Message-ID: <54986asstr$1165608601@assm.asstr.org>
From: "Joris Huysmans" <joriskhuysmans@hotmail.com>
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Subject: {ASSM} THE SAPPHIC PIRATE MIRANDA, PART THE SEVENTH AND FINAL (BBW, FF, MF, anal)
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Date: Fri, 08 Dec 2006 15:10:01 -0500
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At last, the twisted (in every sense) conclusion of this epic historical 
romp; those who've read others of my BBW tales will recognize allusions to 
several of them (listed at end).  E-mail gratefully received at 
joriskhuysmans symbol hotmail symbol com.  Enjoy!


THE SAPPHIC PIRATE MIRANDA, PART THE SEVENTH AND FINAL
by Joris K. Huysmans


In Which Miss Esme Winterblossom, Now Wearing The Mantle Of The Late Sapphic 
Pirate Miranda, Conceives An Extraordinary Plan Of Escape For Her Crew From 
The Sargasso Sea, Through The Use of A Rite Suggested By Her Catamite 
Hippolyte, And Boldly Goes Where No Sapphic Pirate Has Gone Before


Sept. 17, 17--
And Beyond The Infinite

Captain's Log,

"I know many of you are unhappy to find that we have one of the Male Tribe 
on board," I shouted to the crew.  "Rather I regard it as the hand of 
Providence Herself, that She has guided to our care two whom we need most at 
this our hour of desperation: the girl Hippolyte, with the knowledge of 
ancient and magical rituals, and the boy Alexander, with the cock to seal 
the compact of that ritual."  There were mutterings of disgust at this last, 
but I pressed on.  "I would not ask one of you to do what I would not do 
myself, so I shall take this happy cock into my bottom, while the rest of 
you may comport as you see fit, the only requirement being to frolic as 
vigorously as possible.  Now you bad girls, let's party!"

All around me Sapphic pirates of every description began to fling off their 
clothes and expose their soft, flabby bodies, rolling into one another's 
flesh, licking at teats and fingering cunnies.  Hippolyte, Alexander and I 
remained on the quarter-deck, and likewise bared ourselves, the hot sun 
beating down on us.  Hippolyte kissed me and rubbed my breasts with her 
soft, cocoa-colored hands, while I took hold of Alexander's cock and began 
to stroke it to prepare it for its unexpected journey into the female sex.

As the action below us reached a frenzy (as one might expect in those fully 
expecting to die shortly), I bent over and Alexander applied grease to my 
bottom, while Hippolyte, chanting the words taught her by the old voodoo 
witch on St. Roger, removed the chicken from its cage and picked up the 
knife.  I felt the tip of Alexander's cock at my arse-entry, and looked at 
lovely Hippolyte, my exquisite milk chocolate delight, as I braced myself 
for what Miranda herself had warned me was great pain.  "Now," I said, and 
as Hippolyte came to the pivotal part of her text, I felt my arse-hole 
expand with the head of Alexander's cock, whilst the blade flashed and blood 
spurted from the chicken onto my face as the wings of its headless body 
thrashed in Hippolyte's arms.  I felt myself being hollowed out from inside, 
yet as overwhelming as the Sensation was, it was not completely 
unpleasurable.  Indeed, I soon grew to enjoy the sensation of my bum being 
pushed in and pulled out, the slap of Alexander's thighs against my own with 
each thrust of his manhood.  Even when there was Pain, it was truly a great 
consolation to have Hippolyte's round, sweaty breasts to suckle at, licking 
her nipples as the cock tickled the innermost ring of my bottom.

But could this ritual actually save us, or had we gone mad in our 
desperation that we should place our hope in these uncivilized rites?  As 
Alexander, squeezing his own nipples, fucked away at my arse, nothing seemed 
to change in our situation, as indeed any educated person could only have 
expected.

Then, off in the far distance, I saw something that looked like a cyclone 
forming on the water.  Yet it was not shaped like a cyclone, but rather, 
rounded on either side and coming to a point at each end, yet with 
shimmering folds inside it.  "Yes, fuck me harder!" I cried to Alexander, 
thrusting my bottom against him as the apparition, whatever it was, came to 
us.  On the main deck others had noticed it too and had stopped their 
activities to look at it; I shouted "Fuck and lick harder, you Pirates, if 
you seek to escape this graveyard in the sea!" and they returned, faithfully 
but questioningly, to the job at hand.

