Ian stood at the helm of the majestic galleon, the Iron-Fist. The sounds of sailors at work echoed through the morning skies as the soft breeze of the Atlantic waters continued to push them through the waves, with the simplicity of slicing through butter. The ocean held a certain magical allure for him that England never could. Here, he was free to be the man he had always wanted to be. At home, he would have to abide by a set of rules that were little less than enslavement.

The familiar stab of guilt gripped his gut as Ian thought of his family and how they would feel if they knew what kind of life he was leading. They thought he was serving in the king’s navy. A noble, honorable distinction that would give him prestige when he returned home and chose a wife to settle down with.

He was the second of three children born to Ian Worthington II and his wife Catherine, the Duke and Duchess of Cherrington Cross. Since he was the second-born son, he had more freedom to live a less dignified life than his brother, Alexander. And that was exactly what he was doing.

The shouts from the lookout in the crow’s nest echoed through the crisp air, bringing Ian back to reality. He took up his spyglass and looked out across the blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Off the starboard side was a small schooner bearing the black flag of Two-Toe Patch Holystone. He wasn’t much of a threat to the Iron-Fist, but he was prey, and it had been nearly three weeks since they had crossed the path of a ship worthy of fighting. At least Two-Toe’s ship was large enough to hold a nice store, and by the weight of it in the water, it looked as though it had recently been stocked.

“Cap’n,” the tall muscular bald man said as he joined Ian at the helm. “What say we go to port after this? It’s been well o’er two months since the lads got laid, and we’re not far from Portugal.”

“Hoist the colors,” Ian yelled down at his men who were already making their way to the cannons. “I suppose a few days at port might be in order. It would offer the men an incentive to give this fight their best.”

“Aye Cap’n,” the man said as he turned to leave.

“Red,” Ian said stopping the man’s departure. “I want that ship in one piece. It’ll fetch a good price in port, and I hear the plantation owners are running low on workers. We’ll sell off the crew that lives.”

“Aye Cap’n,” Red said again with a heartless chuckle, then began shouting orders.

Ian smiled a wicked grin and pulled the bandana out of his back pocket. He wrapped it around his head before tying his long blonde hair back from his face. The life of a pirate was much more fun than that of a duke’s son.

Ian sat at a small table in the dirty saloon with three of his men, guzzling down the half-empty bottle of whiskey. Tall Red - or rather Michael O’Leary - was his Quartermaster and loyal servant from his childhood, while Roach and Salty were the longest staying crew members who had served with Ian for the past five years.

Unlike most ships, pirate or otherwise, Ian was their leader and the final say in all things on the Iron-Fist. It was his ship, purchased and sailed from England under a crew of 75 men. Today, there were nearly two hundred crewmen, all loyal to their Captain and willing to surrender their lives to protect him - if he ever needed it.

Red, Roach, and Salty were the first crew members he chose to sail with him. Longtime friends, Roach - or Lord Thomas Henderson - the youngest son of Earl George Henderson of Alford England - and Salty - otherwise known as Joshua Raymond - second Viscount of Louth England, were Ian’s best friends from school. Red had been his personal Valet from the time he was a very young man.

Ian’s desire to go to sea was a story he’d often shared with his Valet. It was Red who encouraged his dreams with tales of his time in the king’s navy. When Ian secured his vessel - a captured pirate ship - for five thousand pounds, Red didn’t hesitate to join his crew. He had served Ian with pride for many years and found the life of a pirate much more stimulating than arranging the appropriate attire for yet another party or ball.

As a pirate, the four men were free to live without the heavy restrictions or rules set down by society. They weren’t titled sons. They weren’t chosen followers in a stream of mindless drones. They were men who hunted as they desired and free to express their inner demons, bedding women as they wanted and killing when needed. They enjoyed the hunt and celebrated their victories with the enthusiasm only a pirate could enjoy. They were steadfast and loyal to each other, more than brothers of blood ever could be.

