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Message-ID: <61697asstr$1321060205@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: film in lofi <filminlofi@yahoo.com>
Reply-To: film in lofi <filminlofi@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Pirates by Nicholas Proxy
Lines: 244
Date: Fri, 11 Nov 2011 20:10:05 -0500
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Pirates by Nicholas Proxy


 'I'm looking, I'm just not seeing.' Joan Vaughn
held the cell phone to her ear with her shoulder so that she could keep her
hands tucked in the warmth of her armpits.  Her flats had little traction
on the wet grass as she walked around to the back of the old house.

   'I'm sure they did say the key was in the planter, but I'm here, and
believe me there is no planter next to this stupid house.'  She looked at
the rain gutters, plugged up from months of neglect and bent from the
morning's rain.  'I'm not doing that, Dan.' She put her face against the
window and peered into the dark empty room inside.  'Because I'm wearing a
white blouse and the window sills are filthy and the buyers are going to be
here in 20 minutes, you jerk.'  Joan's breath had fogged the glass too much
to see through, and she stepped back to look up to the second floor. 
'Dammit!' The house overlooked the inlet and Joan turned toward the water. 
She looked through the mist at a few lobster boats bobbing on their
moorings.  'Fine.  Just send someone with a key.  It's fucking freezing out
here.' 

   She snapped off the phone and started for the old dock that stretched
out from the house over the inlet.   The dock was very long, stretching
about seventy feet out.  And it was low tide, so it was about twenty feet
down to the water.  But a weatherworn box was mounted at the end of the
dock, and it looked like a good place to hide a key.

   About ten steps onto the dock, Joan felt the first drops on her face. 
'Shit!' She covered her breasts with her arms as best she could and
quickened her pace.  As the rain came own harder, Joan moved faster, until
she was running down the dock.  Ten feet from the box, the boards shifted
under her.  Creak.  She stopped still in her tracks.  She looked down and
saw the whole dock move a foot to the left, and twenty feet below, the rain
pummeled the swirling sea.  'Oh God oh God oh God.' Joan held her breath as
the rain soaked her through.  The old wood swayed beneath her.  She took a
deep breath and closed her eyes.  With a horrible splintering, the dock
collapsed into the sea.  For a moment in the freezing water, Joan didn't
know which way was up.  She struggled her feet out of her flats and tried
to see where to swim.  A broken plank brushed her thigh on it's way to the
surface and Joan followed it.  With a gasp of air she breached the surface
just long enough to see that the shore was farther away than she thought.
Then she was knocked under again by the waves.

