They had made good progress, at least until now, having
sailed for over a week without having to reef in the sails or to make more than
minor changes to their course. It had been idyllic, with a following wind, a
relatively calm sea and a crew that enjoyed sharing each other's company.
Pete, Wendy, Margo and Silva had spent almost all of the
past six months on one of the smallest of the thousands of inhabitable West
Indian islands that stretch along the east coast of the Americas, from off the
North American continent, right down to Venezuela.
They had rented their tropical paradise for six months
and were now heading back to what some might call civilisation, but to them it
meant the breaking of a spell; something that they would never forget.
Pete let the yacht take its own course, within reason,
allowing the following wind to take them in the general direction they needed
to go, but calling in on any island on their route if it took their fancy.
But now the wind that had carried them all this way had
finally let them down, had finally died and they were left in the doldrums,
wallowing on an oily sea with only one island in view.
“The way we're drifting,” said Wendy, studying the island
through her binoculars and who had beyond a doubt, proved to be the best
navigator on board. “We'll miss the island by at least a couple of miles. More,
Wendy was typically Anglo Saxon, with long blonde hair
that had been bleached almost white by the months in strong sunlight.
“Just as well,” commented Pete, borrowing the binoculars
from Wendy and surveying the island himself. “By the look of those cliffs, we
could be in trouble if we got too close to them.”
Margo and Silva lay in the cabin below and not where they
wanted to be, sunning themselves on deck, although Silva, with her almost jet
black skin, had no cause to require a tan. Margo too was dark skinned, coming
from South American extraction and by the amount of sun they had been exposed
to in the past six months, she was considerably darker than her normal golden
They both raised their heads and looked up as Pete came
down into the cabin and looked at them.
“Had enough?” he enquired with a grin.
They both nodded without uttering a word, which for them
was unusual, until it was considered that both were efficiently gagged, with
wads of cloth filling their mouths, sealed in with ample layers of adhesive
Both girls were totally naked, which had been the
standard mode of 'dress' for most of their time away from civilisation, but at
the moment their bodies were firmly bound with lengths of white rope which
contrasted dramatically with their dark skins.
“Oh no!” said a determined voice behind them and they
looked up again, to see that Wendy had also come down into the cabin. “They
aren't going to get away just yet. At least not until I've had a play with
The blonde held up two wicked looking vibrators and
handed one to Pete.
“Which one do you want?” she asked, meaning which girl,
rather than which vibrator.
“I'm feeling generous today,” he said with a grin,
looking down at the squirming protesting girls. “You choose!”
Wendy knelt down beside the black girl and carefully
stroked her thick wiry hair.
“Hi Silva!” she teased, a grin on her face, then held up
the vibrator. “Look what I've got for you!”
Silva made some odd noises from behind the gag, then gave
up on that and shook her head in a half-hearted protest.
“It's no good you trying to get out of it,” laughed the
blonde as she placed the tip of the toy against the black fuzz of Silva's
fanny. “You know you like it and would only moan if I let you get away without
completing the job!”
The black girl didn't even try to answer, simply gave a
soft groan, closed her eyes and accepted the smooth cool vibrator as it slipped
inside her hole.
Wendy looked up from her task to see that Pete had done
the same with his victim and they looked across at each other, smiled and
The next second, the vibrators were switched on and both
bound and gagged girls reacted by straightening their legs and tensing their
“Mmmmmm!” was all Silva could say in protest, as Wendy
wiggled the tool about inside its tight little hole.
“Oh!” said Wendy, in response to Silva's protestations. “You
want some more?”
She switched the vibro on to full power and Silva
screamed, as much as was possible from behind the gag.
She curled her legs up then, trying to push the buzzing
tormenting device even further up her hole and clamped her strong muscles
around the device, encouraging it to press against her clit and tease her to
its ultimate conclusion.
Wendy, aware of the vice like grip Silva had on the
vibrator, let it stay where it was and used both hands to press the lips of her
victim's vagina around the vibrating device, then pressed the palm of her hand
hard over the outside of the pussy to add to the pressure of the vibro against
Encouraged by the black girl's desperate struggles to
bring herself to a climax, Wendy reached between her own legs and eased a
finger into her own, hot, wet and throbbing slit, gasping as she located her
over sensitive 'G' spot and began to masturbate herself, while encouraging her
helpless victim to do her own thing.
