The Ravishing Sea
North Atlantic, 1934
“The men are exhausted, but we managed to shift some of the granite on the port side over to starboard, and cleared the blockage of the bilge pump. It’s pumping at full capacity, but seems to be keeping up with the influx of sea water,” Elizabeth Cressey reported to her father.
“Very well,” her father said as he rubbed his chin and jawed ceaselessly on the pipe he had stuck out of his mouth. “Perhaps we can make it to Boston Harbor and stem our leaks there.”
“Or buy a steel hulled steamship,” the captain of the Wyoming said as he sat beside Elizabeth’s father smoking a pipe as well, and filled the captain’s quarters with the sweet smell of the duo’s burning tobacco. Elizabeth rolled her eyes at the captain, but her father discretely waved his hands in protest. He did not want her demeanor to infuriate the other captain who had seen their plight just off Nantucket, and had anchored just off their port bow to offer his assistance. Elizabeth did not want to infuriate him either, but with his assistance came a tirade that Elizabeth found degrading.
“Christ, Cressey, it’s nineteen thirty-four. Sailing ships are a thing of the past. There is no way you can compete with steam engines and steel hulls.”
“It’s getting tough that’s for sure, but I still like being under sail...”
“You always were an old sea salt, Eugene, but you cannot see the end, can you? If I was you I would scuttle this barnacle bait and purchase yourself a new steamship.”
“I’d like too, but they cost money I’m afraid.”
“Well so does maintenance on this tub, but I have an air compressor and diving bell aboard. In the morning I’ll have my diver go down and patch some of your through-fittings. That’s where she is leaking I’ll bet.”
“That’s kind of you, but we’ll limp into Boston.”
“You’ll never make it Eugene. You’re already listing to starboard and it feels like a storms a brewing to the southwest.”
“We don’t have much of a choice. We’ll have to make it to Boston.”
“Are you listening to yourself. You have not made five miles in the last twenty four hours; do you really expect to make it to Boston before the gale? You don’t have a choice; we’ll have to send down a diver to keep your ship afloat.”
“Like I said, we don’t have a choice. We have to make it to Boston because I don’t have money to pay you,” he said looking at his boots in shame. “I can get credit in Boston though. I’ll be fine when I tie up there.”
“I see,” the captain of the Wyoming said slowly, as if deep in thought. “Then perhaps we can trade my friend.”
“As in what? All I have is granite and coal aboard, the latter which hardly burns.”
“I was thinking of company my dear friend.”
“Company? Even if I did have the right to sell you shares of this shipping company, I would doubt that you would want stock in such a fledgling operation,” he said thinking still in financial terms.
“Well I was thinking more like some company aboard my ship,” he said, now looking directly at Elizabeth who stood with her arms crossed, leaning on the door frame that lead into the captain’s quarters.
“How dare you come on my ship and demand such a thing!”
“You’re out of options Eugene. I have what you need and it’s not like your daughter’s not of age.”
“It’s the principal of it.”
“No it’s pride, but your pride is just what your going to lose if I weigh anchor and leave you here. You’ll never make it to Boston and you know it. You got a hold full of water, a bilge barely able to keep up and a gale brewing to the south of you. You would be taking eleven sailors to their deaths, not to mention your daughter’s life and that of your own!”
“Get off my vessel!”
“As you wish, captain, but the lives of your crew now rest in your hands,” he said and turned and started out of the captain’s quarters. As he grabbed his jacket, he shrugged his shoulders and was about to shut the door behind him when Eugene stopped him.
“Wait. Wait, John,” he suddenly cried as if he was about to lose his chance at saving the life of his crew. “You can have her company,” he said more softly as the other captain spun around to face him. “Besides she needs to be educated about such things anyway, but only as long as it takes to complete the repairs. A few hours.”
“No, Papa,” Elizabeth yelled at the negotiation of servitude.
“Shut up, Liz. You don’t understand how grave the situation is.”
“We’ll complete the repairs as you wish, but not for a few hours of pleasure. Our cargo is destined for New York, then we’re going to double back to Boston. You can have your daughter back in two weeks.”
“That’s too long, John. Far too long!”
“For a fixed hull? I would say that’s a steal. Two weeks Eugene, no less.”
