Lady of Flanders: Pirates and Mates

Helping her collect her few belongings, he went out through the door to pitch them into the sea. She gathered her change of clothes, went to the door. The bosun stood ready to take them, looking severe.

"Desculpa! Desculpa!" he repeated. "I'm sorry". There was little more to be said. She let him go, then stepped out onto the deck.

No longer in charge it seemed, she made her way to the stern. Remembering her bonnet, she pulled it off and pitched it into the sea. She then waited for what would come.

Fifteen minutes later, all could see the ship clearly behind them. The pirate had dispensed with any attempt at trickery, had lowered the false flag and now flew a blood-red flag with a black cross diagonally. Not a registry, it was meant to intimidate.

It did that easily, along with a score of armed men lining its rail. Each had a different ragged uniform, and all held cutlasses.

Too soon, pulling alongside a man called across in French "Voile de chute!". "Drop sail".

The mate, now in command, called orders to the men to do just that. They were apparently ready for this, as the sails immediately fell. The men didn't bother to furl, and sailcloth flapped disconsolately in the small breeze.

Lines with hooks were thrown across from the enemy, which bit into their rail, scarring the wood. Their ship heeled over as capstans were turned to draw the lines tight. The tiny bark was trapped, with no hope of escape. It's motion became that of the packet ship, heeling as that heeled with the ocean waves.

Armed men streamed over the bound rails, disarming her men as they went across the deck. None resisted; most lay down on the deck with their knives and swords laid beside them. Only the bosun stood, in front of the mate by the wheel.

One man found her at the stern, lean and ropy with scars on his arms. He leered at her appearance. He didn't touch her, but called to another invader who vaulted the rails back to the packet, disappeared into the forward cabin. A moment later a man appeared at the door, apparently the master of that ship. He was dressed in relative finery, with a richly trimmed vest and embossed boots.

He strode to the rail, put one hand on it, vaulted easily onto her ship. Her ship! She felt despair at the thought. All she had worked for, all her father had gained in a lifetime, now in the hands of pirates.

The pirate captain spared her a glance, spoke softly to his mate then proceeded to the wheel. The bosun made as if to defend, but the mate put a hand on his shoulder, spoke to him briefly. He nodded, kneeled, laid his sword on the deck. At a word, the pirate captain directed a man to take the bosun away. Would she ever know his fate?

Her captor brought her forward, in time to hear the pirates demand and her mate's words.

"Vous abandonnez-vous?" the pirate asked, his accent cultured and smooth.

"Je me rends" the mate replied, drawing his sidearm and offering it. The pirate's mate took it, put it in his own belt.

Like that it was over. Only a few moments had passed from boarding to total surrender. They were now at the pirate's mercy.

A man entered the Captain's cabin, Her cabin! He came out and spoke to the ship's new owner, who simply raised an eyebrow.

"Where is your Captain?" he asked the mate.

"Dead of dysentery these past 2 weeks." he replied, crossing himself. "Only a skeleton crew, myself and a passenger remain on board."

The Captain nodded, absorbing that. He gestured at her, "This then is your passenger?"

"Yes, destined for the house of a cousin in Brazil."

The Captain nodded again.

"What of my men?" asked her mate brazenly.

The pirate Captain spoke briefly with his man, who began circulating among the captured men prone on the deck. To each he seemed to ask a question, got a reply.

"All who swear by the King of France and join my crew will be spared. Good sailing men are precious; none who can be trusted will be harmed."

This seemed to satisfy the mate.

"Will you deliver my passenger to port in Brazil?" he asked. This seemed to amuse the Captain.

"I will treat your passenger as I see fit. But surely you are interested in your own fate?"

The mate smiled grimly. "That I know."

Their eyes met, and a silent communication seemed to pass between them. The Captain tilted his head in acknowledgement of the mate's fatalism.

"You are a good man. In other circumstances I would be glad to have you as my officer."

Speaking privately to his man, the Captain turned and returned to the rail, vaulted over and disappeared into his own cabin.

