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Subject: {ASSM} Stand And Deliver (Virago Blue)(Fm, Mf, rape)
Date: Sat, 29 Apr 2000 00:10:34 -0400
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<1st attachment, "StandandDeliver.txt" begin>
The following story is erotic fiction meant for adults only.
I wrote this story based on the subject matter of a song. The names
have not been changed nor the general mood of the song. However, I did
take artistic license and added my own special twist. For those of you who
enjoy a challenge, tell me what song I wrote this to by emailing me at
mdmvirago@aol.com. If you are really lost, I may be enticed to provide
hints. The winner will get the choice of either a cameo appearance in my
next story or a lifetime supply of virtual peanuts. If the idea of a cameo
appeals to the winner I will get the winner's written permission before I
post the next story. Enjoy.
Feedback always appreciated at mdmvirago@aol.com.
******
Stand And Deliver (c)2000 by Virago Blue
Molly crept from her rented room behind the rustic tavern. Edging
cautiously around the corner of the Red Boar Tavern, she trailed a hand
over the sun-warmed wall. She absorbed the warmth. Moonlight illuminated
enough of her surroundings to keep her steps careful as she rounded the
corner and stepped into the alley leading to the docks. The onset of
evening had brought with it a chill breeze off the bay. Molly tugged the
old woollen cloak around her securely, hiding her intentions from view.
The Segovia rocked in silvery light, creaking and groaning in protest
although the waves were only a docile lick against the bow. Once upon a
time the Segovia braved high seas adventure and insatiable acts of piracy.
Now, the galleon, one of the least impressive vessels in Lord Jackson
Weatherford's fleet, was said to have sailed its last voyage. Rumor had it
that is, rumors that were discussed freely in front of the serving wench
believed to be a simpleton, a mute simpleton at that. Molly had them all
fooled, excluding the current Captain of the Segovia.
She'll never forget the moment she recognized the handsome captain. One
quiet afternoon Molly took it upon herself to greet the Captain with some
curious news. Her news had more impact simply because all, including the
Captain, had assumed she was ignorant of all but her tasks as a lowly
kitchen maid. Now the Captain looked upon her with a measure of respect,
and he kept her secret in order to learn more.
It seemed Lord Jackson Weatherford neglected to inform certain key crew
members aboard the Segovia of their futures. How many knew Lord Jackson
Weatherford's real identity? A pirate, a rapist, a murderer, those were
also part of Lord Weatherford's legacy. He left few witnesses behind.
Very few. Some of the current crew had served Lord Weatherford back when
he was Captain Jack or Black Jack. This new captain was one. The
hijacking of the Emily Claire was a topic of discussion among many
higher-ranking officials in Court. Even after all these years a mystery
shrouded the ship. The ship was carrying a payload of some kind. Some
speculated that it was a hoard of gold sent with an unimpressive elderly
gentleman to deliver to a certain tobacco grower in the states. Others
said there was a dignitary on board, one that owed a huge gambling debt and
was escaping to the new world and the debtee had contracted out for
revenge. Whatever the case, the mysterious massacre of the Emily Claire
would not go away. Black Jack was nervous. The few who knew his
background had little reason to wonder why he was so nervous. Those who
knew him as Lord Weatherford, on the other hand, would be shocked to know
of his past. The Segovia had been fingered as the only connection to the
Emily Claire. Black Jack felt a change in the Segovia's status was
necessary to save face.
Molly sneered at the memory of Black Jack. She would have time later to
reflect on her plan of revenge against Black Jack. For now, the first step
in her plan needed to be set in motion.
A planked gangway still connected the galleon to the dock. She waited a
moment, observing the first watchman on deck, careful there weren't others.
His tobacco mingled with the salty breeze. She inhaled, the aroma
triggering a memory of a time spent with another man. Molly blinked back a
tear.
Molly stepped from the shadows, a vision in black. Her pale green eyes
scrutinized the watchman's movements. In the last half hour of her
surveillance she had yet to see him move from his one spot. He continued
to smoke his pipe, leaning against a recessed alcove near the main mast.
He was lazy, she concluded, and wouldn't be too difficult to subdue.
She strode, confident and brisk, to the edge of the dock, flaxen hair
braided down to the small of her back and swinging slightly with each step.
