“Sins of the Sea” – Chapter 8

CHAPTER 8: Snapped

I cried every single night that I was forced to share a bed with O’Doyle. The night, after he was asleep, was my time to pray, to mourn, to lament the loss of my life as a nun. I wept for my lost home at the abbey, and the sisters who were murdered. Just as hard, I prayed for Wolf, and for God to allow him into heaven, despite his repeated sins.

The only person I didn’t pray for was O’Doyle, who was beginning to scare me. The longer time had passed, the more clear it became that I could never love him back. God help me, I tried. Life would have been so much easier had I simply loved O’Doyle like he wanted me to. Sadly, nothing was ever that easy for me.

When he kissed me, I’d always be the first to pull away, and there was no way he’d be able to ignore the way I cringed when we’d make love. I tried not to, but it was my natural reaction. I loathed this man, and it was starting to become obvious to anyone who was paying attention. Lord knows, I tried to act in love, but it was a lost cause.

This came to a head one night, months after the mutiny had taken place. I was sickly, doubled over my chamber pot, my guts wrenching in time with the waves rocking the boat. When O’Doyle saw me like this, he chuckled. Horrified, I asked him what was so funny. That was when he said the scariest thing I’ve ever heard in my life.

“Well, dear Princess. It seems you might be expecting a child.”

His face dropped when I began to panic. He stopped laughing and let out a growl of anger. “Why are you so upset? Don’t you want to carry my child?”

I didn’t answer him. My only response was to sob for my future baby. What kind of life would a child have under these circumstances? This baby wasn’t going to be born out of love, but the selfish desperation to see another sunrise.

No matter how hard O’Doyle tried to pretend I could love him, this was the moment he realized I never would. His rage was palpable. Before I knew what was happening, I was pinned against the bed’s headboard, his hot breath against my face.

O’Doyle’s growl ran a chill down my spine: “What do I have to do, huh? Do I have to beat you?”

I gasped in horror at his choice of words, “What are you talking about?”

His voice trimble with venom. “No matter what he did to you, you loved him! It’s as if you loved him because he hurt you, and not in spite of it! Is that what I have to do? Do I have to hurt you? Will that get your attention?”

“Stop! Get away from me!” I screamed, but was promptly slapped in my face with enough force to draw blood from my nose. When I tried to shrink away, O’Doyle grabbed my shoulders, holding me in place. “Don’t hurt me! Not you, too! Please, God, not you, too!”

“Tell me why you don’t love me!” the Captain roared, making my ears ring painfully. “What am I supposed to do with you?”

“Please, don’t kill me,” I begged, instinctively covering my belly with my arms.

O’Doyle laughed darkly. “You actually think I want to kill you? After everything, how could you be so stupid? I’m not going to kill you. In fact, I’m going to make sure you live a long life. It’s up to you if it’s going to be a happy one.”

The moment he said this, I started to plan my escape. I thought of the dinghy that was used to get to shore. All I’d have to do is get to it, which was going to be nearly impossible without some help. Perhaps the cabin boy? My train of thought was interrupted by another slap to the face.

“Pay attention, you fucking bitch. I know why you never loved me. I wasn’t cruel to you, right?” He was wheezing in pure anger. “You’re one of those disgusting women who can cum by being humiliated. Is that it?” He reached down, shoving his fingers inside me before pulling them out. “Just as I expected. You’re soaking wet. I bet you would fall in love with me if I raped you, you slut. I can’t believe you were ever a nun.”

I didn’t want to admit it, but he was right about me. It was true. The only time I’ve ever fallen in love was to a man who had raped and tortured me. Shamefully, I hung my head in bitter defeat as he began to molest my prone and vulnerable body through the robe that I was wearing. His hands were rougher than he had been before. I closed my visionless eyes, and braced myself for the violence to come.

What I didn’t want to admit to myself at the time, but I was strangely excited by this cruel change in O’Doyle’s behavior. Exactly as he had said before, I was only excited by such perversions, and this was the most excitement I’ve had since Wolf was murdered.

The Captain’s hands were rough and cruel, and his fingers probed and prodded me with such violence and rage that left me silent with shock. The more he had hurt me, the more excited I had become. Little moans started escaping my quivering lips during my molestation. O’Doyle chuckled darkly.

“Look at you, little nun. Do you think you’re making your heavenly father proud right now?”

My body froze. “What a cruel thing to say,” I whimpered in horror, but his hands didn’t stop.

“You’re no less a sinner than the rest of us, little Princess. God is watching you be a whore right now.” Horror consumed me. I tried to wiggle away, but was pinned in place by my throat. Slowly, he started applying more and more pressure, until I was barely able to breathe. My eyes rolled in the back of my head as my hips bucked wildly against my will.

My mind screamed no, but my body betrayed me with a lust I’ve never wanted, nor asked for. I hated O’Doyle with a passion, but I couldn’t help but love what he was doing to my flesh. I vibrated under his cruel touch, but just as I was about to cum, he stopped what he was doing and climbed on top of me.

I wanted to resist, but before I could, O’Doyle had sheathed himself deep inside my struggling body, raping me against my will. I hated him, but even more, I hated how much I loved what he was doing to me. My heart was pounding for the first time in months, and for once, I felt actually alive.

