Page 10

Witch

T he Arrow became a flurry of activity while I spent a short time with my chooks in Captain Martin’s bed. She was put into full sail and heading out on a more deliberate course. Orders were shouted, and feet stomped the deck as men hurried to follow them. The sails flapped as they were unfurled, and the hull rocked as we began to ride the waves with much greater velocity and purpose. The windows of Captain Martin’s rooms had been opened to let in the fresh air, so all of this was a noisy hullabaloo that calmed me instead of making me anxious. We were moving forward, all had been forgiven, and I hadn’t been cast as a menacing demon preparing to damn them all at the next opportunity.

Hillier was capable of manning the troops for this, as Captain Martin stayed at his desk, making notes in a leatherbound journal and glancing over at me occasionally. I judged him relieved that I was happy, and, frankly, the care he and the crew had given me in the wake of what had happened made me optimistic for my place here amongst them. I still felt unsettled and confused about what had happened. Then again, everyone else probably did as well. The important thing was that everyone but poor Anthony Donatello, God rest his soul, had got out of the chaos alive. I was trying very hard to focus on that.

After a little while, Captain Martin closed his book and said he must go up on deck and check in with Hillier. He suggested I get dressed and take the chickens back to their coop. I could tell their presence in the cabin made him uneasy, and I could see why, as one of them had already shat on the bedclothes. I recalled that I was the one in charge of the room’s cleanliness and decided that the captain’s suggestion had merit.

I pulled on my clothes, still getting used to their strangeness and feeling like someone else. Someone—probably Captain Martin—had placed my shoes beside the chair, so I gritted my teeth and put on socks and shoes. Seriously, what was I becoming? Perhaps appearing civilized and obedient would help the crew to accept me as a benign cabin boy and fucktoy, and not as a conduit of inexplicable supernatural power.

I took Elizabeth and Frances back to the coops and counted to make sure everyone but poor Guinevere, God rest her soul, was still alive and clucking, and hopefully laying eggs. A friendly man with ruddy skin and a limp, called Lancaster, had taken charge of them at Hillier’s orders. I conveyed my appreciation of his care, told him all of their names, quizzed him to make sure he remembered, and made sure he was feeding them properly. His efforts to please me and the genuine concern he had for the animals reassured me.

The captain had implied he would take an hour or so and then meet me back in his cabin for some amusement if I was up for the pleasure. I definitely was, but I had time to spare so decided to go up on deck to get a glimpse of all the activity now that the Arrow was on the move. And also to prove to myself that the men didn’t hate me.

As I emerged from below deck, I noticed a group of them huddled around the railing. One of them looked up and when he saw me, nudged the others, and they all moved away from the railing as if the wood had suddenly exploded. Which was when I realized I’d been standing exactly there when I’d been overcome with the magic.

Fuck.

I frowned and looked at the men. They averted their eyes and pretended to be engaged in conversation. I walked slowly over to the rail where they had been upon my appearance.

There, scorched into the polished wood, were my handprints. I checked my palms, which had lightened to a healthy and normal pink colour. They didn’t hurt and looked to be fully healed.

I was obviously pleased, but the hastened repair also confused me. I still had the scar from ten years ago, and that looked a good deal worse than my palms, which were more recently injured. I stared at my handprints, recalling the horror of standing there with rage coursing through me, watching the vagabonds’ ship burn and not knowing if Captain Martin was safe. The shame and fear were there at the edge of my emotions, threatening to drag me down.

But I remembered what the captain had said about being myself. So I made sure that the men were keeping me in their sights, and I deliberately placed my hands so they hovered over the prints on the rail. I gazed up at the sky.

“Oh, Grand Mistress of the Seas,” I said in English, loud enough for the observers to hear. “Won’t you smite the barmy blokes on this deck what think I’m the devil’s minion? They’re all a bunch of dirty devils themselves with nary a bright spot between them.”

Then I turned and looked directly at them and cracked a huge smile, taking my hands away and rubbing my palms on my thighs.

“Not actually. I ain’t gonna waste my energy on you lot.”

Alarm turned to bashful realization that I’d had them on.

“Jesus, White, you almost made me shit my pants yestiddy. What a spectacle!”

“Well, I’m fucking sorry. I had to save the captain, didn’t I? And all of your sorry arses.”

They laughed with some relief as if the entire previous day had been a lark.

“Well, I won’t get on the bad side of you after that,” one of them said, crossing his arms over his chest.

I rolled my eyes.

Another bloke agreed. “Nor me either. I hope the captain knows what he’s dealing with, that’s all.”

