The Pirate, Mistress

Author's Note:

Mistress Pepper and Sophie are "anonymized" versions of me and my slave-girl. The real me. All of my stories are (or should I say will be) my memories of a session with a sub. Thus, they are true stories. Only in this version details have been changed to protect the sub. I do live in Mobile about 10 months of the year (the remaining two I spend in Nizhny Novgorod, Russia, where my father is from and lives), and almost all of my subs live in Mobile or a bordering county. I'm originally from Baldwin County, next door to Mobile. I moved across the bay to attend USA. As is/did Mistress Pepper. But I'm not a blond. And you'll most definitely have to guess at my bra size!

And remember, the names and such have been changed in this version to protect the slutty. Only Princess Lilly appears as herself. But she truly has no concept of shame.

Session Date:

05 June, 2020

This Story Released:

05 January, 2021

The Pirate Mistress

Prologue:

In case this is the first of my stories you've read, there are a few things I've skipped over in this story since there are several other stories I've written about this same sub. I tend to write a story after almost all of my sessions with my toys. But I publish very few of them online.

My name is Pepper Rodgers. I'm a 19-year-old Domme, living downtown Mobile, Alabama. I have a decently well-stocked playroom in the second bedroom of my fourth-floor apartment (most of my neighbors are corporate types who aren't always around, giving me a lot of privacy, even in the halls and elevators). I also have a decently stocked toybox. I prefer my toys to be older than I am, around 30-42 years old. I prefer men for myself, however not for my toybox. When it comes to toys, I find women and couples to be far more amusing. Single men tend to be needier, and often too clingy. But that doesn't mean I don't have a few of them in my toybox. I do. They just don't have the same chances of getting there as couples and single women do.

I'm petite. Actually more "tiny" that petite. I'm 5' 1.75" and 91 pounds. I'm not bony, though, I've curvy, like a small-sized woman. I have blond hair down to my shoulders and blue eyes. Oh, and my chest is the only place I'm not small. I'm a 32-D, and I'm very pert. Which makes me popular with the boys.

I'm also slightly bisexual. I'm attracted to men, not women. I would never choose a female partner for even a date, let alone for sex. But I'm not opposed to masturbating with a female toy. Sophie happens to be my favorite sex toy to pleasure myself with. Her tongue has two big advantages over my vibrator: one, it's very delicate and tender. Two, no matter how much I use it, its batteries never die at the worst possible moment! It's better than fresh bunny batteries, it just keeps going until I want it to stop. And I don't even have to hold it in place!

When I want sex I never use one of my toys. I never allow a toy touch, or even see, all of me. And I never bring a toy to my bedroom. Nor do I chose a woman. I pick a man, usually one I find in a club or cafe, or wherever. I flirt, dance dirty a little and if he meets my standards, I ask if he's interested in a one-time-only, no-names-exchanged, hook-up. I've never been turned down.

I have a few standards for my hook-ups. I never pick a guy I know or even just see around. And I insist on a cock between 7 and 9" long and 1.5" across, plus or minus a small bit. I won't touch a guy who isn't circumcised, either. I hate the way the foreskin feels inside me. I want to feel that fat head. The dirty dancing gives me plenty of time to tease a guy hard and feel for myself what he's got. It's the only way not to be disappointed. Guys always lie about their equipment!

Sophie is my 19-year-old live-in slave-girl. She's slightly petite at 5'4" and 119 pounds. She's pretty, too, with long honey-blond hair, green eyes, and a 34-B chest. Sophie is extremely devoted to me. So devoted, and so happy as my slave, that despite not being attracted to women, she's a virgin with men. She serves and pleasures only me, and those I give her to. And while I use her, even with my male toys, I won't allow any man to touch her pussy or penetrate her bottom. Those are mine. Only mine. I've owned her since she graduated high school, but I've known her longer. Since about two months after her 18th birthday, which was also about two months before she finished high school.

I have three BFFs, (Isabelle, Reagan, and Ellie) none of whom are into my little games. But all of whom occasionally creep into my stories. After all, they are my BFFs so they tend to be around. Luckily they're not offended by anything they happen to see. They're just not eager for me to put on a show on their account.