A red ribbon signifying a whore-for-hire from the town of Concordia
fluttered loosely at her nape. She clutched at her cloak, concealing the
deadly rapier sheathed at her side and the pistol tucked into the waistband
of her breeches. She lowered her head and walked determinedly up the
gangplank.
"G'eve to ye, milady." The shipman leered with his crooked smile,
pushing away from his perch. He stepped in front of her, cutting off her
passage. "I see Cap'n has hired a little entertainment for the night. A
might pricey one, by all looks." The shipman ogled Molly from the top of
her head to the tips of her boots.
She lifted her eyes and gazed coolly into the lout's face and smiled a
slow smile, meant to entice for only a minute, a distraction, before
slamming the butt of her pistol into his temple. He fell to the deck with
a grunt. She hurried past the slovenly heap. She presumed he wouldn't be
out for long. A few minutes was all she needed anyway.
She followed the directions her informant had given her to the Captain's
cabin. The door to his cabin gave way silently. Captain Farrell was at
his desk and, just as she suspected, a young shipmate or cabin boy was also
in the room. She watched the boy for a moment through the crack in the
door. He wasn't armed, as most of the crew weren't, to prevent a mutiny,
she guessed. Besides, the lad seemed harmless. She waited until the boy
stepped away from the Captain's desk and busied himself with cleaning up
the dinner tray before stepping completely into the room.
The captain sat hunched over his desk, his linen shirt pulled from his
breeches, hanging open and loose over his torso. His brown doublet was
tossed over the back of his chair and she noticed, with a smile upon her
lips, that the dear captain was barefoot. He was intensely counting the
notes stacked in several neat piles on his desk top. She knew the money to
be a small fortune made from Lord Weatherford's latest cargo deliveries.
The notes were enough for her to live off of forever, at least by her
standards, and enough to form a noticeable dent in Lord Weatherford's
fortune.
A candle sputtered with the breeze through the open door, catching the
burnished brown of the Captain's long hair. He didn't keep it tied back at
the nape as was the convention at the time, instead sweeping it back from
his brow, accentuating his hawk-like features. He was an appealing man.
Molly stepped silently into the room, her eyes never leaving the
captain. She spied the cabin boy from the corner of her eye and he hadn't
noticed her entrance either. It really didn't matter if he had at this
time because what happened next happened very fast. She pushed her cloak
from her shoulders and stood, legs shoulder-width apart and strongly set.
Her rapier sliced through the musty air with a sharp metallic zing. The
Captain's head snapped around to meet her amused glare. The cabin boy
gasped. She was already staring down the barrel of her pistol at Captain
Farrell.
"Well met Cap'n Farrell. A fine night it is to be countin' out
m'fortune." She winked at him over the pistol, a smile turning up the
corners of her rosy mouth.
Captain Farrell's storm gray eyes studied the woman, a look of amused
disregard on his handsome face. He took his time studying her long legs
clad to the thighs in leather boots, a studded scabbard slung low over her
hips. The blonde wore a man's tunic, several sizes too large, which now
slipped seductively from one shoulder. He watched her breasts heave
through the open laces of the man's shirt before his eyes met hers over the
barrel of Molly's pistol.
"I prefer my whores unarmed, milady." Captain Farrell said coolly.
"The notes, Cap'n. 'Tis all I be wantin'" The smile left her face.
"For now." Her eyes narrowed slightly. "An' if ye think ye can try
anything funny, yer lad will get a little surprise, too." Molly jerked her
head, indicating the frightened boy.
She touched the tip of her rapier beneath the cabin boy's chin. A bead
of red stained the tip of her blade, drip-dripping blood down the front of
the boy's shirt. She turned her cat-like gaze back to the Captain.
"Stand and deliver, sirrah. I'll take the notes, stuffed nice and
pretty in that pouch on your desk, if you please." She pulled the sword
away from the cabin boy and smiled prettily. "Now."
Captain Farrell's eyes followed the path of her thin sword. It touched
his chest, ripping a slash down the front of his old nightshirt. A few
more strokes and the shirt was in tatters. She smiled sadistically.
He took his time stuffing the notes in the cloth bag, his eyes shifting
from her to the sword to the notes.
"Very well, Cap'n. I see you can follow orders." She paused to admire
his chest, dappled down the center with dark hair, a darker strip
disappearing into his breeches. "I think it would please me if you would
remove your garments." Molly flirted over the barrel of the pistol.
