Jacqueline de Belleville Pt. 05

"You will sign a document renouncing all claims to this boy," says Brigitte. "As we agreed months ago, Jules and I will adopt him into our family as our own child. In exchange you will be given your manumission papers."

It's the first time since Iago and Felipe left here months ago that the subject of my freedom has been mentioned. To be honest, the combination of my advancing pregnancy and our erotic ménage-à-trois had pushed the issue to the back of my mind for a while. But now I've had my baby, I'm once again thinking about my future. Of course Brigitte could simply take my child as her own and leave me enslaved on La Coccinelle. Having me sign a paper allowing the adoption is an unnecessary formality in my current situation. If Brigitte decided to renege on her promise to free me then there would be nothing I could do about it other than try to escape. But Brigitte is keeping her word, and granting me my freedom.

I'm allowed a few days to rest and recover before being escorted to the gates of the plantation. There are other new mothers at La Coccinelle, so I'm not required to provide milk for my child. I'm allowed a quick farewell to my boy, whose name I'm never to learn. Brigitte insists on having the right to name my child, and I've no means of stopping her from doing so. With nothing more than the rough cotton dress I'm wearing and my manumission papers in my hand, I set off on the walk to the nearest town.

A cynical person could claim that being left in the middle of nowhere with only the dress on my back is a recipe for ensuring that I don't live to tell my tale. But my childhood years living on the streets of London have taught me the knack of begging and thieving without getting caught. The small village I pass through probably never finds out what hit them. Suitably clothed and fed, and with a few coins in my new bag, I continue on my journey towards Saint Pierre. It's the largest town on Martinique and is affectionately known as the Paris of the Caribbean.

I decide to wait until morning before entering Saint Pierre. Iago mentioned that the island is now garrisoned by the English and I don't want to blunder into a patrol in the dark. I sweet talk a farmer into allowing me to sleep in his outhouse overnight. Maurice demands the usual fee for my accommodation, and for the first time in months I enjoyed a man's cock reaming my arse. Fortunately Maurice's cock isn't too large as my arsehole has contracted from lack of use as a sex hole.

"Have you recently given birth?" asks Maurice the next morning when he notices my swollen tits are leaking milk.

"Yeah," I reply, dreading him asking the whereabouts of my baby.

Fortunately Maurice is only interested in the fact that my tits are full of milk. He fetches a bowl and proceeds to milk me like a cow. I could object to his assault on my body, but his actions at least ease the discomfort of my swollen tits.

"What are you going to do with that?" I ask, pointing to the bowl of my milk.

"None of your business," replies Maurice with a sly wink.

I could raise a fuss but I'm still not fully adjusted to no longer being a slave. The effect of spending eight months of only doing what you are told without any say in the matter takes time to wear off. I collect my few belongings and leave Maurice to his unusual bounty.

Maurice's farm is located on a hill overlooking Saint Pierre. Consequently I get a good look at the activity in Saint Pierre harbour as I walk down the road. I can see two English warships anchored off-shore. Small boats are ferrying supplies out to the ships. I'm still wanted by the English Admiralty on charges of piracy so I decide to delay my arrival in Saint Pierre until the ships leave. Unfortunately, these islands are one of the regular haunts of the Zafiro, so there's more than a remote chance that someone will recognise me. It's possible that enough time had passed for the wanted posters to be removed, but I can't be sure. The persistence of the English Navy in hunting me down seems ridiculous to my mind.

Not far from the farm is a small inn which seems to be a regular watering hole for the locals. I decide to ask if there are any jobs going in the neighbourhood.

"There's no work for women around here," says the innkeeper when I ask about any jobs. "Not unless you want to spread your legs. With a body like yours you could probably earn enough to get by."

There's a murmur of agreement from the patrons at the bar. A couple of the men offer to buy me a drink in exchange for some company, and I see no harm in accepting their offer. My few coins need to be saved for a meal. It gives me an opportunity to catch up on what is going on around the place and events further afield. No reliable news ever reaches the ears of the slaves at La Coccinelle. I'm not sure that the news I'm hearing here is all that reliable either but it's better than nothing.

I leave the inn shortly before noon. I need to find work and a place to stay before dark. It's a task easier said than done. I can't risk going too close to Saint Pierre until the two English warships leave. By late afternoon I abandon my search for today. I return to Maurice's farm where I ask for another night's stay. Maurice readily agrees for the same consideration as before.

I endure another milking session which seems to satisfy both our needs. Then Maurice the farmer instructs me to lift my dress to my waist and he has me bend over the table ready to receive his cock. But at the last moment he changes his mind and has me lie on my back. Betty the midwife warned me not to have normal sex so soon after giving birth and I'm about to stop Maurice in his tracks when he loses interest in fucking me. He's seen the tattoo of a cat above my cunt which he had failed to notice yesterday.

"You're Jacqueline de Belleville. The pirate," says Maurice. "The English are offering a two hundred pound reward for your capture."

Two hundred! That's a small fortune. Last time I heard the reward for my hide was only fifty pounds. Shit! And double shit! I reach for one of the knives lying on a nearby bench.

"You need to be alive to claim the reward," I reply, keeping my weapon hidden for the moment until I establish what Maurice intends to do. I guess this means we aren't having sex tonight.

"I'm a loyal Frenchman," replies Maurice. "I've no love for the English. Your secret is safe with me."

