L.A. Pirates' Party: tease a Mast

I noticed some waiters, wearing a cream-colored smock and pants with wide blue and white vertical stripes. Some waitress girls carried trays with crystal goblets. But they were numerically few compared to the waiters. Some waitress girls carried trays with crystal goblets. But they were numerically few compared to the waiters. They wore very different clothes and hairstyles: one looked like a farm girl, another looked like the bookkeeper of an 18th-century brothel, and the third looked, if I may say so, like a pickpocket.

Each seemed perfectly cast in her role. Perhaps one was a surgical student in real life, but that night she seemed to have always lived in a Tortuga tavern.

I was looking for Spanish officers to whom I could give orders (as I was the highest ranking) but I found that I was the only one: the other guests were either dirty pirates or posh British officers from the Royal fleet.

I saw a British officer in a high uniform, dancing the minuet with my wife, who always wears the stick mask... I had the impression that he was touching her breasts! Maybe not, but I knew she was without panties, so, I was about to challenge him to a duel, when a pirate all dirty spilled a bottle of wine on me, staining my whole costume and wig.

Without thinking, I unsheathed the silver Rapier and challenged them both to a duel: the officer and the pirate. But my wife looked at me with fiery eyes under the tortuosities of the damask mask: I knew that look of hers well, it meant, "Careful, don't spoil this lovely evening."

Jackie Swallow intervened: he was holding two huge eighteenth-century guns, and maybe they were just toys, but it was very scary to me anyway: a shot could go off by mistake. "How do you like my guns... Shock, and Awe!"

Both the drunken pirate and the British officer bowed and fell back. Jackie continued, laughing obscenely, "Ha! Beware, you fools: I always shoot first." and ordered everyone to stow their weapons.

She moved a few steps toward me.

She-Captain Swallow ordered me to hand over the Rapier. I mumbled a few "Sorry-not-sorry" but she enjoined me in a stern voice, "I know what I'm doing. You, on the other hand, do you know what you're getting yourself into, Lucas?" Shaking my head, I handed over my silver rapier. I felt naked without the weight of my blade at my side.

Chapter 7. Thunder and Lightning (the Duchess shackles the Duke).

She-captain Jackie Swallow laughed loudly "Mwahaha!" then ordered my wife, "Duchess Susanna de Alarcón. You have presented yourself to us as the loving wife of this ... ridiculous ... bumptious ... boring talker. I know that you have received precise instructions for behavior for this party from a special scroll. Remember that you and I have always been the best of friends, in the innocent gardens behind the worst taverns in the anchorage of Maracaibo. Now I ask you, Duchess Susanna: are you complicit in your husband's villainy, or are you a free and independent woman?"

Beside me, I saw my wife clench her lips in embarrassment, and swallow her breath. Everyone in the room was silent: the patch-eyed pirate fiddled with the tip of a sharp knife.

Perhaps two seconds passed, perhaps two centuries passed. Time was motionless.

Suddenly I heard my wife's voice in a tone I had never heard from her: "You are right, she-captain Swallow. Today is the day to teach the prisoner a lesson. Duke de Alarcón, hands behind your back now: and forward, slowly, to the stairs."

Holding my wrists behind my back, my little wife might have looked ridiculous, and if we had been alone, I would have laughed. But my character was the only Spanish officer in a mansion full of British military men armed with metal sabers and guns with fuse and tinder, not to mention pirates, privateers, and buccaneers capable of flaying me with scythes, wavy krisses, and even the Swiss Army's multi-purpose pocket knife (you know what harm corkscrews can do in the hands of a drunken pirate).

Behind me, my wife hissed in my ear, "Pretend to obey, darling, it's better if they trust me, I'll be a kinder jailer than this bunch of drunks, and then I'm afraid they'll lock me in the cage hanging outside the balcony..."

I walked in front and could not whisper an answer but nodded my head vigorously. I walked up the stairs, for the first time in my life in front of my wife: usually, I followed her, both out of good manners (rule 17: "always catch a damsel in distress on the fly if she slips or trips") and to enjoy the view of the scenery: her firm buttocks or pussy before my eyes.

Now, however, the position allowed her to hold on to my wrists: if we had taken the same path downhill, her arms would not have reached my hands.

"Go left: toward the ship."

