Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by kinkychic & kinky’s_sis

Chapter II: A Treasure Galleon

After a bit of thought, I decided that I would transfer back to the Siren. Jensen would be the master of the Majestic – the slaver’s new name, chosen by the crew. She was indeed a majestic ship. More heavily gunned than the Siren, she could fire a total of two-hundred sixteen pounds against the Siren’s one-hundred seventy-two, and she could carry more sail – that is, when she had a full crew. I, however, was more comfortable in familiar surroundings. Besides, as we had proved in our battle with the Naval frigate, a lone twelve-pounder was worth more than two, possibly even three, nine-pounders by way of the damage it could cause.

The freed slaves had gathered on the Majestic’s deck, keeping their heads bowed whilst Yaima spoke to them. She explained that we would try and return them to their homeland, if we could find it. I saw them look up as she pointed at Marianna and me. They turned as one, facing us, before breaking into a chant. Bowed lower as the tempo quickened, they would no longer look us in the face.

I raised an enquiring eyebrow at Marianna. She spoke to the interpreter. “It seems we are now acolytes of a religious order, my Captain,” she said.

Again, Yaima spoke, but only briefly before her subjects – for such they were – filed away to return below deck. Only one remained above – the one who spoke the better Spanish.

I had managed to calculate roughly where we were on the chart, having added more detail which might be useful at some future time. It took an age to explain the concept of the chart in relation to our physical surroundings, but eventually, the interpreter seemed to grasp it, if only partially. Reckoning by the time they had been at sea, we surmised the hidden entrance to their river might be only about a day’s sail away.

One of the two black men we had liberated asked to speak with me. He spoke Spanish quite well, plus a little French and English. He asked what was to become of them. Were they truly free?

He appeared to be wearing a uniform of sorts, although it was now grubby and tattered. In answer to my question, he related how he and his companion had been captured by the slaver. They had been in a small sailing cutter, fetching fresh provisions from one island to another, when they were caught in a sudden squall. Their mast had snapped, and they were capsized. Only the two had survived before being picked up by the slaver. This man had been majordomo to a Spanish admiral on Hispaniola, but still remained a slave. His Spanish name was Enrico, but he preferred to be called by his African name, Enofe.

I told him that they were indeed free and could stay with us as long as they wished – certainly, until we found somewhere safe to drop them off. He stood to attention before he said, in a halting macaronic, “El Capitán and dama not having… serviente.” He tapped his chest. “I a man but very… discreto.”

I held up a hand. “Enofe, I don’t want servants, but I could do with a steward. As such, you would be a crew member… share the rewards and the dangers, comprende?”

Marianna interrupted – “Un senescal.”

Enofe gave a small bow of his head. “Then I go work. Gracias, Capitán.”

The remaining black man also wanted to join the crew, in any capacity where we thought he might fit. Better a free pirate than a slave, he said. I left it to Halcombe to decide, as I was sure he’d find the man a suitable berth. If we set these men ashore, he said, they would only be taken into slavery again.

Yaima, plus two of her people, along with Enofe and his fellow African, returned to the Siren with us. I had to send more crewmen over to the Majestic, which left us both severely under-crewed.

***

“She’s up an’ down, Cap’ain!” The shout came from forward. It told me the anchor was now directly below the Siren.

“Let go the main,” I called.

It was barely daybreak, when the night breeze still blew out to sea. It would soon change direction, but for the moment, it gave us steerage in the fast-flowing current.

“Haul away the anchor!”

For a few moments the men on the capstan gave it all of their might, and the anchor broke free of the clinging mud. The Siren surged forwards. She felt eager to be out to sea once more.

“Why do we get this wind at about dawn and at sunset?” Marianna asked me. “And why does it blow in the opposite direction?”

“At certain times of the year, when the sun comes or goes, the land temperature is different from that of the sea,” I said. “As the sun beats down, the sea warms more slowly than the land. This causes a difference in pressure, and thus a wind. It doesn’t last long, but it can be useful for getting in or out of a tight place if you’ve timed it right.”

“How very clever, yet simple when one knows,” she observed.

The ships sailed on in a southerly direction, as close inshore as we dared. I knew the cleft we searched for was hard to spot. It would usually never be seen, but we were looking for it, aware that it existed, and so had a better chance.

