It had been a brisk and lucrative evening and the hidden pocket that rested against her belly chinked in a satisfying fashion as Evie swung her bare legs over the side of a wharf and watched weary men return to their ships. She herself was unable to even conscience sleep, being far too alert both coasting on the success of the night and the coca leaves she had chewed constantly throughout it. The dawn was clambering up wearily over the horizon, spilling pink and purple streaks over the sky and in the far distance, she could see a ship rapidly approaching. It wasn’t yet close enough for her to catch the sails or its insignia, but it was a large ship and very grand. Good. More men, more trade, more wares. She’d wait for them to come in and take the best of their pickings then, come the evening, she’d get her money back from all of them. Piqued as she was by the coca leaf her feverish mind was more than ready for such a challenge, to work the docks until no man from that ship had escaped her, even though she knew it was impossible – men’s tastes run wild. It drew closer and closer in as the sun rose higher and higher and she could see now that it was painted red, a ruddy colour that caught the sun’s glare and made it seem almost as if it were alight. That caused her to sit up straighter. There were not many red ships on these waters and there was only one she could think of that would draw into the port of Tortuga with such determination.
The Scarlet Siren glided on the waters with firm resolve, sure in its every steer, its grand figurehead seeming to guide a path through the reefs. She burst from the bow, a magnificent beast part woman, part fish with coiling serpentine locks, round breasts and a tail that split into three, each ending in a pair of fins. In one outstretched hand she clasped a bloody heart, in the other, which was raised high above her head, she clutched a spear. Her eyes were wild and her mouth was twisted in a battle cry. Painted in all the colours of the sea depths, she glittered like a gem against the red of the ship, only her lips, eyes, nipples and the heart that she proffered that same scarlet hue. Brilliant sails patterned in red and white diamonds billowed proudly and black canons shone like shark’s eyes along her side.
The ship of Captain Barbossa.
The sailors and whores who lingered still along the docks had stopped to observe its passage with Evie, but the ship did not draw all the way into the port, preferring instead to drop anchor still a half-mile from shore. Barbossa was known for his caution and he would tie his ship up at no port, he and his crew instead rowing in on the cockboats. He would not risk either his swag or his ship falling at the mercy of invaders, least of all at a pirate port like Tortuga and it was partly this caution that had seen his success on the waters for the past ten years. That and his fearless captaining and ferocious intelligence combined with a head for battle and a considerable lack of mercy. His life upon the sea had already stretched longer than many a pirate’s and he was well known on Tortuga for the riches he frequently brought in.
Evie gathered up her skirts and rose, shielding her eyes with one hand to squint at the Siren. She could see the boats being lowered over the side, wares being winched or passed down, a tangled lot of filthy pirates bustling over the decks like ants. On the main deck she could just make out a tall figure of a man, hands on hips and legs astride, observing the hustle. Barbossa. He never came ashore except with the evening, trusting his Bo’sun to carry out his share of the trading. She could make out the Bo’sun now, a huge mountain of a black man, patterned with keltoid scars who had sailed with Barbossa for the past eight years, the longest any man had. The life of a pirate was generally short – though Barbossa’s crew were often loyal beyond the usual term, men were frequently lost to sea and battle, illness or even to retirement. But the Bo’sun and Barbossa had long established a partnership that suited them both and worked to their mutual success. Evie had entertained neither as clients before – the Bo’sun preferred the largest women he could find whilst Barbossa’s tastes were more diverse, so long as his selected company was a ripened female and not a girl.
The cockboats were fully loaded, both with wares and with men, and they begun their way to shore. The distant figure of the Captain observed them some moments more before turning on his heels and disappearing below deck.
Evie toyed with a lock of her hair, then lifted it to her lips to suck on as Giselle sauntered up to her side.
“Business will be good tonight!” Giselle observed, watching the men draw closer to shore.
“I thought you were abed already, my love.” was Evie’s reply, her gaze fixed on the place where Barbossa had vanished.
“Off now. Thought I’d stop by the Goose’s Breast for a pie and some soup first though if you care to join me.”
Food. She hadn’t eaten for some two days – the doings of the coca leaf of course – and knew that she should, though she didn’t feel hungry at all. She glanced sideways at Giselle, whose red lips were smeared halfway down her chin. There was more than one reason she could take up Giselle’s offer though.
“Come here, love,” she drew a grimy hanky from her bosom and wiped at the red paint. Giselle pulled a face and raised a hand to rub her jaw.
