roleplayguy2013
Really Experienced
- Joined
- Dec 23, 2012
- Posts
- 191
(OOC -- This needs a female writer for 2 or more characters.)
Ben signaled his First Mate, Craig, back to cockpit, gesturing him to take the wheel. With a devilish grin, he said, "Time to plant my flag on new territory."
The slightly older employee -- the real sailor aboard the Maryjane -- returned the smile, saying, "Three to one says you don't get her bikini off, let alone your rocks off."
"I'll take that bet," Ben laughed, shoving his hand out as he asked, "Five thousand...?
Craig laughed, saying, "Five hundred! We're aren't all spoiled rich kids like you, Benny-boy."
They shook hands over the smaller bet, and Ben headed down through the companionway into the main cabin, pausing to pull a chilled bottle of very expensive champagne from the fridge, before heading forward to knock on the door of his target's small cabin.
"Enter!" a female voice called out.
Ben pushed the door open -- and froze in delightful surprise at the sight of her, leaning against the bulkhead with a sheet wrapped around her body. He was about to apologize for catching her in a state of undress ... when she dropped the bedding wrap to the floor about her feet and gave him the same devilish smile he'd shared with Craig a moment earlier.
"Champagne...?" he asked softly, stepping into the little stateroom and closing the door behind him. He looked her up and down with an obvious and appreciative ogle. She was perfect; a very curvaceous body, long silky blond hair, and those unbelievable pale blue eyes.
Ben had wanted her from the moment he'd seen her. Unfortunately, she'd come aboard the Maryann as the girl friend of the yacht's cook. The crew of seven -- four men and three women -- were sailing the 49 foot ketch from Fiji, where Ben had bought it, to Singapore, where he already had a buyer who was going to pay him twice what he paid for it. Ben didn't know how he was going to survive the voyage; not only had he come aboard single, but he would also be seeing this incredible creature each day, knowing that each night she would be getting naked with the help.
Then, the Gods smiled down upon Ben. The happy couple suddenly weren't, and she came to Ben for help. Oh, it had been innocent at first, just the boss giving comfort to one of his employees, while simultaneously trying to keep his hands off her. But there were longing glances ... then casual brushes of their bodies as they passed by one another in cramped quarters ... then that first kiss ... and finally yesterday, a passionate embrace as mouths and tongues played with one another. Ben made his intentions obvious with his invitation for her to give up the tiny stateroom she'd moved to to get away from The Ex and reside in the Master Cabin ... with him.
She'd said no but thanks; she called it Too much drama in too little space. Then added, "But ... we will have port calls, right...?"
Ben knew what that meant, of course; away from the boat -- away from The Cook -- they would be lovers. But ... he couldn't wait, and now -- seeing her drop the sheet and expose her naked form to him -- it was obvious that she couldn't either.
He set the champagne aside and move toward her...
The alarm that sounded meant trouble, and without even considering what he was leaving behind, Ben turned and rushed down the passage and up through the companionway to the cockpit, hollering, "What is it?"
Craig pointed forward, answering with obvious concern, "Boats! And they're closing on us!"
Ben followed his First Mate's gesture and found one, then two, then three sloops out before the Maryjane. He snatched up a pair of binoculars and moved forward, checking them out one after another. They were ... odd looking; each was 20-25 feet and stripped down to little more than a hull and sails, the latter of which looked ancient and often mended. Each had three or four men aboard and ... they were armed.
"Get the rifle!" Ben called without lowering the binoculars. He heard feet approach, heard first Glen, then Juan, then Rita asking what the hell was going on, and he responded with a serious tone, "Pirates."
Someone chuckled, but the laugh was short lived as someone asked, "Is that a fucking cannon...?"
As if the approaching men had heard them, a puff of smoke filled the air before the nearest boat, water splashed just off the starboard side, and a deep boom arrived from over the water.
"Fuck almighty!" Rita hollered. She repeated her exclamation, then asked in pure panic, "What do we do?"
"Get the fucking guns!" Ben growled, lowering the binoculars and looking to the stern. "Craig! Get us out of here!"
The First Mate quickly tacked to starboard, calling out orders to Glen and Rita, who -- also very skilled sailors -- very quickly jumped into action at the appropriate lines and sails.
A second boom filled their ears, although none of them saw an evidence of a shot coming their way. Juan appeared carrying two rifles and right behind him -- with a shocked look on her face -- was the seventh member of the crew, Vivian, who carried a shotgun and pair of spear guns, shrugging her shoulders at Ben's look of surprise and saying wryly, "Sorry, but we don't have a fucking cannon."
