The Pirates and The Amazons
by John Savage
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 John Savage
Published by Strict Publishing
International
Smashwords Edition, License Notes
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Chapter I
Eaten to Death, a Tiny Bite at a Time
The sands made a lazy whispering as they sparkled under the brilliant sun and were tossed about by docile wavelets of blue water. It was early morning and already the men rowing the long boat were sweating under the hot Caribbean sun. Behind them, riding at anchor, was a battered and dilapidated sailing ship of two masts and twelve guns. At the bow of the long boat a tall man dressed in black leaned towards the island, his weathered eyes scanning the sandy beach and lush vegetation behind it. It appeared to be a deserted island, no signs of habitation, but long years of sea battles, betrayals and surprises had taught that man to trust nothing and no one.
The worn wooden prow beached itself and all sailors immediately jumped out, four to haul the boat ashore, the rest to stand guard, flintlocks at the ready. The tall man held no gun but a sword graced his belt as he placed his boots on sand that had perhaps never felt the tread of man before. His scrutiny was turned upon the beach, both directions until it was lost in the curve of the island a mile or more away on each side.
“Mr. Bethemy, take two of the crew and scout for water,” he called out. “The rest of you, look for fruits and such but do not wander more than a call from the boat. Mr. Trotter, stay with the boat.”
“Aye, aye, Cap'n,” said one of the seamen, lifting a fist to his brow. It was not a formal salute, more half a wave and half touching knuckles to forehead. He stood by the boat as if he might be called upon to shove off at any second.
Three of the rough looking men dressed in a motley assortment of clothing uniform, in possession of only swords and knives, departed into the tropical vegetation, carrying water casks. The captain also went into the jungle, but in a different direction. Within seconds, he was in another world, the beach and endless sea behind him. Here the trees grew tall, bushes of all sorts filled the spaces between them, vines trailed in looping arcs, and a profusion of flowers of all colors greeted him. Birds called and insects buzzed and crawled. Happily, he could see no signs of man. Which suited him just fine. They had fared less than satisfactorily in the last battle and needed time to lick their wounds and refresh their food and water. The lack of humans on this island went well with his plans.
Captain James Friend was a large man, inches over six feet in an era when the average was nearer five. His features reflected a hard life although, in fact, his years numbered only thirty and five. A dark, full beard lined the bottom half of his face, and a scar across his forehead above the left eye marked the top half. He rarely smiled and those dark eyes seemed to be constantly looking for trouble.
He walked for a few minutes, but suddenly froze, one foot inches above the dirt. Was that a sound? Yes. Off to the left. And it did not sound like his men. It sounds more like... Could it be? A woman's scream?
Captain Friend's hand went to the hilt of his sword, even though the scream had been in the distance. He set off in search of the sound.
Might just be a big cat, he told himself as he made his way through the undergrowth and vines. Sometimes they could sound like a human screaming. He remembered the pumas in Vera Cruz during the night.
Creeping cautiously, he made his way forward until the sound of voices warned him, and he lay upon the ground to peer from under a bush. There was a clearing with a dozen figures in it, but what he saw made him suck in his breath.
The clearing was only a couple of dozen paces across, but it had been cleared of all bushes. In the middle, set solidly into the earth, was a pole of wood about seven feet tall. Around that pole were a dozen women, each wearing the skin of some hide around her loins but nothing else. Their skin was tanned but not the dark of any natives he had seen. Each woman was tall, most more so than some of his crew. Most of the women carried bows and arrows, a few spears. And, most surprising of all, they were all very beautiful woman, both of face and form. The breasts he saw were all firm, large and a delight to gaze upon, especially for a seaman who had been away from any woman for almost six months.
But what they were doing jerked his attention away from admiring their beauty. The one closest to him moved away and suddenly he saw that one of them was tied to that pole. He was able to see very clearly how they had tied her, and it was not with her comfort in mind. Her back had been pushed up against the pole, then her arms pulled behind it and the wrists tied crossed. Then her elbows had been corded and pulled towards each other until they could come no closer. Then they were tied. He could see how the ropes cut into the flesh of her upper arms and knew it must be hurting her.
Her ankles had been looped and dragged back behind the pole so that she was leaning forward. But the ropes around her arms held her in place, so she did not fall, only looked as if she might.
She was a young woman, with the firm breasts of youth and flat stomach. And she looked very worried as her gaze darted from one woman to another. One of those standing around was talking, saying something in a language Friend did not understand. She seemed to be lecturing the bound girl. Or pronouncing sentence, for suddenly the tied girl's gaze snapped back to the one talking and a look of fear crossed her face. She jerked her body and pulled upon the ropes, violently while shaking her head. Friend figured that she must not like what she was hearing.
The talker reached forward with a knife in her hand, inserted it in the loincloth, and jerked it sharply. Then she reached over and pulled the animal skin off, leaving the young woman naked. She stepped back and motioned to two other women who stepped forward with earthenware jars in their hands. One knelt at the prisoner's feet, the other began by placing her hand into the jar and coming out with a goodly amount of some amber substance on her fingers. She proceeded to smear substance on the tied girl's chest, covering all of her breasts, and then going on to her shoulders, sides and arms. Meanwhile, the other one was doing the same for her feet, legs and up to her furry pubic patch. There, she smeared a large amount, trying to get some up and into the girl's sex.
