For a detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.
by kinkychic and kinky’s_sis
Chapter Nine: The Pirate Galley
We sailed between Tunis and Rabat on the North African coast, keeping well to the east of the Balearic Islands. I had my best lookouts posted, and if we were lucky, we might catch one or more of the pirate vessels out at sea. We would then try to cut off their route back to their home ports.
We had heard that a galley averaged about five to six knots when pressed, and could achieve a short burst of ten knots when attacking. We could therefore easily outpace them.
I no longer felt we needed to practise our gun teams, which had become as fast as any I had ever seen. We did engage in musket drills, however. I had quite upset the Gibraltar armoury by requisitioning one hundred of these weapons. The admiral, in reply to their complaint, had told them, somewhat grudgingly, that they were to accede to my wishes.
Loading a musket is no easy task. It can take an inexperienced shooter up to one minute. I wanted men who could load at least twice in that time. Most sailors, when told to fire a musket, simply point it in the general direction of their target and pull the trigger. I now had fifty men on each ship that could choose a target, aim, and fire. They would be the decisive force in any contest with a galley, if we got close enough.
Three tedious days passed without a glimpse of anything worthy of our attention. We even sailed in close to two of the ports where the pirates were likely to be hiding. When we saw the massive fortifications, though, we knew it would be suicide to approach any closer. If the galleys carried twenty-four-pounders, the forts most likely had even larger guns.
The early hours of the fourth day brought a sound like thunder. I bounded from my cot, for I knew instinctively it was not thunder, but the roar of a heavy cannon. I had barely emerged onto the deck when the sound was repeated. Now I had a direction – to the north and away from the coast, which is exactly what I wanted, if this truly was a pirate ship.
Luck was with us. So engrossed in attacking the merchantmen were the pirates that they failed to notice our rapid approach. I was astounded at how many oars the vessel carried, and at the way they swept back in perfect unison as the galley closed on its victim.
“Guns, see if you can lay a shot right on her bow before she rams that ship.”
Halcombe must have had the two starboard eighteens already sighted, for no sooner had I spoken than both of them roared out. Barely seconds later, the galley’s forecastle was blown to splinters. The armed men who had been massing and waiting to board were sent flying by the impact.
My men were ready with their muskets. I had explained to them that the pirates would gather near the front end of the galley. This was to be their target—and not the men at the oars, who could well be slaves.
Spencer, high up the mast, knew his task – to find and bring down their captain.
Siren and Majestic were on either side of the pirate. “First party, fire!” I yelled. Twenty-five muskets spat fire and smoke. Jensen had done the same. At least a quarter of the gathered pirates fell in those first volleys.
“Second party, fire!” Another fifty muskets blasted their shot at the enemy, who fell in their dozens.
We were now close enough to see the oarsmen were in chains. They were indeed slaves. We could not come alongside, for we would have fouled the oars and likely killed many of the rowers. I called for grappling hooks to be readied. “Snag what’s left of their forecastle. We will attempt to turn her away and then board.”
The pirates had clearly never experienced concentrated musket fire before. The few of them still standing fought like men possessed. Gradually, they were forced back by the sheer weight of numbers we deployed from our two ships. But the butcher’s bill was going to be high.
Majestic’s men boarded from her stern, and the last few pirates found themselves facing us from two directions. They must have known there was no hope of avoiding defeat. In their midst was a huge, bearded man who towered over the rest. One arm hung uselessly at his side, but the other held his scimitar aloft. Anne Bonny spread her arms wide as if to hold our men back, then pointed her sword at the giant and shouted at him. I couldn’t hear her words, but whatever she said, it gave the barbarians pause.
The bearded man turned to look across at me. I called for quiet, but it took several more shouts before the noise subsided.
I pointed at the giant, who was obviously the leader. Through my trumpet, I told him, “Your fight is lost. Lay down your arms now… or you die.”
“We die here or die where you take us,” he shouted in return. “What difference?”
They would all be hanged, of course, but that wasn’t my concern. Better to end the fight now, lest more of my own people be injured or killed. But before I could answer, a surge of bodies rose up from below. The slaves must have gained possession of the keys to their shackles. Howling with blind rage, they reached up to grasp pirates by the legs and hauled them down into the depths.
I called to my musketeers, “A volley over their heads, lads!”
This had the desired effect. Everything came to a stop, and quiet returned. Anne stepped towards the captain. I held my breath. She was taking a huge risk. The brute raised his scimitar even as I shouted, “Spencer!” The shot rang out. The captain staggered, blood staining his filthy shirt. His sword came down, but not to strike. He had stuck it into the deck. A man went to hold him upright, but was pushed away. I saw the pistol for only an instant before the captain placed the barrel into his mouth, and the back of his head burst into bloody fragments.
***
The slaves were almost all Europeans and of just about every nationality. Several had been ship’s officers. Others were notable persons who had been passengers on board the captured vessels.
I spoke with one such person, who introduced himself as Sir James Parkinson. I took an instant dislike to him and his attitude, even making allowances for the ordeal he had suffered. He was none too steady on his feet, no doubt from months of labouring at the oars. Enofe fetched him a chair, and Parkinson looked with distaste at the black man.
“You are the captain of this vessel? A woman?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “It matters not, I suppose. You will take me to Venice with all due haste.”
“And why do you suppose I should do that?”
“Because I am ordering you to do so. Your flag indicates you are a British warship of some sort, although I have never seen those colours before. It does mean, though, that you are subject to my orders.”
I had to laugh at his arrogance. “You haven’t even asked who I am. Yet you assume you can order me. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Captain Brenda Dawlish, but I am also known as Sir Bren, duly knighted by the King. My colours were given at His Majesty’s instruction, and no one, not even the Admiralty, gives me orders. Do I make myself clear?”
