Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

Note from JetBoy: Juicy Secrets has been enlivened considerably over the last year by the contributions of two authors I like to refer to as The Sisters Kinky (being siblings in real life): namely, kinkychic and kinkys_sis. Between them, they have added six excellent works to our erotic library, including kinkychic’s recently concluded historical saga, “A Bordello in New Orleans.”

So it gives me enormous pleasure to unleash another sexy tale from our beloved sisters, this time writing as a team. It’s a tale of hard living on the high seas, filled with swashbuckling and sexual antics aplenty, and we hope it thrills you to bits. Read on, me hearties, read on…

 

by kinkys_sis and kinkychic

THE PRIZE

“Stupid boy!” Davy shouted at me. “Don’t spill no powder – ’less you be lookin’ to blow us all to ’ell!”

I smiled to myself. The captain was close by and Davy had to be seen to be doing his duty even though we were the best of mates. His bluster was a sham. “Yes, Bosun. Sorry, Bosun. I’ll be more careful.”

I ran on to the nearest cannon, which was ready and primed to fire, although the gun ports were still closed. The gun captain grinned at me. “Ready for a fight then, Bren?”

“Yes, sir. Do we fire on them now?”

He laughed. “Keen, is it? No, we don’t waste shot ’til we ’as to. They might strike their flag afore we needs to pound ’em.”

I looked over the gunwale and gulped when I saw the size of the ship we were attempting to take – a huge, three-masted merchantman, and well armed by the look of her. She flew Spanish colours, which meant she could be a gold ship. That would explain the risk our captain was taking.

“She’s got a lot of guns, Mr Oates.”

“We got more, but some of ’ers likely be bigger’n ours, so best keep yer ’ead down, boy.”

A look around told me that none of the crew were at all apprehensive, even faced with such a formidable foe. They were all itching for a fight.

The ships were converging, and it wouldn’t be long before broadsides could be exchanged. I estimated that she was about half a mile away.

“I want the sail handlers ready but kept hidden so the officers over yonder can’t see my intention,” the captain said. “As soon as the guns have fired, we will wear ship to come across her stern. The smoke’ll hide what we’re about. Pass the word – I want the fastest reload possible, and tell the gun captains to fire on her stern as soon as they bear.”

Half an hour later, the merchantman fired her big guns almost simultaneously with ours. He helped our ruse by doubling the amount of smoke.

I ducked low when I heard the whistle of balls flying overhead. I felt the wind on my cheek when a severed rope flew past my head. It would have killed anyone it hit, but we were all crouched low. Lucky for us, there was little other damage.

We had fired a few of the guns many times in practice, besides the occasional shot across the bows of another ship. I was used to the smoke and noise. But a broadside was something else again. The ship seemed to almost jump out of the water. My ears rang so much I was partly deafened. Far worse was the smoke and the stench of burnt gunpowder. My eyes stung and watered. I hurriedly rubbed them for fear someone might see, although I noticed others that were busy doing the same.

The captain had already given the order to wear ship. Like many brigs, the Siren was handy in a tight spot. In no time at all, or so it seemed, she was on the new heading and the first gun had fired – then the second and the third.

“Cease fire!” the captain roared.

We swept past with no further retaliation from our opponent. I’d seen that she had a stern chaser, but it remained silent. Perhaps we had hit it with one of our shots.

“She’s in irons, Captain,” someone shouted.

It was true. For some reason, she’d turned into the wind. Her sails were out of control and flapped wildly in the stiff breeze. The gun captain grinned at me. “We must have disabled her rudder. She’s got to strike now.”

Even as he spoke, I saw her flag coming down. “Reef all sails!” the captain ordered, “Grappling hooks ready!”

We were almost alongside. Now was the moment she could have fired her guns, despite having struck, but she didn’t. Her captain was apparently an honourable man. The hulls crashed together, hooks caught hold, and the boarding party were either swinging or climbing aboard our prize. With my heart in my mouth, I clambered over with the rest of them, sword in hand, though I dreaded the idea of actually using it.

The victors yelled furiously as they charged through the smoke. I would have thought that alone would have been enough to make the defenders lay down their arms. And indeed it was so. The token resistance was over in moments, though the captain made one last show of defiance.

“I must protest at being attacked and boarded,” he snapped. “Are we not allies?”

