Bare Knuckle

It wasn't the length. It was the entrance, shaking and releasing and making everything quake. It was Bonney's fingers, as clumsy and naïve as they were. Regan clamped and tightened, smothering the noises in her chest until they squeaked out like a little mouse. Bonney kept her hand moving. Regan seemed to like that. It ended with a deflating sigh, Regan slack and loose and heavy. So wonderfully heavy.

"Oh, so that's what that feels like," she sighed.

"I take it you liked that," Bonney hummed. She withdrew her hand and went back to playing the length. There was a heavy pool of preseed sitting in her cleavage.

"It was amazing. It's kind of like the other way, but different. More like everything breaks instead of going over an edge. Does that make sense?"

Bonney shrugged and that got the message across. It felt good. It felt very good. A sharp jet of her own preseed shot across Regan's back and they both were getting impatient. Regan was still heavy and slack, but she tried to spin and move and line themselves up. Bonney helped. There was still strength in her limbs. The venom gave her strength and Regan's fire grew again. Bonney was bigger, but she didn't say anything. They were all lined up and set up and readied up. Regan kissed Bonney again. It felt nice. She poured her heat into the passive mouth. Just sitting there, she was immense and massive and completely insurmountable. They broke, and Regan pressed her forehead down, gazing into those swirling eyes as they gazed into hers. So many beautiful colors. Most of them didn't even have names.

Regan moved up until her length nestled in between Bonney's breasts. That also felt good. Something else to try when she next made port, if the ladies with her core were willing. She should really experiment more. But it was so hard, pent up on that little ship for so long. The finale was always on her mind, and that's all she ever wanted. Bonney pressed her arms into her chest and made a nice tight pocket for her. Regan straddled the other body and made the pocket tighter with her own hands. They were heavenly, the weight and the strength and the way they gripped her shafted and made everything warm. Her earlier release made them slick and slide and she was taking too much pleasure from Bonney. That was not the deal. She lost. She should be thrown on the bd, stripped naked and made to howl loud enough for the windows in the governor's mansion to shatter. She moved her hips anyway as Bonney gazed at the emerging tip. They both had an idea and Bonney acted, sealing her lips to the head. She never broke eye contact.

Regan could not stop. It was a motion bred into her soul. Every part of her lit up when she did it in any manner. Bonney matched the motion, riding under her with simple motions. The length ran up her back. Regan tried to make that feel good as well, rolling her hips so she had the texture she liked. The motion was the same, twisted and torqued and turned, but it was the same. It was all the same.

Regan's core clenched and tightened, and a bolt stopped her still.

"No," she hissed, "Not the deal. Not the deal. Get in me and claim me."

The swirling eyes almost looked sad that they had to stop. They had this moment and that was all there ever could be. The wondrous body left her untethered and floating. She liked the heat it gave between her breasts. She liked the way the back rode along her tip. She liked the way the eyes swam and spun in their maddening dance. And it was all gone, leaving her staring at a blank ceiling and the soft glow of a morning sun. That was nice, but then there was a pressure on her length again and that was more in line with what she wanted. The eyes were back, and the sheets were gone, and the early morning was nice and chilled.

"You really are bigger than me," Regan huffed, "I thought it would be the same."

"I'm taller than you," said Bonney, "there are differences."

"You say that like you're so sure. Am I really not the first one?"

"You are. But I always just kind of assumed. My mothers were different heights."

Regan considered that fact. Her mothers were more or less the same height, although they had different color hair. There were probably other differences that she didn't care to know about. But it made sense. Their lengths throbbed and twitched and bounced against one another. A simple line of sparks ran through both of them and settled back down. Regan's core twitched. It was an odd feeling. It was almost like fear. Definitely more eager than fear.

Regan slid her body back up and found the tip again. She stilled at the summit again and cast her gaze into the horizon. So many, so much, and it was all so beautiful. Bonney smiled again, and it was soft and sweet and everything pure. Regan aligned themselves and started her descent.

Every muscle made itself know through each and every inch. Tight, so incredibly tight, every little bit a small conquest on its own. And Bonney moved through them all, one right after another, so far, so deep, so incredibly deep inside her. It was tighter than the whores, tighter than Aoife, every bit of strength come to bare down in a simple tunnel grip. Regan kept the pressure as tight as she could. It felt good when it was tight, and she wanted to feel good for her. Bonney won. This was everything she won, even as her legs spasmed and her face contorted and everything in her mind screamed at her to ride until they broke. Bonney deserved to savor the campaign.

