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[A story based on a picture I commissioned from Omega and Faithry, posted to my FA and Yiffstar galleries. Porn follows! Copyright me, all rights reserved, et cetera.

Picture: http://www.furaffinity.net/view/2770290/

]

1. Pirate Booty

Setta let out a grunt, her thoughts returning to the present, away from that strangely vivid dream she had last night, unsure of why it had suddenly crossed her mind. It didn't help her current situation much to think back on dreams... not that much of anything was going to help her current situation much.

The dragoness stood on one leg, bound to her own ship's mast, left ankle bound high alongside her wrists, pants down around her right foot. A fresh, still-sore piercing in her nose was held open by a thick ring, tied with a cord to the same knot that held her wrists to the warm, salt-weathered wood. Her tail was bound up high, a cuff on her tailtip lashed to the back of the new heavy steel collar locked around her neck, and her crew was almost finished being led across the gangplanks onto the neighboring ship, disarmed and bound but not exposed as she was.

The trim, well-kept ship around her bore testament to discipline and good sense; the first by her stern control of her wild crew, not letting the ship descend into slovenly tatters as so many other pirates did, the latter by its lack of cannon-holes and submersion, given the situation the ship had so recently been in. A heavy steel bucket of hot coals was by her feet with an iron in it, Admiral Faithry's (in)famous sigil heating on the end of it, and she could hear smirking crewmen of the swan's ship talking loudly of uses for the belaying pins all about. She glowered furiously at the wood in front of her nose, unable even to turn her head thanks to the ring in her nose, as she thought back on how she had come to such straits...

... A simple enough story, really, your basic tale of a successful privateer unintentionally turned pirate when the winds of international politics changed and took her letter of marque with them. She'd been with her crew restocking in the no-questions-asked port town of Suwan, holds full of booty from a rich merchantman they'd successfully chased down and stripped. Pickings were rich, one reason why they'd been given a letter of marque in the first place; a bit of strategic denial on the part of one nation to another.

But then a messenger arrived while she was with the first mate in a tavern drinking the crew's health with them; a smuggler whose patrons were more interested in disrupting certain artificial economic constraints in the islands than they were in the actual goods he conveyed, the same patrons who in rather more official fashion supported Captain Setta's good ship, the Firebrand. His news was grim; an outbreak of war on the continent, and suddenly the two rivals in the islands had been forced into alliance. At the insistence of the dominant faction, all former holders of letters of marque should henceforth be recognized as pirates by all involved - and particularly the nefarious Captain Setta, so noted for her depredations on local shipping.

A combined fleet under the command of the much-feared Admiral Faithry was said to be assembling; en route to their theater of battle, the smuggler said, they would engage in a pirate hunt, the better to serve as shakedown before their engagement in theater. No bounties would be posted; the fleet would handle its own affairs, this time. Anyone harboring a pirate was to be charged as one themselves. They might not be planning to stay long, but they were going to take their effort seriously.

Clearly there was only one solution. Head for safer waters for a while and wait this alliance out. The Firebrand was the best ship on the seas, bar none, thanks to the improvements Captain Setta had devised; the fastest hull for a sailing ship of her size, a tighter turn, even more firepower thanks to some wizardry (some said the last was more truth than fiction) with the cannons, improving their range and firing rate while reducing their recoil. Her tactical skill had let them emerge victorious against a small convoy one time, two ships of the line escorting a trio of merchantmen! That hadn't been so much a battle as a desperation measure, though a story in its own right - nor had the Firebrand come out in any healthy shape, but she'd sunk both warships and one of the merchants, and taken enough from the other two to restore her again.

They set sail immediately - or as immediately as permitted by wind and tide, at any rate, so within a few hours. Some crewmen, separated from the rest, had to be left ashore - but they'd be safer there, no doubt, without a ship to associate them with, able to blend into the town for a while at need. With the assembled fleet coming from the north and war to the south, east or west it had to be, for any who didn't care to try their luck at hiding and hope to blind chance to go unnoticed. Land was closer to the west - but ports fit to harbor in (and willing to do so) would be scarce, so near to the islands and their notorious pirate activity. East, then, was the only real option she had.

