Mar’i
Chapter 1 — The Lady Bucket and the Mail Boat
The island of Kir’i always seemed to hum when the mail boat came in.
From the volcanic ridges that rose like the jagged teeth of old gods, to the restless surf that hissed and spat against black stone, the whole place buzzed with anticipation. The air was thick with salt, spice, and the tang of iron from the rocks. Wind screamed through the narrow gaps between the spires, throwing up bursts of spray that glittered in the sunlight like shattered glass.
No airship ever dared descend here anymore. The winds would shear their wings clean off. The old wrecks proved that — twisted metal carcasses lodged high on the spires, sails and banners still fluttering like ghosts in the wind. The sea, too, was littered with reminders of ambition and greed, half-swallowed hulls picked over by barnacles and seabirds. But for all its dangers, Kir’i was a place of life — bright, fierce, and stubborn.
And no one embodied that spirit more than Mar’i.
Her small, agile vessel — The Lady Bucket — bobbed lazily in her favorite cove, sun glinting off its patchwork brass fittings and mismatched wood panels. The ship was equal parts charm and chaos, with hand-carved trinkets swinging from the rigging, bits of coral wired into the railings, and a cracked but polished compass nailed proudly to the helm. It was a ship that shouldn’t have floated — yet somehow always did.
Mar’i lay sprawled on the rear deck, gloriously unconcerned with anything but the morning sun. Her smooth, dark skin gleamed with warmth, beads of saltwater glistening like tiny gems along her shoulders and hips. Bright orange and red braids fanned across her curves, fiery against the deep bronze of her body. She stretched luxuriously, a lazy cat in her element, the sea breeze teasing across her skin as she hummed a tuneless melody.
From her vantage, she could see the mail boat beginning its final approach — a stout gray vessel, listing slightly from the punishment of the spires. She watched with the amused calm of a predator at rest, eyes tracing the small figures on deck as they scrambled to guide it through. Somewhere among that cargo and crew, she decided, there was a story waiting to be written. Maybe even a new adventure — or a new someone — worth the trouble.
With a soft sigh, she sat up, stretching again, her body moving with unselfconscious grace. The Lady Bucket creaked gently beneath her, its brass pipes hissing faintly as the boiler cooled. Around her lay a small mess of clothes — tight-fitting shorts, a shimmering iridescent top, and her favorite pink stockings. She glanced at them with a grin that bordered on wicked.
The salty sea air mixed with the sweetness of blooming zuripapa flowers as she finally stood, padding barefoot across the warm deck toward her cabin. The interior was small but full of life — trinkets, plushies, and treasures collected from years of trading and exploring. Sunlight filtered through round portholes, striking colored glass bottles and casting pools of pink and gold light across the walls. Her bunk was a riot of mismatched blankets, and a half-finished plushie — a floppy-winged bat stitched from scrap velvet — perched proudly atop a storage bin near her desk.
She smiled at it, running her fingers across its uneven stitches before kneeling beside the bin. The locks clicked open beneath her skilled hands. From within, she lifted a small jar, its label faded but lovingly preserved: Eve’s Concentrated Grounding Nectar of Vibrant Health. The thick liquid inside shimmered faintly, like honey catching firelight.
Mar’i unscrewed the lid, inhaling deeply. The scent of zuripapa fruit filled the cabin — sweet, sharp, and nostalgic. Her father’s scent. He’d given her this jar on her tenth birthday, just before the sea took him. She’d used it sparingly ever since, a ritual that tied her to him, to her roots, and to the island itself.
She mixed a small amount with oil in her palm, then rubbed it gently into her long braids, closing her eyes as the warmth of memory washed over her. The Nectar left her hair shining, the hues of sunrise dancing in the strands. When she looked in the small mirror by the porthole, her reflection smiled back — bold, radiant, and unapologetically herself.
Satisfied, Mar’i slipped into her outfit. The shorts hugged her hips, the iridescent top caught the sun with each movement, and her necklaces clinked lightly as she adjusted them. She was a walking rainbow of defiance, beauty, and mischief.
By the time she returned to the deck, the mail boat had moored. The docks were alive with chaos — vendors shouting, gulls screaming, laughter and music spilling through the humid air. Mar’i lifted her brass spyglass, scanning the crowd. Her lips curved into a knowing smile as her gaze landed on a new arrival — a tall man unloading crates, his blue boots catching the sunlight.
“Well now,” she murmured, lowering the glass. “That’s worth getting dressed for.”
With that, Mar’i — captain of the Lady Bucket, storm-dancer, fisher of spires, and unapologetic flirt — stepped into the day, ready for whatever came next.
