the fate of precious doves.
[2]
Amongst the Pigs and Pickles
'You will be safe here. Open the door to no one - whatever you hear. Trust me. I will return for you - I promise.' Those had been her Prince's parting words before he kissed her for the last time. And now Anya was on her own. But how long would she have to wait here, and what if something were to go wrong and prevent him from returning? She looked down again at the uniform she had been forced to wear and her cabin boy's cap fell off. It had done this twice already. She picked it up and pulled it on again, but with her hair tied up, it would not fit properly. And the tunic was too tight. Her breasts hurt from the way it buttoned so tightly. Then the trousers were the wrong shape for her hips. She knew she must appear foolish in this outfit: nobody would ever take her for a boy.
She looked around to see whether there might be a mirror here. In the half-light filtering through the porthole, she could make out barrels and sacks and boxes. She could smell dried fish and vinegar and cheese, and there was a sweet aroma too, like that of apples. There were sides of bacon hanging from the ceiling. This place must be the pantry. She was about to investigate when, without warning, the ship shook with a jarring thud which made her stumble to her knees, then with a crash which sent her sprawling. Her cap rolled across the floor and was crushed by a falling barrel. Suddenly, all the order in the cabin was gone; there were boxes everywhere, still falling. And there were more thuds, seeming to come through the floor; she could feel them thump against her body. She was sure the ship had struck rocks. A shelf support broke; jugs of vinegar shuffled to the end then crashed down, narrowly missing her feet. She twisted round and covered her head with her arms. A side of meat shook free, fell diagonally across her and lodged against the wall. Then there was a deafening bang very close by and she realised what it was.
The cannonade had begun; the Prince had warned her this might happen. He had told her to stay away from the porthole, but he hadn't prepared her for this. She heard shouting, then screams. Now she was petrified. There was another bang, of bursting planking, and the ceiling shattered; giant splinters angled downwards through the dust cloud and deep into the room. The terrible cries came louder, against a background of moans. There were three more thuds in quick succession, then nothing more seemed to happen. Anya heaved the carcass of the pig aside, crawled over the sacks of peas and through the toppled boxes and managed to reach the door. With her eyes shut tight, she crouched behind it, coughing from the dust, and waited. It began again. This time, she heard the salvo being fired, then two loud splashes in the water, then one direct hit aft, then two others somewhere above her. She curled up tight, with her hands around her ears to try to keep at bay the pitiful sounds of newly splintering wood. Every impact caused the ship to shudder. But why had she heard no cannon fire being returned? All she heard were the cries of dismay, the sounds of running feet and the agonised creaks and groans of slowly yielding timbers high above. The rigging came crashing to the deck and splashed into the water. How long could the ship survive this punishment? Suddenly, the cannonade ceased a second time and all the shouting stopped.
For many minutes, Anya was afraid to move, though the ship now seemed quite steady. She could hear the waves lapping against its timbers. The room was littered with fallen crates, spilled apples, split pigs and pickled cabbage. But Anya was unhurt. Slowly, she got up. Was the danger past? Was her Prince safe? Why had he not come to get her? What if he were injured? She tipped a box of dried fish out of the way and put her ear to the door but she could hear nothing.
She waited - still no sound could be heard - then tried the door. It was stuck. Surely he would never have locked it? Again she tried it, but it would not move. Perhaps the frame had twisted? She tugged the handle of the latch with all her might, but still to no avail. She was trapped in here and her fear was turning to panic. She clambered back over the debris towards the porthole, then stopped in her tracks. There were footfalls and agitated whispers from above, and shouts, but distant shouts; they seemed to come from outside, across the water. She climbed up a stack of tumbled crates and warily peered outside. What she saw there made her gasp.
Beyond the floating wreckage of the topsail, and sweeping silently towards them, was the great ship, so large it overshadowed their own. Her bows were painted to look like the mouth of a vicious saw-toothed sea beast. Flying high above the deck was the sinister black and red emblem. For the first time, Anya could see the detail of the wicked image upon this flag. It was a bristle-haired humpbacked goblin and its eyes glowed evil green - they seemed to stare straight down at Anya, as if the monster could see her hiding place. Between the evil icon's legs was a grotesque black barbed cockstem, sticking upwards and pointed like an arrow. As the flag flapped in the breeze the creature seemed to leer at her and thrust out its lower belly. She would not look at it again. Her gaze lowered and now her heart leapt to her throat. Fastened to the mainmast was a naked woman - not a painting nor a statue but a living woman, bound and gagged. What manner of creatures would do this thing to her? Then she saw another prisoner, and another; the ship was full of slaves. Each mast had a naked woman fastened to it. A fourth woman was slung below the bowsprit. Amid the brightly coloured throng of pirates seething at the rail were other women, secured at intervals to upright wooden beams.