This story takes place only a few years after Wendy's first visit to Neverland with Peter Pan, so it is considered a follow-up to the 2003 P.J. Hogan film Peter Pan (with some references to the original Barrie novel [1911] and his own Peter Pan prequel, Peter Pan in Kensington Gardens [1904]).
GAH! Yes, yes, I am still here; I have not abandoned this project. However, I have been of late highly distracted by other endeavors – writing contests and the like. But I have not given up on this story! Just please be patient with me for a bit...
A mini-warning: Nothing too terribly exciting in this chapter...however, I was going to call it "Days in the Life of Two People with a Very Healthy Sexual Appetite", but it was too long. ;-) So, let that be your mini-warning...
Again, I have no ownership of any of the characters or actors who portrayed them...sales are skyrocketing! Also, I would like to lovingly acknowledge the artist Nene Thomas, whose painting "Cold Embrace" provided a very nice visual reference and inspiration to parts of this chapter.
Here's Chapter XVIII , comments, s'il vous plaît! :-)
XVIII. EXISTENCE REVAMPED"Wendy, do pay attention please."
"I am paying attention."
She was not really, thus it was hardly to her advantage to claim otherwise as she fiddled with the small bloom of hyacinths at her left.
Captain Hook sighed and leaned upon his rapier, his claw resting impatiently on his hip. "If you expect a tango lesson later this evening, you'll pick up that blade and take my notice."
She tossed him quite a pout. "You needn't boss me like a headmaster."
"And you needn't carry on like a mousy schoolgirl," he shot back.
Affronted, Wendy took up the weapon which had prior to then been lying limp in her right hand and took a scowling lunge at the Captain, which he easily brushed aside without having to move anything more than his elbow.
"My dear," he began with a slightly bemused grin, "Was that my heart at which you were aiming?"
"No," Wendy admitted coyly. "I was aiming at your throat, but this sword is a bit heavy."
Oh that she knew just which buttons to push to reclaim his favor, and he could scarcely fight back a fiendish smile.
"Then we shall just have to find you another, won't we?"
Wendy met his playful grin perfectly and shrugged. "Oh, I don't know. 'Tis such a lovely piece, I'd hate to give it up." She retreated a step and gave the weapon a swish. "From whose ill-fated hands did you wrench it, Captain?"
"Actually, my dear, you may – or may not – be happy to know that 'twas a gift from a Spaniard cousin of mine, a brilliant swordsman in his own right. His father crafted it himself."
Wendy cocked her head. "How would you remember that?"
To which the Captain gave a delicate grin and replied, "I don't. There is an inscription at the base of the blade."
Wendy looked. Indeed there was. "Oh! Yes!" Though it was written in Spanish. "Surely, it means a great deal to you. Why would you allow me to use it?"
Hook examined his number four parry, which was a weakness of his. "Because you mean a great deal more. And I insist you flourish only the finest steel."
At this, Wendy felt her skin go pink. She had never heard him regard her in such terms – at least not in such a casual way, as if the whole matter was entirely rhetorical.
By the by, in case you have been wondering about Wendy's poor ankle, which as we know has been a great bain to her through most of this story, I can happily report that she is now almost entirely healed and can move about quite briskly without much pain.
So why does she stay, I hear you ask suspiciously. And don't think she had not asked this of herself numerous times. You see, Wendy did not quite deem herself ready to face the Real World again, if at all. The simple fact of the matter was, Captain Hook had ruined her. She recognized this plainly. And he had done so with her full consent. She now understood what he had meant when he said to her, just after claiming her precious virtue, "There is no going back." Indeed, how could she expect to return to the life and people she knew before in her present circumstance? It was hard enough dodging the sniggering glances of Hook's crew, and they were but dimwitted sea dogs! She would never be able to hide such a thing from her parents. One look at her, and they would know immediately.
However, she regretted none of it.
There was nothing which the Mainland could offer her that she could not find readily just within the Captain's cabin aboard the Jolly Roger. Edification, culture, enlightening conversation, a warm bed to sleep in at night and a remarkable man with whom to share it. Until she could determine a proper occasion in which to return to London – should that occasion ever arise at all – she thought it best to stay put. And truly, she could not think of a more preferable place to do this.
