The Swashbuckling Yarn of Milady Vixen (8 page)

His weight fell upon her, crushing her large breasts to his hairy red chest. Before she could utter a word of warning, he was in her.

Vixen felt every vein, texture and bump on his girth while it slid delightfully into her. A hot gasp flowed rapidly past her lips. She grabbed his neck and pulled him to her, thrusting her head over his left shoulder and urging him farther. Gloriously he sank into her sex, only to come to a bumping halt at the door to her hymen. Tom paused.

“What comes next,” he whispered, “I fear will be a bit of pain. You must be brave and let me do what ‘tis necessary to sunder yon barrier.”

“Don’t stop the attack,” she growled seductively. “For I will suffer anything for you to continue. I pray ye to stay the course!”

He pushed forward, sundering the doorway that sealed off her womb. The hot tearing and stinging pain made her sob out momentarily, until it passed like a brief summer shower.

Retracting and returning, the thick cock slithered in and out of her with an agonizing slowness, making her wrap her long brown legs around his rising and falling ass. Each penetration seemed to batter down the walls of her prison, bastions she had erected to keep all at bay so to better fulfill her vow of revenge. Vixen heard only their breathing, hot and heavy. Feeling only the luxuriousness of flesh upon flesh, she surrendered herself to the heady emotions. No grog, rum or wine was as sweet and intoxicating as this simple, timeless act between man and woman.

If the good Lord made anything better, he surely kept it for himself, she moaned inwardly.

Something powerful was building at the very core of her, a feeling like none other. As it overwhelmed her senses she gave loud voice to it, digging her nails into Tom’s back and delighting in his cries of passion and pain. Her hips bucked and her breasts lolled. She found herself a primitive creature, lustily squirming and impaled upon a meaty lance she so craved to be slain by. The slap of flesh was music to her ears. Her lover’s bull-like roar coursed past her right ear in perfect harmony with her shriller cries. Tom’s bottom rose fast and fell faster, each stroke blurring hot sensations into her body. His hands swung under the bunk to squeeze the voluptuous spheres and wring every last drop of pleasure from her body. The hammock swayed wildly.

“I-I cannot…,” he bellowed.

“Plunder me booty!” she shrieked. “Spare not one doubloon to remain!”

Sorry, I couldn’t resist that last line. You will forgive an old storyteller, won’t you?

Crushing his hips onto hers, Tom exploded, washing her with a hot discharge that lit the fuse on her carnal cannon. Vixen’s climax tore through her like a full broadside and made her wallow and shake like some stricken merchant ship. Her neck arched backwards, and she screamed out at the top of her lungs. Hammering his back with balled fists, Milady Vixen suffered deliciously with every spastic quake of her supple form.

At last the battle ended, and the two lowers snuggled together to enjoy the calm, each one nestled against the other, sweaty and sated.

I have found my mate, she slurred drunkenly to herself. The vixen has found its Reynard!

Sleep overtook her.

All Is Delightfully Fair in Love and War

Putting back out to sea, the crew of the
Sea Fox
knew their mistress had altered, changed in some manner. Her demeanor with them was business as usual. However, the sidelong glances and soft smiles she cast at the first mate didn’t go unnoticed. None dared to make a frolicking jest of it, for if Milady Vixen was anything, she was quite the expert with the sword. I would say they were respecting her wishes for privacy, but that would be a lie. In truth, the crew were flat-out afraid of her. Yet bawdy songs grew from this fabled relationship, singers clouding the true names of the persons in clever guises. If Vixen had not been in such a state of love, she probably would’ve slain the minstrels. As it was, she found them amusing. Love does this to people. Don’t ask me why; even at my age, I cannot fathom its power.

After sacking and sinking a few of Effingham’s sloops off the coast and within spyglass range of that country’s shores, the
Sea Fox
, its hold heavily burdened with plunder, wallowed its way back to a Gaston port. Bright sunshine painted the decks, spars and sails when the lookout cried out a warning.

“Frigate off the port bow!” the man in the crow’s nest shouted.