Be yourself. Be yourself.

“Oh, aye. He knows,” I said, leering and tapping my forehead with one finger. “He’s, um, very good at keeping me in line, I’d say. So, yes, you’d better be careful now to not upset either one of us.”

“Oy, White. If you can do that , then we have the rule of the seas, don’t we? No-one can threaten us.”

I frowned. “It ain’t like that, I’m afraid. I wish I could control the magic, but I can’t. I don’t rightly know how the force rises, and when it does, the power sort of takes me over. And I ain’t myself whilst it’s got me.”

“You a bloody witch, then?”

The word echoed in my head, but I refused to run from its meaning.

I shrugged. “Maybe. Dunno. You wanna find out?”

The man shook his head and held up his hands. “No, mate. I don’t want to know.”

I wasn’t happy that my powers were so mysterious, but I’d be glad to be left alone and not bothered. I prayed their superstitions wouldn’t get the better of them. Sailors had all kinds of strange rules and beliefs, and I only hoped they liked me and liked the captain enough to disregard their fears as to any powers I may or may not have.

“Going back to the captain’s quarters, now,” I said, “So that I can ensure he is, in fact, unharmed and all of a piece.”

Some of the men laughed.

“Sure, sure. You do that, Simon White,” one said.

I wandered back downstairs and passed Boone who regarded me with slightly more respect. He nodded and gestured to the captain’s rooms.

“In you go, then. He’s been pacing the floors, waiting for you.”

“Now, Boone, you are to ignore anything you hear in there for the next few hours. There may be pleading and begging and crying, but ’tis nothing more than the way we declare our feelings for each other,” I said.

Boone rolled his eyes. “Don’t worry, I ain’t comin’ in there for anything until you come out. I don’t even want to think about what’s going on between the two of you.”

“Excellent. Ta-ta, then.” I gave him a friendly wave, and then knocked on the captain’s door before shoving it open.

“Right, I’m back,” I said cheerily.

“Thank God,” he said. “There’s something here that needs tending.”

I really, really, hoped he wasn’t talking about the dirty bedding.

“I stripped the sheet off already, and we can put another one on. They only shat on the top sheet.”

He stared at me with wide eyes.

“Pardon?”

“Oh, nothing, never mind.”

“You mean the chickens? They shat on my bed?”

I laughed nervously and shrugged. “Well, they are difficult to house train. I’ll wash all the bedding tomorrow. Promise.” I crossed my heart to make the vow official.

He closed his eyes, shook his head, then opened them again. They blazed with desire.

“Take off your clothes, Rooster.”

“Well, now,” I said. “Yes, Captain.”

The one disadvantage of my fine clothes—they made it harder to get naked when I wanted to. And, boy, did I want to. But now I wore a shirt that needed unbuttoning, and I wasn’t all that used to fumbling around with tiny little ivory buttons whilst in a heightened state of need. They were very pretty buttons though, and I took a moment to admire them.

“Keep going.”

“Yes, Captain,” I said. I finished with the buttons, pulled the shirttails out of my breeches, and tossed the garment onto a chair. I had undone the flap of my breeches before I noticed the stunned look on Captain Martin’s face.

“What?” I asked, thinking that he simply couldn’t believe how utterly lovely I was.

“Simon,” he said, his voice full of awe.

He lifted his arm very slowly and pointed at my midriff.

“The scar!”

I looked down at where the scar used to be and gasped.

The skin was smooth, and I could discern the outline of the old scar, but the raised edges that had made a relief map of my side were gone.

I held my breath.

What on earth?

I ran my fingertip over the surface. There was no pain, and the area wasn’t as sensitive as before.

I lifted my hands and turned them. My palms looked completely normal now. Anxiety built in my gut, only because I was surprised and confused and didn’t know what the bloody fuck was going on. I looked at the captain.

He stared at my midriff. And he looked as fucking confused as I was.

“What is happening?” he asked. “Why has the scar disappeared? How?”

I shook my head. “I don’t know.” I turned away from him and looked over my shoulder. “Is the skin the same on my back?”

The captain came forward hesitantly as if frightened of whatever powers had done this. I knew I was.

“Yes. The same. A little bit reddened, like your arse after a spanking. But smooth. And I can see freckles. It’s the most remarkable thing,” he said, reaching out a hand. “May I?”

“Aye.”

He touched the skin on my hip with his fingers, then glanced at me. “How does that feel?”

“It doesn’t hurt, but then, it didn’t really hurt before.”

Captain Martin slipped his fingers under the waistband of my breeches and pulled them down. He ran his fingers over my buttock where the scar stretched.

