Fraternising

"Come on you fucking bloats, if we're gonna be keeping pace in this wind im gonna need a crew, not a gaggle of hens! Keep 'er steady afore I flay you from the wrist down and give your hands to the cook for tenderising!"

Sam took hold of the running rope trailing from the yardarm and pulled hard. The day's sailing was winding down with the evening and they were only a week out to sea aboard the Razor's Edge, the boatswain's tone being a touch harsh considering the ship's pace, but Sam refused to let himself look like a slacker on his first voyage on board the vessel. Sailors would kill to be in the crew of the ship captained by Fisher Fairweather, scourge upon the Sea of Stars, the Sea-Shrike, most notorious killer and fiercest mortal woman to ever take the helm of a boat in the past century. The kind of captain that would not likely take kindly to slackers on her ship.

Sam had heard stories of her for years while working the docks, how she was Cabin Girl on board when the 8th Deepfathom Queen convinced the sea itself down into the fires of the Nine Hells to steal from Mammon himself, to how she tricked a spirit of gold and oak into building her the finest ship that would ever sail in a game of knives and nines. To see her on deck was only slightly humbling, as even though she spat no lightning and followed the sea's whims like any other captain, she commanded a complete and utter respect in her crew that Sam had never seen in all his years on the docks.

Suffice to say Sam was anxious about being aboard. Over the days of rigging and swabbing he had realised he was a standout aboard the Razor: he was a head taller than most of the sailors, just as big though he had much more pudge than the rest, and he remained focused and busy while they idled and chatted until an officer came and cuffed them hard enough to knock them back to their posts. He knew a few of them found his dedication an annoyance but that didn't matter, their seniority probably lent them lenience in their captain's eyes. All he had to do was stay focused on his work, and show his worth when the time came to go over the railing with a knife in your teeth, and he'd make his way just fine-

"Aye, Shallows!" came a call up on the poop-deck. Startled out of his thoughts, he took a moment to look up from tying the rigging; Shallows was the name given to him as the newest deck swabber on board, and Sam was still unused to it.

The voice was the ship's boatswain Nils; a sea-ravaged man who seemed to perfectly embody the epithet "nasty" the crew referred to him with and that was before you saw his temper flare. From the look of the tattoos ringed around the crown of his skull Sam guessed he was from the northeast, Nargi or somewhere. Nasty Nils jammed a finger directly below him over the railing and said "Cap'n wants to see you in her quarters. Now. The rest of you-" he swept the arm broadly over the deck, "get your asses below decks, we're done for the night."

Sailors around him broke out into the snickers and chuckles of schoolchildren leaving the kid who had been asked to be "seen after class". While he finished securing the rigging and hustled to the cabin door, Sam felt his blood run thin. What was this about? Had he overstepped a boundary or failed to meet expectations? The worst he could think of was his occasional gamble of his rations on cards for a nice bauble or the chance at a boarding axe stolen from the quartermaster, but who can fault a man for that?. Sam pulled himself up straight, including the guts that had sunk in despair, and opened the door.

The Captain's Quarters was lit faintly by the light of real, burning fire. The captain spared no expense when it came to outfitting the deck with Ghostlamps that no wave could quench, but she claimed she appreciated an authentic feeling to her room. A well-built cot sat in the corner farthest from him. The opposite wall of the cabin was taken up by broad windows that had shutters closed and shut tightly with a solid locking mechanism. To his left: a small wine rack, a full body mirror, and a decently sized bookshelf full to the brim. To his right: a large chest beneath a dining table set for two with a small basin of water for drinking, and a rack of immaculately kept guns and blades. Both walls were decorated high and low in spectacular treasures of her conquests; from severed jawbones of sea serpents to stolen (possibly magic) scepters.

And behind the enormous lacquered wooden desk in the centre sat Fisher Fairweather. The huge desk dwarfed her, but he knew she was about his height. Her so-brown-they're-black eyes stayed centred on the quill scratching away at papers on the desk. Shoulder length red hair swirled about her face beneath a suspiciously plain tricorne. From behind the desk, that was all she appeared to be wearing. Her usual rich brocade jacket and silk shirt were slung over the back of the chair revealing her chest and arms as defined and muscled as the stories said, the latter dotted with a great many scars that stood out intensely against sun-battered skin. Tattoos webbed across her torso depicting great triumphs of the 8 Greatfathom Queens of old.

She nodded at the door. "Close the door, lad". Her voice was coy yet powerful. "And try not to freeze up, I promise ye that the rumors about me are far overblown." He did as she commanded.

A soft click signalled her putting the quill in its inkwell, and setting her work aside to look at him directly. "I don't suppose Nils told you why I asked you here, Shallows." Sam swallowed the joy of the captain already knowing his (nick)name, and gave a grave nod. She chuckled and gave a curt hand gesture. "Well at ease, sailor," she snarked, "you've not earned my ire today."

Sam relaxed visibly, but not entirely so. Fairweather laughed. "In fact," She leaned back in her armchair and curled her index finger toward him as an invitation. "You may walk out that door and return to your bunk and mates for the evening and you will receive no punishment, but if you'd indulge me I have a request for our newest crew member."