Together, they sailed through the waters as an unshakable threat to most of the other pirates, as well as merchants, who tried to cross their paths. The crew of the Iron-Fist were well trained, fearless, and fought as if they were in sync with each other. This made them a fearsome sight to behold, and one a smart man would want to avoid. Through dedication and continuous practice, the crew of the Iron-Fist had honed their skills to perfection and made a name that radiated proficiency and excellence.

“Cap’n,” Roach began as he reached for the bottle and poured another glass of the dark liquid. “That little red-haired wench over there keeps staring you down. Want that I should call her over to you?”

“I think I can pick out my own whores, thank you. That one’s been bedded five times over the past hour. I’d rather have one who isn’t filled to her eyeballs with other men’s cum.”

Ian’s eyes drifted casually around the room, catching hold of the middle-aged man in black pants and a clean white shirt staring at him.

“There’s that blonde lass there,” Salty suggested as he pointed to the small, petite young woman sitting on the lap of a sailor. His words brought Ian’s eyes back to where his friend was pointing. “I haven’t seen her taken, yet.”

“Mayhap I’ll try her out,” Ian smiled as he downed the last of his drink and stood.

He walked steadily over to the wench and wet his lips. She was quite a beauty, though she appeared to be younger and less used as the rest of the whores that worked there.

“Wench, you’re with me,” he growled as he reached down and snatched the woman by her arm, pulling her off the sailor’s lap.

Immediately the man stood, as did his four companions, each standing a foot shorter than Ian and less than half his build.

“Here now,” the man said through a thick British accent. “The lassie was otherwise engaged.”

“Not anymore,” Ian snarled as he walked the girl to the stairs that led to the bedrooms on the second floor.

“I said she was with us,” the man said as he tried to catch up to Ian, who blatantly ignored his protests and preceded up the wooden stairs, paying no more attention to his objections as he would an annoying fly.

“You don’t want to do that Lad,” Salty said as he laid a large hand on the sailor’s shoulder. “Do you know who that man is?”

“I do not, nor do I care. His manners are ill and unrefined, and from the look of fear on the young lady’s face, I’d say his affections are just as callous.”

“Unrefined,” Salty snorted in amusement. If only the man knew who he was talking about, he thought.

“That ill and callous man happens to be Bloody John,” Roach chimed in, smiling at the fear that appeared instantly on the men’s faces. “I wouldn’t suggest you try to take the wench away from him when he has his mindset of taking her for himself.”

“N-no,” the man said as his ire lost its steam.

“Let us buy you a drink Lads,” Red offered with a half-grin. “The Cap’n won’t be long.”

As predicted, twenty minutes later Ian came down the stairs, walking beside the young woman who looked slightly embarrassed, but oddly satisfied. Across her neck and exposed swell of breasts were the purple tell-tale signs that she had indeed been bedded.

Ian walked back to the four sailors sitting at the small table and sat the wench on the lap she had been forced to abandon. He lifted her chin with his forefinger and kissed her lips with a surprisingly gentle gesture, then slipped a silver coin into the bodice of her gown.

“She’s all yours, gents,” he told the men, winking at the young girl as he walked steadily back to his table.

The sailors just stared at Ian with wide eyes. They couldn’t believe he would take the wench off their laps then return her once he had his fill of her.

“So, how was she?” Roach asked with a smirk.

“Nothing like a young, tight pussy to make a man’s blood boil,” Ian smiled back as he picked up his abandoned cup and filled it.

“Well, that being said,” Salty began as he signaled for the red-haired woman to come over to him. “I think it’s time I found something warm to anchor my vessel to.”

“You do that,” Ian smiled over the rim of his glass as his eyes drifted to the man sitting at the end of the bar.

He felt himself being stared at - nothing new for him, considering his size and handsome looks - but this was an unsettling stare. There was something about the man that made him think he was looking for something other than an eager wench to quench his thirst.

“What is it?” Red asked as a brunette came over and stood beside him, allowing him to caress her backside through the very flimsy dress.

“That man over there,” Ian began. “He’s been staring at us for quite some time. Any idea who he is?”

“None Cap’n,” Red answered with a frown.

