The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

1 Prologue to Piracy

In this year of Our Lord 17__, I take pen in hand to record the adventures of one of the most notorious pirate captains ever to sail the seas, aye, notorious and infamous, I say, yet strangely unknown to the general public. His name was not Blood (nor, for that matter, was the well-known Irish pirate captain made famous under that name); many’s the day I have cursed Rafael Sabatini for christening his freebooter “Captain Blood,” for such a nom de mer would have admirably suited my piratical hero from the crown of his raven head to the sole of his high-polished sea-boots; but, alas, Sabatini was there first, and so my captain must needs choose as his soubriquet a different bodily fluid. Having studied medicine in his youth, he bethought himself first of the humours: but having considered calling himself in turn, “Captain Bile,” “Captain Choler,” and “Captain Phlegm,” he rejected them each and all; then for a time he thought to call himself “Captain Sweat,” but feared that would betoken unnecessary physical exertions; “Captain Semen” sounded too much like an ordinary sailor who had spurted up to rank; and not knowing how to spell “Captain Ejaculate,” he at length dubbed himself “Captain Precum,” for, as he said, the mere prospect of booty always did make him horny.

Captain Precum achieved his first command thus: Having served as mate aboard a corsair in the Mediterranean, he and some few of his fellows were placed as prize-crew aboard a brig taken by their captain and were ordered to sail the vessel to port to be sold; but their captain being a man of cruel habits and high temper, the twelve men aboard the brig consulted with each other and concluded that they were best to take their fortunes in their own hands and set out a-pirating in their own craft. The crew elected Precum their captain, in the way of buccaneers, and he in turn re-christened their vessel (which had been called the Limpdik, after a species of antelope found on the coast of Africa) and named her the Stiffy, for she was an uncommonly stiff craft when blown about by a stout wind.

To avoid unpleasantness should they meet their old captain, the crew sailed the Stiffy across the Atlantic, where they set up to be pirates in the Caribbean. At the time, relations among the British, the French, and the Spanish were, while nominally peaceful, uneasy and unsure. Though the Crown could not countenance open war against the French or the Spanish, it was prepared to turn a blind eye to pilferage short of an open sea-engagement between fleets. Captain Precum, by daring and sheer nerve, led his men in capturing seven sloops a-sailing, six ships a-sinking, five gold galleons; four collier barques, three French brigs, two Turkish dhows, and a partridge in a pear tree.

That last calls for explanation. The partridge in question (and pleasantly plump in the proper places was she) was named Belinda Dupont, and she was the daughter of Pierre “Madman” Dupont, Governor of the French colony of Le Bougre on the island of Connard. By that point in his career, Precum had gone far beyond being the commander of a mere eleven able-bodied seamen. His followers numbered in the scores, and, having heard that a fat merchant vessel packed with silver and guarded by two fleet frigates had recently put into the port of Le Bougre, Precum determined to raid the town itself. His men infiltrated the place and at a given signal, they overwhelmed the French guards and made themselves masters of considerable wealth, by-the-by cutting out one of the fleet French frigates and making her one of their own flotilla. The laughing sea-dog Precum led a force into the Governor’s Mansion itself; and while the Governor was absent, his daughter Belinda was at home, and she climbed a pear-tree in the parterre to look over the wall surrounding the house and see what the disturbance in the street might be.

Reader, picture to yourself their first meeting: She, crouching in the crotch of a tree, staring down, sees him, a dashing, strongly-built young figure wearing tight-fitting trousers, a billowing white shirt open to the navel, revealing a muscular chest, sea-boots polished to a high sheen, a tricornered hat over long, flowing, jet-black hair. His blue eyes laughed at danger, his strong nose and chin bespoke determination, his firm, full-lipped mouth promised a passionate nature, and his tight pants revealed a prow fit to ram an Empress of the sea. And he, looking up, beheld a woman clinging to a branch and clad in a flowing peach-pink silk gown, waist cinched in by a black silk bodice that pressed her young breasts up into a daring decolletage. Above that promising pink vale stretched a long, pale neck, a sweet face crowned with a mass of strawberry-blonde ringlets, her green eyes wide not with fear but with interest. Immediately the young rogue of a pirate springs to a lower branch, hauls himself up, stands on the limb with the sang-froid of one used to treading yardarms a hundred feet above a raging sea, leaps from there to the next branch up, and so to the crutch of the crotch where clung the lady. Though Precum had at one time studied medicine, he had never paid much attention to languages, apart from English and Latin, but he had picked up a smattering of French, and in that romantic tongue he spoke suavely to the girl:, “Elbow! I hate a cap of wine for you. Dick cord! Assay my behind and clamber onto my manly fellow. I shall stick it up you and bring you to ground. Holy blue, but you have a shape upon you!”