“It’s not over-sensitive anymore. The burn has healed … somehow,” I said.

“Hmm,” he said. As if that was all there was to say. “Go and lie on the bed, Rooster.”

I was more than happy to stop thinking about the scar. The imperfection had been a painful reminder of a terrifying incident, and I wasn’t displeased that it looked to be fading. Even though neither of us could explain how this was possible.

“Aye, Captain.”

I pushed down my breeches and then remembered that I had socks and shoes on. For fuck’s sake. What a production this was going to be. I sighed, then bent at the waist with my arse in the air, trying to balance on one foot as I took off one shoe and sock, while the captain’s soft laughter came from behind me.

He placed his hands on my hips, to steady me I supposed, then pressed his cloth-covered stand against my nakedness. I managed to get the rest of my clothes off, despite my lack of focus on anything but the Captain and his ready prick, and lay down on the bed, gazing up at the captain like a most willing sacrifice.

Captain Martin took his time removing his clothes, gazing at me with iridescent longing, then climbed on the bed and crawled over me. He kissed me sweetly on the mouth, and then he pressed his lips to every inch of that fading scar—soft butterfly kisses that made me sigh with longing. When he’d finished in front, he flipped me over and continued on my lower back and buttock.

He didn’t stop there but had his way with me in a tender, lazy, sensual way that I would remember for a very long time.

*

“A nthony Donatello was an upstanding, competent, and compassionate man,” Captain Martin began. “And I loved him dearly.”

Sniggers and whispers could be heard from the gathered crew, despite the solemnity of the event.

Captain Martin stood by the rail, with an open Bible in hand. All of Donatello’s personal items were balanced carefully on the rail, wrapped in sailcloth and gathered with one of the black ribbons that Donatello had used to tie back his hair. Three cannonballs were in the bottom for weight.

The captain looked up and eyed the men who’d been mumbling.

“Like a brother.”

Silence, cough , sniffle .

“We commend his belongings to the deep in honour of the man we’ve lost,” he said with great solemnity.

I blinked back tears and tried to bury the guilt that threatened to rise inside me. Which was silly, as Donatello had perished at the hands of the attacking vagabonds, and not as a result of my subsequent…spell…or whatever that storm had been.

Captain Martin looked down at the book in his broad hands.

“In God alone my soul finds rest. My salvation comes from him.”

He closed the book, then placed his hand on the wrapped belongings, whispering words that nobody else could hear. Then he soberly pushed the package off the rail. The bag splashed into the waters below as Richard Darcy played a dirge on his fiddle.

The crew had voted for a return to Tortuga, and we were prepared to board and pillage any likely ships we encountered along the way. The recent battle had them spooked, and they needed to prove their might.

*

“W hy, Captain Martin, you appear to have put me in a rather challenging predicament,” I said about twenty minutes later as I tested the ropes that bound me.

“Mmm. I’m simply practicing my knots,” he said as he finished and slapped me on the arse.

“What was that for?” I asked.

“Why, the fun of it, of course. We’ve had a trying few days.”

We’d not encountered any other vessels as of yet, and the horizon looked clear as far as the eye could see, although rain splattered against the windows of the captain’s quarters. The captain had decided that I needed a proper ravishing and he’d trussed me up good and proper. Only, now, he went and sat on the bed and picked up a large tome, opening the book as if he planned to enjoy the next few hours reading.

I was wrapped in strong, soft ropes and attached to a hook in the ceiling with one leg folded so that I could barely keep myself from spinning with my unbound leg. My arms were crossed at my back, and the captain had spent a good deal of time driving me into a state of desperate need.

“Oy, Captain. You can’t just ignore me. Look what you’ve wrought!” I said, nodding and staring at my rampant prick, which jutted up good and pink and ready for more.

The captain did look for a moment, sighed wistfully, and went right back to his book.

Fucking bastard. He knew it drove me mad when he pretended to ignore me, and I was already on the edge of reason. I tried to think of other things because begging and pleading would only amuse him.

The place on my torso, where my old scar had been, looked just like the rest of me now. No one could tell there had been anything there at all. The moles and freckles had returned, too, which boggled my mind. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the transformation, to be frank. That scar had been with me since my mother’s death, and now I had nothing to remind me of her.

I didn’t think anyone on board, except the captain, had seen the scar in full light, so no one was likely to note its absence. Faraday had sworn to the crew that my hands had been mangled and blistered, which was true. But I denied the truth, saying that Faraday had probably been uneasy about what he’d seen, and that had coloured his true perception. I told them that the captain had applied a healing balm to the skin, which had resolved the injury in no time.