Bonney moved her hips and coaxed Regan down. It was there, right there, and while the soft warmth of the play was nice, there was the final event. And it was close, so close, almost at the edge of the world and they could throw themselves off together. Bonney closed her eyes. The room still smelled like fresh lavender. She liked lavender. It was her favorite.

Regan dropped a bit more. Bonney liked the way her body moved, everything jostling and shifting and bobbing. She even liked the way her arm shot out to brace herself. It clamped on tight Bonney's shoulder, and she kept falling. Eager, so eager and hungry and her mind kept flickering blank. She kept her knees strong. She braved storms and squalls, waves taller than mountains, so this little itty-bitty strip of flesh was nothing. Her mind went white when Bonney trusted impatiently. Her legs gave out and she slid down a little more.

There were hands on her hips now, slowly pushing more and more into her. Bonney was getting impatient. The blood and the venom were getting impatient. They all wanted more, and Regan was playing with them much too softly. She kept pushing and pulling, rolling her hips to make just a bit more space. Regan relaxed a bit and that certainly helped. It also helped that Bonney sat up, moving all of her strength into the act. The cot protested. It would live.

Regan settled on her lap, and everything was in her. Everything Bonney was in her. And it was glorious. It bulged in her stomach, crushing her chest, moving everything aside to make room for it. Her breath was frantic and shallow, refusing to expand. And Bonney was just lying there, serene and calm, a bit of effort to nudge the boulder down the hill, but everything was rolling on its own now. Regan's knees still listened to her. They brought her, slowly, everything screaming and tearing, before she roped back down again. Her body danced. Bonney liked watching the dance.

Regan had to be slow. Her legs wouldn't let her go fast. Everything else about her wanted more speed. It wanted more strength. It wanted more pull and prod and more desolation. There wasn't any power left in her. The venom had flowed through her in the night, stitching the bruises and tears and cuts whole. It was too focused on the heat in her core, massaging the conqueror lovingly, to attend to its host.

So, Bonney moved. Softly rising and falling her hips. Moving Regan's thighs apart and together, letting the joints take the work. Bonney moved faster, letting the boulder down the hill knock into others. That brough more, and that brough more and that brough more, until the entire mountainside barreled down towards the hapless valley without a care in the world. The earth shifted underneath them, and Bonney kept the steady pace. Regan had her hands for support. The treacherous knees were not up to the job anymore.

She kept riding, staring down those shifting eyes. They kept going back to a pale lavender, rolling through hills in a wildflower boom. Then they'd shift to a bright meadow green, a jubilant yellow, clear sky blue, but they'd always come back to that same base. Regan wondered what her eyes liked to settle on. She hoped it was something dark and solid and deep. Bonney's hands moved to her ass and gripped tight. She didn't think anymore. She let her hands carry her body onto Bonney's chest and kept still. She kissed and nipped at her breasts, timing them with the motions she received. Bonney kissed the top of her head and that almost made her feel sweet. Then a thrust came and forced her to bite, hard. Bonney didn't mind. It was another fun series of sparks that came into her body.

Regan lost control. Her length was in a vice grip between their hard stomachs, tip brushing past in and to their combined cleaved. So many heart beats, so many lines, so many little bits of sensations that combined and transformed and became something new. She wanted stillness and calm to ride it out like a wave coming to shore. Bonney did not stop. Everything was already in motion, and it could not halt.

Regan came in between their bodies, hot, heaving, viscous seed burst from her and covered them both, splashing from the gaps in their embrace. Too much, it was too much for Regan. She stammered and whimpered and clawed at the body that made her this way. She loved it. She loved the way nothing gave in, nothing changed, nothing moved. It was stone and the unending bedrock at the bottom of the abyss. She flowed over it, painting it beautifully white with her heavenly seed. It hit her face and left thick heavy ropes across her cheek. Bonney tiled her face up and licked her clean, only for the next burst to stain her again. She kissed back, tasting herself and Bonney and the lavender scent of the room with every stolen glance of skin. She came between them and none of it was wasted. Their gaze locked one last time.