Mar’i made her way to the busy docks, her curvaceous figure drawing the eyes of the crew and dockworkers who couldn’t help but admire her confidence and sensuality. The Nectar in her hair added a lustrous shine to her long braids, while her tight-fitting shorts and stockings hugged her curves in all the right places. The gem-studded necklaces around her neck added a touch of glamour to her already stunning appearance, emphasizing her ample bosom. Her iridescent top caught the light in a mesmerizing way, shimmering and reflecting the sun’s rays, hinting at the curves that lay beneath. With each step, she exuded a playful confidence, turning heads and causing hearts to skip a beat.
People stopped to greet her and exchange pleasantries, their faces lighting up at the sight of her. The atmosphere of the celebration was electric, with people chatting and catching up, the music and laughter filling the air. Mari was in her element, soaking up the energy and reveling in the joy of the occasion. She was known by most everyone on the island and was greeted warmly as she walked, her charisma and charm making her a natural center of attention. The mail boat celebration was the perfect place for Mari to showcase her beauty, confidence, and sparkling personality, making her a star of the event. As she passed a modest vendor’s booth, its owner tossed a ripe fruit to her.
“Morn morn, Niahmari!”
“Moron morn, Tarik!”
“Freshy-est Zuripapa just for you.”
Mari flashed her warm smile as thanks to Tarik and took a big bite of the Zuripapa fruit. Tarik and his husband had a farm on the middle of the island and both had taken a shining to her, treating her like their daughter. She glanced behind the stocky farmer, his dreadlocked hair was almost totally gray now, but there was no sign of Mattaeo.
“Whey whey Mattaeo?” she asked using the colloquial Kir’ian language the middler farmer spoke, a unique blend of words and sounds with gestures completing the picture.
“Him gah da sicks.” Tarik replied as he pantomimed vomiting. Mari couldn’t help but laugh at his exaggerated gesture.
“Oh no! Too too much Zuripapa Likka?” She made a drinking guestre back. Tarik smiled and nodded. Not only did they grow some of the best Zuripapa fruit on the island, they brewed the absolute best Zuripapa Likka she had ever tasted, and the strongest. Mattaeo had a bad habit of oversampling while brewing. She took another bite of the delicous, juicy fruit and nodded.
“Give him my best best, ya?”
“Always, chile, always. You trollin’ or sellin’ taday?” He winked and made kissing lips at her. He knew she liked to seduce the attractive members of the boat crew. She laughed and her smile grew even bigger.
“Bit a boff. Lines baited good ya think?” She held her arms above her head, accentuating her breasts and curves and turned slowly, showing off her voluptous figure to the old farmer, who was shaking his head vigourously in approval.
“Always, chile, always. Sum sum lucky lady?” He made curvy shapes with his hands.
“Eyes on freshy boy dis time.”
“Oh hoo!” Tarik bobbed his head with a floursihed wink. “Sum sum real lucky boy den. You be care girl.”
“Always, chile, always.”
This made Tarik snort with strong laughter. He tipped his obviously home made straw hat at her as he tossed another Zuripapa.
“Fo later. Him gonna need it” He smiled brightly, his missing teeth only adding to his earthy charm.
“I be gentle.” She took another bite to show her gratitude and sauntered on, she loved Tarki but there were so many more people to talk to and a sailor to seduce.
As Mari walked toward the bustling docks, she was a vision of beauty and confidence. Her dark skin shimmered in the morning sun, and the Nectar gave her hair a vibrant sheen that matched the playful twinkle in her eyes. The tight-fitting shorts and flared cuffs drew the gaze of the onlookers, highlighting her curves, and her boots and pink stockings added a pop of bold color to her already eye-catching outfit. The iridescent top she wore created a rainbow of colors as it shimmered in the light, and the gems of her necklaces sparkled between her ample bosom, completing her gorgeous look.
The Docks Were Never Quiet
The docks smelled like sweat, citrus oil, hot metal, and wet rope — the perfume of arrival. Mar’i stepped onto the planks with the confidence of someone who knew the world bent, just a little, around her gravity. Her boots thudded softly, leather hugging her calves as she moved, hips rolling with an easy rhythm that came from years of balancing on decks that pitched and swayed.
Heads turned. They always did.
She felt their eyes like a warm tide against her skin — curious, admiring, hungry. Mar’i welcomed it. She didn’t hurry. She let the moment breathe. Let the dockhands stare. Let the vendors smile too long. Let the tension coil.
Her braids caught the light as she passed beneath hanging banners, the scent of zuripapa clinging to her hair — sweet, intimate, unmistakably hers. She brushed fingers along the rail as she walked, grounding herself in the texture of salt-slick wood, feeling the pulse of the island through it.
