The Sapphic Pirate Miranda Pt. 05

Part the Fifth: In Which the Lady Esme Winterblossom, By This Time Most Firmly Resolved To a Life of Sapphic Piratehood and Utter Unladylike Dissolution Aboard the Vessel of Miranda, Makes a New Friend Among Miranda's Captives, Endures Battle at Sea and The Loss of One Most Dear To Her, and Receives a Surprising Honor From the Infamous Miranda Herself.

* * *

September 8, 17--

Dear Diarie,

My most sincere apologies for not writing to you these last weeks, but my adventures aboard the ship of Miranda and her crew of Brazen Buccaneer Wenches have taken a most extraordinary turn. It is only now, as we float here in the Sargasso Sea, knowing not what fate awaits us, that I can turn to your pages for Solace.

When last I wrote in you I was planning my escape, with dear, unfortunate Amelia, from the island of St. Roger, which we had infiltrated for the purposes of aiding our Captain in her raid upon its stores. We made our way the next day to the north of the island, and joined our Sapphic sisters that night in loading and making away with a vast quantity of gold, powder, hogs and ale.

We set the magazines a-blaze and then sailed away, thoughts of a delicious celebration in our minds. We had in fact taken two of the local servant-girls prisoner, in one case most willingly as it was clear she had little enough love for the life she was leaving behind; and I looked forward most eagerly to helping introduce the pair of them to the delights of Sapphic love.

In fact, with Miranda's approval ("Ay, I should have guessed ye'd be the first to want to wet her whistle"), once we were safely at sea (or so it seemed) I went down to the brig where they were imprisoned and had myself let into the one's cabin. Hippolyte was a lovely Mulatto girl of perhaps 19 years, shapely and pleasingly rounded in the Breasts and with, as they say, "some belongings in the Portmanteau" behind.

"What is to become of us?" she asked me frankly, and without fear.

I sat down on the beddings next to her and took her hands in mine. "Dear girl," I said, "I trust you know who we are."

"Wicked lady pirates who take to one another's beds rather than any man's," she said.

"Fair enough," said I. "Have you been to a man's bed before?" I asked, stroking her hair.

"Only my master's," she said, and I could see the hatred for what she'd been forced to do. Well, none would force her here. It didn't look likely to be necessary.

"Men are such brutes," I said, my hand resting lightly upon her thigh. "Would it not be better if the delicate sex were to have... well, another sex just as delicate as itself?"

"It would be better to be free of either if one did not wish it," she said, shrinking away from me.

"You are free," I said, moving away from her as well. "You may leave this ship at any place where we find land. But as I learned myself not three months ago when I was new to her, your food and lodging on this ship are not free. Each of us must work to keep her shipshape and provisioned. The question is," and now I moved in again, pressing my lips against the nape of her neck and gently kissing the back of her ear, "will that labor be scullery work, or will it be something more like pleasure than work at all?"

She turned toward me and then grabbed my head with her hands and pressed her lips to mine, furiously and passionately. I felt her large, dangling breast under her garments and her tongue thrust itself into my mouth. She pulled my shirt open, popping one or two of the buttons in her eagerness to get to my breasts, sucking one of my nipples into her mouth and then nuzzling my belly. She sank to her knees between my legs and began to unbelt my pants (for we had stolen a number of the garrison's uniforms and many of us had begun to affect masculine dress). Her eyes widened at the sight of my blonde muff, and hungrily she moved toward my pussy to lap at it--

Suddenly above us there was a great crash which shook the ship's old timbers as if she were tumbling down-stairs. There was screaming from above decks and I pushed Hippolyte away (most reluctantly on both our parts) from my dampened honey-slit, pulling my pantaloons quickly over my bottom. "Come with me to the deck," I said. "If we are sunk I do not wish you trapped in this vessel, whatever fate may await us."

She took my hand and we raced up the stairs, rising through smoke as we did so. The shouts and screams from the deck had a most baleful quality, and as I reached the deck I saw one reason why-- the main mast had been struck by a cannon ball and splintered, the mainsail rocking dangerously in place, likely to snap at any moment. Near it a couple of the pirates-- but no one dear to me-- lay dead, killed in an instant by the impact of the cannon.

