A tactical retreat and an unexpected meet

Knavish fighter that she was, Liz didn't back down from an unfair fight, unless, as was now the case, that fight's fairness was tipped away from her. Staring down tougher combatants than she expected herself to take and with a fate-reversing edge yet to make itself known, Liz peddled her feet backward, more concerned about her opponents than her footing.

This decision would be to her downfall, for in a step backwards the pirate's left foot placed itself on something silk with a lace trim. The unknown piece of garment slid beneath her foot like an otter, and Liz was on her back with legs in the air faster than you could say "short heeled lass." 'Twas not the best start to a spar. Furthermore slapping backside to floor had excited whatever hid up Liz's arse. This mystery wormed itself around with vigor and skill of which an Irish dancer would be proud. Though these movements felt bonniful, our outnumbered pirate did her best to ignore them. If she didn't turn tables quick, some fluffy punishment would soon befall her.

The fall had landed her in a closet or alcove. On the left, a curtain hung which Liz used to help herself up, gripping it rather clumsily yet quite firmly with her mittened hands. As was needed; the tumble and twirling within her tightness had made the act of balancing rather complicated. Supported a good measure though she was, a particularly mischievous twistle from the titillater up her bronson yet caused her to tip to her right. The curtain happened to be closed by Liz's rear-invasion-induced stumble.

"Hey wait, don't," called out Rho as the curtain was pulled across the alcove.

Liz steadied herself against the right wall, and suddenly realised her mistake. This alcove was identical enough to have shared a womb with the one that had made her surroundings to the colosseum. Or rather it had moved her without moving her, but that was mere mites less ridiculous.

Still and all, she was hardly surprised to open the curtain back up to reveal a wholly different place than was there previous. "Damnation," muttered Liz; those trollops seemed quite dandy, but there was no sense in trying to drink spilled grog. Thus the adventurous woman stepped out onto a path of smooth stones that was lined by prim and proper flower rows. The coble walkway led invitingly to winged house painted with merry colors to echo its surrounding vegetation. But the tranquility provided by this visual proved rather illusive. Not five feet were made by Liz down this winding garden path before disaster struck again. And that would be the disastrous thing up her pot's peaker.

Once again, Liz whistled a moan, and the signal to her legs got muddled. Our ill-starred pirate went crashing into some helpless flowers. "Mast-blasting fire-ship!" cursed Liz every inch of her incensed at this whatever-it-is that seemed quite intent on turning all agley. Not bothering to stand, she parted her legs and looked for a glimpse of the confounded thing. To better inspect, Liz spread her blind cheeks getting a fair grip on her arse despite her hands being leather lapped.

The determined pirate twisted and contorted to try and get a view of her bung hole with scant success. Her efforts were not for not though as the next time she felt the tender slip across her anus it was accompanied by the visual of something pink peaking out betwixt her arse checks. Quite startled, the normally hazardous pirate yipped and released her behind to free her hands for a scurry back.

"What is the meaning of this?" barked a voice, crisp like folded summer clothes.

Liz turned again, clapping eye on a woman that had without a doubt witnessed an odd and embarrassing display. Which was all the more mortifying as the flower Liz saw was of high crust beauty.

The speaker wore green and gold dress that diased like a dragon's horde. Its neckline was low as a valley with ne'ery a strap nor scrap of silk to cover the fine skin displayed from her sculpted shoulders to her quality bosom. It's worth the danger of repeating to explain that the near top half of each breast was exposed as the woman's bodice stopping abruptly above the woman's nipple. Of a similiarly enticing nature, the dress's skirt was asymmetric; its ruffles covered her left leg almost completely, but her right leg was exposed in all its slender with only the sheer barrier of lacey stocking to attempt at covering.

For one moment and then another, Liz gawked at the finely (if perhaps not fully) dressed woman, who advanced with such a poise that every step was an example of perfect posture. The elegant strut worked splendidly with the scant-esque garment she wore to subtly hint at the body beneath. Her limbs were long and as perfectly shaped as an expertly carved spindle. And her figure though not so exaggerated as an hourglass could doubtless out marvel the finest of crystalline structures in both shape and smoothness. Though quite dissimilar to any beautiful glasswork, this woman was of supple flesh, sculpted yet flowing like cream, as evident by her enviable gait and how eloquently her polite smile contorted into a lioness's snarl. "I am not amused by thine tomfoolery," she hissed when her slender boots stopped before Liz. Her eyes shining brighter than the rubies in her modest yet dazzling jewellery.

