It was a day of celebration on Benthic Island. With the help of the Grancypher crew and the Eternals, the poachers that had terrorized the fishing village and its main source of revenue were vanquished, the crystalline blue of the seawaters calm once more.
Tourists and locals alike feasted upon the golden and luscious treasure of Urkin flesh, jovial conversation shared under shade with cool drinks, smiles gleaming in the splashing of sparkling water.
In the midst of all this relaxation, relief, and rejuvenation, nobody noticed that one of the main heroes of the day was missing, as was one of the village's fishermen.
Close by, behind some dense overgrowth of tropical greenery and a dilapidated wooden storehouse, these two missing would-be participants engaged in festivities of their own.
Carren, the fifteen-year-old acting captain of the Grancypher, was on her knees, auburn brown hair flowing down her shoulders, disheveled and top braid undone. She still wore the swimsuit that she had worn during the entire ordeal with the poachers and the confrontation with the Mother Urkin, that favorite two piece of hers, alternating crisscrosses of red.
Her dainty little hands, usually clutched around her fire-imbued sword, were grabbing tight around the muscly thighs of one of the village's fishermen.
Said fisherman's were currently hands coiled tight in her hair, and his throbbing cock stuffed down her throat.
Carren gagged, shoving her head forward all the same. Her full breasts strained tight against her bikini top, but the difficulty of breathing against this stranger's manmeat merely encouraged her to go further, faster.
This was her first time sucking cock, and engaging in sexual acts at large. It was an experience that would have been impossible to experience on the cramped ship of her uncle's and even more impossible back at home with her stifling parents.
So when she kept catching the eyes of a hunky fisherman coyly latching onto her thighs, meandering around her belly, inadvertently sticking onto her chest, Carren knew she wouldn't let this opportunity slip away.
Benthic was an island of promise, a getaway that she had fantasized and dreamed of for ages. She would milk every opportunity for fresh new excitement for all it was worth.
Just like her cheeks and her writhing inexperienced tongue milked this stranger's prick.
She could feel him shudder, feel those thighs, muscly and hard with years of experience, grow taut. Her hands found themselves on his firm ass, and she swallowed, forced as much of this man's cock into her neck as she possibly could, gurgling, humming, tears streaming down her cheeks.
She felt his hands tighten so hard around her hair that she was suddenly scared of her proud silky red being pulled from their roots.
Then, she heard the man let out an unholy groan, felt his abs against her forehead quake, and the hot, creamy sticky deluge of stream after stream of hot cum shooting down her throat. If it was hard to breathe before, it was nigh impossible now; her attempts to keep up with her body's need for oxygen resulted in thick wads of white to spurt from between her lips, making her cough and gag hard, more white viscidness shooting from her nose like lewd snot.
The man kept cumming, kept pushing Carren's nose into his crotch. Spurt after spurt of cum drowned her gullet until finally the strength in his arms was weak enough for Carren to tear away from him, the last few shots of semen shooting out to stain her cheek, land hotly against her collarbone, the very last shot staining the crevice of her breasts.
She coughed and panted, wiping tears from her eyes, wiping cum from her mouth. So this was what it tasted like. It was...tasteless, almost a little sweet, but almost a little bitter. It coated her tongue, all of her mouth, washing away the salty flavor of the stranger's still-throbbing cock.
She swallowed it all...and after some more thought, Carren realized she loved it. This was the taste of excitement, of naughty adventure that would have her parents fuming and she needed more of it.
But not on her tongue, no. Because as Carren stood, knees wobbly, she realized how wet that impromptu blowjob made her; her teenage snatch was positively drenched.
The stranger was in no better condition. He was still hard, and his expression was dazed, nervous, and in the throes of euphoria. In that mess of sensation, Carren reached up (he was at least two or three heads taller than her), and pulled his mouth into hers.
They kissed, hard and wet, tongues grappling with teeth and lips pressed flat against each other. Carren walked backwards, kicking off her heels, leading him until she felt her ass touch against the wood of the storehouse.
She pulled away, her tongue leaving his mouth last, a string of spit connecting their mouths. His eyes looked the same as hers: excited, dark, horny for more. Her small hand reached down and stroked his erection, making sure he would be at full mast, as hard as he could be so he could stretch her out as much as she wanted.
"I-I think we should stop here, Missy," the stranger said, breathless. It was obvious he was nervous of someone walking in on them, but he didn't make a move to break away. Instead, he just let her stroke him off, his own hands finding themselves on the smooth skin of her shoulders.
