Pirates' Booty

[whthole4u]

The oak planks beneath my feet felt solid even though the ship rocked to and fro. The Captain had sent for me, so as I made my way from his cabin under the sterncastle to the forecastle and the front of the ship I had to try to maintain my balance while avoiding my fellow crewmates. Well, OK, maybe I was not a part of the crew yet - at least in their eyes. I was too young, too inexperienced, too pampered and formerly rich to be a pirate. Plus I was the Captain’s boy - his ship wife if you will - although I had not been a boy in age for a few years according to my father. Yet having celebrated my 18th birthday just a few weeks prior to the pirates capturing the ship I was on and slaughtering most of the crew, I still often like a child in my new surroundings. Sea spray matted my hair and once I climbed the forecastle steps, and the Captain dismissed his Quartermaster - he roughly guided the wet wisps of matted blond hair off my face. He then pushed me to my knees, unbuttoned his silk britches and had me take his sugar stick in my mouth. He loved being watched and loved even more shooting his salty seed into my mouth while standing on the forecastle, his arms crossed, pretending he was the ultimate master in his foppish silk, colored clothes. The Captain’s clothing choices always made my eyes hurt as he relished the brightest colors and the shiniest silks. Yet underneath his peacock attire, was a tall, well built man with muscles earned by years at sea and a demeanor that was rough, brutal, and used to taking what he wanted, when he wanted it - including my mouth and arse.

 

Once the Captain had filled my mouth, I swallowed, cringing at the bitter taste. I had learned quickly there was punishment to be had if I spit it out, so hiding my grimace, I took it, and then as he stepped back and buttoned up as I left him on the forecastle. These displays always brought unwanted attention to me and while I made my way back to the sterncastle and the cabin the powder monkeys and others whooped and cawed like a cackle of black birds at my passing. In the cabin I reached for the bottle of rum that was dangling by its neck from a rope in the mid-beam timber. I gulped once - the fire burning my throat - then again and swished it around to remove the foul taste. I had tilted the bottle up for a third swig when a voice said, “You know there are better things to be swallowing.” I turned and sighed as I looked upon the Quartermaster. He was so different than any man I had ever known, or any other man on the ship for that matter. In size, he was a good four or five hands taller than the rest and just as thick and wide. His skin was black as London coal and mottled with the scars of battles past - each worn as a badge of honor and medallion of victory. The Quartermaster, or Sir - I don’t know his true name as when asked he just said Sir - was the real power on the ship. The Captain pranced around and hollered and demanded and the crew would say, “Aye Capt’n”, and then would look to the Quartermaster for the simple nod or shake of his head that would either affirm or change the orders. There were several dark men of the islands on the ship’s crew and when I first expressed my surprise that he held the rank and position he did, Sir just chuckled and said, “It is not unknown for someone like me to serve the black flag. We all wish the same thing do we not?” I had seen my share of the atrocities done to men like him in my few short years and was honestly grateful to the Father Above that Sir had found his place in this world.

 

“I saw you coming back from the bow and your morning feeding,” Sir chuckled. I scowled at his humor, wiped the last swig of rum from my lips, and knew better than to state what I was really thinking. He continued, “I figured you would need something warm, sweet, and filling to settle your stomach, so I held my morning water and instead of sloshing down the quarter gallery figured I would let it slosh around in your mouth.” Sir quickly loosened his canvas britches and let them drop to the floor as he steadied himself with his left hand against the timber frame. The ship rocked and I stumbled as I made my way over to him, but got on my knees and held firm against his thighs as the first hot droplets of nectar kissed my lips. I quickly open my mouth and began to gulp the hot waters he fed me. His dick head was large, dark, and ripe like the giant plums I used to snitch from our neighbor’s garden when I was a child. First thing in the morning he tasted just as wonderful. Not sweet - not bitter - but like wild venison dipped in fig sauce coated with the frothy green foam that seeped from it’s eye like from the churning of small waves against the hull. Sir was my Neptune - my king of the sea. I think Sir had been holding his water all night as he really filled me up. Once I was sure he was done, I stood up, licked my lips, and gave him a smile, as I knew what would come next. I made my way to the Captain’s desk and shoved a pile of maps and papers to the side. Sir walked up behind me and slid his calloused hands under my canvas shirt, up my sides, and then grabbed my chest hard. “TELL ME YOU WANT MY PEGO. TELL ME YOU WANT ME TO FUCK YOU. TELL ME YOU WANT ME TO CUM IN YOUR ARSE, TELL ME HOW MUCH YOU WANT MY POX!” Sir demanded. I had never heard such words and talk until I was taken by the pirates and even then I had to figure out what some things meant like ‘pego’, which was his tackle or manhood. Oh I had heard my father and others refer to their manhood but never imagined I would welcome another man bloody buggering me with his like I did Sir or that I would enjoy risking my eternal life as a bloody Sodomite.

