Thread: streetlight swag

Below deck there was a literal miasma of exotic perfumes and incenses, likely imported at the behest of the dead slave merchant lying at Rusko's feet. He lurched over and wrenched his scabbard from the corpse with relative ease, careful not to besmirch the blades sheath with blood and gore. Overhead his crew broke into a tumult, sacking the galleys cabins and siphoning every last drop of wine and water they found stored. He could hear the muffled cries of slatterns being fucked their mouths agape and breasts likely swinging as they dutifully responded to freedom by spreading their legs. Rusko's crew often inquired as to why he never partook, but he'd respond with silence and entreat himself with a bottle of rum as a reward instead of some slave girls filthy cunt. That wasn't to say, however, that he didn't possess some degree of desire. Eventually Rusko came to observe the woman before him. He wasn't all too pleased with her interrogation as made evident by the chagrin scarring his handsome features. In fact, he chose to withhold his name instead of petitioning the woman with obsequence. Captain, we There was a longer lapse of silence as Rusko's first mate cantered into the room. He was weary from battle and sullied from sweat and blood, but that did not deter him from confirming his captains safety. For a blink, he glimpsed the half nude slave woman but was quick to feed his attention to Rusko. We've secured a healthy amount of rations. But the lasses ... they've expressed interest in commandeering the ship. Is that so, Rusko responded ingenuously. As he spoke he knelt to collect Nailas dress, laying it before her with queer grace, something thought absent in a man of his size. Get dressed, he commanded. His first mate continued his tirade regardless of Ruskos discourtesy. Aye, tis, the first mate responded, Ones a sailors daughter, so she claims. I told the lasses we could take them in land, but most agreed that they'd prefer to have the ship. Its like that theyll be raped and maimed by other pirates come the waxing moon. Their fate is their own, Rusko said, And what of yours? He eyed Naila, sniffing, feeling the incense sting his eyes with more agony than the sea spewing its salt, I assume youll be joining your slave-sisters as well? As usual, Samosa chose not to entertain her Troens repletion. Instead she quite literally gazed through him as she had many times before with her soulless, opal-hued eyes. She began braiding the tail of her mane with quick, nimble fingers until Troen approached with his nefarious casual yet suave canter. If there was one thing the future couple had in common, it was their stoicism and their swagger, likely a trait their children would adopt if Samosa chose to spread her legs. Charity does not merit reward, she responded flatly, Nor does your newly discovered altruism merit a fuck. She reached for her shawl but Troen advanced with his feline grace, unraveling her bandeau and disdaining it without a care to thwart him. Her breasts bounced free, each heavy and supple and nubile, but the sudden swell of cold sent her skin prickling. Suddenly, she began reminiscing on the balmy summer eves in the desert, where her and her very first lover made love in the sand. His hands were hot and rough-hewn like the salt flats baking in the sun, so large that they could nearly grope both breasts in their entirety. But Troen wasnt that man. She made a futile attempt to fantasize, but feeling Troen rub and squeeze her nipple to erection made her shiver even more. With lightning fast reflexes, Samosa reached for her betrotheds throat. She brought him spiraling into an adjacent wall with her supernal strength, indifferent to whether or not she disturbed his injured arm. She gave his gullet a testing squeeze, leering at him with her cat eyes. With little to no notice she extended her tongue, long and pink and wet and pierced, tasting his skin from his collarbone to his ear in one long, seductive lick. It was a red herring for death, a trait her people were oft to do before stealing a life, albeit messily. Dont ever touch me, labi , she purred. Her voice was thick with contempt and her eyes glowered as if she were a panther about to tear an elks throat to ribbons. Or you may lose more than your brother.