"What?"
"'Tis a simple request, sirrah. Drop your trousers."
He loosened the drawstring on his breeches, slowly, his eyes never
leaving her face. Molly watched his deft fingers working the trousers past
his hips. He stood before her, his cock half-erect.
She nodded. "Aye Cap'n. A nice piece. Too bad I don't have the time."
"I take it that means you didn't kill the watchman?"
"A might careless of you to post only one watch tonight." Molly
commented with a laugh. "Two would have been more of a challenge."
"The Devil take ye, woman."
She laughed. "That he already has, m'lord. Now, tie your boy up.
Wouldn't do for him to be alertin' the neighbors, now would it? By the
way, all the crew are out and about this eve or are there more I can rouse
from their bunks?" Molly passed her tongue over her lips. "The boy, Cap'n.
Now."
Captain Farrell turned slowly and padded over to the juvenile. She
admired the way his muscles worked and flexed, enjoying the contrast of
darkly tanned chest, back and legs, his tight backside a paler shade of
tan. He spoke softly to the boy, like she knew he would, carefully binding
the boy's hands behind his back and tying him to a chair.
"Very good, Capt'n. I like the way you follow orders. Now. See that
window right behind you?"
She watched in amusement as a muscle worked in his jaw. "Yes, that one
right there."
"Yes," he answered.
"Open it. It's a beautiful night for a swim, don't ye think, sirrah?"
"What? That---"
"Ah, ah, ah. No arguments. The window, Cap'n. Open it."
She opened a small cut on his arm. He stepped back, reaching for the
latch on the window.
"Be a good fella and climb through."
Captain Farrell glared at her.
Molly pushed at him from the window with the tip of her blade, smiling
at the loud splash heard seconds later.
***
The streets of Concordia were busy this night, Molly noted, as she
walked swiftly through the crowd. She kept a sparsely furnished room above
the Red Boar tavern, the small comforts of a straw mattress, a trunk and a
roughly made table and chair were all she could afford. The clean linens
cost extra, a rare luxury for now.
One candle illuminated the room. She busied herself with lighting two
more. She removed her cloak, hanging it on a peg behind the door. Thomas
burst through the door as she was removing her belt and scabbard.
"Molly?" He breathed eagerly.
"It's all done, my dear. Nice and neat. I told you it would be, didn't
I?" Molly smiled over at her young companion taking in his mussed
appearance. He reeked of liquor again. "Truly, Black Jack will probably
never miss this fortune. We are only getting our due, after all."
Sixteen-year-old Thomas trotted after her like an eager puppy. Not that
his behavior around her was anything new. Thomas had been her little
companion since the massacre on the Emily Claire eight years earlier.
"Did you kill him?" Thomas asked eagerly, interrupting Molly's thoughts.
He began wringing his hands together in a fashion she found most irritating
these days.
"No need. There were only three to deal with this time and one of them
a mere boy. If I guess right, neither one of them will be making a loud
to-do over the robbery, it being done by a woman. Cuckolded by the likes
of a serving wench." Molly laughed, turning to face Thomas. "Now, be a
good boy and fetch me a drink."
She watched, mildly contemptuous as Thomas hurried to the trunk, yanking
the latch free, and slamming the top into the wall. He rummaged through
their meager belongings until he found the flask. He uncorked the crude
container, pouring a splash of the hoarded liquid into their only crystal
snifter, a glass 'procured' from their last home.
Molly pulled the shirt from her breeches, flouncing into the chair. She
stretched her long legs out in front of her with a yawn.
Thomas handed the whiskey to her, the crystal cradled carefully in two
hands. "What now, Molly? Do we leave tonight?" He knelt at her feet,
tugging at her boots.
Molly breathed deeply of the pungent liquor. One day it would be a fine
port, sipped from her own store of fine crystal, not ill-begotten while on
the run. "Not to worry, my boy. Haven't I always seen to our future?" She
lifted the glass, staring through the amber-brown liquid. Thomas had
managed to work one of the boots free. He ran his hand up her leg, finding
the top edge of her stocking. He rolled the stocking from her outstretched
leg placing a kiss on the arch of her foot.