“Thanks darlin’, that’s courtesy of the last fella of course. Just wanted a sucking, whined on and on about ‘ow ‘is wife wouldn’t do it for him. Can’t say as I blame her. Looked like a fuckin’ witch’s wart. Well, what you say? Or you going to ‘ang around and blow your earnin’s?”
Evie’s mouth twisted up in a wry smile. “I could earn it all back, ducks, you know that.”
Giselle snorted and tossed her head. “Earn back what you spent? Why not make more besides, sweetheart?”
It was the fundamental difference between Evie and others of her ilk and many of the whores of Tortuga. They couldn’t understand why she was happy to spend so much more instead of making double. To Evie, however, a brilliant new dress or a special comfort she could offer her customers meant a higher asking price or a greater likelihood a fellow would seek her out again, equalling increased earnings for her – perhaps not immediately, but in time. And Evie was young and could wait.
She tucked the hanky away again and gave her friend a kiss on the cheek. “Awright, my sweet. Let’s off to the Goose. Now you mention it, I’ve a belly for food after all.”
“Don’t want to lose those pretty titties no sooner you growed them,” Giselle laughed. “Come on then.”
Arm in arm they turned their back on the sea and made their way toward the filthy heap that was Tortuga but not before Evie cast one last, searching glance back at the Siren, fiery in the morning’s glare, its protectress’ high breasts and terrible eyes dancing slowly upon breaking waves.
The Goose’s Breast was a tiny tavern tucked into a dark corner of the Pleasure Quarter, where the short-stay boarding rooms cluttered the streets and the Maison Rouge, the looming house both Evie and Giselle boarded in, was but a corner or two away. It was frequented only by the working ladies of Tortuga, where they went when they yearned for a rest from the relentless, foul-breathed clientele that littered every other tavern in town. From the outside it looked like nothing but an abandoned shack, a sagging porch barely holding up the weight of its wood and stucco walls, its sign hanging only by one corner and so begrimed nothing but a ‘G’ and a ‘Br’ could be made out. Inside, however, it was a warm cozy little place, blessedly quiet except for the friendly chatter of girls gone off their shifts, sharing a drink and hungrily filling their bellies or enjoying a well-earned pipe. Its proprietress was a huge barrel of a woman who went by the name Black Ruth, a matron with a bosom as large and grand as the bow of a ship and a filthy matted head of grey dreadlocks. She’d been a whore on Tortuga for forty-five years before time had weathered away her looks and charm and she’d turned to a lesser profitable but still reliable business. Few whores on Tortuga had something to turn to when their time was up and though more than a few saved their money wisely enough to set sail to more wholesome lands and retire, some even married the most loyal of their customers and were given a home to run, many went down to the docks to die, of illness or old age. Black Ruth was one of the ilk who understood and shared Evie’s head for business and indeed, had taught her many a trick that had come in useful.
“Ow’s business, poppets?” she enquired with a black grin, her voice deadpan.
Giselle clutched her head in her hands whilst Evie jingled her skirts, a sly smile upon her pretty lips.
“Boomin’” Giselle exclaimed and Evie gave the old woman a wink.
“Back to usual.”
Black Ruth guffawed and tugged on a lock of Evie’s hair. “Glad to ‘ear it. Told you it wouldn’t be long. What can I do you lovely ladies for, hrm?”
“You got some leaf for me, Ruthie?” Evie flashed a sparkling smile on the matron whose countenance grew smug.
“Aye, lovey. Aye. I’ll wrap it up for you to take.”
Even a tavern that turned a tidy business like the Goose’s Breast could stand to do a little better and Black Ruth supplemented her income through the sale of coca leaf to the girls and occasional pirate. She sold to the whores at a reduced rate so they favoured her above any other dealer in the port and her stock was high quality – she grew it herself in some secret place, so it was always fresh unlike the imported stuff that could often be entirely ineffective after a long sea voyage.
Now she served up steaming hot eel pies and a bowl of fish soup to the two whores who eased themselves wearily into the hard-cushioned chairs of a small booth in the very corner of the Goose. Evie nursed her usual gin whilst Giselle put back a hot rum and fell to her food with gusto, slurping the thick dark gravy of the pie inbetween famished lips.
‘What’s on yer mind, ducks?’ she enquired between mouthfuls as Evie picked at her soup.
