Date: Fri, 14 Mar 2003 21:45:07 -0800 (PST)
From: Glinda Goodwitch <gaspar50@yahoo.com>
Subject: Desires of Rebecca-Chapter 8

Transcribed by Glinda Goodwitch
gaspar50@yahoo.com

 The Desires of Rebecca (F/F F/f f/f rom)
 by Olivia Ravensworth

I love hearing from readers who have comments or suggestions about the
story.  Write me at: gaspar50@yahoo.com


Chapter 8


After the ship cleared the harbor I was sent below to rest. The Captain's
quarters may not have been overly spacious to one used to living on land,
but I soon learned that actually they were by far the largest aboard. In
any event, they were well appointed and surprisingly luxurious. I hung up
my cloak-leaving my fluttering young body clothed only in the wildly
immodest garments old Beryl, the seamstress, had made for me and began
looking cautiously around.

With glazed windows looking astern and wrapping quite a way around the
sides of the poop, the cabin was more than adequately illuminated, awash
with the rich glow of sunlight permeating the bright morning sky all around
and reflecting up from the sparkling sea below. Such windows afforded not
only a magnificent view but ventilation as well Far from being close or
stuffy, the smallish enclosure was redolent of hewn oak and polished teak
and of the fresh salt air.

If I truly were the Captain's pet, her lover, her slave ... then these
quarters, I imagined, would be mine also. My mistress, after all, might
have need of me at any time of the day or night-as she already had
proved. Pulse pounding with the thought of it, I reached up the bare belly
exposed by my short jacket, up under the costume to fondle my nipples
absently. I let my heavy lidded eyes roam the cabin's snug interior.

The booty of three continents adorned the cabin's snug interior-tight-woven
Persian carpets upon the deck, delicate ceramics from the fabled Chinese
Empire, burnished vases of Indian brass from the princedoms of the broad
subcontinent, trinkets of African gold wrested from the depths of humid
jungles or perhaps blazing desert ... and within easy reach upon the walls,
swords and pistols taken from unlucky European merchanters.

How powerful this fair, stern temptress was! My heart thrilled beneath my
naughtily upthrust, leather-caged breasts that I had the honor, the
ultimate pleasure of serving her.

Yet, unfortunately, that was not my only feeling on that first day at sea,
and I had to swallow suddenly. The roll of the waves beneath the hull was
difficult for my landlubber's body to accept. Pained, I looked for a place
to lie down.

Like the rest of the crew, I noticed, the Captain slept in a hammock, not a
bed. Yet hers was no narrow little bag of hemp. The Captain's great hammock
was hung with strong ropes from particularly sturdy looking hooks, the ends
each widened and reinforced by a length of wood. As I looked more closely,
I saw those pieces were intricately carved with the intimate frolicking of
mermaids. I shivered as I ran my curious fingertips lightly across that
unusual relief work feeling sensuous curves, firm and smooth and
polished. There were large brocaded pillows at the head of the hammock, a
thick blanket to cover and soften the rough cording below, and above that,
sheets of what seemed to be silk. This inviting resting place, I imagined
slyly, was made for two.

I did not want to take any untoward liberties, but behind the closed door
of the Captain's sanctuary, I finally was forced to lie down in the woven
web. It seemed I could smell some lingering traces of her there, and my
heart beat faster beneath the red velvet of my naughty, brass-buttoned
jacket. For a moment the strange feeling in my stomach subsided, and I
began to masturbate.

Lying there in the hammock of my stern, sensuous lover, it felt so good. I
reached up again under the hem of the brief garment to cup my firm,
leather-wrapped young mounds happily, feeling the thin straps-fitting
symbols of my mistress's dominance over me-warm and soft beneath my
palms. I stroked with purpose at my nipples already tight and stiff. I drew
my fingertips slowly along them, scratched them lightly with my
fingernails, soon pulled and twisted them more roughly.

As I caressed those sensitive nodules of erectile tissue ever more
urgently, I sent a tingle straight down to the moistening pit beneath my
fluttering belly. I could not restrain myself from rubbing my thighs
together helplessly.

Oh, how I wished my demanding Captain would come below then, tease and
torture me until my flesh could stand it no more, then fuck me till I
screamed...

Shuddering in my need, I lifted my knees and that flaring black skirt,
wickedly short, fell back across my bare midriff to leave my trembling
womanhood bare. I raised my head and looked down longingly at the familiar
sight. My pussylips were puffy and dark and full, their blonde hairs
already slicked with the ready lubrication of my healthy, nubile young
flesh. I could not restrain myself. Groaning, I let my head fall back and
pushed a hand down the fluttering skin of my belly, down through the
fragrant wet nest of my glistening pubic fur, down to the slippery button
of sensation those knowing fingertips craved to fondle.

