The Island of Marquis Gallance

Chapter One “Oh, gentlemen!” cried the Marquis Gallance extravagantly to the weary travelers. “Before you retire for the night, please, I beg of you—be so kind as to f**k my choicest cunt.” The Captain of the wrecked ship blinked at his host as if he had not heard correctly. He was accustomed to being in command of a situation, a man who took orders from no one, who shipped what cargo he liked, when he liked, for whomever he liked. He had faced down tradesmen and mutineers, triumphed over pirates and savages, mastered tempest and tide. Now, however, he was acutely conscious of being beholden to this open-handed yet enigmatic stranger. Feeling ill at ease without his own plush dress coat, without his heavy snuff box in his pocket, without his gold-buckled shoes, he fidgeted within borrowed clothing at a richly appointed table which could not help but remind him of the magnitude of his host’s generous charity. The Captain laid the faceted crystal glass carefully down upon the brocaded linen beside a fine china plate. The lace cuff that brushed the tablecloth was indeed most finely wrought—but it was not truly his own, and he felt the lack. With no coin in his pocket and no sword at his side, he felt vaguely off balance. “Pardon, Marquis, but you said…?” “Cunt,” Gallance pronounced with deliberation. “Furry—wet—cunt. It lies, sir, between the white thighs of a girl.” He gave a genteel nod. “I invite you and your officers and men to possess and pollute a most tender young cunt.” “M-Marquis—” sputtered the Captain darkly. He felt his temper rise at the thought that he was being made light of. Gallance raised a soft white hand which seemed never to have handled a tool of any sort. “Oh, pray do not misunderstand me,” he assured the man good-naturedly. “You will have the pick of my entire harem of sluts, of course. f**k whomever you wish, whenever you wish, however you wish. Debauch yourselves without reserve.” He shrugged. “Tonight, though, I merely had hoped that first you and your weary crew would enjoy the choicest cunt my hospitality has to offer.” The Captain’s knotted fists loosened. Suddenly he realized that, whatever this was, it was not some strange insult. “Monsieur,” said he uneasily, “surely you jest…” “About cunt!” exclaimed Gallance. “Never!” Imperiously he rang a bell lying close to his ostentatiously be-ringed hand. While servants in immaculate livery bustled to and fro, removing the dishes from the last course of the meal in deferential silence, a beautiful young girl entered the room in a stately flurry of sliding white silks and glowing black hair. Uncommonly pretty—and really quite youthful, they saw—she attracted every eye. “You rang, monsieur?” she cooed softly. The castaways rose swiftly to their feet all around the long table, gentlemen and common seamen alike. “Mademoiselle,” bowed the Captain graciously to the girl who advanced across the great Oriental rugs, “truly it is an honor—” “Pray do not disturb yourself, my dear Captain,” laughed Gallance, who alone had not stood. “My cunt is for f*****g, not for flattering.” The maiden stopped where she was and curtsied elegantly to the Captain as if nothing untoward had been said. “Your servant, sir,” intoned her soft voice with scrupulous politeness. The Captain frowned, looking from the exquisitely self-possessed young girl to the smirking Marquis and back again, wide-eyed. “Surely,” he said uncertainly, addressing his host once more, “surely, sir, you carry the jest too far…” “No, I assure you,” Gallance said easily. “Fill this darling slut’s every beckoning hole to overflowing with your c*m, but fill not her ears with a drop of squeamish nonsense. She is,” he winked, “too young and impressionable for such words.” The Captain looked swiftly at the girl, but she made no protest. She merely smiled sweetly at the confused man, her red lips curling up ever so faintly at the corners. “Marquis!” protested the Captain, aghast. “Oh, never fear,” Gallance reassured him. “All is in readiness. This cunt has been bathed and perfumed and coiffed, teased and primed to readiness, given medicines to prevent pregnancy and disease. Her body lives to serve.” “But, sir,” exclaimed the poor Captain, “this young lady—” “Is tonight but a cunt!” laughed Gallance. “A beautiful fresh cunt,” he continued imperturbably, “soft and hairy on the outside, slippery and smelly on the inside.” He leered at the girl. “And tonight,” he guaranteed, “we will make her slipperier and smellier still. We all shall simply pound ourselves balls-deep in this sumptuous cunt and use it as our dirtiest whims prompt us, on and on until that juicy girl-flesh has loosed the seed of every man. She shall beg us for every spurt of the defilement—of the flattery—and she shall thank us sweetly for it when we have sated our lusts within her.” The girl said not a word, but to the Captain’s astonishment, she gave a gracious little nod. The Captain looked around in confusion at his officers and men, but all were as shocked as he. Old cook and young cabin boy, pilot and navigator, common seamen—stout lads all, they were as motionless as statues, waiting uncertainly for their leader. He caught the eye of his First Officer discreetly, and the trusted man could do naught but shrug back with his eyebrows. There was not a sound in the great candlelit dining room. The Marquis broke the silence. “Here, cunt,” he called quietly. He summoned the maiden with a negligent wave of his fingertips. “Oui, mon Marquis,” came the girl’s soft reply. Smiling faintly, she stepped toward Gallance without the slightest demure. Yet no polite gentle lady, these sailors knew, would have obeyed such a peremptory command. What did it mean, the Captain wondered, when a seeming lady could stand so sweetly before a dinner party of strangers, could be put on display, ordered about, called cunt, and promised as a bedmate to two-dozen-odd guests of all rank and station without even the merest show of indignation? Why, even the most jaded old w***e would resent such treatment—and yet this exquisite young thing was as rare and fine as some decadent Asiatic emperor’s most valued courtesan. Could it really be that a girl this fresh and young and lovely was merely this man’s plaything? Not one sailor spoke a word, but every heartbeat grew faster, every eye more hungrily attentive. None had ever imagined that a lady as refined as this could be a mere servant to animal lusts so, and even the Captain could scarcely avoid admitting to