The wood of The Angelica creaked softly with the rocking of the waves, but I was still startled awake. I had been for the past few months since the last landfall. The English, the French, and the Spaniards had grown weary of fighting each other but even more so in fighting us.

Their ships were faster, their numbers vast, but we knew the waters. I knew we lay still in the dead water; we’d been running dark into the night, but with the rise of the new sun, we’d be a dark speck on the water for all to see. And they were all watching, looking for us.

I stretched, only to nudge against Ana’s crotch. Of course, that’s where rum and ruin had left us. Ana was my Quartermaster, next in command. Well, strictly speaking, she was in command of The Angelica. I knew I was a figurehead, but she didn’t want to be the one to be hung, so she left that job to me. I was good in battle and negotiations, but admittedly, I was an awful sailor.

The Captain was responsible for figuring out who was piloting if Ana was naked in my bed.

The ship didn’t smell of smoke and ruin but of sea. It seeped in and mixed with the scent of rum and sex. I tasted my lips and found her lingering on me. Good to know. I shifted and felt that below my wide-open shirt, I was bare from the waist down. I rubbed my hand through the unruly bush and found it soaked. I was sore and stretched too far. Ana was as thorough with her fucking as she was in everything else.

I kicked her, and she groaned. She sucked at one thing; hangovers.

She crawled against me; I’m not going to romanticize the smell of two women trapped at sea and what rum and sex do to said smell, but it was familiar. Something grounding. Her pale skin against my deep brown always halted my breath just a little, but there was no time to repeat the night. Not now.

“I’m still the Captain,” I said.

“Sure, Miss LeBouf,” she yawned, “But we’re not on deck, so it doesn’t count.”

Another familiar push and pull, but I didn’t argue because she was right. I'd be thrown overboard if the crew knew how clueless I was. Or worse, turned over to the English. The English hated pirates. They hated a female captain more.

Sadly, a black female captain escaping their webs repeatedly was just a little more than they could take, which is why The Angelica was a top priority. And to see my black ass hung their goal.

So how did Selene LeBouf become captain of The Angelica? I was brilliant with everything but the sea and could fight better than any of them. And I wasn’t afraid. For everything else, I had Ana. I could beat her in a duel and outsmart her on land, but most of all, she loved me the way I loved her. And she’d rather see my ass hung than hers.

If we ever got caught, I doubt titles would matter; I think the entire ship would hang. Possibly me last.

“We’d better make an entrance,” I said, “I doubt McRory can keep the rut in order for much longer.”

Ana just looked at me. Apparently, we still had unfinished business.

I dug behind the rum fog and started remembering our discussion the night before. We needed landfall. It had been too long, and the crew couldn’t take it much longer. It was nearly twelve weeks. We were out of food, water, and morale.

We weren’t too far off St. Lucia, but the island itself was instant doom. All the waters around us were. Riddled with English, French, and even the Spanish.

“One of the smaller islands?” I asked, “Will it be safe?”

She hesitated.

“There’s one island,” she said, “But you’re not going to like it.”

I sighed.

“Just point it out.”

“It’s not on the map. Yet. It’s…Blackbeard. We might have to fuck his entire crew, but we’ll get what we need.”

“Blackbeard,” I whispered, “I might have a debt to settle. What about our crew?”

Ana grinned. No, she outright laughed.

“There’s not one man on board this ship that Blackbeard would need. If they stay in line, they’ll get to live to sail another day.”

I preferred a gangbang to a hanging any day, but technically I might face the same fate regardless. I’d once served in his harem in a lifetime that seemed distant now. I don’t think Blackbeard thought he’d officially released me from my debt, and sneaking off on one of his ships wasn’t cleared with him.

He might have forgotten my face. If he weren’t Blackbeard and I weren’t Selene LeBeuf. And he’d smell my pussy for miles, I bet it still lingered in his nose.

Still, we needed a haven, and we needed it last week.

“How…many men does his crew count?” I asked.

Ana didn’t bother with the math.

“Fuck me if I know,” she said, tapping her fingers against the map, “But probably just his top men. Four ships.”

I shuddered.

“Four ships, so…sixteen to twenty between us?”

She sighed.

“If he decides to fuck. It could be easier just to be done with us.”

I smirked. Perhaps he’d be done with her that easily, but me? No way he’d choose the easy exit for me. I’d taken something far worse than gold and gemstones from him. I’d hurt his pride.

“Let's get this shitshow ready,” I muttered.

“Aye, Captain,” she grinned as she scuffled through our scattered clothes, trying to figure out mine and hers.

I buttoned up and pulled my trousers on. They were stiff with salt, sweat, and grime and smelled of piss, sweat, and cunt. I pulled on the large, black boots, the only remnants of our former Captain; may he rest in peace. They were impractical, too big, but I could fit a dagger safely inside—a deep red sash at my waist, two pistols, another dagger, and a small sword.

“Your hat,  Captain,” Ana teased.

I looked at her—fair-skinned, blonde, and bright-eyed, though there was nothing soft about her. Her pale blue eyes were sharp as cut glass, glinting with amusement but never without calculation. They had the cold, unwavering focus of a woman who had weighed every risk before you even knew there was one.

Tangled from salt and sweat, her golden hair was tied back in a messy braid, but loose strands clung to her sunburned skin. She had a beauty that didn’t belong at sea but a grin that did—cocky, knowing, and always one wrong word away from turning cruel. A thin scar ran from her temple to her cheek, a quiet warning from a fight that didn’t kill her but almost did.

