"We should lay low."
Warlock sighed, peering out of the tent's opening at the port town below. The place was bristling with guards, showing wanted posters and making descriptive gestures that could describe a lot of people... but since one of those gestures was very clearly hefting a fat ass, and the other looked like a supremely edgy pose...
"Yeah, probably."
"Man, who went and told everybody WE were the ones who took down the Little King?" Witch complained, tossing outfits from her closet while her purse, Clutches, skittered about on the ground and ate them like a cat searching for dropped treats.
"He was never even ALIVE!" Warlock went on. "Surely, I thought, they'd find his body and go 'oh, clearly the King was a literal fucking muppet and someone else was pulling the strings' but NOOOOO~!" He scoffed and opened his book, flipping through for spells or contracts that might help them board a ship and ride down the coast a ways. "Fuckin'... idiots."
Witch opted not to mention the limp, handless puppet body that was in the back of her closet, dangling from a hook like a mannequin.
Hanging her dress overtop of it so it wouldn't be seen, she flipped through some more of the outfits and costumes she'd collected and made over the last year. Fancy but unused Masquerade Ball outfits... (nom) circus performer garb they'd worn far too often for her taste... (Nom!) a set of "farmer" disguises which were impractically sexy (OMNOMNOM)-- AHA!
"Found it~" She sang, stepping out of the closet naked but for her boots and hat, holding up a folded bundle of clothes.
Warlock glanced at her, briefly manhandling her with his eyes before turning to the outfit. "What... is that?"
"Well, rather than sneak around and try not to be seen..." Witch quickly donned hers-- a ruffled top with short, puffy sleeves that hung off her shoulders, and a layered skirt that had clearly been torn on one side, exposing her thigh just the way she liked it. She took her hat in her hands and spun it around. It shimmered in her hands and became a broad-brimmed hat, pinned up on one side and bearing a long white feather on the other. Her rope belt, twisting in her hands, became a golden coin belt that hung low on her hips. "Why don't we hide in plain sight?"
Warlock groaned. "Ugh, the pirate outfits? Really? Come on, no real pirate dresses like this," he tugged at her neckline, finger between her very pushed-up breasts.
"Oh my stars, Warlock." Witch rolled her eyes. "It's to fool regular people, not actual pirates! We'll bully our way onto a ship and ride down the coast without a problem."
"It's a bad idea."
Witch smiled, a mischievous glint in her eye as she turned away, sashaying around the tent in her swishy pirate skirt. "You know what, you're right. You'd probably blow our cover."
Warlock choked. "Me?"
"You."
"ME?" Warlock looked absolutely scandalized. "You're talking to THE former member of the Shadow Squadron, known SPECIFICALLY for his grace and elegance." He stood en pointe, as if to emphasize his statement. "If anything, YOU'D be the one to blow our cover, little miss chaos goblin."
"Bet'cha I won't."
"Bet you will."
"Money where your mouth is, prettyboy." She grinned broadly up at him, throwing her old nickname for the edgy twink he used to be in his face. "First one to break character or get us caught has to do a~nything the other one wants tonight."
Warlock bared his teeth back, but it was more like a wild dog threatening her than a smile. "You're on."
Warlock discarded his usual clothes until he was dressed far more like a pirate-- open-chested shirt, no vest, a bright red and gold sash holding his pants up, and tight boots that made his normal ones seem reasonable.
"Great! Now the cloak."
Warlock touched his cloak tenderly. "What's wrong with my cloak?"
"It's too recognizable, love. Besides, pirates don't wear ponchos."
"We just established it's a cloak, not a poncho."
"It's gotta go."
"ACH." Warlock took off his hooded cloak and spun it in his hands, whirling it over his head until it too changed-- suddenly he was wearing a head-scarf that covered his whole face, leaving only a dark gap for his eyes and trailing down his front and back just a little bit. "There. Better?"
"Great," Witch giggled. "Let's go."
"Uh-uh-uh!" Warlock snatched her wrist as she reached for her cauldron, Cast-Iron. "Can't be wielding our iconic weaponry in disguise, love. Cast-Iron and Spell-Sword are too well-known." He smirked at her. "Unless you want to blow our cover, of course..."
Witch huffed, her face reddening with mild embarassment. "Oh, you little... fine." She drew a symbol in the air with her fingertips and slapped it on the side of the cauldron. It glowed blue, and the metal reshaped with a horrid squealing of iron until a rune-inscribed anchor was sitting in the middle of the tent, trailing a thick chain.
"There! Eccentric, intimidating... absolutely SLATHERED in the final curses of pirates. Salvaged it from those undead sailors we fought in the Estuary Coves and worked its form into Cast-Iron's enchantments." She hefted it easilt, propping it on her shoulder. "Quite fitting for a lady pirate, wouldn't you say?"
Warlock shrugged. "Sure, I guess. Looks good." He did not sound impressed.
"OK smartass, show me what you're packing. Can't bring Spell-Sword, so what ARE you going to use?"
Warlock's eyes crinkled with a smile, and he placed his favored tool of war on their coffee table, still in the sheath. "Easy." He tore a page from his Tiny Black Tome and it stained where his blackened fingertips touched it, as if ink were spreading from his skin to the paper.
He crumpled the paper in his hand and it smoldered, the smoke coalescing into a solid form, a heavy, black metal, wheelock hand-cannon. Somewhere between a pistol and a blunderbuss, with bands of gold around the barrel, and a little gold hammer shaped like a tentacle, it was a pretty piece to be certain. He twirled it briefly and cocked the hammer with his thumb.
"Had this bad girl in my back pocket ever since we fought those highway-women. Gussied 'er up a little with my shadow magic, and boom." His eyebrows did a little wave motion. "Bitches love cannons, right?"
Witch had to suppress the urge to confirm this statement in the raunchiest possible way-- they were having a competition, no time for flirting.
The moment they stepped out of the tent... it was on.
To their surprise, it was working.
Anyone who took more than glance at them was met with Warlock's ice-cold stare, and soon turned away-- or else Witch gave them an appraising look that found them so scathingly wanting, they shrank away.
They didn't hang on each other's arms as they might in any other town, but instead strolled through like nobles, letting everyone look... and nobody saw them. The guards skirted them, nervous and unsure of whether they should bother asking what was obviously a pair of brigands if they'd seen the outlaws that killed the Little King... except for one.
One guard, a short and clumsy thing in ill-fitting armor, stumbled up to them. She held her spear crooked, the butt dragging on the ground like a broomstick held the wrong way, and she held up a poster to them in her shaking gauntlets.
"P-pardon me, sir-- madam-- but have you? Have you by chance seen these two criminals?"
