Entering his chambers, I see Bastian laying rope and shackles across his bed. He has his pants on, undone at the top and loose on his hips. His boots are still on, but his shirt is off and laid across the back of his desk chair. I’ve been called in to be his tonight. Everyone has their fair share of tales of, “Bastian the Pirate, of Pleasure and Prostitutes.” I myself have heard the stories, but never imagined I’d be one of them. But, after all, he did steal me from my homeland. I couldn’t have pictured him not bringing me in here to torture me.
“Come, stand in the middle of the room here,” he orders. “Take your dress off, leave on your corset and heels.”
I swallow from the order. He is serious and intimidating. I look ahead and make way for the middle of the room. When I get to the middle, I turn to watch him. He is still gathering rope and leather, placing them all along the bed. After a few moments, he turns to me, noticing I have not made way with my dress. His face looks tough and he takes a step in my direction.
“Are you deaf or ill? I told you to undress,” he states.
The stern speech makes my chest hurt. I start to shake inside, nervous to say anything in return. He is frightening.
“Sir, my dress is ff-fastened from behind.” I suddenly have a stutter and feel my voice disappearing from existence. “I have to have one of my maidens help me fasten it in the mornings and undo it by evening,” I manage to speak, but it all became a whisper by the end.
He stands still, with his straps of leather in his hands. For a brief moment, I can see his chest rise and fall with a long frustrating breath. My head is tilted down for what I feel is shame. But I still look toward him. His hand tightens around the straps, making his arm tighten. His muscles ripple from his wrist, up to his shoulder, and his veins grow. When my eyes catch his, he steps forward in my direction, tossing the straps onto the bed. He does not break contact with mine, but I start to feel scared as he gets closer. I look down as he approaches, and my breathing becomes erratic. My heart in my throat.
He raises one arm and my head turns, thinking he would punish me across my cheek. But he brings it up to one of my shoulders, and pulls from the backside, forcing me to turn around. As I turn, I have to pick up my dress with me, as it gets caught trying to move past Bastian’s timber legs. As I settle the dress, my hair is thrown in front of me, over my shoulder. I reach up, gathering the rest to help him move it out of his way. I feel his hands at the top of my dress, fiddling with the fastens, to undo them.
After seconds of defeat, I hear a long and hard breath from Bastian. I realize he is struggling to undo the buttons. I keep back a smile from the understanding frustration. I hear him step away and I turn to watch him. He is at his desk, and I hear the metal clank as he drags his sword over to me. My eyes go wide, and I hold up my arms to stop him.
“Wait! I can help get the top undone. Do not cut my dress, please!”
I take a step away from him before he gets any closer. He stops and looks at me with a mixed reaction. He looks either angry or impressed that I’ve spoken up to him. He is stern and does not proceed forward. But his head tilts to the side slightly. He stands at his attention with his sword hanging down in one hand. He holds it up and points at me.
“Proceed,” he says and rests his sword back on the ground.
He will not refrain from his intention. He will do as he wants if I do not get this dress undone. I feel relief that I get the chance.
I reach my hands behind my head, undoing the fastens at the top of my dress. I feel so nervous, but this is my dress. I think I remember how to undo it. There are three fastens, after that, the string must be untied and pulled loose the rest of the way down my back. After the fastens, I untie the string for him, so he has no more to do than loosen the dress. Bringing my arms back down to my side, I step forward to the middle of the room and turn my back to him. I gather my hair and put it over my shoulder and to my front as he did before. I take a deep breath and try to settle my heart in my throat. I hear Bastian take a few steps, and his sword clanks back on his desk. It scares me, and my breathing picks up once again.
He walks up behind me, bracing one hand on my lower back toward my waist and it makes me gasp with anticipation. His other hand twines his fingers into the strings of my dress and starts to pull them loose. For the next few moments, I start to calm. He holds my body from falling into him as he pulls the strings loose. He does it in a way that doesn’t scare me or make me feel like he wants to kill me. He gets to the bottom and uses both of his hands to pull open each side of my dress. He pulls so much that it is as loose and open more than it's ever been.
I feel his hands leave me, and he returns to his bed, messing with the ropes and straps. I hear the metal shackles clanking around. I look around and gather the sight of his room. It’s a captain's room. It's clean, tough, and attractive. I would be comfortable in here if I knew I wasn't his tonight. I notice anchors, books, a cigar box, and a fireplace with a mantel that has ships in a bottle. It's cozy. I take a few moments to gather myself and feel like I can breathe again. My heart no longer in my throat.
I jump when I hear him speak up again. Bringing me back to reality.
"Dress, Leah," he says. Not stopping with his ropes and shackles.
I reach my hands up and pull my dress down over my shoulders. I keep my back to him, scared to turn and face him. When I get my dress to my waist, I bend over and step out of it. Usually, this dress would go over my head to get it on or have to be lifted off of me to get it off. But Bastian loosened it so much, that the strings came out of half of the holes that fasten it up. I can step out of it easily. My maidens will be disappointed when I bring this back to them.
Part of me wants to smile again. He clearly has no practice with female clothing. Or he did this out of spite. But the thought of smiling quickly leaves as I get the answers to the thoughts in my head. As if he can hear them.