Belinda, who knew a rogue when she saw one, took occasion to faint; and when she recovered her senses, she found that she was in the cabin of a ship already at sea; and so our story proper begins, after so long a prologue.

2. Frigate Matilda

Stirring slowly from the soft sunken sands of slumber, Belinda opened her eyes and for a moment wondered why the bed seemed to be rocking so. But soon enough (for she was a girl of some mettle and presence of mind) she realized she reclined in a hanging cot swaying subtly to the swing of the sea. She rose fearfully, finding herself still dressed in the peach-colored silk gown in which she had run out of her father’s house; and inclining her head, she heard from the deck of the vessel the raised voices of a multitude of men, their accents as varied as their choices of key, as they joined in a hearty sea-chanty:

Frigate Matilda,

Frigate Matilda,

Come here and frigate Matilda for me!

Rising and staggering a little as the deck moved beneath her slippered feet, Belinda made her way to the cabin door; but ere she could so much as clasp the handle in her delicate hand, lo! it opened, as though of its own accord, and the handsome young man stepped inside, smiling as he saw her. He swept off his hat, bowed low, and in his pleasantly-accented but strangely-vocabularied French, he said, “Mailman! Jut apples lolly, and I grope your haunches satisfactory!”

“I speak English, you know,” replied Belinda ,who had begun to think their relationship was doomed to crash on the rocks of incomprehension and so utterly founder.

“Marvellous,” replied the young man with a laugh. “I am afraid my tongue is not quite suited for the sweet sounds of French — though I am told it hath other skills that might please a lady.”

“Thou saucy rogue! Why have you taken me?” demanded Belinda.

“For my safety, my dear,” responded the young buccaneer. “Consider: I am a hunted man throughout the Caribbean. Your father, the esteemed Governor duPont—”

“Enough! What mad fancy is this? What makes you think I am the daughter of Governor duPont?” she exclaimed, stamping her foot.

With a careless laugh, Precum returned, “Your temperament, my lady, is not that of a commoner! Nor do your beautifully shapely bosoms proclaim you ordinary.”

“They are rather nice,” grudgingly admitted Belinda. “But I might be only a niece.”

“Nay, for a niece would not be so naughty as to niggle her way to the crutch of the crotch of a tree,” observed Precum with a twinkle.

“Say that three times, fast,” said Belinda, but then she touched hand to forehead. “Nay, stay, pray leave me in darkness and quiet. I feel the megrims coming over me.”

A concerned Precum half-supported the languishing lady to the hanging cot, and once he had placed her in it, he busied himself closing silken shades that made the great airy cabin dim and dark. “You suffer from severe headaches, my lady?” he asked.

She only groaned in reply.

“Come,” he said cheerfully, hauling over a chair. “I began life as a student of medicine, you know. Perhaps I can remedy your malady.”

“Would that someone could,” murmured Belinda piteously, for now jagged flashes of pain felt as if they sawed into her very skull. “The only cure is to suffer through horrid agony in darkness. . . and then I shall have a respite of a few days or weeks.”

“Tell me how it takes you,” said Precum, and his voice sounded so concerned that Belinda felt her reluctance dropping from her like an unlaced corset.

“I feel as though a tight band is encircling my head here,” she said, indicating her temples. “And as if an elf with no self-control were auguring and chopping at the crown, here.”

“If I could promise you sure relief, would you trust a swaggering pirate enough to place yourself in my hands?”

“Alas,” groaned Belinda, “could the Devil himself offer me relief, I would welcome the hot caress of his burning hands!”

“Then lie back,“Precum said softly. “Lie back and listen: While I was yet a student of medicine, I ran upon a mountebank who, unlike most of his coney-catching kind, had something of interest and value to teach. This fellow had a theory that we each carry within our bodies certain magnetic energies; and by manipulating these energies, he says, we can harness our wills, change our outlooks, and overcome our ailments. May I try to induce your animal magnetism to remedy your megrims?”

“I did not think such things would be even talked about until the next age of the world,” murmured a miserable Belinda.

