Give ‘Chaperoning’ the Younger Dustwell a try

Your nod is answer enough.

Her eyes sparkle with familiar mirth as she sets her shopping down on his table. ”But I’m not paying for the privilege of taking fishy cock,” she says in squatting down. Her panties are immediately around her ankles as she spreads her legs open and hikes the sundress high. ”If you wanna have a go at this, the price better be free.”

”Yes. Fuck. Yes.” The Cunning Coastermonger does not hesitate. ”Fuck, yes!” He undoes his belt and frees his length.

The Younger Dustwell gasps. He is almost as long as the lamprey in his hand and much thicker.

”Fuck. Let’s try it then.” She shudders, then licks her lips. ”The biter first.”

He gives her the dirtiest grin and slides it through his grip. The thing’s head swings towards the thick line of black hair above her sex and burrows its lidless eye into her bush. He releases the tail, letting it flop between her breasts. The slimy appendage thrashes her drenched dress aside and sets her tits bouncing with its wet slaps.

”My Queen! Priestess, show me the light!” Her eyes are rolled back and blood drips from the thing’s sucking maw. ”Fucking fuck! Gimme a cock already.”

His tip is enough to shut her up. She, drooling, fails to close her mouth. He plops out, slapping her cheeks with his pole. She closes both fists around his dick, jerks him away, and points him high. Her tongue runs down the shaft until his crown touches her temple and her mouth engulfs his ballsac.

”Again!” she says, then opens wide.

The first thrust makes her gag, and the second has her hacking up spit. She purrs after the third, gentler and angled with care. He then again slaps her with his cock, and his fourth stretches her throat. Her hands are between her legs, her arms spread wide to avoid the mass writhing above and between. She finds you with her eyes and mouths your name between his sixth and seventh thrust. His eighth sends her fingers into a fevered frenzy, and his tenth hits only air.

”First Officer!” The Younger Dustwell is down on her back, raising her ass from the ground on shaking legs. ”First Officer!” Shudders pin-prick her skin. Her lower lips, pink and open, quiver with each touch. ”First Officer! Fuck!” She dips low, legs atremble, but, screaming, thrusts herself back up as relief overcomes her.

Her orgasm arrives as a tempest, its droplets purple in the lantern light.

”Fuck.” She climbs to her knees but more pools between her legs. ”Fuck.” Her hands, they too stained in the colour of ripened plums, have covered her lower body with strange patterns. ”Fuck,” she says, raising her palms to marvel at the strange streaks. ”Fuck.”

The lamprey sits inside wild circles and crooked triangles, turning stranger and paler at the edges – where her hands touched. It is weeping tears of thinner, bluer blood. She prods it with an outstretched finger. Another touch and it shivers then shrinks.

”Bugger the Saints, girl, you’re something else.” The Cunning Coastermonger has picked up his glove again. He teases her folds with the cold leather then closes his fist around the wriggling worm. ”You want it gone?”

”I...” She gropes her left breast, hanging lewdly from her opened dress. The thoughtful pause lasts through her undoing more and more buttons and ends with her pointing at the pale skin close to her beating heart. ”It needs – It wants... I want it there.”

”Figures.” He uses his gloveless hand to cop a feel, squeezing her up and tweaking her nipple. ”I could tell.” He buries the thing under her white hill. ”I can always tell.” His cock pokes against her side and he, grunting, rises to again push it past her lips. ”Ready for the others? You wanted two more, and that cunt needs a cock and not just fingers.”

”Yours?” She, laughing, spits him out.

”Mine.” He, stroking himself, swings it before her eyes. ”If you can handle it.”

”Ohh – I can... Fuck.” The Younger Dustwell licks her lips. ”I want – I need two. And I want them close. Wrangle the blasted bitters for me, and you can fuck me with your arm for all I care.”

”That’s the spirit. Though I’ll need my grip for the wrangling. So you’ll take cock, and you’ll like it.” He is half-way to the tanks, all the while jerking his length. ”Over there!” A lamprey escapes from his grasp while he points the Younger Dustwell towards the table. ”Be wif’ ya in a bit.” Water splashes and he, grunting, pulls two from the foam. ”On the top. Flat on your back and legs wide.”

The Younger Dustwell obeys, removing her dress on the way and smiling all the while. She shivers, but her sex is dripping wet. Her hands move from her breasts to her face and then, searching, feel around in her discarded shopping. ”Do it.”

He squeezes the heads together and their eye-mouths open wide. ”Fuck!” She screams and bucks and shows off the blood, trickling thick from two fresh wounds. One thrashes free and he has to catch it with his gloveless hand. He pushes them down along her breasts, the veiny lengths growing like cocks. The tail ends reach her mouth and she moves her head away.

”Wrangle them!”

Their spines bend until they break. The snapping twigs bleed purple ooze. He bundles them together with his leather-clad fist and pushes them between her heaving peaks. The flow of colour slows, staunches and thickens. Fresh tendrils, thin as shoestrings, snap around her, pinching her nipples. They tauten from his grip.

The Younger Dustwell moans.

He wipes his other hand on his grimy shirt and then pushes two fingers knuckle-deep into her hungry hole. ”So fucking wet ‘n’ tight. You’re ready for a dicking,” he says and lines up his cock. The bulging length is slick with precum and streaked with her juices.

