It was sweltering hot belowdecks, but that’s where the
work had to be done, and therefor that’s where he had to be. Stripped
nude, panting in the heat, he checked his work one final time. The
channel now extended from the base of the foremast all the way back to
the mainmast, under the deck. It contained five PVC tubes, carefully
smoothed, with no sharp edges, and pulleys at every turn. Each tube
carried the halyard, the rope used to raise and lower a sail, from the
base of the foremast, under the deck, through the hold, and the cabins,
to the base of the mainmast, where pulleys brought the ends to the windlass
powered by the donkey engine. With this modification, he should be
able to raise and lower every sail with the donkey engine. A major
advantage for a ship over 100 feet long, with a crew of one. The
anchor had its own windlass, designed to handle chain instead of rope,
but now that had an electric motor, running from the schooner’s solar-cell
recharged batteries. He’d even rigged a switch by the helm, at the
far end of the schooner. The original ratchet handle was retained
for emergencies, of course, as nothing ever worked perfectly. The
real treasure, though, was a windvane controlled autopilot at the stern.
The wind, working against the vane, controlled a small rudder at the very
back of the schooner to hold the ship on course. Not having to hold
the wheel all the time would be a big leap forward……
Emerging from the sweltering cabin, to the bright sunshine
of the deck, the lion grinned to himself. Like the armored fighting
vehicles he’d inhabited for so long, a steel ship grew HOT in the tropical
sun. still, this was home and he was used to the heat. The
deck still got hot underfoot though, but not so hot as to make him think
about wearing shoes. He had arranged a few days off from his trading
routes through the islands, a few days to remain docked at the WaterWings
resort, to work on his projects. Sometimes you had to spend time
now to save it later….. He still had a few days before he had to
set sail, to head for Timora, with a load of fishing boat parts, an icemaker,
and a generator. It was a good time to test his innovations.
Looking up with the skill of an old sailor, he read the wind, the sea,
and the position of the sun, and concluded that conditions were right for
a field test, before he had to get back to business. Turning, he
started undoing the sail cover that held the canvas between the main boom
and the yardarm.
Sylvia Slipsunder wandered down to the dock, from the
main lodge, the hem of her sarong trailing behind her on the sandy ground.
Things at the resort were quiet, and with the small breakfast crowd out
of the way, she felt like “getting out of the house” and going for a walk.
Motion caught her eye, and she saw John Mosby moving about the deck of
his schooner, purposefully, as if preparing for something.
Padding out onto the dock, she watched for a moment, and
then with a smile, called; “Morinn’, John. Whatcha doing?”
John looked over his shoulder, as he struggled with a knot on the foresail
sail cover. As he saw Sylvia there, he suddenly realized that he
wasn’t wearing a stitch. Well, aside from the eyepatch that is…..”
“Uh, Mornin’, Sylvia, just getting Rusty here ready to go out. Want
to make a short run, and check out some of the modifications I’ve been
makin’.” Sylvia looked back at the main lodge, and then around the
quiet resort, and then back at John; “I haven’t had a chance to go for
a ride with you on Rusty yet; would you mind if I tagged along?”
John smiled; “Not at all, come on aboard. If this stuff doesn’t work,
I’ll probably be able to use a hand…. Have a seat until I get the
sails ready, and then we’ll slip the moorings and get underway.”
As he stowed the foremast sail cover and bent to work
on getting the fisherman ready, he told himself that Sylvia’s seen him
nude enough times in the past, he shouldn’t be shy. Besides, dang
near everyone at the resort dropped clothes as soon as they got off Kari’s
seaplane anyways…….. Still, he was amazingly self-conscious as he
padded forward to prepare the jibs.
Finally all was ready and he started the auxiliary engine,
the diesel thrumming softly belowdecks. He untied the lines from
the schooner, draping them over the pilings, awaiting their return, and
kicked the diesel into gear. As they slowly motored across the lagoon,
and out into open waters, Sylvia reclined on a bench the lion had built
for guests and passengers, against the windward rail. She watched
the land slide past, watched the seabirds wheeling, and watched the lion
at the wheel, as he guided his ship.
