Nine Bells
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Nine Bells
By Luther
Rodriguez was a lynx of obvious Iberian descent that was both thick in his accent and heavy on his brow. He held only a small nautical salvage company, in name only, and a caravel to his name which he captained, known as the Lady Isabella, which was quick if small and woefully outdated. The lynx had a nose for gold and the ship and everyone on her followed it, typically to a good end. The waters were dangerous in these recent years which was exactly why jobs tended to net a premium.
It was a time that many were calling a golden age of piracy, a great time to be a pirate, depending on who you asked. Rodriguez wasn't one.
The pirating life was over-romanticized, it was dangerous and typically short, a dubious and desperate profession those with no marketable skill other than sailing and threatening a man's life for his livelihood. Those were all reasons as to exactly why none of them bothered with it.
The captain knew exactly what he could and couldn't get away with and nearly constantly skirted the fringe of the law, barely staying on its good side. Time and again, he had sprung himself and his boys free on a legal technicality. No, instead of brutal piracy, they bought up as many writs of allowance from as many crowns on royal brows as they could afford to their name. They paid their tabs by transporting garrisons between the islands, throwing themselves into the brisk sugar trade, salvage on wrecked vessels past their claim date, hell they've even gone pearl diving or sponge fishing a number of times to get themselves out of a financial scrape.
Most of them were hands on board he had picked up here and there but a few had stayed with him since the beginning and he had yet to hear complaint. Nothing was ever watered down or spoiled or late by terribly much under Rodriguez's watch.
Somewhere below-decks toiled Bartolomeu or, as he was, known Bart the Bosun. Being a possum and accustomed to working evenings, he preferred the twilight darkness that came of the scant light that filtered down there. Off to his side somewhere was Jack, first mate of the vessel who had overseen much of their short and current journey. A pall of monotony had settled over things and it was time to break it.
"Shanty man!" the captain called over to Jack, designating him with those two words. "Start us something double-fast!"
The tan colored otter who severed as second in command acknowledged and had to pause only a moment to make his selection. He jumped up the short flight of stairs onto the sterncastle, and bellowed out at the height of his lungs.
"Now were are ready to head for the Horn," he yelled, voice a'hollering to be heard over the waves.
"Way, ay, roll an' go!" The rest piped up, clearing throats to add their voices to the chorus.
"Our boots and out clothes boys are all in the pawn,"
"Timme rollickin' randy dandy O!"
All together, they drowned out the sound of the ocean, if only for a moment. Not a single one there didn't know the lyrics by heart, having cleared through them more times than they care to remember. When the song is the only thing to keep you sane in great blue, with nothing else to see or hear but the same old pitch and lapping of the waves, one tends to lend focus to one's savior from tedium.
"Heave a pawl, O heave away," the man up top called.
"Way, ay, roll an' go!" they responded.
"The anchor's on board an' the cable's all stored,"
"Timme rollickin' randy dandy O!"
Ropes drew tight, stretching audibly and the wind snapped the canvas amid the exasperated grunts of sailors putting their backs into their work. It was a sound the captain would take over the sweetest orchestra. It didn't seem like long ago at all when he'd have to yell out the minutiae of orders or to correct an improper knot or poor climbing or the wrong heading. Now he could nod in approval at the fact that he only had to tell them what to do, not how to do it. They had worked together long enough to know each other and the ship well enough.
And Rodriguez had changed enough for him to realize it. He only noticed the pitching and rocking when he stepped ashore and noted its absence. The wilder places had a palette all their own. The bright blues of the water and vivid greens of the swaying trees were so extreme as to be almost nauseatingly so to an unaccustomed eye. Yet these men were more than used to seeing such. It reflected their lives, always out and seeing the most colorful the world had to offer and, as result, whenever they'd pull the ship into the dryness of port, all the tones of common civilization would look muted and bland by comparison.
The captain sighed, the song was nearing its end when they came upon what should be the right place. "Bring up the bell!" he yelled down at Bart. They all worked to bring the huge and heavy iron thing up top and over the side by crane. It was a four-man diving bell and it was time to dive.
Minutes later, the captain and his fellows were submerged, couched within the apparatus. Above them the hose blew, the bellows above working to keep air pressure regular and, more importantly, to keep air supplied on this trip. This was just a bounce dive, pressure wasn't a big thing here. They didn't exactly have the most advanced stuff to work with but they made do. Each man had a pair of old empty whiskey bottles (they had to do something with them) that they took with them for a little extra air.
No sooner than the chain became tight and they reached their depth was the captain off, down through the open bottom and into the water. The temperature was a slight shock on his bare fur, they were too far down for the sun to heat much, though they could still see unassisted.