Wendy gave a minute squeal as she rocketed towards orgasm
and looked across at the other pair, who were totally absorbed in their own
seventh heaven, with Pete masturbating himself, while making quite sure that
Margo was going to blow whether she wanted to or not. By the look on Margo's
face, she very much wanted to shoot straight through to paradise.
It wasn't difficult to tell who reached orgasm first as
Silva stretched out, straining desperately against her bonds and let out a
loud, muffled grunt from behind her gag, then another, as the second climax hit
her. She shuddered and sank down in tender agony as the teasing weapon was
It wasn't so easy to tell who reached their climax next,
as the reaction to Silva's struggles was the signal for the other three to
respond in a similar fashion and with some considerable noise and a great deal
of heavy breathing, they each hit their own version of heaven, until all were
“We're missing all that lovely sun out there,” complained
Silva, as soon as the gag was plucked from her mouth.
Wendy untied the ropes and Silva gave her a hug, kissing
her full on the lips.
“Thanks!” she whispered, giving her an affectionate
squeeze. “That was great!”
“It did something for me too, you know!” replied the
“Not that I would have noticed!” laughed Silva, as she
followed the others up on deck.
The two girls, who had until recently been playing
bondage games, stretched their slim bodies out on the fore-deck to make up for
lost time and vaguely noted that since they had been up on deck an hour ago,
the yacht had continued to drift past the island. They were still hoping that
the wind would pick up, but there was no sign of it yet.
“What's that over there?” asked Wendy, turning her
binoculars on a yellowy/grey patch of sea in the direction they were drifting.
“It looks like a patch of sea mist,” said Pete, trying to
focus his own binoculars on the distant patch. “I think we'd better start the
engine and try and avoid it if we can.”
He stepped into the covered cockpit but the mist was
deceptive and started to roll around the boat within a few seconds.
“As we're drifting away from the island, there should be
no problem about those cliffs,” he said to the girls, as they gathered their
things and moved down into the main cabin to get out of the sudden chill. “I
would prefer it if we didn't run the engine. If there are any other ships in
the area, we want to be able to hear them.”
The mist continued to roll over the craft and the four of
them pulled on jeans and sweaters, then stood out on deck to watch the fog
billow silently about them until the visibility was reduced to such an extent
that they could scarcely see to the other end of the yacht.
“Why is it so yellow?” asked Silva, her voice soft and
low, as she wrapped her arms around her body against the sudden drop in
“I don't know,” whispered Pete in reply.
“Why are we whispering?” asked Margo, her voice as quiet
as the rest and her big, liquid brown eyes growing larger than ever.
“I don't know that either,” answered Pete, “but it is
spooky, isn't it?”
“I can't hear a thing,” said Margo.
“None of us will, if you don't shut up!” squeaked Silva,
looking around as if she expected to see something appear out of the mist at
They stood there in the absolute silence of the blanket
of fog, just staring at the odd yellow light that surrounded them; the only sound
the occasional lap of water against the hull of the yacht and the even more
occasional flap of the sails as they tried to catch the slightest of breezes.
Then everything happened at once.
There was the loud clang of a bell, accompanied by a
multitude of creaking ropes and with the whoosh of water being pushed aside by
force, a massive black shadow loomed out of the yellow mist and headed straight
“Look out!” yelled Pete pointlessly, as the prow of a
huge wooden galleon loomed over them, then made contact with the starboard bow
of their yacht, brushing it aside as if it were flotsam.
The girls screamed as the yacht heeled over.
“Jump for it!” shouted Pete, trying to raise his voice
above the creaking, rushing sounds and seeing that the girls had pre-empted his
call, followed their lead and leaped for the numerous ropes that hung down from
the ancient timbers.
All four managed to scramble onto the tarred nets in the
bowsprit and hung there as their yacht gave a lurch and was pushed under the surface
by the massive timbers of the vessel.
“What in God's name is this?” screeched Silva, her face
turning several shades paler than it had a short while ago.
