FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Stars fly past and suns blaze in the distance, the Archie leaving a small trail of embers and carbon dust in its wake as they coast on the outer rim of the solar system to lay low after a recent score. Supply runs are still made with a smaller dinghy strapped to the side of the old ship, one of which Lyn came back from after gathering info. While she did help haggle one or two items down a bit, her main purpose was to connect with contacts and collect information on recent going-ons. A summary write up passed off to Valkyrie to deliver to the captain is all the pangolin had to do for the day.

The rest of it has been spent in leisure leaning on the rail of the ship, chatting about this and that with the crew in passing while she nurses a bottle of fine wine appropriated from a noble’s personal stock not too long ago. The familiar, fast bootfalls of the captain behind her announce his presence as he sidles up next to her and gazes out at the passing space.

“Sometimes, I miss trees,” Lyn remarks. “And then I remember bugs accompany them, and then I miss them less.”

“Sometimes I miss the stars, and then I remember how much space dust gets in our rations,” Yskra smirks.

“Sure, when some dork leaves the portholes open while we fly through a dust storm.”

“They can sometimes get pushed open, fall off, that sort of thing; it’s not always someone’s fault. That’s why I’m Valk’s gotten finnicky about doing inspections on even door hinges,” He chuckles. “And I admit, I’ve been wanting to do the same thing to you.”

“Oh, really now, captain? Surely, you’re just concerned for my health, yes?”

“Absolutely! But I cannot be sure without being thorough. Would you mind accompanying me to my cabin?”

“How could I leave you worrying? Of course, I will!”

There has been something of an electric pulse between the two when they’ve locked eyes over the past few days ever since having a drunken row in his bed. He had whiskey dick, and she was certainly less than lively, but it was still a good time and left both wondering how good it would be to try again – a take it seriously this time. As such, the moment they walk within his cabin, the door is shut quickly, locked, and the two only bother to strip their pants and boots before Lyn leaps into his arms.

He’s already erect and ready for her, the two kissing passionately as he grinds his length against the soft, scaly skin of her labia, carrying her towards his desk where he pushes her down on the wooden surface. Papers scatter and become disorganized, and the drawer doors shake as he thrusts inside her to the hilt. His tapered avian shaft fits easily but quickly thickens out, spreading her wide without feeling like a battering ram is smashing into her castle gates. Not like she would mind such a thing either, mind you.

For any other desk, this action might also cause the jars of quills and charcoal and other clerical necessities to go flying in every which direction, but for Yskra as an experienced sailor and lover, everything is organized and either bolted or glued in place, save for the inkwell that goes clattering to the floor. However, it’s been tightly corked and does not spill nor break. The same cannot be said for Lyn as the rough treatment has her hot and bothered, drops beading along her nether lips as they are parted and bypassed by Yskra’s length.

He's intent on watching the small bulge along her belly bounce up and down with the repeated thrusts of his girth into her sex, and her moans are music to his ears as she’s quickly overwhelmed by the stimulation and his dominance. Dominance that seeks to paint her womb white, hilting inside her and shooting his first pump of seed into her innermost depths right before Zaryl knocks on the door and calls out his intent to deliver a report.

“Yskra! Desty wanted me to give you her write up on meeting the smuggler… Flaccid Goo Barrage?” The first mate says, confused.

Yskra ceases his lovemaking and pinches the bridge of his snout before pulling out, his mood momentarily killed.

“Fuckin’ hell, Desty,” He sighs, sitting down heavily in his desk chair. “You couldn’t have timed that better… Can you get the door for me, Lyn?”

“Sure thing,” She nods, hiding her fluster after smoothing out her shirt and moving over to answer the door by partially opening it and hiding her bottom half, nude and with semen dripping from her sex, by leaning out to greet Zaryl.

“Heeey, First Mate.”

“Lyn? What are you doing in Yskra’s quarters? Actually, never mind, stupid question. I have a report here,” The blue hydra explains as he frowns, continuing to read the first page of the report. “But something tells me Desty is fucking with me.”

“I’m the one fucking right now. Come back with your stack of rubbish later,” Yskra snorts as he leans over Lyn and puts a hand on the door. “I’m a bit busy breaking in a new pet.”

“Pet?” Lyn yelps, flustered as the door is suddenly shut in Zaryl’s face.

He can hear her pressed against the hard wood and then a following moan and wet slap as he spears her on his length again. The hinges practically rattle as the raptor goes into a rut to make up for his ruined orgasm. Sighing, Zaryl decides to have a short visit with the cook’s assistant to take care of the sudden bulge in his pants before having a few choice words with Desty for her cheek. That conversation will have to wait much longer than he initially thought, Desty having watched the whole thing happen while sitting along one of the crossbeams holding up the sails.

She waits until the door frame isn’t shaking to knock and let herself in, finding Lyn and Yskra sharing a smoke from where they lay on his bed.

“Flaccid Good Barrage. Really?” Yskra scoffs as she enters and closes the door behind her.

