Page 3

The Captain

H is cabin was at the stern of the ship, and guarded by a fellow known as Boone, an intimidating giant of a man whose job was to protect Captain Martin at all costs. Since he could shrivel my bollocks with a steely eyed look, he was well placed.

“What you want?” he grunted. He was sitting on an upturned barrel by the door of the captain’s quarters, picking under his nails with the sharp edge of a massive knife.

“I was told to come to Captain Martin’s quarters,” I said in a voice that made me sound much less sure of myself than I’d planned.

He gave me a skeptical glance.

“Ya were, were ya?” he said. “Now what would the captain want with you?”

That was the fucking question, but how should I know?

I shrugged. “No idea. But I’m here, ain’t I?”

Although Carago had taught me to read and write, and I knew how to conjugate and had a good grasp of proper English grammar, using a more common vernacular allowed me to blend in. All the better to surprise people with my level of learning and sophistication later on.

He gave me a salacious grin, his gaze running over me from top to tail, making me feel like a piece of meat. Normally, I’d respond in kind if I found a fellow attractive, but I wasn’t sure Boone wasn’t measuring me for a cook pot rather than implying a different kind of interest.

“That you are, my boy. That you are. Now give me the blade and any other weapon you’ve got on you.”

“What makes you think I have a blade?” I asked, trying to act insulted.

He held out his hand. “Give it. Or I’ll not let you in.”

Probably a good practice not to let a crew member into the captain’s quarters with a weapon. I hitched up the corner of my tattered shirt just enough to pull the sheathed dagger out of the waistband of my trousers, giving the handle an affectionate stroke before I passed the weapon to Boone.

“You got anythin’ else on ya?”

I shrugged. “Only a cock the size of a summer squash. Would you consider that a concealed weapon?”

Boone blinked, then let out a belly laugh that shook the floorboards.

The door to the captain’s rooms swung open, and we both started. Boone’s expression turned serious.

“What’s going on out here?” Captain Martin barked.

“Just shootin’ the breeze, Cap’n,” the swarthy man muttered. “Here. Fella had this on ’im.” He showed the captain my knife in its leather sheath.

Captain Martin didn’t appear surprised. He held out his hand for the weapon, and Boone gave the knife over.

“Right.” He glared at me. “You. Get in here.”

I straightened up and glared back. “My name is Simon Bartholomew White, thank you very much.”

The captain’s bodyguard made a strangled sound, and Captain Martin narrowed his eyes.

“I know what your name is. Get in here this instant.”

His tone brooked no argument, and I recalled that my life was entirely dependent upon his favour, so I stifled my indignation and followed him, offering a secret prayer to whomever might be listening to keep me safe and give me what I needed.

He held up the knife as he shut the door. “For protection?”

“Yes, sir. You can never be too careful.”

“You can have your knife when you leave my quarters. You won’t need a blade here.” He sniffed the air and wrinkled his fine nose. “Jesus, you stink.”

Not an auspicious beginning.

“Well, I ain’t got a change of clothes, you see,” I said, crossing my arms.

He examined me with a shrewd eye, taking in my ragged and lowly appearance, I was sure, and probably wondering why he’d saddled himself with me when he could have left me to rot in the Penny Whistle.

So I did what I always did when I wasn’t sure of myself and acted like a twat.

“Why are you looking at me like that? Ain’t you ever seen a pauper before?”

His eyes went wide and I thought I’d caught him off guard with my cheek. I doubled down, taking in my surroundings.

“Hmm. Not bad, I suppose. I thought you’d have fancier digs than this though.”

There was, in fact, a fairly impressive four-poster bed in the center of the room which made my mind swirl with all sorts of possibilities.

I walked to an ornately carved dresser and swiped a fingertip over the carved top, then squinted at the admittedly minute layer of dust the wood had gathered. “And a better housekeeper.”

For a moment he looked like he was about to shout obscenities and throw me over the rail. A shock of terror hit me, and I wondered if my big fat gob had got me into trouble again.

Then his expression relaxed, and he laughed. I couldn’t tell if he was amused at me or amused at what he was going to do to me, at first.

