Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

For a more detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by kinkychic and kinky’s_sis

Chapter Five: Daphne Joins the Siren

Mary Read: Soldier, Sailor, Housewife, Pirate. When the pirate ship was attacked, only three were prepared to defend it – and two of them were women! NB: scan of small illustration.

Marianna, I, and a few others transferred to the Majestic. The Siren would stay out of the harbour but within signal range. I was relieved to see the harbour was clear of other ships, though it quickly became obvious that all was not well. We could see smoke billowing high in several places, and the breeze carried the sound of musket fire.

“Mister Halcombe,” I said, “signal the Siren to follow us after all and call the hands to quarters.”

No sooner had we dropped anchor than a boat left the jetty and headed towards us. I was astonished to see my old friend John Rudge standing in the thwarts.

“My God, I thought that was the Siren astern,” he said directly as he came aboard. “And you, Captain and Marianna, both safe and well after we thought you had perished. A fisherman reported seeing you in battle with the King’s Navy. We’ve heard no more of you since that day and feared for the worst.”

“We are fine, John, but I feel the same cannot be said for here. What is happening?”

“Slave trouble. A few dozen have gone on a rampage here in Road Town. We fear that more might join them. We have been able to hold them back in some places, but I’m not sure we can for much longer.”

“Tell me, John, would we be allowed to land my men? We can assist your small garrison.” He was quick to agree.

We used every ship’s boat plus a few sent out to us. Soon, there were about a hundred heavily armed men gathered on the foreshore. An extremely relieved-looking sergeant and his squad lined up in front of us.

“We have them cornered in one section of the town, but I don’t have sufficient men to attack,” he said. “I believe they may be ready to break out again anytime soon. That’s when others may be persuaded to join them, and then things will really turn nasty.”

I suppose we presented a motley-looking crowd. Pirates haven’t the slightest notion of how to march. But they know how to make a lot of noise.

The shouting and jeering from behind the barricades came to a sudden stop when the slaves saw the mass of muskets and swords pointed at them as we rounded the corner.

Davy rolled the small two-pounder swivel cannon out in front of us. The master gunner had mounted it on a set of wheels. Now he sighted it on the largest barricade, making a great show of loading it and holding a smoking taper above the touch hole.

I called for quiet, waited for thirty seconds, then, “Prepare to fire.” I raised my sword high in the air.

The first musket flew over the barricade and clattered to the ground. Others, together with pistols and swords quickly followed. A couple of shots still came from another barricade. “Resight the gun,” I ordered. “And sergeant, have your men fire a volley at that barricade, but aim high if you please. I’m aiming to frighten them out, not to kill them.”

Twelve muskets make a lot of smoke and noise when fired in unison.

As the smoke cleared, I repeated my previous orders. The gunner began to lower the taper towards the cannon. I thought for a moment that this time we were going to have to fire. But once again, weapons were thrown out.

The sergeant shouted the order, “Present.” Twelve reloaded muskets aimed at the barricade.

“Don’t give the order to fire, Sergeant.”

More weapons were thrown. Then the barricades started to come down before slaves slowly emerged with their hands held high in the air. They were in a pitiful state, most of them underfed and overworked. I turned to the sergeant and John.

“It’s the owners of this lot that want shooting,” I said, “not these poor buggers.”

The sergeant nodded his head, but then said, “I hope they haven’t killed anyone though, or they’ll hang… the lot of them!”

It was a dreadful sight. I could fully understand why there were revolts, and I was developing a deep hatred of slavery.

The rebels were soon rounded up and marched away, the fight completely gone from them. A few, no doubt, had managed to steal away. Some bore wounds, but thankfully, I saw no dead.

“Where can I get horses, John? We must get to the M & B.”

A short while later, my men were all back on board the two ships. Halcombe had thought I might grant them some time ashore by watch. But I thought not, as tensions were still running high. The last thing we needed was any of our lot getting drunk and causing trouble.

I took six men with us who were capable riders. It wasn’t very long before we arrived at the plantation gates – Tortola is not a large island. We were met by Josh and a few others, all brandishing muskets. I saw the relief on Josh’s face when he recognised Marianna and me.

There was a sudden screech, and Daphne, flying through the doors, rushed into Marianna’s waiting arms.

***

A meeting with Josh and John established that, at least for the time being, the trouble was over. John intended to pursue a point of censure with the island’s proprietary council against the two owners of the slaves who had taken part in the revolt, whose barbaric treatment could only lead to further troubles.

Marianna told Josh she was gifting him the plantation, as she was now wealthy enough that she no longer needed it. All that was required was John’s reassurance he could work out an agreement.

Daphne came to see us whilst Marianna was collecting a few more of her things. “I want to come with you,” she said. “It’s driving me mad here. I must get away.”

How would I explain to the men that I was bringing yet another female aboard? Marianna hit on the answer. “They don’t mind Anne being on board. In faith, she’s probably the most dangerous among us. They see her as a true pirate. She doesn’t seem to be getting any better, not as the surgeon thought. Could we not say that Daphne has been engaged to care for her?”

It was a grand idea. Quite what we would do with Daphne later on, I was uncertain, but I supposed we could postpone a decision on the matter.

I was surprised when Josh and his wife seemed happy enough to let her go.

“They have found out about my wanting a woman to love,” Daphne explained. “My mother wants me gone. She do love me, but she don’t want the shame. It’s how they be.”

Thus it was settled. She would come with us.

Back in Road Town, a crowd of citizens gathered to see us off. The elected head of the council proclaimed we were welcome in Tortola, whenever and whatever our circumstances. “And bugger the British!” he added.

We also gained another eleven experienced crewmen, which would ease Jensen’s under-manning problem.

Our story explaining Daphne’s presence raised no comment, although she did get a few whistles. Had she been white, I’m sure, we would have seen her blush. She scampered off with Marianna as fast as possible.

Our carpenter had built a small cabin for Anne. He now added a top bunk for Daphne. It was a tight squeeze, but there was little enough room on the Siren. They would have to manage.

Daphne was shocked at Anne’s appearance. She quickly checked the invalid’s pulse, looking into her eyes and mouth. She seemed to know what she was doing. Then she sniffed and tasted the tonic the surgeon had left. She shook her head. “No good,” she said. She would fetch something better if there were time enough for Davy to take her back to the jetty.

Later, we caught the evening breeze, which was strong enough to put us on a good north-easterly course and give us a wide berth around the most northerly islands.

***

We had been beating slowly north for six days when daybreak revealed a small ship almost on a collision course with us. The entire crew must have been asleep, or drunk, for no alarm was given as the Siren and Majestic came either side of her.

We hoisted our black colours before firing a blank charge. That brought the crew pouring onto the deck. Half a minute later, she hoisted her own colours, a full skeleton on a black flag. Not a flag I knew. One man, obviously the captain, looked about, sizing up his situation. He wisely decided on discretion being the more sensible course.

“Captain Lowther of Happy Delivery.” He wasn’t sure which of our ships to address.

I may not have known of his flag, but I certainly knew of George Lowther, if only by reputation. He was said to be reasonable and fair. It was his first mate, Low, who was nasty business, somewhat akin to Charles Vane, but worse.

I was about to reply when he turned to speak directly to me. “That flag – you’re the Siren, I’m thinkin’. Is it Captain Bren I have the honour of addressing?”

We spoke of a few minor matters before he asked if I were heading up the Carolinas way. In response to my affirmative, he called, “May I suggest, Captain, you might want to reconsider. There is nowhere safe to harbour. The coastal counties have joined forces to clamp down on piracy. At least thirty have been hanged this last six months. We are heading south, for Venezuela.”

“It’s just as bad in the Caribbean,” I warned him. “Take a wide berth before you cut to the mainland.”

When he had gone on his way, I summoned Jensen.

“We have a problem, Tom,” I said. “We have to keep out of sight for three months. North, it seems, is now out of the question.”

“Could we not return to the safe anchorage we used on the Amazon river? No one is likely to stumble across us there.”

“We could, but it will be a long and tedious wait for the men. Perhaps I will have to ask them. Return to Majestic and bring her as close as you can, the sea is flat enough. I would prefer all the men hear what I have to say at the same time.”

When the crews were gathered on deck, I told them of the dangers we faced both north and south. I reminded them of the possibility of a pardon that might be coming our way, which would allow them, legally, to take what was owed them and do as they wished.

“I want to take us back to the Amazon and hide away for three months. It will be a difficult time for us all, but we will be safe. The potential reward is huge. Will you take ten minutes to discuss and decide?”

They took barely five. It was nearly unanimous. South we would go.

*** 

We found a corner of the bay that we hadn’t observed on our previous excursion. It seemed ideal. Here, the water was clear of the mud from the Amazon, and neither was it salt.

For the moment, though, each ship dropped only one anchor. I sent out four patrols, each with six well-armed men who were to scour the area to at least a two-mile distance to ensure we were alone. Certainly, the beach showed no signs of anyone having been there for a considerable time.

One patrol reported a native village three miles to the west, close to the main channel of the river. It was fortunate Taylor had led this patrol, as, being a calm and deliberative sort, he was apt to observe strangers before drawing his sword. He told me the villagers were not the least warlike, as Roberts had suggested they were. They were mainly fishermen, but they knew the forest well. They spoke some Portuguese and a little Spanish. A village elder had told Taylor we were welcome in the bay and the surrounding forest, but we were not to come to their village.

He then went a bit shy on me. “What is it, Taylor? Is there something wrong?” I asked him.

“Not so as you’d say, Cap’ain. The old’un said that some of their girls might want to visit with the men, if you knows what I mean. But not the men to go there. Er… there were some good lookers an’ all.”

I decided we were safe enough here. I would have a few shelters built among the trees. It would be better than being confined to the ship the whole time, though I did insist that there be one watch on board at all times.

It appeared Daphne’s medicine was indeed more effective than the Navy doctor’s. Anne seemed to be improving, though she remained weak. I had a small hut built for her, reasoning the fresh air under the trees might help.

“Have you seen how Daphne is with Anne?” Marianna asked me one sultry evening. “She’s become most possessive. I don’t believe Anne has noticed yet.”

“Yes, I have seen, and I think you’re wrong about Anne. I saw her reach for Daphne’s hand and hold it as she went into a sleep. I think we made a good choice, letting Daphne come along.”

***

Daphne awoke with a start. She ached from having fallen asleep in the chair alongside her patient’s cot. She let go of Anne’s hand to rub her neck and have a good stretch. Glancing down, she found Anne staring at her. 

Anne had hardly ever spoken, nor did she now. Instead, she reached out with a trembling hand to Daphne’s cheek, touching it briefly. Then she struggled to move her body to one side of the cot. 

“You wish me to lie with you, yes?” Daphne asked.

Lifting her hand again, Anne gave the merest nod.

Daphne took the offered hand. “I been waiting for you to ask.” 

Daphne lay down beside Anne and snuggled herself close. Anne had closed her eyes, but there was a weak smile on her face. Daphne summoned her courage, then leaned closer to press her lips to Anne’s cheek. Anne gave Daphne’s hand a slight squeeze before they both went to sleep.

The next morning Daphne was up early heating water, for she intended to give Anne a proper wash. A sound from the hut made her rush inside. Anne was trying to prop herself up in the cot. It was the first time she had attempted to sit up.

“Good morning, Miss,”’ Daphne said. “You seem stronger today. Shall I fetch you some water?” 

Parting her lips, Anne struggled a moment, then managed to ask, “Is there any coffee?”

Daphne gasped and seized Anne’s hand. “I like how you talk,” she said. “It sound strange, but I do like.”

“’Tis Irish,” Anne said, with a rare smile. “You kissed me goodnight; would you kiss me good morning and stop yer jabbering?”

This time, Daphne leaned in and gave Anne a proper kiss, soft and protracted. When she pulled back, Anne was once again staring at her. “You and me girlie, are we gonna fuck when I have the strength?”

Daphne clapped her hands. “Oh, yes, Miss Anne, we fuck for sure.”

“And you’re not a shy one. We’re gonna do just fine, I can feel it. Now, about that coffee?”

“I fetch. Then I give you a proper wash.”

The brew revived Anne’s spirits and gave her strength enough to sit up. Daphne spread towels on the bed and removed her charge’s soiled gown, pleased to see the unmistakable sign of convalescence – a bit more weight here and there. Anne never took her eyes off the girl’s face, probing the desire in her eyes. For the first time in her life, she felt tenderness and realised she didn’t just want to fuck this pretty black girl, she wanted to love her. What’s more, she wanted her love in return. It was an astonishing revelation. Even in her poorly condition, she felt the familiar stirrings as Daphne washed her body. Her nipples stiffened under the girl’s touch.

“Are you going to wash me, or rub my tits away?” she asked.

“Sorry,” Daphne replied, “but they so nice.” With that, she lowered her head and took a nipple into her mouth. Her tongue circled the hard tip, then she sucked. Glancing up, she saw Anne’s eyes were closed. The look of pleasure encouraged her.

With a sigh, she lifted her head. “I must behave and let you rest while I wash.”

