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When Pirates Negotiate (m/f)

laughter_n_love

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The impact of the two massive ships colliding was thunderous, knocking many of Raveneye's men off their feet. The groaning of the wooden hulls grinding each other into splinters momentarily drowned out the roar of many pistols firing their one and only shot across both decks. The grappling hooks came next, tethering the two ships together, and then dozens of men were swinging from ropes to drop onto the decks of the Iron Lady, swords and axes at the ready.

Raveneye left the wheel to join the battle taking place below. A cutlass in one hand and a dagger in the other, the captain of the Iron Lady fought valiantly, but the numbers were too overwhelming in favor of the enemy. Recognizing that victory would be impossible, Raveneye begrudgingly yielded before any more crew could be slain. The Iron Lady had been lost.

The enemy captain, a flamboyant French pirate by the name of LaPlume, approached with a cocky swagger. "Well well well, this be but a fine day! Never in me wildest dreams did I imagine that I'd ever have Captain Raveneye, Scourge of the Caribbean, kneeling at me feet!"

Raveneye was unimpressed by his bluster. "I'm sure ye didn't. With those fancy leggings, ridiculous hat, and womanly color in your cheeks, I take ye as the sort who prefers to be on his hands and knees." Though unarmed and held at the tips of swords, a few of the disappointed members of the Iron Lady's crew couldn't help but chuckle at their captain's insult.

LaPlume snaked a gloved hand out and grabbed Raveneye's face. "Watch your tongue, Witch, lest I be tempted to cut it out, and then nary be calling ye the Siren of the Seas any longer, aye?"

Raveneye shook his hand off, causing her hat to tumble off and unleash her mane of luxurious black hair. She glared at LaPlume with her mismatched eyes, one steely blue, the other so dark it was nearly black. She hated that moniker, desiring to be known for her prowess as a captain and fierceness as a pirate, not for her hauntingly beautiful looks. "What ye be wanting, LaPlume? Did ye come aboard hoping I might be having some dresses that flatter your bosom?"

LaPlume snorted. "Hardly, Witch. I know ye spent the last few months sailing the Bahamas, sacking every town ye be coming across, and I'm here to relieve ye of the treasure."

It was true. Raveneye and her crew had ravaged the many islands of the Bahamas, acquiring a considerable fortune in gold and jewels, but it had come at a sizeable cost to her crew and ship, which was the only reason they had been so easily boarded. She was not about to hand over the fruits of all her hard labor to an undeserving fool like LaPlume.

"Aye, ye be half right, Peacock. The Iron Lady did terrorize the Bahamas, but that treasure be gone. The lusty whores in San Juan be jingling when they walk now after we be visiting. Isn't that right lads?" she called out. Her crew roared in approval, remembering the debauchery of being in port with pockets of gold. Though things looked bleak, it was important for Raveneye to remain cool in this situation, lest her men lose respect for the only female pirate captain sailing the Caribbean.

LaPlume shook his head. "Tis a good story, but I fear it be far from the whole truth." He turned and signaled to his men to search the Iron Lady before turning his eyes back on Raveneye, looking her up and down with a purpose. "Even if it be true, the captain's share surely is still here for the taking."

Raveneye smiled, sensing an opportunity to turn the tables. If she could get LaPlume to let his guard down, she might be able to get a dagger to his throat and convince his men to abandon the ship. "Oh?" she asked, suggestively loosening the knot of the kerchief she wore around her neck to reveal her long throat, making her look even more feminine. "Do ye think I don't indulge when I'm port?" She reached out and ran her hands along LaPlume's outer thighs. "Come below deck and I'll show ye just how well I can indulge."

LaPlume paused, considering the offer. At that moment, his men called up to announce there was no treasure on board. At once, his blade was up and poised under her chin. "Nice try, Witch, but there be time for that after I collect the treasure. Now, where ye be hiding it?"

Raveneye cursed under her breath. This wasn't going well. The question now was how to salvage the best of a bad situation. She sighed. "It's not here. We buried it a week ago on an unnamed island."

"And where might that be?"

She looked up at him, her eyes hard and unwavering. "I forget," she lied.

LaPlume held out his hand, in which one of his men placed a loaded pistol. "Let's just jiggle ye memory then." He pointed it at one of the members of the Iron Lady's crew and fired, killing the man instantly. "Has it come to ye yet?" he asked.

Raveneye fumed, her blood boiling in rage. She reached back to punch him square in the jewels, but one of his men anticipated the blow and captured her wrist before she could throw it. "Ye will pay for that, Cowardly Dog!" she seethed as her wrists were shackled behind her back. "And if another member of me crew is harmed, ye will NEVER get your slimy hands on that treasure!"

LaPlume chuckled, cocking a second loaded pistol. He aimed it at another crew member. "We be at an impasse then. If the treasure is to escape me, then I'll take sanctuary in killing the entire crew, one by one, while ye watch. Is that what ye wish?"

