The Sapphic Pirate Miranda Pt. 06

Part the Sixth: In Which Miss Esme Winterblossom, Having Ascended To The Post of Captain Aboard The Ship of The Late Miranda, And Finding Her Reign Of Brigandry Likely To Be Cut Short By The Loss of Sailing Wind And, Thus, Probable Death From Thirst At Sea, Makes An Astounding Discovery.

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September 13, 17--

Captain's Log,

For four days we have been becalmed in this beastly Sargasso Sea. I grow most Weary of the stench of the seaweed, which hangs on us due to the lack of wind.

At first, the crew saw this pause in our flight as an opportunity for debauchery, and there was quite a party had on the deck. My new favourite, Hippolyte, and I enjoyed the pleasures to be had from our fellow pirates, though I will say that the other captive we took, a girl named Alexandra, did not take to Sapphic pleasures as readily as her companion. I ordered her lashed to the main mast during the festivities, her breasts bared (though she has so little in that department that we might as well have undressed a boy), in order that she might observe the delights savoured, but as of yet my action has not had the desired effect.

But even Sapphic pleasures must pall, and as day after day of windless torpor has settled upon us, the ambience aboard the ship has grown most tedious. For the moment we do not lack for food, but our water stores are much more limited, and even at half-rations we face only a week more of drinking water if we cannot find some way to leave this place and find a port. They look to me for an answer, and I endeavor to project an Captainly air of confidence, but at night I have cried bitterly at the cruel twists of fate that may well have brought me to my end here in these most Desolate waters.

Speaking of cruel twists of fate, on the third day or so it occurred to me to inquire about my old love Amelia, and see if she had survived the amputations of her mangled arms. I made my way down to the Surgery and was pleased to find her convalescing in a most comfortable hammock, next to several others with suppurating stomach wounds and the like. "Amelia, dearest, how splendid you look!" I cried, then, endeavoring to lighten her mood, added, "There's something different about you, what could it be? Did you change your hair?"

"My fucking arms have been sawn off!" she cried, holding the bandaged stumps up at me, and then added, "I thought you too must have been killed, since it has been three days and never once have you visited me."

I let this ungracious rejoinder pass and said, "As you surely understand, dear Amelia, I have many pressing duties in my new position. Come, come; let us look on the bright side. There are many on this ship who have lost a hand or a leg, and are none the worse for it; I myself lopped off one of Sally Nottlewick's ears just the other day. We shall get you fitted out with hooks, or perhaps a telescope on one arm," I said, then, eyeing her lasciviously, I said, "Indeed, it occurs to me that there are other, more delicious implements which could be fitted to your stumps and we could have fun with those some evening--"

"How can you think of that!" she cried, and turning away from me, began to sob. But in fact the site of Amelia laying there, so helpless, with her bandaged arms-- well, former arms-- and bare legs and feet did stir something in my loins.

"When I look at you, that is all I can think of, my Amelia de Milo, my oldest and dearest friend," I said, and she softened a bit at that. "I do not see the part of you that is missing--" indeed, that was logically impossible-- "but rather, I see new ways you might develop your talents to give pleasure. Talents I... have always found the greatest pleasure in..."

As I said this to her I began to press my sex against her foot. She struggled to get away but in the drooping hammock, and armless, she had little ability to maneuver, and so there was little she could do to prevent me from pulling my skirt over her leg and then pressing her toes up against my pussy. That organ quickly dampened as I rubbed it over the big toe, which slid inside my folds readily. She resigned herself to this act, and began to frig my cunny with her foot, the big toe going inside me, the foot rubbing my clitoris. Within a few moments of this action, during which I made her foot quite sodden, I am sure, I felt the Tingle and grabbed the rope holding the hammock next to hers, being joined in moaning by the badly wounded patient in that swing who was awakened from a fitful sleep by my jerking of the rope.

Once I had completed my Tingle, I wiped Amelia's foot off with a surgeon's cloth and said, "Duty calls, I'll leave you to enjoy the pleasure of your own Tingle alone," and walked away, only later realizing that, in fact, her stumps were probably insufficient in length to that purpose. Well, somebody would help her, I expect!

* * *

September 14, 17--

Captain's Log,

My officers-- Sally Nottlewick, Kate Greasely, and Magdalena von Schkwirtzen-- gathered around the table in my quarters the next morning, while Hippolyte lounged on the bed, one breast sloping enticingly out of her open top. "Ve could easily face two weeks mit out the vind," Magdalena said, as she pointed to a chart of the Sea in which we were becalmed. "By zat time, I expect all but a few remnants will have perished from thirst."

"Ghastly," I said. "Are there no options to extend our supply of liquid?"

"Only one," she said. "Ve could drink the blood of one or two unfortunates per day, thus prolonging the life of the remainder. However, ze effect on morale of this cold-blooded murder iss... unpredictable."

"Horrid," I said. "Can't we just row ourselves out of here or something?"

"We blew up the rowboat," Sally reminded me.

"Right," I said. "Well, it's a grim picture, to be sure, but let's keep our chins up, and remember that we're British, that is, except for those of us who aren't," I said, in my most Captainly fashion, but it did not seem to inspire the confidence I had hoped.