   The water was so cold and dark and the sudden rain drove harder with
every moment.  Joan felt the salt water in her eyes and nose and her mind
spun with the sea.  Something alive clamped on to her arm.  She tried to
wrench herself free of the creature but it held tightly, and pulled. 
Joan's head bumped against wood as she thrashed and as her head breached
the water, she screamed a watery cry.  'Stop twisting or I'll lose you!' 
The desperate voice filled her ear.  Something grasped her other arm and
she suddenly knew that these things were not vicious aquatic attackers, but
the strong, rough hands of a fisherman.  And Joan was pulled from the sea.
'Are there any others?' Shouted the fisherman, his eyes darting across the
waves.  Joan looked up from where she lay on the deck of the lobster boat
at the lanky young man in the soaking t-shirt.  'No.  Just me,' she managed
to utter.  'Ok.' He gasped, almost as out of breath and scared as Joan was.
'I didn't-- are you all right?' He dropped to his knees to look at Joan,
his eyes moving quickly across her, looking for blood.  'I'm ok. 
I'm....just , that was scary.'  She looked up at his eyes, which had
stopped scanning for injury and now lingered, on her chest.  She looked
down at her blouse.  The thin, white fabric clung to her heaving breasts,
and her dark nipples had hardened tightly, pressing out a half inch.  She
moved her arm across her chest and stood up.  'Can we get out of the rain?'
She asked.  'In here.'  The two went into the small, enclosed part of the
boat where the man turned up the space heater in the corner.  Joan looked
around for a place to sit, but her options were limited.  There were long
compartments built into the sides of the boat that looked right to sit on,
except for the layers of grime.  Joan took an orange life preserver off a
hook.  'You won't need that.' The man said, getting up from the heater. 
'No, to sit on,' she replied, and dropped it on the lid of one
compartment.  The man opened the other one and rooted around inside.  Joan
sat down and looked at the man who had saved her life.  'What's your name?'
Joan asked.  His young, open face turned to her.  'Pete,' he said.  'Thank
you Pete.'  'I don't see any dry clothes.' He dropped the lid shut. 
'There's a blanket in that one.' Joan stood up and Pete got the dark gray
blanket out.  'My names Joan,' she said.  'It's damp, but it's wool, so
it'll still warm you.' He handed her the coarse army blanket.  'Thanks
again.' Joan looked at the way his old black t-shirt flattened, wet,
against the lean muscles of his back.  'What about you?' 'I'm fine.' He
peeled the shirt off his torso, the cloth trying to cling to his arms and
chest.  Joan noticed a thin chain, loose around his neck.  Joan looked
away, and found herself staring at an old, worn copy of playboy lying open
by the steering wheel.  The woman in the picture was supposed to be a
pirate.  She had a red bandana tied around her hair and a cutlass in her
hand.  Her bodice was open and her breasts were as full and smooth as
Joan's own.  Joan blushed and glanced quickly back at Pete, who stood
wringing out his shirt onto the floor.  'I don't know how to get you back
to shore, exactly,' he said, without looking over at her.  'What do you
mean?' 'I took my dad's rowboat out here.  I don't have the keys to the
boat.'  He snaked his limber torso back into the damp shirt.  'And we can't
row until the rain stops.' 'Why'd you come out here without keys?' Joan
asked, though she thought she knew.  'Get out of the house.' Pete sat down
on the opposite bench, and shrugged.  'Smoke a little pot.' Joan pulled the
damp blanket tighter around her.  He was right, it was warm.  'How long do
we have to wait, you think?' 'Dunno.'  For a minute the two just sat in the
boat, listening to the rain on the sea outside.  Out the window, Joan could
make out distant headlights by the house, and she knew the buyers were
right now trying to figure out where the hell she was.  It crossed her mind
that they never would.  'Do you, by chance, have- uh, anymore of that pot?'
Pete looked up at Joan.  She smiled slightly.  'Do you smoke?' He asked. 
'uh..  little.  In college.  Not in a while.'  Joan brushed some hair out
of her eyes.  Pete blinked at her for a moment.  Then reached into his
pocket and pulled out a black film canister and a white pipe.  Joan watched
as he knocked the ash out and loaded the pipe from the canister.  'I think
this lighter is shot,' said Pete, and tossed the waterlogged lighter toward
a trashcan.  'Oh.  I have one in my purse.' Joan reached around near her
side.  'Which is, of course, somewhere in the ocean.' She smiled sheepishly
at Pete, who was already rummaging in a jar by the wheel.  'My dad's got to
have some matches around.  Hold this' Pete handed Joan the pipe and she
examined it carefully.  It was small, and ivory, hand carved like a gray
whale.  'Is this an antique?' 'Beats me.' Pete sat down on the bench beside
her.  'Found it on the beach two years ago.  Here.' Pete lit a match, and
Joan lifted the ivory to her lips.  Pete held the match still and Joan
breathed gently in.  'Certainly a change from my Marlboros,' she said, as
she exhaled the smoke.  For the first time, Pete smiled.

   He took a quick hit and passed it back to Joan, who took a long, slow
drag.  As she held in the smoke, she stared again at the pipe.  The pot was
kicking in, and Joan felt her mind start to change it's familiar paths. 
She didn't feel stupider; she just felt her attention moving to parts of
her brain that she hadn't paid attention to in a long time.  She let the
smoke escape her lungs.  'I don't have anything like this.' 'What?' Asked
Pete.  He was pulling seeds out of the canister.  'This pipe.  I never hold
anything in my hands that is old and hand-carved.'  Pete looked up at her,
but she still stared at the ivory pipe.  'Everything I touch is
disposable.' 'I guess it is nice.'  Pete took it gently from her hands and
looked at it himself.  Joan leaned back against the wall, closed her eyes
and listened to Pete take a deep drag.  'Did you come out here to look at
that magazine?' She asked.  Pete was quiet for a moment.  Then he spoke. 
'Yeah.  I guess.' Joan still leaned back, still had her eyes closed.  'God,
' she said.  'I used to masturbate a lot.  But I've been so busy for ' She
leaned forward and opened her eyes.  ' years.' 'I didn't say-' 'Is that
magazine your favorite?' 'What do you mean?' 'I had a favorite, when I
masturbated in high school.  A romance novel.  I even took it to college.'

   Pete put the pipe and canister back in his pocket.  'What was it about?'
Joan turned and looked at Pete.  His eyes were sky blue, and his curly,
auburn hair was a little long, and wild.  'Pirates,' she said.  The two
looked gently at each other.  The orange glow from the boat's single bulb
was the only light on the dark bay.  Pete leaned an inch closer to Joan,
and Joan leaned in too.  As their lips touched, Joan felt a warmth rise in
her belly.  He put one hand on the back of her head, tangling his fingers
in her wet hair, and kissed her deeply.  Joan's eyes slipped shut and she
relaxed her body into his arms.  A moment later, their lips softly parted.

