Cursed Seas Pt. 01: The Wishing Stone

Her core was on fire, her sex dripping wet and her body aching with need, Shella pushed one of Gwen's legs up and slid into the gap within, straddling Gwen's other thigh. She ran a hand along the inside of Gwen's thigh and watched her shiver with a wicked grin on Shella's face. Slowly, she brought her hip to Gwen's until their lower lips touched - a tingle of bliss for both of them.

Wet juices mingled together as flower petals splayed against flower petals, dark flesh to light flesh. A hard, throbbing bean lusting for contact got it as wet folds pushed against it. Warm, numb, yet fantastic and a sense of life!

Shella ground herself against Gwen's sex. Both sexes throbbed with pleasure as their tender folds slid against each other. The sensation rang through Shella's body, wetness splashing against thighs. Gwen sighed breathily as the touch overtook her, and Shella was tempted to join her.

Ecstasy flowed through Shella as she rubbed herself back and forth on Gwen's tender pink folds. Wet noises slid out from their united sexes as Shella moved. Beneath her, Gwen panted, her eyes half-closed and basking in the sensation. Gwen's frilly bell had completely retracted at this point, little more than a tiny dress that couldn't even cover her sex successfully.

Gwen moaned as their petals mingled. She idly massaged one breast of hers, squeezing its white flesh and pinching the perky pink nipple. She chewed her lip as she felt the pleasure being rubbed into her body.

Shella ground herself against Gwen quicker, grabbing the pale woman's hips to realign themselves. Satisfied as a new wave of bliss charged up her body, Shella leaned back, holding on to Gwen's leg for support. With her other hand, she stroked her breast. Round, full flesh blossomed with her touch, her diamond-hard teats aching sorely for contact.

Virtually purring with tantric energy, Shella groaned lowly from womanhood embracing womanhood. She could feel her aching clit, vibrant and fiery with passion, scratch along velvety folds, and her own silken lips be stroked by Gwen's hard bean. It felt so good, like her empty body being filled with ambrosia!

Licking her lips tantalizingly, Shella shifted her hips and ground harder into Gwen's sex. Her bean dragged along moist folds, ringing with carnal forces that rang up her spine and into her head. Delirious, lust-driven moans trickled out of her lips even as Gwen's grew louder, the less experienced woman unable to control herself.

Her breath grew hot as Shella's body was filled with the intimate sensations that blossomed between her and Gwen. Her breasts ached and needed. A rough squeeze was a burst of bliss, a pinched nipple a bit of pleasure. Rolling them, feeling the weight and solidarity of her own breasts felt wonderful! Shella's signs and moans mingled with Gwen's. Anyone outside the door would know what they were doing, but right now, they didn't care.

Grunting to readjust herself yet again, Shella's clit flashed with pleasure as it crossed paths with another hardened traveler; Gwen's clit. It was a sharp shock that added to the well of lust inside of Shella, and it burst into both of them. Their groans were twinned as juices poured from their sexes.

"Ohhhhh, Shella," Gwen moaned, writhing underneath Shella's command. Her breasts jiggled as Shella thrust against her, pink tips wobbling hypnotically. Her spine rolled and quivered just slightly as Shella moved with her, Gwen's curves highlighted by the fog in Shella's mind. Gwen's entire beautiful body was a wonderous reason why Shella loved women; their beauty and pleasure were unmatched.

Grunting with need, Shella sped up their tribadism. Warm flesh turned to hot sensation, the kissing, mingling petals slathering each other with their juices. Tender lips' kisses grew messy as pleasure wracked them. Clever fingers squeezed and groped, their invasive touch a blossom of bliss.

Gwen's moans became erratic and frequent. Her desire for lust was being matched, even overfilled! Pleasure shot through her and Shella's bodies like lightning bolts, lighting up their sense of self. Her seizes became more random and more extreme, clutching her own breasts harder and pulling her tits to add to the sexuality roiling inside her.

Inside Shella, her body writhed with lustful energy. Shella's mind was little more than a need-driven concentration on Gwen and her own body. She thirsted for this kind of pleasure! She needed it, craved it! She was squeezing every last drop she could out of their union, her sex a-fire with gratification.

Her moans seizing up, Gwen shivered, and then let loose a groan of utter contentment. Her body seized, back arching and hands running through her hair. Her muscles spasmed once, twice, more as pleasure overtook her. Gwen's orgasm was long and sweet, but it left the needier Shella alone as Gwen broke their union.