In the corridor on the second floor there was only one light on, and only one door open. I entered first (good manners, rule 19: "husband always checks unfamiliar spaces, the only exception to the "Ladies First" rule), and was amazed at the perfect reconstruction of an eighteenth-century commodore's log cabin. The only inaccuracy was the presence of the Main Mast: we were evidently below the Main Deck, and a real officer would never have agreed to put fancy furniture and books in the hold but would have demanded the best location in the Forecastle Quarter, or the widest part of the ship, aft, above the rudder. But because there was only half a vessel in the mansion, and because it was all appearance, these inaccuracies had not stopped the work of the carpenters and decorators.

Behind me, Susan giggled all happy: she had the happy voice of a little girl who had finally been taken to the Jungle Cruise in her favorite amusement park.

"Look, Lucas, isn't it beautiful? I've always dreamed of seeing the inside of a real corsair vessel..."

"Yeah. It's beautiful, it's dangerous, and I'm a prisoner in distress."

"Oh, hubby, I think you have to trust the she-captain Swallow, she is my friend!"

I was doubtful, but my instructions were clear. My wife couldn't know it, but the roleplay required me to trust Jackie specifically: the character, who had condemned me to the shackles. Okay. I can handle the situation, even without my hands. I don't know what other instructions the others have, but I have to acknowledge that the Party Organization is above reproach.

I looked at the furniture. Every detail was meticulous. Beside the door was a typical seafaring chest, with metal reinforcements on the corners, and a wide armchair upholstered in red leather with large golden nails. The opposite wall was entirely occupied by the wooden shelves of a vast library: they were probably just cardboard ribs, but they looked like old navigation books and geographical atlases. There were rolled maps, a quadrant, an astrolabe, and a pair of brass telescopes. Lighting was provided by oil lamps enclosed inside wrought-iron chandeliers-a very romantic situation, were it not for holding up the base of the Main Mast.

In front of the door, we could see a segment of the widest mast I had ever seen. It was solid wood and certainly supported the yardarms of the sails we had seen from below. The Main Mast was erect and strong. At the base, to support it (to hold and to keep), there were large wooden wedges, arranged in a circle with a short base on the floor, and the long side supporting the shaft of the huge trunk: each wedge was at least as high as my navel. At first glance, I had believed that the floors were just fake parquet: but, as I had learned that evening, appearances are often deceiving. Was this, perhaps, the Lesson I needed to learn?

Even my wife had been enchanted by the beauty of that cabin; the lavish furniture and the definition of detail.

But suddenly she came to her senses, like a desperate housewife who remembers that she still has some chores to finish, and, standing behind me, she declaimed in a very intense voice, "Duke, I would not want any enemies to come and check it out ... and for them to misunderstand this waiting of ours, as a proof of my complicity!"

Very clever. Susan spoke loudly, to ensure that she would be heard by any enemy spies.

I thought proudly, "My wife is a genius."

I decided to play along. In a very loud voice, I enunciated every single word to be heard even from the hallway beyond the door. "Sure thing, my beloved Duchess. Command me whatever you want me to do, and I will do it."

"Anything?" she said hopefully.

"Anything!" declaimed I, proud as a Hidalgo, ready for anything to give her the most memorable Halloween party of her life.

"Then stay still!"

Susan turned around. I set down the mask glued to the stick, which was comfortable for the salon but unsuitable for carrying out She-Captain Swallow's orders. She picked up a black mask, with gold designs in the damask seams, and knotted it around the nape of her neck, like Zorro.

Then she turned to me, with an eager smile.

"First, let's take off this hat... uh, what a long feather, and how soft it is! Off with the wig... uh, how disgusting fake hair is!" My wife could not restrain an involuntary gesture of disgust and threw my wig far away, beyond the door.

She breathed deeply, as if to calm herself. "Now let's take off this tailcoat ... right ... left ... that's it. Now I unbutton the silk ruff... that's it."

To unbutton the wide ruff, Susan could have stood back a step. Instead, after negligently tossing my posh muffler on the wooden floor, she clutched at me, rubbing her erect nipples against my exposed back, covered only by a very thin silk camisole.

Suddenly I realized that I had a sizable erection forming an obscene tent in the leggings I was wearing. My wife pretended not to notice but it was a much more intense erection than usual! But how was that possible? Just because she had brushed my back with her nipples?

