'...This is Queen Puolani,' said Tapia, taking off his shirt. Jack made a bow, his hat tucked under his left arm, am elegant leg stretched out, she stepped forward, shook his hand in the European manner - firm, dry clasp - and led him next to herself. He named the others by order of rank and she inclined her head to each, a welcoming friendly smile on her handsome face, no darker than an Italian's and scarcely tattooed. Perhaps thirty or thirty five.....

"I must tell you that the Americans are my King's enemies: the two states are at war and that we shall guard you from them and from Kalahua, who misused our countrymen, if you will accept King George's protection - is that how I should put it, Stephen? - and promise to be a faithful, loving ally.'

After a few words with the old chiefs, Puolani turned to Jack with sparkling eyes and a glowing face - the flush was clearly perceptible - and said 'I welcome King George's protection; and I shall be a faithful and loving ally; as faithful and loving as I was to my own husband."

Tapia translated the last words, added perhaps as an afterthought, with a particular flatness; and the councillors looked down. 'What a handsome creature, she is,' thought Jack and he said 'Very well: that is settled. Allow me to give you your protector's likeness.  He brought the crown piece from his pocket, with King George's head ringed and hung from a sky-blue ribbon, and after a pause for translation hung it around her acquiescent neck...Puolani placed  a feather cloak on his shoulders, crimson from top to bottom. She smoothed it with great satisfaction and made a confidential remark. "She says it belonged to one of her uncles, now a god, said Tapia.

"Any god would be flattered by such a cloak, said Jack, ' much less a humble mortal."

'It is a present,' whispered Tapia...

...On the threshold he turned, as in a dream, and made his bow. Puolani with the kindest look, returned it: then there was warm darkness and these sure hands; they took his feather cloak, he slipped off his clothes and the lowered him on to the wonderful ease of the long, flat, soft couch in the house that had been built for him.

He had rarely been so tired, had rarely gone so very far down; yet he rose up clear and fresh, no muddiness, no staring about; he knew, as a sailor knows, that it was near the end of the middle watch, and the tide was on the turn; he knew that there was someone in the room, and as he sat up a strong arm pressed him back, a warm , scented arm. He was not altogether surprised - perhaps his half waking mind had caught the scent - nor at all displeased: his heart began to beat violently, and he made room...

Whatever potion the strong liquor that they had been drinking contained, the initial weariness miraculously gave way to a startling clarity of vision and focus. His senses were full of the woman who was lying pressed in the crook of his arm. The queen was quite utterly naked, lying shamelessly spread in an innocent abandon, staring quite blatantly as his growing manhood.

Puolani was as glorious naked as she was dressed. Her skin was like gold touched by the sun, an even texture and colour all over her voluptuous body. Her breasts were full and peaked with berry brown nipples like two fruits ripe for the plucking. She was not a slender woman but nor was she gross - her skin was smooth and her contours rolling in undulating womanhood, the soft ample belly giving way to the firm round thighs slightly parted to give an interrupted view of the secret petals which lay beyond the thick soft down of her triangle of hair. Her body gave off a rich heady perfume that seemed to permeate his senses as the drink had earlier infused his head.

Puolani murmured soft words in her language, clearly an invitation to him to take his pleasure. It would have been impossible for him to hold back. Never before had he felt such a violent urge to have a woman, so powerful that it was the only thought that his brain could encompass. His member rose up harder than he had ever known it, almost painful in its rigidity, throbbing and oozing with desire. The queen boldly grasped it and made appreciative noises, laughing huskily and making a comment which he took to be one of admiration for his size and strength.

He lay back and let her fondle him, watching through narrowed eyes at her obvious enjoyment of his penis in a way that he was unused to. There was nothing lewd or coy about her - this was open and blatant as if this was as natural as shaking a man's hand in greeting. Her fingers were strong and sure as she manipulated him, dropping closer to admire and watch his progress. Before he knew it her tongue had flickered out and scooped the drip of fluid that gathered at his tip and with knowing lingual swirls, she began to devour his manhood until he groaned at the sensation. Ordinarily, after an abstinence of so many months, Jack would have expected this alone to be enough to fire his cannon and when she swallowed him deep and suckled with great force, he surprised himself that he did not shed his seed.

For all his need and the violence of his passion, something had slowed down his response as his body seemed loose and languid, almost moving at sluggish dream pace. Even amidst this confusion, he wondered had he been fed some root or herb such as these islanders had knowledge that not only made him stronger and harder than ever but served to delay his ardour? If so, he wished he could take a cargo back with him!