Evie yawned and rubbed at her eyes, smearing kohl across her face. ‘Nawt,’ she lied, ‘just bloody weary after this night. Me cunny feels like it’s going to fall out, I swear it.’
‘Well,’ Giselle took a big slurp of soup. ‘You’d best rest up well today for tonight will be another boomer, mark me. Barbossa’s boys are always real friendly like and pretty free with the coin. You don’t want to miss out on the first night.’ Men in port would see whores every night they were anchored, but the first was when they would spend most lavishly and see the most women. It was the best time to snare them, before they grew cautious with their earnings.
“’Ave you seen his men often, then?” The conversation was going exactly along the path Evie wanted it to and she encouraged it further.
Giselle chewed noisily and grinned as Evie finally took a bite of her hot pie. “All of ‘em, at one time or another, ‘cept the Bo’sun who I’m too skinny for. ‘E loves Jasmine but. Pounds her raw ev’ry time ‘e comes in. The Capt’n’s ‘ad me on more than one occasion.”
Evie was well aware of this and it had been why she’d agreed to go for an early morning dinner. “I never seen him. Little ‘uns don’t seem to be ‘is type. What’s ‘e like then?”
Evie had lived a life worth fifty hard years but for all that she was still a girl and one who had never known romance or even the coy pleasure of frolicking without the exchange of funds. Therefore the sailors and pirates who could swagger without being drunk, who commanded their audience without having need to raise their voice, or asserted themselves with merely the slope of their shoulders, could cause her to tremble within. Such a thing was rare to find, being the exclusive domain of the most successful of Captains, but for every one of those were twenty more inept, more full of bluff and bluster who could no more lead a ship than satisfy a woman or hold their own whether in battle, at the card table or in simple conversation. Barbossa was of the other ilk, a man who had been on the sea since a lad, who had sailed the entire world and had steadily risen from deckhand to First Mate to Captain of his own ship, feared and respected by any sailor who knew his contemporaries. Aboard a ship he was a resolute and unflinching sailor who endured the pitiless life of the sea without a whimper but onshore he was given to all the fine excesses life could offer – food, drink, opiates, gambling, treasures and women. Being that up until recently Evie’s clientele had been so particular, she had never known him to beckon to her although her eyes were drawn to him whenever they shared the same vicinity. Once he had looked her up and down from across the other side of the Lamb and Flag and she’d flaunted a little, but he clearly found her lacking in his desire and turned to another, Scarlet, with the dark red hair and ample bosom.
Barbossa was the sort who made her blush whenever he came ashore and since she long ago thought there was nothing – nothing – that could possibly make her blush, she found him all the more endearing still. For all she knew of the world, he had a smile that convinced her he knew more and the thought was a thrilling one. That she had never known his touch or the rough thrust of his loins against hers made him all the more mysterious.
“’E’s a rum sort” Giselle responded. “Prefers the room to the wharf and will usually buy me supper as well. Generous. A bit bossy but not a brute. Thinks a lot of himself but doesn’t show off about it. Knows his way around the hills and the harbour if you get my meaning.” She danced her fingers teasingly over Evie’s cleavage and they snickered together.
“Saucepot.” Evie retorted. “’E likes variety?”
“Loves it. Will give any new girl a go, if ‘e likes the look of ‘em. You wouldn’t of seen him cos he likes tits. But all that’s changed now, eh?” Giselle dropped her friend a sly wink and slurped up the rest of her soup. “Whatcha so keen to know for? You fancy ‘im?”
Evie returned the query with a sneer. “That sorta thing ain’t good for business, m’love. You know that.”
Giselle raised her slim hands and sharp shoulders to the sky. “Just askin’, ducks. Just askin’.”
Black Ruth deposited a neatly bound up oilcloth package of at Evie’s elbow and nodded to the girl. “You know what I ask, lovey.”
Evie fished into the hidden pocket beneath her skirts and extracted three gold pieces. “Yours, mum. My thanks to you, as always.”
Black Ruth turned to Giselle. “For you, poppet?”
“None for me, Ruthie. I’ve other tastes.”
Tucking the package beneath her arm, Evie rose and squeezed Black Ruth’s arm in parting before linking elbows with Giselle and heading out into what was now a very bright morning, if the diamond-bright glimmers between the gaps in the roofs above them could tell them anything. Evie sighed and shook her hair out, throwing back her head to a sprinkle of morning dew from a rotting balcony. A perfect end to a perfect night.
