The Sublime and Spirited Voyage of Original Sin

by Colette Moody

  “You make a viable point.”

  Gayle eyed her lustily. “Though you are a most libidinous wench, ’tis true.”

  Celia bit her lower lip provocatively. “You somehow bring that out in me, my Captain.”

  “So go tell your father all that has transpired, though you may wish to leave out a detail or two—anything that involves nudity or carnal hunger. Come to my cabin and we shall sup. Then after feasting with you, I will feast on you.”

  “You make it all sound quite uncomplicated.”

  “The feasting?” Gayle asked in confusion. “I thought I had already aptly demonstrated that. The trick is effectively staving off a jaw cramp.”

  “Not that part. The telling-everything-to-Father part. You seem to think he will not be troubled at all by this.”

  “He is no doubt already troubled, Celia. But I can only hope that both assuring him that I have treated you well, in addition to saving his life, will mean more to him than the loss of his daughter’s chastity. It certainly would to me.”

  “Well, it makes so much more sense when you explain it. I think you should be present—to help me tell him the whole story.”

  “Have you gone completely fuckin’ mad?”

  “What happened to all your confidence and reason? It was here just a moment ago.”

  “You honestly believe that your father will want to hear the story of his daughter’s abduction and ravaging from the individual who committed the acts?”

  “I wouldn’t use the word ‘ravaging’ if I were you,” Celia suggested, her index finger extended. “Besides, if you want to be particular about the details, is it not truer that I ‘ravaged’ you?”

  “Aye, ’tis true, though it may prove imprudent to share that bit o’ news with your father.”

  “You see how much better you are at this than I?” Celia implored. “And if we’re somewhere communal, perhaps at the supper table, Father dare not become hostile. He is, after all, a civilized man.”

  Gayle said nothing, instead gazing at the stars as they dimly faded into view above her. Celia kissed her exposed neck, sliding her tongue playfully up to her earlobe.

  Gayle shivered at the sensation, then kissed Celia softly. “One of these days woman, I plan to tell you ‘no.’”

  “Fair enough. Just not today, if you don’t mind.”

  *

  On board the Belladonna, Molly lay in the cargo hold in shackles. It was her understanding that she was being held for the pleasure of Captain Fuks—as was customary. No crewman could lay his hands on her before the captain did.

  Her attempt to flirt with Cabo, the largest sailor in the crew, had unfortunately come to naught. The lad who had brought her some water and biscuits earlier had helpfully explained to her that “Cabo” was Spanish for “stub.” Apparently Cabo had received this nickname after an unfortunate knife fight with a much shorter opponent. Under these circumstances, Cabo was no longer a man Molly felt confident that she could adeptly woo.

  The runner-up was a burly fellow named Cruz. He seemed less angry than many of the other seamen, but his size was imposing. He was dark-skinned and had enormous hands with impossibly thick, meaty fingers, which Molly hoped was a clue that Cruz would amply make up for what Cabo tragically lacked.

  She had made eye contact with him earlier, and he appeared transfixed by her—especially after she lifted her shirt up and licked her own nipple. Men did seem to like that for some reason, she thought with a shrug.

  At last, Cruz ventured down to the hold. She looked about to see if anyone else was nearby.

  “There is only you and me,” he said, his voice deep, with a hint of a Spanish accent. “Do not worry.”

  “Look at your bloody hands,” she couldn’t help but say aloud. “You’re a fuckin’ work of art, you are.”

  He beamed at her compliment, displaying a gold front tooth. “I could say the same of you, amorcita. Never before have I seen a woman do that with her own breast.”

  “Just a li’l trick I picked up in New Providence, love. Would you like to see more?”

  “I fear who might discover us,” he confessed, glancing over his shoulder. “Should anyone catch us, I will surely be keelhauled. The captain would not stand for it.”

  Molly felt more confident with each utterance from Cruz’s mouth. “But you are the only man I can imagine touching me,” she lied, and for greater effect she ran her hands leisurely over her breasts. “I shall die if your horrid captain shoves his ghastly member into me. Then you shall never have me.”

