Captain Bren and the Royal Siren, Chapter 7

  • Posted on November 28, 2023 at 4:33 pm


For a detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by kinkychic and kinky’s_sis

Chapter Seven: The King’s Court

I was taking the air on deck, smiling to myself over the previous evening’s dalliance with Lady Fleming’s daughters, when Kira approached, a knowing gleam in her eye. I still found it hard not to think of her as Anne.

She was blunt as ever. “So, did you enjoy fuckin’ them two girlies? Mind, I’m not bein’ critical. Time was, I would’ve joined you, but I’ve got one now who keeps me content. Daphne an’ I wants no other.”

“They were a delight – and quite wanton,” I said. “The mother wishes to arrange a picnic, which I’m sure will entail more than just a lunch. The girls would like you and Daphne to accompany us.”

Kira gave one of her scowls of old. “Not to my taste. I doesn’t mix too well with the gent’ree. But I’ll leave it to Daphne.”

Matters advanced rapidly within the week, however, making such an outing far less likely. The admiral informed me that the York, a sixty-gun fourth-rater, would be returning to Blighty in a few weeks. He had given the Peregrina a minor refit, and she was ready to sail, though she had not yet been renamed. She would be at our disposal to collect our hidden gold – a small percentage, naturally enough, to be paid, in gold, upon our return.

It would be almost impossible to return to Aruba by retracing the route we had taken to Bermuda. Both the winds and the Florida current were against us. Rather, we would head southeast into the open Atlantic where, in a week or so, the wind and current would carry us nor’westerly. It was a considerably longer distance, but with the elements working in our favour, we would save time in the long run.

The new Naval crew of the Peregrina seemed happy enough with their assignment, which would at least provide a respite from the routine patrols that were their usual lot. The fact that all of the crew, from first officer to powder boy, had been promised a gold doubloon, was an added incentive. The captain would receive two. The admiral had said it was quite unheard of, but he would turn a blind eye — as long as he received his share for having made the arrangements.

We encountered no one and caught only glimpses of distant sails during the voyage which, despite one quite nasty storm, went smoothly enough. The sea was still running high when we arrived off Aruba, the last remnant of the storm. The next day, however, I deemed it safe enough to approach the cave. We found everything as we had left it. At the end of a day of strenuous labour, all the gold and silver was safely stowed on our two ships, and we beat a hasty retreat, lest anyone come snooping.

As we had done following our previous visit, we headed north towards the western tip of Cuba, setting our speed such that we arrived at dawn. From there we had an easy run through the straits of Florida and out to Bermuda. It was a relief to again be within the safety of Castle Harbour, especially in light of our cargo.

A note from the admiral informed me that my new uniform awaited at his residence, and I could try it on at my convenience. I was provided with a horse in the dockyard without question or hesitation. Everyone, it seemed, knew my name, and they were most eager to assist me.

Upon arrival at the admiral’s residence, a stable boy took my mount, and a footman requested that I follow him. I was asked to wait in the great hall while he announced me. I expected the admiral himself to welcome me, but instead was greeted by Lady Sarah. She appeared quite overjoyed to see me. One might have said she was breathless.

“Our gallant Captain, how wonderful to see you safely returned! Shall you join me in a glass of sherry? Or whatever you fancy?” Her words and intonation dripped with meaning.

“A cool, dry sherry would be fine, my lady, thank you.”

She rested her hand on my arm. “Oh, let us not be so formal. After all, we are friends now. So please, it’s Sarah, and if I may, I shall call you Bren.”

She rang a small glass bell, which brought a pretty young maid scurrying in.

“I and my Captain will take a dry sherry, Rosie.”

She guided me to a chaise longue and, most presumptuously, sat next to me, and very close indeed! I understood her game and what she expected from me. I was not quite so taken with her charms, but I felt it would be wise to keep this woman on my side.

“My daughters tell me that they had a splendid time on your ship, my dear Bren. Samantha has not stopped talking about you, and she’s been quite explicit. It brought quite a blush to my face, I might add that it made me feel somewhat envious. Do you mind?”

