Parlait

Barbossa ignored her, moving over and taking a seat at his charts, picking up a compass and beginning to trace some mysterious course as if nothing had ever happened. But he knew well that she stood there, scowling at him, wanting to spit fire at him. It was hard to fight the smile that kept pulling his lips back, but he did. Harder still to fight was the erection coming more and more to life against his thigh.

How dare he? How utterly disgusting of him to cast her off, just like that? Tell her to ‘get out?’ It was he who brought her in here, it was he who took her aboard ‘The Reproach,’ it was he who cut down three men in the tavern to rescue her from that humiliating cage! It was he who’d forced her, made her, against her will, pressed the most dreadful of kisses to her mouth, and made her…no, she wouldn’t think of that again! But he would hear it for turning her out, in fact, perhaps she would turn him out! She straightened her posture, gathered her indignity into that which hell hath no fury like. “Captain Barbossa—“

“Departure be a simple action,” He didn’t look up, just sat there coolly plotting an imaginary course, almost as if talking aloud to himself. “It begins by puttin’ one foot behind the other.”

“And what if I won’t go?” The words leapt from her mouth and in that instant Elizabeth knew she was stupid. Stupid…he’d wanted this to happen, he’d toyed with her until she stood there saying that she refused to leave him. How was it possible that anyone could be so infused with such an evil, cunning charisma?

Barbossa lay the compass down gently, taking his time as he swiveled his chair around to face her, elbows resting on the wooden arms and his hands leaned one against the other in front of him as if in prayer. Good, that bit of breaking her mind had been easier than he’d thought. “If yer of a notion to stay, then y’ll make a better sight of yerself for me.”

He gestured towards a trunk at the foot of his bunk, and even though Elizabeth was certain of what she’d find within it, she turned, stooped down and opened it. Sure enough, the maroon dress. In a strange sort of way, nostalgia washed over her, like coming home to a place she’d nearly forgotten ever having been. She was so certain and so afraid the first time she wore that dress, so sure that this grizzled old salt of the sea pirate had rape on his mind. He of course couldn’t then; but he could now, and she’d even verbally refused to leave and remove herself from that threat. Did that somehow equate to her having asked him to defile her in his mind? Is that what he thought?

This damn dress…what was it about this dress that bound him so? Or was it merely some other prop he was using to manipulate her into thinking, or feeling, or wanting something? She remembered the last time she wore this dress, standing there on a plank, suspended out over the ocean, noticing irritably how Barbossa stood with his crew, still eyeing her as if rape had not been beyond him at the time. “Seems a pity to waste somethin’ so fine,” he’d said, eyes traveling her body, and for a moment Elizabeth was sickened to realize she appreciated that he thought so. And then the bastard had smirked and demanded the dress back. Oh! At that moment she still didn’t know who she was angrier with; Barbossa for making a joke of her, or herself, for wishing he’d actually considered her “something so fine.” No! This dress would not incorporate her into some sort of sick folly once again! She took it up and clutched it in an irate fist, digging her nails into the fabric and threw it across his lap. “And what if I don’t want to wear it?”

A deep laugh built in Barbossa’s chest, but he sustained it, unable though to stop his eyebrows from rising up with his bemusement. Was this truly happening? He hadn’t even purposefully tried to make her say that! He looked down at the dress and casually brushed it off his lap. “Well,” he sighed and looked at Elizabeth, who glowered at him like she was daring him to even so much as drape her in the maroon silk. He stood, stepped close to her, put his hands softly on her shoulders. Quickly, he thought, move quickly and treacherously and have it done before she has time to even notice. “If yer preference be to wear nothin’, then nothin’ it shall be!”

Fabric had never ripped so quickly or so thoroughly. His strong hands and long fingers seemed to turn to claws, and he pawed the flimsy muslin chemise off her body in nearly two full pieces, winding them around his hands and then flinging them across the cabin. She was naked before she knew it, and before she even had the opportunity to cover any part of herself, Barbossa covered her, with his body. His mouth taking hers, biting her lower lip to the point of numbness, his arms around her waist as tightly as they ever had been, but his hands dropping lower and lower. An indubitable shape and stiffness tried to bore into her ribs, making Barbossa growl deeper and deeper with each twitch of her besieged body. Elizabeth struggled, but it had suddenly grown so dark…her eyes…she’d closed her eyes…and then felt his hands smooth over the round globes of her ass, and he began to lift her from the floor, forcing her legs to part around his narrow waist.

