A Lower Deck Episode

I wince as two pirates heave me up over the side and drop me to the deck without so much as a warning. Not that I can blame them, their boss clearly isn't happy to see I managed to survive. In hindsight, seeing his famous crossed-swords flag already on the rope meant that he was probably on the trail of a ship when we arrived, so we may or may not have deprived him of a significant prize by scaring the bejeezus out of his crew at the wrong time. I'm **** to my feet at sword-point, with the look on Rackham's face promising a swift trip back over the side if I piss him off any further. "I was willing to listen to your ever so polite reminder of prisoner etiquette the first time," he says testily, "but if you have a better argument for me not to just cut your throat now and be done with it, now's the time."

I look up and down the length of the deck. I don't doubt that the TARDIS does indeed have disgustingly lethal defences against would-be thieves, but if he's smart enough not to try breaking in then that'll be no help. The Doctor is on her knees at the bow, Mary Read's gun to the back of her head as Anne Bonny keeps he rest of the crew on-task, so that's a bust unless she's secretly faster than a bullet. And Rackham might just stab me mid-sentence, so my power is... less than ideal, here. "Well," I reply slowly, wracking my brain for ideas, "we'll be off this sandbar at the next high tide-" He nods in agreement, but doesn't waver. "-and that beastie won't be looking to come after us again any time soon since your lady friend over there put its eye out."

His hand tightens on the hilt of his cutlass, but I don't suddenly gain any new orifices so that's probably a good sign. "You lost a few men the first time you landed on that island you mentioned because you weren't prepared for it to be inhabited by inhuman automatons wielding guns that fire pure energy - which is perfectly reasonable, frankly," I add in the hopes of mollifying him after the reminder that he's a few crew members short. "Now," I continue, as he gives me a light 'get to the point' kind of jab, "you could settle for what you already took - some guns, a naturalist's curiosity and a lingering regret over what could have been. Or you could go back, having proven they're far from invincible, in the company of people who know their limitations, and in possession of their own weapons. You could clean up those toy soldiers, loot whatever place they're guarding to the foundations, and make off with all manner of useful things."

I see his anger cooling, and press on. "I bet that no navy ship would ever try to tangle with something packing one of those fancy guns scaled up to four-pounder size," I add, "at least, not after whatever it'd do to the first one to try. And can you imagine the look on Charlie Vane's face if he ever finds out you're a monster hunter, with a horde of savage machine-beasts and a sea serpent to your name? Captain of the first crew to sack a camp of monsters, just imagine it." He frowns at the blatant jab at his unloved former superior, and I amend my plans to include less blatant flattery. Eventually, he puts up his blade and sheaths it at his belt, then nods to the crew to take me up next to the Doctor. "You'll be let free once we've found those things' camp," he calls after me, "until then, enjoy the chance to rest."

The bolt on the lazarette door slams home with a sense of finality as we're locked inside. The small candle lantern overhead doesn't look like it'll last until the next time one of the crew needs to visit, but fortunately the sonic screwdriver comes with a 'light only' function. "Sorry about pointing him back at the aliens," I say, "I just couldn't think of a better way to buy time." She shrugs and unbuttons her shirt, showing that she's still wearing the red slingshot bikini underneath it. "No problem," she waves my apology off, "wouldn't be the first time I've had to tag along on a trip I didn't approve of." She pauses, then turns to face me with a smirk. "So," she asks breezily, "how're you enjoying your holiday? Not many people get to say they've met two of the most famous female pirates in human history."

"Three," I correct her, feeling in the mood for some mischief. "Jack Rackham being a woman in disguise is normal," I 'tentatively' ask, "right?" She nods, seemingly well-used to people doubting their own memories when time travel gets involved. "Yeah, but Anne and Mary'll get the most press," she replies. Score one, I mentally cheer, now, let's see how far we can push it. "I suppose," I say in a thoughtful tone, "it's just a bit odd that they get the most fame, when the three of them normally ran with an all-female crew." The sounds of general chatter, barked orders and grunts of effort outside immediately take on a far higher pitch, with the various exhortations to work harder dropping 'you sons of whores' in favour of 'you whores'. "I guess that's the way the dice fall sometimes."

The Doctor nods, clearly deep in thought, so I decide to lighten the mood. "It's a shame they didn't try to make you dance," I say, reminding her of the aftereffects of our visit to Hedon Station, "you'd have had them eating out your ass in no time."

"I think it's supposed to be 'eating out of my hand'," she shoots back with a smile.

"I have met you, Doctor," I reply smoothly, "so I stand by my statement. Anyway, are you seriously telling me that, with all the jokes about rum, buggery and the lash, you'd pass up the chance with an entire crew of women who were- Sorry, an entire crew of women who normally are as rampantly homosexual as the most **** jokes say their male counterparts are supposed to be?" She folds her arms and resolutely says nothing, so I press on. "And don't give me that look," I say, "I saw your expression when you realised that the corporal punishment on this tub was normally more on the pornographic end of things than the painful." I twitch my head towards where the lash had been dangling from a hook by the door, now occupied by a variety of paddles and floggers.

