The Captain

another story that has been in my “to-do queue” for a long while…this one is for a certain Captain, toiling across those inland seas, and his wife~ wishing you safe seas and following winds… ~nilla~

He strode across the main deck. The wind whipped his sandy hair into his eyes, and he pushed it off his forehead impatiently. The Lake was a prime bitch some days, but for now, she was just kicking up a bit. Waves tossed as the bow slid through the water, as smooth as a hot knife passed through butter.

He nodded at his crew as he passed, his sharp eyes missing nothing.  Rounding the front of the navigation deck, he slid neatly down the port railing to land on the main deck. He headed astern.

He checked all the tie-downs, holding the cargo boxes  tightly in place.  There might be a bit of weather before they made port later today. Looking down where the containers sat tightly packed to each other, he smiled. Somehow, they always seemed to remind him of Laura’s folds. The deep dark clefts, the hidden valleys, the salty tang of her flesh, all mirrored here on The Crescent Moon. Yet, thinking of her here was not to his benefit. He had a long day ahead; walking around a ship with a hard-on wouldn’t help him get any work done at all. He pushed thoughts of his wife’s warm, wet, welcoming folds  out of his head, and continued his morning rounds of the ship.

Rounds  finally completed, he headed back inside, the crisp air brushing his cheeks with the ruddy color known to seaman around the world. Sitting at his desk he checked his email. Ah, there it was, the expected note from his beloved bride. They’d been together for years, but been apart for long stretches as he’d plied his craft across the waters of this great Lake.

He always enjoyed coming in to port, not the least of which was the internet access he couldn’t get when he was mid-lake.  Eagerly he opened her email.

The smile crossed his face slowly as he saw the pic she had sent. He fucking loved her tits. And hadn’t she displayed them so prettily for him?  The black lace of the shelf bra only served to highlight the pale flesh of her breasts. The bra lifted them in offering, and his mouth filled with the need to taste those succulent nipples.  His cock stiffened in his pants and he shifted in his chair. The knock at his door broke his reverie.

“Yes?” he replied, keeping his tone light, though he hated the interruption.

“Cap’n?” His first mate leaned inside the room. He looked up, a bit glassy eyed.


“Looks like the storm is boiling up. We should be able to get through the southern end of it and make port as it breaks full-on.”

“Good. Let’s take ‘er home, and let the crew have the night to fuck around in port.”

His mate smiled and saluted as he turned smartly out onto the deck. Nothing would spur the crew on more than the thought of lovely warm bodies after this last lousy week away from home. Even now he could hear the wind beginning to sing through the radio tower, and  along the long booms that were used to load and unload freight.

He read the rest of her note quickly. Shifting in his seat again, he closed the program. If all went well, his cock would be moving between those sweet titties by nightfall.

***   ***   ***

They made port with the wind howling and the waves crashing. The ocean couldn’t have been any fiercer than the Lake was this evening. Through the gloaming, the wind-driven sleet slicking the decks, he piloted the ship into its berth. It pushed up against the dock, the deck rising and falling with the waves.

Men scurried about the decks like ants, hunkered against the wind, cautious where overspilling waves froze into ice on the decks and gunwales. Eventually the ship was secured, and the Captain ordered his crew ashore.

He’d emailed her that he couldn’t leave. His ship needed him aboard, and she understood. She was a good girl that way.

Alone in the Nav. Deck, he watched the wind set the flags to flapping along the dockside. The howl and scream of it reminded him of stories of Furies. Sleet periodically pelted the glass windows that gave him a magnificent, almost 360 degree view of the dock, and the Lake.

Cupping his pipe in one hand, he glanced down at the ordersheet on the clipboard. On the top was the weather report. It seemed the storm would abate by late tomorrow. That mean that the dock personnel would return, and he could get offloaded the following day.

Thirty-six hours was not an unusual turn-around time, but this time, for this last voyage of the winter, it seemed a lifetime.

He looked out the window, scowling at the angry wind.

“Fucking bitch.”

He took a long draw on his pipe, but something caught his eye. He looked through the side-blown snow. Yes, there was someone on the docks. He’d seen the bobble of a flashlight. From up here, it was a tiny thing. But he’d best make his way down to find out what the fuck was going on. Some stupid jerk out prowling the docks on a night not fit for anyone to be there.

***   ***   ***

It was cold, colder than she had imagined. Many times she had made her way here, to greet him on his homecoming. But never in a blizzard. And never wearing next to nothing under her ski pants and parka. The wind tore at her hood, the hard-flung pellets of ice stinging into her cheeks.  If she hadn’t been so presumptuous, she’d be home in bed, alone, but not frozen!

The ship lay, coated in ice. It looked like it was in the grip of icy teeth, the way the icicles grabbed and hung onto every rail, every surface. Even from here she could see the slick shine of ice coating the hull.

She reached the gangplank. The ropes were coated with ice. The steps were coated with ice. This was going to be more of a challenge than she thought. Her gloved hands closed on the rope rails. She stepped to the first crossbuck. Her feet slid on the ramp until her heels rested against the stop.

Ice broke under her grip, but still she felt like she was slithering up the incline. One step, another, until she was half-way there. She looked down at the black water churning under her. An inch of wood and ice was all that kept her from plunging into that roiling cauldron.

She shivered. The wind gusted hard, driven to extreme force as it pressed between the dock and the side of the ship. The bite of it was intensely cold, and the force of it pushed her to the edge of the ramp. She screamed a little bit as her feet slid. Her hands gripped the rope as she leaned forward, praying.

He could not believe some stupid idiot was climbing the gangplank in the middle of this raging Norther. What the fuck? He stamped down the inner stairwell and came out on the main deck. The crampons he wore bit into the deck, and he leaned into the wind. As he reached the top of the plank, he heard the scream.


The dumb fuck was gonna be blown into the bay. He grabbed a chipper and slammed it onto the first step, the second, the third. He eased his way down until he could reach the hood of the idiot.

“Get the fuck up here, you fucking idiot moron,” he screamed. The wind snatched at his words, but they were heard.  A gloved hand, now wearing its own coating of ice, grabbed for his.

With a hard tug, he pulled the idiot up, and up. On deck, he grabbed the dumbass by the back of the hood, propelling him into the safety of the stairwell.

The warmth hit them both. She shook off the fear, the abject terror. The cessation of wind was as much a relief as the warmth that drifted against them.

“Upstairs, you idiot.”

The grip on the back of her hood was unrelenting, and she knew she was dealing with the Captain and not her husband and Master.

In the Navigation Room, his fragile hold on his temper broke. He spun the kid around, tugging off his hood.

“You fucking idiot, you could have gotten us both killed….”

His voice faltered when a wealth of chestnut hair fell out of the hood, and a pair of tear-reddened eyes stared up at him.

The fucking idiot was his wife.