Pirates of the Caribbean — A Marketplace Tale, Part 8
Pirates of the Caribbean is fanfiction based on Laura Antoniou’s Marketplace series, a fictional world in which there is a large and secret market for consensual slaves who serve their owners under contract. Laura recently released “No Safewords,” a fan anthology of tales by different writers set in the Marketplace world.
In Part 7, Bette meets someone with information that might help her end the hostage standoff without bloodshed. In this part, Bette prepares to confront the pirates and assess whether or not the captives are still alive.
“You promise me that tonight is only for reconnaissance,” Rita says. “Look, but don’t touch, correct?”
“Yes. I just want to see if the hostages are there. No point in going in heavy if they’re…”
“If El Camaricaño killed them.”
“Right,” I say. “Rita, I have one question I have to ask: will you be in trouble with El Camaricaño for helping me if I take the hostages alive?”
Rita shrugs eloquently and looks out over the dock behind the hotel.
“But…” I say.
“No arguing,” she replies, making a flat, slicing gesture with her hand.
“You’re gonna tell me how you do that sometime, right?” I say.
“Do what?” Rita asks.
“Tell me how you project that effortless sense of command. The kind where nobody argues with you.”
“I can’t teach you, baby. It comes with age. Be patient, you’ll get there.”
**********
Up in my room, I called Chris Parker back in New York.
“We think they’re alive, and we think we know where they’re being held. Listen, I need you to get in touch with Ben Stanton and give him an update on his property. And I also need to know if he knows someone who can convert some photos of a map into GPS coordinates.”
“Got it,” Chris says. “What will you do next?”
“We’ll wait until dark. Then we’ll do a little recon. I don’t want to try to board their boat if the hostages are already dead. I have to tell you, Chris, these guys are geniuses. They hide the boat in an archipelago of mangrove islands – all these twisty little passages. And the water here, you won’t believe this shit, they’ve got something like water-fireflies, so when you disturb the water at night they light up.”
“What the hell are water-fireflies?” Chris asks.
“I mean, they’re not bugs. I guess they’re single celled creatures, but they light up like a firefly in the water when the water is stirred up. “
“So with the mangrove maze, practically nobody can find them, and if they do, nobody can sneak up on them,” Chris says.
“Exactly,” I say. “Smart motherfuckers.”
“I’ll call you within a half an hour with a report from Stanton,” Chris says. “And Bette?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful.”
***************
Six more hours to go until sundown. I check and recheck my equipment, slide into my wetsuit and adjust it. I look in the mirror and I gotta admit, I look pretty fucking badass: wetsuit, web belt with flares and a KA-Bar knife. I look like I swam out of a Bond flick.
I know I can call Clarita up to my suite to take the edge off, but it’s not Clarita I want.
I pick up my phone and text Kelly. “Google Hangout,” I say.
I flip the lid of my laptop up and dismiss all the browser tabs about waterproofing an AR-15. For that matter, where is the AR-15? Guns make Kelly nervous. I take the rifle and put it behind the laptop, well out of the view of the webcam.
Kelly comes onscreen, live from our apartment in Montreal.
I gotta tell ya, the opportunities that technology offers the discriminating pervert are just fucking limitless, y’all.
“Wow,” Kelly says.
I grin and unzip the wetsuit down between my breasts. “Naked,” I say.
Kelly’s no fool – she doesn’t argue with that one. She stands up and backs away from her laptop , pulling her snug long-sleeved tee up and over her head. She shimmies out of her yoga pants, leaving her in nothing but a pair of inexpressibly cute polka-dotted panties.
Kelly turns to the side and slides her hands down her belly. “I think something’s finally happening down here,” she says.
Yes, there most certainly is – it’s subtle, but I finally see a baby bump that I know isn’t all in my imagination.
I don’t think I’ve ever felt so aroused and wanting to cry and laugh at the same time. I want to dance, which is unusual for me – for a physical person, I’m pretty self-conscious when it comes to dancing. But what the hell, the mother of my child deserves a little entertainment for carrying our baby.
I get up and start zipping the wetsuit lower. Kelly’s facedown on our bed now, propping up her face in her hands, a huge smile on her face.
“You know, even if I were there, I don’t think it would be proper for me to tuck bills in your belt, Boss,” she says.
I click off the web belt, letting the Batman assortment fall to the floor with a clank. “You could pay me in other ways,” I say.
One of the many things I love about Kelly is one of the things she hates about herself: she’s a furious blusher, and no matter how or how often I turn her into a trembling, gasping puddle of slut, her embarrassment at her own hungers never seems to wear off. She turns red to the roots of her hair and covers her eyes.
“Now, now. You don’t want to miss this, do you?” I slowly slide my hand down into my wetsuit. She knows where it’s going. I slip my fingers into my cleft and work myself, letting my eyes close and my head tilt back, swaying on my feet to the music outside on the dock.
When I open my eyes, Kelly is biting a knuckle and looking like a dog who’s trying to be so, so good even though there’s a Porterhouse on a counter she can reach.
I throw myself back on the thronelike armchair by my bed and let one leg dangle over an arm. I still don’t take off the wetsuit – sometimes less is more: she can’t see my pussy, but she can see where my hand disappears into the suit, and her rich imagination can supply all the details.
It doesn’t take long for me to approach the edge, and I come while I’m looking at her, my lips parted, groaning.
I let my head fall back onto the chair, and then loll it forward weakly on my neck. Kelly looks at me expectantly. “I know I shouldn’t ask, but you’re not going to let me come, are you?”
“Oh, I don’t know. It seems rude to deprive a pregnant woman. Kind of like not giving up your seat on the subway.”
“Oh, I agree!” says Kelly eagerly, flipping onto her back and sliding her hand down her belly. “And you have such impeccable manners, Boss!”