 

While I enjoyed taking him, feeling him push in, pull out, and then grant me his seed, I was also grateful. He saved me - quite literally on that first day. As Sir took me from behind, rough and deep, those memories came back. Our attempt to evade the dark ship that stalked over the horizon; the fighting and screams and blood; the death and pillaging. A group of the pirate crew had me cornered in my cabin and were arguing over whether to gut me, ransom me, or use me like a wench - or all three - when the Quartermaster showed up. He looked me up and down, barely acknowledging my nakedness, then barked to his crew that I was to be protected and kept safe as the Captain was in need of a cabin boy to replace the last one who had died of fever, so I would have to do. As one of the three top men on the ship, by rights, Sir could use me just as the Captain and the Bos’n did. The Captain and Bos’n wasted no time and spent my first night as pirate booty rutting on me like brutal wild animals. The Bos’n especially liked rutting me like a wild boar. He was a filthy beast and just as hairy and smelly as any boar I had seen but his tusk - well I have to admit his big tusk felt awful good banging my arse open and I knew I pleased him as he grunted loudly whenever he wet my insides. Yet, while I enjoyed his man tar coating my insides, it was the tar that often coated his hands that was the worst. The filthy man never washed and while my skin and flesh toughened up from the beatings his tar-covered hands and sticks gave me, the taste of his fingers being jammed in my mouth to suck on as he rutted always left my insides heaving like the worst storm. Tar belongs on the timbers and oaks, not in my mouth!

 

“MY POX IS DRIPPING FROM YOUR CUNNY - MAKING IT ALL HARD FOR YOU! TELL ME YOU WANT ME IN YOUR CUNNY! TELL ME YOU WANT MY POX!” Sir said, breaking my memories and focusing me back on the moment. The heat and pain he caused when he entered me were either the coal fires of Hell burning my soul or the Fire Sword of the Angel Gabriel protecting me. His manhood was massive, but the burning it caused was nothing compared to the wonder he stirred and the feelings of pleasure he gave me when he let me serve him like this. From the moment he saved me, Sir showed me kindness and mercies. Small things really I guess, but in this world, they were huge. A kind word, an extra crust of bread, a firm but gentle touch on the shoulder, a new canvas shirt when the bloodied, torn, and ruined shirt I had when captured became nothing more than nesting fodder for the ship’s mice and rats. Between satisfying the desires of the Captain, the Bos’n, and trying to learn my duties so I didn’t get slapped, kicked, or beat for disobedience, I had little time to wonder about the quiet, scary looking Quartermaster. That is until one morning a few weeks in after the Captain had buggered me and left me in his cabin, naked, afraid, and confused. Sir had come in to look at the charts but paused when he saw me on the floor huddled against the desk. I stood up, afraid I would get beat if I did not offer, so I bent over the desk and waited. Sir’s breathing got labored; the oak creaked with each step as he stepped closer. Gently he ran a finger down the ridges on my back left by the Bos’n. I was shaking and expected him to just take me. The air crackled like a storm was approaching and the hairs on my arms raised, my flesh dimpled; yet Sir held back and just said, “I’ll come back shortly. Take what time you need. I believe the Captain will be wanting his spyglass.”

