To the deck

He was still groggy while Brunhilde was getting dressed, and his hands were still bound. He guessed that she didn’t think he could do anything to her in her sleep. Or that he was clever enough not to try and then get executed by the other Somai. He rose up off of the floor, unsteady on his feet. Brunhilde, who had donned her outerwear, looked down at him.

“Turn around,” she said, “We might as well make you useful while you’re here.” He heard a knife being unsheathed, and she cut his bonds.

“You can carry my shield for me,” she said, gesturing toward her buckler. He picked it up. She turned and walked out, moving almost slowly enough for him to keep up. He limped after her hurriedly, rubbing his wrists where the ropes had cut into them and trying not to stare at her ass. It was rather large and round, even on a woman her size, and swung seductively as she moved. She was wearing only her short mail skirt and hose, so he had a very good view. He **** himself to look away, not wanting her to notice a tent in his habit.

Then he began to worry. She had said she would sell him. And the blonde woman had said that someone would “have fun” with him. What did that mean?

They walked down the hallway, past all of the hammocks slung between beams, up a set of rickety wooden stairs, and then onto the deck. It was a bright, clear, cold day out, overcast and freezing. Brunhilda led him to the fore of the ship. They were in the cold ocean, and he could see a dozen sets of oars projecting from the sides of the ships. At the fore of the ship, they were high above the water. He could hear the roar of the waves, the crash of surf. He could see white caps on the rough ocean, spindrift tossed over and over on the deep blue sea. They couldn’t have been too far from land, because he heard the cry of a gull momentarily. His breath shimmered on the air and he quivered a little. His hands were ice cold gripping Brunhilde’s buckler.

“What are we doing?” he asked. He clenched his jaw when he was done speaking to keep his teeth from chattering, but that only made his slender body shake.

“Keeping watch,” replied Brunhilde, “Rival bands of Samoi. Pirates. And worse things…”

They kept watch for hours. He didn’t dare put her shield down. His fingers were nearly numb from the cold. Brunhilde seemed preoccupied much of the time, lost in thought. What was on her mind? There was no way to tell.

After several hours, Brunhilde stiffened suddenly, as if she sensed something.

“What’s going on?” asked Martin. She ignored him. Then, someone from the back of the ship screamed, “Kraken!”

Martin cried out “Gods!” when he saw it. The choppy surface of the sea to the right of the ship began to break and roil, and half a dozen pinkish-purple tentacles snaked out, monstrous octopus-like tentacles. One Samoi warrior was seized round the waist and screamed hysterically, hewing at it with her sword as she was dragged into the sea. Several archers took aim and released arrows that zipped into the water, perhaps piercing the beast.

One tentacle, rubbery and slimy, snaked over the rail and came straight for Brunhilde. She snatched her shield from Martin and the tentacle slashed at her like a whip. She deftly stopped it with her shield, then slashed back with her sword and missed. It whipped at her again, and once again she blocked it. It hit her shield with a sharp crack and the shield fell in two. She dropped it and drew a small hand axe from her belt, taking a fighting stance and circling to her left, away from him.

Just then, another tentacle whipped over the railing and slashed at Martin. He froze, and it would have hit him, but Brunhilda spoke a terrible phrase he didn’t understand and the tip of the tentacle burst into flame. He heard a loud screech as the tentacle pulled away, down into the water, where it hissed as the flames were extinguished. A few moments later, the tentacle came again, and this time it came in low and fast. It wrapped around Brunhilda’s ankle like a bullwhip and stole her balance. She fell flat on her back and dropped her weapons. The tentacle violently pulled her to the edge, where she wedged her free foot against the rail. She screamed and began clawing at the tentacle wrapped around her ankle. There was no way for her to set it on fire without burning herself!

Thinking fast, Martin grabbed her axe from the deck and hobbled as quickly as he could over to her. He tripped and fell, but he was within reach. He hewed at the tentacle with the axe. With one lucky slice, he cleanly chopped through it and the axe stuck in the wood beneath. There was another shriek, and the tentacles assaulting the ship withdrew into the water. The length of tentacle still attached to Brunhilde uncurled and fell limp, rolling off the deck and into the sea.

The sentries were still scanning the surf for any sign of the kraken, but saw nothing. Several warriors stood at the ready with their swords drawn still. But Brunhilde stared at him silently. Martin just looked back at her stupidly, wondering what she would say. Finally, she stood up and held out a hand for her axe. He handed to her. She looked down at it, turning it over and over.