Sam still felt uneasy about the situation (he'd heard of captains that liked to give a sense of comfort or ease to sailors before a brutal thrashing) but something about her hungry smirk tugged at him and he briskly walked around the side of her desk despite his nerves.

Fairweather was even more impressive to him up close. She didn't look him in the eyes when he got close, her eyes instead glazing over his body, sizing him up. "I'll keep it short, lad. When the Razor's Edge is out to sea for a while a girl gets... cravings." She reached out with one hand as she said this, and grazed her fingertips against his stomach. Sam's eyes widened and he shivered at the touch.

She continued, "Sometimes I can wait, but on the rare occasion I may be overcome enough to ask a member of my crew for assistance in the matter. I hadn't the time to address it on land before we set sail and you have, shall we say..." the hand at his belly swung down and grabbed a fistful of his ass with a loud clap, "just the assets that I desire."

Sam barely stifled a sound he couldn't quite place a name on, but he knew it wasn't one that a man should make in front of his captain. His nerves made him tear his eyes away from her hungry gaze. This proved to be ineffective, as up close, he realised she was not quite nude yet; she had a pair of black pants tight enough to still show off the fantastic erection straining against the fabric, begging for freedom. She gave a laugh and said "I'll get ready while ye make up your mind."

Fisher released him. She pushed her chair back with a loud scrape, began fiddling with the belt and buckle of her pants, and gave a nod of the head to the space she had made in between her and her desk that would be just large enough for him to fit snugly in kneeled down. Sam felt as frozen as she had asked him not to be; this scenario was stirring a wild curiosity inside of him and yet there was a voice just loud enough to be heard in his brain trying to warn him that fraternising with the captain before he'd truly earned his place in the crew could earn him more than a few enemies on deck instead. This was the Sea-Shrike for gods' sake!

Then Fisher's cock popped into view and that voice didn't seem quite so loud anymore. Sam had never been taught numbers and measurement in a school but he was pretty good at eyeballing; even at his peak he would be two-thirds her length at a generous estimate, and he had always considered himself well off. Like a man possessed he stared at it, fixated, until discipline overwhelmed his fascination and he looked back up at her.

Fisher gave him a look of arched eyebrows and tight smiles. "If yer still here, then I don't understand why you're not putting that mouth to work."

He gulped, but obeyed, and carefully knelt before Captain Fisher. Down here his worries seemed much smaller, and his mind focused more intently on the sensations before him: the pressure of the wood through the breeches on his knees, the toned shapes of her legs and (most importantly) the absolutely gorgeous girlcock she had presented to him. Sam hesitated for only a second, then engulfed the tip with his mouth, a grateful grunt coming from above.

Her dick tasted overly salty, but perhaps that came with the lifestyle. Fisher hooked her fingers roughly into his hair, glaring down with a hunger that urged him into continuing. Sam bobbed his head gently, keeping his tongue pressed close to her frenulum. He took more than a third of her dick down his throat before he began to gag. Sam tried to pull back but Fisher's grip was iron. Just for a moment she held him to gag once or twice, then relaxed enough to let him pull back before he needed to struggle. She gave a soft chuckle and moved her hand to the back of his head, guiding him back down to serve her.

Sam learned quickly. He experimented, focusing his mouth on the tip while running a hand up and down her shaft, then moving to pushing the limits of how deep he could take her and how long he could stay there until he began to cough and the vibrations made Fisher groan in appreciation. He soon settled into a comfy bobbing motion in tempo with the strokes of his hand. She began grinding in her chair to match his tempo. He wondered if she was going to cum soon, but before he could worry about the logistics for when the moment came, she used her grip to yank his head back and pull her cock out of his reach.

Sam looked up immediately. Fisher's face was ablaze with a furious storm of lust. Before he could speak a word she grabbed him by the shirt and yanked him to his feet.

Fisher placed a hand on either side of him and sent all her paperwork and books scattering off the desk to the floor, leaving the surface free for use. Fisher had become as ravenous as her namesake and Sam made no move to stop her from forcing him to lay back on the surface of her desk and hooking her hands around the waist of his breeches, pulling them down and off his legs so that his thighs and dick were exposed to the warm air of the cabin. The fear he'd felt coming to her quarters had blended so deliciously with lust inside of him. Sam pushed himself up so he could lean back on his hands flat on the desk, watching her rifle furiously through her drawers. He could sense the need in her urgency while she tossed various objects to the floor until she found a small glass vial of viscous liquid which she quickly opened.

Oh, right.

Immediately after the revelation she kneeled, grabbed his legs and pushed them up to expose his ass. Sam felt a cold intrusion against his hole and sucked his breath in through his teeth as she fingered him. Previous partners had introduced him to anal play but he still had to work to exhale and try and relax for her. Sam whined when she pulled away and stood, leaving him tensed and waiting. There was a calm moment where Sam realised the desk really was the perfect height for someone to absolutely lay into him, then she positioned his raised legs against her shoulders and he felt her dick slowly pushing against his entrance. Inch by thick, hot inch she pushed her well-lubed dick into him until what felt like minutes later he felt the skin of his thighs touch her stomach; she had bottomed out.