I had just got to wondering where we might anchor for the night when the lookout shouted down. “Deck ho! I maybe’s seein’ som’it Cap’ain – ’ard to be certain like.”

I snatched up my telescope. At first, I saw nothing. I took another sweep, more slowly this time. There! The upper profile of the cliff looked odd. It didn’t fit with the surroundings. A quick check of the wind told me we could beat in the right direction, anchor off for the night and take a closer look in the morning.

We took many soundings before dropping anchor. We were now quite close to the cliffs. In the rapidly fading light, I could see what might have been a dogleg, which could well have been the way in. Tomorrow we would find out.

“Anchor be holdin’ fast,” Davy shouted. “Seems a good bottom.”

Soon, everything was stowed, and I could send the hands for their evening meal. Majestic was anchored close by. I ordered an extra issue of rum, with a double issue for the observant lookout, which brought a resounding cheer that echoed from the cliffs.

Enofe had a bowl of hot water ready for me, and the table was set for dinner. Three full courses – how rare! Thoroughly refreshed and in clean clothes, I came from behind the screen to find my new steward waiting for me in the company of two beautiful girls.

I immediately noticed his uniform. It had been cleaned and repaired. He was standing with a napkin over his arm and a bottle in his hand, looking every inch a true majordomo.

The wine was a crisp, dry white, though don’t ask me the name. I was never a connoisseur. I knew, though, that Enofe had dangled it in the sea below to cool it as much as possible. I’d tasted many different vintages from the ships we had raided. The names meant little to me, but this was Enofe’s world. He knew exactly what went best with what we ate.

He served us soup. I didn’t ask how he had produced such a thing – and so delicious. For our main dish, we ate what the crew ate, something I had always insisted on, and yet Enofe had somehow made it taste different … much better.

Then a dessert such as I’d never tasted before. Enofe had taken stale bread, added a sweet madeira sauce, then topped it with brown sugar. It was then quickly oven-baked at the highest temperature the cook could achieve. The result was a cracking toffee on top. It was so easily prepared, yet quite delicious. I later learned that the ship’s cook had not been too happy with this black man doing strange things in his galley. But when he saw what was produced from almost nothing, he had shaken Enofe’s hand. “You’ll be doin’ alright for me,” he had said.

After dinner, I sipped a glass of port (that much I knew), while Yaima and Marianna had a sweet madeira each. I thanked Enofe and told him to take a glass of whatever he fancied, though I guessed he most likely had already done so. I told him his duties were done for the day, and we’d see him tomorrow.

He paused at the door, “Capitàn … happy … with my…?”

I laughed. “Enofe, you have a job with me as long as you want. Now bugger off!”

It was obvious that Yaima was unused to drink, for she seemed quite tipsy. With a coy look, she produced her pouch. I held her hand and shook my head. She didn’t understand my words when I told her we didn’t need her magic potions, but I think she got the idea.

I worried that she might fall when she climbed onto the table, as there wasn’t the headroom for her to stand. Instead, she wriggled free from her shift and lowered herself to her knees. She writhed this way and that, her rapidly moving hands giving only brief glimpses of the pinkish lips between her thighs. Always moving, always teasing, she was an expert in the art of arousal. I reached for those glistening lips, but she playfully smacked my hand away.

Leaning forward, she faced Marianna, her small breasts drawing close enough to provoke a quick attempt at a kiss. This movement bared her arse to me, and I again reached out, but even as I made contact, her hand took mine in a firm grip, holding me fast. She straightened up, head held high, and began to chant.

I saw her draw Marianna’s head down and in. The chanting rose in tempo as her body went rigid. Marianna was suddenly pulled in tight, her mouth at Yaima’s pussy. My hand was also held fast. Yaima gripped my thumb, forcing it hard into her arsehole. The downward surge took me into her hot depth, and somehow she curled my fingers, urging them into her dripping cunt. Her hips undulated in many directions as she literally fucked herself on both of us, with Marianna’s lips at her clit, and my fingers busily employed in both of her openings.

