The Sapphic Pirate Miranda Pt. 07


Part the Final: In Which Miss Esme Winterblossom, Now Wearing The Mantle Of The Late Sapphic Pirate Miranda, Conceives An Extraordinary Plan Of Escape For Her Crew From The Sargasso Sea, Through The Use of A Rite Suggested By Her Catamite Hippolyte, And Boldly Goes Where No Sapphic Pirate Has Gone Before

* * *

Sept. 17, 17–

And Beyond The Infinite

Captain’s Log,

“I know many of you are unhappy to find that we have one of the Male Tribe on board,” I shouted to the crew. “Rather I regard it as the hand of Providence Herself, that She has guided to our care two whom we need most at this our hour of desperation: the girl Hippolyte, with the knowledge of ancient and magical rituals, and the boy Alexander, with the cock to seal the compact of that ritual.” There were mutterings of disgust at this last, but I pressed on. “I would not ask one of you to do what I would not do myself, so I shall take this happy cock into my bottom, while the rest of you may comport as you see fit, the only requirement being to frolic as vigorously as possible. Now you bad girls, let’s party!”

All around me Sapphic pirates of every description began to fling off their clothes and expose their soft, flabby bodies, rolling into one another’s flesh, licking at teats and fingering cunnies. Hippolyte, Alexander and I remained on the quarter-deck, and likewise bared ourselves, the hot sun beating down on us. Hippolyte kissed me and rubbed my breasts with her soft, cocoa-colored hands, while I took hold of Alexander’s cock and began to stroke it to prepare it for its unexpected journey into the female sex.

As the action below us reached a frenzy (as one might expect in those fully expecting to die shortly), I bent over and Alexander applied grease to my bottom, while Hippolyte, chanting the words taught her by the old voodoo witch on St. Roger, removed the chicken from its cage and picked up the knife. I felt the tip of Alexander’s cock at my arse-entry, and looked at lovely Hippolyte, my exquisite milk chocolate delight, as I braced myself for what Miranda herself had warned me was great pain. “Now,” I said, and as Hippolyte came to the pivotal part of her text, I felt my arse-hole expand with the head of Alexander’s cock, whilst the blade flashed and blood spurted from the chicken onto my face as the wings of its headless body thrashed in Hippolyte’s arms. I felt myself being hollowed out from inside, yet as overwhelming as the Sensation was, it was not completely unpleasurable. Indeed, I soon grew to enjoy the sensation of my bum being pushed in and pulled out, the slap of Alexander’s thighs against my own with each thrust of his manhood. Even when there was Pain, it was truly a great consolation to have Hippolyte’s round, sweaty breasts to suckle at, licking her nipples as the cock tickled the innermost ring of my bottom.

But could this ritual actually save us, or had we gone mad in our desperation that we should place our hope in these uncivilized rites? As Alexander, squeezing his own nipples, fucked away at my arse, nothing seemed to change in our situation, as indeed any educated person could only have expected.

Then, off in the far distance, I saw something that looked like a cyclone forming on the water. Yet it was not shaped like a cyclone, but rather, rounded on either side and coming to a point at each end, yet with shimmering folds inside it. “Yes, fuck me harder!” I cried to Alexander, thrusting my bottom against him as the apparition, whatever it was, came to us. On the main deck others had noticed it too and had stopped their activities to look at it; I shouted “Fuck and lick harder, you Pirates, if you seek to escape this graveyard in the sea!” and they returned, faithfully but questioningly, to the job at hand.

The thing moved toward us, there was a roar like a waterfall, in an instant it was all around us– and then the world grew black.

“Yes, fuck me, deeper into my ass, deeper!” I cried, and though we could see nothing around us we had the sensation of unimaginable speed. It was blackness and yet a blur… it went on in this way for many minutes… and then light began to return to it, and I could see the sea below us… but they were not the tropical waters in which we had sailed before.

* * *

September 18, 17– [scratched out]

Date Unknown

Captain’s Log,

A city, a great capitol of snowcovered stone buildings, lay stretched out before us, dotted here and there with church spires in the Slavic style. More noteworthy, however, was the commotion taking place directly before our eyes, a mob bearing torches, shouting wildly and pounding at the doors of a lavish mansion near the waterfront. So frenzied was the mob that they scarce noticed our presence in their seaport.