Dusk found Evie at the docks, perched upon a whitewashed pillar, flirting against the spray of the sea. She’d woken surprisingly fresh with only the merest glint of a headache that a good swallow of gin quickly abated. It was a new evening, ripe with the promise of success and she’d dressed to suit in red sateen, cut to the nipples and split to the thigh with flounced sleeves that fell off her shoulders and showed off her elbows. The hem was right up to her shins – not simply for wantoness but because it had long become too tattered to remain - and slid a pair of white stockings on to display her ankles. Her hair was loose but for a red silk flower behind one ear and her throat was bare. Evie did not bother much with painting her face – she was still young enough that to do so would be of detriment. She always heavily outlined her eyes in kohl and reddened her lips but worried about little else. The flickering gold lights of the lanterns along the docks hid the stains on her bodice and the holes in her stockings and the flames danced upon her face lending her an otherworldly glow she worked to her favour with a low-lidded glance and coy half-smile. Already she’d been under the wharf with a couple of lads and was waiting now for The Siren’s men to row back to shore, ready to spend what they had made that day and won upon the seas in the months previous.
The sun was dipping quickly below the ramshackle buildings of Tortuga behind her, leaving the port already in darkness. Whores gathered around the torches and lanterns that lined the paths, both to better be noticed and catch a little warmth. As men gulped back rum, tore strips off long joints of salted meat and laughed with each other and their female companions, Evie sat quietly, saying nothing to sell herself save for what was spoken so loudly in her stare. Cockboats were drawn up on the sand, ragged men hauling them up higher and out of the tide, fastening them securely to the wharfs. She eyed them off critically. The very air throbbed with their exhilaration as their eyes lit upon the women and they went about the business of securing the boats hastily, keen to secure themselves next.
The whores threw back their shoulders and swayed their hips, smiling the most welcome greeting the men had seen for many a month and with a cheer the pirates stumbled up the docks, arms raised in eagerness. Evie couldn’t help but laugh at the spectacle and when a scrappy young man halted suddenly by her side, she punctuated her delight by cupping his cheek. From her position on the pillar she could look down into his boy’s face and his eyeline was right at the curve of her breast.
“Hello my darlin’” he met her cheeky tone with a delighted grin. “Missin’ yer mum then?”
“If that was the case, I’d not be at your side” the lad retorted. He was skinny and beardless, with a mop of dirty blonde hair and a toothy smile. Rugged though he was, she could see the grease of naivety about his edges and knew he had not long been at sea.
“Not so much a mother’s comfort I offer as a dream’s!” She agreed. “Men tell tales of the pleasure of a siren’s embrace, let me give you a tale or two of your own to tell, my gen’elman. Though from the look of you, the pleasure may be all mine.” She slipped an arm about his shoulder, drawing him closer to her.
He beamed, his boys’ ego easily flattered. “I knowed you’d be a lively ‘un.” He exclaimed. She clucked as though complimented and slid a foot up the inside of his trouser. He was hard as a rock and she guessed it would be under the docks with him – but not too quickly. First:
“Looks like you gents had a mightily rewardin’ trip this go ‘round, bet you was a big help to yer Capt’n there, eh?“
The boy shucked, which Evie almost found charming. “Aye, you be right – we come ashore with a fortune each. I did me part, Bob Milton ain’t no coward, and I got rewarded for it besides!”
Well, she knew what her asking price would be at least. Best get him in the mood to share the wealth. From beneath her skirts she withdrew a flask of rum and offered it.
“I could see you was the heroic type.” She confided as he eagerly took a large swig. “It’s the shape of yer chin, it is. “
He gazed at her, saucer-eyed and she held him in her look, dewy-eyed and compelling. “It is?”
“Yeah. It’s got a real Greek jut.” She put her head to the side and bit her lower lip. “I sees the makings of a fine man in you, Mr Milton.”
The boy blushed again and took another swig. “Call me Bob, won’t ya?”
Beyond Bob’s head she saw a figure watching them, tall and straight-backed. Her gaze was too intent upon Bob to make their observer out clearly, but he was approaching. Not wanting to loose her sale being distracted by another, she hooked her other arm around Bob’s neck and leaned in closer.
“If you insist… Bob.” She breathed and the boy swallowed.
“What d’you ask for then?” He stammered.
Just as she was about to answer, a shadow fell over them and Bob was pulled from her grasp.
