The Sapphic Pirate MirandaChapter 7
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In Which Miss Esme Winterblossom, Having Ascended To The Post of Captain Aboard The Ship of The Late Miranda, And Finding Her Reign Of Brigandry Likely To Be Cut Short By The Loss of Sailing Wind And, Thus, Probable Death From Thirst At Sea, Makes An Astounding Discovery
September 13, 17--
Captain's Log,
For four days we have been becalmed in this beastly Sargasso Sea. I grow most Weary of the stench of the seaweed, which hangs on us due to the lack of wind.
At first, the crew saw this pause in our flight as an opportunity for debauchery, and there was quite a party had on the deck. My new favourite, Hippolyte, and I enjoyed the pleasures to be had from our fellow pirates, though I will say that the other captive we took, a girl named Alexandra, did not take to Sapphic pleasures as readily as her companion. I ordered her lashed to the main mast during the festivities, her breasts bared (though she has so little in that department that we might as well have undressed a boy), in order that she might observe the delights savoured, but as of yet my action has not had the desired effect.
But even Sapphic pleasures must pall, and as day after day of windless torpor has settled upon us, the ambience aboard the ship has grown most tedious. For the moment we do not lack for food, but our water stores are much more limited, and even at half-rations we face only a week more of drinking water if we cannot find some way to leave this place and find a port. They look to me for an answer, and I endeavor to project an Captainly air of confidence, but at night I have cried bitterly at the cruel twists of fate that may well have brought me to my end here in these most Desolate waters.
Speaking of cruel twists of fate, on the third day or so it occurred to me to inquire about my old love Amelia, and see if she had survived the amputations of her mangled arms. I made my way down to the Surgery and was pleased to find her convalescing in a most comfortable hammock, next to several others with suppurating stomach wounds and the like. "Amelia, dearest, how splendid you look!" I cried, then, endeavoring to lighten her mood, added, "There's something different about you, what could it be? Did you change your hair?"
"My fucking arms have been sawn off!" she cried, holding the bandaged stumps up at me, and then added, "I thought you too must have been killed, since it has been three days and never once have you visited me."
I let this ungracious rejoinder pass and said, "As you surely understand, dear Amelia, I have many pressing duties in my new position. Come, come; let us look on the bright side. There are many on this ship who have lost a hand or a leg, and are none the worse for it; I myself lopped off one of Sally Nottlewick's ears just the other day. We shall get you fitted out with hooks, or perhaps a telescope on one arm," I said, then, eyeing her lasciviously, I said, "Indeed, it occurs to me that there are other, more delicious implements which could be fitted to your stumps and we could have fun with those some evening--"
"How can you think of that!" she cried, and turning away from me, began to sob. But in fact the site of Amelia laying there, so helpless, with her bandaged arms-- well, former arms-- and bare legs and feet did stir something in my loins.
"When I look at you, that is all I can think of, my Amelia de Milo, my oldest and dearest friend," I said, and she softened a bit at that. "I do not see the part of you that is missing--" indeed, that was logically impossible-- "but rather, I see new ways you might develop your talents to give pleasure. Talents I... have always found the greatest pleasure in..."
As I said this to her I began to press my sex against her foot. She struggled to get away but in the drooping hammock, and armless, she had little ability to maneuver, and so there was little she could do to prevent me from pulling my skirt over her leg and then pressing her toes up against my pussy. That organ quickly dampened as I rubbed it over the big toe, which slid inside my folds readily. She resigned herself to this act, and began to frig my cunny with her foot, the big toe going inside me, the foot rubbing my clitoris. Within a few moments of this action, during which I made her foot quite sodden, I am sure, I felt the Tingle and grabbed the rope holding the hammock next to hers, being joined in moaning by the badly wounded patient in that swing who was awakened from a fitful sleep by my jerking of the rope.
Once I had completed my Tingle, I wiped Amelia's foot off with a surgeon's cloth and said, "Duty calls, I'll leave you to enjoy the pleasure of your own Tingle alone," and walked away, only later realizing that, in fact, her stumps were probably insufficient in length to that purpose. Well, somebody would help her, I expect!
September 14, 17--
Captain's Log,
My officers-- Sally Nottlewick, Kate Greasely, and Magdalena von Schkwirtzen-- gathered around the table in my quarters the next morning, while Hippolyte lounged on the bed, one breast sloping enticingly out of her open top. "Ve could easily face two weeks mit out the vind," Magdalena said, as she pointed to a chart of the Sea in which we were becalmed. "By zat time, I expect all but a few remnants will have perished from thirst."
"Ghastly," I said. "Are there no options to extend our supply of liquid?"
"Only one," she said. "Ve could drink the blood of one or two unfortunates per day, thus prolonging the life of the remainder. However, ze effect on morale of this cold-blooded murder iss... unpredictable."
"Horrid," I said. "Can't we just row ourselves out of here or something?"
"We blew up the rowboat," Sally reminded me.
"Right," I said. "Well, it's a grim picture, to be sure, but let's keep our chins up, and remember that we're British, that is, except for those of us who aren't," I said, in my most Captainly fashion, but it did not seem to inspire the confidence I had hoped.
Mara
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