She touched a finger to my lips. “There’s no need to answer my silly question, but…” Instantly, form the taste,  I knew I had been snared. I stood up in front of her, desperately looking for an avenue of escape, knowing it was useless.

“Yes, Captain?” she asked. She feigned innocence, but the lust in her eyes was plain.

“Here, or somewhere a little more discreet?” I said. “You want to be fucked by your pirate captain. Well, here I am. Tell me quickly, before I rip your G–ddamn’d clothes off!”

Her hand flew to her mouth in mock horror. “Why, Captain! How bold you are! What is a well-bred woman to do? My heart is all a-flutter.”

To give Sarah her due, she summoned a profuse blush before rising to her feet. She stood close to me, her breath on my face, her bosom grazing my chest. ”I do believe it is dangerous to resist a pirate. Therefore, I shall not. You may have your way with me, Captain. Do as you will.”

I took hold of her shoulders and pulled her to me, not too roughly, but certainly not gently. I crushed my lips to hers. Her shoulders lifted and her arms flapped in a mock show of resistance. Then she groaned and flung herself upon me.

Other than this irresistible desire, I felt little effect from the potion. Either she had used only the tiniest dab, or else I was becoming accustomed to it. But for her it was different. She set upon me like a wild beast, tearing at my clothes and uttering such obscenities as would have had her exiled from all respectable society.

Then we were rolling naked on the rich carpet as our mouths devoured each other. Her body forced my legs wide, and then her mouth was at my pussy lips. Her tongue slithered about, lapping up my nectar.

I was propped on my elbow, watching her. She saw my look and paused. “A beautiful cunt, and for the moment it’s mine,” she said. “Such a heady odour!” Then she dived back in.

I had thought she wanted fucking, but I wasn’t complaining. She was quite satisfactory with her sucks and licks and little bites.

Of a sudden, she withdrew and crawled up my body. I tasted my juices when she brought her lips to mine. Her hips pressed down, grinding our pussies hard together. My breasts were crushed in her grip. She began to swivel and grind, and my clit responded as she ground away at it.

Sarah knew I was close to climaxing, yet she herself was holding back. I didn’t care, not for the moment. I raised my hips beneath her, urging on the sensations that fired my clit.

“Stop, Bren… stop!”

I almost rolled her over so as to keep stimulating my clit. Again, she called. “Trust me, stop now!”

Puzzled and not a little put out, I yet did as she commanded. She reached beneath a cushion of the chaise and withdrew the oddest contraption. I recognised the protuberances as being the same as Daphne’s wooden phalluses, but this thing had three of them fastened in some sort of harness affair.

“Kneel,” she commanded, then proceeded to fasten the harness around my waist. The phalluses were of different sizes and shapes. One was curved, and it was this she pushed into my cunt. She gathered moisture from between her legs and thus coated the smallest of the phalluses. Then she leaned over the chaise, with her copious arse towards me.

“Would the Captain like to guess where the other two go, or do I need to show you?”

This was new to me, and yet exciting. It seemed I could really fuck her, back and front at once. I tickled the smaller phallus at her winking rose. The larger of the two seemed to get sucked into her pussy. I pressed harder at her rear and watched as it opened her arsehole, disappearing inside.

She gave a sort of strangled squawk. “Now my pirate really fucks me! Fuck me hard, Bren.”

I hadn’t expected the phallus inside of me to have so much movement. But I was wrong. It fucked my cunt beautifully as I drove in and out of Sarah. Very quickly, I found myself returning to the point I had reached when she had called for me to stop.

I thought my shocks were over for the day, but I was wrong once again. Even through my exertions, I heard a giggle. There, beside the chaise sofa, stood Jane, Samantha, and the maid, Rosie, all with skirts held high as they diddled their clits. Never had I seen such a gleefully randy sight.

“Now, my love, fuck your bitch harder and faster,” Sarah said. “Look at my little girls playing with their divine cunts while they watch us fuck. Have you ever imagined the like?”