“Bob Milton, my boy, well done, ye duties be fully filled. Why you be lingering here when there’s a whole town ripe for the pickin’ from the likes of ye. “ The voice silenced the protest that rose to her lips; it was not the timbre of a man to be trifled with. “Run along now, find yeself a drink and a girl and I want not to see ye again until the day we haul anchor, ye understand?”
Bob quickly touched his forehead and stammered. “Aye Capt’n” before stumbling away towards the town, looking back only once with longing at Evie who turned with slow disbelief to the interferer.
Captain Barbossa stood at her elbow, looming above her with a little smile quirking his lips. Barbossa stood at six feet and three inches and made every centimetre count in his bearing. A long, sea-roughened face was not handsome in the traditional way but was instead strong and square-jawed with a long, aristocratic nose that added power and character to his countenance. He wore a full beard, forked, but kept it short and its honey brown hue matched that of his shoulder length hair. Both were beginning to thin and grey with age. His lips were sensual though set with resolve. His most striking feature, however, wee his eyes – a piercing blue, keenly peering out from the yellow that had just begun to tinge the whites – a sharp and intelligent gaze that suffered no fools and betrayed no secrets. Never before had she seen him so close and now his proximity caused a flush to rise up her breast, tinging her cheeks, but she met his eyes with raised brow.
“I ‘ope you realise, sir, you just cost me some income.” She said, as pertly as she dared. He smiled, a sinister and amused grimace that at once thrilled and frightened her.
“Apologies, lady.” His voice was the harsh rumble of a distant storm. “Might I be permitted to make amends?”
Outwardly Evie smiled seductively and maintained her façade but within she trembled. Of all she expected this evening, she had not anticipated this – she had become so used to Barbossa overlooking her for another that despite her recent bloom into womanhood she had expected things would continue as they were. Now, unless she were very much mistaken, her services were being solicited by the very man she never dared solicit.
She cocked her head to one side and dipped a shoulder, the curve of her breast bulging a little harder against the constraints of her bodice. He did not drop his eyes, as most men would, but continued to hold hers in his relentless gaze. “And ‘ow would you propose to do that, my darlin’?”
He chuckled, low thunder in her ears. “What would the tribute such a fine young creature be askin’ for the pleasure of her company?” He replied, coming directly to the point.
She shrugged, maintaining her flirty nonchalance. “’Pends what you want, really, love. For a tumble under the docks, it’d be one piece –gold. But if you want to come back to my place and get treated more befittin’ one of your station, then it’s two.” Worried suddenly she’d blow the deal, she added with haste: “An’ you can stay as long as you like, up there,” before cursing herself. She was not prone to being too generous with her favours.
Barbossa did not answer; instead he raised an arm and pushed her hair back over her shoulders. Her lips parted, her mouth dry as she felt his fingers move through her thick locks before coming to rest at the back of her head. He tilted her head back gently, then finally took his eyes from hers and proceeded to roam her body, undisguised lust burning cold fire in their depths. Evie had been similarly ogled in a variety of circumstances, positions and states of undress but there was something in his manner that caused that blush to once again bloom upon her. She hoped it was masked in the dock’s half light.
“Befittin’ me station, ye say?” He remarked finally, dryly, his fingers kneading the base of her skull softly.
“Well,” Her voice was hoarse, “You being such a grand Capt’n and all.”
“Come, come, lady. I’ve twenty years on ye if I’ve a day. There be no reason to be treating me as a foolish boy or we can be doing no business together. What say you?”
Evie wanted to vanish into the sand, instead she turned her head and pressed her lips to Barbossa’s palm, keeping her eyes upon him. “I say, forgive me, Capt’n. Unfortunately I’ve become too accustomed to boys and scarcely know what to do when faced with a man.”
He laughed again, throwing his head back to roar at the night sky, stars now winking down upon them as though sharing the joke. “What’s your name, lady?”
“Evie.” She had him. “Evangeline. “
“And a fine name it be for a fine lady, Miss Evangeline.” His hand dropped from her neck to clasp hers and raise it to his lips, his breath hot upon her knuckles. She felt a clutch in her groin. “Captain Barbossa.” He straightened and put his hands upon her waist. “And now, Missy, I’ll have you at my service.” She suppressed a gasp as he lifted her from the pillar, gesturing then that she should lead the way. She hooked an arm through his and together they disappeared into the twisting streets of Tortuga.