She bathed Anne from top to tail before easing her legs a little wider. She paused for a moment, then fetched her barbering kit. This was a task she was well familiar with. Anne’s unruly thatch was quickly tamed, and Daphne’s expert razor made short work of what remained, leaving just a tidy stripe. 

Daphne sat back and admired her artistry. “There. Your pretty pussy is now to be seen. Now I finish your wash.”

“You are very skilled at that,” Anne said. 

Daphne realised that, of course, Anne knew almost nothing about her. “I worked for Doña Marianna. I have done it many times. I am no longer her maid. It was my choice to come and look after you.”

By now, Daphne was gently sponging Anne’s pussy. She hesitated when she saw the clit, not daring to touch it until Anne whispered, “Please.”

Her resolve instantly dissipated. She savoured the warmth as she bent low to draw the swelling nub between her lips, her heart pounding all the while. At least, she had at last found someone who might become hers alone. She sucked and teased more insistently, and Anne raised a soft moan. Now Daphne would use all her skills. She would make this woman hers.

Gently, she eased two fingers into Anne’s cunt, a slow, rhythmic pumping as her tongue worked its magic. She didn’t want to prolong Anne’s arousal, though. The woman wasn’t yet strong enough. She needn’t have worried, for Anne, deprived of lustful delights for an age, could not hold out. A hand fluttering at Daphne’s cheek, a whispered “Fuck!” – and she was coming.

Daphne watched as Anne relaxed. The woman’s eyes remained closed, and within seconds she was asleep. A final gentle wipe with the sponge, and Daphne pulled the light sheet up to cover her. Outside, she picked a forest blossom, fetching it back to lay it on the pillow beside her lover’s head.

***

The weeks slipped by without incident. The men seemed remarkably at ease with their situation, and the food was good. The natives had shown them how to catch wild boar, which they roasted over an open fire. They built more permanent huts, although no one was quite sure why. Many learned to swim, something that very few seamen were actually capable of. Others were happy to sit on a rock, fishing and smoking a pipe of the natives’ outstanding tobacco.

An ancient tribeswoman came to see Anne. With much foul-smelling smoke, potions and incantations, she worked her own sort of magic. No doubt it was the potions, rather than her guttural chanting, but Anne’s health improved rapidly. The first time she made an appearance outside her hut, there were shouts and cheers from the men present. She gave them the finger, and the cheering redoubled. Where once she would have scowled, now she smiled. Anne was back from the dead, yet changed.

A few nights later, as we sat around  fire on the beach, she told the story of her and Rackham’s capture.

“We were at Jamaica, anchored at Bry Harbour. There weren’t many on board that night. Them that was, was stone-drunk. They been out on the town with a gang of turtle fishermen and some other mates. Then Jonathan Barnet heard tell we was there and found us.

“He attacked with cannon first. Jack cut the anchor cable and tried to run, but it was no bloody good. The crew were too drunk to man the ropes, and Barnet boarded us in short order. Those cowardly drunks had gone and hid below. What the fuck good they thought that would do, fuck only knows.”

She paused for a moment’s reflection. “There was only three of us sober – me, Noah and Mary. We screamed at the curs to come up and help us fight, but they stayed put, shiverin’, no doubt. We fought alone. Three against twenty was hopeless, and we was soon done for.

“We were taken to Port Royal. I only saw Jack the once, the day they took him out to hang. I told him blunt, ‘If you’d fought like a man, you wouldn’t be hanging like a dog.’”

She turned to face me. “You, Cap’n, you told him to stay away from Jamaica. He didn’t listen, and now they’s all dead.” She looked at Daphne, sitting close by her side, “All except me. You lot rescued me. This girl saved me.”

There was silence. We had all liked Calico Jack, but the manner of his capture was a shock. Most would have expected better of him.

Anne got to her feet. “I’m feelin’ spent. You want to help me, sweet girlie?”

Some of us gave a knowing look, but none spoke. The men were now accustomed to seeing women together. Besides, few dared comment within the hearing of Anne Bonny.

***

At last, our exile was over. It was time to sail for Bermuda and to discover where our future lay.

We had lost only two men, lured away by native girls. Even the thought of the gold they were giving up didn’t tempt them. When I saw the girls, I understood. They were quite beautiful. And as Davy said, such men would likely have drunk themselves to death.

We left our sanctuary and eased slowly into the Amazon. The lookouts reported no sails in sight. The current further from the shore assisted the light wind in whisking us out to sea.

Getting to Bermuda was sure to be dangerous. We’d have to pass many islands, almost none of which would look kindly on our presence. I decided on a northerly route that would take us around the western tip of Cuba. We would then have a relatively straight eastward run out into the Atlantic. The most pressing danger would come from the Spanish ships plying the lanes between Florida, New Spain and Cuba.

Experienced Caribbean sailors know that a powerful current sweeps easterly just above Cuba. It then swings sharply northward up the coast of Florida. It could add almost five knots to the speed of a ship. Once again, we would be passing our hidden treasure. I pondered on whether we should stop to check on it, but decided not. Nothing would change the gold being there or not, and we might draw attention to its location.

Luck was with us, or so it seemed. We had safely rounded Cuba and were beating east, making good time in a stiff breeze. Then, as the sun broke the horizon – “Deck ho, many sail to larboard.” And a moment later: “They’re all over the place, too many to count and there’s land behind ’em!”

I knew at once I had misjudged the current and allowed us to be pushed too far north. That land must be Florida, and we were running headlong into a Spanish flotilla.

“All hands, action stations! Mister Halcombe, look to the sails, as much as we can carry. Master, bring us to a southeasterly course.” The hands complied, and the Siren and Majestic flew across the waves.

Maybe, just maybe, the Spanish might decide there was little to gain by pursuing us. But it was soon apparent that two large frigates were giving chase. I was at a loss as to why they were bothering, but the fact remained: we were in trouble. I wracked my brain for an answer but could find only one, and it was folly. We would head directly for the Bahamas, which would put us at risk of running straight into even more powerful British ships.

My main concern was that if we lost the Florida current, the Spaniards would quickly overtake us. Even now I could feel the Siren slowing. The Spanish captains almost certainly knew these waters better than I, for they didn’t follow us directly. Rather, they kept their ships to a slightly more northerly course, running parallel to us and gaining on us by the minute. Soon, they would tack and cut across our bows.

One initiated a manoeuvre, while the other carried on. What were they doing? Then it dawned on me. The first would cross close to our stern, and the second would head across our bows. We would be caught between two broadsides, and much bigger than ours. I guessed they carried thirty guns apiece. Our only chance was to more or less repeat something we’d done before – with one crucial difference.

“Signal Captain Jensen to tack to larboard — now.” I waited only until the signal flags were ready and on their way up.

“Mister Halcombe, let wind slip from the sails to slow us quickly. Then we will tack. Majestic and Siren will approach the Spaniard on either side of her. Guns, load the twelve-pounder with chain shot and aim for her masts. I shall veer away to give you an early shot. Then we’ll come back on course. Ready the nine-pounders with chain-shot as well.”

The difference between this engagement and our attack on the English frigate would be the twelve-pounder aimed at the rigging. With the Englishman, we had fired at the waterline.

I hoped Jensen had thought to load with heavy shot, but it didn’t matter much. I was out to disable the frigate, not sink her.

The second Spaniard had by now overshot us by a mile. He was out of the fight, at least for now. For the moment, we had but one to contend with.

On to Chapter Six!

Note from JetBoy: You may remember Rosey M from her delightful tale of the confusion and joy of first-time lesbian love, “What’s With That Girl?” I’ve hoped ever since to see her grace us with something new, and now she has: the first book of a novel that draws heavily on her own experiences as a young girl, growing up gay with her lesbian sister and disturbed mother. It’s very different from her previous story and, in my humble opinion, even better. Don’t miss this one, readers.

I should mention that this is a slow burning story, one that takes its sweet time getting to the actual sex. If that’s a problem, go read something else, preferably at a different website. The rest of you, please stick around — it’s going to be well worth it.

Rosey wishes to extend heartfelt thanks to BlueJean for editing this story.

by Rosey M

March 14, 1996 – Ashley

It’s funny; I remember that night like it happened just yesterday. I was lying on the floor in my room when Mom threw the door open and told me that her water broke. She was upset and in pain, and I had no clue what I was supposed to do.

I called Mom’s friend Heather, and she wanted to know where my dad was. I told her truthfully that he’d already left for the bar. She didn’t sound very happy about it, and Mom took a break from hyperventilating to shoot me a warning glare. What, was I supposed to lie? She assured me the baby would be fine, which wasn’t something I was all that worried about to begin with.

Eventually Heather came to pick Mom up, and I was left behind to track down Dad.

I dusted off the Yellow Pages to start calling bars in the area, and eventually found the one he was in. After a quick explanation he hung up the phone, and half an hour later came by the house to grab some things for Mom. He cracked me upside the head shortly after he got in for ‘saying things I didn’t need to be saying’. Apparently he called the hospital to check in, and Heather got hold of the phone to chew him out. Eventually he left, and I went to bed.

I didn’t want to consider the ways my life was about to change, and I fell asleep thinking about how unnecessary this new member of our family would be. I barely registered in my parents’ eyes; no way would this kid get treated any better.

***

Dad came home in the morning to tell me my new sister was born, then without any other details, told me to clean the house while Mom was gone.

I did as he said, and in addition to the cleaning, I prepared quick meals for both of us, because he wouldn’t cook.

I had to wait until he left the house before I could vacuum the floor – he absolutely hated the noise; especially when he came home late, reeking of booze. Listening to the crackle of the vacuum across the carpet, I couldn’t stop thinking about this sister I now had. Why were they getting her? Was I not good enough for them? I mean, I know Dad didn’t think I was worth more than the crud on his boot soles, but I thought Mom valued me at least a little!

I spent the rest of the day fuming about how little I mattered to anyone. Late at night, as I was lying in bed, I did my best to stifle my frustrated sobs, the sound of the slamming front door resounding through the house as Dad returned from one of his drinking sessions.

***

The following day, my mom called and told me that I could come and see them.

Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the car with my dad, trying to ignore the smoke from the cigarette between his fingers. He complained about all the trouble this new kid would bring into our lives; how there would be less money and food for everyone, how the screaming and crying would keep us all up at night, how I’d have more responsibility, and how all the attention I usually got would go to my sister instead. It was too early to risk the smack he was trying to goad me into earning, so I just bit my tongue.

Besides, what attention? In the seven and a half years of my life up to that point, Mom and Dad hardly noticed me. Heck, I can barely remember the times when they did. Mom loves to brag about what a well-behaved girl I was, like she had anything to do with it. But that aside, Dad made some good points. I already hadn’t wanted a little sister; now I wanted one even less.

We eventually got to the hospital and found our way to the maternity unit. Once we reached Mom’s room, my eyes immediately locked onto her face. She looked tired, but so happy and content as she held the baby to her exposed breast. I felt a twinge of jealousy as I watched them; Mom never looked at me like that.

Once the baby was done suckling, she motioned for me to come closer. I approached the bed and let her place the baby into my arms. “Ashley, this is your little sister, Rhonda.”

As I looked down at the bundle in my arms, I was immediately struck with a feeling of revulsion. This… this thing was supposed to be my baby sister? I figured it must be some sort of weird joke. But nobody was laughing, and it eventually dawned on me that they were completely serious.

Mom reached over to lightly hug me against her for a moment, then took Rhonda back. She was showing so much love and adoration for this creature. She even began talking to it in a stupid baby voice. “Rhonda, that’s your big sister Ashley! She’s gonna protect you, juuuuuust like a big sister should!”

I had to hold back a snort. That was never going to happen.

***

February 25, 1997 – Ashley

A lot had changed over the course of a year. Mom cooed and fawned over Rhonda for the first few months, while I did my best to make myself scarce around the little beast. My hair certainly doesn’t miss the feel of those grabby little monster hands as they roughly grasped handfuls back in those days. The smile she’d look up at me with was the only thing stopping me from getting too mad whenever she did it.

Mom eventually started bugging me to help take care of Rhonda – I guess the excitement of having a new baby doesn’t last forever. Especially when the constant crying began, and Rhonda would go at it for hours. I wanted to scream back at her to just shut up, but somehow I always stopped myself. I mean, it wasn’t the baby’s fault that Mom didn’t know how to take care of her.

Oddly enough, Rhonda would always stop crying if I was the one to hold her and try to calm her down. Her hands would cling to my hair – thankfully, she was a lot gentler by that point – and she’d settle down and cuddle into me. Mom said it was ‘meant to be’, and that’s why it was ‘only right that you spend more time with your sister’. I was taught how to change her diapers, how to prepare her food, how to play with her, and even how to bathe her.

At first I hated it. I hated how my whole life had changed because of a choice my parents made, and how their responsibility was pushed on me because they didn’t care enough to bother. I could barely find time to go outside and play, because there was a baby at home who I knew wouldn’t be looked after properly if I stayed out for too long.

Once I found a way to balance school and look after my baby sister, I found I was okay with how things turned out. The first time Rhonda pointed at me and addressed me as “Ah!” was one of the best days of my life, and I wouldn’t have that memory if she hadn’t been born.

