The Selachian Damsel Adventure

Gaargh, me beloved ship’d more holes in her than a Marseilles whore. Alas, she were sinking, her beautiful length up-tipping in the water under constant fire from ye Dutch vessels under command o’ Captain Hendrijk Shtroken. They’d tracked us through a mighty storm and on findin’ our sails in a tatty state took pleasure in holing her.

I bade me lads take what life craft we’d left intact for as a good captain I’d be going down with me ship. Well, I’d gotten me peg leg trapped when one of ye cannons made a break for the ocean. Twas not till the water came over me head that the ship, as it sailed down to the sea bed began to loosen her innards and ye cannon tore of me peg, leavin’ me free to drown.

It looked like I was about to see Davy Jones’ locker first hand. To me shame I were not drowning gracefully. With me last remain’ breaths I flailed at the doorway which steadfastly denied me exit and did what little bellowin’ ye can deep underwater. Gaargh, and then it all went a mite dark and Jelly McFish was there chidin’ me for me carelessness.

I was roused by a curious nudging in me spine. I twisted me back in a manner unnatural so surprised was I by the touchin’. I’d feared to find meself dead and cold in some dim lightless realm populated with grey faces and a tedious range o’ board games to play. Instead I was presented with the grinning face of a Sharktikal Wench.

Aye these are the devilish cousins of me beloved merladies, for they’ve the faces of the terrifying oceanic predators with whom their forbears managed to mate without too much fatality. Tis no surprise then that I jerked back as far as me twisted back would let me, till I was face and shoulder to the wall, me legs splayed behind me at an awkward angle.

The razor toothed lady snapped hungrily and drew herself alluringly over me. She was as appealing a prospect as any lady with bladed skin and a grin that made a dolphin clear its blowhole could be. So rough was her sparkling tail that it tore me britches to scraps and sanded down me peg leg. Gaspingly I enquired as to whether I owed the oceanic vision of feminity me life. She replied in the incomprehensible growlin’ tones of her kind, for their speech is obstructed by the ranks o’ spiky dentition.

Either way I felt I’d little option, and in truth though her seduction was sharp I acquired no more injuries than in a minor sea battle. In the bloody aftermath of our conjugation she kindly unscrewed me abraded peg leg and replaced it with the pincer of a massive crab she’d dismembered in her courting ritual. Twas a good fit.

Though her sea cave was a fine pad and I were grateful for me rescue and love scrapes it was in me heart to return to the surface and a more enduring air supply. She kept me breathing by way of cuttlefish which she inflated at the surface and brought back to the cave for squeezing. Twas not the tastiest of lung gas and despite the pleasing frequency with which our intimate courting occurred I had to make my escape.

I explained me predicament to Lady Sharp Gills (as I’d named her), and her eyes grew moist in sympathy. Perhaps, in retrospect it was merely the sea in her eyes but at the time I took it for a pleasing sign. She fetched me one more cuttlefish and showed me how to tie it about me face for a breathing bag. Then she drew me outside of her cave, into the middle of circling ring of her kin. She gave me a gentle push, to which I responded by drawin’ closer to her rather than further. She escalated to a snap with her lady maw, which did drive me on.

The sharktikals swarmed above me, and as I kicked off from the bottom they thrashed around me. Me heart was in me throat, which I firmly hoped was the furthest from its proper place it might travel that day. Gingerly I swam for the surface, its glimmering blue an enticement that drew me on. Twas as I attained that gorgeous surface and me fingertips broke its magical meniscus that the sea shark women attacked.

Their writhing piscine tails slapped the water and with their deadly dentures bared they sought ye good captain’s flesh. I tore off me cuttlefish mask and beat one of the wenches about the head with it till she took it from me and rended it in two. I thought me end was upon me – for in hoping for home I’d scorned the selachian maiden. Twas not me intent, for I wished merely to live in a region that was sometimes dry. In addition her coarse caresses had titillated an old pirate’s tickling glands and I’d a desire to keep me memories of her for some time.

I espied a turtle seekin’ a swift exit from the apparent feeding frenzy (which I kept at bay with deft kicks from me crustaceous prosthetic) and hauled meself aboard its mighty shell. Now tis a sad tale for me turtlin’ pal for with me weight above the sharkly ladies quite harrowed it from below, till I was left afloat on naught but that homely helmet. The turtle appeased the crazed sea folk and I was left to drift on the waves.

Gaargh, though I was held against me will I owed the sharktical lass me life for I’d have drowned without her curious captivity. I’d always remember her for denticle lodged in me arm and the tooth marks on me thighs throb with an unholy heat whenever the rain falls sideways.

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4 thoughts on “The Selachian Damsel Adventure

  1. Pingback: Gig Round Up November & December 2012 | Captain Pigheart ~ Swashbuckling Pirate Stories

  2. Pingback: Pulp Pirate 14 | Captain Pigheart ~ Swashbuckling Pirate Stories

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