O Captain, My Captor Read online

  The Queen’s Runner

  A Swashbuckling Lesbian Erotica

  Episode 1:

  O Captain, My Captor

  by

  D.B. Francais

  O Captain, My Captor Copyright © 2012 by D.B. Francais

  Episode 1 of The Queen’s Runner

  Proserpian Press

  Smashwords Edition

  Cover art attribution:

  iStock.com/Yuri_Arcurs (front cover)

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental. All sexually active characters in this work are 18 years of age or older, and all sex acts performed are consensual.

  This book is for distribution to ADULT AUDIENCES ONLY. It contains substantial sexually explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.

  Table of Contents

  Foreword

  O Captain, My Captor

  About the Author

  Preview of The Magic Touch

  Foreword from the author:

  This story was written purely as escapist fun and by no means attempts to sneak a hidden message or cause into the reader’s mind. While it is almost guaranteed that someone can find a moral somewhere to extract from this story, doing so is not advised.

  However, should the reader decide to go ahead and find one anyway, it is the sincere wish of the author that he or she at least pick one of the good ones and handle it lightly.

  O Captain, My Captor

  I wake up slowly, unaware I had been sleeping. Dim light filters through a tiny hole in the door in front of me, a single orb of bright against an otherwise dark surface. I'm not used to this kind of illumination, and I squeeze my eyes tight, squinting against the glare until they adapt to the murky light around me. I'm in an empty room, a closet, a box of wood. Not five feet away is the door with the hole of sunlight. Even pressed cramped against the far wall as I am, I could reach out and touch it. I try.

  My arms do not budge, and I realize they are stuck behind me. I try to move them, any direction, and find them bound to one another at the wrists by a cord of some soft material. Silk, maybe, though it is hard to tell in this atmosphere — textures are different above the water than they are below. Whatever it is, it is soft and does not chafe as I struggle against it, but neither will it give in the slightest. It is strong, and my arms are not. They've never needed to be before; there is not this much resistance where I am from, this much weight to things.

  Only then does it occur to me that I am somewhere other than where I should be. There is no water here but what still clings to my skin. I am on land, but not on land — my wooden box rocks gently, and I can hear waves lapping against something nearby.

  I'm on a ship. Which means someone put me on a ship. How? I don't even remember being captured.

  I think about it. My last memory before waking is of swimming with my older sisters through the reef. Somehow we'd gotten separated, and I hadn't realized it until I'd also realized how late it was getting to be. So I had tried to find my way back to the palace by myself, but the moon was already setting, and I had little light to go by. The next thing I knew I was waking up here, with no recollection of the time in between. Judging by the intensity of the sun coming through the hole in the door, I would guess it's been several hours since then; but then this is the surface, and I'm not good at judging time or place on the surface.

  I hear a heavy rattle and thunk on the other side of the door (Metal? Is that what it sounds like in the air? It is a sharper sound, here), then the portal swings open, and I am momentarily blinded again as light brighter than I am used to, even now, streams in. I shut my eyes tight and twist my head away. Then I feel the hands on my tail, covered by a soft cloth. Dry textiles feel so strange.

  “Who are you?” I demand, still unable to look at the intruder. “Where am I? Why am I here?”

  I get no response. The hands continue drying my scales, then move on to my midriff. I can't lift my tail anymore because of the weight of this person straddling it, but I can feel their warmth.

  “My father is king of this sea,” I continue. “He'll be wondering where I am.” I cautiously open my eyes. The other person in front of me is blocking most of the direct light, and now my eyes can start adjusting again. At first I see only a woman-shaped silhouette. Then, as she runs the cloth over my chest and arms, I start to pick up details. She is a lithe, wiry woman, with lean muscles along her arms and stretching across her stomach. Human muscles look out of place to me; my kind uses a different set than they do, our lifestyles and worlds demanding different strengths in different areas. I cannot see colors well in this light, but her skin is much darker compared to mine. I am pale as whalebone; we get little sun down at those depths, in my father's palace. She, in contrast, looks like she's spent her whole life in the bright surface sun.

  Then her hands grasp the shells on my breasts, her fingers hook the edges, and she peels them off. “What are you doing?” I demand again. “This is highly unmannered of you! I am a princess!” My eyes are better adjusted now, and I can glare up at her face.

  She is grinning, her teeth much lighter than her skin even in shadow. Strips of cloth cover her chest and forehead, and a strange charm resembling a small, pale piece of curving driftwood hangs from a cord around her neck, dipping into the valley of her breasts. Her hair is even darker than her skin, but not as dark as her eyes. She is handsome, I realize, but it is hard to notice in the wake of her actions.

  “You merfolk just soak in the water, don't you?” she asks as her hands cup my breasts through the cloth. “You've been outta the sea for a few hours now and you haven't dried off a bit on your own.” The cloth slides across the tightening buds of my nipples as she rubs the small mounds of my breasts with it, lifting and kneading and, though it serves no purpose, squeezing.

