Curses Ch. 07

CHAPTER 7 - Fuccaneers

I woke to find we were in a remarkably tangled heap for just two girls.

"There you are," Oli laughed. "Time to rise and shine. Mom makes a fine breakfast - we don't want to be late!"

I was about to point out that our appearing as the Olivia Twins might upset her when I noticed I'd changed, yet again. Not so very much, given I was still the same size and apparent age, although a good deal paler, but ... there was a familiar scar on the back of my left hand.

"So, you're my new best friend Danielle, who's gonna stay with me for a while. Sorry, I totally spooked through your pages on the interwebs," - she held up a tablet - "and tried to guess whether being your sexy sister or your last girlfriend was creepier."

I wasn't too sure whether she'd thought transforming me into an eighteen-year-old version of my sister was better or deliberately worse than the suggested alternative - but after the shock of it, I decided I approved. But ... "I still have these piercings."

"Yeah - they didn't want to go away on my say so. No offence, but I think you're a little bit submissive. Those big bull nose and clit rings are maybe a brand thing."

This, apparently, was one of those nebulous guidelines we'd discussed the night before. Still, the fact I sorta liked my bling suggested that Olivia was right.

She led me into the next room, which had been converted into a surprisingly big walk-in closet for someone who rarely seemed to wear clothes. "Costume stuff," she said, guessing what I was thinking.

Having dressed in some vintage school-girlish skirts and blouses, we tramped up the stairs to the kitchen. Grace turned out to be cheerful and welcoming, and breakfast was just as good as advertised. Oli chattered to her 'mom' about how school went yesterday, and what she and I planned for today, while I just tried to keep up.

On the way back downstairs, she answered my next unsaid question. "Unlike Randy, once Mom washes the dishes, she forgets about me - unless she hears me down here. But I know she's happier for it. Once in a while, we'll bump into each other in the market or somewhere, and all I get is a vague nod - like she can't remember where she knows me from. The original Olivia died when she was twelve, so it's not like, when I'm off the clock, the sight of me will trigger memories from the past."

I just nodded and kissed her neck, because it seemed to need doing. This inevitably led to further fuckage - apart from not having had any for several hours now, we both wanted to test run my latest body.

"I have some errands, and then an, ah, assignation," said Oli, now on her back under me amidst our discarded (and cum stained) clothing. "You should pop around and visit Jim -- he's just down the road, at 629. He's into role play - just tell him I sent you. I've got a short skirt and bustiere in the closet, along with some tall boots and stuff ... why don't I dress you up right now?"

I soon set off down the street wearing an all leather 'sexy pirate' outfit that would have been scandalous even if Olivia had let me wear panties. She'd started me off with boots nearly up to my bare ass, which were so tight they needed steampunk-style external hinging at the knees. Next came an open-backed bustiere ... really more of a a big boobed, hardened leather cuirassé, as in, girly pirate body armor. There were nipples prominently carved into the thing. This was followed by a wide belt -- which must have been the garment she'd referred to as a skirt. Whichever, it served to support a jingling coin-purse (that had apparently seen previous service as a moose's ball-sac), plus a sheathed dagger. Shifting these items around provided me only scant modesty. And that was it. Oh, and the red scarf on my head.

It seemed like a long walk. The breeze cooled my bum and ruffled the wee tuft of red fur between my legs. Two boys rolled past on skateboards, and I thought they hadn't even noticed me ... until one cheerfully called back, "Yo ho, me hearty!"

When I knocked on Jim's door, it wasn't long before a big man peeked out, and tilted his head both in approval and in question.

"Hi - I'm Danielle. Olivia sent me."

A grin spread across his face. "Oli sent you, eh? Then welcome aboard the Venus! Come on through the bulkhead hatch and lay below to me cabin. I'll be right with ye."

He disappeared so fast I was left to close the 'hatch' behind me (which on the inside involved dogging it down), and to find my way down the passageway to a wooden door, beyond which -- my having avoided disaster thanks to a high sill -- was a steep ladder. As I started down, I felt the back of my scarred hand itch faintly and looked down to see a tattoo of a tumescent dolphin appearing ... with its sizable dolphin-dick inked in red. Various other images began to crawl up my arms, and the rest of me began to itch here and there as well. The man had launched a fantasy from a standing start.