The chant went on. Then a sudden silence. I felt the tremble, gentle at first, which seemed to come from deep inside of her. Mariana and I fucked and sucked her harder, and the tremble grew to a feverish quaking. Yaima gave a short screech, then shook violently as she rode her orgasm, on and on, like a wild beast. My hand and wrist ached, as I suspected Marianna’s jaw did as well. Time seemed to stop in deference to Yaima’s climax, but eventually she calmed, touching our heads ceremoniously and murmuring some sort of prayer.

When she had climbed down from the table, she took our hands and bent her head towards the cot. We stripped briskly and climbed between the sheets. Yaima gently placed her fingers against Marianna’s mouth, and then against mine. Reflexively, I licked my lips, and I knew at once I was lost. There was the bitter taste. That damn’d philtre again, and there was no resisting it. A momentary dizziness, and then, madly, deliriously, I was clutching Marianna to me as the cabin spun about and the candles began to go dark.

***

It was that hour before dawn when the quiet is broken by the sounds of a ship waking to a new day. The night watch was relieved, eager for breakfast and sleep. Majestic’s cutter was already on its way, bringing Jensen to the Siren. It was a larger boat than anything we possessed, and it could carry a fair-sized sail, but more important, it could mount a two-pounder bow swivel gun.

It was soon agreed Jensen would take ten armed men and one native to investigate what lay hidden at what seemed to be a misalignment in the cliff face. The Siren would fire off a pistol shot if the cutter was to make an urgent return. Jensen would repeat the signal to show he had heard. Otherwise, we’d fire a cannon.

The natives on board, as jungle folk, had never been to sea before being taken by the slavers. They were already chained below deck when the slave ship had sailed away, and none of them had the slightest notion whether we were in the right place.

I wished I had gone with the cutter myself. The waiting was eating at my nerves, and our position was too vulnerable for comfort. The lookout thought he saw the masts of a ship breaking the horizon, but whoever it was, they either had not seen us or were not interested enough to investigate.

I had barely stepped down to my cabin when a lookout shouted, “Cutter in sight!”

Back on deck, I saw they were having to row. The wind was wrong for their sails. Through my telescope, Jensen looked to be bursting with news, urging the oarsmen to pull harder.

He was climbing the ladder almost before the cutter was alongside, and he hadn’t even reached me before the incoherent jumble of words poured out.

“Tom,” Interrupted him, “please calm yourself and speak in a manner that we might understand.”

He took a deep breath and contained his excitement. “Sorry, Captain. There’s so much to tell. It most likely is the right place. That front portion of cliff” – he pointed to the left of where the cutter had disappeared – “hides a deep channel that runs parallel to the front of the cliffs, with another cliff behind. It is about a hundred yards before you bear right into a deep-water bay. The bay is sort of pear-shaped. The far end is fed by a wide river that we followed for some distance before turning back. It all appears to be perfectly navigable.”

I saw his excitement when he paused. It was evident something dramatic was in the offing. “There is a large ship, wrecked many years ago, Spanish I believe. The name was quite indistinct but I thought it said the Santa Sofia. There are no signs of any survivors in the area.”

Tom was still holding something back. With a flourish, he raised a hand. There was a gasp from all that could see, for he held a clutch of doubloons and several other odd-looking coins –  mostly gold.

“We were looking for any sign of people, and Taylor saw something glittering in the water. It only took minutes to collect these. There must be hundreds more.”

An excited babble grew in volume until I raised a hand and called for quiet. “Never fear, my lads. We will search out every bit of gold or silver that ship may have dropped,” I said. “It would seem we are lucky that the slavers did not spot it. It could well be that we’re all rich. Shall we not sail in?”

Of course, I knew the answer, but I wanted my crew to feel they had their say. A good pirate captain always works in that way.

***

The Siren was smaller and handier than the Majestic, and so we led the way. All went well until we turned into the cleft between the cliff faces, where we lost the wind. I had, however, anticipated this situation. We had a tow line to the cutter that sailed just ahead of us. The bosun saw our bow swing away. “Out oars!” Davy yelled. “Pull, you bastards! You be wantin’ gold, then fuckin’ work for it!”

Slowly, laboriously, they pulled us in.

The bay, when I beheld it, was a hidden paradise, a place of true beauty, and the promise of gold only enhanced its allure. Marianna and Yaima stood beside me as we reached the centre of the expanse, where we could see the ghost of a once proud ship.