  It appeared that Cruz was both erotically charged and in a quandary. Molly could only imagine the questions that must be racing through his mind. Was this woman and all the pleasures of her eager, nubile body worth the wrath of the cat-o’-nine-tails? Would a quick tumble with her be enough to sustain him through torture and the possible depths of the briny sea itself? Would this lass’s quim be the last flesh he’d meet before shuffling off to meet old Davy Jones himself?

  And his expression revealed his answer. You bet your arse it would!

  Cruz lunged for Molly hungrily, like a bird of prey might dive upon a hamster. Their mouths met impatiently, and he made quick work of finding her right breast and kneading it like dough.

  She feigned inability to reach his groin. “These manacles,” she complained huskily. “They keep me from feeling your tremendous shaft.”

  Cruz, proving to be as gullible as he was easily aroused, immediately withdrew a dagger and began to pry open the shackles at her wrists. When they were at last off, she cast them aside and leapt at him, exploring his body eagerly.

  In no time he had her shirt unbuttoned, and as he kissed her breasts, Molly claimed his own dagger and, with it, bisected the length of his gullet—slicing his vocal cords and rendering them useless.

  He recoiled and fell backward, clutching his hemorrhaging throat. She moved over him quickly and, feeling some compassion for this amorous lummox, hastily grasped his head and snapped his neck.

  Dragging his lifeless, massive body out of plain sight would prove the most difficult part for her.

  *

  As Gayle, Celia, and Andrew took a seat around the supper table in the captain’s quarters, an awkward silence fell over the room. Hyde ladled hot soup from a tureen into three bowls and set one before each of them.

  “Thank you, Hyde,” Gayle said softly.

  “Aye, miss. I’ll return shortly with the next course.” He hurriedly exited and shut the door behind him.

  Celia tasted the soup. “This is lovely, Gayle. What kind is it?”

  “Oyster and clam, I believe is what Cook said.”

  Andrew sat stoically, neither eating nor joining in the conversation.

  “And I thought I didn’t care for oysters.”

  “They are a bit of an acquired taste, I find.” Gayle tasted another spoonful.

  “Is someone finally going to tell me what the hell has been going on?” Andrew shouted.

  “Are you sure you don’t want to try the soup first, Father?”

  He answered her with an angry glare.

  “All right,” Gayle conceded. “What would you like to know?”

  “Who has deflowered my little girl? Was it you?” He shook his fist angrily.

  Gayle mulled this question over for a moment. “I prefer to think of it as helping her realize her natural sexual endowments.”

  Andrew jumped to his feet and his eyes flashed. “You depraved bitch! I’ll have your head on a pike for bankrupting my daughter’s virtue.”

  “Father,” Celia said, standing as well. “Don’t blame Gayle for this. Sit down and I’ll tell you everything you wish to know.”

  “Start by how you decided to have carnal relations with another woman.”

  “Only if you sit, Father.”

  To Gayle’s surprise, he did so.

  “Now try the soup,” Celia directed.

  Andrew complied with this request as well, albeit grudgingly. He murmured something unin
telligible into the bowl.

  Celia nodded to him in approval, then noted Gayle’s puzzled expression and shrugged. “You see, Father, after I was brought here to help tend to the crew’s wounded, the ship had already set off toward New Providence to get further medical care.”

  He glowered at Gayle over his spoon. “And that’s when you manhandled my Celia?”

  Celia answered for her. “No, Father. That was much later.”

  Gayle’s eyes flew open wide. “She doesn’t mean there was manhandling later,” she explained, fidgeting. “She means there wasn’t any handling of any kind at that point.”

  “Right,” Celia answered. “That’s what I meant. Neither of us handled anything.” Andrew slurped some more soup and scrutinized Celia with one eyebrow raised. “Once we arrived in New Providence, we met the gypsy. It really was all her doing.”

  “You were defiled by a gypsy?” he asked incredulously.

  “No,” Gayle interjected. “I can attest that the gypsy was on her best behavior.”