It was sheer bad luck that struck then. An hour out of port the winds died, and all the clever design in the world can't move a sailing ship without wind. For hours it left them becalmed, watching the waves, glad at least that the fleets would be coming no closer while the fickle winds withheld their motive power. In the evening the sails filled again, and the Firebrand leapt once more to the east and new pickings.

A delay of a few hours would hardly have been such bad luck, had it not been for one factor the smuggler hadn't noted. The naval exercise was several days away, true, plenty of time for most of the pirates to flee, forewarned; wars are not only engagements by sea, however, and a separate detachment was already circling around the eastern edge of the islands to bypass them. Troop transports. Galleys. With oars.

The Firebrand spotted the heavily-armed convoy, twenty ships, fifteen of them bristling with soldiers, five warships guarding them, from plenty of distance, and began easily to outrace them; the distinctive swan's-head sail on one ship marked it as Admiral Faithry's own flagship, the Rare Breed, and no pirate, privateer, or even many honest sailors had any desire to draw too near to that one!

That was when the wind died. Again. And for two hours, there was absolutely nothing Captain Setta or anyone on the Firebrand could do but watch the slow galleys sloshing forward clumsily into a wide encirclement, giving the Firebrand's guns full respect, actually towing along their own escort ships with their heavier complement of naval weaponry - but the soldiers on the galleys lined their decks, and the massed fire of those guns would serve at need.

Escape was impossible. Fighting was suicidal. When a longboat came over, it needed no white flag to guarantee its safe passage. The terms offered were simple. Fight and be destroyed. Surrender and any crewman could be taken on as provisional crew for the fleet - to be scattered among ships, untrusted, but any surviving a ten-year term would walk free. The ship would be Admiral Faithry's prize - along with her officers. Captain Setta accepted (rather than be faced with a mutiny and then see the terms accepted anyhow). The first mate tried to swim for it. Though the ship was far enough from land to make the attempt foolhardy in and of itself, the surrounding guns shot him anyhow. No one else tried to follow.

The crew made ready while the Rare Breed was towed alongside. By the time the gangplanks were run out, Captain Setta had already made her final log entry, addressed the crew, and prepared her final statement. Even scuttling the ship to deny it as act of revenge was no option; they'd execute her crew if she tried. Soldiers came down first, laden with rope, and began searching and binding the crew. Admiral Faithry came next, in her crisp white naval uniform - and accompanied by a pair of large draconic bodyguards. Captain Setta held out the document.

"Letters of Marque, Admiral Faithry. With your name and seal on them." She made no other comment but that stiff note.

The swan gave her an irritated look. Of course she knew about those. "They have been revoked," was all she said in reply, and gestured to her guards.

Whom, Captain Setta noticed, both were very distinctly from the other side of the until-recent power struggle from herself and Admiral Faithry.

The guards brought out a barrel and bound her wrists behind her back. They forced her down over the barrel, and she felt her belt being pulled open, her pants yanked down to her ankles. One sat on her back and gripped her jaws in his hand, pinning them closed and pulling her head back; she could only snarl as he pushed a sharpened rod through the septum of her nose, then fitted a fat brass ring in. She heard nails driving into wood behind her, and the other guard's hands soon gripped her feet one at a time and pulled them wide, tying each to a thick nail freshly pounded into the hard wooden planking, leaving her pants on her right ankle only. She heard clanking and rattling - and then hot air began rising up insistently between her legs.

She growled into the hand holding her jaws shut, and then heard a light chuckle from Admiral Faithry. "My ship is called the Rare Breed for a reason, dragoness... and my guards are chosen for that same reason today." Setta's eyes narrowed and she fought to bite the one holding her jaws, but shortly a length of cord bound them shut and he climbed off of her, leaving her with her bare ass in the air, legs pulled wide, arms bound, feeling the heat between her legs making her thermophiliac body respond with slow but intense arousal, her face burning as she felt her bared privates growing wet and pussy with readiness.