The poster was of Witch and Warlock in their old attire-- Warlock still partly dressed like a member of the Shadow Squadron, his black blindfold worn around his throat like a scarf, his wicked blade half-drawn from its scabbard. His smile, halfway a scowl in itself like two jester masks stitched together, was of razor-teeth in the drawing. One eye glared through a shadowed face. Witch, for her part, was still the little witchling she had been at the time as well. A green dress laden with trinkets and charms that used to make her jingle with every step, and her pretty face drawn up in purest innocence... except for the gleam of mischief in her eyes, one of which had a tiny skull worked into the reflection. Her pretty smile concealing a mind full of chaos and whimsy, her beauty nothing more than a disguise for her dreams of storybook witchery and sinister intentions.
So, it was really quite accurate, all things considered.
"Hm," Warlock grunted, glaring down through the slit in his headscarf. They had a good artist on their payroll, clearly. It was almost lifelike. He didn't say this, though.
Witch's appraising stare did not find the little guard nearly as wanting as the others, but worse still was that she seemed to find the clumsy oaf cute. "I'm afraid not, darling..." She stooped over the shorter woman, giving her a eyeful at her height and letting a hand creep up to her visor, as if to look for her eyes. "...but if you're looking for a pair of criminals, why not try to arrest us?"
Warlock shot his partner a glare. What was she doing?
They both heard a nervous gulp echo from the helmet. "W-well, the Little King's old decrees on piracy... th-they've not been repealed, so really... really, you're free to go." She turned her head to avoid her eyes being exposed, and muttered-- "Besides, I'm likely to end up the one in chains if I--"
Witch drew a length of chain from her hip, letting the runes glow and seethe with cursed light. "Aww, but would that be so bad?" She glanced at Warlock, who feigned disinterest. "Would it?"
The guardswoman was cute, but this was not at all the time. Warlock grunted the cadences of an "I dunno," and walked past them both towards the docks.
Witch sighed one of those entrancing sighs and patted the girl's helmet affectionately, incidentally shifting it over her face so she couldn't see. "Another time, then. Bye, cutie~"
By the time she had her helmet upright, both of them were gone.
"D-dammit, Guard!" She muttered. "You gotta stand up for yourself!" And with a bustle of clanking she ran up to another group of sailors and asked them as well, unaware her quarry had slipped right past.
"This is working really well," Witch giggled, hands behind her back as she caught up to Warlock. "You're doing such a good job, love."
"Meanwhile, you nearly blew our cover to try and seduce a random hireling-- how OLD is that girl?"
"Old enough, if they've let her join the guard..." Witch bit one of her knuckles thoughtfully. "Besides, people rarely know what to do with the attention of a pretty lady, much less such a dangerous one. You'd be surprised how powerful reverse psychology is with ordinary folks."
Warlock scoffed. "More like reverse intelligence-- do the dumbest thing possible and flash your tits, and their pride won't let them believe they've been tricked."
Witch gasped, offended. "Did you just call me a bimbo?"
"If the corset fits." He shot her a taunting look, his eyes crinkling with mockery. "And they always do, don't they?"
Before she could retort, the sound of a ship's bell rang out, and both of them turned to see a massive ship riding into port ahead of them-- flying a black flag decorated with a painted skull and bristling with cannons and arbalests.
"Look!" She cheered, "Pirates! Actual pirates!"
"We should avoid them," he said matter-of-factly. "They'd see right through these disguises in a minute or less."
"Maybe your lazy disguise," Witch shot back. "But I bet I could fool even the scurviest dogs into thinking I'm a fearsome pirate queen."
"What, even the fearsome Pirate Queen?" He asked.
"Pfft." She waved a hand dismissively, walking with her eyes closed as people ran past, away from the boat, skirting around the two calm people on the boardwalk. "She'd never know it was me."
"Good, because I'm pretty sure that's her, coming our way."
"What."
Sure enough, when she opened her eyes they glanced up at the ship-- much closer, since they hadn't bothered to change directions-- and saw the iconic skull of her flag, with its painted lips and little wings around the eyes like a lady's makeup... and crossed below it, instead of a pair of swords behind it, were three peg-legs, fanned out as if to suggest a three-legged person aboard.
And there she was. The towering, sashaying body of a lady pirate coming their way, muscular and riddled with tattoos across her tanned skin. Wearing an open-chested shirt that barely contained her bust, a wide belt clearly meant for an even larger person, and a ragged skirt made of other pirates' black flags, she was practically glowing with the sinister aura of a wicked soul. Her captain's hat lolled this way and that but never fell, and her free hand-- for one was often tucked into her belt-- was swishing a smiling cutlass in her hands as if anyone caught in its path would be at fault for standing in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Yes, they knew the Pirate Queen on sight, and both of them-- though they carried themselves confidently-- secretly prayed for both their sakes that the same was not true the other way around.
Behind her were two members of her crew, which they also recognized. The slow, plodding gait of her Cannoneer was unmistakable. The man was so barrel-chested it extended to the rest of him, shirtless and carried a full-sized cannon on his shoulder. One of his feet had been clearly replaced with a much smaller one in lieu of a wooden one, which would likely break under his sheer girth. Still, the muscle in his arms was no less visible for it, and though he had a beardless baby face his cheerful smile was that of a dullard who joyed in smashing smaller boats apart with his cannons, but was just as able to pull them apart with his bare hands.
The other familiar gait was the stumbling walk of her drunkard First Mate, a moaning and groaning zombie of a woman, no less handsome than her captain but smaller and less composed. She was so done up with belts and bandoliers that she looked a good deal skinnier than she ought to, and her eye makeup ran down her face as if she'd been crying. She was armed with an absurd number of pistols dangling from those belts, a heavy flask of grog that was always in her hand or mouth, and a hurdy-gurdy she was trying to play "Drunken Sailor" on. Unfortunately, it came out almost like a funeral dirge, since she was drunk and the hand pressing the keys had a flask in it. Still, as lonely and squiffy as the woman was, they knew she was an excellent shot, able to put a hole through a gold coin in mid-air.
Worse still, they'd spotted Witch and Warlock, and the Pirate Queen stopped a few paces from them and pointed her sword.
"AHOY THERE!" She shouted. "Who goes!?"
Both of them stopped, glancing at each other as if to see who would speak first. Warlock seemed to have taken on a tight-lipped persona, and so Witch stepped forward with a mock curtsey and her best crooked smile. "A fair pair of pirates, Captain-- two fellow sea-goers and not a thing more."
The Pirate Queen looked them over with a far, FAR more scathing version of Witch's appraising look... but somehow she did not look disapproving, though her blade remained where it was.
Warlock grunted something incomprehensible, then leaned down to whisper to Witch. "Point out that she's the Pirate Queen. Any pirate worth their salt would recognize her."
Witch straightened and extended a hand in greeting. "Er-- I mean, ARGH, what brings the fearsome Pirate Queen to our neck of the woods?"
The Pirate Queen's blade was one step forward from cutting Witch's hand in half, but to their surprise, she lifted it and propped it on her shoulder, giving them both a long and interested look.