He shook his head in mild annoyance and brushed past me to plunk himself down in a luxurious wood and leather armchair by the bank of windows that looked over the sea.

“Now that you mention it,” he said, “I could use someone to keep this cabin clean. Maybe you’d be better at that than you are at tending goats.”

Ah shit.

I shrugged. “Well … ”

I hadn’t banked on being pegged as a scullery maid, but the situation was my own fault for complaining about the state of his cabin. Which actually wasn’t bad, really. In fact, the rooms were substantial, and I wasn’t sure how there could be so much space in the ship when the crew were all crammed in hammocks in the lower berths. Everything here was polished mahogany or lacquered pine, and there were fancy linens and cushions spread about. The captain enjoyed his comfort.

The windows let in plenty of sunlight and gave him a view of the open sea at the stern.

“Nice view,” I commented.

“Thank you. Now take off those filthy clothes, Mr White.”

My mouth went dry, and a zing of electricity zapped me from my sternum to my bollocks.

“Beg pardon?”

He crossed one booted foot over the other.

“I’m not convinced you don’t have another blade hidden on your person.”

“I can assure you, Captain, that I—”

“Strip. Now.” He gave me an offhand smile. “Don’t worry. You’ll find that nudity on a vessel of this sort is a common thing. There isn’t a lot of privacy.”

I had figured that out already. However, stripping below decks for a quick wash was rather different than being told to take off your clothes in a man’s private quarters. Then again, I only hesitated because I was having trouble controlling my physical response to Captain Martin’s presence, and I didn’t want to give anything away. But in this situation, obedience was required.

“Right,” I said, taking a deep breath. “You asked for it.”

I grabbed the hem of my shirt and tugged the cloth over my head, shaking out my dirty hair as I revealed my upper half.

He tried, but couldn’t hide his astonishment. A burn scar like mine was a startling sight.

Perhaps the horrible disfigurement would distract him from other revelations. The ruined skin was a part of me and of what I’d been through. The fact I’d survived and not died of horrible infection was a bloody miracle.

The captain leaned forward and squinted as I untied the rope belt holding my trousers up, then shoved them down and off. I stood there naked in front of him, my cock behaving itself for the moment.

He didn’t say anything, which was worse than if he had remarked on the obvious blemish. He stood and approached, then hovered his fingers over the rough skin on my hip.

“You can touch it,” I said, my voice barely there. My gaze flashed up to meet his. “It doesn’t hurt. Not anymore.”

Although I was slight and of average height, Captain Martin didn’t tower over me. I had to look up a bit; that was all. He gazed at me and I felt my cock swell and twitch. I closed my eyes, knowing that the truth of my feelings would be revealed before the end of this interview.

His fingertips traced the outline of my scar. The damaged skin was sensitive in places, but the phantom pain had mostly vanished. I tried to stay still as my body responded to his proximity, my nostrils picking up the scent of his clean sweat, and my prick stiffening even more.

Would he be offended by the thought that I was swollen for him? I had the sense that Captain Martin was a man who lived his life the way he pleased, and that he held no affection for, or interest in, women. But I could have been mistaken.

“Burn?”

“Yes, Captain,” I said, breath hitching as he continued to trace the edge, where it rose past my right nipple and swooped under my arm.

“Turn,” he said.

I obeyed, and he continued to where the scar descended down over my right buttock. I gasped. I’d not been touched that way in a long time.

“How did this happen?”

Perhaps he hadn’t yet noticed my indecency.

“Fire,” I said.

“When?”

“Ten years ago. I was twelve.”

“How old are you now?”

“Twenty-two.”

“You don’t look that age.”

I leveled a steady gaze at him. “Don’t I?”

“Are you lying to me, Mr White?”

“No, Captain. I ain’t got proof, but that’s my age.”

And then, his gaze shifted to my lower half. I held my breath as he stared at my standing prick.

“That’s interesting.”

I took a deep breath. “Is it?”

“Then again,” he murmured, licking his bottom lip and continuing, “Some men your age will swell at anything.”

