Page 27 of A Flash of Golden Fire

“Push the damn thing out, if you’re so worried about the situation,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest, his solid prick a distinct outline in his breeches.

“P-pardon?”

“If you can take a shit, you can expel a bar of soap. It should slide right out.”

Those words and the very idea of taking a shit worked to cause me to bear down out of pure instinct.

And Captain Martin was right, it didn’t take much effort at all. But the pleasure as the thing exited my body and sploshed into the bathwater made me blush with shame.

“See?” he said, a little bit breathlessly.

“Aye,” I sighed. “Jesus.”

I almost didn’t want to meet his gaze, but when I did, the fire in his eyes made plain his feeling about what we were doing. I wrapped a hand around my cock, giving it a pull.

“Hands off. That pretty prick is mine. Leave it be.”

“Yes, Captain,” I said, shuddering with pleasure.

He fished the soap out of the water and made me bend over again.

I stared at my wavy reflection in the water, as Captain Martin played with that bar of soap and my arse, shoving it in and having me squirt it out, for his amusement—and mine, of course. I’d never felt more like an object at the hands of…well, anyone…and the feeling of being owned and enjoyed made me giddy, to be frank. I’d never claimed to be a regular fellow. There really was no explaining this strange feeling, but I didn’t want to question the sentiment anymore.

Somehow, Captain Martin understood me, and fed me his own strangeness in actions that were quite welcome and exquisitely thrilling.

“I think I must be all cleaned out,” I said, with a laugh.

“Hmm. Can’t ever be too careful.”

He continued to play with me, until the bar of soap was a tiny sliver of its former shape.

“There we go. That should do the job.”

“I reckon,” I agreed, dazed and impressed.

“Now sit down and lean your head back.”

Even though I’d not known him long, the captain’s voice already felt like a siren’s lure, and I succumbed to his demands without thought. I expected him to take down his trousers, and slide his cock into my mouth. Instead, he helped me to wet my hair, then used another bar of his fine soap to lather up the greasy strands.

“Just how red is your hair under all this grime, Simon Bartholomew White?”

“Quite a bright hue, when not full of shit,” I said.

“I certainly hope you don’t mean actual shit.”

His deep voice rumbled pleasantly as he massaged my scalp. I closed my eyes, enjoying the care he was giving me.

“Well, you never know,” I admitted.

I was rewarded with the captain’s soft laughter.

“Up now.”

I stood but wobbled as if I were coming out of a trance. His gentle touch had lulled me into laziness. Then Captain Martin poured clean, cold water from another jug over me.

“Jesus! That’s bloody cold,” I gasped.

“Don’t want you to get soft with all this pampering,” Captain Martin said. “I plan to use you well, and I’m not always gentle.” He tilted his head, considering. “In fact, I’m not often kind when I have a willing man beneath me.”