I wasn’t quite certain if they believed me, and perhaps it would have been wiser to simply admit I didn’t know why the burn had gone away. But I was already drowning in uncertainties, and if that made me feel anxious, I could only imagine how the others might feel about the situation. I figured they’d be glad to latch on to a simple and ordinary explanation, as we all knew Faraday could be dramatic at times.

I struggled in the ropes and groaned with desire and frustration, glancing at the captain to make sure he noticed. I made a good show of my desperation and was rewarded when he closed his book and stood.

“Do you know what I plan to do with you, my little red cock?” he asked, playing on the slang for rooster and referencing my randy appendage.

“I wager the intention will be despicable and filthy.”

“You do know me well,” he said and smiled. “However, to begin with, I’d like to show you some items that I confiscated from a Chinese vessel that we looted several months ago.”

My ears perked up. I had heard that the Chinese held different attitudes about sexual practices than the uptight British.

The captain took a key from a hidden compartment in his secretaire and walked to the large wood chest in the corner of the room. He unlocked the chest and lifted the top on its silent hinges. He took out a polished wood box, about ten-by-ten inches square. He carried the item reverently in both hands over to where I was bound. He winked, held it up with the open edge facing me, and lifted back the lid.

Lined with red silk, snug sections contained a selection of objects in strange shapes, made with the same wood as the box itself and polished to a similar sheen.

“What on God’s great earth?” I exclaimed. “They’re lovely, but…what are they?”

Captain Martin gave me a knowing smile and raised his eyebrows. “I’m just about to show you. And, well, demonstrate at least a few.”

He lifted the smallest of the items from the box and held it before me with a devilish look in his eyes. Shaped in an oval, like the others, and about the size of an egg, the thing, whatever it was, gave me a strange feeling in my belly.

“What do you mean, demonstrate?” I asked.

“Shush now.”

I kept quiet, or tried to.

He removed a few of the strange objects and laid them out on the bed. I was beginning to have an idea as to their use. I’d spent a bit of time over the course of my life searching for things that might fit up my backside and be retrievable. Carrots had proved impractical after a most terrible incident, of which I won’t go into detail. I’d learned that whatever went in there needed a handle of some sort, or my hungry arse would try to swallow the whole thing.

These objects were shaped like the dummies the nursemaids used for babies to suck when their mother’s teat wasn’t available, except they were bigger and most likely made for a different orifice on adults.

Captain Martin came toward me with the smallest of the five objects.

“You’re not going to stick that thing up my arse, are you?” I asked, sounding more excited than nervous about the idea.

“That’s exactly what I’m going to do, Rooster. But if you don’t stop asking me questions, I’m going to have to gag you.”

I held my tongue, knowing that he was in earnest.

He held the egg-shaped item in front of me, turning it slowly, so I could see the object clearly from all angles.

“This is what I like to call a shit stopper, although it can hold other things inside a body, as well,” the captain muttered, applying oil to the object whilst I watched and squirmed.

I was glad I’d had a healthy bowel movement earlier in the day. Now that I had access to a fancy water closet, my habits were more regular which proved easier to be clean and prepared for anything.

Such as the scandalous Captain Dinesh Martin of the Arrow pirate vessel—oh, excuse me— privateering vessel, determining to slide an egg-shaped piece of wood up my bottom for sheer entertainment value. I should have been prepared for this after the soap incident.

He used his fingers with some oil to prepare me to receive the strange thing. My cock bobbed helplessly as I wriggled with pleasure. The captain’s fingers were long and agile, and he knew just where to touch.

“There we are. Now for the stopper.”

I hung helpless in the ropes as he pushed the wet tip of the stopper against my eager hole.

“Mmm, that looks so perverse, Rooster. Relax now and let me push this in.”

My hole stretched impossibly wide as the captain maintained a steady pressure. It felt like I was splitting in two, and then, with a woosh, my body swallowed the egg up. Thank God for the flange, which nestled comfortably between my cheeks. See? I was a greedy bugger. I groaned at the pleasurable feeling of being filled.

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” the captain hissed.

I moaned as the captain wiggled the thing to make sure the stopper was seated properly.

“How does that feel?” the captain asked.

“Bloody huge.”

“Well, I know for a fact you like to have big things in your bowels,” the captain said, as he spread my arse cheeks wide and tapped on the flat end of the egg. “Looks quite scandalous.”

The vibrations echoed through me, sending sparks in every direction.

“Ooh,” I moaned. “Help.”

