Folly On The High Seas (Madmartigan & Shatelia)
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		<h2 id="linktree">Play-By-Post: Bondage, D/s, S&amp;M =&gt; Bondage: Human Solos =&gt; Topic started by: Shatelia on 17-09-2008, 06:57:49</h2>
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				Title: <strong>Folly On The High Seas (Madmartigan &amp; Shatelia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shatelia</strong> on <strong>17-09-2008, 06:57:49</strong>
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				<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shatelia had had her coming out season three years ago, at the proper age of sixteen, and her pa had decided upon Jefferson Poulintan III as her best candidate.&nbsp; During the 'negotiation' of her hand in marriage, Jefferson requested that the marriage be held one year later, due to the fact that he wanted to have a tour of Europe to 'round out his education' and the fact that he was not totally interested in consummating the marriage vows with such a ‘scarecrow‘.&nbsp; It had been more the social advantages of the marriage that had attracted him into making the offer for her hand. With her pa's agreement to that arrangement, he was off and away. <br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Five months after he left Sha's own parents were killed in a storm at sea and during her mourning period for them, the correspondence from Jefferson came to an end, with no explanations as to why.&nbsp; That was all fine with Shatelia, for she was deep in mourning during that period, and even after the ease of her grief the loss of contact with her intended didn't stress her, for after all, it was just an arranged marriage and she was in no hurry to loose the freedom that her family had often accorded her. <br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;But now as she neared her nineteenth birthday and rumors about her being an old maid were starting to get on her nerves... not to mention the maidenly itches and female curiosity towards the marriage bed and family life.&nbsp; So about six months ago she had cajoled her three older brothers into using their shipping business to seek out the elusive Jefferson.&nbsp; She wanted them to get him to the alter or to close out the betrothal and clear the field for a new candidate.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;She had changed much during the years since she had last seen Jefferson.&nbsp; If the leering looks of the young males of her acquaintances, the boosts in male groans over the her betrothed state, and the heightened over-bearing protectiveness of her siblings was anything to go by, her change in appearances must be all for the better in a manly point of view.&nbsp; Thus she now felt that if Jefferson could see her now, then he would be sorry for the ‘scarecrow’ phrasing that he had dropped in mixed company and that had gotten viciously back to be thrown in her own face, by other jealous females.&nbsp; At least it had been taunted at her until she finally hit her growth and developed into such a lush adult.&nbsp; <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;After months of listening to her brothers half-baked tales of ... couldn't find Jefferson here...or almost caught up to him there's.... Shatelia decides to take matters into her own hands.&nbsp; One night she sneaks into Johnny's room, the youngest brother, the one that is three years younger than Sha and thus only a size or two larger than Shatelia herself. <br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Snagging herself one of his older pair of pants and a white shirt, she hurried back to her own room and shimmied into them.&nbsp; Snapping up the pants she found that they were snugger across her more rounded buttocks than she had hoped for, but the shirt was baggy enough that it hung down to hide those feminine curves.&nbsp; Having bound up her breast, she studied her reflection in her floor length mirror.&nbsp; Tilting her head to one side she decided that the 'costume' would do, but the long dark tresses flowing down her back wouldn't.<br>&nbsp; <br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Nibbling her lip as she pondered the problem, she finally brightened when she recalled the stocking cap that should be buried within her own wardrobe that her pa had made her wear when she had been younger and was allowed to follow him down to the docks.&nbsp; That heart-shaped derriere wiggled at the ceiling as she bent to search for the cap.&nbsp; With a happy exclamation she headed back to stand before the mirror.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;With a twist of the wavy thick locks she wrapped the length about her head and pulled the cap down over the silky mass.&nbsp; Once again she studied her image, the rosy fullness of that bottom lip getting another nibbling work out as she debated the big-headed effect that the combination gave her, but as it was her only choice she nodded and headed down stairs to fill a flour sac with some staples to see her through the next few days.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Leaving quietly from the house she makes it to the docks and finds the ship that she had learned the day before would be sailing with the morning tide.