When those two were finished, they stepped back. For a few seconds no one spoke. The girl tied to the pole looked in fear of her life, her hands twisting against the rope that bound them, while some of those standing around showed pity or sadness on their faces. A couple smiled wickedly as if the unpleasant fate of this young woman pleased them. Then the leader spoke a few words and the women began to leave the clearing, most without a backward glance. The girl, smeared with what Captain Friend recognized as honey, jerked frantically at her bonds and called out to her friends. As the last to leave, the leader turned back and paused. For a brief moment she seemed to waver in her resolve. Friend almost got the impression that she was going to go back to the younger one. But then her form stiffened and she turned abruptly and left.
The girl on the pole had been twisting her head around to see those leaving. Once more she called out unknown words, but the pitiful plea in her voice was unmistakable. Then her head sank and she began crying.
Captain Friend remained under the bush and tried to make sense of what he had seen. The young one tied to that pole was obviously being punished by the rest. And it had to be something pretty severe for her to react so sharply and in such fear. The captain had seen many men about to die and knew the look on their faces. He saw that on her face, the look of someone facing the end of her life.
And, unless he missed his guess, in a very unpleasant fashion. They could have simply run her through with one of those spears if killing her were their only purpose.
The captain continued to watch, wishing to see what would happen next, ever cautious to the possible return of that leader should she again have second thoughts about this punishment. In the clearing, the young woman sucked in air, tried to cease crying, and turned her attention to trying to free herself. But the captain, having served in a slave auction house for a short time, knew a great deal about binding females with rope. And he doubted that this girl could escape. The ropes were simply too tight and too skillfully placed to permit any progress towards freedom.
As he lay there, watching her struggles, he was very much aware of how beautiful she was. And how very desirable that lithe body was as she strained against the ropes. Her muscles stood out on her thighs and at times she seemed to be trying to thrust her breasts forward. In frustration, she pounded her bare bottom against the wooden pole, almost as if she could batter it down and thus gain her escape.
The urge to rise and go to that lovely body was almost overpowering. It had been such a long time since he had been with a woman... He could feel the erection in his pants, and it longed to be satisfied. The way she was tied to the pole forced her legs to be slightly spread, and the wonderful Promised Land between them, guarded by those black curls, might well be accessible to a determined man. She could certainly not deny him, although she could scream. But would her friends come? Or would they expect her to be screaming?
He fought down the urge to leap up and sate his lust upon that wonderful body. It would be better to understand what was happening here. And in a few minutes he was rewarded by seeing the fate her people had left this women to. With a sudden jerk of her head, she stared in disbelief and horror at the ground. She tried to lift her feet and shake them. But Friend could see nothing. It was only when a large red ant crawled over his hand that he realized what was happening. This clearing was the home to a nest of stinging ants, the large red kind. And they were being attracted by the honey. Soon they would be swarming all over that naked woman. And then they would bite her. And bite her. It would be horrible way to die; long, slow and filled with pain as they injected their poison a tiny drop at a time, then began tearing away tiny bits of her flesh with those powerful pinchers.
She put back her head and screamed. He could see small red spots crawling up her legs. But still he held back. She was shaking all over and thrusting her body against the ropes violently. And that was why he stayed where he was. Captain Friend was a man who lived a violent life. One did not sail the seas as an outlaw under the hated and feared skull and cross bones flag without knowing your share of violence. Such men tended to be rough with their enemies and their women. And the fear and suffering he saw before him was exciting. It was a pleasure to watch this very sexy young woman suffer. A real pleasure.
But as he watched, part of his mind was thinking. The Sea Witch, his ship, had a bad trip this time out, trying to take two merchants but being repulsed by both with losses to the crew and ship. Something to make a profit on this trip would be most welcome. And here it was. These women were beautiful and very sexy. He could envision them standing on the slave auction block in Kingston, and almost licked his lips at the amount of gold each would bring.
And then there was the long sail back, during which they would have a hole filled with gorgeous, drop-dead sexy women. And no one would object if the slavegirls delivered in Kingston had been well used on the voyage.
The red spots had progressed up to the naked woman's breasts and her struggles had taken on a desperate tone to match her whines of fear. Captain Friend came to a decision. His cargo of slavegirls could well begin with this one. Apparently her people had no use for her any longer.
As he got up, he wondered briefly what had been her crime to deserve such a horrible fate. Then he walked into the clearing.
He was almost to her before she realized she was not alone. Her eyes looked up, filled with hope, only to widen in surprise. For a long second she froze in astonishment, then a look of fear washed over her face and she screamed.
Apparently, a man was something to be feared more than the fire ants.
He drew his sword and held it up so that she could see it. Her screaming stopped. The end of the sword came down and touched the rope binding her elbows. But it did not cut. It was only a question. She had braced herself for the blow of that cutting edge, but when it did not come she opened her eyes. He flicked the rope with the tip of the sword, and lifted one eyebrow in question. For a while she did not seem to understand. But then something took a bite out of her breast and she was brought back to reality - if she did not get help, she would die, slowly and horribly.
She nodded her head eagerly.