And then she saw him closer.
The man from the mail boat was hauling crates now, muscles bunching under sweat-darkened fabric, jaw set in concentration. His blue boots were scuffed but well-kept — someone who cared about details. Someone who worked hard and noticed harder.
Mar’i slowed just enough to make it intentional.
She stopped near a vendor’s stall, pretending interest in a pile of polished shells while watching him from the corner of her eye. When he finally glanced up and caught her gaze, she didn’t look away. She smiled — slow, knowing, lips curving with promise rather than invitation.
His grip faltered. Just a little.
That was enough to make warmth bloom low in her belly.
She turned then, letting the moment linger in the space between them, letting imagination do the work. The dock creaked beneath her weight as she walked on, the crowd parting instinctively. Someone called her name. Someone laughed. Someone brushed past her arm, and she felt it like a spark.
The island was alive today.
And Mar’i felt very, very awake.
The dock creaked beneath her weight as she walked on, the crowd parting instinctively. Someone called her name. Someone laughed. Someone brushed past her arm, and she felt it like a spark. The island was alive today. And Mar’i felt very, very awake.
She didn’t go far. Just far enough to lean against a stack of empty barrels, giving herself a perfect vantage point. She watched him finish with the crates, wiping a sleeve across his brow, his movements heavy with fatigue. He was talking to the ship’s purser, a man with a weasel face and a stained ledger. The sailor held out his hand, expecting his pay. The purser counted out a few coins, then made to close the ledger.
Mar’i’s smile tightened. That was it? For that back-breaking work? She saw the sailor’s shoulders slump, the protest die on his lips before it even began. He was new. Or tired. Or just beaten down by the world. He took the coins without a word and turned away.
That wouldn’t do.
Mar’i pushed off the barrels and moved with a new purpose. Her hips still rolled, but now it was the walk of a predator closing in for the kill. She intercepted the sailor just as he was heading toward a tavern, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
“Rough day, blue boots?” she said, her voice a low, melodic hum that vibrated with amusement. She stepped into his path, not aggressively, but with the unshakeable confidence of a rock in the tide. She looked him up and down, deliberately, her gaze lingering on his chest, his arms, his boots, before finally meeting his eyes. “They work you hard on that boat. I bet you could use a drink. Or a swim. Or a nap.”
He blinked, taken aback. His exhaustion was momentarily forgotten, replaced by a flicker of confused interest. “I… uh…”
“Or,” she continued, her smile softening just a fraction, “you could get paid what you’re owed.” She tilted her head toward the purser, who was now smirking as he stuffed the ledger into his coat. “Looks like Weasel-face there skimmed a bit off the top for his trouble.”
The sailor’s face hardened. “It’s not my place. I just need the work.”
“It’s never your place until you make it,” Mar’i said, her voice dropping, losing its playful edge and gaining a steely core. She held his gaze for a moment, letting him see the fire there. Then she turned, her colorful braids a stark slash against the gray wood of the dock.
“Oi! Gerrick!” she called out, her voice suddenly loud enough to cut through the din of the docks. Heads turned. The purser flinched. “That sailor just hauled half your cargo through the spires. The least you could do is pay him the full tariff. Unless you want everyone here to know you’re shorting your crew?”
A low murmur went through the nearby dockworkers. A few of them stopped what they were doing, crossing their arms and glaring at the purser. Mar’i had friends here. Allies. She had grown up with these people, sailed with them, drank with them. Her word was law on these planks.
Gerrick the purser went pale. “I… I gave him his due!”
“Did you?” Mar’i challenged, planting her hands on her hips. She looked around at the gathered crowd. “Anyone else get shorted by Gerrick today?” A few men grumbled in agreement. The purser was sweating now.
With a sigh of theatrical disgust, Mar’i strode forward. “Let’s see the ledger, then.” Before he could protest, she snatched the book from his coat. She flipped it open, her finger tracing the lines of figures. She may have been a navigator by trade, but she’d grown up helping her brothers with their accounts. She knew numbers.
“Ah,” she said, tapping a line. “See here? You docked his pay for ‘cargo damage.’ But I saw him unload. Not a single crate was split. You’re a liar and a thief, Gerrick.” She snapped the book shut and slapped it against his chest. “Pay him. All of it. Or the next time you’re on this dock, it won’t be cargo I’m helping find the bottom of the sea.”
The threat hung in the air, real and potent. Defeated, Gerrick fumbled in his coin purse and counted out a significantly larger sum, pressing it into the sailor’s hand with a venomous glare.