“For your pleasure only. I don’t want her shared with your crew.”
“Papa please. You can’t do this. I couldn’t possibly...”
“Liz, this is going to be harder for me then it will be for you, but I got to. I got eleven other lives aboard this ship that weigh into my decision,” he stammered and reached under his berth to pull out a small wooden chest, rounded in shape and covered with dust.
“Liz take this. It was your mother’s of course. She wore it sometimes, before her passing. I was saving it as a wedding gift, but tonight— Tonight’s going to be your wedding night in a way.”
“Papa, please. I can’t. Not like this.”
“You can and you will.”
“Papa, please,” Liz pleaded, but John gripped her hand and escorted her up the ships stairs to the deck. Liz was too much in shock to register what she was being asked to do as she was lead from the deck onto the small dory and taken across the short choppy span of seawater that separated the two massive ships. As a plume of black sooty smoke rose into the foggy moonlight, Liz could not help but feel a sense of foreboding as her feet hit the steel deck of the Wyoming.
“She’s quite fetching, captain,” one of his deckhands said after he helped Liz off the rope ladder that ascended from the surf. There was no need to agree verbally to the man’s words, as Liz’s beauty was evident even in the meager light of the quarter moon. Even under a forlorn pair of blue dungarees and an equally tattered red and black flannel shirt, John and his deckhand could see her stunning figure. From the way her torso strained the buttons of her man-tailored flannel shirt, the captain guessed her age to be in her early twenties. Such assumptions could be dangerous, but having her father grant him the rights to take her took precedence over the fact that they were still in international waters, where less stringent laws prevailed. Still, in good conscience, he could not take a woman that was too young and Liz appeared to be of sufficient age as her strawberry blond hair began to blow from the intensifying northwest winds. The captain merely nodded and escorted his new prize towards the impressive confines of his cabin.
Below deck, the kerosene lamps gave her suntanned skin a softer glow and he could not resist brushing her arm as she spun around in the spacious captain’s quarters. She recoiled from his touch, but did not speak as he looked at her again. He did not want to be consumed with lust at that moment, but the desire could not be stifled from having spent months out to sea.
“I see your father doesn’t feed you,” he quipped at her petite size. “Any smaller and a gust of wind might blow you off the deck.”
“I may be small, but I do my share of the work. Any one of our crew will tell you that.”
“Barefoot and feisty. I like that, Liz,” he said enjoying how her diminutive feet had long toes that seemed to defy the need for shoes. He held his gaze on them for far too long, being fascinated by them even though the rest of her figure held just as much sex appeal. He noticed the latter points of her feminine body as he pried his eyes away from her feet, and slowly took in her long legs, slender waist and protruding chest. By the time his eyes locked onto hers, he was ready to just take her. Liz noticed this as well, and was anticipating that very reaction. Incredibly, the captain just spoke.
“I’ll let you have a moment to gather yourself. I must brief my crew on the repairs to be made to your father’s vessel before they commence work at first light. Perhaps you can put on your mother’s outfit as I do so?”
Liz just nodded as the captain leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. He had tried to insert his tongue in between them as he did so, but Liz was able to repel him by keeping them tightly clenched. As he turned in haste to walk out of the room, Liz knew it was a hollow victory at best. When he returned, more than his tongue would be going inside her.
She started to cry as the lid of the small wooden box squeaked on hinges that had not been flexed in years, and peered at the antique clothing she had inherited from her mother. Having spent a decade inside the well-constructed chest, the dress had been protected from decay by the pungent smell of the aromatic cedar the chest was constructed of. By all accounts however, it was a decadent dress. Crafted in the Victorian period, it was thus festooned with silk, satin and lace, none of which was material Liz was fond of. Still she peeled off her rather manly attire, and donned the dress in preparation for the captain’s arrival.
“Quite the transformation,” the captain said upon stepping into his quarters and laying eyes upon Liz. She had used all thirty minutes of his abstinence to force herself into the ruffled and layered dress and was lacing up the Victorian boots that were part of the ensemble when he stepped into the room.
