from the forthcoming novel, The Silvergrey Sea
Harry Tranker took Drago’s case as a break from the monotony of his normal caseload. It seemed a smart move until it took him to the Silvergrey Sea.
Leaving mappable reality was not the kind of excitement he had in mind.
His friend, the Hermetist Abram, promised him something to make his voyage less stressful, but wouldn’t say what.
Harry was not at all comforted by that.
Attention: Not Safe For Work
Pleasant Company
To the anxiety I always felt when contemplating a trip outside of the fucking multiverse was added the flinching anticipation of Abram’s idea of stress relief.
Though I didn’t doubt that it would be as advertised, Abram and I had been in the habit of pranking each other since we were boys.
I decided to go with Plan A and get buzzed before I got there.
It worked a little too well. I had to be roused at the end of my return trip to Vita.
I got lost twice trying to find the port entrance.
I did finally find the fog, though I tripped climbing over the chain across the entrance.
Fortunately, no one saw. Someone must have heard the cursing, though.
Slightly bruised, but otherwise looking as decent as I ever did, I exited the mist and stepped onto the boards of the Noir Docks on the Silvergrey Sea.
Despite most of a fifth of scotch, my heart began to play tympani in my chest as I looked first up at the sparkling grey ‘sky’ and then down at the blinding waves of light.
“Harry Tranker?”
I looked over, and down, at a female Hermetist. Much shorter than I, she had to remove her hat before I could see her properly. Her pate was bald and polished, her skin freckled and translucent, her face squarish and when she smiled, dimple cheeked. “Our mutual friend Abram asked me to meet you. He told me you’d booked passage aboard the Giordano Bruno to Hyborea. I’m Maeve Hermit, the Mate.” She held out a hand, big green eyes twinkling with humour.
“Hello.” I returned the grip and the smile. Her voice was a pleasant alto, her hand long fingered and warm. I knew she was Abram’s ‘stress relief,’ as he knew of my fondness for gingers; her eyebrows were just visible enough to confirm her hair colour. “You’re the Mate, you said?” My expression turned that into a flirt.
She winked and grinned. “This way.”
I let her lead me to a three-masted clipper at the far end of the dock. Largely stone and steel, it had the traditional look and sails of ships that had plied this and other seas for millennia.
As Maeve led me up the gangplank, I noted the lack of bustle I would’ve expected from a ship about to make sail. I asked her about it.
Over her shoulder, “Most of the work is done. We don’t need people in the rigging, of course.” Another grin and a wink.
I knew that.
Well, I did.
I followed her to a steep set of stairs that I had to descend backward. It might have been a ladder. My head was still wobbly from the booze.
My stateroom was a poky affair, but it was neat. It had a small, curtained window and even a teeny closet. The loo, complete with shower, was behind a partition. The two steps to the narrow bed meant at least I wouldn’t have to go outside to change anything more substantial than my mind.
I tossed my valise on the bed and turned to thank my escort only to witness her hat sailing over my head. She moved close and wrapped her arms around my waist. Gentle pressure caused me to take a step back to retain my balance.
A flick of her ankle and the door closed behind her.
All this while, her eyes never left mine.
She continued to force me back until my calves hit the end of the bed and I lost my balance.
I hit the surprisingly soft mattress.
My head hit my suitcase.
She landed on top of me and wriggled her way up my trunk. I shoved the suitcase onto the floor just as her head came level with mine.
Maeve’s kiss spiced the meal of her firm writhing body, completely distracting me from my habitual near panic at being in this ridiculous non-place. I was certain she must feel my erection as she rubbed her pubic bone over it, and over it again.
I had my suspicion confirmed as she found my belt and managed to get it undone, my pants unzipped, and her hand stroking my dick in three seconds, all without breaking the rhythm of her kiss or her motion across my body.
She caressed my cheek with one hand while her other massaged my cock. It was skilled, that lower hand.
Mine were doing a bit of wandering, themselves. Her backside felt magnificent, even through the fabric of the peacoat. I was just wondering how I was going to get it off, when she saved me the trouble.
Breaking the kiss, Maeve sat up. Squatting across my legs at the knee, she quickly lost both coat and the snug undershirt. Her whole body, it now appeared, was shotgunned with freckles.
No bra.
Really nice teats.
That grin, so full of glee.
She rose on her knees and had my trousers down to my calves in one tug.
She didn’t touch me but began playing with her teats.
I decided to take myself in hand.
Her smile morphed into a throaty laugh. One hand left off playing with the twins and dived into her own pants where I could see it rubbing her cunt.
Her breathing became deeper and faster.
