Pirates
by Nicholas Proxy

"I'm looking, I'm just not seeing." Joan Vaughn held the cell phone to her ear with her shoulder so that she could keep her hands tucked in the warmth of her armpits. Her flats had little traction on the wet grass as she walked around to the back of the old house. "I'm sure they did say the key was in the planter, but I'm here, and believe me there is no planter next to this stupid house." She looked at the rain gutters, plugged up from months of neglect and bent from the morning's rain.

"I'm not doing that, Dan." She put her face against the window and peered into the dark empty room inside. "Because I'm wearing a white blouse and the window sills are filthy and the buyers are going to be here in 20 minutes, you jerk." Joan's breath had fogged the glass too much to see through, and she stepped back to look up to the second floor. "Dammit!" The house overlooked the inlet and Joan turned toward the water. She looked through the mist at a few lobster boats bobbing on their moorings.

"Fine. Just send someone with a key. It's fucking freezing out here." She snapped off the phone and started for the old dock that stretched out from the house over the inlet. The dock was very long, stretching about seventy feet out. And it was low tide, so it was about twenty feet down to the water. But a weatherworn box was mounted at the end of the dock, and it looked like a good place to hide a key.

About ten steps onto the dock, Joan felt the first drops on her face. "Shit!" She covered her breasts with her arms as best she could and quickened her pace. As the rain came own harder, Joan moved faster, until she was running down the dock. Ten feet from the box, the boards shifted under her. Creak.

She stopped still in her tracks. She looked down and saw the whole dock move a foot to the left, and twenty feet below, the rain pummeled the swirling sea. "Oh God oh God oh God." Joan held her breath as the rain soaked her through. The old wood swayed beneath her. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. With a horrible splintering, the dock collapsed into the sea. For a moment in the freezing water, Joan didn't know which way was up. She struggled her feet out of her flats and tried to see where to swim. A broken plank brushed her thigh on it's way to the surface and Joan followed it.

With a gasp of air she breached the surface just long enough to see that the shore was farther away than she thought. Then she was knocked under again by the waves. The water was so cold and dark and the sudden rain drove harder with every moment. Joan felt the salt water in her eyes and nose and her mind spun with the sea. Something alive clamped on to her arm. She tried to wrench herself free of the creature but it held tightly, and pulled. Joan's head bumped against wood as she thrashed and as her head breached the water, she screamed a watery cry.

"Stop twisting or I'll lose you!" The desperate voice filled her ear. Something grasped her other arm and she suddenly knew that these things were not vicious aquatic attackers, but the strong, rough hands of a fisherman. And Joan was pulled from the sea. "Are there any others?" Shouted the fisherman, his eyes darting across the waves. Joan looked up from where she lay on the deck of the lobster boat at the lanky young man in the soaking t-shirt. "No. Just me," she managed to utter. "Ok." He gasped, almost as out of breath and scared as Joan was. "I didn't-- are you all right?" He dropped to his knees to look at Joan, his eyes moving quickly across her, looking for blood. "I'm ok. I'm-just , that was scary." She looked up at his eyes, which had stopped scanning for injury and now lingered, on her chest. She looked down at her blouse. The thin, white fabric clung to her heaving breasts, and her dark nipples had hardened tightly, pressing out a half inch. She moved her arm across her chest and stood up. "Can we get out of the rain?" She asked.

"In here." The two went into the small, enclosed part of the boat where the man turned up the space heater in the corner. Joan looked around for a place to sit, but her options were limited. There were long compartments built into the sides of the boat that looked right to sit on, except for the layers of grime. Joan took an orange life preserver off a hook. "You won't need that." The man said, getting up from the heater. "No, to sit on," she replied, and dropped it on the lid of one compartment. The man opened the other one and rooted around inside. Joan sat down and looked at the man who had saved her life. "What's your name?" Joan asked. His young, open face turned to her. "Pete," he said. "Thank you Pete."

"I don't see any dry clothes." He dropped the lid shut. "There's a blanket in that one." Joan stood up and Pete got the dark gray blanket out. "My names Joan," she said. "It's damp, but it's wool, so it'll still warm you." He handed her the coarse army blanket. "Thanks again." Joan looked at the way his old black t-shirt flattened, wet, against the lean muscles of his back. 'What about you?"