A scream of agony sounded from the stern. Ben turned in time to see Craig -- clutching his neck as blood squirted all about -- tilt to port ... and fall overboard. One of the women screamed but was herself cut short as a bullet struck her in the chest, dropping her to the deck. Ben looked to the boats and was shocked to find them so very close; their light weight and skilled crews had closed the distance between them and the Maryjane in no time at all, and Ben knew that escaping with their larger, slower boat wasn't going to happen.
To his right, Juan began firing at one of the boats; to his left, Glen leveled a rifle at their attackers but -- unable to pull the trigger -- simply swept the weapon back and forth as if trying to decide which boat to fire upon first.
Ben saw another puff of smoke erupt from the front of the nearest boat's small cannon, which looked from here to be barely larger than his golf bag back in Palm Springs. Suddenly, there was an explosion at the stern of the yacht, and Glen shrieked as debris stuck him in several places. Juan continued firing, round after round, emptying the rifle, then snatching Glen's from his hands. Then he, too shrieked in pain and did a little turn on one foot, revealing a red spot in his clothes just below his neck. He fell to the deck, dead.
And the entire time, Ben had simply stood there and watched the action. He didn't grab up a weapon; he didn't rush to the wheel to regain control; he didn't aid his fallen crew members. He simply watched, in horror, as the people around him fell to the vicious cruelty of the modern day pirates.
He looked about for the two women, finding Vivien on the deck behind him cradling a bleeding thigh and Rita down inside the main cabin, curled up in a fetal position, sobbing. The last crew member -- the one he'd been so close to fucking while her former boyfriend had been fileting a tuna they'd snagged -- was no where to be seen. Ben couldn't have known that that second cannon shot -- the one they hadn't seen any evidence of -- had actually struck the port side at the porthole window of her cabin, sending a piece of wood frame at her head, knocking her unconscious.
The Maryjane -- with her sails luff -- had stopped dead in the water, and within minutes the three boats were upon her. Ben stood in shock, unable to think, let alone act, as the pirates -- who were screaming out commands in French, English, Spanish, and things Ben didn't even recognize -- boarded the boat and forced him to his knees in the cockpit. Several of them hurried down into the cabin, and the last thing Ben saw -- before they pulled a hood over his head and knocked him unconscious, was his wanna-be-lover being hauled up through the companionway by two men, wearing nothing but a pair of bikini bottoms...
Ben signaled his First Mate, Craig, back to cockpit, gesturing him to take the wheel. With a devilish grin, he said, "Time to plant my flag on new territory."
The slightly older employee -- the real sailor aboard the Maryjane -- returned the smile, saying, "Three to one says you don't get her bikini off, let alone your rocks off."
"I'll take that bet," Ben laughed, shoving his hand out as he asked, "Five thousand...?
Craig laughed, saying, "Five hundred! We're aren't all spoiled rich kids like you, Benny-boy."
They shook hands over the smaller bet, and Ben headed down through the companionway into the main cabin, pausing to pull a chilled bottle of very expensive champagne from the fridge, before heading forward to knock on the door of his target's small cabin.
"Enter!" a female voice called out.
Ben pushed the door open -- and froze in delightful surprise at the sight of her, leaning against the bulkhead with a sheet wrapped around her body. He was about to apologize for catching her in a state of undress ... when she dropped the bedding wrap to the floor about her feet and gave him the same devilish smile he'd shared with Craig a moment earlier.
"Champagne...?" he asked softly, stepping into the little stateroom and closing the door behind him. He looked her up and down with an obvious and appreciative ogle. She was perfect; a very curvaceous body, long silky blond hair, and those unbelievable pale blue eyes.
Ben had wanted her from the moment he'd seen her. Unfortunately, she'd come aboard the Maryann as the girl friend of the yacht's cook. The crew of seven -- four men and three women -- were sailing the 49 foot ketch from Fiji, where Ben had bought it, to Singapore, where he already had a buyer who was going to pay him twice what he paid for it. Ben didn't know how he was going to survive the voyage; not only had he come aboard single, but he would also be seeing this incredible creature each day, knowing that each night she would be getting naked with the help.
Then, the Gods smiled down upon Ben. The happy couple suddenly weren't, and she came to Ben for help. Oh, it had been innocent at first, just the boss giving comfort to one of his employees, while simultaneously trying to keep his hands off her. But there were longing glances ... then casual brushes of their bodies as they passed by one another in cramped quarters ... then that first kiss ... and finally yesterday, a passionate embrace as mouths and tongues played with one another. Ben made his intentions obvious with his invitation for her to give up the tiny stateroom she'd moved to to get away from The Ex and reside in the Master Cabin ... with him.