The thing moved toward us, there was a roar like a waterfall, in an instant 
it was all around us-- and then the world grew black.

"Yes, fuck me, deeper into my ass, deeper!" I cried, and though we could see 
nothing around us we had the sensation of unimaginable speed.  It was 
blackness and yet a blur... it went on in this way for many minutes... and 
then light began to return to it, and I could see the sea below us... but 
they were not the tropical waters in which we had sailed before.

*  *  *

September 18, 17-- [scratched out]
Date Unknown

Captain's Log,

A city, a great capitol of snowcovered stone buildings, lay stretched out 
before us, dotted here and there with church spires in the Slavic style.  
More noteworthy, however, was the commotion taking place directly before our 
eyes, a mob bearing torches, shouting wildly and pounding at the doors of a 
lavish mansion near the waterfront.  So frenzied was the mob that they 
scarce noticed our presence in their seaport.

The orgy aboard our vessel had ceased in wonder at our strange voyage, and 
Alexander had reached the point of male satiety and withdrawn from my bum, 
so I and my crew quickly dressed and I ordered all hands to take up arms as 
we sought to see what the cause of this unruly mob was.

We disembarked in a body and I stopped the first passerby I saw.  "What port 
is this?" I asked.

"Snerdsk," he said dismissively, as if the question were absurd.

"What is the cause of this disturbance?"

"Do you not know the house of Madam Slubenka, the most infamous brothel in 
all Schmertzylvania?"

"We are strangers in these parts," I said.

"I did not think there was a corner of the Baltic where Slubenka's house was 
not known," he said.  "Every depravity known to man, and many new ones, have 
been practiced there.  Or perhaps I should say known to woman, since it is 
Slubenka herself who has invented so many crimes against God."

My kind of woman.  "Tell me more about this Slubenka."

"She is little enough to look at, fat and sturdily-built," he said.  "They 
say she was a respectable governess until meeting some rake of an officer 
aboard a train.  She fell for him, the foolish cow, he threw her over, and 
she has since devoted her life to extracting profit from vice, preying on 
the weakness of men.  But all that will end today, thanks to Father 
Goruvnik, our Prophet, who will cleanse the city of her filth!" And he ran 
on to join the crowd, now beating at the doors with clubs under the 
direction of a long-robed priest with greasy black hair and beard.

"Do you hear that, my Pirates?" I cried.  "A woman of our own type, under 
threat from a priest and a sanctimonious mob happy enough to patronize her 
in private and burn her alive in public.  Let's go!"

*  *  *

It is perhaps best not to describe in too much detail the bloodshed that 
followed.  Suffice it to say that by the time my Pirates and I were done, 
Father Goruvnik and many of the good folk of Snerdsk had been sent to their 
God, and I was drinking tea with Slubenka in her bed, while my Pirates 
enjoyed a party with the employees of her establishment (Alexander was 
particularly delighted to find on the staff several boys his age).  Very 
similar we were, Slubenka and I, I must say, though I am of course much 
prettier.

I nuzzled up against her large, unclothed form, savoring the warmth of her 
enveloping fat, the rolls of her belly, the thick muscularity of her thighs, 
as all of it spilled over and embraced my much smaller self.  "Do you not 
fear the reprisals of the police?" I asked.

"There is not a man on the police force who does not take home more from me 
than from his salary," she said.  "No, I feared only the mob, and now we 
will hear no more from them, I'm certain."

"You are a remarkable woman, Slubenka," I said.  "I heard a little of your 
story-- is it true that you were ruined by an officer?"

"Yes, when I was young and easily led astray," she said.  "You met him, you 
know--"

"I did?"

"Yes, the tall, dissipated roue behind the bar.  I bought up his gambling 
debts and had him thrown out of the army.  Once a year I take him to bed, 
just to keep his shame fresh in his mind."

"Most ingenious," I said, nuzzling up to her large, peasant-like bulk.  We 
kissed again, more slowly this time as I no longer had the rush of feelings 
occasioned by my arse-fucking and the quantity of blood I had shed.  I 
grabbed one of her huge, squarish teats and sucked it into my mouth as she 
moaned with pleasure, then moved down her capacious belly to part her thick 
legs and lick at her mound.  "No-- not that again--" she said, and I looked 
up to see what was the matter.