  My face flushes pink, I can feel it. No one has ever been allowed to touch me like this before, and I squirm at her unwanted touch, my skin sensitive to the warmth of her hands even through the cloth. Too sensitive, it seems. Through my indignation, my upper body begins to tingle with some strange sensation I have never felt before.

  My tail tingles beneath her as well, a strange and foreign feeling, but a different one to what her hands elicit. I try to wiggle it, but there is little I can do. “Is this your ship?” I ask through my embarrassment. “Why did you capture me? Why have I been tied in here? What do you intend to do with me?”

  “Oh, be quiet,” she says, and the cloth comes up to cover my face. I try to protest, but then her hands are drying my cheeks, my forehead, my long red hair. This is the driest I've ever been in my life, and so far, I don't like it.

  The strange feeling in my tail intensifies. The muscles beneath my scales start to contract rhythmically on their own, and there is a strange tension, as of someone pulling me to both sides at once. It tingles and itches, and I squirm uncomfortably beneath my captor. She chuckles lightly. It seems to amuse her.

  “What's going on?” I ask, growing scared of the sensation. “What's happening to me? What did you do to me?”

  “You don't spend a lot of time out of the water, do you?” she asks back.

  My lower body is bucking against hers now against my will. “What do you mean?”

  She pulls the cloth from my head and flings i
t behind her. “Do you always ask so many questions?” she says with a smile, then cups me by the back of my neck, leans in, and crushes her lips against mine. Her face is all sharp angles, but her lips are soft and taste of sweetness and salt. I gasp, and the instant that my lips part her tongue is inside, sliding across my own, exploring my mouth. This is my first kiss. It's warm and wet, especially by surface standards, and invasive beyond anything that has ever been done to me before — and yet the strangely squirming warmth it evokes in me is not unpleasant. In all, it is one of the strangest things I have ever felt.

  My tail at the moment is another of the strangest things I have ever felt. As she forces her kiss on me, the tension intensifies. It feels like a muscle cramp, like I'd been swimming too hard for too long. The muscles clench and stay clenched as the sensation of being pulled apart grows. It hurts, and I shut my eyes tight at the pain. Then my muscles slowly relax, incredibly sore, and I feel a few of my scales drop off. I can no longer feel my fin.

  I gasp again against her lips and she pulls away, taking her strange tongue with her. We both look down at my tail. My scales shift strangely, as if they are no longer attached, and my eyes widen in panic. “Oh no,” I breathe. “What have you done to me?”

  To my surprise and irritation, she chuckles again. “What a sheltered life you've lived, Princess,” she says, removing herself from my body and kneeling beside my shedding tail. She puts a hand on my waist (it is warmer than the hands of my kind, but not quite as soft) and sweeps it down to my fin, brushing away a swath of scales in her wake which tumble to the wooden floor. I gasp yet again, horrified. Beneath them, soft, wet, pink skin shows through.

  “W...what...?” I whisper, shifting my muscles. More scales fall away, glittering in the sunlight I'm now accustomed to, and two pink new appendages rise up from the wreckage to greet me.

  Legs. My tail is gone. I have legs. I shift them back and forth, spellbound. They're warm and still tingle slightly, and the slight breeze blowing against them from the open door feels weird. They feel weird. I try to lift them, but they are still weak, and I cannot hold them up very high or for very long — but in the process, I see my fin still attached at their base, intertwined between little finger-like nubs whose name I do not know. When I drop my new legs again, my fin detaches and falls off.

  That's the last of it, then. If not for my scales still littered around me, you couldn't tell I was a mermaid. I look like a human now.

  She brushes the last of my scales from my new legs to the floor, and the feel of her hands against the sensitive skin sends a wealth of new and strange sensations trembling up the length of them. I shiver at her touch and my legs squirm, each one independent of the other. This is the oddest day of my young life so far, and my confusion and reactions make her smile wider. I feel light-headed. It's getting to be too much to take in.

  “Beautiful,” she says, staring at either my legs or the scales around them. Both, maybe. She picks up a scale and turns it slowly between her fingers, and the sunlight bounces and scatters from the surface, throwing a spectrum of colored points across the dark wooden walls and her grinning face. “Thank you, Princess,” she says, throwing it up and catching it again, making the colors dance. “Mermaid scales are good as gold back on the mainland. This solves my money troubles for a while.”

  “Money troubles?” I look from my scales to her and back. “Is that why you did all this? For money? You kidnapped me and gave me legs to ... to harvest my tail?”

  She shakes her head, but her expression doesn't change, so it doesn't look like a denial. “Merfolk tails turn to legs if they're left out in the air for a while,” she explains. “Get dry enough and your body figures it's up for the long haul and adapts accordingly. You'd know this if you ever came out of the water.”

  I shuffle my legs through the scales, thinking about it. I had never been on the surface this long at a time before, she was right. Some of my older sisters were more adventurous, but I preferred to stay at home, in the palace if possible. “How do you know this when I do not?”