She'd said no but thanks; she called it Too much drama in too little space. Then added, "But ... we will have port calls, right...?"
Ben knew what that meant, of course; away from the boat -- away from The Cook -- they would be lovers. But ... he couldn't wait, and now -- seeing her drop the sheet and expose her naked form to him -- it was obvious that she couldn't either.
He set the champagne aside and move toward her...
The alarm that sounded meant trouble, and without even considering what he was leaving behind, Ben turned and rushed down the passage and up through the companionway to the cockpit, hollering, "What is it?"
Craig pointed forward, answering with obvious concern, "Boats! And they're closing on us!"
Ben followed his First Mate's gesture and found one, then two, then three sloops out before the Maryjane. He snatched up a pair of binoculars and moved forward, checking them out one after another. They were ... odd looking; each was 20-25 feet and stripped down to little more than a hull and sails, the latter of which looked ancient and often mended. Each had three or four men aboard and ... they were armed.
"Get the rifle!" Ben called without lowering the binoculars. He heard feet approach, heard first Glen, then Juan, then Rita asking what the hell was going on, and he responded with a serious tone, "Pirates."
Someone chuckled, but the laugh was short lived as someone asked, "Is that a fucking cannon...?"
As if the approaching men had heard them, a puff of smoke filled the air before the nearest boat, water splashed just off the starboard side, and a deep boom arrived from over the water.
"Fuck almighty!" Rita hollered. She repeated her exclamation, then asked in pure panic, "What do we do?"
"Get the fucking guns!" Ben growled, lowering the binoculars and looking to the stern. "Craig! Get us out of here!"
The First Mate quickly tacked to starboard, calling out orders to Glen and Rita, who -- also very skilled sailors -- very quickly jumped into action at the appropriate lines and sails.
A second boom filled their ears, although none of them saw an evidence of a shot coming their way. Juan appeared carrying two rifles and right behind him -- with a shocked look on her face -- was the seventh member of the crew, Vivian, who carried a shotgun and pair of spear guns, shrugging her shoulders at Ben's look of surprise and saying wryly, "Sorry, but we don't have a fucking cannon."
A scream of agony sounded from the stern. Ben turned in time to see Craig -- clutching his neck as blood squirted all about -- tilt to port ... and fall overboard. One of the women screamed but was herself cut short as a bullet struck her in the chest, dropping her to the deck. Ben looked to the boats and was shocked to find them so very close; their light weight and skilled crews had closed the distance between them and the Maryjane in no time at all, and Ben knew that escaping with their larger, slower boat wasn't going to happen.
To his right, Juan began firing at one of the boats; to his left, Glen leveled a rifle at their attackers but -- unable to pull the trigger -- simply swept the weapon back and forth as if trying to decide which boat to fire upon first.
Ben saw another puff of smoke erupt from the front of the nearest boat's small cannon, which looked from here to be barely larger than his golf bag back in Palm Springs. Suddenly, there was an explosion at the stern of the yacht, and Glen shrieked as debris stuck him in several places. Juan continued firing, round after round, emptying the rifle, then snatching Glen's from his hands. Then he, too shrieked in pain and did a little turn on one foot, revealing a red spot in his clothes just below his neck. He fell to the deck, dead.
And the entire time, Ben had simply stood there and watched the action. He didn't grab up a weapon; he didn't rush to the wheel to regain control; he didn't aid his fallen crew members. He simply watched, in horror, as the people around him fell to the vicious cruelty of the modern day pirates.
He looked about for the two women, finding Vivien on the deck behind him cradling a bleeding thigh and Rita down inside the main cabin, curled up in a fetal position, sobbing. The last crew member -- the one he'd been so close to fucking while her former boyfriend had been fileting a tuna they'd snagged -- was no where to be seen. Ben couldn't have known that that second cannon shot -- the one they hadn't seen any evidence of -- had actually struck the port side at the porthole window of her cabin, sending a piece of wood frame at her head, knocking her unconscious.
The Maryjane -- with her sails luff -- had stopped dead in the water, and within minutes the three boats were upon her. Ben stood in shock, unable to think, let alone act, as the pirates -- who were screaming out commands in French, English, Spanish, and things Ben didn't even recognize -- boarded the boat and forced him to his knees in the cockpit. Several of them hurried down into the cabin, and the last thing Ben saw -- before they pulled a hood over his head and knocked him unconscious, was his wanna-be-lover being hauled up through the companionway by two men, wearing nothing but a pair of bikini bottoms...
