Chapter 1: Stripped and Cuffed
The sailors yanked Rachel's tank top over her head and it snagged on her chin for half a second before they ripped it free, her tits bouncing out into the hot salt air. John let out a low whistle from where they had him pinned. "Nice. I mean, we've seen those before, but the lighting's better up here."
One of the crew squeezed the fabric in his fists, patting down the tank top for hidden pockets, and Rachel snorted. "What, you think I keep a treasure map in my bra?" She wasn't wearing one. Her nipples were already tight and hard from the wind, her bare breasts swaying with every breath she took.
"Alright you two, pants. Let's go." The sailor gripped her arms from behind while two others hoisted her legs off the deck, and she gasped as they unbuttoned her cargo pants and yanked the zipper down. The fabric went loose around her hips, her panties coming into view, a pale strip of cotton stretched over her mound. She locked her knees, tried to squirm, but they pulled the pants down her thighs with a few harsh tugs, her tits bouncing with every yank, her sun-streaked hair whipping around her face.
John's pants went next, and then his boxers were the only thing between him and full indecency, his cock half-hard as the sailors worked the denim off his legs. The sailor held up their pants, checked the pockets, then with a grin, spun them once and frisbeed them over the railing into the sea. Rachel's top followed. Then the pants. Then shoes and socks, one by one, each item sailing out into the glittering water.
"Those were my favorite boots," John said.
"You were wearing deck shoes."
"Exactly. My favorite deck shoes."
They were dragged below deck and handcuffed to a rusted pole, the damp metal clicking shut around their wrists, their backs pressed against the cold steel. Rachel, down to her panties. John, down to his boxers. He glanced at her, at the sweat gleaming on her stomach, the way her tits moved when she shifted against the pole. "So. On the bright side, at least we match."
Rachel was about to fire back when footsteps rang on the ladder. Dario Vasquez descended, his cold eyes sweeping over Rachel's body, lingering on the thin cotton clinging to her hips. He smiled.
"Keep the panties on, did they? Sloppy work." He reached down and hooked a thumb under the elastic waistband.
"Hey," John said. "If you're gonna do this, at least buy her dinner first. She's got standards."
"John," Rachel said flatly, as Dario slid the panties down her thighs, "you're not helping."
"Just trying to keep morale up."
Dario pulled the fabric down to her knees, then her ankles, and let the scrap drop to the damp wood. He ran his hand up the back of her calf, over her thigh, and Rachel's breath hitched as his fingers brushed the crease of her ass. He spread her legs wide, kneeling between them, and she could feel his breath hot on her cunt.
"Try not to enjoy this too much," Dario said, unzipping his pants.
"Oh, I'll manage," Rachel said, her voice steadier than her thighs.
He pulled his cock out, thick and flushed, and dragged the head through her wet slit. She was already soaked, her body betraying her. He pressed inside her, slow, and Rachel gritted her teeth as his cock stretched her open, inch by inch, until he was buried to the hilt.
"Fuck's sake," John muttered, watching the way Dario's hips settled against Rachel's ass. "Can you at least give us some context? Is this about the map, the coin, or just the thrill of being a dick?"
"All three," Dario said, and pulled out until just the tip remained, then slammed back in. Rachel gasped, her back arching off the pole, her cunt gripping him tight. He fucked her hard, fast, his balls slapping against her skin, her tits bouncing with every thrust. The pole rattled with the force of it, the cuffs biting into her wrists, and Rachel let out a low moan she couldn't quite swallow.
John watched, his boxers straining. "You know," he said, "if we get out of this, I'm billing you for therapy."