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Leaving him is not as easy as she thought.

"Why did you choose to undertake such a dangerous voyage, when rogues such as we are about?" The men shared a hearty laugh.

"Are you the Captain? I demand to be returned to my home at once. My father is rich and important; he will pay good ransom for my unharmed return!"

Again I laughed. "You have precious little rights on my ship to be 'demanding' anything. Your father's wealth and willingness will be tested, to be sure; our prize crew is already taking a message to him notifying him of your fate. While here, however, you belong to me and my men, and shall act in the humble ways of a slave or lose some skin. The choice is yours, as will be the consequences of your actions."

"You scum dare not threaten me, as your scurvy crew will rot in prison or the mines as soon as my father learns of my situation."

I turned to the men and smiled. This was the usual response from rich bitches. Motioning to the doctors and my First Mate, Jorge, I stood back from the girl and approached the wide rail on the port side of the ship. My men were high in the rigging and standing on the yardarms, watching the fun below.

The three men soon had the Frenchwoman stripped and in shackles, much to her distress. Unbroken as yet, she threatened one and all with the rope's end or the hangman's noose. Hearing slight response beyond laughter, she fought harder. She was brought to the rail in my near presence.

"Bitch, what was your name?"

"I am the Lady Marie du Rochforquet. How do you dare say, 'what WAS my name'?"

"Simply put, on this ship you will be Bitch, and you will be so until your father redeems your ransom, we sell you to slavery, or we drop you over as chum to attract the fishes! Will you submit with honor, or do you wish me to begin the process of breaking your will?"

"I shall never submit. You and your sewer rats will pay for this."

"It seems, Bitch, that you must begin an education in the world's ways. Put her tits on the rail, men!"

The three jumped to it, and two held her firm while the third put narrow shackles attached to the rail around her tits and fastened them. She was largely endowed so no extra straps were needed, though the hook from the mast chain pulled her arms up and behind her, while hooks from the rail spread her legs and trapped them. I bent to peer at her creamy bosom, enjoying the light freckles and brown treats it was decorated with.

"As you cannot keep a civil tongue in your head, we must begin to show you how to behave. Be thankful I have not yet cut out your tongue, nor even applied a brank to your unbowed head.

"So to begin, I shall use the Spanish Quirt your deportment demands, 20 strokes to your breasts. First Officer Jorge will treat your buttocks to the same, and your thighs to the same then your back to 50 with the whip if you do not learn from the first. Be sure your breasts and bottom will suffer their fate notwithstanding any change of heart you might have; you can still save your back and thighs, however. Vouchsafe this in mind for after the forty are complete!"

I studied my twin targets further, prodding them to ascertain where to strike, and how hard. Some places on the bosom are better to hit than others, as more reaction will be observed and more pain felt. Jorge, too, was checking his targets. Our eyes met and we nodded, planning to alternate strokes as we usually did. This increased the pain, distracted the victim, and allowed an entertaining vista for all our crewmen.

Raising the quirts, the punishment began. My first stroke was to the top of the breasts near the middle, while Jorge's choice was at the bottom of the cheeks, just above the walking folds there. We worked as to a system, saving the last five to be those remembered longest.

At 15 strokes, the girl fainted; Doctor Smith and Doctor van Zmoot checked her health and determined her fit to continue, as a bucket of brine splashed in her face.

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