Taste of the Briney Blue

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// -but the slow, satisfied smile on her Captain's face taunted her with how wrong she was. //


Captin Davy Jones grinned at the girl. Looking at his tentacles, 'eh? A red blush tinged her scale-speckled cheeks. Few on his ship could weather the unnatural changes that occured after living there for more than a week. But Sullivan actually managed to pull off pretty under the grit and dirt of ocean life. Not as gorgeous as... but still, passably pretty.


He decided to grind in the embarassment, for he enjoyed few things more than someone else's emotional stress.


"Staring at me tentacles, eh? What, exactly, were you thinking, Sullivan?" He taunted, leaning closer and watching as a few of the previously mentioned beard-tentacles detached and lifted wavering, in front of her face. The crew who were watching began chuckling darkly around them. She went even redder. "Answer me, girl."


"N-nothing sir!" she yelped, as one tugged a lank of her hair in her silence. He gave her a look that said, quite plainly, 'Liar'. The long, pale green tendral curled in her hair lazily, bringing her closer. She gulped, long throat moving with the unconcious gesture and he paused. She was fairly lovely, standing there with terror in her eyes, staring up at her Captain. Jones smiled, a horrible thing to behold, when a sharp pain shot through his delicate tentacle.


He jerked it out of her hair, looking at the little speckle of blood, then at her in complete disbelief. Her eyes were wide with confusion, and the crew went deadly silent. Davy Jones narrowed his eyes at her and came forward again, peg-leg thumping as he popped her personal bubble and ground it into the floor.


"Yer sea-horse bit me, gel." He told her, with deadly calm. She was at first shocked, then scared, and if he wasn't mistaken she was also...


...laughing at him? Yes, her eyes were dancing merrily, and her lips were twitching. Davy stood back.


"Ye'll then enjoy yer next two days, with two hours sleep a day and no meals then, will ye no'?" He asked her, brogue deepening. She was shocked. "-and to make sure ye get all the time ye need to admire me beard, ye'll be me own, personal, Errand-boy. Ye got that, gel?"


"Yes sir." She got out, her fate dark and dim in her eyes. Davy enjoyed watching as she visably withered. Then he noticed the silence of his ship.


"Get back ter work ye lazy dogs!" He roared, then spun about and hobbled away to his cabin, enjoying the girls fate like sweet wine.


~_*_~


Salome, studying the grainy, sea-worn door of the Captain's cabin, came upon a revelation.


Davy Jones had no heart, therefore, did not feel emotions that required a heart. Such as love, regret, pity, fear, sorrow, guilt, or embarassment. He could feel pride, and wounded pride even, since he definately had a lot of that. Anger, rage and wrath situated themselves in the soul and the mind, which he also had. Lust was one she hadn't come across yet, but she was sure he felt that too. So, since he lacked the quintisential emotions he tried to inspire them in others, as if to vicariously live on them.


Which explained a lot. Davy Jones was a mental sadist.


And she was now his beck-and-call-girl.


Balancing the tray on her knee and hand she knocked on the warped wood three times. A muffled 'Enter' answered, and so she juggled the plate, the rum bottle and the dinner plates as she opened the door. Without looking up she closed the door behind her and spun about, adjusting her walk to the sway of the ship. She could barely remember the horendous sea-sickness she had when she rode the 'Elemental', before Davy Jones.


She could barely remember anything before Davy Jones.


He was seated at the desk, looking over maps, checking documents and all in all being Captain. Which he was very good at! She took a quick peek over at the organ, a massive monument to emotion duress that beckoned her temptingly. She played while she was living, well, truthfully, played was a childish word for what she did. After seeing Phantom Of The Opera live she made love with pianos, pianoforte's and for two glorious days had a passionate affair with a grand pipe organ.


But even looking at Davy Jones' organ was worth about five lashes. Touching it was a crime that no one had survived whole yet. As she was on the young side of two score her thoughts flew like daggers to the obviously immature, and completly childish synonym. Her face burned up as she set down his tray and adjusted the contents. Davy Jones ignored her in favor of getting up and sauntering over to her.


