Capture of the Sorus-e-Aftab

He delicately began to run a finger down her belly, until it reached her pink wetness. As his finger passed over her clitoris, she shuddered despite herself. The finger then began to circle her wet opening. She bit her lip and looked balefully away from Pierre, attempting to deny that his ministrations were having any effect. "See how your body betrays you," he taunted quietly. "See how it denies any your pretenses."

His finger continued its teasing path, occasionally dipping ever so slightly into her cunt, but withdrawing quickly. The duchess winced as her hips reacted involuntarily, attempting to draw his finger into her. She bit her lip and looked at him with great conflict in her face. Of course she could not ask him for more, to insert his finger into her; that would be utterly beneath her status. But Pierre was patient. He kept circling. And circling.

Tears of frustration crept into the duchesses eyes. Her body bucked against the ropes. But he would not stop. Finally she cried out, not a human sound, but an animalistic cry of rage and desire. Pierre stepped back, a certain satisfaction in his face. He gestured to Musgrave. The duchess was lowered several feet, until she was kneeling again.

"Look at my cock," he commanded. She did so. "You will pleasure yourself with your fingers. But you will not climax. You will not look away from my cock. And then perhaps you will get what you seek."

The duchess happily pulled her bound hands towards her cunt and began to rub herself, moaning happily. Her eyes stayed locked on Pierre's member, which was increasingly growing harder. As she was about to cum, Pierre pulled her hands away from her cunt. She whined as Pierre pushed her on to her knees.

Pierre grasped the duchesses's hips, pressing in to her buttocks. He could smell her deep arousal. But then an idea suddenly sprang to mind. He spun the duchess around 90 degrees, until she was facing an ornate gold mirror. And then the duchess saw herself for the first time. She saw her nakedness, her finely braided hair now strewn across her body like a wild woman. She saw her breasts and face smeared with semen. Her moist lips which had so expertly worked on Pierre's cock. As she looked at her jeweled nose-ring, she almost seemed to remember her status, the honor of her family. A sort of recognition glimmered back into her eyes, a realization of what she had become.

But that realization would suddenly fall away, as Pierre began to insistently position his cock at the entrance of her cunt. Her face reverted to its animalistic state, her mouth pulling back widely in a grin, shuddering in anticipation as Pierre's cockhead entered her. She looked to herself again, her eyes narrow, her pupils dilated. Pierre saw with satisfaction that she now barely recognized herself. She had become meat, as had he. Sweating, he pushed himself into her, burying his cock to its hilt. She moaned loudly, staring lovingly at her own reflection.

***

Everett walked into the first mate's cabin. He was greeted by Madsworth. Seated innocently in a chair was the French woman Suzanne, her hands moving nervously on her knees. One of his crew, the lovely red-headed Abigail, was standing aside her, her hand on Suzanne's shoulder, a gentle motion that ensured she would not move.

Suzanne cleared her throat. "You are Captain Everett?"

Everett nodded. "I am. I apologize for your treatment, my lady. We had to take precautions that you and your husband were not harmed during the taking of this ship."

Suzanne's face was wary, but she spoke with a trained politeness. "I understand. Thank you for your concern. May I see my husband?"

Everett smiled the best he could. "Your husband her currently indisposed, but he shall come to you shortly." He turned towards the wine cabinet on one side of the room. With his back to Suzanne he began to uncork a bottle.

"My lady, I could not help but notice the crucifix around your neck." He popped the cork loudly. "Would you consider yourself a godly woman?"

Suzanne cleared her throat. "I would, captain."

Everett took two ornate goblets from a cabinet. With his back still to Suzanne, he withdrew the bottle of powder from his pocket. He then sprinkled a healthy amount into the bottom of one goblet. Everett poured wine over the powder and swirled the glass, mixing the wine and powder together. He then poured another glass. He turned back to Suzanne and presented her with the tainted wine.

Everett raised his glass. "To godliness!" He took a sip of his wine, and watched as Suzanne took a tentative sip of hers.

Everett watched her drink. "Something remarkable to me about godly people is their self-control. I remember a woman in Kinsale who kept her house spotless, even though she lived in a swamp. She'd spend all of her free time washing all the mud off of her floors that was blown in from the storms."

Suzanne had finished half her glass when her face started to whiten. She gasped and the glass fell from her hand. She looked fearfully to Everett as a stream of wine dripped from her mouth onto her chin. "We will now see how godly you really are, Suzanne", Everett thought to himself.