“Sir? A woman? Impossible!”
“It is, I admit, a unique state of affairs.”
“You must have deceived the King.”
“Not at all,” I said. “Allow me to show you proof of my authority, then perhaps we can begin again.” I retrieved from my desk the letter from the Prime Minister that gave my status and freedom of movement, etc.
He glanced up several times as he read, then lowered the document to his lap. “It seems, Sir Bren, what you say is true. I had no idea such a thing were possible.”
I bowed to him. “Now that we understand each other, would you tell me who you are and what you know?”
It transpired he was the British envoy who had been on his way to Venice on behalf of the government when his ship had been attacked by two galleys. His wife and daughter were, as far as he knew, still held captive. He was fairly sure his wife was in the sheikh’s harem. The sheikh was also the bearded galley captain who had shot himself. His name was Amastan Zammit. He was but a minor chieftain and had operated three galleys from a small fishing port.
“This anchorage – what defences does it have?” I asked. “The man’s base, is it fortified? How many men are there? How many ships?”
“There is one small fort – made of mud, I believe. It mounts three or four cannon. He has perhaps three hundred fighters plus a number of clerical types. His base is but a jumble of tents, in the Berber fashion. There is a small palace, also of mud bricks. That is where the harem is. He has three galleys – well, two now – and a captured brig. The galleys are all manned by slaves. The brig is unmanned and lies at anchor. There is not much else that I can tell you. You have already killed more than a hundred of his men.”
“It seems, Sir James, you were prepared to sail away and leave your family to their fate. I might have thought you would ask me to attempt their rescue. Besides all of the other European slaves.”
Most might have shown some measure of guilt at my observation. Sir James, however, was a diplomat. “Sir,” he said, “… or Ma’am …”
“Either is acceptable.”
“I would consider any rescue attempt a futile exercise. You are sailors, not an army, and most likely, considerably outnumbered.”
“Sir, I have rescued people from the prison fort in Jamaica right from under the British garrison’s nose. Why should I not do the same here? Besides, I would find it more seemly were you enthusiastic at the possibility of seeing your family returned to you. Is that not so?”
“I… well… I mean to say, Ma’am… “ His bluster was a false front. It was clear he did not care a whit for the fate of his wife and child.
I held up my hand. “Is it perhaps that you believe your wife has been sullied by this sheikh fellow?”
He protested vehemently, but I had him dead to rights. He would rather she were left where she was. I had heard enough. He had nothing more of use to tell me. I called for Mister Halcombe. “Take this … gentleman … and see his needs are looked after. Then summon all officers to attend in my cabin.”
As he rose, Sir James asked. “You have suitable quarters for me, I assume?”
I had had my fill of this man. “There are no quarters, I regret to say. You may even have to remain on the galley, Sir James, but you are now a free man once more. Be satisfied with that.”
Halcombe ushered him out of my sight, which was just as well. My patience had been tried quite enough.
***
Many of the freed slaves were seamen. A good few were in poor physical shape, but many were fit and keen to help in the raid I now planned. I distributed them among the three ships and placed some of our own crew on the galley, of which Taylor was made captain pro tem.
He cut a caper when he heard my decision. “Can I be ’avin’ a cocked ’at, Cap’ain?”
“Taylor, you are the galley captain, not its jester. Would you kindly act accordingly?”
“Yes indeed, Ma’am, beggin’ your pardon like.”
We approached from the east, edging towards the headland that sheltered the pirate’s bay and keeping a constant lookout on the coast. We saw no movement. I knew the fort was just over the brow of the hill. A number of the former slaves had said the Mussulmen never believed they’d be attacked and the fort was manned only by a few lazy layabouts.
In the evening dusk, the cutter headed for the shore with a group of heavily armed men, plus the master gunner and his mate. I acceded to Halcombe’s request that he might lead the party, and I watched as they clambered ashore, quickly disappearing amongst the dunes before the cutter made its way back.
The next few hours would be an anxious wait, and I prayed we would hear nothing to disturb the quiet of the evening. At midnight, with the ships in complete darkness and no moon to expose our position, we sailed to the mouth of the bay. There we cautiously dropped anchor and continued our vigil.
“Why don’t you come to bed, love?” Mariana said “It serves no purpose, your sitting there all night.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m thinking things through. I must be sure I’ve missed nothing. Besides, I couldn’t possibly sleep.”
“I’m sure you’ve thought of everything,” she said, laughing. “You should stop worrying. And if you can’t sleep… why don’t you come and fuck me?”
I laughed with her. “I know you’re right, but I cannot get undressed. We might be called into action at any moment. Perhaps you would join me for a walk in the night air. It’s so much more pleasant than the daytime heat.”
***
The time dragged slowly by until at four-thirty I gave the order to man the guns, which had been primed and run out before we moved to the bay. Muskets and pistols, though, had not yet been loaded, as I didn’t want to risk having one dropped and going off.
Suddenly, a mighty explosion rent the pre-dawn sky in a blaze of light. The walls of the fort simply crumbled away, the huge cannons dropping and tumbling. A second explosion followed, and I knew the gunpowder store had blown.
“Do you think Nateby used bigger charges than was necessary?” I asked Marianna. “Still, the fort is no longer of any threat.”
The explosion was the signal for the men to haul in the anchors, which were, in any case, already up and down. With our sails dropped and tightened in the morning breeze, we sailed toward the enemy. At only a hundred yards from the shore, we again dropped anchor. The momentum swung the two ships sidelong onto the port, whereupon we dropped second anchors. We were now stationary gun platforms, our broadsides facing the enemy.