At the wheel Vixen squinted over her shoulder and into the horizon, swearing under her breath. The vessel bearing down upon them was no lazily crewed cargo vessel, but a lean and hungry warship. Cursing her ill luck, she roared out commands.

“Give me full canvas! Battle stations, ye rogues!” she thundered.

“We’ll never outrun them,” Ginger Tom stated flatly. “We must stand and fight.”

“Tom, have ye lost ye mind? That is a twenty-eight gun ship-of-the-line boasting thirty-two pounders for cannons. It be true our guns be of the same caliber, but we at best would last only a solitary broadside before she ripped us to kindling. She outguns this here brigantine two-to-one; aye, fleeing is our best option.”

“She’s running light—I reckon she’s doing over nine knots.”

“Arg, ye be right, and we’d soar out of her sights if’n we didn’t have a ship with so much booty she sails like a pregnant whale. If we tossed out all the ill-gained goods, we’d make over eleven knots or better. Aye, ye may be right—fightin’ is as good an option as we have.”

“Look!” Tom exclaimed, “She turns her stern to the wind—we’re dead good and proper.”

“Today was a good day.” Vixen smiled beautifully. “I am happy to die.”

“I prefer to live another, but aye, I agree.”

“They won’t take us without a fight!”

“It’s the
H.M.S. Lady Jane
!” an eagle-eyed sailor cried from the rigging. “Cap’n, we’re as good as dead!”

“Belay that chatter, you drivel swigger!” Vixen hollered at him. “Shut ye yap before I slit your gullet!’

Black doom was closing in, flying the hated colors of the nation that had expelled her. Vixen sighed deeply, for her race was truly run. Yet within her bosom beat a fierce heart. She might die today, but she wouldn’t go unaccompanied to Hell, for she would take as many of the Effingham Marines with her as possible as an escort.

An hour and a half-hundred leagues later, the two ships traded volleys. Wood splintered and men died. Sharpshooters on either craft drew a deadly bead upon their enemies, their muskets booming. A ball passed by Vixen’s head and slew one of the powder monkeys standing near the monkey cannon on the poop. The shot shattered his young skull and dropped him to the deck. He died without a sound. A wave of white smoke poured over the ship as the
Sea Fox
’s remaining three guns on the port side belched fire and shot. Below decks, Vixen knew those manning the other weapons had been sent to stand in judgment before their Creator. Vixen swung the wheel, and it spun wildly in her hands. Her ship cut across the waves and slammed into the
Lady Jane
’s starboard side.

“Are you mad!” Tom called out.

“Our only hope is to cut them down man-to-man!” she relayed with a tight grin.

Grappling hooks arched into the air from both ships, biting into wood like a shark sinking its teeth into soft fishy prey.

“Let us go meet them!” Vixen sneered, drawing her needle-like blade.

Leaping over the railing, the sure-footed privateer commander drew, shot and killed a red-coated Marine who landed on the deck. Pitching back with a chest wound, he gurgled out his last.

“We’re out manned two-to-one!” Tom said, suddenly standing beside her.

“Kill two before ye die; then the odds be even!”

Muskets flashed, cutlasses glittered and men rushed toward the fray. With a bone-chilling cry Milady Vixen jumped into the mix, dealing death with every swing of her arm.

Let me pause here for a sip of rum. My throat grows dry, and this part is too important to come from lips crackling and breaking like some old hag’s. Ah! That’s better; now where was I? Oh yes.

The day drew to a close, and the decks of the
Sea Fox
ran red with both pirate and Marine blood. Upon athwartships—that’s the very center line of a Marine vessel, a rough circle of red-jacketed maritime soldiers had ringed a pair of desperate freebooters. Bayonets, soot stained and yet deadly, pointed in the pirates’ general direction. The muskets had run dry of powder and shot, but still posed a threat to the two refusing to surrender. Dripping with sweat and streaming injuries, Milady Vixen and Ginger Tom took a brief respite from the battle. Weariness tugged at their limbs, and the two heaved with every breath.