“I can see why your father wanted you to wear this outfit for me. It has some endearing qualities,” he explained as she spun around slowly on one foot for him so that the captain could see the outfit from every angle. As the plum colored skirt drifted across the planked floor, he noticed the lace fringed chevron pattern on each side. Black velvet added contrast on her three quarter length sleeves with a row of beaded star bursts adding Victorian flair to the front and back of her dress as well. The bodice was what added sexual appeal however, with it’s plunging square neckline, beaded lapels, and a lace-up front that beckoned to be undone. To her surprise however, his hands landed on her skirt instead, and picked the multi-ruffled hemline of her skirt up so he could inspect her legs.
“I like silk stockings,” he exclaimed with a lusty grin and reached up under the hemline of her skirt to run his hands along the naturally fragile fabric.
Liz cowered at his touch, and began to clamp her legs tighter and tighter together as his hand neared the apex of her legs. When he did manage to trail a finger through the short wiry hair of her vagina, Liz clamped her legs altogether, pinching his hand between her thighs with intentional force. Suddenly he reeled on her, delivering a sharp backhand to her right cheek that sent Liz sprawling backwards from the surprise of the hit.
“You forget why you’re here my dear,” and grasped at her dress with both hands. A second later Liz heard the fragile material begin to tear and clutched at the only ensemble her mother had ever given her.
“Please. This is my mother’s dress. I’ll take it off for you,” she offered, but it was already too late. Liz suddenly felt the stagnant air of the steamship float over her bare breasts as the fabric was ripped from her torso. She instinctively threw her arms over her breasts in an act of modesty, but this only further infuriated the captain. He let loose with a barrage of hits that landed painfully on her face, making the connection within her that her naked body was to be displayed provocatively for him.
Pulling her arms away from her chest, his slaps only stopped momentarily as his gaze landed on a female torso he had not seen in many months. Noting this, Liz tried to pry the rest of the multi-layered dress down the length of her legs before he managed to rip the memento into a useless pile of frilly rags. As she fought with the hemline over her ankles however, it became clear that its destruction was what he really wanted. Pulling a knife from out of his pocket, he easily cut the delicate fabric from out around her ankles, vanquishing any possibility of making the dress wearable again.
“That was my mother’s dress,” she wailed at the site of the plum colored dress resting forlorn on the floor.
“If I was you I would be more concerned about your plight then I would that dress.”
“I know why I’m here and I’m willing... willing to make love,” she stammered.
“Make love?” he laughed. A deep, sinister laugh that made Liz’s blood congeal despite having spent years out to sea. “You forget Liz. You are a type of payment. You’re a whore to do with as I please.”
“Please, I’m not very lady-like I know, but I’m not a whore....” But her words were lost when he lunged at her, sending her sprawling onto the bed backwards, pinning her legs outward. Posed as she was, there was doubt of what his intentions were, and Liz held no hope for seductive teething to her breasts or any open mouthed kisses that accompanied consensual sex. She was merely fodder for his lust and despite years of hardened life at sea, she began to feel feminine and frail.
Through tears, Liz could see movement at the foot of the bed and knew he was removing his clothing so he could take her. From his previous demeanor, Liz knew that he would not take it all off. He would not give her the satisfaction of seeing all of his male form in its nude entirety. He would not allow her the pleasure of feeling his bare chest against hers as they all but wedded on the bed. Instead he moved up on top of her, his hand keeping his crotch covered as he positioned himself over her.
“Are you ready Liz?”
“Take me,” she said flatly, as if the act held as much appeal to her as ordering ten fathoms of line from a dockside merchant.
The captain apparently had experience in taking less than willing woman, and began to position his cock between her outer lips, stroking it up and down slowly, trying to create some wetness to facilitate its insertion. His technique was not very effective, Liz found out, when the inevitable finally came. Positioning himself above her, he hoped to use his girth to descend into her in one fell swoop, past her virginity and into the depths of heaven.
If Liz was heaven, then heaven was going to be hell for a claustrophobic. Liz was tight, very tight, and he could feel the friction of her walls as it forced itself apart from the pressure of his prick.
Still he waited, descending lower into her, expecting at any moment to reach the barrier of skin that denoted that no other man had ever taken her. The realization that such a barrier never existed inside the tight vixen began to sink in however, as he descended so far inside her that his balls were pressed tight against her loins. With the violation of her body complete, there was no other explanation, and he spoke to her about his disappointment.