“Hey, you made an appointment and then started shagging when it was supposed to start; you earned a bit of cock block, mister!” The hazel and cream fur colored dragon tuts. “You should know my time is precious!”

“Care to explain the romance novels that keep piling up on your desk, then?”

“Even the deckhands get several hours of free time a day! Am I not deserving of this too?”

“Alright, I know how this works: I’m going to have to fuck the brat out of you before this can be productive,” Yskra chuckles, passing the smoke pipe to Lyn as he rises out of the bed.

“Oh, please… No sir…. Don’t hit me with your Sloppy Second Seed Cannon. That would be far too much,” Desty replies dryly.

“Y’know, the funny thing is,” Yskra smirks as he marches forward and puts his hands gently on her shoulders. “That doesn’t work now that I expect it. And you remember what I did last time you annoyed me, right?”

“You put it up my ass. Oh no. Woe is me,” She smirks right back. “Whaddaya gonna do this time, huh?”

In answer, he picks her up by the waist before pressing her up against the wall above his head at the perfect height to push her legs apart. Her short skirt is not nearly enough of an obstacle to get in the way as he moves aside her panties with his teeth and delves his tongue into her vent. There is no fanfare as he opens his jaws wide to engulf her sex in his maw. His longue tongue reaches and presses against her cervix before he proceeds to hungrily devour her snatch like he’s a man dying of thirst and she the only thing left to drink.

Needless to say, this catches Desty offguard, and she’s left holding onto the captain’s shoulders as she’s racked with wave after wave of pleasure, unable to make the stronger man stop even if she wanted him to. He’s been with her many times before and it shows, each forceful lap of his tongue against the most sensitive places of her inner walls culminating in wracking her with wave after wave of pleasure as he reduces her to a hot mess in three minutes flat.

“Right then,” Yskra says as he wipes his mouth, lowering her down to place into a nearby chair. “Let’s get down to business.”

“Dunno, cap’, you’ve been pretty busy already,” Lyn remarks, having enjoyed the show.

“As a pirate, I am first and foremost a man of business in every sense of the word!” Yskra smirks before quickly putting the papers on his desk into some form of organization and unrolling a map.

Placing it on a small table, he moves it to where the two can see.

“We’re here on the starfield,” He says, pointing to a position on the top left and then tapping one a few solar leagues to the right. “And this is where Letto’s crew is recruiting some backwater troublemakers to conduct a mischief. You two don’t know him but I’ve run into him in the past, mostly when we were raiding him; he’s crossboned for breaking the pirate code, so he’s free game. Free game that’s very good at collecting valuable and rare star charts, among other maps, but he’ll burn or otherwise destroy them if he sees this ship or my face.”

“You must have really broken the man for him to give up and resort to spite that quickly,” Lyn remarks.

“I know! I almost want to ask him what I did, but he’s the type to keep a list so I’d be there all day. Regardless, he also knows most of the crew, but you two are relatively new arrivals he won’t recognize. Desty, you’re a clerk that will be able to rifle through his papers quickly and filch anything else of use, and Lyn, you have subterfuge experience. In the interest of getting those maps in one piece, I want you both to do this job and nab them while he’s harbored. He keeps the most valuable ones on his person, and those I want above all. Is that relatively clear?”

“Mostly. How did he get crossboned?”

“He was an apprentice to the clerk of the pirate queen when he got caught selling of her maps to nobles.”

“Ohhh! Yikes. I’m surprised he wasn’t put on the kill list instead.”

“He was but got off after he traded the location of a treasure she had been searching for in exchange for his life. Ever since then he’s stuck to rural and fringe planets, the type where people have hundreds of years of boring history and sometimes have bookstores and odd shops with lifetimes worth of unique work. Most of it is garbage. Sometimes it’s interesting. And every so often it happens to be old treasure maps.”

“So, what, he’s a dousing rod for maps?” Desty asks quizzically.

“Correct.” Yskra nods.

“Come to think of it, cap, why aren’t we crossboned? I’ve never logged a single due to the queen in our finances.”

“I would love to tell you it’s because I’m her heart throb or I have some particularly delicious blackmail on her…”

“So… what is it?”

“I seduced hunting parties she dispatched to find me three times in a row and convinced them to tell her increasingly tall tales of why I couldn’t pay. I think she got so exhausted with it she took me off the list.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” Desty says matter o’ factly with Lyn nodding in agreement.

“Anyways, he’s this soft looking, red furred ermine; incredibly hard to miss. And he tends to prefer crew with skulls thicker than a boulder, so I don’t see you two having trouble with getting on board or getting out,” Yskra explains. “Do you need anything else to work with, either of you?”

“I’ll need free reign of the ships clothing to pick out disguises and the armory to come up with weapons believable for two wannabe pirates,’ Lyn says.

“I can already get the pocket change we’ll need from the safe. Thinking about it, we’ll also need a signal for when we got the charts,” Desty thinks aloud.