By then, I was happy to be there for Rhonda; she’d never have to experience being alone, wondering if anyone cared about her. I loved her more than anything in the world; she’d always have big sister Ashley to look after her.

That day, I was sitting watching TV while Rhonda sat by my feet playing with her blocks on the floor. She looked so adorable crawling around in front of me, wearing the red jumper I picked out for her that morning.

Then Mom entered the room, interrupting our peaceful time together. I was immediately hit with the smell of cheap booze. She and Dad had started fighting again, and she always got hammered after an especially bad one. It was so gross to have to be around that kind of thing, day in and day out.

“How are my girls doing?” Mom slurred, scooping Rhonda off the floor and rocking her in her arms.

Rhonda started crying and reaching her arms out toward me. “Ah! Ah!”

She’d only been in the room a few seconds, and already managed to upset Rhonda. I angrily held out my hands toward my mother. “You made her cry. Give her to me.”

Mom made no move to hand her over, so I stood up and pulled Rhonda out of her arms. She didn’t try to stop me. Instead, she slumped onto the couch and put her face in her hands, sobbing almost as loudly as Rhonda. I cradled my sister in my arms, whispering words of comfort to her until she finally stopped crying.

I smiled down at Rhonda, giving her cheek a little poke. She giggled back at me as she swiped for my finger. “Ah!”

“Yes, it’s your Ashley, Rhonda!”

Rhonda laughed happily and called out, “Ash!”

She’d just said my name!

Mom was still crying, the hitch of her voice growing more frequent after my baby sister’s unexpected first word. Maybe she was upset because it wasn’t ‘Mama’ or ‘Dada’ Rhonda had called out, I don’t know. But of course Rhonda would say my name instead of theirs. She was mine, after all.

I bounced Rhonda in my arms, cooing to draw her attention while Mom sobbed next to us. Thankfully, I had my little sister’s chubby little cheeks to keep me occupied as she smiled lovingly up at me.

She was so cute; the only thing that made me feel like my life meant anything. If only it could last forever.

***

June 6, 2001 – Rhonda

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch!”

“Fuck you!”

The sound of glass smashing always triggers one of my earliest memories, and I can’t help but think back to that night. It was what finally made me take my blanket with me as I crawled under my bed to curl into a ball.

I hated when my parents would fight like that; their constant shouting only got worse as the night dragged on. I was scared, but I couldn’t do anything to stop them.

A couple of months prior, I tried to get in between them after they’d started drinking, but Dad screamed at me, swatting me on the butt so hard I cried. My sister Ashley shrieked and launched herself at him, but he struck her in the face, knocking her to the ground. Mom got even madder and started throwing things at him. Everything gets hazy after that.

I couldn’t stand the fighting, but when I tried to intervene, I always seemed to make everything worse. I could never do anything right with them.

I wasn’t able to fight my tears, body quivering as I quietly cried in the safety of my hiding spot. My bedroom door opened a crack and a small, silent figure slipped in. Bare feet came to a stop in front of my bed, and I felt myself tensing. I was pretty sure it was the one person I could always rely on to comfort me, but I could never be completely certain without hearing her say my name.

“Rhonda?” a gentle voice called out to me, and I could feel my body immediately relax.

“I’m down here, Ashley.”

My eleven-year-old sister fell to her knees to peer under the bed, her dark eyes gleaming in the glow of the streetlight outside. I could just barely make out the design of her apple-print pajamas, and the loose black hair that hid part of her face until she brushed it back behind her ear.

She shimmied under the bed to join me. I didn’t resist when she took one end of the blanket from me, pulling it over herself. I felt one of her arms wrap around my shoulders to draw me near, and I huddled against her; melting into the warmth and safety she offered.

As long as I can remember, Ashley has been there to protect me. Mom and Dad never seemed to have much time to spend with me, too busy screaming at each other to even look in my direction. But not Ashley – she’s the best sister a girl could ever want.

She’d listen to me whenever I’d tell her all the fun I had playing with my friends, or ask me what I learned at school that day. She was always happy to play silly games, or sit and watch my favorite movies with me. When I cried, she held me and wiped my tears, her hugs so tight I felt like she wanted to squeeze and squeeze and never let go.

I never minded that all-encompassing embrace. To this day, I love how protected it makes me feel. She’d laugh when I did something funny, and was always smiling when she saw me happy. She was there when I needed to be told everything is okay, and I always believed her.

I don’t know how long we’d been lying there when I realized the house had gone quiet. Ashley’s fingers were stroking my hair as I rested my head against her.

“Do you think they’re done?” I murmured.

My sister’s fingers paused for the briefest of moments before continuing their soothing task. “Yeah, they’ve either made up or passed out. But they’re not going to shout anymore tonight. You’re safe, Rhonda. I’m here.”

The calm surety of her words helped erase some of the lingering tension in the air, and I could feel myself getting sleepy as we lay under the bed together. “Can you stay here tonight?”

I heard Ashley’s small laugh as she tightened her arms around me. “Of course, Rhonda. I’m not leaving you.”

I whispered, “Good night. I love you, Ashley.”

I could feel her body tremble against mine before relaxing. As I dozed off, my mind dimly registered Ashley saying, “I love you too, Rhonda. I’ll love you forever.”

She’s always been so sweet…

***

February 13, 2003 – Rhonda

As I entered the classroom that day and took my jacket off, I noticed the teacher had put all kinds of colored construction paper and art supplies on our desks. I’ve always loved art. Maybe not as much as my sister Ashley does, but she taught me how fun it could be to make things with your own two hands.

Our teacher Ms. Walker waited for everyone to take their seats before she addressed us. “Okay, class! Since it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow, we’re going to be making cards to take home to our families.

“Everyone take a few pieces of construction paper, and start thinking about what you want to make. I’ll be going around the room to check on you all, but if you need any help, just raise your hand.”

After a minute of deliberation, I grabbed four different colors. I wanted to make a red and pink card for Mom, and a black and orange one for Ashley. She’s always loved spooky and dark things, so I was sure she’d like it!

I went to work, deciding to do Ashley’s card first. After a while, Ms. Walker approached and knelt down to examine my work. “That looks really nice, Rhonda! Is Ashley your sister?”

I nodded enthusiastically in response. “Yup! I love her a lot, so I want to make a card with her favorite colors on it!”

Ms. Walker squeezed my shoulder and said, “Well, I’m sure she’ll really appreciate the personal touch! Let me know if I can help with anything, okay?” But even as she moved away to check on my classmates, I knew I would never ask. That was mine to work on; nobody could make a card for Ashley but me!

***

The next day, I gave Mom her card before school. She thanked me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Ashley’s class was on a field trip that day and she had to leave early in the morning, so I had to give her the card after school instead.

In spite of barely getting to see Ashley, it was a very fun day! We had paper bags shaped like hearts taped to our desks and everyone went around putting Valentine’s Day cards into them. Everyone seemed to like the Sailor Moon cards I gave out, and I got some really cool ones, too! The Monsters Inc. ones were probably my favorite; I adored Sulley!

It didn’t hurt my good mood that the chocolate and cupcakes we had in class were really good as well! I always thought it was so cool how some of the kid’s parents would bring in treats like that for all of us. I couldn’t wait to see Ashley to tell her all about it!

I could hear the TV playing loudly in the living room as soon as I got home. I quietly hung my jacket, then tiptoed through the hallway so I could surprise Ashley. Right as I reached the door, she called out my name. How’d she know I was there!? I leapt into the living room yelling, “Here I am!”

Ashley shrieked and bolted upright, pulling her hand hastily out from under her skirt, then flattening the fabric against her thighs. “Rhonda! When did you get home!?”

I stood in front of her, puzzled. “What do you mean? You knew I was home; you just called out to me.”

Her cheeks reddened. “A-anyway! Never mind that. What’s up? How was school today?”

I wanted to ask why she seemed so flustered, but I shrugged it off and smiled at her. “It was amazing! I got lots of cards, and we ate chocolate. Oh! I have a gift for you! Let me go get it!”

I hurried to my room to grab her card. When I brought it over to the couch, my sister was looking far more calm and composed than she’d been thirty seconds before.

As I sat next to her and handed over the card, I felt the warmth of her body through the fabric of her skirt. Ashley opened up her Valentine’s gift and just stared in silence at what I’d written. I started to get nervous. Didn’t she like it?

“Is something wrong, Ashley?”

She turned her head to gaze at me, and I was shocked to see tears in her eyes. “No, nothing’s wrong. I love it, Rhonda. I love you. Thank you so much for the card. Wait right here.”

She bolted off the couch and went to her room, returning a short while later to hand me a chocolate heart wrapped in red paper. Wiping her eyes, she gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Rhonda. I wish I’d thought a little harder this year, and made you something as nice as you made me. But this is all I got for you.”

I took my gift and put it on the coffee table, then launched myself into her for a big hug. “This is plenty! You know I love chocolate, Ashley. Thanks so much!”

Ashley held me tightly, and we lay on the couch together, contentedly enjoying each other’s warmth in front of the TV until Mom got home and shooed us upstairs to tidy up our rooms.

***

September 17, 2004 – Rhonda

I giggled as I skillfully evaded my friend Maria’s swiping hand. We were at the playground playing cops and robbers with other kids from school, and I’d quickly proved my mettle as one of the quickest thieves around.

Our backpacks were scattered into various piles on the ground as bags of loot, and my skill at snatching them up and safely making it back to home base under the slide was unparalleled. I was the greatest!

I deposited my ill-gotten gains and jumped back into the fray.

I sprinted toward the farthest pile, untouched since nobody else was willing to risk the extra distance. As I grabbed one of the bags and began to make my journey back, I was set upon by three kids at once, all intent on stopping the most notorious robber in the realm. Didn’t they know they could never catch Rapid Rhonda!?

I faked like I was going to run past to the left, then as they moved to stop me, broke fast and rushed past their right side instead. As they hollered and gave chase again, I laughed triumphantly, reveling in their futile attempts to apprehend me.

Suddenly, I thought I felt the weight of a familiar gaze on me, and in that moment turned my head to look back at my hapless pursuers. I can only assume that lapse in concentration caused my foot to hit a loose scattering of pebbles. I slipped and began to tumble forward, my hands held out in an attempt to break my fall. My right hand and knee scraped along the rough concrete as I came to an abrupt halt.

A voice was yelling my name, but I couldn’t focus on it due to the stinging pain. Everyone winced and sucked air through their teeth before crowding around to see if I was okay.

Thankfully, the backpack in my left hand cushioned the fall, preventing any further injuries. I let it go and rolled over to grab my leg, rocking back and forth in pain. It was only bleeding a little, but the skin on my knee was bright red and badly scraped, as was the palm of my right hand.

My eyes watered from the stinging sensation, but in the distance I saw a dark figure sprinting across the playground toward us. It was Ashley.

As she got closer, the crowd parted, and she immediately dropped to her knees to inspect the damage. The panic in her face slowly evaporated when she saw the extent of my injuries, and she cradled my body against hers. “Oh, Rhonda. That looks like it really hurts! Are you okay?”

I nodded, trying to put on a brave front, but my tearful eyes gave me away. Ashley wrapped my arms around her neck, then hoisted me onto her back as she straightened up. She asked Susie to go get my backpack for me, so my friend hurried off to retrieve it.

As Ashley told them I was done playing for the day, and that she’d be taking me home, I found myself tuning everyone else out, until only my big sister was left. All I could focus on was the warmth of Ashley’s body, which made the throbbing in my hand and knee seem unimportant.

Ashley released one of my legs to take my backpack from Susie, hanging it on her arm while she supported my body. I waved mutely to the other kids as we left. What must they have thought of me for getting so cocky, then wiping out like a dork? God, I was so embarrassed I could die!

I buried my face in Ashley’s neck as she carried me from the playground and onto the sidewalk. I breathed in her familiar scent, and found it helped keep me from worrying about my cuts and scrapes. Nothing else has ever soothed quite like being close to my sister.

But I couldn’t figure out why she was even there to begin with. She was sixteen by then; much too grown up to want to play kiddie games with us, and I hadn’t seen her at any point before or during. “Were you there the whole time, Ashley? I didn’t see you.”

She gently squeezed my thighs, a chuckle escaping her lips. “Yeah, I was watching the whole thing from the bench across the playground. I wanted to check up on you. You were fast! Faster than all the other kids. Sucks about your fall at the end there; it’s a drag your streak ended like that.”

“But aren’t you too old to watch us play? Must’ve been boring.”

Ashley gave a thoughtful hum, then shrugged. “I mean, I wouldn’t watch if it was just a bunch of random kids, but it’s never boring when you’re there. I love watching you in your element like that; you always look so happy.”

There wasn’t much I could say to that, so I just allowed my sister to carry me the rest of the way home, warmed inside by the sweetness of her words.

She brought me into the bathroom, where I was gently deposited onto the bathroom vanity. Turning to face me, she reached into the medicine cabinet above my head, her boobs now at eye level.