I swung round to see what ship had inflicted this damage upon us and could make out, in the distance, a British vessel, likely one of the ones harbored at St. Roger when we made our escape. Then I saw the true cause of the lamentations issuing from members of the crew in a state of most untypical Pandemonium. For there, on the quarter deck, her face and exposed breasts and vast belly covered in crimson, lay our captain Miranda, gasping with what one had to take to be her last breaths in this world.

I let out a scream of distress and raced to her, pushing aside her Nubian wench and others to embrace my beloved captain in her final moments. "Kiss me, Esme," she croaked, and I pressed my lips to hers in fond memories of the long hours we had spent in her cabin, exploring every Sapphic delight imaginable (and she, having seen so much of the world, could imagine quite a lot).

"Oh captain, my captain," I sobbed. "What will become of us now?"

"Listen to me, you scurvy harlots," Miranda rasped with her shortened breath. "If ye are to escape these British bastards, ye will need a cool, calculating head like my own. I know she is young and there is much of seafaring which ye will have to teach her, but this one-- Esme-- has a heart as black as a Zulu, and she is to be your new captain."

There were gasps all around. Only Amelia beamed at me with pride, the simple little thing. "Captain, should it not be someone with more experience at sea--" began one of the lieutenants, Sally Nottlewick.

Miranda's fury was potent even as life escaped her large and bulbous frame. "Ye heard me! If there's a sharp head that will get ye out of this, it's her'n!"

At that moment another cannon shot went off from the ship off our port bow, and we all ducked and braced for the impact-- which, however, went over our heads, hitting nothing. I turned back to Miranda, leaning in close to her, and said, "You really wish me to be their Captain Esme?"

"No, you little strumpet," she said fondly. "I wish ye to be Captain Miranda, and so never to let those cock-stroking bastards know that they got me. Let the legend of Miranda and her Sapphic seafarers live forever!" she cried, and then a kind of racking overtook her, and in a moment, she was gone.

I stood up, facing a doubtful if not indeed hostile crew, and knew that if I were not to take a knife in the back in the next few minutes, I must impress upon them that Miranda had been right in her choice.

"It is true that I am not experienced in the ways of the sea. But if I were capable of each of your jobs, there would be no need for you," I said. "Let us not think of months and years ahead, but of hours. If I can lead us to safety beyond the reach of British justice, then I believe I shall have earned the trust our beloved Miranda placed in me most unexpectedly." Several glares at that, but no outright dissent brooked. "If I cannot, well, in the last moment of freedom before our capture, any one of ye may send me to Hell first by the weapon nearest, and I shall not blame you for it. Now let us to work!" I cried, and almost against their wills, they began to move toward their stations to fight back.

* * *

September 9, 17--

Captain's Log,

We quickly lashed the splintered mast and managed to get full sails up before the British ship could draw within range. Then it was a tight race but they proved unable to close the distance and in impotent rage fired more cannon shots, the last of which tore through the main deck and, it grieves me to report, struck none other than my dear Amelia, gruesomely mangling her arms. I had but a moment to console her as the ship's surgeon took her away to saw off the injured part, and then was brought back to my duties by another of the lieutenants, a hugely fat Prussian named Magdalena von Schkwirtzen.

"Sooner or later zis British devil vill be upon us," Magdalena said.

"How many men do they carry aboard that sort of ship?" I inquired, as I heard Amelia's screams coming from below decks. Poor thing.

"Far too many for hand to hand combat," Sally said. "Yet what other choice have we? We're a week out from any safe port."

"We must convince them to give up the chase," I said.

"How would ye do that? Put up the quarantine flag?"

"Zey vould zink us anyway," Magdalena said.

"That's it," I said. "If the only way that they will stop is if we are sunk, we must make them think we have sunk." And I quickly outlined my plan.

We occupied ourselves, out of sight, in preparing the Detritus of a doomed vessel. By the time darkness fell we had the row boat loaded with most of the powder we had stolen, as well as a great variety of personal effects and stores, and, it grieves me to say, the bodies of our fallen comrades-- including our late captain. Yet I knew that she would have approved of any measure which would allow us to escape.

By the time night came I assembled the crew. "Once the plan is in effect, we must have absolute quiet, absolute darkness," I said. "We will fly only a minimum of sails, painted black-- a nice touch, that, actually, I think I'll keep it as part of my Brand Identity."

