Capture of the Sorus-e-Aftab

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Pirates capture a treasure that can drive women wild.
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zsazsa12
zsazsa12
73 Followers

Pierre and his wife Suzanne had spent five days below decks of the pirate ship Providence, locked in a small cabin. They had been seized while journeying from Pondicherry, en route to Yemen; the Providence was far too fast and they had quickly seized upon their small craft, which could scarcely put up a fight. Strangely, the pirates were not looking to seize any of the valuables carried aboard. Rather, they were looking for a translator; someone who could mediate between Hindustani and English.

The crew of his ship gave Pierre up quickly; as a civil servant in the French East India Company, he had spent years in Pondicherry, learning the languages of the Mughal Empire. To Pierre's dismay, they gave up his wife as well. The two were blindfolded, their hands bound, and they were carried aboard the Providence.

Days passed with monotony. They were not disturbed, or spoken to. Suzanne and Pierre made idle talk, both trying to comfort each other, both confused as to their purpose on board the pirate ship. And then suddenly a thunderous explosion shook the air. And then another, and another, a deafening roar. The cannons aboard the Providence were firing all at once; Pierre could make out screaming voices between the firing. And then, after minutes, the cannons fell silent.

Pierre and his wife held their breaths. As best as he could tell, no artillery had struck the Providence. The pirates must have been victorious in whatever their goal was.

Another day passed. Pierre heard the door to his cabin opening. His blindfold was pulled off of his face. He blinked, seeing for the first time in days. His wife sat by his side, tense but undisturbed. In front of him was a giant of a man, sweat and gunpowder staining his face.

"Oy, Frenchie. Time to go to work." Before he could say anything, he was pulled by his bound hands to his feet, and shoved out of the room. The pirate locked the door behind him, leaving his wife alone. Pierre swallowed.

The deck of Providence was buzzing with activity. The pirates seemed weary, but in good spirits. As Pierre's eyes adjusted to the sunlight, he understood why. He gasped sharply. Alongside Providence was a cavernous ship, at least twice its size. It had been successfully boarded and taken by Providence. Its deck was a wreck, ripped apart by the fierce cannonade. But its grandeur was still apparent; intricate carvings stood out along the body of the ship and along its mast. The sun flickered off of gold dust that had been painted onto the wood itself.

Pierre looked along the boarded ship's body. His eyes widened as he saw the lettering along the ship. Sorus-e-Aftab. The grandest of the treasure ships held by the Mughal empire.

Pierre was shoved forward by his pirate captor, who he learned was named Madsworth. Pierre walked across the boarding ramp and onto the Sorus-e-Aftab. The deck was quiet, aside from a few pirates carrying bags of booty back from the captured treasure ship back onto the Providence. No Mughals were to be found, disquietingly.

Pierre was led to a cabin on the deck. Madsworth knocked heavily on the ornate door with a closed fist. The violence of the knocking made Pierre jump slightly, which made Madsworth guffaw. "Cap'n!" Madsworth yelled. "Got the Frenchie here for ya!"

"Enter!" boomed a voice from the other side. Madsworth heaved open the door, which swung heavily inwards. With his other hand, he roughly shoved Pierre into the room, sending him sprawling onto his hands. Pierre was now in the presence of Blake Everett, captain of the Providence, now one of the richest men in the world after seizing the Mughal treasure ship.

Pierre awkwardly pushed himself onto his feet, and marvelled at the wide room around them. Tapestries, perhaps hundreds of years old, bedecked the room, woven from fine cloth interlaced with gold. The leather furniture and bed, covered with silk bedsheets, were perhaps more valuable than two of Everett's ships. But looking closer, Pierre could see the room was in a ruin. Tall wardrobe lined the room, many of which had been opened hastily, their belongings strewn on the floor. Pierre could make out gold jewelry and gems glinting on the floor and in the drawers.

Captain Everett's back was towards Pierre. He was focused intently on a single chest, which was lined with marble, light glinting from its silver edges. He looked back, acknowledging Pierre and Madsworth. He looked to the muscled seaman. "Our guest arrives in one piece. You may go to the royal dining room. You will be well entertained there."

Madsworth chuckled heartily and took his leave. Pierre swallowed hard, remembering the animalistic sounds he could hear coming from the lower deck. Everett beckoned Pierre to step forward and gestured to the chest. "Frenchman, do you know what is in this chest?"