Yaima spoke so softly, I almost didn’t hear. “Sofia,” she said. How did she know that?

It was still early morning when we dropped anchor. I insisted on both ships being tidied before allowing the hands to surge onto the beach.

In minutes, we heard excited shouts. There was gold almost everywhere, vast amounts of it. As a crew, we were already quite rich. Now we were wealthy beyond imagining. This was not just the scavenging of a few scattered pieces of eight. This was the haul of a lifetime. The slavers had sailed away with a valuable cargo of captives. A moment more of their time, and they could have been kings.

I left Jensen in charge of the salvage operation. He had looked hard at me. “You would trust me with all this gold and a ship with which I could sail away?”

“Aye, my friend. I would trust you, and there are few I would.”

We sailed upriver. Sometimes the wind was in our favour. At other times, the cutter had to tow us. It was hard work.

The natives grew excited. Their one interpreter told me that some recognised what they saw. We were drawing close to their home. Then a cheer erupted as we rounded a bend, and I beheld many hundreds of natives on the riverbank. They must have known we were coming. Both on board and ashore, a strange, deafening whistling assaulted our senses. We had brought these people home.

Yaima stepped forward. She spoke in her chanting voice, indicating our ship as she addressed the others. Then she, in turn, bowed her head. The gathered crowds now looked up at us, then they roared and whistled.

Hundreds of boats surged out towards us. They stopped alongside, not attempting to board. That strange whistling sound continued.

Then silence… complete silence.

I could see a woman on the bank, dressed in a shimmering golden robe, surrounded by many more women and girls, all dressed almost as radiantly as she.

She paused, letting the moment linger. “Yaima” – the name carried across the water. I understood nothing more.

Yaima replied only a few words at first: “Ingles y Espanol.” But then she went on, and we understood nothing of it.

The woman onshore interrupted her in mid-flow. “Is enough, I am understand,” she called. “You bring our special one back. We must thank you.” She clapped her hands and spoke rapidly to the crowd around her.

The freed captives were soon ferried ashore, to be met by many ecstatic relatives. They had never expected to see their loved ones again.

A man climbed to our deck from a boat. He spoke a form of Spanish I could barely understand. Marianna translated for me.

“He says our ship is safe here, they will watch all the time. The men may come ashore. We welcome them. You and I are asked to go with our precious lady, Yaima. Please to not worry or fear.”

Yaima smiled at us, “Ven conmigo.” Her Spanish had improved on our short voyage. We accepted her invitation and followed.

***

We were carried in something like a European sedan chair, weaving through the jungle for what seemed an age. There would never have been the slightest chance of us finding our way back unaided. At what seemed a clearly defined point, the men handed us over to the women. It seemed yet another age before we arrived at a huge clearing surrounded by trees that seemed to reach to the heavens. Stone steps rose to a towering gate.

Yaima took our hands so that Marianna and I were on either side of her. Then she led us up.

The woman we had seen on the shore was there to greet us. She bowed low before squaring her shoulders regally and addressing us.

“You not know. Cannot know. You are now special to us. You bring back to us our most important one, the pure one. She tells us you are believers, you are at one with us. Yaima also says you are worthy of our elixir, that you may take with us.”

There was a loud chorus from those gathered around us before she continued. “Yaima tells us you have tasted the elixir, that you were one with her. l not allowed this to happen yet but she said it is time. You two her first. Now, you are now special to us.”

I was unprepared for this. I did not know what to do or say. So many on their knees before us. What should I do?

Yaima turned to face us. She unfastened her clothes and let them drop to the plank floor. She stood facing us, totally naked, as the chant began from the gathered sisters. A young girl came forward. She touched a finger to a vial and then to our lips – Marianna, Yaima, and myself.

Everything around me seemed to swirl. The chanting grew louder. I saw my two beautiful girls close by, and they looked utterly inviting … fuck, I needed them. Them? No, I was them. And yet they were me. I was aware that Marianna and I were now naked, yet not when or how or where our clothes had gone.

We three were spun together. Yaima, Marianna and I were as one as we made the most beautiful love.

The women prayed to us. Their most sacred one had come of age. They chanted as we fucked. The sounds lifted us ever higher. A maelstrom of fingers, tongues, clits, and finally, an almighty orgasm. I heard screams echoing about the vaulted ceiling, although I had no recollection of screaming myself. I had always put conscious thought into my lovemaking, but here there was none. It was as if our spirits simply united. It could not be explained. It merely was.