"I'm fine." He peeled the shirt off his torso, the cloth trying to cling to his arms and chest. Joan noticed a thin chain, loose around his neck. Joan looked away, and found herself staring at an old, worn copy of playboy lying open by the steering wheel. The woman in the picture was supposed to be a pirate. She had a red bandana tied around her hair and a cutlass in her hand. Her bodice was open and her breasts were as full and smooth as Joan's own. Joan blushed and glanced quickly back at Pete, who stood wringing out his shirt onto the floor. "I don't know how to get you back to shore, exactly," he said, without looking over at her. "What do you mean?"

"I took my dad's rowboat out here. I don't have the keys to the boat." He snaked his limber torso back into the damp shirt. "And we can't row 'til the rain stops." "Why'd you come out here without keys?" Joan asked, though she thought she knew. "Get out of the house." Pete sat down on the opposite bench, and shrugged. "Smoke a little pot." Joan pulled the damp blanket tighter around her. He was right, it was warm. "How long do we have to wait, you think?" "Dunno."

For a minute the two just sat in the boat, listening to the rain on the sea outside. Out the window, Joan could make out distant headlights by the house, and she knew the buyers were right now trying to figure out where the hell she was. It crossed her mind that they never would. "Do you, by chance, have- uh, anymore of that pot?" Pete looked up at Joan. She smiled slightly. "Do you smoke?" He asked.

"uh.. little. In college. Not in a while." Joan brushed some hair out of her eyes. Pete blinked at her for a moment. Then reached into his pocket and pulled out a black film canister and a white pipe. Joan watched as he knocked the ash out and loaded the pipe from the canister. "I think this lighter is shot," said Pete, and tossed the waterlogged lighter toward a trashcan. "Oh. I have one in my purse." Joan reached around near her side. "Which is, of course, somewhere in the ocean." She smiled sheepishly at Pete, who was already rummaging in a jar by the wheel. "My dad's got to have some matches around. Hold this" Pete handed Joan the pipe and she examined it carefully. It was small, and ivory, hand carved like a gray whale. "Is this an antique?"

"Beats me." Pete sat down on the bench beside her. "Found it on the beach two years ago. Here." Pete lit a match, and Joan lifted the ivory to her lips. Pete held the match still and Joan breathed gently in. "Certainly a change from my Marlboros," she said, as she exhaled the smoke. For the first time, Pete smiled. He took a quick hit and passed it back to Joan, who took a long, slow drag. As she held in the smoke, she stared again at the pipe. The pot was kicking in, and Joan felt her mind start to change it's familiar paths. She didn't feel stupider; she just felt her attention moving to parts of her brain that she hadn't paid attention to in a long time. She let the smoke escape her lungs. "I don't have anything like this." "What?" Asked Pete. He was pulling seeds out of the canister. "This pipe. I never hold anything in my hands that is old and hand-carved." Pete looked up at her, but she still stared at the ivory pipe. "Everything I touch is disposable." "I guess it is nice." Pete took it gently from her hands and looked at it himself. Joan leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes and listened to Pete take a deep drag. "Did you come out here to look at that magazine?" She asked. Pete was quiet for a moment. Then he spoke. "Yeah. I guess." Joan still leaned back, still had her eyes closed. "God, " she said. "I used to masturbate a lot. But I've been so busy for..." She leaned forward and opened her eyes. "...years." "I didn't say-" "Is that magazine your favorite?" "What do you mean?" "I had a favorite, when I masturbated in high school. A romance novel. I even took it to college." Pete put the pipe and canister back in his pocket. "What was it about?" Joan turned and looked at Pete. His eyes were sky blue, and his curly, auburn hair was a little long, and wild.

The two looked gently at each other. The orange glow from the boat's single bulb was the only light on the dark bay. Pete leaned an inch closer to Joan, and Joan leaned in too. As their lips touched, Joan felt a warmth rise in her belly. He put one hand on the back of her head, tangling his fingers in her wet hair, and kissed her deeply. Joan's eyes slipped shut and she relaxed her body into his arms. A moment later, their lips softly parted. Joan looked up into Pete's wide eyes. She moved away slightly and stood up, dropping the blanket to the deck. Her blouse still clung, wet, to her flesh, and she watched Pete's hungry eyes roam over her proud tits and linger on her stiff, dark nipples. She reached between two buttons and undid the front clasp. A small tug and her heaving breasts were out of the bra cups, straining directly against the wet blouse.