Her smile faded, replaced by something more intense and hungrier.
I began to near orgasm.
I think she sensed that. Maeve left off playing with herself, shimmied down the bed, and dove mouth first onto my rager. Maeve bobbed her head on it a few times, gagging whenever my erection hit the back of her throat and noisily slurping, then without breaking eye contact, she slid it right down her throat.
It was a tight, delicious fit. Full lips distended around my manhood, cheeks flushed bright pink, pale green eyes tearing up: it was a sight to arouse a week-old corpse.
I lost it almost immediately.
My habit is to grab fistfuls of hair at moments like this. My hands coming to rest on a smoothly waxed skull was surprisingly stimulating. I pressed her face against my crotch and grunted repeatedly.
With many a gagging, gurgling sound, Maeve worked her throat up and down about an inch, matching my spasming spurts.
She didn’t withdraw until it began to hurt.
I lay back and got sleepy. I felt her cleaning me up with her tongue, pulling my pants back up, redoing my belt.
I thought she’d leave then, and she did but not before another kiss, this one slightly salty. “I have the first watch,” she purred. “Will that hold you for a while?”
I nodded, unable to keep a grin off my face; she smiled back.
I heard rustling as she redressed and was asleep seconds after the door closed behind her.
Good Food
I woke feeling disoriented and slightly panicky. Served me right for sleeping sober.
Soberish.
I stared at the faux wood ceiling for a few seconds before I remembered where I was.
That recollection did nothing for my mood.
I sat up, creaking and groaning, and waited for the dizziness to subside. I decided that a shower and food were the next order of business. I headed for the loo.
Scrubbing completed, I began scraping the hair from my face with my straight razor, occasionally pausing to wipe condensation from the mirror.
As I often did at moments like these, I contemplated my position in the Aions, my current case, and my face.
After due consideration and aftershave, I concluded that I was just where I needed to be, though, just here I was nervous as hell, that a heap of info about my client was likely waiting for me on Hyborea, and I was still the rough chiselled Adonis I had been in youth.
Yeah, sometimes you lie to yourself.
I put on a fresh shirt and underoos when dressing, then went in search of victuals hoping, I’d get to stay below decks to do so.
My room was off a wardroom that was quite large for a ship. It reminded me of the kind of foyer to be found in the better class of hotel. Like my room, it was entirely of a good simulation of wood, in this case stained and highly polished. Gimballed lanterns brought out the grain and gave spots of yellow flame to brass fixtures accenting the space. A dozen doors led to other staterooms.
A young Hermetist was standing stiffly at attention next to the companionway to the main deck. I was saved the horror of asking him where the food was at when I spotted a brass plate hammered into a beam to my right, ‘Galley’ clearly engraved on it.
Off I went, trying not to look at the young gentleman. I didn’t want to spoil his concentration, or whatever the hell it was he was doing.
The smell of boiling meat enticed me just as I entered the room. Along the back wall were three stoves, sitting on clay bricks, which themselves sat on sand. I failed to see the point; then deduced it must be another holdover from the era of wooden ships. Two of them were topped with large pots from which steam, the sound of bubbling, and I assumed the scent was coming.
Three rows of trestle tables and benches filled the space. A lone Hermetist was sitting to my right wolfing down stew, a pewter tankard at his elbow. He looked up as I walked in, nodded, and turned toward a doorway to the left of the stoves. “Bryton!”
From the door emerged what I had to assume was another Hermetist as he was in pinstriped trousers, double breasted white shirt, and an apron. That hat never belonged on a Hermetist’s head either, being all floppy and whatnot.
He saw me and waved to a bench near the stoves. “Have a seat.” Bryton Hermit(?) grabbed a wooden bowl from a shelf high overhead and began ladling something into it.
I was greeted with a beef stew that would have had me drooling if I hadn’t swallowed a couple of times.
“Bread?” he asked.
“Yes, please.” A plate of triangular chunks of black bread was placed on the table. A tankard of…I took a sip…grog was plunked down as well. I took off my fedora and looked a question at Bryton.
He read my expression–confusion and bitter disappointment–correctly. A minute later, the mug was brimful of industrial strength rum. I never drink water, even in my liquor. Like the man said, fish pee in it.
The meal was quite good. Better than any I’d had since the last time I’d visited the Red Palazzo, in fact.
Trying to maintain the illusion that I wasn’t an alcoholic, I didn’t quaff my rum, opting instead to take small(ish) gulps. I retired to my stateroom, the mug nearly half full.