His hands found her waist again as she led him up the trembling staircase of the Maison Rouge, after dropping a copper piece into Captain’s little toll box and she shivered with the anticipation. Not every tumble with a customer was a wretched one – many were beautiful, handsome men, many others too knew what to do with a woman’s body – but rarely had she felt such a pleasurable thrill guiding a man to her room. As she fumbled with the lock on her door (finally mended after her toll payments rose again) his fingertips found her bare shoulders and stroked them lightly. Inside, a fire crackled brightly in the grate, a full copper pot sitting ready next to it. Evie led Barbossa inside, her smile as warm and welcoming as she could make it without betraying her nervousness. In quick, smooth motions, she moved the pot over the fire then went to the sideboard.
“A drink to make ready your lips?”
Barbossa looked over at her from where he stood, in front of a painting of three voluptuous women bathing, one hand on his hip, that cursedly knowing smile still playing upon his lips.
“Aye, my lovely one. Wine, if ye have it.”
She did, but not much. She poured a large glass for him and noted his eyeing of the decanters. He then took his gaze to the whole of the room, a fine series of crows’ feet appearing as he narrowed his eyes.
“I thought ye were a newcomer to these parts when I first took note of ye,” He said, taking the wine glass from her outstretched hand. “But ye seem to be too comfortably established for that.”
She nodded, sipping from her own glass of gin before replacing it on the sideboard, admiring him as he admired her abode. “I was born here.” She explained. “And I’ve been working these past five years now.”
He glanced back at her sharply, his eyes flickering over her figure before shrugging slightly and resuming his pace around the room. Not every girl started in her business before she was of age, but nor was it that unusual. Evie’s hands went to the fastenings of her bodice, unhooking it in a leisurely, provocative fashion that quickly caught his attention. He leaned against a poster of the bed and watched with contemplative interest as the dress fell from her shoulders to pool in frothy red mounds at her ankles. With just her chemise, corset, petticoats and stockings on she then moved to the hearth where the copper pot was beginning to hiss and sizzle. Using a wadded old piece of flannel to remove it, she placed the pot on the marble top of her washstand, filling the washbowl first with cold water from the jug there, then warming it with the freshly boiled. She turned back to the Captain and approached him with swaying hips.
“Might I make you more comfortable, Capt’n?” She murmured, her hands going to the buckle on his belt. His mouth widened in a grin and he set his glass down, before dropping two gold pieces beside it then thrusting his hands deep into her hair as she set about the task of undressing him.
A top his head sat a large and broad-brimmed hat decorated with a red ostrich feather. His long coat was burgundy with gold buttons and his waistcoat was yellow and red. His white linen shirt was still noticeably white and she thought he had probably changed it before coming ashore – a rare and remarkable care. His breeches were brown as were his turned down boots – buckled also in gold. Around his waist was a purple sash and a broad tooled leather black belt was fastened at the front with an elaborate buckle into which his pistol was thrust. A cutlass was strapped to his side by way of a similarly tooled shoulder strap and sheath. One by one, she unbuckled, unfastened and pulled off each item, laying it carefully aside. His body, as it was slowly revealed, told a hundred sordid tales in the way of scars, curved, long, round – raised or fading. Despite his reputation for excess, he was surprisingly lean and possessed of a firm musculature over his whole figure, the blessings of an active sea life. Blue tattoos twisted their way over his sun-browned arms and chest and she ran her fingers lightly through the hair that coiled there. His grip tightened in her hair and she raised her face to see him watching her, a curious and intent amusement in his eyes, clearly enjoying the spectacle of a young, attractive women relieving him of his garments.
When she dropped his breeches she pressed her body against him and felt his organ, hard and swollen, pushing against the curve of her stomach. His grip tightened again and she stepped away quickly, knowing it was otherwise mere seconds before she lost control of the situation. Taking up the washbasin and a washcloth, she fixed him again with a bewitching smile.
“Let me freshen you, Capt’n. Such a long time at sea must have you yearnin’ for a soft touch.”
Barbossa’s sharp smile told her he wasn’t fooled as to her motive, but he acquiesced with a gracious nod, drinking his wine as she soaped and rinsed his body, one hand still toying in her locks. If they came up the room then she always tried to give them a scrub, but had learnt early on it was wiser to make it part of the seduction than just to chuck a rag at them and tell them to get clean. This way she could persuade them it was part of the service, a little extra indulgence thrown in for their coin. Some still resisted, of course, some flat out refused, but if they could be convinced then it was all the better for her. This was why she kept her undergarments on still – the sight of naked breasts bobbing up and down with her movements could inspire them to cut the process short and thrust themselves upon her, rendering her efforts worthless.