"I have been waiting for someone from whom I could truly accept one gift in 
particular," she said.  She got up from the bed and took a sheaf of long 
brown branches tied together from her wall.  "You are strong enough to do 
the thing I ask," and she knelt down beside the bed, exposing her broad back 
and buttocks to me.  "Father Goruvnik was right; I am a sinner, a very great 
sinner.  And it is you, dearest Esme, who will punish me for my sin."

"What, you want me to beat you?"

"Is my meaning not plain enough?" she barked.  "Now!  Punish me!"

I took the branches in my hand and gave them a couple of flicks in the air, 
then brought them down firmly-- I thought perhaps too firmly-- on her back.  
"Harder!" she cried, and so I did.  The next one produced a rapidly swelling 
red welt; the next after that drew blood, which dribbled down her broad, 
capacious back and down to the crack of her wide arse.  I whipped her six or 
seven more times before she leaped up, pushed me forward onto the bed, and 
spread my bum, licking my (still-sore) arse-hole while muttering something 
in her native tongue which sounded, by its rhythms, suspiciously like a 
prayer of forgiveness.

Perhaps we were not so alike after all.

*  *  *

Date Unknown (2nd)

Captain's Log,

We boarded our ship at last, exhausted, satiated and with our stores of 
water and food (not to mention wine) restocked as a gift of gratitude by 
Slubenka and her girls.  Along the way I caught her eyeing poor Amelia, 
stumbling along with her bandaged stumps, and Slubenka drew me aside and 
informed me that there was quite a taste among certain members of the 
aristocracy for girls in her state.  It took but a minute to arrive at a 
price and I soon had Amelia carried off by some of Slubenka's porters.  
"Don't worry, darling, you shall be treated very well, and spared the 
troubles of seafaring to live in a beautiful house," I called after her as 
she was dragged, kicking and screaming, away.  She could be most difficult, 
I have to say.  Not like my dear Hippolyte.

Besides Amelia, Alexander (not surprisingly) chose to remain with Madam 
Slubenka.  "It's been a slice.  Don't do anything I would do," he said as we 
bade our goodbye, then turned to kiss a handsome, dark-eyed Tatar on the 
lips.

I returned to the ship to watch them loading some of the cases of wine.  How 
curious-- the date on the case said 1871, not 1771 as I assumed it must be.  
A funny mistake to make.

We cast off our ropes and hoisted the anchor, and began to move out into the 
Baltic Sea.  As we did, far off in the distance, I saw what looked like a 
cyclone.  And yet... not like one.

*  *  *

Our second ride through the slit in the ether was far more tumultuous than 
our first.  The ship was racked by violent impacts, as if we were bouncing 
from one rock to the next in the shallows.  Yet as before, absolute 
blackness surrounded us on every side.  A moment came when we began to hear 
voices--

"I'm getting something--"

"Roger, initiating retraction sequence--"

"She's breaking up, she's breaking up--"

Suddenly forms appeared around us and we seemed to be tumbling through a 
vast cavern lit by some unearthly light such as we had never seen.  In this 
cave, as bright as if there were daylight though no sun could be seen, we 
seemed to be in a kind of Amphitheatre, and in its center a group of about 
ten people were fucking as furiously as we had the day before, while all 
around them were what looked (by their bearing and weaponry) to be soldiers, 
though they looked like no Army I had ever seen.

I understood that they were engaged in the same sort of ritual which 
Hippolyte had initiated for us, which no doubt explained why we were 
appearing to them and they to us; yet it was extraordinary that a secret 
society of such vastness and resources should exist in whatever country (the 
Vatican?) this was.  There seemed to be great frenzy among the soldiers and 
we heard much shouting--

"I can't hold her much longer--"

"Who the hell are they?"

"Something's pulling them away from us--"

"How did a god-dam ship get in here?"

"Is she going back to her time?"

"You said we'd conjure up Yog--"

"She's going forward--"

"We're losing her--"

"How'd we conjure up a fucking pirate ship instead?"

"She's heading for the future--"

"Mr. President, you must decide now--"

"You down there!  Fuck harder, god dammit!"