The sun peeked over the horizon enough for the gunners to aim their weapons. Two broadsides blasted out. The enemy on shore, still rushing from their tents and taking up weapons, were hit by a ton of iron. It was slaughter. The city of tents was ripped to shreds, and our victims flew in all directions.
Our captured galley now surged towards the beach. The Berber may have thought it was their own forces hastening to their aid, but a hundred sailors, along with another hundred freed slaves, poured ashore before the pirates had an inkling that they were undone.
The former slaves, bent on revenge, attacked like savages. Those Berbers who had survived the bombardment of our cannons stood little chance. They died in droves. Others tried to run for the desert, but most were downed by musket fire before they got very far.
A detachment of thirty seamen headed for the small palace, Anne Bonny and Daphne in the lead. Their task was more to prevent our former slaves from ravishing the harem, rather than subduing the enemy.
I had worried that one or both of the anchored galleys might fire on us. It turned out, however, that only a few guards had been left to watch over the sleeping slaves. We later learned that all of the guards had jumped overboard as soon as our cannons fired.
Halcombe’s party had arrived at the port. It was he who directed the two galleys to be brought to shore and the slaves released from their shackles.
The full morning sun found me climbing from my cutter with Davy, as ever, at my side. Jensen was already organising shelter, water, and food for the newly freed slaves. I headed for the palace.
The exterior was rather drab. But once inside, Marianna gasped, “My God, it’s beautiful.”
And so it was. The dazzling colour was provided by hundreds of silk drapes. Luxurious carpets covered the floor, and the chairs and benches were heaped with shimmering cushions.
I heard shrieks coming from a heavily curtained arena and, upon ordering the men to hold back, I cautiously eased one curtain aside with my sword, concerned the harem guards might still be there to offer resistance. There were none, however, and Marianna and I stepped through. Davy remained in the gap.
The shrieking ceased, replaced by a collective gasp when they saw two women appear in front of them. They began to babble, louder and louder. “Quiet,” I shouted.
One stepped out of the crowd of about thirty women and girls. “You are English,” she said. “What are you – a pirate?”
I saw a young girl peering from behind her. “Remind you of anything, Marianna?” I said.
“Oh my God, Bren. Yes, it does! Mother and I, all those years ago.”
I waved my hands for quiet again. “We are not pirates,” I said. “We have just delivered you in the name of His Majesty the King of England. You are Lady Parkinson, I presume?”
Her hand flew to her mouth. “But how did you know? My husband – is he alive?”
I did not answer her just yet. Rather, I addressed the throng of females. “A few of my men will enter. You are quite safe. Ignore their rough looks. They answer to me and will not molest you. Raise your hand if you have understood me.”
Only about a half complied. “Marianna, please.”
Marianna repeated my words in Spanish and French. This time all but two raised their hands. These two had very pale white skin. Lady Parkinson told me that she believed them to be Icelanders. No one had been able to speak with them.
I pushed my way through to these two, who seemed frightened but defiant. I held out a hand and waited. Slowly they reached to take hold of my fingers. I bent and kissed their hands. I knew nothing of their language. All I could ask was… “Dansk, Norse, or…?“
Obviously, I had struck on something. The pale women began to jabber at me. I raised my hands and shrugged just as they grabbed hold of me and covered my face with kisses. Marianna, who had followed me, now pulled me back. She pointed at me and then at herself in a way that clearly stated I was hers. The two Nordic girls laughed, but now flung their arms about Marianna and subjected her to the same kisses I had received.
Marianna looked quite flustered once she had managed to extricate herself. I just got a glimpse of the hand that had been pressed between Marianna’s legs as they separated.
“Enough,” I said. “Please, will you all sit? I have things to organise.”
***
I called a conference of my officers. Even Taylor was invited.
Jensen had been busy talking to many of the freed slaves. It seemed it was several days’ ride to any place of significance, and he did not believe any of the pirates had fled on horse or camel. Those few who had run off on foot would not survive. The fishermen were not Berbers. Indeed, they had no love for the pirates. They had not been treated well in the least, and they were grateful our cannon fire had avoided the houses and storerooms of their small community.
This intelligence enabled me to decide that we could remain here safely for a time. There was a well with sweet water, and an ample supply of food. The men and former slaves soon built a small city of tents. A lookout station was established on the hill above the ruins of the fort. The ships were anchored with their guns pointing to sea. We had taken a few prisoners, whom we locked up safely in the small prison block.
With a guard roster set for the ships, I felt I could safely stay ashore. I made my headquarters in a wing of the palace, where Lady Parkinson came to see me. Why hadn’t she seen her husband? she asked. It was a question I didn’t want to answer. She saw my hesitation.
“I think I know,” she said. “He assumes that I’ve been defiled by that horrible man, the sheikh, or whatever he is. The truth is, I haven’t. I’m glad to say that he was too busy to bother with me or my Elizabeth. I can only guess my husband has disowned us. – There’s no need to answer. In a way, you already have. May I ask, how or where will you deliver us? I have nothing and nowhere to go. What I will do, I have no idea. The only thing I do know, and with certainty, is that you, Captain, have delivered us from these devils.” She hesitated a moment. “I see you and the one called Marianna. You are … together, are you not? I was not familiar with those things until I was brought to this place. Here, amongst us women, it is common. We give each other comfort. So far, thank God, my daughter has been spared, even though she has witnessed so much.”
“Lady Parkinson –”
“My name is Cynthia. It would please me should you not refer to me as Lady Parkinson anymore. I have no further use for the name or the title.”
“Cynthia,” I said, “I cannot yet answer your questions. Just be assured that you will not be abandoned. It is not my way.”
“Then, Captain, may I extend my heartfelt thanks. I am in your debt, and yours to command.”