I also have a circle of five other women friends, all of whom are Dommes as well. Andrea (26), Janelle (35), Colette (39), Diane (43), and Olive (44). we usually get together every couple of weeks for coffee and a little chat about who's doing what to whom lately. We sometimes share, or loan, our toys to each other, but not that often. Sometimes we do a favor for each other, such as providing something different for a toy. Mostly we do what girls do: we gossip.

I get all of my toys through networking. It's almost always either one of the women in our circle who has a toy she doesn't want and offers to point it at another who is interested. Or sometimes one of my toys tells someone, who tells someone, and so on until someone asks my toy to introduce someone to me. Rarely it's someone I don't play with, but who knows what I'm into, who asks me to meet someone. I get plenty of emails inquiring about meeting me, and while I will email and maybe chat with a sub online, I haven't yet met any. I won't rule it out, but meeting online is risky enough that someone would have to convince me before I'd think about it. A girl's gotta be careful!

Part I: Capture

It's a lovely Friday afternoon, sunny and clear, and being the peak of summer, it's about 90 degrees here in Mobile, Alabama. Maybe 95. My toy for today is going to be Ciara. She's 41 years old, and as Irish as Irish gets. As in she was born and raised in Belfast, North Ireland. And she remains a citizen of the UK, not the US. She has only a limited residency visa that allows her to work out of the US.

That's because of her job. She's the captain of a 90-foot sailboat. The boat belongs to a British company that operates a bunch of charter boats around the world. According to Ciara, they have two on the gulf coast: hers and a second one that operates mostly out of Tampa and the Florida Keys. Hers is named the "Gaelic Goddess." It claims London as its homeport, although I doubt it's actually docked there in a long time.

In addition to Ciara, there's a crew of three: a "purser," which translates to cook/maid/gopher, and two "able seamen," a title defined by the Coast Guard that means "common sailor," anyone who works on a boat. The charter company has one cute selling point. Its boats feature all-female crews. Obviously, that tends to appeal to a certain market segment more than others. Apparently, a rather large segment, since their rates are slightly above the going rate for charters.

I've had a few sessions with Ciara before. Like most of my toys, she came to me through word-of-mouth. A friend of my Dom-friend Nikolai, a Russian businessman visiting Nikolai in Pensacola, sailed with her. He took his slave along, keeping the woman leashed for the cruise. The boat's crew, long since accustomed to the odd, pretended not to notice. Except for Ciara, who eventually asked him if he knew anyone in the area. He gave her name to Nikolai, who wasn't interested in a toy with little availability. With my permission, Nikolai gave her my name. I don't mind her limited availability. I have a decent-enough stocked toy box that I won't miss her when she's wherever. Plus the one thing I like more than anything else is variety. To me, Ciara is like a bonus toy, when she's available, I might use it. That's what she adds to my toybox. She's not one of the usual toys I play with.

What Ciara craves is surprise and forced obedience. She doesn't want to know when her sessions are coming. And when they do come, she doesn't want to know what's going to happen to her. She doesn't want her questions answered.

Nor does she want to be asked anything. She wants to be told what she's going to do. Nothing more. No reasons given. Just what to do, specifically and with instructions that are detailed enough that there won't be relevant questions. Then she wants to be made to do it. Sometimes she resists, which makes me discipline her and make her obey. She wants that.

Light pain is nothing to her. It doesn't bother her, but it doesn't do much to excite her. The same can be said about humiliation. What does arouse her, quickly and fully, is being made to willing accept either. Showing a naked picture of her to her best friend would do nothing for her. But forcing Ciara to show the picture to the same friend herself would have her hand slipping into her panties.

I wouldn't be surprised if Ciara has a fantasy about being kidnapped by pirates and turned into their playtoy. Sadly, there are plenty of places left in this world where that fantasy might come true. But not here in the safe waters of the gulf and the Caribbean. We have a Coast Guard that takes a very dim view of such things. The same can't be said for a few other parts of the world. But those are waters Ciara almost never sails in. Her employer's insurer generally forbids their boats from going there. Plus, they're not exactly "top 10" vacation destinations, and these are definitely leisure boats.

I guess this weekend is going to be my version of that fantasy. A version that the Coast Guard won't be kicking my door in for. But I'm certain that my version will drive Ciara sweetly insane. Best of all, for Ciara, she doesn't have a clue that she'll be seeing me this weekend. She never does. I usually just call her and summon her to my apartment immediately.