The din of the slit approaching us drowned out any further communication-- 
and once again, we were rushing into blackness.

*  *  *

Date Unknown (3rd)

Captain's Log,

Again, light began to break around us and we found ourselves hurtling at 
speed beyond Reason toward an unearthly city of towers that gleamed like the 
blades of swords.  The sea was full of ships, yet not a single one bore 
sails, and all were moving by some mysterious means of Locomotion.  Even 
more remarkably, the sky too was filled with ships of a different Design, 
which likewise moved not by sail but along a thin white streak of smoke.

There was little enough time for such reflections, however, as it seemed as 
though our Doom had arrived at last.  In the final instant before we crashed 
into the port, however, enormous balloons exploded all around us, cushioning 
our crash and stopping us with a jarring, yet harmless, impact.  "Welcome to 
the Port of Thinopolis.  Your safety is our number one concern.  No smoking, 
meat-eating, or fast walking is permitted within the terminal complex..." 
said a disembodied voice, its strange words echoing all around us.

It was a most curious place, this Thinopolis.  The streets were not brick or 
mud but a kind of blue sponge, which the occupants had some difficulty 
walking upon, but which was so soft that it cushioned their falls, which 
were frequent.  All around us more voices resounded-- "Loud noises are not 
permitted in multicultural areas."  "Stay healthy-- eat eleven servings of 
delicious FlavKelp today, now in Strawberry Mocha!"  "Please be tolerant of 
the gluten-intolerant."  Perhaps because of this constant harangue, the 
residents of the city had a drawn and hungry look, like itinerants too long 
between work.  Indeed, no matter where I looked, the one thing that could 
not be found was a person who was otherwise than scrawny and overly sinewed. 
  My crew was the picture of robust, hearty English health next to these 
wan, half-starved creatures.

"We have had a hard journey," I said to the crew.  "I think we would best be 
served by preparing a feast and gathering our wits about us over dinner."

There was little argument about that and within minutes one of the piglets 
had been slaughtered and was roasting on a spit on the main deck.  After our 
ordeal the succulent smell of pork was most comforting.

What it was not, apparently, was welcome in the precincts of Thinopolis.  
After the pig had roasted for a bit, we noticed passersby in the street 
reacting in horror, and one or two even going so far as to retch upon the 
blue sponge walkways (which prompted an immediate spray of some foul 
chemical worse than the original stench).

Within moments, a phalanx of blue-helmeted soldiers bearing rifles of a 
curious design had appeared from metal carriages along the portside, and one 
of them was shouting some twaddle at us about "unlawful eating of meat," 
"lack of Identi-toos," surrender immediately, and so on and anon.  Really, 
how very rude to interrupt a meal with the Tedium of official business.

"Fire," I said, and the crew let off a volley of six-pounders, slaughtering 
the soldiers in a hideous explosion of blood and guts upon the very port 
itself.  Most satisfying, especially as several of the metal carriages 
exploded on their own.  What I had not reckoned on, however, was the result 
of firing cannons directly at the blue sponge sidewalk; it caught our 
cannonballs and bounced them back toward us at almost undiminished speed, 
where they punctured our hull in a dozen places.  The old ship began to 
lurch ominously.

"All pirates take up arms and abandon ship!" I cried, and my crew took their 
cutlasses and began jumping from the sinking deck to the port.  I motioned 
to a few of the gals and what working rifles amid the gruesome carnage we 
could find, we picked up, though I had to urge caution after one of the 
midshipwomen tested hers and splattered a passing local against a wall 
advertising this FlavKelp of theirs, which appeared to be some form of 
minimal Sustenance.  In light of how dreadful it looked, I was relieved to 
see that the pig and some of the wine had been brought along to sustain us.

"Violator alert.  You must surrender at once to proper authorities.  Failure 
to comply will go on your permanent record," a sort of talking painting with 
a woman's face on it shouted at us from atop one of the port buildings.

"Where will we go, Captain?" first mate Kate asked me.  "How will we make 
our escape without a ship?  We know nothing of this land."