The three take the better part of the night hammering out the finer details and by morning, as much as one can call it when the sun is clearly visible in space, the two take the dinghy to travel planetside where it’s night and land not far off from the port town. Most pirate ports are built vertically when on a planet to accommodate ships landing for repairs and loading of supplies, but this one is different since it’s also an actual port connected to a red, iron oxide-stained sea.

That same color dyes the dust and dirt of the dry, prairie land surrounding the port in thin, whispy and tall grass and the occasional odd looking woody fern or shrub. Most of the port buildings are built with stone foundations and the salvaged wood and hulls from an old navy fleet that was wrecked here after a battle long ago. The more established and older buildings are made entirely of stone, red and sparkly like granite.

The plan is simple: Desty is a store clerk and Lyn a thief from a fishing village not far from here that wants to get off world to escape their dull lives. They’ve taken time to pick out old, faded clothes that have been patched several times and carry old fishing harpoons as weapons. They plan to join the crew, ingratiate themselves with their charms – Desty schmoozing up to Letto and Lyn the rest of the crew – just long enough to figure out where the maps and charts are and dash off with them. If anything goes wrong, both Lyn and Desty can signal the Archie with little talking devices appropriated by a mutual friend from the navy. In total, they have three days the ship can afford to be in orbit around the planet.

Come morning, the two arrive on the dock, locate Letto’s ship without much trouble with it being the talk of the town as the biggest ship there, and in short order present themselves. It’s little more than a large sloop with rather dubious engines strapped to the sides, but given the captain is crossboned and unable to trade in any blackmarket for light years around, it’s rather impressive to have scrapped together. Much of the other ships are practically ancient lifeboats that meet pirates in orbit to trade food for other goods, held together by hopes, dreams, and the strange glue the port derives from the local fish. They smell like it too.

“Oi, what are you two doin’ here? Come to join the crew?” An old otter demands of the two, his voice and enunciation clear and edged with an unfamiliar accent.

For his species, he’s quite tall and heavyset, 5’10’’ with a strongman’s body and just a pair of trousers on, displaying his brawn and deep chestnut coat shot through with salt and pepper coloring that’s been marred with dozens of white lines from the scars underneath. He has only one eye, the other covered with a black leather eye patch. The rest of the crew perks up upon seeing two young women, but they’re quickly cowed to return to their duties under the sharp gaze of the otter.

“That be right, sah! That’s exactly right-on! I’m Kat and this dusty wench here is Shells!” Desty beams, matching the local dialect perfectly.

“Are you both in good health?”

“We walked here from Knickernets, so I reckon we is!” Lyn joins in, not to be outdone.

“Tell you what, if you brought any fish that doesn’t taste like metal, you can join right now.”

“‘Fraid not, sah! That sort o’ thing gets sold off reaaall quick. It’s just iron and copper flavorings ‘tween the both of us!”

“I hate this planet,” He sighs quietly under his breath before speaking back up. “Fine, fine. What skills have you got?”

“I’m literate and can do maths! And I’m also no stranger to pulling my weight on my back,” Desty says with a wink.

“Oh. That’s nice. And you… was it Shellie?”

“Shells, sah! I can pick anything from a lock to a prison pocket without no one noticing a thing!”

“Alright, since you both had something new to say compared to the rest of the… prospective recruits I’ve seen, come aboard. Captain will have the final say.”

Right away, sah!” Desty chirps.

“Why did we have to run out of rum yesterday?” He sighs, wearily walking from the main deck to the captain’s quarters. He casually strikes the door three times with a fist, seeming to put little effort into it, but each blow rattles the door in its frame.

Before long, a red face peaks out behind two large, circular glasses and a singularly cute face, dressed in a thin shirt and pants. Whiskers frame his face, and his hair is worn short with locks falling over his eyes as he owlishly examines the deck. Desty knows well his face: that of a scholar broken out of a deep study and momentarily disoriented. He remembers himself quickly and straightens out with a stoic expression, stepping out to cast his eyes over the entire ship and then on the two prospective recruits. It’s notable he has a few separate scroll cases strapped to his belt.

His deep brown gaze is critical, scrutinizing their forms up and down before he nods, “They’re not raising any flags for me. Proceed as you see fit, Helm.”

With that, he almost seems to scurry back into his dark quarters, returning to the familiarity of paper and ink.

“Alright, time to vet how useful you two will or won’t be. Come on,” Helm orders.

The gruff otter first puts them through a test of knot tying and general sailor chores, all of which they pass with flying colors as supposed fishing villagers. They struggle a little with the unfamiliar orientation of the ship, but Helm seems satisfied, nonetheless. Second is sparring, pushing the two to show him how they would fight with their harpoons. Both use it like a spear, unfamiliar with using it as a weapon. Lyn knows how to hold it properly when fishing, but Helm very quickly homes in on Desty’s grip.

“Knickernets is a fishing village, right? Why are you holding it like that, girl?” He barks.

“Oh, mah da’ usually did this part. I was always more of a pole and line kinda girl!” Desty giggles nervously, noticing the smug look Lyn shoots at her.

“Right. Sure,” He rolls his eyes before showing her how to grip it properly and running a few basic fighting drills past her.