Because of her job, and her desire for surprise, I have Ciara keep her schedule on an app. It tells me when and where she's planning to dock. When her boat will be occupied and when it won't be. To date, I've worked in a session for her about every four months, which has suited her fine.

It's been just under a month since I last saw her. I doubt she's really expecting to hear from me so soon. Until now, I've just skipped the layovers that came too soon, picking one about four months after her session instead. But she's just had three long charters, all 10-14 days each, back to back, with mere hours between trips. Ciara hates the longer charters. And she hates the fast turn arounds. From what I can see, she has a 17-day charter coming next, then three shorter ones. It should have her feeling slightly bummed out.

We've agreed that I may pop up and surprise her at any time, anywhere. But even with that knowledge, I'm sure Ciara doesn't expect to see me too far from home. Maybe from about New Orleans over to Panama City. Either would be a couple of hours away from my house by car. Unfortunately for Ciara, most of her boardings occur somewhere in that area, leaving most of the times that she's without passengers and thus available for me, in that area. Otherwise, she might be able to predict when I'd pop up by when she was docked close enough to me. Or else I'd have to take a trip to surprise her far from my home. Which is a possibility, but one I'm saving for another surprise down the road.

According to her schedule, she's due to finish her current cruise at 3:00 this afternoon, which is about an hour. Then she gets a couple of days off. The boat is idle until 11:00 Monday. But that means Ciara will be expected back by 7:00 so they can begin loading provisions, fuel, and everything else before the well-paying passengers arrive. From what I know, it won't take Ciara long to have the boat tied down. And as soon as the passengers set foot on dry land, she and her crew will head off to a hotel and their days off. The cleaning and whatnot can wait for Monday.

Ciara has a cabin aboard the boat. It's more her home than the room she keeps at her parent's home in Belfast. But it's tiny, little more than a bed and a bathroom smaller than my closet. Her crew of three shares another cabin with bunk beds in it. When they have the chance, all of them prefer to get a little space. Or at least to get a bathroom they don't have to share. I suspect the boat will be empty all weekend. I know its captain won't be aboard.

Her schedule also tells me what marina she's planning to dock at. That changes often. According to Ciara, sometimes it's to accommodate passenger wishes, and sometimes to accommodate slip availability. Since the boat doesn't call any of the local ports home, and sails out of numerous nearby cities, the company doesn't keep a regular slip for it anywhere. They feel it's cheaper this way. And it lets the boat sail from wherever its passengers du jour wish.

Today it's the Dockside Marina here in Mobile. It's one of the smaller marinas, by which I mean it doesn't take cruise ships or freighters. It takes pleasure boats, few of which are close to the size of Ciara's. It offers a more tropical aura complete with a beach and some leisure activities. But it does have enough dock to accommodate Ciara's boat. And it's one of the closer marinas to downtown. And it's an easy shot straight up a main road to one of our bigger airports. It's not as convenient as the Port of Mobile right in downtown, but the kind of people who pay ten grand a day to charter a sailing yacht don't want to be docked next to a rusty tramp steamer from Honduras rushing to unload a boat-load of bananas. Or whatever else they may be delivering that's not on the manifest.

By 2:30 I'm parked at the marina with my new, spare car. It's a Chrysler Pacifica hybrid minivan that I got at a Marshal's auction for a really unbelievable price. I bought it because the Mazda Miata I dote on only has two seats, and lately, I've been needing more. But I only drive this one when I have to. Unlike my Miata, it's not pastel green. It's a so-boring silver. But I did have the windows tinted to the limit on it. That I didn't bother to do on the Miata. What good are tinted windows on a convertible? It's in perfect shape and considering where I bought it, I'd bet the previous owner was less than willing to part with it... as in the Marshal didn't give him much of a say in it. Too bad for him.

I've already checked with the dockmaster. He so happily told me that the Gaelic Goddess was expected at 3:00, and had reported in a couple of hours ago that it was on schedule. It would be docking in slip 14, the slip at the end of the dock (which runs parallel to the beach with shorter docks standing off of it). It's the only slip that isn't a U-shape. This slip is just a long stretch of dock parallel to the beach. It's where they put the biggest of the boats that come in, the ones that would long comical tied up to the 15-foot-long piers the others get. And they don't mind at all if go out and greet the boat. Aren't they so hospitable?