The temptation was alluring. It was goddamned neigh impossible. She really wanted to... but no! All that talk of organs! Calm down Sally, she told herself, just look at the floor boards. Oh! Davy's boots. Captain's boots actually. Nice, albiet a little barnicle encrusted... her eyes darted up tretcherously.


Davy Jones paused, freezing in place. Sally, in denial stared valiently at the table. Damn you floor! Betrayer! She thought. The rythmic thump brought her attention to Davy Jones, who had moved to the opposite side of the table.


"Sullivan?" He asked, low and deep and velvety. Sally gulped.


"Y-yes Captain?" She got out over the lump in her throat.


"Did ye just look at me nethers?" His smokey accent belied his amusement. Her eyes jerked up as her face went up in flames.


"No! No, no Captian! Of course not! I mean, why would any one look at your... Not that they're not perfectly fine and normal and..." She frantically looked for an escape, but her eyes had a mind of their own!


"Ye did it again!" He accused, barely hiding his laughter. Sally shook her head in black denial and ran out of the chamber, face flaming. Captain Davy Jones' roar of laughter chased her out.


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Sally tugged ineffectually at her bound wrists, which were secured above her head. She was standing, in a small room near the bulkhead, she believed. Captain Davy Jones, naked from the waist up, was puffing on his pipe, watching her squirm. She believed he mostly enjoyed it because she was very much naked.


"Sullivan, I didn't know those scales were so... decorative." He commented lightly, trailing the sharp, defined edge of his crab claw over the line of scales that defined her breasts. She froze, just to make sure he wouldn't accidently cut some off for 'suveniers'. He chuckled darkly as her body pebbled in goosebumps and her nipples tightened almost painfully.


Expertly he used the pincers to delicately clamp down on the rosey bud and tweak it. Delicious sensation flew, wing'd over her and she trembled anew. Her breath panted in and out, taking in the scent of the pipe tabacco, the sea, and a scent ellusive to her. The desprete volleys for more air also made her bosom rise and fall, and to her absolute embarassment, jiggle.


Davy Jones watched her flush, as her pretty breasts jumped and swayed with her heavy breathing. After she calmed he gave her a cruel grin. Fear and, god help her, lust raced through her veins with drugging intentions. Then he clamped the claw down harder, sending joltz of pleasurable pain winging their way from the tip of her toes to her hair ends. She arched up, her nipples wickedly sensative, and jolted under the gentle, but determined grip. Her jerking made her breasts bobble all the more, to her horror and his lustfull pleasure.


"Ah, does me good to see a helpless lass writhe in ecstacy." He murmurred as she went an even darker red. The dark purr of his accented voice made her wet and hot, making her stomach drop out as he growled low enough for her to hear. He released her, smiling. Which was not nessesarily a good thing, for his smile made one think of menacing fins and a great many teeth. Then, with enjoyment in every motion, the dull colored claw reached for her other nipple, peaked and pink, and begging for his attentions.


Her eyes were hot and wanting as well as fearful as he delicately closed the pincers down, and the sweet anticipation as he paused made the room steamy with erotic tension. Then he clamped down again. This time there was no agony, just sweet, delicious, almost painful pleasure. Almost, but not quite. She squirmed underneath him, unable to stop herself. Davy's eyes were glued on her flushed face, her eyes closed and her mouth parted. She was exscusitly sensative, feeling every ridge in his claw, every nerve ending standing up and jolting in her nipple.


When he finally released her she was primed and ready, her inhabitions mere dust in the wind. With a snip of his claw the bonds were undone from the post, but still kept her wrists together. She sank down to her knees, jerking as her hot, sensative skin met with the wet floor. Davy knocked the remaining tabacco out of his pipe, then set it down, before using his tentacle-forefinger to remove his belt.


Salome remained oblivious as the tale-tell jangle of the belt buckle sounded in the quiet room, and even as he moved closer to her, the thumping of his peg leg eerily like a heartbeat. She remained trapped in her cocoon of electric pleasure as every draft and gentle stirring of the air sent vertiable ripples of ecstacy through her skin. That was of course, until the dull, cool edge of the claw tilted up her head. He was mere inches from her, and her confused, clouded eyes took this in, then the undone belt and barely held together breeches.