I didn’t know how long I’d been asleep after I first boarded, but I was sleepy as hell once I sat down on my bed. Figuring the less time I spent conscious, the shorter this trip would seem, I stripped off and climbed into the bunk. I left only the bedside lamp lit and reviewed my notes on this case, sipping the rum as I did so.
Sleep took me in about ten minutes.
Serious Stress Relief
I had the weirdest dream. Someone was kissing me, awkwardly. Either that or she was a mutant. Her forehead and chin stuck out way too far.
She smelled funny, too. Not bad. Rather good, actually. It reminded me of something, but in my semi-stupor, I couldn’t bring it to mind.
She mashed her lips against mine and I opened my mouth reflexively and probed her mouth with my tongue.
I realized it wasn’t a mouth at the same moment I heard, from somewhere above me, the unmistakeable sound of a pleasure moan.
Maeve.
Or, more properly, Maeve’s pussy.
On my face.
I opened my eyes to see her looking down at me from between those pretty, bouncy teats. She was grinning, open-mouthed, and panting. I gave her vulva a full butthole-to-love-button lick and the smile faded as her eyes closed. Another full-throated moan escaped from her. Her squarish jaw and plump lips made her expression beautiful.
She ground her vulva on my tongue, grunting in time to the swivelling of her hips.
I wrapped an arm around each of her thighs and got down to business.
She was a symphony, was Maeve; her body my orchestra; my embouchure and fingering, those of a master, I flattered myself.
In minutes, she was gasping, howling gutturally, and trembling. Sweat dripped from her nipples, chin, and nose onto my face. I could feel as well as taste her juices: a steady trickle along both sides of my neck.
At the end, she tried to smother me in her womanhood. I could feel her cunt and anus spasming half a dozen times before she pulled herself sharply away from my darting tongue.
Maeve lay back full length along me, head nestled alongside my rager. She had thoughtfully pulled the covers down before beginning.
She panted out thanks as her sweat cooled and her breathing slowed.
I was on the point of reminding her that someone had done all the work and had yet to receive any compensation for said labours, when she rotated to a face down position and began making sweet, sweet love to my throbbing penis.
She went at it just long enough for my first moans to escape me, then she sat up and skootched down.
Maeve turned to me, face still glowing with perspiration, wide grin firmly in place.
She was on her knees astride my hips. Keeping those cat like eyes firmly on me, she parted the folds of her cunt with the fingers of one hand. With the other, she held my member upright. Lowering just enough for the head of my penis to contact her sex, she rubbed herself up and down with the head before lowering herself smoothly onto me.
All the breath left my lungs.
Slender fingers found my pecs as she leaned forward and began pistoning on my dick. Those jiggling teats were too tempting a treat to pass up. I began fondling them, nibbling the nipples.
The symphony began again.
The sounds she made alone were more arousing than most sex I’d had in recent memory.
Leaving off kneading her mammaries, I grabbed two handfuls of buttock and coaxed her to increase her rhythm.
My fingers found her back door. I began exploring.
Maeve was panting to the beat of her rocking. Without breaking either, she opened her eyes.
Her brows ask a question.
My grin answered an enthusiastic affirmative.
A throaty laugh from her has she leaned back.
One hand began working her clit; the other became busy with her asshole. She never stopped pumping my cock with her cunt. Soft, breathy moans were added to the chorus.
Maeve again pierced me with her gaze. Slowly, deliciously, she unimpaled herself. She leaned further back, supporting herself with a sticky hand on my thigh. The other guided my shaft to her anus.
It took almost a full minute before I was deep enough to feel more than just pressure. Once past the inner ring of muscle, Maeve let herself down. I felt the weight of her bum on my balls as her butthole gripped the lower part of my cock, leaving the sensitive tip suspended, feeling nothing.
Again, propped with just one hand, Maeve began long stroking my erection with her butthole. The other rubbed, slapped, and fingered her vulva. I kept looking from that to her face. Mouth open, eyes closed; sweat glowing in the overhead light.
She got loud just as I did.
As orgasm surged over me, I resisted the urge to close my eyes and had the pleasure of watching her as she came a second time. Two long squirts and a substantial dribble of her own ejaculation seemed timed with my own spasms. I was thoroughly soaked.
Maeve leaned forward and lay on my chest, panting. After a moment, my softening penis was pushed gently out of her nether passage.
A lingering postcoital kiss from her and she lay on me, eyelashes tickling my chest. Soon, we were both asleep.
Sometime later as I surfaced briefly from slumber, I said, “Thanks, Maeve.” Apparently not quite asleep herself, she hugged me as well her position allowed.
You too, Abram.
—Gideon Jagged
Innsmouth, March 2020
Copyright © 2020, Gideon Jagged
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