Strange Lands Vol. 03

The Maiden's Kiss rocked ceasely to and fro upon the violent sea, her captain shouting orders to all hands on deck:

"Put yer backs into it, dogs! This won't be my last voyage, but if I catch any o' ye slackin, it'll be yours!" Salazar Khan barked, bracing himself against the ship's wheel as high waves battered his craft. Her sails billowed fruitlessly in the wind, and the crew's oars grasped at the water like a fish out of water gasps for breath. It would take everything they had to get through the night, and the seasoned sea captain knew he could show no weakness or fear to those under his command. 'Twould be death to give into the fear on a night like this.

Rain battered his heavy coat and matted his black hair to his dark countenance. He gripped the wheel and spun it dramatically. These were the hours that made a man, or broke him.

***

Dawn came at long last, and Salazar Khan was still standing, the Maiden's Kiss still sailing. He had tamed the sea once again, though it had come at a heavy cost.

"...we lost Buckley, too," his first mate, Gren Kaksis, said, listing off the dead and missing. "All told, we lost six in the storm last night. Good men, too. Jax was worth three. Dammit all!"

Salazar Khan did not deign to speak. Last night had been harrowing, but it was not his first brush with death. His black eyepatch told anyone that looked upon him of that. Still, the losses incurred the night before troubled the captain. He needed those men.

But it was best, perhaps, to enjoy the rising sun for now. It warmed him, and dried his coat. Beside him on the deck lounged his woman. Her young beauty inspired the envy of the entire crew, and Khan himself had cut down with his deadly rapiers more than one insolent whelp that had sought to possess her. She twirled her hair, and looked at him now; what a poor thing, she thought. He was so different now; he had become cold, and in turn, so had she. Now, she had eyes for his first mate; but Khan was too busy barking orders and beating his crew to realize she was slipping from his grasp. The fineries he gifted her no longer bought her love. He had become a fool in her eyes.

And now, bold and handsome Gren spoke with Khan, assessing the situation further. It was likely that they were still off the coast of the Mirish jungle, where there was little chance of resupply—upon that they agreed. But the best course of action was a topic of much dispute. They bickered and argued about which port to make for when some of the crew began shouting.

"Man overboard, starboard-side!" came the cries from below the helm.

Sure enough, there was a survivor of the storm out there, clinging for his life on a large piece of driftwood.

"What are you waiting fer?" Khan barked. "Get 'im up here!"

***

The crew dumped the overboard man onto the deck, where he coughed up deadly amounts of sea-water from his lungs. Yet he lived. The bronzed skin of his broad, naked back gleamed wetly in the sun; his pale, silver hair, and eyes that smouldered like dark amethysts told Khan enough about his heritage. How strange... the captain thought, to find one of the Vu'drazi folk so far from their plains. And he was far from home, indeed. The captain's woman was immediately enraptured by this new development and she bolted upright, her eyes on fire to get a better look at this dangerous looking man. Her gaze fell lustily on his handsome brow and lithe thews that were sprung like steel.

"What's yer name, boy?" Khan asked.

The stranger rose to his feet, having finished expelling sea-water from his lungs. The Captain's eyes fell to the broken iron shackles that remained on strong-looking man's wrists, and he brought his hand to the pommel of his rapier. If there were trouble...

"Monseulaire," the Vu'drazi said in a voice that was still raspy with salt-water.

"And what're ye doin with those shackles? Who are ye runnin from?"

Monseulaire's eyes burned within their sockets as they returned Salazar Khan's gaze. They were not eyes that so much knew death, but rather were become of it. Feeling unsettled, Khan adjusted his grip on his sheathed rapier.

"My business is my own," Monseulaire insisted. "You need men. I can row."

"I don't need men," Khan spat. "I need honest men. Yer more trouble than yer worth. I shoulda let the sea take you!" he turned away from Monseulaire, and with a wave of his hand, Khan signalled his crew.

How like him, thought the only woman on board, watching with disdain; leaving his work to better men again.

Tough, fighting men encircled the bare-chested man. Warily, they closed the gap; they did not know why they feared, but it was perhaps their instincts warning them don't poke the tiger.