Carren giggled, still hoarse from taking the full length of his meat down her throat.
"Why? It's obvious you're not even close to being finished…"
The fisherman sighed at the sight before him, how Carren teased, how she bit her lip and slowly stroked him. He tightened his grip on her shoulders. It was obvious she had never done this before, and other than the nervous paranoia of getting walked in on, guilt started to lay a sediment on his psyche.
"Look, missy, let's just not do anything both of us will regret, eh?"
"Are you saying...you regret this already?" Carren looked up at him with a pout, accompanied with a blush. "You didn't seem to regret it when you were several inches down my thr-"
"Okay, okay ." He said, firmly pressing her against the wall. He looked down at their feet, sweating from a burden that wasn't the humidity or the heat. What should he do? His eyes latched onto the sight of her hand languidly stroking him and he shut them.
Then he felt that same hand leave, and clasp his wrists to urge them off her shoulders.
The fisherman looked up at her, gulped at the coy, coy look on her face...then widened his eyes as she raised her arms behind her head, and pulled.
The single strap that held together her bikini top behind her choker came undone. It stuck to her skin with sweat, but Carren did away with it quickly. Her developing breasts now pushed out towards him, bare, pink nipples pert and tempting. Carren's excitement showed itself through her chest, the way it rose and fell, the way her nipples were visibly pebbly in the hot summer air.
She undid her belt next, dropping her skirt, leaving the teen standing with skimpy bikini bottoms, and the assortment of accessories still in her hair, around her thighs, her wrists. She didn't give much time for the stranger to take it all in before she took his hands and placed them on her chest. She gave his hand a squeeze, making him grope her soft, soft skin.
He looked up at her face, and it was barely holding that coy act anymore; she really did want him, evident from that horny blush, how hooded her eyes peered up at him.
"You're not just gonna stop here, are you…?"
Her words were a whisper, a low and hot voice that made her sound at least ten years older.
The fisherman's hands stayed on her chest after her hands guidance left, and they stayed there when she pulled him in to her mouth. With that, the fisherman was hers.
Much to her delight, the kisses resumed the pace of their previous fervent coupling almost immediately. She kept his mouth close, trying to find new ways to wriggle and parry around his tongue, sucking in breaths when she could, staying on his lips as long as possible.
Squeaks resounded between their mouths once the fisherman began to play with her breasts. Softness that had never been touched before by a man, plump and perky enough to fill his palms. More strands of spit bridged their open mouths, the man separating from her eager lips. She dazedly closed her eyes, for a mere moment later that experienced mouth of his was on her chest, sucking her nipples, biting into the plumpness of her breasts. His hands simultaneously groped and eventually wandered, squeezing her thin waist, squeezing her mature hips.
The appreciation of her body would have continued, but Carren needed more. Now.
Her hands, shaky from desire, found his right, and directed it towards the area that needed the most attention. He followed her lead immediately, and within seconds was stroking her cunt, fingertips feeling like pure electricity against her virgin lips. His left hand stayed on the small of her back to keep her steady as his mouth and teeth defiled her chest, leaving red crescents, proof that she wasn't the pristine noble she hated being. She loved the feeling of his blonde goattee scruffing against her-it reminded her that she was about to be taken by an honest-to-gods man.
Soon enough fingers were inside her, wriggling, stretching about and curving to hit spots her dainty digits never could. Her clit's aching was satiated with the pressure of his thumb, drenching the wiry auburn hair that was matted around her vulva. Carren arched her back, moaning loud and unrestrained. She laughed, the delightful shudder of her chest making the fisherman's manhandling reach a fever pitch.
Her orgasm crashed through her in a stagger of bliss, a succession of breathless waves that made her go limp into the fisherman's hard body. Her nails dug into his shoulderblades like talons. Her inner flesh clenched tight around the fingers that continued to fuck her, fast.
She panted, but there was no respite. She didn't want one. The quick arrival of her climax only made her want more, and her hands gripped the sides of the fisherman's head.
With some struggle, he separated, and Carren didn't need to direct his head any further before they were kissing, hot, fervent slipping and clashing of lips and tongues. They panted into each other's mouths, more horny than ever. His cock pressed against her belly, the hand that was inside her firmly plastered on her ass.
Carren ran her hand down his abs to his crotch, and gripped the base of his throbbing lust. She was the one to separate from his wet mouth this time, looking down as she pushed aside her bikini bottom. The fisherman saw the damage his foreplay had done, saw the strands of sticky arousal starting to trickle down her thighs.