“Uh uh uh,” I say. “Not that way.”
*****
“This way? Really? Our child is going to think it’s a twin,” Kelly says, holding the enormous dildo in her hand.
“Doctor Wallace says it’s perfectly safe,” I say. “Where’s the lube?”
Kelly waggles the warehouse-club size bottle in front of the webcam. “Right here, boss,” she sighs in mock resignation.
“On your knees,” I growl, entranced by her.
She kneels over the big silicone dick, lubing it up with her hand.
There’s a story behind that one. I didn’t buy a cartoon dong the size of a baby’s arm on purpose, you know. I have standards!
The first time (well, okay, it kind of turned into a five hour marathon which was interrupted by a run to the kitchen for sandwiches and seltzer to refuel) I rolled over and asked Kelly, “So, what do you think?” indicating my strap-on cock. “Because unlike most guys, I can swap mine out.” Kelly blushed furiously and said, “It could be a little…bigger?” meekly. I could not stop laughing. My prim and proper little lesbian size queen!
So I went to get a bigger cock, right? But I ordered it off the Web from this dumb place that I picked because it had the actual dimensions of the toys written into the descriptions.
On the internet, no one knows you’re a dog – and no one knows if the sizes are either. It arrived, and damn – that thing’s not gonna fit in my harness!
I used to just use it as a mindfuck – I’d show it to Kelly while she was tied doggy-style to the coffee table and then fuck her with my regular cock. She’d squeal in delighted terror even though I’d thrown the elephant dong onto the couch behind me – all the action was between her ears.
Then I worked up to fisting her and figured it would be no big deal.
“That’s right, my cock-hungry little slut. You’re not gonna tell your fellow dyke-slaves about how much you love this, are you? They might decide to yank your gold star when they find out what a slut for cock you are.”
Kelly whimpers in a torment of erotic embarrassment that just winds her up even more. I’m getting pretty worked up as I watch the huge dong slide past her silky labia.
“Please please please oh please,” Kelly says.
She begs so nice, I think.
“Yes,” I say.
Kelly comes so convulsively she touches the keyboard with her forehead and accidentally disconnects the Hangout. The webcam window disappears and I can’t help but laugh.
********
I started feeling like a grownup when I was old enough to have regrets. Looking back on that night, what I regret the most is that I didn’t see it coming.
And that means that it could happen again.
********
I should have known it was too easy. One guard on the deck, sitting in a flimsy folding lounge chair, halfway through a pint of rum and singing at the stars.
I snuck up behind him, zip tied his wrist to the chair, and pushed him and the chair off the deck and into the water before he knew what was going on. He was still singing when he went over the side and didn’t start yelling till he hit the water.
I fired a burst into the air and yelled for the hostages to come out. They didn’t know I wasn’t a pirate myself or worse, and I didn’t have time to explain it, so I just pointed the AR-15 at them and told them to jump.
There were three guys in canoes waiting below, and I could see and hear the hostages being towed by the canoes, grabbing onto the gunwales as my guys paddled into the twisty passages between the mangrove islands, looking for ones too narrow for the pirates in the Cape Ann II to follow.
I tossed my gun into the water, since it was going to be worthless after the swim, and jumped in, thankful for the protective surface of my wetsuit when I bellyflopped it.
And I swam like hell for the next island.
But I didn’t get there.
*************
Being shot by a spear gun doesn’t hurt as much as you might think, probably because of the shock.
One minute, I’m swimming forward, and the next, I was on my back, being pulled back toward the Cape Ann II.
I look down, and to my growing horror, see a barbed spear point emerging from my chest through my wetsuit, just below my shoulder on the right.
**************
Getting shot by a spear gun doesn’t hurt as much as you might think but being hauled up into the air by a barbed spear on a cable hurts more than you can imagine.
I screamed on the deck, flopping back only to hit the long part of the spear on the decking, causing a searing HOLY FUCK pain to shoot through me.
There were a pair of rubber Wellington boots in front of me, and then I was hauled up to my feet by the collar of my wetsuit. They didn’t bother to cuff or restrain me in any way — still connected to the spear and its braided steel cable, I wasn’t going anywhere.
His palm was as big as my whole face as he wiped his hand across it, smearing away the black grease paint.
Then I felt him tugging the zipper of my wetsuit down.
“You maricones got taken by a fucking girl,” he said. “Fucking pussies.”
Now I could see his face. It was El Camariocaño, the killer with a little sideline in piracy. I have to tell you, I know there’s enough pirates-ravishing-captive-wenches porn to run from here to the Moon, but that is SO not my kink.
Lifting me off my feet by my wetsuit, now open to the waist, he pulled it open.
“How fucking weak are you idiots.”
“We’ll take care of her, jefe,” one of them said, meek and clearly terrified.
With his other broad hand he cuffed the man across the ear, sending him to his knees.
“You fucking dog,” El Camariocaño shouted. “You think I kill women? Cut their ears and nose off? Get the fucking lifeboat.”
El Camariocaño’s flunkies scurried away, and he dropped me on my ass onto the deck at his feet. He squatted down in front of me and said, “I don’t kill women. Or disfigure them. But staying alive is up to you.”
I heard a splash in the water, and then El Camariocaño flung me over the side of the boat as easily as if I were a rag doll.
Bahia Fosforoscente is based on a real place — the waters off of La Parguera, Puerto Rico, where bioluminescent creatures really do swim by the billion in the bay. Full disclosure: I am not now, nor have I ever been in the pay of the Puerto Rico Tourism & Travel Board. But maybe I should be 
Lily Lloyd is the author of Discipline: Adding Rules and Discipline to Your Kinky Relationship, a book about making kinky relationships work.