Friend lowered the blade to her ankle and easily sliced through the ropes. She shuffled her feet forward until she was standing upright. Then she looked into his eyes with a fearful but hopeful gaze. One ant crawled across her cheek and she shivered at the touch of its tiny feet. Her eyes pleaded with him. Then she twisted her body around the pole so that her bound arms were facing him. He cut through the ropes, but grabbed her arm with his free hand as soon as the ropes dropped away. He led her away from the pole.
She began brushing at her body with her free hand, so he let go of her arm so she could do a better job of getting the creatures off her. Suddenly she looked up and started to run away from him. But he had been expecting that, and his hand grabbed her arm to jerk her back. She said something in a language he could not understand but that sounded like French, and tugged on her arm. She pointed towards a path out of the clearing. Since it was not the same direction taken by the others, he allowed her to walk in that direction but kept his grip on her arm.
A short distance down the path they came to a spring bubbling up from the ground with a small stream flowing from it. The girl immediately knelt and began splashing water over her body, washing away the honey and ants. He let go of her arm to give her the needed freedom.
Unashamed, she spread her legs and splashed water up into her sex. When she was finally free of sticky stuff and crawling things, she turned back to him. There was gratitude in her eyes but also still that fear. She said something, and then walked slowly to a patch of grass. She lay down there, leaned back and spread her legs. Then she closed her eyes, grimaced and seemed to be bracing herself for some highly unpleasant event.
The invitation was attractive. Apparently she was going to thank him for saving her life by offering the only thing she had: her body. And he was mightily tempted. But first things first. Taking her arm in a strong grip, he lifted her to her feet, and then guided her back up the path to the pole. There he picked up one of the lengths of rope lying on the ground, brushed off the clinging ants, then turned her around. He pulled her arms behind her and crossed her wrists. The pressure marks from her prior binding were still fresh upon her flesh as he wrapped the rope back on. At first she tried to jerk her hands away, but it was more of a token gesture than a serious attempt to flee. She seemed resigned to whatever fate the man wished for her.
With her wrists again tightly bound, he picked up another length of rope, brushed the ants off again, and fashioned a sliding loop in the end. That was placed over her head to use as a leash. Then he led his captive back down the path to the spring. After satisfying his thirst with the cool, refreshing water - a marked change from the stale, scummy water in the ship's casks - he took her to the patch of grass and pushed down on her shoulder.
Understanding, she lowered herself and resumed that position of invitation, this time with hands tied behind her. Again she closed her eyes as if awaiting something greatly feared and that would be most painful.
The captain did not care if she was eager or reluctant to have sex with him. He cast off his clothing, and then knelt down between her spread legs. Roughly, he kneaded her breasts, and then squeezed the furry patch between her legs. His foreplay was short and rough, but it worked. When he checked, her vagina was moist with lubricating secretions.
Positioning his rigid rod at the entrance to her sex, he plunged it in, hard and true. The girl cried out loudly and tried to roll away. But his body was pinning her hips to the ground, and with her hands tied behind her she had to stay and endure.
The captain did not care one bit about her pleasure, only his own. He pumped her vagina hard and fast, and in only a minute was shooting his fluid into her. In less than three minutes from the time she had spread her legs, he was out of her and reaching for his discarded clothing.
On the grass, the girl was crying. A bit of blood trickled down the inside of her thigh. When he was dressed and saw that, he knew she had been a virgin. He thought that she was a little hard to enter, but marked that down to her pussy being young and tight. Well, he told himself, at least her first time was with a real man.
Then he dragged her to her feet and marched her off down the trail back towards the beach. Boy, was he going to have something to show his crew!
Chapter II
Taking of Prisoners
They were all for raping her right on the beach, all ten of them. But the captain's hand upon his cutlass made they hold back their fornication. “There'll be enough for all, mates,” he told them. “There's plenty more where this came from.”
He could see the lust in their eyes at the thought of an island full of naked, beautiful women. “And, mates, they'll fetch a pretty price at auction in Kingston.”
Might as well appeal to their greed as well as lust. “But we'll have to catch them first.”
All eyes were on him now. “We take this one back to the ship and clap her in irons. Then we form a raiding party and go see how many of these wenches are on the island. And we take them!”
A hearty cheer announced their approval of his plan.
Eager hands gripped the long boat, and more lifted the naked and very frightened young woman into it. Captain Friend had the feeling that she had become used to him, but the sight of a beach full of pirates unnerved her again. She lay on the bottom of the boat, huddled into a ball, as they pushed off and rowed back for the Sea Witch. He had taken the precaution of washing away the little bit of blood from her thighs. These men, like the sharks they resembled, could degenerate into a blood lust, and then he would have no control over them. It had happened once before, when they were taking a Dutch merchantman. Despite his orders, the crew hacked and slashed in a frenzy of killing until all on that boat were lying in pools of their own blood. It would not surprise him to see them in just such a frenzy when it came to sex.
He had the impression that this girl had never seen a ship before from the way she stared at it as they came along side. She was passed up from hand to hand until she stood on the deck, trembling with fear. Twenty ragged seaman surrounded her immediately, making unmistakable gestures and crude remarks. They had not seen a woman in months, let alone a pretty and naked one. Captain Friend stepped over next to her and drew his pistol.
“First man what lays a hand upon her, I'll drop in his tracks,” he announced. That silenced the noise.
“Listen to me mates! On this island there are many more such beauties. And we're going to take them! We'll fill the hole with such as this one, and then haul them back to Kingston to sell upon the block. We'll all be rich men!”