Sighing and humming with sexual energy, Shella brought a hand to her aching sex. Fingers danced along her wet folds. Pleasure pulsed into her, and exploded once her fingers flicked against her clit. Working quickly, Shella found the sensual power rising in her unbelievably fast. It was almost too much! No, it was becoming too much! It was, ah, it was...!

With a lustful groan, Shella felt numb pleasure wash through her body. Toes and calves twitched as it bolted around her body, fingers jerking against her sopping womanhood. Her mind flashed blank, lost to the climax. Her body sung with the orgasm; it felt like she was glowing!

Shella's orgasm died down slowly, returning her to the small, private forward cabin of the Harpy. Beneath her, Gwen was breathing heavily, soaking in the post-coital bliss. Gwen glowed even stronger, her passion flashing through her inhuman body.

Tracing a finger alongside her trembling thigh, Shella brought the sweet mingled juices to her lips and licked them up. "Mmnnn, 'n tha's why I love ye," Shella moaned.

Breathy and exhausted, Gwen said, "And why I love you too."

Shella collapsed on the hard wooden floor next to Gwen. "How awkward d'ya think it is fer the girls out there?" she asked.

"Unbelievably so. Here we are, playing with each other's peaches quite often, and they're out there listening to us moan," Gwen said with a laugh.

"Yeah. They 'ad a good mind 'bout themselves, they woul'nt be so shy 'bout it all 'n get some themselves," Shella murmured.

"Oh, you know them. Most of them want only men, and a fair few have no lust left in them!" Gwen retorted. Her body's dress was beginning to descend back down, her lust fulfilled.

"Nah, I think 's a matter o' what they think o' themselves," Shella said as she sat up.

Gwen stood up and brushed off her body quickly, folding the leaf-like panels back over her happy breasts. "Be honest, Shella. A lot of them are missing faces, or are covered in shells, or are missing their breasts. Would you sleep with them if they wanted it?"

Shella snorted with a smile. "I slept wi' a lot o' things ye'd never get. But between ye 'n I, a bout o' love's more complex than a single night."

"Yes, you are your sexual conquests. I wouldn't mind it if you stayed with one particular woman," Gwen said, twirling her hair around a finger.

Memories of Lily flashed through Shella's mind. "Yeah, I woul'nt mind stayin' wi' her either," she murmured.

Shella stood up and wiped down her sex with a spare bolt of cloth laying around the store-room. She grabbed her clothes and put them under one arm. The last afterglows of sex had left her body.

Gwen left the room first, her glowing body shedding light upon who tried to sleep around her. Her body shone like the moon at night, but it wasn't as lovely as Lily had been. Shella couldn't leave Lily behind, even if it did mean snubbing Gwen.

* * *

The next day brought with it cries from the crow's nest. On the horizon lay an indistinct blob. The spotter only cried out for a few things, though; Island, Storm, or Ship. As soon as the words had left her lips, Captain Lash burst from her quarters, whip snapping and cracking across the deck. The navigator handed her a spyglass, and with a swift jerk to extend it, she was looking at the ship across the horizon.

The spyglass sunk from her face. Captain Lash coldly pointed at the enemy vessel and said, "Kill."

Sails were tightened, the accursed wind with the Harpy. Soon, the white waves of the dark ocean broke against her hull as she began to overtake her target. A set of long chase guns were pushed to the front to open fire as soon as possible.

Below-decks was a hive of activity. Women grabbed axes, cutlasses, and blunderbusses. Cannons were pushed to the portholes. Barrels of chain shot and grape shot were rolled close so that they could maul their victim once they were within range.

The enemy spotted the Harpy quickly; it would be almost impossible not to see the patchwork vessel with how fast she was coming up on them. They too set their sails, trying to run. As they grew closer, gigantic red crosses became visible on the vessel's sails. Many of the women hissed or spat; God had abandoned them, so why should others rub it in their faces?

Shella was with those ready to board. All she had was her dagger, but it was all she needed. She'd been underestimated many a time before in combat, and many times again had she risen for retribution. Shella wasn't worried about any kind of gun or blade, save for her own. It was a nasty thing, what she was about to do, but it was for Lily's sake.

What weighed their target down Shella didn't know. It was an old Spanish Galleon design, big and fat. The sleeker body of the Harpy cut through the waves like a shark and the enemy was more like a turtle. Its dark, salt-licked wood tried to press onwards, faster, but the lug of a boat was doomed.