She was lean and dangerous, wrapped in a weathered leather coat that hugged her frame. Her breeches were tucked into scuffed boots, a pistol strapped to one thigh, and a dagger to the other. She moved like she didn’t expect to be touched but knew exactly how to handle it if she was.

Ana was pragmatism wrapped in arrogance, the only person on this ship who could cut my throat one night and sail The Angelica fine the next. And yet, she grinned at me like she always did.

She flung the door open and yelled in a voice no one connected to her appearance.

“Captain on deck!”

I strode out and noticed the deck was…cleanish. Boyd and Adams sat by the main mast, twirling rope, looking busy.

It really was a shit crew, but most of the men gathered on deck.

Ana yelled commands, insults and threatened to fuck everyone’s mother. They weren’t contemplating mutiny, not just yet, but there was resentment. Not towards her, but their Captain.

Darius stood in her way. He was six feet four, all muscle, and very little brain, and was as dark as the night itself.

“Stand down, pirate,” she muttered.

Darius wasn’t evil; he didn’t have a bad bone in him, but the crew used him for his size.

“Captain,” she murmured, “Seems like we have a problem.”

I hated this part of the job. I loved being at the bridge basking in the sun, but fighting a crew of a hundred and twenty men who hadn’t gotten laid in three months? There was no fucking my way out of that pickle.

It was a good thing that, unbeknownst to my crew, Darius was my brother.

“Men,” I yelled, “I fucking know you’re tired. Imagine how I feel having to tell you fucking lot everything. You’d sail straight into the arms of the English Armada if it weren’t for me, and you’d thank them as they slit your throats. You want to get rid of me? Fine, I’m right here. I dare you pussies. Make your move, or move along.”

Darius didn’t flinch. I sighed. I cracked my knuckles and spat on the deck.

He made the first move, heavy and slow. I shot out a leg and grabbed his arm, twisted it around, and let him fall over my leg, falling flat on his back. I was on top of him with my dagger pinned to his jugular before his body settled onto the wood.

A move we’d rehearsed since forever, an act so ingrained in our bodies that none of us flinched. But it did exactly what it needed to do.

I released him and stood.

“Any more of you fuckers? Anyone?” I challenged.

There were no takers, just a rustle of impatience and distrust.

“Good, now get back to work. We expect landfall at midnight.”

Ana and I stood our ground and let the crew crawl back into the dark corners they’d come from. We weren’t about to turn our backs on any of them. Once they’d dispersed, we headed for the bridge and relieved McRory.

“The ship is yours, Captain,” he muttered as he went below to catch up on sleep.

“Well,” Ana teased, “The ship is yours, Captain.”

“Set the course, Quartermaster,” I said, “Blackbeard’s Island. To glory or death.”

She grabbed the wheel and grinned.

“It’s been a pleasure, Captain,” she said as her eyes drifted down my open shirt.

I didn’t bother buttoning up.

“How much do they hate me?” I asked.

“The crew?” She paused. “Keeping your door locked at night is good thinking, but keeping me close by is better. But having your brother sit outside? I think that’s the key. Between Barbados and here, you’d have bled out at least ten times if it weren’t for him.”

“Hold her steady,” I sighed, “I’ll be in my quarters.”

“Aye, Captain,” she grinned.

I stole one more look at her as I stood on deck. One hundred and twenty men and a good portion of them wanted me dead. I had to have done something right.

I checked on the outlook: two men staring endlessly into the horizon, looking for any sign of the English Armada, the French arrogance, and the Spanish savagery. We hadn’t looted or raided for weeks; we’d been hunted. Running.

If the crew knew how aimlessly we’d sailed, I might as well strip down and let all of them do me. It’s the least I deserved.

I didn’t want this ship, not really. Ever since I escaped Blackbeard, circumstances and accidents led me on board The Angelica, and Ana. She hated Captain Stokes. He was a foul man, a greedy man, and he wasn’t fair. She was the one who wanted a ship; I just wanted to get away.

But taking him down? That was all me. Told you, I can fight.

I entered my quarters, which didn’t belong to me, but had to make mine somehow. Sex and rum still lingered. I glanced at the map on the table. North, South, East, and West, Ana had imprinted, but in between? Dots and names I couldn’t fit with memory. How’d Ana know, based on the stars, a compass, and wind, that we’d be at an invisible island at midnight?

I washed, depleting the last of fresh water. I shaved my bush clean and studied the discarded hairs. No crabs, no ticks. A fucking miracle. I had to decide between how I wanted my crew to see me and how I needed Blackbeard to see me.

Too much woman and my crew might get ideas; too little and Blackbeard would have my head.

It was all about playing the odds against each other. Chances were my crew wouldn’t survive the night, so I decided I would. Still on my accord, though.

Leather, because it pushes the right way and might stop a dagger, tight corset because leather can’t reach all of me. A skirt with a deep split down the side.

I took a deep breath before I opened the door. Confidence is all about keeping the illusion intact. My crew would see a different Captain, it was my job to ensure they didn’t see me too differently.

McRory loitered just outside.

“Captain,” he muttered, but his eyes might have said something else.

McRory was a damned good pilot but an ugly fuck with a grin that glowed of untrust. He was the perfect pirate, and his loyalty lay with the next meal, the next booty, and the subsequent victory.

The only booty on The Angelica was mine.

“Pirate,” I sighed.

“This landfall,” he mumbled, “A little coincidental, no?”

I shifted, my sword rattled, and the dagger at my thigh glistened in the moonlight.

“You’ve had me steering aimlessly in circles, Captain,” he growled low, “It’d be a shame if the crew found out, no?”