Her implied statement hung in the air, but it was at that moment that Marianna pushed her way through the hanging silks. “May I interrupt?” She came and took my hand. “I have an inclination to go and to try to converse with the Icelanders. They appear to be asking for me. Besides, you seem pleasantly occupied.”
I laughed, knowing full well what she intended. “Go, love, but be aware, these Vikings can be dangerous.”
I noticed how Cynthia now stared at me. “So, you have an arrangement that allows for dalliance? And Marianne just implied you were occupied. May I ask, Captain, are you occupied?”
Before I could conjure a reply, another voice – a smaller one – interrupted us. “The Captain, I owe her my life. She is the most wonderful and bravest person I’ve ever met. I want her to love you, Mother, but most of all, I want her to love me… to be my first.”
I sat astonished. Cynthia gasped. “Child, whatever are you saying? It is unheard of. It’s not to be conceived.”
“Oh, but it is, Mother,” the girl, Elizabeth, answered. “We would both have been taken by the sheikh, but we were saved by the grace of God. This woman, this captain, has delivered us, and she loves women. I saw that today. I have come to know that I want to be hers, if only for a day.”
“Do you truly understand what you are saying, my sweet? You are but twelve years of age.”
The girl answered by slipping her dress from her shoulders. It dropped to the floor, leaving her stark naked.
“I watched you and some of the other women,” she told her mother. “I saw what you did with them. Did you think I didn’t have feelings? Did you not consider that I might want comfort, too?”
It was my turn to speak. “Elizabeth, I was your age when Marianna and I first met and fell in love, so I know you’re not too young.” I held my hands out to them both. “Cynthia, your child has grown up.”
I led them to my curtained quarters. Two Nubians had filled the sunken bath with warm, scented water. I told them they could go, that they were free men, albeit they were eunuchs, but here they still were.
With a shout of glee, Elizabeth jumped straight into the bath. Cynthia was more reserved. I beckoned her to me. “You don’t have to do this,” I said. “I seek no rewards. You owe me nothing and I will still see you safe, somewhere that suits you.”
“Captain, it’s not regret. It’s my natural shyness returning. If you would perhaps undress, then I might follow.”
In moments my clothes were laid aside, and I was settling into the water. Elizabeth watched as her mother slowly disrobed. She grasped my arm. “My mama is beautiful, is she not, Captain?”
“You both are,” I told her.
“Really?”
“I swear it,” I said. “Perhaps, young lady, it’s time you gave me a kiss. Is that not possible?”
The girl splashed into my arms, her lips searching for mine as she straddled my thighs. She was tentative at first, but her fervour mounted as my hands explored her. I stroked the length of her back, then the cheeks of her arse and the cleft between them. She instinctively rose to meet my grip as she clung to me.
I felt a hand on my leg — Cynthia had joined us. She pushed my legs apart, sliding into my crotch. There was no hesitation now. Briefly, she kneaded my pussy lips before burrowing her finger inside.
The girl began to rock. She was riding my thigh, gasping in my ear. “Oh my! This is so…nice. I knew it would be. Oh God… please.”
Then she was shuddering as her arms gripped my neck. She jerked violently as the orgasm washed over her, and I had to wonder if it was indeed her first.
“Shall you take us to your bed, my Captain?” Cynthia said. “We would like to make love… no, we want to fuck you. There, I’ve said it. And it’s true. I want to see my daughter fucked for the first time, and you … well, it must needs be you.”
It was the strangest experience when the two Nubians dried us. They regarded it as nothing more than a duty, but I must confess, it made me feel like a queen.
Once again, Elizabeth led the way. She jumped onto the bed and lay with legs akimbo, her pussy on full display. Her expression was a delightful attempt at appearing seductive.
“So, who wants to fuck me?” she said. “Mother, Captain… or both?”
Cynthia feigned shock. “Goodness, how wicked she is!” Then she laughed with me.
Cynthia wanted to kiss her young daughter, I wanted my tongue in that beautiful little pussy. We both got our wish. The child’s legs folded about my head, drawing me deeper into her slit. She rocked her pussy against my face. If this was her first time, she was learning very fast. Her clit pressed to my nose as I tongue-fucked the tightest pussy I had ever known.
Hands were exploring my naked body. Two of them were small and could not reach very far. But the other two went everywhere, lingering only a moment here or there before moving on. A touch at my arse made me jump, but then it brushed the lips of my pussy.
Elizabeth squealed in delight. “Oh God yes! Here it comes again!” Her legs gripped me, and she began to shake, wailing again and again as she climaxed.
Now, a tongue pressed to my pussy. Hands raised my arse. Cynthia sucked at the juices flowing from me. Cynthia had been taught well by her “comforters” in the harem.
Elizabeth’s young lips pressed to mine, kissing me with a new-found passion. Her hands clutched my breasts. I pushed her girl’s head down, guiding her lips to a nipple. She understood, sucking quite hungrily, then biting.
I smacked her arse.
“Bitch!” I shouted. She only bit more emphatically. I grabbed her arse this time, pressing a finger to her hole. She tensed, but I didn’t hold back, forcing my way into the tightened ring. She raised her head and gaped at me. “Oh! That’s –!”
Her expression held both shock and pleasure as I pumped her arse. But she was dry, and I didn’t want to injure her. I lifted her and swung her around, spreading her cheeks wide and reaching for the twitching star with my tongue.
Cynthia meanwhile, had been working magic of her own. My cunt spasmed as it gripped her plunging fingers, and my clit throbbed beneath her flickering tongue.
“Come, Captain,” she said. “Come for your bitches.”
“Is that what we are, mother?” said Elizabeth between joyful gasps. “Are we her bitches?”
Cynthia didn’t answer. She only sucked more forcefully as she sensed my climax approaching.
“Fuck!” I cried as it doubled me over.