Mar’i watched him go, her expression triumphant. Then she turned back to the sailor, who was staring at the coins in his hand as if they were from another world. The fire in her eyes softened, melting back into her usual warm, playful glow.
“Some people,” she said, shaking her head. She stepped close again, the space between them now charged with a different kind of energy. “Can’t even be honest on a day this beautiful. I’m Mar’i. And you look like you could really use that drink now.”
She held out her hand, not to shake, but to lead. “Come on. The first round’s on me. I know a place where the Zuripapa Likka doesn’t make you go blind.”
The sailor stared at the coins in his palm, then back at her, a slow, dawning wonder replacing his defeat. “I… I don’t know what to say.”
“Say ‘yes’,” Mar’i said, her voice dropping back into that low, melodic hum. She closed the remaining distance between them and hooked a finger into the leather strap of his shirt, tugging gently. “And my name is Mar’i.”
“Kael,” he breathed, his eyes finally meeting hers, the exhaustion in them now replaced by a heat that had nothing to do with the sun.
“Well, Kael,” she purred, “your day just got a hell of a lot better.” She didn’t wait for him to answer. She turned, her hand still hooked in his shirt, and began leading him away from the noise and stink of the main docks. “My boat, The Lady Bucket, is just this way. Much quieter than the taverns.”
He followed willingly, a willing captive to her current. They moved past the last of the vendors and onto a quieter section of the pier where smaller, personal vessels were moored. The Lady Bucket bobbed serenely at its berth, a chaotic jewel against the dark water.
Mar’i led him aboard, her movements sure and graceful on the gently swaying deck. She gestured for him to sit on a small bench cushioned with faded, brightly colored pillows. He sat, looking around the small, cluttered ship with a sense of awe.
“It’s… a lot,” he said, a genuine smile finally breaking through.
“She’s got character,” Mar’i said with a wink. She disappeared into her cabin for a moment, returning with a small, beautifully carved wooden pipe and a small, soft leather pouch. She sat down next to him, their thighs brushing, and opened the pouch. A sweet, spicy, slightly oceanic scent filled the air.
“This,” she said, pinching a bit of the dried, purple-green seaweed inside, “is Lilu’u. A gift from Taumalie.” She met his gaze, her eyes dark and serious for a moment. “It’s more than just smoke. It’s a prayer. A way to let the world fall away and just… feel.”
She packed the pipe with a practiced hand, her fingers deft and sure. She didn’t use a match, but instead struck a small piece of flint against a piece of steel, catching the spark in a bit of dried moss. She brought the glowing ember to the bowl and inhaled deeply, the end of the pipe flaring with a soft, orange light.
She held the smoke for a moment, then exhaled a perfect, fragrant ring that drifted up into the rigging. She passed the pipe to him. “Your turn. Let the goddess in.”
Kael took the pipe, his fingers brushing against hers. He hesitated for only a second before mimicking her actions. The smoke was smoother than he expected, tasting of salt, honey, and something else… something ancient and wild. The effect was immediate. The tension in his shoulders dissolved. The sharp edges of the world seemed to soften.
Mar’i watched him, a satisfied smile on her lips. She took the pipe back for another hit, her gaze never leaving his. The air between them grew thick, hazy, and intimate.
“Better?” she asked, her voice a soft murmur.
“Much,” he rasped, his eyes now half-lidded, fixed on her.
She set the pipe aside. Her initial goal, the one she’d set on her deck that morning, came rushing back to her. The teasing. The challenge. The conquest. But it felt different now. Deeper. This wasn’t just about seducing a sailor anymore. It was about sharing a piece of her soul, her island, her gods.
She leaned in, her colorful braids falling around them like a curtain. “Good,” she whispered, her lips just inches from his. “Because now, I want to offer a prayer to Naloni.”
“Who’s Naloni?” Kael asked, his voice a low rasp, the smoke and the sea air making it thick.
A slow, wicked smile spread across Mar’i’s face. She leaned in closer, her lips brushing against his ear, her voice a hot whisper. “Naloni is the goddess of love, passion, and intimacy.” She pulled back just enough to look him in the eye, her own dark pupils blown wide with desire and the sacred smoke. “And I am her most devoted worshipper. Let me show you.”
She didn’t wait for an answer. She closed the final inch between them and sealed her mouth over his. The kiss was a revelation. It wasn’t soft or questioning; it was a claiming. Her lips were full and insistent, tasting of sweet spice and salt. She poured all the energy of the dock, the thrill of the justice, the sacredness of the smoke, into that single point of contact. Kael froze for a heartbeat, then melted, a deep groan rumbling in his chest as his hands came up to tangle in her vibrant braids.