I needed no urging. My climax was about to explode. Sarah arched her back, then began to shake as my two spears thrust into her. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Harder! Fucking harder, Bren! Oh, damn me, I’m coming!”

I was still aware of the girls, especially Samantha. Her hand was a blur, her eyes fastened on her mother being fucked. Then she squirted between her fast-moving fingers, spraying in all directions.

Finally, my cunt let rip. A massive fist seemed to grip my body. I urged the wooden phallus deeper inside. Sarah was well accustomed to this thing. She gyrated her hips, causing the object to fuck me hard as I came.

At last we collapsed to the side, both still impaled as I held her to me. Through the mists of my addled brain, I heard the girls clapping. Then the three of them piled on top of us, and despite our full bellies, as it were, we couldn’t refuse such a delectable array of sweets.

Afterwards, as we sat, once again dressed, I looked from one to the other in disbelief. “There seems to be an interesting understanding amongst you lot. And Rosie, I’ve tasted your pussy, but we haven’t been introduced.”

Sarah laughed. “Oh my, is the captain ready for more, and with little Rosie?” She beckoned to the maid, “Give the captain a nice kiss, then I think you should fetch her – his – new uniform.”

Rosie was as forward as the others. Her knee pressed between my legs as we kissed. Then she whispered in my ear, “We could have a nice time together. You could fuck me with the ding-dong.” She pulled back to grin slyly at me.

Sarah clapped her hands.

“Enough, Rosie! Stop seducing the captain.” But she was laughing merrily.

I had one question. “How did you get the potion? The girls, I assume.”

“I wondered if you had noticed. But yes, Jane asked Marianna for some. Don’t worry though, we are very careful. I wondered whether I might try it on the admiral to see if it wakes his rod up. It doesn’t work too well these days. That’s why he allowed me to invite you here.”

“What! The admiral knows? Surely not!”

“He likes having a young wife at his side. He knows he doesn’t satisfy me, so I am free to dally, though only with ladies. Other men are forbidden. You, I must say, are the closest to one I’ve had.”


I wasn’t sure what to make of the uniform. It was a bit grand and made me look too much like a Naval officer. Of course, I would only have to wear it once or twice. So, I supposed it would do.

Sarah, though, thought it perfect. It disguised my sex well, she said. If anything might give me away at court, it would be my beardless face.

“I would be quite happy to walk out on your arm, Captain,” Sarah said. “Should you ask.”

Noting my surprised look, she added, “Oh poof, I know it would be too scandalous, but what fun!”

She saw my glance at the clock. “Yes, it is time for our handsome captain to be away. You will give us all one last kiss and then you must go.”

Each, in turn, tried their damnedest to arouse me again, but I had to be getting back to the ship.

“Promise me, Bren, we will meet again,” Sarah said. “Perhaps you might bring Marianna next time?”


Conditions for our crossing of the Atlantic couldn’t have been better. The wind never faltered, nor did it strain our rigging. In barely six weeks we were beating up the channel. It had been agreed we would dock at the Naval yard at Chatham, this being the best suited for the repairs to our ships and for access to London. I could not allow any yard workers onto the ship before the gold had been moved.

The Siren was due for an overhaul. Her hull had taken a beating in recent months, and she was leaking badly. The crew were fed up with having to man the pumps at least once a day.

An unoccupied barracks block was made available to the men. It had all the provisions they could desire, and they could come and go as they pleased – at least when I had no work for them. I quickly made arrangements at a local bank so as to allow each man to draw on his funds. Everyone seemed happy enough.

I received a letter from the Prime Minister, one Robert Walpole, inviting me to London for discussions relating to my meeting with King George. His Royal Highness, so I was informed, was keen to make my acquaintance as soon as possible.