I had a brief thought … I hoped Marianna was enjoying herself as much as I was.
***
I enquired after Sir James, only to learn that he had been killed in the early stages of the landing. For all of his failings, cowardice was not one. He had fought like a true knight when surrounded by the barbarians.
Cynthia did not shed a tear. Indeed, her smile neither shocked nor surprised me. “I had thought I was destitute, with nowhere to turn. His death brings me wealth and social standing. I suppose I should grieve for him, but I cannot. He chose to abandon us, and his death is my salvation.”
My foremost concern was the disposition of the harem women and the hundreds of freed slaves. Many of the women were from various parts of North Africa, and some of these were not pleased to have been liberated. They had been content enough as pampered concubines. The Europeans, though, wanted to be returned to their own countries, a task quite beyond my capabilities.
Much the same situation applied to the men. I would need a good number of them to sail the two galleys and the brig away from here. The galleys I would take to Italy, where we would be paid a bounty for them. The brig would go to Gibraltar for prize money from the British, and the funds would be shared among the slaves. Our own men hardly needed more wealth than they already possessed.
The freed slaves, though, if taken to Gibraltar, would find themselves pressed into the Navy against their will, all except the few that had some social standing. Those native to the Mediterranean could be landed somewhere suitable, whence they could make their way home.
A few of the girls had already set themselves up in business with the sailors. As one said to me, “One stork is the same as another, at least I now get paid to dip it, and I’m free to pick and choose.”Others moved to the village to seek more suitable work or partners.
That still left about seventeen others, of whom several were only young girls. One or two had more or less grown up in the harem, with no inkling as to their origins. Only their language gave us any clue. We discussed the problem between us, but as of the moment, failed to find a solution.
I allowed the women to strip the palace and share the spoils fairly among themselves. I had also discovered the dead sheikh’s strong box, which contained a considerable amount of coin and jewels. I intended to estimate the value and apportion a share, in coin, to all of the freed men and women.
Halcombe had taken a party to retrieve the cannons from the fort. I thought the Navy might find a use for them. The carpenter had carried out what repairs he could to the galley we had attacked. The four captured ships were now provisioned and ready for sea. We had no trouble in finding volunteers to crew them, as long as they would not be rowing.
There had been sufficient officers among the captives to take temporary command of the ships. I left Taylor in command of the first galley. He had done well enough, his only weakness being his inability to navigate in the event we got separated. I soon found someone who could and who didn’t object to a mere seaman taking command.
The women were divided between the Majestic and the Siren. It was an amusing affair listening to them decide who wanted to go where and with whom, but finally, it was settled.
The last thing we did was blow the palace to pieces. It would not do to leave it for other pirates to use.
When the time came to raise anchor, the crew stood by, watching the two huge Nubians as they turned the windlass on their own. They had both begged to not be left behind.
“Lay a course due northeast,” I instructed. The Siren led a convoy of six ships, making it unlikely that anyone would venture anywhere near us. We should, if the winds were favourable, make Naples within two days.
I gave up worrying about what our passengers and crew got up to. The mingling of former concubines and lusty sailors almost ensured that I had no say in the matter – unless I had the women locked up between decks, and that was not my way.
Two days of good weather and no sightings of anything that might cause us concern left us with plenty of time to enjoy the Mediterranean sun and air. It was a pleasure and a relief to be on the open sea, free from the knowing gaze of love-sick girls and petty officials, where I could wear a breeches or a petticoat, as I chose, and let my titties stand unbound beneath my shirt.
I also had time to reflect on our future. Would we hunt more pirates, or perhaps head for fresh lands and waters?
Then, on one of his visits to the Siren, Jensen handed me a sheaf of papers. “Might you care to take a look at something I’ve been working on, Captain? Your thoughts would be appreciated.”
On the top page was written, in a hand far more elegant than I could ever manage,
From Gamine to Queen of the Seas
A Nautical Adventure
by Captain Sir Thomas Jensen
The End – for now.
***
Historical Note, or Busting Myths.
Many books have been written that detail the supposed ‘facts’ of the Golden Age of Pirates. The vast majority do little other than either repeat or add to the many myths that others invented.
The first such book was A General History Of The Pyrates, published in 1724, only three years after Anne Bonny and her compatriots were imprisoned. The author was given as one Captain Charles Johnson. A 1728 reprint was a revised edition. More rubbish detail was added, all of which is almost certainly the product of the author’s imagination – one example being the biographies of three pirate captains who have since been proven to have never existed.
There are many problems with this book, not least that Captain Johnson himself didn’t exist, either. The name was a pseudonym. It has never been established who the author was, although many attribute the book to Daniel Defoe, author of Robinson Crusoe. This early history is directly responsible for the many of the legends that subsequent authors continue to peddle as accurate history.
In 1724 it was quite impossible that a writer would know all the details he presented as fact. And be certain—they are not! Nor could he have ever met more than but one or two (if any) of those portrayed in the book.
Anne Bonny, many books claim, was born in Kinsale, County Cork, Ireland. Her father is said to have been one William Cormac (sometimes McCormac), a lawyer in said county. The name of her mother, a servant, is given as Mary Brennan. Anne is said to have married James Bonny before they moved to Nassau, the Bahamas, where James is said to have worked as a spy or informant for Governor Woodes Rogers. She is often referred to as the Queen of the Pirates. Woodes Rogers’ proclamation refers to Anne Bonny, nee Fulford. So, where did the Fulford come from?
No such lawyer is registered as having practised in County Cork. Moreover, Woodes Rogers is known to have kept meticulous records of everyone who worked for him. Yet there is no record of a James Bonny. There are many stories, mostly contradictory, of James and Anne’s comings and goings, but Anne Bonny was never truly a pirate. She was a common prostitute who ran away to sea with Jack Rackham when Nassau was raided by the forces of Woodes Rogers. She spent only a little more than two months at sea before her and Rackham’s capture, and she is known to have robbed only one person, who gave evidence at her trial.