himself, secretly, unwillingly, that the notion now was wildly inflaming. This was no cheap portside brothel, where low-guttering candles and the abundance of rum made fat old women and slatternly young sluts seem like princesses. No, the dark-eyed girl who stood before them truly was the most beautiful morsel of femininity that any of them had ever seen. And the wicked Marquis had said that they all would use her… The Captain tried to stop his terrible thoughts, but his mind ran wildly on. It seemed dirty and wrong, yet he knew suddenly that there was not a man in the room who could have denied the invitation to lie with her, naked and sweaty and gasping—he included. Whether alone in the romantic sanctuary of some canopied bed, or whether before the gawking eyes of every one of his shipmates, none of these poor mortals would be able to resist the chance to treat this sweet young girl like a lover, like a w***e. Here there would be no bored wives to frown, no furious churchmen to scold, no magistrates to punish. In this castle upon the uncharted island of their mysterious rescuer, the sailors were lost from their old lands and customs, their old fears. Here they were free to indulge in their most desperate desires, joyously! Who would not kiss her and pet her and cherish her—strip her and ravish her and soil her? To feel her all over, to taste her all over, making her cry out her own forbidden lusts—what a wild delight it would be! The Captain bit his lip uncertainly. Why, he should set the example for his crew! Yet he was no longer confident that he could control his own fleshly desires. His eyes returned to the beautiful girl, helplessly. How lovely she was! Did she really, as the lustful Marquis claimed so nonchalantly, enjoy being penetrated and polluted? Without the stifling strictures of society, the Captain thought slowly, perhaps it was just possible. Surely women had their own desires sometimes, he knew. And if they let those secrets lusts free, wallowing in them as unashamedly as any man, then what would happen? Would such a young lady simply want more and more and more? What a pleasant thought it was! A man, after all, usually was done after just one woman, his veins so tired that his naughty organ simply could not rise for more. But if the grasping pink pit between a girl’s thighs was given free rein, how many throbbing c***s might it deign to take? If a girl did not have to care about convention or modesty or law and need not concern herself with the chance of pregnancy or pox, might she simply lie back lazily and invite as many turgid slabs of throbbing meat into her very core as she craved? As she watched her welcome ravishers tolerantly through eyes half-lidded in pleasure, would that soft, spongy hole just open up again and again, funneling ever more fluids to its sticky bottom? What would it be like, the Captain could not help wondering, to plop one’s swollen purple cockhead into the sloppy, squelching wet hole of a beautiful girl who already was filled with the c*m of a dozen men—and who begged prettily for the stringy spurts of a dozen more? What if those copious dollops did not disgust her but instead somehow pleased her as the evidence of her s****l prowess? Spread-legged and unashamed, she might reach those slender white arms languidly up and drag one down into her beckoning nakedness. Oh, to lie upon that flat young belly and wallow in the musky liquid paradise between those white thighs, grunting desperately, vying to be the one to pollute the smirking seductress the most copiously! And through it all, he imagined, she would smile indulgently and whisper in one’s reddened ear all the terrible things she craved one to do to her. The naughty thought thrilled him wildly. And yet the Captain felt he should want to protect the girl from this brutish treatment somehow. She was too fresh and serene and youthful, too ethereally lovely to be subjected to the undignified lusts of men. He longed to spirit her away and put her on a noble throne somewhere, a velvet-cushioned throne inlaid with diamonds and pearls and rubies, a seat from which, cloaked in long flowing robes, she could rule on high like a queen. Well, perhaps more like a princess, he amended with an inward shudder, for this slender white girl was young enough to be Gallance’s daughter—and that man surely was a decade or two younger than the Captain himself… Nevertheless, he would kneel before this esteemed pale princess, humbly. He would do her every bidding, willingly. And yet he wished she would bid him simply to f**k her, too. He would climb up on that dais and cast open her rich velvet robes and find her suddenly naked immediately beneath. Gasping, he would grip that smooth girlish white flesh deliriously, rubbing his aching red p***s all over her—her hands, her thighs, her belly, her breasts, and her face! As she sat smirking upon her throne he would cradle her supple haunches in his hungry, splayed hands, spreading those pale thighs wide to press his desperately swollen c**k down through the glossy tangles of her moist black fur and straight into the receptive, squelching pink flesh beneath. With his growling mouth upon her crookedly knowing red lips and his grasping hands upon her cool, resilient young bosom, he would molest her, happily. Yes, the Captain wanted to forget about responsibility and custom, wanted to make that pretty thing writhe beneath him as he f****d her full of his urgent fluids and enjoyed her in every manner the mind could conjure up. Shocked at his own thoughts, he looked around swiftly—but no one was paying him any attention. All eyes were upon the girl. This girl was indeed a most young and beautiful creature, glowing in the very prime of her burgeoning femininity. She was slender and shapely, white and smooth. Her neck and shoulders gleamed bare in the candlelight, soft and alluring. The tender thing’s waist was of delicate proportion, and the tantalizing hand span of close-fitting fabric just above the swelling of her hoop skirt suggested the charms of supple young hips. Such curves made one wish to put one’s arm protectively about that slim young waist…and yet also made one wish to cast those young hips upon a bed somewhere and possess them wildly. The delicate hands and wrists, the elegant forearms, the softly rounded upper arms and shoulders—how could their symmetry not make the poor sailors think of similarly elegant little feet and ankles, of smooth calves and thighs that might be splayed to reveal the soft, moist temptation between?