As Captain Toris cast the front of her garment, the one thing still allowing her a shed of decency, into the air he covered her vaginal mound with his hand, disallowing a view of it by his men. Groping his hand, tightly, against it, he swore an oath to heaven, "May the saints protect me!"
Thinking his captain was in grave danger, the scurvy mate instantly sprang to his side. 
"What be wrong, sir?" 
As the scurvy mate reached for his cutlass, the captain stopped his
hand. "No need for that, Mister Dale." Winking at his mate, he
added, "The wench be wetter than a sou'wester in a cold sea."

"What, Captain?"
As his hand groped her vaginal mound he remarked casually, as his
finger rimmed against her vaginal lips, "Mister Dale, me thinks this
wench blew a gasket." Jamming his finger deep into her vaginal canal,
he added with a wink, "Aye, Mister Dale, the wench blew the queen's
gasket."

She squirmed against the intruding finger, tightening up her muscles against it, and cried out. Her vaginal tightness could not
stop the probbing finger. "Please, sir," she pleaded, "don't."
As his finger pumped deeper with each stroke, she sighed, causing
Captain Toris to remark, "Indeed, my lady, you be a tight wench."
The mate approached the captain. "Please, sir," he begged, "the men wish to see the wench's southern quadrant." 
"Aye, Mister Dale, as it should be." He pumped his finger one last time and, groping her mound, slid his hand down her inner thigh
and removed it. Stepping aside, he called to his men. "Behold the
wench's south quadrant!"

As each man scrambled for a look there were gasps of awe. One 
crewman, in particular, looked intently at her pubic forest. As his
eyes stared at the vast forest of black hair, he remarked, "By the
queen, sir, she be a hairy wench."
"Aye, Tully," the captain answered, "that she be. What say you
all?"

"I speak for all, sir," Tully answered quickly, "would ye let us
walk the quadrant?"
"By all means, Tully, be my guest." He surveyed the glaring eyes
of Tully, and the rest of the crew, and casually added, "Me thinks the wench needs a plucking. Don't ye all think so?"
The crew of the Erotida quickly chanted approval. "Plucking!
Pluck the forest!"

As the captain stepped aside, allowing his men an unrestricted view
of her heavily forested pubic mound, he crossed his arms and, nodding
in approval, replied, "Be gentle with the wench, boys."
"Excuse me, sir," interrupted the scurvy mate, "but me thinks it
be better if the wench be bound to the main."

The captain nodded his approval and pushed the men back. "Aye,
Mister Dale." Unbinding the girl from the cannon, he cinched her tight to the mainmast and, splicing her feet to the fife rail, he
spread her wide. "Men, behold the south quadrant!"
Being braced tight against the mainmast, her arms stretched out above her, caused her breasts to tighten up proudly displaying her hardening nipples and the bump of her vaginal mound. As each man eyed every inch of her body they groped their hands against it, feeling the slightest bump. Each man, groping her pussy, could feel the bare spot at her lips and delighted in rimming them. As each hand
was withdrawn a small clump of hair came with it.
Tears pooled in her eyes as each hand groped against her exposed
sexuality. As their hands probed against her very womanhood, she 
cried a little, in pain, as a bit of hair was ripped from her mound.
She could feel her nipples become more prominent with each caress and,
as each hand fondled her genitals, her dampness grew.
"Mister Dale," the captain remarked as he looked at her and the
wet deck below her, "we shall need the queen's bucket."

The very fabric of her womanhood was being torn from her body and,
even though it caused her excruciating discomfort, she began to enjoy
the hands that were fondling her naked beauty. As each hand palmed
against her, she sighed in delight, "Dei sanctus."

Finally the captain stepped forward. Surveying her south quadrant,
he said, "She be quite bare now." As he groped a hand against her 
body he slid it slowly downward, savoring every inch of her sexual
being, he groped it into her mound. "Aye, boys, I shall take the last
of her forest." He pulled the last remaining clump of hair from her
vaginal mound, and looking closely at her bare mound, remarked, "By
the queen, wench, your south quadrant is pretty indeed." 

Slowly he knelt down and, kissing her mound, licked it, probing his tongue past her lips. She cried out in delight as his tongue
penetrated her very sexuality.