And thus she stood on the murky shores of Neverland, receiving instruction in the finer points of sword fighting from the Supreme Authority himself, Captain James Hook. And a most striking picture he made before her, leaning gracefully into an en garde, his dark coiled locks tied back with a purple ribbon and his finest royal blue justaucorps fluttering in the cool breeze behind his powerful figure. Imploring her on with his piercing eyes, he inclined the tip of his rapier toward her in such a manner as to evoke images in her mind of how he would lure her to his bedchamber in the evenings, though with a much more potent weapon at hand than a sword...
"The premiere tenet of a duel," Hook explained, "is to know your opponent completely. Anticipate his every move, his every breath if you have to. There is no proper defense without a thorough understanding of the offense."
Wendy deflected an informal seconde and creased her brow. "But what if I've never even met the person?"
"With practice, you will come to read your foe like a book at a single glance. His every intention shall emanate from his person like a stench."
"So...I shall smell his every move?" Wendy inquired puckishly.
Despite himself, Hook allowed a grin. "Something to that effect I suppose."
Then suddenly, the Captain lunged at her with a frightening cut on his backhand. On impulse, Wendy caught his blade with her own, two-handed and in quartata. Hook wasted nary a blink by spinning round and countering with another cut toward her exposed back. But Wendy's reflexes proved sound as she caught him once more, their swords crossed statuesquely above their heads.
Hook peered at his young pupil over upraised elbows. "How did you know to engage me to your left?"
"I opened my back to your initial assault," was Wendy's swift reply, "and surely you would take advantage of it."
"And why did you not attempt to riposte between my advances?"
"Because I knew you would not truly hit me should I miss your attack," Wendy stated with confidence.
Hook's expression turned to one of a cagey wryness. "Truly? You think so?"
Her stomach tightened.
"Best not to assume too much in a swordfight, darling," said Hook softly.
He watched her face go pale at his words. Glad he was, admittedly, that she was now taking the situation seriously. He retreated from their stance and withdrew his weapon.
"No, of course I would not have harmed you," he confessed, "but not every opponent will afford you such leniency, will they?"
At last Wendy felt herself breath. "No, indeed not."
From this moment on, Wendy regarded her lesson most crucially. Even that same evening, when the Captain, as he had promised, coached her in the Tango, she absorbed his instruction with a terrible seriousness. Hook vaguely attributed her manner as one of impudence for his earlier strictness with her onshore.
"Wendy, you simply must relax," he said, giving her hand a small squeeze. "There is no room for such stringency in the Tango."
With that, he dipped her grandly, her head almost touching the floor. She gasped at the abruptness of it, but once vertical again, she allowed an easy laugh.
They had mastered the basico by this time and were swiftly moving on to the salida. Accompanying their toils was Hook's anachronistic old gramophone, blaring such sensual beats from its tarnished horn. It was powered, said Hook, by two confined worker fairies.
Pressing on in this session, with Wendy now of lighter humor, Hook guided her swiftly though the salida and walked her beautifully to the cross. It all seemed such a natural rhythm for them to fall into, this joining of lost souls through a dance of such both passion and melancholy. One could gaze upon their heated abrazo and not discern where she began and the he ended, as if this dance were invented solely for them to endeavor. Their eyes never strayed from the other's for a second. A most captivating site indeed.
Thus it was a great displeasure when suddenly the gramophone went silent. They had just achieved a perfect gancho when this occurred, interrupting them at a rather inconvenient moment. Wendy saw Hook's eyes flare at once, and rather brusquely did he detangle himself from her person and turn toward the gramophone.
"Blasted pixies!" he grumbled as he wielded his claw threateningly.
In one brisk move, he tore open the crank door amid Wendy's pleas to be merciful, and to her mild astonishment, he did not strike but only stood slackly.
"What is it?" Wendy asked, already crossing to him.
"So peculiar..." she heard Hook mutter more or less to himself.
When she came upon the scene, she saw that which had stayed his iron and gasped herself – two young fairies, laying gray and lifeless over the gramophone crank.