“He’s some kind of teacher,” the dark-haired wench answered. “He’s been trying to convert some of the girls into practicing some weird sex acts or something. He’s nice enough, and rich, but creepy.”

“Well Love, you don’t have to worry ‘bout him, now do ye?” Red asked as he grabbed the woman’s buttocks in his large hand. “I’ll protect ya…at least until I’ve finished with ye.”

“Go on,” Ian snorted as he set his glass back on the table. “I’m sure there’s a bed somewhere in this place, that’s getting cold. I’ll see you back aboard ship when you’ve finished.” Red stood up laughing as he pushed the red-haired woman toward the stairs.

Ian returned his attention to the glass in front of him as he pushed it aside and stood up. He’d only bedded one wench this night, but he had drunk nearly three bottles of whiskey. That was enough to keep him content until morning. By then, the whores in the tavern would have cleaned up or been replaced by a new set, which meant he’d be able to take his choice of partners without worrying how many other men had bedded them. The one prejudice he had never lost from his formal life, was the desire to have sex with a woman who hadn’t been used by a hundred men before him.

He walked past the man at the bar and locked eyes with him. For a moment, he thought the man might say something to him, but the fire in his eyes died down instantly and he smiled a small grin, nodded his head, and muttered the greeting, “Sir”. Ian nodded silently as he left the tavern and walked the narrow streets to his ship.

The night was clear and warm, and he couldn’t help but close his eyes briefly as he moved his feet one after the other. The sounds of laughter and music echoed out onto the world from the multitude of bars and whorehouses that dotted the path to the wharf. Ian drew another deep breath to clear away his liquor fogged brain. He could never understand the desire to live on land. He had spent so many years aboard a ship with its gentle rocking motion beneath his feet, that walking on solid ground seemed awkward and difficult.

Once aboard his ship, Ian headed directly to his cabin issuing orders for a second wave of men to partake in the merriment of the town’s pleasures. He moved the chair away from the round table in the center of the room and sat down in the warn seat. Kicking his boots off, he placed his large feet on top of the wooden table and tipped his chair back on its thick legs. He tried to concentrate on the maps strung across the table and where to plot their next course, the list of stores he would need to purchase for their next voyage, and the auction the following morning when he would place his prisoners up for bidding. Complete with the schooner, he was promised a healthy bounty for the lot, but he found concentrating on anything difficult.

For the last several months, he had begun feeling frustrated. Piracy wasn’t holding the allure for him it once had. He still found pleasure in the hunt, and the fight brought the familiar adrenaline rush it always had, but it just didn’t seem enough. He was craving something new. A new challenge, a new experience, anything to rekindle the passion of life buried inside him.

As time slowly ticked by, Ian began to feel himself drifting to sleep while in his chair. The silence of the ship helped soothe him into a quiet slumber he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Reluctantly, he pushed himself away from the table and maps and walked to his bed. He removed the thin fabric of his black shirt from his strong torso before unlacing his pants and allowing them to drop to the floor. Sleeping in clothes was never a comfortable fit for him. He felt strangled when they wrapped around him. Slipping between the cool sheets buck naked was as inviting as lying in the embrace of a welcoming lover.

Ian plumped up his thin pillow beneath his head and rolled onto his stomach, burying his face into the covered feathers. As he slowly began to drift to sleep the image of the man in the bar filtered through his mind. He seemed odd - not in a threatening or challenging way - but in a secretive way. If he ever got a chance to see the man again he’d have to confront him - or run him through, whatever the event called for.

The next day brought an array of excitement to the Iron-Fist. Two-Toe’s captured crew was escorted off the ship in shackles and chains. They were put into a waiting wagon where they would be taken to the auction block and sold as slaves. A hard life for a sailing man, but a life saved at least. They would be put through daily labor, but they would have the prospect of living. It held a better outlook for their futures than the life of a pirate.

Ian reviewed the offers made on the captured schooner and then revised the lists of stores necessary for the Iron-Fist’s next journey. He ordered new blankets for his men, boots, and clothing for himself, along with at least a dozen pages of food, sails, ropes, rigging tackle, candles, medical supplies, and a variety of other items he couldn’t imagine fitting on a ship, even as large as his was.