“You aren’t my ally. You’re just another fat Spanish pig,” our captain replied, prodding him in the chest with his sword. “And don’t you be getting uppity with me, or I’ll have my men string you high.”

The Spaniard looked like he might burst a vein, but he must have realised how grave his situation was, for he suddenly bowed and swept his hat low.

“My apologies, Captain, I am yours to command.”

Our captain laughed and very quickly we all followed. “Command, he says, lads. What shall I command him?” I was really quite surprised. I hadn’t seen this side of our captain before. Perhaps he was drunk with the prospect of gold.

We laughed even harder as the suggestions came – “Walk the plank!” “Give us a dance!” And quite a few more, some most unsavoury.

“Enough!” the captain said. “You, señor, may tell me where the gold is. I shall take it, and you may sail away. If I am obliged to search for it, you go down with your ship.” I knew our captain would never do such a thing, but the Spaniard did not.

For a few moments, he wrung his hands together, but then he saw sense. He had no choice. “The gold is in the centre hold, hidden in the brandy barrels.”

The captain turned to the first mate. “Take a party and check the hold. And if any of the barrels happen to have brandy in them, don’t let the men get at it.” He beckoned Davy. “Go check the captain’s cabin. I want his logbook and manifest and see if there’s a chest, maybe his own stash.”

Davy motioned for me to follow him below. The scream as he pushed open the door to the captain’s quarters made me jump. Davy waved his hands in what I suppose he thought was a placatory manner. But the woman screamed even louder.

“Put your hands down, Davy,” I said, pushing past him. “They’re enough to scare anyone.”

I approached the lady and gave her a small bow. As I straightened, I saw a small frightened face peer around her shoulder and guessed it belonged to her daughter. Now I would find out if my Spanish was any good. “Señora, we are not here to harm you. We only seek the captain’s books.”

She immediately calmed and pointed to a desk. A quick search and I had the log in hand. Upon opening it, I found the ship was bound from Cadiz. Two passengers were listed – Doña Isabella De Toledo and Marianna De Toledo. I knew that name. The woman’s husband was the governor of one of the Spanish territories. I couldn’t remember which, though I did recall his reputation as a cruel and ruthless man.

I glanced back at the pair of them. So, one was an important lady, that much was clear. I passed the log and other documents to Davy. “Take them to the captain, and tell him of the passengers. I’ll keep an eye on them.”

The doña was gazing at me intently, a puzzled look on her face. As soon as Davy closed the door, she spoke. “You are not what you seem. Only a woman could tell. You are a chica, no?”

I was terrified, but I could not allow her to think I was in any way in her power. “Señora, I must insist you keep that to yourself.”

She tossed her head. “And why should I? You are nothing to me.”

I’d already guessed what the captain would do. These two would be taken aboard the Siren and held for ransom. How they would be treated in the meantime was not difficult to imagine.

“Because, señora, I and the big man who just left will keep you safe from being … maltreated … by any of our crew.” I looked at her daughter, who had now stepped fully into view. Oh, she was pretty. “Especially Marianna there.” The girl blushed furiously at my words.

The doña considered. Then: “Very well. We shall do as you ask – for now, at least.”

At that moment, the captain entered. His eyes swept over our captives, and he gave a mock bow. “So, an important lady,” he said in English. “Captain LaFarge at your service, madam. However, I must trouble you to gather your things. You will be coming with us. You have one hour.”

The doña nodded slightly. She clearly understood.

He turned to me, “You will stay here. Lock the door behind me and allow no one in without my instruction. Oh, and search for any gold.” He turned and left.

It felt like a promotion – from deckhand to guard and prize hunter.

The doña walked over to me. “Can we trust you?”

“My captain trusts me and I’ve said I and Davy will look out for your safety. You have no choice but to trust me.”

She pulled out and opened a small valise, revealing a handful of gold coins. “It is all we have. May I keep it?”

“Hide it well among your clothes. I will not speak of it to anyone. Now you must select what you need to take with you.”

For the first time, she smiled – weakly, to be sure, but at least she no longer looked frightened. “What is your name, may I ask?”

“Bren, señora.”

She took my hand. “Then thank you, Bren. And yes, I do trust you.” She turned to her daughter,

“Ven Marianna. Decidamos lo que tomará.” I busied myself searching the cabin while they packed their few possessions.

