Page 30 of There’s a Way (Mythic Beast #2)
So, when I’d put our dishes away, stored the roast in the fridge beside the bowl of gravy, and cleaned the slow-cooker and put it away, I wasn’t terribly surprised to turn and see clothes draped over the back of a chair.
I stepped into the short pants with way too much fabric, so it looked more like a skirt than shorts, and tied the waist. It took me a few seconds to figure the blouse out and get it on, and then the vest that matched the shorts, and finally, the dramatic collar.
I doubted the son of a barkeep would’ve worn this, but it was certainly period clothing from centuries before, and if it was what Master wanted me in, so be it.
I didn’t expect him to jump from a room on my way to the playroom and grab me, but Master can be full of surprises.
I fought him a little, or maybe more than a little because he surprised me, but he quickly had me under control with one of my arms bent backwards and up behind me, so I walked in front of him while he steered me to the playroom, where he fastened my wrist cuffs behind my back, bent me over, and attached them to the hook hanging from the ceiling in the center of the room.
He had to lift my arms up to reach it, but it was at the right height so he didn’t have to raise it higher once the cuffs were over the hook.
I assumed there were no carabiners three hundred years ago, and that was why he’d just looped my cuffs over the hook. I might be able to lift up high enough to slide them off, but I doubted it, and I wasn’t interested in wrenching my shoulders enough to try.
I was bent over uncomfortably enough without hurting my shoulders even worse.
“My dad will come find me!” I shouted.
“Oh, I doubt that. We’ll be out to sea in an hour, before he even knows your missin’. I have about fifteen minutes to play with you before I need to go abovedeck, so let me just see what I have to work with.”
He made quick work of getting the ridiculous shorts off, but didn’t bother with the vest, blouse, or collar contraption.
He played with my dick and balls a few seconds, which rarely happens with my Master so I enjoyed it while trying to pretend I hated it, and then he was at my ass, spreading my cheeks to have a look.
“What are you doing?” I kicked my legs backwards, towards him, but didn’t manage to make contact. “That isn’t proper at all! Stop this instant, I say!”
“Not much that happens on this ship is proper, young lad, and if you kick me, I’ll squeeze your balls until you puke.” He reached up, grabbed them both in his fist, and gave a light squeeze. “Care to test me, lad?”
I stayed quiet, and he squeezed a little tighter. “I own you now lad. Answer the question.”
“No! Please don’t hurt me balls!”
I didn’t have any idea how people talked back then, but saying me instead of my sounded right.
“Sire! You will address me as Sire!”
“No Sire! Please don’t hurt me balls, Sire!”
He let go of my balls. “Better, slave, but I think we’ll make sure you can’t, anyway.”
He tied a piece of rope between my ankle cuffs, so I could only spread my feet around six or eight inches apart, and then he walked around front of me, and I finally got a look at what he was wearing.
He was in shorts with some kind of leggings underneath, and a fancy blouse with a jeweled vest, along with lots of rings, and a fancy hat with a feather.
He didn’t look anything at all like a pirate, but before I could figure out what to say, if anything, he was out the door and gone, and the door closed shut, leaving me all to myself.
And that was when I realized he’d lit candles and placed them around the room, rather than use the lights.
Not real candles, but the electronic ones with the dancing flame that looks real.
The light danced all around me, a lot dimmer than when the room’s lights are on, but enough to easily see because he must’ve had fifty or more around the room.
Master returned looking like a pirate, with thick fabric straight shorts, and a vest with a thin cream-colored blouse under it. The pants and vest appeared to be a rough canvas, both in tan, and he wore a pirate hat now — tri-something, I think?
“The fancy duds are just for the landlubbers. Now, where were we? Ah, that ass, which I’m guessing is quite virginal.” He lifted his hand to show me he held something. “Nabbed some butter from the galley to make your first time a little easier.”
“No! You can’t, no! Not my ass! I’m not… I don’t do that!”
