CHAPTER TWO: Captain Wolf Renauld
Let me tell you about Captain Wolfgang Renauld:
Renauld was, and still likely is, one of the worst people I’ve ever met in my entire life, both then, and now. The bastard was everything I hated; He was bullheaded, cruel, bossy, piggish, aggressive and aggressive.
So, why did I want him so badly? Why do I still pine for him 20 years later? My dreams of Wolf are, even now, still so vivid, so raw, that I lose my senses every night, often waking up whimpering in desire, reaching out for a man who isn’t there anymore.
Despite years of pondering heavily on the subject, I’ve never been able to pinpoint the source of my obsession. In an attempt to solve such a complex puzzle, I’ve recently begun to list his various attributes, both negative and positive, because frankly, I need to know the source of this bizarre attraction to the very same man who had nearly ruined my life.
It certainly wasn’t for vanity’s sake. That’s for sure. His appearance did very little for me.
Mr. Wolf was middle aged, with salt and pepper black hair, and an unshaven face. Not too tall, but not too short, nor too fat or thin. He was average looking, at best; and unkempt, if not completely louse ridden, at very worst. Wolf clearly didn’t wash enough, or change his clothes as regularly as he should have, but the man did have his charm, and I had to give him that.
For example, I’ve always found his protectiveness very alluring. He was almost obsessed with being the only man allowed to touch me. After he claimed me as his, and his alone, Renauld dressed me up in an opulent red gown, likely pilfered from another ship, before calling a meeting.
In the red dress, I felt like a whore as he paraded me in front of his men.
Everyone, a crew of about 16-20 people cluttered the ship’s deck as he explained the new rules to his men. As he did, I kept my eyes down submissively, secretly turned on by being shown off like such a prized possession.
This rules were simple:
One: I belonged exclusively to Captain Renauld. Nobody was to woo me or fall in love. I was taken, and under his protection.
Two: Nobody was allowed to even touch me. Period. Anyone who even looks too hard at me will be keelhauled on sight.
And Three: I was to be treated as the Captain’s wife by the crew. I was not a captive or a concubine, but his bonafide, legitimate bride, and was to be recognized by the crew accordingly.
There was something addictive about the way he was treating me in front of his men. Frankly, it had left me feeling both flattered beyond all words, as well as completely ashamed of myself, both in equal measure. This only served to make me hunger for him even more. I’ve never felt so desired before, and it was intoxicating.
After he declared his new rules, Renauld pulled me to him, kissing me passionately until I was breathless and swooning. I felt his hands begin to touch me all over my body, right in front of his men. To my shock, he had lifted up the hem of my dress, flashing far too much of my legs for my comfort, but when I tried to stop him, Mr. Wolf wrapped his free hand seductively around my throat, gently silencing me.
The Captain didn’t have to squeeze for my eyes to roll to the back of my head. All it took was him merely laying his hand there softly for me to swoon wantonly. I feel so dirty, even now, recalling how aroused it made me back then, knowing that his crew was watching our every move.
I was so confused, but his heated gaze had told me everything I needed to know. He was enjoying this, clearly indulging in the sight of my morals corrupting before his very eyes. The man was a monster, a fiend; but to my horror, the worse he was, the more excited I became.
My Captain pulled me to him, chest to chest. His voice was low and husky, dripping with raw lust. “Vita, tell the men who your Lord and Master is.”
I shook my head wordlessly, mute from having been humiliated, aroused, and confused into a stunned silence. At that point, I was prepared to give him anything he wanted, to say anything commanded of me, simply for the chance to make it out of this alive. I needed to survive this sea of sin and lust, or I’d surely drown in it.
For now, however, the only way out was through.
“You are, my Lord,” I meekly purred, barely audible over the gentle roar of the sea that crashed against the side of the ship’s haul.
The cold ocean wind whipped my exposed skin as Wolf molested me in front of everyone. With his eyes locked to mine, I could feel him lifting the back of my dress up even further. When my backside was fully exposed, Renauld grabbed it and squeezed. He said “You can look, boys, but this sweet ass belongs to me.” I felt my face blushing in shame.