"You always take good care of me, Molly." Thomas began to work her other
boot loose. "I want to take good care of you." He smiled wolfishly, his
expressionless eyes glazed over with too much drink.
Molly studied the top of his sandy head as he knelt before her. The
whiskey burned a path down her throat, warming her stomach. The warmth
never reached her heart.
Thomas removed the boot and stocking. His hands slid up her thighs,
reaching for the drawstring to her breeches. His hand brushed over her
pubic mound. Molly suppressed a shudder. "Is this---?" Thomas stopped,
his hand clutching the pouch tucked at her waist.
"--all that will be our future, Thomas." Molly smiled. She sipped from
her glass. He carefully placed the pouch full of notes on the table by her
pistol. His face had grown serious. He turned back to Molly, reaching up
to unfasten her breeches. Molly continued to watch the dull expression of
Thomas, wondering exactly what he was thinking. Her free hand worked the
braid loose from her hair. She shook the golden mass, scratching her
scalp.
Thomas laid his head on Molly's chest, feeling the heaving of her bosom
with her measured breaths. Molly thought about her latest booty, hardly
revenge against the man formerly known as Black Jack, but still it gave her
a small measure of satisfaction. Had it really been eight years ago when
her life was turned upside down by the pirate known as Black Jack?
*** One moment a virginal sixteen, happily sailing to the colonies to be
married to her fianc,, the next a stunned captive of a murderous rampage.
Her life was over. She resigned herself to the fact when, amidst the
burnings and slashing aboard the decks of the Emily Claire, her father's
blood had splashed across her skirts. She watched in disembodied horror,
his torso butchered in front of her, her mother raped over his dead body.
She shrunk away into a dark place, ripped back to the burning light with a
blow to the side of her head. She stared blankly into the dead black eyes
of a man, a monster.
The screams aboard ship were fading. Bodies lay in heaps, the pungent
aroma of burning flesh and tar making her gag. The monster was dragging
her, his bloody hand entangled into her once carefully arranged hair the
other hand still wielding a saber. Molly was handed roughly to another
sailor, one with fetid breath and rotten teeth. She felt his hand squeeze
her girlish breast. She wanted to scream but nothing came out. He hauled
her roughly across the sticky plank deck. Somewhere along the way she lost
a slipper. She stared at her ripped stocking, her toes already black with
filth and peeking ridiculously through the hole. She retreated back into
the dark place when she was slammed into the main mast.
Molly stirred. The pain that pervaded her small body made her whimper.
She gasped at the sudden onslaught of a club to the side of her head. Her
head lolled forward, once again throwing her into darkness.
She awoke this time, realizing she was unable to move. She had lost all
feeling in her arms, bound above her head tightly to the main mast. Her
bodice hung open, her small breasts naked and exposed to the sun and sea,
and to the eyes of the crew. Her gold hair now hung in front of her face,
brushing her shoulders in wind-swept ropes. She jerked as her skirt was
ripped. She met the eyes of the black-eyed monster, the beast who killed
her family and destroyed the Emily Claire. He sneered, slapping her once
again.
"Cap'n Black, ye knock her about too much an' we won't get the pleasure
of hearin' her screams. Keep her alive a little while longer so's we all
can have our turn." Laughter and shouts broke out. The captain ripped the
remains of her skirt from her waist. Molly's head lolled back and forth as
she fought consciousness. His claw-like hands, still caked with blood,
snapped off her garter and stockings with hardly an effort. She wouldn't
meet his eyes this time.
His hands pawed her breasts, kneading and crushing. He bit her nipple
and when she cried out, he delivered another blow to the side of her face.
From then on she bit her lip, sometimes so hard she felt the blood running
into her mouth.
Once again she tried to straighten her neck. Her head was too heavy.
Her eyes fell to his hands as they hastily released his rigid member.
Tears clouded her vision. He lifted one of her slender legs, guiding
himself to the furred spot at their juncture. She couldn't struggle, her
body was limp with pain. He lifted her other leg, pressing her thighs back
with his hands and shoved his weight into her.
She was disembodied again, blessedly disembodied. The first sharp tear
startled her and when he began his animalistic mating she thought she would
cry out again. She bit down harder on her lip watching the blood drip over
her breast.
In seconds it was over. The monster, Captain Black, pulled out, tucking
his now limp member into his pants. She saw her own blood and something
else glistening on its head. She closed her eyes, feigning
unconsciousness.