When they were clear of the lagoon, John motioned Sylvia
over to the wheel; “Hold her into the wind while I get the sails up; I’ll
be right back.” Moving forward to the mainmast, he started the donkey
engine, watching critically as it coughed into life. Taking the jib
halyard, he wound the rope around the drum, and pulled tight. Kicking
the winch into gear, he took in the rope hand over hand as the jib slowly
rose at the front of the ship. When that line was tight, the small
triangular sail fluttering in the breeze, he flipped it off the still turning
drum, tied off the line, and turned to the halyard for the mainsail.
This was the largest sail on the ship, and the most difficult one to raise.
The yard arm, also known as a gaff, liked to stick as its forked end moved
up the mast, despite rollers and grease. He took three turns around
the drum, kicked the winch into gear and watched, muttering a silent prayer,
as the yardarm slowly rose. As it rose, he pulled on the other halyard,
the rope that adjusted the angle of the yardarm with respect to the mast,
trying to keep it pretty much above the perpendicular. It was quite
a juggling act. Finally the halyards were both tight and he kicked
the winch out of gear, the donkey engine speeding up as the load was released.
Tying them off, he turned to yell back at Sylvia; “Head off to the east
a bit.” As the ship turned from pointing straight into the wind,
to taking the wind across the starboard (right) bow, the lion pulled in
the jib sheet (the rope that controls the angle of the sail with respect
to the wind) until the sail filled with wind and started pulling.
He then pulled in the main sheet, trimming that sail as well.
Padding back to Sylvia at the wheel, he turned to look
critically at the sails and then reached down to take the engine out of
gear, shutting off the auxiliary engine, and feathering the prop so that
it would turn the generator to recharge the batteries. The solar
cells were good, but as expensive as they were, he had not yet been able
to afford enough to meet his needs… Giving Sylvia a quick kiss he
grinned; “Glad you haven’t forgotten how to sail”. She kissed him
back, and as he padded off to raise the other sails, calling back; “I get
in a little practice every once in a while, but I’ve never handled anything
THIS big….”
Using the donkey engine, the lion raised the staysail
(innermost of the three jibs), then the foresail (the rectangular sail
behind the foremast), and then the flying jib (outermost of the three jibs).
The fisherman, the huge rectangular sail stretched between the peaks of
the foremast and mainmast came next, and he breathed a sigh of relief as
all his modifications worked as he had desired. He now had all the
sails set with a LOT less running around, and a lot less physical effort.
The schooner sliced through the waves on a broad reach,
the wind perpendicular to their line of travel. This was the direction
that would yeild them their best speed, given the wind. It also yielded
enough force to heel the little ship over at a considerable angle, the
leeward (downwind) rail almost in the water. The lion watched for
a moment or two, and then padded back to the stern, to fiddle with a strange
contraption. He adjusted a tall thin vane, sticking vertically up
from a gymballed gear mechanism hung off the stern. It remained vertical
even with the way the ship was heeled over. When he had it as he
wanted it, he watched it move for a minute and then returned to Sylvia
and the ship’s wheel. Watching the indicator, he carefully centered
the rudder and then threw a lever, locking the wheel. Wrapping his
arms around Sylvia’s waist, he pulled her back from the wheel, to hold
her close, as he watched the sails, turning occasionally to look at the
ship’s wake, and at the vane.
Sylvia looked at him curiously, her head tilted up and
back. Catching her curious expression, John grinned; “wind powered
autopilot. Had to build it from drawings, as you can’t buy them anymore,
but I admit, the design seems to be a good one. The wind acts on
the vane, and the pressures turning the vane cause it to move a small rudder
behind the ship. The small rudder acts as a “trim tab”, correcting
our course. As long as the wind doesn’t change direction, neither
will the ship. Lets take a seat and see how it does…..”
John sprawled on the deck, leaning back against the weather
rail (in this case a steel “wall” just about waist high, on the windward,
or weather side of the ship), his head tilted back to watch the sails.
Sylvia grinned, and walked past the bench he’d settled next to, to join
him on the deck, snuggling against him, her gaze on the horizon, in the
direction the ship was headed.