“No!” She managed to shout at him when his mouth left her lips and trailed down to her neck as he leaned them both forward, letting his weight crush her against his bunk, her legs spread wide around him. She lay trapped beneath his mass and his hunger, balling up her fists and beating him against his shoulder blades and back, but there must have been too much hard spun muscle there for him to be effected. He had her pinned now, utterly pinned, and one of his hands reached down between them, she could feel him pulling at his belt. This could not happen, what would she ever do if this were to happen? “No!” She said to him again, but this time it was more of a pitiful wail than an order, though she stopped short of allowing herself to cry. “Stop this perverse affinity for taking what is Jack’s!”

That was enough to make Barbossa suddenly halt his advances and look down at her, eye to eye. “Be that what ye think this is, Missy Sparrow?”

She’d distracted him, but he was going to do this to her, there was no escaping it, she could tell from the look of carnal intention in his ever darkening eyes. He kept his pelvis thrust forward against her body, and Elizabeth wasn’t exactly sure if the throbbing she felt through to her very core was her own heart, or his rigid organ. “Why then?”

“It could be many reasons, my sweet,” Barbossa knew he should just keep going, get his cock free of his breeches and plunder her, there was a lack of blood to his brain, his concentration was altered by the physical demands of that which made him male, his usual gift for the ministration of words as a weapon was not at full power. And yet, he kept talking. “It may be because I can. It may perchance be due to how that husband ‘a yers gives ye too long a leash,” he paused, had to shift, had to get his cock out for it spasmed so against his thigh, dampening the material of his breeches with an ooze of urgent need to hone his length into Elizabeth fierce and true. His head spun momentarily as he cast a quick glance over his shoulder towards the pile of maroon silk on the floor and then back down at his wide eyed captive. “Mostly it be the cause of that havin’ been meant as yer weddin’ dress!”

“What?” But there wasn’t even time for Elizabeth to gasp completely before the blunt head of Barbossa’s cock was bullying against her vulva, pushing hard all the way down to her drawn tight opening. No! No! Don’t let him, she wasn’t ready, didn’t want to be ready, did it not matter to him that she wasn’t at least wet? Jack had always went on about how good it felt, the wetter she was. Elizabeth tried to move, tried to push against him, but couldn’t get her arms free, and then it was too late. She’d felt something like a pinch at her entrance first, Barbossa’s finger, prying her open, and then she felt as she had the very first time Jack took her virgin body fully, the pain and the burning sensation as he forced himself within her had been nearly identical, and Barbossa groaned so lowly and deeply above her she could feel it reverberating against her own chest. She’d only ever been beneath one man in her life, and he was not like this man, not as big, not as strong, not as wonderfully heavy above her. Oh, that groan, the sound of pleasure as a man was taking it from her body, one of her greatest weaknesses!

She was so tight, as if he’d hit a wall, but the feeling made him need more, and he kept thrusting forward, out of breath and growling. He hated to admit it, but his body trembled under the strain and pursuit of having her, the pleasure it brought nearly making a school boy of him again. Perhaps it was wishful thinking, but Barbossa swore he could feel her beginning to well up with hot slickness, if he could only reach it. He growled again and jammed himself forward, only to have Elizabeth wince and retreat beneath him.

The pressure was dangerous and fabulous, she knew she was losing this fight, not so much the one against Barbossa as much as the one with herself; there was a voice within her head, like a parent screaming to a child, ‘come back from that edge,’ but like a child, Elizabeth paid no attention. She blamed her primal needs, but damn she wanted to know what it felt like to be taken by Captain Hector Barbossa! If he’d only give her a moment, let her move; he held her down and stabbed at her so viciously that her body was stunned, locked up, choked on his. “Wait,” she breathed, “ease back.”

He was barely able to note that she sounded more in need of rest than she was panic stricken. His cock swelled and thrummed so badly the ache was spreading to his balls, all he wanted was to be inside her, “No quarter, missy!” He took more of his weight on his knees, slipping his arm under the small of her back, lifting her bottom off the mattress and pulling her against him hard and driving her more onto the spike of him, but it wasn’t enough. “Slacken up that quinny!” He snarled, and swiftly slapped her across her smooth buttocks with his sweaty palm.

