Lindemann Loud shoved his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and clamped the filter of his cigarette between his teeth. Before him, Naomi, his sister-cousin (or whatever the hell she was to him), lie prone on the floor, her hands tied behind her back with thick white rope. A thicc white girl with short brown hair and dressed in a black shirt with red stripes and a yellow shirt with the sleeves rolled up, Naomi usually wore a white captain's hat to signify her status as a proud boat owner, but the crown was currently on the head of Lindemann's friend, Jason, a short and stocky pre-op tranny girl or whatever - Jason didn't have a dick but "he" had more balls than most of the real men Lindemann knew.

Across the room, Lane, a tall man with messy black hair, leaned against the counter and drank from a can of Coke. A stoner with burned out eyes, Lane was the accountant of the group. Really good with numbers believe it or not. Next to him, Jake leered down at Naomi. With long brown hair that stopped at his shoulders, a goatee and the charisma of a tent revival shyster, he reminded Lindemann of Jesus Christ if Jesus Christ was a piece of shit who lived in a junky RV down by the river. He had connections to cartels in Mexico and got the smuggled brown on the cheap. Duke, the gang's muscle, stood by the hatchway leading topside. A big bald Simanol Indian, his arms were as big around as tree trunks. He rarely spoke, but he didn't have to. Jason knelt next to Namoi, the captain hat spun jauntily around to one side and lending him the appearance of a nineties rapper in a DARE video. Drugs is wack, yo.

Together, they formed the core of The Rammers, one of the many street gangs that had taken root in Royal Woods over the past fifteen years. There were others, assorted allies and associates in town, drifters and hangers-on who came and went, but Lindemann, Jason, Duke, Lane, and Jake were the black, beating heart. They took what they wanted, broke what they didn't, and always, always got their way.

Like now.

See, Lindermann liked the water. Swimming, skiing, all that, so when his sister-cousin-person-whatever bought a boat, he was stoked. He thought he'd get to sail around on Lake Royal, do some fishing, and forget all about being a ruthless gang leader.

But noooo. Cap'n Killyjoy wouldn't let him even set foot on it. You're a scurvy dog, she said and crossed her arms over her considerable chest, and I don't want you or your friends anywhere near Ol' Ironsides.

That's what she called it. At sixty-five feet long with an open sundeck and cramped quarters below, it hardly looked like an Ol' Ironsides, but whatever, that wasn't important. What was important was the fact that she'd leave her brother-cousin-nephew-half-relation in the cold.

The day she turned him away, he decided something.

Not only was he going to go on that damn boat, he was gonna fucking drive it too. Right into an iceberg. Then make her watch it sink.

After hashing it over with the boys, however, he decided to just beat her up and rape her.

"You guys ready?" he asked.

Naomi looked up at him with murder in her eyes. He wound duct tape tight around her head, covering her mouth, and gave her a black eye because c'mon, black eyes are sexy.

When no one stepped forward, Lindemann drafted Jake and Lane. "You guys do the honors."

"See if she really has her sea legs," Jason grinned.

Jake shrugged and Lane darted his eyes from Lindemann to Naomi and back again, but didn't say anything. Jake pushed away from the counter and knelt next to Naomi. Lane stood over her and looked lost. "What do I do?" he asked.

"Take your peepee out," Jason said.

"No shit."

Jake slipped his hand under Naomi's skirt and pulled her underwear down. She started to thrash, and he responded by hitting her in the side with a quick jab. He forced her to her knees. "You're gonna fuck her mouth, I'm gonna fuck her pussy," he said and nodded to Lane. "Hold her head up."

Getting to his knees, Lane reached into his jeans and pulled his dick out, then lifted up and grabbed Naomi by the ears. Realizing her mouth was taped, he whipped a pocket knife out and made a hole. "That's a pretty small hole," Jason said.

"Fuck you," Lane said, "I'm not done."

He twisted the knife around, then inserted his fore and middle fingers to widen the slit. Naomi shot him daggers, and he pointedly didn't meet her eyes. Behind her, Jake pushed the hem of her skirt over her freckled butt. Lindemann sat at the galley table across from Jason and took a drag from his cigarette. Naomi's mother was some thick bitch his uncle Lincoln met at the gas station years ago. Naomi looked a lot like her: Giant tits, thunder thighs, more ass than a Biblical caravan. Lindemann liked his girls small and petite, but just knowing what was in store for Naomi was making him hard.

Grabbing her hair in both hands, Lane jerked into her mouth. A muffled mmph burst from Naomi's throat and her eye clamped shut as if to block out what was happening to her. "Atta boy," Jake said. He clutched her hips and sank himself between her folds. He started to thrust, a shit eating grin spreading across his face. He lifted his hand and brought it down on Naomi's butt with a loud, meaty thwack. Lane threaded his fingers through Naomi's brown hair and increased his speed, fucking her throat like it owed him money; his balls slapped a steady tempo against her chin and his thick pubes tickled her nose. Lindemann crossed his legs and took another hit from his smoke. Jason scrolled through his phone, tapped the screen, and sat it on the table. The Spongebob Squarepants theme began to play and Lindemann arched his eyebrows. "An old fashioned sea shanty for the sea witch."