“Next time, one of your maidens will undress you before you enter my chambers. Or I will be using my sword,” he states and pauses. Then proceeds as if reassuring me of his demeanor, “And I will not be gentle.”
Why do I feel like he will not be gentle regardless? As if he has to address that he is a ruthless man. Or he is saying it out loud to address his own self. Address both of us in reminder. He is rough in his words, his actions, but gentle undoing my dress. I do not want to underestimate him.
As he finishes with his ropes and straps, he orders me to sit on the bed. I do as I’m told as he grips onto one rope and stands in front of me.
“I’m going to show you each rope, strap, and shackle that I use to get what I want,” he instructs me. And my lessons start.
He has quite the collection. Quite the education. He has ropes that stretch longer than the length of his chambers. Shackles that look so painful but have cloth on the inside to help with said pain. He has hooks at the corners of the bed frames, high on the ceilings, and hidden on the mantel of the fireplace. I don’t know how I didn’t see them before. But when you’re scared and afraid, you’re blind.
Bastian finishes his lesson and informs me it is time to begin. He has me walk over to the bed and get on it. Stepping up, I kneel at the edge with my back to him and sit down on my legs.
His hands reach out, grabbing each of my arms, pulling them behind me. He ties them together at my wrists, and from there, he intertwines the rope between my arms, crossing over each one, like a figure-eight motion, working his way to the top. The rope stings and itches, and I make hissing noises as he continues. He says nothing, only continues with what he wants.
Once the rope is at the height of my back shoulder blades, he stops. I feel movement in the middle of my back, then he brings the rope up and around my neck. I jolt and gasp, blinking rapidly as he tightens the rope. My breathing starts to become stuttered and a small scream escapes from the pain. He leans into me, reassuring me that I can breathe, and I do. Although I can, my heart feels like it will leave my body. My back arches as he makes the rope taut. One more time, he brings the rope up and around my neck, securing it to the middle of my back again. He pulls on it again, and it makes my head tilt up to the ceiling. If I try and pull my head forward, I can’t breathe at all. My front is open for him, my hands secured behind me, and my head out of his way. If I wasn’t certain this was for his pleasure, I’d believe I came here to be thrown overboard to drown and die.
I hear him behind me, shuffling through more of his ropes. I hear the shackles move and my body shutters even more. I am not able to control my breath, but I try to remind myself that Bastian said I could breathe.
He grabs my hands from behind and tugs them down slightly. I gasp from the pain as my head is pulled back even farther. I am met with his gaze over top of me and I let out a long shaky breath. He smiles at my condition, happy with his rope success. It burns me.
I study him as he stares at me for moments. His smile slowly lessens, and his jaw becomes tight and sharp. His nostrils flare as he takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly as if he is pondering his next move. I wonder what his thoughts are.
His other hand comes around my front, bracing against my sternum. His hand travels down, stopping above the entrance into my thin stocking. His fingertips enter, then stop as I take a deep, staggering breath. My legs had shifted slightly, outward from his feeling. He pauses, then his fingers retreat from below, settling on my stomach. My chest rises and falls faster from his touch. I am confused and mad. I felt warmth from him when I am supposed to feel cold.
He looks down at me, staring again in thought. I hear a curious grunt leave his throat, and his hands move again in the direction of my breasts. They feel exposed. Ready to leave my corset with my body being stretched back the way it is. His hands reach to tops of my breasts and I close my eyes, moaning a whimper.
I’m afraid of what he will do next… Or more of how my body will react.
His hand braces against the top of my corset against a breast. His fingers enter, spreading out to cup my whole breast. I lean back further, relaxing into his grasp. His fingers shift, closing in to grip, but my nipple gets caught between two of his fingers and he squeezes. The shock makes me moan, and my body aches from the pinch. Bastian releases the pressure, leaving his hand over my breast. I open my eyes and take a deep breath. Exhaling, his fingers close again, pinching the nipple harder this time. The sensation sends shocks down my body and through my lower half. My body shifts and my legs adjust, spreading them out further. My body tipped so far back that I feel I could fall off of the bed.
Bastian pulls his hand away, letting out a deep, long breath. His other hand lifts up on my wrists, pushing my head forward and out of his sight. He lets go and leaves me. I am once again confused. I kneel on the bed still. Controlling my breathing until it calms. I feel warmth and wetness down below. How could my body betray me? How can someone so evil make something feel good? There must be something wrong with me.
I hear him return and wrap his arm around my front from behind me. As he lifts me off the bed, I yelp from the pain and surprised by his quick action. He walks me to the middle of the room and sets me down on the floor. Now, I’m standing. My head still angled at the ceiling and arms tight behind my back. They burn, worse now since he manhandled me. I feel my throat is going to be sliced open.
He stands beside me, his front towards the fireplace and I turned toward his bed. His hand hangs by his side, holding something that is dangling. He moves it back and forth while his hand re-adjusts its hold at the handle. There is silence until he speaks.
“Since you find pleasure where there should be fright, then I will find fright where I find pleasure.”
