The Mariner

No. No admiration was necessary. He did not need to respect the woman he fucked, unless it was a respect he could tear down and defile. He would trample her pride, jizz on her dignity, make her understand that he was the master and she a place to shove his cock. She would bleed, she would scream. At first it would be from pain, but eventually, he was sure, it would be because she enjoyed it…

Unable to control his lust much longer, the Mariner ducked into an alley and began rubbing his crotch through his thick trousers. His penis strained against the fabric, quickly becoming sore from the exertion. Transient fantasies ran before his mind, luring his want further. They emerged and dissipated seemingly as quick as each stroke of his hand. In one, Beth was pressed up against a wardrobe, her face against the wood, whilst he sodomised her from behind, clutching her hair in one hand, the other clasped about her waist. In another, her hands were tied behind her back whilst he thrust into her mouth, making her eyes water as he sank further and further into her throat. And in another he was wrapping his hand about her neck, choking as he fucked.

With a frustrated grunt, the Mariner ceased his masturbation. He wasn’t going to let himself come in his pants. Not with a doctor’s instruction to indulge.

He swayed on his feet, hips gently thrusting into the air, still intoxicated by the fantasies fresh in his mind. He had to have her. He had to break her.

The Mariner stumbled out the alley and, as quickly as his erection would allow, made his way back to Beth’s new home.

All was silent in the large farmhouse. The Mariner was aware of the risk, this building was probably home to at least twenty people, both masters and workers. If he slipped and allowed Beth to scream, all would be lost. They would disturb and ruin everything.

Stealth was the key. And the pill. The pill gave this legitimacy. The pill made it all okay. The pill proved it a therapy.

The Mariner crept around the building, looking for the servants’ quarters. The rooms didn’t have windows, but the wooden shutters could easily be pried open. As he approached each one, the Mariner would press his face up to the small gap and gaze inside.

Most were dark, the occupants either out drinking or asleep in the gloom. Finally the Mariner spotted one interior illuminated by candlelight. Taking care not to step on any dry leaves blown over from the orchard, the Mariner took his voyeuristic spot, and peered inside.

Beth was naked. Before her was a large metal tub, with several inches of steaming water pooled within. She was clearly being treated with an evening bath, something to put her at ease in a strange new home. Her clothes were piled neatly on a Spartan bed. Other than that, the room was empty except an old faded poster upon the wall. It depicted two figures locked in an embrace and a nonsensical statement written above. In smaller letters various names were bunched together in a section at the bottom. As normal, the Mariner could make little sense of it.

His attention wasn’t held by the poster for long, the sight of the naked woman before him was intoxicating. His left hand resumed an absent-minded stroking of his crotch, more gentle than before, but still a form of foreplay before he indulged. The other hand toyed nervously with the medication in his pocket.

Beth slid into the water, sighing slightly and closing her eyes as she did. He watched as she cupped water in her hands and dropped it over her shoulders and breasts, tiny rivulets running about her soft skin. As he’d seen upon the day of his arrival, each of her arms was littered with scars. Before, however, he’d only had a glance, but now he could scrutinise. It was fascinating, so much care and attention given to making a patchwork monstrosity upon her skin. The visual representation of a miserable life.

You have to take her, now!

He knew he had to move soon if he wanted to have her. The fantasies he’d entertained for so long were clamouring for attention, jostling like sperm to bear fruition into reality. His head throbbed as if blood wasn’t just flowing to his penis, but also filling his temple, making it ready to burst.

You have to fuck her!

Yes, he did. He would soon find release.

Hold her under the water—

It wouldn’t take long to pry the wood off, just one quick tug.

—and fuck her cunt—

Then leap inside and silence her.

—and fuck her mouth—

Once she was restrained he’d be able to do what he wanted.

—fuckherhurtherrapeher—

The Mariner held out a trembling hand to take hold of the wooden shutter, eye still on the oblivious bathing woman. Ready to strike.

And stopped.