With Liz, a pirate captain

As is often the case when one is in the crust between oblivion and awareness, Elizabeth Finley found the memories tumbling through her mired mind barely intelligible.

The exemption was her which was understandably concrete despite the rapidity with which the winds of fate had changed. The Brass Bite was closing on the merchant ship and about to explain that her current lack of a reputation was not indicative of her prowess. Than the Man'O'War wandered around the rocks and blindsided the now relatively dwarfed pirate ship. Liz Finley, the experienced captain she was, had ordered the volley of chain meant for the merchant vessel redirected to the Man'O'War's sails, so a retreat could be made. But when the pirate frigate presented its aft-starboard quarter fifty odd gouts of flame launched the warship's lead greeting to the pirate hull. One of thirty-two pound of lead lumps, flying unusually high, had picked the aft mast for its destination, quite close to were Liz stood.

In the next moments Liz could remember, she floated in an unfathomable limbo. Ahead of her, an entire world and all its possibilities stretched like an ocean. Ever adventurous, Liz dived in, releasing her view amongst the waves.

The next thing Liz recalled in her compassless cascade was a burning smell and lying on a white bed in a white room. The hum of a hive had been in the air about her, and an ineffable freshness through her body. This scrap of occurence had been followed, or perhaps preceded, by a midnight blackness with squidgy things gliding over her skin. They felt like snakes or tentacles, touching and massaging with a slimy residue. During the process she floated in and out of sleep. At many a moment they, or maybe it, began hitting her, tapping her in such a way her limbs twitched, and nerves tingled. When this was finished, the things probed her mouth, anus, and finally vagina. It felt like an inexperienced man not sure of where to put his cock, or maybe an in fact quite experienced lover experimenting with a new conversationalist.

With these memories somewhat sorted, Liz's mind drifted fully into consciousness, and her eyes lazily slid open. She was in a glass or perhaps crystal tube about the size of a coffin. Bound in some sort of straitjacket (her father had taken her to an asylums to encourage her to mend her ways) but one that only seemed concerned about covering her arms leaving her breasts exposed and her body nearly naked from the naval down. There was an almost painfully tight strap between her legs, but the narrow band of leather hardly covered her sex. Looking past, she saw that her feet were cuffed shoulder width apart. Liz briefly struggled and grunted looking for a weak point in her bonds, but only succeeded in wiggling her bosom about like a bar-maid.

Whatever her container was made of it was too blurry to see out of, but she could see a faint reflection of herself and noticed some slight changes. Her wavy brown hair was still sun bleached and cut ragged, but it is little longer than she would normally have let it grow. A few of the strands could tickle her collarbone. Her eyes hadn't changed, still blue. On the other hand, her breasts had grown; they used to smaller than average, lovers had described them as young apples or fine china tea cups (before nibbling or sipping at them as appropriate). Now her breasts had somehow increased in size to be give a diner a reasonable handful in comparison as only the largest of apples could measure up. Yet this healthy dairy still maintained their perkiness, pointing almost straight up and forming a nice cleavage though she was on her back. Furthermore, her entire body less her head had been shaven. The bewildered women couldn't see all of her gentle mound for the half-inch crotch strap covered some, but suspected it was hairless the same.

To appose, she still had her piercings. Odd indeed, if you consider she had gotten the golden hoops in her ears to pay for a burial. To be sure, they--like the studs she had added to her left nostril and each ear--had also been to show off her plundered wealth, so the captain was pleased to still have them. More piercings had been added presumably while she was revived. The Y-like shape of her descending strap exposed her naval; that divot adorning her flat belly was itself decorated by a glint of gold. She was also excited by the feeling of a small ring in her tongue. Beneath the tight leather she felt a gentle yet firm teasing against her clit that had been exacerbated by her previous struggles. Had something been affixed to further stimulate her most sensitive nuble? Liz made mental notation to check later should she got the chance.

As the pirate's metal modifications remained so did the handful of tattoos she had. In the blurry reflection, the pirate was able to clearly see the mermaid swimming up her left hip and the southern cross on her right pelvis. There was even some new ink on suggestively on inlane approach to her cunny that read "Fancy a jolly rogering?" in swooping cursive. Was it some rebuke to shame her liberal ways?

Fear started to build in her. She was clearly dead. Even if she somehow survived the near direct hit from a canon, this was place was not of her earth. And what kind of place was this?

Throughout her life she had committed many a sin. Her father had bridled her spirit enough to get her to marry an elderly merchant. But the suggestion of piracy from one of her husband's captains had been enough to start her on a path of thievery and . He provided the ship and she stole enough gold to pay the crew. Started as his first mate, she had let loose her wild streak, taking the handsome captain and many others to her bed with nary a care for the sanctity of marriage or other ecclesiastical ethics. Similarly sparse thought had been given to the blood spilled in her pursuit of plunder and thrill.

How be her violent spirit, the young pirate had been fair and honest with her crew. When the time came to captain her own ship, there were many loyal volunteers, but she doubted that the opinion of fellow pirates carried much weight when ones soul was judged. Stealing from the church probably did; she was buggered. She closed her eyes to calm herself.

After taking a few slow breathes, she felt her ankles become unfettered. In surprise, she opened her eyes and the translucent tube was gone.

"Hello, my rebellious minx," greeted a feminine voice behind her head, "allow me to welcome you to Valhalla."