They left her like that for some time, a half-hour or so, exposed while they slowly emptied her ship of her crew and her prizes, letting every soldier, sailor, and pirate watch her body's instinctive reaction to the heat, growing lush and glistening with inviting wetness. Eventually she heard the sound of clothing being removed behind her, and growled angrily, but that was hardly likely to help. He knew what he was doing; he took her in a single smooth, firm stroke, his hands pressing on her shoulders to pin her down, and she was immediately, intimately aware that he was even for a dragon well-endowed; under other circumstances, she might well have enjoyed a fling with him.

He set to work in steady, strong thrusts, plowing her body deeply, letting her feel herself parting and straining around him, his weight pressing on her shoulders just enough to force her to grunt out when he pressed forward and bore down on her. A fire-dragon himself, the bucket of coals between her legs played its heat over his groin as well, urging him on as naturally as it did her. He enjoyed her struggles, squirming beneath him as he rocked himself, feeling her body responding to the heat and the sensation no matter what her mind might be saying.

His heavy balls smacked up between her legs with an audible slap with each grind of his hips, and his fork-tipped tongue danced against the back of her head, tasting her spicy-dry cinnamonny scales, a familiar taste to him for all its exotic allure to others. The feel of her fire-warmed-and-wetted tunnel around him was sheer delight; the helpless growls from her as he raped her only made his loins ache harder. He had been in Admiral Faithry's service for some time, and not only aboard her flagship; he knew some of the rumors about what happened on her island were true - having boasted of his role in them himself.

The feel of her tight flesh straining and yielding to his erection in stroke after stroke left potent rumbles of dominant delight escaping from his throat. It did not take him long to finish, letting out a loud groan of pleasure as he poured his hot seed inside her body, letting it spill inside her and waiting a moment after to bask in his afterglow before pulling out. Admiral Faithry gave him a rather pointed look, and he flushed for some reason.

The other guard was faster, less skilled, and not quite as substantial as the first, but still impressively hung by most standards, only falling short in comparison. He used a trick that the first did not, though; he drew up a coal from the bucket and played it against Setta's clitoris while he rode her, making her buck at the intense heat of it, feeling it forcing her body to respond all the more avidly; in ancient, pre-sentient times, a male fire-dragon finding a female in heat would need to prove his fitness by first outflying her to catch up, then using his fiery breath to overcome her body with lust and drive her to ground to let him mount her.

She struggled, though more weakly, against him. He had her bound and exposed, and deep down, she knew, it wasn't just the fire making her respond; the helplessness, the humiliation, they were making something quiver inside her - and not just her inner walls. His vigor, plus the first guard's work, plus the hot coal, was enough to force her to grit her teeth and stifle a grunt as he brought her to climax first; he laughed and called out a triumphant, "Got the bitch off!" before setting with a will to finishing his own pleasure, driving himself through her spasming folds and forcing her to jerk again in an immediate second climax before he spilled his own semen into her womb.

Only after both of her guards had left his seed inside her did Admiral Faithry gesture again; Setta was swiftly pulled upright and had her ankles unbound - and was carried to her own mast, belly against it, pants still around her right foot. They bound her hands up high, tied her new nose-ring to it, and pulled her left leg up to join them, leaving her balanced on one foot; it was the work of moments to cuff and bind her tail as well. Her face heated as one of the guards 'politely' used her spare shirt to wipe her crotch, clearing the semen and her own cream from her groin and thighs... and then they left her there in the noonday sun while Admiral Faithry went to take her lunch.

She was provided nothing to eat or drink, of course; she could only stare furiously at the mast and grunt through bound jaws as mocking hands patted her bare ass or lewdly stroked at her crotch; one persistant assailant pressed something up to her groin and used his other hand to vigorously finger her. It was a mug, she soon determined, feeling fluid slosh from it onto her thigh... and her face burned as she felt her body steadily responding no matter how hard she tried to control herself, somehow unable to make her loins cease their eager quivering until her hips jerked and a smug voice declared, "Take a sip, boys - dragon-cream ale!" Laughter made her face burn, but she could only stand there with her leg high and pants at her ankle.