"I go wherever, and do whatever, I please," She answered, "So naturally I just felt like being here. As for what I do here..." She stepped forward until she was awfully close to both of them. Warlock resisted the urge to stare at her chest. Witch did not, and so the Pirate Queen grabbed her jaw and pulled her upright, forcing eye contact.
"That's my business, isn't it?"
Witch flushed deeply, feeling the rasp of the sword's edge against her throat. "Mmm... harder."
The Pirate Queen blinked. "Eh?"
Warlock made a sound that was almost the same, looking at Witch like she'd grown another head.
"H... you can do that harder, if you like..." She winked.
The Pirate Queen squeezed her jaw harder, then caught herself and bust out laughing, letting go.
"YOOOOH-HO-HO-HO! This one's got GUTS!" She cackled, sheathing her sword. "I like that in a lady-- and doubly so in a pirate." She folded her arms and looked at Warlock. "What's this one's problem, then?"
"Who, him?" Witch started to answer, "He's just--"
Her attempt to make up a personality for Warlock's quiet persona was LOUDLY interrupted by the sound of his ridiculous hand-cannon going off, blasting the hurdy-gurdy in the First Mate's hand to smithereens and staggering the lady holding it. The squeal of the music dying off was met with utter, shocked silence.
Cannoneer slammed his gun to the ground, aiming at Warlock, and the First Mate quickly got over her surprise and drew a pistol on him, taking a swig from her flask. Before either of them could fire, the Pirate Queen lifted her hand to stay them, cocking her head slowly to one side.
"What the fuck was THAT!?" Witch shrieked, punching his arm. "What did you do THAT for?!"
Warlock spoke up, just clear enough to be heard.
"Loud." He turned to look at the Pirate Queen and her crew. "Don't like 'loud.'"
"And this one has NERVE, too!" The Pirate Queen's breath was heavy all of a sudden, eyes flicking back and forth between them with a gleam of fascination. "Who the HELL are you two?" She asked. "And who do I have to steal you from, to have you for myself?"
Witch and Warlock froze, making eye contact. What? WHAT? SHE wanted THEM? FUCK. What now? WHAT NOW?!
Witch turned on the charm again. "Well, this is Keelhauler." She took the anchor off her back and slammed it into the deck, snapping a board in half and plunging it into the ocean. "I used to be the Anchorlady aboard our last ship. This is my partner--"
"Lookout," Warlock finished, holstering his gun and giving it a pat. "Broadsider."
"'Your LAST ship?" The Pirate Queen circled them like a shark, inspecting every inch over and over. "And that was...?"
"The erm... the Compass Rose!" Witch coughed. "Poor ol girl ran afoul of a storm, smashed to bits on the rocks out there... no survivors."
"Good ship," Warlock grunted. "Shame."
"Hmm... never heard of it..." Her hands settled on their shoulders, her hips sliding into the space between them. She bent down so they were more eye-level. "So you're amateurs then... and partners, you said?"
"Partners in crime," Warlock corrected. "Nothing more."
Witch made a sound of offense-- and then, aware they were being inspected, added on a jilted "Hmph! Right. Just... mates. Maties. In the pirate-sense. Not like, a couple, or anything."
"In that case... you two must be looking for a new crew." The Pirate Queen's smile was wide enough to sail on. "And it just so happens I can never have enough..." One hand ran across Witch's back and shoulder, the other creeping into Warlock's shirt and down the cleft of his chest as she walked, herding them along. "...fine young crew-members, aboard the Mistress. What say you ride up the coast with me a-ways...?
"I guarantee you'll fit ri~ght in..."
The Mistress of the Deep seemed even bigger than they remembered, from their last encounter with the Pirate Queen. A behemoth of a ship larger than it had any right to be, like a manor with sails. Bristling with guns large and small across three decks, and that was only half the ship. It seemed alive with motion, an even larger crew of handsome men and women than before scuttling across it-- each and every one hand-picked by the Pirate Queen for both strength and beauty. Mostly the crew was men, but any woman beautiful and strong enough to take a position as one of the Pirate Queen's crew was an exceptionally deadly specimen, whether before or after she took them in.
And of course, as mortifying as it was impressive, was their figurehead. Rather than carve something of wood or stone, the Queen had a positively massive mermaid-- a Siren-- lashed to the prow of her boat. She was easily twenty feet long from head toto tail-tip, and bound up with ropes and chains-- a giant metal bit in her fanged mouth, her arms bound behind her back and her eyes covered with a sailcloth blindfold that was tied to the front. Drool and sea-foam trickled from her mouth, down her chin and throat onto her chest. The beastly thing thrashed ferociously against her restraints, but most of her tail was inside the ship. caught in the jaws of a fiercer fish than she
"We've been giving her a real makeover as of late. She's got a few extra decks, more cannons, more crew..." She gestured proudly across the ship as a petite, colorful harpy-- like a parrot in semi-human form-- landed on her shoulder, all bright green and red, wearing a pair of bandanas for clothing.
"More crew!" She squawked, "More crew!"
"That's right, girl! More crew!" She fed her a scrap of jerky and the harpy licked her Captain's fingers a little as she took it, smiling devilishly. "You'll like it here, I'm sure." The Pirate Queen tasted her own fingers for a moment, before wiping them on her skirt. "First! Where are ye?"
Her First Mate swayed into a sloppy sort of attentiveness before her. "On the boat?" She said it like a question.
"Show these two to their quarters, would ye? The spare room on the upper deck, near us." She grinned, giving them a knowing look. "But we've only got the one bunk open... you'll have to share a bed. Don't matter to me who you do it with, o'course..." She shot them both a wink that said she was DEFINITELY an option, before turning away and shouting at a cabin boy for rolling a barrel the wrong way.
"Always knew she fucked her crew." Witch muttered, biting her lip at the way she grabbed the boy's hair and shook him.
Warlock nodded, staring longingly at the sway of her hips, and how her ass dropped with every step. "Yeah..."
They caught themselves, made eye contact, then turned away with a "Tch!" and a "Hmph!"
"I~" the First mate slurred, "Am not waiting for ye, ya freaks. C'mon." She straightened up as best she could and began walking the other way, towards the rooms.
The spare room was sparsely furnished but nice enough. A hammock large enough to fit a few people, a nailed-down footlocker, even a hanging bag that was no doubt meant to be for hanging clothes where they couldn't get wet before you wore them.
Witch explored for a few minutes, looking around with excitement. This had turned into a full-on adventure! OH, how cool this was going to be! And she just had to goad Warlock a little to wear the outfit.
Warlock, on the other hand, lingered in the doorway, watching her. He loved that girl, but... boy, he really had to win this bet. His pride would not let him show his affection, here.
As Warlock turned to shut the door, the First Mate's hand clamped to his arm. She looked up through locks of messy brown hair and her eye twitched. "You... EVER... fire that gun at me again," She seethed, "I'll put a new hole in your gourd, and drink MEAD from it. Savvy?"
