Olivia leaned her elbows on the gunnel, the sea wind buffeting the hem of Charles' shirt over the full curve of her bottom as she scanned the horizon. Charles could not help but scan her body as she leaned on the rail. Her breasts swinging low against the loosely laced neck of the blouse, the soft collar flapping against her neck slowly in the breeze. Her long dark legs raising her ass high as she relaxed on the gunnel, the hem fluttering slightly with the wind. A half smile crossed Charles' lips, "It has been a long time Olivia," he said quietly.
"Yeess," Olivia said turning her head and letting some tightly curled strands of hair blow over her cheek as she looked up at the Raven's master. "Wheere wees eet? Madagascar? Or was it Hormuz?" She asked with a smile. Charles grinned and wrapped an arm over her shoulders, "It was Hormuz, you were looting the Turks of the gulf for the Portuguese then I think." He did not mention the Persian rug that she undoubtedly still had in her own cabin, the one he had her rolled up in and tied as he through her into a long boat to make land with her. However, he could not suppress the spark of memory in his ice blue eyes.
"Hormuz, it was, aye," Olivia smiled as she remembered that night and her carpet. The ancient Turkish tales of flying carpets had always amused her, but when one flies upon a carpet, they become so real. Her smile began to fade, as she looked into Charles' eyes, reminding her of that night so long ago. She turned her face back to the sea as she cursed under her breath. Despite how she enjoyed being plucked from the waves, and to see Charles once more, she above all wanted to return to The Witch, her one true love. That ship was her entire life; they were mated like mother and daughter to one another. They existed for and because of one another. What would she do without her ship, what is a captain without a ship? What is a ship without a captain? Her long fingers curled their sharp nails into her palms, but her dark complexion would not allow a trace of emotion to cross its surface. Though inside she felt, she was taking on water fast.
Charles looked hard as she turned away from him; he pulled her close to him to comfort an old friend. Olivia ripped herself from his warm grasp and spun her bare heels on the deck, bringing a hard fist toward his face. Charles caught the fist like a tossed mango, he deflected the blow and held tight to her fist. Olivia was not through yet she tried lashing a long dark leg around his to topple him. Her ankle caught the back of his knee and his leg folded. Both fell hard to the deck as a result. Charles laughter echoed the loud thump on the hard wood of the deck. Olivia pulled her face away from his, but he pulled her chin round hard to lock his lips upon hers.
Olivia felt Charles lips crush hers. She felt his powerful tongue pressing against her teeth impatiently. She felt his weight crushing her to the deck. She felt the smooth hard plank of the Raven cool against her uncovered cheek, the hem of Charles' shirt having folded up to expose her flesh. She felt strong hands gliding over her body, seizing and massaging her large breasts through the soft linen of the blouse. The tropical heat was welling up inside her despite her ill temper over the Witch. She pulled her mouth from Charles' lips and spat, "Deamn 'ou Charlez, deamn you!" Then she pulled him to her lips by the throat, her dark fingers shining through golden curls and light flesh.
*****
Robbins looked over at the commotion across the decks, his eyes twinkled, and a toothless grin cracked his whiskered face. The rum bottle held it suspended in his sun raked hand as he stared at the sight of Olivia pressed to the deck by Charles' weight. Their heads locked in a desperate struggle of lust as they kissed hard. Their hands dancing over one another like killer bees scouring a town for heretics. He wet his parched and sun cracked lips with his tongue as he watched them writhe on the deck like a heap of serpents. With a trembling tread, he took his first step towards the pair, leading a circle of lustful sailors. His eyes anchored to the round dark curve of Captain Olivia's exposed cheek sprawled on the deck.
Young Collins brushed up against him as they approached, like moths to the flame of desire itself. "Mr. Robbins," Collins hissed, "shouldn't we roust the men to their duties?" Robbins finally found the bottle with his lips as he elbowed the young fool in the ribs. "Ar, dis be the duty of men, Collins, you 'lubber!" Robbins hissed back, never taking his eyes off the spectacle. Collins did not respond, he just stopped in his tracks and let the master gunner continue his slow approach to the scene. He felt a heavy hand clap him on the shoulder as some others passed, following Robbins lead. He watched as his captain pulled the neck of the blouse wide enough to tear, spilling Olivia's breasts to the open sky. Charles instantly covered one dark peak with his lips, falling upon it with all the subtlety as a jungle cat would a fledgling. Olivia arched her back into the assault and moaned to the wind. Collins felt his own tide rising with the sea wind as the crowd gathered around the pair obscuring his view. Shaking his head, he turned his flushed cheeks and looked off to the far horizon with his back to the semicircle of enflamed pirates.
*****
Olivia knew that a crowd was gathering. She felt the pistol grind into her flesh through the sundered blouse as Charles relentlessly attacked her breast, his tongue raking over her peaked nipple like a full broad side. Her fingers were digging deep into his skin beneath his golden curls, holding his mouth tightly too. His hands were all over her, scouring for loot. She knew he would not rise up to let her claws at his belt, only his weight pressing against her awoken flesh, crushing her to the deck. The barrel of her pistol, pinned between them like an iron parody of man flesh, just toying with the tip of her sex. "Deamn eend Bleest 'ou, Charlez! 'Ou soon oov a beetch!" Olivia spat through gritted teeth, fighting back a moan for mercy, which she knew did not exist in his soul. He was enjoying her far too much to relent now.
He wanted her to beg, and she was not about to, at least not in view of his crew. He worked his body fully between her thighs, to push the pistol harder and more direct to her. Her one eye popped open and she gasped as she planted both feet flat on the deck and lifted the pistol to his muscled stomach. The barrel pressed hard against her glistening lips as she bucked into Charles.