My wife kept speaking loudly to be heard by any guards in the hallway, "Now I'm going to unfasten your belt with the silver Rapier holster, put your hands around your neck, Mr. Duke, where everyone can see that there will be no sudden movements... That's it."

My wife had unfastened my beautiful leather belt and taken possession of my rapier. I felt naked without my long weapon, like a child whose sheriff's star had been taken away. But I still had my shoes on, my gold-colored leggings, and my lace-up shirt. From behind my back, my wife the duchess was still barking more orders.

"Now I will chain you to this huge Main Mast. Then she-captain Swallow will come, for interrogation. Walk forward and approach the Mast. Put your feet in those two holes in the floor, Duke...no, don't show me your back, I don't have to whip you...for the moment, at least, I only meant... turn your back and look me in the eye: you have to put your right foot in the hole on the right, there, and your left foot over there."

I thought, "for the moment? Whip!? WTF?! But maybe they had toy whips, the kind for children dressed as devils..."

Reaching back, I placed each foot in the appropriate hole: my thighs were spread apart, exposing my cock like the prow of a vessel, and I cannot deny that the costume pants were exposing an erect tent. In fact, when my wife bent close to my left ankle, it offered me a generous view of her glorious breasts. Her nipples were dark and erect, a sign that she was very aroused, which made me aroused more and more as well. The absence of panties on her emphasized the strength of my nascent erection.

I heard a rusty "CLICK."

Around my left ankle, she had locked a heavy iron shackle and was holding the key that hung from her golden necklace: the old key she had received along with the costumes at the hotel. Perhaps shackling me was planned from the beginning, and was part of the Secret Instructions she had read in the scroll at the hotel? Needless to think about it. By now we were on the hook.

To close the shackles on me, she had lifted her ample petticoats and was on her knees. To reach the other foot, Susan decided not to stand up but to crawl on her hands and knees. By mistake, I think, she bumped gently with her shoulder against my cock, which grew even harder after that involuntary touch. Perhaps she did not notice, or she noticed but said nothing.

From above, I couldn't see whether her mouth was contorted by a grimace of concern or a wide mocking smile.

CLICK. Her right ankle was also locked by a locked shackle.

Still, on her knees, and with her cleavage even more open, Susan looked up and stared down at me: it was the same position in which she often looked at me, maintaining eye contact during blowjobs. The only difference was that, at the moment, my cock was not resting between her warm lips, but facing the cold air of the room, while it was raining hard outside and thunder could be heard in the distance.

Susan handed me a metal hoop: it was a large black iron ring, as wide as my knuckles (the metacarpus), with a metal bar in the middle (like the letter "Ø"), and she told me to grasp it with my hand before she closed it. The metal wrapped around my fingers the crook of a saber: and just as impossible to release.

Still kneeling, around my wrist my wife tightened a double leather strap, strong but very soft. The leather was so wide that it covered half of my forearm, like the bumper we used in archery practice.

The leather manacle was strangely comfortable and left no marks on my skin. Still, the two parallel straps were closed very tightly: even untwisting my wrist I could not move, and my fingers were locked by the large black iron ring, as in a boxing glove. The fingers of my right hand could not have reached the straps, nor attempt to unbuckle that.

I was leaning against the wooden wedge at the base of the Mast. The craftsman who had sanded it had shaped the top edge of the wedge into a kind of shelf, and my two buttocks were resting on that wooden support.

My whole body was tilted, with my head slightly further back than my cock, silhouetted forward in the air like the flag pole of the vanguard of my imaginary army.

Or like a knight's spear during a medieval tournament.

The feeling of vulnerability was increased by the fact that while my knees were almost aligned with my cock, my ankles were far behind, aligned with my ears.

I thought that to reach the other wrist, my wife would have to stand up, and walk on her heels-there were at least three, maybe four steps away, because of the curvature of the shaft and the reinforcing wedges at the base.

Instead, Susanna stood up, but without walking. She kissed me on the cheek and said, "It excites me so much to see you chained, my love...Mr. Duke..."

The fingers of her right hand reached a button on his shirt. It was very loose: two fingers were enough to open it. Two fingers were also enough to grasp my nipple.

My wife whispered softly to my ear, "Are you turned on, Lucas?"

