Edinburgh Trading

Hidden away in one of the auxiliary cargo holds below the weather deck, Elizabeth Swann tried to clear her head.

It had been less than twenty-five minutes since she had fled from the office of Lord Beckett, armed not only with an appropriated flintlock, but, more importantly, the Letters of marque that would free her love. She had hastened down to the harbour, realizing full well that Port Royal was no longer a safe haven. Perhaps it never would be again.

She had hesitated, for a moment, at the mouth of the dock, torn over abandoning her father to Beckett’s mercy—or rather, the lack of such. Weatherby had been a good man, and Elizabeth knew she had not entirely appreciated his concern for her. But, she also knew he had brought her time to escape, and Elizabeth was smart enough to take the opportunity his action provided.

Thus, she had stowed aboard the first ship she had stumbled upon during her wild dash through the moonlit port, and had scurried down to the lower decks to hide out. Various official parchments bore the name Edinburgh Trader, under the captaincy of one Samuel Bellamy. Elizabeth was relieved at least to find the Edinburgh was not operating under the employ of the East India Company.

Now, enclosed in the dark of the cramped hold, kicking off her shoes and loosening her garments, Elizabeth was about to sever the last tie to her previous life, the one left several dozen leagues away. That one, little connection clung about her tired body like a flag of a faded nation. It was grimy and torn about the hem, and clammy from the thigh-high she had waded through during her frenzied escape, but it was really everything she had to claim as her own.

Even though Will was lost to her, she still had her dress.

So it was that, in peeling the ragged garment from about her trembling shoulders, Elizabeth was removing her life, tugging away the skin of her being. Falling from her arms, it dropped like gauntlets slipping from a bloodied wrist; flowing down the modest curve of her breasts, it left her exposed to the world; and pooling at her ankles, it rendered her completely naked.

Elizabeth stood there, for a moment, her dress heaped at her bare feet, considering her action. A chill breeze slipped between the boards of the hull, causing her toes to curl and her light-brown nipples to harden. She shivered, and found herself hugging an arm about her chest self-consciously. She shifted on the floor, and regarded the pile of clothes resting on a crate of spice.

She had found these heaped outside the crew’s quarters, and had absconded with them down to the lower deck, knowing full well a woman found aboard the Edinburgh would not enjoy freedom for long. They were the clothes of a cabin boy, and they would be all that protected Elizabeth from the world.

Elizabeth plucked a shirt from the top of the pile, and regarded it. The material was coarse and the tailoring crude, but it would suffice. She shrugged it over her pale shoulders, revelling for an instant over the simple warmth it provided, and reached down to do up the buttons—

The door to the hold creaked open, outlining a figure in the dim light that spilled from the stairwell beyond. Elizabeth stifled a gasp and darted deeper into the shadows of the chamber, hoping that the intruder had not seen her…

“Who’s there?”

The voice pierced the muted ambience of the gentle creaking of the hull, and caused Elizabeth, tucked away behind a stack of crates, to jump with fright. It was not a particularly gruff or threatening voice, though unwelcome nonetheless. Elizabeth kept as quiet as she could, though her heart was pumping rapidly and her breathing was becoming ragged in her effort to be still.

The newcomer called out again, though he had seemingly not moved from the doorway. “I know you’re here. Show yourself,” and with a creak and the loss of light, the door closed. Elizabeth was trapped in the hold with this man.

She considered attacking him, but quickly dismissed the notion. She had no idea how strong he was, nor whether he was carrying a weapon, whereas she, clothed only in an open shirt, was in no position to initiate violence. Perhaps she could sneak out…

“I see you. Come out here!” the voice called, this time sounding much closer. Elizabeth half-turned, and realized the man was peering through a gap between two crates, directly at Elizabeth’s shadowed face. She gasped, and instinctively ducked.

She knew, of course, that further attempt to hide was futile, though it was possible she could still get out of this. Elizabeth rose once more, and padded out from behind the crates. She wrapped the shirt around herself tightly, and lowered her voice in what she hoped was a fair approximation of a cabin boy’s tone.

“Sorry, sir, was checking the cargo, sir, beggin’ your pardon,” Elizabeth muttered, trying to edge towards the door while staying as far away from the man as possible. He was slightly taller than she, and modestly built, though the low light and their distance revealed little else. Fortunately, the same was likely true of her.

Unfortunately, the man either had keener eyesight than she, or else was astute enough to recognise a woman’s voice and figure. He froze in place, then gabbled, “’ere, you’re a woman!”

Despite the situation, Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

“A woman!” the man repeated, backing up a step. “You can’t be on board! That’s bad luck, that is! I’m going to have to tell Cap’n Bellamy!”

He made for the door, but Elizabeth had the presence of mind to stall him. “Wait!”

Surprisingly, the man did just that. He turned from the door to gape at her, apparently still wrestling with the concept of a female aboard a ship. Now that she had his attention, Elizabeth’s mind raced as she tried to figure out a way of evading the Captain’s attention.