“’ Mornin’ Cap’n,” Salty said as he pushed the door open and walked in with a tray of food. “I thought you might need a bit of food before you head to town.”

“Thank you,” Ian answered as he pushed the papers across the table to Red who had been reviewing them with him. “How’s it going with the hostages?”

“They’re on the way to the auction block,” Salty answered and sat down at the table, taking a chunk of the bread from the plate in front of him. “They weren’t very keen on the idea of being sold,” he laughed as he stuffed the bread in his mouth. “They’re all strong men. I think they’ll fetch a handsome quid or two.”

“As long as they are out of my hair, I could care less what happens to them,” Ian grumbled, reaching for the plate of gravy. He dunked his bread - what was left - into the gravy and stuffed it into his mouth, not really paying attention to the taste.

“You seem a bit out of sorts this morning,” Red told him, losing the pirate accent he liked to use when he was on land. “Didn’t the little wench relieve your frustrations last night?”

“It’s not that,” Ian grumbled again as he stuffed the soggy bread into his mouth. “That damn bloke at the tavern last night haunted my dreams like a bloody stalker.”

“Why?” Salty asked with a frown, waiting as his friend finished the plate of food and pushed it aside before reaching for the glass of fruit juice and downing it in one swallow.

“I haven’t a clue who the bastard is, but if I see him again I’m liable to give him a good beating for keeping me up all night,” Ian finally answered as he sat his empty cup back to the tray.

“Why don’t you go to the tavern and relax over a hot body and bottle of gin,”

“I think I will,” Ian sighed.

The thought of getting the girls before the crowds started was enough to kindle the embers of desire inside his loins.

“Take care of the details for the schooner,” he told Red and stood from his chair, adjusting his pants over the growing swell hidden beneath. “I won’t accept anything less than ten thousand for it.”

“That’s a lot of money for an old schooner,” Salty said in a surprised tone.

“You’ll get it. The price will weed out the curious dreamers and allow for the serious buyer to step forward.”

Ian snatched his sword from the end of his bed and strapped it around his waist before slipping in a pistol and his ivory-handled knife.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” he continued, pulling the door open. “I want a complete shakedown before the men take advantage of the offerings this town holds.”

“Aye, Cap’n,” Red answered in his typical pirate voice.

Ian left his cabin feeling somewhat more at ease with the idea of visiting his favorite tavern. He walked the narrow street back to the bar he had left the night before. If anything was going to relax him, it would be an interim with a lovely lady of ill-repute. The idea of what lay ahead made walking seem less comfortable and more urgent to complete. He smiled to himself as a young woman passed him by, blushing and lowering her eyes to him. He was definitely in need of a whore.

Ian sat alone at the table, a glass of whiskey in his hand as he began to scan the bar for new prey. He had taken two wenches to bed as soon as they had come to work, and his appetite was just getting wet. He could do another three whores, easily, before he returned to the ship for the midday meal.

Just as he was about to call over a large busted Spanish wench, the man who had aggravated his sleep the night before stepped up to his table. He stared down at Ian with a curious gaze, a half-grin pulling at the corner of his weathered lips.

“I am very sorry to bother you, sir,” the man said in a thick tone Ian couldn’t identify. “May I join you?”

Ian glanced up to see the man and frowned angrily until he saw a bottle of whiskey in his hand, a book in his other. He stared the man down for a moment before waving him into a seat.

“I don’t mean to intrude, and I’m far from eager to meet the end of your blade,” the man said as he sat in a chair opposite Ian. “My name is Edward Abbott The First, of Westerly. I am on a quest of sorts, and I was wondering if you would be willing to help me with some research.”

“Westerly?” Ian asked as he reached for the bottle Edward sat in front of him. “Isn’t that an island?”

“It is indeed, sir. A very beautiful island with over six thousand residents.”

“What kind of research would you like help with?”