Pierre gulped. "I do not, Captain."

Everett looked coldly to him. "It is what we came here for." Clearly Pierre's disbelief was visible on his face, as Everett continued. "No, not all of these trinkets lying about. What we need is inside this chest."

Before he could speak, Everett kept on. "And no, we can't just break the lock. Should we do so, the contents will be destroyed. The machinery of these Mughals is far beyond anything we've cocked up in Europe." Everett's mouth twisted in frustration. "We would have taken this ship for nothing."

He glared at Pierre. "Which is why we have a job for you, my dear French friend. You are going to be my translator. And if you do not obey..." his face darkened. "I will personally force myself upon your wife."

Pierre's mind reeled. Before he could respond, Everett shoved Pierre out of the room, hinting at Pierre to follow him. Pierre struggled to keep up as Everett strode swiftly and heavily across the deck, walking with great purpose. Pierre's mind spun, wondering what use he would be in opening an unlockable chest.

Everett and Pierre strode downstairs to the first deck. Pierre knew from his research that the first deck would have housed the lord and ladies in waiting for the royal family, and it was bedecked as such. A long red carpet stretched across the entire deck, as adorned and beautiful as any palace hallway in France. One door towards the end of the hallway was guarded by one of Everett's female pirates. She nodded to Everett as he approached.

"Musgrave," he said in reply. "None of them have been touched?" he asked, gesturing to the door.

She cackled. "Not a hair out of place. Most of the crew was fine waiting in line in the galley." Everett nodded as she unlocked the door. Everett gestured Pierre to enter first, and stepped in behind him.

Pierre saw what Musgrave was speaking about. Inside were three women, bound to the wall with shackles. Their clothes alone marked them as women of the royal family, but Pierre could perceive even from their demeanor that they held high status. They acknowledged Everett and Pierre with a trained coldness, a silent glare. Their eyes then dropped away, as if they had something more interesting to look at.

Everett acknowledged them with a similar coldness. "Frenchman," he said. "We've gathered that these women are of the high family. We've also been told that only the queen has the code to unlock the chest."

Pierre coughed. "Captain, there is no queen on board. The Mughal title is..."

Everett glared coldly at him. "Fuck their designation. The duchess then. We need to figure out who that is. But they ain't talking."

Everett pointed at them. "One of them is the duchess. Ask them who it is."

Pierre cleared his throat and translated. The women were silent. Pierre looked to the captain and shook his head.

Everett's eyes narrowed. "If they tell me who the duchess is, I will let the others go at once. We have a boat ready for them ready to disembark right now."

Pierre translated. The women did not speak.

Everett's fist tightened. "Perhaps I need to explain. My men are... hungry. They have not eaten in several weeks. The only thing stopping them from entering this room is me." Pierre felt himself sweating. His voice notably stammered as he translated the threat. "I am going to get what I want; one of the ways is easier for you, the other way is more enjoyable for my crew. What do you prefer?"

The women were not moved at all by the threat. They stood, staring blankly at the pirate captain, as though a dog were barking helplessly at them.

Everett nodded. "Very well. Take them to the galley." The women were led out of the room, with the pirates and Pierre behind. The women walked quietly behind, without uttering a word, with a trained grandeur and posture. They seem totally undisturbed by their captivity.

As they entered the galley, Pierre's eyes bulged. A line of three pirate men formed behind a dining table, as though they were patiently waiting for food. But instead of holding a plate, they were naked to their boots, and were stroking their cocks eagerly. At the head of the line was the dining table, and on top of it was Madsworth, lying sprawled on his back. He was grasping the waist of a nude woman, tiny in comparison to him.

Pierre could see that she was beautiful, with rich, dusky skin. She was gyrating on his erect penis, her pelvis dancing sensually against him. Her pink labia was wet as it grinded against his manhood, occasionally teasing him with the possibility of accepting his cock into her. But as it seemed like his cock would slip in, she would move onward. Madsworth was clearly loving this game; Pierre noted the odd interplay of this small woman in control of the physical situation with this massive, muscled pirate.