Everett watched Suzanne's body toss back and forth, first soft tremors, then becoming gradually more and more violent. Within moments her body was convulsing irregularly, her arms spasming and thrown about. Her hips bucked as though meeting some unseen force. He motioned to Madsworth to loosen his grip on the flailing woman, wanting to avoid her body from wounding itself in its current fervor.

Finally Suzanne's body stilled, her eyes open but pupils dilated. Her face was flushed, a creeping redness crawling up her neck. Her mouth was halfway open, pressed into a semi-smile. Everett's stern face betrayed little of the glee he was feeling inside. It was just as the books described. Everett motioned to Madsworth and Abbie to get into position.

After they had done so, he addressed Suzanne's frozen, standing body. "Suzanne, this is your husband's cousin, Abigail," he said gesturing to Abbie. Suzanne did not blink, but looked soundlessly at Abbie, who beamed innocently at her.

Suzanne's wide pupils darted to and fro, as if trying to reconcile multiple different thoughts. "...his cousin?" she asked in a deadpan voice.

Everett nodded firmly. "Yes, his cousin. She is one of your closest and beloved friends." Abbie stepped forward, doing her best impression of a genteel lady that she could muster. She took Suzanne's hands in her own, smiling widely, as if greeting Suzanne after a long absence.

Suzanne blinked. "Y...yes. Abigail," she said, looking to Abbie's hands.

Everett exulted. The Mughal potion had put the French woman into a state of extreme susceptibility. The books described it as pushing the individual into a dream-like state, where a new reality could be constructed for them. And people would do all manner of things in their dreams that they would not dare in their wakefulness.

Abbie proceeded as Everett had told her. "Oh Suzanne, I need your help so badly." She looked to Madsworth, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, looking absurd in his lord's clothing. "My husband, he...he says that I do not please him. He tells me that I am too passive, too gentle, too prudish. I tell him that he doesn't know how to please me. We are stuck." She clutched Suzanne's hands with greater urgency, worry in her face. "Suzanne, we need your help."

Suzanne's catatonic face began to soften as she regarded Abbie. The French woman was beginning to accept the fantasy scenario, as one does unquestioningly in dreams. Suzanne's hand rose and stroked Abbie's cheek gently, as if comforting her. "My friend..." she said, her voice regaining some of its warmth. "What can I do?"

Abbie smiled innocently. "Please Suzanne...show me how to please him. You have told me all that you do for Pierre, how you drive him wild. Show me. And..." she bit her lip. "Show him how to drive me wild."

Suzanne's eyes looked to Abbie lovingly, but her face still appeared uncanny, as though not fully in control of itself. She smiled, kissing Abbie delicately on the cheek. "Of course, my dearest," she said.

Suzanne turned to Madsworth, examining him. He nodded at her to proceed. She then reached up to her hair, and tugged fiercely at the knot holding her braids. Her hair fell down heavily down to her back as she shook it loose. She looked naughtily towards him as she slowly loosened the ties of her dress behind her, and then began to pull the garment off of her shoulders, revealing more of her ample cleavage. Everett, now standing at a far corner, watched in amazement at the transformation of the French woman.

Suzanne gestured to Abbie to follow suit. Abbie, with an acted awkwardness, fumbled at the straps of her dress. She sighed dramatically. "Suzanne... please... can you help me?"

Suzanne smiled and began to untie Abbie's hair, and then began on her straps. Suzanne gently tugged on Abbie's dress, and she must have noticed how tense Abbie seemed, as she reached to gently caress and massage her shoulders. Abbie sighed, relaxing. "Thank you, my dear. That feels...lovely..." she said, trailing off.

Suzanne looked to Madsworth, as though she was making sure he was paying attention to the lessons that she was giving him about pleasing Abbie. Suzanne then dared to bring her hand down Abbie's collar, gently tracing her fingers across the top of Abbie's right breast. She began to kiss Abbie's shoulder delicately, her mouth kissing upwards to Abbie's cheek. She tilted Abbie's face towards her and placed her lips upon the other woman's. As her lips pressed against Abbie's, she hooked her fingers under Abbie's dress, and pulled it down. It crumpled to the floor, leaving Abbie in her silk undergarments.

Suzanne's hands became more active. She took Abbie's hands in hers, encouraging Abbie to strip off her own dress. Abbie awkwardly tugged the dress off of Suzanne, leaving her in a similar undergarment. Gone was any of the softness or trepidation in the French woman's eyes. She began to caress Abbie's body vigorously, looking with a wicked deliberation between Madsworth and Abbie. Her hands travelled up and down Abbie's body, reaching under her undergarment to tease at her buttocks.