The orgy aboard our vessel had ceased in wonder at our strange voyage, and Alexander had reached the point of male satiety and withdrawn from my bum, so I and my crew quickly dressed and I ordered all hands to take up arms as we sought to see what the cause kaynarca escort of this unruly mob was.

We disembarked in a body and I stopped the first passerby I saw. “What port is this?” I asked.

“Snerdsk,” he said dismissively, as if the question were absurd.

“What is the cause of this disturbance?”

“Do you not know the house of Madam Slubenka, the most infamous brothel in all Schmertzylvania?”

“We are strangers in these parts,” I said.

“I did not think there was a corner of the Baltic where Slubenka’s house was not known,” he said. “Every depravity known to man, and many new ones, have been practiced there. Or perhaps I should say known to woman, since it is Slubenka herself who has invented so many crimes against God.”

My kind of woman. “Tell me more about this Slubenka.”

“She is little enough to look at, fat and sturdily-built,” he said. “They say she was a respectable governess until meeting some rake of an officer aboard a train. She fell for him, the foolish cow, he threw her over, and she has since devoted her life to extracting profit from vice, preying on the weakness of men. But all that will end today, thanks to Father Goruvnik, our Prophet, who will cleanse the city of her filth!” And he ran on to join the crowd, now beating at the doors with clubs under the direction of a long-robed priest with greasy black hair and beard.

“Do you hear that, my Pirates?” I cried. “A woman of our own type, under threat from a priest and a sanctimonious mob happy enough to patronize her in private and burn her alive in public. Let’s go!”

* * *

It is perhaps best not to describe in too much detail the bloodshed that followed. Suffice it to say that by the time my Pirates and I were done, Father Goruvnik and many of the good folk of Snerdsk had been sent to their God, and I was drinking tea with Slubenka in her bed, while my Pirates enjoyed a party with the employees of her establishment (Alexander was particularly delighted to find on the staff several boys his age). Very similar we were, Slubenka and I, I must say, though I am of course much prettier.

I nuzzled up against her large, unclothed form, savoring the warmth of her enveloping fat, the rolls of her belly, the thick muscularity of her thighs, as all of it spilled over and embraced my much smaller self. “Do you not fear the reprisals of the police?” I asked.

“There is not a man on the police force who does not take home more from me than from his salary,” she said. “No, I feared only the mob, and now we will hear no more from them, I’m certain.”

“You are a remarkable woman, Slubenka,” I said. “I heard a little of your story– is it true that you were ruined by an officer?”

“Yes, when I was young and easily led astray,” she said. “You met him, you know–“

“I did?”

“Yes, the tall, dissipated roue behind the bar. I bought up his gambling debts and had him thrown out of the army. Once a year I take him to bed, just to keep his shame fresh in his mind.”

“Most ingenious,” I said, nuzzling up to her large, peasant-like bulk. We kissed again, more slowly this time as I no longer had the rush of feelings occasioned by my arse-fucking and the quantity of blood I had shed. I grabbed one of her huge, squarish teats and sucked it into my mouth as she moaned with pleasure, then moved down her capacious belly to part her thick legs and lick at her mound. “No– not that again–” she said, and I looked up to see what was the matter.

“I have been waiting for someone from whom I could truly accept one gift in particular,” she said. She got up from the bed and took a sheaf of long brown branches tied together from her wall. “You are strong enough to do the thing I ask,” and she knelt down beside the bed, exposing her broad back and buttocks to me. “Father Goruvnik was right; I am a sinner, a very great sinner. And it is you, dearest Esme, who will punish me for my sin.”

“What, you want me to beat you?”

“Is my meaning not plain enough?” she barked. “Now! Punish me!”

I took the branches in my hand and gave them a couple of flicks in the air, then brought them down firmly– I thought perhaps too firmly– on her back. “Harder!” she cried, and so I did. The next one produced a rapidly swelling red welt; the next after that drew blood, which dribbled down her broad, capacious back and down to the crack of her wide arse. I whipped her six or seven more times before she leaped up, pushed me forward onto the bed, and spread my bum, licking my (still-sore) arse-hole while muttering something in her native tongue which sounded, by its rhythms, suspiciously like a prayer of forgiveness.

Perhaps we were not so alike after all.