"Oh, what a shame," Wendy cried, crouching over to take the expired little pixies in the palm of her hand. "Why, they're practically babies!"
"And workers no less," Hook added, scratching his beard with his claw. "Surely the labor which I require of them was not enough to do this!"
He said it mostly to ease Wendy's mind of any blame she might be construing toward himself, though it was true that he had not really demanded so much of the kept fairies.
With a shrug of forced concern, Hook deduced, "Someone must have said that there's no such – erm, that is, someone must have uttered those certain six dreadful words."
"Yes," Wendy sighed. She rose and plucked a handkerchief from Hook's sleeve and wrapped the pixies carefully within it. She then placed the sad little bundle inside a snuff box on Hook's desk.
"Tomorrow, I shall give them a proper burial," she proclaimed with a resolute nod.
Hook resisted the urge to roll his eyes. They were just a couple of insignificant worker fairies, for goodness sake! But he was cognizant of Wendy's staunch veneration for all creatures, and so he granted her a polite smile at her declaration.
Remained presently was the issue of just what they were to do now with their Tango cut so tragically short.
With a cunning twinkle in his eye, the Captain suggested another sort of dance in which they could partake; one which required an even deeper abrazo...and very little clothing.
"Sounds silly to me," Wendy said demurely. "What does one call this dance anyway?"
"It has no distinct name," Hook replied, scooping her up into his arms. "The deed speaks for itself really."
The unhappy incident with the fairies promptly forgotten, the amorous Captain carried Wendy into his bedchamber and tutored her rather vigorously in the ways of his Unnamed Dance. Cheeky Wendy insisted repeatedly that she just could not quite get the hang of it, and that the erudite Captain simply must demonstrate it for her one more time.
Thus was how the majority of their evenings commenced as of late, bleeding over into the mornings as well if either of them had any additional energy to spare. And they often did, even if they did not. And when the Captain would finally emerge a short time later to see to his duties on deck, the telltale waddling gait he affected spoke volumes to his snickering crew of the grueling time spent inside his cabin with his young mistress the previous night.
Oh yes, his men were quite aware of the situation at hand. But they were wise to keep their mouths shut and to mind their own when in the presence of their Captain. He desired not to discuss these matters with a soul, not even his faithful bosun.
Ah, poor Mr. Smee. And what has become of him, you may ask. Forced so carelessly into the background it seems, though he was still ever-present in the daily lives of his two masters. But little more than a fly on the wall was he to them, I'm afraid. He was well conscious of his Captain's shameless exploits with the Wendy girl, certainly. In fact, he had, you might say, front row seats for this particular burlesque. They would pay him little mind as he shuffled in and out of the cabin during the course of the day to bring the meals or collect the washing and the like. And just occasionally, whilst clearing away the dinner table in the evening, he would notice the bedchamber door a touch ajar, and not being able to resist he'd peer inside, only to discover that which had already been quite evident was shockingly confirmed.
Tearing himself away from the unseemly spectacle, the bosun would return to his duties and think to himself how utterly appalling it all was. Why, she was practically a child! Smee had been witness to a number of depravities at the hands – or hand – of Captain Hook in his time as bosun, but never a perversion such as this! He had been watching helpless Hook's better judgment slowly slip away from him ever since his escape from the crocodile's belly. Surely, he had quite overstepped the bounds of sanity now, abandoning his quest for Peter Pan's head in lieu of gleefully sharing his bed with that which was essentially just a little girl. What other disastrous feats may lay ahead?
But alas, such a simple man Smee was, what could he possibly do as one person to save the Captain from himself? Or from that juvenile trollop?
And so, with a shrug and a sigh witnessed by nobody but himself, Smee finished his task and left the ribald pair to their foolishness. If they had known what he'd been thinking, they would not have cared a whit anyhow.
Soon enough, Hook and Wendy's indifference to the opinions of others briefly carried their illicit encounters from out of the cabin to wherever and whenever they could seek a suitable spot. If the inclination hit them, so be it – resulting in a handful of clumsy and comical episodes in the name of sating their lusts. But this would eventually begin to take its toll, as demonstrated in the end by the heavy bruising Wendy sustained upon her cheek whence, on one occasion, having it pressed brutally up against the wood of the mast while Hook took her in the crow's nest. From that day forward, Hook promised, he would never again touch her unless she was swathed in cushions. And he kept to that promise with much vigor, I can blushingly assure you.