No more words or coy acting, his strong experienced hands were on her plump thighs. He lifted her easily, making her gasp when he slammed her hard onto the wall, making her yelp when his cockhead pushed against her pussy.
She had wanted this the moment she took him by the hand and led him here. Despite her body instinctually protesting by pushing against his shoulders, that resistance wilted away once his cock easily slipped in, inch by inch. She shuddered. It really did feel like she was being stretched out. It was a sensation that made it feel like something poked at her lungs, something coiled around her stomach.
"Just relax, Missy." The fisherman said in a hiss. His teeth were gritted.
Eventually everything fell into place, and Carren's loins let the fisherman hilt himself. She caught her breath, fingers interlocked around his neck. She shut her eyes to hide the tears, but the taboo of it all overcame the pain.
She giggled again, spurring on the fisherman to start pulling his hips back, and snapping them forward again, earning choked squeal, and more tears. He cycled in this motion, rocking Carren's entire body against wood, making her breaths grow irregular, exhales replaced with moans and squeaks and girlish titters.
The fisherman could only grunt, in disbelief at his luck of being given the opportunity of screwing this prissy tourist, and also at the sheer difficulty of resisting the urge to cum.
Carren was tight .
She knew this, found the utmost amusement at how the fisherman ballsdeep inside her struggled, at how his fingers sank deep into the meat of her ass hard enough to leave welts. She remembered all the boys back home who eyed her, all the mage boys who kissed up to her parents to become a potential suitor, to be the ones who would claim Carren's well-guarded snatch first.
But here she was, being claimed by some nameless fisherman of some village, her pampered body cumming under his rough touch, pussy stretched out by stranger's cock. If her parents could see her now…
The sheer delight of being so filthy, so unlike what they wanted her to be made Carren cum, made her clench tight and grow stickier. She came. And the fisherman grunted, hissed, and started fucking her faster.
The rhythm mounted, growing faster, harder. The fisherman's hips started to utterly smash into Carren's, sweat drenching the bikini bottoms that still clung to her hips. Her ass pounded into the shack behind her. With every thrust she could hear the wood creak, then as the sex grew more vigorous, with the fisherman planting his feet, digging his teeth into the sweaty skin beneath her choker, loosening her up to the point where his fat cock could rut her, she could hear the oars, rods, and harpoons on the other side start clattering onto the floor, collateral.
Moans turned into yelps and breathless, dry chokes of air. Carren had cum more times than she could count, each orgasm brought on by the sensation of this stranger's prick digging into her most sensitive of areas followed up by more, each one more powerful and numbing than the last.
She could barely keep up with her demand for breath as the fisherman went at it, reaching a fever pitch of rapid thrusts making Carren hiccup, making her lungs strain in effort.
Just like when she was on her knees, she felt him throb, felt his chest rumble with a deep, low growl and a succession of curses.
His cock slipped out, pushed flat against her navel, length brushing against her stimulated clit. With his hands shifting to her hips, the fisherman moved her up and down, letting her skin brush wetly against his prick. Within a few up and strokes, of his cockhead against her bellybutton, the fisherman came.
Thick ropes of spunk spurted out onto her sweaty skin, shooting out onto the area right below her breasts. His prick was almost fully red, contrasting against the paleness of her stomach as he continued using her as a rag for his sticky mess. Several more spurts, wads of cum rolling down her ribs, and the climax ended, a few more spurts joining the sticky impromptu painting of seed, pooling around their crotches, streaming down her hips, down the entire front of her body.
With her weight still supported by the his arms, Carren breathlessly grabbed onto his hair, pushing her tongue into his mouth. They exchanged spit, tongues lazily wrestling, and caught their breaths, panting between their lips.
In time, Carren gained enough strength to be let down onto the soft grass. Birds chirped peacefully above the rainforest canopy, as if the chaos of their vigorous coupling was just a fantasy.
She stood, looking down at the cum on her skin. It was much more than the cum that had been deposited into her stomach. Wads of it joined the sweat that rolled down her skin.
"Missy…" the fisherman said, shaking his head as he stood with his hands on his hips, admiring his handiwork. "You're...you're a piece of work."
Carren looked up at him.
"Am I?"
She bit her lip, eyes still hooded. She noticed he was still hard, and-as she began to spread and play with the cum on her stomach, painting it along her skin-still throbbing. With that grin that started all of this, Carren pulled at the string of her bikini bottom. Like her top, it stuck with sweat, but now, also stuck with the copious amount of semen and quim drenching it. She peeled it off, and she stood before the fisherman, essentially nude.