Jack found himself talking freely in a way he was not accustomed to with women even in intimate moments. The fact that she could not understand him somehow allowed his tongue free rein to say the words that a man such as himself kept locked within his deepest fantasies.

"Deep, there's a girl, suck deep on't....what a clever tongue you have, enough to drive a mere man half mad with desire....I swear I will give you such a fucking as you have never known.....Good God, just look at that cunny...!" She had eased herself around until her head faced downwards and her legs were near his head, opening herself to his gaze. His hand stretched out and slid up her smooth brown thighs, parted the thick soft hair and his fingers dabbled in her naked sex. Se was creamy wet and her musk was strong, it made him moan almost pitifully, longing to taste of it and bury his head into her glorious snatch.

With a lunge, he rolled himself atop of her and began to seek for the scent and taste he longed for. As he feasted on her, she returned the favour for him and they suckled and nuzzled with eagerness, completely free with each other, teasing out and sampling the most intimate secret places of their bodies.

Puolani was an earthy woman, quick to be aroused and even more ready to give into the pleasure of his skilful and enthusiastic attentions. As Jack nibbled on her nub and fingered her welcome cunt, ran his other hand over her full round buttocks and circled her tight little ring, eager to enter anywhere he could find an aperture open to him, she groaned and bucked, crying out wildly as she came, her inner walls pulsing on his fingers and her juices pouring freely now.

But she was not finished by any means. Leaving his cock, she climbed on top of him and with no fear, speared herself on his mighty weapon, gasping and sighing as she took him in almost as loudly as he did to feel her grasping greedy muscles tight around him and pushing back and forth his skin as she slapped against his large balls. Jack, always a visual man and a lover of female breasts and flesh, was overjoyed by the sight of her rich gifts riding him, the wobble and fall of her body and the handfuls of woman he grabbed and kneaded in his large calloused palms.

Jack loved a vigorous and hearty boarding and he was matched by the fervour of his partner who rocked up and down upon him at an impressive speed as he thrust powerfully upwards and met her equally. It seemed to him that this was how gods mated, a wild, ecstasy driven surge, like a ship ploughing through a raging foam.

It was not enough for him even then; he needed more control so he placed his hands on her firmly and lifted her bodily off him, turning her until she rested on all fours and then entering her from behind. She was happy at his action, laughing and pushing back as he rammed in, his hands gripping her ample hips and reveling in their soft cushion. "Beautiful woman," he gasped..."You have the finest arse I have encountered in many a sordid adventure....a man could roger himself to death within its sweet folds..."

And he took his pleasure boarding from the stern with as much gusto as he might have had scaling the side of a warship. It seemed not to worry the queen one jot that he was not particularly gentle in his onslaught; the more he pounded, the more she sighed and moaned, rotating her hips and driving herself back on his rod. Lights danced before his eyes, sweat ran down his body and he panted for breath with his exertions.

The room was smoky from the torches that were burning and that exuded a red flickering glow onto the dark interior. A heavy pungent perfume, spicy and rich, hung about them, drum beats like a heart were ringing in his ears coming from somewhere outside; Jack found himself keeping rhythm with them as he thrust. It was hot and stuffy in the airless hut, the night humid and still. It seemed as if their moist perspiring bodies, already heated by passion, would melt into each other and become one river of fiery pleasure coursing like the lava that poured from the volcanoes that were so common in this region.

That imagery of the spurt of red-hot matter seemed to spur him further. He had to reach his end; the burning ache in his groin was almost intolerable by now. With a roar, Jack pulled out and tossed the queen to her back; she laughed and opened for him, her arms reaching to hold him to her as her legs slid over his wide shoulders and her feet hooked round his thick neck. Plunging down, he took himself in hand, his fingers slipping in the thick cream of her juices in which he was smeared as he searched impatiently to re-find her entrance. With a grunt, he felt his tip enter and then pushed hard; she gasped as he dropped his head, driving relentlessly into her, whispering a strange litany of curses and endearments as he fought to come.

It seemed to Jack that he had lost his wits, so deep into erotic ecstasy was he, only rousing at the plaintive cry of Puolani  as she wailed her orgasm in a high pitched howl that had a touch of the war cry in it. That was the last stimulus he required; at that precise instant, the flaming shoot of his seed poured out into her hot tight cunt. His bellow was as piercing through the silence of the night as the queen's cry had been seconds prior.