The deck which had been strangely still during the conversation erupted with activity. The invaders began rounding up her crew. Most got their weapons back, and were taken below decks. One or two resisted, were beaten, and then capitulated. They were also taken below.

The man who was apparently in charge of her, held out his hand and led her to the rail. He attempted to help her over but she disdained his help, putting a hand on the paired rails and vaulting over in the fashion of the men.

Her skirts blew up in the process, revealing her completely. He laughed at the display, then swung over himself and continued with her to the cabin the Captain had entered.

Knocking, they heard "Entrer!" called from within. The man opened the door and gestured for her to enter.

It was dark inside; her eyes took a moment to adjust. Just then she heard the report of a pistol, then a splash. She just made out the Captain's face by the light of a flickering lantern. He grimaced.

"Such a good man, your mate! A pity."

Aleid shuddered at the words. No love had passed between them, but she too had found him a good man. The brutality of piracy shocked her.

"What of me?"

"Well lady" he replied in perfect Flemish, "First I'd like your sidearm, if you please?"

She drew her rapier, admired it for a moment, then laid it on the chart table in this cabin. The Captain slid it over to his side, satisfied.

"If you please, I will feed you, and we will talk?" He seemed genuinely hospitable.

Unsure how to answer, she was saved by the arrival of a uniformed crewman carrying a silver platter. This he laid out on the table, then retired.

Silver plates, cups, forks were laid out. The food was remarkable: roasted capon; cheeses ripe and hard; bread like she hadn't eaten in weeks! Her stomach twisted with hunger, resigned as she had been to ship's dry rations these last weeks.

"Satisfy yourself! It is all for you, as I have already supped."

She sat, stunned and still unsure. Taking a roll, she tore it, laid it down.

"You are hesitant? Surely my food is to your liking? I know I have been at sea too long, have preferences and fashions changed so much?" He eyed her laced bosom, his gaze lingering on her pale breasts and exposed nipples, smiling.

"Yes, of course, the food is fine. But why are you treating me so well? Are you not a vicious murderer? I know you are; my mate's treatment reveals that." She flushed at her boldness in accusing her captor.

"Oh that - just the necessities of politics! I am not so much a pirate, as a privateer. No difference from your point of view perhaps; certainly not from your mate's, rest his soul. But just politics, I assure you!"

"Then you will deliver me to port in good faith?"

"Madam, first we sup, then questions."

She was genuinely hungry, so picked up her roll and bit. It was surprisingly soft and fresh. Perhaps looted from some other ship recently departed from port? She could only guess.

A few bites later, her hunger abated, she pushed the silver plate away.

"What questions have you?" She was again alert, somewhat recovered from the quick violence and her change of fortune.

"First this: had your Captain indeed died of dysentery? I only ask because his cabin was remarkably void of personal effects."

She lied easily: "The men are superstitious. They emptied the Captain's cabin, dumped his belongings overboard and scrubbed it with carbolic the instant he was dead. A pity; he had some nice things." She deliberately affected the shallow demeanor of a pampered daughter, more interested in things than people.

He studied her face; was satisfied. "Where was the ship bound?"

"I know only that I was promised to debark in Sao Luis; from there I know not nor care where the ship was destined."

Again he seemed satisfied. Abruptly it occurred to her, that once she talked he would have no more need of her.

"What is to become of me? I have no more wealth to offer you as supercargo fare."

"Indeed not; since all that was aboard your ship is now mine." He smiled, again his gaze on her chest.

Rattled, she blurted out "Is it to be the pistol? Or the sword?"

He tilted his head, "A pistol in this confined space, would deafen the both of us." He looked at her sword on the table.

Standing, the chair knocked over, her knees suddenly weak, she turned to face the door. "Do what you must."

"Comme vous le souhaitez" she heard him say, softly. "As you wish"

He moved around the table and approach her from behind. Steeling herself for the blade, she clenched her fists, leaned her forehead against the door, trembling.

When it came it was a shock. One hand thrust under her skirt, cupped her buttocks, squeezed. She jerked from his touch, his hands strangely warm.

This was the last thing she had expected!