As soon as they could see the square Spanish naval flag of their enemy, Captain Lash's whip snapped. The chase cannons exploded, belching smoke and speaking thunder as their payload flew towards their prey. Chain shot whirled through the air screaming. One shot flew wide, and another tore through a pompous sail like a knife. It didn't take another crack of Lash's whip to begin loading the chase cannons.

The enemy had guns of their own, revealing them with a faint clap and tiny puff of smoke from how far away they were. Ocean in front of the Harpy burst into a white-spiked flower. A shot without enough reach. If they were too close, then there may have been some damage.

Damned souls worked at the chase cannons, cramming them with more chain shot before aiming and firing again. Thunder cracked on the Harpy, and the weighted chains soared towards the enemy ship. One chain wrapped around the foremast of the enemy and it cracked, snapped like a twig from the chain shot's force. The other shot embraced the main boom and tore it away. It hung limply, a broken bone of the ship.

The prey fired back again, and while a few of the shots connected, piercing through wood as if it was no better than parchment, it didn't matter. They were far too close now, the enemy's sails mauled into useless fluttering with another well-placed shot of the chase cannons.

Sailing closer now, getting near enough to board, Shella felt her palms sweaty and her heart beating quickly. Gunpowder and smoke already ruled the air. Next it would be blood and the cries of the dying. Shella steeled herself to the events to come. Lily needed this.

As the Harpy sidled up to her prey, the deck cannons of both ships erupted into fire. The Harpy's guns were cleaned and rust-free - there was little else to do save for make sure they were in tip-top shape. But something was wrong with the enemy vessel's cannon, and its side erupted in a reddish blast as a cannon mis-fired. The enemy was pierced with grape shot, holes peppering their side and even entire planks falling off into the sea. The Harpy only suffered what she could come back from.

Now they were too close. Grappling hooks whirled in the hands and claws of the damned and arced over the gap of ocean between the two ships. Many sunk into the rotted deck and railing of the other ship, either holding fast or tearing away another small part of the ship. Hand grabbed ropes and heaved, dragging the two vessels closer together.

Aboard the other ship, tanned men scrambled. These were not good-looking sailors; many of them had hair falling out from age or illness, their skin discolored. Several pulled out long rifles and short pistols and shot, spitting smoke and clapping thunder as pellets peppered damned flesh.

Shella felt a bullet pierce her belly, a prick of unreal pain as it went in soft flesh and left it just as easily. Immediately, the small hole that had been torn in her began to writhe and squirm, itching and burning as it knotted itself back together. The pain was just a small pin-prick compared to Captain Lash's whippings.

Long boards were brought out by the Harpy's crew. Ropes were tied securely to the masts, affixing the ships together, and the boards were laid down flat, uniting the two decks. Hardening her resolve, Shella joined the hoarse cry of blood as the damned mobbed the ship.

What broke out was bloody havoc. The damned women launched themselves at the terrified sailors of the Spanish vessel. Crushing claws affixed around throats and blades sunk into soft human flesh. Pistols cracked as they vomited forth death. Men fell down, limbs missing or twisted, or with ragged gashes across their bodies. Blood spilled across the deck, red and slick and bringing with it a sick, iron-fueled scent.

Shella's dagger flashed as it cut deeply against a stubbly weathered sailor. The man gurgled, his flesh paling and sinking as the dagger swept his soul away into its jewel. A withered corpse dry of life hit the deck, stiff as a plank. The dagger's gem glinted just a bit brighter, one more soul added to it. Nothing more than that, Shella told herself.

A splitting force cut into the side of Shella's head! Blazing pain consumed her head and she lost sight in one eye as she was nearly thrown to the ground. Gasping in shock, she jerked up to look at what had hit her. Her only working eye affixed on a frightened man with a flintlock in his hands. He grabbed the barrel and screamed in terror as he brought the handle down on Shella's skull.

Her head exploded in agony as she was jerked down again. She could feel her skull cracking under the pistol's club-like handle. She jerked back up. That man would die! Hissing, Shella tackled the man to the ground and drove her dagger into the man's head.

As life left him and he withered, Shella realized that the man couldn't have been more than a boy. He had been young, fresh, and beardless. He'd come aboard thinking of adventures. His soul was now in the dagger's jewel. His body's skin was papery white and so gaunt it hung from bones, the stench drifting from his body like cracking open a tomb.