They liked that idea. But there was still lust in their eyes, so he added, “We're a long ways from Kingston, mates. A long journey. And you'll all get what you want during that trip.” He put his pistol back in the wide leather belt and turned to one of the crew. “Mister Brodley, take her below and secure her in irons. Post a guard. No one touches her.” Then he added, lest they become fearful of a change in plans. “Not until later. We have cargo to capture.” Turning around, he addressed the group. “Mister Mercer, break out the pistols. Men, arm yourselves for a raiding party. We leave within the hour.”
That was met with loud cheering. If there was anything they liked better than screwing a comely wench, it was a fight and spilled blood.
Brodley, the third mate, took the leash and tugged on it. The girl, almost frozen with fear, her glance nervously darting around, took three tugs before she began to move. Then he was leading her down the stairs into the main hole. Off to one side there was a small room, and within it the irons they used to hold prisoners. These were big iron shackles, mostly locked on with large locks and connected by heavy chains, meant for male wrist and ankles. He looked at the shackles and at her slender ankles and wrists, and he shook his head. Would do no good to place them on her; she would just slip them off. So he backed her up to a wooden bench then made her sit down. There was a metal ring in the wall behind her, about the level of her head. To that ring he tied the rope leash, making sure that her neck was secured as close as possible to it. When finished, he felt that she could not move her neck away from the wall and would have to stay sitting right there.
And with her hands tied the way they were behind her, he figured she could not reach up to try and untie that rope.
For a long time he stood there, looking down at her trembling form. Such lovely curves, such smooth skin. And that patch of black hair peeking up from between her closed legs... Heaven it was, and it was within reach! But he both feared and trusted the Captain. If he said that they would have all the pussy they wanted, then he was content to wait. With a sigh, he left her and went above to join the raiding party.
The naked woman tugged at her bound wrists and pulled at her neck. But there was nothing she could do about the restraints. She would just have to sit there in deep gloom and await her fate, however terrible that might be.
Above deck, there was great deal of activity. A second long boat was put over and sailors were climbing down the netting into both boats. Captain Friend turned to a man standing idly by. “What do you make of it, Bones?”
The man was the ship's doctor, called “Bones” as short for sawbones, the usual name for any shipboard doctor. “You say they were all females?” he asked.
“Aye, a dozen. They had this girl tied to a post and were letting the ants eat her alive.”
“And they all had this same light skin?”
“Yes,” replied Friend. “All of them.”
“Perhaps you have found the legendary island of Amazons,” the doctor said, tugging at his beard, a habit when he was thinking.
“Amazons?” the captain asked.
“A tribe of females only. They are reputed to all be fierce warriors and men-haters. They will occasionally capture a male and keep him for breeding purposes. Which is where little Amazons come from. When enough of them are pregnant, the man is killed. If male children are born, they are killed immediately, leaving only females.”
“And I thought we were blood-thirsty,” muttered the Captain.
“Most thought the Island of Amazons was only a legend, a myth. One story has it that the island was originally populated by a group of European women who were shipwrecked there. One strong woman took charge and had the males killed or castrated. She then turned them into a band of female warriors to be feared. The things they do to male captives are supposed to be particularly gruesome.”
“I can imagine.”
“Well, that would explain the light skin color and facial features. I would bet that if you cleaned up that girl and dressed her, she could pass as a French woman. She looks like many that I've seen.”
The boats were almost filled. “Well, thanks for the idea, Bones. In a little bit, maybe you'll have a whole tribe of Amazons to study.” He laughed.
“Be careful,” Bones cautioned. “If these really are Amazons, they will fight fiercely. And don't trust them if you do capture any. They'll kick a man in the balls and then slit his throat with his own knife.”
“I'll keep 'em well tied,” the Captain agreed with a nod. “Well, stay here and keep an eye on her, Bones. I've a raiding party to lead.”
When both boats were alongside and filled, he went down himself. It was thirty-five men who rowed for the beach, not minding the hot sun or sweat rolling down their bare arms.
“Now keep quiet,” the captain told them, as they stood assembled on the sand. “I saw a dozen such wenches, but there might be more.” He told them the doctor's theory about Amazons. “So be careful. It may be that they can fight as well as any man. Any you find, capture and bind them immediately. And take care that you don't get kicked in the jewels!” That brought a laugh from the men. “And there might even be men. Those we kill. Follow me.”
They set off, eager and ready, carrying cutlasses, pistols tucked into belts, and coils of rope over their shoulders.
He led them to the spring where most of the men drank their fill of the first fresh water they had had in a long time. Then he led them on to the clearing where the post stood empty. Again cautioning them to be quiet, he set off down the path he had seen the Amazons take before. Most of the men stared at the honey and ant covered ropes lying around the post, and grinned. The image of that pretty Amazon girl tied to the post, naked and ready to be screwed was most stimulating to them. The fact that she was being devoured alive by the insects also stimulated their imaginations.
The village was not far off. From the cover of bushes, they watched for a while as the women came and went about their business. Occasionally he saw one of them look up their way, probably thinking of the girl left to die on the post.
They saw no men. And apparently there had been no men around recently for there were no children visible, only a few girls in their late teens. The one Amazon they had already captured seemed to be about the youngest, and she was at least eighteen years old.