John figured that when she cuddled against him on the
deck, instead of sitting on the bench, that that was sufficient invitation
for him to put his arm around her. They snuggled wordlessly for a
while, just enjoying the motion of the small ship, and the sights and sounds
as the schooner moved away from the island. After a while, John’s
paw started to draw lazy circles in the fur of Sylvia’s shoulder, and a
short while after that, her paw rested on his thigh. Gradually, they
started caressing each other, the motions tentative at first, but growing
with intensity as the land receded behind them. By the time the island
was out of sight, they were kissing hotly, John’s paw cupping one of Sylvia’s
breasts as her paw stroked the length of his now quite hard shaft.
John broke the kiss, and gave a quick look at the sails,
the straightness of the wake, and the motion of the windvane. With
a grin, he rose, to take Sylvia’s hand, leading her towards the bow of
the ship. “Got an idea, something you might like…” Sylvia giggled
as he led her down the length of the schooner to the very bow. The
bowsprit stuck straight out from the ship’s bow, angled slightly upwards,
but on either side was a heavy net, like a cargo net, stretching from the
tip of the bowsprit aft to the heavy brackets that held the anchors, forming
a sharp “V” on either side of the bowsprit. Taking one last look
around, John climbed over the bow, on the windward side of the bowsprit,
to lay down on the netting on his back, his cock standing proud.
Sylvia watched for a moment as the ship crested another
ocean swell, the bow rising and falling. As the bow plowed into the
next swell, the spray spattered at her, and soaked the lion. She
grinned and followed, climbing over the rail, to settle herself on top
of John, her legs on either side of his hips. Moments later he drove
his cock up into her pussy, finding her quite wet and ready. Their
lovemaking was slow, matching the rhythm of the ship moving through the
swells, the motions of the ship powering his thrusts into her, the breaking
waves refreshing them. John’s paws found her breasts, to squeeze
lightly as he slowly thrust his hips upwards, sliding his cock deep into
her wetness, his eye closed tight against the spray. After a while,
Sylvia rose to a more vertical position, one hand on the bowsprit to her
side for balance, the other curled in the netting as she started to ride
his cock at a rate and frequency at odds with the sea. As she moved,
she watched the look on his face, knowing that he wasn’t far from cumming.
John felt her shift, watching through slitted eye.
He took advantage of her move to slide one paw down her belly, to rub hard
at her mons, one finger seeking out her clitty……
Sylvia moaned as he rubbed her, his touch triggering her
climax. She gasped and moved even faster, as her pussy spasmed around
his cock, her juices flowing, only to be washed away by the sea spray.
John shuddered, able to hold back no longer. Arching
his back, he let out a roar as his cock started spurting, filling Sylvia
with his cum. Unfortunately, the next swell was a particularly large
one, and the schooner dug deep, the wave breaking over his head, filling
his mouth, leaving him spluttering.
Sylvia eeped and then laughed as the water swirled around
them, gone almost in an instant, leaving John spluttering and choking.
Finally, when he’d caught his breath, he started laughing too. “Maybe
this wasn’t such a good idea” he gasped. Sylvia just shook her head
and bent to kiss him, as the bow dropped again, water swirling around them
both once more.
John climbed out of the aft companionway (sheltered ladder
to the lower deck), and handed Sylvia a large towel. In the heat
and the sun, they were both almost dry again, but still, the towel was
helpful to get the water out of her ears, and her long hair. John
was rubbing his mane vigorously, as he padded over to the helm. A
grunt drew Sylvia’s attention, and she wandered over to see what was the
matter. “Wind’s shifted” he rumbled. “The windvane took the
change OK, but we’re now headed a lot further North than we were.”
Pulling a chart from a locker, he studied it for a moment, and then the
compass. Padding back to the windvane he made a small adjustment,
the schooner slowly turning under them. After a moment trimming the
sails he turned to grin at Sylvia; “now that we’ve worked up an appetite,
how about some lunch?”
Bethany was helping with lunch back at the main lodge
when Rale walked in, to poke at the food, searching for something to eat.
“Seen Mom” she asked as she concentrated on slicing coldcuts. Rale,
his mouth full of cheese slices, only nodded. After a moment he swallowed,
and nodded again; “She went out with Captain Mosby on Rusty. Guess
they’re making a day of it” Bethany just smiled.
