Rescue Mission Ch. 02
"Magic just doesn't work normally on you." The dwarf observed.
Jeff chuckled. Back in his world, that statement would have been an oxymoron. Here, where magic was normal, it was still odd enough to make him chuckle.
"Just because when you cast your little 'Hot Tongue' on me, my cock burst into flames, don't try and blame me. You're the one who botched the spell" Remembering his initial horrified panic as his naked pride and joy had burst into flames made him chuckle again, almost to the point of breaking into hysterical giggles.
Zakria shook her head, frowning. "It's not just that spell- it's any one I cast on you. Going back to that first time I cast 'Dog-in-heat' on you, and every thing since. I think there's something about you that makes spells go crazy when they're cast on you."
She was riding his still flaming cock as they spoke. The flames had no affect or sensation whatsoever, but every time she raised up to where just the shaft of his prick was inside her, the multi-colored flames ran up and down his length, wavering as if in a wind, until they were drowned again as she plunged down on his shaft.
It certainly was a novelty.
"Maybe." He remembered the transportation spell that had originally brought him into this world- Lisa had remarked how something must have went terribly wrong with the wizards' spell, it had sent them far away from the intended destination and knocked them for a loop besides. "And maybe you're just not exactly a master wizard."
Her eyes narrowed in anger at his jibe, and she grabbed a book by the bedside and threw it at the door. "Giton!" She yelled. "Get it here!"
Jeff yelped and reached with one hand for the covers as the scrawny young man entered the small cabin. Giton was a servant- Jeff's servant, albeit over Jeff's strident objections. Giton had been a survivor of the pirate attack on the ship Lusitan Empress. His previous master had been killed, and he had latched on to Jeff and Zakria when they came to question him on whether Bette and Elvira had survived the same attack, and he had quickly guilted Jeff into taking him on as a personal servant.
Now Giton insisted on sleeping in the narrow hall outside the door- he would have slept at the foot of the bed if Jeff hadn't finally said enough was enough.
Giton was a short, wiry young man with curly brown hair, and he seemed totally non-plussed at the sight of Zakria straddling Jeff, until his eyes wandered down to where wisps of multi-colored flame were peaking out of Zakria's cunt. He gasped aloud, and moved instinctively to the pitcher of water at the bedside.
Zakria waved him still impatiently. "Giton, I want to cast a spell on you. Is that ok?"
Giton's eyes were stuck on the union of Jeff's meat and Zakria's hole. "Doesn't that hurt?" His voice was hushed and halting, and he licked his lips nervously.
Zakria laughed. "No, it's really very nice." She ground her hips suggestively a few times, and then lifted herself off of Jeff's pole, leaving it standing upright in all its flaming glory. Giton's eyes were now feverish, and he started to take a halting step forward.
"What the hell are you doing, Zakria?" Jeff growled, a little nervous about where this was heading.
The dwarf was already chanting her spell, and with a gesture at the Giton it was done. "Come here." She commanded, and Giton stepped close to her. She held out her arm and pointed to a spot above her wrist. "Put your mouth here."
Giton obeyed without hesitation, and Zakria smiled again. She grabbed Jeff's hand and raised it up. "Kiss his palm." She told Giton, and he did. Jeff was aware of the same warm/hot/warm sensations that Zakria's mouth had employed on his cock a half hour before. He was uncomfortably aware that Giton's mouth was soft and wet on his palm, and he pulled his hand away.
"The spell works fine on me, and on him. It's you that's the problem."
Jeff scowled. "OK, fine. Whatever. OK, Giton, you can go now."
Giton had placed his own fingers in his mouth, and his eyes went wide again. "How long will this last, Mistress?" He asked eagerly.
Zakria shrugged. "Usually about half an hour or so."
Giton offered a little grinning half-bow and allowed himself another fleeting glance at Jeff's fiery staff before turning and scampering out the door.
"So he's found someone to show off to already. I wonder who the lucky lady is?" Mused Zakria as she began stroking Jeff's rod again.
"Lady, my ass." Jeff said. "He's been rolling around with a couple of the sailors on the aft deck."
"Really? A shame, I thought he was kind of cute." Her eyes lit up mischievously. "Hey, I know a spell a wizard invented to get his wife to finally like giving head. It's supposed to make semen taste like honey. I wonder what that spell would act like on you? Your cum might taste like Cordilleran Brandy, or something."
He chuckled. "Yeah, and it might come out as acid or lava or something, too."
She frowned. "Yes, that's true. And I can't cast a healing spell if my mouth is burnt. Better just come on my tits, then."
Jeff cursed and grabbed a rope flailing from the forward mast to help him keep his feet on the pitching deck. He raised the wand to cast its spell again. The wand summoned a stone wall about a foot thick and about 20 feet tall by five feet wide- Jeff guessed it was usually used to form a barrier or a bridge. Jeff was summoning the things fifty feet up in the air and letting them come plunging down onto the pirate ships that were attacking his own ship.
The tactic had been devilishly effective- one of the three attacking ships was already sunk, and another was sinking. Unfortunately, both of those ships had been attached to Jeff's much bigger ship by numerous grappling lines. He was afraid his ship- the passenger liner Queen Boudda- was slowly being dragged down by the pressure.
