Devi's Paradise (21 page)

Armand was controlled, every move worked out, but as he came into sight she noted the erection distorting his breeches and knew that before long he would be forced to empty his cods of their seed. Such activity as that in which he was now engaged excited him to fever pitch. She prayed to deny him, leaving him frustrated, but was in a state of madness where all she wanted was to feel him taking her as harshly and cruelly as he knew how.

The paddle whacked her on her calves, the backs of her knees, everywhere that was exposed to view. When it flicked the parted centre of her crotch she wailed, her mind empty of everything except pain. She was losing her senses, the desktop, the room, the window, the drapes spinning. She felt him behind her, pushing between her legs. She was overwhelmed because he was feeding his cock into her, and his hand was cradling her pubis from the front, his thumb palpating her clitoris. Everywhere hurt. Everything was arousing. She was tossed among sensations.

Armand directed his cock to its goal, pushing it inside, using her love-channel not her arse this time. He could not touch her anywhere without pain augmenting the pleasure. She knew what it was like to be a slave, the need to be mastered, and the idea terrified yet elated her. Sensation overrode sensation; she could taste fear on her lips, smell danger in his sweat and drown in the force of their mutual desire.

She cried out when she came, shuddering with the strength of it, and Armand cupped her pubis and allowed her to enjoy it to the full. His cock pulsed within her, riding towards its end. He dug his hands into her hair, clamping her scalp with the intensity of his gathering passion. He rocked against her, pinched her flesh, bit her neck and she felt his seed flood her. He rested quietly, laying across her, cock still entombed in her cunt.

‘You’ll not have Willard again,’ he grunted. ‘He’s off to Jamaica and we are going back to Devil’s Paradise. I’m being merciful, but if you betray me a second time you’ll wish you’d never been born.’

Gone were the trips into town. Romilly was virtually a prisoner and Joshua forbidden her presence. He was not even permitted to bid her farewell before embarking for Jamaica.

‘It’s back to the island for us, then,’ Alvina commented, already bored with Cayona, although equipped with made-to-measure gowns and accessories.

‘Who cares?’ Romilly was wallowing in self-pity. ‘Armand neither wants me nor grants me freedom. I’m in limbo and don’t know what to expect.’

Alvina looked up from supervising the packing. ‘He needles you, doesn’t he? These matters wouldn’t vex you so much if you were indifferent to him.’

‘Poppycock!’ Romilly exclaimed, and vented her anger on Jessica who was practically useless these days, wandering around like a lovelorn loon.

‘There are wedding bells in the air,’ whispered Alvina.

‘Peter Quidley?’

‘Who else? Do you think he has bedded her yet?’

‘Stop it, your mind is like a cess-pit. You think of nothing but coupling.’ Romilly sparked up, furious because she, too, was obsessed by visions of sexual encounters.

Armand was impatient to leave. He spent much time with the officers that had accompanied him and it appeared as if there was something important brewing.

‘We board this evening and sail at sunrise. Peter says that with a brisk wind behind us we should reach San Juliano at daybreak,’ Jessica pronounced sagely.

‘Then you’d better shift and stop mooning about,’ Romilly snapped. At one time Jessica would have jumped to attention, but these days she walked in a rose-pink daze, immune to all save love.

‘It’s an affliction,’ Romilly raged at Alvina, sotto voce. ‘Even the most sensible of women loses control, obsessed by some man’s cock.’

‘It’s part of Dame Nature’s plan. We mate and the future of the human race is secured. Not that I want children yet, but one day, perhaps. You’re so serious. Be light-hearted like me. There’s nothing worth fretting your bowels to fiddle-strings about,’ Alvina advised cheerfully.

Armand leapt from the leading longboat when it ground on the sand, splashed through the shallows and headed for the fortress like a man possessed, full of the forthcoming venture. First he called a meeting of every man jack there, dragging them from their comfortable billets with the women who’d thrown in their lot with them.

Sabrina was called to account. ‘What’s been happening during my absence?’ he demanded, pacing the stone flags of the Great Hall.

‘Not a lot,’ she replied casually. ‘Sancho and Browne have kept control and the men have been happy to take it easy, but they’re straining at the leash now. What’s afoot?’

‘There’s a Spanish galleon sailing from Mexico with a cargo of gold from the mines. I intend to take her and return loaded with bullion. Are the ships ready to sail?’

‘As far as I know.’ She lifted her smooth brown shoulders and spread her hands wide, palms up.

‘You should make it your business to know. Didn’t I leave you in charge?’

‘Oh, stop behaving like a bear with a sore arse,’ she returned. ‘Everything is ship-shape and Bristol fashion. They’ve finished careening the hulls, the cannons are all in place and the crew eager for action. What more do you want?’