For the actual sparring, he is a stern, unforgiving teacher. Using a dull cutlass, he disarms and wacks them both on the hands, arms, and body multiple times, making lumps and bruises and motivating them with more than just merit to improve. After he’s satisfied they won’t be entirely useless in a fight, he shows the two to their hammocks below deck to have a lay down, leaving them to familiarize themselves with the crew.

There are ten in total, a motley mixture of foxes, birds, and a single rat. Only the rat came with Helm and Letto, the others fresh recruits little more than village idiots Letto has been cobbling together into some semblance of pirates. From their polite, shy way of talking to the two women, they’re all a sharp contrast to the rat that looks them up and down with a nonplussed gaze before returning to reading a book.

Desty is skilled at seducing aristocrats and anyone with a high opinion of themselves, but these lads are anything but. Lyn, however, has them wrapped around her finger in minutes with a sweet smile and a few kind words, and they quickly bring her out to sightsee the port. With the ship suddenly barren, she turns to the rat, black furred with hard black eyes and a single gold hoop in one ear. He short and lithe and doesn’t smell of body odor as bad as the rest of the recruits.

“Hey, I’m D – Kat,” Desty corrects herself mid greeting. “What’s yer name?”

“D’kat?” He frowns, turning to her.

“Oh, folks back home call me Darling. Got used to saying it, clearly! Buuut that seemed a touch obnoxious to be using. Since. You know. We’ll be killing and robbing people.”

He blinks before returning to his book and stating, “Tar.”

“What about tar?”

“Your question. My name. Tar,” He says shortly with exactly zero emotion.

“Oh. What do you do, Tar?”

“Kill and rob people.”

“Fair enough!”

“…”

“I get the feeling you’d rather I leave yah alone.”

“Please do.”

“I hear ya! I’ll get outta yer hair.”

‘Tough crowd,’ Desty thinks to herself as she goes back to top deck.

“Half a day and crew discipline breaks down already with you two around,” Helm frowns as he sees her crest the stairs.

“Oh, yeah, sorry about that! Shells gets real friendly, yah see.”

“I can tell…”

“Is… is there anything I can do to help with that?”

“Yes. Tell her when she gets back, she’ll be joining the rest of the crew in tarring the deck for leaving the ship without permission.”

“Ah. Will do,” Desty nods. “What’cha workin’ on now?”

She peers over his shoulder at the schematic he’s frowning at, obviously one of the ship but without the engines. He snorts in annoyance and makes a harsh, rough growl in the back of his throat.

“Unless you can sort out aerodynamics of a ship with scrap engines bolted on, shove off, will you?” He says. “Unless you want to mix tar, go do something anything else.”

“Actually, I can!”

“No, you can’t,” He waves her off. “This is a little harder than ramming a sail on a rowboat.”

“Ah, c’mon! Let me see your calculations!” She urges.

With a huff, he swaps out another paper behind the blueprint to the top that is densely filled out with tiny and precise handwriting, making use of every bit of the page. Desty scans it for a moment before placing a finger on the page.

“Yah miscarried here, sah. And I’m no engineer but I think whatever yah used to measure the wind speed needs to be greased; I’ve seen wind vanes give bad readings when rusted.”

He examines it for a moment before letting out another sigh with a dull, “You’re right. Thanks.”

Going through the numbers again, he calls Tar and the two begin unbolting the engine on one side and raising its angle up, prompting Letto to come out to see what the racket is.

“Tinkering with the engine again, Helm?” He queries as if this happens often.

“Yes. Every adjustment means we’re just a little more fuel efficient,” He replies, waving a wrench for emphasis. “It’s not like we’ve got a lot left. The girl there is half decent with numbers, maybe she can help you sort out the chicken scratching you’ve been looking at too.”

“Well. It couldn’t hurt. Wait here please…” He looks at her expectantly.

“Kat!”

“Kat. Is that short for Katarina?”

“Nope, my ma’ just liked cats!”

“Ah. Charming…” He notes, retrieving a small stool and table along with a few sheets of paper and ink. “Transcribe these notes into something more legible for me. I can’t read the penmanship, but as a local I hope you can?”

Glancing at it, Desty nods, able to decipher the script easily enough compared to the drunken flow of checks by nobles late at night. It doesn’t take her long, and with her knowledge on reading star charts, she’s helping him sort through a large stack of them to sort out what’s nonsense and what’s useful by the time Lyn returns back with ten drunk sailors in tow. She’s still perfectly sober, however, and one of the few left that can grasp a mop to begin tarring the deck, much to her chagrin. Her technique in doing so is sloppy at best, emulating the crew of the Archie to poor effect. Helm notices but simply does not care enough to correct her and goes back to fiddling with the engines some more. By now, Desty can tell he does so as an escape rather than to actually do something useful.

