Wherein I am brought low

Continued from A bounty of ladies.

On a bright Sunday morn, th’ light sparklin’ off th’waves like a million suns, our froggy helmsman set us on a southerly course, aiming to round th’Horn. All was right with th’world, for I was sailing with a crew o’th’most mouthwatering lasses outside o’Araby.

Yet ’twas less than a fortnight afore I was dragged in irons t’th’most laudable presence of Cap’n Dyke. Aye, a beauteous lass she is, too.

Thar she be, me fair Cap’n Dyke:

Dax Montana, the Cap’n’s bouncer, threw me to the floor most roughly, in a manner t’which I have scarce known from th’softer sex, and I found meself looking up at th’luscious curves of Cap’n Dyke herself.

“He befouled the breast of Blue Gal,” said Dax, “with his mouth.”

Piped the Cap’n, “What have ye t’say in yer defense?”

“Why, she was bit on her love pillow by th’dreaded sea asp, an’ as it be me sworn duty t’safeguard yer crew, I had t’suck out th’pison –”

Dax shook her golden locks. “He lies like the dog he is, Cap’n.”

“Th’truth!” said me boss.

I sighed most woeful. “Ah, me. ‘Tis a weakness o’mine. Should I chance upon an unclothed breast, I can do nought but lavish it with tender kisses.”

Th’Cap’n gaped her most kissable lips. “Unclothed? Do ye mean t’say Blue Gal was exposin’ herself?”

“Aye –”

“She was exposed,” said Dax, “only because this beast ripped open her blouse.”

Aye, things were lookin’ a mite dark fer yer Cap’n Wood, but I’d had th’foresight t’smuggle in a hunk o’ onion. I raised me hand t’me eye and wiped. Soon, I was wipin’ crocodile tears.

“‘Twas your grog,” said I. “Ye ferment a mean brew on the Mound of Blue Dykes, an’ with th’ excess of beauty every where I rest me eyes, ’tis more than a red-blooded man can take.”

Now ’twas Cap’n Dyke’s turn t’sigh. “Cap’n Wood, ye knew th’rules when ye signed on t’me ship, no? That thar be no grab-ass nor grab-tit? That ye keep yer hands t’ themselves, lest they be used t’open stuck jam jars or swab me poop deck?”

“Aye, lass, but I be thinkin’ them rules was metafurrical.”

The Cap’n raised her brow, th’one ’twas not covered by th’patch. “Metafurrical?”

“Aye. Metafurrical-like.”

Cap’n Dyke shot a glare at her bouncer. “What means he, metafurrical?”

“Metaphorical,” said Dax. “Da Nator taught him th’scholarly word.”

“And what do ye think this means, metafurrical?” said the Cap’n, turning her cannon-cold glare on yer faithful servant.

“Not meanin’ what she says she means,” said I. “Sayin’ one literal object and meanin’ t’other. So’s when ye says ‘no grab-tit,’ I think ye mean t’say grab all th’titty ye can muster.”

“Ye understood when joined me crew, that we are all lesbians?”

“It’s all Greek t’me,” said I. “I don’t discrim’nate.”

“No, Cap’n Wood. Lesbians. As in, we prefer th’soft comforts o’other lasses.”

I set thar a moment, contemplatin’. I had t’set thar, o’course, bein’ in irons and at th’mercy o’Dax and Cap’n Dyke. But as I set thar, a mental image as it were formed in me mind, and certain moans I be hearin’ from th’cabins, moans I be thinkin’ were from th’womanly cramps, began t’make sense; and I found meself in a mighty aroused state.

“I like th’cut o’ that,” said I. “Might ye be needin’ an audience t’cheer ye on?”

“He’s hopeless,” said Dax. “Cap’n, I insist ye inflict th’standard treatment o’ grab-tits.”

“Aye,” said me fair one-eyed lass, “’tis true, ’tis a rule o’th’Mound of Blue Dykes. Ye must leave me ship at once.”

No sooner had I seen heaven, but I had it ripped from me grasp by th’Cap’n’s words. I wept real tears, I did. “Surely ye don’t mean t’make me debark at th’next port o’call,” said I.

“Not at all,” she said, but me relief was but short lived. “Throw him overboard, irons and all.”

“But, Cap’n,” said Dax, “can’t we have fun with him, first?”

Imagine me surprise t’find comfort from Dax’s quarter.

“Fun? How so?”

“Let me chain him t’th’mizzenmast and whip him with me cat o’nine tails,” said Dax. “I’ll beat him like the cur he is. And when he hasn’t an inch o’ unstriped skin, then we’ll throw ‘im t’th’sharks.”

“As ye wish, Dax,” said Cap’n Dyke, much to me consternation. “An’ when ye be finished, come back to me cabin. All this talk o’whippin’ has given me a savage appetite, ’tis true.”

And that, me friends, is how I came to be tied t’th’mizzenmast, whipped t’within an inch o’ me life by th’copiously endowed Dax Montana, with no hope fer th’future but a watery death by drownin’, or me tender bits relished by the mouths o’ vicious sharks. And all o’it fer a tender kiss.

Life isn’t fair, thought I.

And then came th’belch o’cannonfire off our stern, and in th’distance, past th’snap o’Dax’s whip, th’riotous hoots of the Cap’n’s crew, th’shrieks of gulls and th’toss o’th’sea, I heard a sound which gave me heart cheer: th’tinkling chime o’elvish laughter.

To be continued.

Cap’n M. W.