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Charity Moore, the brash lover of adventure and sex and adventurous sex, takes her well-hung lover and her colorful crew in search of a fabulous treasure. It's either succeed or lose everything. Fans of fantasy, sword and sorcery, monsters, pirates, and of course sex will find a lot to love in this fun, fast-paced rollicking frolic!
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2016
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The Erotic Island Expedition
A Charity Moore Adventure #1
BookRix GmbH & Co. KG81371 MunichThe Erotic Island Expedition
The Erotic Island Expedition
A Charity Moore Adventure #1
Copyright 2015
by Eve Renaud
Deep, growling moans came rhythmically from an upper window of the Wet Tramp Inn overlooking Buccaneer’s Bay, crowded with ships of innumerable shapes and sizes that had come from all over the world to the rowdy port town of Knaville.
“Oh! Oh that’s…oh that’s good,” the moaning voice rose higher and higher, “Yes! Yes! Right there! Right there!” Charity Moore, the freedom-loving and adventurous captain of the sleek and speedy three-mast ship Hustler, rode atop the thick and fairly long member of Philip O. Holez. Philip, a lanky foreigner who’d been given a small stipend from his merchant family and told to strike out on his own, came to town three days ago and struck out, losing all he had just that morning to a card shark. Charity, he was told, was a woman with a carnivorous appetite for young men and gold coin aplenty to afford her insatiable desires. A lewd gesture by his informant got the message through to the foreign young gent, who proceeded to present his goods at the Wet Tramp. The offer was greedily accepted.
“Open your mouth as wide as you can. That’s how big around the head of his cock is. Ha ha haaa!” Charity laughed long and hard at the disgusted look on the face of her mute half-gnome servant Pithy. “It’s no joke, I assure you. I’ll do anything to anything, you know that, but I’ll tell you what Pithy,” her eyelids grew heavy with a dreamy lust thinking back over the last two hours, “I’d give up all the rest to let that man do whatever he wants to me whenever he wants.”
She swallowed a buttered lobster tail whole and knocked back a long swig of the best port wine the town had to offer, then eased back in her favorite padded chair facing the window overlooking the bay. “He weren’t your sad sack lay about neither. No,” she belched and licked at the butter on the end of her chin, “he knew just how to use that thing. I’ve never seen a head as massive as that,” she balled up one of her ringed rough-knuckled fists and held it out before her in awe, “good gods, that thing! You knew when he was up inside you, that’s for certain! I don’t remember the last time I really felt someone inside me like that. He wasn’t one much for words, but that’s just as well. Some ruin it with their jibba jabba,” her hand turned into a yapping mouth, “oh lord, just shut up already you want to tell them and sometimes I have. That always make them sullen, the grumpy little boys. Bah, to hell with them! Philip though, he was more than just a cock. The way he worked his thumbs into my thighs. I can still feel his fingers up and down my back, especially the lower parts. You know how I like a good prodding down there.”
“Your back has always given you trouble,” said Vigora Holdfast, nicknamed The Veracious. A slender woman with wiry muscles under a skin akin to the darkest of chocolate, she stood just behind Charity’s chair gazing down at her boss with a distant admiration not without it’s own vague form of love, “It’s probably your enormous breasts.”
“Vigora! When did you arrive? Pithy,” Charity shouted upon jumping up from the chair, clasping the other woman about the shoulders and looking around the room, “Why didn’t you tell me Vigora was here? Where’d that little runt go?”
“Pithy let me in and left soon after, ma’am.”
“Ma’am. I wish you wouldn’t call me that.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Well, how do things stand? Is the Hustler ready to set sail? Are you hungry or thirsty at all? Care for a lobster tail? Wine?” Charity scowled down at the empty plate and bottle. “Pithy. Pithy! More wine!”
In the kitchen at the back of the inn upon the ground floor, Pithy signed with his stubby fingers to the cook, “Whine, whine whine!” The cook had seen that one before and smiled, but shook her head and Pithy returned the smile.
“Good…Well…Yes…” and “No, thank you ma’am” were Vigora’s replies to her captain’s rapid fire questions. A bottle later they were down amongst Knaville’s tradesmen, citizenry and poor alike in the La Zey Faire, Charity with her sabre strapped to her side and Vigora with her pair of discrete dirks. The Faire was the sort of place you could occasionally find a fair deal or just as likely a knife in your gut after a deal gone sour.
“You say the crew are onboard and ready,” said Charity, “but are they onboard for what’s to come?” She spoke of a dicey expedition she’d concocted after watching Pithy mime a gnomish legend about a lost island civilization of his distant ancestors where it was believed a fabulous treasure still lay buried and hidden. Of course nothing was certain but that danger could be counted upon.
“They are, ma’am. The crew have spent all they have while in port, some even the shirts off their backs. They are ready and eager for the chance for a windfall and many will just be happy for a nourishing meal.”
“It’s come to that has it? Well, I’m not far behind.”
They passed on to the docks, maneuvering between stacks of sacks, boxes and coiled cord on their way to one of the tiny boats that would row them out to the ship.
“Lady! Woo-hoo! I say, lady!”