After the ceremonial fuck, Marianna and I were carried away to another room, where we were deposited on a bench of solid gold – in fact, everything appeared to be made of gold. Jewels sparkled everywhere in the flicker of lanterns. The legends my lover had unearthed were indeed true.

Yaima was carried in by a dozen naked young girls, who stopped before us and lowered her to the floor.

She spoke her name before continuing. The interpreter came forward, translating her words: “I, Yaima, the true holy one, am now of age. These two have brought me forth. They are holy sisters. They are of us, the Sisterhood of Sofia.”

She looked around at the many faces. “Yet … they are not of us. They come from a different world, a world we cannot know. I have seen enough of this world to know it is evil, even though they themselves are holy.”

Yaima came forward and held our hands as she spoke the next words: “I would wish them to stay with us, to be of us. Yet I know it cannot be, and so I wish them a safe journey to wherever life is to take them. But you, the Sisters of Sofia, will write them into our story. Bren and Marianna are now at one with me and therefore with us. Embrace us, sisters, we are the true Trinity. We three, at this moment, are your one God.”

I am not at all religious, but I knew enough to realise how blasphemous that statement would sound to the priesthood of the outside world. Did I care? Not one bit! I was, however, intrigued. What was this Sofia business? Was there some connection between these people and the wrecked ship?

The one that I thought of as the High Priestess, whose name was Atiena, was pleased to spend some time with us. She wanted to know more of the outside world, and she wanted reassurance that she and her people were safe from further raids. When I asked about the Sofia, she didn’t pause to think. It was more like the recital of a well-remembered litany.

The ship had been struck by a hurricane and driven many miles off course. Badly damaged and foundering, she was swept onto the rocks beneath the cliffs, where she would have been smashed to pieces, and all aboard lost. Miraculously, the split in the cliffs had saved them. The crew managed to tow themselves into the bay, driving the ship onto the beach, lest it sink. This had happened in the days of Atiena’s ancestors, ages ago, though naturally, given the lack of written records and her people’s apparent indifference to time, she could not provide a precise date.

Though safe from the storm, it transpired that the Sofia’s crew and passengers had merely exchanged one nightmare for another. They came down with the fever, over two hundred of them perishing within a month. Only three survived – a nun, a young girl and an Englishman who had been a prisoner.

The fact that the young girl’s name was Sofia, the same as the ship’s, was quite coincidental, but to Atiena’s people, it was a portent of great significance. The Santa Sofia had delivered the founder of her order.

The Englishman, whose name was Thomas, had taken a small boat and travelled upriver, promising to come back for the other two if he found help. Eventually, after many months, he did return.

Meantime, the nun and the girl had built a small Christian chapel, where they prayed for deliverance. They survived by foraging, which led them to a plant that possessed a most powerful magic. One morning they had awakened to find themselves lying naked and wrapped in each other’s arms. Still under the influence of the plant, they had again made love.

They understood what had occurred, and both were happy about it. They consumed more of the plant, laying together day after day under the spell of their discovery.

Thomas, on his return, found the nun was now quite mad from overindulgence in the plant. The chapel, now believed lost, had become a shrine to female worship, with Sofia herself the object of that worship.

With great reluctance, Sofia and the nun travelled back upriver with Thomas, who had established himself with the tribe. They hadn’t been there long when the nun, now known as Sister Caterina, discovered the site that was to become the present-day home of the religious order.

Eventually, it was said, Thomas fathered a child with Sofia. They were Yaima’s ancestors. There are many descendants, and it is from these that the sisterhood recruits its followers. The sisterhood became connoisseurs in the herbs of the forest, which allowed them to cure most of the illnesses from which the tribe suffered. The well-being of the people came to depend on these women, and in time a new religion was born. Above all, the sisters cultivated the lust-inducing plant, from which they learned to distil their irresistible elixir. It was their most sacred medicine.

We listened with rapt attention. It was a remarkable story. Marianna and I were now members of the order. We may not have placed our faith in its otherworldly mysteries, but we were certainly converts to the favours of women.

On to Chapter Three!