They were after a shipwreck in shallow water. She was no treasure galleon but wasn't far out of their way. She was supposed to be carrying something important she retrieved, headed back to port from an unknown point of origin, all leads had her captain and crew tightlipped and cryptic about where they were coming from. Curiosity alone got the better of Rodriguez.
The reefs around here were close to the surface: merciful to him but merciless for the poor sods that get caught on them. Their own vessel was built for such hazardous work, having a shallow and reinforced underside and an inverted periscope for spotting. They were determined to not allow the same misfortune to befall them.
And so the captain swam as best he could with hands full, thumbs stoppering the two bottles. When he found his lungs aching, he'd swiftly put one to his mouth, tilt it down to prevent inhaling the bit of water that would inevitably enter, and breathe in. So long as they held on to the bottles, they could return to the bell for more air but it still limited their range, forcing them to maneuver the ship dangerously close, even for it. Such was the life of a budget opportunist. The prize was often worth it.
The lynx and company quickly spotted the dark shape of the downed ship and swam towards it, crossing the gulf between them and gliding over the sunken deck. Rodriguez felt something odd as he swam over it and towards the cabin at the back. There was a familiar tightness made completely alien by the environment, water that streamed by was catching on his crotch. He looked down at himself only to find that he had grown completely hard! What possible influence had forced this upon him. As clear as day the front of his pants were tented, only the thin layer of fabric covering his throbbing and needy shaft. But from where came the need? Diving didn't excite him quite that much. He looked about, frantic to see if anyone else had noticed as he focused on the coolness of the water and conserving his air. He shifted to try and hide it and, after a moment, it began to go back down. There was a time and place for such things and this was neither.
Strangeness. He would have to see to that after this was all done.
He mentally pushed it aside as he physically pushed onward and crossed the threshold into what was once the captain's cabin. There were no skeletal remains of the former inhabitant, clutching some seachest and covetously guarding it in death. However, there did lay a waterlogged journal or ledger or something of import on the desk. The pages and whatever they held were lost to Neptune now. No answers to this mystery would be pried from it.
Rodriguez saw it, what must have been it. Having circled around the other side of the room, searching for anything of value, he spied a small chest resting partly under the desk, jarred out of place by the sinking. Whatever was inside had to be important judging by the size of the lock. He motioned to the otter behind him and pointed there. The two swam up to it, realizing they'd need free hands to carry such a thing up, they allowed the rest of the air into their chests and then abandoned the flasks to the deep, seizing hands on the rusted handles of the box. Between the two of them they were able to pry it off the barnacle encrusted floor and swam as fast as they could back out.
It took some doing, and a third member of their crew joined in to push them along and aid his strength, but they made it back to the bell with burning lungs, hauling the thing onto the bench inside. A few others would remain with their bottles as he rested, returning again and again to with the occasional golden trinket or treasure and, when they eventually found the dive worth it, they all piled in and began the ascent back to the surface.
Back aboard, someone had scrounged up a pry-bar and took it to lock with the captain's blessing. A quick wrenching and it was open, drawing the gaze of everyone gathered around. Packed inside was a number of things one would commonly expect: a double-handful of coins from here and there, a silver snuffbox or two, and what were once fine fabrics now soggy and rotted all wrapped around some large and lumpy.
They unraveled it to reveal, of all things, a bell. It was a ship's bell. Cast into the front were some words, presumably the name of the vessel it was made for, but they were so worn away as to be illegible. The rest of it was in excellent shape however. It would make a fine bell after rechristening but had only so much value otherwise. It was truly an odd thing to stuff in a hidden chest. They passed it around along with everything else. Eventually the captain had hands it, turning it over until he noticed something. Inscribed along the length of the bell's clapper were the words: 'Nine Strikes'
It was one more than any time or watch had call for, strangely enough. A healthy curiosity and seafaring sense of superstition told him that the maiden use of this bell should follow the instructions. He had Bart clean and polish and hang the thing in place of their old one, which had become cracked and gained a warped tone. Jack stood by to ring the thing as he was told, sounding eight bells at watch end as normal but with one extra. Each peal was clear, leaping from the bell and carrying over their heads.
The ringing of the bell passed through the air, seeming to soak into everything it touched. Every man on board felt it penetrate deep into his bones and spread throughout him. Yet it seemed to settle somewhere southward, Rodriguez knew he felt it in his crotch, it was the same sensation that swept over him back underwater. It came from nowhere and set his malehood to vibrate in resonance with the noise, fading when it did. He looked around, was he the only one to feel that?
"Fuck!" someone cried out.
Looking over, he saw Bart doubled over, hand out to brace against the ropes. The boatswain had undone the front of his trousers with an obvious result, a rigid and nine inch length had spilled out. It seemed he himself was flying at full mast, bobbing and leaking onto the deck. Rodriguez had spied the possum bathing before and knew for a fact that Bart wasn't that big. What was going on?