The storm wasn't helping much, either- hellishly strong winds had come seemingly out of nowhere as the third pirate ship had sealed the trap on the Queen Boudda, and lighting and thunder ripped the skies.
The ambush had started at mid-day, and they had run from the two pirate ships easily. As dusk approached, they saw the third pirate ship ahead of them, and realized their dilemma.
The ship's captain had swore and complained viciously, because his ship was already on a ransom mission to the pirate city of Kadiz. It was an accepted practice that a ransom ship could fly the yellow and blue flag of ransom and be unmolested on its journey to Kadiz, he had moaned. Otherwise, how could the ransoms ever be paid by the families of those taken by pirates?
But Jeff had heard one of the ship's officer's mutter that in that case they shouldn't sail these waters so often under that flag when they were not on a ransom mission, as that might get old with the sea-wolves. And anyway, these were pirates, after all. They could keep all the ransom on this ship and wait for yet another ransom to be sent.
Jeff had taken part in the defense of the ship, as had many other passengers, warriors, mages, druids, etc. Zakria, who had very little offensive magic but was very skilled in healing magic, was serving below decks in the hospital section.
Jeff had quickly learned that the pirate ships- like the Queen Boudda itself- were well-shielded from the standard offensive spells his selection of wands and what-not offered- lightning bolts and fireballs and the like. So much for the Harry Potter-esque thrill of flailing a wand around. It was to be arrow and spear, sword and cutlass for the most part.
Using the stone walls as aerial torpedoes had been something he had come up with in desperation, and had come only after the pirates had already began boarding in waves.
Cursing again, he dropped the wand and pulled out his revolver as a pair of pirates rushed him, bloodied weapons raised. He wasn't sure how he hit anything while the deck was rolling like an amusement park ride, but they both went down as he emptied the chambers.
He heard a crack that drowned out the roar of his pistol and turned to see the main mast come falling down and he was thrown violently to the deck as the ship pitched. In almost the same moment, a huge bolt of lightning struck somewhere aft with a deafening clap of doom, and though he could hear and see nothing more, he felt the ship shudder ominously beneath him.
"She's coming apart. Abandon ship! Abandon ship!" People were yelling and shrieking, and a whole new level of pandemonium was presenting itself.
Pushing himself to his feet, he began to run for his cabin. The revolver was gone. All his magic items, all his gold- everything that gave him an even chance in this crazy world was there. He had to get it back.
"Giton! Where are you?" He was flailing desperately in the pitching, roiling water, and a rope landed across his head with a stinging impact. He grabbed it and yanked on it like his life depended on it- which it did.
Giton helped him scramble half atop the large floating chest. With a half-sob, he realized it was one of the three that he had packed along for the trip. "God bless you, Giton. God bless you!"
"Where is the mistress, master?"
He shook his head, looking out at the storm-tossed waves in the darkness.
The storm seemed to last forever, but long before the first gleanings of dawn brightened the eastern horizon the sky cleared and the sea calmed. Jeff and Giton began gathering every bit of debris and detritus they could find, and a rough raft was beginning to form.
They found fellow survivors, too- Maritus, the halfling cook on the Queen Boudda, who had lashed himself to several half-kegs of ale, and a pair of sailors named Hansen and Louf who were riding a spar from a mast. As dawn came up they found a pair of nobles who were clutching a cask of water- a man calling himself Ules, Count of Aelion and his cousin Ardenn, who was draped in enough jewelry to nearly make up for the fact that her dress was in soggy tatters.
Then they saw the pirates. There were two of them, easily identified by the gaudy, vari-colored jackets they had wadded atop the pair of planks they had lashed together.
"We'd have a better chance together." Jeff noted, raising his voice loud enough for the pirates to hear. Ules sputtered.
"You can't be serious. They'll cut our throats the first chance they get."
Jeff frowned. "Oh, I'm serious, all right. This is about survival now, and I imagine they have at least as many skills that will come in handy as you do, count." Jeff had a wistful thought that he wished he had watched more episodes of Survivor on TV, but he'd never much cared for network television.
"Looks like one of them is injured, master." Giton observed.
Jeff nodded agreement. "See there, Count Ules? We have the numbers, and they don't even have a sword between them, and one of them is hurt."
Ules sniffed. "I still say it's a bad idea. But let it be on your head, then."
As they neared, Jeff saw with surprise that both of the pirates were female, and one that he had thought was black was in fact what he had been told was an ash-lander. An grayish-blue elf- with reddish-orange hair and startling green eyes..
"Ladies, can we offer a truce?" Jeff said softly as they drifted to within a few feet.
The ash-lander stared at him with baleful eyes. "We don't seem to have much choice." She glanced meaningfully at her partner, who was leaking clouds of blood into the water. She was pale and drawn and barely conscious. "What are the terms of this truce?"
Jeff shrugged. "We work together to survive. Equals. Partners. If we're rescued by our folks, we speak up for you, if we're rescued by yours, you speak up for us."
