The Isle of Women

Chapter One-1

Chapter One

Augusta lay in her bunk listening to the creaking of the ship’s timbers, thinking of her poor Lawrence locked in the hold, and waiting for the dreaded footsteps of the ship’s captain. She had closed the curtain which screened her bunk from his cabin, before lifting her shift and spreading her thighs. Gently she stroked her belly, then allowed her hand to slide slowly down until it began to work between her legs. She forced herself to hold back, prolonging the pleasure. As her fingers fondled the lips of her cunt, tugging a little, squeezing, her mind dwelled on one of her favourite scenarios. She was in the barn with Lawrence, seated on a bale of hay. Lawrence stood in front of her, waiting for her instructions. He knew the game by now, how she liked to make him do things. “Take your clothes off,” she said. Slowly he undressed. When he got down to his breeches he turned away, hiding himself; she wondered whether he would ever lose his shyness. He pulled his breeches down with his back to her, and stood hesitantly. “Turn and let me see you,” she said. The fingers between her legs were working faster now, her breath coming harder, yet still she held back. Lawrence turned to her and she saw he was almost fully erect. She beckoned him closer and reached out to take hold of his c**k, loving the feel of it, how hard it was and yet how soft and smooth to the touch. She bent her head and kissed it, then gradually slid back the foreskin. She loved to see the head, deep red, purple even, the skin glassy smooth. She inhaled the faint aroma; she could remember it still, how the first scent of it made her cunt twitch, then ache.

She slipped a finger inside herself as she held the vision of Lawrence in her mind, his c**k throbbing, straining, so desperate for her. She loved to make him wait, even as now she was making herself wait at the memory of it. She spread a little of her wetness up onto her clit, clenching her teeth as she forced herself not to come, to wait just a bit longer, stroking her clit very slowly as she remembered how she liked to take Lawrence into her mouth, gradually feeding his c**k in little by little until it filled her, pushing to the back of her throat. How he loved that, to feel himself go deep into her!

Suddenly Augusta heard a door open, then slam shut. Heavy footsteps were coming along the passage that led to the cabin where she lay. She listened hard. Often there were clues about the captain’s demeanour in the heaviness of his tread. If it were lighter, then his mood might be good, not too much influenced by liquor, in which case, although he was always rough, he might demand no more than a quick turn on the cabin table. If the tread was slower, heavier, then his behaviour might be worse. He might insist she suck his c**k, he might slap her face and twist her hair before pushing her down on the table and using her from behind as men used boys. The first man to do that with her had been Lawrence, but she had encouraged him, wishing to try every variation with him, and making him prepare her thoroughly, lubricate her with his tongue and then with a little butter pushed up into the tight little opening. The captain cared for no such refinements. In fact, it sometimes felt that the more he hurt her as he rammed himself into her, the more he enjoyed it. Mercifully, because it was such a tight fit, he would usually come quickly and she would be released from further service.

What she dreaded most was if the steps were slow, if he dragged his feet and stumbled, for then he was very drunk, and that made him mean and cruel. On such occasions he would have trouble achieving sufficient hardness to penetrate her. Instead, he would force her onto her knees and push his flaccid c**k into her mouth, demanding that she make him big. He would be angry if no erection occurred, as if it was her fault, not the fault of the rum. Then he might beat her cruelly, pulling out his belt, forcing her over the table, lifting her shift and lashing her bare bottom with all his strength. Augusta dared not scream, for it would undoubtedly lead to her discovery, and that would be disaster.

She heard the captain’s key in the lock, then the door opened. Quickly she pulled down her shift. He lurched across the cabin and drew back the curtain. His face was red and sweating, his expression brutish. His one good eye (the other was sightless) gazed on her lustfully as he reached out and grabbed her by the hair, pulling her towards him.

“Come on, then, my lovely,” he said, his voice slurred with drink, “it’s time to work your passage once again.”

He forced her to the floor, twisting her hair cruelly, while with the other hand he fumbled with his breeches. His c**k appeared, swollen, the head dark red, angry-looking; it seemed that despite the drink he was for once not incapable. When he pulled her towards him, she could smell him; he hadn’t washed since the last time.

“Suck that, b***h,” he said. He forced his c**k right to the back of her throat so that she choked; he held her motionless until she panicked that she would suffocate, then she managed to tear herself free, gasping for air.

“Again, slut,” he said. He forced his c**k back into her mouth. Augusta began to work on him. Happily he was hard enough for a quick resolution, and with only oral penetration, if she was lucky; she had found that the best way to avoid serious abuse was to bring him to ejaculation as soon as possible. Over the past six weeks she had learned exactly what kind of oral pleasure he preferred. Sucking hard on the head, she locked her teeth just under the rim and lightly exerted pressure. Too much would lead to a smack across the face, often so hard she saw stars. At the same time she squeezed the shaft with one hand, while with the other she fondled his balls. Again, a little pressure on them worked wonders; too much and he would throw her down over the table and beat her with anything that came to hand.

