Visit her quarters

The provided directions lead Liz to her quarters with ease enough. The path was through a dormitory of sorts. On the right were a half dozen doors each scrawled with a name, Annelise's name of course among them. And based on the placement of the doors the soot speckled spunk-ess had been given a lacking share. The brazen pirate thought briefly of how to recompense this with her tongue, assuming she wasn't too busy making intimate acquaintance with the Alexandria or Renee that also lived along the hall. Liz might have thought this mono-gendered nature was out of a dogmatic intent to stifle any boot knocking were it not for the exceptional mural covering the entirety of the left wall with a Pandemonic depiction of Lesbo's beaches.

Her own room was the last in line; though Liz didn't know if this was due to it being a recent addition or because of its odd nature. For you see when Liz's pulled the supposed door to her room open she was met with the most unusual sight of another door. She spent a moment in stunned stare at the door worried it too would have a door behind it, and she'd be subject to digging her abode from a Russian doll.

The sound of gentle lapping water and the vertical sinusoid of the closed door, however, told a different story. Her room rested in water; indeed there was a half inch between the two thresholds through which she could see the dark green liquid, and above her head a crack of sun existed as well. It was as if a square boat was moored against this seaside building, but with precision to shame a clockmaker. Maybe 'twas an over developed floating wharf. Regardless, Liz pushed through the second door eager to return to the ocean's rhythmic rise.

The lodgings beyond did not disappoint, appearing quite captainly. Opposite the delight agape pirate, a large window showed the vista of a dock and calm water flowing beyond like soft rippling glass. The wide streams of sunlight that shown through this window illuminated a desk well stocked with books, navigation tools, and other trinkets. The literate captain stepped in and appraised the books by their covers. Many saucy images could be gleaned from the titles alone: A Wife of the Siren, Penetrating Deep Under the Sea, and Quenching Thirst on Sandy Beaches.

Two seats stood before the desk; one a simple stool easy to move about the room. The other, quite differently, was a chair of supple leather and anchored, both to the floor below it and the land some distance beyond. For, much in the same manner as the earth penetrating posts capturing a floating wharf are known to stay ignorant to the ocean's gentle heave ho and thus rise and full relative to their company, this chair had it's own pole sticking through its seat and the floor beneath which did not descend nor ascend with the rest of the water supported room. Similarities taken into account, this pole was not meant to restrain Liz's room from the wills of the sea. For one, it was far narrower than any dock pillars with the girth of only a hand-held tool, and for another, it's lewdly mushroomoid tip was obviously for only one purpose. Rose petals adorning her cheeks at the thought, Liz turned to view the rest of her room.

Her bed lounged opposite the desk; it had a canopy. To be sure, quite odd for a ship, but in counter to its decorations this room wasn't on a ship merely reminiscent of one. The thick curtains could be drawn should the one not wish to wake with the gleeful sight of the sunrise. Few things after all, are more foul than a shining **** after a thorough night of bottle emptying. This savoir canopy had another oddity to it; it's roof was a mirror lustrous and burnished to perfectly reflect the image back to whomever made use of the large bed. In fairness, the well-carved four-poster was not as a elaborate as some of the mansions of mattress she'd seen in her plundering, but it was near twice as wide as the one in her captain's cabin. And that, Liz recalled as her thoughts returned to the oscillating phallus behind her, could lay two warm bodies with her, so long as there was not a stitch to get in the way.

There were luxuries aplenty in these quarters. I could tell you of the fur-topped trunk that lay at the foot of the bed, full of bed linens and similar comforts; or of the privy-containing closet occupy corner of her room on the seaward side. However, Liz gave these a cursory glance, and she hardly noticed the slight anachronisms of the wall mounts and paid little head to the odd scroll machine churning at her bedside. The pirate's attention was been devoured by the matrimonial surrogate thrusting wastefully. She normally would not let such carnal delusions distract her, having been able to lose not even a thought on the many dozen strong men working beneath her, but the introduction to Valhalla was another thing all together and had left Liz with a moist need between her legs. Perhaps, a bit of carrying-on with herself would not be undue.

Liz swung open the large diamond patterned window, the better to see and smell the ocean. For while her love of the sea was soley platonic such a relaxing visage did lend generously to freedom and satisfaction. Then she turned round with enough vigor to dance her skirt and began a slow stalk to her chosen tool. Liz chose not to slide atop the thrusting (at least relative to her) maypole just yet. Instead, after tugging her skirt, she sat sideways on the seat to let the shaft throb against her pink plunder.

The touch to her tenderness made Liz's bosom elate with delicate passions. The shaft's smooth surface caressed her while the surf caused Liz to gently rise along it's vertical length. But the touch down there was more than wood alone; a seemingly impossible tenderness and sensitivity was upon her woomanhood. The gold addition, she surmised was having an effect. She closed her eyes, to better savor its touch and allowed her body to sway and moan as it willed. The smell of her enthrallment soon united with the salt air while she painted the shaft. Lazily her head tilted, her sun-touched hair trailed softly along her shoulders. Deeper she embraced the pecker to better sate the hunger of her jewelery enhanced clit.

During these subtle throes that would prelude her **** on bliss, the pirate's eyelids carelessly crept open. And she was struck to find she was not alone; a woop of surprise nearly sent Liz tumbling from her perch.

To this the man chuckled. He was dressed in an odd fashion, wearing short pants and a short-sleeved shirt; the latter was decorated vibrantly with a tapestry of tropical flowers. On his feet her wore sandals under which were white garterless socks. Suspecting he was a fool (rightly some would say) she drew her pistol and aimed for a warning shot. But the trigger-pull did not produce the desired crack of black deeds, nor did the pistol kick within her clutches. The supposed firearm trembled, not with fear mind you, rather it had a soothing excitement akin to the fluttering of fae wings.

Liz's lopsided grin was of intrigue. Indications had been provided that her pistol would serve different purposes, and now muses of those purposes dripped within her. She could send herself to bed draw curtains and in seclusion test the full abilities of her new toy. But her wanton gaze also appraised her voyeur. He wasn't unappealing aside his choice of fashion. She could stay here continuing to appreciate her scandalous chair and thereby he'd appreciated them both.