“There’ve been other men?” he asked in surprise.
“I was married once,” she lied since she had never wedded. There had been a smooth talking sailor in Morocco that had taken her virginity... and a few equally seductive sailors since then, but none aboard the Cora Cressey. She knew better than to mix business with pleasure, and lied now fearing a truthful statement would give him a reason to deliver another slap to her face. He did not believe her, and he did exactly as she feared, backhanding her several more times.
“You whore. You fucking whore!”
Liz began to cry, though she was not sure if it was from the actual pain of having him force her vagina walls apart, his hard slaps, or if it was from the shame of his degrading words. Whatever it was, Liz was glad she had not saved her virginity for the captain. He did not deserve such a reward, from her or any woman that plied the seas.
Still he swooned at how tight she felt, and knew the young girl could still give him pleasure. Lots of pleasure, he mused, as he gripped the edge of the mattress and began to pound inside her. Liz thrashed underneath him, feeling the lumpiness of his down mattress as the feathers inside billowed relentlessly. The brass head and footboard rattled as well, and soon Liz’s head had beaten the once soft feather pillow into a hardened block of feathers.
“Whore,” he said, and then French-kissed her, knowing a woman with that occupation despised such act of intimacy. It was a lashing kiss and fear of being hit again made Liz open her mouth and except his rough tongue. The stale taste of pipe smoke and straight gin greeted her merged mouth, making the episode with him even that much more deplorable.
Perhaps it was the yielding of her mouth that spurned him on, or maybe it was the way the kiss slickened her vagina. Whatever it was, he found himself working his way inside her with more force, an increased tempo, and even more urgency. He had waited months to be with a woman, and he had no intention of holding out for her release.
Liz knew he had reached the point of no return when he lowered his head and bit savagely into her neck. As her sucked her salt-kissed skin until it reddened, he gave one final thrust that sandwiched her between the feather mattress and his heavy frame. Then he came, spilling a copious amount sperm deep inside her womb with such pressure that it was sure to impregnate her.
Slowly his grip with his teeth along the nape of her neck began to ebb and he rose from her, a smirk overtaking his lips as he looked down at the battered and broken young woman.
“So this is how your father keeps that rotting hulk afloat. Pimping his daughter for repair work huh?”
“It was to save his crew!”
“And a crew he shall save. Mine of course,” he added with a wicked sneer as he moved off her and began to get dressed. “A woman aboard always improves the crew morale.”
“But you agreed with my father. I am for your pleasure alone!”
“I agreed when I thought you were untouched. Whores don’t count,” he said as he grabbed her arm and whisked her defiled body out through the doorway and down the inner confines of the steamship towards the boiler room.
A whore was exactly what Liz felt like as her wrist began to whiten from the lack of blood from his constricted and encircling hand. Teetering on her high-heeled Victorian boots, Liz could hear the heels clicking noisily on the steel of the decks as they descended, droplets of his sperm dripping out of her violated gash as they walked to belly of the beast.
“Where are you taking me?”
“To the dragon’s lair my dear,” he said as they made a sharp turn and stood at the working end of the steamship.
Liz’s pale skin contrasted against the grime of the room. A mixture of black coal dust coated every surface, while steam escaped from a plethora of pipelines and valves. Two kerosene lanterns provided the only light, and their constant flickering made it impossible to make out any details. She shuddered at the sight despite the intense heat of the room and cowered in fright at the sight of the men as they neared her.
It took a moment of careful studying for her to realize the two strangers were indeed Negroes and not men who were covered by the soot of the coal. When they smiled at the sight of her, their teeth flashed like a lighthouse beacon, their pearly whites reflecting off their pink lips. The most vile Negro even had the audacity to lick his coal-encrusted lips as the captain offered Liz up by having her kneel on the filthy steel decking plate.
Liz had to be asked twice due to the ultimate act of submission he was demanding. Two hard slaps to her bare chest added indignity to an already degrading stance, but Liz moved out of fear, kneeling submissively before the two black men, who probably could not even read and write.
“You’ll like these men Liz. They haven’t seen daylight in three weeks, let alone a woman, and a white woman at that.”
