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Captain Rapunzel’s Private Voyage - (314 photos) (Patreon)
Content
The Corona royal yacht had never sailed this far north. Rapunzel told the crew it was a “scientific survey.” The truth? She’d stolen the helm at dawn, swapped her coronation gown for a candy-pink gingham bikini and her father’s old captain’s hat, and set course for the endless blue, chasing a horizon only she could see.
For years the tower had been her cage. Now the open sea was her freedom, and she intended to taste every salty inch of it.
By midday the deck was empty (crew dismissed with a basket of pastries and a wink). Rapunzel stood alone at the wheel, golden hair whipping like a battle standard, sun glazing her skin bronze. The tiny bikini strained against her curves every time she leaned into a turn, the ruffled skirt fluttering high enough to flash the soft underside of her ass with every ocean swell.
She’d left a single lantern burning in the captain’s cabin below (an invitation).
He found her there at golden hour: the quiet palace cartographer who’d been sketching her secret maps for months. He stepped through the hatch, eyes widening at the sight of her perched on the navigation table, legs crossed, hat tilted low, bikini top already loosened so one pink triangle barely clung to her nipple.
“Permission to come aboard, Captain?” he asked, voice rough.
Rapunzel crooked a finger. “Permission granted… if you can handle full sail.”
She didn’t wait. One tug and the bikini top drifted to the floor. Another tug and the skirt followed. She pulled him between her thighs, the wooden table cool against her back, ocean rocking them in slow, perfect rhythm. His mouth found her neck, her breasts, the freckles across her collarbone she’d hidden for eighteen years. She laughed (bright, wild, free) and wrapped seventy feet of hair around his wrists like golden rope, binding him to the table’s edge.
They moved with the ship: slow when the waves were gentle, frantic when the storm rose. She rode him on the captain’s chair, on the map table, against the porthole where sunset painted them rose and gold. Every gasp, every moan, every slap of skin on skin echoed off the brass instruments.
When the stars finally came out, Rapunzel stood naked at the helm again, hair loose to her ankles, his shirt draped over her shoulders. He traced the faint tan lines the bikini had left and smiled.
“Course, Captain?”
She leaned into him, lips brushing his ear.
“Straight on till morning. And every morning after that.”
Some towers are made to be escaped.
Some princesses are born to command the tide.
Download the full explicit set on MEGA
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