They had a picnic lunch on deck, in the shade of the sails.
The chicken was cold, as were the baked beans. As was the Ale.
Snuggling, they watched the small island appear and grow close. As
Sylvia put away the lunch plates, John disconnected the “autopilot”, and
guided the schooner into a small cove, turning into the wind at the last
moment. With the sails fluttering, he hit the button that dropped
the port anchor. Nothing happened. As the ship started to drift
towards shore he hit the other button, and the starboard anchor hit the
water with a splash, chain rattling out of the chain locker. John
checked that the anchor had took hold, watching the shore carefully, and
then went about lowering the sails, leaving them heaped on deck.
All but the jib, which he left fluttering like a flag. Returning
to the stern, he took a smaller anchor, and swinging it around and around
over his head, he tossed it out to one side of the boat. He then
used this anchor to pull the stern of the boat to one side, so that the
ship was now angled into the wind.
Sylvia watched curiously, wondering what he was up to.
As he returned to the bow, she padded padded after him. He turned
to grin at her, and holding the lower corner of the jib. Waiting
for a lull in the wind, he backed to the far side of the bow; as the wind
freshened, the jib filled, ballooning out. As it took the wind, he
took a short run and leapt, the sail carrying him some twenty feet to the
side of the schooner, raising him high in the air. Just as he was
at the peak of his arc, he let out a yell, and released the corner of the
sail, to dive into the clear blue water with a splash.
A moment later he climbed from the sea, using the ladder
rungs he’d welded to the hull. Dripping, he grinned at Sylvia, and
gestured to the now flapping sail; “care to give it a try?” Sylvia
grinned and shrugged, and moved to the far rail, as the lion caught the
corner of the sail, and waited for a lull in the wind. When it came,
he pulled the sail back, handing it to Sylvia. As the wind freshened,
he took her by the waist, helping the sail lift her, watching with a grin
as she went flying upwards, hanging on the end of a wind-powered swing,
to release the sail and with arms and legs waving, to splash down into
the water. They laughed and played, acting like children, the years
forgotten, swinging from the sail, until exhausted, Sylvia swam to the
beach of the little island. She lay on the sand panting, her chest
heaving as she stared up at the blue sky, and puffy white clouds.
John swam over a minute later, to flop down on the sand, in a comical manner,
his head landing square between her thighs. She eeeeped as his rough
tongue licked upwards against sensitive flesh. Jumping to her feet,
with a giggle, she dashed off into the jungle, with John in hot pursuit.
They played “hide and seek”, with John “stalking” Sylvia,
never quite catching her, until finally he surprised her, pouncing from
the bushes in a small jungle clearing. Their bodies dappled by the
sunlight filtering through the trees, they made love again, John covering
her body with his, his hips bucking sharply as he drove his cock into her
hard, until they both screamed with release.
The water again hissed under the bow of the schooner as
they sailed back towards WaterWings. John had been daring, raising
the sails while still in the inlet, the remote control for the anchor windless
working pretty much as desired, the small ship gaining way and clearing
the island. Once again they were sailing under the “autopilot” as
John struggled with a tangle of anchor chain left by the windless.
The system wasn’t perfect. Not yet.
Sylvia padded forward to where he was working. Tapping
him on the shoulder, she waited while he extricated head and shoulders
from the chain locker, and then she handed him a cold bottle of ale.
He purrrrred and nodded his thanks. When he tilted his head back
to drink the bottle, almost at a single gulp she giggled and bent over
to nuzzle his neck. Putting down the bottle, he grinned at her; “Again?”
When she grinned he just shook his head; “Sylvia, you certainly are
amazing. Not that I’m complaining in the least!”
Taking her by the paw again, he led her to the windward
side of the schooner by the mainmast. “This time we have to keep
a lookout for land; we should be getting close, and I don’t want to run
aground. The best view, of course, is from up there.” He gestured
upwards. The masts were supported on either side by shrouds, strands
of heavy stainless steel wire running from the edge of the deck to near
the top of the mast. Horizontal lines connected the shrouds forming
like a ladder; these are called ratlines, and permit the crew to climb
the shrouds, to get to the upper reaches of the mast. Anyone who’s
ever seen an old pirate movie should know about them.