Jason got up and danced his way to the counter. "If testicle nonsense be something you wish," he sang, "drop on the floor and flop like a bitch." He laughed, opened the overhead cabinet, and took down a bottle of clear liquor. He unscrewed the cap and took a drink, then held it out to Duke, who shook his head.

Lane and Jake thrusted in tandem, Lane in, Jake out, spit roasting Naomi between them. Jake smacked her ass again and Lane pulled her hair hard enough to bring tears to her eyes. Jason knelt next to Jake and shook the bottle. "You look thirsty."

Jake tossed his hair out of his face and tilted his head back. "Gimme some."

Jason upended the bottle and poured it into Jake's mouth. The vodka filled it, then ran over, sluicing down his chin. He coughed and shook his head. "Fuckin fag," Jason laughed.

Shortly thereafter, Lane stopped pumping and grunted as he filled Naomi's mouth with sperm. She gagged and retched, her body jiggling. Jake reached his end and shot his load into her vagina. Lane let her go and she face flopped against the floor, ass stuck up in the air. Jake pulled out in a rush of cum, and Jason took his place.

Since he didn't have a dick, Jason used his fingers. Kneeling behind Naomi and taking deep pulls from the bottle, he jammed his fore and middle fingers into her pussy, then added his ring finger. "Ahoy, matey," he slurred, "permission to come aboard~"

Cheek pressed to the floor, Naomi winced and broke down crying. Lindemann stubbed his cigarette out on the table and leaned forward, his hands clasped between his knees. "Shiver me timbers, batten down the hatches," Jason said. He added his pinkie; now his whole hand was in, save for the thumb. Naomi's face turned red with strain and humiliation, and strangled sobs ejaculated from her throat.

Pulling his hand out, Jason made a fist, and Lindemann grimaced as he shoved it deep into Naomi's pussy. Naomi rocked back and forth and moaned in pain. Jason wrenched his hand back until it was almost out, then plunged it as far into her as it would go. Naomi screamed against her gag and shook her head back and forth. Jason thrusted in and out, a mad gleam in his eyes. "Full steam ahead, cap'n!"

Lindemann lit another cigarette and inhaled, letting the smoke swirl through his lungs. He looked around the cabin and nodded to himself. Rich, oak paneled walls; port hole framed by pink curtains; brass fixtures - it was a really nice boat.

His phone rang, and he picked it up. His mom.

He gestured for everyone to be quiet and answered. "Hello?"

"Hey," Mom said, "I need a solid."

Naomi started to scream, but Jason leaned forward and clamped his hand over her mouth. He rammed his fist into her forward quarters and she sobbed hysterically.

"What's up?"

"Grab some tamps on your way home. Lamis is on the rag again and we're almost out."

Lamis was his little sister because Lyra's punk ass didn't exist in this universe. "Alright," he said and plopped his cigarette between his lips. Jason pulled his hand out of Naomi, and Lindemann's face crinkled in disgust: Blood and other fluids he could not, would not, name, coated his skin.

Gross.

He hung up just as Duke took Jason's place. Seven feet tall and full of muscles, he towered over everyone else in the room, even when he was on his knees. He swiped one gigantic finger through Naomi's butt crack and inquisitively prodded her aft gangway. Fear filled her eyes, and when he pushed his finger into her anus, her eyes bulged from her sockets and the muscles on the side of her neck stood out. Duke's breathing changed, getting heavier, and he pulled his dick out. Lindemann had never seen the giant's tool before, but he always thought it would be small, in comedic contrast to the rest of him.

It wasn't.

The goddamn thing was as big as a baseball bat, and when he slid it into Naomi's ass, she screeched and looked like she was going to pass out. Lindemann stared at his friend's dick, shocked and sickened (and a little intrigued) by how it couldn't fit all the way in. Naomi's face went white and she screamed so long and loud that she must have passed out, for her eyes rolled in the back of her head. Duke went on fucking her, animalistic grunts knocking from his lips. At his finish, he gave one final thrust, and for the first and only time, his dick went in to the hilt.

He pulled out, and a flood of cum surged out after.

"Your turn," Jason said to Lindemann.

Lindemann considered. "Yeah, no, I don't take anyone's sloppy seconds." He got up, walked over to his cousin, and unzipped his pants. He stroked his dick fast and violently, just like he liked it, then aimed it at the back of her head when his orgasm approached. White globs of cum dropped onto her hair and neck.

"Now everyone."

They stood around her in a big circle and jacked themselves off, spraying her one by one until she was covered in white. Blood leaked from her ruined ass and her nose and cum oozed from all three openings.

"I got an idea," Lindemann said.

Stripping her naked, they carried her topside and lashed her to the bowsprit like a galleon's wooden figurehead. Next, they raided the cabinets for all the booze, got fucking hammered, and sailed the boat into the middle of the lake. When Naomi came awake, she screamed and pulled against her bonds. "Maybe you won't be such a fucking boat hog next time," Lindemann said.

And she wasn't, because after he let her down, Lindemann made her sign Ol' Ironsides' title over to him. Then, to add insult to injury, he kicked off his boat and made her swim back to shore.

THE END.