He probed her crevice, gently inserted two long fingers into her suddenly-wet cunt, stroked them in and out. She trembled more violently. His other hand came around, pulled at the lacing of her bodice, loosening it. Grabbing her breast, he roughly squeezed a nipple, kneaded her firmly.

The other hand inside her suddenly tensed, clutched her sex, lifted her to her toes, and she felt her wetness gushing forth. Her hands raised high against the door as she bent to accept his offences, struggling to maintain her balance.

His urgency was clear; he had been at sea too long. He embraced her closely, his body pressed to hers. His 'sword' was jutting against her backside through his clothes. She felt his need, and her body responded.

Removing his hand from her sex with a squelch! she heard him adjusting his clothing. Her skirt he raised, exposing her from waist to boots. Then a warm stiffness thrust between her buttocks, the wet hand now grabbing her hips and holding her like a vise. He manipulated his cock against her cunt with his other hand until he was wet with her need, then Thrust! it inside her.

Gasping, she involuntarily pushed her hips backward, tilting and accepting his sex. Every nerve of her vagina responded at the sudden invasion, overwhelming her senses. He penetrated deeper, coming to rest deep inside, sheathed as far as he could go.

"Miam Miam!" he exclaimed.

Her upper body pressed against the door, her faced jammed into the wood, a lip bruised by the pressure, his cock he nearly extracted from her body. Then he pulled her hips back suddenly, re-sheathing himself inside her.

Pausing a moment, allowing her body to adjust to his, he again pushed her hips forward until only the head of his cock remained between her cunt lips, then slammed her hips back again against his.

She expelled her breath with a whoosh! each time his member rammed home, or rather each time her body pounded against his and surrounded his cock.

With one hand grasping her breast, the other clamped to her hip, he pulled and pushed her entire body instead of thrusting his own need, using her like a rag doll for his pleasure. She felt helpless in his grip, her body just a tool for his self-stimulation. Her cunt was simply another way for him to masturbate, silky and warm and wet. As he stimulated himself his urgent engorged cock stimulated her, made her sex feel every inch of invading flesh and made her body want more.

He manipulated her for some time. She felt her sex pulsing, responding, her wetness flowing to coat his sex, the excess fluid stripped off by her tight cunt lips with each of her backward strokes and spraying onto the floor with wet spatters.

Her lip now bleeding, her knuckles bruised from the oaken door, her breast sore from his animal mauling, she felt strangely excited. She had gone from expecting death by sword to being impaled by his needy organ and it left her body reeling.

Her orgasm built. It grew past anything her poor first mate's tentative strokes had ever elicited; it grew past her response to her dear lover Sorgen's imaginative play. Her mind abandoned all sensible thought, lost in the hurricane of sensation this vicious Captain's hands and cock were calling forth from her traitorous body.

She began to spasm with each stroke, an entire orgasm bursting into being at every pump of this thick monstrous cock inside her. Her skin was on fire; her hips moved of their own accord. Her nipples grew hard as acorns; her legs spread and knees bent to accept his full vicious assault; her hands clawed at the door until her nails bled.

Then his cock began emptying a deluge of warm cum into her cunt, her core, into her very womb it seemed. The flow was an irresistible sensation of slick sexual release. Cum spread from deep inside, filling her to overflow around his cock to her cunt lips where it bubbled and dripped.

She screamed her final orgasm, collapsed to her knees, unable to maintain her balance. He followed her down, keeping his cock inside her, continuing to empty his seed as he came to rest kneeling between her splayed, quivering thighs.

Breathless, senseless, she leaned on the door gasping out her final orgasmic spasms. She felt him stir, withdrawing his monstrous member, cried out at the loss. He stood.

Suddenly the door gave way and she sprawled through onto the deck, face down, breasts exposed, naked from the waist and leaking his bubbling, streaming cum onto the deck. The sudden sunshine was blinding.

Blinking through tears, raising her head she saw a circle of men standing, waiting, watching her recover, glancing between her nakedness and the man that had just ravaged her.

"She's all yours, bosun!" the Captain announced.

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Part two next: the crew have their turn!