  She laughs. “I've known other merfolk before you, Princess, though I can't explain your own naiveté for you. But, to return to one of your many earlier questions, no, I didn't pick you up just for the payload. Though that is certainly a welcome side-effect, don't get me wrong.”

  “Then why?” I ask yet again, staring into her eyes.

  She smirks and stands up, and I take her all in. She is tall, much taller than I am, even with my new legs to stand on, I imagine. Her own legs are covered individually by a course-looking cloth from her waist to mid-legs. The rest of her is as bare as I am, though with her longer limbs and larger breasts, there is more of her. I guess her to be maybe a couple of years older than I, at most.

  “Loneliness,” she says. “Boredom. I've been out on the sea for so many years by myself, I was ready to see someone else, for something to do.”

  “Something to do?” I repeat. “What do you mean? What are you going to do with me?”

  “Nothing you don’t want me to,” she says, “don’t worry. That said…” She reaches out with one hand and cups my chest again, this time without the cloth separating us. “…I can make you want things you don’t want to want,” she adds, her fingers flowing over the curve of my breast. “The line gets a little blurry sometimes. But I’m very persuasive.”

  “What does that m-mmm—” I trail off as her fingers slide around my nipple, tracing light circles while the bud slowly hardens, then catching it between two fingers and tugging gently. I gasp softly, my new legs squirming almost of their own accord as the tingling sensation in my torso, the more pleasant one that’s not to do with my tail changing, spreads slowly downward. “W-what…?”

  “Hm?” She smiles, her hand slipping slowly down my hypersensitive breast to my stomach. “Something you want to say, Princess?” she asks as her fingers skip over my navel and slide gradually lower still.

  “What are you … doing to me?” I manage to ask with laboring breath. Gods below, now I cannot even breathe correctly? Is this a part of the change as well? How much can I change in so short a time?

  “Not much, really,” she says as her hand reaches the inside of one of my new legs, cupping the soft, tingling flesh near where they split. “You’re doing most of this yourself, if I’m being honest. I’m only helping it along a little.” She slips her other hand between my legs, both of them splayed against the new, pale skin, gently caressing the alien appendages as her warmth emanates into and through me. “Exciting, is it?” she asks with a smug grin.

  “No!” I argue, wriggling unbidden beneath her touch, unable to stop myself. “Y-yes! I don’t — I don’t know! Ah!”

  This last outcry is because she’s slid one of her hands back up my leg and cupped me right in the middle, right beneath my stomach where my legs split apart. Her palm, soft and firm and unbearably hot, presses against … something, some part of me that had been hidden before, something new and unseen that sends me writhing uncontrollably just at the gentle pressure, simultaneously wanting to back away and press forward, and oh gods, what is this, what is any of this?

  “You don’t know?” she asks with a calm that is maddening given what she is making me feel now.

  I shut my eyes tight, unable to bear the sight of her anymore, and bite my lip against further cries that I feel trying to rise up out of me. In lieu of words, I shake my head, trying to make sense of it all and failing miserably.

  “Then do you want me to stop?” she asks, and ever so slightly pulls her hand away.

  “No!” I gasp before I can think otherwise, my body bucking heedlessly toward her retreating touch. “No, please! I, I couldn’t take it!”

  She grins and her hand shifts on me, just barely, but enough, her touch magnified by whatever I am feeling. A thrill runs up through me, and I bite my lip against a moan. “You want more?” she asks, low and quiet.

  Outwardly, I do nothing. Inwardly, though, I am at war with myself. I do
not know this woman, I do not know where I am, I do not know what is happening to me, and all of this uncertainty and confusion frightens me like nothing else. What I should want is for it all to go away and leave me alone.

  Only…

  In the long run, I am sure, this is true, and I wish for this moment to end. But right at this moment, I am horrified with myself to find that despite the alien torture she is visiting upon me, I do want more. A great deal more.

  And I am even more horrified with myself when I nod my ascent for my captor to continue.

  She giggles, her hand slipping up and off of me, leaving a trail of burning, foreign desire. “Then you have to do something for me first,” she says, and puts a hand on my head, rubbing my hair and gently pushing me back against the wall in the same motion. It makes me nervous. I try to reach out, but in the phenomenon of my growing legs and this new, driving feeling of need, I'd forgotten my arms were tied, and they still won't come loose.

  I watch as she slips the top of her leg garment down past her waist. Where they meet there is a small cleft in her skin, framed by short, wispy hairs the same color as her head. I watch, curious despite my unease and confused urgency; I've never seen a human this close up before, and I'd always wondered, when I thought of them at all, why they covered their legs all of the time. This, evidently, had something to do with the answer.

  Then she slid forward and pressed her hips to my face, her cleft meeting my lips, the soft tuft of hair tickling my nose. “Let’s give you a proper introduction to the world of the air,” she says.

  I lean away from her strange crevice as much as the space will allow and strain to look up at her, unable to bend my neck with her hand on my head. I was right, she is taller than me; I can barely make out her smirk on the edge of my vision. “What does that mean?” I ask, still breathless.