An age when the world as we knew it was smaller, and there were lands still not discovered. An age where the sea washed upon distant shores. It was no longer thought of as a square.

It, a majestic ship, constructed from the finest wood in the forest. Designed for transporting goods, or doing naval battle. Built with three masts, each towering a hundred feet, and it with a fuselage of over forty cannons. A slow behemoth, of strong oak. Lumber that had been dragged to the water’s edge and built with sweat and hands. Sealed tight by rope and pitch. It was audacious, and showed little respect for an enemy-ship, to sight its sails.

Now under sail of the winds, from Tortuga to Spain laden with goods to sell and barter. A voyage of several weeks. Tortuga, a port of call for pirates, swashbucklers, heathens and prostitutes. It was a safe-haven for those willing to pay the gold, in exchange for not answering questions. At any one time, ships of many flags dropped anchor. Rum and carnal knowledge was sought most frequently.

Her benefactor, a textile merchant, had given her all she could possess and paid a merchant to see her safely to Spain. He thought she would be in good watch and protected. His eyes closed in final sleep before her departure.

Not that the fat old merchant was any young girl’s dream, but in his way, he had been good to her. She was schooled by Catholic sisters, with even basic English. Her own apartments in his house, fine gowns, jewelry, the finest food and wines and best of all he had only bothered her, but once or twice a week. But when he did visit with her, she almost had to leave her own body and try not to think about how his body disgusted her. She was a beautiful girl who was quite shapely and quite stunning to look at.

The life of a kept woman wasn’t all that bad, when she had her alone times. Sex with him was an inquisition without pleasure. But, he did take her away from the life of being a whore. The joke in town was that ‘The Barber’s Chair’ had fucked the old merchant to death. Let them laugh! Died indeed he had, but he had provided for her, leaving her a treasure chest of silver and instructions for one of his captains to transport her to Mother Spain. There she would live like a true lady.

Her virginity, no longer a question, she would acquiesce in return for favors of poetic quotes from her would be suitors. Often gifting them with her velvet alabaster flesh and sweet spot of cunt. Raising her skirt and giving naughty peeks of her womanhood, as men gathered about her, as if common curs.

Before sailing, she sought a priest, for her own salivation. One can assume that fellatio was a basic staple, when she visited confessional, since the clergy had their own peccadillos. She performed her penance well.

The ship was two weeks out and she was still sea-sick. The rolling, rocking motion of the Galleon made her nauseous. Often heaving raw bile into her chamber pot, which also served as her bathing tub, when water was rationed from the barrels below deck. It was on short supply and could go bad and cause dysentery. This is why there was so much beer and rum on board ships. It was to make the water taste better and last longer.

She tried to avoid lecherous, hungry glances of the crew. Their teeth yellow, and their gums shrunken with signs of scurvy. She confined herself to the tiny little cabin assigned to her. Not that they would have dared. Even so, she kept a small dagger tucked into the top of her silk stocking.

The “Badger One-Eye” an ivory carved phallus she kept in her silk purse for auspicious occasions. She favored this as if it were a jewel, often reclining with it as she dreamed of amorous rendezvous. Perhaps, being in one’s arms, being sweetly caressed, showing her softer side. But, in this age, one could not be weak. The smooth texture of the prosthesis, doing her well, as it brought on silent shakes.

The captain’s obesity and the humidity, causing a perpetual perspiration, as the mosquitoes feasted on his blood. When fucking, him she would close her eyes and roll her rosary in her hand. His penis when in retraction would hide beneath his belly-fat when the détente ended with a sporadic gush of his cum. The Badger could have served her, just as well. “Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned...”

The crew really didn’t take care for themselves. Very little space, for breathing or personal hygiene. The stench was inhumane. His breath was awful and his clothes were very frumpy because he was on the heavier side. When they would have intercourse, he would practically crush her each time, with his pockmarked truncheon of a cock. Then pull up his britches, wipe his nose and forgot about her, until the next urge.

Whoring had its advantages and assets, that bequeath to her a game of folly. She loved to possess a would-be stud’s mind. Making him succumb to her sexual webs and grins, as she heaved her hips up high, beneath a jouster.

