Portugal, 1784

The events that follow are based on a true diary found. Honest. With a little bit o'poetic license. Let me know if you want more of our illustrious hero, and I'll read around the diary... ;o)

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The ship slipped steadily, stealthily, into dock. Midnight, perfect. Just how he always arrived, when no-one would see. That was his trademark.

The sun arose the next morning, gently warming the faces of the sailors sleeping on the decks. Each awoke, rubbed his eyes and began to his task. In his cabin, their Captain washed – splashing ice-cold water over his face, the perfect start to every morning – and dressed. Black leather trousers, black shirt, slightly open at the top, black leather jacket, high boots. And a little black ribbon to keep his flowing ginger hair back with style. Well, he did have an image to keep up.

Waving to his men he left the ship and wandered into market. He wandered between the rows of stalls, sampling an apple here, an oyster there. He was engrossed in the relative merits of a peach and a plum, trying to decide which he would devour for breakfast, when an alternative crossed the corner of his field of vision. He whipped round, and stood agog. There, on the other side of the market buying bread, she stood. He could make out the blue ribbon keeping the long auburn plait in place, the gentle curves that indicated her breasts, her tiny waist, her hips. Her torso was confined by a white shirt, her legs by a blue skirt, down to her delicate ankles disguised in small boots. As she turned round, she revealed her shirt to be quite low-cut, and he felt himself draw in breath, quite involuntarily, as she showed the tiniest hint of cleavage. And he looked up, and saw her face.

"You buying that, guv'?"

Snapping back round, he glared at the fruit-seller and left, still clutching the fruits. He turned back to follow her, but she was gone. Growling, he threw the fruit at the seller, with perfect aim.

It was mid-afternoon when he next got chance to leave his ship. Having dined elegantly, as was the custom, he supervised his men gathering in supplies, but his mind wasn't there. As soon as he could, he departed, angrily determined to find the woman who was preying on his mind so much. He was going to have her, hell or high water. And he usually got what he wanted.

It had been some time since he last landed on these shores. He seemed to recall a fight which had resulted in his men being ordered to leave the island. He didn't, of course. Men such as he didn't tale orders from mere councillors. Still, he was annoyed, and left the woman currently receiving the pleasure of his favours mid-groan, although not without throwing a few extra coins on the bedside. It wouldn't do to get that kind of bad name, now, would it?

As he wandered through the town he remembered the different women he had bedded there. Some half-recognised him in the street, scurrying along as they met his gaze and averted their eyes. They knew the anger that lived inside him, they knew how he could be. They knew him, alright.

Usually he would menace them, perhaps a glare, perhaps a sneer. He found it amusing. But today he didn't, he continued along his way, whistling under his breath. He soon found himself at one of his most frequent haunts – the aptly named "Gentleman's Pleasure." Swinging open the door, the receptionist greeted him with a coy smile. He briefly asked her where Janine was, his favourite. She gave him the key, and went upstairs.

Janine was ready for him. She lay seductively on the bed, draped in a silk cloth barely covering her modesty. She smiled, and her eyes fixed on him. He sauntered, trying to restrain the bulge he knew was becoming prevalent in his trousers. She stood to greet him, and the chemise fell off, revealing her tight, pert breasts and her perfectly smooth stomach. He shuddered as she placed her hands on his trouser-band and began to undo the buttons. He slapped her, hard, across the face, and she fell to the floor.

"I need information."

So that was who she was. No wonder she had been so stunning. Daughter of the Duke. Could be tricky. Still, could be fun.

That night, as the moon rose in the sky, he found himself at the foot of a large mansion. Stealthily, he opened the large door, sword drawn ready to kill anyone who stood in his way. Thankfully, no-one was there. The house appeared deserted. As his eyes adjusted to the semi-gloom, he could just make out the shadow of a sleeping doorman. Just to be sure, he knocked him on the head with the hilt of his sword. Not enough to kill him, just enough to ensure he'd have a raging headache in the morning.

The Captain made his way up the flights of stairs, age-old and covered in thick, red carpet that seemed to melt underfoot. He knew, from experience, exactly which room she would be in. For a start, it would probably have her name on the door. Girls' rooms frequently did. As he approached it, he grinned.

"Told ya."

He placed his hand on the doorknob, and turned, gently pushing against the door to make it open slowly. It did, but with a loud creak. He swore under his breath and paused. Nothing. Relaxing slightly, he pushed the door a bit more forcefully and it opened more easily. He stepped inside the room, and looked around.