“Pirate,” I hissed, “Get to the point or prepare to sweep your guts off my ship.”

He flailed his arms in front of himself, defensive, retreating.

“Captain,” he whispered, “I’m just suggesting you might want a friendly soul on board. How about we retreat to your quarters and…get friendly?”

Just another horny fuck. How utterly disappointing.

“Pirate,” I sighed, “I suggest you stand down, report to the bridge and act like a sailor. Either that, or you learn how to swim really fast.”

He shrunk and backed up. He didn’t want to turn his back on me, nor did he want to stumble on the coils of rope. He steadied his fall against the railing, and I let the dagger fly, pinning his hand to the wood. I walked over, slow and confident.

“One word to the crew, the rats, or your crab-infested cock,” I hissed, “I’ll have you speared at the prow until the seagulls have their feast.”

“Yes, Captain. Sorry, Captain,” he begged.

When I pulled my dagger out, he stopped begging and started screaming.

“I told you to report to the bridge!” I yelled.

He scuffled, ran, and stumbled. Not long after, Ana descended. If she was tired, she hid it well.

“What was that all about? McRory’s bleeding all over the helm?” she smiled, shaking her head.

“He’s bleeding because I didn’t tell him to stop,” I snarled.

I looked at her, but her eyes were on the dark waters.

“Kill the lights!” she yelled, and The Angelica immediately emerged in darkness.

“Blasted moon,” she scoffed, but just for me.

She leaned in. She was rancid against my freshly washed body but in the best possible way. On any other night, this meant sex, and I was the one being fucked. But not tonight.

“Three ships,” she whispered, “Just beyond the horizon. Our lookouts should have seen them fifteen minutes ago. We’re sailing blind, Selene.”

She gazed into the horizon, looking for something, then jumped the mast and climbed the ropes.

She moved fast, and I heard her yell once she reached the top.

“Get down or fall down!”

I hate being failed. My lookout’s failure only reflected poorly on me. I’d gut them both once they got down if I could spare four hands on deck. And because of them, I had no idea. Their failure was their salvation.

I needed eyes on the mast, but not Ana’s. I couldn’t send Darius; he was too bulky and slow.

“Captain?”

Voices spoken in unison. Conrad and Arthur. Twins, seventeen years old. They’d snuck on board in Barbados and had posh English accents.

“Do you boys want to live for your eighteenth birthday?” I asked because decisions needed to be made.

“Aye, Captain,” they answered.

Freaks, I thought, but they’d chosen this life over the English Armada. It had to count for something. Unless it was a masterly executed English operation. I didn’t have the luxury to ponder.

“I need eyes,” I said, pointing up, “Get up there and report.”

They were up before my failures were down. My men were slow, possibly because climbing the ropes felt better than facing me.

“Pirates,” I growled, “On any other night, you’d both be gutted as entertainment. Just pray you don’t survive this night, okay?”

I stood, watching the horizon, Ana descending the ropes, the gathering crew. I wanted to call all men on deck but needed a reason.

I stared at the lookouts still cowering by the mast.

“If we die tonight, if this is the end of The Angelica, I will haunt your spirits into eternity. You’ll beg for the mercy of the Kraken.”

Gasps. Whispers.

“Death.”

“The Kraken.”

They drew nearer, but not with hate. Sure, they were questioning me, but not my leadership, my next command.

I was beautiful, and even in the night, they feared beautiful. I had spoken aloud about death. About the fear that lingered under every sailor's skin. And I dared be beautiful in doing so.

Ana jumped on deck and pulled me to the side.

“Three ships, all running dark,” she whispered, “One’s circumnavigating us, coming up at the stern. The other two wake, matching our speed.”

“English?” I asked.

“Not sure, Captain. Possibly worse.”

“Arthur! Watch the stern!” I yelled.

A pause. A shift. A moment dragged too long against the waves crashing into The Angelica.

“I see her, Captain!” Arthur yelled, “Fifteen hundred yards.”

“Conrad! Port! Distance?”

“Just on the horizon, Captain. Maintaining speed.”

“Twelve hundred,” Arthur yelled.          

“All men on deck?” I whispered.

Ana shook her head, “Perhaps not yet, Captain.”

“Captain! It’s…mercy…it’s the Queen Anne’s Revenge!”

Arthur wasn’t yelling; he was screaming.

Blackbeard’s ship. Not his mercenary or sending. His fucking ship.

These are the moments when crews slaughter their command, flee the ship, and hope for the best.

Not my crew, not my ship.

“Men,” I said, “We’re being commandeered. We can choose to die, but we’re being commandeered just the same.”

“Captain! Are you suggesting surrender? Giving up the ship? For naught?”

It's not the best position for a captain to find herself in. But this wasn’t defeat. We’d decided to sail into his kingdom; of course, there was a price to pay.

“I’m suggesting you pussies man up!” I  yelled, “I’m giving you one chance to live through the night, to sail another day. All you have to do is follow my command, but fuck me! When you survive this night, and should I choose to take you back on board, your allegiance lies with my black ass, and I expect you to fall in line or overboard. You disgust me! All of you!”

The waves slapped against the hull, the rigging groaned, and somewhere, someone exhaled through their teeth. No one spoke. No one moved.

A shift—a man spat onto the deck. Another adjusted his grip on the rigging. Someone swallowed hard. McRory fastened his grip on the wheel, his bandaged hand gripping through the pain. But his nod showed understanding, perhaps even respect. Darius watched, arms crossed, unreadable.

The tension hung, stretched thin.

Then Ana stepped closer, effortlessly like she’d known how this would play out. She leaned in just enough for her breath to brush my ear.