They also noticed that there were only a few women older than thirty or so. Maybe it was a hard life being an Amazon.
When they were sure that they had seen about all present, Captain Friend ordered them into the village. And in they came, yelling and waving cutlasses about, a shocking sight intended to frighten their victims. Some froze in fear, but most reached for the nearest weapons, which apparently never strayed from their sides.
It was more of a fight than the pirates had bargained for. The women were, indeed, Amazons, and fought as well as any man. Many of them were as tall as the men and adorned with long blonde hair. Others were shorter with dark hair. There was even a redhead who fought fiercely with a spear and succeeded in bringing down one of the pirates with a thrust to his leg before she was struck behind the head and fell to a heap next to the man she had cut down.
The captain looked for the tallest woman, the one he assumed was the leader. An arrow whizzed by his ear; some of the Amazons having gotten to their bows. Then he saw the one he sought emerging from a grass hut, a sword in her hand. It was dark stained and looked to be very old, but she held it as if she knew how to use it. He made for her.
Amazons were going down all over the village, overpowered by the superior numbers of the males and frightened by the sound of pistols being fired. Only one woman went down with a ball in her chest; the pirates were trying as hard as they could to take the females alive. She was shot because she was fighting so fiercely that they felt they were in danger from her lunging spear.
Others were going down, either under the weight of a couple pirate grabbing them and dragging them down, or from knocks on the head that rendered them unconscious.
All fought well, even the younger ones, and it was not an easy battle. But the superior numbers and weapons won the day. At the end a few turned and ran, but only when their cause was hopeless. The pirates chased and brought down two more but let the older ones go.
The only Amazon left standing was the leader. She faced Friend, the sword held in both hands before her and a mask of hatred on her face. With a yell, she ran towards him, swinging the sword viciously. Friend blocked one swing and countered. She was surprisingly strong, more so than some men he had fought. Again and again she hacked at him, showing determination and strength if not much skill. He retreated, not from superior swordsmanship, but out of a desire not to harm her. He was looking for the opportunity to disable her without harming that fine body.
The opportunity came when she swung a little too far to one side. For a brief second her midsection was open. He took advantage of it with a fist solidly driven into her stomach. With an “Offfff” sound the air went out of her and she fell to the ground to lie gasping and holding her stomach. Immediately two pirates rushed forward to roughly turn her over and begin binding her hands behind her back.
“Make'm tied tight!” Friend called out. “And bind their feet or they'll kick you.”
In less than fifteen minutes it was all over. A dozen very beautiful women lay on the ground, all with their hands bound behind them and their ankles corded. Some were still unconscious, some glaring at their captors with varying degrees of hatred in their eyes.
The Captain looked down at the woman he had defeated and saw that she had recovered enough to be glaring raw hatred at him. She said something, and then spat on the ground at his feet.
“Haul the cargo back to the ship,” he called out. A minute later, happy pirates were marching through the jungle, thirteen nearly naked female bodies slung over their shoulders like so many sacks of potatoes. Those not lucky enough to be carrying a damsel, raided the village for food and carried away armloads of fresh fruit and some freshly killed meat.
It took five trips of the long boats to get all the cargo back to the Sea Witch, but eventually all twelve were lying on wooden decks worn smooth by countless bare footed sailors. Some of them tried to kick with bound feet, but no damage was done. The pirate stuck in the leg by the redhead was helped aboard and attended to by Bones right away.
The crew stood around and admired their prizes.
Every one of the women was wearing only a loincloth or a sort of skirt made from the skin of some black, furred animal. A couple had lost their coverings during the battle and were taken to the ship in a completely naked condition, much to the delight of the crew. All were beautiful women, and all had very fine figures. Captain Friend wondered for a second if that was because those not as beautiful were also done away with at an early age, as they did with male children. Well, maybe they were just all naturally beautiful.
“Take'm below,” he ordered, “to join the one down there. Secure them well. I'll have no slave rebellion on my ship. Mr. Bethemy, make sure that they cannot escape. You say that the irons we have are too big?” Bethemy nodded.
“Well then, get the chandler to work on smaller shackles. Meantime, keep them well tied.”
The crew set happily to their tasks. In the process of being taken below decks, many a male hand managed to find its way to bare female skin for a feel or a pinch. The woman fought, but the superior male strength and the ropes defeated them from the start. Before long, all were out of sight. Then Mr. Bethemy reported that all the cargo was secured. Captain Friend assigned water parties and food scavenger parties to go ashore, and then went down below to check on his prisoners/cargo.
It was an angry group of women who turned their eyes upon him as he entered the forward cargo hole. All of them had been left with the original ropes upon them, but someone had taken the extra precaution of fastening a noose around each neck and stringing that up to a beam so each girl had to stand in place or strangle herself.
The captain noted that, while this procedure might keep them from moving around, it did place them close together, and that was bad. He could see two of the woman already working on each other's bonds by stretching their arms towards each other. They ceased and dropped their arms when they saw him.
Gawd, but they were lovely creatures! he thought. Never had he seen so much girl flesh and of such quality. The whores in Liverpool or Kingston had sometimes been attractive, but nothing like this. And more often than not, those girls were not really much. These women could have passed as royalty in the king's court - dressed up properly first, of course.
“Mr. Bethemy,” he called. A few moments later the First Mate appeared. “Do you want the lot of them free and running around the ship?” he asked sarcastically.