   Joan looked up into Pete's wide eyes.  She moved away slightly and stood
up, dropping the blanket to the deck.  Her blouse still clung, wet, to her
flesh, and she watched Pete's hungry eyes roam over her proud tits and
linger on her stiff, dark nipples.  She reached between two buttons and
undid the front clasp.  A small tug and her heaving breasts were out of the
bra cups, straining directly against the wet blouse.  'Come here,' she
whispered.

   In a moment Pete hands were on Joan's chest, pulling apart the thin
material.  As soon as the shirt was open, she felt the heat of his mouth
envelop a cold tit.  Her nipple hardened more, even as his mouth warmed it,
and she felt his wild tongue dancing over her nub.

   His hands clutching her back, his mouth devouring her tits, Joan pulled
Pete's t-shirt up his back until it bunched at his shoulder blades.  He
pulled away for a moment and he pulled the shirt over his head.  Joan
clutched his bare torso, the side of her head against his smooth chest. 
She ran her hands down his abs as he fumbled with his belt.  He opened his
fly just as Joan's searching hands reached it.  Pete wasn't wearing
underwear, and his cock sprung out into Joan's grasp.  She felt it, iron
hard in her hand, and slowly slid down his body.  'Oh God,' Pete cried out,
as his aching hard-on slid between Joan's heavy tits.  His hands came down
on either side, and pressed her globes around his throbbing cock.  Joan
looked up, into his eyes, and saw his overwhelming pleasure.  Together,
they massaged his dick with her breasts, which were becoming warmer with
every moment.  Joan undid her pants and pulled them and her panties down to
her knees.  As Pete's cock breached her deep cleavage, her tongue swirled
around the bulging head.  'Ohhh!' Pete's cock throbbed.  Joan dropped to
her knees, and as his stiff member slid out of her tits, she opened her
mouth and took him down her throat.  Pete's fingers dug into her ample tit
flesh.  Joan slid his cock in and out of her mouth, swirling her tongue
around the underside.  She yanked down his jeans and ran her hands over his
young ass, which was already starting to sweat.  She could feel his cock
throb in her mouth as she slid her lips up and down his thick shaft. 
Pete's balls tensed and he slid out of her hot mouth.  Pete dropped to his
knees and Joan flopped back on the blanket.  In an instant, he had her
pants crumpled in the corner and was running his tongue up the inside of
her quivering thigh.  She could feel his hard-on pulsing against her leg
and she bit her lip to keep from moaning.  Then she remembered where she
was.  'Oooh,' she let the sound run out of her mouth without resistance. 
Pete's tongue plunged deep into her pussy, and her juices flowed hot into
his mouth.  His hands clutched her hips and pulled her pussy toward his
ravaging mouth.

   'Ung.' Joan grasped her own tits in her hands, kneading the flesh as
Pete's tongue found her hardened clit.  Joan pulled on her long nipples and
rolled her head back.  Pete's strong tongue slid over her clit, massaging
it deeply with firm, focused pressure.  He ground his cock into her leg and
stared up at her nipples, which Joan was twisting in her fingers.

   Pete could bare it no longer.  He dove onto Joan's twisting body and
plunged his hard, thick cock into her soaking pussy.  The passage was
tight, and as it opened to his thrusting member both Joan and Pete moaned
in pleasure.  Joan could feel her hole filled with the throbbing cock, and
her heart leapt in her chest.  As he vigorously worked his rod in and out
of her slippery pussy, his pelvis bone ground into hers.  His face was
buried in her neck and the boat rocked with their fucking and the waves of
the sea.  Joan felt everything she had coursing toward the pleasure in her
pussy.  It was overwhelming.  'I!  I!' She was coming, but she couldn't
form the words.  'Ughh!!!!!!' The muscles in her pussy clenched so hard
around Pete's cock that he pulled his head back in shock.  He stared as
Joan's eyes rolled back in her head and her arms grasped desperately to his
thin, sweaty back.  Pete's nuts pulsed.  He slowly drove his cock once more
into Joan's pulsing hole, and felt his cock erupt into throbbing orgasm. 
Joan felt his hot come bursting into her pussy and another wave of euphoria
surged through her.  They clutched each other tightly, until the throbbing
slowly relaxed.  Pete collapsed his weight onto Joan's body and she wrapped
her arms around him.  She stared at the bulb hanging from the ceiling
above, watching it sway with the movement of the sea.  She smelled the
sweat on his shoulders and felt the lingering twitches inside her.  'Thank
you, Pete.' She whispered. 

   The next day, as Joan was finally doing laundry, she put her hand into
the pocket of her sea-soaked pants.  Inside was something small and hard. 
She pulled out the ivory pipe from the pocket where Pete must have put it. 
Hand carved, like a gray whale.  Joan stood in the basement, just holding
it, for a very long time.

   If you enjoyed this story, I'd love to hear about it at
filminlofi@yahoo.com

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