For moments that lingered in his drug-befuddled mind like ages, he continued to glide in and out, his cock remaining stiff far longer than was normal and allowing him to gently pleasure Puolani as they both came down from the crest of the wave. Jack found himself holding his exhausted body on his arms, now beginning to tremble with the effort; he dropped his head, kissed her open mouth, a final tangle of tongues, before slumping at her side, spent and weak, but deliriously happy. It was many a long day since he had felt like this.

Puolani rolled over on her side and sang some soft lilt as she took a cloth and dipped it in cool water that was set by the bed in a ceremonial platter, sponging him down, working her way over his entire body. The water was fragrant with exotic flowers, petals and seeds floating on the surface. Jack closed his eyes and luxuriated in her tender care.

When he was clean, she crouched over the bowl and unashamedly wiped herself down. To his surprise, she did not douche as a woman of his culture might. Instead she took a plug of what looked like lambswool and inserted it into herself. He wondered why a woman would do that after congress? Surely it was too late now to impede conception, if that was her aim? Jack shrugged the thought away. Who knew what strange practices these heathens indulged in?

After her toilette, Puolani offered him a glass of water, smiled down at him as he drank it back, talking all the while in her incomprehensible jabbering, and then she came back to join him. She stroked his hair, clearly impressed by its colour and fall, and whispered in his ear, "Geeeeorrrge...My King..."

Jack frowned. "No, my dear. Jack...or rather, John ...Aubrey, captain of His Majesty's Surprise..." His eyes caught the glint of the gold crown round her neck still hanging on the ribbon, the gift he had given her. It was the only thing she was wearing. The image of his king, nobly robed and wearing his powdered wig, rose before him. The sturdy - dared he admit portly? - figure of England's ruler  was not dissimilar to his own. Then the truth dawned on him. The queen had misunderstood. She had thought that he was the king himself - thus worthy of her ritual attentions - not merely his servant and vice-regal ambassador in these parts. Tapia's translation had clearly left much to be desired.

For a moment Jack felt ashamed of his mistake, that he had importuned Puolani's royal virtue so shamelessly in mimicry of his sovereign. How could he have made such a diplomatic blunder? His name would be ridiculed throughout the length and breadth of the empire, his crime the shame of his family, the insult to the great lady probably deserving of some hideous execution on this island,  let alone the charge of treason back home in England.

And then sense came back to him. Who on earth would ever know? He would sail away tomorrow, never visit these parts again and decry any suggestion of such an act having transpired. So what, if in future years this island be peopled with royal sons with fuzzy blonde curls and blue eyes? Was anyone likely to offer an explanation that implicated Jack Aubrey? If it was claimed: 'King George is my father!' It would only seem like a rhetorical claim made by a true and loyal subject, the sort of devout god-worship that these simple people attributed to their leaders. To have refused the queen's approaches on that night would most probably have caused an international incident, the foulest of rejections to her august personage.  He could not have behaved as such. This was exactly what an officer of the Crown would be expected to do in his position.  Be a man and represent his country. Stand in for his king.

Jack began to chuckle. Stand in for King George? When had he ever been called upon to carry out a more pleasant duty for his King and Country in all his years of service? The very idea of what he had just done on his sovereign's behalf made him burst into hearty laughter. Puolani was affected by his high spirits and joined in too, laughing with him until both of them were holding onto each other and tears were streaming down their faces. What would Stephen make of this, Jack mused, in merriment? Standing for the king? It gave a whole new meaning to the term Viceroy, in the place of the King. There was something to be said for doing one's duty even in the most demanding of circumstances. The prizes were all for the taking of the man who dared.

And what a prize the queen had been. Worth every chance and even the potential loss of his head if the accidental mishap had come to light!

Settling down, the wild fit of laughter having subsided, Jack pulled the warm and willing naked body of the queen in against his, the joy of female flesh in the night. The pair lay closely wrapped as sleep claimed them. It was only moments until he was soundly off and snoring loudly, the queen no less slow - or delicate - in her slumber. Outside the drummers ceased their rhythm, the slaves extinguished the torches and the elders of the tribe deemed themselves well pleased with the night's business. The alliance of two great nations had been consummated. If the gods so willed it, a great warrior would be the fruit spring from the loins of these two mighty monarchs....

....First light was coming through the door when he heard Tom Pullings' agitated whisper, "Sir, sir, excuse me, sir. Sir...sir...!'

'Pipe down, Tom,' he murmured, pulling on his clothes. She was asleep, flat, her head back, her mouth open, looking perfectly beautiful...