Quite bewitched by an enviable display of female grace and plunder-worthy metalwork, Liz was able to stammer nothing except the truth. "An odd sort is wriggling up me arse." Having said just a sentence, the pirate felt her cheeks flush. "I'm trying to rid myself of it," she squawked in an attempt to save face.

This last comment, however, only had the opposite effect of bringing the ceramic-skinned beauty closer to boiling. Indeed not taking a moment to let the perceived slight simmer, she took the few steps between her and Liz. The dainty teapot that was this woman displayed a quite unexpected amount of physical might by giving the stalwart pirate a hearty tug on her leather scruff with the result of sending the pirate to the soft grass with her bottom on the top so to speak. And from this position the utterly startled Liz felt a riding crop slap against her rear quite loudly.

"By all the fornications, such rudeness," snapped the crop wielding woman inbetween blows that were rising in volume until they rivaled a starting pistol, "and in my entryway no less. Begone perverted wench."

Not quite fixed for a fight, Liz made to leave this scorned woman, but a firm hand on her shoulder hampered her efforts. "Steady my dear," soothed the aristocrat despite having a voice that seemed permanently sharp, "we have this harlot wiggling off in moments." The odd statement was followed by a threatening swing from the crop that thankfully missed but sailed near enough to tickle Liz's rosebud by its eddies.

Liz eyes were quite wide from the mire of confusion she was trying to keep her head about, yet they managed to widen just a tad more as the strange tongue-like unknown wiggled its way from betwixt her cheeks. Agape at the creature, the pirate captain did ponder that its lingua shape must have made it feel all the better and was quite proud at her success in resisting the urge to moan as it teased over her rectum the final time.

"I do beg thine pardon," stated the woman while releasing her grip on Liz's jacket, "for getting so carried away as all that." Her voice though cool still boar the stilted severeness of a thoroughly taught lady. "But please understand I have a particular dislike for those fiends, and a hard stance must be taken or they will walk all over."

The fiend in question quickly wormed away. In display of her character, the aristocrat gave Liz a half-dozen quick pecks on the cheeks she had struck with her commanding crop. Then the now quite gentle woman tenderly extended her hand and helped Liz to her feet. Once her damsel had been helped to stand, the well-mannered stroked insignificant debris from Liz's face and shoulders.

The pirate for her part had been left with a soft rouge on her cheeks, fore and aft, by preceding events. Though the matronly affection this woman had given her abated any uncomfortablities she may have felt. Her mind still cogitated the nature of the bugger-naut; her eyes searched the path it had taken from whence Liz had arrived.

As a poet commands the scribing of a mountain scape, so the aristocratic woman seemed to now relax into her grove. She followed her gaze and expounded, "they are Leches. In their previous life they were particularly devious perverts, but now they are doomed to live as only tongues." She paused to emit an annoyed exhale. "It is an existence the have acclimated to well. Considerable effort must be made to keep the ground free of the blighters."

Liz wagged her head in understanding, recounting the enviable patience and agility displayed by the nefarious lecher. "And you?" she said, appraising her rescuer with a healthy yet impolite level of suspicion. This woman's face was well turned: from her softly pointed chin to her apple-toned cheeks, every detail was beautiful, and Liz new well the whiles a handsome woman could conjure.

The sufferer of her scrutiny grinned a grin equal parts welcoming and contentment. "I, my infamous Captain Elizabeth, am The Governess and quite charmed at having met thee."

A reassured smile curled Liz's mouth. She was not too prideful to ignore a full ego buffing. Yet her suspicion still lingered unquenched.

Undeterred, The Governess took Liz's hand in her own and gingerly led her down the path towards a large house. "I eagerly look forward to having thee stay with us. Please allow me to take thee into my estate." Right cheek curled the posh lady's smile when she added, "and I have an outfit more suited for a Mary-pirate."

Attention entangle Liz followed eager to be provided with something modest.