Her life was over, she thought again. If he wasn't going to kill her,
the rest of them would. She still had no future. Her virginity was a
precious commodity, one this pirate had stolen for himself. She was
nothing now.
Molly turned her head and focused on the vast expanse of gray sea. One
after another she could feel them pushing inside her, scraping against her
dry flesh and raw insides. She was raped brutally over and over, too many
times to count. Her womanhood wept with their slime, bleeding
continuously.
Nightfall and she was granted a reprieve, not by the generosity of
Captain Black, only because, she surmised, the celebrating had led to
drunken brawls and unconscious sailors.
A man appeared in her line of vision, one different from the rest.
There was no mistaking his duty aboard the ship as he was dressed in the
breeches and doublet of the others. He laid something down out of her
sight and studied her.
Molly closed her eyes and turned away. She was trussed up, naked and
filthy. Only hours before she was a proper lady in silks and bows, her
flaxen hair kept swept back from her creamy complexion, her shining green
eyes, so much like her father's, laughing and happy. What was she now?
"Bastards, ever' one of 'em. None know what it's like to take a woman
the proper way." The man spoke in a low voice.
Molly peered up at him behind her curtain of hair. "Please don't" she
whispered hoarsely. Her throat was dry from the sun, her skin felt raw and
burned. Nothing she could say would make a difference, she was loot to
these barbarians. She thought she could see something different in this
one, though. He was a young man, not much older than her, with dark brown
hair and gray eyes. His eyes were not hard and cold like the others.
"Here." He pressed a wet cloth to the side of her face. "Rum has taken
the lot of 'em for now. None o'that for me, though. Take what I offer for
now, 'tis all I can do for ye, lass." He dabbed at her face.
"Untie me. Let me go." Molly whispered her plea to the stranger.
"Please just let me go."
"That I cannae do, lass. You'll sure as I know myself jump ship. No
place for you to go but down. Black Jack will be in a murderous rage then.
Ye haven't seen the worst of 'im." He dabbed at the cuts on her chest,
wetting her breasts with more water. "Tsk. Animals they be. You'll heal,
though. The cuts aren't too deep and the bruising on your face will go
away. It's the other that will lay scars to your soul."
Molly breathed deeply, swallowing the lump in her throat. "Black Jack?"
She whispered his name, fearing he would hear her. The young man was now
kneeling before her, scrubbing at the filth between her legs.
"Aye, milady. Black Jack is the captain of this here ship. You've been
brought aboard the Segovia. But listen here . . ." The man stood, stepping
closer to Molly's ear. "We hit land in less than a day. Cargo ship is
what we are, if ye didn't know. Lots of places to hide down below if ye
have a mind to do it. You aren't the only prisoner, there's a small lad,
about eight years or so, sent to the kitchen. He's been beaten too. I
don't take to beatin' no children or women." He opened a flask, holding it
to her parched lips. "Drink this. Watered wine, will fortify your blood
my mum used to say."
Molly gratefully accepted the wine, drinking greedily until it dripped
down her chin. He wiped at her face again. "Tomorrow, near nightfall.
Hold on til then if ye can, milady.
Molly met his eyes. She could tell her left eye was swollen shut, the
flesh on that side of her face throbbed and ached. She saw enough of him
to wonder at his sincerity. He was a pirate, after all. Maybe this was
the way he worked at stealing what he wanted. She couldn't speak.
He looked into the dark sky. "Clouds cover the moon. A storm is on its
way." He turned back to her and smiled a crooked half-smile. "These things
I know. They'll be callin' me Captain Farrell one day when I take this
ship over from Black Jack. Best I leave before the others start stirrin'."
He left her still tied and curious, grateful that her last hours spent on
this earth was spent in the company of a man of redemption.
Her captivity ended soon enough. She was freed from the main mast
before the storm hit. Black Jack never looked at her again as he was too
involved with keeping his ship afloat. Molly found the boy, Thomas, and
they hid in the hold among the cargo. They finally pried a board loose
from one of the crates and slipped inside, nestling among dark fabrics.
That was how they made their escape the next day. Molly and Thomas formed
a bond of some kind after that, traveling about as brother and sister,
orphans, preying on the kindness of strangers. She could never hope to
rise to the station she once held, and truly never tried. Her fate was
sealed the day Black Jack punished her for being a woman.