Despite having glasses, Letto seems to have eyes on the back of his head and is aware of Desty at all times after he let her into his cabin to use a proper desk. Most of the furniture is rickety wood held together by more glue than nails, but he has several writing tables and bookshelves all stacked to the nines and is visibly paranoid about all of it. Frustratingly, this means she doesn’t have a good chance to nick anything except the undesirable charts made by fishers over the last several decades on this planet. However, he does appreciate her work, though as night rolls around she is dislodged from her workstation to the below quarters.

Helm motivated the drunk crew to get to tar sweeping after all by threatening to withhold their dinner of dried fish and ale, so they’re all exhausted and asleep by the time Tar, Helm, and Letto meet in the captain’s quarters to share a short meeting without anyone to keep Lyn and Desty from listening through the door.

“–here’s no way those two are who they say they are,” Helm states firmly. “Even drunk, the rest of the men did a better job than ‘Shells’. And ‘Kat’? I bet my ass for a fortnight that girl is not just a clever yokel.”

“Agreed. Kat high energy. Too high energy for this place,” Tar adds. “Shells much less shy than most women from area.”

“I can’t speak for Shells, but Kat is certainly knowledgeable. Too much so for her story to check out. We’ll need to have a ‘chat’, I think,” Letto agrees.

Desty looks to Lyn and they both nod, pulling knives and prepared to rush in now that their cover is effectively blown, but the lever of a rifle cocking catches their attention as Tar stands above them in the moonlight, gun trained on the dragon.

“Bullet ineffective for shells. Good for fur. Surrender and neither die. Or don’t and the fur will be first,” He says, monotone.

“Well. Shit,” Lyn sighs, dropping her knife and raising her hands.

“How did you do that?” Desty demands, complying grudgingly.

“Porthole. You were in there all day. You did not notice?” He replies with the ghost of a raised brow.

“Yes, yes, they’ve been foolish in a lot of ways,” Helm rolls his eyes as he opens the door, apparently having heard the exchange as he ropes the two women back to back, ankles, legs, arms and wrists all tied together in a matter of moments before the experienced sailor carries them with one arm to toss onto the cabin floor, closing it as Tar enters back through the aforementioned porthole.

Tar first searches them, pulling four more knives off of Lyn and a bootknife off of Desty along with their small amounts of coin. At first, he missed the voice device hidden between Desty’s legs, but after finding Lyn’s concealed beneath a previously shed plate on her back, he’s more thorough with his second search and finds it on the dragon.

“Navy voice device. Hard to make. Spies?” Tar suggests.

“Unlikely. We’re small fries and have stayed out of the limelight that would attract them. Well, what do you two have to say for yourselves, eh?” Helm growls. “Where are you from, who do you work for, and why us of all people?”

“You know, Lyn. I’ve had some bad ops. This takes the cake,” Desty groans.

“Agreed. I played it up way too hard,” Lyn sighs and then promptly yelps as the otter’s fist slams into the planks next to her head like a meteor, splintering it.

“Suggest more answers. Less stalling,” Tar states.

“Okay, fine! We were trying to arrange a mutiny to steal your ship, okay? We got stuck here after our engines ate dust and have been living in this dusty hell ever since! Can you blame us?” Lyn blurts out.

“Oh really? That’s funny, because I could swear I smelled soap in your dragon friend’s hair when I lifted you both, and that sort of thing doesn’t exist around here,” Helm calls her out. “You get one more chance: where, who, why?”

“Hold on a moment,” Letto interjects, seeming troubled by a flash of color in Desty’s hair as he reaches down into its depths and pulls out a yellow feather.

Desty can’t see Lyn’s face, but she can tell from the other woman’s tail smacking her leg she is being judged very much so for not taking it out. And Lyn can tell from her sheepish fidget that the dragon simply forgot about it after wearing it for so long. There is a short makeup grasp between the tier tails before Letto lets out an unarticulated snarl of rage, shocking everyone in the room at the uncharacteristic outburst.

“Yskra…” He hisses out, his eyes suffusing with amber.

“Love, okay, there are three moons on this planet. Two are out right now. You need to calm down,” Helm says, both him and Tar at his side.

While the otter tries to grasp his hands comfortingly, Tar takes both the feather, the ermine’s glasses, and his scrolls, setting them aside.

“Robbed time and time and time again by that arrogant, self-important, halfbrained, pompous piece of SHI–”

“Dial back. Dial back. Please,” Tar cuts him off, rubbing his back. “Calm. Gentle. No wrath. Please.”

The ermine takes a deep, shuddering breath, closing his eyes and massaging his temples. For a moment he seems fine, but his clothes begin to rip apart as his size grows, his gaze snapping open and glowing fiercely with a lambent flare up, and his two companions immediately back up as the transformation takes holds. Within moments, he’s a broad shouldered, lanky beast drooling saliva as he snatches up one of the talking devices Tar set aside, nearly breaking it as he compresses the button.

“YSKRA. WHERE ARE YOU? I WILL HANG YOU WITH YOUR GUTS AND DRINK YOUR MARROW!” He bellows deafeningly.

“Oh, hello Letto, it’s been so long!” Yskra replies cheerfully.