Such persistent endeavors might seem exorbitant to you and I, but as for them, each new intimate encounter was just as splendid as the first.
And never was Wendy quite more beautiful, Hook thought, than when she was rapt in the fevered passion which only he seemed to be able to provoke. More than anything he adored watching her face as she cried out his name to the cosmos. He delighted as well in catching with his tongue the droplets of sweat which would trickle from her temple to the tip of her breast. How could something which was salty be so sweet at the same time? 'Twas the magnificence of Wendy. And she was all his. At last.
At last, no longer alone. No longer so old. And certainly not done for.
Another of Hook's most favorite leisures was the process of undressing his young lover, and she him. He found the anticipation of it was almost as exciting as the act that followed. On one particular evening, following a long day of repairing a sail which a wayward pelican had tumbled into, Hook entered his bedchamber to find Wendy therein by the window, wrapped in one of his more worn-in banyans. He wanted nothing more in the world than to feel her arms around him. He'd never yearned as much for Peter Pan's blood.
No words burdened the evening air as Hook approached Wendy and held her adoring face in his good hand. With a smile that could melt Lucifer's bitter heart, she commenced the unhurried process of disrobing her Captain. Starting, of course, with his officious iron claw and tossing it begrudgingly aside. Next the justaucorps came off, followed by the vest, and then kneeling down to remove the boots and stockings (with a grinningly deliberate caress of his calf made to seem as simply an accident). Staying here, Wendy's fingers expertly unfastened the buttons of his breeches and with prudence tugged them over his hips and to the ground to join his other abandoned wears.
As she came back to her feet to help him out of his shirtsleeves, Hook was already untying the sash at her waist. His simple task quickly accomplished, he allowed Wendy to lift his shirt over his head whilst he wriggled his arms free and tossed the garment aside. Wendy hastily got to work removing the painful harness which kept Hook's powerful upper body so mercilessly captive. This as well tumbled to the floor with an indignant clank.
Wendy's lips fell at once to Hook's bare chest as her hands inched delicately to the modest chemise at his waist. Meanwhile, Hook's own hand crept inside the folds of her banyan, brushing it over her shoulder and inclining his face to kiss the exposed skin. Wendy let her arms hang to her sides so that the banyan may slip away gracefully. Now all that remained was to free Hook of the chemise, and this too was achieved with just the same amount of barely controlled urgency.
Thus the eccentric pair stood before each other with all secrets revealed. A languid stroke of her arm accompanied delicate kisses to her throat as Wendy inclined her head to catch them, her own eager hands finding their way beneath Hook's curls to his finely sculpted back. His skin, though battle-weary and scarred, had apparently become accustomed to the lush velvet which had adorned it for so long, as it had adapted itself to this texture as well – rich to the touch, and with a few perfectly placed freckles here and there.
Nestling her face into his neck, her hands crawled stealthily like a wind's soft caress down his form, tracing the line of his spine until it disappeared behind the steep curve of his back, and then falling ultimately to his solid backside. She would have liked to give it a squeeze, but she'd sooner be able to clutch a rock. So instead she let her fingertips gently stroke the length of his cleft. She felt him harden against her belly, and his hand, hitherto entangled within her cascade of hair, gripped the back of her neck, pressing her tighter to his needful, naked body.
Wendy had become well acclimatized to the Captain's expectations when it came to these matters. Sometimes, it was a simple flick of the eyebrow or a certain way he arranged his mouth. Other times, it could be a scent he emitted from his skin. At this time, she knew that he was ready to migrate to the bed by the manner in which he held her. Enfolding her arms about his neck, she lightly stood tiptoed upon the tops of his feet, as a little girl would do when being taught to waltz by a grown-up. In this quaint albeit thorny arrangement, Hook walked her over to the edge of the bed, letting her slip from his embrace and onto the cushions, where she remained mostly upright, leaning back on her hands, and presenting to him the most delicious of smiles.