After a final kiss, Suzanne stood in front of Abbie. She looked piercingly at Abbie as she reached to her own undergarment, and in a single gesture, hooked it off of her shoulders. The garment fell off her body, leaving her nude form exposed, aside from the crucifix necklace about her neck. Abbie shuddered and slowly followed suit, awkwardly pulling her garment off her, pausing hesitantly as the garment spilled over her breasts. She shut her eyes dramatically as the garment fell down over her hips, baring her body.

Everett once again internally applauded Abbie's acting as she modestly attempted to conceal her breasts and cunt with her hands. "Oh Suzanne, I'm so embarrassed," she said with flushed gentility.

Suzanne took Abbie's hands in hers and embraced her lightly. "This is how you kiss him," she said, leaning her face into Abbie's. She kissed the other woman lightly at first, and then locked her lips harder onto hers. Her mouth pulsed as her tongue danced with Abbie's. Abbie moaned quietly; Everett raised an eyebrow, as the moan sounded truly genuine.

Suzanne delicately led Abbie onto a silk divan, pushing her into a lying position. Suzanne positioned herself over Abbie, her hands caressing their way down Abbie's body. She looked to Madsworth with intent. "This is how you prepare her," she said. Suzanne's fingers slid seductively across Abbie's cunt. She then kissed Abbie deeply as she slid a finger slowly into her.

Abbie's hips bucked as the finger entered her. Suzanne was working Abbie with an expertise that amazed Everett; this woman who had never even conceived laying with another woman was now fingering one like she belonged to a Parisian brothel. Abbie moaned as the pace of Suzanne's fingers increased, her hips moving in rhythm to her fingers. Suzanne reached up and twisted one of Abbie's nipples gently, pulling at it.

Abbie's body was flushing as an orgasm rose inside of her. Everett watched her intently, now knowing that there was no fradulence in her behavior. Then Suzanne did something that surprised Everett, even at this point. As Abbie's moans became more heated, Suzanne reached up, and gently closed a hand around Abbie's neck. Abbie's eyes shot open as she quietly gasped. Her orgasm was soundless, save for the thrashing of her buttocks against the divan. Suzanne kept her finger thrusting into Abbie, and her hand closed around her neck, until she felt the other woman's body subside. She released Abbie delicately, who gasped as the air filled her body again.

Suzanne sat up on the divan, looking to Madsworth. His pants were bulging. "Now to show you how to please your husband," she said matter-of-factly.

Abbie, recovering slowly, sat up behind Suzanne and embrace her from behind. She massaged one of Suzanne's breasts as she bit her ear. Everett could see how total flustered Abbie was by Suzanne's performance.

"Wait, Suzanne," she said. "You were truly magnificent. But..." she kissed Suzanne on the cheek. "There are other women here who would learn so much from you, were you to show them. Can you do that for me? For them?"

Suzanne looked to Abbie and smiled, kissing her as she giggled.

*****

Pierre stepped onto the deck, welcoming the fresh, cool air. It was quiet, without only a few men serving as scouts. Earlier, Musgrave had walked up to him as his cock slid out of the duchess for the third time. "Frenchman," she said. "Captain said to bring you to the royal dining room. Said he's got something to show you."

Pierre had looked to Musgrave. "Oh?" He gestured his head towards towards the duchess, sprawled out on her back, her legs in the air. Her face was blank, pressed into a constant expression of hypnotized pleasure. "What if I'm not done with her?"

Musgrave looked at him, with what appeared to be a hint of timidity. Her eyes tracked down to his cock, and back to his face. "Bring her with you."

Pierre clothed himself in the duke's royal clothing, which fit loosely on him. He had undid the ropes binding the duchess after fucking her for the second time. She had hardly noticed, instead spreading her legs to receive him again. He gathered up one of the ropes, and tied a wide loop onto one end. He tossed it onto the duchess's chest, and gestured to her.

Pierre now strode across the deck. In his hand was one end of the rope. As he walked, one of the scouts saw him approach, and gaped at the sight of Pierre. "Good", Pierre thought. "They're learning to respect me." As Pierre approached the royal dining halls he began to hear low voices grunting, and the sounds of wood banging. As he neared the door, now he heard higher voices; women moaning unintelligibly, but in a mixture of pleasure and resistance.