“Impressive,” Ana whispered. 

“Good,” I sighed, “Because I just pissed myself.”

“Smells more like you,” she giggled.

“Douse all sails!” I yelled, hoping it was the correct command.

Ana nodded.

The crew obliged. Dead in the water. Waiting to be boarded. Perhaps a swift execution. We heard her before we saw her. She was loud where we were still, the sound of victory but not the screams of defeat.

She came up on our port. Grapples and ropes, and soon we lay side by side, dwarfed beside Blackbeard’s war machine.

The Angelica had always impressed me, but now, she lay cowering at the side of Queen Anne’s Revenge.

Boots hit our deck, foreign footsteps, and a pair of known. Too well.

I turned around.

“Hello, Edward,” I murmured.

“You!” he hissed.

Not a good sign, but at least he recognized me.

He stepped right into my face.

“I’ve heard of this ship, The Angelica, and her Captain. A woman so beautiful that sailors and pirates alike fall under her spell. It’s so disappointing—”

He spat, measured my crew, and sized Ana.

“—to find she’s nothing but a simple whore, a cheap thrill.”

“Aye, Captain,” I admitted, “But a damned good one at that if you’ll remember—”

I  spat in his spit and smiled at Ana.

“—but surely you’re mistaken? Edward Thatch, played by a simple harlot?”

He wanted to gut me, but it’d be too easy.

“Give me one reason not to destroy your sorry crew, gut you, and burn this sorry ship.”

Angry men use such angry words. Gutting people sounds nicer coming from a woman. It's more refined, somehow.

“Oh, Edward, so pesky. Selene LeBouf’s name, The Angelica, tops the English Navy’s list. Surely, you’re not biding the English’s work?”

The Captain’s dilemma. He came to ensure our ruin; it’d been a promise. And now he’d have to make a choice.

“I’m more valuable to you alive than gutted,” I continued, “As a fuck, as a Captain in your fleet, as a pesky nuisance to the English. The French. The Spaniards with their hot accents.”

He grinned.

“I promised my men blood,” he snarled.

He didn’t specify the amount of blood they’d been promised. I stepped closer, leaned in and pressed my hand against his crotch.

“I’ve a couple of lookouts you can gut, as for the rest?” I smiled against his foul breath, “You let me replenish, restock, arm my ship, and the English will be off your tail until I’m dead. Deal?”

He stood taller, it was obvious why men feared him.

“You want me to man your ship, arm her, take my food and water?” he grunted, “When it took me no effort to outman you on open the open sea?”

I laughed. Because faced with the choice of a swift death or a long pain, what else is there to do?

“Oh, Edward,” I whispered, low enough for him and Ana, too low for anyone else, “You didn’t find me. I found you.”

He stepped back, did a twirl, showed off.

“Men of The Angelica!” he yelled, “Step out from your corners to spare yourself from bloodshed. I am Blackbeard, and this is my ship!”

My crew answered with more ease to him than they did me. For now. They could have spared the scattered “Hail Blackbeard” and the obvious joy of having a new Captain. A pirate’s loyalty is only bound to the hand that feeds them.

“You promised blood?” he said.

“Them,” I answered and pointed them out.

He didn’t ask why, but he was a Captain, he knew.

“Let this be a warning,” he said as he pulled out his sword, “That Blackbeard only demands loyalty—”

He stabbed his sword through my crewman with one swift move.

“—or death.”

He let them watch, let him bleed out before the other suffered the same fate.

Pirates understand power like that.

Blackbeard sauntered, measured my crew, and drew closer until there was nothing but smell between us.

“Undress,” he snarled.

Of course, he did. Men like him had no idea how much effort it takes to get into corsets and leather. It was his way of taking my power. That’s why it was me and not Ana. I didn’t mind, a minor sacrifice.

I wasn’t about to give him the pleasure of doubt; I locked onto his eyes as each garment fell to the deck until I bathed naked in the moonlight, apart from my boots.

“I am your Captain!” he yelled again, “But in my absence, this is who you’ll answer to. May your fortune and luck be at your side.”

He stopped before me, undid his briefs, and told me to kneel.

I hadn’t touched a cock in three months, and Edward was just as big as I remembered him. He was going to fuck me in front of my crew, and I understood, so I might as well enjoy.

“You’ve grown since last, Edward,” I smirked as I parted my lips, but he wouldn’t play this slow.

He pushed inside, ensuring everyone knew who was in control and who made the decisions, and I played along.

I tried to avoid it, but he drew a moan from me. Twelve weeks does something to your need, and your body takes over when presented with options. I felt myself wet to his thrusts.

I could have reached for the dagger down my boot and ended it all there, but I hadn’t wanted command of The Angelica; I sure as hell didn’t want to captain Queen Anne’s Revenge. Worse, I wanted to get fucked.

Ana was good, but she didn’t have a cock.

“This,” he yelled, “Is what it means to serve Blackbeard—”

He stretched his arms behind his head and made them all watch.

“—and make no mistake; I can make you all serve like this!”

Blackbeard’s legacy was strong, and it would only grow, yet history was too kind to him. He pushed me off him, not because he was satisfied, but because he wasn’t.

“Turn and face your men, pirate,” he growled, “But stay on all four.”

Pride is easy to let go of when what little you have is created on a pile of lies and courage alone. I turned, slow and deliberate, but nothing resembling hesitance. I brushed my braids from my face and met their eyes.

They tried to read me, but I gave them nothing. I felt my brow furrow slightly as he pushed inside, but I chased it.