Hook could not defend against her beaming face as he placed a knee to one side of her and bent down to retrieve his first kiss of the evening. Cupping her chin in his hand, he offered his tongue, which she accepted gladly. They remained with mouths entwined for a goodly while, playing impish games with their tongues that evoked a few lighthearted giggles between them.
Once this interlude found its natural end, Hook beseeched Wendy flat on her back against the bed, letting his thumb linger a moment longer at her inflamed red lips. She saw plainly in his face a cunning which foretold of something wholly wicked and adventurous on his mind as he crouched to his knees at the foot of the bed before her. Dozens of butterflies raced through Wendy's insides as Hook slowly separated her legs wide apart. With one last twitch of a grin, he leaned in and began to trace a line from the rook of her knee up the inside of her thigh with his lips. A torturous anticipation flooded Wendy's whole being, and she shut her eyes and clutched the sheets beneath her head in preparation of it.
The Captain took no haste in his hunt for the finest treasure in Neverland. Oh, the wait was maddening! So when he finally did rediscover it – that small, precious bit of property Wendy kept hidden between her thighs – it was already coated in a proper share of dampness before his mouth had chance to spot upon it himself. But even still, he searched hungrily for more, feasting on her flesh like a deprived wolf. The whole universe cycloned around Wendy, leaving her a dizzy, helpless prey for the ravenous pirate. And when at last he spread open the swollen gateway of her riches with his fingers and plunged his tongue deep inside her, she burst instantly.
He remained at his task a bit longer even after she had finished with it herself until he had for certain drained her little lagoon dry. Once sated, and with Wendy laying limply and breathlessly upon the bed, Hook withdrew himself, dabbed his chin with the back of his hand, and rose drowsily to his feet.
Wendy watched through her fogged periphery the Captain cross toward the writing desk at the window, and she heard the vague clinking sound of a brandy decanter being opened and tipped into a goblet. Giving his free arm a good well-earned stretch, Hook drank lustily of the strong liquid. He did this not out of dissatisfaction with Wendy – to the contrary, the taste of her was divinity in his mouth – but as a common courtesy to the young lady if he were to kiss her upon the lips again.
As the brandy burned down his throat, Hook stared aimlessly out the window of his bedchamber. The room was entirely swathed in darkness save for the eerie blue glow of the steadfast Moon pouring in from the outside. Wendy observed her handsome lover, standing bare and exquisite within the cool blanket of that moonlight. She never ceased to be in awe of him nor of the awareness that that every cravable inch of him belonged only to her, to do with whatever she pleased, explore in whatever manner, possess at any time she desired. How many other maidens like herself would give up the World for just a day to be in Wendy's place?
And how had she possibly failed to notice it those few meager years before?
He could always feel her eyes on him, even when he was not looking, like a warm tickle upon his skin. And as he emptied the last dregs of his goblet, he turned his face toward her, the blue glimmer lighting up his face and absorbing with it the iciness of his eyes until all that could be seen were the dark pupils, giving him an almost supernatural appearance. He grinned when he caught her regarding him, still sprawled upon her back, as splendid as she ever was. Wendy had to this point been quietly wondering if their evening had run its course, but upon seizing a glimpse of those mystic eyes and the roguish smile, she knew at once that he was not yet through with her.
Indeed, in only a matter of seconds, Hook abandoned his brandy, scurried back toward the bed, and entered Wendy swiftly, her body having long since adjusted itself to easily accommodate his size. And when their primal ritual was complete, they fell into a sound sleep with their bodies still joined, neither one quite able to bear the separation.
Hook dreamt strangely again this night, though 'twas not of the usual troubling nature. Nay, instead he dreamt of merrier times, of the brief periods when he was accepted and embraced by those around him. He dreamt of a lovely woman whose face he knew indisputably but whose name and significance escaped him. She looked upon him with such unwavering love in her eyes that he nearly began to weep in his slumber. But she was quick to console him, taking his face betwixt her hands, and whispering softly but firmly into his ear:
"May one never mistake or underestimate thy heritage."