Her teenage frame was flawless. Pampered. It wasn't meant to be taken like this, bred by someone whose name she didn't know.
The two neat braids behind her back, the flower clip that stubbornly clung to the fringe of hair on her forehead, the pearl bracelet, the leather strap around her right thigh, all signs of her status as a mage, as someone of higher society.
But as she turned her body away from the fisherman, pressing her cheek against the wood of the shack, and pushed out her ass, Carren acted no better than a two-bit whore.
And that made her even wetter.
"If I'm such a piece of work…" she said, one of her hands reaching behind her to grab an asscheek, parting it like a veil to show the fisherman the pink depths that had just suffocated his lust. "Then why did you miss?"
Her words didn't mean anything to him, not when she so flagrantly displayed her developing body to him like this, offered more of this taboo for him to gorge himself on.
"Wh-What…?"
The fisherman could only focus on the small, subtle movements of her ass, on the perfect folds of her pussy, how wet she still dribbled. He had no processing power left for her games. So Carren cut through with words easier for the stranger to understand.
"Don't miss this time; cum inside me."
This time, the fisherman understood, and within moments, he stuffed himself into the fifteen-year-old to his hilt, hands eagerly losing themselves into the fullness of her ass, thighs soon slapping a steady rhythm for the filthy duet of their groans and unhindered moans.
"Fuck, oh... aungh…! "
Carren came again as her cheek was rubbed almost raw against the shack. The messiness of her inexperience was a thing of the past now; sex was easy, easier than all of the magical arts she had been drilled with. But more importantly, sex felt much better than magic ever could.
She didn't need to feed on the sensation of taboo and rebellion to cum now. All she needed was the feeling of being stuffed by this fat cock.
The fisherman's hips slammed into her pillowy, soft ass, cum bubbling and spurting between their point of contact, streaming down her legs.
He didn't miss. He had filled her up, introducing her to the sensation of hot batter filling every little corner of her unsullied but thirsty womb. It made her cum too, and eventually, the fisherman kept going without her urging.
He understood now. This teen wasn't going to stop until her legs would give out, and even then, she'd probably spread herself for him until his legs would give out. It was quite literally a once in a lifetime opportunity, and he wasn't going to let it slip away until he milked all of its potential.
The humidity got to them by now, their bodies drenched in sweat. With every smack of skin against skin, droplets of their combined perspiration splashed into the air.
Carren's body shone brilliantly, sweat highlighting the alabaster of her softness. Her hair stuck to the surface of her back in thin little streams; the majority of her hair was still bound in her surprisingly-durable braids.
The side made the fisherman lean forward, hands sliding up from her hips, over her stomach, slick with the sheen of her sweat. He found her breasts and squeezing hard as his hips pistoned into her soft, pliable body, his face plunging forward, nose and tongue savoring every salty inch of the skin on the back of her neck. Her raw scent pushed him over the edge, and he hilted his meat as deep as he could as he felt his loins tighten and unravel all at once, teeth gnawing into her wet skin.
More thick spurts of spunk filled Carren up, barrelling hot stickiness into her sensitive folds. His balls continued to pump more and more of that cream into Carren's eager pubescent body, more seed spilling out of her in thick dollops that stained the grass below their feet.
Red marks of the fisherman's hands made themselves visible now after he let go, stumbling onto the ground in an exhausted crumple. Carren followed suit, panting, cum leaking from her ravaged snatch.
But in a few minutes, he was upon her again, moans muffled by his tongue down her throat, and squelching of semen being coaxed out by fingers inside a very sticky, still very eager cunt.
The fisherman's fingers grabbed tight onto her left thigh, gripping onto the skin below the leather strap that was bound around it. Carren was still full of that vitality, a sign of her youth, her metabolism still untouched by adulthood. Her yelps, moans, and screams were still as strong as ever, despite the long session of rutting her body endured.
And to spur the stranger even further, Carren would beg for his cum between every moan, between every yelp.
After all of the orgasms, all of the rough smacks and groping, her accessories still clung to her body, remnants of an innocent life long-gone. Cum rolled off her legs, splashed between them in goopy wads, rolled off her skin, unable to dry due to the constant onslaught of sweat.
Carren's next orgasm prompted the fisherman to change their position, letting her limp leg down, driving himself into her from above, taking her arms and pinning them above her head. More lips fucking, more tongues wriggling and coiling. In this position, splayed out, her breasts rocking against the stranger's weight, hands digging into the soil above her, Carren felt the most vulnerable.