“What care you if it be an abominable anachronism, so long as it salves your suffering and diminishes your dolor?” asked Precum. “Will you trust me and listen to me as I stir your animal spirits?”

“Stir away, sir,” she said. “But I hope you bear a long spoon.”

“Not one of my acquaintance,” he assured her, “hath ever to me complained of its length or hardness. Lie still ,my dear, and listen only to me.”

In hushed, gentle tones, he told Belinda to feel the rocking of the ship and know she was secure as a babe in a cradle. He had her lie still and count the rocking motions. “With each one you feel more rested and more free of pain,” he told her. “Like a storm-tide, your agony ebbs. Let your body relax. Feel your toes; clench them; unclench them and let them go loose. Feel the soles of your feet, and let them be at ease. Feel your ankles, and loosen them.”

So effective was his mild murmur that Belinda felt, or fancied she felt (much the same thing with a great lady) her headache begin to ease. She followed his instructions slavishly, relaxing calves, knees, thighs (oh, sweet shame!), hips, loins, middle, spine, chest, arms, elbows, wrists, hands, fingers, neck, head. . . . she felt completely at peace, buoyant as though floating alone on a placid sea.

“You hear only my voice,” said Precum quietly. “You hear only me.”

“Yes,” she agreed in a dreamy voice. “I hear only you.”

“You heed only me.”

“I heed only you.”

“Your head does not ache.”

“No, my head does not ache.”

“You feel sleep coming on.”

“I am very sleepy, to be sure.”

“Then imagine this: You are bobbing on a raft, my dear, along a stream that flows beneath a pleasant copse of woods. You have not a care in the world. Gaze ahead, and you see the copse thickens, growing greener and beautifully dim and most cool and refreshing. You cannot wait to arrive at the deep pool of sleep that you know lies at the end of the stream, in the soft green shade of the soothing trees. Count backward with me. At each number, you will notice the shadows are deeper and cooler, and you are closer and closer to sleep. Begin with ten.”

“Ten. . . .”

“And continue,slowly, backwards. At ‘one’ you will be deeply and peacefully asleep. You will hear only my voice and respond only to me, as though a kind spirit were visiting you in a lovely, pleasant dream. Count now.”

“Nine . . . eight. . . . ”

“Slowly, slowly. It is so amiable here, so drowsy. You cannot stay awake.”

No, she could not. Her headache completely vanished, Belinda found herself on the welcoming threshold of sleep, at that point where one may have the most scandalous dreams, and be deliciously aware of them, and yet feel no sign of blush for the impropriety. “Seven,“she said, feeling her warm breath flowing over her soft and ready lips. She imagined his kissing her as she drifted here on the stream, the wicked dog.

“Very cool and pleasant now. You are so sleepy.”

“Six,” she hissed and fancied she felt the press of his body beside her on the yielding surface of the raft.

“You are going to sleep. You are so close.”

“Fi—ive.” She had to yawn in the middle of the word, so indelicate! She imagined that she felt a gentle breeze coolly caressing her and idly wondered if her body were naked. It felt naked. Of course, everyone was naked beneath their clothes. Even this pirate captain must be naked beneath . . . .

“Sleep, sleep. Let yourself slip down the stream to slumber and sleep. Listen only to me. You will do what I say. You will believe what I tell you.”

“Yessss. . . . ffourrr.” Slurring her words now, like a kitchen slut who had slurped the sherry.

“You are free to do whatever you wish to do. You can enjoy yourself any way you like. But first sleep. Sleep.”

“Sllee. . . three. T-two.”

“You are asleep. You are deeply asleep.”

“One. . . .”

And then Belinda lay completely asleep, and completely in the power of a very unscrupulous young rogue of a rascally rapscallion. Reader, what will become of her?

3. The First Descent

After a long interval of confident masculine suggestions, Belinda heard the Captain say, “Is your headache better?”

“I thank you, sir,” she responded dreamily. “The agony is much abated.”

“Fine,” the man said. “Listen to me: You will feel much more comfortable if you allow me to put you into this state at least once every day, do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“And you will feel wonderful after each time. You will trust me utterly.”

“Yes.”

“You will trust me and follow all my suggestions faithfully, as a good seaman obeys his captain.”

“I will.”

“Now before you wake again, my dear Belinda, you must tell me a few things, and speak truly when you do. You will tell me only the simple truth.”

“Yes.”