Back arched and blonde hair spilling all about my shoulders, I writhed in
the Captain's wide hammock. Gasping, I stroked my fiery clitty on and on,
imagining that the nimble digits I felt swirling so insistently within me
were my proud lover's lips and tongue! As my hips bucked uncontrollably,
the rolled-back eyes behind my flushed lids burned with her visage, fair
and beautiful beyond belief as she approached the helplessness of climax.

I remembered the first time I had dallied with the shapely whores of the
wicked Mother Curry, remembered the way I had ridden the disdainful
brunette's pretty face with the split pink of my hairy crotch, grinding my
triumphant clitoris into her gasping mouth and across her instinctively
pleasuring tongue. Oh, how sweet it had been! And as I gasped there in the
Captain's hammock-that snug, curving, almost womblike sleeping place whose
end pieces were decorated with the rounded forms of shameless maidens
pleasuring each other, endlessly-I imagined that it was my Captain's
beautiful face snuffling flushed and smelly and wet between my sweating
white thighs....

On and on I fingered myself, liquid fire pulsing rich and honey-sweet
through every flaming inch of my spasming body. Yet as those heavenly
sensations gradu ally faded, all at once I noticed with dismay that they
were offset by a growing queasiness within my landlubber's belly. I tried
to shut my eyes.

I know not how long I lay there, scarcely able to move, but it seemed that
gradually I was growing more successful in controlling my reactions. The
motion, after all, was little different from that encountered in riding a
swaying horse. The much-needed rest did help my poor stomach-so long as I
did not watch the low ceiling swinging above me-and at length I found the
strength to rise. My body growing a little more accepting of the slow
rhythm of the sea, I crossed to the stern windows and looked out over the
rudder. All about us lay the featureless face of the deep Atlantic, rolling
with swells and sparkling in the sun. That broad expanse ran to the hazy
horizon-beyond which somewhere lay the vanished isles of the English.

It was exciting to be free at last, far from the crabbed and narrow land of
my birth, yet in a way I was vaguely frightened as well. It was one thing
to see my Captain's sturdy bark riding at anchor, to see the sails billow
tautly above us as we slowly glided down the ever-widening mouth of the
Thames ... but now, with not even a foraging seagull or a crag of rock in
sight, the unrelieved view of those salty swells-endless and
inhospitable-was no little bit daunting. Though it looked pretty enough
under the smiling face of the sun, I knew that the sea was also cruel and
unforgiving. It was fearsomely deep, and, wrapping about the whole girth of
the globe, monstrously broad.

Yet accept that boundless breadth I must. It would take time, I knew,
before this floating vessel of stout curving ribs and tight-caulked planks
truly seemed to me a home and not merely a fragile chip of driftwood
bobbing lost and lonely upon a bleak blue desert of brine. It would take
time-and will. I would have to make myself a sailor to learn to love the
ocean just as I had come to love my adventuresome life away from the
gossiping county of Devon.

If a tempest or a rotten hull might send us to the bottom of the sea's
black abyss, I reasoned, how different was this from life back in England?
There, too, I had discovered that in the midst of so-called polite society,
I was in fact lost in a hostile wilderness. The forces there had been just
as unrelenting, and the penalties for misjudging my surroundings-prison and
torture or death-little different. If I had survived there, I thought, then
surely I could survive the challenges of this new environment.t I knew it,
exulting in my growing confidence. Something flared again beneath my belly,
arousal warm and sweet. Trembling, I breathed deep ... and waited for my
mistress.

In the following weeks I began to learn the many tasks of the sailor. I had
been afraid in broaching the subject that my Captain would be vexed with
me-she had chosen me, after all, to be her own love slave, not merely
another coarse seafarer. To my surprise, however, after but a moment's
hesitation she agreed to my plea that I might become a useful crew member
of the Sappho.

At the Captain's orders, a nimble-fingered wench named Annie began to teach
me the making and use of bewildering myriad of knots, splices, and
hitches. Annie was a pale little brunette, short and freckle-faced slim,
yet wiry and strong. Still slightly younger than I, it seemed, she made a
pleasant enough teacher and companion. She had run away from home at an
early age and had shipped aboard the Sappho a number of years
before. Already the girl had helped take much treasure from unwary ships
returning home from the lures of the East Indies and the Dark Continent,
and she had no few stirring tales of chase and capture to recount.

The study of the magic of the twined humped rope required time-and
patience. There was time aplenty while our good ship sailed between the
empty horizons under blindingly clear or pearly clouded skies, and despite
my restlessness I gradually learned the patience beneath the drowsy
Atlantic welkin. Annie and I sat cross-legged upon the deck, our coarse sea
blouses often halfway unbuttoned because of the heat. Sometimes beneath my
clothing she must have caught a glimpse of my leather harness, the symbol
of the Captain's utter possession of my flesh, yet she studiously avoided
mentioning it.