Shella's stomach flew knots inside her. No, no, this was all for a good cause. It wouldn't matter if she was here or not, all the men aboard would die. This way, their deaths would actually accomplish something! The gem of the dagger glowed just a bit brighter.

The searing pain and blindness burned across half of Shella's face. She fumbled on the side of her skull and found a small axe planted in it, cutting into her face. She grabbed the handle and yanked it out with another crash of agony, and then felt the hideous comfort of her flesh writhing back together. The axe was coated in her oddly pink blood, and she chucked it to the floor.

A flash of pain as something cut into her back. Shella turned again to face another attacker with a sword. Her gut burst into fire as the blade sunk into her belly.

She could only see a thing in front of her, a thing that was hurting her and needed to die! Screaming and gurgling, Shella ran at the thing and plunged her dagger into it. It quivered and reached up at her before giving up. The dagger's gem glinted even more, like a ghost-light in the night.

She wrapped her fingers around the blade and pulled it out. Her body throbbed with pain as it slid slickly from her body, pinkish blood dripping from the weapon. As soon as it was gone, her body writhed and wormed, the gaping wound sealing itself back up to perfection. The inhuman crawl of her flesh was almost a welcome change.

A shiver broke out along Shella's skin as she looked at the withered bodies. Now they were with their mates in the dagger's gem. It was all for Lily, she told herself. Lily would understand.

The crew of the ship had mostly folded. A few begged in Spanish for mercy. Shella could understand what they were saying. Some prayed to god, some said that they had families, others were pointlessly cursing the Harpy's crew. Their lifeblood soon stained the deck, adding to the gruesome paint. Blood covered Shella's feet, sticky and stinking of death. Her breath was shaky. She took a few breaths, reminding herself that the more souls she collected, the sooner Lily would be back with her, and the sooner they'd be happy again.

Yeah, it was all for a good cause, Shella told herself as she moved on.

But the enemy was dead. Only a few were left to groan as they too faded away. There were a few peculiarities here and there. A rotting arm here or there, dust or ash or something else, even a few unmoving bodies of the accursed women; not all of them could live forever. Whatever was beyond had consumed them as well. Hopefully, it would be merciful.

Shella made for an open door that led to the captain's quarters. Large and square, it was lit by open and broken windows. The blue passive sea and sky lay outside it.

A small group of women stood around somebody on the ground. Shella circled around them, but stopped and stared. On the ground was a handsome young Spanish man. His hands had been tied above his head, and his shirt cut from him to expose his tanned and expertly chiseled chest. He was a lone handsome light on a ship that had been ugly and disused.

Stradling him was a woman with no face and of rocky skin. Both of their pants had been removed, and the rocky woman was gyrating her hips on top of his soft, meek cock. He was obviously struggling and terrified out of his mind. "'S no good, he ain't getting' hard," the rocky woman scowled, her voice echoing out of gaps and cracks around her stony head.

A thin woman who had needles for hair and running down her back and the outsides of her arms and legs opened her shirt. Her breasts were pert and full and her nipples were hard, sharp cones. She grabbed her breasts and squeezed them. A drop of amber liquid popped out of their pin-prick tips as she said, "C'mon, let 'im drink this. It'll get 'im harder than yer face! Then we can all have our fun!"

There was a rousing cheer from the women around them. "What th' fuck are ye doin?" Shella demanded.

"Not all of us are pretty-face sluts, bitch," the rocky woman shot back. "We ha'nt gotten any in forever!"

"So yer gonna rape the prettiest man on this tub?" Shella pressed. What they were trying to do was ugly as sin. Shella'd come close a few times, perhaps pressuring a bit to hard when she really wanted it, but not like this. Never like this.

"They'd do th' same t' us!" the needle-woman answered this time. The women with her nodded and murmured in agreement.

Shella scowled and brought the dagger down onto the man's heart. He yelped and withered. The dagger's gem shone just a touch more.

"Hey, what the fuck!?" the rocky woman demanded.

"He was gonna die anyways. No-one lives, captain's orders. 'Sides, this way his life weren't even worse an ye ain't makin' yerselves worse," Shella shot, wiping the bloody dagger on the man's tattered shirt. It wasn't any prettier than any other corpses she had made, but it was probably better than being passed around like a tankard of ale. Maybe.