He squatted behind me, grabbed my balls, and squeezed till I very nearly puked, but he stopped just in time so I didn’t.
“Want to try that again, lad?”
“Please don’t, Sire! I have a girlfriend and we’re to be married! I’m certain my father will pay a hefty sum to get me back, Sire!”
“It isn’t money I’m looking for, lad, but adventure.
I might be convinced to drop you off on land close enough to home you can get back, when I’m finished with you, or I might make you a member of my crew, but until I tire of you?
You’re mine, lad, me own personal sex slave, and I’m about to show you just how much of you I own. ”
I don’t think it was actually butter, unless he’d softened it, because it smoothed right onto my ass and then inside.
Seconds later, his finger was gone and his dick was at the entrance, and I blubbered and begged him not to while he got set to push, and then screamed and carried on like I was dying once his dick was inside, pushing farther and farther in without slowing to let me get used to it.
He really did go fast enough it was a bit much right off the bat, but with my arms up high behind me and my ankles so close together while he held my hips in place, all I could do was play the part of the virgin boy and scream and beg Sire to stop.
But Master was into it, and he shoved in fast and harsh, pulled nearly all the way out and jammed himself in again. “Who owns you lad!?”
“Sire! I beg of you to please pull your member out of my arse! It hurts! It burns!”
“Answer the question, lad. Who owns you?”
“You do, Sire! Please stop this at once!”
But of course he didn’t, and I continued to carry one as much as I could while he plundered my ass, fucking me hard and fast until I needed to come so bad I’d have begged for relief if I wasn’t supposed to be hating this.
Finally, Master went in and held, and I felt the unmistakable movement and heat that told me my Master had come inside me.
He often comes right away during these kinds of scenes, and then again later, towards the end.
Regular scenes are kind of the opposite, so he rarely comes until close to the end.
I love having Master inside me without a condom now that we’re all fluid-bonded.
“Now that’s a proper lad, strung up with his Sire’s jizz up his arse.
I need to get us put out to sea, and then I’ll be back.
Eventually, your holes will be available for my men to fuck, but not for a few days.
” He pulled my arms up behind me enough to get them off the hook, released whatever connected them together, and he helped me stand.
“Longer if you please me. Untie your ankles and take the rest of your clothes off. There’s water beside the bed, and a pot to piss in back there.
” He motioned toward the jail cell, so I assumed he wanted me to use the toilet if I needed it.
He opened the door and then looked back at me. “Lads are naked in this room. You’ll need clothes so you don’t burn abovedeck, but not down here. When’s the last you ate, lad?”
“Just before you nabbed me, Sire.”
“If ye feel sick, puke in the piss pot. I’ll take it out of yer hide if you puke anywhere else.”
I undressed, folded the shirt, shorts, and vest, and put everything in a neat little stack on the end of the bondage table, since he hadn’t told me what to do with them.
I tried to pee, since he’d told me to go, and a little came out. I’d given myself a Fleet before I left work to make sure I was cleaned out when I arrived home. Usually, Master plugs me after he comes inside me, but maybe they didn’t have butt plugs back then?
Or, more likely, he didn’t have a wooden plug and he wanted to keep it as close to the period as he could.
But then I thought I remembered something about plugs made out of some kind of gemstone.
Not like a diamond or ruby, one of the less valuable gemstones.
You could probably make them from soapstone or granite, too, and not necessarily a gemstone. Be easier to clean than wood.
I was contemplating how I should wait for him when the door opened and he came back inside. It hadn’t been even close to a half hour, but I guess we were pretending it had because he said, “How’re ye feeling, lad?”
“My arse hurts something fierce, Sir.”
“Not sick to your stomach?”
Ah, he was asking if I was seasick? How did I want to answer? “Maybe a little queasy, Sire, but not enough to be sick.”
He motioned towards my dick. “Let’s see what we’re working with. Get busy and get it hard, lad.”