Forcing herself to keep working him, despite the repugnance she felt about physical contact with such a repulsive creature, Augusta was eventually rewarded by the captain coming in her mouth, with an oath. She spat his semen on the floor; never would she swallow from such a source. The captain lurched away and sat down in a heap, reaching for the bottle on the table. She knew that now he would drink himself into a stupor and she would be saved from further advances until the next day. Quickly she arranged her little hideout for sleep and settled in for the night.

She could hear that the wind was getting up. She lay awake, feeling the rolling of the ship; a storm was coming, that was certain. As she waited for sleep, her mind went back to the fateful day she had conceived her plan of taking passage on the ship, and all that had gone before. She remembered her first meeting with her darling Lawrence. It had been love at first sight, for each of them, when they set eyes on each other outside the parish church. She was in her prettiest summer dress and carrying a parasol. He was dressed in the rough clothes of a farm worker, with heavy boots, but Augusta saw only a comely boy with a lovely face, who smiled at her shyly. Over the next few weeks they had contrived to meet often, in the woods that surrounded the village. It was on the third meeting that she had encouraged his awkward embraces to the point where they became lovers. She was happy that she was able to offer the boy her virginity, and he was overjoyed to accept it. It was as though the floodgates were opened; their desire for each other knew no bounds. She allowed him to explore her body to the fullest extent, kissing her everywhere, stroking, penetrating into every orifice with fingers and tongue and c**k. She loved to feel him come inside her, crying out in ecstasy as his semen erupted from him, deep in her cunt or in her ass. She learned how to suck him, just to the point when he was about to ejaculate, and then she would pull back and use her hand to make him come over her, on her face, her breasts, her belly. She delighted in seeing the thick stream of creamy liquid he spurted forth; she took it as a tribute to her beauty. And sometimes, for a change, she would hold his c**k in her mouth until it kicked and jerked and she felt the semen splash against her throat as she swallowed it all greedily. Once or twice, wanting to test her power over him, she had delayed his ejaculation until he begged for release, and then taken his c**k from her mouth, or released her hold on it, right at the very last moment, so that instead of the semen spurting forth in a gushing stream, it merely trickled from the little hole at the end, a few drops running down the shaft. Then she had smiled and offered her sympathy; “Poor boy,” she had said. “What a pity. Next time perhaps.” She knew she was wicked, but it was such fun to tease him.

Looking back, she could see that things could not last. Soon her father discovered their affair. He was predictably furious that his only daughter, the daughter of a squire, should throw herself away on a humble farmer’s son. He forbade her to meet Lawrence again. But she could not help herself. This was the time when she first learned the art of m**********n, lying in her little bed in the manor, her body wracked with lust for her beautiful boy and his hard, hot c**k. She would make herself come over and over again, but it was no use, she simply had to see him and feel him; self-pleasure was not enough. Then, soon after they began to meet again, the squire found out. This time his rage was cold and calculated. As the local magistrate he had almost unlimited power and it was not difficult for him to concoct a spurious charge of poaching against the boy and find witnesses to substantiate it. Despite his protests of innocence, Lawrence was convicted, and such was the draconian nature of the laws governing the property of the gentry that a sentence of transportation to Australia was the result.

Augusta was distraught. She thought she would die of grief if Lawrence was taken away. Perhaps if her mother had still been alive she might have confided her distress in her. But her father was a proud and unfeeling man. No understanding was to be sought in that direction, and so she was driven back on her own resources. She began to conceive a plan. Through bribery and playing the coquette she managed to gain admittance to the local prison where Lawrence was held and have a brief conversation with him. She assured him, with many tears, that she would never desert him but would follow him to the ends of the earth. Lawrence was moved by her devotion, though privately he did not see how a young girl, with no financial means, could possible carry out her promise.

Augusta was not a natural flirt, rather a modest girl largely unaware of her beauty and the effect it could have on men. Lawrence had praised her long black hair, her full, red lips and her dark eyes, but she thought these were merely the conventional utterings of a young boy in love. Of course offering the jailer half a sovereign had helped a lot when securing admission to the prison, but she had noticed also how he had looked at her. Though his manner made her uncomfortable, she had forced herself to encourage him, slowly drawing her purse from her bosom and offering a brief glimpse of cleavage, then after her conversation with Lawrence showing the jailer a flash of ankle when she climbed the stone steps up from the dungeon. She turned her dark eyes on him and asked in the most innocent manner when the prisoner would leave for London. The man had replied that he was not allowed to say and so, her heart in her mouth, she said in a whisper that she thought the information might be worth a kiss.

She closed her eyes and grimaced as she allowed him to kiss her mouth, though when he tried to force his tongue between her lips she pulled away; the jailer did not smell very nice and had not shaved in a while, and his teeth were not in good condition. But she got what she wanted, the date and time of Lawrence’s transfer.