Tagg, a big man who fancied himself good in a fight, struck first. It was wide and slow. Monseulaire ducked it easily, and loosed a flurry of blows at his opponent: his closed, lightning quick fists struck Tagg's neck, solar plexus, and testicles (twice). Tagg dropped to the deck, clutching his genitalia harder than a teenager who had just discovered masturbation.

The captain's woman—her name was Apolline—gasped, unable to take her eyes away.

"I said get 'im!" screamed the ship's captain, livid.

The others closed in fast, and Monseulaire made deft maneuvers to defend himself, but there was only so much he could do: the crew was many, and he was one. After a short scuffle, strong men held Monseulaire's arms and legs—he could not move.

But just as the captain gave the order to throw him overboard, something strange happened. Gren stepped forward. "Wait," he said.

"I know this man," he continued smugly. "long time, no see, Hugo," he said, revealing Monseulaire's true identity.

"Gren..." Hugo growled and spit as he uttered the name, like a rabid animal. The violent grimace that twisted his handsome face into to something ugly told Khan that the two did indeed know each other.

"I'll kill you, Gren!" Hugo screamed, struggling in vain against the burly seamen that held him. Gren smiled, his smug expression had not left his face. It hadn't left his face in years, since when Hugo had first met him. That'll change, Hugo determined.

"No, Hugo, I think I shall kill you," Gren said. "But let's make it interesting shall we? Toss this washed up rogue a knife, will you?" he asked of no one in particular. He was greasy with confidence, but beside him Khan fumed.

"Since when do ye start givin' orders, boy?" the grizzled captain growled at his subordinate, who swiftly turned and buried a dagger in his captain's neck. Apolline screamed from her perch by the helm. The captain's face was one of shock, then defeat, then death, as he staggered and gurgled on his own blood. At last, he crumpled into a growing pool of red.

"Now would be a fine time, I should think," Gren jeered. He brought out two more daggers, and twirled them in his hands. "Any problems?"

Nobody stepped forward to question Gren. He was captain now.

***

Intense emotions flooded through Apolline—how terrible this day had become! She had grown to despise her lover, it was true, but she hadn't wished him dead. What a life she had chosen... and now, these two men, if she could realistically call them that (for the were more like animals), were going to fight to the death. She didn't know if she cared who won anymore, but within her stirred an inkling that she preferred this new man's—Hugo's—tigerish ferocity to Gren's back-handedness. Her mind was abuzz with excitement as she watched the scene unfold below.

***

"Now Hugo, why don't you go pick up that knife out of our old captain's throat, and fight me with it. Or are you still a coward?" Gren proposed. Perhaps if Gren were better liked among the men they would have laughed, but it was a dark day—darker than, in many ways, the storm last night. They released Hugo, who paced across the deck with liquid agility. He stooped and pulled the red dagger out from Salazar Khan's dead neck.

He was going to kill that bastard Gren with it.

Gren smiled and sized up his opponent. It had been years since that awful (yet profitable) night when they had first met. The girl had just gotten in the way, that was all. Why couldn't this fool let it go? She was just a woman. Gren twirled his daggers faster and faster; they were thirsty.

He lunged; changing directions faster than a housefly, he came directly at Hugo and made to rend his mortal enemy with both his blades. But the knives found only air—Hugo had flipped backwards, twirled gracefully on an outstretched hand, and sank into a low, knife fighting position only mere moments before those knives would have tasted his blood.

Every fiber of Hugo's body twitched in anticipation, ready for the next assault.

It came; Gren's technique had not improved in these past two years, Hugo could see it. He telegraphed his strikes because his hands were slow, and his wits were slower.

Gren taunted him: "Your girl begged for mercy before I killed her you fool. I raped her before it was over. I let my men rape her before it was over."

The only way Gren would walk out of this alive was if he could get Hugo to do something stupid. And Hugo knew it. He had to bide his time.

Gren lunged in again, excited by his own heated words. That was his mistake.