This entire situation surely would be shameful and revolting to any good Christian, so why was I enjoying it so much? I silently prayed to God for the strength to fight back against the sins of my own mind, but it was too late. I was in too deep to fight it now. Not if I wanted to live. It wasn’t lost on me how if I wanted to fight him, I’d surely die. Regardless of if I was having fun or not, I was still no better than a blackbird in a cage, pulled out whenever he wanted amusement.
We were talking about the reasons I had become so enamored with this fiend. Narrowing it down, I know for a fact that my fascination with Renauld wasn’t about greed. I can say that much. One could easily understand if he had any riches or real power. Wolf, however, had nothing that impressed me, even slightly. Sure, he possessed his magnificent pirate ship, called ‘the Celeste,’ but that wasn’t what I was after.
I also wasn’t impressed by the presents he’d give me; dresses, jewels and precious stones. All taken from innocent victims, no doubt. Wearing them only served to make me feel dirty, and not in the same way that left me swooning before. I felt like a thief and an accomplice to murder each time I was made to wear them. So no, it certainly wasn’t the material gain.
I honestly can’t tell you why I lusted after my Captain so aggressively, but for those first few weeks, it was like we were on our honeymoon. I was scared of him, yes, but I would also become painfully excited whenever he touched me. Wolf’s mere gaze alone could light a fire in me that only his body had the power to extinguish.
However, there was a great darkness in Renauld, as well. A darkness that could easily be seen, even in our most intimate of moments. Take for example the first time we made love. It was hours after the first time he had taken me against my will, and I was sitting on his bed. Wolf approached me sullenly, talking of how he wanted to “make up” for hurting me.
Before I could inquire further, he had gotten on his knees, his hands already riding up my dress.
I was too tired and weak from the previous activities to fight him. To my great shame, when he spread my legs with his hands, I simply let him. There was no fight from me. No struggle or whimpers of protest. I had already accepted my fate. He was going to take me, and frankly, it could either hurt, or it could feel good, and I chose to make things easier for everyone with my passive compliance.
He licked, suckled, kissed and massaged my most sacred of places for at least an hour before finally coming back up for air. At first, I was confused about what was happening to me, but quickly, I became lost in pleasure. Never had I expected such a sensation. My body was shaking under his expert tongue, and I found myself shivering in absolute ecstasy, but after a long time down there, I could tell he was getting tired.
I simply asked him if he wanted to stop, as I felt guilty that he was making himself so tired, just for my pleasure. Shamefully, I wanted him to ignore me, and keep going, but that’s not what happened.
Renauld did stop, but seemed somewhat put off by my words.
Wolf appeared to be offended, demanding to know “if it felt good or not.” I said yes, of course it did, but it’ll be fine if he wanted to stop. That’s all. I didn’t mean anything by it. It’s not that it felt bad, or anything. It’s just that this was all painfully new to me, I explained. No matter what I had said, he still didn’t seem to understand how such an advanced move could be lost on such a novice as myself.
I had also explained myself poorly, it seemed, because my Lord was truly upset by what I had said. He had stood up, and punched the wall by my ear. I flinched and clinched my eyes tightly, recoiling in fear at his sudden flash of rage. To my shock, I felt his hand roughly cup my womanhood, once again claiming me as his.
Renauld’s tone chilled me to my core: “This cunt is mine. You don’t get to tell me what to do with it.”
I sucked in a breath as I bit my bottom lip, aroused by his sudden rage. Holy Father, help me, I hungered for his rage just as much as I did for his sex.
I wonder if that’s what I liked about him?
Maybe I was attracted to the danger, or perhaps it was evil men in general who captivated me? Or God forbid, what if I were the problem? What if I liked sinning so much because I was, deep down, by nature, a complete and total degenerate?
All I know for certain is that I was turned on beyond words as my Captain laid back on the bed, and ordered me to sit on his face. I was commanded not to move, but to stay seated on his mouth until orgasm was achieved.