The time came. It was dark. We prepared a volley of cannons. Miranda's Nubian, a powerful thrower in our on-board games of topless volleyball, clasped another torch and an axe; the rowboat, loaded with its grisly cargo, floated several yards from the ship.

We fired the cannons, creating a great mass of smoke around us, and at that moment the axe cut the tow-rope. While the smoke still enveloped us, the Nubian threw the torch onto the rowboat and all hands extinguished any lights on board our vessel. We braced-- and then with a terrific roar, the rowboat exploded, knocking all of us to the deck and shooting its remains high into the heavens above us.

Wordlessly the crew went into action; and within moments the black sails had been raised and we were away, leaving a floating mass of splintered wood, bodies and other Flotsam for the British ship to come upon in the darkness.

The plan worked; we disappeared into the night as the British ship laid anchor near the site of the explosion, searching the waters for survivors or more signs of our destruction. They might not believe it, but it would be a good day before their suspicions would be strong enough to cause them to pursue us-- and by then they would have no idea which way we had gone.

"We have eluded capture," I said to the crew as midnight passed. "By the laws of our tribe of Sapphic pirates, let us celebrate our good fortune in the way best known to us, by supping at one anothers' twats and fucking with our hands and tongues!"

A general cheer went up-- but it was cut short by a sword, thrust fiercely into the wood of the deck. It was Sally Nottlewick, with murder in her eyes. "By the laws of our tribe, I challenge your right to be captain over us," she said. "Miranda's mind were unmoored by her wounds, and she did not know of what she spoke. By rights it ought to be Kate, or Magdalena--"

"I hardly think you take so rash a step for anyone but yourself, Sally," I said. "I accept your challenge, if you do not choose, at this last instant, to return to your senses and withdraw it."

"I do not," she growled, and the crew stood back to give us room.

Miranda had told me once what the rules for a Captain's Challenge were-- not that any had ever dared such a move against her. I took my top off and Sally did likewise, though the contrast between my slender body (even with the few pounds I had gained of late) and handsomely round breasts, and her sturdy frame and large, hanging mams was quite apparent. Next we slid out of our pants and stood, fully naked, before the crew.

One of the bosuns quickly made the instrument we would need-- a short rope with a belaying pin tied to each end. I hopped up on a box and spread my legs wide, rubbing my pussy to begin my juices flowing. Sally did the same, though the box creaked under her weight and I daresay the sight that greeted her, of myself in the act of Self-Pleasure, was far more inspiring than her crude swabbing of her pubic deck. Then we each took one of the belaying pins and slid it into our sexes, till it was full inside. We stood up, grasping the belaying pin inside our cunnies with the force of our thighs, the rope stretched between us, and each of us was handed a cutlass.

"Let the Challenge begin!" someone cried, and we were at it.

We stood apart, the rope between our sexes a little longer than arm's length, our cutlasses at the ready. I suspected Sally would try to use her weight to pull me off my feet so I watched the slack in the rope; she made a thrust at me which I parried and then she jerked back, the belaying pin rubbing my sex roughly but not unpleasantly. I was ready for it and ran to follow, catching her on the arm with a light cut from my saber as I ran behind her and she turned to swing at me.

I licked my lips and pulled the rope to a couple of times to excite her puss (and my own-- for the pulling of the belaying pin against my sex was bringing on the first signs of the Tingle). She lunged at me, her fat teats and belly rippling with the exertion, but I pushed the sword down to the deck with my own and then grabbed the rope and jerked it upward sharply two or three times. I could see that she was flushed with the excitement-- damn! Her blade grazed my breast as I leapt back, and a thin line of red spread across my chest.

Now we faced each other, each having drawn blood, and she looked at me with a most deadly visage. She made her move again, trying to throw me off balance but I went with the rope tugging at my loins and swung my blade in passing. A howl went from Sally and I saw I had lopped off one of her ears. Blood streaming from her head, she swung wildly again and I waited till the blade was down before tossing mine to my left hand-- and placing it at her throat. Now she stood still, fully expecting me to finish her, but I forced her backwards onto one of the cannons and, letting the belaying pin slide out of my own pussy, pressed it to her mouth.

"Suckle my Cock-Monkey, mutinous harlot. Do you grant that the Challenge is mine?"