Barbossa sighed and let his chin tilt skyward as the cloth moved up and around one leg, then the other. Hot, soapy water was a pleasure few could deny once enjoying it and the luxury of another – of a gentle, caressing hand – distributing it simply amplified the sensation. All the world’s sensual pleasures were ones he relished and though his lust was gnawing, having been too long denied, he was content enough to succumb to this simple delight for the moment. But now Evie’s washcloth was sliding up his inner thigh, her gaze riveted upon his ample organ, the hot water caressing the shaft, gliding down over his balls. Evie dipped the cloth into hot water once more and wrung it out, once again sliding it over his taut, erect flesh. Glancing upwards she saw his eyes were shut, his lips parted slightly and she blew lightly on the head of his cock. It twitched and she smiled, before sliding her lips over the head and down the shaft. He let out a hiss as she continued to suck, enjoying the power of pleasuring this powerful man, enjoying the pleasure of being with a man she desired. She slipped her hand beneath her petticoat and rubbed her swollen sex as Barbossa’s fingertips stroked her cheek. Her other hand cupped his balls and squeezed them. No sooner had she done so, then she was wrenched to her feet, gasping. Barbossa regarded her with a fierce and covetous eye, gripping her arm tightly.
“All right wench,” His voice was thick, intractable, “Ye’ve fashioned me to yer liking. Now let’s off with these trappings and down to business. “
With sudden violence he tore at what was left of her clothing, ripping her chemise from her shoulders and dislodging the corset. Dazed though she was by this passion, it fired her own and when his mouth found hers she responded with fervour. The kiss was ferocious, she could feel the hunger of his lust in the press of his lips, the thrust of his tongue and she strove to match it. His hands clutched greedily at her body, one savaging her breast, the other seeking its way beneath her petticoat to plunge deep.
Her arms clasped his shoulders as her urge rose in waves within her and then she was tossed back, crashing against the mattress of her bed, splayed out beneath the mirror that had cost her so much. Barbossa was on her again, his mouth ravaging first her neck then her breasts, her nipples tingling beneath the caress of his teeth and tongue. He fondled them until she thought she would go mad, every pinch, nibble or lick striking a chord straight to between her thighs, to the bud of pleasure few but she ever touched. She made a grab for his cock but he was already pushing up her skirts, nudging her legs apart, raising his head to place his mouth again upon hers as his organ sought the slick warmth of her cunny.
He grunted and she moaned as they were joined and he slid his hands beneath her, grasping her buttocks to raise her hips and achieve a better depth.
For how long he thrust into her, she couldn’t say. She barely cared. His girth filled her deliciously and the push of his hips was practiced and sure. She gasped beneath him and clutched his arse, urging him to push ever harder. Every time she thought he was nearly spent, he grimaced and rearranged her. Evie had been tossed and turned into every conceivable shape in the past, been fucked nearly senseless, had men expend their fury and frustration in a frenzied jabbing but with Barbossa there was a bestial pleasure to it, a wanton giving over to sheer hedonism. He fucked not just to relieve his long-pent up frustration, not simply to spend and be done with it, but for the joy of it, for the absolute and delirious surrender to base instinct and he swept her up into it. Her loins were fiery with ecstasy and though she knew that in this way she could not climax, still it were nearly as satisfying.
She was once again beneath him, her ankles hooked at the small of his back, when Barbossa’s pace picked up and she knew the end was coming. He announced his spending with a long, delirious groan into her neck and then slumped, sweating and gasping, upon her. Breathless and dazed, she merely stared upwards at the mirror that threw her reflection back at an angle, Barbossa’s inert form stretched upon her. His back was tattooed as well. She ran a hand through his damp hair and pressed her lips to his ear, the shark tooth earing that dangled there piercing her jaw. At this he came back to life, raising himself with a grunt onto his elbows, rolling over sideways to lie beside her, running his rough hands up and over his face before breaking into a laugh, half-relieved, half-delighted.
“Well, Miss Evangeline” he trumped, “I’d warrant that extra gold piece was worth the spendin’.”
She smiled and turned on one side to slide an arm over his chest, her breasts pressing against his arm. “I believe you’ve made your amends, Capt’n.”
He glanced at her from the corner of his eye and snorted softly.
“Fetch me pocket, Missy and make quick about it. Now that I’ve satiated one hunger, another be a-knawing.”