“Please, don’t report me,” she said, edging closer to the man. “I’m…I’m only a stowaway, I just want to reach Tortuga, that’s all.”

The man cocked his head to one side, considering this. “Tortuga ain’t no place for a woman, miss. You’d be better off at home.”

Not likely, Elizabeth thought, but said, “I’m looking for someone. It’s important.”

That seemed to catch the man’s attention. He placed both hands on his hips, and seemed to be regarding Elizabeth. “Is that so? How…important, would you say?”

Elizabeth felt a shiver run down her spine that had nothing to do with the chill in the air. Despite hailing from a noble family, she could recognise that kind of tone anywhere. It reminded her of the cursed pirates she had been forced to endure during her time aboard the Black Pearl with Barbossa. She gulped, but considered her options…

And came to the conclusion that she didn’t have any. She had to reach Tortuga, to find Will, by whatever means. Will had pledged his intent to free her from prison, no matter what, so would Elizabeth do the same? Of course, it was unlikely Will had encountered a situation quite like this, but still…whatever means.

Elizabeth gritted her teeth, and took a deep breath. “Very important,” she replied, with just enough emphasis to get the intent across.

The man shifted his stance again, and Elizabeth was sure his chest rose higher. “I see. Well, you know, I think there may be some way of…avoidin’ any unpleasantness with the Captain. He’s an honest man, sure enough, but a fair one, and he won’t be doin’ with no stowaways. If you can…persuade me not to tell him ‘bout you, I think you’ll get to Tortuga right as rain.”

By now, he was looming over Elizabeth, who for a moment considered making a bolt for the door. But, really, where would she go? This was a ship, after all, in the middle of the Caribbean Sea. No, this was her only, if not exactly ideal, course.

“How persuasive shall I be?” she asked, trying to play along, though by now there was no need for pretence. Still, the man seemed to be enjoying it.

“I think you know, miss,” he said, and placed a hand on her shoulder. He ran his hand over the fabric of Elizabeth’s appropriated shirt, apparently taking notice of it for the first time. “Ah, what’s this? A mangy thing as this sure can’t be yours, miss. I hope you haven’t been stealin’ on top of stowin’ yourself away, now, have you?”

Elizabeth met his gaze. “Well I needed some clothes, of course. Unless you expect me to walk around with nothing on?”

The man grinned. “That’s the idea,” he replied, and pushed the shirt from around Elizabeth’s shoulders, again revealing her breasts to the cold air of the hold. His gaze dropped to them hungrily. “But stealin’, now, that’s bad no matter hows you explain it. I think,” he added, hands beginning to roam down Elizabeth’s arms, “that you need to be extra persuasive.”

Elizabeth barely repressed a sigh and decided, in the face of what was likely to be some rough handling of her body, to take charge of the situation. Just as the man released Elizabeth’s arms and cupped his hands, positioning them over her breasts, Elizabeth sank out of reach, falling to her knees in front of him. In the semi-darkness, she reached out and quickly located the man’s belt, unfastening it and tossing it aside carelessly. She yanked down his breeches and freed the bulge that had formed the instant Elizabeth had revealed herself.

The man was well endowed, Elizabeth supposed, though she had no real basis for comparison. Obviously his was nowhere near as large or as thick as Will’s, but then, Elizabeth added with a mental smile, Will was not exactly the most ordinary of men.

Calling her fiancée to mind caused Elizabeth a moment’s hesitation; for an instant, she wondered exactly why she was currently kneeling, nude, in front of a deckhand’s rigid cock in the dank cargo hold of a creaking merchant ship. A pang of guilt washed through her as she realized how far she had come from the woman who had waited at the altar to marry her lost love.

But…focus on the present, she reminded herself. This was helping; this was getting her closer to Will, as undesirable as it was. She placed this thought firmly at the front of her mind, and with that, dedicated herself to her task.

Elizabeth tentatively reached out a hand and placed it on the man’s member, gently grasping its girth in her slight fingers. The man let out a sigh, and Elizabeth increased her pressure, beginning to stroke her hand along the veiny length of his cock. Slowly, she built up a rhythm, sliding her hand up and down on the hard rod, causing the man to jerk his hips slightly in time with Elizabeth’s ministrations.

Emboldened, and not losing her pace, Elizabeth leaned forwards and placed her full lips around the soft crown of the deckhand’s tool. This caused him to shudder in place, and Elizabeth barely restrained a snort of derision. Her predicament was getting much easier to handle.

Teasing the man just enough to ensure this ordeal would not take overly long, Elizabeth pressed forwards, taking him, inch by inch, deeper into the hot warmth of her mouth. Her hand dropped, helping prop herself up as she leaned in. Carefully, her tongue ventured out and began exploring the meat slowly being fed between Elizabeth’s pouting lips. It wound around the man’s length, tracing the bumps of its veins, swirling around the cock-head which was now oozing with pre-cum.