A particular dockyard officer had attached himself to me. He was quite helpful, even friendly. He advised that I might consider the purchase of a second uniform for everyday wear, one less grand than the one I had. Not that anyone would recognise what the uniform signified. But, he said, as I was to be in and out of the dockyard on a regular basis, it would not do to look like a pirate or privateer. He said the officials had been advised to treat me with the courtesy of an honorary officer, so he thought it best I rather looked like one.

I hired a large coach to convey  Halcombe, Jensen, Kira, Daphne, Marianna, and me into the city. We had the address of a well-regarded outfitter from whom we could obtain whatever clothing or uniforms we needed. After all, money was the least of our concerns.

I found the city daunting. The narrow, foul-smelling streets. The continuous smoke. The crowds of people rushing about, God knows where. Kira however, was clearly quite at home. She had seen it all before. Marianna, likewise, was none too bothered. But the rest of us wanted out, and as soon as possible.

All of the officers took lodgings close enough to the dockyard. Naturally, they went looking for cheap places. They were rich, I reminded them. They could afford the grandest accommodations they desired.

A major banking establishment had sent a bullion wagon, together with ten bank officials. They counted and weighed every scrap of gold and silver. The jewellery was itemised and locked into sealed containers. The bank would advise me of the total value, they said, once it was established.

One, who looked to be the most senior of the lot, said, “Do you realise, Captain, you have an immense fortune here? This little lot added to the amount your current bankers already have on deposit makes you quite possibly the wealthiest man in the realm. I strongly urge you to keep the fact a secret, lest you have every street beggar in London seeking your indulgence.”

I had never in my life read a newspaper. The dockyard officer – Lieutenant Graham Mellows was his name – waved one in my face. “Captain, have you seen this? You’re really awfully famous.”

It was headed thus –

Arrival in London
Privateer Captain Bren Dawlish
A True British Hero

The article in the Chronicle spoke of injustice being put to rights by His Royal Highness and  went on to tell of a Caribbean governor who, exceeding his authority and acting on wholly inaccurate information, had branded me and my men as pirates and criminals to be hunted down and hanged.

An unnamed admiral had taken our side, searched out the truth and laid it before the King, who had consequently issued, with the agreement of the Privy Council, a proclamation declaring us innocent of all charges.

It went on to detail some of our exploits, rather breathlessly, ending with the frigates we had captured and gifted to the King’s Navy. Most of the account was either highly inaccurate or much exaggerated.

In conclusion, it stated the King had commanded my presence at Kensington. There was much speculation as to the reason.

I was astonished. Me, in the Chronicle. It was beyond belief, yet there it was. And still, no one had an inkling as to my true nature.

Mellows then warned, “I’m afraid you are going to have a problem, Captain. You will have the whole of society wanting you to attend grand functions and balls. Everyone will be wanting you to give talks. You will have every newspaper hounding you. Need I go on?”

It all came as quite a shock. I didn’t want any of it. I wanted only to be left in peace.

“Perhaps we should hide away somewhere while we wait upon completion of the ships. But where? How could we go unnoticed?”

The lieutenant shrugged. “It’s beyond me, I’m afraid. Oh, and another thing you should consider. Neither you nor the Doña should be out and about without having one or two bodyguards in attendance.”

I went in search of Davy. He took some finding but, eventually, there he was, holding up the bar in the Pig and Whistle public house.

“It be’in’ good to sees yer, Bren. Can I says it straight? I’ll be glad when we gets away from this place. Don’t rightly knows what to be doin’ with myself.”

I had to agree, but then I told him of the rest of my troubles.

Davy shook his grizzled head. “These paper people, they’s a’ready pesterin’ the men. Be trouble soon, methinks.”

I didn’t want any of the men ending up in jail, nor did I want them confined to barracks. “First of all, I want you and Taylor to be at my or Marianna’s call as bodyguards. I can have rooms in lodgings next door to ours made available for you both. Find Taylor and see if he’s agreeable. If not, then Spencer. As for the rest, I believe I need to speak to someone in authority.”

It was easier than I expected. Someone from the Privy Council arranged what he called a “conference of the press.” All the newspapers were invited. There would be a prepared speech for me to make, and then I would take questions. This was all dependent on the papers instructing all of their staff that they were to leave us be in the future.