Hugo placed his knife gently into Gren's kidney, piercing it. His opponent immediately slowed as shock washed through his body. The knives he held clattered against the deck as they fell from his grip. The fight was over; and Hugo was going to let Gren have a slow death.

He had loved her. By gods, he had loved her.

Gren collapsed fully against the deck. "Nobody touch him," he said, and stalked away to the helm to take control of the ship. Nobody did.

***

Apolline looked up at this bloodstained hellion, Hugo, as he stood at the ship's wheel, studying the maps. Below, Gren mewled and cried out for help as his life ebbed slowly away. It had been an hour since they had fought.

After a brief moment at the maps, Hugo returned and spun the wheel wildly about, changing course toward land. Now, if Apolline had heard Khan and Gren correctly, that meant...

Is he heading into the Mirish jungles? Gods, no!

Those lands were savage—everyone knew the stories. Strange dark clans, uncivilized in their manners, haunted the rank jungles, stalking and preying upon each other. It was said that they ate the flesh of men and consorted with ancient evils.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?" She rose up and asked him, her voice full of the crackle and sizzle of a hot fire.

"Oh, Hey," Hugo said, ignoring her question completely. Apolline stood aghast for a few seconds before repeating herself. Hugo turned to her and huffed right back:

"Look lady, there's a guy back there, a sea captain of the imperial navy of Franzia, that wants me dead. I screwed his wife, okay? That's why I was in jail. Actually, that's sort of how I escaped from jail. I was in jail because I screwed some rich guy's wife back in Meridia. Ya feel me?"

Apolline did not "feel him," to use his nonchalant, vulgar language. But she did feel something. Hearing about this man's wild and vigorous sexual exploits turned her thoughts to the bedroom. She imagined he must be quite the lover if he could turn so many women over to his side. But quickly, they went from imagining flirty sex to the reality of the situation. Would he take the captain's quarters from her? Would he cast her out to stay... among the crew? That would be terrifying. She had to do something.

"A-are you really going to the Mirish jungle?" she asked.

"Yes," Hugo said, in the same tone of voice one might comment on a vendor's fruit at market. She stared at him in awe, and realized that if true, her only chance at survival would be at his side.

"You know... the name of this boat is the Maiden's Kiss..." she said.

Hugo again turned to her, his confident smile revealing perfect white teeth.

"I like the sound of that," he said, barely above a whisper as he brought his face to hers before kissing her fully on the lips.

***

That night, they shared the captain's quarters, and it was time to make those quarters their own. Their clothes were on the floor, flung every which way in their lustful state of undress. She mounted him now, her breath hot and heavy in the small space between them, her breasts perfect pale globes that hung like ripe, low fruit against Hugo's chest.

"I'm gonna fuck your brains out," she whispered, and bit Hugo's lower lip playfully, running her long nails down his chest and barely scraping his nipples. She watched them tense up, like a cat watching a mouse.

She arched her back up, and rose over him, high and proud of her womanhood. She began to slowing grind the underside of her sex against his rapidly growing organ. Her gaze went from his smoldering amethyst eyes down to the thing between his legs, which jutted out before her, pressed against his belly. She'd never seen a cock like it! She thought for a moment to compare its mighty head with her closed fist, but then again, maybe that was silly. It couldn't be bigger than that, could it?

She ran her wet pussy against his shaft in long, slow strokes that ever so slightly opened her sensitive outer lips and teased her clitoris. She felt his massive cock throb between her legs, and a spark of pleasure ran like electricity from her tiny clit and through her limbs; now, her pussy was gushing with its juices, salivating like a hungry bitch at dinner. From the pit of her stomach welled up a new peak of exquisite agony at every delirious turn of her hips. How can he make me feel like this, when he's not even inside me yet?

But she didn't waste any more time in wondering. Words were nothing next to the pure physical expression of desire calling to her from below. She rutted and rocked, and the thick, veiny cock she rubbed herself against got wetter and wetter as she shared her juices. The pressure inside her mounted, like she was going to pee, but then she moaned out her animalistic pleasure and the throes of her orgasm both gripped and released her alternately. Her legs trembled its finality, and she sank down against her man, tamed and defeated.