He laughed. “What on earth do you need help with? I’d suggest you relax, because I’m going to do a little reading whilst that lovely device stretches and prepares you for me. Then I’m going to fuck you, hard, whilst you’re in those ropes, and leave a quart of spunk in you. Then I’m going to put the stopper back, and you’re going to keep that spunk inside you until suppertime.”

“Oh my God. So fucking filthy,” I said with absolute reverence.

“Yes. And so are you, my dirty rooster. We’re perfect together.”

His words caused a glow of happiness to spread in my chest.

“Aye.”

Good thing I’d emptied my bladder before this game, as he left me dangling and stoppered for a time whilst he went back to his journal. In truth, the ropes made a sort of a cradle for me, and my arse soon adjusted to the invasion. I must have drifted off.

A smart slap to the arse woke me.

“Aye, Captain. Sorry, Captain,” I stuttered, not even sure what I was apologizing for.

“God, you’ve got a lovely arse, Rooster.”

He cupped my buttock and jiggled the muscle roughly before slapping it again.

“Fuck,” I said.

“Like that?”

“Yes. More.”

“I’d be delighted.”

He spent the next while alternately jiggling and spanking my arse, which made me discern the solidness of the wooden stopper in a way that sent ripples of pleasure throughout. He enjoyed eliciting gasps of pain and surprise, followed by moans and sighs of extraordinary pleasure from me. Heaven. He held on to the rope that secured me to keep me from spinning.

“Your arse is a lovely shade of pink now.”

He tugged on the stopper. I groaned as he eased the thing out, my cock firm and dripping. But now I was bereft.

“Please, Captain.”

“Please what, Rooster?”

“I want that big truncheon inside me.”

“You do, do you? Well, isn’t that convenient, because that’s just what you’re going to get.”

The swish of oil on flesh preceded him nudging the tip of his battering ram at my rear entrance, hot and impossibly large. But the egg had prepared me, and he sank in with little trouble.

“Oh fuck, fuck, fuck,” I muttered. “Oh God.”

He was not any quieter.

“Jesus. Oh, Jesus, fuck. Fuck it. I want to ravish you.”

“Yes, yes, yes.”

“I’m going to fuck you now, Rooster. I shall flood you with my seed and perhaps even get you with child. You never know. There is some magic at work in you.”

The very thought of the captain planting his seed in me proved intoxicating. Though I didn’t think a babe would result, the idea of Captain Martin attempting such a thing aroused me to no end. He was a man of his word and did plow me to within an inch of my life, holding the ropes that held me captive and reaching places inside me that had never been touched before. Of that I was certain.

His sounds of pleasure and excitement were even more exquisite. I babbled, moaning and pleading for him to continue, harder, harder, more, more.

His breathing became more and more urgent, his grunts and exclamations more frequent. He had one hand on the rope and one hand painfully digging into my hip when he went deep and stilled, crying out as he emptied into me.

I felt euphoric and contented, in a spiritual way, as if I served as a vessel for an important ceremony. Except, now I was on the edge of completion. And I couldn’t touch myself.

“Please, Captain. Please!” I begged.

He laughed softly, withdrew himself to my whimpered protest, and slipped the stopper back into me.

“Oh my God,” I moaned. “Oh my God.”

“There. A suitable vessel for my seed, you are.”

He slapped my arse and walked around to stand in front of me.

“What the fuck, Captain?”

“What’s the matter?”

“I need to spend. I’m so fucking close.” I sobbed with frustration. “Please!”

“How can I say no to my beautiful Rooster?”

I laughed hysterically with relief as he poured more oil into his hand and wrapped his fingers around my cock, giving it several hard jerks.

“You’ll have to be quick, mind. I’ve other things to do.”

“Oh. Oh. Oh.” I cried out. “Fuck. Fuck!”

His free hand slipped over my hip and found the base of the stopper, which he shoved and twisted.

I gasped as I spent in huge bursts that shot over his knuckles, my body spasming as the beam that held me creaked and protested.

“No, no, no!” I stuttered as the pleasure took me, protesting the way my culmination overcame me without my control. “Oooh!”

Finally, the intensity of the blissful spasms eased, and I became a boneless bag of jelly.

“There we go. Now you’re happy, aren’t you?” He sounded immensely pleased with himself.

“Aye, Captain,” I said.

We stared at each other for a long moment.

“How long shall I be plugged then?”

“For as long as I desire. But I’ll get you out of these ropes.”

We looked at where the rope wrapped around the wood above.

“We were fortunate that beam held,” the captain said.

“Aye,” I agreed. “Good thing.”