Gamine and Gambler

The girl almost argued but saw the uselessness of that in Kane's face.

He swung her around and fastened her wrists together behind her with such alacrity that at first she more than likely didn't know just what he'd done to her. Those excellent breasts heaved with Kane's sudden exertions, the nipples hard and pointing upward.

"What are you doing, darling? I need to go now, really."

"You're not going anywhere," he informed her. Not yet anyway.

"Are you going to fuck me again," she asked.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he said, knowing his wicked smile was back on his face. "Get down on your knees, you devious little scrubber."

She complied immediately, by now she knew better than to do otherwise. He brushed the head of his prick across her lips.

"This is kind of exciting. Do you want me to suck you off again?"

He just nodded and Tracy went to work fellating him until her eyes watered. Halfway through the proceedings she commented on how arousing she found it to be helpless kneeling before him telling her what to do. Kane thrust back into her mouth and forced himself all the way down her throat a couple of times. She gagged and spit up on the deck, her tits juddering as she coughed. Kane got down on his haunches, placed an exploratory hand between her legs.

He said, "You're so perpetually wet I'm shocked you're not dehydrated."

"What does that mean . . . oww!" she screeched when he assisted her standing up by pulling at her hair.

"Lie on your belly on the arm of the couch. Move, girl, when I tell you to do something!"

He smacked her smartly with a bare hand to rush her along. Sprawled forward over the scrolled side of the sofa with her ass in the air she looked vulnerable and saucy. Kane felt compelled to sink his wakened hard-on into her one last time before administering some well deserved punishment. He fucked her very hard then, her ass flesh jiggling all over the place with each vengeful lunge. Tracy was unable to do anything except exclaim loudly with every powerful stroke.

"Oh. Oh. Oh. OHH!"

"Are you coming again, Tracy?"

"Yes. Oh. Yes!"

Kane removed his hardness from her pussy to seek an alternate route. When he pulled out of her her cunt slurped and emitted a farting noise. He grinned at the sound as he began plumbing the depths of her behind again. Tracy's bottom received quite a workout the second time around. Kane's senses exploded like fireworks after a ballgame when he came for the third unprecedented time that night. He pulled out of her bottom and tore off his frilly shirt and cummerbund. Tracy's purse full of the Sheikh's money had gotten wedged between two couch cushions while they'd been playing. He picked it up, tossed it a foot up in the air and caught it, snickering.

"You didn't think you were going to get away with my money, did you, sweetheart?"

Speechless and handcuffed, Tracy watched him, unable to move much.

When procuring the key to this compartment for the princely sum of five dollars from a deck hand that afternoon (with many assurances from the old boatswain no one ever entered this area while the steamship was underway) he'd placed his trunk of belongings inside. Kane strode over to it and tucked Tracy's handbag among them before selecting a supple riding crop he'd purchased in Cairo last month. He'd yet to test it out on a filly, but tonight would be the night he broke the crop in.

No longer speechless, the bound and naked girl lying over the arm of the couch demanded, "Give me back my money, you thief!"

"Thief?" he sneered. "You've got a lot of room to talk, love. I must admit you were well worth three hundred dollars. But I don't like to pay women for their favors." He held the riding crop up for her to see and cut the air with it experimentally. The crop made a fearful swooshing noise. "But you, young lady, you're going to pay for cheating me. And dearly."

"Nick, what is that?" she asked.

He didn't answer. She rode horses and knew damn well what it was.

"What are you going to do to me?"

Kane chuckled. "Allow me to demonstrate."

The horrified nude girl endeavored unsuccessfully to get to her feet and swore like a sailor in Nelson's Navy. Kane stepped behind her holding the leather switch like a sword. And for the next quarter hour Tracy's backside had a very bad time of it. Stripe after stripe appeared on her buttocks and the backs of her thighs. The bare handed paddling Tracy received before seemed like a game of patty cake compared to the thrashing of the riding crop.

That mysterious smell of fish returned, poignant and invigorating in the close quarters of the compartment. Apparently the switching caused Tracy to come harder than while frolicking with Kane, but he cared not a jot. He was quite enjoying himself too. A professional like he could've drawn blood with every slash had he desired, but stinging the self important girl's bottom repeatedly and seeing her flinch was good enough for Kane. Kane was his name and cane was his game.

Smack, smack, SMACK!