Sam had never felt anything this incredible. Fisher was looking down at him with the same expression a drake gives a fish foolish enough to let itself get trapped in a tide pool. Both of them stayed still there, silent but for breathing, while Sam luxuriated in being full and flexing around her dick. She reached down and grazed her fingers against his balls before running them up and down his shaft. "Such a pretty thing..." she cooed, giving it a hard squeeze. "Maybe you'll be lucky enough to be the one fucking me next time."

Before Sam could grapple with the implications of 'next time', Fisher began to move. Her hands hooked around his thighs and held him fast. Her thrusts began to pick up, along with her heavy pants and grunts in time with the screeching protest the desk made against the floor. The feeling of his own cock rubbing against his stomach, back and forth in time with his captain's thrusts, was a delicious pain. Soon she was fucking him for all she was worth, explosions of pleasure shooting through him. Already Sam could feel something building at the base of his dick, a pressure that was coming to release quickly. "Captain..." he groaned and reached for his dick in order to stroke himself messily in a desperate bid to finish. Captain Fisher slowed her pace in order to give him long smooth strokes, perhaps to hold off on her own orgasm so she could watch him.

Sam screamed without thought when he came. Cum splattered across his stomach, nearly up to the height of his nipples. Sam had managed to keep himself wobbly but upright through it all, but after the orgasm tore through him he let himself fall onto the desk, sweaty back sticking to the cool wood. Fisher smirked and reached down to run her hands roughly over his flaccid dick, making him wince in overstimulation. She replaced her now cum-streaked hand on his leg and began to move again, her balls and thighs slapping against him with renewed strength and a fresh layer of sweat.

Sam's eyes stayed unfocused on the ceiling of the cabin above him, lost but for the lovely sensation of the dick plunging in and out of his hole, until Fisher gave a grunt/snarl combo that made his head jerk up just in time to see she had pulled out to shoot her own cum alongside his own. Erection calming, she let her dick fall limp down so that it lay against his own and groping her own breast with one hand, satisfaction blooming across her face. Feeling them rub together softly, lubed by his own thick and her slightly more watery semen, was something he hadn't expected to love.

Then without a single word, Fisher pulled up then fastened her pants and stepped away from the desk. Her movements were curt and focused, like the sex had cleared a sultry haze from her brain. Avoiding the mess of ink and paper she had made, she fished a large square of cloth from the chest beneath the table, wet it with the basin of pure water, and tossed it onto him unceremoniously. "We're done here," she stated in a voice much more in line with the one he heard her use with the boatswain and quartermaster on deck. "Make sure you clean up before you head below decks, Nils is making sure no one got your rum ration for the night. Thank ye for the assistance."

Sam clutched the cloth to his chest like a delicate woman would a handkerchief. His anal muscles were still flexing, as though he missed her presence filling him. Between the exhaustion, coming down from the orgasm, and the sheer turnaround of her demeanor and behavior, all Sam could do was sit dumbfounded,

Fisher continued flipping through the book she had chosen seemingly at random, and was now reading on the side of her cot. "Need I repeat myself, Shallows?" she asked. Her voice was not upset or annoyed, almost genuinely confused and as though she really was in a hurry to move onto some other task. She didn't even look up at him,

Sam swallowed a giant of a lump in his throat, remembering just who this woman was. "No Cap'n, thank you Cap'n." He gave himself a quick towel down, furiously jumping into his trousers at the same time he was jumping out the cabin door.

The day was winding down to evening, setting sun bathing the ship and surrounding ocean surface orange and turning the water deep below a seething black. Sam inhaled deeply, feeling the salt tingling in his nose. He hadn't been able to clean up perfectly, so he could feel water and cum quickly drying on his stomach out in the open. He pondered his position while he slipped into his shirt and began his descent into the ship's belly. Was he supposed to keep this a secret from them? Was his performance under standards and that was why she tossed him out so quickly? It was all too confusing for him, he was just going to get to bed and keep his head down even lower than he was before this whole thing.

Sam passed quickly through the upper storage deck, where the crew could relax at some tables and barrels repurposed to stools, and snatched his rum from an incredibly smug and amused looking Nils, ignoring his calls for others on the deck to "pay up" since Sam had "done it", and the clink of gold passing hands.

Sam plopped himself down in his hammock and got to drinking. The rhythmic snores and waves and creaking wood was as a lullaby to him, and reminded him of just how tired he was from a day of work on top of the sex. Sam tossed his memories of his day around in his head like flotsams. Nils at least knew what was going on, and probably half the crew, and the only thing that seems to have changed were his prospects aboard the vessel. Perhaps he needed to relax. All he'd wanted to do on this ship was his job; to earn his share of the loot, and to earn a place aboard this feared ship. If he could do that and get his back blown out by a gorgeous woman on the regular, all the better!