Suddenly Pierre began to sweat, not knowing what he would find on the other side. He grunted, looking down at the end of the rope. "We are far past fear," Pierre muttered to himself. He twisted the door handle and pushed it open.

Lining the walls of the room were the Mughal women, possibly two dozen of them. They were pale and flushed, with anxiety on their faces as they clutched their dresses to their bodies, seeming to want to disappear into the walls. Pacing in front of them were grinning pirates, like wolves circling prey. Pierre saw one pirate reach out and lightly grab one of the woman's breasts through her robe, leading them to yelp and jump back. The pirate guffawed in response, but did not continue, instead moving on to glare hungrily at the next woman.

Another pirate pressed his arms to the wall around one woman, trapping her. He made biting gestures at the air, cackling. As his body began to press towards her, Pierre heard a hissing noise at the front of the room. Everett was seated on the throne, and was sternly looking at the pirate in question. The pirate nodded to Everett and moved away. Pierre realized that Everett had given all the women the antidote to the Silence Milk, removing its fear-deadening properties. They were now as any other person, with their turbulent emotions pouring out of them.

Pierre now looked to the center of the room. On one side of the room, Nyala and Abigail were both nude and kneeling. They were both sucking at a pirate's cock in front of them, and four others were waiting patiently in a line for their turn. At one point, Pierre could see Abigail looking at Nyala out of the corner of her eye, as though she was looking for guidance from the skilled concubine in how to best pleasure the man in front of her. One man groaned as he came in Nyala's mouth.

Pierre saw Musgrave, her pants down at her ankles, pressed up against a column as a pirate fucked her from behind. She had clearly been eager to join the activities, after being pressed to watch Pierre with the duchess for so long. Pierre noticed scars along her chest and ankles; battle wounds shared by most of the men's bodies as well.

But Pierre was curious to see a body he had not seen previously. On a table in the center lay a large black figure, and atop him, was a pale white woman. Her back lay over his chest, her breasts up in the air. His mighty, trunk-like arm stretched over her chest and across her neck, concealing her face, and most likely constricted her voice. And his thick black cock was vulgarly thrusting into her exposed pink cunt, causing her legs to tremor with every thrust.

Pierre stepped into the room, to the sound of gasping.

The Mughal women were likely not alarmed by the sight of a Frenchman in the duke's robes. No, they were alarmed by what was at the end of the rope Pierre was holding. Crawling on the ground, on all fours, was the duchess, naked and beast-like, aside from her gold necklace which marked her as royalty. Her hair was strewn about, oily from dried sweat. Her buttocks were lined with dark red welts; she had begged Pierre for them. Pierre noted with satisfaction that as she crawled along the ground on her fours, some of his cum was still seeping out of her, having been collected from all their fucking.

As he walked forward, the pirates all looked to Pierre with mixed surprise and approval. As she stroked a cock, Abigail looked to him, grinning and nodding.The Mughal women were covering their mouths in disbelief at the sight of their duchess, some transfixed into watching, others turned away, unwilling to believe what was happening.

Pierre approached the strange couple fucking, leading the duchess in front of him, ignoring the audience that was staring at them. The black man was fucking the white woman with an intensity that made Pierre bizarrely curious. The white woman reached a hand up and tapped on the arm, as if asking to be released. The man acquiesced, releasing her chest and neck. He then firmly pushed her upwards, as she gasped, suspending her body at an angle. Her head dangled backwards still, wrapped in chestnut brown hair, concealed from Pierre.

The black pirate's fucking quickened, pistoning deeply into her. She moaned and yowled in pleasure like a cat, accepting him vigorously. As the man began to grunt in his climax, he reached up and pushed the woman's head forward, forcing her to look down.

Pierre saw Suzanne, her mouth open in pleasure, moaning as she watched wide-eyed as the pirate's thick cock came in her. Her body quaked violently as she came. He realized that this was the first time he had ever seen her full naked body, here as she climaxed loudly in front of dozens of onlookers. He felt himself growing harder at the sight.

After some time her head rose with difficulty, as though she was drunk. She first noticed the duchess, kneeling on the ground. And then she looked up to Pierre. Her face was flushed and sweaty, like when she had come down with a fever. Her eyes were blank, her expression glazed, as though she was floating in her own lust. After a moment her head turned to the side slightly, in a signal of faint recognition of her husband. And then she smiled slightly. An innocent smile, one Pierre had seen many times. One that she had after laboring long in the evening to prepare his meals or wait on him. A smile that said "I have done this for you."