My research leads me to believe that Anne Bonny was initially a London prostitute who was lured to Nassau by the prospect of the good money that women of her profession were said to earn there. I do not believe she was Irish-born or that her name was ever Cormac. More likely, she was born with the name Bonny somewhere in the English Midlands.
Her most recent biography is Born of the Sea: The Untold Story of Anne Bonny and Mary Read by Kate Castle – yet another heap of unsubstantiated rubbish that does nothing but perpetuate the myths surrounding Anne Bonny.
Nor do I believe any such person as James Bonny existed. There is no documented evidence of his ever having worked for Woodes Rogers, even though, as mentioned above, the man kept thorough records of his employees.
It is generally claimed that the time and place of Anne Bonny’s death are unknown. This is likely not true either. She is listed in the official register of the district of St Catherine’s (not a church), Jamaica, as being buried in the public cemetery in 1731. The cause of death is not given, which was often the case for prostitutes who died from the diseases common to their profession.
Calico Jack Rackham has become something of a legend among pirates, but the sad truth is he was a two-bit player. He achieved nothing of renown and never made any money. For the most part, he captained very small ships and attacked only tiny fishing boats that couldn’t put up a fight. The record of his ultimate capture suggests he was also something of a coward. The only truth to his legend is his eccentric style of dress.
All of the other historical characters we have brought into the story are more or less as we have portrayed them – or so it is claimed!
Wonderful. I suppose now that Captain Bren fades into the mists from which she arise. You created a caring and very intelligent wman who commanded great respect every time I looked at a new chapter. I hope she and her lady friends remained happy over the ensuing years.
Thank you.
I don’t like to end a story on a sad note. I’m sure everyone is going to end up happy in their own way. Not necessarily in all in the same place.
Thank you, Mi’Ladies, for a most invigorating adventure! This really has been an excellent Series, from start to (temporary) finish. And the ‘appendix’ is a nice touch. 😊💖
And a big thank you to you for your continued reading and comments.
I have enjoyed the research and the writing of this story, perhaps more than anything else I’ve done. The numerous debates with Sis were also enjoyable, although sometimes a little heated.
JJ’s contribution has been rewarding … I learned much. JJ seldom changed the story as such but did add clarity here and there, or suggested better wording than I had used. I will always need a good editor, that I do know. I had one here for certain.
🤭
The story, the characters, the relationships, and the creativity were all yours. It was a great pleasure to help bring this wonderful tale to an appreciative readership. Someday soon you won’t need me anymore.
This chapter…Bloody thrilling!!!…all of it!!! So often the ending of an epic series fails to live up to the preceding parts – this chapter matched or exceeded those that came before. Bloody brilliant!!! I do believe the collaboration lent to the overall richness and detail of the final product. Bloody wonderful!!! If Captain Bren ever sails again, I will eagerly climb aboard for another adventure. Kudos ladies. You gave the JS community something special. ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
My goodness, that’s probably the best comment we ever had left for us. It puts pressure on us with the next series — standards to maintain etc. I am already working on chapter two of the next part.
At Jetboy’s request, we went through every chapter and built a list of characters, places, ships, etc. It was a lot of work. Then disaster! It somehow got deleted. Working on the next part of the story, I am finding I need that list for cross-reference purposes. I think we may have to do it again. Dread!
Ah, I wondered what ever happened to that list, put didn’t want to be a pest about it. Sorry to hear your valuable work got lost. At least it didn’t happen to a story!
I just found a small error. At the very end of our story, Captain Jensen’s novel has ‘gamine’ in the title. Unfortunately, the first known use of the word was in 1840. Although the meaning — street urchin — remains the same. So we’re a hundred years or so premature.
I hang my head in shame.
So easily done. We know from experience.
I have just been re-reading the book by Captain Charles Johnson that I mentioned in the afterword. https://archive.org/details/generalhistoryof00defo/page/n3/
It’s astonishing the detail the author went into at a personal level. As I said – impossible!
I found another one, I’m afraid. Bren has a letter from the Prime Minister to confirm her having been knighted, but the office of Prime Minister was not established until 1878.
Sorry!
Sorry, but you’re wrong. Robert Walpole was the prime minister from 1721 – 1742. He was the first.
I don’t know where you got the 1878 from, but there were many prime ministers before that date.
Yes, but Disraeli was the first to use the title officially. At the time of the story, I think that Bren would have had letters patent, directly from the King. But, hey, let’s not argue; it’s a great story, and I’m just being pedantic.
Huzzah! To the Kinky Sisters and JJ for their efforts in bringing this top notch story to life! I was loathe to see it come to an end and would like to see more from the Kinky pair! Do either of you happen to have/share a love of all things SF? Please email me and we could perhaps swap ideas and even come up with a story plot, who knows?
See Ya!!
Thanks and glad you enjoyed it. There may yet be more to come.
JetBoy has quite a load of our stories waiting to be published as time and our place in the order of things permits. One of which is an SF story in the purest sense of the genre – spaceships, far-off planets, and aliens etc.
‘ Please email me ‘
I did, nearly a week ago – no reply.
Wonderful climax to this great adventure tale. Very many good moments and scenes. We wish our history textbooks had been as informative as this story was.
Loved Cap’n Breen teaching Sir James a thing or three.
Great action all the way through this chapter, like watching a real good film, so well described.
And a very hot sexy ending to cap it all off.
Fantastic story all the way through and wonderful finish. Congrats Kinkys and JJ
Thanks to you both … from us both.