“IS THIS FUNNY TO YOU?”

“Considering how it went last time you talked all this good shit? Yeah. Just a little.”

“Oh,” He growls bestially with a wolfish grin, “I haven’t forgotten. But I also know you mark girls you keep to yourself with feathers. I hear your possessiveness is on par with the legend of dragons and treasure! And yet you delivered two of them to me without being here to stop me. Normally I’d think this is bait, but you’re the special kind of egotistical fool to set your own trap against you!”

“Letto. I will warn you. And I will warn you exactly once. Think long and hard about why, despite all my swindlery, terrible deals, FUBAR operations, and flat-out bad days that not once am I known for being the cuck.”

“Please,” Letto snorts, tossing aside the voice device with the input button permanently crushed inwards, leaving it on. “Come down here. I might just take it seriously.”

“Love, let’s be clear, what are you about to do? These girls don’t deserve to be killed!” Helm urges him, putting himself between Letto and the restrained women.

“What do you think I’m going to do, dumbass?” Letto rumbles in annoyance, pointing down.

Looking, Helm realizes the ereminethrope is sporting a hefty, throbbing erection.

“No maul? Just breed?” Tar clarifies.

“Fucking YES. Now move or you’re next!”

“Welp, this isn’t worth not sitting down for three weeks. You two can lie in the bed you made!” Helm comments before promptly leaving the room.

Tar also recedes to a corner with his book and blocks out the entire situation, leaving the two women shivering as Letto hunkers over them, his slobber dripping onto their necks as his teeth get frighteningly closer. His cock is wet and leaking already as it leaves a damp mark from where it rests against Desty’s thigh, the beast smelling her arousal as she becomes hot and bothered from his claws caressing her chest.

“Desty. Please. Have some class right now!” Lyn urges her. “I know this is your thing, but…”

“He’s smart and a horny werewolf! What do you want from me, girl?” Desty yelps as he rips off her pants. “The second-best thing I get to either is a chat with Rae or roleplay with Yskra when he’s half drunk!”

“ Heh. I’ll give you what he never can,” Letto chorkles, shredding the ropes to pull the two apart and aligning his tapered shaft with her sex.

“Uh, Yskra! Any time now, man! Quit playing around and save u–” Lyn pleads, cut off by the sound of a cannon in the distance.

The other two are distracted but most definitely notice the cannonball striking through the deck above the captain’s quarters, obliterating the wheel and sheering a large chunk out. Rising off of Desty, Letto rushes out to see his newly recruited crew fleeing and a dinghy about to crash straight into his ship.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Letto bellows, leaping into position and bracing to grab the small craft by the prow, physically hurling it off and into the harbor waters below, but not before the three passengers leap on deck. “You’re not destroying another ship of mine, Yskra!”

Zaryl and Valkyrie split off from Yskra as Letto lunges at him, jaws snapping at the open air where the raptor was a moment before and receiving a slice to the side of his jaws for the attempt. However, Yskra might as well be wielding a butter knife for all the effect it has. As a swordfighter, he easily dodges the first two swings but fails to notice the long tail until it slams into his chest and sends him flying into the railing, years of deck fighting training the only thing preventing him from flipping over the edge.

The blue dragoness has her own problems, having spotted Tar’s dark form on the top deck shortly after the cannonball hit as his rifle is now trained on her. Shots ring out, one after the other as he fires, cracks the gun in half to insert a new powder and shot cartridge, and snaps it closed to fire again, incinerating the cartridge with each shot to make room for a new one. Combined with his fast hands, this creates an altogether unnerving fire rate for Valkyrie to dodge or block with her dadao and she opts to return fire with her two flintlocks.

This forces him to take cover as she sprints to top deck, gun ready when he suddenly throws a smoke bomb down, her vision clouded long enough he rushes at her from the side with a sword blade forged into the rifle barrel. She parries it to the side, but he backs up into the smoke and she can hear his reload, hitting the deck as his shot fires over her.

“What are you, the gunman from hell?” She exclaims, rolling to the side and onto her feet as he leaps forward to stab down.

“No. But hold still to send you to it!” He snaps.

The bigger fighter, Valkyrie grabs him by the collar and headbutts him, disorienting the rat. She fails to land a decisive blow as he reflexively brings the rifle up to block her blade once more, hastily throwing another smoke bomb to obscure himself yet again. At the front of the ship near the prow, Zaryl engages Helm with a sword, the otter wielding nothing but his fists as the first mate swings at him. The brawler swats the blade aside like it was a suggesting, following up with a left hook Zaryl backsteps out of and punishes with a quick slash to the arm.

The blade deals a wound, but it’s superficial at worst, and the calluses on his hands are so thick Helm grabs it on second swing with both hands and snaps it off at the base, tossing it aside. Pulling out his knife, Zaryl’s forced to engage him hand to hand, slashing out and blocking the punches that come flying back in return. Helm finds and opening and, like a catapult, strikes Zaryl hard across the jaw, propelling him back first into the railing where he reels to just stay standing.