&nbsp; Stealthily she checks for the timing of any dock hands or guards upon the docks and upon the intended ship itself.&nbsp; After what seemed like hours of waiting she finally felt it was safe to slip on board. <br>&nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Having grown up with many trips to her families own boats, she new exactly where the perfect hiding spot would be.&nbsp; Stowing herself away within the under belly of the ship where the food stuffs, extra roping, and secondary sails were kept she snuggled under the canvases and prepared to catch up on her sleep, hoping to at least be far out to sea before she was ever discovered.&nbsp; Upon discovery she hoped her disguise would aide her in maybe having the captain keep her on as a cabin boy or cook's helper until they reached the destination of England, for she had heard that was the ships intended direction, and that was also the last place that Jefferson had written from and been heard to be.<br>&nbsp; &nbsp; &nbsp;<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Slowly coming awake, Shatelia frowned a bit at the sweat on her brow and the strange feeling of being smothered.&nbsp; But lightly stretching and opening her eyes brought back the full discovery of just what mad undertakings she had gotten herself into.&nbsp; Freezing she carefully listened for any sounds that may indicate that others were below deck and possibly about to discover her.&nbsp; But either there was no one nearby or the thick canvases were muffling any other sounds.&nbsp; Taking a chance, because she could tell from the swaying of the ship that they were definitely out a ways from any shore, she slowly lifted the covering from her head.&nbsp; Taking a deep breath of air fresher than that which had been trapped about her sleeping form, she allowed her eyes to adjust to the dim light coming through a tiny porthole and started to sit up.&nbsp; <br>
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				Title: <strong>Re: Folly On The High Seas (Madmartigan &amp; Shatelia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Madriv</strong> on <strong>24-09-2008, 20:26:14</strong>
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				The door to the captain's quarters slammed open, emitting a cloud of dusky smoke and and four well-appointed gentlemen who were all laughing just a bit too hard. The first mate peered in from the deckhouse doorway and tsk'd under his breath as the men staggered down the hallway towards their cabins. Packs of trouble, every one.<br><br>Another figure exited the quarters, smiling and waving his guests off. As soon as they were safely out of sight he shrugged off his frock coat and used it to wave some of the smoke from the cabin and hall. "Fuck me," the captain growled in a rough brogue, "another night like that and you'll be tipping my corpse over the side in the morning, Flurry."<br><br>The mate grinned. "You're keeping bad company, Cap'n, but I always thought it'd take a bit more to do you in. You going soft, then?"<br><br>"Soft as your mother's arse." A few more flicks of the coat and the air was clear enough to to see the captain's face. Brendan Nolan's blue-grey eyes were bloodshot and rimmed with red, partially obscured by a fall of unruly ginger hair. Sideburns ran down to his jaw, but he kept the rest cleanshaven out of convenience. A lifetime in sun and spray had left his skin tanned and weathered, aging him a bit beyond his 30-odd years. He tossed the coat in the direction of the cabin and staggered out through the deckhouse to blink balefully at the rising sun. His build, even under the rumpled silk shirt and formal trousers, was unmistakeably broad and sturdy. His fists were hard enough to best a man in a fair fight, and his tongue was civil enough to keep him out of the unfair sort.<br><br>Most of the time, anyway.<br><br>"Good thing I've known you long as I have," First Mate Knox shook his head at his senior officer. "A lesser man might take advantage of your sorry state and heave you overboard for such talk, corpse or no."<br><br>Brendan snorted and leaned heavily on the other man's shoulder. "Mutiny so early in the day? For shame, Flurry, for shame." He ran his fingers through his hair, sweeping it back so he could get a clear view of the calm morning. He pulled himself sharply upright at the same time, lest any other crewman should see him falling over his mate. "Here's some advice, my good son. Never take up the opium pipe or pissant American whiskey; the Devil bore 'em both."<br><br>The captain took several deep lungsfull of sharp Atlantic air and felt better for it. A good day out of Baltimore already and they'd see London within three weeks' time, if the weather held and he could endure the company of their passengers. If they hadn't paid three times the going rate for transport... he crossed his arms and slapped his biceps to get the blood flowing. It was a good deal and no sense in regretting now.<br><br>A puff of smoke from a forward spout signalled the cookstove was stoked for breakfast. "Mr. Knox," Brendan snapped with mock formality, "I need to get the foul taste of last night's excesses out of my mouth. I trust my private stock is in its normal location?"