Sylvia grinned and climbed the ratlines almost to the
mast. With the schooner heeled over towards leeward (downwind), the
angle was less than steep; it was more like climbing a sharply angled ladder.
Carefully she turned, to face the sea and sky, leaning back against the
web of steel and rope, her legs spread, her feet braced in the outermost
rungs of the ratlines. John climbed behind her, to again cover her
body, settling in between her thighs, pressing her into the rigging, his
hard cock pressing once again against her sex.
As the boat pitched, riding the swells, John slowly drove
his cock in and out of her wet pussy. He’d lost so much of the edge
that he’d had earlier, their bouts of lovemaking leaving him in a position
to take it slow, to draw it out, until he was sure that she’d had several
climaxes. In the rigging, they swung and swayed, the motions adding
to the effect. Seeing how the island was drawing close, John knew
he couldn’t take much longer, and slowly he increased the speed and power
of his thrusts until he was slamming his cock into Sylvia, grunting with
each thrust, his balls swaying forth to slap hard at her ass with each
stroke.
Janet kissed Phil softly, her body pressed against his.
She’d seen her friend fishing off the north shore and had swum out to his
boat to say hello. Of course things had progressed, and they’d wound
up doing things other than fishing. It was a favorite rendezvous
of theirs. As she lay there sleepily, something caught her eye and
she rose up, to peer at the schooner racing past several hundred yards
distant. She grinned as she saw the two midway up in the rigging,
the lion obviously making passionate and energetic love to her mother……
Again John came with a roar, head thrown back, fangs bared,
his cock spurting what little jism he had left into Sylvia’s willing pussy.
He held her there, pressing her against the rigging until his panting had
quieted. Kissing her softly, he slowly climbed down, his softening
cock dropping free. After helping her from the ratlines to the deck,
he turned to trot back to the stern, to disengage the autopilot, and to
swing the ship towards the lagoon.
James lowered his binoculars, and shook his head.
“More energetic than I would have thought” he chuckled. “And more
imaginative…”
It was just at sunset as they moored the schooner, both
still nude, both with matted fur, both oblivious to any onlookers, not
caring what anyone might think. However, nothing went unnoticed,
especially by Sylvia’s children……
Sylvia kissed John goodbye as they stood on the dock.
As they hugged, she couldn’t resist a small tease and tilted her head up
to whisper in his ear; “No little lions in my family yet; what do you think?
Might that change soon?” She could tell instantly that something
was wrong, by the way his face froze, by how his body stiffened.
Then he relaxed and grinned; “Not yet, Sylvia; not from today, I’m
afraid. It seems that years ago, my unit was part of a test, perimeter
guards, way out in the desert. The test was of an enhanced radiation
weapon. You remember all the controversy. Kills everything
living but leaves the buildings standing? At any rate, some Staff
idiot sent us to guard the wrong crossroads, and then the weapon proved
to be more powerful than expected. We all got a real healthy dose
of radiation.” He chuckled and shook his head; “you should have seen
us; sicker’n dogs for about a month, most of our fur falling out…..
The upshoot is, I’m quite sterile. On the other hand, its no big
deal (or so THEY say). There’s plenty of my sperm, frozen, in storage.
Funny thing, that; you’d almost think they expected that to happen, that
they did it on purpose…….. Its possible for me to have children,
just not in the normal way….. so you’re safe……” John bent over to
kiss her again, softly. When they separated, he gave her a soft swat
on her rump and grinned; “for the moment anyways….” And then he had
swung back up onto his ship, to start folding the sails, cleaning her up
for the night.
Sylvia wrapped her sarong around her waist, and slowly
padded back to the main lodge. It had been a most interesting day,
one she’d remember. But for now, she was tired and wanted some dinner,
and a bath, and some sleep in that order. As she stepped into the
kitchen, to search for the dinner leftovers, Bethany and Janet grinned
at her. Bethany shook her head; “mother, I can’t believe you’d EVER
participate in such a hackneyed and worn out cliché! Sylvia
just blinked; “What? How’s that?” Bethany broke into laughter
as Janet grinned; “Friggin’ in the Rigging!” Sylvia just smiled.
It would be a memorable day.
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