Then a bloody playwright turned up, who wanted to put on a spectacle about us in London. He was told, none too politely, where to go and what to do with his pencil.

Of course, I was apprehensive going in, but afterward, I was cheered and somewhat giddy at how successfully my little masquerade went over. Standing, in my new blue coat and white breeches, between Jensen and Halcombe, I appeared but one in a line of dashing young men who had made their fortune at sea – thinner, perhaps, and not quite so tall, but no less manly for all that. The Fleet Street scribblers saw what they expected to see.

But it was Marianna, the Lord bless her, who completed the illusion. She was at her most ravishing, in a shimmering lavender gown and a tight-laced bodice that put a swell into her matchless bosom. From the moment of her entrance, murmurs flew about the room that this dark-eyed beauty was indeed the captain’s woman. All attention turned to her, to the point where I and my officers were scarcely noticed at all. No one cared to look at me too closely, and no one would think to question the virility – or the sex – of a sailor who possessed such a creature.

Thus, the gathering went much better than I had expected, and it produced the desired result. We were indeed left alone from that point forward. The constant stream of letters kept on, though, and I was obliged to hire a secretary to open them all. He was to ignore anything that was not of a personal nature or of some importance.

Naturally enough, word of the young captain and his beautiful consort spread throughout society. We were suddenly the talk of London. It made us smile to think that two women were now the city’s most celebrated couple, but it did add another type of letter to those the secretary had to deal with.

It also caused the landlady’s daughter to begin openly flirting with me. She was a pretty enough girl of fifteen or sixteen, but I found her attentions rather taxing, and was growing weary of my masculine pretence. When Marianna teased me about her, I snapped, “Why don’t you just fuck the girl, and get her off my back?”

I saw Marianna’s hurt look and instantly regretted my ill-chosen words. “I’m so sorry, my love. I’m letting things irritate me too much. It was wrong of me, I know.”

She took my hand. “I know how much you are having to deal with, Bren. I can see the strain. Of all of us, you’re the only one who can’t be seen for what you truly are. Perhaps I should fuck the little pest, just to introduce her to womanly love. If you think it would help, then why not?”

The following day brought two gentlemen to the door. One carried a letter from the King. A summons, really. His Majesty had set aside time to see Captain Bren Dawlish, Captain Thomas Jensen, and the Doña Marianna of Tortola in two days’ time.


I was surprised to find that King George spoke very poor English. His native language was German. I had been warned that he was of a saturnine disposition and lacked all humour. What I hadn’t been told was that he loved all things military. His greatest pleasure was to listen to tales of English victories, especially over the French or the Spanish. Mister Walpole gave a distinct cough when the King mentioned those countries by name. The King frowned in response, but then to the surprise of most, he laughed.

His Majesty took a good look at us. He seemed to approve, and to suspect nothing in regard to me. First, he bowed towards Marianna. “You Spanish, ja? I like Spanish who is work for me and England. Is good. Danke, Frȁulein.”

He turned back to me. “You tell me … Wie sagt man, die Geschichte?”

“Story, Your Majesty,” Walpole said.

“Story of … ach! Die Seeschlacht.”

“Your battles at sea.”

“Battle,” the King repeated. “Speak slow. Admiral, ship. Meine Fregatten you bring.”

After a moment of panic, I realised he was referring to the frigates.

He clapped often and insisted that I repeat parts of my story, exclaiming “Gut!” or “Ja!” each time. That he was delighted was beyond doubt, though I was unsure just how much he understood. In truth, beneath his grand trappings, he was but an old man with rouged cheeks. Puffs of white powder fell continually from his wig. His sleeves were flaked with the stuff.

When I came to the end of my tales, he held up a thickly veined hand. “Is good, yes.” He seemed to like that little phrase. Then he waved to two men in livery, one bearing a cushion, the other a sword.