I’d watched the swell of her breasts slowly increase over the years, and couldn’t help but peek at them whenever they were in my line of sight. Ashley had caught me looking several times, and would just smile and thrust her chest out, almost like she was offering her titties to me. I always figured she was making fun of me, so I’d scowl in protest. Ashley, she’d just laugh it off.

Now I could only sit transfixed as Ashley’s tits lightly brushed my face while she leaned forward to grab some things from the top shelf. She brought down cotton balls, a box of bandages, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “This is gonna sting, okay, Rhonda?”

Making a face, I slowly nodded. Ashley poured some of the rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball, then took my right hand, holding it tightly as she wiped down my scrape. Hissing in pain, I tried to pull away, but she held me fast until the job was done.

Bringing my hand up to her lips, Ashley pressed gentle kisses against my sore palm. It felt really soothing, and I was glad it was my big sister doing this.

She looked up at me, concern written on her face. “This next one’s really gonna hurt, Rhonda…”

I couldn’t keep from crying out when the soaked cotton came into contact with the scrapes on my knee. I was still whimpering a little when she tried to talk me through it. “Shh, shh, Rhonda. It’s almost over. This one was a bit worse than your hand, but I’m almost done, okay?”

I yelped when she took another cotton ball to my knee. When she was finished, she knelt and began kissing the scrapes on my knee to make me feel better.

My pain began to fade as her lips slowly trailed from my knee and began peppering my thigh, the ticklish sensation making me giggle. Ashley would get so sweet and loving when we were together like this; treating me like I meant everything to her.

When she gets married and has a baby, that’ll be the luckiest kid in the whole world, I told myself.

Then I had another, less happy thought. When she leaves you to take care of someone else.

I remember how that thought made my heart ache. I wished we could stay like that forever; that I could be the only one she ever looked at. Like she was looking at me in that moment, her gaze so brilliant I thought I might burn from its intensity.

Ashley paused in the midst of lavishing my leg with kisses, but her mouth remained where it was, pressed to my skin. She inhaled deeply, as if smelling something intoxicating, then released a shaky breath. With that, her kisses resumed their journey up my thigh until her lips grazed the hem of my shorts.

The feather-light sensation of her lips finally got to be too much for me. I laughed as I put both hands on Ashley’s head and pushed her away. “Knock it off, Ashley! That tickles!”

She stood up with a smile, kissing my brow before stepping back. “Hop off the counter and go lay down for a bit, okay? I’ll be in my room for a while, then maybe we can make dinner together.”

Ashley helped me to my room so I could rest, then went back to her own.

I remember lying there trying to make sense of the confusing thoughts I was having about my sister – wanting to be her one-and-only, of hoping she never got married or went to live with anyone else. Of needing to be with her forever.

As I did my best to ignore all these feelings and take a nap, I thought I heard a stifled moan from somewhere nearby.

On to Chapter Two!

For a more detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by kinkychic and kinky’s_sis

Chapter IV: A Rescue Plan

The steering master didn’t question my instructions when I gave him a northerly course. The only other senior hand on deck was Davy.

There was a grin on his face as he approached. “I knows you, an’ what you’s at. Jack and Anne, I be thinkin’.”

I grinned at him in return. Davy, here alone, was my friend. “We’ll overnight at the same river bay as we did on the way down,” I said. “I want to talk to everyone. I have a plan.”

“You always does,” he said.

***

Marianna seldom objected to my decisions, but this one worried her. “Bren, are you sure of this?” she asked. “To sail into Port Royal seems like offering yourself up to the hangman – along with the rest of us.”

“The men will be gathered shortly, my love; I will put my plan to everyone. I believe it has a great chance of success.”

Everyone seemed eager to know where we were going, and whether I had resolved the question of how to dispose of the treasure. There was complete quiet as they listened. I planned to sail the Majestic into Port Royal, while the Siren would stay well out of sight to the northwest of the island. No one would recognise the Spanish ship, which would now be flying a British merchant flag. We would pass under the guns of Fort Charles and anchor among the many other ships in the harbour. With luck, no one would give us a second glance.

“Our aim is to at least make an attempt at rescuing Calico Jack and the two women,” I said. “As for Vane, I may well release him, but he won’t be welcome to come with us.” I waited for the crew’s babble to die down before continuing. “As some of you may know, I grew up on the streets of Port Royal. I know my way around and I’m certain that I can make my way into the prison without causing a rumpus.”

Davy spoke up, “’er, the Cap’ain, was a street urchin when I found ‘er… beggin’ your pardon, Cap’ain. Just paintin’ a picture is all.”

It was true. Davy had likely saved my life. He had brought me aboard the Siren when he discovered I lived on the streets. At the time, I was only twelve years of age.

“So, what say you? Remember, we would all likely be dead anyway had Jack not been there to help in the fight with the English frigate. I think we owe it to him to give it a try.” I paused. “But as ever, I listen to your opinion. I consider and then I decide. But I ask you, have I ever yet been wrong?”

An exuberant cheer erupted. “Calico Jack!” they shouted. “Calico Jack!”

I held up a hand, signalling for silence. “Now, the treasure. What are we to do with it? We cannot sail about the Caribbean with such a fortune below decks.” Again, I had to wait until the noise quieted. “But after much thought, again I have a plan.

“On our way to Jamaica, we will pass close by an island. There are a number of old lava tunnels that lie at sea level. Mostly they are ignored, as they are dangerous places, but I know of one that has upper levels and a cave that is very difficult to get to. We may conceal the treasure there.”

I sensed most were in favour of what I was proposing, but there was some dissent.

“You have known me long enough to know I am as one with you,” I said. “I would never rob or cheat my own men. So when I tell you this island cave has to be a deathly secret, you will understand. Any whisper, any slipped or mistaken word, and all is lost. Hundreds will be searching for our gold. So, I am suggesting the location remains a secret known to only four of us – Jensen, Davy, Marianna and myself. We will keep back enough that each man has sufficient to enjoy whatever pleasures he wishes for the foreseeable future.”

I let them talk among themselves for quite some time. It was Taylor who spoke up.

“Cap’ain, we are agreed. We goes with yer plan. If’en we succeeds in the rescue, then we talks again. Be’in’ you happy with that, Cap’ain Ma’am?”

“Mister Taylor” – I doubt he’d ever been addressed so courteously – “I am content with that. We shall discuss the plans tomorrow. You, Mister Taylor, will please join us in my cabin when I call a meeting.” I had noticed these past few weeks that Taylor seemed that bit brighter than many of his fellows.

A final word for the crew: “I will add Taylor to those who know where our gold is hidden. This way, you can have a deckhand, one of your own peers, sharing the knowledge.”

Several men looked at Taylor as if he’d just been promoted to the rank of a senior officer. “Thankee, Cap’ain,” he said proudly.

***

“Here is Aruba,” I said, placing a finger on the unfurled map. “A Dutch island with little to recommend it. No one is interested in the place. It’s the proximity to Curacao that makes it Dutch. We can safely anchor there without being observed. There are caves that can only be entered by boat, and then, only when the tide is low. They lie under the high cliffs, which will shelter us from prying eyes. These caves offer a safe hiding place. Of that, I am confident.”

Of those gathered, only Davy, aside from myself, had ever seen the caves. “I didn’t much likes it in them caves, Cap’ain, but I thinks you be right. ’Tis a good place to be stashin’ things,” he said.

Everything went smoothly. The waters were calm enough, allowing us to anchor safely close in. I dispatched scouts to the cliff-top. Once they had given the all-clear, we could proceed.

Two of our best topmen had soon scaled the cliff inside the cave. I myself had been up there a few years ago, and it wasn’t something I wished to try again. It very nearly killed me the last time. Lefarge had brought us here, although he hadn’t made clear exactly why. We’d scaled the cliff out of simple curiosity.

On this occasion, I waited for the rope ladders to be put in place, along with spars, blocks and tackles that would enable us to hoist the treasure. It was only a few hours before our riches were safely hidden away. Before departure, we checked that we had left nothing behind to show that we, or anyone, had been there.

I held some gold in my cabin, more than enough to keep every man happy for ages to come. A pirate’s needs were simple – rum, baccy, and a good whore. I had retained more than enough to pay for all of them.

***

We approached Port Royal cautiously. I felt a foreboding that something was amiss, though I knew not what. I doubted it was at all possible that anyone expected our arrival, but it was wise to assume they had. As we passed the small islet at the entrance to the harbour, Davy called to me. “Cap’ain, yer telescope, larboard side, small island.”

Instantly I knew we were too late. Tears welled in my eyes, which I hastily wiped away. It was Jack! The gay clothes left no doubt as to his identity. The poor man had been gibbeted for all to see. His body, left for the gulls to pick at, was a message to any pirate who dared to approach Port Royal — nowhere are you safe.

When we had anchored, I took a while to consider. One man’s execution did not mean all the prisoners were dead. I had to know the fate of Mary Read and Anne Bonny. We waited until dark before Davy rowed me ashore, just the two of us.

I was dressed more like I had been all those years ago. The only difference was my age and the weapons I carried, quite aside from the giant of a man who walked behind me.

It took immense resolve to walk into the tavern where I had worked before. Davy had his hand on my shoulder. “Cap’ain,” he whispered, “be strong, likes you is.”

I discovered two things: Anne Bonny was still in the prison, and worse, my tormentor from all those years before was still there in the tavern, as loud and tyrannical as ever, shouting at the young girls, groping them while they served. The present owner was clearly no better than the one Davy had killed.

“Davy, before we leave, I will kill that man,” I said. “But not right now. We have plans to make.”

With Davy at my heels, we edged our way around the back of the fort. A jumble of bushes hid a crevice I knew from years before, and it was still there, though more overgrown than I remembered.

The crevice had been opened by a massive earthquake some years ago. More than half of Port Royal had been swallowed by the sea and sand, and many hundreds had perished. Tonight, though, they were not my concern. I needed only to find the way into the prison that I had used on previous occasions to steal pistols and swords I could sell.

Fort Royal was the only fort out of four that had survived the earthquake. I didn’t know why, nor did I care. My one concern was … yes! There it was! Was it still safe? The sand was slipping all around me.

Then I breathed open air. I was through. I saw no one, no sentries, nothing. They clearly didn’t expect anyone to be breaking in.

“Davy,” I said, “we might as well take a look while it all seems quiet.”

It took us a while to find the passageway that led to the cells. Stealth was unnecessary. There were no guards. Only one torch lit the gloom, but it was enough. “Anne,” I called softly. There was no answer.

Again, a little louder this time. Then out of the darkness, I heard, “You, the bitch captain.” It was the unmistakable voice of Charles Vane. “How the fuck did you get down here?”

The blade of my knife stopped an inch from his throat where he stood at his cell bars. “Is Anne here, Vane?”

He didn’t answer me, he just laughed.

“Vane, is she here?” I again demanded.

He laughed again. “Go fuck yourself. Fucking women pirates… nothing but trouble.”

I heard a whisper, maybe more of a croak. Then I saw her. Shrivelled up in a filthy blanket. A hand reached out. “Help me.” I had found her.

As much as I tried, my blade failed to force the lock. Then I heard someone coming down the stairs. It sounded like a very unsteady approach.

A British uniformed soldier appeared, holding a lantern up high as he weaved from side to side, drunk as they come. He never saw my approach from the shadows as he staggered past. Nor did he feel the hilt of my dagger bang into his temple. He slowly sank to the floor as I grabbed hold of the lantern before it shattered on the flags. The bunch of keys at his belt soon yielded the one I needed.

It was clear Anne was in no condition to walk, though Davy could carry her easily enough. She was as light as a starved kitten.

Vane’s voice came out of the dark. “Throw me the keys, then I’ll look after myself.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Vane, this bitch doesn’t take kindly to your insults… so, in your own words, go fuck yourself. Had you half a brain, you might have been civil. It was your choice, and now you’ll hang for it.”

I took a look in the other cells, but there was no sign of Mary Read. Vane still laughed, “You lookin’ for the other bitch, don’t waste your time. She’s dead.”

Davy helped me drag Anne through the cleft below the wall, the sand constantly crumbling and shifting around us. Without his added strength, we would have been buried alive. Then, suddenly, we were free of it, forcing our way through the bushes. We crept from shadow to shadow, back towards our boat.

I was about to follow Davy aboard when I heard the voice. I turned towards the sound. My concern for Anne had allowed me to forget for a time, but here he was.

“Cap’ain, leave it. The scum ain’t worth yer trouble.”

He went unheeded. The feelings from all those years ago welled up – a hatred like nothing I had ever felt. I strode towards the sound of the voice.

He saw me coming, a dagger in my hand, and he laughed. “Stupid li’l bitch with a sticker in ’er ’and an’ pointin’ it at me. You wants to play, then let’s us play, then I fucks you to death.”

“You don’t remember me, do you, pisspot?”

“Why’d I needs remember one tart from another? You’s all just cunts waitin’ to be fucked.”

“A question for you then, fuckface. Remember the little girl you made piss herself, the day the landlord got killed?” I watched the changing expressions as his addled brain tried to deal with the question. I saw a flicker of memory. It was enough. “Yes, that was me. You made my life a living hell. Now, you pay. The world will be well rid of you.”