During the tanning of Tracy he paused once to cram his cravat into her mouth to squelch her panicked outcries. She'd become vocal enough to be heard even over the noise of the paddlewheel. But after the short pause to gag the hapless maiden he continued lashing her like an angry schoolmaster with a recalcitrant female pupil who refused to learn her lessons. Once he had Tracy's ass in the state he wanted it in, he stowed the riding crop back inside his trunk. Afterwards he stripped off his boots and jodhpurs and lay down on the couch with Tracy astride his loins. He exhorted her to bounce up and down on his stiffness so he could enjoy the wobbling of that pair of breasts he'd become so enamored of over the last few hours.

Never in his life had a girl given him as thorough and satisfying ride as Tracy gave him on the old sofa. She came so many times he thought she might faint, but the girl was a real trooper, carrying on in an admirable fashion right up to the very end. The finish left his pelvic region so slick it appeared as if someone dumped a pail of water over him. He left Tracy prostrate on the couch and, to her chagrin, swabbed her abundant passion off him with her expensive silk gown before flinging it away from him onto the deck. She'd never be wearing it again.

After another consultation of his pocket watch he saw over a half hour remained until midnight. He unlocked one of the cuffs confining Tracy's wrists then secured her hands in front of her. He got dressed and hustled her over to the barrels across from the marine tools on the bulkhead. Kane kicked one over on its side, made Tracy lie facedown over it. She steadied herself with the palms of her hands flat on the deck to keep the barrel from rolling her over.

Tracy Somerset was so exhausted she didn't move a muscle while he delved inside his trunk again. This time Kane selected a wooden paddle to blister her ass with. She groaned when she saw it.

"Next time you'll think twice before shooting dice," Kane intoned. "Hey, that rhymed!"

Tracy failed to appreciate his droll humor.

He deemed it necessary to use a ball gag this time round, also from his trusty steamer trunk. While spanking her he enjoyed in the way her lovely bottom leapt with each crack of the board, wildly clenching and unclenching as she received another two or three dozen (Kane lost count) tidy whacks. At long last he put away the paddle in the trunk and tied Tracy's ankles together with some leather restraints he'd had the foresight to bring. Then Kane lifted her onto the couch. No doubt she tasted tears trying to curse him with the ball gag in place. She acted like she felt very sorry for herself.

Just before midnight he stepped out on the deck to reconnoiter. The night had grown cooler and the mist produced by the rackety paddlewheel felt refreshing against his skin. Relief settled in when he saw no one in sight, but had his derringer in hand just in case. Lee might be foraging about somewhere but, for the time being, the big sergeant was nowhere to be seen. On the starboard side of the riverboat a fishing vessel floated up alongside. Right on schedule. Kane peered over the railing and his friend Peyt waved up at him from the deck of the smaller craft.

Gadsby Peyton, a muscular black man clad only in a pair of dungarees, hollered up at him, "You got some cargo for me to take aboard, Mister Nick?"

Kane said he did. Back in the cabin he hauled a rope ladder from the trunk before fastening it shut. He carried both out on the deck, held the trunk out over the rail and let it go over the side. The trunk bounced once when it landed in a large fishing net Peyt had strung across a portion of the aft deck of his craft. Kane hitched the rope ladder to the riverboat's rail and let it unwind down the side of the ship. The ends of it dragged in the water because there wasn't much of a drop. Throwing a trunk over the side was one thing, but he didn't want to break Tracy's neck dropping her a few feet regardless of how much netting Peyt had strung up. Back in the cabin he slung the dazed girl over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Clambering down the moving ladder with Tracy was a brief, but precarious affair. He transferred the girl into Peyt's waiting arms and hopped onto the deck of his boat. Kane shook his hand and thanked him for being on time.

Peyt eyed the fettered and terrified naked girl and whistled.

"Is that as fine a piece of ass as it looks, Mister Nick?"

"You can find out for yourself just as soon as you get us the hell away from here."

Tracy's eyes went wide at his statement however the ball gag prevented her protests from being heard. A southern belle wouldn't fancy a black man.

Peyt's laugh boomed out across the water. "Welcome aboard, ma'am." Tracy averted her eyes and Peyt laughed again. "Well then, Mister Nick, I guess we'd best get the hell away from here."