<br><br>"Sir, yes sir," Flurry replied with a stiff but sarcastic bow. "Shall I roust one of the lads to fetch it?"<br><br>"No, I think it would do me good to get about. Carry on, Mr. Knox." The captain nodded and marched off towards the main hatch, shirtsleeves billowing in the wind. He thumped down the stairs, locating a lantern and box of phosphorous matches on their shelf in the dim light below deck. In another moment he'd lit the lamp and picked up a short prybar as he made his way down past the crew's quarters, momentarily tempted by smell of frying salt pork emanating from the galley, and down again into the hold. A pair of small portholes added some faint morning light to the lantern's glow as he passed stacks of crates and barrels, his eyes slowly focusing on a small cask nestled among the coils of rope near the extra canvas.<br><br>There was a rustle close by, something too large to be a rat moving in the hold.&nbsp; In spite of his rough night, a sudden rush of fury brought with it the gift of immediate sobriety. No one had ever stowed away on his ship before... and by God, no one would live to tell if he had.&nbsp; Brendan stopped in his tracks, fingers tightening around the thick iron bar in his right hand as he raised the lantern towards the sails. "Get out here, you bastard," he snarled, "so I can see the man I'm about to skin alive."<br>
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			<dt class="postheader">
				Title: <strong>Re: Folly On The High Seas (Madmartigan &amp; Shatelia)</strong><br>
				Post by: <strong>Shatelia</strong> on <strong>04-10-2008, 08:43:59</strong>
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				<br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Shatelia’s heart jumped into her throat at the snarled brogue echoing about the storage space.&nbsp; Her mind racing, she darted her gaze along the visible floor not far from her hiding spot and found that some rather large feet were only a short distance away.&nbsp; Those big feet, their close proximity, the words growled out about ’skinning alive’, all caused her to imagine a burly giant of a man wielding a deadly oversized blade of some sort.&nbsp; <br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Quickly reviewing her mental plans of portraying a young male, Shatelia decided retreat and words were her best options.&nbsp; His own brogue bringing a flash of memory of days gone by when she and her four male siblings had followed about the docks and ships behind Konar Murray, she unconsciously uttered ‘Cac capaill (Horse shit)’ which was one of the many sayings that had horrified her mother when her daughter had returned to their home after such excursions.<br><br>Tucking and creep-crawling backwards she started her vocal recourse.&nbsp; Toning her voice to what she prayed would sound like a lad that had yet to hit puberty.&nbsp; “No..please…I only meant to seek out the cap’n and find work…but I was so wearied…the night air was …was chilled so…I laid down…I didn’t mean to sleep…please forgive me for …..for falling asleep…but could you help me find…..find….oh my!”<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;All this was stuttered out as she struggled backwards beneath the heavy canvas.&nbsp; Slowly she began emerging rear first from beneath the coverings.&nbsp; Her exodus from beneath the material brought to mind a cat lazily stretching after a lovely nap in the warmth of a summer sun, as her curved tightly clad rear emerged first, followed by her torso which was lower than the wiggling lush rump now on display.&nbsp; The baggy shirt of her outfit was hiking up about her waist as it was dragged upward by the sails as she backed out, offering that view of her rear and a brief glimpse of a slender pale waist.&nbsp; Just as ones eyes started to see that display small hands shot out from beneath the covering and one hurriedly pushed the baggy shirt back over that derriere while the other tossed the canvas from the now rising head that belonged to that rear and slender waist.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His Irish brogue had caused her to be half expecting a similar looking male to the Konar, who although big and burly, had much of the grandfatherly demeanor about his person.&nbsp; But as she tossed the canvas covering from her head and settled into a sitting position the words she had been spewing came to a stuttering halt.<br><br>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Taking in the broad shouldered, lean-hipped, handsome male across the canvas from her threateningly hoisting a pry bar instead of the gleaming blade that she had been expecting she could only gape blinkingly at him as her mouth opened and closed like some freshly caught fish gasping for air.&nbsp; His handsomeness caused her to blush.&nbsp; Here she was, dressed as a male, covered in ashes from the fire place, one hand lifting to straighten the knit cap that had slipped down over one eye, needing to be believed to be a male, and experiencing her very first overwhelming urge to be all female wrapped in this mans all male arms.
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