‘Right, you’ve done well,’ he said grudgingly. ‘Now I charge you to take care of the prisoners, especially Lady Romilly who proves a wilful jade. I’ll leave the
Scorpion
and the
Golden Queen
here, and take the
Sirocco
. She’s a fast frigate and one is all we need. The galleon will be slow and bulky. It shouldn’t present a problem.’

Romilly saw nothing of him. The fort buzzed and there was frantic activity as the pirates prepared. They forgot women, gambling and booze; only the acquisition of wealth was important. Swords and cutlasses were honed to razor-sharp perfection, pistols, matchlocks and muskets primed, gunpowder kegs stacked in readiness, cannonballs loaded by davits, and the cannons themselves lashed into place. The carpenter and his mate were ready to amputate if necessary and Jessica upset because Peter had to go in his capacity as a doctor.

‘Stop snivelling!’ Romilly snapped, exasperated, as they stood on the beach and watched the ship disappear till it was a dot on the horizon. ‘He’ll turn up like a bad penny, never fear.’

‘It’s all very well for you, milady. You’re young and beautiful but I’m in my thirties and he’s my last chance.’

‘Stuff and nonsense! Just think how nice it will be without having to hang around after him.’

‘Aren’t you concerned about Captain Tertius?’

‘I hope some Spaniard runs him through!’ Romilly spat viciously, turned on her heel and made for her room. She would lie low for a bit, and when Sabrina least expected it intended to explore the island by herself, or maybe with Jessica in tow.

She missed Joshua, was becoming more and more disenchanted with Jamie, and yearned to escape from Armand. All right, so she was supposed to wait patiently till Joshua returned from Port Royal, but she chaffed at the bit like a high-strung filly longing to take flight. An atmosphere of ennui prevailed. Even Alvina couldn’t be bothered to flirt and Jamie and George spent the time lolling in hammocks in the shade, supping rum and playing cards.

The skeleton force left behind to guard the fortress carried out any work on the remaining ships in the morning, then enjoyed a siesta during the afternoons. There was no telling when the
Sirocco
would return, but Romilly knew she mustn’t delay if she was to enjoy a measure of freedom. She had given up any idea of running away. It seemed pointless if Lady Fenby would be sending her ransom soon, but she needed to rebel against Armand’s dictatorial edicts.

‘You are bored, my dear,’ Sabrina said, strolling into Romilly’s bedroom one noon. Aponi walked several paces behind her, slender as a reed in a colourful sarong.

‘Yes, you’re right, I’m unaccustomed to idling. Back home there were a myriad things to do… shopping in the Royal Exchange… watching the gentlemen beating each other at indoor tennis… attending the playhouse with a good chance of glimpsing the King and one or other of his mistresses. And when we travelled to Harding Hall, that’s the family seat, you understand, we hunted nearly every day during the season and held house parties and played bowls on the lawn and had all manner of fun.’

Sabrina smiled and came closer, breathing out an exotic, spicy perfume. ‘Poor child,’ she murmured. ‘This must seem like another world peopled by crude ruffians and loose women.’

Romilly was relaxing on the daybed close to the window, endeavouring to catch the faintest breeze that would modify the heat. She made no objection when Sabrina sat beside her, resting one hand on her silk-clad thigh and caressing her breasts with the other. Romilly didn’t protest, though startled by her own reaction. She was missing human contact, longing for someone to pay attention to her needs, no matter how roughly. Armand had released feelings and emotions that she didn’t know she had. It had been days now since a man had touched her and her wanton self yearned for it.

Aponi stood behind them, gently waving a fan over the couch while Romilly fidgeted under Sabina’s artful caresses, but did not withdraw. Emboldened, the Creole trailed her fingers across Romilly’s throat, and then up to circle her ear. She examined it, and the pearl-drop that hung from the lobe, then followed this with her tongue, licking and sucking and causing the most pleasant of sensations. It was almost like being aroused by a man, and Romilly was puzzled as she became aware of something hard in Sabrina’s crotch.

‘Ah,’ the Creole said with a wide smile, teeth gleaming in her dusky face. ‘You are wondering how I have suddenly grown a prick. No magic, look,’ and she stood up and held open her robe all the way. She wore a leather harness strapped round her waist and between her thighs. It fitted her body perfectly and was designed to support a carved wooden replica of an erect cock. She waggled it gleefully. ‘You’ve seen this kind of thing before. It’s like the plugs I pushed up your arse.’