Above, the man gasped, thrusting his hips harder, forcing Elizabeth to gobble down more of his length. His entirety was only around six inches, so it was not long before Elizabeth’s button of a nose pressed against the patch of curls below the man’s navel, and his crown scraped past her tonsils.

Elizabeth gagged slightly, and raised herself off the man’s crotch, letting all but the tip of his cock slip from her mouth. She quickly took the saliva-slicked tool back between her glistening lips, sucking it down again until her nose once more scrunched up at the base of his shaft. This time, she was prepared, and loosened her throat enough to avoid gagging as the man’s member slid down. Elizabeth knew full well that this would please the man; it was certainly something Will had enjoyed.

However, the deckhand had by now stopped thrusting his hips, and was staring down at Elizabeth lustfully. She sucked in her cheeks, eliciting a further moan of pleasure, but it seemed the man was ready for something else. Elizabeth gave a mental sigh, and continued pleasuring the man’s tool diligently until he jerked back, letting it fall from her lips with a wet pop. Elizabeth looked up to see fire in his eyes.

“Get up,” he commanded, his voice little more than a growl. Elizabeth complied hesitantly, but the man seemed unconcerned about how ready she was for the next stage of his “persuading”. Instantly, he grabbed her around her thin waist, and bodily heaved her onto a large, cloth-draped crate pushed up against one side of the hull. Disoriented for a moment, Elizabeth did not fully comprehend what was happening until the man had already shoved his cock inside her with one swift stroke.

She let out a shrill gasp, a mix of surprise and, she could not deny, pleasure at the sensation. Elizabeth was certainly not a virgin, and no stranger to sex. After all, her sword practice with Will took up only three hours of each day they spent together.

The remainder had been practice of a different kind.

This, however, was different. The deckhand was already jerking back and forth, dragging himself out of Elizabeth’s moistening pussy, and thrusting back in with sharp strokes. He was nothing like Will, who, despite having the coarse touch of a blacksmith, never rushed and was always gentle. This was rough and hard and uncaring, and Elizabeth could do little more but weather the relentless pummelling the man was giving her body.

He was obviously enjoying it, though, as his contorted countenance plainly showed. Still drilling in and out of Elizabeth’s sweet snatch, he made a grab for her ankles, and raised her legs high in the air, angling her pussy to allow him to penetrate deeper. Elizabeth could not help but release another moan at the feeling, though she was nowhere near climax.

Her partner apparently was. He suddenly leaned over her, releasing her legs suddenly and causing them to flop unceremoniously down on the edge of the crate. He was panting and groaning, rutting against Elizabeth’s body with an intense, sweaty expression. He was, Elizabeth conceded, not unattractive—she could see now his pale blond hair and firm if somewhat pointed jaw—though his demeanour was hardly appealing. Nevertheless, she knew it was in her best interests to help him along, so she raised her hands, hooking them around his head and drawing him in closer. She clasped her long, shapely legs around his waist, crossing at the ankles, causing her shins to chafe against the coarse fabric of his waistcoat, pulling him in further.

His thrusts were by now short and erratic, less pistoning and more simply rutting, grinding against Elizabeth’s crotch with a jerking motion. She arched her back and moaned again, hoping to send him over the edge.

It worked. With a strangled cry, the man pumped into Elizabeth’s hot hole one more time, and somehow managed to pull out of that intoxicating sweetness before he exploded. Ropes of thick cum spurted from his member, lancing through the air to impact on Elizabeth’s sweat-slicked body. The first stream dashed up her toned abdomen, while the second and third splashed over her breasts, dribbling down to form a pool in the valley of her heaving mounds. The remainder spluttered out of the man’s pulsing rod and soaked into the small tangle of hair above Elizabeth’s wet slit.

The man almost collapsed on top of Elizabeth, though she was able to scoot out from under him as he rested his weight on top of the wooden box. She stood, and made a feeble attempt of making herself look presentable, though her mussed, tangled hair and sweat-flecked, semen-covered body were hardly those of a noble woman. The man, meanwhile, was drawing up his breeches and recovering his belt from the deck. He turned to Elizabeth, who self-consciously crossed her hands in her glistening lap.

“You’ve persuaded me, miss. Get comfortable,” he smirked, and without another glance, opened the door, strode through and shut it firmly behind him, sinking Elizabeth back into gloom once more. She stood for a moment, naked and trembling once more, before retrieving her shirt from the floor and placing it over her shoulders. Slowly, she began dressing in the simple outfit of a cabin boy, and prepared for life on the Edinburgh Trader, hoping and wishing that her ordeal would not have been in vain.

* * * *

The man, whom Elizabeth later learned through a glance at the ship’s logs was named William Hamilton, stayed true to his word. Elizabeth was able to steer the ship’s crew to make a detour at Tortuga, where she was reunited with Jack Sparrow and set off to save Will…her Will.

The Edinburgh Trader was later destroyed by the monstrous sea leviathan known as the Kraken, and all hands were lost. Amongst the wreckage that floated to the ocean floor was an elegant dress, tattered and torn, and the man who had stripped from its owner that same tattered elegance.