O’Doyle came quickly after this, collapsing on top of me so hard that he knocked the air out of my lungs. When I whimpered from a lack of completion, I heard the Captain laugh in jaded amusement. His tone was mocking me: “Did the Princess not get to cum yet? Poor thing. Ask me to make you cum. Admit you like this.”

I was too stubborn and only laid there, quickly sobbing under him, unsure of what my future would hold. My future, and that of our poor and innocent baby.

As it turned out, I wasn’t pregnant after all. Though my monthly visitor was late that month, it eventually arrived in it’s own time. Though I was overjoyed, O’Doyle seemed depressed upon finding out that I wasn’t carrying his baby. This sadness lasted 4 days and nights, and in that time, all he managed to do was work, get drunk and sleep. I was blissfully left to my own devices that entire time, using the freedom to sit out on the deck and listen to the waves below.

By day 5, however, O’Doyle acted like a man with a plan. That morning, he had interrupted my breakfast by rudely pulling my bowl away. I was then told that morning to “prepare myself for motherhood.” When I asked him for more details, he simply responded with “You’ll find out soon enough.”

When it was nearly time for bed, I briefly entertained the idea of arming myself, but I knew that the odds were that O’Doyle would easily disarm me, and I’d soon be made to suffer for my actions. Instead, I stayed up as long as I could, avoiding the bedroom by staying on the deck so that I could enjoy the cool breeze of the ocean in peace.

Standing outside on the deck, it became clear that the men were told not to speak to me. They would speed up when they had to walk nearby, slowing down again when a good distance away. They were acting like I had a plague, or was dying of a communicable illness, but there was no mistaking what this actually was.

O’Doyle was isolating me, ensuring that none of his men would ever dream to lay a hand on me. I was once again being sequestered to loneliness by an insecure man to appease his concerns that I might sleep with someone else. As I walked around the deck, contemplating my fate, I felt a hard hand fall on my shoulder, pulling me from my thoughts.

For once, I didn’t hear him coming, and that made me strangely uneasy. O’Doyle’s voice was ominous. I don’t know how else to describe it. He didn’t have to tell me anything. I knew what was happening next. The bastard was going to breed me. A cold chill of terror shook me to the bones as he spoke: “You’re stalling, Princess.”

“Please, let me stay outside a moment longer.” I kept my voice submissive and disarming to better my chances of him giving me my request, but he was having none of it.

“Don’t make me carry you.”

I didn’t need an escort, but this didn’t stop O’Doyle from forcibly leading me below deck, and to his quarters. His hand was wrapped around my wrist, and I felt as if he were dragging me to the point that I had to force myself to speed up in order to avoid falling down. The door then slammed loudly behind us, and the blood froze in my veins. All hope was gone.

There was no running. No avoiding my fate. I was going to be bred whether I wanted it or not. Defeated, I sullenly and submissively began to undress, but I felt his hands catch mine. “Don’t bother with that. Remove your undergarments, then lay down on the bed with your legs hanging off the side of the bed, ankles widely spread. Do you understand?”

I nodded and did what I was told, confused.

He continued to speak: “To be fair, I’ve come to a conclusion. I want an heir; a male heir, and you’re going to give me one. You’re to get into that position the moment I command you, and you will take my seed anytime I tell you to. While I breed you, don’t move, nor speak to me. After I’m done, lay there, and don’t move even after I get off you. I want to make sure it takes. Do you understand me?”

The coldness of his voice left me silent in shock. He didn’t give me much time for an answer anyway, as he was quickly on top of me. Without a word, O’Doyle, the evil bastard, was raping me, his hands wrapped around my neck. I did as I was commanded to, and took it quietly, my teeth buried in my bottom lip in order to keep myself silent.

I could hear him laugh cruelly.

“I knew if I grabbed you by the throat that you’d get wet. You degenerate whore, you can’t help yourself, can you?”

It was true, I couldn’t. The shame I felt made me start to cry, but O’Doyle squeezed his hand tighter, reminding me my place. I was to stay quiet and not move, but this was harder than one would expect. Crying wouldn’t get me anywhere, so I did my best to stifle it. I enjoyed Wolf’s anger on occasion, but what O’Doyle did to me was somehow so much worse, and to this day, can’t figure out why.

My mind raced, despite the stillness of my body. The tears still fell, but I didn’t dare let myself make a sound. O’Doyle, however, grunted wildly, lost in his sexual anger. The way he pounded me into me was akin to being stabbed with a knife. It felt like he was trying to wound me with his manhood, his thrusts cruel and visceral, his growls primitive and barbaric as I was forcibly bred against my will.

As he came, his hands tightened around my neck so tightly that I could see stars in my blindness. I started to claw desperately at his hands, but it did nothing to stop him. Struggling to breath, I panicked as he drained himself inside me, holding it there as he collapsed his full weight on top of me, breathless. Only then did he remove his hand, allowing me to gasp violently for air, only to struggle to breath from his weight on my chest.

I let out a pained sob. “Please, my Lord, let me breathe! You’re hurting me!”

He smiled with his face buried in my breasts. “Yes, I’m hurting you, and I’ve only just started.”

O’Doyle wasn’t exaggerating, either. I was truly made to suffer the tortures of the damned for the next 6 months, and to my horror, there was nothing I could do to stop him.

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