 

That evening, when taking the Captain’s dinner tray back to the galley to the cook, I paused just long enough to accept an apple from a small linen bag he had sitting on the counter. His toothless grin when he handed it to me was all the explanation he could give having no tongue with which to speak. I nodded and smiled in appreciation and tucked it under my shirt. The Captain was fast asleep by now and the watch was late, so I stayed in the shadows to avoid the few men that were up as I made my way to the Quartermaster's cabin. I tapped the stout wooden door with my finger, not wanting to make noise knowing how it could carry in the ship. I tapped again, the door latch creaked, the door cracked open, and the Quartermaster held out the metal lamp to see who had need of him. The lamp swayed back and forth as its faint light, cast by the stub of a single candle, let him see enough to know it was I. He opened the door, I stepped in, the door closed, latched, and I shivered with a chill like from a cold winter’s morning. “Are you OK? Is the Captain OK? What’s happened?” The Quartermaster said with a tinge of anxiousness in his voice. “Quart...Quartermaster, Sir, I….” He gently laid his hand on my quaking shoulder, “Just Sir. Just call me Sir. It’s OK boy, begin again.” I really didn’t know what to say so I just reached into my shirt, pulled out the small apple and held it up for him to see. A gift. A token. A thanks. Sir smiled, stepped to the back of his cabin, hung his lamp on the small hook by his bunk, and sat on the edge. It was then I realized he was completely naked. The small flames and the light of the moon reflected off the calm seas cast dancing shadows over his night skin and I was mesmerized. He casually shifted his long, thick manhood off his left thigh and patted his bunk, “Come. Sit with me and share this bounty. Did Cook give this to you? You did not steal it did you? You must know that taking things - stealing - is a severe punishment.” I thought that was a funny sort of thing for a pirate to say, but I had also seen they had some weird rules - known and unknown - so I held my tongue and just nodded. Sir pulled a knife that was jammed into the side timbers out, held up the apple, and cut a thick slice off and handed it to me. The juice dripped across his thigh and onto my hand and I laughed in delight as I figured the apple would have been dry and nothing more than a husk. I eagerly chewed it and swallowed and Sir did the same. He shared another piece with me, then a couple more. With the apple’s flesh consumed and nothing left but the seeds and toughest bit of the core, Sir jammed the knife back into the timber, looked at me, then reached out and with a tenderness I had not known from even my own father, gently wiped the smalls bits and juice from the corners of my mouth and lip. His face was mostly shadows as he licked his fingers clean.

 

I don’t know what possessed me, but I reached out and firmly grasped his stiff manhood and gasped in wonder at its size and warmth and his aching need. He squeezed my wrist painfully, “DON’T,” he hissed. With all my strength I slid my hand up, then down, feeling the slickness of his manhood, the roughness of the skin rash and chancres, the wetness of the pustules as they seeped open onto my hand. Was that why he had never wanted me? I let him shift my hand away from his body and smiled as I held my coated hand to my face and inhaled. The smell clung to my nostrils, filled my throat, made my chest clench, and only increased my hunger. I stood up and Sir watched me in confusion as I pulled my canvas shirt and britches off. My eyes locked with his as I kneeled before him, grasped his pox timber with both hands, and guided it to my mouth. BY THE SAINTS HE TASTED WONDERFUL! Sir’s manhood pulsed and twitched with every flick of my tongue, depositing a stew of sweat, pox juice, man dripping, and more. I moaned as I suckled on the tip, drinking him up, pleasuring him with a small kindness. Sir’s head was back, his mouth open, his hand’s gripping the side of the bunk as I stroked his shaft, mouthed the tip, and cupped his balls. I had to feel him inside me, but I knew he was too big. I would not be able to take him like I did the Captain and Bos’n. I stopped my work, stood up, climbed onto the bunk and wedged myself between the bulkhead wall and Sir’s back. He twisted, looked at me, then turned his body and lay on the bunk beside me - his face to mine - his shaft pressing in need against my body. Sir’s face was all dark shadows now, so I gently ran the fingers of my left hand over his head, down his jaw line, across the crooked bridge of his nose, to his mouth. When I withdrew my fingers from his lips he slid his right arm over my back, pulled me tightly towards him and began kissing me with burning intensity. The Captain and Bos’n had never kissed me. No man had. They had only used my mouth in other ways. This - this was so different, so…

 