And Bonney roared to hilting and let the momentum carry her down into the abyss. Regan had flowed over her, carrying current and eroding her backs until the rock was laid bare. Under the naked blanket of viscous seed, Bonney felt her own need rise in her stomach and nothing could stop it. She was deep, so deep in Regan, and she gave over just as much as was given. Her own seed shot forth into the willing hole, filling it and opening it and spreading it until it was bulging and round. Regan's seed spilled over the edges of the cot, pushed away but the growing release inside. Bonney came. She came hard. She took Regan's head and made their lips meet, refusing to let anything go. She took the breath pushed out by her release. The hole quivered and shook over her length, and nothing moved, nothing at all. Even when the scratching and the biting came as some feral instinct for escape. She did not let go. She kept the world still until she had her fill.

It slowed with a shuddering sigh. Regan came back to her senses as they came back to her. Touch was the first. It never went away. There was warmth and pressure and a tight embrace that dug in just enough to be painful. There was a mouth gently probing hers until she back away for fresh air. There was a content hum, like a purr, underneath her. There was a sudden desire for space and openness and some freedom of movement. It was a bit of a struggle, but she rolled over and splayed open, staring at the ceiling that held no answers.

"I'm drafting you," Regan said, "Because I cannot live without that again."

"I get seasick," said Bonney.

"I don't care. If that's what I have to put up with to have this, it's worth it."

Bonney hummed and sighed and looked at the limp length splashing across her stomach. That was certainly a good case to come aboard and go to every corner of the map. But then she'd miss the breeze of this bay, that lavender growing in this window, the small cellar pen that made her feel like a caged animal and the glory of bursting from it. She'd miss Aoife.

"It ain't happening," Regan sighed. Bonney nodded.

"Had to try," she continued, "But every time I make port here, I better be first in line. I don't care if you're at Cian's or with Aoife, I will push all of them off to get on you again."

"Or you could be in me," Bonney said.

"Oh, absolutely. I'd be there right now if my legs were working. But just give me more silence right now. I missed that so much."

It wasn't quite silence. There were gulls on the bay and the wind came whistling every so often. Someone shouted something crass and crude in the street and people milled about below them. A very haggard voice asked after the commodore. But it was close enough.

---

Bonney had one more crate to load and then one more after that. And then one more. And then another stack and then some barrels and then some other things and it would never end. The whole dock was out of time. Ships came in too fast and the ones still in port did not leave. Some idiot fought this one's commodore and then something else happened and no one wanted to leave the bedroom for a good long while. It smelled like fresh sex and lavender and there was another naked body to fuck. No one with a working sense of instinct would want to leave that sliced away heaven. Bonney shook the memory from her head. It was too much. It wanted to settle into her length and let her rampage through the streets. But she had work to do. And she promised Aoife they would go dancing tonight. That meant no Cian's or bar fights. Just work and dancing and the memory of a wonderful day that lasted an eternity. It was nowhere near long enough.

Bonney stretched and went to the next crate. She didn't know what was in it, and she would get yelled at if curiosity got the better of her. It would take too much time to peak through the crates to satisfy that urge. She just followed the one that said to stack and organize and put down. She got a barrel on the simple crane and that was all that it could handle. Someone else took the machine away from her and she had a moment's breather. It was a beautiful day out. The wind had simmered down, although the waves were still a bit jumpy. It would get calmer as the day wore on. The water tended to tire itself out after a full day of playing around. Bonney did too.

Two piers over, the Vitality hoisted its sails, raised its anchor, and let the tide carry it out. Bonney eyed the stack of crates still left for her and decided they could wait. Someone with a deep booming voice would come and yell at her to do the work, maybe, but the voice could wait too. She wanted to leave for a moment, so she did. She meandered over the salt worn planks, dodging the errant nails and loose boards. The water lapped at the posts, dousing the barnacles and the clams with happy brine. A gull cried overhead and moved away to something with a bit less crowd to contend with.

She came to the end of the dock and sat down, dangling her feet. The water almost touched the tip of her boots. The waves wanted to drag her down and take her to the bottom with the whales and the fangs and all the grotesque things that came with the sailor's stories. A flag when up on the Vitality. She couldn't make it out. There were figures moving on deck. One of them stayed on the stern, near the wheel house, looking back to shore.

Bonney sat with the water, watching the sunlight dance and play over its surface. The light was happy at least. She just had an odd hollow in her stomach that wouldn't go away. It sat there like a stone. She could carry a crate. She could carry a stone.