Under Annie's tutelage I made good progress. She demonstrated bend after
bend expertly, not even need needing to look at the cord in her hands. And
perhaps that was just as well, for often enough, I noticed, the wench
seemed instead to shoot a stray glance into the opening of my blouse.... My
tutor's breasts were smallish, I could not help but notice, but their
nipples were much longer than mine. Those tasty-looking pink nodules
sometimes waggled out for a tantalizing moment as she leaned to and fro,
and despite the strength of the sun they were most often firm and
impudent. Yet though I bit my lip at the sight, wondering at what pleasing
little handfuls those high young mounds of maidenflesh might make, I had to
watch Annie's fingers most closely in order to repeat the knots she tried
to teach me.

I must confess that occasionally my attention did stray to the view within
her blouse, and then my silly fingers produced only a hopeless
tangle. Whenever this happened, however, Annie took it
good-naturedly. Placing her girlish hands softly upon mine, she would
manipulate my fingers to demonstrate the correct way of the tying. Her
palms were calloused with hard work, yet upon the backs of my hands she
used a gentle touch. Caressingly she would move my fingertips in evocative
little circles, and sometimes I could not help wondering just how talented
this wench's fingers truly were.

As I grew more experienced, I even began accompanying Annie up into the
rigging to learn not only the ropes but the sails of our ship as
well. Never before had I done more than climb into small trees in those
vanished gardens back in Devon with my dear lost Elsie, but I discovered,
with trepidation at first and then with mounting confidence, that it was
only a matter of having the proper footing and handholds. Though any fall
would mean death, it was not overly dangerous so long as I took the
necessary care and did not push myself to the point of fatigue or
carelessness. We worked hard among the taut, billowing canvas and creaking
ropes which drove our vessel onward, and occasionally we had to stop for a
much-needed rest.

There, alone in the clear air high above the deck, we became ... even
closer friends. Because of my special relationship with the Captain, of
course, Annie never would have ventured to touch me in any untoward
way. Though now and then I craved to pull those long nipples of hers free
from her blouse, between my fingers and, perhaps, even into my hungry mouth
... it was impossible. We dared not anger our stern Captain.

Yet, young and high-spirited wenches as we were, sensitive and imaginative,
it was inevitable that we would open up our souls to each other
somehow. Scarcely daring to look at one another-yet shamelessly
aroused-daily we shared the naughty stories of our adventuresome young
lives. Though we feared the Captain's wrath, even for this little intimacy,
we could not help ourselves.

Annie might whisper of a coy serving maid she had seduced and finger-fucked
right there beneath the table in some port tavern in Malaya, of a
delightful clit-licking orgy in a barred and shuttered Bombay brothel, of a
willing Nubian slavegirl who had bathed her naked white flesh in wine and
licked her amorously from head to toe and back again while her high-born
mistress watched, stroking herself demurely.... Already this girlish bawd
had led an enviable life of carefree sensuality.

I shivered at her words, and for my part recounted my dalliances with Elsie
and Magda and even the treacherous Mother Curry and her girls-though I
dared not speak of the Captain. I told her all about that wondrous morning
when I became a woman with my golden-haired Elsie, of my uncertainty and
then my shameless acceptance, of the teasing and stroking and kissing, of
the secret desires I had scarcely even recognized then. Pulse pounding, I
tried to make her feel as I had, and whenever I spared a glance at her
reddened face, I was always most gratified at her obvious response.

Such delightful secrets were more than any woman of our sensibilities could
have borne, unaffected. Though we dared not touch one another, there was
always a simple way to find relief And as one girl husked out the secrets
of some well-remembered encounter, the sight and smell of another woman and
the feel of her slippery flesh, the other blushing wench might stare
absently off across the empty sea, her trembling, squelching hand hidden
beneath the loosened belt of her rugged sea trousers....

Yet that was not all of my education. The Captain's second in command,
Smith, soon began coaching me in the use of the blade. At first I had been
reluctant, for I thought myself too slight to be of use. Yet the laconic
Smith encouraged me by claiming that I possessed just the right build to be
a good fencer. She felt most thoroughly of the muscles of my arms and
shoulders... while her eyes fell to the high curves of my breasts. Nodding,
she examined my calves and knees. I shivered as her hands moved higher,
measuring the long sinews of my upper thighs and hips beneath her frank
grip, her fingers splayed casually across my buttock... Yes, she assured
me, my form was better suited to the sword than was that of some
muscle-bound man.