“I hope someone is going to tell me I'm wrong, but it
looks to me like a Spanish galleon,” croaked Margo.
“Spanish galleons went out of fashion a few hundred years
ago,” replied Wendy uncertainly and then, when nobody replied. “Well? Didn't
“Of course they did!” assured Pete, easing his way up
over the net and peering onto the fore-deck. “Maybe you should tell the crew of
this ship that things have changed a bit since then.”
“I know,” said Margo suddenly, her face brightening up,
as if she had come to a definite decision. “This is a ghost ship!”
“Don't say things like that,” said Wendy, shivering more
from the thought than the cool mist. “Anyway, it feels pretty solid to me!”
Always the practical one, Wendy tried to reassure the
others, but she spoke in a whisper as if she had a hard time convincing herself
let alone anyone else.
“Come on, you lot,” called Pete in a hoarse whisper.
They scrambled up onto the fore-deck, expecting to see
somebody, but there was no-one in sight, so they crept over to the ornamental
rail and looked down on the main deck as far as the yellow fog would allow. The
rear of the ship was still shrouded in mist.
Easing themselves down the steps, onto the main deck,
they crept forward towards the stern.
“I don't like it!” whispered Margo.
“Why are you whispering again?” whispered Silva.
“The same reason you are!” came the reply.
Pete stopped and looked about him.
“This is bloody ridiculous!” he said. “Here we are,
creeping about on a three hundred year old ship in the middle of the West
Indies and whispering like scared rabbits!”
“So who's arguing?” said Silva, shrugging her shoulders.
Pete took a deep breath, cupped his hands over his mouth
and shouted at the top of his voice.
“Hello there! Anybody aboard?”
They stood there then, breathless and in silence,
listening for an answer and half hoping that there wouldn't be one.
Suddenly there was a clattering of feet on wooden boards
and raised voices. The next second, figures seemed to appear from all
directions, sliding down the rigging, racing down the steps and leaping from
hatches, until the group were surrounded by staring onlookers.
The four stood and stared back, not knowing what to say. Stunned
The figures surrounding them were all men, of innumerable
shapes and sizes, but they all had one thing in common. They were all dressed
as pirates, straight out of a story book, only these were no figment of the
imagination. These were very real and with their cutlasses and daggers drawn,
they looked convincingly menacing.
A man in a long, bright green coat and sporting the
biggest red beard they had ever seen, pushed his way through the crowd and
“What be you a’doin' here?” he said, rolling his eyes in
the traditional manner.
“I'm awfully sorry!” replied Pete, trying his best to
smile. “You seem to have run over our yacht.”
Silva rolled her own eyes at the understatement of the
“YOU WHAT?” roared the man, then turned to his fellow
pirates and began to laugh. “It seems we have a jester on board.”
The big man stepped up to Pete, who seemed to shrink by
“Now tell me the truth, landlubber!” he growled through
his bush of beard. “Who sent you to spy on us? Tell me the truth or it will be
the worse for you all.”
“Leave him alone, you big bully,” yelled Wendy and gave
the man a hefty kick in the shins.
“Yeeow!” he boomed, bent over, grabbed Wendy by the front
of her sweater and hauled her off her feet.
“What have we here?” he rumbled, pressing his huge face
close to hers. “If it ain't some wenches!”
He let her go and she tumbled to the deck.
“Maybe we should have some fun with 'em!” he grumbled,
then turned away, as if he had lost interest, calling over his shoulder, “Bind
'em and throw 'em in the sail locker. I'll deal with 'em later, when we get out
'o this blasted fog!”
The four captives were grabbed and had their hands
roughly bound behind their back with course rope, then while a large hatch set
in the wooden deck was lifted, Pete and the three girls were dropped one by one
into the sail locker, tumbling in a heap on the store of canvas, which
fortunately broke their fall, but did nothing to allay their fears for the
With the hatch slammed down above their heads, they lay
in total darkness and listened to the footsteps of the crew on the deck, as
they went about their business.
“Is every one all right?” asked Pete, as he struggled
into a sitting position.