She stopped in front of Romilly, the mock-phallus at eye level, and helped her out of her lounging robe. That huge object fascinated Romilly, tingling as she wondered how it would feel inside her. A similar dildo had hurt when thrust into her anus, but that was to be expected as she was a virgin there. She experienced a rush of desire as she tentatively touched the wooden prick rearing from Sabrina’s mound. It was remarkable, resembling an erect penis to the very life, but it felt hard and cold, not smooth and warmed by blood like the real thing.

‘Would you care to try it, milady?’ Sabrina murmured, and she brushed her thumb across Romilly’s maidenhair, parted her slit and found the little nodule that rose instantly at her touch.

Romilly was conscious of Aponi watching impassively, but like every white person in the West Indies, had begun to view the slaves as less than human, created to serve and pleasure them. Sabrina’s pink tongue licked across Romilly’s cheek to her mouth, and very gently parted her lips. Her breath tasted of nutmeg and cinnamon, and Romilly surrendered to its seduction. And all the time the Creole’s fingers roused her clit, wooing it into stiffness and setting Romilly’s juices flowing.

Aponi set aside the fan and leaned over the daybed, fingers working busily at her own fork. Sabrina glanced at her. ‘You’ll not be left unsatisfied, wench. I long for another feel of your tight little snatch.’

Her slender fingers continued to play with Romilly’s clit, which was overloading with passion, then removed them and said, ‘Stretch over the arm of the couch. Bottom towards me.’

‘Oh, but… you can’t. I was just about to come.’ Romilly was frustrated and wanted to cry with disappointment, her bud abandoned at the point of release.

‘Stop fretting and enjoy,’ said her controller, and pressed the dome of the mock phallus into Romilly’s wet and eager vagina. It was satisfyingly huge, stretching her internally and caressing her spasming muscles. It filled her completely, pressing against her cervix, and the sensation was strange for it was so unyielding, not like a man’s appendage which, though stiff, still had a certain flexibility. It warmed within her and began to feel more natural as Sabrina moved it carefully in and out, using a clever technique that aped the real thing. Her hands reached under Romilly to cup her breasts and toy with the nipples. Aponi positioned herself so she could carry on licking them, then squirming down and inserting her tongue in Romilly’s labial groove, fondling the swollen nubbin.

Romilly throbbed with excitement, intense sensations fanning out from her bud. She arched back against the dildo, riding it fiercely, determined to extract every iota of pleasure. Sabrina gasped as it chaffed her clitoris. Aponi was panting, feeding on Romilly’s sex and rubbing her own at the same time.

Romilly started to peak, rising to the glorious heights of orgasm. It roared through her, a searing sensation that seemed to go on forever. She bore down on the dildo and heard Sabrina wail, feeling her shaking as their wooden lover served them both.

Aponi wriggled out from under her and Romilly flung herself on her back. She watched as the slave girl lay on the floor and Sabrina mounted her, driving that inexhaustible prick while Aponi whimpered with joy, wearing a blissful expression that heralded climax.

Heat radiated from Romilly’s belly and she wanted another orgasm. She fingered her nipples, hard and pointed, and she wanted to feel Armand’s lips on them, her vagina aching for a real cock inside it… Armand’s!

Joshua hauled himself from the longboat, climbed the iron ladder and stepped onto the jetty at Port Royal. He was accompanied by Lieutenant Clive Morrison, Henry Moorcross and two hard-featured members of Armand’s force. The vessel carried mail and packages between the islands and the coast and was entirely legitimate, though its captain was inclined to turn a blind eye to shady deals if it was worth his while.

The port was a bustling, thriving place that far exceeded Cayona in size and affluence. There were many ships at anchor in its snug harbour and piracy had been outlawed. Only legitimate vessels were welcomed there.

Once ashore Henry conducted Joshua to an inn where a coach could be hired. The accountant held the purse strings. There was no likelihood that Joshua would give him the slip, not that he intended to with Lady Romilly’s life in jeopardy.

So resembling a party of respectable merchants, they headed for Seven Oaks, the Fenby plantation in nearby Kingston. Henry was following instructions, having sent a runner ahead to warm Lord and Lady Fenby of their arrival. By now they should have received a letter disclosing the nature of the matter. Kingston was a pleasant, cultivated area not far from the port, and contained plantations belonging to rich settlers who did very well out of the produce raised from the rich soil, living in comfort and served by slaves.

The coach halted at a pair of imposing wrought-iron gates, which were opened by a bare-footed black boy clad in blue livery with a lot of gold trimming. He grinned at them and exchanged banter with the driver. A wide, tree-lined avenue lay ahead, ending at a fine, colonnaded house. A butler greeted them at the ornate front door, looking down his nose superciliously and enquiring their business.

‘Lord Fenby should have had a message,’ Joshua said firmly. ‘We are here with regard to his niece, Lady Romilly Fielding, daughter of the Earl of Stanford.’