I grabbed my dick and started rubbing while I watched Master take off the hat and then untie the shorts and take them off.
He was commando underneath, and he’d worn underwear before, but it made sense — he’d gone to shower and wash his cock because my next lesson was probably going to be his dick in my mouth, so the underwear went into a laundry bin.
The idea of having to gag on his cock like a newbie was all it took to make my dick granite hard, and Master motioned me to one of the mats. “On your knees, lad. Time for your next lesson in what it means to be owned by a pirate ship’s captain.”
He put his hands on his hips and looked at my dick a few seconds while I rubbed at it since he hadn’t told me I could stop.
“Eventually, ye’ll be expected to keep your dick hard without touching it, but for now, you can jack yourself all ye want while I plunder yere mouth. Open up, Lad.”
His dick was still mostly soft when he put it in my mouth, but it quickly grew. Before long it was heading down my esophagus, so I tensed my throat, which was all it took to make my gag reflex kick in, and he chuckled. “That’s it, choke on your Sire’s cock like a good lad.”
I didn’t need to jack myself to stay hard, and I had to stop doing so a few times because I got way too close to losing control and coming, but then it occurred to me that my Sire hadn’t told me I couldn’t come, so I jacked myself faster while Sire fucked my face hard and fast, down in my throat so much I had to time it just right to breathe, and then I squealed a little despite his cock down my throat when my balls let loose, and I came all over the mat behind Master, and between his feet a little.
Master took a few steps back and looked down. “Well well well, it seems the lad might be a right faggot after all, coming with a cock down his throat. All fours little faggot, and lick your mess up. Ships have to be spotless lest the rats take over, so get to it, lad.”
I shook my head no and he grabbed my nipple to pull me up, and then grabbed my balls and squeezed until I screamed for real — no words, just all the agonizing pain I was feeling coming out because it fucking hurt .
“Nod your head lad — you gonna lick your mess up if I let go?”
I frantically nodded, he let go and moved to the side, and I went to all fours and started licking.
“Smart lad. Later this evening you’ll get the strap for every second I’ve had to squeeze your balls. We’re up to nine seconds. I didn’t get off yet, but that’s okay. Polish the mat with yer tongue and then walk to the bottom of me bed.”
Most people think the old-timey thing that locks a person’s neck and wrists between wooden slats, so they’re forced to bend over, are called stocks, but they’re actually called a pillory. Stocks hold a person’s wrists and ankles while they sit on their ass.
There’s a pillory made into the footboard of the playroom bed, designed so you can stand on the floor and have to lean over for it, or kneel on the bed with your wrists and throat in it.
Today, it appeared I’d be leaning over for it, so Master could fuck my ass while I was all locked up in it.
Did I want to fight him, or merely refuse to lean over and put my neck and wrists in, or should I comply?
I absolutely didn’t want my balls squeezed again, but Master would enjoy this more if I didn’t comply, so when we got to the bed, I ran to the door and tried to open it, but of course it was locked and I couldn’t get out, so I sat on the floor, grabbed my nuts, and rolled into a ball to protect them while begging, “Please don’t, Sire!
Please find some mercy and don’t bugger me again!
Please, Sire! I’m already so sore back there, I can’t possibly live through it again! ”
Master didn’t chase me, which surprised me, but then I looked up to see him settling the wooden pony under the winch, and I wanted to kick myself.
Why hadn’t I remembered that riding the wooden pony was originally some kind of demented medieval torture?
Hell, it’d probably been invented long before then, but it was for sure used before and during the time period Master and I were in.
When Master came to get me, he pushed my chest to the floor, connected my wrist cuffs together, and snapped a circular clamp around the top of my balls — a clamp with a leash already attached to it, so I had no choice but to scramble across the floor on all fours rather than have him pull my balls off.
There was no time to stand, I just had to crawl as fast as I could to keep up.