At first I almost wondered if this solicitousness were an act to curry
favor from my mistress, the Captain, but I discarded the notion
quickly. Smith, after all, had shipped aboard the Sappho far longer than I
and seemed to be a trusted friend of our Captain. Her position was already
secure enough, and I soon came to realize anyway that she simply had not
the kind of temperament which would allow her to flatter like some court
dandy. No, I discovered, it was not the Captain in whom she was
interested....

According to Smith, grace and agility were even more important to fighting
than was brute strength. There was no room for the lazy, certainly, and
when womanly muscles competed against the bulky sinews of men, careful
training such as this was a necessity. Besides, she urged, the time would
come when all the crew would need to take up arms.

Her eyes regarded me searchingly, and perhaps I was not altogether mistaken
in sensing in Smith a hidden appreciation of my youthful form. Though she
knew her Captain well enough never to be more than carefully polite to me,
I saw the gleam in her eyes. When I stretched my sinews again for her,
there was little misunderstanding the way she licked her lips as the fabric
of my blouse pulled tight against my firm young breasts, the way my
responsive nipples stiffened up in return... It seemed a naughty delight to
torture the woman so. Smiling inwardly, I relented to be taught the sword.

Using cylindrical lengths of wood fastened to the grips of broken
cutlasses, Smith showed me that swordplay indeed was more than a contest of
strength. She was correct about my abilities, and after discovering that
there was a proper way to stand so that I would be more ready, and a proper
way to move smoothly and without tripping, I progressed apace. At any
mistake Smith would put her hands upon my waist, rotating my hips,
repositioning my arms or legs to show me what I should have done....

Soon I progressed to the point that she rarely needed to do this any
longer-but, flattered by the intensity of her attentions, occasionally I
could not stop myself from purposely making an error. If I leaned my
shoulders too far forward, when she pushed them back with her fingertips,
her palms often chanced to press lingeringly against the sides of the
stiff-nippled breasts which bobbled between. If my feet were too close
together on the deck, Smith not only had to move my ankle but also had to
adjust the rest of my leg as well, her hand high up the warm flesh of my
inner thigh, fingertips prodding the thick lips which clung to their
moistened clothing. Surely she recognized my game, but the seemingly aloof
yet truly lusty lieutenant of my jealous mistress could not resist the
chance to touch me.

Eventually we moved on from soft wood to old swords dulled with use and
each tipped with a hunk of cork, and I truly learned to make the steel
sing. It was a joy to work at that graceful and fast-paced dance, to
discover the most subtle modes for attacking an opponent, the most
effective ways to parry an enemy's blade ... and to riposte mine own
cutlass into his flesh. It was a pretty sport to me, but I knew
Smith-despite the way she could not help glancing into my half-open blouse
as we sparred-was in deadly earnest I only hoped that when the time came to
use freshly sharpened steel, I could force myself to be as eager.

I learned the care and use of the tricky pistol and musket and the
indispensable cannon by a sailor named Lizzy, a very large-breasted woman
whose glossy black hair was just beginning to grow streaked with gray. I
never excelled at the pistol or musket-and never trusted them, for while
they were so inaccurate as to be useless at long range, even at close
quarters the process of loading and firing was so lengthy that often it
would be better to rely upon the trusty blade. Yet I allowed the firearm
lessons gladly, feeling her full bosom press into my back as she put her
arm along mine and, warm lips murmuring instructions close to my ear,
showed me how to take aim.

Our heavy cannon were a more serious matter, the ship's main defense and,
indeed, its very livelihood. Lizzy was careful to teach me all the many
steps of loading, aiming, and firing the great guns-and, just as
importantly, the dangers. I paid close attention, and eventually felt
confident that if needed to, I could perform the duties of any one of the
gun crew positions.

And despite the seriousness of the subject, Lizzy's dark-eyed gaze
sometimes followed me with more attention than mere thoroughness to
duty. When my trousers drew tight across my firm, rounded arse as I bent to
practice loading powder and balls and shot, and when I stretched my slim
body to ram the load home, she studied my form most carefully. Whenever I
chanced to glance back coyly over my shoulder, I could not help but notice
that her thick nipples jutted hard against the coarse cotton of her blouse.

I even learned a little about cooking from Maude, the ship's cook. She was
an older woman, blonde and rather stout, with a pudgy round face, but I was
vaguely excited by the nervous way she licked her lips when she spoke to
me. And when she leaned over to pull meat from a barrel of salt upon the
deck, the glimpse of her great soft warm breasts straining against the deep
opening of her blouse looked so pleasant that I simply could not refuse her
kind offer.