I would have liked to say some intelligible words, but only a moan came out of my mouth, "Groan..."

"Good. What if I, instead of walking across the room, slid my body over yours, rubbing my skirts against that flagpole protruding from your prow?"

"Groannnnn..."

"Ah! So you like it...I rub one thigh first...slowly...here...now I'm resting my foot on this step...can you feel my pussy? Do you remember it's all smooth and shaved?"

Susan had spread her legs apart but was too high for me to reach her. My cock rubbed uselessly against the silk of her skirts, but without meeting her flesh, the resistance offered by the fabric was too soft for me to be able to orgasm. And since I had seen for certain in the hotel that she was not wearing panties, I knew that a short distance from my cock was her naked and aroused pussy.

Trying to persuade her to move her pussy closer, I said, "Get off ... hurry ... aren't you afraid they will come and yell at us?"

"But no! The two of us are legally married husband and wife, we are at a party, and I am carrying out the order I was given, to chain you hand and foot!

Except ... how should I put it ... instead of carrying out my orders hastily, like a fool careless servant, I'm making sure that everything is done with the necessary calm. As befits a loving little wife."

"You're right."

Susan stopped and looked me steadily in the eye. We were at the same height now: me with my feet sunk into the Mast's holes, and her with one knee higher because of her foot on the steps. Moving her knee very little, Susan became slightly taller than me, and looked down at me (an inch difference, but completely different from the way I usually looked at her!), "Do you agree, too, that important things should always be done unhurriedly and taking their time?"

I would have agreed on any matter, even if she had asked me if the capital of Spain was Paris.

"Yes, oh yes, I swear, calmly, always!"

"We'll see about that," she replied, in a meaning-laden manner. She came down to approach my other hand, asked me politely to slip her fingers into the crock, and then closed my other straps as well.

I was completely helpless and vulnerable, and this position excited me so much.

She brought one hand to her mouth touching her chin with her thumb and forefinger: as in the "I'm thinking something" icon.

"Dear my Ducal husband, this erection is in danger of breaking your pants, or even worse, staining them."

And without asking permission she slipped her hands under the elastic band and lowered my breeches, down to my knees. The cock danced forward, finally free.

"Susan!" exclaimed I, "She-Captain Swallow could be here any minute, get dressed now! Hurry!"

"Ah no-no," she said, coquettish. "You said it is necessary to devote the necessary time, and that is what I want to do. Answer your wife, chained man: how would you like it if I gave you the best orgasm of your life?"

"Yes, honey, of course, but you always make me enjoy, we enjoyed yesterday too..."

A flash of anger crossed her eyes, which looked at me with disappointment through the holes in the silk damask mask.

"No, dear. I am not here to give you a quickie.

I did not spend ten minutes chaining you up, sweating and struggling, only to have you cum after ten seconds, like the Uncultured Swine that you are.

I am proposing to you the most important lesson of your life: learn to wait for the right moment.

Are you willing to hold out without cumming, until the moment I order you to do so?"

I was stunned. Was my Vanilla wifey proposing an edging session? But was it her herself, or was it a doppelganger disguised as her? Of course, I know what edging is (between short stories, novels, and movies, I consider myself an expert on a theoretical level) but I never imagined she would propose it to me.

"Sure, love, I'll hold out as long as you want me to."

Susan turned, unbuttoned her seethrough silk skirts and petticoats one by one, and stood naked, wearing only her heeled shoes, the white lace blouse with the short dark green bolero, and the black damask mask over her eyes.

From my position, I could only see her buttocks, but I knew full well that her pussy was shaved and smooth as a newborn baby.

She bent forward without bending her knees. She remained bent forward for a long time, showing me her feet on her heels, her calves taut, her magnificent buttocks. In the middle, a green emerald glistened from a silver plug she had lodged in her ass.

When I saw it, I exclaimed, "Oh! an emerald... I don't know if I can hold on much longer..."

She wiggled her buttocks without turning around or getting up. Bent over, she should have simply unbuckled her shoe buckle, but she was taking her time, acting with studied slowness. And meanwhile, I was admiring the emerald in the middle of her delicious buttocks.

"Do you like it? All the noblewomen of Maracaibo wear one, made of silver, carved in the most precious emeralds of Colombia...