Microsoft Word - Blind_Space-Marie_Sexton.doc (13 page)

When we'd both caught our breath, he rolled me

over. He didn't say a word as he pulled off the ruined hose.

I heard him go into the bathroom. He returned and I lay there, feeling heavy and sated as my captor used a wet cloth to wipe me clean. Valero's hands were gentle as he touched my cock and balls and ass, wiping away cum and lube. The movement of the wet cloth on my flesh was surprisingly sensual.

"Sleep here," Valero said, his voice gentle. And it seemed I had no choice but to obey.

It was a deep, sated, dreamless sleep. Sleeping like the dead—that was the expression, and it seemed apt.

When I woke, I felt as if I'd slept for ages. I was warm and groggy and content. A comfortable weight was against my back, an arm wrapped around my waist.

I blinked sleepily. Why was it so dark? It took a

moment to remember I was blind. I was a prisoner. But once I remembered that, it took me only a heartbeat to

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remember that I never wanted to leave. I didn't want to analyze the reasoning behind my certainty I didn't need to.

That was the beauty of the freedom he'd given me.

I sighed, shifting in the bed, snuggling closer to his warm body. My bladder was full, screaming for me to get up, but I was otherwise so comfortable and at peace that I was reluctant to move. I feared leaving Valero's bed would shatter whatever fragile spell we had woven.

"You're awake," Valero said.

His hand slid down my stomach. My morning

erection was already fading, being replaced by a much more base need. Even Valero's touch couldn't quiet the insistence of my very full bladder.

"Wait," I said. I got up and felt my way into the bathroom. I began feeling around for the toilet. I'd been in his bathroom only once before, and I still wasn't familiar enough with it to make use of it without fumbling

endlessly. It was annoying, and even more annoying was the fact that since I couldn't see, I had to sit now, even to pee.

"Here." I hadn't heard Valero get out of bed, but suddenly he was behind me. He used one hand on my back and one on my arm to guide me a step to the left. He pushed against my back. One hand caressed my belly. The other traveled down to my cock. Not a caress. His fingers

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only held. "Go ahead," he whispered in my ear.

It took a moment for me to figure out what he

meant, and when I did, my face burned with

embarrassment. I'd never had another man hold me while I urinated. It seemed wrong. It seemed strange. It seemed…

Confusingly erotic.

It took another moment for me to relax enough to

follow through. I leaned against Valero, letting my head fall back onto his shoulder. I took a deep breath and made a conscious effort to
relax
. To simply let go. When I finally did, it felt amazing. The relief made me moan. Valero's fingers on my cock made me tremble. It wasn't a sexual release, but it was an intimacy I'd never shared with anyone before and I wanted to prolong it. It felt inexplicably good.

Valero's erection pushed against my ass and as my

bladder emptied, I reached behind me, sliding my hand between us. I gripped his cock and heard his breath catch in his throat.

"Everything about you turns me on," he said, his voice a hoarse whisper in my ear. "I don't know how you make me feel this way." His fingers moved on my cock and I moaned—partly from relief and partly from

disappointment—as my stream ran dry.

Valero kissed my shoulder. His fingers on my cock

became a slow caress. I wondered how something so base

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could feel so sensual.

"I want to do that again," I said.

Valero laughed. "Me too." Now that my bladder was empty, my cock was quickly growing hard. Valero's strong hand began to stroke me and I responded in kind, making him moan. My head was still on his shoulder. I turned toward him and he kissed me. His lips were soft and gentle. His hand moved down my shaft to cup my scrotum.

"Are you too sore?"

I smiled. Sore, yes. But
too
sore? "No."

I let him turn me around in the small space. He

pushed me up onto the counter, just as he'd done the day he'd helped me shave, kissing me as he did. I could hear him fumbling around with his left hand, a cabinet opening, things falling onto the countertop. He swore, and I had to laugh. I wished I could see.

He let go of me for a minute. I had no idea what he was doing. Finally, he grabbed my right leg and lifted it, pushing my knee toward my shoulder. I felt his fingers at my entrance, cold and slick with something, although I had no idea what. Then pressure as he pushed his hard cock against my rim.

I lifted my other leg to match the one he held as he slowly pushed inside.

I expected him to fuck me as he had the night

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before, hard and rough, but I couldn't have been more wrong. He was gentle. His hands caressed me. His thrusts were long and slow. There was no urgency. It was soft and tender. I realized he hadn't emptied his own bladder before we started, and I knew it would take him longer to climax because of it. I relaxed against the mirror behind me and let him have his way. He kissed my neck and my lips and my collarbone. He whispered things in my ear as he made love to me, and although most of them were in his other

language, they sounded sweet. I wondered if he was telling me he loved me. I hoped he was.

When it was over, he wrapped his arms around me

and rested his head on my shoulder. I pulled him close, holding him tight. Neither of us spoke. I could feel him shaking, and if I suspected his ragged breathing wasn't just from the sex, if I noticed his cheeks were damp, I chose to say nothing.

The soft caresses and whispered words had been for

me, but the tears were for somebody else.

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After that, any ties I had to the real world

evaporated. Before, my passage of time had been marked by sleeping in the medical bay, lunch with my men, and dinner with him. Now, there was only him.

We slept. We ate. But mostly, we lost ourselves to

pleasure. Our mutual need to somehow consume the other became all I knew. Sometimes he dressed me in black lace.