***
Thomas tossed her breeches to the floor with a discontented sigh. He
looked up at Molly. "You're still angry with me, aren't you?" He asked
sullenly. His arms wrapped around her waist. He lay his head on her belly
pulling his body in close between her legs.
Molly startled from her reverie, looking down at Thomas. She took
another slow sip, absentmindedly stroking his head and cheek. "You did a
very bad thing, Thomas. Lord Carrington didn't mean us any harm, I told
you that from the beginning." They were forced to leave their last home at
Carrington Hall as fugitives, Thomas bludgeoning her benefactor in a
jealous rage. Molly felt deeply for the sweet Southern gentleman, a
feeling she had never experienced before, a feeling she truly thought would
never be felt by the likes of her after that nightmare voyage across the
ocean. Perhaps it could have grown into love. Thomas jealously took that
from her.
"He loved you, thinking you were my brother. You would have been well
taken care of, as I would . . . could." She let the words trail away.
They had this discussion too many times already. She grew weary of his
steadfast whining.
"He was coming between us Molly. Look at us now. This" Thomas looked
up into her eyes "is the way it should be." Thomas grabbed her hand,
bringing it to his lips. He kissed the back of her hand softly. "Say
you'll marry me, Molly. We can start over in a new place, with the money
we have now, and you will never have to serve any other man but me." His
eyes shifted from her face to the swell of creamy skin visible above the
neckline of the shirt. He stroked her breast. George's old shirt slipped
further from her shoulder, one full breast crowned with a pale nipple now
exposed through the open laces. Thomas' eyes fell to her exposed flesh.
He tweaked her nipple, suckling fiercely.
Molly looked away, pressing his face into her breast. She closed her
eyes and quickly drained the snifter, grimacing, but not at the taste of
the rotgut whiskey. Thomas murdered her lover, a man she felt herself
falling in love with, and inadvertently made her seem the murderer. She
had no choice but to run and leave the sanctuary she wanted to call home.
She had taken Thomas' virginity nearly ten months previous. A grievous
mistake. His companionship turned to obsession. She could barely stand to
have his body on her anymore. Her body reacted mechanically to his
attentions, only when she fantasized it was George or another making love
to her could she actually find release.
Thomas had matured into a young man these last two years with all the
needs and cravings of a man. She steeled herself as he clumsily pulled the
shirt down from her shoulders, exposing both breasts. He continued to
nuzzle hungrily at her heavy breasts, working his hands lower until he
found the damp nest of curls between her legs. Molly leaned back in the
chair, losing herself in the touch, the feel, and her own imagination.
Thomas licked down her belly drawing a soft moan from her parted lips.
He ventured lower, leaning in to lap at her wet opening. She opened her
legs wider, arching her hips closer to his mouth. She felt his warm tongue
flicking and sucking on the sensitive part of her sex. She began to
undulate beneath him, whimpering in pleasure.
"Yes. Just like that. A little higher up love. Oh, yes." Her body
began to convulse, bucking wildly beneath him. Thomas held on, never
losing contact until she pulled his head from her lap.
Molly was still dazed, still lost in her haze of imagination. "Come to
me, George. I wish to taste of you now. You're sugar in my mouth, love."
"What?"
Molly's eyes snapped open, staring into the face of Thomas. She knew
instantly the mistake she had made, speaking the name of another while
still coming down from the bliss caused by Thomas. "I'm so---"
Thomas shook his head, dismissing Molly's explanation before she could
even get the words from her mouth. "It doesn't matter, Molly. We love
each other. In time you will forget."
He grasped her hands once again, peering into her eyes. "Say it. Say
you'll marry me, Molly."
"Thomas, I will never marry, you know that."
"You love me."
"I love you . . . differently."
Thomas stood, dropping her hands. He turned away, pacing the floor.
Something in his expression made Molly shrink back for a moment. Her
pistol and rapier were on the other side of the room, she would have to get
past Thomas first. Just in case . . .
"If I can't have you--" Thomas sputtered.
"Don't be ridiculous, Thomas."
Thomas spun around, eyes flashing at Molly. She felt fear again for the
first time in a long time. This was not her Thomas looking back at her, it
was another monster. He grabbed her wrists, jerking her from the chair.
"Thomas!"