“First: Do you like your life upon the island of Connard?”

“No,” she said honestly. “I do not.”

“And why not?”

“It is too hot,” she pouted. “And there is no society, and it is so boring I am filled with ennui.”

“What a pity. There are so many other more pleasing things with which to fill a young lady. Tell me, though, what think you of our life at sea? We have before us always new horizons, new vistas, and new prospects; we hold our fortunes in our own hands and at our own hazards; and we call no man master. We are utterly free. Would you fancy a life like that?”

“It sounds . . . wonderful.”

“I then tell you that in the coming days you will become more and more fond of such a life; you will feel more and more as though it suited you, more and more as though you were born for it; and you will be friends with us all—firends, but not intimate friends. That is to say, you will preserve your body from all the seamen aboard this vessel, until I shall advise you otherwise.”

“I will,” said Belinda definitely.

After an interval, Captain Precum asked an embarrassingly frank question: “Have you ever been kissed by a man?”

“. . . yes,” she said, helpless to hold back.

“Did you like it?”

“. . . I don’t think he did it properly.”

“In gratitude for my easing your pain, you will now allow me to kiss you; and pray then tell me if I do it properly.”

“Very well.”

Warm breath on her lips. She felt the palpitations of her panting heart. His hot lips touched and parted hers. Oh! but he was tender! She felt heat in her center, rising along her neck, spreading in her cheeks in a fine flush of a blush, but she returned his kiss passionately, wanting more.

“You liked that,” he said.

“. . . yes.”

“You loved it.”

“Yes! I loved it.”

“Very good, my dear Belinda. Now duty calls; I shall count from one to ten; and as I count each number, you will wake a little more from your slumbers and will forget a little more. You will not distinctly remember anything I have said to you, but you will retain your feelings of relief, your sense that this was a good and pleasant experience, and your eagerness to be put into a trance again tomorrow in my cabin. As you awaken, you will feel pleasantly relaxed and cheerful. And now begin to wake. One. Two. Three. . . .”

The rogue of a captain counted slowly and deliberately, and the delicate Belinda rose from what, to her, seemed the delicious depths of wholesome sleep. When “ten” had been told, and she had come fully awake, her first impression was of a deep and abiding relief: the miserable megrims had faded quite away, like fog on a sunny day, and no vestige of them remained to pound her temples or trouble her eyes. She felt extraordinarilly well. A sense of gratitude to the dear Captain upwelled in her, and she gave him a smile, the first one with which she had favored him. “I feel ever so much better!”

He bowed. “Your servant, Madam. To be sure of the improvement, we shall need to repeat the process tomorrow. Are you willing?”

Her fears now seemed so trifling, her relief so great, that Belinda readily agreed. The Captain then left her alone in the cabin, where she wondered why, with the great stern windows all open to the sea’s breezes, she felt so peculiarly hot.

4. Sea Change

On her second day at sea, Belinda’s passage from full wakefulness to a pleasant drowse took mere moments. Captain Precum made sure she had gone fast asleep, and then the rascal—I blush to record it!—kissed the maiden again, and yet more ardently.

She, responding to his lewd suggestions, returned the kiss with a wanton eagerness that belied her membership in the shy sex. He placed his mouth close to her shell-like ear and for some time spoke suggestions to her, leading her a step at a time further into behaviors and patterns of thought heretofore unknown to her.

She did hate life on land so, and she did adore a life at sea.

She was a wench who wanted her desires fulfilled and brooked no delay nor made no stay in slaking her thirst for pleasure.

She did know what lust was, and she opened her mind to it and welcomed it in place of those wicked old megrims.

And much more of the same coin, which went on day by day, until after a fortnight of his treacherous treatments, the wily Captain began to make the most outrageous suggestions yet. One evening with a lovely full moon shining in on them (for the frigate pursued a westerly course, sailing directly away from the rising of pale Diana’s orb), and in a tone dripping with sympathy, he murmured, “You are warm.”

“I am warm,” she confessed.

“You have on far too many clothes for such a balmy evening. The doctor says, for the sake of your health, you must be more lightly clad.”

Belinda stirred, a little uneasily. “But that would not be ladylike, not in public.”

“But you are not in public; you are in your very own rooms. Open your eyes. Do you see?”

“Yes. . . my own rooms.” She lay in her own bedroom, with a gorgeous full moon shining in her latticed windows. How absurd that she had not realized that before!