“As hard as you might try, Captain,” I breathed heavy but controlled, “You won’t make me cum.”

His rough hands were on my ass, pulling me onto him, slapping me with every other thrust until he just held me down tight, hard, and controlled.

I scanned my men’s faces and found intrigue, horror, and desire. Only one looked the other way, Darius. My body was about to betray me; something warm chased through my gut, and my breath started to escape like whimpers. My gaze strayed just a little, just shortly, but finding Ana’s eyes studying mine was too much. I couldn’t look at her.

But she looked. Studied and watched me. I felt her eyes burn my skin.

“If you want to break me, Edward, you better pick it up a notch,” I said, calming my voice and steadying myself.

I wanted to let go and release the tension building inside, but he wasn’t going to break me. Couldn’t.

He picked up the pace, the intensity. Deeper. Harder. Faster.

But he was panting too deeply; his grip was too hard on my ass. He was too focused on me and forgot to show off. I didn’t forget my men. I stared them down, each and every one of them, even as my jaw clenched, even as my brow furrowed and refused to release. Even as my pussy started throbbing and clenching around his fat cock.

I pushed back against him and met his thrusts with my own.

“How much longer you got, Edward,” I hissed, “This the best you got?”

His grip on my ass turned into a claw, a pinch. It hurt so good I moaned, but my eyes didn’t falter. My men cowered and hid in the shadows.

And Blackbeard himself released a guttural groan as he slammed inside so deep I almost burst.

Nothing feels as victorious as a mighty man pumping his everything into, only to walk away unbroken.

Scarred? Perhaps. Humiliated? Maybe.

Victorious? In the eye of the beholder.

He pulled out. Sloppy and slobbering. Dripping onto my deck. My deck. He kicked me to the boards, tucked himself in, and strode aboard Queen Anne’s Revenge.

I stood.

“Quartermaster,” I said, “My clothes.”

I dressed, and as I wrapped my skirt around me, Ana did her duty.

“Captain on the deck!”

Being towed to land by a conquering enemy should feel more like a loss. But we were arriving precisely where we meant to, exactly when we intended.

“At ease,” I said, turning to Ana, “I’ll be in my quarters.”

It was the first time her look had signaled concern. Worry.

“Selene,” she whispered, “Everything okay? You need my assistance?”

I let my eyes drift over my crew; then I met her blue eyes.

“I have to cum. Your assistance would be appreciated, Quartermaster.”

We left McRory at the helm. My crew knew their duties. I’d seen in their eyes who were loyal, who desired me, and whom I’d lost. Only the loyals would sail on The Angelica again.

We docked just after midnight. I heard the ship land too hard against the timbered docks. I glanced down between my legs.

“How does he taste, Quartermaster?” I sighed.

“Ana,” she corrected, “In these quarters, I’m Ana, and don’t you forget it Serene.”

She brushed her hand against me, and I shuddered.

“You shaved. For him?”

“For chance,” I admitted.

“I’ve been spitting hairs for three months, but for Blackbeard, you shave?”

I sighed. She was a brilliant sailor and a fierce fighter, but she didn’t have many tactical skills.

“Quartermaster,” I said sternly, “Would you’ve taken my place?”

She shrugged, nibbled at my cunt, and stretched.

“You mean this ship? Or his cock?”

Never trust a pirate. Especially if she’s blonde, blue-eyed, and gorgeous.

“You’d have broken,” I said.

She got back to work.

I was almost at the edge when they knocked at the door. I was still in my quarters, I was still captain of The Angelica, and I was about to cum on my second-in-command’s face. They had to wait or break down the door.

There was some code left between pirates, and sailors were always weary around women. So, they waited.

There was no questioning my rank when we stepped out, and they didn’t put us in chains; they just led the way.

Even among pirates, there’s justice, although I had to laugh at the gallows silhouetting against the horizon. Blackbeard hung his opponents, just like the English would him. A world between in ideology and still bound by the same ritualistic solution. I wondered if it’d hurt when I’d be hung. It was a worry for another day. But a pirate senses these things; I’d been surviving on dumb luck and Ana’s skill for too long.

They led us to him. He sat at his table, a few of his best men feasting. The meat was so succulent and tender it fell off the bones, fresh fruit, cheese, and wine.

He waved his hand, and his men left.

He motioned for us to sit, and we sat.

“Eat,” he said, “You look starved.”

Starved. He spat it. The captain of The Angelica had let her crew starve.

“It’s easy to feast, Edward, when the English are busy hunting me. I’ve built your empire just through my fucking legend—”

I filled my plate with more than I intended to eat.

“—and the only reason I live is because you already know it to be true.”

Ana sat quietly, watching the food, but couldn’t decide.

“When in doubt,” I told her, “You take everything.”

She exhaled, then feasted.

“Tell me, Selene,” he said, “How did you go from sneaking out of my bed, filled with me, my men and more rum than a man would survive, to return so many years later as captain of a ship more myth than real?”

I was too busy drinking the meat off the bones and washing it down with wine to answer him. Besides, he remembered my name. And that meant something.

“I conquered The Angelica the same way I conquered you, Edward. My pussy, too much rum, and instinct. But remember, I spared you from the dagger. Twice now.”

He shook his head but restrained from anger.

“What is it you want, pirate?” he said.

“My ship, half my crew, and cannons. But right now?”

I let it sit for a while as I wiped my chin and looked at him.

“Right now, I want you to fuck me. Because you want to, not because you have to.”

He grinned because that’s what men do when they run out of words.

“What about her?” he said and nodded towards Ana.

“Aye, Captain,” I said, staring into her blue eyes, “Her as well.”