The admiral eventually returned from her repast, immaculate as ever. The dragoness could still only stare at the mast, held by the nose-ring and the pain it brought if she tried to turn or lower her head more than the slightest margin, hearing the rattle of the coals again... and then let out a loud yelp into her bound jaws as the branding iron pressed upon her left buttock! Being of fiery affinity herself, it was not the searing pain most pirates would feel; instead, she gritted her teeth as she felt herself cream again, climaxing intensely at the high heat directly against her bare body, and the swan chuckled in amusement.

"Perhaps Admiral Faithry just captured herself a pirate dragoness, now to be auctioned off to her former victims?" commented the swan, and somehow Setta found it made perfect sense, despite the great obviousness of the statement; of course she did! The swan set the iron back in its bucket and patted her on the freshly-blackened swan's-head pattern on Setta's rear.

The Admiral returned to her flagship, appointing a prize crew - but there were still adjustments to be made, dispersing the captured crew, so there were some hours left to go... and Setta was still bound to the mast. A hand smacked down sharply over the swan's-head brand and a feline voice purred in her ear, "Admiral says you're not to be unbound and not to be damaged irreparably... but you have to pull your weight anyhow aboard ship. As entertainment. It's three week's sail to our destination, so that ought to leave plenty of time for you to make the acquaintance of half the fleet. But the captain of this fine vessel has added something extra to remind you yours is a punishment detail... so you get punishment, under de-tail!" He laughed in her ear, and she yelped into her tied-shut jaws as the tiger's belt snapped across her rump!

CRACK! It struck sharply against her buttocks, both the one with blackened scales and the clear one; she felt a sharp clench go through her loins - and it didn't escape the sharp eyes of one onlooker, calling out, "The pirate bitch likes it! Watch her pussy quiver for it!" The tiger laughed in her ear, and moved to the side a bit; she could see some of his orange fur out of the corner of her eye as he set his hand between her legs from the front and swung the belt again. The blow forced her hips forward against his palm; her face burned, feeling her folds twitch in response, hot arousal dancing through her tunnel. The tiger roared laughter. "So she does! We'll have to find another punishment, but her entertainment value just goes higher!"

SNAP! WHAP! CRACK! Again and again the belt swung, catching the supple leather against her bare and defenseless rear end; his palm stayed against her, middle and ring digits curling inside her to lewdly finger her as he spanked, laughing aloud and commenting frequently to his shipmates on how wet she was getting. What made it worse was that she knew damned well he wasn't even making it up; every time that belt landed under her tail, tingles danced on her rump and hot fiery arousal flowed through her! Seventeen sharp blows later, her backside was throbbing eagerly - and she came in the tiger's paw, gritting her teeth against the grunt that came out, though he laughed and licked his fingers anyhow, feeling her juices flow over them.

"Well!" he said in satisfaction, once his fingers were licked clean and wiped dry against her hip. "Since you won't take a spanking for a punishment, we'll have your ass toll out the change of watch with the slap of leather instead! But that leaves you in need of reprimand. Fortunately, I have a backup plan." She growled angrily at him... and then YELPED into her gag as he rudely and mercilessly thrust something into her poor tight ass!

"A belaying pin from your own ship," he taunted her, starting to work it back and forth firmly, angling it up and down as he went to make her jerk and snarl. "The Admiral reminded everyone how vulnerable a fire-dragon's insides are in the rear, so it's only the mice and smaller sorts who'll be taking you there, more's the pity - but a pin's just the right size to fit, as long as it's kept well greased! Ah, now you're learning a proper prisoner's squirm!" Her face burned, unable to keep from snarling and wriggling as he abused her poor anus with the wooden rod...

... but six months later, when she'd been a 'guest' on Admiral Faithry's private island for a month, she could only *wish* she were merely being made to snarl and wriggle anymore.