“Sir?”
“Look at how they're tied. They can reach each other and untie themselves.”
“Yes, sir.”
Captain Friend looked around the area normally used to store cargo but now only serving to hold miscellaneous items. “Clear this space along this wall. Then have the carpenter build a bar across here. Make it solid and secured to the deck. We can line them up sitting and bind their ankles to that bar. And put another bar along the wall about here.” He pointed to a spot on the wall about three feet off the deck. “Same thing. Will give us a way to secure their necks.”
“Aye, aye, Captain. I'll get onto it.” He tugged his forelock (the expression sailors used for touching their knuckles to their forehead as a salute) and departed.
The captain remained to examine his cargo. A few of them averted their eyes when he looked directly at them, but most glared back with hatred clearly etched on their lovely faces. Especially the leader. He stood before her, noting how large and firm her breasts were. Nothing like the flabby or tiny breasts of most whores. The urge to reach out and touch them was mighty strong.
Of course, being the Captain and figuring he owned this cargo, he did just that. She backed away from his hand and growled at him, but could move only so far on tethered ankles and with the noose around her neck. The breast he cupped was as heavy and firm as it appeared.
Delightful!
Her face twisted into a grimace; she spat some words at him. The tone was obviously a demand that he get his filthy hands off her, but the words had a familiar ring.
Leaving the breast for another time, Friend went to the stairs and called up, “Pass the word for Jean.”
A minute later one of the pirates came down the stairs, tugged his forelock, and said, “Aye, Captain?”
“What is that language you speak when you're drunk?”
“Why, Cap, that's French, the tongue of my homeland.”
“Would you be so kind as to try it on this one?” Friend said, pointing to the leader.
Jean stepped up to her, his eyes fixed upon those lovely breasts, and muttered some words in French. The woman gave him a startled look, and in her surprise spoke back to him in a normal tone of voice. They exchanged a few sentences with Jean mostly staring at her lovely form.
“Aye, Captain, that there's French,” Jean finally reported. “But sort of different. Funny way with the words, you know. But we can talk.”
“Good. First off, ask her what her name is.”
“Lynnette, she says, Captain.”
“Ask her if there are any men on this island.”
Ignoring the translator, the conversation between the pirate captain and the leader of the Amazons went something like this:
“No. No men.” She sneered when she said that, as if the very idea of men on that all-girl land was preposterous as well as distasteful.
“Except sometimes for breeding?”
She did not answer that one right away, but finally came out with, “What else are men good for? Men are liars, rapers of innocent women, thieves, unwashed pigs, and are good only for the unpleasant task of getting more women for our people.”
He did not disagree with her. Most men he knew fitted into that description very well. “Are there other tribes on this island?”
She frowned and did not answer, despite the fact that he repeated the question. He took that to mean there was at least one other tribe and she did not want to give it away lest those Amazons also be captured. The island was several miles long at least, and he guessed that the others would be at the other end.
“How is it that you speak French?”
“Our storytellers speak of a time long ago when a ship came to this island and was broken on that reef during a storm. Most of those who came ashore were female convicts, prisoners destined for a penal colony far off. There were a few men, but they were weaklings, and the women, freed of their chains that they might have a chance to swim ashore, killed them as they lay on the beach. Then Dominique, the strongest and most wise, became the leader of the people.”
She seemed proud of her heritage and related it as if she were a storyteller herself.
“We took from the ship what we could and made a home here. After years passed, we came to know that we were far from the normal trade routes and very few ships ever came this way. At first, the people hid when a ship was sighted. Sometimes the man ships came here for water and fruits. Sometimes they passed by.
“Then there came a time when Dominique realized that we would all die out if something were not done to bring new women into the people. So, when the next ship was sighted, a fire was lit. When the ship came into this harbor, five of our most beautiful women were on the beach, wearing nothing but smiles.” She almost grinned at that part. “When the sailors came onto the beach they were greeted warmly and put at ease. Having been at sea a long time, they were eager to partake of these women who seemed so friendly and eager for the same thing.
“When they were not expecting it, the rest of the people ran out of the jungle and butchered them. The sands were stained with male blood. But two were saved, the two that the women liked the best. They were taken prisoner and kept in our village. They were used for breeding. Since then, we have taken what men we need and killed or hid from the rest.”
She looked into his eyes as if daring him to say that they were wrong to do that. But he held his tongue. In his life as a pirate, he had done worse. Much worse.
“We became warriors so we could stand on our own, unlike the weak women who live with men.”
The Captain nodded. It was as Bones had said, Amazon women, even if they did not call themselves that. It must have been the stories of their slaughter of males that made the legend of the Amazons.
“Well, Lynnette,” he said when she was obviously finished with her tale, “you are no longer warrior women. You are my property. Slaves, if you wish to use that word. We will take you to Kingston and sell you on the auction block for all the gold we can get.”
She did not seem to like that too much. “And,” he continued, “during the long voyage there, we will use you as we wish. My men have been at sea far too long without women. I have seen too much of them looking at each other with lust in their eyes.”
Lynnette suddenly spat in his face, her expression one of hatred. “Men do not use us, we use them!” she screamed.
Slowly wiping the spittle from his cheek, Captain Friend grinned. “Saucy wench you are. Well, we'll teach you a lesson in why men are superior to women. And that you should respect your superiors. This evening. After supper. Then you'll be punished for this. And as a lesson to you others.”