She grinned, sly, deliberate, and wet.

“Thank you, Captain,” she murmured.

I turned toward him, my voice a low, hot whisper, “Unless, of course, that’s too much for you, Edward?”

He laughed—a deep, rumbling laugh.

“Me, my men, you’ll be begging before sunrise,” he barked.

The doors to his hall flung open, and ten of his best men entered. A little more than I’d bargained for, a little less than we could handle.

Ana wasn’t entirely sure if she should whimper or smile, so I ensured she got on board.

“Follow my lead,” I whispered, “And you’ll get the best fuck you’ve ever had.”

We stood, and I kissed her. Long, deep, more than they expected. More than a show, more than a tease—it was possession, reclamation, something no man watching could lay claim to. Ana tasted sweat and sea, long nights at the helm, and stolen moments beneath the deck. She reeked of the fight, of the storm, of me. Salt clung to her skin, sharp and brined, the air between us thick with the musk of sweat, sex, and the deep rot of the ocean.

I untied her corset and let it fall to the floor, and she got the drift. Ana was always quick to read the wind. She clawed at my back, her hands rough from rope, her nails dragging through the grit of salt still baked into my skin. I felt the heat of her, the rawness of unwashed lust, of bodies too long at sea, and a hunger that had nothing to do with food.

We tangled naked against each other, sweat slicking between us, the scent of hard-worn battle still clinging to our bodies like armor.

Then I stopped. Mid-ass grope, mid-moan, mid-command of every eye in the room. I pulled back, pouting, letting disappointment roll over my lips as I cast my gaze across them.

"Seriously? Eleven pirates and not one cock?"

I shoved Ana back onto the table, wine splashing, meat flying, silverware clattering to the floor. The hall reeked of spilled drink, sweat, and something deeper—something primal. The first man was on her before she had time to gasp, his hands rough, his body harder. Another wasted no time, grabbing her by the hair, snapping her head back, and shoving his cock past her lips.

She choked, but only because she let herself. I knew Ana. She was the kind of woman who could make a man believe he was in control, only to drain him of everything before he knew what had happened. They’d be busy for a while, but not for long, not with her.

Edward sat, legs spread, eyes smoldering, watching from his throne like a king watching a battle unfold. He undid his belt, letting his cock fall heavy in his hand, waiting. Not calling me, not commanding—waiting.

I didn’t quite reach him before strong arms caught me, dragging me back, lifting me clean off my feet. The heat of bodies surrounded me: too many hands and voices. I was weightless for half a second before I was flung forward, landing hard, face first against the table beside Ana.

The table rocked beneath us, wood groaning under the weight of bodies, heat, and hunger.

I felt my legs stretched wide, yanked apart, rough hands pulling me open. A warm glob of spit landed against my skin, sliding down, slicking me for what came next.

He wanted my ass.

And I was in no position to deny him, no reason to resist. My body would take it, and they would believe it was theirs to claim. But it was never really theirs.

A shift, a shove, a new heat pressing against my lips, past them, into me. I caught a glimpse of Ana—just a flash of blue fire, a moment of something raw and knowing.

She was watching. Hungry. Needing. She wanted to see me break—with her, or perhaps before her.

And I would.

Sometimes, need is bigger than dominance. Sometimes, the body takes what the mind might have rejected if given time to think. It was just a glimpse, but I already knew—I was going to cum long before her.

These men hadn’t been starved at sea. They had raided, returned home victorious, fucked and feasted. And that gave them the stamina neither Ana nor I possessed tonight.

But none of us were strangers to whoring, and that was where they underestimated us.

I felt the hands gripping my hips, the insistent pull, the press of hunger against me. I let them take what was offered because my needs were bigger than theirs. I clenched, milked, controlled. My body welcomed, but my mind commanded.

He groaned as I coaxed him to the edge, every move deliberate, every squeeze measured. His grip tightened, fingers digging into my flesh, his breath ragged as I felt him throb, spill, surrender deep inside my guts.

As soon as he pulled out, I turned on my own accord. My hands reached, my body sought, and I guided the next one into my soaked, aching heat.

His thrust was met with slick, dripping welcome.

I moaned—deep, guttural, raw—against the thick heat sliding between my lips. Every thrust filled my mouth, stretched my throat, each movement forcing a fresh shudder down my spine.

Ana’s hand found mine.

Fingers laced, skin slick, breath catching.

I felt her tremble, the way she squeezed slightly as her pirate slammed into her, dragging moans from her throat even as she bit down on them. She wasn’t just taking—she was feeling.

But I was too far gone.

The pleasure coiled, relentless, a pulse deep in my core that seized me whole. My aching cunt clenched around the cock buried inside me, the tension cresting, consuming. Every muscle tightened, every nerve burning, breaking.

A moan tore from my throat—desperate, uncontrollable, shaking.

The man in my mouth felt it.

He growled, fingers tangled in my hair, hips jerking as he lost himself to it. He pushed deep, and heat spilled down my throat, thick, overwhelming, shoving past my lips and flooding my senses.

My pussy spasmed around the man inside me, the last thrusts brutal, raw, unforgiving. A groan, a final snap of his hips, and I felt it—hot, filling, dripping.

And beside me, Ana let go.

She dug her nails into my palm, her grip fierce, trembling. As she lost herself, her gasps turned into something helpless, something shuddering, something real. Something so devastating and all-consuming that the pirate in her mouth had no option but to surrender.

He choked on his own pleasure and groaned deep as he spilled, slipping from her lips, his release pooling from her mouth and onto the floor beneath him.

We weren’t just taking.