“Fucking hell, Helm,” The hydra gasps, rubbing his face. “Did you always hit that hard?”

“I carry the growing weight of every grievance the Wicked Gold places on our shoulders!” Helm replies angrily, rushing forward with a roundhouse swing. “Damn right I got better!”

Ducking under it, Zaryl trips the bigger man with his tail and grabs his shoulder, pushing him back as he swings down with the knife, opting to hit him in the throat with the handle rather than the blade. It’s still a painful blow and Helm topples to the ground, arching his back to leap right back up again like it did nothing.

“I don’t want to kill you, Helm!” Zaryl warns him.

“Fear not: you won’t get that kind of an opening again!” Helm promises, barreling towards him once more.

Back on the main deck, Yskra has been heavily bruised by the few strikes Letto has managed to land, returning the favor with dozens of small cuts across his arms and back that are beginning to add up. Yelping as the raptor’s blade stings him yet again, the ermine stumbles as he recoils, losing his balance and falling over. Hopping on top of him, Yskra makes a gamble with his reflexes as he sticks his hand into Letto’s snarling mouth, nicking himself along the wicked teeth before the jaws snap shut.

“Oh, good, you’re right where I can eat’cha now!” The ermine lunges, biting down on his sword and ripping it free of his grip.

“You tried to play with something that’s not yours, Letto!” Yskra cackles balefully, jumping off and away from his seeking fangs. “I need something to help me put you in your place when you’re like this!

“Or you’ll find yourself beaten and broken now that you’re not playing around with a glorified fruit knife!”

Yskra’s eyes take on a predatory glint, the two meeting in a locked struggle. Letto’s size gives him an advantage, but the sudden change in Yskra catches him by surprise as he pushes the ermine back across the deck, leaving rents in the wood from their dragging claws. Letto finds himself struggling to stop before he’s slammed against the wall of the captain’s quarters. The heat from Yskra’s erection is impossible to not notice as it grinds up against his own, teeth wrapping around Letto’s throat with a low, warning growl.

Fighting is not in Letto’s nature, consumed by his cursed nature or not, and his nerves fail him as he lets out a submissive whine. Roughly grabbed by the scruff and pinned to the ground, Yskra grants him the mercy of raising his hindquarters by the tail to give him a few rough licks before bearing down on and sheathing himself in the squirming ermine, forcing a girlish yelp from him.

Up on top deck, Tar has run out of ammo but proves to be just as good at throwing anything within arm’s reach. Valkyrie never considered just how much junk can accumulate on the floor of a ship before it has been thrown on her, ranging from scraps of wood to bottles to lumps of frayed rope, the dragon struggling to catch the rat and finally bring him down. Just as she thinks she has him, he’s about to pull out another smoke grenade before Lyn darts up from where she was crouching on the stairs and clonks him over the back of the head with a piece of shattered railing.

He drops almost immediately, hitting the deck like a sack of potatoes.

“Thanks,” Valkyrie gasps, leaning on her knees as she takes a deep breath and tries to ignore how anticlimactic that felt. “He’s a spritely one. Where’s Desty? Is she okay?”

“We agreed to split up to help you guys. Yskra is currently balls deep in Letto, sooo I think it’s safe bet to say she’s helping Zaryl out.”

“Of course he is… Tie this one up, would you? I need to get down there; that otter is a damn steam train.”

Lyn nods and Valkyrie descends the stairs, concerned to see her captain currently playing prostate battering ram with a beast at least twice his size but decides Zaryl and Desty are in a much worse position as she watches them dive out of the way of a pully smashing into the planks. It would appear Helm somehow ripped it off the rigging and is now using it as a flail, whirling it over his head with a wicked velocity.

Pulling her pistol out as she walks forward, Valkyrie takes careful aim as he strikes out at Zaryl, the hydra dodging to the side at the last moment. Once it contacts the floor, the dragon’s bullet shatters the rusted metal of the device, leaving him with nothing but a rope to block the second gun she pulls out. Despite being outnumbered, the three are still incredibly weary of him, knowing full well from previous experience just how hard he can be to take down.

“Helm, Tar’s been subdued and, well, you can see what’s happening to Letto at the moment. Stop fighting now and I promise none of you will get hurt,” Valkyrie tells him.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ve been through this enough times I know how it works. But if I see one stray cut on either of them, I’ll have all your asses feeding eels in the bay,” He snorts, putting his back to Zaryl to allow the first mate to tie his hands together. “Speaking of which, get your damn raptor off of my mate!”

“Letto made his bed,” Desty smirks, Letto letting out a loud whine. “Let him lie in it.”

“Oh, can it! I saw how excited you got at the idea of him plowing you.”

“DID NOT.”

“Lying about that doesn’t work when you have no pants, girl.”

“He’s got a point,” Valkyrie chuckles, handing Desty her jacket to cover up after catching Zaryl staring. “Now then. Let’s get our shit and go before the port authorities arrive.”