He sobered up quite quickly. He was looking at my knife, sizing me up. But I wasn’t here to play. It was simple revenge for a little girl’s nightmare.

Still laughing at me, he raised his blade, but to no purpose. My hand had passed in front of his face without his dull brain even registering the fact. His free hand clutched at the reddening slit across his throat, and the blood burst through, pouring between his fingers as he fell.

For a few seconds, I looked down at him as he died. I felt no satisfaction, no pleasure, not even release. It was merely something I had to do.

Davy watched as I cleaned my blade on his clothes. “’Twas needed, I s’pose,” was all he said.

***

Anne was in a bad way. I doubted her chances of survival. It seemed our rescue mission had been in vain. Jack and Mary were dead, and Anne soon would be. For perhaps the first time in my life, I didn’t know which way to turn.

Marianna snapped at me. “Bren, listen to me.” It made me sit up, she had never spoken so sharply, but her voice calmed before she continued, “Bren, my love, we need you. We need your decision-making. The men are becoming restless.”

I knew she was right. I had set an aimless course, not knowing where to go, but meandering would only lead to further trouble.

A rumbling broke into my thoughts. It was cannon fire.

Hastening to the deck, I asked Halcombe, “What do you see?”

“Nothing very much as yet, they’re too far away.”

I turned to the sailing master, “More sail. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

Two hours later we beheld an astonishing sight. An English man-of-war, of at least seventy guns, was under attack by three large frigates flying Spanish colours. Spanish frigates are, generally, far larger than the British, often with two decks of guns.

“I don’t understand, Halcombe,” I said. “Why are the Spanish fighting a British third-rate in this part of the world? Bartholmew had mentioned a squabble of some sort in the Mediterranean, but way over here, it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

I studied the scene through my telescope. The man-of-war was clearly sluggish in the water, yet she flew an admiral’s pennant. It was also obvious that the frigates were methodically knocking her to pieces. There could only be one outcome.

None of us owed a damned thing to England. Yet, I couldn’t just stand by and watch this senseless slaughter.

“Clear for action. Starboard guns load with chain, larboard with ball. Signal Jensen. We attack. He is to follow me until we see how the Spanish react.”

Perhaps the Spanish were so intent on their purpose that they did not see us coming. Our chain shot ripped high up into one frigate. Jensen’s did the same to another. Siren’s cannon wreaked havoc. Ropes parted, sails went awry, and then one mast teetered, having lost all its support. The wind did the rest. The mast snapped and fell.

The third-rate fired, and one of the frigates seemed to leap from the water. Her guns were silenced as her captain struggled to control a critically injured ship. Jensen, even with his extra firepower, hadn’t managed to cause as much damage as we had. But then, he was undermanned and had no experienced gunners aboard.

The frigate he had attacked was now returning fire, they exchanged broadsides, and the Majestic was getting the worst of it.

“Wheel hard a-starboard,” I yelled. “Tight on the sails!”

The Spaniard was coming close. Would we clear her, or would we come together before we had turned? Marianna had learned enough to recognise the danger. I felt her grip on my shoulder, but I had no time to ponder.

“Starboard guns fire as soon as you bear,” I said. “Big twelve to fire at her waterline.”

Shot whistled overhead, from both the Spanish and the British. We were drawing between them, and it was a dangerous place to be. It was now hard to see what was happening, as the smoke enveloped us completely. I could only hope Jensen had got clear and that the bloody seventy-four didn’t sink us.

The Siren took a massive series of blows. At least five shot simultaneously hit her hull. She heeled over as I prayed the masts would hold. Suddenly, the sky lit up, even through the smoke. Then the explosion hit us. Again, Siren heeled, this time from the force of the blast.

The smoke slowly cleared in the wind, revealing a rolling sea littered with timber. The Spaniard’s powder had blown. She was gone.

The third frigate had seen enough and decided to run. The Majestic hauled alongside its one remaining adversary, which had lowered its colours in surrender. Likely her captain realised that given the forces arrayed against him, it would be only minutes before he was also blown out of the water.

***

We were close by the British ship when she hailed. “Who are you? You haven’t shown your colours. Whoever you are, we are in your debt. We would not have survived without your intervention.”

I was in a quandary. What did I answer? I was wanted by the British. I suppose we could have just sailed off, but that wasn’t my way.

“My name is Dawlish, but that is unimportant. I saw an uneven fight. I did what I thought was needed.”

His hail came right back. “Captain, on my word of honour, safe conduct if you will come and talk with me. We have already suffered much damage. I do believe your two ships could sink me if it were what you wanted.”

I marvelled at the sheer size of this mammoth of a ship as I set foot on the quarterdeck. A line of pipers tweeted me aboard, something that simply wasn’t done for a civilian. An old man, obviously the admiral, actually saluted me. I returned his salute with a bow.

He read my surprise. “We likely owe you our lives. Is that not worth a salute, Captain Dawlish?” I had never been referred to as Captain Dawlish before. Was it possible that he still hadn’t realised who and what I was? He seemed to read my mind. “Oh, I know who you are, and I know of your ship. Not the other vessel though. Either way, welcome aboard the Nassau, of His Majesty’s Navy.”

He was about to continue when the officer standing behind him softly cleared his throat. The admiral glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, quite right, Captain, thank you.” With that, he stood aside and beckoned for me to accompany him. “Will you join me in my quarters, Captain? I have things that need saying.”

Like everything else on board this ship, the main cabin was vast. The oak table alone could seat more people than the whole of my cabin could fit.

A steward waited for his orders. “I need a stiff drink after today’s business. I’ll take some of that heathen whiskey. Will you join me, Captain?”

I had never tasted the stuff before, and I soon found I probably wouldn’t ever want to again. I would stick to my preferred cognac, or indeed, any brandy.

The admiral didn’t waste time once the steward had left. “I know all about you. You are in my orders,” he began. “When I take up my post, my instructions are to apprehend you at all costs. The amount placed on your head is now one thousand pounds by direct order of the King. I used your surname for good reason. I didn’t want it bruited about that I had Captain Bren on my deck, and yet I had not arrested you. Perhaps my Captain is aware, but I doubt any others are. I now have reasonable excuse to claim that I had not known who you really were. Do see, Captain?”

I was coming to like this man. He might well be old, but he was sharp as a handspike. “I know the King feels he is right to want my apprehension,” I said. “I did sink one of his ships. Perhaps though, he is not aware that it was in self-defence. His frigate had no reasonable right to be attacking me. I was still sailing on a privateer’s letter of marque. It was one Hornigold who branded me a pirate, something that was not within his rights to do.”

“At the enquiry, the first officer of that frigate raised the very question,” the admiral said. “He expressed concern about the legality of their orders. He also spoke of how well you treated the men. He said many more would have perished were it not for the rapid deployment of your boats. I am aware that you have never taken a British ship, only Spanish and French. Indeed, until the sinking of the frigate, I do not believe you have ever fired a shot at anything English.”

I took another sip of my fire-water. The admiral must have seen my grimace. “I think the Captain might prefer a drop of … perhaps brandy?”

He didn’t ring for the steward but fetched the bottle and a fresh glass himself.

“Now, Captain, let’s get down to business. I do not take up my post for another four weeks. So I will not be issuing any orders regarding yourself for some time to come. In the meantime, I intend to make a few more enquiries. You may or may not be aware that Hornigold is dead, but I want to know who sanctioned his orders, and on what grounds. Do see where I am going, Captain?”

He saw my appreciative look when I took some of the fine cognac. “You have expensive tastes, I see.”

“Admiral,” I said, “I could afford to buy the place that made this, never mind just a few bottles.” I had a flash of inspiration. “What if I were to bring the King at least two fine frigates to replace the one he lost?”

The admiral almost choked on his whiskey. “You are that wealthy, Captain? No, I beg your pardon. That is an intolerably rude question. Please forgive me.”

Once more I laughed. “It’s of no consequence, sir. You see, I am intolerably rich. Quite possibly, the richest person in England … were I ever to be allowed in England, of course. I understand it to be a cold and dismal place, but I would still like to see it.”

The admiral stared at me for ages, until at last he said, “I wonder whether you truly know what you are saying. There are a lot of very rich people in Britain.”

“You may take my word for it, sir. I was already immensely wealthy before I found a lost Spanish treasure galleon. She carried more gold than I am sure even the King has. You see, Admiral, I could buy the King a new Navy, never mind a brace of frigates. My one problem is that I have had to hide most of our fortune, and I currently have no access to my bankers.”

“Another cognac, Captain?” He paused to pour. “I do see your problem, and I can make no promises, but you have confirmed what I was coming to believe. It may take some time, but I do have the ear of the King. You need to keep out of the way for a while, perhaps somewhere up the American coast beyond the Spanish territories. I am bound for Jamaica but will be in Bermuda soon after.”

We discussed a few other matters. It was agreed we would wait three months at the least before the Majestic would send a boat into Castle Harbour, flying a flag signal that only the admiral’s staff would recognize.

As I rose to leave, the admiral said, “Wait one moment, if you please.” He took a highly ornate ceremonial sword down from the bulkhead. “Please accept this as a token of my gratitude for you and your crew’s valiant action today. I am in your debt, Captain. I would have paid all of your men a reward, but it would seem there is little point.”

Back on the quarterdeck, I found Jensen talking with the captain. The admiral approached them. “And you, sir. I believe you must be the captain of the other frigate that engaged the Spanish. I would know your name, so I may shake your hand.”

“This is Captain Thomas Jensen, my second in command and my business partner,” I said.

Jensen passed the Spanish frigate’s flag to the admiral, who looked puzzled

“Their captain insists he surrendered to the Navy, and not a ‘witch pirate’, as he put it,” Jensen said. “So, the prize is yours, Admiral.”

“You see, the King already has a better frigate than the one he lost, and you will receive the prize money,” I said.

The ship’s surgeon was sent back with me, to do what he could for Anne. He prescribed no more than a tonic and a strict feeding regime. “Provided there is no organ damage, she will be fine,” he told me.

***

I charted the safest route I could think of that would take us north. We would shelter for the first night at Charlotte Amalie on the Danish island of Saint Thomas. The authorities had little objection to guests who caused no trouble, but they did not care to see a British Naval vessel unless it were an officially arranged visitation. We wouldn’t even be going ashore.

From there we could stop by Tortola to see how Josh and Daphne were managing.

On to Chapter Five!

A final recap of the Story Thus Far: Rural paramedic Nettie Hastings finds herself in the middle of a flurry of unexplained overdose calls and, with the help of her best friend and former lover, Terry Wilder, puts clues together to link the source of this mysterious unidentified drug to her own hometown. A DEA agent named Bridgette Ramscone is brought in to work the case, and she takes a special interest in Nettie who, in the meantime, has entered into a clandestine affair with Terry’s preteen daughter Halee. It turns out that Terry’s ex-wife Kathryn is the linchpin of the criminal enterprise behind the overdoses. A showdown occurs in which Halee is shot, and Terry taken hostage. Thankfully, Terry escapes, Halee survives, and the drug dealers are all arrested or killed. While Halee is recovering in Intensive Care, Nettie meets an anesthesiologist named Hannah; both feel an immediate attraction. In addition, Hannah recognizes the special love Nettie holds for Halee, which leads her to reveal that she is sexually intimate with her thirteen-year-old daughter Bethany. Shortly thereafter, Nettie is invited to visit Hannah and Bethany for a home-cooked meal… and all the pussy she can eat for dessert.

For a more detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by Rachael Yukey

We didn’t visit Halee at the hospital that weekend as planned. Terry and I both caught the cold that had been going around and agreed it would be irresponsible to carry that into a children’s hospital. Instead, we FaceTimed with Halee several times, both together and individually, and Hannah told me Bethany had asked to visit both Saturday and Sunday. I was more convinced than ever that those two were going to be especially close and soon. Hopefully, I’d be there when it happened.

Even better, Terry was informed on Friday that Halee’s wounds were healing nicely, and if the doctors were satisfied after Monday morning rounds, she could go home.

Meanwhile, I stuffed back the symptoms with a small pharmacy worth of over-the-counter cold medications, and set about making Dad’s place my own. I gave notice to my apartment manager and got to packing, separating out boxes of stuff that would come with me from the portion that was headed for the Goodwill. It’s amazing how much unused detritus can accumulate when you live in the same place for six years.

On Sunday Terry and I were both feeling better, and he brought his pickup to help me move. By the end of the day the garage was piled to the ceiling with boxes, and I realized the even bigger task would be going through Dad’s stuff, deciding what should go and what should stay.

Monday morning found us en route to Minneapolis in Terry’s Equinox. He’d arranged a sitter to get the girls off to school so we could be on the road at five AM; barring an unforeseen problem, discharge was anticipated by eight. We found Halee in good spirits and more than ready to leave the hospital. She still had dressings over her wounds, with firm instructions for their care, but the docs weren’t anticipating any real trouble. I’d hoped to see Hannah, but she was in surgery. She did visit Halee prior to scrubbing in, and sent me a selfie of the two of them side by side.