"The sooner we shove off the better, I'd say, Peyt. The lady's got one helluva nasty watchdog on board that ship sniffing around for her."

Peyt gave Kane a mock salute.

"Aye aye, cap'n." He leered at Tracy. He picked the girl up like she weighed nothing and scuttled to the wheelhouse as fast as his legs would carry him.

Kane started to follow except for an uncharacteristic noise behind Peyt's boat. From where he stood the paddlewheel still roared sending a spray up in the air. What the devil had he heard? No fish flopping around in the river could be heard on the deck of Peyt's craft. His eyes crinkled around the edges as they swept the moonlit water, rippling like ink shot with silver. Kane must be imagining things; turned to fetch his trunk when a large hand clawed at the gunwale less than eight feet from him. A second hand seized the gunwale and a giant form hauled itself out of the river and almost onto the deck of the fishing boat. Water erupted around the figure like an explosion as he emerged, streaming down his clothes. In the moonlight Lee's drenched gray uniform appeared black.

Bloody hell, Kane had time to think as the big man scrambled nimbly onto the deck in front of him. The bastard obviously witnessed their departure and instead of shouting some worthless doggerel like "stop" thereby warning Kane, the tricky bastard had dived off the steamship to launch a silent attack on Peyt's boat. Kane panicked then, he was a lover not a fighter, a coward at best. And now the stickiest wicket he'd ever encountered (excluding policemen) stood a yard away from him ready to pounce.

The oversized sergeant would crush him.

Kane's smooth getaway hadn't gone so smoothly.

He didn't have the presence of mind to shout out Peyt's name. The gun in his coat pocket was forgotten in his haste and fear. Lee made no sound as he lunged at Kane, eyes swimming with hatred. Kane twisted out of the enormous man's clutch and attempted to run for the wheelhouse but his foot tripped on a cleat in the deck tumbling him into the netting Peyt partially rigged across the aft deck to aid in the lowering of Tracy. Luck sided with Kane somehow. Within reach he saw a fisherman's gaff, a harpoon-like instrument used for snaring nets out of the water and spearing fish. The long wooden handle fit inside a hollow steel tip with a barbed hook pointed straight like an arrow on its end. A second hook angled in a curve like a comma. Kane grasped it to stab at Lee. The sergeant grasped it in his fist but cut himself badly in the process and let go. Kane jabbed it into Lee, felt the point go through clothing and puncture the hide of his assailant's chest before striking bone. Lee got both hands around the handle and yanked it out of his body and wrenched it away from Kane. Blood jetted from the grievous wound and Lee's hand bled profusely, dripping red onto the deck in ragged splotches. The man uttered not a sound and swung the wooden end of the gaff like a bat. Kane took a glancing blow on his upper left arm, had it properly connected Lee would've broken the bone. He hurled the gaff out into the river and charged Kane. In his headlong rush he got his hands around Kane's neck and the two men toppled over the side and into the water. Before going overboard Kane had reached into his pocket after finally remembering the derringer. He fumbled with it as he sank into the freezing depths of the Mississippi, not knowing if it made any difference now.

Those ham-like hands of Lee's were choking him to death.

The only instinct instilled in human beings stronger than the sex drive is that of survival. He kicked at Lee underwater and tried to gouge the chap's eyes out with his left hand, all the while concentrating on readying the little pistol to fire. Had the derringer originated from the Old West and not been of modern manufacture Kane knew the gunpowder would be wet and useless. Though he might manage to the pull the trigger, the gun wouldn't have fired. With the breath almost choked out of him, he struggled to get the pistol out of his pocket, not wanting to shoot a small caliber bullet through his clothing and reduce its effectiveness. Near death, Kane surprised himself thinking with such clarity.

There! He had the damn thing outside his coat, rammed it against Lee's left side under his armpit and fired. He heard a muffled discharge in the deep water and Lee's hands immediately left his throat. Kane fought his way to the surface, gasping for air. When Lee's head broke the water Kane already had the pistol in a firing position. He slammed the muzzle into the sergeant's left eye, praying the gun would fire a second time and pulled the trigger. The bullet blew brains and viscera out the back of Lee's head and his corpse sunk out of sight in the river.