It made her feel utterly naked and bare to this stranger's whims, accentuated by his mouth fluttering down her neck, his tongue licking up her sweat. His nose found her armpit then, and she squealed when the fisherman started licking the sweat accumulated there, his teeth biting into flesh she never thought would be bitten.
Finally, she felt that familiar sensation again, savoring it as much as she did the first time she experienced it. More cum, more stickiness swelling inside her, bubbling out of her in a sticky, creamy stream. Her long legs gave out as she came again, feeling all of her energy being spilled out with the quim that squirted onto this stranger's crotch. She didn't even know how many times he had filled her, but she knew that it was still not quite enough.
Supporting himself on his arms, the fisherman looked down at this gorgeous teenage girls who was intent on draining him of every single drop of seed.
She looked as beautiful as she did when she wasn't fucked into a puddle, the sweat and blush exerted from the rough sex making her skin glow. He brushed aside hair that matted itself onto her forehead, and smiled when she managed to lick it.
She giggled.
"Siero was right."
The fisherman gave her a questioning brow.
"She said this island would be a paradise. And lo and behold…" Carren said, accompanying her revelation with her hands squeezing around the fisherman's tight rump.
It was his turn to laugh.
"You're one fiery minx, missy. You know that?"
Carren giggled again, more weakly this time, finally feeling the effort of the fucking catching up with her.
"You don't even know the half of it."
Then, her legs locked behind his back, and her hands tried to stay latched onto the slippery tan skin of his sweaty back. The stranger plunged into her hot and sticky depths, and they didn't stop until the orange of sunset lit the island sky on fire.
Doused in desire, her flame still blazed bright.
The white of the moon shimmered on the lazy surface of Auguste Isles' sea. The festivities, raucous celebrations, fun in the sun, was all over. Campfires dotted the sandy white coast and one of them was in front of the Grandcypher, moored in the water right off the beach.
Various members of the crew were passed out on the sand, still donning their swimsuits. Some were chatting, Siegfried in particular, describing in detail more of his knightly adventures with a certain artist.
And some, in Lyria's case, was still stuffing herself with food. She eagerly awaited the slab of Urkin slowly roasting over the open fire, mouth watering. Katalina was dozing off across the fire on her knapsack with Gran doing the same on the knight's arm, while Vyrn kept Lyria company on her shoulder.
Then, out of the darkness, Lyria caught the sight a figure approaching.
Or more appropriately, limping.
In no time at all, it was apparent that it was the Grandcypher's acting captain, Carren. As tired as everyone else was, the closer she got to the fire, it became more and more apparent that she was exhausted .
Before Lyria could ask if she was okay, she saw the tired but utterly satisfied and happy grin on her face.
"Carren! Where have you been all day?" She chirped up. Her eyes went back to the fire, and, as if forgetting herself, "Oh! Would you like some Urkin? We got the last batch!"
"Yeah, come on and eat up before Lyria over here gobbles up five whole Urkins just like she did while you were gone." Vyrn said, cackling to himself as his tiny wings brought him just out of Lyria's reach.
Lyria pouted and furrowed her brow.
"I did not eat that many!"
Carren could only smile weakly and raise a hand.
"I'm...I'm okay, Lyria. Thank you, though." She wobbled on past the fire uttering a soft 'Good night' before making her way into the Grandcypher.
Bemused, Lyria and Vyrn followed her exit from the warm scene before giving each other the same confused look.
"Well. That's not the same fiery Carren that we've been dealing with all week." Vyrn said, raising a talon to his chin.
Lyria pondered it too. Had the fire in the acting captain finally been stamped out from everything that had happened? It didn't take long for Lyria to smile and shake that consideration away.
"Yeah. But she's probably just tired. We've all had a little too much fun during our stay here, and after all of the danger we just dealt with, I'd say we all deserve it."
Vyrn thought on that for a moment, before shrugging and floating down onto Lyria's shoulder again.
"I suppose you're right. But I wonder why she was limping…"
"Like I said, probably just had too much fun." Lyria could barely finish her sentence before spit from her watering mouth almost dripped out of her lips. "Anyway, let's dig in, the Urkin looks like it's just about cooked!"
As the two began to gorge themselves on the island's main delicacy, Carren dozed off in her quarters, naked, skin still covered in evidence of her private little getaway.
A smile was plastered on her face, and from the way her thighs shifted together, it was obvious that little getaway was replaying itself inside Carren's slumbering mind.
Too much fun?
Lyria didn't know the half of it.