He turned to leave, but paused at the stairs. “Have you ever been with a man?” he called back.
“No,” she said, defiantly. “There have been no ships for a long time.”
A virgin! “Then you'll have something to look forward to.” He grinned and left.
On deck, Friend paused to take a breath and gaze out upon the Amazon Island. A cargo of thirteen beautiful virgins! That was almost too much to believe. He did not know if a virgin would fetch an extra price at auction, but he wagered that none of them would remain virgins during the voyage to Kingston, so it did not matter much. There was no way he could get the crew to agree not to touch them, even for a little more gold. He would have a mutiny on his hands.
The next question for the Captain was what punishment to give this Lynnette. What indeed?
Chapter III
Whipping, and Taking an Amazon
The sunset was a gorgeous blend of oranges and reds and pinks swirled together in a distant mass of clouds upon the horizon. The galley had dished out fresh food for the first time in months - the fruits and fresh water were most welcome, as were the fish from the lagoon.
Captain Friend was up on the poop deck for a bit of fresh air after dining in his cabin. It was his habit to make rounds of the ship often - also the mark of a good captain, which was one of the reasons the crew were loyal to him. The other reason was why he was Captain in the first place. He was the biggest, meanest and best man with a sword in the whole crew. Well, except for Elephant Jones, the cook. He was bigger, but cared little for leadership, content to cook fairly good meals for the crew.
As he stood there, watching the setting sun, one of the men came up to the railing separating the poop from the main deck. “Sir?” he said. “If I may ask a question that is being asked by some of the crew?”
“Yes, Mr. Billings? What is it?”
“Well, sir, we're secured for the night and chow has been served out. Well, what we was wondering was... The women...”
“You're wondering when you'll get at them?” Friend sighed. “Well, I guess that is a good question. Tell me, Mr. Billings, which would you rather do: fuck a wench or watch her get flogged?”
Mr. Billings frowned. “Well, sir, I...” He trailed off, unsure of his reply.
“As I thought. The touch of a whip against female skin is very nice, is it not?”
“Aye, Cap', that it is. Why, I remember those wenches we took off the Hispaniola. Sort of fat they were, but them was good fucks and we had fun whipping their round arses, we did.”
“Well, Mr. Billings, you may tell the crew that shortly one of the Amazons will be brought up and whipped. And then I'll make three of them available for the crew to use. Officers first, of course.”
“Of course, sir.” He tugged his forelock with enthusiasm and departed with a grin on his face.
“Mr. Bethemy,” Friend called out. A minute later the First Mate was standing there. “Mr. Bethemy, one of the cargo is going to be punished.” The First Mate's face brightened up. “Would you please pass the word that all crew may watch? And have a couple of the lads come down into the hole to assist me.”
“Aye, aye, sir!”
“Oh, and have Jean be one of the men.”
The Captain casually strolled off the poop deck down to the hatchway to the hole where the girls were kept, then descended. Already it was dark down there with only faint light coming in through the hatch. He could see only dim shapes in the gloom, a dozen plus one of them, all sitting in a line against the wall. The ship's carpenter had done as ordered, placing a wooden bar along the floor, raised up by blocks of wood every couple feet to grant six inches clearance underneath. And there was another similar bar along the wall.
Just then, Jean came down the stairs, carrying a lantern. By the light of it, Friend could see that the women had been secured as he ordered. Each was sitting with her legs together and her ankles lashed to the floor bar. Their hands had been left tied behind their backs, but their necks were up against the wall bar and lashed in place. Those ropes were tight enough to keep them sitting at attention, but not quite tight enough to present any real difficulty breathing.
Through the translator, he addressed Lynnette. “My dear, I'm afraid that you will have to be punished for spitting on me,” he told her. “It will also set a good example for the rest of you.”
If looks could kill, the Captain would have dropped dead on the spot. He went on, “In a few minutes, I'm going to have you taken on deck, where you will be whipped before the whole crew. And your girls here, they will be up to watch also. What do you say to that?”
“Allez a enfer,” she spat at him.
“That means you can go do hell, captain,” said Jean with a smile.
“Figures. Very well, my dear.” He turned to give orders to the two men standing next to him, but suddenly turned back to Lynnette. “Oh, by the way, I should tell you that three of your girls will be tied down and my men allowed to use them. Right after your whipping, of course. The whipping of a female body does get a man's juices flowing. The whole crew will be very horny after watching you scream.”
“Je vous deteste.”
“She hates you, captain.”
“The two of you,” he said to Jean and the other crewman who stood there, “untie her and bring her on deck. Oh, you can leave her hands tied behind her. And watch out for her feet. She may be barefooted but I'll bet she can kick a man pretty hard where he does not want to be kicked.”
Lynnette was untied and taken out, each bare arm being held by a strong male hand. Captain Friend followed them up the stairs. Several lanterns were lit around the deck, and most of the crew was already there, awaiting the show.
“Untie her hands but tie them again in front of her,” he ordered. “Then tie a rope to them and hang her from that yardarm until her toes are unable to touch the deck.”
Many eager eyes watched as the proud woman was untied and changed to a different form of bondage. When the two men pulled on the rope they had tossed over the yardarm, Lynnette was lifted off her feet until only the tips of her toes scrapped the wooden deck, then another few inches after that. There was a sigh of satisfaction rippling around the men.