Warlock thought for a moment, letting her simmer. Man, this one hated him even MORE in disguise...
"Cute."
The First Mate flushed, even moreso than the alcohol ought to cause. "W-what?"
Warlock stooped over her, showing off their difference in height, shrouding his eyes in darkness so all she could see was one of them gleaming ever so slightly... he felt her grip tighten on his bicep, then go loose.
"Wasn't aiming for you... or you'd be dead."
She scowled, shoving off of him, and stumbled down the hall to her room before turning back and going the other way, glaring at him the whole time and generally making it harder to know where she was going.
Warlock shut the door.
"We're in so much trouble."
Witch looked up. "What do you mean?"
Warlock leaned on the wall by the hanging clothing-bag. "Think about it-- we are ON THE PIRATE QUEEN'S boat, heading UP the coast instead of down, and we're disguised as pirates that behave JUST like we used to, when we first met her!"
Witch circled around their hammock. "Yeah, but we'd run into her since then and she's seen us as a happy couple, past the whole, 'will they, won't they' shit." She cocked her hip. "So there's nothing to worry about. Reverse psychology, see?"
"Reverse intelligence, more like."
"You call me a bimbo again," she said, stepping forward, "and so help me I'll fuck you, pretty boy."
Warlock stepped right up to her, pulling the bottom of his scarf down to bare his teeth. "Oh, you just TRY me, princess."
There was a brief silence, and they broke out into laughter, tumbling into the hammock together, tangled in one another's limbs until they fell into a comfortable position, curled around one another. "Reminds you of the old days, huh?" She asked.
"Yep... could be fun... bet's still on, though."
"Oh, absolutely. I've got PLANS for that "anything I want" you'll be doing."
"As do I," he chuckled, kissing her. "For now... wanna seduce a bunch of the pirates and swap details later?"
She sat up, cross-legged. "UH. YES?!"
As Witch bolted out the door, Warlock fixed his headscarf and tossed a wisp of shadow into the clothing-bag, turning the opening pitch-black before following her out and closing the door behind him.
Days pass. Our daring duo walks among one of their greatest enemies, in tenuous disguise-- fulfilling duties aboard the Mistress of the Deep and finding a new sort of adventure alongside the Pirate Queen, not as enemies... but as allies.
"Anchorlady" was well-received. A beautiful woman with unreal strength, hauling barrels and boxes it would take two or three men to move all by herself? A surefire hit among the men of the crew, and no less satisfying for the captain herself. When not hard at work, she was arm-wrestling crewmates twice her size, flirting expertly with every man who whistled or hooted as she passed. Occasionally, she was even invited to the captain's quarters for drinks.
"Lookout," on the other hand, was downright off-putting. Not disliked, exactly, but his silent persona and tendency to walk about the ship with one hand ready to draw that massive pistol, even climbing without using more than one hand... it was freakish to some. Still, he put in his fair share of manual labor as well: sweating, sometimes shirtless, as he worked the rigging and sails-- and he could be found belowdecks on calmer days or nights, gambling with the crew.
Of course, these handsome newcomers were the talk of the ship, and many an eye was had on them, hoping perhaps they'd be the one to bed them... and make no mistake, a few did.
"Can I tell you a secret?"
Sitting on a barrel beside "Anchorlady," the ship's lone Cabin Boy took off "his" red headband, shaking out a head of short, messy, dirty blonde hair. Her baggy clothes and boyish demeanor had done a good job of hiding it, but there was no mistaking it once she was this close, and looking this closely. Their Cabin Boy was a girl. A Cabin Tomboy, if you will.
"I didn't really care about being a pirate myself, when I started aboard the Mistress. I snuck on and joined up because pirates are hot." She blushed, saying it, looking out over the water. "The freedom, the adventure, the danger... all side perks. I just like bad boys, and pirates..." she leaned forward, glancing across the deck to where "Lookout" was tying off a rigging rope-- shirtless, dirty, biceps taut and bulging with effort as rivulets of sweat ran down his chest. He rolled his shoulders to work out some kink or knot, then caught them both staring and glared, his eye hitting them as surely as if he'd fired that cannon strapped to his thigh.
Anchorlady waved, sticking out her tongue. The Cabin Tomboy turned away, bright red, and stifled a giggly noise of delight by biting her knuckles. After a moment, she stood up and leaned backwards over the railing, staring at the sky with a giant smile. She took a deep breath.
"...pirates are the BADDEST."
Leaning backwards over the railing, the Cabin Tomboy had to force herself not to look down-- but it was hard to look at the man in the Crow's Nest with her. He was still so intimidating-- moreso up close, in the dark. A single lantern was the only light they had up there, and he'd set it on the ground so they wouldn't cast shadows below. His hand was down her baggy pants, grinding fingers and palm against her burning pussy, and his headscarf was just loose enough to see his lips.
She stretched her neck upward to kiss him but he was too tall... a soft whine escaped her...
And he closed the gap, sliding his fingers inside her as he did.
She gasped and bucked and coiled up close to him, and when he broke off the kiss there was spit trailing between them.
"Dangerous," he murmured. "You could get hurt."
The Cabin Tomboy pushed off the railing, and with two shaking hands, lifted her shirt. Small, taut breasts bared to the wind, her nipples stiffening. She was so nervous, so afraid, so aroused. His fingers were still inside her, and she was bucking her eager, inexperienced hips into his grasp, trying to get more of him inside her. Her brain was as foggy as the ocean around them, and all she managed to say was the only thing on her mind.
"Promise?"
"Yeah... and nobody's nearly as bad as Lookout," Anchorlady winked at the little tomboy. "You think these scurvy dogs are something... he was one of our most ruthless men on our old ship. That's why he was the lookout-- he couldn't stand the idea of missing a ship we could plunder, or a village to raid."
"Really?" the Cabin Tomboy asked, eyes gleaming with admiration. She kept swiveling her head back to the doors, as if hoping Lookout would come back.
"Yeah. And you wanna know something even cooler?"
The younger woman pivoted on one foot, grabbing onto the railing on both sides and standing on tiptoe so they were nose to nose. "What?"
"He didn't care about treasure or booze or anything... he always went for the women." Anchorlady chucked her chin and leaned down like she might kiss her, and the girl's smile was quickly replaced with a blush again.
"And in case you're wondering... yes. He just loves to wreck tight, cute little things like you."
She wrapped her arms around--
--the mast and gripped on for dear life, grinding her teeth to dust to keep from grunting and groaning as Lookout's thick cock split her open like a boarding axe through a door. She'd fucked crew members before but so many of them had either been average at sex, or average-sized.
Lookout was neither of those things.
He was huge, and he was thrusting into her so hard and deep and rough, that she finally understood what other girls meant when they said a man had rearranged their guts-- she couldn't even fit the whole thing inside of her. She was so small compared to him, his hands seemed to wrap all the way around her waist.