“You’re a brave one. Courageous,” she said, not looking up at him from the axe.

They kept watch for the rest of the day. Martin no longer needed to hold her buckler for her, so he just wrapped his arms around himself and tried to stay warm.

As the sun set, they went back belowdecks. Once again, Brunhilda lit the lamp with magic. Martin sat down in the corner. It was only two more nights of sleeping on this wooden floor. He pulled his arms and legs into his habit again and curled up on the floor.

Just then, he heard a delightful sound, like a bell tinkling. He looked up at Brunhilde, who had finished undressing and was in her bodice. That lovely sound was her giggling.

“You know,” she said, “You really are like a cat, the way you curl up there.”

“I… Thank you?” he said.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Martin,” he replied.

“Well, Martin, why don’t you curl up here?” she said, smiling. He stood up and looked at her. Her curves were very visible in the bodice, and her nipples stood out under the cloth. She peeled the bodice off as she spoke, and stood before him naked. He began to breathe deeply, raggedly.

No, he couldn’t do this. He was a Monk of Sol. He had taken vows. There was no way he could do this with a woman. The woman in the barracks had been the first time he’d even seen a naked girl. And now Brunhilda was standing naked in front of him, and smiling. She sat down on the bed and patted the blankets beside her.

“What, are you afraid?” she asked, “Are you weak?” She smiled seductively at him.

“Yes,” he said meekly, looking down, “But I have also taken vows.”

She giggled again, like a tinkling bell.

“That part of your life is over, Martin. Now come here.”

He obediently walked forward and sat down beside her, looking away from her. He was still breathing heavily.

“Are you gonna sleep in that habit?” she purred. He knew what she wanted. He wriggled out of his habit and threw it into the corner, sitting naked on the bed. His dark hair was tousled and greasy. He was pale white all over, and mostly hairless. His narrow shoulders slumped forward, as if he did not wish to be noticed. He folded his hands in his lap, covering his crotch. Brunhilda could see the top of his buttocks pressed against the bed.

He first felt her hand in the middle of his back, between his shoulder blades. Her fingers, surprisingly soft, traced their way up his spine and tickled the nape of his neck. He shivered and breathed deeply. Brunhilde shifted and sat behind him. He felt her big, warm, soft thighs enclosing his skinny legs on either side. She began rubbing his shoulders. He groaned as she worked out the knots in his back, her thumbs pressing hard into his sore muscles. Her hands went down and snaked around his midriff, pulling him into her.

“Ah!” he said when he felt her nipples and big, soft boobs against his upper back. She rested her chin on top of his head. Her right hand rested on his belly and rubbed him in slow circles.

“Move your hands, darling,” she said. Nervously, he moved his hands onto his thighs, where they fidgeted a little. He expected her to touch him there, but she didn’t. Instead, the hand rubbing his belly teased his groin at the top of his pubic hair, while the other one ran up his smooth, thin chest and lay over his heart. When she scratched at the top of his pubic area, his heartbeat quickened and he began to breathe faster.

“Really, Martin?” she whispered in his ear, “Are you this afraid of girls?”

“Y-yes,” he stammered, “I… I told you I w-was weak.”

“Weak?” she cooed. The hand over his heart moved slightly and pinched his nipple, slowly twisting it until it ached. He let out a high pitched moan, not quite like a girl but certainly ****-sounding.

“Martin, I watched you fight a kraken today. You saved my life. Is that weak?”

“I… I guess not.”

“Right,” she whispered, taking her chin from the top of his head and whispering right in his ear. His cock was stiffening and would soon reach full erection. It ached with his nipple.

“You say you’re weak, but I don’t think so. You’re much stronger than you think,” she said. Something about that resonated with him. His eyes teared up and he thought to himself, I will not cry. I must not cry.

She trailed her lips down his neck and he began to pant. His cock was fully hard now and aching with need. Without warning, she scooted back from him, took him under the armpits with her hands, and pulled him onto the middle of the bed. She placed one hand on his chest and slowly, slowly pressed him down onto the bed. He looked up at her pale body and fiery red hair, her full pink lips, and the neatly trimmed line of red pubic hair.

“Martin, have you ever kissed a girl?”

“No,” he responded, his heart thumping again. This was it. He, a monk sworn to celibacy, was about to… about to…

She smiled at him.

“Well,” she said, “Let’s fix that first.”