One may have expected the rest to find cause to ridicule or draw attention to him for it, yet they were all doing the same or similar. Something was clearly happening to them. Rodriguez's eyes scanned his ship to find every man occupied, trying to forcefully ignore his own rising and inexplicable need to remove his own pants. They were like a cage holding back a swelling prisoner who was determined to escape. Everyone around him was in various states of undress, seeing to their own sexual gratification or each other's: rubbing, squeezing, groping, kissing each other as clothes were torn off.
Jack was on his knees, with a particularly burly boar's cock stuffed into his mouth, stroking his own. The boar, however, was not at all in control of things, forced to lean back against the mast while the otter's incredibly skillful lips and tongue dictated everything the larger male did. Now, the captain would expect Jack to do this sort of thing anyway and that the horny little otter was using the situation as naught but an excuse to apply his masterful craft. He'd have the squirming, grunting boar blowing within minutes, soon to move on to conquer another after that and another after that. It wasn't long at all before he was sucking off one while pumping two others in his hand, all soon to succumb to his talents.
The captain couldn't fight it any longer. All will to resist was undermined. Without even realizing it, he was unbuttoning himself. Some force was turning them into lustful orgy that could make satyrs blush. He didn't have long to act as Bart was soon on top of him, literally having pushed him against the ship's wheel, falling across it and onto the planks below. Where did he even come from?
"I saw you up here and knew I had to come right for ya, cap'n," Bart said, wide eyed and grinning. The captain could feel the possum's cock pressing into his belly, watching the thing throb madly. It was even bigger now! Some eleven inches long, how was he getting so big? For a moment, Rodriguez thought Bart would have him bent over faster than you can say 'mutiny' but it seemed the bosun had another idea.
"I need you in me," the possum exclaimed and freed the captain's cock at last. Bart's long tail curled around the lynx's shaft and the captain finally saw himself as Bart positioned his bare rump above. He had grown as well -was still growing! The lynx barely recognized the foot-long beast at attention between his legs, proudly standing and eagerly awaiting the possum to drop onto it. Rodriguez didn't argue, he didn't have the wherewithal to.
At last the possum found the angle he wanted and stopped teasing, seeing in his captain's eyes the need overtake him. Such a kind and fair leader, thought Bart, it was time to repay him with kindness! He lowered himself onto the lynx's quivering rod. The captain groaned as his immense shaft sank into his bosun, stretching the possum out, the feline spines making both of them gasp as they pushed into him, further and further in.
Bart had no small amount of skill either and, as he worked himself into a pistoning motion, his own dick slapped against the cat's chest. This clearly marked the progress of Bart's shaft as it grew, the head coming closer and closer to the captain's face with every pumping caress. How amazing it felt to feel so big, forcing someone else's backside so wide and yet wider still with every passing moment! Rodriguez felt the blood pounding in his cock, which never seemed satisfied with its size: bigger and bigger, deeper and deeper! The captain growled, feeling his balls swelling to the size of melons, spreading out over the deck and pressing against thighs as they ran out of room in that direction. A vast amount of cum was bubbling up in them, ready to blow.
Twisting himself in pleasure, the captain stole a look down onto the main deck. True to his prediction, Jack had both sailors in hand firing their load across the deck while the third was filling his throat to capacity. Their increased size didn't faze him in the least. No matter how big or how many, he was up to it, his own growing cock bouncing happily between his knees, needing no further stimulation than a cock between his lips. While difficult to tell since he was still kneeling, it seemed Jack's peak effort and enthusiasm was making him grow the largest, perhaps save for the captain himself. His normally swaying girlish hips was now host to a three-foot monster, which he would no doubt later use to figuratively split someone in half.
It was a feeling the captain currently knew. No matter how big he was getting, Bart seemed able to take more. Was whatever was responsible for Rodriguez's expanding maleness also responsible for the possum's unbelievable ability to handle him? The lynx had no idea how much bigger he could get while buried deep inside the squirming, writhing possum. Every movement brought him farther, higher, closer to the inevitable.
And then his balls shook, the captain roared and thrust his hips, making the possum bounce upward as they both came. The lynx's roar was soon silence, lost under a tide of spunk that flooded into his open mouth. He coughed once or twice before regaining himself, gasping even as he unleashed a torrent inside the possum, who was already stretched with a stomach bulge from the monster cock, but now swelling even greater, bloating beyond any proper reason. The captain tensed up over and over again, each time that belly getting a little bigger, until he found himself spent and panting.
As Rodriguez lay there, moaning from the possum still rocking back and forth gently on his flaring cock, he heard someone call out over the chorus of grunting and groaning.
"Hey! Maybe we can keep the bell, Cap'n?"