* * *

Date Unknown (2nd)

Captain’s Log,

We boarded our ship at last, exhausted, satiated and with our stores of water and food (not to mention wine) restocked as a gift of gratitude by Slubenka and her girls. Along the way I caught her eyeing poor Amelia, stumbling along with her bandaged küçükyalı escort stumps, and Slubenka drew me aside and informed me that there was quite a taste among certain members of the aristocracy for girls in her state. It took but a minute to arrive at a price and I soon had Amelia carried off by some of Slubenka’s porters. “Don’t worry, darling, you shall be treated very well, and spared the troubles of seafaring to live in a beautiful house,” I called after her as she was dragged, kicking and screaming, away. She could be most difficult, I have to say. Not like my dear Hippolyte.

Besides Amelia, Alexander (not surprisingly) chose to remain with Madam Slubenka. “It’s been a slice. Don’t do anything I would do,” he said as we bade our goodbye, then turned to kiss a handsome, dark-eyed Tatar on the lips.

I returned to the ship to watch them loading some of the cases of wine. How curious– the date on the case said 1871, not 1771 as I assumed it must be. A funny mistake to make.

We cast off our ropes and hoisted the anchor, and began to move out into the Baltic Sea. As we did, far off in the distance, I saw what looked like a cyclone. And yet… not like one.

* * *

Our second ride through the slit in the ether was far more tumultuous than our first. The ship was racked by violent impacts, as if we were bouncing from one rock to the next in the shallows. Yet as before, absolute blackness surrounded us on every side. A moment came when we began to hear voices–

“I’m getting something–“

“Roger, initiating retraction sequence–“

“She’s breaking up, she’s breaking up–“

Suddenly forms appeared around us and we seemed to be tumbling through a vast cavern lit by some unearthly light such as we had never seen. In this cave, as bright as if there were daylight though no sun could be seen, we seemed to be in a kind of Amphitheatre, and in its center a group of about ten people were fucking as furiously as we had the day before, while all around them were what looked (by their bearing and weaponry) to be soldiers, though they looked like no Army I had ever seen.

I understood that they were engaged in the same sort of ritual which Hippolyte had initiated for us, which no doubt explained why we were appearing to them and they to us; yet it was extraordinary that a secret society of such vastness and resources should exist in whatever country (the Vatican?) this was. There seemed to be great frenzy among the soldiers and we heard much shouting–

“I can’t hold her much longer–“

“Who the hell are they?”

“Something’s pulling them away from us–“

“How did a god-dam ship get in here?”

“Is she going back to her time?”

“You said we’d conjure up Yog–“

“She’s going forward–“

“We’re losing her–“

“How’d we conjure up a fucking pirate ship instead?”

“She’s heading for the future–“

“Mr. President, you must decide now–“

“You down there! Fuck harder, god dammit!”

The din of the slit approaching us drowned out any further communication– and once again, we were rushing into blackness.

* * *

Date Unknown (3rd)

Captain’s Log,

Again, light began to break around us and we found ourselves hurtling at speed beyond Reason toward an unearthly city of towers that gleamed like the blades of swords. The sea was full of ships, yet not a single one bore sails, and all were moving by some mysterious means of Locomotion. Even more remarkably, the sky too was filled with ships of a different Design, which likewise moved not by sail but along a thin white streak of smoke.

There was little enough time for such reflections, however, as it seemed as though our Doom had arrived at last. In the final instant before we crashed into the port, however, enormous balloons exploded all around us, cushioning our crash and stopping us with a jarring, yet harmless, impact. “Welcome to the Port of Thinopolis. Your safety is our number one concern. No smoking, meat-eating, or fast walking is permitted within the terminal complex…” said a disembodied voice, its strange words echoing all around us.

It was a most curious place, this Thinopolis. The streets were not brick or mud but a kind of blue sponge, which the occupants had some difficulty walking upon, but which was so soft that it cushioned their falls, which were frequent. All around us more voices resounded– “Loud noises are not permitted in multicultural areas.” “Stay healthy– eat eleven servings of delicious FlavKelp today, now in Strawberry Mocha!” “Please be tolerant of the gluten-intolerant.” Perhaps because of this constant harangue, the residents of the city had a drawn and hungry look, like itinerants too long between work. Indeed, no matter where I looked, the one thing that could not be found was a person who was otherwise than scrawny and overly sinewed. My crew was the picture of robust, hearty English health next to these wan, half-starved creatures.