We were consuming.

One by one.

Five down.

Five to go.

And then, the captain himself.

She was so fucking hot like this, cum dripping from her chin, flushed, panting. I was done drinking seed—one was enough. The next pirate reached for me, eager, ready to take, but I didn’t let him.

Instead, I wrapped my legs around his waist, locked him down, and wrestled him back onto the table, mounting him before he could even breathe.

I took him and used him.

I fucked him before he could even process what was happening. My aching, cum-drenched cunt pushed down onto him, hot, swollen, raw. And once I was firmly against him, impaled on his cock, as deep as he could go, I turned—slow, deliberate.

I met the eyes of the next man in line.

I reached back, grabbed my ass, split myself open with my fingers, and smirked. Daring him. Challenging him.

Ana had different tactics, different needs. She didn’t want control—she wanted indulgence. She stayed exactly where she was, taking her pleasure as they took theirs, feeding their hunger with her own. She loved it like this—full, open, bodies pressed against her from both ends, drinking every drop they gave her, swallowing every last moan.

And as I took, rode, and let them fall into rhythm, fill me, stretch me, push in and pull out, losing themselves in us, I lifted my gaze. I found him through lazy, hot, hazed eyes. Edward. Watching.

He sat still. Not joining. Not commanding. He was just stroking himself, slow and deliberate. He hadn’t expected this—this kind of pleasure, this kind of need, this taking.

I smiled until I couldn’t smile anymore, until pleasure tore through me like a blade, slicing me apart, crashing me back together. Until I was nothing but heat, sweat, tremors, and the force of it all. I didn’t care that I drooled, moaned, whimpered, panted. Because I wanted Edward to see. To see how hard I could cum. To see how I spent his men, one by one, using them up, leaving them wrecked, empty, ruined beneath me.

Three months at sea had built tension, appetite, and an uncontrollable desire inside me, inside Ana, and we owned each thrust to our bodies, letting release after release wash through us until every coil in our muscles snapped like springs wound too tight, too long, too needy to stop. There was no hesitation, no second-guessing, only the raw, unfiltered need we had carried across endless waters, and now, finally, unleashed.

He spilled out of my ass, spent, soft, and I barely registered it. I was still moving, still chasing the last waves of pleasure as I rode the man beneath me, grinding my hips, taking him even as he lost himself. He exploded inside me, and I didn’t stop. I rode him past his climax, past his surrender, grinding against his soft, shrinking cock, feeling every pulse, every shudder, still cumming, over and over again, caught in the lingering tremors of pleasure that refused to fade.

Ana was somewhere beside me, her body tangled in men, her pleasure mirroring mine, but my eyes found only Edward. He had stopped stroking himself, his breath slow and measured, his expression something unreadable. He had watched me cum, seen the way I had taken, devoured, outlasted, but he had not touched me. Not yet.

Nine men down. Two to go. The Captain and his second in command.

I slid off the body beneath me, my muscles weak but still obeying, the table sticky with sweat and heat. My legs trembled as I stood, every nerve still buzzing, every inch of my skin slick with the evidence of my conquest. I dripped spent cum from both holes, feeling it slide down the inside of my thighs, pooling at my ankles as I caught my breath.

The room was thick with it—sex, salt, and the fading groans of men left ruined in our wake. Ana lay sprawled beside me, her body stretched and used, but her lips curled in the barest hint of satisfaction. She had gotten what she wanted. And I had taken what I needed.

I lifted my chin and turned my gaze to him.

Edward.

Ana stood unsteady but ready, the weight of the night clinging to us both. We approached the last two men, the final test, the final conquest. Ana pushed, and her man fell back into his chair, his body relaxed, spent, yet obedient to what was coming. She straddled him without hesitation, sinking onto him as I took my place on Edward’s lap.

I felt him beneath me, hot, rigid, thick with anticipation. He had waited longer than all of them. Perhaps he had thought himself above this, or perhaps he had wanted to watch, to study, to see how much we could take before he decided to claim us himself.

But there was no claiming.

I positioned myself, felt the press of him against my entrance, slick, waiting, and I pushed down. Took him. Buried him inside me as deep as he would go.

Ana did the same beside me, her breath shuddering as she sank onto her man, her fingers digging into his shoulders, steadying herself even as pleasure unraveled the last threads of restraint in the room.

I leaned in, my lips brushing against Edward’s ear as I rolled my hips, grinding him deeper, harder, making him feel the weight of everything I had taken before him. I wanted him to feel it—not just my body, not just the heat, but the night itself. The men before him, the moans, the broken gasps, the way I had consumed them all and still wanted more.

“Now, Edward,” I whispered, breathless but taunting, “Can you outlast your second—”

I shifted, pressing closer, letting my lips ghost against his thick, black hair as I let the real challenge spill from my mouth, slow and deliberate.

“—and more importantly, can you make me cum this time?”

I felt his breath hitch, the grip on my hips tightening, his control flickering for the first time. This wasn’t a test of endurance anymore. It wasn’t about survival. It was about something far more dangerous.

Pride.

Edward may have waited, but I had spent the night proving that waiting wasn’t the same as winning. Now, as I rolled my hips again, dragging him deeper into me, I felt it—the shift, the moment when the great Blackbeard realized that he was the one being conquered.

He agreed to make my ship faster, my men stronger, and arm The Angelica with enough firepower to conquer whatever the English sent my way. A bargain struck not in coin or plunder, but in flesh and will.

I let him make me cum—a part of the deal.

But when I regained myself, when the pleasure faded into clarity and his control slipped, I felt it—his body weakening, his breaths turning ragged, his strength faltering beneath me.