Ian was starting to gain interest in the man’s quest and thought briefly about his frustration with his life of late.

“I’m not sure if you would be willing to try what I have to offer, but I would like the opportunity to explain.”

The man poured a drink for himself and placed the book on the table in front of him. He took three small sips from his glass before drawing a deep breath and beginning his tale.

“As I said, my name is Edward Abbott. My ancestor was Black Jack, a pirate from the fourteenth century. He arrived on the island we now call Westerly, more from curiosity than a quest. He had rescued a young maiden from the clutches of her step-father, who had taken her aboard a Spanish frigate in the hopes of persuading the girl to marry a man twice her own age. The girl had spirit and resisted. When Black Jack came across the ship, he naturally did what pirates do, and attacked. He found the girl, a seventeen-year-old from a small town in Italy, locked up and bruised in the brig, chained to the ship’s hull. She had been beaten and treated as a chamber pot by her step-father and the captain.

“The story has it, that she had been forced to perform a wide variety of sexual acts for the two of them, in front of the crew, in hopes of breaking her will. They abused and molested her yet kept her virginity in check. The man she was promised to, insisted on taking a young virgin to his bed, and her step-father couldn’t risk losing the money he would get from the old man once they had married. The crew was horrified by the way the girl was treated, but being men controlled by a powerful Spaniard, they never intervened.

“After Black Jack, whose real name was Jonathan Abbott, liberated the girl from her bonds, he took her aboard his own vessel, and with the help of his ship’s Quartermaster, began to treat her wounds. She developed a fever that raked her small body and nearly killed her. She was delirious with infection and awoke long enough to hear Black Jack talking with his mate about her. She misunderstood what they were saying and somehow managed to get ahold of his knife. She threatened to kill them at first, but when she realized she was far from being strong enough to withstand them, she turned the knife onto herself. She threatened to kill herself if they took her back to Italy. Black Jack had killed her step-father, and the captain of the frigate, after seeing the condition of the girl, but she still had an uncle who would turn her over to the man she was promised to. The only escape she had was death.

“Black Jack tried to reason with her, but before any promises were made, she offered him a bargain. In exchange for her freedom from her uncle’s grasp, she would surrender her virginity to her rescuer. Like all pirates - no offense intended - he would have taken her to his bed regardless of her innocence. The bargain held merit and intrigued him, so he accepted. Once her wounds had healed, she kept her promise and they became lovers.

“Jonathan had been reviewing the Spaniard’s journals and maps and discovered an island he had claimed as his own. It was supplied with a handful of natives, but also the women he had stolen over the years. He forced the men of the island, and the able-bodied slaves, to build him a castle suitable for, what he believed, was his new station in life.”

The man stopped talking long enough to realize Ian was actually listening, then took another sip of his drink and drew a deep breath.

“The captain brought supplies to the island and continued to have his new home built. It took fourteen years, working every day, seven days a week to complete, but once the Spaniard had his castle - which was more of a palace - he slaughtered all the men over the age of twelve. If they could revolt against him, they were eliminated. He left only the very young and the very old alive to help the women.

“In celebration of his new home, he gave his crew free reign of the islanders and slaves. For many days, the women and girls were raped and beaten. When they finally left the island, there wasn’t a female over the age of maturity left untouched. That was the last time he was on the island. The last time any of them saw him before my ancestor killed him.

“Jack made port long enough to sell off his captured prisoners and ship before setting back out to sea. He had fallen in love with the girl, Angelique, and kept her with him. He realized, he could no sooner let her out of his sight than he could cut off his own arm.

“He spent many days pouring over the journals with the passion of a madman. He may have been a pirate, but he was also a kind and generous man - a gentleman if you will - and he desperately wanted to find this island. He wanted to free the slaves and to claim the land as his own. He plotted a course that took him to the island and did exactly what he set out to do. The slaves were free to return to their homes if they chose, though most of them were now with children to care for, a result of the last visit made to the island.

