Oh yes!

Chaining Miss Marlton to the bed might be a grave mistake. The way she reluctantly offered her calf in surrender, placing it into his hand and allowing him to tighten the black wrought-iron band around her slender white ankle was as erotic for him as her earlier kiss. The memory of a public **** auction in Rio that he had done his best to forget crashed down on him like a coil of cable. On the way to the rich whaling grounds of the mighty Pacific the New Bedford had stopped to water and re-provision first in Havanah and again while traveling along the Brazilian coast at Rio de Janeiro. In each of these cities Randy had seen slavery on a scale he had never imagined; the sight of ebony-skinned slaves working the fields, coffles of shackled men shuffling through the city streets and even the auctions where these men and women were sold were so commonplace that he stopped being bothered by them. This particular **** auction however was different.

It was a market that specialized in the sale of lovely young females. Dozens of nubile women were led in chains, one-by-one to the center of a raised stage where merchants, craftsmen and even brothel owners of the city mingled freely with noblemen from outlying plantations. These men cheered and clapped in delight as the loose cotton robes were pulled from the shoulders of the nude forms of the lithe young women who were displayed before being sold. All the women were exceptionally beautiful in their own way, some were copper-skinned indigenous women with small upturned breasts and long black hair, others were as black as coal with breasts the size of grapefruit and round asses and a few were clearly mulattoes with much lighter skin and features that were almost classical. The auctioneer was skilled at provoking the already licentious nature of the crowd, at times inviting bidders onto the stage to grope and fondle the unfortunate young women. Randy understood almost none of the auctioneer's Portuguese, but even with the language barrier it was easy enough to imagine what the man was saying about how these slaves could be used. Randy had even tried to leave, but his mates from the New Bedford insisted that he stay for the finale.

The auction ended with the sale of three fair-skinned women fully dressed in European style clothing and begging piteously in a language that sounded Slavic to Randy's untrained ear. It seems the trio had been sold to the captain of a **** barque off the coast of West Africa by a lanteen-rigged pirate galley and added to his cargo of human flesh. Unlike the coloured slaves, these three women struggled in their chains as their clothing was cut away for the cheering buyers; more and more of their pale skin was slowly exposed until they were as naked as the other poor souls sold earlier in the night, and then they too were auctioned off to the leering men. Randy made it a point to stay away from that part of the city for the next two or three days until his ship weighed anchor.

What had disturbed Randy the most about the experience was the unspeakable desire he had felt to possess one of those lovely chained women. He could not help but imagine himself one of the city's wealthy **** owners buying one of these women to use as he chose. It was not just the pale-skinned captives at the auction's climax that had aroused his male humours, any one of the lovely young slaves would have been a delight to own and enjoy in a most unchristian manner. Thankfully, the harrowing rounding of Cape Horn and the grueling hours of the whaling had wiped the troubling experience from his memory. He had all but forgotten the auction and his reaction to the sale of the young women until he saw the iron cuff tightening on the scantily clad Miss Marlton's naked limb. God how he wanted her. To take her, possess her, use her again and again for his pleasure until there was nothing left to take and he owned every bit of her.

Charlotte watched Black Brand with growing alarm as she saw the raw sexual hunger in his eyes. No man had ever looked at her like that, the unmasked desire was both terrifying and exciting and she turned away from her abductors lustful gaze. Charlotte wished her camisole was longer, she was all too aware of the cool air that she could feel on the back of her thighs; if her legs were exposed to the elements then they were equally exposed to the highwayman's eyes, but there was nothing she could do about it. Would he leave her alone now that she was secured to his massive bed?

No sooner than she dared hope he might leave her in peace than she felt him seize her unchained ankle and pull it firmly to the other corner of the bed. A tiny jolt of arousal shot through her loins, she tried to ignore it, but how could she? She was now lying face down on the great bed and her legs were pulled obscenely open; even if the lace of the camisole covered her buttocks, it couldn't cover much more than that. She wanted to protest, but before she even she could formulate anything close to the correct words she felt a leather strap loop around her other calf and tighten against it snugly. By looking over her right shoulder she could see Black Brand had used his belt to bind her ankle and was now tying it to the far post.

"Oh God!" Charlotte gasped into the pillow. The pillow linens smelled like him, rich and earthy not at all like the colognes worn by her suitors ... "Oh dear Lord, please!" She groaned even louder when she felt his knees settle between hers and his hands moving possessively higher and higher on her inner thighs. Rocking her hips side-to--side did nothing to dislodge his touch but did make her aware of the moisture that was leaking from sex, why oh why was her body betraying her like this?

"Why are you doing this to me?" She asked trying to crane her neck and make eye contact with her abductor.