“And look, here is your maid. Let her unlace you.”

“Unlace me, Louise!” She said it in French, and she imagined her little fat bustling maid was there, hands busy at the laces of her bodice. She felt the silken slip of the laces through eyelets, and she breathed easier as the garment parted, freeing the captive creamy mounds of her breasts. She took a long, luxurious breath, adoring the simple feeling of freedom.

“By the Powers!” said a disembodied male voice. “These globes map the way to treasure indeed! Lucky the man who navigates them! Shall I show you the treasure trail, my lady?”

“Do,” she said simply.

She felt the touch of a—wet finger? tongue!—on the swell of her right breast. Oh, so naughty! But in many a dream lately she had imagined just such a hot touch, and she sighed lasciviously as it glided in a curving course that led it to circle the Isle of Nipple again and again, the central pink mountain growing higher and harder with each rounding of the shore. And then the tongue darted down into the vale between her breasts, and she moaned a little and pulled her shoulders back as it rose up the slopes of the left one. This time the tongue teased and tormented the nipple, and firm lips closed on it, setting her all a-tingle.

“Ohh,” she groaned. “This is wrong.”

“No,” he said confidently. “This is but a delicious dream, my lady. What harm is there in a dream?”

“. . . . none.” She murmured it with a deliciously impish sense of mischief.

“Not the least harm in the world,” he agreed cheerfully. “Now, as soon as you remove more garments, you will be able to slip into sleep again and enjoy a naughty dream or two. You want that. You do want that. You want it, Belinda.”

“I want it so,” she agreed breathlessly.

“Your maid thinks you should put your peach gown away so it does not become wrinkled.”

“Yes. . . it is damp, too. Yes, Louisa, unpin me.”

She rose from her pleasant bed, and in her imagination, at any rate, little Louisa took the garment from her. In actuality, of course, the Captain was her servant, and truth to be told, he was doubly glad to see the last of the peach garment, for she had worn it these two weeks and it had become bedraggled. He imagined her in silk shirt and tight silk pants and high sea-boots: she would be ever so much more comfortable without her feminine fancies.

“Remove your petticoats. Away with your hose. Take off your underthings, your frills, your furbelows.”

Belinda did the best she could, but when at last she lay back on the swinging cot and stretched out nude, she was weeping silently yet bitterly. “Why,” the voice said, “you are sad! what’s amiss, my dear?”

“Alas, sir, I cannot take off the furbelow,” she simpered sadly. “It grows there.”

A cheerful laugh. “Then let it grow, the fairest grove on the fairest mound over the most beautiful valley in all the world.”

“Do you think so, sir, indeed?”

“Indeed I do. Feel the wind in their branches.”

It was a breeze as warm as breath, and she sighed happily at its touch, feeling her strawberry fronds waving and dancing. Now the heat in her center was growing greater. She opened her thighs, welcoming the breeze, hoping for moisture. It arrived, a soft rain that felt as gentle as a lapping tongue. She spread her legs wider, wider, welcoming the new intruder. She felt such pulsations, such palpitations, such tremors and quivers, as she had never before experienced, but they were delightful, delightful! Ah! She could not, could not open herself widely enough to be sated, and so with her fingertips she reached down, down, and pressed, and pulled open her beautiful cunny, opening it like a split ripe fig; and as though he hungered for fig above all food, the Captain lushed and lapped his tongue, until at last Belinda’s breath caught short, she felt a curious sensation all through her body, and the most wonderful pleasure exploded from between her thighs!

Small wonder that, with such a reward for simple obedience, she rapidly gave in more and more during the coming days, as the unscrupulous Captain Precum daily entranced her, daily enjoyed her, and daily convinced her that all the bawdy feelings were hers, hers, and hers alone. In this sad way did the pirate king debauch the innocent.

Yet it must be confessed that the beauteous Belinda was a most willing accomplice in the debauchery.

6. A Pirate in Retirement: The Excursion

We now allow two full years to pass by. In that time, the cruel Governor Dupont was deposed on the island of Connard, and transported in chains and disgrace back to France; the English powers grew in importance in the Caribbean; and pirates began to be tracked down and exterminated, one by one. And yet no official report was ever penned on royal stationery to the effect that Captain Precum had been captured. A large price, to be sure, remained on his head, for the British had long ago learned to dread his depredations. And yet Precum dangled there, refusing to drop as his brethren had dropped, such a slick and slippery fellow that—as all the British governors privily agreed—there seemed but little chance of their closing their hands on him and holding him tightly in their grasp. Troops of Marines were sent on Navy vessels, and the commanders of the Marines took firm hold of their privates, moved them this way and that, and yet no Precum emerged, nor did the privates rise and shoot any seamen. It was as if the roguish Captain and his delightful captive and thrall had dropped off the face of the earth.