"Hoooooh, fuck..." She rasped, hoarse from all the muffled sounds she'd already blown her voice out making. "Fucking break me in, sir... I've been such a good girl, please..."
Her legs were shaking, her knees were knocking, she couldn't help but pant and moan quietly even with her jaw clenched. She'd cum already and he was still going-- maybe she'd cum twice? She wasn't sure.
"Hang on," he growled, grabbing her hair and yanking her upright. She felt his cock THROB inside her, and she realized with a dangeorus thrill through her body that he was going to cum inside her whether she wanted it or not... he was going to...
"Breed me, sir..." She twisted her head to look at him, eyes watering and full of desperation. "Breed me like your little cabin bitch!"
Lookout's hips crashed into her tiny, bubbly ass and made her whole back arch as he somehow managed to fuck her even harder than before, making her cheeks sting with every CLAP, and her body spasm as a second (third?) orgasm rippled through her, and when he slowly slid that fat cock out of her, she immediately felt a trail of hot cum spill down her leg before both of them gave out and she sank to her knees right there in the Crow's Nest.
Lookout sank down next to her, squeezing the last few ropes out of his cock and getting it on his hand. He reached that hand out and she slid over to him, still shaking, to lick and suck it off his fingers.
"Good girl."
She moaned into his hand and crawled into the nook of his arm, cuddling up to him like a cat. Her brain was baking after that fuck, but the cold air on her skin had her absolutely craving the warmth of the man who just made her cum her brains out. "If you think that's good... I'll show you how good I can be, if you'll fuck me like that again."
Lookout pulled her closer, opening a tiny black book with the hand she couldn't see, and tilting her up to face him with the other. His eyes turned black in the lanternlight, and so did hers.
"Promise?"
"Nice cannons."
Lookout tossed a pair of cards face-down. A crewmate dealt him a new hand and he picked it up. Belowdecks, an area had been made amongst the crew's bunks and supplies-- a makeshift table and chairs where they drank, gambled and gamed. The grumpy old Boatswain and lazy Swabby had already been knocked out of the game, leaving only Lookout and the Cannoneer.
"Thanks! I work hard to keep 'em in good ship... er, shape. SHIP-SHAPE! OHHH, that's why they call it that!" He laughed, his whole body shaking with the motion. "You learn somethin' new every day!"
Lookout was good at bluffing-- stonefaced, empty-eyed-- but so was the Cannoneer, with his never-wavering smile. The round-faced and cheerful man dropped one card and received a new one. Both of them tossed coins into the pot, raising the bet.
Lookout nodded. "Yeah... I meant them, though." He nodded to the Cannoneer's weapon of choice, propped up as it was beside them, and his left foot, which was its own cannon.
"Oh!" The Cannoneer's smile only grew brighter. "Thanks, friend! Yeah, same goes for Bonny Anne and Mary Read, here." He chuckled, tapping the table to show he was ready to show his cards. "They're a real lady magnet, too."
Lookout smirked, tapping the table in response.
Both of them threw down their hands. Cannoneer had the better hand.
"Bitches love cannons, eh?" Lookout patted the gun on his hip, and the Cannoneer roared with laughter.
"That they do! Not a lot of ladies aboard, o'course, but... they do love a man with two cannons for legs."
Lookout furrowed his brow as the big man shoveled the gold coins into his pile. "But... you've still got your other leg, don't you?"
"Mmmh... you're such a big boy~" Anchorlady moaned, running her tongue along the side of Cannoneer's huge cock. "Guess I know why they put you in charge of the cannons."
They were belowdecks, where the powderbarrels were being kept, Cannoneer was seated atop a heavy one, leaned back as she serviced him.
Anchorlady swirled her tongue around his head. "Wanna see a magic trick, big guy?"
Cannoneer was very blushy, but holding her eye contact. He nodded, scratching his cheek. "Uh-huh...?"
She kissed the head of his cock and smiled wickedly. "I'm gonna make your 'cannon' disappear." Slowly, and stedily began to sink down... one inch... two... four... seven... and before long her lips were wrapped around the base of his cock and spread in a smile.
Cannoneer threw his head back and groaned, "OOOH, that's a good trick!" He rocked back on his barrel, his cock sliding partway out of her mouth as he did, and when it rolled back the other way, it slammed all the way back into her throat. She gagged, and the whole thing came sliding out at once, absolutely slick with spit.
She stood up an swished her skirt aside, revealing her ass. "Wanna help me do it again?"
Cannoneer tapped the side of his nose, and this time it was Lookout's turn to laugh as he realized what he was saying.
"Ha! I see." He threw in the blind for a new round and picked up his cards, giving them a look-over.
"Hard for them to handle, though..." Cannoneer said knowingly. He picked up his cards and flipped through them one by one. "Mm. Big guys like us, and most women are so tiny..." He grinned a dopey grin. "You know?"
"Mm." Lookout put his hand down, chipping in more coins without trading. "You know who can REALLY handle a cannon?"
Cannoneer looked up from his cards, his smile replaced with confusion. "Who?"
Lookout's eyes smiled. "Anchorlady."
Cannoneer leaned forward. "Yeah?"
"Oh yeah," Lookout chuckled. "She'd let you--"
"--FUCKING pound me!"
Anchorlady was sprawled out, face-down on the ground, her skirts around her waist as the burly pirate buried every single inch of his "third cannon" in her pussy. He was BIG, he was SOFT, and he was fucking her with slow, heavy strokes that made her shiver and and shake and arch her spine.
"Fuck YEAH, big boy," she hissed through her teeth, "shiver my fuckin' timbers~"
"M-miss Anchorlady," He moaned, the chains of her anchor looped around each of her fists and his neck like a leash. "I've already come so many times, please... I can't keep going!"
"Come on, matey," she giggled, tightening the chain, "One more... one more and you're done! Come on, fire away~!"
"Ough, fuck... how are you still so tight?" He tugged at the chain to loosen it and found no purchase, so he just kept pumping and pounding her, his last few loads still oozing out around his cock as her pussy clenched and squeezed, draining him for everything he was worth.
"Come on! POUND me, big boy~" She started throwing her own ass back on his cock, making it CLAP and SLAP against him. "Show me why you call it a CANNON, YEAH~"
"CAPTAIN!" The Cannoneer called out, "I can't land a hit on them!" His cannon fired with a BOOM and there was nothin
The First Mate scowled, unleashing a rapid-fire salvo from her pistols and scoffing, staggering as the return fire staggered their ship. "Well, my guns won't do a damned thing to that ship!" She dropped down below the railing to reload. "I can only pick off so many of their crew at once!"
A smaller ship of rival pirates had sailed up to them and was now circling the Mistress of the Deep, flying the black flag and very loudly proclaiming a lack of loyalty to the figurative Pirate Crown, with an assortment of cannons and ballistae.