The Captain’s eyes gleamed with a raw determination as I did as I was told. I carefully climbed onto the bed, and stood over his face. Then, slowly, I lowered myself down, my sacred place pressed firmly against his hungry, needy lips.
His mouth felt weird at first. I had nothing to compare it to, nor did I fully understand what was happening. I just sat there, letting him explore my womanhood with his tongue and lips. After a few moments of rooting around almost humorously, it was suddenly as if my Lord had hit gold. I nearly fell over from the shock to my senses, but Wolf held me in place. Quickly, my hips began to rock of its own accord, silently beckoning him to continue.
To my shock, I found my body wiggling into place, as if trying to show my man where he needed to go. Anchoring my hands on his chest, I began to grind my mound into his mouth greedily. I was whimpering, moaning, slowly losing myself to the pleasure that he was giving me.
I couldn’t stop myself as I begged for Wolf to make me cum, pleading for more pleasure, for more sin and debauchery.
We were surely going to hell for this, but at least we were going to enjoy ourselves along the way, I thought to myself. I could feel his hands cup my thighs from below, holding on to me for dear life as he brought me closer and closer to the brink of madness with that magnificent silver tongue of his.
My hips didn’t stop rocking until I came against his mouth, his tongue buried inside me.
I had nothing left, and I collapsed by his side, completely spent. Renauld took a deep breath, and pulled me into his arms. We ended up falling asleep that way. Though the scene seemed so idyllic, my last thoughts before fading into a deep slumber were the words: “Dear God, please don’t let this man kill me.”
Even in our most vulnerable moments, sexually, emotionally or otherwise, I could still sense the darkness in his heart, telling he could turn on me at any moment. Wolf made me feel like I was in constant danger, but oddly enough, that feeling became addictive. Saints preserve me, I loved it when he’d get offended by something or another, and lash out at me in kind.
At risk of sounding like a bad person, I often found myself inciting my Captain on purpose, just enough to get a reaction. His over the top responses were always so delicious to me, whether good or bad. I just had to be careful to not push him too hard. It was very clear to me that if ever did, Wolf would surely be capable of anything.
His quick temper made this a very, very dangerous game to play, so I played it very carefully.
A memory comes to mind of the first time he had ever slapped me in a rage. I had made the “mistake” of asking the First Mate if he had a woman back home. My dear Mr. Wolf was truly the jealous type, and I knew exactly what was going to happen. I hungered for his anger, and received it in kind.
Renauld slapped me with his hard, calloused palm so violently that I thought my head would spin. His face was red with rage as he dragged me to his quarters, screaming at me, begging me to tell him why I’d ask his First Mate such a personal question.
No answer I gave seemed to be enough for him.
On the verge of tears, the Captain shook me like a wild animal, demanding to know if I had intentions with any other men. I knew it was evil of me, but I loved twisting the knife, so to speak. His pain was delicious. Though amused by his misery, I bit back the urge to smile at his clear discomfort. God help me, I wanted to taunt him, to hurt him worse. Each time I upset him was a taste of vengeance for my fallen sisters.
However, I had to be mindful not to go too far, or too hard, so I de-escalated the situation as quickly as I had started it; I began to cry, telling him I was lonely, and how I just wanted to make conversation. I said I had made a terrible mistake, and was sorry for my naivety. My apologies sounded realistic enough that he had never called me out on the validity of them.
If only he knew.
My feelings for the Captain had left me lost and confused. Simply put, I loved him and I hated him. I was afraid of him, but I enjoyed making him angry. I wanted to please him, but God help me, I wanted to hurt him, too. He made me so angry, but validated me in ways that only weeks ago were foreign to me.
I had no idea what this feeling was, but I knew for fact it simply couldn’t be true love. Perhaps “true addiction” would be the better phrase? It was painfully obvious to me that whatever this was, it was changing me. It was warping my wants and desires. God help me, it was reshaping who I was as a person.
After only two weeks on the Celeste, I no longer knew who I was anymore.