And yet. . .

Picture, dear reader, a beautifully designed sloop, rich and elegant, gliding along under half-sails beneath a tropic moon. In the cabin, a naked Captain Precum lounges, whilst before him, kneeling down on her beautiful round knees, the ravishing and ravenous and equally naked Belinda takes his engorged member worshipfully in her mouth and begins to suck upon it. Oh! She quivers with such joy and obedience, does a transformed Belinda. She glories in her own nakedness, she flaunts her rich body, she hesitates not to make fervid, passionate love to any sailor aboard, at any time; and the confident Captain Precum—who, by the bye, has changed his name, and who has strictly charged your humble servant not ever to reveal it, and so let us merely say for the nonce that he is now Captain Incognito—the confident Captain, then, not only permits, but absolutely approves of Belinda’s loose and lewd behavior, and often witnesses it with the keenest pleasure.

Belinda, who now has no inhibitions left to her at all, wantonly caresses her own breasts and tweaks her own eager nipples as she sucks the Captain’s ram-rod. She hesitates not to reach down with questing fingers to her honeyed cunny and tease and tickle it into a tingling eruption. She follows the Captain’s lascivious commands, finding joy even in the most humiliating positions; when on rare occasion he chastises her by laying her across his knees and spanking her bare bum, she gasps in glorious pleasure at each thrilling, swacking smack. And I must confess, the life she now leads seems to agree with her: her eager eyes are bright, her cheeks are pink and—oh, see, he ejaculates! And cooing with great pleasure, she laps and licks and eagerly swallows.

“Ah,” says the good Captain, “that was good, wench.”

“Aye, sir,” she says with a grin, wiping with the back of her hand her glistening chin. “Do you wish to fuck me now, sir?”

“Give a man sea-room,” says the Captain with a chuckle. “Fifteen minutes at least. You may stroke me, though, wench, to make me ready to penetrate your hold.”

“Aye, sir!” she says joyously, and with delicate fingers, she begins to stroke and tease his flaccid cock. She lays her soft cheek upon his naked thigh to look at it more closely in the soft moonlight, her eyes dreamy with wanton longing. To her his cock is the most beautiful sight imaginable; and the thought that it lies within her power to make that dangling bit of flesh twitch and swell to stiffness, then to take its juices and make it become soft and limp again, fills her with the greatest sense of power and happiness.

A knock sounds on the cabin door, and the Captain cries out, “Who is it?”

“Second mate, sir,” comes the return call.

“Enter.”

A beautiful blonde woman, stripped to the waist and displaying a pair of boobies that made a man want to dive headfirst into the valley between, stepped inside holding high a lantern and smiled as she saw what Belinda was about. “By your leave, Captain,” she said, “we should make port by dawn.”

“Good,” Captain Incognito said, feeling his member begin to throb with new interest. “Then in the morning send a shore party to distribute our posters. Stand by to receive guests. We shall plan to sail with the tide day after tomorrow.”

“Aye, sir,” said the second mate. “Ah—does the First Mate need help, sir?”

Belinda looked up roguishly and murmured, “She may let you have a lick or two.”

The Captain spread his hands, as if to say the more the merrier. The Second Mate quickly hung her lantern on a swinging gimbal, shucked her tight breeches and before long she was cheerfully holding the Captain’s mast steady and still whilst Belinda climbed up and impaled herself on it; and then the Second Mate flung her thigh over the Captain’s head and happily settled her cunny onto his talented mouth, and she leaned forward and deeply kissed Belinda, and Belinda kissed her in return, and they did fondle and toy with each other’s breasts.

On the Captain’s desk nearby lay a stack of posters. They promised tired businessmen and traders a sea-cruise to re-invigorate them and put happiness back into their lives, a costly pleasure cruise to be sure, but it was aboard the fleet sloop Excusrion, under the command of Captain Incognito, along with a crew of fourteen . . . beautiful women.

All of whom, shall we say, worshipped their Captain.

And none of whom suffered from megrims.