Pirates' Plunder

This is a longer story than I usually write and it's my first true period piece. Let me know what you think about the length and the quality of the tale. Enjoy!

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, merchandise, companies, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. All characters are 18 years or older when in sexual situations.

Chapter One

I was fortunate to be born with a silver spoon in my mouth. It was the year of our Lord seventeen hundred and twenty-one. My father was the Duke of Rutland and was the master of a 1500 acre estate in Leeds. My mother was famous in her own right, having been recognized for her landscape paintings, which appeared in the finest salons in Europe. We lived in a fifty-seven room residence. There were five of us in residence served by a staff of twenty.

I was the second of three children, with an older brother and a younger sister. I was the fair one, with fine blonde hair, blue eyes and the face of an innocent child. My fondest childhood memories were of me and my sister giggling and hiding under the covers when my father would come to bid us a good night and stealing steaming hot baked goods from the kitchen and eating them quietly in the pantry. I often spent time walking the grounds with one of our Irish Setters and sailing on our small lake. Each of the children had their own tutor. Mine was from France. Chantal taught math and science and was fluent in French, Spanish, Italian and English. Chantal also taught my sister French.

At an early age I was betrothed to a member of the English gentry, a William Watkins of Manchester. I had met William on two occasions but had not seen him in a number of years. He went off to the recently established Royal Naval Academy and was commissioned as a Lieutenant in the Royal Navy. He was posted to the sixth class frigate HMS Garland, and ultimately stationed in the Cayman Islands. I knew that this territory had been ceded to England in 1670. I gathered Lt. Watkins was now part of the English colonization efforts.

In my teens, I passed most of my time reading, learning to play the piano and harpsichord, speaking and writing in French and Spanish and perfecting my needle point. I had almost no contact with eligible young men, both because I was already promised to Mr. Watkins, but also because my parents had a healthy distrust for adolescent boys and young men. My father would just laugh and dismiss me with a wave of his hand when I asked if young men could visit me. He was a bellicose man, overweight and balding, ruling his fiefdom with a firm hand. He had little tolerance for incompetence or indecisiveness. He expected all of his exhortations to be followed to the letter. He viewed all women, including me, as mere frivolities, to be admired and pampered, but not to be intellectually challenged. I did have a great deal of intellectual curiosity but kept it hidden for the most part lest I be chastised by my father.

The biggest social activities were the balls given by the wealthier families in our area. We hosted our share as well. My most memorable ball was one last year when I had just turned eighteen. I spent the better part of the day getting ready, with my sister Alicia taking at least an hour to comb my hair and help me dress. We had to summon the maid to help with the corset. I had just started wearing a corset and the constrictiveness of that device of torture was literally breathtaking. But it did accentuate my already comely figure and I came to understand that our society's view of beauty required considerable pain. I looked at the mirror to admire my outfit. A stylish hat from Paris with a broad floppy rim. A ball gown that had a pannier so it expanded out just so. The gown itself was a cream colored silk. Its bodice revealed the tops of my now well-developed snow white breasts, no doubt providing a hint to the treasures beneath.

It was a giddy affair for me. An English country estate with a tree lined driveway. A queue of fine horses and carriages as far as the eye could see. Proper English gentlemen and ladies dressed in their finery, accompanied by coachmen and footmen. We presented our cards and were announced by a master at arms when entering the ballroom. The ballroom itself was magnificent. Most of the wall panels were covered with intricate paintings depicting the English countryside and the ceiling was covered with ornate hand hammered copper tiles. The room was festooned with large chandeliers and decorative sconces. There were already at least a hundred guests already in attendance. There was a quintet playing an assortment of folk songs and waltzes, all of which were dance worthy. There was a swirl of activity in the ballroom as the dancers revolved the dance floor as if choreographed by a higher power.

I knew little of the real world and of men, so I was easy prey for the legion of eligible young men that attended that ball. Many approached me but I managed to turn away all of them, except one. One was particularly persistent and I finally agreed to dance with him. It was a waltz. The man, a handsome officer in the Royal Navy, was a skilled dancer and led me around the dance floor with a practiced precision. As his hand caressed my back my heart skipped a beat, and when he looked into my eyes I saw nothing but dark pools of desire. He was the most handsome man I had ever met.