Lola Martinique emerged from the little cabin to take the air on deck. She walked to the stern of the vessel and watched the porpoises dive and gambol in the white wake of the ship. She pulled her linen shawl around her shoulders, covering her ample cleavage which showed a partial of nipple, ignoring the lewd sidelong glances of the seamen. She was very attractive and all men were always looking at her in every direction. She was quite used to this in her life.

“Tits as full as mainsails in the wind,” one matelot groaned as the others sniggered. To the devil with them. Lola shook her long dark curled hair on her shoulders and thrust out her chest.

“Let them look. Let them dream.”

She was done with their kind. Her whoring days were over. She was now going to be embarking on becoming a lady.

A Fata Morgana, an image on the distant horizon. Through the spyglass it appeared to be an approaching ship.

“Hombre los cañones,” The captain gave orders to man the cannons. “Prepárate para la batalla, get ready for battle, God save the Queen.”

It was sleek, a two mast brigantine, built for speed. Weather worn but sturdy. With twenty cannons, port and starboard. Flying an ensign of the Skull and Crossbones. Supporting no sovereign entity. Pirates. Her cannons built close to the water-line to disable other ships.

“Surrender ye goods ‘n save ye faith cap’n oh cap’n ‘o th’ Spanish navy.” The pirate captain, called out when broadside of the much larger ship. “No harm gunna come if peacefully ye hand over ye treasure ‘n spiced rum without a roarin’ ‘o th’ cannon. If not surrender, prepare to take ye prayers ‘n bones to th’ bottom ‘o th’ sea. Lay anchor ‘n live to crack Jenny’s tea cup (visit a whore house) another day.”

The Spaniard knew enough English, that it would be treason to hand over Her Majesty’s ship without engaging in battle. It was gobbledygook, but he got gist of it.

Lola, was nervous, and frightened. The galleon was to be under siege. The pirates seeking treasures, using intimidation through threats as the Captain ordered. “DISPARA LAS DIEZ EN SU FLANCO,” fire the ten pounders into the flank of the pirate vessel.

As the ships exchanged cannon blasts and as the firing progressed, the fight continued as the sky turned to dusk. The salty air smelling of death as the mame lay injured and crying out for help. She started worrying about her safety. There was blood and human limbs spread across the deck. There was sign of a fire aboard ship, as smoke rose from the “hold,” swirling like a vortex, where the cannon powder was stored.

During the ravaging heat of battle, her flesh became darken due to the spent ashes of powder. The bodice of her blouse, torn and exposing her ripened breasts. Disrobing to her petticoats, she eased over the side of the anchored Galleon, and swam to the pirate ship, the Henrietta Bone. But not before filling her leather purse with scraps of bread and the Badger.

The few yards of water was freezing and she was exhausted. She hoisted herself aboard by the use of a hanging rope. Then found hidden safety inside a lifeboat on the pirate ship. She would lay there until she caught back her breath, hoping to find a safer place to hide.

She couldn’t go back to her ship, because she feared it would either sink or burn. She hoped she could stowaway on the pirate ship and when they went to their next port she’d leave and start her new life. She just hoped she wouldn’t be found out. Pirates were usually thieves and crooks. What they took was called plunder, shared by all, with the pirate Captain getting the largest share.

The lifeboat was large and she could stretch out so nobody could see her. The crew were too busy fighting and living. The cannons echoing into the night. Then there was a silence, as if a soothing balm easing the pain of the crying dying.

There was no time for modesty as she climbed out of the lifeboat and looked around the ship quietly. Almost as if a ghost ship, with a spillage of blood, the crew too busy battling to notice her, in her frighten cold skin. She stepped out of the life boat and almost fell over a cadaver with a half-severed genitalia, cut into by shrapnel.

She noticed a door that was semi-opened. She peeked in and noticed it was little room that stored the ships booze. There was rum, wine, and blackberry brandy. Lola walked into the room and shut the door. She opened some of the brandy and drank some of it. She drank enough brandy where she felt light headed. For a few moments, she let go of her dire straights as her bosom swelled.