The loud, crisp crack and the sudden burn of a slap jolted her body and Elizabeth stiffened, but then as if magic, relaxed and fell against him as he knelt there, holding her onto him. He popped inside of her suddenly, making them both exhale quickly and harshly, their bodies greeting one another with a mix of fulfilled need and furthered desperation. She held all of him now, for he’d stopped trying to force himself in, and Elizabeth shivered at the feeling of the man between her legs; she’d now bedded two men in her lifetime, and both were legends. The thought made her shudder and her dampening channel squeezed around his full cock, making him moan and bite her shoulder. She could feel all of him now and could tell that despite being taller, brawnier and stronger than Jack, that he was not hung like Jack. For that Elizabeth was thankful, she knew right away that this would not be gentle. He was thick though, and hard, perhaps the hardest cock she’d ever been impaled with.

Elizabeth was beyond fighting this now, she just wanted it, wanted him…broad shoulders, broad chest, not like Jack…she’d glimpsed Barbossa’s chest through his shirt before in the lamplight, but now she wanted to see it in full view. She grabbed his shirt in her hands and began to pull it away from his skin, seeing more and of his red chest hair, but Barbossa wanted to move, gave another growl as her fingers crossed his skin, and threw her onto her back, sinking himself as deep inside her as he could go. The sheer power of him made Elizabeth cry out, she tried still to remove his shirt, she’d hardly seen his body and wanted to; if not for having undone his breeches enough to set free his raging erection, he’d still be completely dressed. It wasn’t fair!

Barbossa no longer had a strategy for what he did, he allowed the instinct of a man, the instinct of a pirate, to take over, and began to thrust so hard and fast the sound of it filled the cabin. She felt better than he’d imagined she would, but with a bit less fight, however he was finding that he didn’t mind at all. She took all he had in the most delightful way, the head of his cock throbbing within her in time with his racing heart; he offered a quick word of appreciation to Calypso, for it was she who had resurrected him with that touch of stamina usually associated with younger men. He ground into her with more and more, astounded to feel that Elizabeth’s young body matched him and met him at every thrust, tightening around him when she could, holding him as long as he would allow her to before he tore himself from her sheath, to plow back in again, where she again gripped him. Barbossa had died once, and was close to doing so again, not even the best whores, the most expensive of whores, went after a man’s cock this way. And she moaned so, louder than himself and all his chesty grunts and grumbles, her legs wrapping around him, but he was too strong and too crazed to be held by her in any fashion. The head of his cock bristled within her, the sweet friction of her sheath traveling up his shaft, setting his balls pulsating in between their wanton bodies. He reached for her hands, pinning them down on the mattress, not wanting her to move away from him now, not now, not when he was so close.

Elizabeth’s heart couldn’t beat any faster, and her body couldn’t take anymore without coming undone in orgasm. She’d found her rhythm against his and had only to lie back and let him ride her to this point of spastic ecstasy that was approaching faster and faster. She couldn’t move at all anymore, he was too much on her, chasing his own quarry, giving her more of a thrashing than he had before, his thick, heavy cock moving more into her than out, demanding more space as it grew fatter and fatter. He was cumming too, about to awash her inside, she was making him cum! Tension wound and wound within her at the thought and she bucked up against him as much as possible, wanting to feel more of his cock, more of his body, damning the amount of clothing he still wore, and struck with a sudden and severe urge to suck his gorged prick, hard.

Barbossa came apart with a grunt usually reserved for battle as the bottom dropped out of the tension controlling his body, sending three long, strong jets of his decadence deep within Elizabeth’s channel. She lay there, shuddering beneath him, convulsing around him, her teeth chattering and her lips trembling as if she meant to whisper something to him. Her eyes remained closed and she arched her back off the bunk, her hard nipples barely scraping against his shirt and Barbossa felt her convulse around his softening organ again as she moaned quietly, tilting her head back and exposing her throat fully. Barbossa smiled, feeling victorious as he watched her, her bared throat indicated her submission to him, and then she writhed beneath him again, sucked in a ragged breath between parted lips and convulsed around him once more, still in the throws.

There was only one thing missing from this moment of perfect carnal sin, something he’d purposefully neglected during their cathouse style coupling. He hadn’t been sure she’d be accepting of it, and he for one had not deemed her worthy of it, until now. Just as her eyes fluttered open, he leaned down and kissed her, softly, letting go of her only to have her arms wrap around him and her lips move against his until the tip of her tongue begged the caress of his own. He slid his arms beneath her back and held her closer, letting her kiss him this time. He’d known she would give in this way, but now he found himself wondering, what did it mean?


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