PREVIOUSLY ON MPW: The monster crew decided they were running low on food, so Captain Jyne goes whale hunting. Everyone else has to deal with horny and a few new appendages that popped up.
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Monster Pirate Whores 03: The Devil's Cock
Days At Sea: 5
Brisk wind filled all yards of sail, from jib to mizzen. The black heart on a field of crimson of the Black Heart Pirates flapped proudly in the air atop the Main, the southern current of the Wylo Coast combined with enchanted Aoiran oak for a blinding swift forty knots. They'd had to swing wide of Stoborn at night, the infamous thick fog of the port letting them sail through without notice. The coast was cliffs and sharp reefs yards from the rocks, yet sailors risked hugging the coast for those precious knots it gave anyone moving south - risking suicide - a constant weight between teetering between speed and death.
"The milk is created thaumatically," Berry Cuddles said, newly acquired bovine throat and mouth making the words sound deep and echoey with expanded vowel sounds. Compared to other crew, the minotaur first mate (with tits the size of two dinghies) on the main deck wasn't having as many difficulties speaking as others. "I'm losing magical energy, I won't become dehydrated or sick, and in fact either the crew drinks me or we lose it over the side."
"Are you?...I don't want to sound indelicate, but if has been a few days," Jyne said, motioning towards Berry's naked minotaur immobile titness. "You are pregnant, naked and not going anywhere. Does this...bother you?"
"JC and Jiggles have taken care of me, including sanitation." Berry was not one to mince words or feelings, a stoic woman first and foremost. "This deck won't suddenly become the poop deck. Let's finish the job and I'll have more time to worry about everything then."
Jyne remained worried, but shrugged outwardly and moved on. "At least we can add milk to whale meat. However, you will run out of thaum eventually, and then what?" Jyne Argon tried running hands through her hair, only her fingers were webbed and she had frilly spikes of a lionfish instead of hair. The captain gave up in frustration, instead playing around with her eyepatch and trying to situated it again. "Need you to control your mammary expression."
"Harder than raising an anchor by hand. Producing milk is like gentle foreplay and every time I get suckled - five times a day - like being thrown against a table and..." Berry let out a shuddering lowing, bringing a wayward arm out from between her breasts and folding them resolutely on top of furry milk bags. "Sorry Captain, you have your own problems."
"Every girl on the ship has problems. Don't worry about me, no barnacles off my hull," Jyne replied, unwilling to swab her wet lower deck no matter what or who the other crew did.
*mmmMMMMFFFFffrrrrrr*
Jyne closed her eye, choking on a moan when her posture became stiff as a plank. Somewhere on the ship, above or below, a girl orgasmed. And whenever that happened, Jyne shared a piece of it. A shock, a tickle, a contraction, it gave her the tantalizing leftovers of cumming without build up or release. A secondhand orgasm. Not edging or part of an climax: going through the motions without catharsis. It was maddening. For two days she resisted the siren call and kept her clam closed. And even if she needed to be tied to the keel she would continue a forced chastity. She had no other choice if she wanted to protect the crew.
When Jyne recovered control of her libido, she opened her eye to a concerned cow that was also her friend resting bodily on top of massive tits.
"Jyne, you need to cum," Berry said quietly in concern so others in the crew wouldn't hear. "There are a few girls that grew futa if you want penetration, but you can't keep doing this to..."
"What if I caused this?" Jyne hissed, gesturing towards everything. "What if the next time I tiddle my clittle I kill us all? Or make use more monster? Or more animal?" Jyne yanked at a fin flopping where her ears used to exist. "Last time I orgasmed the world turned us into the freakin' circus. I'll worry about my blue womb after we plunder the Unamite and enjoying a round of drinks. We nab that swag and retire like queens,
then
I will hire a harem of burly men with oiled chests and thick dicks to read silly romance serials while I don't spend a waking moment suffering empty twat syndrome."
Berry didn't reply, reaching out with a three fingered hand onto rainbow scales that may have been physically different, but Jyne felt the love and respect through Berry's touch. Once human, now a minotaur and...Jyne didn't know her own species, but an anthropomorphic cross of a lionfish and parrotfish...they were still friends. People.
Monsters are people, right?
Jyne asked herself just as Tops screeched from the crow.
"Devil's Cock, starboard bow!"