You will be pleased to know (at least, we hope so) that we are already progressing the next volume. It will though, be quite some time before it surfaces; we have other stories to be posted before then.
Yes, very pleased to hear that and to read whatever comes next.
I have been working away for quite some time. Now I am back and with so much catching up to do.
Remembering the first series, I chose this one for openers. I wasn’t disappointed. These wonderful writers puzzle me. Why are they writing for such a tiny readership? They should be writing out there in the real world. But of course, when I think about it, maybe they are and we don’t know it.
This story had everything. The realism drew you in so you almost felt you were in the story and sailing on the high seas. The characters were utterly convincing, they were almost flesh and blood. Above all, a thrilling adventure story of the highest standard.
I left the best until the last. The way the sex was woven into the story was very well done. It was both exciting and stimulating. The skill of making it different each time was obvious.
We readers are fortunate to have several very good authors here at Juicy. The sisters (together with Jacqueline in this instance) are easily in the top set.
I need to take a break now, for a while at least. Then onto the next story. I’m not sure which one yet.
Hey, I’ve finally finished this series and this is a bit of an overview of my feelings on the whole thing. Quite enjoyable overall, and very refreshing in its setting and subject matter. As mentioned before, I do love all the pirate flavor that you manage to infuse the story with, and clearly there was a lot of effort and research put into it. Quite impressive in that regard. Fun characters as well, and the plot moves forward at a nice pace, with some twists and turns that keep the reader guessing where the story is going.
I appreciate the increased amount of sex in later chapters, but… well, I still feel each scene could stand to be longer and more detailed. Not to be crass, but when writing erotica, you kinda want your reader to get off on it, you know? A page or so of quick descriptions isn’t really going to cut it for most, I feel, but I don’t know, I suppose that’s a matter of personal preference. Anyway, I’m not going to reiterate the point at length. I did like the variety of sexual encounters, though after a while (especially in the second half of the series), it starts to feel like every woman or girl that our captain meets will throw herself at Bren within minutes, and it gets a little silly. Sure, it’s a sex story and all, and these things happen, but it really began to stretch the suspension of disbelief after a few times, especially compared to the relatively grounded tone of the rest of the narrative. The issue is not so much that everyone is attracted to Bren, but that every time, the character(s) are introduced, immediately jump into bed (or, you know, any suitable surface) without any build-up (usually with Bren caught in the middle like, “well, okay, I guess we’re doing this”), and then are never mentioned again. It makes these encounters feel very random and disconnected from everything else, even though the ideas themselves aren’t bad.
This ties in a little bit with what, to my mind, is the main flaw that the story might have… Well, first, let me preface this by saying that we’re getting into literary criticism territory here, which is something I wouldn’t even approach with most sex stories. Usually it’s like, was it hot, fun, and not a chore to read? Okay, good enough. You know? But since a lot of effort has clearly been put into the narrative here, we have something that goes beyond a salacious tale and that can actually support a deeper analysis. Since you mentioned an interest in possibly getting into professional writing (if I recall correctly), I’ll offer some food for thought on how to take things to the next level, should you wish to.
So yes, in my view, the main flaw, which slowly becomes apparent as you progress through the story, is the lack of a real character arc. Our protagonist has little actual agency, mainly stumbling from one adventure to the other without many conscious decisions along the way. The main plot is about the crew finding a treasure, and eventually gaining wealth, fame and social status from it. The issue is that every step of the way, the events moving this plot forward are mostly happenstance. The crew chances upon a sunken treasure ship, and extracts the loot without much difficulty. There is a problem with how to “cash in” this treasure (so to speak), but that’s quickly resolved when they randomly meet a guy who can help with that (I think I elaborated on this point in the relevant chapter). The issue of the crew being wanted criminals is solved when they happen to be attacked by the Spanish, giving them the opportunity to find a prize ship that can be gifted to the king to smooth things over. And then they make their merry way to England, where no one is suspicious of their story at all, and they’re showered in praise and gold and titles and a new job opportunity. You see what I mean? It’s not that they’re never in danger, but still, most of the time things fall into their lap without really making any hard choices. And that’s what a story is about: The protagonist encounters a problem, and must make difficult decisions to solve it, and in so doing grows as a character, while the reader learns who they really are as a person. I’m not saying that Bren never makes decisions, but they rarely have an impact on her character or the main plot. Like sure, for instance, she decides to attempt a rescue of Jack and Anne, showing her bravery and loyalty (though we knew that already), but while that’s a fun adventure, it doesn’t have much of a lasting impact on anything. Yeah, Anne joins the crew, but after a quick sex scene, she just becomes a background character. In the previous series, the arc was clear, Bren goes from street urchin to pirate captain, discovering a passion for the life at sea, and of course finding love along the way. In this one, it’s more muddied. Yes, Bren goes from pirate to… respected knight of England, I suppose? But is that something she really cares about? Maybe not specifically become a knight, but to gain a position of influence, to have fame and respect among the common people? We’re not sure, because the path that led her there has been mostly luck and we never found out what Bren really wants.