"Come here," she whispered. In a moment Pete hands were on Joan's chest, pulling apart the thin material. As soon as the shirt was open, she felt the heat of his mouth envelop a cold tit. Her nipple hardened more, even as his mouth warmed it, and she felt his wild tongue dancing over her nub. His hands clutching her back, his mouth devouring her tits, Joan pulled Pete's t-shirt up his back until it bunched at his shoulder blades. He pulled away for a moment and he pulled the shirt over his head. Joan clutched his bare torso, the side of her head against his smooth chest. She ran her hands down his abs as he fumbled with his belt.

He opened his fly just as Joan's searching hands reached it. Pete wasn't wearing underwear, and his cock sprung out into Joan's grasp. She felt it, iron hard in her hand, and slowly slid down his body. "Oh God," Pete cried out, as his aching hard-on slid between Joan's heavy tits. His hands came down on either side, and pressed her globes around his throbbing cock. Joan looked up, into his eyes, and saw his overwhelming pleasure. Together, they massaged his dick with her breasts, which were becoming warmer with every moment. Joan undid her pants and pulled them and her panties down to her knees. As Pete's cock breached her deep cleavage, her tongue swirled around the bulging head. "Ohhh!" Pete's cock throbbed. Joan dropped to her knees, and as his stiff member slid out of her tits, she opened her mouth and took him down her throat.

"Ungggg!" Pete's fingers dug into her ample tit flesh. Joan slid his cock in and out of her mouth, swirling her tongue around the underside. She yanked down his jeans and ran her hands over his young ass, which was already starting to sweat. She could feel his cock throb in her mouth as she slid her lips up and down his thick shaft. Pete's balls tensed and he slid out of her hot mouth.

Pete dropped to his knees and Joan flopped back on the blanket. In an instant, he had her pants crumpled in the corner and was running his tongue up the inside of her quivering thigh. She could feel his hard-on pulsing against her leg and she bit her lip to keep from moaning. Then she remembered where she was.

"Oooooaaannhhhhh," she let the sound run out of her mouth without resistance. Pete's tongue plunged deep into her pussy, and her juices flowed hot into his mouth. His hands clutched her hips and pulled her pussy toward his ravaging mouth. "Unggg...." Joan grasped her own tits in her hands, kneading the flesh as Pete's tongue found her hardened clit.

"AhhhhUNNNNgggg!" Joan pulled on her long nipples and rolled her head back. Pete's strong tongue slid over her clit, massaging it deeply with firm, focused pressure. He ground his cock into her leg and stared up at her nipples, which Joan was twisting in her fingers. Pete could bare it no longer. He dove onto Joan's twisting body and plunged his hard, thick cock into her soaking pussy. The passage was tight, and as it opened to his thrusting member both Joan and Pete moaned in pleasure. Joan could feel her hole filled with the throbbing cock, and her heart leapt in her chest. As he vigorously worked his rod in and out of her slippery pussy, his pelvis bone ground into hers. His face was buried in her neck and the boat rocked with their fucking and the waves of the sea. Joan felt ever4ything she had coursing toward the pleasure in her pussy. It was overwhelming. "I! I!" She was coming, but she couldn't form the words.

"UUUUnnnnnghhHGHGHGHghh!!!!!!" The muscles in her pussy clenched so hard around Pete's cock that he pulled his head back in shock. He stared as Joan's eyes rolled back in her head and her arms grasped desperately to his thin, sweaty back.

Pete's nuts pulsed. He slowly drove his cock once more into Joan's pulsing hole, and felt his cock erupt into throbbing orgasm. Joan felt his hot come bursting into her pussy and another wave of euphoria surged through her. They clutched each other tightly, until the throbbing slowly relaxed. Pete collapsed his weight onto Joan's body and she wrapped her arms around him. She stared at the bulb hanging from the ceiling above, watching it sway with the movement of the sea. She smelled the sweat on his shoulders and felt the lingering twitches inside her. "Thank you, Pete." She whispered.

The next day, as Joan was finally doing laundry, she put her hand into the pocket of her sea-soaked pants. Inside was something small and hard. She pulled out the ivory pipe from the pocket where Pete must have put it. Hand carved, like a gray whale. Joan stood in the basement, just holding it, for a very long time.