“We have had a hard journey,” sancaktepe escort I said to the crew. “I think we would best be served by preparing a feast and gathering our wits about us over dinner.”

There was little argument about that and within minutes one of the piglets had been slaughtered and was roasting on a spit on the main deck. After our ordeal the succulent smell of pork was most comforting.

What it was not, apparently, was welcome in the precincts of Thinopolis. After the pig had roasted for a bit, we noticed passersby in the street reacting in horror, and one or two even going so far as to retch upon the blue sponge walkways (which prompted an immediate spray of some foul chemical worse than the original stench).

Within moments, a phalanx of blue-helmeted soldiers bearing rifles of a curious design had appeared from metal carriages along the portside, and one of them was shouting some twaddle at us about “unlawful eating of meat,” “lack of Identi-toos,” surrender immediately, and so on and anon. Really, how very rude to interrupt a meal with the Tedium of official business.

“Fire,” I said, and the crew let off a volley of six-pounders, slaughtering the soldiers in a hideous explosion of blood and guts upon the very port itself. Most satisfying, especially as several of the metal carriages exploded on their own. What I had not reckoned on, however, was the result of firing cannons directly at the blue sponge sidewalk; it caught our cannonballs and bounced them back toward us at almost undiminished speed, where they punctured our hull in a dozen places. The old ship began to lurch ominously.

“All pirates take up arms and abandon ship!” I cried, and my crew took their cutlasses and began jumping from the sinking deck to the port. I motioned to a few of the gals and what working rifles amid the gruesome carnage we could find, we picked up, though I had to urge caution after one of the midshipwomen tested hers and splattered a passing local against a wall advertising this FlavKelp of theirs, which appeared to be some form of minimal Sustenance. In light of how dreadful it looked, I was relieved to see that the pig and some of the wine had been brought along to sustain us.

“Violator alert. You must surrender at once to proper authorities. Failure to comply will go on your permanent record,” a sort of talking painting with a woman’s face on it shouted at us from atop one of the port buildings.

“Where will we go, Captain?” first mate Kate asked me. “How will we make our escape without a ship? We know nothing of this land.”

“We will not escape,” I said. “We shall rule. Do you not see how the people cower from us? Do you not see how thin and ill-fed and soft they seem?” Kate and some of the others began to look around, and to see what I had seen here. “This is a rich, pampered land, and it is for the taking by fighting women such as us!” I pointed at the talking painting. “We must go where she is. All around this city they see her face. If we can put our faces and our bloody cutlasses on that painting in her place, so that every man, woman and child in this city sees us, the day will be ours.”

* * *

It was little enough work to get the location of the talking-painting woman from one of the terrified locals at swordpoint. We made our way in a body toward the palace, which for some reason they called “the Studio,” and as we did so a curious thing happened.

As word spread, as we cut and shot our way through one group of guards after another, slowly members of the local population began to join us, both men and women. Some were enticed by the smell of the pig, which we shared gladly with these people, many of whom had never tasted honest meat before; they almost cried with joy at the taste. Others were plainly attracted to my piratical crew, complimenting them on their abundant bosoms, their large bottoms, their womanly curves in such contrast to the narrow, bony forms of their own men and women. It was a struggle to keep my forces moving and not have them dissolve into groups of sexual trysts. But above all, they seemed to rejoice at the overthrow of their oppressors, and to take joy in the freedom to eat meat and grow fat.

At a certain point I thought we might have a real battle on our hands, as we encountered a band of woodspeople coming over the city wall. But it turned out that they too had come to join our fight, and I had every reason to believe them, for they too had the build of joyful meat-eaters so unlike the deprived FlavKelp-eaters.

By the time we reached the studio we were perhaps six hundred strong, and there was no force left to resist us as we bashed in the (most impractically made of glass) doors, ascended the stairs, and found the studio where the woman in the talking painting was speaking, her image somehow carried to all the paintings at once. She was able to let out only a single shriek before I took her head off with my cutlass, and then, addressing myself to the curious instrument to which she had been speaking, said: “People of Thinopolis! The cruel oppressors who have ruled over you are no more, their guards lay dead in your streets. Life in Thinopolis will be different and freer now, for I am your new ruler and your deliverer– yes, I, the fabled Sapphic Pirate Miranda!”

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