“Aye, Captain. Some men will.”

He brought his gaze back to mine, and there passed between us the confirmation of an unspoken secret. He smiled for a brief moment.

“Hmm,” he hummed. His gaze returned to my scar. “It doesn’t hurt?”

“No.”

He frowned. “I should whip you for letting that goat chew my sails.”

I gulped. “Yes, Captain.”

I wasn’t exactly agreeing with him, and I definitely didn’t want that. I didn’t think he was serious.

“But…you look rather a delicate fellow,” he said, gaze sweeping over me as if he was only now allowing himself the pleasure of seeing me in my nakedness.

“Thank you for your mercy. I promise to do better.”

He waved a hand in the air as if the whole goat thing was inconsequential after all.

“May I put my clothes back on, Captain?” I asked, feeling rather vulnerable and still not completely sure he was ‘on my side’, so to speak.

“No, I’m afraid not, Mr Simon Bartholomew White. You must continue to stand for inspection.”

My eyes went wide. “Inspection!”

His lips twitched as if he were trying not to smile. “Oh yes. I inspect all the men who come aboard this ship, in one form or another.”

“All the men?”

“Well, perhaps only the ones who interest me,” he admitted. “In the way that you do.”

My heart rate pounded in my ears, and my cock was at a full stand. He met my gaze again and more than a spark leapt between us.

“May I ask, Captain, in what way do I interest you?” I said, with breathless anticipation of his answer.

He let himself smile then. “Well, definitely not in your animal handling capacity.”

“No,” I agreed. “Not that.” I swallowed thickly. “Then…how?”

Captain Martin and I gazed at each other with much silent messaging.

“Oh,” I said. “That.”

He raised his eyebrows. “You understand me?”

“Aye, I think I do. But perhaps you should say what you mean out loud, in case I am mistaken.” My voice wavered, and I truly hoped I hadn’t misunderstood him. But best to be clear.

“All right, Simon Bartholomew White. I agree that we should speak plainly, in a situation such as this.”

He stepped closer to me. So close that his hip nudged the tip of my stand, and I gasped. I tried to step back, but he took my wrist and kept me in place, his gaze drilling into mine.

“You interest me…” he murmured, “as a man who might appreciate certain intimacies that I enjoy sharing on occasion…with other men…who share those affinities…if you understand me now.”

All of a sudden I found it hard to breathe. “Aye, Captain.”

“And do you share those affinities, Mr White? Have you shared them…in the past…with other men?”

“As a matter of fact, Captain,” I said, trying to steady my voice, “I do. And I have.”

“I see,” he said, with a detachment that belied the way he was looking at me now—with excitement and satisfaction and, well, need. I was quite familiar with that look, as a matter of fact. “Then stand for inspection, Mr White.”

“I…am standing?” I didn’t quite know what he wanted.

“Well, I’m asking you to stay still, as best you can. For I am going to inspect you completely .”

“Oh, I see.”

“In fact, come over by the window, if you please. The light’s much better there.”

He stepped back and guided me to the bank of windows, the pressure of his hold on my wrist gentle, but firm. The day was bright and the sun high. Beams of light flooded the floorboards and made them warm beneath my feet.

He released me but told me to stay where I was. I was completely under his spell and waited patiently as he brought over a full washbowl from his bedside table, and a cloth.

“This water is clean, in fact, as I haven’t had time for a wash yet this morning,” he said as if I cared a damn. Whatever water was in that bowl was cleaner than anything I’d touched over the last few weeks.

“Yes, Captain.”

“Well, you’re filthy, Mr White. And since I need to inspect you anyway, I might as well give you a quick once-over with a wet cloth while I’m at it.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“At some point, you’ll need a proper bath with soap and hot water. But this will do for now.”

“I didn’t realize the crew were allowed baths,” I admitted as the captain wetted the cloth, wrung it out, and held the damp rag in front of me.

“Well, they aren’t. A wash in a tin tub is a luxury afforded to some. And any man who desires to share my affections had better be clean; that’s all I’ll say. Now close your eyes, Simon.”