He introduced himself as Commander Neville Osbourne and kissed my hand. His lips lingered on my hand as goosebumps rose on my arms.

"Let's go out on the veranda to get some fresh air," he suggested.

I was in no position to refuse him. I took his hand and he led out onto the veranda and then into the formal English garden bounded by tall boxwoods. It was a moonless night and a chill was in the air. He helped me put my shawl on my shoulders and stayed close to me. He put his arms behind me and drew me close.

"You are so beautiful. How come I haven't seen you before?"

"I just turned eighteen. My mother wouldn't permit me to go to a ball before my eighteenth birthday."

"Ahh, then it's my good fortune that I saw you first."

"You should know I've already been promised to another."

"That's a pity. I know that I could come to love you."

"I'm flattered sir."

Without warning he kissed me on the lips. It was my first kiss. He held me tight and as our lips were pressed together. I instinctively parted them, allowing him to find my tongue with his. I sensed this was to be a passionate kiss, but I didn't feel any sense of arousal, just pleasant warmth. We broke the kiss and he took his leave.

"Your intended is a lucky man. Don't tell him that I stole a kiss from you."

My parents had never discussed sex with me so at that time I knew nothing but what I had heard from my girlfriends and my brother and sister. I knew it was supposed to be pleasurable and that of course it was necessary for procreation. I gathered that my first kiss was an erotic experience to be filed away and savored.

I talked the next day to Chantal. She was spending most of her time with my sister since I turned eighteen, but still worked with me on my French with her. During our daily lesson I shared with her that I had had my first kiss the previous evening. After regaling her with the grandeur of the ball and the handsomeness of my male suitor I confessed that the kiss was a bit disappointing, probably because I had never kissed anyone or been told what to do.

"Don't despair Elizabeth. Kissing men is simple and you're a quick learner."

"But there's no one to teach me," I despaired.

There was an awkward pause. Then Chantal blurted, "I can teach you."

I laughed. "You're a girl. Girls don't kiss girls." Everyone knew that. I'd been taught since I could first read that it was a mortal sin for a person to lay with the same sex.

Chantal retreated, "Of course, of course. You're right."

The remainder of the lesson went forward without any further discussion of my personal issues. Chantal was polite, if not a bit timid, when we parted.

It was Friday, and we traditionally had our dinner around 3 p.m. We had the usual roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, accompanied with a fine French Bordeaux wine. After the dinner my father went to enjoy a cigar in his study and I went back to my needlepointing. For some reason I couldn't get out of my head Chantal's bold proposition. I wondered, "Why is it wrong for a person to lay with the same sex?" I couldn't remember if there was ever an explanation. It didn't seem wrong. I knew my father would be in a good mood having satiated his appetite with fine food and wine. I'd ask him. I went to his study and knocked and entered.

"Elizabeth my lass. To what do I owe this great honor?"

"I wanted to ask you something." He looked at me, expecting me to continue.

"It's about men and women."

My father's face reddened. "Perhaps you should be discussing this with your mother."

I had a small smile on my face when I realized he was embarrassed. "No father, it's not like that. I know it's a mortal sin for a person to lay with the same sex. I wanted to know why it's wrong."

My father furrowed his brow and put his hand under his chin. "Elizabeth. Why are you the child that always asks me questions for which I do not know the answer?"

"I don't know father, I guess I always wonder why. So do you know?"

He shook his head. "Elizabeth, it's God's law. That's all you need to know."

I left his study with a pit in my stomach. I could think of nothing but Chantal's now enticing offer. I started to think about Chantal. Her finely sculpted lips, her lithe body, her wispy strawberry blonde hair, all started to dance through my mind. My father's proclamation did nothing to assuage my emerging feelings. If anything, those feelings were bubbling to the surface.

The next day when my French lesson was coming to an end I had to find out what Chantal had in mind.

"Will you teach me how to kiss?"