Never letting go of the lifesaving pistol, Kane retched and vomited. He spat two or three times hearing shouting from the riverboat, and from Peyt's. Kane swam furiously toward it; even though the night was warm the water was ice cold. He'd done some terribly dirty deeds in his lifetime but he'd never killed a man. Fuck it, he'd worry about that later if he worried at all.

Peyt bellowed, "Mister Nick, Mister Nick, what the hell happened?"

"Get me aboard and let's flee the scene, man," Kane cried out to him, the taste of vomit still in his mouth. He refused to rinse it out with water from this dirty river.

Peyt grabbed hold of Kane's outstretched arm. Grunting and cursing he hoisted him out of the water and up the side of his boat. A blessed moment later Kane lurched across the deck, coughing and sputtering. Peyt raced to the wheelhouse. What a bleeding nuisance the Confederate sergeant wound up being, from the moment he'd laid a hand on his shoulder at the crap table until he left off wringing his neck. Certainly there'd be no tears of mourning shed for the dead man, not from Kane anyway. He never doubted he'd lose a minute's sleep over pulling the trigger on Lee.

But he did harbor doubts about continuing to toil for the Sheikh, and not for the first time. What was he on about anyway? He owed the Sheikh. If not for him Kane would be rotting in a prison cell getting the stuffing beat out of him daily by the other prisoners once they learned about the piano incident. Yes, his piano playing days were forever behind him. The Arabian had saved his life, got him away from the law in Kane's hour of need. Yes, Kane was in debt to the slaver. Besides, the Sheikh had made him a very rich man, wealthy beyond his wildest dreams. Far richer than teaching the piano ever would've made him. And Kane got to dally with some of the most beautiful and randy young women who'd drawn a breath in the past several generations. He always had been a good looking man and never had had a problem pulling birds, long before the Sheikh introduced himself to Kane. His getting laid increased a hundredfold once he began working for the man. Rich, and getting more pussy than a popular actor, athlete or rock star.

Life was good. How long would it stay that way? No amount of money could keep him out of jail after all the crimes he'd committed, the lust and love of a thousand women would not be worth the abuse he'd endure if he spent the rest of his days behind bars. But in the fullness of time the law would catch up with him again and the courts incarcerate him. Or drop a noose around his neck. Such was Kane's cross to bear, the black cloud overhead following him, the albatross clinging to his back.

He watched the riverboat for long minutes, thinking.

The old tub began making a wide slow turn as if to reverse its course and pursue them, but would never catch up with Peyt's trustworthy vessel. It might appear to be a weathered fishing boat but Kane knew about the dual inboard engines that even now left the steamship far behind. Praise God that Peyt hadn't sped away and left him adrift. He reached for a cheroot but his dunking in the Mississippi River ruined them. Oh well, he had more in his trunk. His pocket watch and derringer might suffer water damage and stop functioning, but they'd become cherished keepsakes now. The watch represented the time he traveled through performing dangerous missions, and the derringer saved his life. When all was said and done at the end of the day Kane knew in his heart of hearts he loved the life he led. Working for the Sheikh paid well and contained more fringe benefits than being a Royal. He must put his scruples behind him, now wasn't the time to have a crisis of conscience. Regardless of what fate, or tomorrow, might bring.

Already Peyt's boat entered into a thick fog or mist and not the spray from the paddlewheeler either. That barge was a mile to the south, a few floating specks of light on the water. Kane let out a bark of laughter. Life was good! And he'd continue living it to the fullest.

At least until a man like Lee murdered him or some law enforcement agency jailed him.

He shrugged out of his cold wet clothes, draped them over the net so they could dry. Not that it mattered; he'd never wear them again. He opened his trunk, found a towel to scour himself dry with then got some cigars. He lit one and slipped on a pair of dry trousers. As an afterthought he selected a dress shirt from among the clothes he'd brought, but didn't don it. Then he staggered into the wheelhouse. Peyt manned the wheel, the twin engines hummed and Tracy crouched in a corner crying. Peyt glanced at him with a question in his eyes, Kane nodded back at him indicating he'd survive. He unlocked the handcuffs on Tracy's wrists and set them aside before undoing the restraints around her ankles. The ball gag he removed last knowing once the girl could speak she'd unleash a torrent of questions.

She did.

"What's going on, Nick? Where are you taking me? Where were you, darling? What's happening outside?"

"Quiet down, Tracy, everything's going to be jim dandy."

She put her arms around him and whimpered, "I want to go home."