That was when I moved.

I reached down, quick, practiced, my fingers finding the familiar grip of steel against leather. The dagger slid from my boot, its cool blade kissing his throat before he even had the chance to react.

His hands twitched on my hips, instinct telling him to push me off, but I pressed in closer, keeping him deep inside me as I dragged the edge against his skin, just enough for him to feel the promise of death.

His dark eyes met mine, and for the first time all night, I saw it.

Not lust. Not amusement.

Respect.

I leaned in, my lips ghosting over his, letting him taste the breath that had just gasped his name in pleasure and whispered, slow and confident, "That’s three times now, Edward. Three times I’ve decided to spare your life."

His throat bobbed beneath the blade, a slow swallow as the realization set in. Then his cock took over, shuddering, pulsing, spilling inside me with a groan that was as much surrender as it was pleasure. He was spent, drained, emptied into me like the rest of them—but this wasn’t just a climax. It was a concession.

Ana still rode.

Her body moved with a rhythm only she understood, a dance between pleasure and greed, between control and surrender. Her nails dug into her partner’s skin, her head thrown back, mouth parted in a silent gasp as she took him to the very end. She was still lost in it, still milking, still consuming.

I didn’t move, not yet. I let Edward’s release settle, let his body slacken beneath mine, let him feel the weight of the moment, the weight of me. My dagger still hovered at his throat, a reminder that he had never been in control of this night.

Only when Ana slid off his second-in-command, her body flushed, satisfied, and still humming with the echoes of pleasure, did I finally put the dagger away. I lifted myself off Edward, feeling the last pulse of his release slip from me as I let him go, his cock softening, spent, conquered.

We didn’t linger. We dressed, fastening buckles, tightening sashes, reclaiming the command in our stance. No one stopped us. No man dared. Not even him.

We stepped into the night, boots thudding the cooling wood, the scent of salt and sweat still clinging to our skin. The docks stretched before us, lined with ships that belonged to other men. But the only one that mattered was at the end of the pier, rocking gently against the waves.

The Angelica.

My ship. My throne. My legend.

Ana and I boarded, her at my side, just as we had been from the start. We walked the decks, feeling her heartbeat beneath our feet, hearing the familiar groan of her wood and the slap of the waves that carried her. The scent of rope and rum, the sharp brine of the sea—this was home.

We pushed open the door to my quarters, the space I had fought for, fucked for, killed for. Reclaimed.

The Captain and her Quartermaster.

Whole again.

When The Angelica sailed weeks later, she was slimmer, faster, and deadlier. She carried less weight and fewer mouths to feed but more purpose. My command was now sixty-four men—men who knew their allegiance, their place, and their jobs. There were no weak links. No uncertain loyalties.

My lookouts, two twin boys who saw and warned in eerie unison, kept us seeing and unseen.

We had new cannons, reinforced rigging for speed, and more sails to chase the wind and leave our enemies gasping in our wake. Our hull was slicked with oil to glide like a shadow, and our masts were adjusted for sharp, cutting turns. We moved not just with the sea but through it, slipping between waves like a ghost on black water.

And when we slipped into the fog banks, we became more than a ship.

We became a myth.

We became legend.

Edward never noticed the eggs in his drink—small, fragile, dissolving as he swallowed. He would never taste them, never suspect the truth. They would hatch inside him, the larvae burrowing deep, creeping through his flesh, nesting in his brain, whispering to him in ways only madness understands. It would be slow, patient—like all the best vengeance.

I heard of him later, not from a sailor or a pirate, but from an English Admiral, a man who had once threatened to hunt me down. He had begged on his knees for his life, and in exchange for a moment’s mercy, he told me of Blackbeard.

How he had sailed Queen Anne’s Revenge ashore, how he had run her into the cliffs of the American coast with no attempt to stop her.

It had seemed deliberate.

And the legend of The Angelica grew.

A ship that rode the storm, that sailed the hidden rocks, that lured her pursuers to their doom, crashing and wrecking against the deadly stone.

A ship so fast, no one could catch her.

And a Captain so feared, no one dared try.

The English hated me more because I didn’t slaughter the men I left defeated; I let them live, let them crawl back to their ports and whisper my name. Selene LeBouf. A pirate so beautiful, so strong, so fierce that only her mercy was bigger.

Some we took aboard. Not prisoners but men who saw the glint of freedom in my eyes and followed willingly. Others, I let go, knowing that fear spreads faster when it has a voice.

And between each conquest, between each whispered legend, Ana and I had indulgent, greedy sex. She was my first mate in all things, my Quartermaster, my rival, my lover. We never fucked the crew, but there was hardly an English admiral who could resist us.

Five years. That was how long The Angelica survived before her story ended. Five years of outpacing the noose, slipping from the gallows, carving our legend into the waves.

When the crew of The Angelica finally hanged, the English didn’t get their sweet revenge. I was not among them.

Nor was my Quartermaster.

We lay still in the water as The Angelica burned, swallowed by flame, her sails curling into the night as she sank into her deep grave along the shores of St. Lucia.

The English thought they had won, but they had only destroyed a ship.

They grew more wary, more desperate, because now they chased a ghost.

The ghost of beauty.

The ghost of terror.

The ghost of unbearable mercy.

The ghost of me.

---

Thank you for setting sail with The Angelica and stepping into the legend of Selene LeBouf. If you enjoyed the journey—the storm, the myth, the surrender—let me know.

Like, comment, and share your thoughts.

Until next time—may the wind be at your back, the fog in your favor, and the legend live on.