'Bugger you, Solly. Stick all der diamonds you have up your bleedin' arsehole, Solly,' floated over the waves from Herr Kunst at the tarn-ail of the New Decameron, and Miss Jepps began to calculate seriously how the pirates would split up their booty.
'I'll work my cunt to the bone,' she reflected, 'if it's going to be a diamond job.'
Meanwhile, down below, Lord Reggie Cameron sat manacled, two buttons already flown from his fly. Hannibal McGregor, having polished off all the whisky within convenient reach, was the last of the pirates and their prisoners to leave the saloon, save the unfortunate Lord Reggie and his fascinating lady janitress, who had now more than ever provoked her naked charms by flinging a flimsy wrapper round her creamy, undulating shoulders.
She smoked and smiled contentedly, seemingly taking no notice of the clatter of feet on the iron deck above-the New Decameron carried no wood on her decks save on the poop-and occasionally cooed a casual remark to Lord Reggie, who fumed with lustful fury. One of the pirates had roped him to his chair.
Once she crossed to him, patted his burning cheek, kissed him on the forehead, and flicked wickedly with her fingers at the volcano which throbbed in his trousers, her beautiful eyes gleaming derisively.
Lord Reggie begged to be released and declared his undying love, but his only relief was that the naked siren undid what buttons on his fly remained and disclosed a ramrod-stiff penis.
'There, dear-that'll be cooler for it,' she said with a laugh.
Directly afterwards the young man, several other pirates, and the male prisoners entered.
Poor Lord Reggie blushed.
'Maudie, dear, what have you done?' said the young man.
'I was afraid the poor thing would break,' was the answer.
'Well, Lord Reggie, I'm afraid your punishment is not quite finished yet Cyril.'
The pretty boy, who was standing in the doorway, came forward.
'Take your clothes off, Cyril, and do your duty to Maudie.'
Air Silverwood, in attempting to kick himself, overbalanced and fell on his arse, bringing down Moss Hell and Hannibal McGregor with a crash. Mr. Billy Neale's eyes dilated. Herr Kunst remained unmoved, busily working out on a sheet of paper what his twenty-five per cent would probably amount to. 'Dis vucking is all dam nonsense in business hours,' he muttered.
While the pretty boy was undressing, at the summons of a bell, two of the other sirens, very smartly dressed, entered and busied themselves with preparing more refreshments.
The fluffy-haired divinity called Maudie removed most of her elaborate jewellery and lay back invitingly on the big couch. Once more Mr. Hannibal McGregor damaged the inside of his kilt.
Little Cyril undressed rapidly. He really was a strikingly pretty boy, and as the clothes fell in a heap and the boy stood naked, blushing just a little, the captive Lord Reggie began to have vague recollections of Harrow and its menus plaisirs.
He was perfectly formed, very white of skin save for the bronzed forearms and his neck and face. He wore a thin gold bracelet just above the right elbow, and between his breasts, which were well developed, almost like a girl's, a monogram was tattooed.
His penis, quite large for his age and size, was rampant.
'En truant,' said the young man, clapping his hands-and en avant it was. The fair Maudie drew his naked body over hers and kissed him lovingly. Then she drew herself to the edge of the couch and pushed him on to his knees between her legs. Immediately his head was buried between her thighs and Maudie wriggled convulsively as her delicate fingers toyed with his curly hair. A moment or two of this and she pushed his face up and threw herself back, legs wide open, with a sensuous sigh of expectation.
The lad was obviously no novice. A touch of Maudie's fingers and cupid's dart was right into its fur-fringed nest; Maudie curled her little legs round his thighs, gripped his buttocks almost brutally, and squeezed her ripe mouth to his. You could see by the movements of their cheeks that both tongues were busy with a glorious humid intermingling of lust.
Mr. Silverwood swore savagely in voluble Wall Street American. Mr. Hannibal McGregor was doggedly and unashamedly tossing himself off, while Mr. Moss Hell and Mr. Billy Neale were struggling unavailingly to get their hands up the dainty underwear of the two laughing girls. The pirates looked on apparently unconcerned-it may be mentioned, in parenthesis, that in another portion of the ship the Sisters Lovett, stripped to the buff, were frantically engaged in making baby pirates. Lady Tittle had gone to bed, satisfied with the onslaught of the bosun, and little Hony, having rapidly erased the convicting stains and borrowed some of Carrie's underwear, was sitting on Carrie's bed, telling with eager lips the story of her seduction and eyeing with joyous eyes the glittering heap of diamonds which she had tumbled from the young man's bag on to the embroidered silk counterpane. She wanted to go halves, but the American girl refused. 'No, darling, I'm so rich it'd take a train of lorries to tote round my dollars-when we get to London-if we ever do, and I'm in no hurry-just get your people to boost us into the right swell gang. Ma's no shakes, but she does the shut eye stunt a peach.' And a loving kiss sealed the contract. 'Sleep here with me, darling,' said Carrie. Hony accepted.
Miles away, across the grey waters, now flushed with the dawn, a crew of infuriated foreskinless gentlemen were cursing their fate in every known variety of Yiddish. Solly Joelstein, who had Mrs. Kunst on board, unknown to that worthy, was beating her soundly, accusing her of the basest treachery.
But to return to our moutons- the dainty scene in the smoke-room proceeded apace. The gleam from Lord Reggie's eyes resembled twin searchlights. His bare cock beat up against his belly and his nails dug into the palms of his sweating hands.
Young Cyril had finished once, and now Maudie had him pressed on top of her. The watchers could plainly see his balls swelling as his marrow tube filled them, and the sight of his penis shooting in and out of that pink oval of lust was altogether too much for Lord Reggie. With a loud shout he spent straight up in the air, narrowly escaping his own nose, and then collapsed wearily backwards in the chair.
Almost simultaneously Cyril dropped passive on Maudie's heaving stomach, her arms unclasped, and fell listlessly to her sides. Her tongue came out of the pretty boy's mouth with a pop like a cow drawing its hind hoof out of mud, and-well-the fuck was over.
'Dress yourself, Cyril,' said the young man, patting the panting boy's naked shoulder, 'and take Lord Reginald Cameron to his cabin. Take his manacles off there-Prendergast, give him the keys.'
He raised the boy's pretty face to his and kissed him on the lips. It was not exactly a father's or a brother's kiss, and once more Lord Reggie had odd memories of Harrow.
The girls hurried to refill glasses. Mr. Hannibal McGregor was trying to erase with his foot the lake of semen he had deposited on the floor.
Lord Reggie, behind Cyril, shambled in his clanking irons through the door. He was still thinking of Harrow.
Maudie had fallen asleep.
'Dat'll be just one hundred tousand you owe me, ain't it?' said Herr Kunst, looking up from his paper. He had not taken the slightest interest in the proceedings.
'Well, you'd better go to bed, girls,' said the young man, when the glasses were all replenished, 'and wake up Maudie and take her with you.'
But Maudie would not wake up, so two of the pirates earned her out-a ravishing vision-presumably to her own cabin.
'Now boys, one toast before we turn in. “Here's luck to the Jolly Roger.”' The young man lifted his glass on high, and drank deep. All drank. Mr. Moss Hell murmured, 'A damn sight too much jolly rogering for other people.' Then he thought of the centuries of dusky beauties waiting in the island retreat, and possessed his soul in peace.