The Island of Marquis Gallance

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Though the Captain hesitated at his host’s call to strip the girl bare—and he took some pride in authority that his trusted First Officer held back, too—a dozen of his men lunged forward hungrily to tear the corset stays and the skirt and hoops from the wench’s beautiful white flesh. They were commoners, the ones who leapt at her first, and if such a thing had occurred before today, the Captain would have had them lashed within an inch of their lives with knotted steer hide laid on strong. Yet now their response seemed to the Captain’s slowly changing mind no offense, instead merely a reaction no less natural—and no more blameworthy—than breathing. He could not fault the poor souls.

The girl had worn no other underclothes, and in but a moment those hungry male hands had denuded her utterly before them. She was naked and gleaming, wildly available as a dozen sets of hands pawed her supple white flesh. They could smell the excitement of her moist womanhood.

“Please, noble Captain,” urged Gallance urbanely, “I beg of you, do not deny yourself.” He gestured solicitously at the silent wench. Sailors crowded about and fondled her pale nakedness, yet still she contrived to remain as haughty and unnoticing as a statue. “Beautiful, fresh young cunt, monsieur. Smell it, lick it, suck it! Rub it, fist it, f**k it! Whatever may suit you. Never let it be said that I am not the most obliging of hosts.”

The Captain hesitated, his face a study of agony. He had been at sea so terribly long, weeks and weeks wherein secret fluids daily dripped down into glands that now seemed full to bursting. He had tried to ignore his desires, tried to be staunch. Yet many were the nights when behind his closed eyelids had danced shapely phantasms, impossible dream-girls who capered and smirked, who with wicked eyes begged him to do such things as he could not even name. How many salt-scented, starlit nights had he tossed and turned, erect and quivering within his nightclothes, helplessly longing?

The Captain’s passions raged now in his hungry flesh. Inbred conscience shrieked in accusation. He tried to tell himself that this was wrong, debasing to his manly rationality. He tried to tell himself that the poor girl deserved so much more than this—something spiritual and transcendent, not merely acts beastly and shameful. But his natural desires roared their urgent demands.

And there she stood, silent and serene, the dark n*****s of her bare little breasts upright in her undeniable arousal. Hairy male hands groped her smooth white flesh all over, grasping and possessive. Yet through it all her gaze was turned to the Captain, her sly dark eyes regarding him appraisingly from beneath half-lowered lids. Her mocking red lips dared him.

The Captain stared unblinking at her gleaming white flesh, so young and rounded and smooth. He licked his dry lips. Despite his attempted reluctance, there really could be no contest between the opposing impulses. Finally he could not help stepping forward and joining in, and as he did so the other sailors parted deferentially to make room for their leader.

Slowly the Captain ran his palms over the girl, hesitantly—yet soon with growing abandon. Emboldened, he moved his hands caressingly over her supple hips and the downy-soft black thatch between her tender thighs. As he reached across the swelling curves of her haunches and her taut youthful belly, he marveled at those fine soft hairs, so tender and girlish and yet so dark and luxuriant. How alluringly virginal seemed that sweet p***y—yet how promisingly whorish it must be! Surely, surely it could deny these desperate men nothing. His blood pounded happily at the thought.

Shuddering in his need, the Captain pressed himself against her slender young body, grasping helplessly at her springy little breasts. Ah, how high they were, squeezable and pert and silken-smooth! For a long moment he reveled in her available youth, exciting himself powerfully with the feel of her petite, upstanding handfuls. He kissed, too, at her soft rounded shoulders, her exposed throat, her fuzzy, fragrant nape, her blood-warmed ears. When at last he dared to slip a fingertip into the top of the moist crease beneath her softly furred lower belly, he observed, to his almost unbearable delight, that she made no response—except to smirk back at him. Eyes wide, he prodded her there, and watched as the naughtily teasing thing’s breath caught in her throat. Staring into the fathomless depths of her mocking dark eyes, he fingered her pouting nether lips joyfully.

The Marquis rose. “Come, sailors!” he exclaimed. “Heave to!” At his instigation, nearly thirty sets of hands grabbed eagerly at the girl’s flesh, then hoisted her and bore her gleaming nakedness toward a small adjoining room that had been curtained off from the magnificent dining hall. “And, yes, Captain,” he nodded approvingly on the way, “don’t scruple about a finger in her cunt or her ass as you may see fit.” He laid his friendly hand along the Captain’s wrist and with a bold push shoved the man’s finger home in musky pink, until his guest’s knuckles nestled in her softly furry labia. “Enjoy, sir!”

Within the small room, where servants already had lit innumerable candles, they found a strange X-shaped couch cunningly constructed of narrow strips of curving brass and wrapped here and there in cushions of red velvet. “Ah, le divan des orgies,” chuckled the Marquis with a fond headshake. “You will find it most charming, gentlemen, I guarantee!” Humming idly, the man showed his guests how to place her to best advantage, right in the center, with her supple limbs along the spreading arms of the sloping couch.

She lay before them, her thighs carelessly apart along the guides of the strangely skeletal piece of furniture, her arms cast languidly back over her head amid the fanned out waves of sable of her hair. She gazed up at them, her sultry dark eyes half-lidded.

“What say you, cunt?” asked the Marquis with a smile.

“Why, mon Marquis,” protested the naked girl in inflaming, incongruous coyness, “whatever do you mean?” Still she made no move to cover herself. Her dark n*****s were puckered up hard and tight. Her crotch was wet and fragrant.

“What say you, cunt?” he asked again. “Surely just one c**k squirting into that slut’s mouth is not enough to please such as you?”

“Well, mon Marquis…” the girl began teasingly.

“Yes, cunt?” he questioned, eyebrows raised.