“My father is going to kill you for this, you know.”
“Maybe, but it’s not going to change the fact that his sweet little daughter turned a trick on her knees with a black man,” he countered and just nodded for the two laborers to approach their prize.
They were already partially undressed. It was far too hot near the churning boiler to wear shirts or shoes, and only a pair of coal-soiled jeans clad the lower half of their bodies. As Liz looked up, they were already pulling down this last article and approaching her with broad grins.
There was only one sexual act that a woman performed while on her knees and Liz was not keen on letting these men place their filthy cocks in her mouth. After all, she concluded, she ate with her mouth, spoke with her mouth, and even kissed her father with her mouth. Now she was going to be defiled in her mouth and with two Negroes at that.
Still it was their skin color that made it acceptable in a strange sort of way. The only other alternative was vaginal sex and that carried the potential of getting pregnant. Bearing a black man’s child would be proof of what she had done, and it mattered little if it was non-consensual, the stigmatism would forever plague her life.
“You want to put it in my mouth?” Liz asked, feigning innocence as she knelt before the two men. All three men laughed, though it was the older Negro that stepped up to her first and held his throbbing member mere millimeters from her mouth.
She only had a split second to study the ebony member before it was placed up to her lips and unceremoniously pushed inside. She had been told black men had exceptionally large genitalia, but because this was the first man she had ever given head too, Liz was not sure. She only knew it filled her mouth to overflowing and that she had to relax her throat in order to get as much of his hardened muscle into her mouth as she could.
Tasting of sweat and male mustiness, Liz was utterly repulsed by the act, but knew her only savior would be to end the misery as quick as she could. Maneuvering her free hand to his balls seemed to be the most likely place to start, as this was where his release emanated from. Stroking her mouth up and down his shaft was just as natural, as Liz tried to mimic with her mouth what men had done to her vagina.
It seemed to work, for the black man’s groans grew louder and more pronounced with every passing moment, and he was thrusting harder and harder into her warm and wet mouth. Liz’s only mistake was raking her teeth along his shaft during one particularly hard jab, a unforgivable transgression she realized, when the black man slapped her hard across the top of her head.
“No teeth, bitch!”
It was only three words, but they spoke volumes about how low she had sunk in this ship’s pecking order. On the Cora Cressey, any Negro speaking such words to a white woman would have earned him his own slap. Raping a white woman in such a way would have earned him a quick trip to a noose on the yardarms. On this ship however, it would be her execution if she did not pleasure the crew as this captain saw fit.
He stood to the side now, content to watch the ordeal unfold. Liz knew what sort of whorish image she was presenting him, and tried to erase the image from her own memory as she pleasured the most disgusting man in the most humiliating of ways.
She wondered if she could even pleasure the second Negro. She had no idea what it would be like having a man deposit his seed in her mouth, but suspected the prospect was not going to be pleasurable. Still, not knowing what to expect was one thing, knowing was yet another, and she did not relish the fact that she was going to have to do this yet again.
What Liz did not realize was that the captain had even more diabolical prospect in mind however. As she learned that she could maintain suction and still keep her teeth off his shaft if she pulled her teeth up into her gums and guided his shaft into her mouth with the other, the second Negro moved up behind her. His pants were down and his cock stuck out, twitching upwards and to the right in a long veined arch. She was too busy trying to please the larger laborer with her mouth to notice his subtle moves until she felt his prick stab at the entrance of her already dishonored vagina.
“No!” she screamed out, pulling her mouth off the black man’s cock as she did so, but it was already too late. The second man pushed and the probability of getting pregnant by a Negro suddenly became real as he entered the white woman in one deft move.
Not content to let his co-worker enjoy the whore alone, the first man grabbed the back of Liz’s head roughly and plunged it back over his shaft. Liz gagged at the depth, struggling to keep it comfortable as the man behind her pummeled her sex.
Liz had never had two men in her at the same time, and she began to cry from the degradation she felt. Two black men were defiling her, raping her even, as the captain of the Wyoming looked on with quiet amusement. None of her crew would have done the same. Certainly not her father, and not even by the lowest man on the crew. If any one of them knew of her plight, they would have braved the waves with a dory to save her from the wretched men. The problem was they did not know. If only she could signal them, she thought, contact them, let them know that a sadist captained this ship, they would save her.