The chest was behind a curtain, and so heavy I found it impossible to move. Naturally, it was locked, but a short search of the captain’s desk soon produced a likely looking key. As soon as I had raised the lid, I realised why I had failed to move it. The treasure was covered under a pile of books, some quite massive, and I had to cast many aside before I found the bag, which held more gold coin than I had ever seen – fifty guineas at least.

All the gold and silver from the Spaniard, including the cache I had found, were loaded onto our little brig. I had no idea of how much bullion was recovered from the barrels, but I knew, from the excited chatter among the crew, it must have been a fortune. Most likely, we were richer than we had ever dreamed of.

We also took a substantial amount of powder for the guns. We even slung over one of the Spaniard’s two twelve-pounders, together with the balls for it. Once the carpenter had it fitted, it would be a great boost to our firepower. Their captain had protested – Were we not satisfied with the gold? Would we also leave him defenceless? – but he was wasting his breath.

We cast off the merchantman, the crew raising a hearty cheer as it dropped astern, and set sail for Barbuda. The crew were no trouble to our hostages. They were too busy reckoning how rich they’d become, drinking their celebratory ration of rum, and speculating how they would spend the small fortune that each now possessed. A side issue for the captain would be how many of the crew he would lose. A good portion were sure to choose a different life now that they had money, although those that did leave could soon be replaced by eager volunteers. A successful marauder always attracted men without difficulty.

The captain moved into the first mate’s cabin while the carpenter erected a light wooden partition to divide his quarters. I was to stay there with the ladies, the reasoning being that, given my youth and apparent innocence, I would not be tempted to abuse them.

I ate my meals together with the mother and daughter. At first, I felt awkward. My ways were rough and ill-mannered compared with these two cultured ladies. Isabella sensed my discomfort and made a small effort to put me at my ease.

“Bren, we are not going to judge you for your lack of etiquette,” she said. “You seem to be a very kind and caring person – for a pirate. That is what matters to us.”

It was a pleasant time. The company of these two ladies soon proved to be far more congenial than toiling on deck, and we came to know one another well over the next few days. They told me that they came from an aristocratic family near Cadiz and were travelling to join Marianna’s father, whom they both despised. As for Marianna, she’d led a sheltered life, with a private tutor who gave her lessons at home. She was pampered, but lonely.

She was thirteen years of age, as was I, but while I was thin, boyish-looking, and calloused, she was the embodiment of youthful femininity, with an emerging shapeliness, thick black hair and dark, fathomless eyes that seemed to bore into me. Several times I wondered what she was trying to see in me. Why that intense gaze?

I suppose I had been on my way to being pretty, though certainly not beautiful, before Davy had hacked off my hair. But whereas life at sea had made me hard and sinewy, Marianna, who had been nurtured like a hothouse flower, was blossoming into a full-figured woman. I continually found myself staring at her.

She had been dressed quite modestly when they had first come aboard. But now, with no men allowed in, other than the captain’s cook, she was content to appear more deshabille, in loose, low-slung bodices that revealed the slopes of her young breasts. Of course, I stole glances at them whenever her face was turned. But I was not quite sure why. Was I jealous of their size? Was I fascinated by their shape, their firmness, the shadowy rift between them? Or was it something more? Perhaps living with men for a year and listening to their bawdy stories had got me thinking like them. It was all so very odd.

One evening, as we sat and chatted about our lives, and drank more wine than we ought to have done, the conversation turned towards more intimate, womanly topics. All that did was confuse me. I had lived as a boy for so long that I had no idea of how to respond. Yet there was something strange in my attitude toward Marianna. I was beginning to think how wonderful she was.

Isabella trundled off to her cot, and when we heard her snoring softly, sedated by the wine, Marianna got up, came around the table and sat beside me. I tensed when she put her hand over mine. We looked at one another in silence before she said, thoughtfully, “I see you looking at me. It pleases me. I’ve never been kissed by anyone other than my mother. She says you’re a girl, but you’re not like any girl I’ve known. You’re much more like a handsome boy, but I think you would be more gentle than a boy. Would you like to kiss me?”

My mouth turned to ashes. I could do nothing but clear my throat and reach for my glass of wine.  How could this well-bred girl be asking another girl to kiss her? It was unheard of.

Certainly, I liked her, and the look in her eyes seemed sincere enough, but how could I judge? I was as inexperienced as she. I had once kissed a boy on the streets of Charles Town, but that was all. I didn’t count the pox-ridden sailors who had groped me in the tavern where I used to work.