When cooking for an entire crew, simplicity of both foodstuffs and
preparation is required, and in the time I spent in the galley, I did
indeed learn some meager skills with potatoes and biscuits and meat. Yet
the galley was crowded, with barely room for two, and as the ship rolled
about, it seemed that in the privacy of that little chamber below decks
Maude and I often tumbled and bumped into one another. Sometimes, hidden as
we were from any prying eyes, we put out our hands innocently before us to
lessen a fall, even though it only would have been into yielding
woman-flesh. Aye, those cooking lessons always went by too swiftly.

The Captain herself taught me the night sky and the use of compass and
quadrant, so that I came to know the constellations and how to navigate
after a rudimentary fashion. It was thrilling to stand there upon the
slow-rolling deck and hear that knowledgeable woman recite to me things
that once I thought only men could know. And after an hour or so there
beneath bright stars wheeling slow and cold, my nipples hardening under my
rough sea clothes, she would lead me below to her cabin and lock the door
behind us.

I always stripped off those coarse outer garments most seductively and,
still wrapped in the perverse little leather harness which she had
commanded me ever to wear, dressed quickly for her in the provocative skirt
and jacket which old Beryl had made. Nightly I trembled before her,
expectantly.

I soon discovered the reason for the smallish leathery rings I had felt at
the small of my back They were cuffs for my wrists, and often it was my
beautiful mistress's pleasure to bind my hands there, helpless, while she
ravished me. My sweating hands secured tight against my scarcely covered
buttocks, I bit my lip demurely as I stood before my mistress. She was so
beautiful in her arousal....

Moist beneath my wicked skirt, I watched her heavy-lidded eyes as she
caressed my breasts through the red velvet of my brass-buttoned
jacket. Often she began gently, perhaps meaning to tease-not only me but
herself as well-yet after a time of squeezing and cupping the soft handfuls
she could stand it no more, and to my delight she found the secret catch
which bared my upthrust leather-clad bosom. Once on display and exposed to
the cool night air, the tips of my breasts swelled up through my harness,
erect and swollen with lust. The binding of my wrists behind my back caused
my shoulders to be pulled pulled back tightly, and my dark-tipped mounds
pressed forward high and willing. The Captain discarded the velvet jacket
on to a nearby divan and I waited impatiently to submit to her desires.

Then she fondled those pale mounds in earnest, thumbing my throbbing
nipples, pulling upon the engorged pink-brown flesh, pinching and
stretching them, rolling the tender paps possessively between her slim
fingers. She met my submissive gaze and smiled cruelly as she fondled my
breasts, which soon began to blush redly with the manipulation. It was as
if my mounds were toys or precious objets d �rt that an
obsessive collector might hold to remind them of their beauty. After a
while, I could not stare back into her penetrating eyes and nodded my head
downward to watch her paw my bosom. The wicked leer in her face as she
occasionally glanced down to her possessions and then back to my aroused
visage told me she was passionately aroused and needed release.

Now and then she deigned to lower her flushed face to my bosom and I would
catch my breath as she hungrily sucked my nipples one by one into her
ravenous mouth. Although clearly she did this for herself, not for the
pleasure it gave me, I was always fiercely aroused by the act. Sometimes
her attentions grew almost painfully rough, but, tremendously flattered
that she craved me thus, I was dirtily happy to serve her.

Soon she might run her palms along my sleek hips and clutch appreciatively
at the plump cheeks of my bottom beneath the flaring black skirt, while I
gasped before her, shifting my weight from foot to foot. From there it was
but a small step to thrusting her tapering white digits up into my dripping
cunny. I was always ready for her, parting my pale sweating thighs eagerly
for the intimacy we both desired, clenching my ass and pressing my hips
forward into her ministering fingers. Since my hands were still tightly
fastened behind me it was difficult to maintain my balance. I nearly
swooned and she would steady me with one hand in the small of my back and
finger-fuck me with the other, all the while chuckling at my helpless
moanings.

Wrapped as they were in those supple strips of moistened leather, caressed
and opened up by that most sensual of harnesses, my thickened labia parted
still further for whatever treatment she might crave to give me. My clitty
pulsed insistently, untouched-oh, so tantalizingly so!-as she slicked her
knuckles upon my wanton lubrication. And if on some nights she brought
those smelly fingers up to my lips that I might lick off those savory
juices while she watched intently ...I would not think of resisting. I was
her plaything, and before the excited gaze of her smoldering green eyes, I
knew no shame.

I always tried to taste myself with a special gusto, relishing the
wonderful dirtiness of the act. I gasped at the scent, cupping my lips
around her long white digits and pulling them one by one into my mouth,
shamelessly. I might see my elegant redheaded Captain shiver in return, and
at the sight of this beautiful weakness, I would look up at her longingly
through the dense lashes of my half-lowered eyelids. Silently I angled my
head before her, coyly, and I pouted my pretty lips beckoningly before her
blood-warmed face.