Her tongue was a bold explorer, delving into his mouth, stroking, coaxing, dancing with his in a rhythm as old as the tides. One of her hands slid down his chest, her palm flat against the hard muscle of his stomach, feeling it clench and quiver under her touch. She broke the kiss, a single, glistening thread of saliva connecting them for a moment before she licked her lips, savoring the taste of him.
“Stand up,” she commanded, her voice soft but holding an undeniable authority.
He obeyed, rising on unsteady legs as she remained seated before him. Her hands went to the hem of his sweat-dampened shirt, and she peeled it up and over his head, tossing it carelessly onto the deck. Her eyes roamed over his torso, appreciating the lean, wiry strength, the way his muscles were etched from hard labor. She leaned forward and pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the center of his chest, right over his frantically beating heart.
“You carry your strength well,” she murmured against his skin, her tongue flicking out to taste the salt there. Her hands were busy at the laces of his trousers, her movements deft and sure. She tugged them down over his hips, and he stepped out of them, standing bare and vulnerable before her in the hazy sunlight.
His arousal was blatant, undeniable. Mar’i looked up at him, a primal goddess surveying her offering, and her smile was one of pure, unadulterated hunger. She rose slowly, her body brushing against his as she did, and then she was guiding him, turning him, and pressing him down onto the pile of colorful pillows.
“Now,” she whispered, straddling his thighs, “just feel.”
She remained clothed, a vibrant, tantalizing vision above him. The contrast was intoxicating. She began to move, a slow, sinuous grind of her hips against his. The thin fabric of her shorts against his bare flesh was a maddening, glorious friction. She leaned forward, her hair falling around them, her lips and tongue tracing a path of fire across his collarbone, up the column of his throat. She nipped at the sensitive skin just below his ear, and he bucked against her, a raw, desperate sound tearing from his throat.
Her hands were everywhere, stroking, caressing, learning the geography of his body. She mapped his scars, traced the lines of his ribs, her touch a worshipful act. She sat up, her own head thrown back, a soft moan escaping her lips as she ground against him, her own pleasure building to a fever pitch. The sight of her, lost in her own ecstasy, was the most erotic thing he had ever seen.
“Mar’i… please,” he begged, his hands fisting in the pillows.
She opened her eyes and looked down at him, her gaze dark and possessive. She saw the desperate need in his eyes and decided to grant his prayer. With a fluid motion, she rose up just enough to shuck off her iridescent top, her ample, perfect breasts freed to the air, her nipples dark and tight. Then she stood, her boots and stockings and shorts joining his clothes in a heap on the deck.
She was a vision of vibrant, living art. Her skin gleamed, her curves were generous and proud. She knelt beside him, then lowered her head, her mouth finding the straining head of his cock. He cried out, his hips jerking off the pillows as her warm, wet mouth engulfed him. She took him deep, her tongue swirling, her lips creating a suction that made his vision blur. It was an act of pure, generous pleasure, an offering to Naloni.
But she wasn’t ready for him to finish like this. She wanted him inside her.
She released him with a final, lingering lick and moved to straddle him again. This time, there was no fabric between them. She took his hard length in her hand, guiding it to her slick, heated entrance. She held his gaze as she slowly, deliberately sank down onto him, taking him inch by delicious inch.
They both moaned as she sheathed him completely. For a moment, she was still, simply letting him feel the tight, wet heat of her, the way her body gripped his. Then she began to move.
It was a slow, powerful rhythm at first, a rise and fall that was as natural as the breathing of the sea. She placed her hands on his chest for leverage, her nails digging into his skin as she rode him. The sounds of their coupling were raw and visceral—the slap of skin on skin, their ragged breaths, their soft cries of pleasure.
The pace quickened. Her hips rolled and snapped, her movements becoming more urgent, more demanding. The coil of heat in her belly tightened, winding higher and higher until it snapped. A wave of pure, unadulterated ecstasy crashed over her, and she cried out his name, her body convulsing, her inner walls clamping down around him.
The feel of her coming undone sent him over the edge. With a guttural roar, he gripped her hips and thrust up into her one last time, spilling himself deep inside her.
She collapsed against his chest, her body slick with sweat, her heart hammering against his. They lay tangled together, the air thick with the scent of sex, sea, and the sweet, lingering ghost of Lilu’u. Kieran wrapped his arms around her, holding her close, his face buried in her colorful, sweat-damp hair.
He didn’t know who Naloni was before today. But as he lay there, floating in the afterglow, he felt like he had just been touched by a goddess.