Hmmm. Perhaps. The French want to arrest me as well, but there's no reward offered by them. Two hundred pounds buys a lot, particularly on an island suffering from the effects of the war between England and France. My only comfort is that Maurice must know that any reward is likely to be a long time in arriving unless he plans on marching me in front of an English admiral himself. Finding one of those could be tricky.

I consider my options. I reject the idea of killing Maurice, unless he attempts to harm me. My safest course would be to leave immediately and disappear. But once it becomes known that Jacqueline de Belleville is on the island, there are likely to be scores of bounty hunters searching for me everywhere. The English may even spare some troops to look for me themselves.

Maurice is clearly torn between lust for an attractive woman's body and lust for a considerable sum of money. I think the principle that 'a bird in the hand is worth two in the bush' tips his decision in my favour. It's the start of our short friendship. I become Maurice's mistress and I spend the next few months working on his farm during the day and letting him fuck my brains out at night.

Maurice seems to genuinely hate the English and he's content to have someone to warm his bed at night. I eventually find out why he wants my breast milk. Some wealthy woman in town has given birth to twins and she can't provide enough milk on her own. Maurice sells my milk to the woman at an exorbitant price until eventually it's no longer needed. I'm relieved when he tells me that my twice daily milking sessions are to end. Within a few weeks my tits are back to their normal size.

I occasionally make a journey into Saint Pierre to deliver produce from Maurice's farm. The English soldiers leer and make suggestive noises when they see me, but they otherwise leave me alone. Visits to Saint Pierre by English ships are irregular and I try to avoid encounters with sailors when they occur. One day in late May my luck runs out. I come face to face with a group of English naval officers. One of them is a young lieutenant whom I first met three years ago in Kingston, Jamaica. He clearly hasn't forgotten that time when he and I spent several hours flirting with each other. Only later did he discover that I was the infamous Jacqueline de Belleville, wanted pirate. His belated attempt to arrest me failed miserably and I was long gone by the time he called for reinforcements. Now it looks as though he's going to get his revenge. I don't even get the chance to say goodbye to Maurice.

Two days later I'm transferred onto the flagship of Rear-Admiral Roger Rodgers. So far I've been treated reasonably well for a supposedly dangerous pirate. I suspect that my treatment has a lot to do with my gender and looks. The officers of the Formidable seem to find it hard to accept that such a slender young woman can really be such a threat. In most respects that's true. Of course each and every one of them would like the opportunity to fuck me, but naval tradition makes it ungentlemanly to do so on board one of His Majesty's ships. That rule apparently doesn't apply to admirals, as I discover when I'm 'invited' into Roger Rodgers cabin. It's the first of several private visits I make to his cabin during our voyage.

I'm given quarters in one of the small cabins usually reserved for junior officers. I can't complain about my treatment, although that doesn't alter the fact that I'm being taken to London to stand trial for piracy. Roger Rodgers listens sympathetically to my story as I relate the circumstances of the unjust charges against me. He even undertakes to help me once we get to London, although he has his hand up my skirt when he makes his promise. Who knows if he'll keep his word, or if it'll make any difference to my fate?

The Formidable sets sail for England in early June 1809. However the demands of war mean our journey is interrupted. A frigate intercepts the Formidable as it approaches the English coast and relays fresh orders to the admiral and captain. Rear-Admiral Roger Rodgers has been posted to a desk job at the Admiralty in London and the Formidable is ordered to make haste to Lisbon to support the English army in their battle against the French. Somehow I get forgotten in the whole process and Roger Rodgers boards the frigate alone while the Formidable turns south towards Portugal.

In Lisbon I'm transferred into the care of the local Provost Marshal. But before he can lock me up I come to the notice of a portly English army colonel who takes a fancy to sampling the delights of my body. It seems the Provost Marshal is not above accepting a bribe from a fellow officer, particularly when the officer is the Earl of Cockbridge. But an order arrives from the English army headquarters in Spain before the Provost Marshal can make the mistake of setting me free. It appears that I'm to be escorted to meet with none other than Sir Arthur Wellesley, commander of the English army in Spain. A company of dragoons on their way to the front lines are assigned to be my escort. An uneventful journey into Spain brings my story to the point where my earlier story about my search for my sister Julieta begins.

I show my completed story the A'isha. For once she doesn't make any comment after she reads it.

"Get something to eat and then prepare for your dancing practise," says A'isha. "The six of you need a lot more practise before your performance."

I do as A'isha instructs and I join Catherine, Sally, Elena, Ruth, and Julia for our next dancing practise under Fatima's demanding eye.

"Get undressed!" commands Fatima as we prepare to begin our lesson.

Yesterday we practised dancing while naked, but Fatima had promised us matching costumes for today's practise. She shows us the costumes we are to wear which hardly classify as clothing at all. The filmy gauze veils hide very little of our bodies but I guess that's the intention. The hardest part is going to be keeping the veils in place without tripping over them. Nevertheless we soon get the idea and by the time our afternoon's practise is over even Fatima seems pleased with our efforts.

We finally finish our practise for today and Fatima orders us to go to the pools to clean ourselves and relax. Our dancing is designed to be erotic and to excite men to lust over our bodies. I don't doubt we can achieve that easily enough. Of course it isn't only our audience who feels the erotic nature of our dance. Each of us is in a highly charged state of arousal and it's no surprise to any of us when Julia comes over to me and buries her face in my cunt. Her actions trigger a bout of very improper and unladylike behaviour from some of England's upper crust ladies.

[End of part 5]