The Pirate Queen looked utterly sanguine, standing steadfast on the deck and unswayed by the rocking of the boat.
"So we're outmatched, then?" She bared her teeth, glancing sideways as their new crewmates came rushing out from belowdecks. "No... the Pirate Queen and her crew are NEVER outmatched!" She drew her sword. "Lookout! Anchorlady!"
"Aye."
"Yes'm! Aye-aye Mommy-- I mean Captain!"
She pointed with her cutlass at the ship crawling along their port side.
"Show me what you can do."
They exchanged a brief look, unholstered their weapons, and sprang into action. Anchorlady rushed to the side, hefted her anchor... and threw it, with a might that exceeded even what she had demonstrated thus far. The chain rattled as it sailed over like a giant arrow, then plowed into the mast of their ship, hooking into it like a harpoon. The runes glowed and she wrapped the chains around her hands, heaving with both arms as it began to pass them... and then both ships JERKED as the chain went taut, rocking towards one another until the two decks were nearly ninety degrees.
"I've got em! Lock-- LOOKOUT!"
Lookout leapt off the railing, landing on the chain and SPRINTING, full-tilt along it like a tightrope. In one hand, his hand cannon FLASHED with brief pulses of fire and black smoke, pitch-black streaks of -something- screaming from the barrel and blasting the enemy pirates off their boat.
Someone aimed a cannon at him from the deck of the opposing ship and fired, and at once Anchorlady raised her hands and whipped the chain like a rope, launching Lookout into the air as he reached the top of the arc, where he blindly fired a shot that shattered the cannonball in mid-flight, sending harmless shards of smoldering metal into the water below.
As he landed on the enemy's ship and immediately decked someone, Anchorlady stepped up on the railing and gave the crew of the Mistress a cheeky wink and a salute, before leaping off and with a sharp tug she threw herself across the gap, slamming into the back of her anchor and shattering the mast completely. She hefted her weapon and with the body and chain alike began sweeping enemy pirates aside.
Back to back, with all the same confidence and trust they'd always had, "Lookout" and "Anchorlady" fought seamlessy, without a wasted motion or breath, calling out targets for one another and chaining together motions with a fluidity that rivaled the waves.
In one moment, Lookout is blasting a man twice his size back with a resounding BOOM from his gun, before stooping to let Anchorlady leap off his forearm-- HIS BLASTED FOREARM-- and smash into the pack of smaller, weaker pirates that had come to back him up, riding her anchor down like a pogo stick.
By the time the rest of the Mistress' crew had stopped gawping slackjawed at the spectacle and swung their way aboard, the top deck of the ship had been cleared almost entirely by their two newest members.
The Pirate Queen landed between them and pulled them into a full-chested-- and full-breasted-- hug, sword still in hand.
"Now THAT'S something, you two. You filled em full of daylight and emptied 'em of their shit in one stroke." She burst into wild, hooting laughter. "I knew I made the right choice taking you on!"
"And... and y-y'know what that smug fucker did???" First Mate slurred, downing her drink and slamming the glass on the table between them. "He WINKED at me! When he was climbing off that ship without a damn thing in hand, he just wagged that... that... CANNON of a pistol at me and WINKED!"
Anchorlady sniggered, passing her bottle to the drunker of the two. "Yeah, he can be a real bastard like that. Cocky as all hell."
"PBBBBT." First Mate blew a raspberry. "You been with him, aye? Y-y-you said," she stifled a burp, "that you were stranded on a dinghy with him for days, right? After your ship sank? And before that, you worked with him a while, so you must've..." She bobbed her head and rolled her hand, trying to say it without saying it. "You MUST'VE...?"
Anchorlady waved a hand dismissively. "No! No... well... I can't say I didn't think about it. Walked in on him washing up once, he didn't even cover himself. Just glared at me." She felt her eye twitch, and covered it, pretending to be embarrassed. She was so close to an actual lie, there. She was twisting the truth, telling a story from their early days as if it were from their so called "pirate" days. She could feel it as surely as an itch in the mouth, and she shook her head. "I've seen him naked as a jaybird, though, is my point, and we... FUCKED."
"Yeah? Let me guess, you--
"--ffffucking suck at this~" She moaned. Her pants around her ankles, her shirt wide open, Lookout's headscarf loose enough for his entire mouth to be wrapped around her entire mound, tongue delving into her like he was eating a clam. "The fffuckin... Cabin Boy eats pussy better than yooOOOU!" Her back arched, hands stumbling to brace herself against the wall.
He pulled away, his tongue giving her clit a parting flick that made her whimper. "Loud," he grumbled. "Quit it."
"Shut up, you twat." Her hand shot into his scarf and yanked him back into her muff by the hair. "You're not done down there till you've-- AH~! Polished my pearl good 'n proper. So keep go-- go-- GOING~" She clamped a hand over her mouth, feeling his teeth scrape over her labia, his jaw working against her and his hands sinking into her thighs with the kind of grip one usually reserves for tying knots in wrist-thick ropes.
She looked down, and through her blurred vision she could see him glaring.
"Alright, alright!" She groaned, buckign agaisnt his tongue. "You've made your point. I'll quiet down, just p-p-please... make me cum like this..."
He cocked an eyebrow, pausing as she teetered on the edge of satisfaction. The question was implicit: hadn't she just said he sucked at this?
She flushed and turned her face. "Yeah, well... you're not the worst I've had." A drunken, devilish grin spread across her face as she uncorked her flask with her teeth and started to drink, spilling some down her chest, trickling through her abs and into those thigh-gutters that lead right to her pussy-- and his mouth. She sighed, the bottle emptying mostly onto her body, and tossed it aside. She writhed and twisted, one leg up on his shoulder, hips shaking with the effort it took to keep herself reasonably upright. "Fffuck it. Just do what you gotta... what you gotta... got... you... oh, FUCK." Her leg coiled around his neck and her fingers carved GROOVES in the wooden walls, clenching her teeth to keep from screeching her orgasm out of her-- and failing, as a plainly audible sound of tortured pleasure still pried free.
Lookout didn't relent. Even as she shook through her orgasm, even as she recovered, he began licking his way up her body-- tongue lapping sugary rum out of the grooves in her abdomen, off nearly every inch of her tits (including one nipple that had gotten plenty on it, and one which had gone untouched by the liquor, but she wasn't complaining either way) and eventually reaching her face, where he sucked drops of it off her neck and chin.
"Alright... bet's a bet," she moaned, "I'll let you fuck me, but JUST this once, OK? And don't mention it ever again... I'll probably be too drunk to remember this, tomorrow, and that's how I like it." She looked down, hearing as he calmly undid his belt sash and dropped his pants. she felt something slap her thigh, and had to glance at her sidetable to confirm his handcannon was still there.
"Is that...?"
"Yup."