Raveneye wanted nothing more than to slit his pompous throat. "Okay, I'll tell ye the location, but only after ye meet me terms."

LaPlume seemed amused that she was setting the terms when he held all the power. "And those being?"

"Spare the Iron Lady and the crew. Take me aboard your ship, and when the Iron Lady can no longer be seen over the horizon, I'll tell ye the location of me buried treasure."

LaPlume didn't hesitate to agree. Raveneye was hoisted to her feet and dragged over to the boarding plank. She gave her first mate, now the captain of the Iron Lady, a head signal as she was escorted off her ship. He nodded in return, knowing what his orders were.

Once on the deck of LaPlume's ship. the Fille Riante, she turned in horror as she watched LaPlume's crew take axes to the Iron Lady's main mast. A few minutes later, the mast came crashing down, the main sails along with it, and just like that, the Iron Lady was a floating hulk of wood that would no longer sail. "Take us to the horizon," LaPlume ordered his crew. He gave Raveneye a smile that chilled her to the bone. "And bring Captain Raveneye down to the brig….and make her…comfortable."

She was dragged below the decks by two pirates to the lowest level of the ship where she had to duck in spots to clear her head. They brought her to where a pair of cells stood empty and walked her inside. The pirates then began to manhandle her, forcing her off her feet and guiding her legs up high through the bars of the cell. One held her ankles fast while the other used rope to bind her knees to the bars. She lay on the back of her shoulders and neck, her wrists still shackled behind her, while her bottom hovered over the straw at the bottom of the cell. Her upper legs were completely immobile, but her booted feet and calves swung freely outside the bars of the cell. "What idiocy is this?!" she cried, struggling for release and comfort, neither of which was forthcoming. He feet kicked uselessly at nothing.

The pair of pirates left her, but she was joined soon after by LaPlume, looking as smug as ever. "The Iron Lady, or what is left of her, is nearly out of sight. We sail back in the direction from which ye came. Where should I be telling me men to stop?"

Raveneye scoffed. "Fool. Ye may have wounded the Iron Lady, but me crew is like none other, They'll have her sailing again in no time. You've lost…I'll not be telling ye where me treasure is."

LaPlume nodded, as if expecting this kind of response. "I thought as much. I also knew that as long as ye stood before ye crew, ye would never budge an inch. But now we be alone, with no one to impress. Time to loosen those pretty lips." He grabbed a hold of one of her boots and tugged it off.

Raveneye gasped, and then burst out laughing. "Oh, ye are a funny peacock of a man!" She waved her filthy bare foot at him. "Is this what powders your pistol? I hope ye enjoy the stink!" She had not bathed in at least a week and the scent of her foot reflected that.

LaPlume winced at the odor but pressed forward, tugging off her other boot. Her feet were covered in dirt and grime, but they were shapely and feminine, like the rest of her. He clapped a pair of shackles around her ankles, securing them to one another, before running a line of rope between them.

Raveneye watched as best she could from her awkward position, wondering what he was up to. A moment later she found out, as her legs were straightened out and her ankles forced up high, to the point that he was able to use the rope between the ankle shackles to secure them to the bars of the cell. Her feet lay helpless outside the cell just about at the level of his chin.

Her thoughts turned to flogging. She'd never been whipped on her soles before, but she'd heard it was incredibly painful. She swallowed, trying to harden her resolve for the pain that was surely forthcoming.

LaPlume had other ideas, however. He reached into a bucket of soapy water left outside her cell and withdrew a brush normally reserved for scrubbing blood off the decks. "Your feet be a sad sight indeed, Captain, but this here will take care of that." Without waiting for a response, he applied the stiff bristles to her soles and began to scrub.

Raveneye screamed in shock and horror. There was some pain, of that she was certain, but far and away it the overwhelming tickling sensations that bombarded her brain. Her feet, either bare along sandy shores or encased in supple leather, were soft and sensitive, and no amount of grime or stink could mask how unbearably ticklish they were.

She went into full-fledged panic mode, flopping around as much as her bondage allowed, her feet wildly protesting the scrubbing of the bristles. There was no relief to be found, and her screams and wails eventually gave way to a frantic cackling This was torture unlike anything she ever could have imagined. "Stop! Stop!" she screamed. "I'll talk! I'll talk!"

LaPlume chuckled and loaded up the brush with more soapy water. "I know ye will, Witch. But I hardly be done yet." His brush went back to work, seeking out the dark spots that remained on her toes and soles.

Raveneye wailed in frustration. The Scourge of the Caribbean, undone by a simple foot tickling. The Siren of the Seas, defeated by a brush. It was as humiliating as it was torturous. Her feet flailed in every direction, but LaPlume was undeterred. He brushed and scrubbed and cleaned until her throat grew hoarse from the mixture of screams and cackles those bristles forced from her, and still he scrubbed on.