This leads to the last part of the story, in which she’s asked to go get rid of some pirates, and she accepts because… why? She’s apparently richer than the king now and she could do whatever she wants anywhere in the world, but she’s going to go risk her life and that of her crew for a cause that’s not theirs, just because she’s asked? I don’t recall her ever showing any real patriotism before, or respect for the monarchy. Personally, I was under the impression that she didn’t care at all about England, and that she liked the freedom of being her own captain, but now she suddenly becomes the king’s attack dog, so to speak. Now, there’s an important distinction to make here: I’m not saying the story shouldn’t have gone in this direction. I’m just saying that this direction doesn’t feel justified, because again, it’s something that just happens and Bren goes along with it for reasons that are not clear to the reader, seemingly just because it’s something to do (it’s telling that the scene in which Walpole gives her the mission barely has any words from Bren). But anyway, she goes to hunt the pirates, succeeds, and then… it ends. The climax should be something deeply meaningful to the protagonist (you know, confront their nemesis, achieve their dream, learn something important about themselves, etc.), but here, accomplishing this mission that we were given no reason why she’d care about, it falls a bit flat. I saw that you were already working on a sequel, and that might presumably develop things further, but still, this current series deserves its own arc. Now, I’ll readily admit that many of my own stories also end a bit abruptly, but what can I say, it’s one thing to know what should be done, but it’s another to execute it correctly. 😉 I may be better at the former than the latter. Not the mention, the arc in most of my story is “girl discovers her sexuality and/or has her first sexual experience” so it’s not exactly genius material! 😀
Anyway, all that was a very long-winded way to say that the beats of the story are interesting enough, but it would be much more engaging if the events were moved forward by active choices from the protagonist, and in so doing, that we the readers get the know her motivations and what makes her tick (beyond Mariana and pretty girls, of course). Basically, the story could be almost the same, just tweaked a bit to give Bren more agency and make her motivations clearer, and it would make the whole thing more compelling and give it extra depth.
Phew, that was a lot of words. I hope this is useful to someone out there. I always feel bad when I realize that I’m writing way more about the negative side than the positive, but you know, it’s just much easier to get into the nitty-gritty of what doesn’t work than what does. Possibly you’re now thinking, “Wow, chill you fucking weirdo, we were just writing a fun little story off the cuff, not Serious Literature,” which… well, I mean, that’s fair! Despite my ramblings, rest assured that you’ve delivered a solid tale, with a level of writing way beyond standard erotica. Your stories are some of the most original ones on the site, and I always appreciate you trying out new and varied themes.
@ No One – Oh my goodness, there’s a lot to try and take in there. It deserves a proper answer that I don’t have the time for at the moment. I will have to find some time to give it some serious thought. But just a quick thought – I love the last paragraph.
@ Rachel – Sorry, I missed your comment until No One brought me back here. Thank you for the high-praise.
NB. I did finish another chapter and was already working on the follow-up. But the change in JS rules regarding real people made them redundant. I can’t now be bothered to try and rewrite them to fit the rules. It would break the story thread too much.
I do understand why a rule was brought in, but I don’t believe it was properly thought through. To me, there is a massive difference between featuring people who are a) still alive, or b) recently dead and have living relatives. As opposed to people who died hundreds of years ago and it’s doubtful that they have any living descendant who even knows they are related.
PS. This is in particular reference to Anne Bonny especially as no one’s even certain what her real name was or indeed, where she came from.
I think historical characters were okay to use, weren’t they? I think it was the living or recently deceased people that a minority objected to. I mean, it was really just that one Princess Diana story that upset a few readers.
The rule states that the following are not allowed –
Sex stories involving real human beings — celebrities, historical figures, etc. Fictional characters, however, are fine. In other words, a story featuring Emma Watson is a no-go, but a story about Hermione Granger, the role played by Ms. Watson in the Harry Potter films, is acceptable.
That reads to me that Anne Bonny cannot be used.
As I said, I don’t think that’s too well thought out.
That rule wasn’t really well thought out, it’s true, and I’ll take the rap for that. As BlueJean mentioned, it was coined because of the enormous uproar over the story, “Princess On Holiday,” in which Princess Diana has sex with an underage girl.
Quite a few of our regulars and a couple of writers made it clear that they intended to leave Juicy Secrets for good if this wasn’t addressed, so I rewrote the story to make it about a nonexistent princess, then scribbled out the rule about stories involving real people. (There’s a reason I used to leave all the rule writing to Naughty Mommy, y’know.)
Anyhow, you are hereby permitted to use Anne Bonny in your story, Bee. I’ll amend the rule to exclude historical personages of olden times from the ban. (Cracks gavel.)
Thank you. I’ll take another look at the story when I get the time. I hope I didn’t delete whatever I’d written. I suspect I may have.
Such a load of floccinaucinilipilification!
I learned a new word this week.
Goodnessgraciousme (lol), your word’s a new one on me.
@ No One – you do raise a couple of points where I might have improved things. Overall though, I’m not sure that I agree with much you’ve said. I think many mainstream published novels follow a similar pattern to the way I’ve told Captain Bren’s story.
I also think that when telling a multi-chapter story, the JS format requires a different approach to that of a full sized novel. Yes, I could have added a great deal of background detail, but I don’t believe your average JS reader really wants to be bogged down in the detail. In fact, Sis and I edited quite a lot out before it went to JJ.
I would add. The various comments seem to suggest that I just about got it right; for most anyway.
I’m not sure it’s that different from writing a novel. Well, it depends what the JS story is like, but for a long-ish series with a narrative beyond the sex, I feel like the approach could be pretty similar. I wasn’t arguing for adding unnecessary background details, just a little more about Bren’s motivation, and maybe a bit more build-up for some of the sex scenes.
It’s certainly true that people have been enjoying the story just fine, and with good reason. I’m not trying to take anything away from that. 🙂 Still, just speaking generally, the audience here is often… light on the critique, let’s say? So just don’t use that as the only barometer of whether a story could be improved. For instance, almost the only criticism I ever get is people wanting the story to keep going, but I know my stuff is hardly perfect.
Anyway, I’ve said my piece. Make of it what you will.
And @Jacqueline, “floccinaucinihilipilification” is a new one for me, too. But… “The estimation of something as valueless”? That’s definitely not what this was.
And I misspelled it. The correct spelling is
floccinaucinihilipilification.
And I was finally able to do it without blocking and copying. 🤓