Not much else seemed to change, except that my bustiere got a lot tighter. Jim's fantasy pirate wench was clearly a more top-heavy version of me than the version I'd presented on arrival. By the bottom of the steep companionway I'd also acquired a Caribbean tint.

Looking around, I marveled at the detail. The entire basement was decked out, so to speak, as the inside of an old-timey sailing ship. I followed a corridor aft to the captain's quarters, which stretched across the stern. The far wall had windows shuddered against the sea -- the sounds of wind and waves, and creaking rigging, was being piped in from behind. Or at least I assumed so... I still had no idea what limits there were to my dreamscapes.

On the starboard-side (to my left, facing aft -- you'll have noticed already that part of my pirate persona included knowing all sorts of salty stuff) was a large built-in bunk, surround by shelves of books, nautical charts and brass instruments. All of this stuff was stowed with cords and slats so as to stay secured in heavy weather. There was also a built-in table with leather mugs and pewter plates in racks nearby.

Above that, secured to the bulkhead, was an oil painting of a brigantine - a square rigged, double-masted ship. Of this one, actually -- I could see the name VENUS painted on the bow, just behind the lewd figurehead. Her tits were thrust forward -- that bit wasn't unusual -- and her carved legs were spread wide so as to push her red cunny forward into the painted waves. On closer examination, I could also see pirates and whores performing remarkably detailed and rude acts on the decks and in the rigging.

The other side of the cabin held a sturdy desk on which sat a pail of jewels and gold. I picked out some earrings (big, fat golden hoops to match my theme), plus a humongous emerald that was made to order for my exposed navel. Quite literally, as it turned out. Not only did it fill my belly bowl perfectly, but it filled the jaws of the dragon tattoo I had only just discovered.

There was, naturally, a tall old-fashioned mirror framed onto the bulkhead beside the desk. When I leaned over to admire my glittery and bejeweled self, I was startled to see a dashing dueling scar on one cheek. Less surprising was the skull-and-crossbones discreetly inked on my neck. Having approved of these additions, I took the opportunity to examine my other tattoos.

On my left arm I sported several more randy dolphins and the sizable image of a similarly well-endowed Pacific island god. My other arm featured Venus herself -- in the form of the risqué figurehead of this very ship, her adventurous legs open to all comers. The neck of the emerald-eating dragon went up behind my breast plate -- which I'd seen -- while the tail reappeared under my left arm and arced across my back before circling my right butt cheek.

There was also the matter of the green-inked garters that were half hidden by my boots; but before I could inspect any further, Jim returned.

My host was now wearing the ragged finery of a pirate king. Traditional clothes and weaponry aside, he also had an impressive, and scurrilous, assortment of tattoos and scars of his own. Plus He'd sprouted a full beard, into which gold and amber beads were woven. "Arr," says he, with a pleased grin. "Danielle, is it? Both Frenchie and African blood, then - a fine combination. Ye'll be from Martinque. Surely, but I saw ye there on me last raid?"

"Mayhaps ye saw me in the distance, gutting one of yer crew, ye rogue," I riffed. With a squint, I continued: "Here to take me virtue, are ye?"

He laughed. "Jumbo Jim n'er takes what ain't his due, girl. And I expect you'll offer me that." Gently caressing my face (which was still enough to set my nose ring to bobbling), he then proceeded to shed his belt, sword and pistols. And then he opened his cloak like a flasher to reveal a great knobbly fat cock - the thing displayed a distinct twist to the man's left.

I gasped at the sight of this fleshy mace, my eyes goggling a little in fear ... because that was the plotline, although the thing truly was impressive. "Good Christ!"

"I believe I will fill yer belly an' put a baby in yer," said Jumbo Jim, whereupon he reached forward and tore off my leather breast plate.

That (and his déjà vu inducing promise) succeeded in actually startling me. It also revealed the rest of the scaly dragon which was elaborately inked around and across my breasts. Slowly, as though mesmerized, I released my own belt, and let both it and the dirk that hung from it fall to the deck.

Jumbo Jim grinned again, and then he scooped me effortlessly into his arms and lowered me onto a sheepskin spread invitingly nearby. I was quite positive I'd not seen the thing on the way in.