Miles of peninsula erected into the ocean, it was a massive black cock of barren stone ejaculating frothy current into the Blue Expanse. The uneven Wylo coast always made the appearance of the Cock a surprise to any sailor, Krizz hugging sheer rocky cliffs to push as much speed from the current into the
Scorned Lover
as possible. Immensely dangerous, but juicy booty only came to those who grabbed both cheeks. At this part of Bronelle continent, the looming jagged black coastline stretched generally south south west, a straight line on maps from the demonic Dark Cliffs, past Faluss and the barren Wylo until it rounded west after Yrlmuh and became the Boiling Salts. The only oddity of note between Stoborn and Yrlmuh was the Devil's Cock.
"Avast all you cunning linguists!" Captain Jyne roared, her transformed voice sounding like a prima donna at the opera rather than a scurvy dog. Clothing was everyone's problem, including the Captain, wearing only a crude wrap around her bust and a skirt that was once a blouse. She made up for lack of menace by drawing her spare cutlass and waving the blade around while shouting orders. "Get yer noses out of yer muffs and prepare the chains! Ready the sweeps! Move, you clap-chapped flappy-camel cunt-creamed sorry excuses for buttered-baby-biscuits!"
"Aye aye!" responded the crew, energized knowing that now they were at the Cock, the action was soon to come.
"Are you sure we can handle the Cock?" Berry asked Jyne while the captain climbed the quarterdeck, the magus first mate moving her fingers to summon mystical energy and disperse it into the hull, strengthening the enchantments laid down by faun craftsmen. "This place was a deathtrap even when we didn't have widespread transmogrification to worry about."
"None of us changed in ways that matter," Jyne replied, speaking loudly while standing at her table and weighted down charts, the harsh breeze whipping her fins in a frenzy but leaving the parchment. "We are free and we will remain free!"
So long as we don't sink,
Jyne thought, the rush of current aiming them directly into the the graveyard of thousands of ships, the Devil's Cock and beyond that, Ktherbe's Mouth.
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"MrrRRMMmmRRrrrMMAAEEerRRr?" Lorryn Dawnstrider (yes, heir of the Dawnstrider Company) asked, shark mouth bristling teeth like a barrel of swords mangling any attempt of speech outside of water. Didn't stop the young and previously talkative merchant heiress who adventured on the wrong pirate ship constantly asking questions no one could translate.
"Use yer slate!" Stef said, flying her knockout pixie self into the board hanging around the burly sharkgirl's...well, Lorryn didn't have a neck anymore, swallowed by trapezius muscles as abnormally swoll as the rest of her body, but hanging off Lorryn's shoulders.
The pair of mismatched monstrous girls were starboard side, across the deck from Berry and her boobs, loitering near working girls busy securing riggings and hauling or stowing materials through the central aperture between decks. The crew were an active hive, each furious to follow Captain's orders, making the quaint inactivity between a poet turned muscled shark and a dwarf turned vivacious pixie the odd ones out.
Lorryn grumbled inarticulately, but she carefully - three broken slates in as many days, her new strength difficult to manage - pulled a bit of chalk from the ruined strips of a cloak she used as a tube top and wrote on the slate with a concise and delicate calligraphy:
What is Devil Peepee?
"That," Xorli said, thumbing towards jutting cliffs and rocks the ship raced towards, her other hand hauling up thick chains to the deck from where Zera and Zari passed them up (the twinned giantess stuffed in the hold because she was too big for the main deck). Miles of black rock leading into a massive cove, the roar of the wind drowned by crashing currents as the giant futa orc hauled yards of thick chain with each link the size of a girl's head. A human girl's head. "Most dangerous coast outside of the Leviathan Breeding Iceflows."
"They say it is da actual Devil's prick stick, frozen since 'fore da Pantheons or ev'n da Status," Stef said with a thicker accent, her excitement blooming into regional speech. The pixie's grand effort to tell a tale spoiled when her wings bumped her wrapped dress loose and her boobs sprang free, the former napkin fluttering to the ground and leaving a pristine succulent tiny goddess of lust unfettered in the air.
Please tell?
Lorryn wrote, her eager shark face terrifying as she sat the deck like a child ready for bedtime.
"Not like we're busy or anything, ya dolly lickers," Xorli said, heaving the last of the chains to the deck and adjusting the tight girdle of sailcloth straining to keep her own trouser titan out of the way.
