The Eighth Party © Gloria Mundi 2008

The Great Cabin on the Dutchman is rather drier than Jack expected. Luckily, there's some fine Venetian wine to moisten matters.
And didn't Will say there was a huge organ in here? The new decor's probably for the best: Jack is aware of a terrible tendency to pun when he's in his cups.

Fortunately Will is providing other entertainment.

—What is this? says Will, turning the small tarnished brass pot in his hands. Big hands: they swallow it. Jack swallows too.

—It's a gift for you. For your next trip ashore.

—That's years, says Will.

—Aye, an' plenty of time to practice. To get ... up. To speed.

—What is it, Jack?

—'Twas going to be your wedding present, digresses Jack. —But the Commodore — Admiral —

—God rest his soul.

Jack flicks a sharp glance at Will.

—Thought resting souls was your job, William?

Will scowls.

—The ointment, Jack?

—Was intended as a nuptial gift, says Jack. —Not this pot: the one I had previous was ... commandeered. This is a new one. All the way from Singapore.

—What does it do?

—It makes a man — or a woman, so I'm reliably informed — ... want.

—Want what?

Jack rolls his eyes, and pours them both more wine.

—'Member your wedding night?

Will blushes.

—Of course I remember, not that it's —

—Exhausting, I expect.

—What — you —

—This ointment makes a man want, Will. And gives him the ... willpower to fulfil his wants.

Jack's voice is like Venetian wine, honeyed and heady and full of wickedness.

—I think you'd better tell me what ... what this is.

—This? enquires Jack, indicating himself with a courtly flourish.

—This. This ... stuff.

—As to what it is, Captain Turner, I've no idea. A whole menagerie of improbable parts, most likely. But what it does ... Well. There was this time in Singapore —

—The point, Jack?

—I'm getting to it. Don't be so hasty, William. Haste is the enemy of ... of ...

Jack gestures lewdly. Will blushes redder.

—I was staying in this delightful house: pipes of opium, scented baths, a plethora of pleasurable company. And the thing with opium, Will, is that it takes away the urge, if you know what I mean.

—I know, says Will bleakly. —Like having your heart —

—Very probably. So the captain of our ship —

—You weren't the captain?

—'Twas a long time ago, Will. Captain Tobias, God rest his soul, made me a wager: didn't believe I was capable of pleasuring more'n a couple at a time. Oh, don't give me that look, Will: just because you've chosen to live a virtuous life doesn't mean that those of us more gifted —

—A couple of what?

—More'n a couple: are you not listening?

—When you say 'pleasure' ...

—Am I a dictionary? Tell me, Will, how many parties d'you think a man, suitably enthused by that same salve what you have in your hand, might bring to ecstasy?

—Er. Two? Three?

—I fear you underestimate me, murmurs Jack. —'Tis easily done. Eight, Will. Eight. And that's not counting the audience (whom I didn't, in fact, count), though they looked pleased enough.

—I don't believe —

—They stripped me out of my garments, Will (though in truth I wasn't wearing many: hellish hot, is Singapore, and ... moist.) They laid me out on a heap of cushions. And they 'nointed me with that salve, inside and out, mouth and prick and arse and hands.

—Hands? Why hands?

—Have another drink, Will: you sound parched. My hands — one, or rather two, of my finer features, and much appreciated by the dwellers of that house — were in great demand. I had my fingers in —

—I really don't think I need to hear the details of your debauchery.

—Oh, I really think you do: you might learn a thing or two. I had my fingers in this girl's cunny, and her writhing around fit to break my wrist: an' my right hand, that was round some int'restingly-visaged Chinaman's prick, bringing him off. That's two. Then there was ol' Tobias fucking my arse, giving it to me hard — no wonder he lost count of the others — an' an Englishman of my acquaintance, a big blond bruiser of a man, with his cock in my mouth an' me gobbling it down: my mouth was all hot an' swollen with the salve (which I should warn you tastes considerably less delicious than it smells) an' his cock felt cool and smooth. .. How many's that?

—Four, says Will faintly.

—Right. I lost count, what with you not interrupting. An' the lass fucking herself on my prick, lovely and flexible she was, though remarkably quiet: she did have a mouthful too, though, so I can't 'xactly blame her. Five. And another fellow trying to shove in next to Tobias an' mostly missing, but Christ it felt good when he —

—That's not possible.

—It most certainly is, and I'd be happy to demonstrate the technique, if you'd care to call for a third.

—Jack, are you trying to ... to ...

—Me? Perish the thought. Though hope springs eternal. Not merely hope, of course.

Jack peers down into his lap. Will props his elbows on the table, in the vain hope of concealing ... well. Lewd tales would have this effect on any man.

—I don't —

—You should, says Jack, tongue teasing the corner of his mouth. —Anyway, where was I?

—A brothel in Singapore, apparently.

Jack tallies his score, dabbing each fingertip with his wet pink tongue. —Six. And the Englishman's friend rubbing his prick against his mate's, and 'gainst my mouth: it's surprisingly easy to take two; like yawning, if they're not overly eager.

—Seven, Jack, that's seven. And I don't see how any man could ... could take that, could let that —

—Let? 'Twasn't a matter of letting, William: I relished it. I wanted all of 'em and more. I wanted them both in my arse, stretching me wide open; I wanted to taste one after the other, taste the Englishman's spunk and his mate's; some of the salve must've got smeared over my skin, for I swear it felt divine when the Chinese fellow spent himself over me. Not that my hand was unbusied for long: the lot who were watching, they were getting quite excited by it all, and I was greatly in ... demand. They kept on coming. And so did —

—Didn't it hurt?

—Well, truth of the matter is, my leg was knotted up with cramp, an' after the second — nay, third — girl fucking me (no, come to think of it the third one was a lad) I was a mite sore. But that's the wonder of Oriental medicines, see: another bout of anointment, an' I was ready — nay, I was desperate for more. Wanting, Will. Wanting.

—I meant, after.

—After was a long time away, says Jack, with a fondly nostalgic smile. —Though it was days 'fore I felt fit to return to my duties on the Pearl. Not that Tobias objected. Course, he owed me money. And a return of ... favours.

Will adjusts himself, perhaps not as surreptitiously as he'd hoped.

—Anyway! It's a present, Will: just for you. Well, you and your charming lady wife.

—How dare you! I couldn't subject Elizabeth —

—Oh, I'll lay she'd thank you most profusely. Though there's always your fine crew. Should you run ... short, pray send a message. And in the matter of practice — or indeed practical assistance — I sh'd be happy to avail you of my —

—Jack. Please leave me alone.

—Practice, Will, says Jack, and lewdly, blatantly, mockingly caresses the neck of the wine bottle.

—You said eight, manages Will. —Eight parties.

—I did say eight.

—Not eight at once.

—A lot more than eight all told, says Jack, and spreads his hands, fingers splayed.

—Seven, says Will faintly, fingers closed over the little brass pot. His knuckles are white.

—The eighth, Will? The eighth party was my own self.

-end-