"I know something we could do," said Hippolyte, unexpectedly, from the bed. A couple of the officers rolled their eyes, not being accustomed to discussing matters of Strategy with the captain's bed-companion, but I figured we had little to lose by seeing what she meant.

She stood up and walked toward us. "An old voodoo woman on St. Roger's taught me some of the gris-gris," she said. "There is a ritual for opening a hole in the world, a slit which will suck you right in and take you places you never dreamed of." She had a dreamy, almost Mesmeric look on her face as she spoke this tommy-rot, and I could see that her flight of fancy was not going over at all well with my more practical-minded officers.

"What does this ritual involve?" I asked.

"A chicken and as much fucking as we can conjure up," she said. "I have seen the old woman do it. One minute she was there, the next-- pfft. She did not come back for a week."

I looked at the officers. "What have we got to lose? It will at least divert the crew for an afternoon. Tell us more, Hippolyte."

"We say the words the old woman taught me, and everybody is fucking and sucking, and when you get to the most important words... you cut off the chicken's head as a virgin has her bottom rendered by a man's pants-sword."

"Ah," I said, softening the blow. "Well, there's the problem. I suppose, technically speaking, that we have a number of virgins on board, in the sense that several of the crew have never had the male digit in their sex; indeed I myself am one, having always been careful to avoid becoming with child in my youthful play at home. And we still have some chickens, I believe. But then we come to the problem of fucking in the arse, which really requires a man and a cock, and that's the last thing we have on this ship. So unless another boat happens to get stuck here next to us, I don't see how this solves our problem."

The meeting went on for a bit but I am too distressed to relate any more of it. Suffice it to say that no way out of our predicament presented itself. Either we gain wind in the next few days, or we die.

* * *

Sept. 15, 17--

Captain's Log,

Windless again. Woe!

* * *

Sept. 16, 17--

Captain's Log,

In an effort to divert myself from the woes of Captaincy on this accursed ship in this blasted place of Death, I decided to see what pleasure could be had from attempting to woo the second of our two unlucky captives from the island of St. Roger, Alexandra.

Where Hippolyte had a most curvaceous form, Alexandra seemed so underdeveloped as to be almost boyish, slender, a bit strong-featured, but a poetic creature, almost faerie-like in the way she pranced about. I found her appealing but, alas, she seemed to shrink from the female touch as I sat next to her on my bed and stroked her face. "There is nothing to fear, dear Alexandra," I said comfortingly. "Though if we are in peril, should we not make pleasant our last days by enjoying the comforts of fleshly love? Have you ever enjoyed physical pleasure with another?"

"Hellooo, girlfriend," Alexandra said, in that peculiarly emphatic way she had of speaking. "Earth to pirate lady, get a clue."

I nuzzled her cheek and rubbed her flat, undeveloped breast under the cloth. "So you have been with someone? Was it a boy?"

"Sister, I've had more cock than the prize hen at the Lancashire County Fair," Alexandra exclaimed, waving her arms about her all flibbertygibbet. "What do you think I was doing hanging around the waterfront, scraping barnacles?"

"So... you have been forced into a life of harlotry by wicked men," I said, as I rubbed my way up Alexandra's leg, which she kept pressed tightly together-- and in those muscular thighs I found most ungirlish strength. "I know the things you've had to do, and I can assure you that Sapphic love is most unlike the rough treatment of men--"

"I'm getting that impression," she said, and rolled her eyes at me. "Of all the ships to wind up on, I have to get shanghaiied by the HMS Gash."

"Would you not like to suckle at my breasts for comfort?" I said, exposing one to her.

"Only if they're eight inches long and black as an iron bar," she said, as I forced my hand further up her skirt. "Oh, for Christ's sake, Miss Thing, can't you figure it out?" she said, and she lifted up her skirt to reveal-- Alexandra was Alexander!

"A cock and balls!" I cried in delight, and reached to take the organ in my hand.

"Well, it isn't a croquet mallet," she-- I mean he-- said. "I thought you'd get the hint, but since you force me to whip it out, now can I go back to the business of dying of thirst without another cock to keep me company while you girls go back to singing folk songs and licking slit?"

"Oh, blessed cock," I said, and bestowed a kiss upon it, which made it rise to greet me. I kissed up and down the shaft and to the round balls below.

"I know just how you feel, but listen, you're really not my type, that is, I don't go for oyster on the fur shell," Alexander said, as I began to lick up and down the shaft, now fully hard in my mouth. I clamped my hand on his mouth and pushed him backward. Oh, a working cock aboard my ship! I could not resist the delight of sucking it in gratitude, as I had upon occasion done for suitors, handsome servant boys, visiting clergymen, etc. back at the family estate before I was so cruelly sent off to a life at sea.

"Whatever," I heard him say, and as I sucked that blessed instrument I reached under myself and got some of my wetness upon my finger, then inserted it into Alexander's bottom. "Go girlfriend," he said admiringly, and within a moment his seed erupted in my mouth and I, not wanting to waste liquid in our present state, happily swallowed it down, every drop.

When I was finished I pulled him to his feet and led him out the door, naked as Adam. "Crew! All hands on deck! I've got something to show you!"

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TO BE CONTINUED...