“The islanders were given land to build homes of their own and were taught to farm and cultivate the soil. Those farms are now raising everything from corn to cattle. Jack was unanimously elected their king and given the home that had been built for the Spaniard. He made a life for his wife, and first-born son, and set out to improve the living conditions of his new home. He went to sea occasionally, but for the most part, he stayed on the island and raised a large family of twelve children with his beautiful Angelique.

“Westerly is now its own country, with over two million acres. We have regions instead of townships or kingdoms and there are families - most of them descendants from the original pirates - who act as regional leaders, similar to your dukes or viscounts. We have twenty factories that produce textiles, pottery, furniture, and fisheries.”

“It sounds like paradise,” Ian commented. “What research could you possibly have that would take you away from all of that?”

“We have our complications as well as our rewards,” Edward said sadly as he played with his glass. “The crew of Black Jack set out to establish a military for Westerly. We have a strong defense, but we still suffer from sailors and pirates alike who want to enjoy the pleasantries our island offers. Our military protects the island, and for the most part, they can keep the peace, but it is difficult for them to be everywhere at once. The sailors who come to our island enjoy the hospitality of our people…including women and girls. Willingly or not.”

Edward waved his hand toward the waitress of the bar and ordered two steak lunches for them with all the trimmings, then waited as the girl left before he continued speaking.

“A reward for staying long enough to hear my tale,” Edward smiled at the curious expression on Ian’s face.

“At the risk of repeating myself, what is it that you expect me to do?”

“Many years ago, I was forced to admit that sex was the most powerful ally or enemy, a man can have,” Edward said as he straightened in his chair in a fidgeting sort of manner. “It can make a person commit the worst atrocities in life, as well as bring a grown man to his knees, leaving him as weak as a newborn babe. Sex has been at the root of most of life’s miseries, yet it can produce beauty that would make a person weep with tears of joy. It was during a very dark time in my life that I began to research the acts and practices of lovemaking.”

“Well, now you have my interest,” Ian chuckled as he downed the glass of whiskey before pouring another.

“I have spent nearly twenty years researching and studying sexual acts from around the world,” Edward said excitedly. “I have developed, what I would like to think, is the most controlled, structured form of sexual intercourse mankind has ever known. What I would like from you, is for you to be my apprentice, of sorts, and test out my theory.”

“You want me to make love to you in the name of research?” Ian gasped in horror. “I may be in control of a ship full of men, but I will never be desperate enough to choose fucking a man over wanking off.”

“No, no, please, let me explain,” Edward rushed on, stopping Ian from leaving the table with a firm hand on his arm. “I need a man who is willing to put my theory into practical action with a female.”

Ian looked down at the man with a curious expression but chose to sit again and finish listening anyway.

“I watched you last night with the wenches that work here, and then again this morning. You were very specific about the ones you bedded. That’s the kind of man I need for my experiment. You have the figure that draws a woman’s attention, plus the chiseled looks of a Greek God. Those attributes together make you a desirable ally. There isn’t a woman on this planet who would be able to resist your charms.”

“I’m not sure if I should thank you or throw up in disgust,” Ian said with a sour look on his face, causing Edward to explode in a burst of loud laughter that brought the eyes of the few occupants in the tavern to stare at him.

“No worries, my boy,” he told Ian. “Allow me to clarify. I have developed a strict, disciplined routine to produce the deepest orgasm from both a man and a woman. If performed correctly, I believe this act can revolutionize humanity. I have already ordered a bordello to be built on my island and will begin teaching this technique to the men once the right women have, themselves, been trained.”

“Why don’t you test this theory yourself?”

“I have tried - believe me - but I cannot continue my research, and make notes of where to improve the technique if I am involved in the action of it.”

“So, what do you want me to do? If you can’t make notes during sex, what makes you think I can?”

“Well,” Edward began clearing his throat and reaching for his glass. “I don’t expect you to take the notes. What I need is for you to do the performing. I will be the one to take notes.”

“How are you to do that?” Ian asked with a frown.

“I will either need to be in the room with you while you are having sex or watching from another room.”

“You want to watch…”

“Yes,” Edward said with a half-grin. “I want to be an observer when you fuck a whore.”