But if it makes her happy, I told myself, what harm could there be? Then, too, it might make her a more cooperative prisoner. But such thoughts were merely a cover. Suddenly, the truth hit me: I wanted to kiss her.

Marianna leaned closer, inviting me to bring my lips to hers. Her small fingers touched my cheek. “Por favor,” she said.

I wasn’t sure what to expect, but it certainly was not what happened when our lips met. I had never felt such softness, and yet such pressing need. Then her arms came around me, pulling me closer.

I wondered how well I could kiss her back, but I quickly found there was nothing to it. I drew her tighter as the kiss grew more insistent. My pulse raced and my breathing grew ragged. She took my hand and placed it on her breast – the first I’d ever touched, other than my own, which of course, withstood no comparison.

Uncertainly, I dipped my hand inside her bodice, cupping a firm half-globe. Her nipple was hard beneath my palm. I squeezed it between my fingers and was rewarded by her sigh. It was something of a shock to realise that I liked touching her. This new experience was undeniably eliciting some unfamiliar feelings in me.

She began to unfasten my shirt, and that alarmed me. No one aboard ship had ever seen my breasts, which in any case were small, even before they had been bound beneath the cloth that pressed them flat to my chest. She pushed my hand away when I tried to stop her, and her hand went inside. She found the cloth and pulled it down, exposing my little nubs to her touch.

Marianna knew exactly what she was about. She must have done this before, I thought. How could it be that she’d never been kissed? She teased my jiggling tits, stoking my growing need. I nearly jumped when she squeezed a nipple. She pulled her head back and smiled at me. “Do I please you?”

She didn’t wait for an answer, but merely ducked her head and took the nipple between her lips. I was lost to her, and to the strange new feelings that were surging through me. Pleasure, yes, but also a desperate sort of ache. I didn’t know what was happening. All I knew was that the sucking lips and the flicking tongue felt wonderful.

She unfastened my belt and shoved her hand down my breeches. I’d hated being groped there in my life as a girl, but now I held my breath, wondering what it would feel like. Her fingers traced the fleshy keel between my legs. She seemed to be examining me.

“So you are a girl,” she said, smiling wickedly. “And you are ready for me, so slippery and warm.” She didn’t take her eyes away from mine as she pushed a finger into me. It was divine. She saw the pleasure that must have shown on my face. “Yes, my Bren, let yourself go. Surrender to me, my pirate boy.”

A huge jolt hit me. My eyes bulged, and I was about to cry out when her hand hastily covered my mouth. Her smile grew even broader. “You have never been loved before. I can tell. I am your first, no?”

I nodded. I couldn’t talk anyway, as her hand still covered my mouth. “Then I will make you happy,” she said. “I want to give you pleasure.”

Her fingers went on rubbing my pussy. Something strange was happening to my body. My hips were jerking of their own accord. I felt the rising pressure, and I clutched her breast as my body tightened.

“Now, my boy who is a handsome girl, it is time.”

Her lips came back to mine and she kissed me hard, her fingers went faster in my breeches, and the spasms spread from the core between my legs. I started to shake, there was a small, warm gush from my insides, and I clung to her, soaring up to heaven.

She was kissing me all over my face, her fingers caressing my cheeks, and I smelled the pungent scent that I knew was me. She pressed a finger to my lips. “Taste, my love. That is the taste of a new you.”

It was then that we heard a rustle. Hastily Marianna drew back and took a glass in her hand. I rearranged my clothes just as the screen was moved.

“Sorry, Mama. Did we wake you?” Marianna asked her.

“No, I don’t think so. A noise on deck, I think.”

Her nostrils twitched, and was that a little smile I saw?

“Marianna, will you pour me some wine, please?”

Her eyes, however, were on me. “You seem to have grown breasts,” she said. “Or perhaps your bandage has slipped.”

With a shock, I realised that she knew. I clutched at my shirt, reflexively trying to hide my identity.

“Don’t bother,” Isabella said. “But it’s strange, isn’t it – a girl in a man’s world? Tell us, Bren, how did you become a pirate? And a boy?”

Slowly, the memory came back of where it had all begun – Port Royal, Jamaica. It was barely a year ago, yet it seemed an eternity. My life now was so utterly different.

I told them my story.

On to Chapter Two!