I spread my legs wide, with my still-booted shins held high -- much like the rude figurehead tattooed on my arm. I had to chuckle when I saw the wee diving seabird tattooed on my bald mons, the beak of which pointed down between my own fire-red cunt lips.

My deep, sexy chortle must have signaled my readiness for Jumbo Jim. He tossed aside his coat and, now wearing only his pirate hat and high boots much like mine, he stepped into position between my heels.

"So how's about it, Captain?" I asked, looking up at him expectantly. "Are ye gonna put that lovely great thing in me belly or no?"

Jumbo Jim drank in the sight of the horny naked pirate lying on the rug before him and smiled. "That I am, child."

He knelt down and began by caressing my dragon-wrapped breasts as I whimpered with lust; then he experimentally pulled simultaneously on both my nipples, and then gave my clit a good tug. We were neither of us surprised to see that each of these jutting projections of flesh remained stretched a fat two or three inches.

"Fer fuck sake, put it in me," I snarled.

And with that, he did.

It was damn tight, of course. That too was part of the plot. Wonderfully, marvelously tight. He fucked me for quite some time -- with him kneeling, then standing, then laying on his back -- but never fully undocking. And each position would be only done when he came (I hadn't really stopped coming since his first).

When once he had rolled me on top to cum inside me that way, he spun me around on his fuck-stick to face his boots, and then rolled me forward until I was on my hands and knees ... so he could fuck me doggy-style. And I wondered: Do pirates even have dogs? Fuck monkey-style, maybe, but that would call for a big monkey. You can see my mind was beginning to wander -- I'd noticed this seemed to happen after umpteen orgasms.

Wait, I thought. There are Barbary pirates. They'd have Barbary apes! "Barbary ape-style," I think I said out loud. I must have -- Jimbo gave me an odd look. At any rate, I was transformed into none of those things; I just continued to be Pirate Danielle, with a slowly expanding belly.

After coming yet again, he managed to once more spin me on his knob until I found myself back on the rug where I'd started with him between my thighs. That called for some more fucking, but after a last impressive blast of swashbuckler spunk, he rolled off me. With a contented sigh, he stretched and sat up. I just lay there and grinned at him, with one hand on top of my belly, feeling nicely full. I could feel my cunny lips still clutching at air and leaking a steady stream of jism. This surplus I scooped up with my other hand to idly rub onto my sensitive (and still stretched) clit and nipples.

The pirate king watched me for a while, then said, "Ye're doing it all wrong, girl. Ye have to keep as much seed on board as ye can. Let me show ya." As I was gathering another handful of cum, he held my sticky hand tightly over my crotch.

I kept it there briefly, but then I started to rub the heel of my palm on my needy clit, and his juices began to slide out between my fingers.

He sighed again, though still smiling, and said, "I'll top ye up and leave it in ye for a while, snug an' tight. Seal off yer leak, it will, and lets me keep pumping more of the spermies into yer hold."

With this plan of action laid out, Jimbo stood and hoisted me up -- as in, right off the deck. He marched me over to his bunk and sat himself on his bunk, with me suspended over him, my legs spread wide. As I stared down at him, he maneuvered me until his draining cum was landing right on to his still rampant member.

"Are yiz ready?"

Before I could answer he let me drop. Wet as I was, his shaft drove inside me like a piston. It forced the escaping jism back with so much pressure I expected cum to spray out my ears. As it was, I felt totally bloated ... in a good way, naturally.

Having ensconced me in his lap, he let me sit tight ... rubbing his beard on my cheeks while all the action -- throbbing man-meat and clutching cunnie - was happening inside me. He came repeatedly (as did I). I could feel my belly bulge even more, so that it pressed hard against his. He sat so still between orgasms that I'd have thought he was asleep if it weren't for the pirate ditties he was humming. The vibration from that was enough to keep me at a steady boil -- but I still managed to hum along.

Much later (I think - I was by this time having difficulties thinking clearly), he finally lifted me free - over his still hard cock, mark you - and helped me to my feet. I clapped a hand over my immediately draining pussy, but he laughed. "I think you can drain off the excess now, girlie. It's time for you to go home."

"Arrr," I acknowledged.

"Aye -- arrr," he agreed.