Pierre shook his head roughly. You are a married man, you fool! He thought roughly. He looked to her face, trying to assert some sort of academic distance. She was clearly not of the subcontinent; Pierre knew that much. A thick cloud of brown hair formed around her hair, magnificent and curly. Pierre began to analyze her, and noticed a small brand on her left shoulder. Though he couldn't make out the details, Pierre understood that this was how the Mughals inventoried their concubines; this woman was perhaps originally from Ethiopia, a favorite source of women for the Mughal harems.

Everett gestured for Pierre and the royal women to move closer. Pierre was more hesitant than the proud women, who appeared to barely acknowledge the sight in front of them.

Madsworth grinned at the captain. "Cap'n, this one is amazing! She's well alone worth sailing around the world for!"

Everett grunted. "Let's hope so." He gestured to Pierre. "Ask her for her name."

Pierre translated. She turned to Pierre while gyrating, clearly with some surprise that he could speak Persian. "One that speaks with more than his cock?" she asked. "My name is Nyala."

The pirates guffawed as Pierre translated. "Feisty bitch this one is!" Madsworth chuckled. "Nyala." He reached up and grabbed one of her breasts, which she pushed down firmly.

Everett's face was not amused, clear of purpose. "You have fucked many of my men without complaint," he said to her. "Many more will fuck you. Why? Are you not loyal to your lord?"

She looked to Everett after it was translated. "I've been traded many times my lord," she said, without skipping a beat on her sensual gyrating. She reached down with a hand and began to caress a breast. One of the pirates in line was so aroused by the sight, that despite himself, he ejaculated onto the ground. He groaned in frustration, and left in embarrassment.

"I've been traded between each of their husbands," she said, pointing at the three royal women. Their faces were stoic, unfeeling.

Nyala continued. "I know that I am to be traded to you now. I am part of your winnings." She said this with a plainness and understanding that Pierre found difficult to translate. Everett nodded. Pierre could tell there was a sort of respect for this woman behind his bluntness.

Nyala reached behind herself and grasped Madsworth's manhood. "Most of all," she said as she slipped his cock into her. She slid downward onto him as he groaned. "A cock is a cock."

Pierre translated the word "cock" with a certain hesitation. Nyala moaned melodramatically as she rode the pirate's cock. Pierre, despite himself, started transfixed at the sight of the Nyala's body swallowing the veiny member, her pink cunt wetly sucking against his member. Pierre couldn't help but examine her body further; her pubic area was totally hairless, unlike his wife. Thinking of his wife made him more ashamed, which absurdly made him more desirous; he could feel himself growing more erect, and shifted his legs awkwardly to hide his growing erection.

Everett chuckled. "You put on a good performance," he said.

Nyala chuckled, in between moans. "Aye, I've had to perform all my life. For the husbands of those rich bitches, who spat at me," she said, gesturing with her head at the royal women. She leaned down and licked the face of Madsworth, cooing at him.

Everett examined her. Pierre could detect a certain amount of respect in his face.

"Woman, I will not make you my property, or any of my men's."'

Nyala looked to Everett with a raised eyebrow, not interrupting her pace atop the pirate's cock. "Oh?"

"After today you'll be a free woman. But I would like something from you."

Nyala was looking to him intently. She was paying little mind to Madsworth, who was thrusting upwards into her with mighty force, his face tensing and heaving. Pierre was having difficulty focusing on the translation task at hand. He whispered a quiet prayer to himself, to attempt to steel his mind from the lustful display in front of him.

The captain pointed at the three women. "Tell me which one is your duchess. Tell me and you may accompany us, as a free passenger, back to Aden."

Pierre could see Nyala's face change, a small hope lighting up her eyes. Her mouth tightened, as though she was weighing the potential of betrayal.

"And what's to stop you from turning me back to the Mughals after I tell you?" she said. Her physical demeanor was becoming less rehearsed, her pace of fucking more irregular, as if Everett's offer had thrown her off balance.

Everett cleared his throat. "After today, The Mughals would rather kill me first than accept any trade from me. And besides." He pointed at the women. "Do you think me less honorable than them?"

Nyala examined him for a second, staring intently at him. Her posture then softened, and she grinned with the side of her mouth. She turned her attention back to Madsworth and began to gyrate her hips back and forth, moaning quietly. Pierre marvelled at the sight despite himself, watching her pelvis dance across his cock. Madsworth was grunting hoarsely, but when he tried to quicken his pace, Nyala somehow firmly slowed him down, despite him being several times her size.