She looked down. "...oh that is such--"
"--bullshit!" She cackled. "No way. Tryhard, edgy scallywag lke that?" She slapped he"If r knee. "You almost had me."
"I'm serious!" Anchorlady was laughing too, but she was less scornful as she did it. "He's packing heat AND meat, girl!"
First Mate was howling now, fallen out of her chair and onto the ground. Rolling back and forth at the notion, belts clattering against the wood as she pulled herself somewhat upright and composed herself... only to burst out laughing again and start pounding the table with her fist.
"HIM? That... guy?" She wheezed. "No way, lady, you've got it all wrong..."
Anchorlady calmly tipped the bottle back and finished her drink, shaking her head. "Whatever you have to tell yourself, girl-- I'm the one who shares a hammock with him when he's not fucking one of your crewmates, and that thing is pressed up against my ass aaaaall night." She groaned a little, genuinely missing "Lookout's" magic touch in that moment. They'd barely touched one another since the bet started, and while he didn't hesitate to spoon her in their shared hammock or stay up late swapping stories about their sexual encounters, they hadn't had any between the two of them. Maybe they ought to fix that...
First Mate, still giggling, tried to drink from the empty bottle before scoffing and producing her flask. "Yeah, yeah, so you say..." She swished her mouth out and swallowed. "What uh... if-if what you're saying's true, then uh... describe it!" She pointed accusingly, then her brain seemed to catch up to her mouth and she added, "uh... a little. Like, you don't have to go into a lot of detail."
"It's long," Anchorlady started, leaning forward. "Long enough to reach your throat, if you know what you're doing... Long enough that you can stroke him with two hands at once, if you can get it slick enough in your mouth or pussy..." She started crawling across the table towards First Mate, grinning devilishly. She arched her spine, ass up in the air so her skirt slipped to the side, remembering how it felt to be stretched out by that gorgeous slab of man meat the very first time...
"And thick, too. Thicker than most, and it stretches you open nice and wide, right where your g-spot is..." she shuddered, sitting up and rocking as if she were grinding on it. "It's got these two nice, thick veins on top, and one on the bottom, and when he's really, REALLY turned on they PULSE and THROB so hard you can feel it when he's inside you..." She sighed, delighted.
"OK, that's enough detail, I think--" First Mate said, suddenly pulling her hands away from her inner thighs only for Anchorlady to lean down off the table and plant her hands there.
"He's got these nice, full balls that are always heavy and aching with cum..."
"--you don't have to keep describing it--"
"And he always blows these huge loads--
"-- I SAID YOU CAN STOP--"
"In thick, hot ropes~"
"ARE YOU LISTENING?"
"ARE YOU?"
"Puh-LEASE--"
"--And you just KNOW~"
"--STOP--"
"--He could totally"
"--get... you... pregnant... slut."
Lookout's threat went off like fireworks in the First Mate's brain. She was face-down, too sloshed to even move, beyond weakly grasping at her bedsheets and moaning low, gutteral moans only describable as "braindead slut noises." She sounded like a dying woman, every thrust forcing more air out of her lungs than she could force them to, making her sounds of agonized pleasure even louder and more brutal.
She wasn't even conscious of her surroundings anymore, just the sheets on her skin, the hands on her hips, and that long, thick cock in her pussy, grinding her g-spot with that throbbing bottom vein, threatening to plaster the inside of her womb with little white-haired baby pirates.
She giggled, a giddy little giggling sound at the idea. This suave, mysterious man knocking her up... tying her down... raising children. Her sickliest-sweet fantasies bubbled up from the bottom of her brain like bubbles in beer, her head foaming with the visions of this handsome man knocking her drunk, slutty ass up and turning her into his personal pirate princess. His beautiful, baby-making bride... his WIFE. Ohh, to be this hunky slab's own Mistress of the Deep... hard... fucking she was getting. Davy fucking Jones she needed this... she NEEDED to be his. She'd take every inch, every drop, every jolt of pleasure and pain... she just kept sinking deeper... and deeper... and...
Lookout paused, his cock buried all the way inside her. She gasped and whined a little, wiggling in place... but he could tell she had passed out completely. She was still feeling all of it, but she was too drunk to actually participate anymore.
"Huh. What do I even..." He looked around, pulling out and stroking his slick, wet cock. Nobody was here. She was already face-down, which was standard procedure for "passed-out drunk." He was still hard, her pussy was an OCEAN...
He shrugged. No sense wasting a wet hole.
He plunged back in, and she murmured something unintelligible in a vaguely flirtatious tone. He caught the word "baby" but nothing else, and decided she must still be enjoying this, albeit in whatever drunken dream she'd slipped into, so he kept going. Kept pounding this drunken slut's tight pussy, making it gush and squirt on him as she came in her sleep, shuddering and moaning as her unconscious body gave him what he wanted, that gush of wetness on his cock that spurred him on.
"Take it, you slut," he growled, burying himself to the hilt inside her over and over as her spasming pussy finally squeezed his own orgasm out-- ropes of thick, hot cum making it thrash inside her. His breath shuddered and his thrusting slowed, his head burning for a while until he slowly pulled out of her, watching as his seed poured back out of her and into her bed.
"Not bad..."
"Why her?"
The Mistress' Boatswain was a grizzled, older gentleman. Salt and pepper hair, a bushy beard to match, and the stocky physique of a man who had spent his life at sea. Tattoos on his knuckles read HOLD FAST, and he carried a harpoon taller than he was for a weapon. He'd been friendly to Lookout and Anchorlady since they arrived, and was more than happy to help acquaint Lookout with the ship.
"EH-HEHEH! You asking me why I'd work for the Queen?" His laugh was a sort of short, birdlike thing, a cackle more than anything else. He seemed aged by his work but was still a strong man for... Lookout was guessing forty or so. "Good question." Boatswain dipped his sponge into the bucket of seawater between them and ran it over the figurehead's body, wetting the Siren's heaving stomach and wrapping around to her back. She'd been taken down from the prow and restrained belowdecks for a "moistening" and Boatswain insisted on doing it every time-- albeit with help from the Cabin Boy. She was somewhere on her other side, pouring it over her scales and rubbing it in gently, but glancing over at Lookout shyly as she did.
"I was a member of the crew for the Pirate King when Queenie hopped aboard. Disguised as a cabin boy, if you can believe it. Tiny little thing she was, then, and only about my age. Spent all night getting some from the crew and woke up stranded on the boat, leagues from shore. Didn't know the first thing about sailing." He squeezed the water out over her chest and massaged the tit, and Lookout followed suit. She squirmed a bit but not enough to throw them. She seemed calmer, down here, leaning into the Boatswain's hands.
"Ahh, what a creature, this one. Beautiful, every bit. Even the strange and monstrous parts of her just take your breath away."