A few days after that, the dressings came off. Halee had weaned entirely off the analgesics, and reported only occasional pain. The doctors pronounced her fit to resume normal activities, so long as those activities didn’t involve athletics or heavy lifting. By that time I’d cleared everything out of my apartment, abandoning most of the furniture at the curb. I was busy integrating my stuff into the house, starting with getting my audio system set up in the living room. While it was disconnected anyway, I’d splurged on a new turntable, and was eager to try it out.

I FaceTimed with Hannah a few times during this period, culminating in some extremely hot cybersex each time. On two of these occasions, Bethany joined in. Late Friday evening, as Hannah and I lay naked on our respective beds in post-orgasmic bliss, she mentioned having overheard Halee and Bethany cybering a couple of hours prior as she passed her daughter’s bedroom.

Saturday night found Halee and me in my new living room, snuggled up on the love seat. Naomi was spending the night at Chelsey’s grandma’s house, where Chelsey was still staying for the moment. Her mom was out on bail pending legal action, but had been deprived of custody – for good, I hoped. Long-term arrangements were still very much up in the air. Halee’d informed me that Chelsey and Naomi had been spending a great deal of time together, mostly behind closed doors. We had a good chuckle over that.

A record was playing. Halee wanted to check out some of my music, and had plucked an album at random from my vast collection. After checking her selection to make sure it wasn’t a dud, I’d put it on. I was basking in the pounding strains of Savatage’s underappreciated The Wake of Magellan, the new turntable and cartridge defining the mids and lows in a way that my old rig never had. Halee, on the other hand, had a more critical look on her face.

“It’s… interesting,” she said. “I like how aggressive it is, and this guy can really sing. But it’s like… I don’t know. What’s the word I’m looking for?” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I guess the word is busy,” she said. “It’s too busy. Like they’re trying to do too much.”

I chuckled. “That’s a matter of perspective, isn’t it? I think your music is too simple. It’s all chug-chug or strum-strum, and lacks musical depth. To my ears, at least.”

She let out a snort of laughter. “That’s fair. It’s what Dad says, too.”

“As if he knew anything about good music,” I said, making a dismissive gesture. “So… how are you feeling, really?”

“Good,” she replied. “I can do most normal stuff, and it stopped hurting a couple of days ago. I’m not supposed to lift more than fifteen pounds, but I can do everything else.”

“Are you up for a little fun, then?” I said, going for a sultry tone.

She favored me with a smug little smile. “Who says I haven’t already been having fun?”

I grinned. “Hannah told me she overheard you and Bethany having some cyber-fun yesterday. What else have I missed?”

Halee’s cheeks flushed a bit. “Well, if you must know… Naomi came to my room a couple of nights ago, asking for ideas. Y’know, about sexy stuff she can do with Chelsey. I don’t think she realizes I’m not that much more experienced than she is. She figures you’ve taught me pretty much everything there is to know.”

“Believe me, kiddo, you’re learning fast,” I said. “So what ended up happening?”

Again, the Patented Halee Wilder Sarcastic Grin. “Well, up till a couple of days before that, even trying to play with myself hurt. So I hadn’t gotten off in a while, and Naomi talking about it got me all wet and ready to go. Let’s just say it ended with both of us naked and happy.”

“That’s great!” I said.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure how much longer she’ll want to fool around with me. I think her and Chelsey are turning into a thing. I’m hoping I can get with both of them a couple more times before they make it official.” I felt her fingertips lightly trace the back of my neck.

I laughed. “My God, I’ve created a monster.”

She was cupping the back of my neck now, thumb and fingers lightly teasing me there. I reached back to capture her wrist. “Stop that, you,” I said in teasing tones. “You know damn well what that does to me.”

“Uh-huh. That’s the point.” Freeing herself from my grip, she resumed her caresses.

I closed my eyes and let Halee touch me, arousal quickening my pulse. Still teasing, I said, “Aren’t you all worn out, between Bethany last night and your sister the day before that?”

She snorted. “Are you kidding? I’m sitting in a puddle right now. I have two weeks of catching up to do.”

“Well, then,” I said, my tone changing from teasing to sultry, “How’d you like to meet a nice lady who’s just dying to make your acquaintance?”

Halee’s eyes widened. “Um… you have my attention.”

Once I filled her in and got the hoped-for response, I picked up my phone and called Bridgett Ramscone’s number. “Hello, darling,” I said, in the sexiest tones I could muster. “Operation Shuddering Climax is a go.”

***

Fifteen minutes later, Bridgett was in my entryway, kicking off her flats. She was dressed in evening wear; a form-fitting green dress over hose, and a simple emerald necklace.

She took my face in both hands, stood on tiptoe, and kissed me full on the mouth. I met her with equal enthusiasm, slipping my tongue between her lips. When we pulled apart, she turned her attention to Halee, who was smoking hot wearing the deliberately ripped jeans she’d received for her birthday and a snug Siouxsie and the Banshees t-shirt with nothing on underneath. Her hair had been freshly dyed black with blue highlights, courtesy of the gift certificate I’d given her.

“Hello, Halee,” Bridgett said. “I’m Bridgett. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“I know you,” Halee said. “You’re the DEA agent. Dad was just talking about you today.”

Bridgett rolled her eyes. “So you know me as Special Agent Perky Tits. Wonderful.” But those eyes were dancing.

Halee grinned. “Actually, he referred to you as Special Agent Delectable Tushie.”.

“Terry has a few of them,” I said with a chuckle.

Bridgett stepped past me, facing Halee directly. They were roughly the same height. “A handshake is the traditional form of introductory greeting,” she said, “but under these circumstances, I feel like a kiss is more appropriate. May I?”

Halee surprised us both by taking one step forward, lacing her arms around the woman’s shoulders, and pressing her mouth to Bridgett’s. Lips parted, tongues engaged.

When they separated, Bridgett’s color was high. “My God,” she said, “this young lady isn’t just fooling around, is she?”

“Neither am I,” I said, placing a hand on each of their delectable asses to indulge in a bit of freelance exploration. Bridgett fixed me with an almost predatory gaze, and Halee shivered deliciously as I ran my fingertips along the crack of her ass.

“If this is the way it’s going to go,” said Bridgett, “why don’t we take this to the bedroom?”

Halee grabbed Bridgett’s hand, turning on her heel. “You just follow me.”

As Halee led her across the spacious living room, I fell in beside Bridgett, still fondling her ass along the way. Down the short hallway, though the door into what was now my bedroom, me bringing up the rear… with both hands on Bridgett’s rear.

I’d replaced Dad’s old queen-sized bed with a brand-new California king; there was plenty of room for it, and I was anticipating lots of company. Halee marched Bridgett right over to the edge of the bed, then lay down, stretching like a lazy cat. Her toes were curled, arms spread high above her head.

Bridgett and I exchanged a glance. “Wanna make a sandwich?” I inquired. Not waiting for a response, I slid into bed alongside Halee, wrapping an arm around her and slipping my tongue into her eager mouth.

“Right behind you,” Bridgett exclaimed, scrambling onto the bed and enfolding the girl from the other side. She slipped a hand under the Goth tee, stroking Halee’s belly as the other hand brushed the blue-highlighted hair off to the side, clearing the way as her mouth descended to the teen’s neck.

I trailed my hand downwards, slipping over Bridgett’s until it rested on Halee’s leg. I caressed the bare thigh where it showed through the deliberately placed holes in the fabric.

Halee was shuddering, hips undulating. I broke our kiss, moved my hand from her thigh to the hem of her shirt, which I gently tugged upward. Getting the hint, Halee lifted her body. Bridgett and I pulled the shirt over her head and off, each of us working on a different side.

Halee lay back down again… and despite her assurances that she was back to normal, I noticed she lowered herself carefully as opposed to just flopping in place. I reminded myself to be gentle.

Bridgett was playing an index finger up and down across Halee’s belly, lingering a little near the gunshot scar on the lower right abdomen. She looked into Halee’s eyes. “No pain?” she asked.

“No pain,” Halee said, her voice slightly hoarse.

Bridgett nodded, drew her finger across the entrance scar just below Halee’s budding breast, and ran that finger lightly around the circumference.“So beautiful,” she murmured.

Halee moaned as Bridgett dipped her head, taking a nipple into her mouth. My hand was playing across the other breast while I placed delicate kisses across the girl’s belly. Unbuttoning her jeans with one hand, I slipped my tongue below her waistline, then pulled the jeans down and slipped them off over her bare feet, pausing to give each one a kiss.

I nuzzled my way up her legs, moving from one to the other, taking my time. Bridgett and Halee were kissing again, their tongues dancing back and forth. Suddenly Bridgett got to her knees and lifted both arms above her head, her eyes pleading for a helping hand. I slipped my hands beneath her green dress, raising the garment as my fingers made the journey from the backs of her knees to that delectable ass.

Bridgett and I kissed as I fondled her butt, then I felt a small hand on my own backside. Looking down, I saw Halee grinning up at us, rubbing my ass with one hand, Bridgett’s with the other.

Impatient to see Bridgett naked, I tugged the green dress over her head, wadded it up in a bundle and hurled it across the room. Her chest was bare beneath. Her hands were grasping the hem of my sweater, pulling it up and over my head. It, too, flew across the room, hitting the wall and landing on top of her dress.

Then Bridgett’s arms were around me to unclasp my bra, which rapidly joined the growing pile of clothing on the floor. Both of us paused for a moment, staring at each other’s bare chests.

“The view is just great from down here,” said Halee, grinning up at us from below. Lying back, she laced both hands behind her head.“Nettie,” she added, “why don’t you lick Bridgett’s nipples.”

I raised my eyebrows, then thought, What the hell. I leaned in, running my tongue up one luscious, round tit and across a nipple, then all the way to the top of the breast. Bridgett shivered, sucking in her breath. I repeated the procedure on the other one, this time eliciting a low moan.

“Nice,” said Halee, her voice a little unsteady with excitement. “Now Bridgett, kiss Nettie’s neck.”

“Hey, no fair!” I protested. Damn her, she knew that was my weak spot. But Bridgett moved in before I could get in another word, kissing and biting me a couple of inches below my ear. Within moments I was breathing in harsh gasps.

Pulling back, Bridgett was grinning. “I see why she wanted me to go there. But I still want to play with these.” I felt her hands cup my tits, caressing and kneading them, then pinching my nipples. We kissed again, and then her mouth returned to my neck.

Jesus Christ! I was out of my mind with helpless lust, thrusting my hips forward and moaning like a banshee.

“Nettie’s about to lose it,” Halee said from below. She reached up with both hands, undoing my fashionable, form-hugging jeans and struggling to pull them down, but it just wasn’t going to happen in that position. I pulled away, got to my feet and shoved the jeans to the floor along with my panties.

Halee was scooting down the bed, creating some space between herself and the headboard. “Sit on my face!” she exclaimed.

I positioned myself over my young lover’s face, lowering my cunt to her waiting, eager mouth. As Halee pressed her tongue to my clit, I felt her fingers slip inside me, and cried out in ecstasy. Straddling Halee, Bridgett wrapped both arms around me, groping my tits.. Her mouth was on my neck once more, peppering me with little love bites. Moments later I was coming, wave after wave of ecstasy coursing through me, wailing with every breath until the torrent subsided and I collapsed sideways onto the bed.

I felt movement to the side and saw Bridgett’s mouth practically devouring Halee’s. Breaking the kiss, Bridgett looked my way. “You taste delicious on her,” she said, and began to lick Halee’s chin and neck, where I’d made an even bigger mess than I usually do. Halee was squirming as if possessed by a very dirty-minded demon, the front of her light blue panties all but dripping with wetness.

“Do you need your pussy eaten?” Bridgett whispered to her. Halee just nodded, seemingly helpless to voice her desire. She lifted her backside as Bridgett tugged away the sodden panties.

Then Bridgett got down on her belly, head between Halee’s legs. She spent a little time teasing the girl’s inner thighs and labia with soft kisses, but not for too long – Halee was beyond ready. Her eyes met mine, but I don’t think she really saw me.

As Bridgett slipped her tongue into those sweet folds, Halee sucked in her breath with a sharp hiss. Wanting to participate, I got behind Bridgett, tugging at her hose and the black panties she wore beneath. Without missing a lick, Bridgett shifted around, making it easy to strip her lower half completely bare.

I teased her buttocks and upper thighs with kisses, making her hump the bed furiously. Hearing the increasing stridency of Halee’s moans told me she was getting close to coming, I abandoned that effort for the moment, moving up the bed to gather my precious little lover into my arms. I held Halee like a child, kissing her cheeks, chin, nose and forehead as she came.

Then Bridgett rolled away. She was panting with lust, her cheeks flushed, hair mussed – a far cry from the cool, always-in-control DEA agent I’d come to know. She beckoned Halee. “I want to have my mouth on those gorgeous little titties when I come,” she breathed.

Halee obligingly straddled Bridgett, bending down to allow access to her chest. Grasping the girl’s shoulders, Bridgett closed her mouth around a nipple. As for me, I lowered my head between our guest’s legs, inserted two fingers and put my tongue to work.