Before I have time to breathe, I feel the stings across the back of my legs. I scream, and my legs give out from numbness. I catch myself on my knees before I can fall forward, not able to use my arms. Tears sting my eyes and I try to find Bastian. I hear him behind me, and he grabs the back of my arms. He lifts me up, back to my feet, and places me back in the middle of the room. I yelp from the pain and he speaks again.
“This time, I will hit you on the front of your legs. Fall again, and I will whip you with my sword instead.”
I try to breathe, remember that I’m capable of breathing. I close my eyes, tears falling from fear. The stings rattle the front of my legs and wrap around the insides. I yell a moan again, trying to contain a scream. Painfully, I stay on my feet. But my legs... They are shaky and could give out any second.
Bastian walks to the other side of me. I tense for what’s to come but it doesn’t matter. The stings wrap across the back of my legs, and I bend at the knees. I take a couple of steps forward catching myself from falling. My legs burn, and I feel wetness dripping down them. I can’t look to see if it’s blood, I’m fucking tied up like a hog ready for execution. Bastian comes to stand in front of me. He towers over me at least another foot and a half. His hand braces against my neck before he speaks again.
“I did not say you could stumble away from me.”
He grips my throat, cutting off some of my air, and presses his body against mine. It causes me to stumble backward. Back to the middle of the room. He gets me to where he wants me and holds me still again. I look into his eyes. Mine are burning, but his look like he can see what heaven looks like. He is happy, in relief, high off of whatever the fuck this is. A tear falls from one of my eyes and his hand comes up to wipe it away.
“Almost done darling,” he says. “Now, on your knees.”
I don’t change my face. I stare at him in defeat, in disgust. He releases my neck and I bend down to kneel before him. I sit back on my legs and he tisk-tisks at me.
“No, no. Up. No sitting unless I say so. Get up, and spread your knees out wide.”
I am starting to wish he had thrown me overboard from the start as if he was an actual murderer.
I sit up on my knees and slide them out wide for him. My back is still arched and my head up to the ceiling. I hear Bastian walk behind me and his steps stop. My breathing grows deeper and erratic again. Before I can get comfortable, I feel the strongest stinging of shots hit me between my legs. He has whipped me across my lower parts. My folds burn from the hit, my clit on fire, and my inner thighs stinging, causing my legs to fail. They shake from the sensations and my head falls further back from the pain. More tears fall and my breathing is no longer. I feel as if I’m choking.
I take deep breaths, trying to regain myself. And it comes again. The shots, the sting, the stabs shooting me between my legs. I scream as the pain shoots out through my core. But the stings linger, hitting me in every inch they are capable of. I control my breathing, focusing solely on the fact that I'm somehow, still alive.
I can feel myself breathing again. I can hear myself, hear my pain. It becomes numbing as he hits me again. The stinging shocks are deeper, my thighs, and my front, vibrating through my body. When the sting doesn't last as long, I take a breath and smile. It's becoming tolerable. I close my eyes and let more tears fall. Bastian lets the ropes strike again. This time, I embrace them. I moan. My body arches back and my legs slide out wider. A laugh slips out as I stutter my breath.
At my reaction, I don't feel another strike of his whips. I hear my breath, my heart beating in my throat. I open my eyes, not scared anymore. Will he hit me again? How else will he find ways to torture me?
I haven’t felt the sting for a few moments. I am either numb to them, or Bastian is changing his tactics. At my impatience, I lean forward. Slowly, I bring my chest to the ground. My knees are still on the floor. I restrict my air at this angle, but I can still breathe. Like he said I could. My lower half is out and open for Bastian to do whatever he pleases. My head sits on its side, smashed into the floor and my eyes stare across the room. I hear nothing until his steps vibrate behind me.
I wait, anticipating his stings, his hands, anything. But his hands lift me up and off the floor. The burning from the rope on my arms is no longer burning. They feel good. I sit on my legs as he holds me up, starting to loosen the rope around my neck. He releases one loop, and my neck feels free. The next loop comes off and my head falls forward. It aches and itches at the same time.
I feel tugs behind me, and the ropes start to fall from my arms. Looser and looser they become. Soon, my arms fall to my sides, free of the rope. I pull them forward and hug myself, rubbing the indents on my skin.
I hear Bastian step away from me. He walks over to his bed and tosses the ropes with the others. I watch him, confused what his intentions are. He walks across the room, opens his cigar box, and pulls one out. He opens his chamber doors and steps out onto his patio. He stands, lights his cigar, and stares out at the ocean as the moonlight shines down.
I decide to stand, slowly and painfully, unsure where to go or what to do. I grab the blanket draped across the foot of the bed and wrap it around myself. I walk over to the doorway, afraid to address him.
“Bastian?” I call out to him.
He takes a puff of his cigar, inhaling deeper and letting out a long exhale. His hands rest on the railing as his head tilts to the side. I only make out his dark silhouette. His head stays to the side, and he speaks one word,
“Leave.”
His head turns back to the ocean, puffing on his cigar once more. I take a step back. His voice was deep and dark. I’m more scared of his thoughts than what he will do to me. But I do as he says. I turn and leave. My dress is forgotten and I run out wrapped in his blanket.