I wait in the car, with the air conditioning on high. It's only a few minutes before I see the huge form of the boat sailing into the inlet. Most of the boats around here are motorboats. Most are no more than half the length of Ciara's. It's hard to miss the boat's 100+ foot tall masts, even without the sails raised. She slowly makes her way towards the pier by the motor. I just watch.

It takes her a few minutes to slowly sail up alongside the pier. Then two of her crew quickly jump over to the pier and tie the boat down. It's not but a minute or two later that those same two crewwomen are unloading baggage. The passengers come off, and the crew carries their bags to their car and loads them. Full service.

Ciara's crew has seen me before. I'm pretty sure they have guessed who, and what, I am. It's not that they've seen anything, not yet, but Ciara doesn't make a secret of her desires. Nor does she advertise them. I'm sure, with all the time she's spent with these three ladies at sea, there's been more than one gab-fest. I might only know of one Dom who sailed with them, but I have no doubt there have been others. And just as little doubt that they weren't shy about letting things show. On a boat like this, discretion is expected with the price. Even though company rules forbid the crew from any kind of a personal relationship, even just a hook-up, with a passenger or while passengers are aboard, it doesn't mean they can't enjoy a show that's flaunted before their eyes. That's how Ciara came to Nikolai's friend's attention -- she seemed to be enjoying what he was flaunting too much.

The crews know that whenever they see me, Ciara will disappear soon after. And that she will be out of touch for some time, reappearing before she's due back at the boat, but unheard from until she reappears. As I'm getting out of the car, my live-in slave-girl and handmaiden Sophie following along behind me, I see one of the crew girls wink at me and grin. Yup, they know.

I follow them down the dock. Not closely. I get to the boat about a minute or so after they do. It's enough time for them to have shouted a warning to Ciara, but the smirks on their faces as I creep aboard tell me that they didn't. Maybe she's told them not to. I doubt it, but it could be.

I know where Ciara will be. She'll be on her bridge, which isn't much of one. It's more just a set of controls near the engine at the aft end of the boat. Down below. I watched her dock the boat from a second set of controls topside, but almost as soon as it was tied down she slipped below.

The bridge here isn't much bigger than the smallest of broom closets. Just big enough for a chair, a couple of monitors, and a control stick. I'm right, Ciara is sitting there. She's just finished shutting down the engines and as I catch sight of her, the generators. I think that's the last thing she needs to do before abandoning ship for the weekend. I could see the cables already draped over the side connecting the boat to shore power and water.

"Oh, lookie, slave!" I giggle excitedly, "doesn't this worthless bimbo look so cute in her sailor girl outfit?"

Sophie giggles loudly. "Yes, Mistress, she looks adorable!"

Ciara's head snaps to the side. She recognizes my voice. I'm sure she knows what it means that I've popped up. I've surprised her at a marina before. But this is the first time I've snuck aboard her boat and surprised her at the controls. I see a tinge of panic on her face. I'll bet she wondering if her passengers are still aboard. That would not be good. And that's why I watched them get in their car before I boarded.

I don't give Ciara any time to think or do anything. There's no reason to. I reach out in a fast motion and grab hold of Ciara's short, red hair. I get a good grip on the soft, fine strands. And I hang onto it. I give a gentle tug on her hair, just hard enough to move her head slightly. "Come along, bimbo." I sweetly tell her in a firm voice.

I walk slightly slowly. And I keep hold of her hair. It leaves Ciara no choice but to follow me. "Miss-" Ciara starts to say something. Her voice is slightly girly. Her Irish accent is about as heavy as it gets, even in Ireland. It's so sexy. As I pull her hair, she's rising to her feet.

I reach across with my other hand and slap Ciara's face. It's not a hard slap, just enough of one to sear a faint pink handprint onto her nicely bronzed, and freckled, cheek. It does the job. Ciara shuts her mouth mid-sentence. The slap reminds her of my rule. Speak only when she's spoken to. Whatever her objection was going to be, I don't want to hear it.

Ciara stumbles once as my pace brings her to her feet a little fast for her. Then she gets her feet under her and scrambles along after me. Ciara's a fairly tall woman. 5'9". And I'm definitely petite, at just under 5'2". I'm holding her hair in my hand at a height that's easy for me. And that forces Ciara to lean over as she scurries behind me. It keeps her slightly off-balance, and more than slightly uneasy.