”Wait!”

”What?” He halts, his tip a hair’s breadth from her opening.

”Mother said I need to be careful. Sister too.” Her hand emerges from inside her bags, a catgut condom between her fingertips.

”Fuck!” He curses, his dick swinging free. ”Fuck.” He, leaning forward, snatches it from her hold. ”Fuck.” The wrapper resists his efforts, and he uses his teeth and muffled curses to rip it open. ”Fuck.” A vein throbs on his cock. The thin skin is a painful fit. ”Fuck.” He forces it down the length, his face twisted from effort. ”Fuck yes!” His tip slides inside and he, screaming in triumph, thrusts into her. Deep and deeper. ”Fuck yes! Fuck yes! Oh, fuck...”

The lampreys have grown again and now lash for his chest.

”Fuck.” He catches one and misses the other, all the while slamming into the Younger Dustwell with abandon. ”Fucking fuck!” The thing’s thrashing rips his shirt and leaves violet bruises on his naked chest, but he does not stop. ”Turn around.” He has it caught and pulls her down, his cock deep inside her, trapping them under her weight and against the table edge.

The Younger Dustwell moans with his thrusts, louder and louder, until her half-lidded eyes snap open. ”First Officer! I need you, First Officer. I need your cock.” She beckons you to her, and her dark red lips and white teeth invite you inside. ”First Officer! My little whore mouth is empty and it – arggrgll...”

You fill the void.

She swirls her tongue along your shaft and sucks you in. Her hand caresses your balls, and her eyes shine with lust-bright adoration. ”All evening... I’ve... Wanted... Too... Yeees!”

The Cunning Coastermonger brings a gloveless hand down on her ass. He slams his body into hers and, grunting, spanks her reddening checks again. ”Take my cock, my little whore.” His other is bound under her, still wrestling with the maddened mass. Their bulbous tips slap against her and rise from the sides. He catches them, slime dripping from his unprotected fingers, and breaks them again.

The expelled purple stains him further.

”Fuck!”

He has seized her hair and his touch glues her dark locks together. Each strand is left sticky with scintillating scum.

Her head is raised away from your cock and her screams are as erratic as his thrusts. She finds you with her touch, but her gentle grip grows frenzied and then stops. Her breasts rise before you, and the lampreys shrink from your gaze. You grope and tease and squeeze the pliant mounds.

”I’m close.” The Cunning Coastermonger, grunting, has his glove on her side. He fucks her slower now, and hard.

”Cum...” The Younger Dustwell, eyes white, sucks your fingers, drooling spit and precum. ”Cum on my face,” she says, shivering, and slides to the ground.

You are closer and she allows you eager access. Her throat is open to you, and she gags herself on your length.

”Fuck!” He, the condom ripped away, shoves you to the side. ”Fuck!” His tip touches her lip and he explodes. The ropes reach her hair, paint tears on her face, and ooze from her chest as thick puddles. ”Fuck.” He drizzles more, a thin and milky rain, and she catches some with her mouth. ”Fucking great.”

She cleans him until he steps away. ”First Officer?” Her smile, though covered in cum, is as sweet as summer wine. ”Would you fuck me? I want you deep inside me, I want you to fill me, and I want you to feed them with our lust.”

You help her back on the table and line up your cock. Her fingers guide you inside, and her legs lock behind you. She moans, screams, and caresses your chest. You take her, fast and slow, and with her begging you to make her yours all the while.

”Imma take a piss. Don’t steal nothin’”

The Younger Dustwell answers him by sticking out her tongue, and you ignore him altogether. A deep thrust makes her shiver, and your careful caresses take away her breath. She arches her spine and pleads wordless pleas. Your onslaught, the flurry of merciless movements, has her over the edge again, and you are close yourself.

”Wait! Fuck. Wait!” She shoves you away and grips your cock. ”I wanna try...” She bites her lip. ”I want you to try my other hole.”

You are slick with her arousal and your own need. And her eager mouth prepares your fingers. You tease her open with thumb then tip.

”Fuck my ass!”

You push past the yielding ring. Her quivering lips form sensuous whispers and she bucks for more as you withdraw. You give her measured **** and she demands power. She interlocks her hands with yours, inhales the moment, and leads you to explore her pearl and pink wetness.

”More! Harder! Yes! I’m... Yeees!”

She takes you with her this time. You pull out, the first spurt oozing from her puckered hole. Thick streaks hit her sex and bush and the wriggling ticks leeching inside. She finds you with trembling fingers, aiming, milking, and slides back down to the floor. The last drops hit her face and disappear into her open mouth.

”Fuck the Saints, First Officer, that was all I wanted and more.”

You help her up and she borrows a towel and some wrapping paper from among the Coastermonger’s possessions. The lampreys come away easy. She wraps them up and stores them with the oysters.

”What a night.”

You walk up the stairs, hand in hand, and inhale the crisp midnight air. The Nightfisher’s Market is quiet, the few remaining customers are blind to the state of her hair and dress. You share a bowl of fried Jelly Eel, and she – between bites and jests – decides that you will part ways after.

”See you around, First Officer,” she says and hails herself a cab.