He could see quite clearly, thanks to the open window that was letting in the moon's rays, and no doubt the sun would follow suit and she'd wake n a few hours. He saw her form, and knew instinctively that she was sleeping sound, and was unlikely to wake anytime soon. As quietly as he could possibly manage, he made his way over to her.

Her hair, even longer than he remembered, spread loosely along the pillow, a slight tendril falling over her face. Softly, he lifted it with the tip of his sword so he could behold her face. She was absolutely stunning, absolutely flawless skin. He followed the elegant neck down to her shoulders, her chest, the rise of the sheet across her breasts, the folds of the sheet indicating the slender body beneath. He felt his heart rate quicken, his manhood begin to stiffen, and quenched the urge to wake her and force himself upon her. No, this time that would not do. He plucked a single rose from his pocket, and leaving it on her pillow, made his escape.

This continued for another three nights, awaking to find a treat by her luscious mane. She began to expect this, and plotted to find out the identity of her secret admirer. On the fourth night she waited. As he approached the door, he knew something was wrong. Grimacing, he turned and left. After a while, she came to the door. She knew he was there, he had to be. She looked along the corridor, but nothing. Sighing, she returned to bed. And the rose was there, waiting for her. Now she was really curious.

It was at market the next day that she began to have suspicions about the identity of her benevolent visitor. She overheard some women in the market talking about a Captain, a Pirate no less, who they had seen but dared not acknowledge. And whilst buying her bread, she noticed a man standing apart, playing with a rose between his fingers. He caught her gaze and held it until she looked away. On her return home, she sent a handmaiden to the village to uncover more information.

No wonder he was so attractive. A Pirate. Could be tricky. Still, could be fun…

That night, as the Captain went to pay his nightly visit, he found the bed empty. He left his present, as usual, and returned to his ship, intrigued but nonchalant. He knew that she had discovered his identity; after all, women talk and he had spies everywhere. And he was expecting her to pay him a visit. And he had planned ahead.

She discovered this as she made her way on to the ship. She easily located the Captain's quarters, and entered. Nobody. As she turned to leave, she felt the door close behind her. And the lock turned. Her stomach churned, she knew she was caught. She wandered around the cabin, looking for anything to help her escape. A pistol lay on the table, so she picked it up and pocketed it. Realising there was no way of escaping, she sat on the bed and cried.

When she awoke, she saw him sat by his desk. Quickly, she leaned to get the gun and realised with increasing fear that she was bound, wrists and ankles. She opened her mouth to scream and found she was also gagged.

"Necessity, I'm afraid," he said. "After all, can't be having you getting all scared and hurting such a pretty little thing, can we?."

Delicately, he removed the gag. He didn't want to hurt her, either. Not this one. He unfastened the bindings and she sat up, glad to be loose.

"Are you?"

"Yes"

He moved closer towards her and placed a finger over her lips to silence her, neither needed explanation. He loved her, annoyingly, and that was the end of it. He'd evidently succeeded in seducing her, for here she was. As he moved even closer, he could smell the perfume she wore, a delicate scent matching her delicate features. He leaned in and kissed her, softly. She responded, and began to felt her heart quicken as his tongue found hers. His hand moved to her hair, and felt its softness trickle through his fingers, as their breathing quickened and their kisses became more frantic.

His hands caressed her, and silently he pulled open the top button of her shirt. She didn't object, far from it, and took her lead from him. She loosened the cord that bound his shirt together, he removed her shirt before pulling off his own. He gazed in wonder as he contemplated the corset that bound her breasts in eternal imprisonment, not understanding how women could hide such objects of beauty in such a barbaric device. Not seeing any other way, he lay her on the bed and picked up his sword.

"Don't worry, and don't move. Whatever you do, don't move." She breathed in ands held as the corset was sliced from her body, the tip of the blade leaving a light impression on the skin, but not hurting. She was impressed. He was not.

"Bloody silly thing" he uttered, and cut it to shreds. He lay down next to her, and their hands fondled each others body. His lips found her breasts and he suckled on the nipples, causing her to sigh and pull herself closer to him. His hand found its way underneath the mountain of skirts and he felt the silky-smoothness of legs. He stroked them, inching further and further up until he reached the undergarment that protected her modesty. He slid it off, and his fingers found their way to the join at the top of the legs, teasing, stroking.