Sometimes I went naked. At any moment, he might push me down onto the bed, or onto the thick fur rug and fuck me, or suck me. He'd let me suck him, which I loved just as much. He'd ask me to jerk off so he could watch. He sat me on the bathroom countertop to shave me again, and then pushed my legs apart. He licked me and fucked me with his fingers until neither of us could take it anymore and he drove his cock into me as he came. He took me into the shower and washed every inch of me before fucking me again. He fucked me as soon as I woke up every morning, and before I went to sleep each night. He fucked me until I no longer knew where pleasure ended and pain began.

It was the most glorious torture imaginable. I

thought I might be in heaven.

My days were long, intense periods of pleasure

broken up by blank, empty stretches of time where I sat

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alone in his quarters, waiting for him to come back.

Waiting for him to touch me. He left me while he attended to whatever duties he had on the ship. He brought back food. He fed me. All of those things were nothing but obstacles in the way of what I wanted. Every moment of every day, I wanted him. I drifted without focus in those times when I wasn't in his bed. My body was sore and beaten, and yet it constantly ached for more. I had no explanation for the undeniable need that seemed to rule me.

Sometimes I worried this was all I had become: an

aching hole waiting to be filled by Valero's hard cock. An addict whose need could only be met by a man I'd never even seen. I lay there, yearning, begging—in my mind, if not in truth—wanting, trembling at the thought of pleasure before Valero ever even touched me. Valero fucked me and sucked me and used me, and I felt as if my entire self had come undone. All that I'd been in the past ceased to exist.

For now, I was only this: a sexual plaything for a pirate who held me prisoner. I was opened up, laid bare, reborn. I wanted to be owned by him in every conceivable way, and although he always treated me with respect, as I lay beneath him, feeling as if I might sob from the pleasure of what he did to me, I knew there was no limit to what I would allow him to do. Anything Valero asked of me, I would have given. He was more than my lover. He was my

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captor, my ruler, my provider. He was my life.

Captain Kelley no longer existed.

"Tristan, we need to talk," Valero said to me sometime on the fifth day. Or the sixth. Or maybe it was the eighth. I was sitting on one of his strange, bulbous chairs, and I felt him get to his knees in front of me. He cradled my face in his warm hands. I wished I could see him. How could he have become my entire universe when I didn't even know what he looked like?

"Tristan?" he said. "Did you hear me?"

"Yes," I said. Would he kiss me now? I hoped he would. Or that he'd fuck me. Or that he'd push me to the floor and put his cock in my mouth. I hoped he'd lead me into his bathroom and hold me while I relieved myself. I hoped he'd take me with him into his shower and wash me clean. He'd done that for me yesterday. Or had it been this morning? It had been divine.

"Tristan, you need to make a choice."

Was he talking about sex? I couldn't make the

choices. He was the one who decided. I did whatever he wanted me to do. I hoped he used his fingers on me in the shower. I liked when he did that.

"Tristan, listen to me! Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"Do you want to be ransomed?"

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"No." He knew that. We'd talked it about it once before. "I want to stay with you."

"Tristan, I want that too, but I'm not sure this is healthy."

What wasn't healthy? Being crazy about each other

wasn't healthy? Wanting to be with him every chance I had wasn't healthy? Wanting to make him happy wasn't

healthy?

"You want me to leave," I said as my heart sank.

"You don't want me anymore."

He laughed. It wasn't a carefree laugh, though. It

was tense, and a little bit sad. "I want you every second of every day."

That's why it was so perfect. Would he let me kiss

him now?

"Tristan, if you're going to stay on board, you have to be one of us. Do you understand what that means?

You're not my prisoner anymore. You're free."

Not a prisoner? How could that be? I didn't want to be free. I wanted to be his. "You want me to leave," I said again.

He sighed in frustration. "I've kept you here too long," he said gently. "Come on." He stood up, pulling me with him. "Let's get you dressed."

Dressed?

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As absurd as it was, that word broke through the

haze.

Dressed
.

I had to get dressed.

In
clothes
.

"We're going out?" I asked stupidly.

"Yes," he said. "I'll take you down to the kitchen and you can meet some of the other men."

Other men.

On the ship.

I shook my head, trying to clear it. I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my hands, wishing desperately that I could see. I knew instinctively it would have helped.

There were other men on the ship.

Of course there were other men on the ship. Yet

somehow, I'd lost sight of that simple fact. Staying with him meant staying with
them
. It meant becoming a pirate. It meant more than warming his bed.

"I don't have any clothes," I said. It suddenly seemed absurd. How long had I been here in this cabin, wearing nothing but the occasional bit of black lace?

"I have some," he said, clearly relieved that I was starting to come back from wherever I'd been. "I have some of your uniforms—"

"No!" I didn't want to go back to those.

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"Just as well," he said. "The other men would find it strange. I have other clothes I think will fit."

"Whose are they?" I asked.

He laughed. "I have no idea who they belonged to before, but they're yours now." He took my hand and placed something in it. I recognized the rough lace of the panties I'd worn for him the first night. "I thought you could wear these underneath?"

Yes. I could do that now. I smiled at the thought.

"Good idea."

He gave me a pair of pants that felt like soft suede, except they were stretchy, and a loose shirt that felt like silk. Next came thick socks and a pair of boots. The clothes felt strange and foreign against my skin. They were soft and giving, unlike my uniform. The lace panties underneath seemed like the perfect thing to wear with them.

I wished I could see how I looked. I reached up and ran my fingers through my hair, wondering if it was a mess.

Valero laughed, apparently guessing my thoughts. "It's fine," he said. "You look downright respectable compared to the rest of us, believe me."

He led me out of the room and down a hall. He

didn't have to hang on to me. I could follow his footsteps, most of the time. It was only when there was a sudden turn or stairs that he had to help.