Had she not still been basking in the afterglow of their expenditure, she might’ve bristled at the command, instead she obeyed, rummaging amongst his discarded clothing until she located the animal skin pouch, heavy with coin.
He fetched a few silver pieces from it and pressed them into her hand. “Go get us a supper, wench. Make it a good supper, mind. No offal or dry potatoes or stale bread. Try the Duck and Swan. Another bottle of wine. Hurry back. I’ll have a mind to plunder ye again soon enough. “
Rearranging her skirts and pulling up her dress once more she moved towards the doorway before remembering her secreted funds and turning back to the stranger sprawled against her pillows a note of worry creased her forehead. He caught her gaze and returned it with a sneer. “What be in a whore’s room of use to me if the whore be not there? Away with ye now. So long as ye be sharing yer hospitality, ye’ll get due respect from me.”
She hesitated a fraction longer before turning on her heels and exiting the room, hurrying down the swaying staircase to the streets below. With another man she might’ve resisted, but there was something in Barbossa’s demeanour that made her take him at his word. Dodging the muck of the streets as she darted her way towards the source of the best food on Tortuga, she quieted her fears and hoped she would not return to find herself a fool.
She did not. He was where she had left him, naked and smoking languidly, sipping from the wine glass he had refilled in her absence. He was pleased by the expediency of her return and bid her strip completely before she could dine, running rough, calloused hands over her hips and belly, chuckling in satisfaction. She’d then enjoyed the finest meal of her short life – game hen in lemon and pepper, fresh bread with butter and cheese, a mince of crab and prawn stuffed into an assortment of roasted vegetables and a wine some classes above the cheap vintage she stocked her room with. Barbossa feasted with gusto, wiping frequently at the grease which ran down his chin, taking great swigs of wine and urging her to do same. By the end of the feast she was tipsy as much from the satisfaction of gluttony as from the wine and she recklessly scooped the Captain’s hat from her dresser chair and placed it upon her head with a flourish.
“Stand down, you feckless dog, I am the Capt’n of this ship now and you are to do my bidding!” She brandished the butter knife, giggling at her own wit as Barbossa observed her with a small smile and a sardonic eye.
“Is that so?” He enquired, drawing the words into something between a hiss and a growl, piercing eyes widening in query.
“Aye.” The brim of the hat slipped down, part-way over her face and she nudged it back before shifting onto her knees and bouncing on the bed. “I challenge you to contradict me!”
With one swift movement he pinned her wrist to the bed, flipping her body backwards in a motion that knocked the wind from her. The hat fell from her head as Barbossa pressed his body against hers, once again hard and ready. She gasped and struggled, suppressing her giggles as his hands tightened around her wrists.
“I declare a mutiny upon this ship, Captain” he growled in her throat and she wiggled all the more.
“I resist, sir!”
He snorted and slid downwards, his lips causing gooseflesh to rise on the expanse of her belly. She continued to struggle, highly amused at the sport, right up until the point his tongue flickered against her clitoris. Quite suddenly, she was very still indeed.
Some hours later, when she knew Dawn was just beginning its bleary ascent, she watched him get dressed with hidden regret. Now he would go and think no more of her having gleaned all the secrets from her body. There were a dozen new whores on Tortuga every few months. Something always fresh and new to attract his gaze. She sighed and pulled the sheets up higher over her bosom as he pulled on his boots. Not that it mattered. Less complicated this way really. She was doing the very silly thing her mum had always warned her against – getting sentimental over a customer! And she called herself a professional. Still… she couldn’t help but be sorry, just a little bit. It had to be better to earn your bread in pleasure.
“My thanks, Miss Evangeline.” His voice was throaty and sincere and he bent over the bed to kiss her lips in farewell. She closed her eyes and leaned into the kiss, savouring the scratch of his beard against her chin, the brush of his nose against her cheek and the unexpected softness of his lips.
Barbossa straightened to his full height then and put on his hat, arranging it carefully and firmly, once more the imposing pirate captain. He tipped the brim to her then turned on his heel and strode to the door. She steeled herself to watch him exit, to hear the latch click as he left but he paused once there and turned back to her.
“Don’t go down to the Docks in the evenin’, Missy.” The edge of command was back. “I’ll be visitin’ ye again this night. “
With that he was gone and Evie ducked beneath the covers so as not to catch her smile in the mirror above.
© 1998, 1999 Truffle