Mister Walpole, who had grasped the situation, pointed to the cushion, which had been placed on the floor before the King, and beckoned me to step forward. I was at a loss as to what was happening. The Prime Minister gestured for me to kneel.

The King raised the sword, then touched it to each of my shoulders, “Captain Sir Dowlitch.” He struggled with my name, and still I was in the dark.

Mister Walpole escorted me back to my seat. Jensen saw my puzzled look. “You have just been knighted,” he informed me. “You are now Sir Bren Dawlish.”

“Jesus!” I whispered. “It can’t be. If they knew—”

“Shush,” Jensen said. “After today, they’ll never see you again.”

“Gentlemen!” Walpole interrupted us. “Attend to the King, if you please. Mister Jensen, if you would step forward.”

To Tom’s utter amazement, he was now Captain Sir Thomas Jensen.

With the ceremony at an end, the King beamed at us. ”Is gut… good? You serve me now … venn you permit.”

“Yes, Your Majesty,” I said, stunned.

He narrowed his eyes at us, looking from one to the other. I wondered, were we expected to say something? Then he looked about the lofty chamber and began to applaud us. Everyone was expected to join in. It had been a capital audience, but it was clear now that it was at an end. The King gave a slight bow, which we returned, and took his leave. Just as he reached the side door, however, he turned and made a beckoning gesture.

We stood dumbfounded, not knowing which of us he meant.

“You!” he said. I placed an inquisitive finger to my chest. “Ja, you!” he repeated.

“His Majesty desires a word with you in private,” Walpole said. “Don’t keep him waiting.”

I hurried across the room with as much confidence as I could muster, but with a rising fear in my heart.

“At your service, Your Majesty,” I said, making yet another bow.

He stepped close to me, but before he spoke, he scowled over my shoulder. That was the signal for everyone else to step back and direct their attention elsewhere.

“Your Spanish,” said the King in a low voice. “She is beautiful.”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Quite.”

“And you luff her?”

“With all my heart, Your Majesty.”

“Is good, yes,” he said. “But you – how do you say…?”

I waited while he pondered his next question. His English seemed to have improved rather rapidly, but either he could not find the proper words, or he believed no words would do, for his question, when it came, took the form of a simple test: his hand shot forward and seized my crotch. A true man would have yelped in pain. I did not, and I was much too taken aback to dissemble.

Not another word passed between us. His Majesty merely gave my privates an affectionate jiggle and upon winking at me, I am sure, went about his royal business. It took all my strength not to laugh out loud.

Jensen gave me a quizzical look as I rejoined the group, but I waved it off. Walpole took no notice. “Well done, Captains,” he was saying. “This has been a success. I didn’t know His Highness intended to knight you both. Quite a pleasant surprise. My congratulations. I have never seen him so jolly.”

“And I’ll wager you never will again,” I said.

“Indeed. You may know that our good King George has never been very popular with the people. They regard him as too Deutsch. Some even think him an idiot because he does not speak English well.”

“He is no fool,” I said.

Le mot juste. In any case, he is immensely pleased with what you have done, and he wants it known that you have done it for him. His standing has taken quite an upturn since your arrival. I would imagine your knighthoods are his attempt at playing to the people.

“By the by,” Walpole added, “there’s a solicitor coming to see you. It’s all perfectly above board. I think what he has to say will interest you.”


The solicitor fellow looked just as I imagined he might – tiny, with ink-stained fingers and odd-looking spectacles that sat crookedly upon his nose. His appearance, though, quite belied his mind. He was as sharp as a blade, though perhaps a tad excitable. It seems that Mister Walpole’s office had thought I might like to know where my parents came from. It seemed it hadn’t been difficult for them to find that I had an extensive family on my father’s side, at not too great a distance, in Surrey. He advised me that most were not of the gentry, but rather farm labourers and such. In particular, he had found an uncle who was the proprietor of a public house.

He had not yet found my mother’s family, but would make further enquiries if I wished. The little man left me with a dossier of names and addresses. Most had some reference to their relationship with me.