“Now go below and bring up all the other women, one at a time. Keep their hands tied but put a noose around their necks. Tie that to the railing there so that they have to kneel down and face their leader.”
Again the crew watched as a dozen lovely young women were led up the stairs one by one, and secured kneeling before them. There were rough catcalls and crude comments hurled at them, along with promises of what would be done as soon as the men were allowed. Finally, all twelve were kneeling, most looking frightened, but all defiant.
Captain Friend climbed to the poop deck so he could address the whole group. He told Jean to translate for the girls.
“Men, you are gathered her to witness the punishment of one of our prisoners,” he said in a loud voice. “She is guilty of disrespect to her new owners.” He paused dramatically for a few seconds. Also to allow Jean to tell the girls what the crew had already heard. “She will be whipped.”
There was a murmur of satisfaction. The crew loved a good whipping. And these lovely creatures would make fine victims.
He waited a few more moments, enjoying the look of disbelief and fear on the faces of their captives. The only one who did not show fear was Lynnette, hanging by her wrists and the one who should show fear, if any. It was her ass, after all.
“Mr. Swenson, you have the cat?”
“Aye, sir,” said one of the crew, stepping forward. In his hand was a black leather whip with nine thongs. A couple of the women gave out gasps when it was brought into sight. He took up a position behind the hanging woman, and then looked up to his Captain for the signal.
“You may begin, Mr. Swenson,” Friend said. “Deliver thirteen strokes upon her bottom only. Space them out well.”
“Aye, aye,” replied Swenson. The woman looked over her shoulders at the man with the whip, nothing but contempt on her face. It was almost as if she did not know how much this was going to hurt. His arm came back and the first stroke was on its way.
Lynnette came close to screaming, all in the audience could tell that. Her body jerked into an arch, her mouth opened, but she held back the scream. Perhaps it was a matter of pride, perhaps training, but she seemed determined not to scream for these men.
There was plenty of reason to scream. All nine of the lashes had struck the bare flesh of her bottom, each delivering its own venom in a stinging bite that left her ass burning.
“One,” counted Swenson.
All could see short red lines forming on her smooth skin, each a trace of where a whip had kissed.
When she was again hanging still, his arm came back and swung. He put a great deal of force into the second stroke as he wished to make this beautiful woman scream.
When they had other female captives, it had not taken much effort to make them scream, just the touch of a real whip and they were whimpering and screaming and begging for mercy. This woman did not.
The second stroke also failed to evoke the desired sound effects. Again her body jerked violently and her feet kicked at empty air. She looked as if she were trying to curl up into a ball. Her mouth was set in a determined line and her features were contorted by the pain. Yet she would not give vent to it with a scream.
More red streaks formed upon her skin. All eyes were glued to that area, even those of the captive maidens. Some of them grimaced each time the whip cut into her behind. Perhaps they knew that it would be their turn one day.
The third stroke brought forth a gasp and a little half cry, half whine. Sweat was beginning to appear on her face and breasts. Her hands were clenched into fists that sprang open only when the lash hurt her bottom.
The fourth stroke again brought forth a whine, but no scream. Captain Friend leaned upon the railing to look down upon this unusual woman with interest.
It was the fifth stroke that did it. This was not a mild spanking they were giving her. This was honest punishment designed to inflict a great deal of pain. Welts were forming all over her cheeks, each swollen and turning ugly colors. The first strokes laid the groundwork, the next delivered the real pain. The cat-o-nine-tails was now being used on flesh that was already swollen and painful to the touch. The pain level rose a notch. And she finally screamed.
It came out despite her best effort to keep it in, a wail of agony, an animal cry of pain. Each of the kneeling Amazons felt her pain, too. Had they not been bound, certainly they would have leapt upon the pirates and attempted to kill them with bare hands.
The rest of the strokes were delivered slowly and upon flesh turning dark with bruises and swelling. After the first time, Lynnette no longer tried to keep her cries within. She screamed and did not care who heard it.
And she danced. Each time the whip struck her, she kicked wildly, a wonderful dance that was so very nice to watch. Unless you were one of the bound captives and wondering when it would be your turn, that is.
“Twelve,” said Swenson. Then he stood there, the whip hanging limply at his side, his bare chest covered in sweat much as she was covered in pain-sweat. For a long time no one said anything, the panting woman who hung there with head bowed and flesh almost torn up was a sight to behold.
But all good things come to an end. “Mr. Swenson,” the captain called down. “Leave her hang. We have other affairs to attend to.”
“All night, Captain?”
“For a few hours. I want her to think about this punishment.”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
For a few more moments, Friend looked upon the hanging, suffering woman and felt the lust within his heart and loins heat up. Lord, but she was beautiful! Even more so in her suffering. Gone was that haughty, proud look. Instead she was a defeated, afraid woman who knew she was in the hands of those who could and would hurt her more than she could possibly endure.
Finally he came down the steps to the main deck. Slowly he walked along the line of nearly naked, bound women. When he got to the end, he turned and reviewed each again. All male eyes were upon him with eagerness. “This one,” he said, pointing to one of the tall blondes. “And this one.” A brunette. “And this one.” The last was the only redhead, the one who had stabbed one of his crew.