It was my delight then to make her crave me so much that she would kiss
me. Many were the times when I broke through her composure, and as I posed
coquettishly there before her, she could not help but lean forward and
thrust her possessive tongue between my opening lips. Holding my flushed
face in her hands, she explored my sensitive lips, my tongue, the hollow of
my cheeks.

Ah, what joy it was to be desired so! And to me it was a special treat that
as the Captain swirled her nimble tongue tip about the interior of my
alluring young mouth, she could scarce avoid tasting the juices which but a
moment before had slicked the wanton pink walls of my twat. Though that
proud woman never did deign to suck the hungry pussy of her poor little
slave, at least I could lure her into this. My mind reeled at this little
triumph

Yet soon enough, I knew, I would be given the welcome task of tonguing out
the savory folds of my stern mistress's tangy cunt. Ah, how many nights did
I kneel there in the moonlit cabin, worshipfully, my face thrust into the
auburn triangle of her sopping wet curls, while my ravenous mouth cavorted
wickedly within her satiny flower of naked pink? Her beautiful redheaded
cunt, smooth and pink and slick, was like some tasty oyster brought from
the fresh, clean depths of the salty sea. And within, I knew, my nimble
tongue tip could not help but find the most succulent of pearls....

Her strong thighs shuddered against my burning cheeks as I lapped
mercilessly, prodding her slippery flesh, tasting her, drinking of the
copious juices of her arousal. I was hers, wrapped in my naughty harness of
the most private servitude, a toy to her most shameful whims and -fancies
... yet as I pleasured her thus, she was mine. I knew it, exulting.

And how many nights did that commanding woman push me up into her hammock
and, while I swayed there helplessly, still helplessly bound, climb
excitedly in after me to straddle my face? That, it seemed, was the
ultimate servitude, for in her shameless arousal she was conscious of
nothing but her own pleasure. Once, exulting, I had done this to the
disdainful brunette back at Mother Curry's, triumphantly forcing myself
into her willing young mouth-only once, but still well I remembered how
wondrous the act could be.

Yet night after night I came to learn what a joy it was to receive such
treatment My Captain crushed me with her fragrant womanly body,
deliciously, the heels of her leather boots digging into the swell of my
shapely young hips. She grunted as she thrust her slippery cunt again and
again across my willing mouth while I struggled to lap at her salty lips,
and to breathe. In her frenzy she cared naught how she treated me-but, half
drowning in her musky paradise, I knew that those wild lusts had been
inflamed by me and me alone.

When my mistress fucked my face, it was all I could do to find her
squirming clit with my extended tongue and let her rub herself across
me. Sometimes I sucked at her and even flicked my tongue tip about, but in
such moments her passions were rougher and more primitive. To her, my
pretty face was no longer my identity but my ultimate offering to her, the
instrument of her unrestrained sex. She ground herself against me,
shamelessly, like an animal in heat.

She bore me deeper into the hammock, thighs spread about my face...while
mine own thighs rubbed helplessly together, struggling to relieve the
pleasant agony of my frustration as best I could. I could not assuage the
feelings in my cunny for my hands were underneath me and I could do naught
but accept the humping and grinding of her slippery cunt over my face.Wild
with desire, I could have climaxed with but the lightest touch upon the
tremulous bud which protruded from my slippery netherlips, yet my most
utter submission was a delightful joy as well. I thrilled that I could
serve her, and that she would so expose herself before me.

My flushed cheeks glowed shiny with her wanton lubrication as her rocking
pelvis ground the open lips of her hairy cunt ever more rapidly onto me. On
and on she gasped, glowing beautiful with the mounting pleasures as her
ivory fingers clutched savagely-tenderlyat my tangled tresses pulling me up
into her. She smothered me with the squelching folds of a cunt fragrant
with her urgent musk, covering my cheeks, forehead and chin with her
juices, exulting, until, breathless and sweaty, she finally spent,
shrieking out her passion in the otherwise silent cabin ... and I cupped
her pulsing morsel of blisses within my reverent lips.

Sometimes the Captain released my wristcuffs then so that I might frig
myself before her while she slowly inserted the Tusk of Delight into her
ready body with trembling hands. She never tired of this pretty little
display, and often she encouraged me as she carefully buckled up the straps
of her great dildo, unseeing. "Thou art my pet, Rebecca," she might
whisper. "My pet, my lover, my slave. Touch thyself for me."

Her heavy-lidded green eyes gleamed bright with lust in the moonlit
darkness as I pulled myself wide open under her hungry gaze and rubbed
shamelessly at the tremulous morsel of the throbbing center of my
desire. "Be restrained by no modesty," she might breathe huskily. 'Thou art
mine, and I possess thee utterly. Show me the intimacies thou wouldst
daren't even hint to another. Make me desire thee...." It was wondrously
wicked to perform so for her. I could have done it all night long.