“Apart from a few bruises and having my dignity hurt, I
think I'm still in one piece,” replied Wendy. “How about you, Margo?”
“Jesus Christus!” cursed the Latin and grunted as she
struggled to free her bound hands. “If I ever get my hands on that shitting
creep of a pirate!”
“How about you, Silva?” called Wendy, her eyes trying
unsuccessfully to penetrate the dark.
“I'm O.K!” came the voice from over the other side of the
compartment. “If I can find someone else in this stinking hole, maybe we can
get these ropes untied.”
“Good idea!” said Pete, cocking his ear and trying to
locate exactly where the voices were coming from and then, when no sound was
forthcoming, he had to call out. “Where the hell are you, Silva?”
“Over here!” she called and they worked towards each
other on their knees, struggling over the huge folds of canvas sail.
Having located each other, they sat back to back and
Silva, making use of her strong, pliable fingers, plucked at the knots that
secured Pete's rope until he was free. He then returned the compliment and very
soon all four at least had their hands free, even if it didn't improve their
situation to any great degree.
Suddenly, a thin shaft of light lit up their prison and
although the amount of light squeezing through a long crack in the bulkhead at
one end of the compartment was minimal, it gave enough light for them to see
each other, which provided a crumb of comfort.
“What in God's name is going on?” said Margo. “One minute
we’re in our yacht, wallowing around in fog and the next we get run down by a
ghost ship and captured by pirates, who’re several hundred years out of their
“They were real enough to me,” groaned Wendy. “There's
nothing ghostly about this lot, but I must confess, I'm as puzzled as you are.”
“Shut up, you two!” hissed Pete and crawled over the
bundles of canvas towards the slit of light. “I can hear voices.”
He peered through the crack in the timbers and saw
several of the pirates gathered in the cabin that joined onto their
compartment. They were sitting round a long wooden table and opening cans of
very up to date beer. The lighting too, although simulating the candle lanterns
of a bygone age, was artificial and actually powered by a very modern
“I say we throw them overboard!” said one of the pirates,
thumping his can of beer on the table to emphasise the point.
“Maybe they are who they say they are,” joined in
another, in between gulps of the ale. “Maybe they were just out sailing and
know nothing about the set-up.”
“In that case,” argued the first. “How is it we didn't
see them come on board? Answer me that!”
“My guess is they're FBI stooges, or coastguard, put on
board by inflatable dinghy,” said a third pirate. “In which case we should
throw them overboard and be done with it. What do you reckon, Jake?”
Jake was the bearded man who had appeared to be in charge
when the four had been captured and was obviously in charge now. The group of
men turned to the big man for an answer.
“In which case,” replied Jake, staring ferociously at the
man who had made the last suggestion. “We need to hang on to them. To find out
exactly what they're up to.”
The others growled in agreement and by the look of
respect and possibly fear on their faces, they dared not say otherwise.
“We hold on to them and use a little gentle persuasion to
ask them a few questions,” he continued, lowering his voice, so that they
unconsciously leaned forward to catch every word. He paused to make sure he had
everyone's attention and a wicked smile crossed his face as he added. “And then
we can throw them overboard!”
The assembly burst into uproar and beer was poured down
throats in celebration of the forthcoming entertainment.
“And now to business,” Jake shouted, calming the men
down. “Sam and Gus will take the junk ashore as soon as we dock. The rest of
you will get the passengers settled in their cabins and don't forget you're
pirates, so I want to hear plenty of pirate talk. These people are paying a lot
of dollars to be entertained and anyone who doesn't pull their weight can join
those others as shark feed.”
The men all mumbled and groaned, but whether or not they
took the threat seriously, none made any sign of protest.
“Come on then, lads!” called Jake, as he stood up from
the table, reverting to the accent of the pirate captain. “Look lively now. We'll
be ashore by nightfall and those landlubbers will want to be tucked up in their
bunks well before we sail on the tide.”
“Aye, aye, Cap'n!” they heartily replied and trampled out
of the cabin to return to their duties.
Pete turned to the girls, who had crowded around to
listen to what was being said.
“What was that all about?” asked Silva, a puzzled look on
her otherwise smooth, ebony face.