“There aren’t any,” Helm rolls his eyes. “It’s all mob justice out here. It might have been a problem if one of the village idiots got hurt, but they all legged it the moment you three twits arrived. Actually, what am I saying? I want you all gone as soon as possible; take whatever you came here for and piss off!”

“I certainly came here,” Yskra huffs from several feet away, breathing hot air down Letto’s neck as he hilts inside him, his hefty package pulsing from where it rests snugly against the ermine’s own sack to dump shot after shot of hot cream into him.

The sensation and the rough grinding of the raptor’s cock against his prostate finally wins against Letto as he lets out a choaked moan. Seed paints the deck as Yskra fucks him harder to prolong it, whispering taunts into his ears that send heat roaring through his cheeks. As his orgasm ends, the exhausted scholar begins to shrink and revert, becoming a small, shivering wreck with the full animosity of the frenzied raptor on him.

“No! That’s enough!” Helm declares, snapping out of the thick rope bindings with a powerful flex, pushing Zaryl off him before grabbing Yskra by the shoulders and hurling him off his partner. “Go shag your harlots!”

Claws digging into the deck to catch his footing, Yskra lets out a hot breath before fixing his eyes suddenly on Desty.

“A good suggestion. I heard the noises you made for him, dear,” He croons. “You were only partially doing that on purpose, weren’t you?”

“I. Uh. N-no, not like I would every do that or any-THIIING!” She yelps as he grasps her waist, pulling off Valkyrie’s coat and tossing it back to the blue dragon before his tongue buries itself in Desty’s sex in a very familiar position.

“Captain, are you seriously going to do this here?” Zaryl scoffs.

“Let him”, Helm warns as he picks up a half-conscious Letto in his arms, ignoring Lyn holding him at gunpoint as he walks towards the captain’s quarters. “You can have a hornball or a wreckingball. And I do not recommend the latter.”

The crew decides it’s best to follow his advice and go about putting Tar on a Hammock where he can better rest. The Archie docking not soon after in which Yskra not only does not go to his quarters but actively grabs crew members haphazardly that stray too close, only letting go when he’s planted an egg in them or made an otherwise heroic effort to do so. Lyn swapped in to try and help Desty but the two only succeeded in being bred into the floor, carried off to their bunks like war heroes for how long they held out until Robyn can be dragged down from the crow’s nest to take their place.

This leaves Zaryl and Valkyrie in charge and they oversea the docking of the Archie and prompt acquisition of Letto’s collection. This is not the first time they’ve done this, and it occurs to them if this is going to become a regular thing, there’s a far more productive way to go about this. That, and they have no idea what to do with Yskra, and it’s not likely Letto will be willing to help without sweetening the pot.

“So, we’re not exactly proud of how we’ve treated you today or in the past,” Valkyrie says to Letto, the ermine now a little more revived with time to sit down and have a drink. “And we don’t want to sell your charts. We just want to use them. So, what would you say to joining the crew? We could certainly use all of your skills.”

They’re sitting in his quarters right now, the Wicked Gold actively boxing up and moving his charts around them with Yskra’s occasional feral grunt audible from the open door.

“For? So can steal all easier?” Tar spits before Letto can answer, jumping up from his chair and wincing as his headache flares up.

“Easy now,” Helm tells him, pushing him gently back down. “I don’t trust this either. How do we know you won’t just take our things and make us deck swabbers for the rest of our days?”

“I’m pretty sure the crew would mutiny if we pressganged you like that,” Zaryl replies. “We target slavers when we’re able to; a lot of the crew hate them with a passion.”

“How convenient,” Letto notes dryly. “Though, I hate to say it: I was already considering asking myself. As it stands, our ship was already damaged and now the helm has been blown to smithereens. We don’t have much of anywhere else to go.”

“Letto crossboned. No good. Bad for all,” Tar sighs.

“We don’t have to worry about that,” Valkyrie says. “Let’s just say we have an understanding with the pirate queen and leave it at that, yeah?”

“Does this mean my collection will finally stop being ripped apart by vultures?” Letto queries quite pointedly.

“Not if we have anything to say about it,” Zaryl nods.

“Fine. Helm, Tar, I’m in if you are.”

“I’ll put up with it,” Helm sighs. “But if that raptor puts his hands on Letto again, I’m tossing him into the nearest sun!”

“It… was actually kind of okay,” Letto says quietly.

“Hmph. Then he’ll buy you dinner first, if he knows what’s good for him,” Helm grunts.

“Tired of getting hit. Fine. Big crew might change that,” Tar ascents.

“It’s settled then. We’ll get you bunks and a space for your collection,” Valkyrie nods. “On a related note, is Yskra stuck like that, or can we get him back to his normal level of sexual enthusiasm?”

“He didn’t get enough of my saliva in his system for it to be permanent. He’ll, shall we say… mellow out eventually,” Letto shrugs.

“Hours. Days. Maybe month. Letto low energy. Yskra not,” Tar clarifies.

“Ah, great,” Zaryl winces. “Here’s hoping my bruises heal quick then. I think we’re all going to get a turn if he keeps up much longer.”