"Now, my little Errand-girl." He chuckled, all Scottish brogue and lust personified. "-Ye get to work now, ye hear?"


She heard, but she couldn't believe. He wanted her to...? But...


"Now, now!" He warned, voice hardening. "Ye obey yer Captain, ye hear?"


"Yes, sir." She answered, the reply conditioned in response to the question she'd been asked over and over. He gave her a benign smile and nodded. Salome licked her lips, bit her tongue, and reached trembling bound hands towards his nearly open pants. With a brief moment of fumbling, for breeches were not like zippered jeans, she finally released him.


Oh my.


He was... Well, to put it bluntly, he was a big boy. No wonder they made him Captain! Not only long enough to reckon with, but deliciously thick too! But wait... what were those things...


Well slap her and call her Sally.


He was gilled down there!


After her initial moment of shock she cleared her throat and tentatively put her hands on him. Oh, he was cool! A little above room temperature, the addicting coolness of a snake. Hesitantly she cupped him in both hands and gently brought them up and down, twirling them and trying to feel every inch of his skin. He made a pleased sound in his throat, but she daren't look. She had the horrible suspicion that he was *watching* her.


With newfound bravado she sped up, working her bound hands and taking her cues from his light groans. After a moment he sighed and cupped her cheek, his tentacle finger wrapping round her head.


"Now kiss me." He murmurred and she, although naive, knew exactly what he meant.


Salome licked her lips, then leaned forward. She puckered her lips and hesitated, before touching them breifly to the large knob of his cock.


-and was rewarded with a rush of salty, briney water in her nose and mouth.


Salome jerked up from her hammock, gasping and chocking out water. Vague cries of 'Down!' were echoing through the ship. She barely had enough time to grab her personals before the entire room filled with the shockingly cold, briney water. The rush she got effectively calmed her raging libido and floating idly, breathing through her gills, she marveled at how fucked up her life was.

~_*_~

Half an hour later the Flying Dutchman was empty of sea-water and Salome was on the top-deck, checking with the Bo-sun about her new assignments. After a brief glaring contest, he grudgingly informed her she was to fetch the Captain's breakfast, wake up the Captain, try not to annoy the Captain and help dress the Captain. She had no time for self pity, for she was already ten minutes late.


The Captain's breakfast tray was ready and waiting, so it only took a few moments to snatch it, secure the multiple covered trays and dash out the door. The Captain's cabin was situated at the back of the ship, furthest away from where she was, and she wasted precious minutes avoiding splashes of sea-water. Later was nothing, ocean flavored rum was certain death. The door was cracked, thank god, so it took a few seconds. The Captain was still sleeping, so as quietly as she could she set the tray down, and began uncovering the dishes. Eggs, fish, and potatoes, along with rum and the most rare and special treat.


Coffee.


The hot, bitter brew wafted temptingly around, the aroma itself waking her up. She parted the curtains over the extensive windows in the back, letting in a small shaft of light in. It brightened the room wonderfully, with gentle, butter-yellow. Salome moved about the room and tidied up, putting away clothes, maps, and the odd crab. Then she made her way through the room, eyes on the mound of muscle in the bed.


"Captain?" She asked hesitantly. He frowned, odd to see in a man with an octopus for a face, but didn't move any other way. She sighed and put a tentative hand on his shoulder. "Captain? Its morning, time to...uh... wake up?"


She lost herself on the wording. How did one wake up one's Captain? Her mind instantly flashed to her dream this morning and her cheeks burned. Well, that was *one* way to wake up a Captain, but damned if she'd do it...


...without express permission.


She shook him a little harder, banishing the thought from her head. "Captain? I've come to wake you- Eeek!"


'Eeek' indeed, for without warning she was snatched off the very ground and suddenly found herself under a very amused Captain.


"Ye've not *come* at all gel, but yer Captain be fixen that fairly quickly." He grinned wickedly, tentacle beard lightly caressing her cheeks, jawline and neck.