He slammed her shoulder into the wall, pulling her arms above her head.
He tightly wound her discarded stocking around her wrists, securing them
high on the bedpost.
Molly stood in shock, trussed up and naked once again. She shook in
outrage and fear. From the corner of her eye she saw Thomas disrobe, his
member already hard and distended.
"Thomas, no" she pleaded. He pushed her face against the wall, lifting
one of her legs up to rest on the straw mattress. She fought back, bucking
back against him. He slapped her head with his open hand before pressing
his fingers deep inside her. He started rubbing himself against her
backside. The door opened, crashing against the wall. They both startled
in surprise, Thomas shrieking as he turned to face Captain Farrell and his
first mate, both ready to do battle.
"There's the thief." Captain Farrell bellowed. His eyes skimmed Molly.
Molly's head was lowered, she wouldn't meet his gaze. He then focused on
Thomas' rigid expression. "Him."
"No. Oh, but . . ." Thomas couldn't continue. His panicked gaze moved
from the Captain to his companion and back to Molly. Molly wouldn't look
up.
Captain Farrell growled. He lunged for Thomas. Both men crashed to the
floor. Thomas put up a good fight but had no hope. Although old, Captain
Farrell's first mate was strong as an ox. Thomas was subdued in no time.
"Molly!" Thomas screamed. "Molly, tell him. Tell him!"
Molly stared blankly at the wall.
Captain Farrell had Thomas' hands behind his back, twisting viciously.
Thomas cried out in pain. "Molly!"
Molly remained silent.
"Sire, I knew she couldn't have worked alone. It's clear to me the man
has her under some kind of spell." The old shipman remarked, pointing at
Molly. "He must have threatened her somehow. It appears we arrived in
time. No telling how much longer the girl had to live."
"Aye, James, you must be right. A woman could nae have had the strength
to do what she did unless under some kind of witch's spell. It was this
one--he's the thief."
Captain Farrell shoved Thomas towards James, using the remaining fabric
to tie his hands together. "Take him to the mayor, James. Prison is where
he'll be spending the rest of his life. I'll recover the notes and meet
you back at the ship. There's no need to discuss this further."
Thomas wailed. "Molly! No!" James easily wrestled him out the door of
Molly's chamber.
Captain Farrell watched the two of them jostle out the door and turned
to face Molly. "Well, Molly." His grim demeanor cracked, his face breaking
into a grin. "You're a fine sight. I have half a mind to leave ye tied
like that and have my way with you."
Captain Farrell took a step closer to Molly, his hands reaching out to
touch her round bottom. He froze.
Molly turned her tear-streaked face toward him, trembling in fear. Part
of her unbound hair had slipped over to hide half her face, the same half
that was bruised and bloody eight years ago. She looked at him, pleading,
with one eye. The words caught in her throat, bubbling past the tears and
panic. "Please don't" was all he heard in that timid voice, the same voice
he heard all those years ago.
"Molly?" Farrell approached the woman. In stunned silence he quickly
untied her.
She fell into his arms. Tears ran down her face silently.
"You? It was you all those years ago?" Captain Farrell asked, closing
his arms around her tightly.
She nodded her head against his chest.
"Ye didn't tell me the whole story then, lass." He stroked her back as
she continued to sob, the cries lessening with each pass of his hand down
her silky hair. "The girl taken captive from the Emily Claire?" Captain
Farrell said aloud, disbelief in his voice.
"I knew who you were the minute I saw you in the tavern. You are
responsible for saving my life, but not my fears." Molly wiped the tears
from her face, looking up at the Captain. "I knew I could trust you. Now
I have a small piece of what was mine taken eight years ago, a little money
to live my life comfortably. It's the least that I was owed from that
bastard. As for the rest that was taken . . . " She pushed away from him,
shaking her head. "That cannot be salvaged."
"I don't know what to say." Captain Farrell searched her eyes.
"Say it's time to go, you jack ass. Tell me we need to hurry and leave,
and begin our life, free of Black Jack and all his curses." Molly quickly
dressed, shoving the pouch of notes down the front of her shirt. She
turned back to face Captain Farrell, a defiant lift to her chin. "Are you
coming or not?"
"The devil take ye, Molly." Captain Farrell replied, a crooked
half-smile curving his mouth.
"That he already did, my love."
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