“I have kept my fees to a minimum,” he concluded. “The Prime Minister’s office said you are quite capable of paying.”

It had occurred to me of late that everyone was keen to spend my money for me.

I travelled with Marianna to a place called Guildford, where we took rooms in a pleasant country inn. Over the next two weeks, we visited a number of families. Most had heard of me but had not realised I was their kin. I had thought to present myself in the country as I truly am, but Marianna had dissuaded me. Sir Bren I was, and Sir Bren I would remain for the duration.

With the assistance of a local solicitor, I purchased five farms and one public house. The farms had been split into smaller parcels. My family were tenant farmers. It did not take long to see how they struggled to pay extortionate rents and still make a living.

At our final meeting, some wept with joy when they heard of my intentions. From then on, they would pay only sixpence a year in rent – a mere trifle, but enough to satisfy the law. In return, they would keep the fences and walls of the properties in good repair.

I was astonished that the public house was named The Foxy Lady. How appropriate, I thought. The landlord, one John Dawlish, had not known of my existence, despite he was my father’s brother. Once more, I asked for only a token rent. More importantly, his was now a “free house.” He could sell any beer he wished and was no longer tied to a single brewery.


It transpired that Marianna and I weren’t quite the richest couple in Britain, but we were amongst the top five, with approximately two and half million pounds.* The question remained, what on earth should we do with it? Of course, it wasn’t all mine. It had to be divvied up between us and the crew. Exactly how and when was not something I had given much thought to.

We had been gone several weeks. It had been a refreshing change to just travel about the countryside meeting far more family than the solicitor had discovered, all of them surprised at the existence of a long lost male relative, and a famous one at that. Having settled the legal details with the solicitor, I felt it was time to be back to London, to see how my ships were progressing.

The dockyard chief walked with me to the Siren. There had been some major changes, he explained, as well as many fittings that had needed replacement. I stopped in my tracks. “She’s longer than before – good Lord, much longer! How on earth have you managed that?”

“You didn’t know? How very odd, but those were my instructions. I have the drawings here, Sir. I intended to show you what we’ve done. But, yes, she’s twenty feet longer than before. She was always too stubby for those two large masts. You said she sailed well. Now you will find her even better. And she can carry more sail. We know for certain she has sister ships, and we have already done the same to a couple of them.

“As for how, it’s quite easy… merely expensive. We remove approximately twenty feet from the front of her – the curved part of the bow. Then, to put it in simple terms, we add new oak frame timbers and lengthen the keel, before she’s replanked.”

I understood what he meant, although it wasn’t something I had known was possible.

The cannon were an even bigger surprise. Siren now carried two eighteen-pounders, two of twelve and twenty of nine, besides the two swivel guns. By my estimation, she was now, in effect, a frigate and no longer a brig. Majestic had also been fitted with eighteens and twelves.

My cabin was also more spacious, and there were now two more proper, though smaller, cabins. And there was something I knew would delight Marianna – our cot was considerably wider than before.

Throughout the ship, there were many more changes, both large and small. I’d take them all in later, but I wasn’t sure whether I should be delighted or enraged. No one had thought to consult me before making such dramatic changes to my own ship. I queried the dockyard chief again. Who, exactly, had given the instructions?

“The orders came directly from the palace and were approved by the Admiralty Board,” he replied. “As I heard it, the King insisted you have a ship worthy of your status and abilities. I have held off on one change though, because it’s very much a captain’s decision. He wants ‘Royal’ added to both your ships’ names.”

So my flagship was to be the Royal Siren.

“I rather like that,” I said. “Just so long as the bugger doesn’t think he owns me. Yes, you may go ahead with that.”

I thought he would have a fit when I referred to His Majesty as a bugger. I laughed. “Oh, don’t you worry. Old Georgie and I are great friends, don’t you know?”

It was that last sentence that brought it home to me. It really was time to be away from here. I was beginning to speak like a toff!

I would call a meeting of all hands, and we would decide our future as a team.

* Approximately two and a half billion pounds in today’s money.