"We will not escape," I said.  "We shall rule.  Do you not see how the 
people cower from us?  Do you not see how thin and ill-fed and soft they 
seem?" Kate and some of the others began to look around, and to see what I 
had seen here.  "This is a rich, pampered land, and it is for the taking by 
fighting women such as us!"  I pointed at the talking painting.  "We must go 
where she is.  All around this city they see her face.  If we can put our 
faces and our bloody cutlasses on that painting in her place, so that every 
man, woman and child in this city sees us, the day will be ours."

*  *  *

It was little enough work to get the location of the talking-painting woman 
from one of the terrified locals at swordpoint.  We made our way in a body 
toward the palace, which for some reason they called "the Studio," and as we 
did so a curious thing happened.

As word spread, as we cut and shot our way through one group of guards after 
another, slowly members of the local population began to join us, both men 
and women.  Some were enticed by the smell of the pig, which we shared 
gladly with these people, many of whom had never tasted honest meat before; 
they almost cried with joy at the taste.  Others were plainly attracted to 
my piratical crew, complimenting them on their abundant bosoms, their large 
bottoms, their womanly curves in such contrast to the narrow, bony forms of 
their own men and women.  It was a struggle to keep my forces moving and not 
have them dissolve into groups of sexual trysts.  But above all, they seemed 
to rejoice at the overthrow of their oppressors, and to take joy in the 
freedom to eat meat and grow fat.

At a certain point I thought we might have a real battle on our hands, as we 
encountered a band of woodspeople coming over the city wall.  But it turned 
out that they too had come to join our fight, and I had every reason to 
believe them, for they too had the build of joyful meat-eaters so unlike the 
deprived FlavKelp-eaters.

By the time we reached the studio we were perhaps six hundred strong, and 
there was no force left to resist us as we bashed in the (most impractically 
made of glass) doors, ascended the stairs, and found the studio where the 
woman in the talking painting was speaking, her image somehow carried to all 
the paintings at once.  She was able to let out only a single shriek before 
I took her head off with my cutlass, and then, addressing myself to the 
curious instrument to which she had been speaking, said: "People of 
Thinopolis!  The cruel oppressors who have ruled over you are no more, their 
guards lay dead in your streets.  Life in Thinopolis will be different and 
freer now, for I am your new ruler and your deliverer-- yes, I, the fabled 
Sapphic Pirate Miranda!"

*  *  *

Half the city came out for the party we threw, burning the remnants of the 
old regime (including some old nanny-goat scolds we'd found who went to 
their deaths screaming about how we'd all die of something called 
"cholesterol"-- well, not as fast as they died, I reckon).  Though that 
wretched FlavKelp stank so badly when we burned it that instead we had a 
sort of "Tea Party" with it in the river.  The woodspeople brought animals 
to cook, and once they'd had their first taste of meat in years, the 
residents of Thinopolis (which I was pondering renaming... how do you like 
"Mirandaville?") soon found themselves having randy thoughts.  My big-assed 
pirate crew proved highly popular, some extracting substantial prices for 
sex with men, others finding various Thinopolis females to their fancy for 
Sapphic frolics.

Myself, I was little enough interested in the waiflike Thinopolis sort but I 
was much taken with the leader of the woodspeople, a man named Kroll, and 
his woman, a most curvaceous redhead named Sarah.  Both had escaped from 
Thinopolis' dreary regimen some years earlier, and lived a happier life in 
the woods, planning for the day when their numbers would be sufficient to 
overthrow the city.

"Will there be peace between our peoples?" Kroll asked me frankly, as we 
drank Slubenka's wine on the terrace, and below us the bonfire burned 
brightly and so, too, did the passions of our peoples.

"There is one way aboard my ship in which we seal the sacredness of such a 
pact," said I.  "In bed."

Kroll looked at Sarah and she smiled at him, generously.  "I trust your love 
enough that I do not fear one night with another," she said, and he took her 
hands and looked back at her with the utmost devotion.

"Um, not to intrude on this tender scene, but maybe you forgot I'm the 
SAPPHIC Pirate Miranda," I said.  "I was speaking of her."

"Oh!" Sarah said.  "I-- I've never been with--"

"Sister, you're in for a treat," I said.  "Is this acceptable to you, 
Kroll?"

He shrugged.  "What can I say except what she said?  I trust her as she 
trusts me."

"Great," I said, grabbing Sarah's arm and pulling her toward my bed-chamber. 
  "Make yourself at home.  Hippolyte, show him a good time."