  “Father, the gypsy read my palm. She told my fortune—and that’s when I knew I needed to help the doctor find his abducted sister in Jamaica.”

  “That pretty blond thing I met below deck who gets everything all wrong?” he clarified, waggling his spoon.

  “Aye. Though this was before I realized that Anne was a bit of a slut.”

  “Celia, you bedded her too?”

  Gayle cleared her throat. “I think she’s referring to Anne trying to bed me.”

  “By the wounds of Christ,” Andrew bellowed at Gayle. “It’s a wonder you have time to sail this bloody ship, as much as you’re busy rubbin’ up on everyone. Is there anyone on board you haven’t ruined?”

  “I haven’t ruined anyone but your daughter,” she spat back. There was a palpable silence. “Wait a moment. Allow me to rephrase that.”

  “Father, listen to me. Do not think that Gayle took advantage of me or compromised me in some way. It was I who seduced her.”

  He gawked at her spellbound for what felt to her like hours before he turned back to Gayle. “What, my daughter isn’t good enough for you? She had to throw herself at you like a common strumpet?”

  “Trust me,” she argued. “It was not for lack of trying on my part.”

  “Succubus,” he shouted back defiantly.

  “Good God, old man. Is there no pleasing you? I’m not sure what else to tell you that will not make you want to eviscerate me. Let me lay out the truths for you. Truth—I find your daughter extremely comely and desirable. Truth—she did seduce me, and it was ten of the most extraordinary hours of my life. Truth—I would willingly stay with her as long as she can tolerate me. Truth—I would never knowingly allow anyone to harm her. I would sooner perish. I am sorry if you wish to hear none of this, but it is all factual.”

  Andrew said nothing.

  Celia smiled broadly and was filled with affection. “Well, I enjoyed hearing it, at any rate.”

  Gayle exhaled slowly. “Now, does anyone still insist on disemboweling me?”

  Andrew seemed uneasy. “Girl, do you care for this woman?”

  Celia stared at her ardently. “Aye, Father, more than I could ever care for Phillip.”

  He sighed and refilled his spoon with soup. “Then provided she does nothing to hurt you,” he threatened, his eyes downcast, “I shan’t kill her.”

  “Well,” Gayle whispered. “Saints be praised.”

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Gayle, Churchill, and Abernathy were seated around the captain’s table in her quarters scrutinizing a map of some kind while Celia sat in the only other chair, sipping her flip—a concoction that contained several things, from what she could discern, though the most notable ingredients were ale, sugar, and some sort of brandy. This mixture had definitely become her intoxicant of choice.

  Because the officers had been discussing all things nautical since supper had adjourned, Celia was now thoroughly bored and well on her way to inebriation. She took another sip of her aqua vitae and sighed.

  “So according to Mr. Pierce,” Gayle was saying, “the Belladonna outmans us by at least thirty men, perhaps more.”

  “But we have surprise on our side,” Churchill noted. “They have no idea that we pursue them, let alone that we picked up someone who has been able to tell us so much about their ship and crew.”

  “Aye,” Abernathy said. “If we come in with the big guns, they won’t be outmannin’ us for long.”

  Gayle shook her head. “But if we come in with the big guns, we run the danger of sinking her, mates. And that would include Molly and the whole of Father’s hoard. We need to attack under cover of night, and keep the destruction to a minimum.”

  “The captain’s right,” Churchill said. “There’s no point in trying to liberate anyone or anything from that vessel if it all ends up at the bottom of the ocean.”

  “Verily.” Gayle put her chin in her hand. “I just worry that we may already be too late. To execute this plan, the soonest we would be able to approach would be tomorrow evening.” She searched Churchill’s face as she ran her hand over the chart before her on the table. “You feel fairly certain, based on this course, that we will sight them sometime on the morrow?”

  “Aye, based on how long Mr. Pierce had been floating in the water after being jettisoned, what he was able to tell us of the size and structure of the Belladonna, and the type of wind and water current we look to have, I’d say her lead is a small, dwindling one. We may have to spend a good deal of the day tomorrow trying to stay out of her sightline. If so, we can use a drogue to slow us down a mite.”