"I may not let on to many people that I actually know this," she leans in and whispers conspiratorially, as I pointedly ignore the way her bikini 'slips' off to either side of her tits, "but sometimes, not provoking the bloodthirsty pirates is a good idea." I look at her aghast, like she's just admitted to having killed the real Doctor and stolen her skin, before laughing as she slaps my arm. "Yeah, alright," I say, wincing slightly, "I just wasn't expecting you to actually admit that you know it." She slaps my other arm, 'coincidentally' flashing her nipples at me in the low candlelight. We settle into silence for a while as I listen to the creaking of the ship as the rising tide slowly lifts us off the sandbar, feel it roll with the waves and marvel at how quickly I've tuned out the worst of the smell of the dead Hoix. "It's just as well they normally don't start rotting until a couple of weeks after ****," I say, sighing in relief as the Doctor hums in agreement and the smell dissipates completely.

Our relaxation quickly turns to boredom as the truth of the matter sets in; namely, that we're confined to the lazarette for at least several days as the pirates get the ship turned around and head back to the island. At first, I pass the time brainstorming changes I could make in order to get back at Rackham for this indignity, but that quickly loses its appeal. After all, changing people for humiliation's sake only works if they know anything changed, and I'd have to be an idiot to deliberately make anyone else aware of what I can do. The arrival of our first meal at suppertime - boiled salted fish and ship's biscuit, with some watered-down rum to wash it down and stop us dying of thirst - throws my train of thought off anyway, and I don't manage to get it back on track.

The first night passes mostly without incident, although the Doctor does 'unconsciously' wriggle over to me and end up pinning me against a shelf using her ass. I might otherwise be convinced, given what I'd already done to her body language, but I'm fairly certain she doesn't actually sleep in the first place. She doesn't even pretend to be apologetic either, which I'm not sure is a good thing for me or not. Regardless, I decide to be a bit more active on the second day - the temptation to just power my way out of the situation is strong, but I'm interested in seeing what happens when the Doctor's placed in a confined space with me.

As it turns out, the Doctor decides that this is the best place to indulge in what she assures me is perfectly innocent stretching, but which winds up bearing a suspicious resemblance to her giving me a lapdance. I don't try to call her out on this, on account of not wanting her to stop, but the palpable frustration I manage to work her into by being completely professional about giving her whatever 'help' she say she needs is a lot of fun - especially when I let her know that I'm not blind to her 'subtle' manipulations with the occasional gasp-inducing tug on her hair or squeeze of her breasts. Only one meal again, and it's the same salt fish, biscuit and rum as the first day. Clearly Calico Jack - well, Calico Jackie - has decided that she can do a little starvation of her prisoners, as a treat.

The third day is much of the same, with a little extra teasing on both mine and the Doctor's part as I 'help' her with some for her more advanced 'stretches', but I decide to spice it up a bit by checking that what I 'know' about the crew we've been press-ganged into is correct. I'm just at the part where I check that it's normal for them to flaunt their bodies as a way of taunting their male opponents when we're interrupted for our evening meal. I happily note how tight the deliverer's clothes are about her chest and hips - and not just because they're visibly cut differently and cinched by belts - before tucking into yet more salt fish and biscuit. The rum's a little less watered down, this time, which lends the whole meal more of a wilderness trip vibe than a jail cell one.

I'm helping the Doctor into a vertical side split - not that she needs it - and seeing how close I can inch my hand towards her crotch before she visibly reacts when the door opens early. Our jailer, of course, sees nothing wrong with me manhandling my companion - although she might be under the impression that things are getting as steamy as I'm sure the Doctor would like. She jerks her head towards the stairs up to the deck, and I give the Doctor a hearty slap on the ass to 'encourage her along' before following them both. Convenient, I think to myself, I was just starting to get properly bored of the 'authentic' pirate captive experience. I spot various women milling around below deck on the way, engaged in activities from maintaining their clothes and possessions to illicit and 'illicit' fucking when they think nobody's looking. Every single one's clothing has the same flattering lines as the one leading us up, with actual levels of dress ranging from 'tightly done up' to 'literally topless'.

I blink rapidly and shield my eyes with one hand as we emerge into the early morning light, realising that more time must have passed than I thought - which confirms that the Doctor really didn't need to sleep after all and was just copying my internal clock. Joan 'Calico Jackie' Rackham, Anne Bonny and Mary Read are all stood up by the TARDIS and the ship's wheel, waiting for us. I take a moment to admire how much better Jackie's looking since I worked my magic - not just in terms of physical appeal, but in how much a simple statement that the crew normally gets quite lucky in the quality of their stolen food supplies has improved her health - and note that Mary still looks like she could pass for a very pretty young man, before Rackham gestures towards an island on the horizon.

"There's the blasted chunk of rock," she says, voice low as she glowers at us, "so start giving me what you know of those toothy bastards before I decide you're more useful as armour than allies."

Time to dwell on the opportunity we accidentally cost her seems to have made her mood worse. Oh dear.