On and on I stroked, gratefully, back arching with the exquisite joy,
basking in her wild, hungry gaze-until my mistress could restrain herself
no more and, gasping, leapt up into the hammock and impaled me to the
spasming core of my very being, riding me like a child gleefully rides a
rocking horse, while the ship sailed into the inky night. I knew that the
crew could hear my cries of delight as the captain skewered me, as usually
all else was silent onboard in the late evening, but I could not contain my
passion and I shrieked and moaned with each rhythmic thrust of the Tusk. In
the mornings, I would self consciously go about my business as the crew
smirked and snickered, giggling that the sounds of fucking kept them up all
night.

The evenings aboard ship were usually spent in our lustful pursuits. The
days were spent sailing and searching for booty, scanning the horizon for
ships to plunder.

On an especially hard day the captain would retire to her cabin late in the
evening, remove her silken pants and drop exhausted into the hammock with a
plate of fruit and a glass of red wine.

"Pleasure me, my pet." she would command while she lounged languidly in the
hammock, her thighs spread wide to expose her red furred mound. She dropped
juicy grapes into her mouth while I in turn snuffled between her thighs,
eating her delicious cunt. If she felt especially playful, she would slip
some grapes deep inside of her slit. I would eagerly prod and suck them out
and when finding the ripe berry squeeze them between my lips and drink the
sweet juice that spilled forth. The nectar would dribble down my chin onto
her shiny lips and I'd lap it up the excess like a kitten at a milk
saucer. Inevitably, after she had spent, hers eyes would slowly close and
she would drop into slumber. I would quietly curl up between her wide
splayed thighs, lay my cheek on her warm wet pussylips reach my arms around
her thighs and fall into blissful sleep.

As the good ship sailed eastward across the Atlantic toward the promise of
the New World, I became the darling of the crew. I was the youngest-aside
from my friend Annie-and the prettiest, and surely I was the most
even-tempered.

Indeed, the thing which struck me most about the lusty freebooters I had
joined was not their sensuality for certainly I shared that quality as
well-but their roughness. Gentlefolk, I supposed, did not rob ships on the
high seas, with an if thou please and and I thank thee, and I knew it was
silly to imagine that any one of the crew except the Captain had been
brought up in a genteel household. The Captain's reserve and her quiet
mannerisms suggested that she, like myself, had come from privilege. From
the others, I expected simply the boisterous behavior of the unlettered-yet
these women were indeed far more than merely boisterous.

They were very excitable-both for good and for ill. Many were the times
when I chanced to spy one member of the crew place her hand upon another's
bottom and, unasked, begin stroking the wench through her trousers. Such
proffered attentions were rarely turned down. Whether young or old, slim or
stout, fair or homely, most often it seemed to matter not. So long as one
sailor expressed desire and clutched at anther's buttocks or perhaps
reached into her blouse to pull out a breast whose nipple began to harden
rapidly, the other was almost certain to respond in kind.

Sometimes the girls would retire below, but sometimes this gloriously
licentious activity took place before all. I must confess that it was a
delight to see such uninhibited behavior, to see one wench lay her eager
body down upon the deck while another, trembling in her need, veritably
threw herself face down across the first yet with head and hips reversed so
that they might suck each other's sopping pussies simultaneously.

And if the Captain did not chance to be watching me then, there was little
I could do on such an occasion but hide myself as best I could wherever I
was and simply reach into my clothing and frig off rapidly. Truly, the
mutual pleasuring I often came to witness seemed the very epitome of what
it meant to be a woman. Surely it was good and noble to submit to another's
lusts, and to reciprocate unabashedly in return. Yet to bury your face
contentedly in another's eager quim at the very same time that a loving
wench tongued your quivering salty button to the rhythm you played upon
hers-to gasp, muffled deliriously in velvety pink woman-flesh, and know
that your lover was just as drowned-to remain locked in that ultimate kiss,
upper lips to nether, musky hair on your tongue, pleasures building around
and around in an endless circle of mounting feminine blisses ... certainly
this was something most special. Oh, how I missed it!

As I placed my fingertips purposefully against the clitoris which protruded
from puffy blonde-fringed lips wrapped in leather, I longed wordlessly for
such heaven. Perhaps someday, I thought, I would be able to slyly convince
my mistress, to break through her iron aura of command and make her desire
me so that finally she would kiss not only my mouth and my breasts ... but
my fragrant cunny as well. Perhaps one day I would see a set of red lips
dropping worshipfully down between my parted thighs, would feel a shameless
tongue which cared about naught but me-me-!