Pierre saw Nyala's body shudder quietly, a far contrast from the melodramatic performance she had started with. Pierre deducted that she was climaxing. He had never seen a woman climax in this manner. Suzanne had never performed like this during their perfunctory lovemaking, nor had she ever mentioned that she could do...this.

Nyala lifted herself off Madsworth and lay prone on his legs, her face over his cock. With a tight hand she stroked his member once, twice, thrice. He groaned loudly as he ejaculated, jets of white fluid bursting from his cock onto her dark, vivacious breasts. Pierre grunted through clenched teeth as his own cock trembled, seeing cum splattered all over this woman's lovely bosom. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, that these things were possible.

Nyala kissed Madsworth's receding cock with giddiness in her face. She then gracefully pushed herself to a standing position. She walked to the captain, and stood in front of him. Despite her nudity and short stature, her presence was somehow grandiose. "You have a deal."

Pierre was so transfixed by her that he forgot to immediately translate. Everett raised an eyebrow at him. He coughed, shook his head, and translated. Everett nodded to her, and gestured to the royal women. Nyala walked and the captain followed behind.

Nyala looked to the first royal woman, who seemed to stare past naked slave in front of her. "This one... her husband is sick and impotent. Used to watch me fuck other men instead. Rumor is she started slowly poisoning her husband after their first child so she would have control over the household." The royal woman blinked, but made no other motion in response. "She's not the duchess. Lady of a minor household."

Nyala walked to the next. "Now her... her husband beat me. Not in any way I would have liked. And she's the one who made him do it." Nyala pointed to a small bruise on her belly. "She kept telling her man to stop acting a coward and be more brutal in his rule, and he'd have to learn through me." The royal woman eyes flicked to her and back. "Not the duchess. Her cousin's cousin's wife or the like."

Nyala approached the final woman. "Now her. Her husband actually never fucked me. You know why? She cuckolded him. So many times. She abused him, for all his kindness. All he wanted was respectful company from me." Nyala drew her finger and thumb across her breast, picking up globules of semen. She then violently pressed the cum onto the royal woman's face, who did not react. "This is her, captain. Your duchess."

****

With a tug, Musgrave finished securing the duchesses' hands. They were back in the captain's cabin, the gleaming chest off in the front of the room. She was bound to a heavy rope, which was slung over a ceiling rafter. The duchess had not moved at all during her binding; her chin was held up as though totally blase about her captivity. Everett circled around her, tapping a finger to his nose.

He finally spoke in a low voice. "My lady, I know what is in this chest. And I know that you know where the key is."

She did not speak after Pierre translated. Everett continued.

"I also know why you are resisting me. Or should I say, how you are resisting me. You see, any person in their right mind would be very fearful of us. Of what we might do. But you women have shown no fear. Puzzling, is it not?"

He stopped, and looked at her. "We seized a ship a month ago, with several women behaving much like you are now. Unluckily for them, one of your alchemists was on board. And he explained everything to us, after some...convincing."

The duchess was now looking at him. Her face was still unmoved, but she now seemed to be more alert.

"I was marvelled to hear what the alchemist had to say. He said that he had spent decades investigating potions that would cause...changes. In women. I couldn't believe what he was saying. He told me that he had invented a potion that could make a woman completely helpless to another's command. He called this potion 'zusma'."

Everett licked his lips. "If a man wanted, he could give a woman this potion, and turn her into a beast. A beast who only wanted to fuck, and be fucked. And he said that we could find this potion on the Sorus-e-Aftab."

Pierre inhaled sharply through his nose. He couldn't believe it. He had heard rumors of the Mughal alchemists, how they could give women the appetites of men through their potions. But he had only believed them to be myths. He stammered out the translation, attempting to find the right way to voice "be fucked."

The duchess's eyebrow raised imperceptibly, but she did not respond.

Everett continued. "I also know that they invented another potion. One that would remove all fear from whoever drank it; no matter the intimidation, the consumer would never feel frightened. Remarkable, no? He called it Silence Milk." He paused. "My dear, is it possible that you drank such a potion before we came on board?"

The duchess did not respond, but Pierre could see her biting her lip as he translated.

zsazsa12
zsazsa12
73 Followers