Not that Hugo was having any of that. He got her up and running again in no time by running his strong calloused hands against her outer lips, his deft fingers seeking her pleasure spot. They found it.

She cried out sharply; it was still so sensitive after her cumming, that she almost wanted to fight him. Almost. His fingers entered her: first one, then two, and then three. Her slavering pussy squelched as he fucked her with his fingers. Instinctively, she grabbed his heavy cock and began to jerk it. She needed both hands to encompass the massive thing, and Hugo's jaw hung open in appreciation for her work.

Slowly, she stroked him; firmly, until his breath struggled in his chest and he was red in the face with pleasure. By gods, his thing must be even bigger than her forearm! A hunger like no other took over her mind while she stroked and squeezed him—she wanted his cum, and she wanted to feel his hot release on her face and her breasts.

Hugo stood over her, his buttocks flexed and his cock tensed and postured like a caged animal. It grew red as more and more blood rushed into it, his massive hard-on growing obstinate and rigid. Veins were popping out against the length of its shaft like mountains ripping out of the earth. She spit on it and squeezed it between her two massive breasts. Between her saliva and pussy juice, the massive cock was gliding smoothly between her two pale jugs. She watched him his face for signs of pleasure, his eyes began to flutter as a small rivulet of drool ran down from the side of his delicious looking lips.

"Come on, baby. Cum for me."

As if on command, he roared and let go. Thick ropes of his seed shot and spurted out, clinging hotly to her face. Web after web of thick white cum covered her neck and breasts, proportionate to his organ's massive size. She licked her lips, thirstily tasting his hot, salty seed. It felt so slippery in her mouth! She'd never done this before, she realized, and began to lap up the cum that still dribbled forth from his head as his orgasm guttered out. She gripped him and did not let go until she had licked him clean.

Still wanting more, she caught up languid strands of his cum from her breasts and sucked them from her fingers.

Hugo was still bullish. He put her on her back and threw her legs over his shoulders, exposing her hot, wet little pussy to his big cock. He pressed his tip against her sex, and began to drive it into her warmth with short but forceful strokes. The girl moaned and cried with every slow inch that she took.

It was massive. His huge organ seemed to lift her to new heights of femininity the deeper it went; gods, let it never end! her inner-voice screamed. The thick shaft, ribbed with veins, split her open—she felt inside her every undulating pulse of his racing heart pound against the walls of her pussy. She came immediately. Her pussy gushed clear ejaculate, which ran down his horny shaft and tight balls. She might have peed—she had no idea anymore.

Hugo buried his thick monster into her cunt, that much was true. And he kept it there, so deep, pressing it on her secret spot. He moved slowly, bending her hips double over her chest. Her thoughts swam in every direction as she lost herself and had only him to guide her. Slowly, they danced—their haggard grunting and crying mixed together into the sort of thing one usually hears about in lewd poetry. Their inflamed, reddened organs squelched and slurped, wet slaps of flesh on flesh filled the cabin. The musky scent of their sexes further drove them to madness.

Hugo felt a mighty shift in his balls as his testes prepared to move another massive load of his seed. His primitive instincts drove his organ to pump, pump, pump as urgently as he could. His woman came loudly as his seed flooded into her pussy, which contracted greedily around his twitching cock, as if grasping for his cum. He gave it more: a second orgasm rocketed through him, sending even more of his seed outward into her dripping cunt.

He didn't even know he could do that.

His seed ran out of Apolline's swollen pussy and onto the sheets. Wild oscillations of pleasure shot through her when he removed himself from her chamber. The two collapsed together, basking in their afterglow; the echoes of their lust and passion sounding again and again through the night.

***

Dawn broke, and as it crested the horizon the rising sun found Hugo already at the ship's wheel. He stared grimly off into the distance, not knowing what sort of destiny awaited him in the Mirish jungles. He only knew that he could never go back to where he'd come from.

Gren lay dead. The sails took wind. Off Hugo sailed to a dark land of unknown dangers and mythical death, pursued by his past ever lurking in the rush of black waters behind him.