Liz was snapped out of her dreams by the pulsing of the man’s cock deep inside her mouth. Involuntarily, he thrust forward; driving it so deep it gagged her again. She fought back, pushing it away, but not out of her mouth. Such a reaction only added to her misery however, when tensed up and released his pent up load of semen. With just the tip in her mouth, the wave of white batter splashed onto her tongue, giving her the full taste of the warm, salty flavor rather than being merely jettisoned down her throat.
“Whores swallow,” came the captain’s orders.
Liz did, looking submissively up at the man that delivered it, though it was more to get rid of the hot, sticky fluid than it was to add to his pleasure. Still the first Negro’s cry spurred his co-worker on as well. Knowing what had just occurred inside the vixen’s tiny mouth, the second laborer began to recognize the virtues of Liz’s young body.
He began to swoon at how tight and slick her vagina was, while her ass looked alluring as well. It danced in time with his own thrusts and looked so lady-like festooned with her white silk stockings and Victorian boots. Unable to hold back any longer, he gripped her hips and pulled her back against himself as he gave a final thrust. Stabbing the pleasure spot deep inside her as he did, she screamed in time with his release.
“Pull it out of me,” but it was already too late. A torrent of sperm flowed into her vagina despite her cry and flooded her sex with another load of baby producing potential. Adding to the calamity was her powerful orgasm. Having her pleasure spot touched so, Liz spasmed along with the Negro, feeling his shaft pulsating with her as her body instinctively drew the man’s load deeper and deeper into her womb. Liz knew that a simultaneous orgasm only added the probability of getting pregnant and silently cursed her own pleasure.
As the two men withdrew from both ends of her ravished body, a shrill steam whistle suddenly blasted the boiler room with warning. Entranced by their womanly gift, the two laborers had failed to add water to the cantankerous boiler.
“How many inches on the sight gauge?” the Captain barked, suddenly reverting to a more authoritative role.
“Four inches from the crown sheet, captain,” came the reply from the man she had taken in her mouth. The direness of the situation seemed to make his nudity a moot point as he looked at a large glass indicator gauge.
Liz knew those were two words a captain of any vessel did not say very often. Watching them start for the stairs made her realize the importance of the situation and started out after them. Running with high-heeled Victorian boots did not facilitate a fast escape however, with the confusion of unknown passageways adding to the calamity. She had lost sight of her rapists in the dimly lit boiler room and had taken two wrong escape paths on her flight out. Still she managed to reach the deck when the boiler room exploded.
Tumbling through the air like an undressed rag doll, Liz felt the contrast of cold seawater on scalding skin as she landed in the north Atlantic with a splash. Heat from the explosion and escaping steam had burned her arms and face, and she struggled to stay afloat in the bone-chilling abyss.
“Liz! Liz!” echoed her father’s cry as the first mate of the Cora Cressey oared a skiff through the darkened waters looking for survivors of the Wyoming. The Cora Cressey had heard the explosion and then saw the resulting fireball and put their dories into water to pick up any survivors.
Heavy surf from the approaching gale added to the difficulty of finding survivors in the frigid waters, but Eugene was determined to find his daughter. As the bow of the dory dipped into a wave, the first mate saw a white glow in the water and steered the small boat towards it. Twenty yards more, and they struggled to drag Liz into the boat.
“Liz. Liz, what happened?” her father desperately wanted to know. Liz was to shaken up to immediately answer, but began to sob as she hugged her father and shuttered underneath the heavy woolen jacket he had given her.
“They— They—” she started to say, but just as Liz dredged up enough courage to tell them what had happened inside the vessel, two hands emerged from the water and gripped the top board of the dory.
“John,” her father exclaimed as he saw the familiar face of the captain of the Wyoming. The first mate and her father were about to haul him aboard as well when Liz placed the stiletto heels of her Victorian boots on his hands and pinched them cruelly against the dory’s hull. His grasp, already weaken by the cold north Atlantic seawater, released and the sadistic captain slipped forever under the surface of the sea.
“Dead men tell no tales,” she explained coldly.
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