Lookout couldn't help thinking about Anchorlady. Every bit... even the strange and monstrous... yeah, that was her. That was what he'd fallen in love with-- how imperfect and different they were. He'd been pretty brusque with her since they went undercover, and in this moment he realized how much he regretted it. He would have to find a way to make it up to her.
"But it doesn't hurt that she also looks like a giant woman," Lookout noted, elbowing the older man.
The Boatswain cackled, giving her giant breast a squeeze that made her moan through her gag. "Nope! Still love a beautiful--"
"-- pair of breasts, lass."
The Boatswain's hands were rough from years of work, but his calloused grip did not count against him in the Anchorlady's book. She'd interrupted their fishing lesson to hike up her skirt and mount his cock, riding him with such force that her ass made the whole dinghy rock.
He'd made the excellent decision to wrap his arms around her from behind and begin playing with her pert breasts, grasping at them firmly and rubbing her nipples with his thumbs, every squeeze making her breath shudder a little.
"Oh, fuck yeah~" She moaned. "You like those?"
"And for what it's worth," He chuckled, his cock tensing inside her, "You've a fine ass to boot."
"It's worth quite a bit, old man," she teased. "Oh~ fuck, keep doing that..." She planted her back to his chest and rocked her hips back and forth, grinding on his cock.
"Old!?" He shouted, feigning offense. "I'm no older than the Captain! Why I oughta..." He took one of her nipples in hand and tweaked it, making her yelp as he twisted and pulled. "Could an OLD MAN keep your toes curling like this, lassie? I'm only--" he went on and on about it, but Witch simply giggled, lifting her hips until he was almost entirely out of her... then just dropping back down with the full force of her mighty ass, making a CLAP that rippled the surface of the otherwise calm water around them.
The Boatswain's mouth opened as if to speak, but all he managed was a sort of choked sound of pleasure that tapered off until he composed himself.
"Eh-heheh... shiver me goddamn timbers... where--"
"--was I?"
"Pirate Queen."
"RIGHT!" He chuckled. "She snuck on-board to get some strange and woke up in the middle of the ocean! EH-HEHEH!"
"So, I took her under my wing and taught her everything I knew-- in exchange for a little something on the side, you know. I was a young man then, and I'd grown up aboard the Plunderer, so I had plenty to teach her, too." He elbowed Lookout as he sponged seawater onto the Siren's neck and lathered it with his hands, feeling her shiver and a low bellow reverberate in her chest like whalesong. "When next we saw land, she had sea legs, swordfighting scars, rope-burn callouses, and no gag reflex to speak of."
"...everything you knew?" Lookout asked, crooking an eyebrow. He remembered his last encounter with the Pirate Queen with a bit of a blush, remembering what that woman's mouth could do.
He shot Lookout a wink. "I was a younger man, then... had my fair share of adventures."
The Siren groaned again, shifting, and they remembered their task long enough to resume wiping down her collarbones and rubbing her shoulders like a massage.
"Aye, well... by the end of the year, she'd sprouted up into the woman you see now. Tall, broad-shouldered, and those fuckin' TITS, I mean..." He waved a hand, as if to say 'forget about it', and started wetting the Sirens' face. "She overthrew the Pirate King of the time with such aplomb, I couldn't imagine working for anyone else. Though I suppose I was just lucky she wanted to keep me, EH-HEHEH!" He sighed. "Truth be told, I could never quit the sea life, even if she'd kicked me off the boat. When I retire I reckon I'll while away my days fishin and fuckin' barmaids, EH-HEHEH!"
Lookot chuckled. "You can take a man off the high seas, but you'll never get--"
"--the taste of that out your mouth, you know."
Witch made a soft "mhm" of enthusiastic confirmation, head bobbing up and down in the Boatswain's lap, tongue playing with the head of his cock. He gathered up a fistful of her hair and jerked her head up and down, fucking her mouth with deep, slow strokes.
"Well, if'n you like the taste so much... OUGH, you can have it!"
She sat up, letting his cock pulse and twitch on her tongue, coating her tongue as he came. It was pretty sweet, and she noted that it was probably because of all the fruit these pirates were eating-- and drinking, if the grog was any indication.
"WHEW!" He sighed, sitting back in the boat. "Haven't busted a nut like that in YEARS."
Anchorlady swallowed and grinned, showing off her clean mouth for a moment. "What, the ladies aboard aren't treating you right?"
"Well, once upon a time me 'n the boss lady had a thing, but uh..." He cleared his throat, "Not anymore."
"Well, that's a shame..." she crooned, stroking his still-wet cock. It throbbed in her hand, still tender as well. "You've been here a long time, I hear. By her side since she started." She bent down and gave the head a little kiss, lapping a last bead of cum off the tip. "One of these nights... you ought to go see her... just for old time's sake~" It was a little sing-song, but unrecognizeable as magic, even as the Boatswain's eyes unfocused and he nodded.
"Aye... for old time's sake..."
"This isn't going to work," Warlock muttered, staring at the sketched-out map of the boat on their wall, objects and passageways highlighted with red ink to indicate their intended escape route, and multiple entry points marked so that no matter where they were on the ship, they'd be able to find their way there, and get free.
Witch looked up from the hammock, where she was inspecting a much larger map of the coastline. "Have some faith, darling."
"Every day we're aboard this ship, we get FURTHER from where we were supposed to go. We get DEEPER into a cover that we can't maintain, and we end up implicated in MORE and WORSE acts of PIRACY!" He moved as if to punch the wall, then stopped himself.
"You just HAAAAD to play dress-up. We could have been in, out, and LONG GONE by now. But NOOOOOO!" He leaned forward until his face was against the wall, and groaned even louder.
"Have some faith," she repeated.
"You're driving me insane." He turned around, leaning over her with all the same menacing aura he'd channeled into this Lookout persona. "You're a fucking crazy person, you know that?"
She reached up, patted his cheek, and gave him a kiss on the lips. Nothing special, but he paused, stunned for a moment. "I'm sorry I roped you into this, love." Witch ran her thumb along his cheek, back and forth, smiling sheepishly. "I would NOT have suggested running about in disguise if I had ANY idea she was in town that day. I goaded you into the bet that got us into this mess. Please, just give me your vote of confidence, so I can get us out."
Warlock blinked. "Holy shit I forgot about the bet. Have we not broken character for EIGHT DAYS?"
"Has it been eight days?" She frowned. "That doesn't sound right."
"It... may have been seven, to be frank. I'm not sure what day it is." He bent down and kissed her back, cupping her face in his hands. "And, for what it's worth, you're forgiven. My pride got me into this, but we're getting out of it together. OK?"
She beamed up at him. "OK."
Warlock dropped into the hammock beside her, peering at the map. They went on to spend about thirty minutes working on their escape plan, before falling asleep in their hammock, side-by-side, waking up at some point in the middle of the night to disturb their neighboring crewmates with VICIOUSLY loud sex.
And that's where this adventure... is taking a brief pause.
Stay tuned, darlings.
Mwah!