Back in the present, Sir had withdrawn his shaft from my backside and was using the long nails on his right hand to scratch and claw at me like a mountain lion gutting a lamb, “YOU WANT ME TO STOP?” Sir asked, knowing full well I would never ask that. “I WANT TO SEE THAT CUNNY SWOLLEN - RED - OVERFLOWING WITH MY POX. I WANT THAT CUNNY RIPE FOR MY SEED - SWELLING AS I FILL YOU UP!” Sir slammed back into my now even bloodier arse. That first night, after he had kissed me and explored every inch of my body with his hands, our sweaty bodies entangled, was the first time I had felt safe. Nothing else mattered. All the pain, fear, unknown of the past weeks was swept away with the tides. I had an anchor now. An anchor that would hold me steady through whatever storm may blow. “Please, please go inside me,” I asked Sir. He stroked the side of my head, “You don’t know what you are asking. I can’t. I musn’t.” I guided his hand from my head down between my legs so he could feel how wet and moist my body was. I let go, flipped over so my back was now to him, and lifted my right leg up and back exposing my hole. Sir sucked in a lung full of breath like the hiss of an adder snake about to strike. I nestled my head in the crook of his left arm, scooted my body back a little so I was firmly pressed against him. His choice now was to either enter me or let me push him off the bunk. OK, well maybe I could not have pushed him off because he is a lot bigger than me, but still, in that moment, I didn’t know how else to ask him to give me what I needed.

 

“FUCK ME SIR!” I begged as I pushed my ass back onto his swollen rod, using the rocking motion of the ship to harpoon me like a fish. Sir obliged, fucking me with a roughness I would come to love and need. While over the course of the past months he had fucked me in just about every place imaginable on the ship, his favorite was still having me bent over the Captain’s desk. The stains of red, pox, and arse left on the oak floors was one more reminder for the Captain of who was really in charge. I arched my back as Sir grabbed my right leg and hefted it higher. He began stabbing at my puckered flesh with his fingers; his nails scraping my skin away like the barnacles that clung to the ship’s hull. This was a pain I wanted. This was a pain I had to have. His fingers found their mark and my body stiffened and I cried out. Sir cupped his left hand over my mouth to silence me and while the beating of my heart pounded in my ears as the waves pounded the planks of the bulkhead, Sir continued to create the wetness he needed. I could tell from the tenseness of his body he was going to take me. All doubt was erased when, with two fingers firmly buried in me like gill hooks and he whispered, “TELL ME YOU WANT THIS - TELL ME YOU WANT MY POX. I HAVE TRIED TO BE KIND AND GENTLE WITH YOU. WHY OR WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME DO THIS? WHY ARE YOU MAKING ME DESIRE THIS?” I moaned in pleasure as Sir’s fingers dug at the nub in my arse, making it swell and oil up. I could feel his fingers getting slicker. “I WANT IT,” I said with all the effort I could muster. “TAKE ME MY LORD. I AM YOUR HUMBLE SERVANT SIR. AT YOUR GRACE AND MERCY MY MASTER GIVE ME YOUR SEED.”

 

I yelped as Sir clamped his hand back over my mouth and forced his pox meat into my arse. The slickness let him slide in a bit, but then he caught up like a wayward ship running a-shoal. Before my body and mind could process the intense burning and pain he had inflicted, in one motion he pulled me closer, rolled his body onto mine, pressed my head firmly into the molded straw of the bunk’s padding and boarded me as he buried himself deep inside me. Lighting flashed bright and white behind my closed eyes as Sir pushed into me deeper and deeper. My body instinctively tensed and tried to push out the invader to no avail. All at once my resistance gave way and the deluge of his pox manhood began. Wave after wave of pox seed crashed and churned inside me. Sir pumped and pumped to expel it all and I took it. At the time it felt like he had spent an entire night’s watch filling me up, but I know that cannot be. “TAKE MY POX - THAT’S IT - OPEN THAT CUNNY UP - TAKE IT ALL - HARLOT CUNNY FOR ME!” Sir exclaimed as he filled me with his morning blessing. Far too soon his shrinking manhood slid from inside me. I quickly knelt and lapped up the sticky, pox remnants left on his mast and once I was done, I stood up, hefted my canvas britches up, looked at Sir, and knowingly asked, “SEE YOU TONIGHT?”

(*From the author: If you like the story let me know - post a reply or give a reputation. Thanks to everyone who takes the time to read these stories and for the continued support!)