On to Chapter Eight!


9 Comments on Captain Bren and the Royal Siren, Chapter 7

  1. kacey says:

    Very good, Mi’Ladies. And the illustration!! (IF Emily Kaldwin had a younger sister!) 😊

  2. Powertenor246 says:

    Greetings Kinky Ladies!! This chapter is phenomenally magnificent! I liked pretty much all aspects of it. The character development is devine, the situational development follows suit, and lastly, the story arc is progressing very well indeed. It benefits from your research into the overarching status of pirates and privateers in the 16th & 17th century Caribbean waters. We now have a sliver of a glimpse into how things could have played out in they time period. I enjoyed it immensely, please keep up the very good work indeed. If our genre of writing had an award, I would gleefully submit your writings for it. I would be so excited and glad for you if you walked away with a Hugo or a Clarke for this story. It is as
    rollicking a tale as any winners of those awards could produce. Of this I am certain. Keep up the great work!

    A devoted fan,

  3. Kim & Sue says:

    Just to say the first two comments above sum it up for us as well. Not much to add except thanks again Kinkys and JJ.

  4. Erocritique says:

    So no picnic, but we did get a very erotic romp with all the Fleming girls. Sarah using Kaiya’s potion to get Bren to succumbs to her advances was very naughty. Fortunately, Bren was generally willing to engage in the sexual action, and she certainly enjoyed herself. (That scene did cause me to wonder when strap-ons and other sex toys were invented – which led to some interesting and informative research). The rest of the chapter, with its focus on securing the crew’s fortune, fame, and amnesty, was quite satisfying. I especially liked how Bren saw to her family’s well being, with an eye on the plight of other exploited souls as well. I didn’t like it when Old King George “grabbed” Bren by “the pussy”. – It worked in the context of the scene and the story, but was somewhat triggering in the age of Donald Drumpf. I agree with Bren that it’s time to take leave of that whole situation. Captain Bren was made for the freedom of the sea and command. I’m very interested in seeing what transpires in the next chapter, and who decides to return to life on the waves aboard the “Royal Siren”. (The origin of the title of this tale is revealed) ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

  5. kinkys_sis says:

    @ kacey – Thank you. I had no idea who Emily Kaldwin was until I checked.

    @ Powertenor246 – And another thank you. Where would we be without fans?

    @ Kim & Sue – Indeed, and thanks for mentioning JJ, it’s deserving of such.

    @ Erocritique – As ever, an in-depth critique. There is another brush with the higher echelons to come, but then, let battle commence.

  6. Kim & Sue says:

    Just wondered, are women ever knighted as women or is there another ceremony for that? But to be sure we loved our Captain being knighted just the same. Gender bending is always fun.

    Also very good description of London at the time, and enjoyed the phrase I went in search of Davy. He took some finding but, eventually, there he was, holding up the bar in the Pig and Whistle public house.

    Oh yes and hot sex as well.

    • kinkys_sis says:

      Yes, women can be knighted in England – Dame Judy Dench, Helen Mirren, Maggie Smith, Emma Thompson, Twiggy, Elizabeth Taylor, and many more for example. They were rarely knighted in Captain Bren’s time, but it was possible.

      Throughout Europe, there have been many famous women knights. Joan of Arc is one, although French.

      I almost forgot – thanks for the comment.

  7. Captain Midnight says:

    I had not realized I hadn’t commented on this chapter and the next one until Sis mentioned it in another comment.

    I was so thrilled by the history and the people involved. There is no ‘action’ in the way of a fight, and only one sex scene (which I skimmed past), but having Captain Ben meeting the King himself, Sir Robert Walpole, and other figures of England in the early eighteenth century, makes this a great chapter indeed!

    I am indulging myself into thinking the sky playwright at the press conference was Colley Cibber, a future Poet Laureate of the United Kingdom who was the main target of “The Dunciad” by Alexander Pope. Cibber was a lousy writer remembered because Pope lampooned him and every other lousy writer in the realm.

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