Bridgett was grinding her cunt into  my face, so I really didn’t have to do much. She was  sliding back and forth across my tongue, fucking my fingers, all hot, slick and gooey inside.

I was in heaven, especially with the view I had of Halee’s bare ass astride Bridgett’s belly, just inches from my face. Suddenly Bridgett gave one final thrust, then went bone-rigid, a choked scream exploding from her throat. Then she squirted, her warm fluid coating my face and dripping from my chin. I sucked at her cunt like crazy, trying to get it all, until she went limp.

We lay in silence for a time. Finally Bridgett propped herself up on one elbow, lightly tracing the right side of Halee’s torso where the scars were. “These don’t hurt at all?”

“Not for a few days now,” Halee replied.

“I feel kind of responsible for what happened to you,” Bridgett said with a sigh.

Halee sat up against the headboard, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

“It’s my fault,” she said. “It was completely stupid of me to rush out there like that. I just got… I don’t know. The moment I saw Mom’s picture on Chelsey’s phone, I knew that she was behind all the stuff that happened. I got so angry, I couldn’t think. That’s why this happened… and why Dad got kidnapped.”

I realized she was almost in tears. Sitting up, I wrapped an arm around Halee’s shoulders. Bridgett laid a hand on her arm.

“It was a rush of blood to the head,” she said. “I’ve seen it happen to trained agents. You’re only thirteen. Besides, if you hadn’t done what you did, your mother would still be out there, maybe starting up the same thing someplace else.”

Halee’s lip curled. “I’m not stupid,” she snapped. “If I’d just told Dad or Nettie, they’d have gone to you, and you’d have gone out there and arrested her. The whole thing was avoidable.”

Bridgett sat up, snuggling Halee from the side opposite me. “It’s not as simple as that,” she said. “I had no basis to arrest her. Think about it – the only evidence you had was a photo. Just being here doesn’t make her guilty of anything. I’d have had to question her before I could even think about asking for a warrant, and that would have tipped her. She’d have been gone in a matter of hours. Minutes, maybe.”

Studying Bridgett’s face carefully, Halee finally said, “No shit?”

“No shit.”

Halee lay back, closing her eyes. “You know,” she said, “I was asking myself, while I was riding out there, if it was a dumb thing to do. I kept going because I couldn’t really believe she’d hurt me, or even Dad.”

“She wasn’t the one that hurt you, or your father,” Bridgett reminded her.

Halee’s eyes opened again, revealing a hardness there I’d never seen before. It broke my heart a little to see such an expression on the face of one so young.

“She didn’t stop her men from pointing guns at us,” she said, her voice bitter. “She used Dad as a hostage, and I’m not so sure she’d have just let him go when she was done with him. Besides…” She hesitated, drawing in a deep breath. “I was hurt, but I wasn’t unconscious. I didn’t miss that Nettie practically had to beg her to let the ambulance come get me. Fuck her. She’s dead to me.”

“I think realizing your parents aren’t who you’d like them to be is something a lot of people have to deal with when they’re growing up,” I said. “It happened to me, and I struggled with it, a lot. But it wasn’t anything like this. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

The hard lines in Halee’s face softened as she pondered something, then said, “Do you think that’s why Dad tries so hard? Because of who Mom turned out to be?”

“That might have something to do with it,” I said.

Then Halee chuckled. “You know,” she said, “this is going to sound terrible, but I think some of it’s just ego. I don’t mean that he doesn’t love us, because I know he does, but you know how Dad is. He can’t stand to fail at anything. I think once Mom went to jail he was all like, ‘If I have to be a single father, I’m gonna show everyone else how it’s done. I’ll be… Ultra-Dad!’ Does that make any sense?”

I burst into laughter. “That’s Terry, all right.”

Bridgett was nodding, her eyes fixed on Halee. “It’s also an insight I wouldn’t have expected from someone your age.”

I caught Bridgett’s eye and grinned. “Told you so.”

***

Bridgett left shortly after that, bidding us goodnight with feather-light kisses, then  Halee and I snuggled close and drifted off to sleep.

I awoke in a cold sweat, barely stifling a scream as that same damn nightmare reached its inevitable climax. As always, when the dream was particularly vivid, tears were dripping from my eyes within moments, and I knew I’d be dissolving into sobs soon enough. I started to roll out of bed, to run away from Halee as I’d always fled from Terry and others before him – but this time, something held me back. I had to stop running away.

I gently shook Halee awake. She gazed up at me, saw my tear-streaked face in the moonlight filtering through the window.

“Nettie, what…”

I shook my head wordlessly as the sobs began to wrack my body. She pulled me close and cradled my face to her chest. Finally the worst of it had passed, and we simply lay together, naked in each other’s arms.

“Tell me what it is, Nettie,” she whispered.

“I can’t,” I said, my voice still choked with tears. “Not yet. But I’ll get there, sweetie. I’ll get there.”

The End

Afterword

I have a fascination with damaged people. Think Doctor Cox from the medical sitcom Scrubs, and you’re getting close. Haven’t seen Scrubs, you say? You’re missing out! It’s the best sitcom ever filmed. Go ye forth and binge it on the streaming platform of your choice.

Where was I? Oh, yes: damaged people. Nettie’s been so fucked by her past, she doesn’t even know which way is up. She’s drowning in booze, she can’t maintain a relationship to save her life, and she’s lucky to get a good night’s sleep. Just the kind of person I want to write about. 

Or consider Terry Wilder. His beloved wife turned out to be an international criminal, and he ended up with sole custody of four (FOUR!) little girls. His trauma manifests itself in an insane level of perfectionism in everything he does, and a public facade of unflappability. He wears it well, but it slips from time to time.

The kids are fucked up, too. Halee and Naomi are old enough to remember their mom getting arrested, convicted, and sentenced. Chelsey’s mom is the stereotype of small-town meth-head trailer trash. The list goes on.

My creative writing professor in college (I double majored in English and music during my undergrad years) used to hammer the point home: create an outline, and stick to it. To her, plot was everything, and characters were sculpted out to fit the plot you have in mind. Plot was immutable, characters infinitely malleable.

I’ve found her outlining rule to be fantastic advice for academic papers, and one that I impress mercilessly upon my graduate students as they begin their theses. But when it comes to fiction, it doesn’t work for me. At all. At the end of the day, my stories don’t start with plot. They start with people. I have a germ of an idea; a starting point. The characters are shadowy figures in my mind, but quickly take on shape and definition. Going forward from there, the characters determine the plot. 

That’s my entire methodology: I have a tiny, almost inconsequential idea, and I dream up these damaged, lovable characters to populate the world in which that idea lives. Then I just start writing. When I wrote the explosion at the meat locker, I had no idea what caused it. I hadn’t even decided for sure at that point who was responsible for the overdoses. It may sound crazy, but that’s how I write.

The sex? It’s really just a fun bonus. I’m a bisexual woman living with a long-term female partner, from whom I’m separated for small portions of each year due to the demands of our respective careers. I also happen to be a woman of fairly strong drives, so during those periods of separation, I indulge in a bit of me-time! Not a big fan of video porn, I turn to written erotica when my imagination needs a boost. I discovered Ff fiction when a Google search led me to Naughty Mommy’s “Teaching Amanda,” and was immediately hooked. The rest, as they say, is history.

It’s been great fun watching “Strange Brew,” publish chapter by chapter over the past year, and even more fun reading all of your responses. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I also thank the Juicy Secrets staff for the tireless and often underappreciated work involved in keeping the site alive and thriving.  

It’s been said that to write is human, to edit divine. The biggest thank you must be reserved for my magnificent editor JetBoy, who has been by my side throughout this entire process. His comments, suggestions, and occasional criticism have been invaluable, and unquestionably improved the work. Thank you so much, my friend!

For a more detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by kinkychic and kinky’s_sis

Chapter III: Bartholomew Roberts

I thought I might have a solution to the problem of any further intrusion by outsiders. The Siren’s twelve-pounder, I was sure, could bring down the leading edge of the cliff, thus blocking the entrance to the channel. I told Atiena that I would investigate the possibility after we had returned to the bay. If we were successful, the villagers could still safely travel down to the bay should they wish to.

Tempted as I was to remain with Yaima and the sisters for a while longer, I explained that I dared not be away from my other ship for too long, as there was work to do back at the bay.

Atiena said she and Yaima would visit us in a few days. They asked that we not depart for the open sea before they arrived. Two of the natives would travel back downriver with us, and they would show us how to avoid the dangers of the forest.

The return journey was less arduous than the excursion upriver had been. The current was sufficient to carry us along, with only the occasional need for the cutter to tow us about the more difficult bends.

A joyous cheer erupted from the Majestic when we reappeared. Jensen rowed out to meet us just as quickly as he could get a boat crew together, coming alongside even as our anchor plunged to the bottom. I was pleased that his first inquiry was for the well-being of Yaima and the natives.

He pointed to the galleon. “She’s likely a lot older than we thought at first. Every coin we’ve recovered that has a date on it is from the fifteen-hundreds. There is nothing after.” He saw my grin. “You’ve found out something too, I see.”

I told him a brief version of what I had learned, but I was careful to make no mention of the gold and jewels that the sisters possessed. I wanted that information to remain a secret. When I mentioned the shrine of Sofia, he pointed along the beach. “We found it, hidden in the edge of the forest a short way over there.”

“You did?” I asked, astonished. “It hasn’t been touched, nothing taken?” He shook his head but looked puzzled. “It was built by Yaima’s ancestor and her partner, I believe her fifth or sixth great-grandmother,” I explained. “I doubt she knows it still exists. I would like to take her there before we go.”

It was Marianna’s turn to interject. “Can we get to the subject of the Santa Sofia? How has your salvage been going?”

Jensen laughed, as did the few men who had come over with him. “We are rich beyond anything you could begin to understand,” he said. “We have recovered thousands upon thousands of gold and silver coins. There are ingots on the ship as well, but we have only taken a quick look so far. The whole ship is ready to collapse. I don’t understand how she’s still in one piece. But unless we can come up with some kind of plan, those ingots are staying where they are.” Another laugh. “But it hardly matters, we already have enough for every man to do as he pleases for the rest of his life.”

Naturally, I thought he exaggerated. Later, though, I saw for myself the astonishing amount so far recovered. And still, the hoard was growing, with chests of gold and jewels everywhere. It was impossible to estimate what each of us was now worth, but certainly, any one of us could buy his own island or a very large plantation.

Our prospects, however, hinged on several significant questions.

How did a simple-minded sailor deal with having that amount of gold? What did he do with it? He couldn’t just bank it, especially not in the West Indies. How did he spend it? In fact, how did he even carry it?

Then there was the small matter of most of us being branded as pirates. The gold would only draw attention to ourselves. Then, too, there was the problem of sailing with a king’s ransom on our two ships. Word would be bruited about soon enough, as sailors can’t help boasting when they get a tot of rum in them. At that point, every ship in the Caribbean would be hunting for us.

In many ways, we would have been better off had we found only a few handfuls to be shared, and not this vast fortune.

Calling a meeting of my officers and senior hands, I explained the dilemma we faced. It was clear none had taken the time to think it through, and the reality of the situation brought them back to earth with a resounding thump. The men would have to be told, that much was clear, but what the solution could be, I had not the faintest idea.

***

The following day the master gunner laid small charges around the Santa Sofia. We would collapse the ship and, so we hoped, gain access to the rest of the gold. Heaven only knew why we wanted anymore, but it seemed a waste to leave it sitting where it was. A lookout was sent to the cliff top to ensure there were no ships in sight before we fired the charges.

Individually, each charge was quite small, but collectively they comprised a considerable amount of gunpowder. The explosion, when it came, was louder than most expected. The jungle erupted with the sound of frightened parrots squawking in their thousands. Many stunned fish rose to the surface of the bay.

The smoke and dust cleared to reveal only a few oak ribs still standing. All else had been obliterated. Most of the water-logged timbers had sunk, while a few floated slowly away on the current. But, there in the middle, just protruding from the water, was the mountain of gold ingots glittering in the sunshine for the first time in over a century.

The carpenter built chests from any sound wood he could retrieve from the wreckage. These we filled with the treasure and ferried to our two ships.

We also found one gun worth keeping. It was made of bronze, beautifully carved and decorated. We didn’t really need more artillery, but this was too good to leave behind. Nateby, our master gunner, took a great deal of pleasure in cleaning it up.

Halcombe and Nateby had surveyed the cliffs. They thought it unwise to touch the outer, seaward section, as there was a danger of the whole arm collapsing and revealing more of the interior, thereby making matters worse. The inner side of the channel was already unstable, however, and should be easy enough to bring down, Halcombe said. The risk, he added, was that we might inadvertently dam the river, which would lead to flooding.

“I reckon we’re all finished, Captain. There’s hardly any gold left to find,” said Jensen, taking a seat on a barrelhead. “We’ve taken on water, fresh fruit, salted fish and pork, and we have a cage full of wildfowl. We’re done.”