Her breathing quickened and her chest began to flush as he continued, she began to moan and he knew that this was something she had not before experienced. He smiled as he let one finger find its way inside, and grinned at the expression on her face. Then another, and he began to quicken his pace. She began to thrust to keep up with his nimble fingers, wanting him to keep going and continue to arouse this wonderful feeling inside her. And he was loving it too. Not only the power and control he held, although that pleased him, but the way she felt, the way she responded. He kept going, amazed at the strength with which she was gripping him as the moment of release neared. Her back arched of the bed and sweat was forming on her brow as she experienced her first climax, he grinned and she knew that would happen again. And again, and again…

He slipped off her skirts as she lay recovering, and removed his own trousers, too. Released from its cage, his penis stood erect, and she beheld it with awe. She leaned over and touched it with her fingertips, noting with surprise how it flinched and jumped in response. Tentatively, she gripped it with her full hand, and he nodded for her to continue. She squeezed, not too hard for fear of hurting, but he was longing to feel some of the force he knew she held in that arm – his own bore the marks from five minutes ago. She moved, quickly understanding what to do, and then stopped. He swore.

She sat up, and kissed his body all over, little kisses, teasing and pleasing. She made her way downwards, ignoring the groin, and then back up. This time she didn't ignore it, and he pushed her head down onto it, entirely out of practice, temporarily forgetting that this woman was not one of his common whores. After the initial shock, she took the hint and played with her tongue, flicking the end, licking, caressing, occasionally nibbling, sucking when the fancy took her. The taste wasn't exactly unpleasant, it wasn't like anything else she had ever had the chance to savour before. She continued, and felt it stiffen even more, swell, and twitch inside her, and noted in him similar side-effects as she experienced earlier. She stopped, as she wasn't entirely sure what would happen. He was thankful, if she'd continued much longer he couldn't have restrained himself, and he'd gone past the point where his libido would allow him to command her to stop.

She lay back on the bed, and he decided to return the favour. He leaned down, and gently licked where his hands had so deftly explored earlier. He could taste her strongly, a taste he knew well and was accustomed to. He didn't like it, but knew the pleasure it would give her, and had long learned how to switch off his taste buds. That trick was handy, at sea.

She was surprised how it felt, his rough tongue licking her most private regions, being shocked by the occasional nibble on the little nub at the top, and began to feel the sensations from earlier once more. His tongue continued its relentless journey, and began to make explorations into the opening between her legs, which caused her to groan rather loudly. Looking up, he grinned.

"Like that?." And he returned to his work, but stopped just before the point of orgasm. He knew from experience that the first time, women couldn't cope with too much. And he knew that he wanted to release inside her, knew he wanted her to yield to his penis which, right now, seemed to have a life of its own. She returned her hand to it, and noted the drops of pearlescent fluid beginning to form. He shook his head, and lay her back down.

He climbed on top of her, and she knew what was going to happen. And she knew, by the feeling down below, that she wanted it too. With slight apprehension, she opened her legs to allow him to insert himself inside her. Not dropping eye contact, she felt something pushing at her insides, and knew he was trying to penetrate. She tried to relax, and felt it slide inside a fraction, and felt her eyes open wide, and saw his close.

Slowly but surely, he inserted himself, and she clutched him to her. This was causing a slight pain to her, but nothing she couldn't cope with, and she felt herself begin to rise to meet his gentle thrusts. He held her close, kissing her face, neck, anything he could reach. She lay back and succumbed, he thrust slightly harder and she winced, but allowed him to continue. Soon her feelings of anxiety gave way to the impending climax, and he slowed down. The game he was playing was simple, he needed her to hold off a little bit longer, he knew if he reached then that would be that and he wouldn't be able to continue inside her. And he was enjoying the ripples of pleasure emanating from his penis, he felt it grow and swell and twitch until he was sure it was going to burst. He sped up, feeling the warm wetness on his most sensitive parts, and felt her begin to contract around him once more. This began to send him over the edge, and soon he knew that there was no going back. His frantic pace continued for a couple of seconds, he felt her begin to climax too, and then he released, the relief washing over him. God, he needed that.

They lie, intertwined, for the rest of the night. When he awoke, his lady was gone, with only a single rose on the pillow to remember her by. Smiling, he knew this would continue for a very long time...

He arose, and gave the signal for his men to prepare to leave.