"I've changed my mind. I'm sorry," she said apologetically.

"But ... but."

"You were right. It's a sin. I shouldn't have even suggested it."

I had to find out about my feelings for her. I said with sincerity, "I want you to kiss me."

It felt as if time had stopped. Chantal stared at me, processing what I had said to her. She studied my face. I did the same with hers. Such beautiful aquamarine eyes framed by her strawberry blonde hair. Those pouty lips and her cute upturned nose. She tilted her head and brought her face close to mine. My heart started racing as she took her hands and put them on my cheeks and then leaned forward until our lips were pressed together. I followed her lead in parting my lips and swirling my tongue against hers. I basked in the warmth of the kiss and the heartfelt affection between the two of us. I didn't know that this kind of passion existed. That pit in my stomach was replaced by a white hot heat that went down through my private parts.

Suddenly, while panting, Chantal pulled back. "Is that the kind of kiss that you received last night?"

Breathless, I replied, "No, this one was much better. Can you show me again?"

We kissed again, this time with the pretense of a lesson dropped. Her hands dropped lower, gripping and kneading my arse. A fire was burning between my legs, the likes of which I had never experienced.

This time I broke the tight clench. "I ... I ...I think we should continue our study session tomorrow, don't you?"

Chantal nodded vigorously, packed her books, and hurried out of my bedroom. I remained on the bed confused. Why did Chantal's kiss arouse me in ways I had never imagined? Why didn't the man's kiss arouse me like that? And why was it a sin to kiss her? It was beautiful. Why would God want us not to do it if it was beautiful? Too many questions were swirling around in my head.

The next day when it came time for the French lesson we dispensed with the spoken portion of the lesson and went for the nonverbal. We kissed and re-ignited the previous day's passion. We were both breathless when Chantal slipped her small delicate hand inside my bodice, tracing around my erect nipple with her finger. The crest of pleasure took me by surprise, as did Chantal's boldness.

"Ohhh, my sweet," I murmured. No one had ever pleasured me as she had.

"Easy my love," Chantal said with a reassuring tone. "There's more pleasure to be had." She pulled my bodice lower and wrapped her moist lips around my swollen nipple. As she swirled her tongue around my nipple my heart fluttered and my breath was taken away.

This was so good. Was this why it is forbidden? Was too much pleasure a sin? I pushed Chantal away. "I'm not sure this is right. Maybe we should stop. We've been practicing as if you were a boy, haven't we? So it's not wrong?"

Chantal looked crestfallen. I became convinced we needed to stop. The mood was broken. She went home and I went to bed confused again. That night as I lay in bed I thought about Chantal's kiss and her caressing of my breast and her tongue making love to my nipple. My hand wandered down to my nether regions where I discovered my sex was covered in dew. I couldn't stop myself from touching myself as I felt a warm glow and a rush of pleasure and I saw Chantal's face within my closed eyes. I lay breathless and fell asleep with my hand between my legs.

I missed my next few French lessons as Chantal claimed an illness. During that hiatus my father informed me of good news. I was to board the fifth rank frigate HMS Milford within the week, to sail to the Cayman Islands, there to wed Lt. Watkins. Even though it was good news, it didn't feel that way to me. I loved our house. I loved living in England. I didn't want to leave my family and friends for some barbaric place in the New World, to be married to a virtual stranger. And being with a man stirred no emotion within me.

Chapter Two

It was a harrowing experience packing for the trip. Knowing that I wouldn't be returning for years, if ever, I had to go through years of accumulated belongings and keepsakes and chests and closets full of clothing and shoes. I was leaving the life I knew behind and it pained me to leave behind many of my prized possessions. I gave many of them to my sister Alicia and some to our house staff. My bedroom was the only place I had slept for my first eighteen years and I was not being wrested from my protective cocoon.

We packed up our carriage and I set off for London with my mother and sister. It was a three day ride. We stayed at a roadhouse the first and second nights. Then a hotel in London the third night. It was my first time in London and I marveled at the number of people and horses in the streets and the large buildings one right after the other. We were able to see Parliament and the Tower of London. On the morning of the fourth day we set off for the docks and to the HMS Milford.