She smirked. "So if we're picked up by a Navy Cruiser out of Avincor, they won't hang us because you'll speak up for us. And if our mates pick us up, they won't draw and quarter the lot of you on account of us saying you're a swell group of fellows?" She had a deep, rasping voice and a sarcastic glint in her eyes despite her predicament.
Jeff smiled warmly. "Exactly. So you're in?"
Jeff frowned. He'd played the game of fantasizing what he'd take with him if he was ever shipwrecked on a desert island. A choice selection of CD's, an endless supply of bud light, a couple dozen Dallas Cowboy cheerleaders, or maybe just Angela Jolie.
But here he was, with none of the above, just a mixed group that was either scornfully disdainful of him or hopelessly dependant on him to get them out of here, to make it all right.
He thought idly about strapping Count Ules back onto the raft and pushing it out in the outgoing tide. That would be a definite plus. And the ash-lander pirate Saetha wasn't much friendlier.
At least the island wasn't a desert one. There was fresh water, and fruit-filled trees, and the sea was full of fish. Lots of sun and sand. Hell, it was almost a tropical paradise. But they were hard at work getting the fuck out of paradise.
Because drums beat at night from the forested hills above the beach, and both the pirates and the sailors both knew many a tale of cannibalistic natives that inhabited the islands in these waters.
They had built crude huts, hidden within the confines of the treeline so a passing boat wouldn't spot them. Jeff had made strict rules about foraging inland, and they even confined their work on their makeshift boat to a few short hours when they figured the chances were shortest of natives being about.
So other than the fact there was constantly at least 2 people on watch at all times, there was a lot of down time. Jeff was the only person who had his own hut: Giton stayed with the sailors, the nobles paired up together and the halfling stayed with the pirates in order to treat the injured pirate Mesthenes, who was recovering well under his care.
Jeff spent most of the time going through the items in his chest. To his dismay, this had been the least helpful of the three chests he might have ended up with: it contained mostly items that Fergus Willsmith himself had never identified or at least never catalogued, and so it was full of potential that wasn't doing Jeff a lot of good at the moment.
There was one item that he found especially intriguing, though. A jeweled skull- the jewels actually set into the bone in intricate patterns. He wasn't even sure it was a real skull, but it had an odd, eerie beauty to it, and he had found himself leaving it out by the side of his pallet.
By the third night after he removed it from the chest, he realized it was affecting his dreams. He believed it was trying to contact him somehow, trying to tell him something. But the message was lost in the content of the dreams, because they were universally sexual in nature. Vividly, vividly sexual. He dreamed of hot, sweaty limbs and soft silken sheets. Buckets of cum strewn around piles of bodies, writhing in ecstasy. Moaning and groaning and lines of long, hard cocks penetrating hot, eager pussies in unison. Soft tongues and wet holes, and the frenzied plunging thrust of hips.
He woke every morning with a raging hard on, and he thought of Saetha with her long, lean, wiry limbs and her high, firm ass and those taunting eyes. He thought of Ardenn with her soft, voluptuous body and her heavy, hanging tits, framed by her luxurious black hair. Even Mesthenes, injured as she was, wasn't above a wicked thought or two, with her curly dirty-blonde hair and her soft brown eyes.
He stroked his rigid pole idly, tracing a finger down its length softly and cupping his balls gently. He closed his eyes and moaned softly, and the image of a gaping mouth eagerly awaiting his bursts of jism flooded his eyes.
He gripped himself around the very base of his cock and squeezed hard, and began stroking himself firmly. His other hand circled the knob of his cock and began a rapid, gentle drumming on the sensitive area underneath the shaft. He moaned again and began pumping with the top hand and twisting with the bottom. He felt the heat rise within the shaft, and released the lightly place his palm against the underside and begin a fast fanning motion, his other hand returning to his nuts to squeeze and cup. In his minds eye he could see the eager mouth, waiting for his seed.
He was breathing fast now, and he suddenly twisted upright to his knees and began savagely pounding the length of his cock with his fist. He grunted aloud when the first burst jetted forth with a clearly audible spitting sound, and watched as the pearly fluid arced through the air to land squarely between the jeweled skulls gaping teeth.
Instantly he heard the voice in his head- a woman's voice, sultry and purring. "Ahh-ahhhh! At last! You took forever, you great dunce. Feed me more!"
Without hesitation, but with a feeling of sort of being outside his body looking on, he continued to aim his still spurting cock at the skull. His orgasm was strangely intense, like a focused needle of pleasure was forcing itself up and out of his cock. Even his last spurt managed to carry to the mouth of the skull, and in his mind he heard a distinct swallowing sound and a sigh of pleasure. Then the tone changed abruptly.
"I thought you were never going to get the message, you dolt! Do you know how long I've been without man-seed? What does a girl have to do to get what she needs around here? What are you, some kind of prudish priest, or are you just fucking incapable of getting it up?"
Jeff tilted his head, carefully scrutinizing the skull, which was unchanged and certainly unmoving. "OK, there's finally no doubt- I'm off my freakin' rocker."
"That might well be, O bright one, but it doesn't change the fact that you finally figured out how to invoke me. And I'm just about the best friend a guy like you can have...
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