*  *  *

Sarah was, unsurprisingly, hesitant and shy, and I proceeded gently with 
her.  First we cuddled and kissed, her abundantly rounded form 
well-cushioned without being fat; slowly she grew more comfortable, her 
tongue peeking out of her mouth as our lips met, stroking my breast as I 
stroked hers.  I lifted her woolen sweater over her head and breathed in the 
damp sweatiness of the cotton shirt underneath, nuzzling the space between 
her ample breasts.

I moved down and lifted the shirt to expose a soft belly, kissing it as I 
kneaded her breasts in their bodice.  Her head rolled back on the bed and I 
knew she was lost in the pleasure of another woman's gentle touch.  I moved 
up to her breasts and she released them from their imprisonment-- oh!  They 
were lovely, round and full, not droopy like so many of those I had become 
accustomed to seeing on my ship each day-- yet neither were they so petite 
and erect as my own.  They were woman's breasts, not a girl's, and I sucked 
at their soft abundance most eagerly.

As I did so I could feel Sarah's legs stirring below, as if there were an 
itch in need of scratching in their vicinity, and I moved down to satisfy 
that command.  I spread her legs apart and rubbed my face in the abundant 
thatch of red hay between her legs, then began to lightly lick her petals 
apart, which occasioned an impressive series of moans.  I licked and sucked 
at her womanly flowers vigorously while molding with my hands her ample 
buttocks; she was near the point of the Tingle when I suddenly pushed her 
arse into the air and split her buttocks apart to lick at the tiny brown bud 
between them.  "Oh yes, yes, God, yes," she cried, and I slipped a finger 
into her arse as I went back to licking her puss, and was soon gratified 
with the unmistakable throes of her Tingle, as she bucked up and down on my 
face, and her arse-ring throbbed around my finger inside her.

At last her exertions came to an end, and I moved up to lay beside her, 
basking in the expression of amazement and delight which I found reflected 
back at me.  "Oh Miranda," she said.  "I've never felt anything like that," 
she said, and then she kissed me, licking the taste of her own sex from my 
face, still liberally coated with her abundant juices.

I was just about to suggest her next move when suddenly there was a knock at 
the door.  "Blast the scurvy dogs," I said, and opened it.  Hippolyte and 
Kroll stood there, both naked, with worried looks.  I was amused to note 
that the hair of both was well-mussed.

"Something awful is about to happen," Kroll said.

"What?" I asked.

"My men have spotted a ship coming our way."

"Ships must use this port every day," I said.  "What is so--"

"It's Abdul al-Hassan," he said, and when he saw that that name registered 
nothing with me, added, in tones of the utmost dread and revulsion, "The 
Sodomite Pirate Abdul al-Hassan."

*  *  *

E P I L O G U E


"Randi!"

There was no answer.

"Randi!  Wake up!"

The girl dozing next to the tree stirred and sat up groggily.  Her sister 
began to brush bits of grass off her long blue dress.  "I brought you out 
here to practice your Latin verbs, not to get lost in your fantasies again."

"I wasn't, I was pondering whether..." the younger girl said, irritably, but 
trailing off before she could finish the thought.

They stood up, and the older girl began to lead the younger one to the 
house, looking carefully to make sure no carriages or motorcars were coming 
down the road as they crossed it.  "We have to back to the house by two, 
Mother has invited Reverend Pinchwork for tea.  What were you thinking of 
this time?  Pirates?  Cowboys and Indians?  The war with the Zulus?"

"Don't remember," the younger girl muttered, unconvincingly.

"One of them, no doubt.  Miranda Sutworth, how a sweet little girl can want 
to think of such disagreeable subjects is a mystery," the older sister said. 
  "Still, I suppose at your age, it's all innocent fun.  You're still too 
young for the sordid reality to have impinged upon your world, I expect."

"That's right, Amelia," Miranda muttered, as she contemplated the image of a 
cutlass being brought down upon the Reverend Pinchwork's skull, and the 
effect that act would have upon one of Mother's interminable teas.

T H E   E N D

*  *  *

For those interested in which other stories are referenced above, they are 
(in order):
Train to Schmertzylvania
What Lana Taught Me
Escape From Thinopolis

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