He gave the instructions with such gentleness I obeyed without question. He drew the cloth over my face, down my neck, and behind my ears, humming a low melody in his throat.

“Can’t do anything about that mop of hair right now, I’m afraid. But at least I can clean the rest of you.”

“Aye,” I whispered, feeling looked after in a way I hadn’t in a very long time. I did recall Carago treating some injuries of mine with such care when I was young and I used to roughhouse with the local children, many of whom had treated me badly. That is, until I’d found my voice and my courage and put up a good fight. Then they’d stayed away from me.

His touch was so gentle that it took me quite by surprise. His manner had been abrupt and at times cruel during the time I’d been aboard, albeit I’d only observed him on rare occasions and always from a distance. But I’d heard the screams of a man who had been punished for hoarding weapons and trying to plan a coup, and the crew had told me of his experience afterwards. They’d all voted for the fellow to be disciplined and tossed over the side because he’d brought distrust and danger on board. The captain, to my knowledge, hadn’t done the act himself. Still, he had commanded that it be done and watched that the punishment was carried through.

For such a man to be so careful with me now, cleaning the grime from my body with a wet cloth while he took the opportunity to examine me in such an intimate way—was a revelation, really. I’d half expected him to bend me over the edge of his fancy bed, once he’d discovered we shared a certain predilection, then fuck me with little preamble. Apparently, he had a bit more class than that.

Perhaps he had plans to do more but wanted me clean and lulled into complacency first. Well, his plan had succeeded, but he needn’t have bothered. I wasn’t a maiden who needed to be seduced, and I decided he should know that about me.

“You know, you don’t need to go to all this trouble,” I muttered, watching him clean the dirt from the skin of my arm.

“Oh, I assure you, I do,” he stated, gaze intent on his work.

“Well, I know I’m in quite the state. But what I mean is, you could have had someone dump a bucket of seawater over me instead, then summoned me here for a proper fucking.” I shrugged. “I wouldn’t have minded.”

He huffed a laugh. “Really, Mr White? I’m not such a beast as all that.”

“Aren’t you?” I asked, and the tone of my voice must have given me away.

“Unless… Is that the kind of treatment you enjoy?” he asked, his question hanging in the air for a long moment.

“I…I don’t need to be seduced, is what I mean. I like a good fuck, and I ain’t got to be clean to enjoy a man’s prick.”

His face flushed now, and he stopped still, the cloth halfway down my thigh, his hand a length from my standing cock.

“Well, now,” he said after a long moment. “That’s good to know.”

He continued, wetting the cloth every now and then, cleaning me everywhere but saving the indecent bits for the last.

“Turn around.”

“I can do that myself, if you like,” I offered.

“Oh no, I must insist,” he said with the utmost seriousness.

I turned.

“Spread your legs and bend over at the waist. Put your hands on your knees.”

I did so.

The sound of his breathing was loud in the quiet room. His hand landed softly on my arse, and he spread me open, using the wet cloth to clean me. “You’re fresher than I expected, but one can never be too careful,” he murmured as I tried not to moan at the pleasure his actions were giving me.

“Well…I always take some clean hay to the head with me. I’m not an animal.”

I thought I heard him bite back a groan.

When he’d finished, he had me straighten and face him again. I stared down at my still dirty cock and balls, then glanced up. “Left the best for last, have you?”

He smiled and changed the dirty cloth for a clean one, dipping the soft rag into the cold water, which probably had a layer of grime on the top by now. No matter. I was cleaner than before.

“Well, that’s up for debate,” he said, eying my prick and grinning with embarrassment.

“Oh? You an arse man, then?”

“You could say that. I like nothing better than to sink my prick into a soft and willing arse, and I’ve been lucky to find a few aboard this vessel.”

He followed his words by wrapping the cloth around my cock and giving it a hard stroke.

“Oh, fuck…” I groaned, my eyes rolling back in my head. The cloth was cold but the temperature didn’t matter.

I expected him to let go, but he kept stroking me, up and down, gazing at me as he did. They weren’t soft strokes either. He’d taken me at my word. The cloth soon warmed under the heat of his hand and my blood-filled prick.