And as, lids heavy while I shuddered climactically at the sight before mine
eyes-and the thought behind them-I could see other girls, just as curious,
likewise pleasuring themselves.

Yes, to me such excitability was only a natural part of being a woman, of
freeing oneself from the dictates of a smug society which foolishly denied
the rightful pleasures. This loving spontaneity was simply part of letting
one's body live as the very soul cried out it should. Yet my crewmates were
excitable in other, less pleasing ways as well.

Though they could be loving and expressive, these women also were a vain
and swaggering bunch, much prone to argument and even minor
skirmishes. Some lusty sailor might kneel happily to wallow in anther's
fragrant slit one moment, and in the next moment shove a shipmate roughly
aside for stepping too close across her path. Many had adopted the filthy
male habit of smoking tobacco, and all but myself drank liquor to great
excess.

Indeed, after cunt, drink seemed to be the crew's main pursuit My first
taste of the sour stuff was enough to convince me that I wanted no more,
but at the urging of my fellows I drank and drank, until the taste actually
seemed a pleasant one. Someone filled my tankard, and filled it again. My
memory of that night of carousing is cloudy, yet some dizzying pictures
remain in my mind.

I drank wildly beneath the stars, tankard after tankard, singing filthy sea
songs, clapping and stamping my feet as reeling women danced before my hazy
eyes. I shouted unsteadily and guzzled still more ale with joy as, in twos
and threes and even more, the breathless dancers finally collapsed upon the
deck and, stripping the clothes from their sweat-shiny bodies, made wild
love before all. Mouth leapt to mouth, while hands grasped at available
breasts, and eager fingers probed musky, wet-furred holes. Above the gentle
lapping of the waves below came the frenzied lapping of drunken tongues
upon opened pussies, and the moaning of revelers who knew no shame.

I had been kept out of the dancing by the light touch of my possessive
Captain upon my shoulder, yet that touch had grown more demonstrative as
the liquor flowed and the night wore on. By the end of the dancing my
mistress could no longer keep her hands out of my opened blouse or out of
my unbelted trousers, and I found it a pretty game to rub my clit
kittenishly against her almost absently penetrating digits. I leaned over
the railing of the fore of the poopdeck, fondling mine own nipples
dreamily, glassy eyes locked upon the wanton feminine orgy below, while my
mistress clutched with one hand at my supple young buttocks and slipped her
other fingers ever deeper into my welcoming slit. My mind reeling with
drink, ever forward I leaned, wriggling my ass wantonly back into her
slippery fingers. Then, standing by my side, she fondled my dangling
breasts with her left hand and cupped my whole pussy from behind with her
right while we watched the debauchery below.

The Captain had to carry me below that night. She fucked me two or three
times before I passed out, and I think that in her lust she continued until
the wee hours using my limp body to satisfy herself fully.

Wonderful though such debauchery had seemed at the time, the next day made
me repent of it-the drink, at least. My head ached so that I thought I
would die. My tongue was thick and awful tasting, and my stomach felt so
wretched that I could not rise 'til late in the afternoon. I had no need, I
realized ruefully, of such a poisonous elixir. The after effects were not
worth the bitterly fleeting joys. When there was pleasure enough in mine
own senses undulled by hop and grape, why would I turn to the feeble lures
of drink? I vowed then, sorely repentant, never to taste of liquor again.

Later I watched, wondering, as the other members of the crew downed tankard
after tankard of ale with every meal As I looked more carefully, I saw that
this fueled their roughness even worse. Perhaps they were all cantankerous
and quarrelsome wenches to begin with, but the copious drink certainly did
not help matters.

To my dismay, even in my Captain I saw such childish behavior. Though I
adored her and craved her lovemaking night and day, I began to notice that
she was not the perfect goddess I originally had imagined her. She was, I
saw, prone to a self-aggrandizing excess which did not seem wise.

My heart pounded fiercely with arousal as we watched the weekly midnight
orgies together from the poopdeck. For such affairs my mistress soon
commanded me to dress in my scandalous jacket and skirt, and while I bent
coyly over the rail to get a better look at some particularly arousing
coupling, the Captain might flip my lacy black skirt up over my naked hips
and push her tapering fingertips possessively between the opened lips of my
watering cunt. She would slap my inner thighs to force me to open my legs
wider so she could unrestrained access to the sopping flesh underneath.

Yet though I thrilled to the delightful wantonness of my crewmates, I could
not help but also feel a cool disgust at the way those wenches' desires
were fueled less by natural feminine passion than by the hogsheads of
liquor. And though I shivered at the Captain's slim fingers upon-and
within-my body, as I refrained from the drink she swilled, I sensed an
unpleasant shakiness and my mind began to worry for the future.

Chapter 9 soon to come...

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