He knew she was right. But he did not know how he knew it. He wanted to ask her, but before he could, she gave his right shoulder a loving squeeze and then evaporated back into his subconscious.
He dreamt no more that night.
As for Wendy, her sleep was dreamless, but hardly uneventful. Though her thoughts remained uncluttered and still, deep within other hidden corners of her being stirred a most unsettling little specter, one which was unfamiliar in this territory but sought to make a suitable home out of it. 'Tis hard to say how it got there, but are not all impossible things possible in the Neverland?
Well, aren't they?
It would seem that this tiny tumult had been festering for some time, and it was about to manifest itself through a most unfortunate incident.
As of late, Wendy had been growing rather restless aboard her new floating domicile. This was maybe inevitable, but would you be surprised if I told you that Captain Hook himself played a part in her ennui? Well, surprised or not, it was certainly the truth. As vigorously as she had strived to draw out the feared pirate captain's gentler nature, she was now wondering if she had perhaps emasculated him completely. He scarcely ever raised his voice anymore, even when a crewmember disobeyed him, and he most certainly had not raised his claw in a menacing fashion since the incident with the dead worker fairies. Had he gone soft? Where was the wicked pirate by whom she had first been so entranced at just the tender age of twelve?
In addition to this, Wendy had become quite fed up with Hook's dogs. She thought of them as little more than ballast, and the way in which they would stare at her as if she were a common whore did little to elevate their standing in her eyes. Add to it their blatant defiance of their Captain, taking advantage of him in his milder state, and Wendy would have relished in every one of their keelhauls.
These brutes had no business in the world to call themselves real pirates.
She witnessed their insolence daily, and one brisk afternoon, she'd quite had enough. 'Twas time to teach them a lesson – and to test her Captain's grit.
Whilst Hook oversaw the rigorous cleaning of the cannons, Wendy stealthily slinked below decks, whereby she found a lone pirate toiling haphazardly at his duties. It was Bill Jukes – Wendy knew at once due his ink-riddled skin. He stood over a boiling kettle, yawning broadly as he stirred a fresh batch of a steaming hot cleaning solution. He was a slight and frail looking bloke, and when he noticed Wendy in the room, he jumped a bit as if having just spotted a cockroach.
She was wearing a brand new dress which Smee had fashioned especially for her, on Hook's request, out of one of the Captain's old uniforms. The almost erotic caress of the lavender velvet and silk against her flesh fed her nerves amply.
And as she descended the steps to the hold, she found her thoughts wandering to a vague memory she'd had recently – a memory of her mother. Or rather, a story her mother had told to her of the night Wendy and her brothers first flew away to Neverland. Earlier in the day, Wendy had humiliated her father terribly in front of his superiors and was forced to confront them yet again the very same evening at a party. Luckily for Mr. Darling, his devoted wife was at his side, her shrewd charm and elegance winning over Sir Edward Quiller-Couch, the head of the bank, at once. The encounter was short-lived however, when Nana broke loose and tragically alerted the Darlings to their children's predicament. The next day, in spite of – or perhaps because of – her being half-delirious with grief, Mrs. Darling called on Sir Edward at the bank, without her husband's knowledge, and delicately explained to him the situation, and...well, by the end of their meeting, the esteemed man had forgiven all of Mr. Darling and even offered him an increase in pay.
Wendy found this fascinating, and longed horribly to possess such a graceful ability to attain virtually anything strictly by her feminine allure. Certainly, the girl had no real occasion to investigate such a thing. Until she breached the Jolly Roger's hold that fateful afternoon.
She smiled politely at the pirate Bill Jukes and took a small breath for courage.
"Hello," she greeted.
"Erm," Jukes stumbled. "W-what are you doin' 'ere?"
She shrugged innocently. "I was bored watching them scrub all those cannons. I thought I'd pop down here and see what you were up to."
"Oh," he replied leerily. "Well...I'm jus' mixin' the cleaner is all..."
"Yes, I see." She feigned fascination. But her eyes remained fixed on the pirate, and she saw that the longer she did this, the more visibly uncomfortable he became. And she marveled at her own influence. Now came time to make her move.
"Tell me something, Mr. Jukes," she drawled.