It wasn't until all the dirt and grime and filth had been eliminated from her feet that he finally dropped the brush back into the bucket. Not only had he completely exorcised the foul odor, he also managed to restore her feet to a state of pristine cleanliness the likes of which they probably hadn't seen in years. Along with filth, his brush had also scrubbed away all traces of callouses or dry skin, until all that was left was smooth pink flesh that radiated a healthy glow.

Raveneye coughed and struggled for air. She had no idea how long he had used that brush on her feet, but it had felt like an eternity. She lay in her helpless position, ashamed at having been broken so easily, but equally determined to tell LaPlume what he wanted to know. "Southwest of Antigua…14 miles…marked by an outcropping of rocks along the eastern shore…" she croaked, giving him as much detail as she could.

LaPlume relayed her information on to one of his crew. A moment later, the ship veered as the course changed direction.

At last her breathing returned to normal, but her throat still burned from the forced laughter. She was furious inside, both at having given away her secret, and at having given him the satisfaction of breaking her, but she refused to say or do anything to provoke him. The fear she felt of that brush was real.

LaPlume stood where she could see him. The smugness on his face was beyond disgusting. "Ye surprised me, Witch. I expected ye to talk, but not until I had a chance to torture ye."

"Ye don't call that torture!?"

He slipped off his leather gloves, revealing his hands for the first time, and Raveneye gasped. His fingernails were unlike any she had ever seen before. They were long, like a woman's, and yellowish. He tapped them against the cell, demonstrating how hard they were. The looked like pure bones, and worst of all, they were filed into pointed tips. Raveneye knew at once what he intended.

"No, please! I told ye what ye wanted! Please, I'm begging! Don't do this!"

He wiggled his claws menacingly in the air before returning to position in front of Raveneye's flailing soles. She scrunched up her face, hoping it would help her resist what she knew what was coming. Her feet were still raw and pulsating from the scrubbing, her nerve endings all on high alert. There was no way she would be able to stand what he was about to do.

She didn't. His claws scrabbled hard lines into her sensitive feet, and as before, she screamed and fought for freedom that could not be found. Flapping her feet as fast as she could, she resisted in the only means available to her, not that it mattered much. The pointed tips of his hard nails dragged white lines into the pink flesh of her creamy soles, each one eliciting another laughing wail from her breast.

Tears flowed freely from her eyes. What was left of her voice was ripped from her in short work. And still he did not show her any quarter. It wasn't until he had reduced her to silent laughter that he paused from scraping his nails along the bottoms of her feet.

"Mercy…mercy…" she wheezed, feeling like her lungs were on fire and her feet had been flayed until all her skin was gone, one fingernail at a time.

"The Scourge of the Caribbean, begging for mercy! This be a fine day indeed!"

Raveneye didn't care anymore. He could taunt her all he liked. She was done trading barbs with him.

"Please…" was all she could manage.

LaPlume produced a length of twine and began to tie her big toes together with it. She groaned, wondering how much he needed to see her suffer before he was satisfied. He used the twine to tie her toes back to the cell, forcing her feet into an uncompromising flexed position from which she could not move. The last bit of her freedom had been taken from her.

From the distinctive hat that he always wore, he plucked the comically long feather. Raveneye tensed, knowing it was pointless, but the body reacts of its own volition in times of distress. He used the tip of the feather to flutter along the pads of her toes.

She wailed again. This didn’t tickle like the brush or his nails, but her feet were so super sensitive at this point that even the feather was an unwelcome and irritating sensation from which she found herself trying to escape. She was unable to hold back the stream of giggles that poured from behind her lips, but she was able to mix in a steady stream of curses along with them.

The feather danced up and down the soles of her trapped feet, producing forced giggles. "Bastard! I'm going to kill ye for this!" The feather teased the stems of her toes. More giggling. "I hate ye. I can't wait to slice your throat!' The feather snaked in between her toes and twirled. Endless, unabated giggling. "I'm going to….I'm…I'm…please stop!" Once again, she was broken, unable to do anything but laugh and squirm and bug for mercy.

At that moment, the ship was rocked by a volley of cannonballs that ripped holes into the hull not far from where LaPlume was torturing her feet. He immediately sprang up the stairs to find the source of the attack.

Raveneye was left panting in her bonds, as helpless as ever and now just one cannon shot away from visiting Davy Jones locker. She listened to the battle raging overhead, first the return cannon fire, and then more cannonballs striking the Fille Riante, and then, as before, the sounds of ships colliding and men fighting hand to hand.

At long last, the sounds of the battle ceased. She waited, not knowing who the victor was, and what fate might be in store for her. And so she waited. And waited.

And then, with more than just a bit of fear in her heart, she finally heard the sound of footfalls coming down the stairs to find her.
 
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