I could see that she was considering, for a moment, whether Death was preferable to acquiescing, but in the end she muttered "I grant you victory," and took the belaying pin briefly into her mouth at my urging before spitting it out at me.

At last the revelry could begin, and all around us the crew began kissing, licking and suckling at one another's mouths, breasts and sexes. Hippolyte, my new companion, came up to me and asked what I planned to do with Sally.

"If I spared her life, I must take her into my bed, such is the Sapphic pirate's law," I said. I could see the rank disappointment in Hippolyte's face, and so I quickly added, "But there is certainly room for three in the Captain's quarters," and she smiled and then kissed me on the lips, grabbing my bottom in her hand.

* * *

A few minutes later we were in my cabin; Sally, respecting without question the Sapphic pirate's law, lay in my bed nude, awaiting my pleasure. Hippolyte seemed almost agog at her size, the huge teats rolling off to each side, the vast plain of her belly, the thighs thick as an elephant's leg.

We let Sally wait while we took our pleasure of each other first. Now was the time for slow kisses, and I found Hipployte's large lips and agile tongue most soft and eager companions, as I likewise found her pleasingly curved, though by no means corpulent, form most delightful to run my hands up and down. She pulled my blouse over my head and suckled at my nipples, squeezing her soft cheeks between my breasts and purring, contentedly, as she worked her way down my belly, nuzzling it with her little upturned nose.

She pulled my pantaloons down and, gripping my round bottom with her fingers, pressed her face deeply into my bush. I lay back on the bed, nudging over Sally, who was furiously rubbing her sex at the sight of us. At last Hippolyte put her tongue to my lips, separating the petals with the tip and delving deep within the velvety insides (a bit raw though they were from the Challenge) to coat her milk-chocolate face with a fine lacquer of my effluvient. It was but a few moments before the Tingle erupted in me and I sighed with delight, biting my knuckle at the long-delayed ecstasy, so bittersweet with the memories of Miranda this room evoked! (Oh, and poor Amelia too. Must remember to check on her in the morning, and see if she survived the amputations.)

Hippolyte moved up and we kissed, me licking my juices off her face, feeling each other's tits and bums and scratchy fur as we got to know one another's bodies (and constantly bumped into Sally's big ass). Suddenly, though, she stopped. "What is it, my sweet?" I said.

"It is but a little thing-- but-- I must make water," she said. "Is there a chamber pot handy?"

A devilish idea snuck into my head. "Sally, do you wish to taste of this delicate cocoa bonbon?"

"Yes, yes," she grunted as her hands continued to frig away furiously at her crotch, her belly and fat thighs rippling and heaving with every thoroughbred-fast stroke.

"Then Sally shall be your chamber-pot," said I, and Sally's grunts seemed to suggest that the idea was most exciting to her as well.

We put down an oilskin; Hippolyte seemed uncertain but she arranged herself over Sally's face and Sally's broad mouth beckoned eagerly for the stream that was to come. Hippolyte laughed in embarassment, but I kissed her deeply to distract her and in a moment the golden nectar began to flow from her pee-hole, splashing all over Sally's face and into her mouth. She took it eagerly and swallowed done a first gulp so as to have room for another.

Then she moved back and let her piss puddle in the middle of Sally's fat belly and mountainous teats, splashing each of her thick, thumb-like nipples with the stream from her delicate brown cunny.

Curious, I bent down and stuck out my own tongue, the salty liquid splashing onto it and then rolling down my chest. I moved my breasts into its path and enjoyed the feeling of the hot stream cascading over me; then I thrust a breast into Sally's mouth and she sucked at it hungrily as the Tingle at last overtook her.

Hippolyte moved down and, hesitatingly, licked at my salty wet tits as well. In truth, t'were nothing worse than the liquor of an oyster, and we both took our turns sucking at Sally's fat teats, dipping our hands in the puddle of piss and smearing it all over her breasts, into her mouth, cupping it and letting it run down ourselves. Within a few moments I too felt that I could make water and soaked Hippolyte and Sally both, the three of us rolling around in the wet, salty mess licking and sucking every part of us until in time the water grew cold.

We were to enjoy many pleasures together in Miranda's bed as the night passed, and (irresponsibly for one in such a position of authority) I slept quite late until Magdalena knocked at my cabin door. Something seemed amiss as she did so, but I could not, in my groggy state, place it at first. I opened the door and received her, nude.