"Y-yes, miss?"
She began to approach him. "I have heard stories of you all my life – 'Bill Jukes, every inch of him tattooed'. And I wonder..." Her eyes darted downward below his belt. "Is really every inch tattooed?"
Jukes nearly dropped his ladle to the floor. Of course he understood her insinuation plainly – he was a pirate after all! But to hear these words come from the mouth of his Captain's mistress was most troubling indeed.
"I beg your pardon, miss?"
She inched ever closer to him, eyes wide. "Do you truly have tattoos everywhere?"
Jukes scarcely knew how else to respond, and despite himself, he grinned shyly. "Why, y-y-yes..."
Wendy's smile grew wider, and she clamped her hands together giddily. "May I see it?"
"WHAT?!"
"Oh, please?" she entreated charmingly. "I am ever so curious!"
It should perhaps be revealed here that Mr. Jukes had not been in this proximity to a woman in a horribly long time. The request was wholly tantalizing.
"But if the Captain should find out...!"
Wendy leaned in alluringly toward his ear. He had a ghastly odor, as all the crewmen did, but she smiled through it nonetheless, and she whispered, "It will be our little secret."
She grinned up at him with a flicked eyebrow, her arms in close to her body so as to create an inviting swell of her bosom from out of her new frock. Jukes was helpless.
"All right..." he stuttered with a dopey smile. With shaking, grimy hands, he began to unfasten his breeches. And before long, they fell to the floor with a clumsy thud.
Yes, now it can be told with absolute certainty that every inch of Bill Jukes was indeed tattooed.
Wendy gasped at the absurd sight and started giggling madly. Jukes became uneasy at once and moved to retrieve his breeches, but Wendy held his arms still.
"No, no, not just yet!"
"Miss, please," Jukes implored. "I – I really don't reckon you should be down 'ere."
"Why not?"
With a glance to the neglected kettle: "Well, um...'tis a rather precarious place for a lady."
Wendy affected flattery. "You think me a lady, Mr. Jukes?"
The scrawny pirate shrugged bashfully. "The Cap'n would 'ave us believe so."
Wendy took another small step forward so that there was barely an inch between them. Jukes tried to retreat, but there was a countertop at his back.
"Answer me this, Mr. Jukes," Wendy cooed, tracing a fingertip from his sweaty chest to his belly, "Have you ever...spied on the Captain and myself?"
"Spied?!" Jukes eyes grew round in horror, as if he had just been caught at something. "Well...n-n-now, I wouldn't exactly call it 'spyin'', miss...I-I was just passin' along, and I m-might 'ave caught a glimpse or two..."
"What did you see?"
"Oh! Scarcely anything at all! I promise!"
"What did you see, Mr. Jukes?" she asked again.
"Erm..." Surely, the poor man was due for an episode by now. "I s-saw the Cap'n...t-touching you..."
"Where?"
"Oh, I'd rather not say, miss..."
"No?" Wendy pressed on, her brazenness being fed by her own powerful wiles. "Then show me."
He nearly fainted. "SHOW you?!"
"Yes," she replied, taking a soiled hand in hers. "Show me where you saw him touch me."
The pirate was breathing very heavily, but he could not quite deny that dear, entreating face looking up at him, enticing him so cruelly. For so long now, he had observed from afar his Captain indulging in every temptation available to him whilst his other men could only sit back and fantasize. The opportunity to taste that which the Captain possessed was every sea dog's dream, and it was materializing for Bill Jukes now. Did he not owe it to all in his profession to grab hold of it zealously?
And grab hold of it he did, thrusting his hand between Wendy's thighs. She gasped at the bizarre sensation of both pleasure and disgust intermingling. But she tossed the disgust aside as far as possible so that she could bear to go through with what she had to do. Thus with an embellished moan, she lifted one knee and pressed it against the countertop behind Jukes. She then clamped her hand down over his and gnashed his filthy, mucky fingers into the cloth of her dress, which was all that stood between Jukes and that to which only Captain Hook was entitled.