The wench stretched kittenishly, her supple hips rolling as she spread her knees wider. “My body, Marquis,” she admitted with a beautiful little smirk, “it does feel afire.”

“And what, cunt,” Gallance asked knowingly, “will it take to quench that sluttish blaze?”

“One such as I would hate to impose upon these noble gentlemen…” The girl bit her lip in mock hesitance, her face aglow. Between her gleaming splayed thighs, the dilated lips of her quim glistened with beckoning moisture. She was wet and ripe—they could smell her.

“Oh,” said the Marquis, his eyes narrowing, “but I insist. Speak, cunt.”

“Perhaps…” She stopped, her lips pursed.

“Yes…?”

“Perhaps,” she murmured quietly, “the monsieurs would be kind enough to spunk me mercilessly…”

“Ha!” laughed Gallance. “What unnatural monster could resist!” He looked around at his wild-eyed guests. “Remove your breeches, comrades, and f**k this poor hungry cunt as she needs!”

The sailors hastened to comply, shedding their garments and crowding eagerly closer. Almost at once the girl was surrounded in naked masculinity, pale and sinewy and hairy—yet the Captain could not help but find the situation somehow arousing nevertheless. Though the sight of those coarse-haired limbs and bulging shoulders, flabby bellies and square-sided buttocks, jouncing red c***s and ugly swinging scrotums was repulsive to him, still it was perversely thrilling to see this beautiful young girl willingly expose herself to such treatment. Bending over the low couch, the sailors pawed and groped her smooth young white flesh happily, almost covering her in their grasping hands, their hungry mouths.

Though the Captain ached with desire, he tried to retain some dignity, removing his clothing with as much deliberation as he could. Eyes fixed upon the girl’s alluring nakedness as the others fondled and caressed it; the Captain took off the borrowed shoes and stockings, the lace collar and cuffs, the blouse, the breeches, finally the undergarments. At last he was naked, his manhood standing high and swollen and hungry. He stepped forward, his rigid organ jutting out before him.

Ever the decorous host, Gallance—who likewise had removed his clothes and who despite his nakedness now moved authoritatively among his guests with aplomb—clapped one sailor upon the shoulder and slapped another good-naturedly about the rump so that they moved to make way for the Captain. “Out of the way, there, sailors,” he laughed. “You’ll have to swim in the sperm of your betters if you’re to enjoy my hospitality. No crass republicanism here!”

All officers and men backed politely away as the Captain stood naked between the pretty girl’s splayed thighs. They looked from one to the other expectantly.

“Please, dear sir,” said the Marquis with a gracious little bow, “do have the honor of the first soiling of this cunt.”

“Thank you,” replied the man hoarsely. He looked down across his distended purple cockhead and into the girl’s expectant young face. She seemed to smirk up at him, her dark eyes sly and knowing upon the great knob of enraged flesh that hung so high and demanding above her, throbbing, drizzling, almost ready to burst. That mindless rod of swollen meat was all for her, she knew, and she was ready. No, the Captain realized, not just ready—she craved it! She wanted him to press that fat cockhead into her plump labia, wanted him simply to mount her and f**k her fine young body like an animal, wanted him to soil her with every spasm of his spurting c*m. The knowledge was profoundly exciting.

The Captain got to his knees on one of the brocaded cushions strewn all about the floor. As everyone else looked down silently at him, he placed his reverent hands flat on the girl’s hipbones, on either side of her lush triangle of silky black curls. His twitching cockhead hung before inviting portals of velvety wet flesh. He licked his lips and looked up from the heavenly, fragrant temptation, farther, across flat young belly and stiff-nippled little breasts, into the fathomless dark eyes that regarded him indulgently from beneath dense, curling lashes.

“Would the monsieur care to f**k me?” wondered the girl, one corner of her red mouth curled in a knowing little smirk.

“Yes,” he whispered. “Thank you.”

“Then please, sir,” replied the girl, “kindly use me at your leisure.” She stared up at him with a secret, almost mocking challenge. “Pray, be restrained by no convention or hesitation. My cunt awaits your slightest whim.”

“Mademoiselle is too kind,” breathed the Captain. Gazing helplessly down into her beautiful, enigmatic dark eyes, he reached down his thumbs to part the sticky outer lips of her cunt. He edged himself slightly forward until the fat, drizzling head of his rampant phallus just brushed those tender pink portals. Silently he nudged the swollen purple knob ahead so that it alone was wrapped in those juicy labia. For a moment he worked his pulsing, drizzling glans back and forth ever so slightly, teasing himself, reveling in the sticky suck and squelch of her wet flesh. It felt so good!

She gave a brief, self-possessed smile. “A true gentleman,” she said with a faint tone of mockery. “But a cunt is not made for manners, dear Captain,” she reminded him. “It is made for your c**k, and for f*****g. Polite manners will never loose the c*m as your poor balls so obviously need. Please feel free to sate your lusts within me, sir.” She peered up at him coquettishly through narrowed lids. “Penetrate, possess, and pollute me at will.”

“Very well, Mademoiselle,” he said quietly.

Shuddering in his need, then, he simply leaned forward and penetrated her joyously. It was bliss.

The girl was hot and wet, slippery with the copious lubrication of her excitation and yet still deliciously smooth and tight along every naked inch of him. Her intimate flesh seemed to suck softly at his engorged manhood as he buried himself balls-deep within her. It would have taken so little effort to climax then, to soil his naughty slut all at once. But he wanted this to last. He wanted to get the most he could, to use her utterly—and to make her respond beneath him, too!—before his poor, mortal flesh made him stop. Groaning, he withdrew and gave another slow, purposeful stroke.

“Mm,” smiled the girl, shuddering ever so slightly at the possession. “Oui, mon Capitaine, enjoy.”