Allegiance - Chapter 5
by The Stowaway
Will groaned as Barbossa entered him and clenched his jaw. This time he would not beg.
The hated voice was in his ear, goading him. "You're no match for me," Barbossa gloated. "You know what I want, and we both know you'll give it to me," he said. "So take your time while I take my pleasure, because in the end you will say it."
"No," Will gasped, even as Barbossa changed the angle of his thrusts and fucked him harder. He whimpered as his resistance crumbled; he knew then with despair that he would break again, as he always did.
Barbossa reached beneath him and took hold of his balls, squeezing and twisting cunningly. Will bit his own arm to keep from screaming as the pleasure and pain crawled along his nerves. "Say it, boy," Barbossa grunted, "Say it.
"I'm yours," Will cried in a rush, "I'm yours. Please for the love of God."
"Music to my ears," Barbossa chuckled. He shifted his grip and stroked Will's cock roughly. "And here's your reward."
Will bucked and spent himself with a moan, shuddering as Barbossa thrust hard once more and collapsed against his back.
Barbossa rolled off him and Will made to climb out of the bunk. "Where do you think you're going?" Barbossa rasped.
"To my bed," Will replied, trying not to flinch as a rough hand grasped his hip.
"Stay where you are," Barbossa snapped, "I want you under my hand this night."
Will hated most the nights when Barbossa kept him close. The bunk was large but Barbossa liked to sleep half on top of him, holding him down. Will would lie awake for hours, dreading the moment when his tormentor would awaken to take him again.
He thought back, eighteen months, to the start of this nightmare. He saw again the pretty serving girl weltering in blood, dead by her own hand, and he envied her. She had found peace. What did he lack, that he could not put a similar end to his own sufferings? Perhaps Barbossa was right to taunt him with weakness and soft-heartedness.
Or - the idea whispered itself in his ear, furtive and tempting - he might kill Barbossa and so gain his freedom that way. He shuddered and Barbossa grunted in his sleep and threw his leg over Will's thighs. Will lay still, trying to imagine stabbing, slashing, throttling. But the habit of submission to the Captain, so carefully fostered by Barbossa for nearly half his lifetime, defeated even his imagination. He knew, how he could not say, that he would not survive such an attempt, and that the manner of his dying would make his present existence seem like a Paradise.
But oh, how he had learnt to hate Barbossa! He remembered one conversation with painful clarity. When it had become clear that the rape in the tavern was not to be the end of it, that Barbossa intended to continue to use his body, he had gathered his courage to ask, "Why do you do this? Why not have me flogged for striking you and be done with it?"
Barbossa had laughed at him. "Because I enjoy the way you fight me too much to stop," he leered. "The sight of you, panting and sweating under me, is irresistible."
"But, you were my father's friend."
"What if I told you he was my whore, just as you are?"
Will winced at the word 'whore' and raised his chin, glaring. "I wouldn't believe you."
"And you'd be right, bumboy, because your father was a man."
There had been no answer he could make to that and so he had fallen into a sullen silence that had lasted for months, save for when he was made to cry out under the relentless assault of Barbossa's body upon his. Or when he fought; roaring and laying about him with a blind and ever-increasing ferocity. He found his only relief in battle, when he could grant the rage that consumed him free rein and lose himself in an ecstasy of killing. He would come to himself, blood-spattered from head to foot and surrounded by the dead. His mates looked at him with fearful awe and gave him a wide berth. The Spanish, he knew, had begun to call him El Diablo InglÚs.
churned at the thought of what he had become. A despair too complete for
expression blanked his mind and he slept at last.
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