“Surrender!” a young, aristocratic-featured Marine officer commanded. “You are finished!”

Vixen lunged, but an expertly wielded musket easily deflected her blow. The slither of steel on steel sang the final note of her life as a privateer.

“Kill us,” she wheezed. “I will wear not a hempen halter!”

“Aye, you’ll dance on the end of a rope, you pirate!” a shout came from behind.

Tom slapped his cutlass against a musket’s pointed accessory as they rushed forward. Vixen managed a thrust into a man’s face, the tip of her blade piercing his eye and into his brainpan.

“Arggh!” a familiar voice cried out.

Spinning in place, she saw her lover’s shoulder affixed upon a bayonet. Another Marine raised the deadly equipped barrel of his weapon.

“No!” she screamed, lunging to save Tom.

Something struck her hard on the back of the head, and the vision of the blade streaking arrow-like toward Tom’s heart was snatched violently away.

It is here you expect me to tell you of the fall of our two heroes, isn’t it? How they perished valiantly in battle, never yielding and forcing their foes to send them hand-in-hand to Hell’s hot embrace. I see the wish in your eyes as clearly as this flagon of rum. Like Romeo and his Juliet, these two should die nobly for love; sadly, this is not the case. I’m sorry if this continuation of my tale ill suits you.

* * * *

The stink of stale, moldy straw curling up into her nose was the first sign she was still alive. The dull, thumping pain on the back of her skull was the second indication. Vixen opened her eyes to see the bleary and ill-lit brig her captors had tossed her into. She quickly shut her eyes to avoid vomiting, for her belly rolled like a craft upon rough seas. The vessel’s motion and the location of the holding cell were bashing her to the ground. The rattle of chains to her left made her take note of the manacles around her ankles and wrists. Her legs were hobbled by the short links running from ankle to ankle, much like the bindings on her wrists in front of her. They clinked metallically.

You see, the brig of a ship is in the prow. Every time it rises and falls upon the waves, it knocks the prisoners contained within to the deck. The captors chose this location on purpose. After all, being jailed isn’t supposed to be a kindness, you understand.

“Tom?” she croaked past a thickly coated pair of lips.

“Aye, Cap’n,” his voice came from her left.

“We seem to still be alive.”

“I pray this will not be for long. Certainly we will soon be gracing some gallows, if these redcoats bother to wait that long.”

“It was a fine life.”

“Especially at the end.”

A soft sob bubbled up from her chest, but didn’t burst past her bruised and battered lips. Cursing the short, yet passionate length of their mutual affections, she resigned herself to grip Davy Jones’ hand.

“The prisoners are awake, I see,” a man’s voice interrupted.

Opening her eyes, the cutthroat commander spied a tall man wearing the scarlet captain’s coat of the Effingham Navy. The white lapels and brass buttons shone vividly in the half light of the brig.

“So this is the infamous Milady Vixen?” he queried in an amused tone. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, as short lived as it will be.”

“Avast, ye braggart,” she grumbled. “Go bugger a powder monkey, you lily-livered son-of-a-seahorse!”

“Such foul language! By my troth, I knew you to be a bloody handed rogue, but I fully expected some manners from a woman.”

“Who are ye, varlet?”

“I am Captain Horatio Cockrum,” he said with a false bow. “I am a member of His Majesty of Effingham’s naval forces, at your disposal.”

“Go jump off the forecastle then, if’n ye want to be disposed of,” she retorted. “I don’t wish to spend my last hours in the presence of some perfumed dandy who chides me for my manners.”

“I just came here to inform you that a splendid event will be awaiting us when we dock. The gala will be for your benefit, but I fear you and your associate won’t enjoy being the center of attention.”

“I always knew of my fate—do ye think to frighten me of its reality? Do you expect me to be some timid and fearful tavern wench who will beg and plead for her life? If’n ye do, then ye be a fool
and
a pitiful barnacle.”

“Your opinion and insults mean little to me. However, I would be pleased if you would at least have dinner with me—under heavy guard, of course. I would like to hear your tales, as coarse and vulgar as I’m sure they will be.”