I put a hand on his forearm to steady myself as I made embarrassingly vulnerable noises of pleasure. I’d been so aroused from the moment he’d commanded me on deck, and throughout the lengthy ‘inspection’, that his rough and direct treatment had an immediate effect.

“Oh! But I’m going to—” I was able to stutter, before my cock erupted over the cloth and his hand, and my body went rigid with the ecstasy of my release.

“Oh, what a good lad you are,” he said, and those words sent further waves of pleasure through me, extending the moment as I hung there with my mouth and eyes wide open, shocked and stunned at the quickness of my culmination.

“Fuck,” I gasped. “I’m so sorry.”

He stroked me, still with the same rough movements, and I squirmed as my oversensitive flesh protested.

“Stop. Please, stop. It’s too much…”

“Is it?” he said, giving me an amused look. “Oh dear.”

My complaints didn’t have any effect, and that made me like him even more. I had to withstand this torment for another few moments. Then he sighed and reluctantly took the cloth away, wiping my spend from his knuckles and throwing the soiled cloth into the bowl.

“Simon, don’t ever apologize for your pleasure. Not in this room, at least.”

I blinked, my breathing still ragged, my head scrambled. “Aye, Captain,” I promised. “It’s only…”

“What?”

“I thought… I thought you were going to tumble me.”

“Is that what you want?” he asked, pulling his shirt over his head and undoing the belt of his trousers.

“Oh, aye. I hoped…that was what you wanted. Is it?”

“Oh, I do want to fuck you, Simon Bartholomew White,” he said, pulling out a truncheon of a cock—hard and red at the tip and more than ready to give it a go. “But not today.”

“Oh?” I said, my hearing gone as I stared at that perfectly sized specimen.

“I’m not going to take that liberty. Why, we’ve only just become acquainted,” he said, as he gave himself a few rough strokes and reached for something on the table. He poured oil from a bottle into his palm and rubbed his hands together, gazing at me with a lazy kind of desire.

I was confused. “But…then why have you—”

“Kneel,” he said. He pointed to the sun-soaked floorboards in front of him. The instruction sounded more like a suggestion, uttered without any threat behind the words, or any indication of urgency.

I knelt.

“Hands behind your head, Simon.”

He stroked himself in earnest now, making little mewls and gasps of pleasure as he looked down on me. “You might want to close your eyes.”

I didn’t want to close them, entranced by the sight of him, except that I knew how it felt to get salty spunk in my eye. So I did and listened with increasing excitement to the sounds of flesh against flesh, the rustle of his clothing, the clank of his belt buckle as his movements became rougher.

“Oh God…oh, fuck…oh, Simon…oh yes…”

I felt the splash of his seed on my cheek and forehead, as Captain Martin uttered a long groan that became a whimper. By the time he was done, I was well and truly painted with globs of his semen.

“Oh, don’t move. You look a picture. Keep your eyes closed. My goodness, but that was nice.” He was breathless and full of self-satisfaction. I heard the sound of him tucking himself away and doing up his belt.

My cock was at a stand again, my previous completion forgotten as my insides screamed with need. But I obeyed, keeping my eyes closed while he washed his spend from my face.

“Stand up,” he said, with a hand to my elbow. “Keep your eyes closed.”

I stood with his aid, wondering why he wanted me blind, until my prick was enveloped in silky warmth.

“God! Oh God!” I cried out, eyes opening out of instinct as I gazed down at Captain Dinesh Martin of the Arrow giving me a hearty suck like a proper harlot. He had skill but I still couldn’t believe he’d stoop to taking my prick in his mouth.

“Captain…” I gasped, putting a hand on his shoulder.

He pulled off, only to tell me to be quiet and not to spend, then went back to work.

Wait, what? Not to…not to spend? What on earth did he mean? And why did that command only want me to do so more urgently?

“But…why…” I grunted, as he got me closer and closer to the pinnacle and then pulled off.

“So that you’ll remember this afternoon, and you’ll remember me, once you’ve left this room. Now get dressed,” he said and stood.