“Atiena and Yaima should be here soon,” I said. “I don’t want any crewmen ashore when they arrive. A select few will stay with us, and I want both ships ready to make sail. We will be back on board as quickly as possible.”

***

Morning light saw both ships with anchors short-hauled, sails ready to unfurl. Nateby had laid his charges along the cliff, most on a fault line at the top, rather than at the base. It was going to be a long and tense wait while the fuse lines burned. We weren’t going to use the twelve-pounder after all.

Just as the sun’s rays touched the summits of the hills upriver, a dozen or more canoes rounded the bend. The natives were adorned with red and yellow dyes on their skin and brightly coloured feathers in their hair. Many were armed with bows and poisoned arrows, clearly alert for any danger.

Two of the canoes had poles stretched between them. These supported a platform with two raised seats upon which Atiena and Yaima sat, each with a girl standing behind her. Another, longer canoe carried six pretty young girls, but oddly, they were not wearing the habits of the order. They appeared to be commoners from the village.

One canoe beached ahead of the others. Four natives dashed into the trees, bows at the ready. The remaining canoes held back. I supposed their caution came naturally to them, but I also knew that we were safe here. We had not seen a single sign of an intruder anywhere close by. My own suspicion was that the Santa Sofia was regarded as a ghost ship, and that fear of angry spirits would be enough to keep any hostile neighbours at bay. It would also explain why the gold, all but lying out in the open, had been left untouched.

A whistle from the trees told us all was well. The sisters’ boat came close to the bank before the attendant girls helped the royal women ashore.

Yaima’s effort to maintain her composure was of no avail. She ran up and threw her arms about us. Atiena quietly beckoned Marianna and me aside. “We ask a favour,” she said, pointing at the six pretty girls, and then at the members of my crew who were standing about. “We need fresh blood. Your men – they make father?”

For a moment, I was puzzled. Then I laughed. “Oh, I think we may find a few suitable volunteers.”

I left it to Davy to sort out who the lucky studs would be. He could include himself if he wished, and I saw by the way he looked at the one particular girl, and the way she returned his look, that he’d already decided, for himself at least.

I told him to wait, however, until we had left for the shrine and were out of sight of the ships. The last thing I needed was a riot on my hands if word got around there were willing young maidens to be had.

“And check the men for the pox first,” I said.

Then I turned back to Atiena and Yaima. “Did you know that Sister Caterina’s shrine still exists?”

Atiena staggered back a step, and her dusky face went quite pale. I put forth a hand to steady her.

“Come, we will show you,” I said once she had regained her composure.

It was a fairly large cave with a stone wall built across the front. More stone walls divided the interior, which was also choked with shrubs and vines.

“Be ready for a surprise,” I warned, before lighting the two torches we carried. The flames revealed a number of rough, faded paintings on wooden panels that hung on the walls, or leaned against them. Most were depictions of a young naked girl alone, but one showed an older lady kneeling between the girl’s legs, clearly pleasuring the girl with her mouth.

Atiena knelt and began her chanting. Yaima leaned over the crude altar, her arms stretched across it as she wept. Then she straightened up, dropping her robe to the dirt floor as she turned. Lifting the pouch from around her neck, she beckoned Atiena to her. She touched the liquid to each of their lips before slipping Atiena’s robe from her shoulders. The look on the older woman’s face was one of awe and joy as their bodies came together. We quietly withdrew, leaving them to their ritual lovemaking. Marianna dearly wanted to stay and witness the act, especially as the two had seemed oblivious of our presence. I had to drag her away.

She looked about outside the shrine. “I don’t see any of the men,” she said. “There were twelve of them. You don’t suppose…?”

(Davy later told me, “Well, it seems them girls watched us drawin’ straws. Then one comes over and points at all of us an’ then she points at the girls. She goes over to Jed, grabs ’is hand and drags ’im to stand next to me. She was the one I likes, see. Then they’s all takes two men each off to the trees.”)

Atiena and Yaima eventually emerged from the shrine. Where they had previously been overwhelmed, they now seemed radiantly happy.

Atiena came and took my hands. “We have much to thank you for. Rescuing and returning our people… especially Yaima. Then finding the Shrine of Sofia. Now you will block the way so that no others may find us again. What can we do in return?”

“We need nothing from you,” I answered. “We have gained friends even though we will likely never see you again. We have recovered much gold from the ship. That’s sufficient.”

But Marianna gave me a nudge.

“What is it, love?” I asked her.

She pointed at the string around Yaima’s neck. “Some of that would be nice.”

Atiena spoke to the six girls, who were now waiting close by. They burst into fits of giggles and dashed off into the trees.

“You must dry the leaves they will bring, then they will last for a very long time,” Atiena said. “You add a small bit to cold water, soak half day. Then boil, a short time. The water will last many days … one season to the next.” She took hold of our hands before continuing. “Use with care, not too much, not too often. Or you go mad.”

The girls, still giggling, returned with armfuls of leaves. “Enough for many years,” Yaima told us through Atiena. “And the other bay we stopped in, can get more there. Just to be careful, not good peoples in forest.”

***

The natives were massed on the beach as we departed, waving right up to the moment we disappeared into the channel.

The flag waving at the masthead told me all was clear. There were no sails to be seen. Nateby was already on the rocks at the base of the cliff. “Light your fuses, guns!” I called. “Then back to the boat as quick as you can.”

He actually had to light only one, which then split into five separate fuse lines. A brief hiss, and then I could see the smoke from all fuses rapidly climbing higher. The gunner scrambled back and climbed into the cutter.

“Pull,” Davy shouted, “like yer life depends on it!”

As soon as we were at what I thought to be a safe enough distance, I turned the cutter about so as we would be bows-on to the wave I was sure was coming. We had barely completed the turn when the first charge blew. There was a good, loud explosion but only a few flying rocks.

The next four all went in rapid succession and this time, half of the cliff seemed to jump into the air. Giant boulders cascaded down. Bugger. I thought. Too much.

Then the wave came rolling towards us. Davy timed it well, waiting just long enough. “Pull with all you’s got, boys!” The bows rose high, twisting sideways, threatening to capsize us. Then the oars bit, the cutter straightened and surged up the mountain of water.

We waited for the dust to clear enough to see that no boat, never mind a ship, would ever go through there again. Then we rowed in closer until, with some relief, I could see the dusty water swirling out from between the rocks in quite a strong current. The river still flowed freely.

“Take us back, bosun,” I called to Davy.

We hadn’t got very far when we heard the faint cheers. There, several hundred feet along the cliff, we could see them waving. The men were doing a native dance. They had made the climb to the top to see us off.

We hoisted full sail and resumed our southerly course. We needed to be away as quickly as possible lest the explosion attract unwanted visitors.

***

It was a couple of days later when I said to the first mate, “That looks like fresh, muddy water to me, and the coast has suddenly curved to the west. I thought it should still be going south.”

Davy came running in answer to my call. “You said you’ve been this way before,” I said. “Do you know what’s happening here?”

“I thinks this ’ere’s that big river that goes a long ways inland.” He told me.

“But why can’t we see the far bank if it’s a river mouth?”

“Like as not it’s more an’ a hundred miles wide. This ’ere’s that Amazonia thing.”

We continued south, the water growing even muddier. Then the shout came from high above. “On deck, sail two points to starboard!” Even as I was reaching for my spyglass, he shouted again, “Four lots of sail, comin’ fast!”

“Clear for action, and fire off a charge to warn Jensen in case he hasn’t seen them.”

Through the glass, I saw a small flotilla consisting of a large frigate and three smaller ships. The frigate hoisted its colours, and I could just make out what appeared to be a dancing figure on a black flag.

“Hoist Siren’s black colours,” I called. I knew there was no point in running. The wind was foul for us but not the flotilla, and they were in the out-flowing current. If we tacked, we’d lose too much time and they’d be on top of us.

Now that I could see the flag better, I knew who must be commanding the vessel. I’d never seen these particular colours, but I had heard of them. They belonged to Bartholomew Roberts. The flag bore a portrait of the man himself holding a flaming sword and standing upon two skulls, one labelled ABH (“A Barbadian’s Head”) and the other AMH (“A Martinican’s Head”). Roberts had devised it after swearing revenge on Barbados and Martinique for conspiring to trap him. A number of his men had been killed, although he had made good his own escape.

“Don’t have the guns run out, but keep them ready to go at my command,” I told Halcombe. “They haven’t run any of theirs out.”

The four ships reduced sail, and I gave orders for our two vessels to do the same. I watched as the frigate tacked to come abreast of us. I remembered it was named the Royal Fortune.

As soon as we were within hailing distance, a voice boomed through a trumpet.

“So, you’re the famous Captain Bren. A pleasure to meet you at last, Ma’am. Bartholomew Roberts at your service.”

“The pleasure is mine, Sir. I have heard much of your success, I believe there’s quite a penny on your head. Would we visit, or do we keep shouting?”

He turned and spoke to one of his officers before turning back. “You would do me an honour were you to invite me aboard the Siren, Captain.”

Roberts was an imposing character. His rugged good looks were spoiled only by a ridiculously large moustache. His bow was exaggerated, but in no way mocking. I gathered he intended it to be expressive. He turned to face Marianna. “And who is this startlingly beautiful woman, if I may be so bold as to enquire? Spanish, I feel?”

“May I introduce my partner, the Doña Marianna,” I answered. “And yes, Spanish by birth.”

“Indeed, I do believe I had heard something to that effect.” His eyes sparkled before he now gave Marianna the same bow. “Encantada, mi señora.”

I knew Enofe would have everything prepared by the time we reached my cabin. Bart, as he insisted on being called, asked if we had any good claret. He said he hadn’t had a decent glass for ages.

When had taken a sip from the glass that Enofe had poured, he raised an eyebrow. “Good Lord, this is remarkable! An absolute delight.”

He asked, in reference to my earlier comment, “Did you not know the same price is on your head as on my own? Five-hundred pounds!”

It was a staggering amount – more than twenty years of wages to most labourers. Bart went on to tell us how many pirates had been either killed or caught. Some like Rackham and Vane were awaiting trial.

That made me sit up. “Jack caught? Where is he?”

“They have him in Port Royal, along with Anne Bonny, Mary Read and Vane. Can’t say I’m sorry about Vane, but it will be sad to see Rackham go. He’s a likeable fellow, if not much of a pirate.”

He went on to say that he was planning on sailing for Africa, as the Caribbean had become too dangerous for his liking. He invited us to join him, seeing as we’d make a formidable force.

“I thank you for your consideration, but no, not for the moment. I fear I have things to sort out. Perhaps later,” I answered.

“Then allow me to offer my advice. Stay away from any British islands, especially those with decent harbours. It is my inclination that our days of pirating in the Caribbean are coming to an end.”

I didn’t try to explain why I couldn’t go with them. After all, I was heading for Jamaica and Port Royal!

We parted with a newly formed friendship. He was delighted with the two bottles of claret I gave him. Enofe had told me we couldn’t spare any more, not of that particular vintage, but he added four of a lesser quality.

Before his departure, Roberts told me of a reasonably well-hidden anchorage just a short distance up the Amazon. “But keep good lookouts posted. The natives in the forest are a nasty lot. We hear they eat their captives.”

***

We found the anchorage in short order. A beautiful spot, even if there were hidden dangers. Night lookouts were set. Mister Halcombe had the watch, and we retired to my cabin. Working his usual magic, Enofe had a superb meal waiting. In barely a couple of weeks, this man had become rich beyond his dreams, yet he remained the perfect steward.

I don’t know whether it was his sense of timing or whether he recognized that look I was giving Marianna, but whatever it was, he discreetly disappeared.

I paused, a glass halfway to my lips. “Fuck, I love you,” I said.

Marianna’s eyes shone back at me. “As I love my Captain. Ever since I knew what love was, it was only for my Bren.”

I knew it was true. Her passion for me was intense. Mine, for her, was perhaps more tender, but no less heated. Our interludes with other women and young girls made no difference to us, so long as we were agreed.

She came to my arms. We kissed for an age, hands roaming, caressing. Her gown slipped from her shoulder, exposing a breast. “Did I ever say?” I murmured. “The most beautiful tits in the whole world.” My lips fell upon a nipple. She gasped, though I had not bitten very hard – just enough to convey my desire.

“For God’s sake, will you take me!” she said. “I need you.”

Suddenly, we were ripping our clothes away, clinging to each other, our mouths rammed together as our hands moved about. We tumbled to the deck, her cunt pressed to my searching fingers. She clawed at my back with one hand, her other digging deep between my arse-cheeks. She pulled me to her more intently than I ever remembered. Then her hand found my pussy. No words were exchanged. We simply knew. We turned about, like ships in the wind, bow to stern, her mouth to my cunt, mine to hers. We sucked and teased. The Goddess Sofia urged us on, though we had no need of her magic liquor. Our fingers were added, and we fucked to a climax previously unknown to either of us.

Soon we lay gasping, gazing at one another. Finally, I found words: “What was that?”

Marianna put her fingers to my lips. “Atiena and Yaima have shown us the way. Now we know true sisterly love.”

On to Chapter Four!