  “Abernathy, can you get the crew together and ensure that they understand the plan as it currently stands?” She paused. “And make sure they’re prepared for potential last-minute changes.”

  “Aye, Cap’n.”

  “Then we are agreed.” The two men nodded. “Begin the preparations. Make sure whoever mans the crow’s nest tonight vigilantly watches that we do not happen upon the Belladonna. We must ensure we are not seen until we mean to be seen.”

  “It shall be done,” Abernathy answered.

  “And if anything changes,” Gayle instructed solemnly, “wake me immediately.”

  “Aye, Captain,” the men said in unison.

  After they left her quarters, she sat back down at the table, her concern evident.

  “What’s a drogue?” Celia asked from her corner of the room.

  Gayle seemed surprised at the question, as though her worry and apprehension had made her forget that she wasn’t alone. “Well, a drogue is an anchor made of cloth that we drag off the aft end to slow our speed.”

  “Ah.” Celia nodded as though she understood perfectly. “Why would you do that?” she asked, still for some reason nodding in the affirmative. She set down her drink, stood, and sauntered over to Gayle. The liquor made her feel warm and flushed.

  “At times you may not wish your opponent to realize how fast you’re capable of traveling,” Gayle explained as Celia slyly sank onto her lap and began to nibble her left earlobe. “If they think they can outrun you, they are much more inclined to take you on… Love, whatever are you doing?”

  “You have the most luscious bloody ears,” she said. “I’ve wanted to put my tongue in them all evening. They’re like ambrosia.”

  “You’ve obviously been enjoying your spirits.” Gayle shuddered, as though Celia’s warm, heavy breath sent a chill through her.

  “Aye, and now I’d like to enjoy you,” Celia purred, moving her pliant kisses to Gayle’s jawline and finally to her mouth. She ran her hands through Gayle’s loose, crimson tresses as she pulled her closer.

  “You taste sweet, love,” Gayle murmured, and kissed her deeply again.

  “Just so you know,” she whispered, “it’s not just my mouth. I taste that way everywhere.”

  Gayle’s eyebrows rose. “How saucy you’ve become, woman. Were you not, just weeks ago, a virginal maid brimming with chaste and
wholesome virtue?”

  Celia considered this question. “That was simply because I had not met anyone that I desired.”

  “No one?”

  Celia shook her head in response but maintained her heated gaze.

  “So you would have me believe that before you and I met, you had never once had a sexual thought or inclination?”

  Celia leisurely brought her mouth to Gayle’s and slid her tongue lightly along her lips. She then softly bit the lower one and retreated again. “Not once,” she lied huskily.

  Gayle looked amused. “You’ve never even had a sexual fantasy before?” Her hands caressed Celia’s waist and lower back.

  Celia ran her hands across Gayle’s breasts lightly and felt the nipples contract in response. She smiled at the feeling of power that reaction gave her and she stood, pulling Gayle to her feet as well. “I would not even have known what to fantasize about.” She kissed her again and began to unbutton Gayle’s shirt.

  “Perhaps a daydream here and there?” Gayle suggested playfully. Her hands found Celia’s bottom and she murmured as she squeezed it. “Thankfully this is just as I left it—round and as though forged by the gods themselves.”

  “Not I.” All buttons now successfully unfastened, Celia pulled the garment away from Gayle’s skin eagerly, lingering over the feel of her warm flesh, newly exposed.

  Their mouths met hungrily and Gayle began to follow suit with Celia’s shirt—though she took a much more unhurried pace in doing so, as if she was determined to caress every inch of her in the process. “So then you met me, though you were painfully modest and pure. What exactly happened?”

  Celia nudged Gayle closer to the bed and pushed her down onto the muslin sheets. With her shirt completely unbuttoned, she straddled Gayle and began to gyrate against her erotically while she unfastened her lover’s breeches. “I saw you, Madam Captain,” she rasped, consumed by her want. “And all I could think of from that point on was the taste of your mouth, the feel of your hands on me, my hands on you.”