I had never visited a busy commercial dock and was treated to sights, sounds and smells that no young woman should experience. All manner of crude language was spoken. The men were generally unkempt and many reeked of alcohol or worse yet, vomit. There were almost no women on the docks and those that claimed to be women were so used that their sex was virtually unrecognizable. There were numerous men also strewn about like litter, sleeping off the previous night's ration of rum or some other hideous libation. I could see an occasional rat scurrying among the piles of garbage.

There, above the fray of the great unwashed, was a gleaming frigate. Its sails were already partially unfurled as the men on it were scrambling to make the necessary preparations to cast off. It was my first time on a ship and I was overwhelmed by the sheer size of it. I would find out that it was 135 feet long and was outfitted with thirty-two guns and boasted a crew of eighty. This would be a great adventure, but I still had grave reservations about leaving everything that I knew for the unknown. But being English, with an ingrained sense of duty and honor, I kissed my mother and sister goodbye and obediently boarded the frigate with twelve trunks of clothes and belongings and did not look back.

I had chosen to wear a fashionable dress with a large pannier that was modestly cut above, but did show a small amount of cleavage. I topped it off with a hat with a large feather. I thought I looked rather smart.

I was greeted at the end of the gangplank by no other than Commander Neville Osbourne, the same gentleman that stole a kiss from me at the last ball. The irony was not lost on him.

"You look ravishing Milady."

"Thank you sir."

"So, I'm being asked to transport someone who could have been my future wife to her betrothed in the Cayman Islands, is that right?" he asked me in a sarcastic tone.

"That is right sir. And I trust on your honor you will faithfully discharge your duty?"

Commander Osbourne took off his long pointed hat, bent over in an exaggerated bow with his hat held in front of him and said, "Of course Milady, I would gladly die defending your honor for your future husband." I sensed that he meant it.

There was another man watching my discourse with Commander Osbourne. He stepped forward. Commander Osbourne introduced him as his First Mate Timothy Pembroke. Mr. Pembroke was a dashing young man whose gaze upon me lingered for much longer than was comfortable to me. Commander Osbourne and Mr. Pembroke escorted me to my quarters below, which were close to Commander Osbourne's. On the walk there I couldn't help but notice all eyes were on me. I glanced right and left at the men that were leering at me.

My gaze was not unnoticed by Commander Osbourne. "Don't worry Milady, the men aren't used to having beautiful women on deck but they do know they are not to speak to you or touch you without permission."

"Thank you kind sir. I'm not accustomed to being around so many strange men."

Over the course of the next few days I tried to make myself useful. I loved to help out in the kitchen when I was growing up, so much of the time on board was spent in the kitchen helping prepare the crew's dinner. In the beginning the kitchen staff was reticent to give me anything to do, but in time (and my persistence) the crew learned that I was fine with getting my hands dirty and that I was a good worker. It was hot and dirty work, so my dresses became filthy and I would typically be covered head to toe in grit at the end of the day. Commander Osbourne did not ask me to work, but was clearly pleased that I decided to make myself useful. Most of the kitchen crew was men, but there were two women that helped with the cooking and cleaning. Both were much older than me and their faces were furrowed with deep lines that told of many years at sea. Both were missing most of their teeth.

I was homesick from the beginning of the voyage, and as the monotony of the days and nights on a rolling ocean wore on me my homesickness got worse. I still thought of Chantal and her enchanting kisses and her one furtive attempt to seduce me, though even the memory of her face was fading.

We were more than halfway through our voyage when the seas became rough. I spent a good part of the day with my head hanging over the railing. I wanted to die. I felt sick all of the time and couldn't keep down any food or water. I lost at least ten pounds and was looking more like a waif than a lady. As we entered calm seas my sickness abated but I still hadn't regained my original weight.

Commander Osbourne was true to his word. He never made an untoward remark about me or to me, and always treated me as an honored invited guest. The same went for the crew. For that I was grateful. And as the days wore on the crew became more familiar and less intimidating.