Then suddenly, out of thin air, Wendy pulled away and belted Jukes straight across his luridly smirking mug, leaving a terrible trail of gashes from her fingernails upon his cheek. The befuddled pirate merely fell back against the countertop and stared wide-eyed, completely at a loss for what was occurring. He watched in mild panic as Wendy turned to the hot kettle and propelled her face into the rising steam, reddening her fair, vulnerable cheeks at once. And without a word, she scurried above decks.
Captain Hook stood to attention sharply when he heard his Wendy burst from below, calling out his name as she ran toward him, apparently in tears.
"James! James!" she cried, throwing her arms around his waist. "Oh, it was so horrible!"
Hook pried her from his person so as to look her in the face. "What is it, my darling?"
"'Twas that Bill Jukes! He tried to have his way with me!" she swooned dramatically.
Hook saw her blushed face, and he was certain not to miss the black smears below her belly. And he began to quiver with rage.
Just then, Jukes himself emerged on deck in quite a fluster. Sadly for him, he had neglected to refasten his belt in all the confusion. And so he only stood wide-eyed and terrified across the deck with all eyes cast in his direction.
"Oh, bloody hell..."
He motioned to scurry back below.
"HOLD HIM!" Hook bellowed to the men standing nearest to the accused.
They obeyed him at once, taking hold of Bill Jukes and keeping him at rest on deck for the Captain's scrutiny. Wendy quietly licked her lips in anticipation of what might come next.
With a brisk and deliberate gait, Hook approached Jukes, his fearsome claw held out before him. Upon closer inspection of the doomed pirate, Hook's twitching eye caught the telltale wounds across Jukes's cheek. This was all the evidence needed.
Hook grabbed hold of the dog's collar and prepared to make way with him back below decks.
"To your tasks!" Hook barked to the other men, standing about and gawking. They hopped to immediately, hoping their labors would be able to drown out the screams sure to follow.
With that, Hook and Jukes disappeared below. Wendy held her ground for a few moments before again slipping virtually unnoticed back into the hold as well. She could indeed hear that which the men above sought to drown out – the unmistakable din of carnage. Though 'twas not Jukes' cries for mercy she heard, but the Captain's own agonized roars of destruction, followed by what could only have been the sound of flesh tearing. The clamor made Wendy's stomach flip-flop.
Peering discreetly around a column of wooden beams, Wendy spied Hook's brutality for the first time. She never before bore witness to his violence, but it was all which she had dreamt it to be – a riotous and cathartic stream of rage, like the most perilous of whitewaters crashing and scraping against the rocks which dare to get in its way. He was a maniac, a monster, indeed the wickedest of them all.
Aye, there he was once again – the dreadful Captain Hook whom Wendy had known all her young life. And she had never been more aroused by him.
The pace of her breaths deepened as she fully entered the room, clutching her hands tightly to her pounding chest. Hook did not notice her, too immersed he was in his savage doings. As she drew closer, she could begin to smell the defiled flesh and see the red glow of his eyes. In addition, she could discern an apparent swelling beneath his trousers. How even his own atrocities could stimulate him.
Lash after lash of his iron claw, blood and entrails spewing all about him, until the corpse on the ground was nothing more than a gooey indistinguishable mass of red and pink.
That was the end of poor Billy Jukes.
At last, the frenzied Captain became aware of the other presence in the room. His eyes were still burning of crimson when they lifted to see Wendy standing before him, her shoulders heaving with eager breaths. He briefly became somewhat frightened at the notion of her beholding this gory spectacle, but his worries were fast put to rest for good when suddenly the girl lunged at him and coiled herself fiercely around his body, inundating him with voracious kisses. He was only too eager to reply in kind, and he took her tight in his blood-soaked arms.
The eviscerated carcass of Bill Jukes lay only mere inches away from whence Wendy's skirt was pulled high above her waist and Hook violently slaked his body's need for a fulfillment as if the very fate of the Universe depended on it...
When the pair emerged once more above decks a little while later, strolling hand-in-hand with impish grins upon their red-smeared faces, the whole ship fell silent as they watched the Captain and his young lover casually make their way to the cabin.
High above in the crow's nest, seeing the lovely dress he had labored over so tirelessly now smattered with rips and bloodstains, Smee could only shake his head impotently.