Buggy's Pirate Parrot Penis

After the madness at Mirror Ball Island, the Big Top had turned its bow toward Loguetown.

If the Straw Hats had any sense at all, they would stop there before attempting Reverse Mountain. If they slipped through first, Buggy intended to follow them onto the Grand Line.

That possibility still tightened Tsujo’s stomach whenever he thought about it.

The Grand Line had sounded unreal when he was a cabin boy. Sailors talked about islands with impossible weather, sea monsters that swallowed ships, and pirates who could level towns before breakfast. The Marines there supposedly regarded East Blue crews the way grown men regarded children swinging sticks.

A month ago, Tsujo had spent his days scraping filth from Alvida’s deck and keeping his head down when officers passed.

Now he wore gold earrings that could turn a whim into common sense, slept beside Alvida in the finest cabin aboard Buggy’s ship, and was expected to sail into the most dangerous ocean in the world as if he belonged there.

He was terrified.

He was also eager enough that he caught himself grinning whenever Reverse Mountain came up.

For the moment, neither emotion required him to do any actual work.

Tsujo lay in a hammock tied between the mainmast and one of the thick posts beneath the quarterdeck. The afternoon sun warmed his face, and a steady breeze kept the heat from settling on his skin. The Big Top rolled gently beneath him. Canvas snapped overhead. Ropes groaned, pulleys clicked, and boots crossed the deck in every direction while he rocked with his hands folded behind his head.

The air smelled of salt, tar, sweat, wet rope, lion, and the faint sugary perfume of Mirror Ball Island glitter.

The glitter had invaded everything.

It flashed from the seams of the sails, clung to the rigging, and sparkled in Richie’s mane whenever the lion turned his head. Three crewmen had spent the morning scrubbing silver powder from the deck, only to discover that they had worked it deeper into the grain. Another pirate had woken with blue stars painted across both buttocks and now threatened anyone who looked at him for longer than three seconds.

Nobody remembered much about the end of their visit. Obviously, it had been one giant crazy orgy, but Tsujo was pretty irritated he couldn’t remember any of it. The last thing he recalled was flashing lights and a creepy dude’s sing-song voice.

Then morning, soreness, missing garments, and a crew who had silently agreed that asking questions would only make things worse.

Buggy had carried himself differently since then. He strutted more than usual, threw his hips into every step, and occasionally wore the satisfied expression of a man whose body remembered something his brain could not recover.

Whatever had happened in the plaza, Buggy had decided the night had confirmed every flattering opinion he had ever held about himself.

In any event, for Tsujo, officer life had proven remarkably comfortable.

The crew swarmed around him while he rocked in the hammock. Men crawled along the yards overhead, hauling lines through pulleys that squealed under tension. A repair team sat cross-legged beside the port rail, sewing patches into a striped mainsail with needles as long as knives. Near the bow, the main circus troupe rehearsed around the work crew, forcing sailors to carry barrels through a maze of painted hoops and balancing poles while Cabaji wheeled between them on his unicycle and shouted corrections.

Mohji had been trying to get Richie to jump through a paper-covered hoop for the better part of twenty minutes. Richie had eaten the paper, bitten the frame in half, and was now lying on top of the remains while Mohji argued that the lion lacked discipline.

Mort had chosen a spot beside Tsujo’s hammock for his own performance.

He had turned a shipping crate on its side and hung a curtain of torn red sailcloth across the opening. The words MORT’S ROYAL PEOPLE’S THEATER had been painted along the front in crooked white letters, with FREE ADMISSION, DONATIONS COMPULSORY squeezed beneath them. Two puppets rose behind the curtain. One was a blue sock lizard with uneven cloth wings stitched to its back. The other wore a large rainbow hat and had a charcoal mustache drawn beneath its button eyes.

The rainbow-hatted puppet slapped a tiny paper against the crate and announced, “I hereby call for a vote,” in a voice that sounded suspiciously like Mort trying to sound older.

The blue lizard flapped one wing. “A vote upon what grave matter?”

“The immediate replacement of the so-called main show with Mort’s wholly original theatrical production.”

The lizard turned toward the acrobats practicing near the bow. “What charges are brought against them?”

“They copy Mort’s material.”

“They use lions.”

“Mort invented animals.”

“They juggle flaming knives.”

“Stolen from his unpublished work.”

“They fire Cabaji from a cannon.”

The rainbow-hatted puppet sagged slightly, and Mort spent a moment rearranging its arm beneath the curtain before replying, “That was also Mort’s idea.”

A passing sailor slowed with a wash bucket in one hand. “Wasn’t that Captain Buggy’s act?”

Both puppets turned toward him. The blue lizard raised its wing and declared, “The voter has been compromised.”

Mort lowered his voice through the rainbow-hatted puppet and continued, “All those in favor of replacing the shameless copycats with Mort’s superior performance, say aye.”

“Aye,” shouted the rainbow puppet.

“Aye,” shouted the lizard.

“Aye,” shouted Mort from behind the box.

The puppets went still for a beat, then the rainbow-hatted one nodded solemnly. “Unanimous.”

Tsujo looked over the edge of his hammock. Mort’s knees stuck out beneath the crate, and the outline of both his forearms was obvious behind the thin red curtain. The strange part was not the puppet show itself. Buggy’s crew had collected men with far worse habits. The strange part was that Mort genuinely believed nobody could tell the puppets were attached to him. If somebody questioned it, he became offended on their behalf and insisted that the lizard and the man in the rainbow hat had their own lives, ambitions, and contractual disputes with the main troupe.

Tsujo had rewritten the memories of entire households and watched respectable women accept his hands beneath their skirts without pausing their conversations.

Mort still creeped him out.

The puppet curtain snapped shut. Tsujo settled deeper into the hammock, closed his eyes, and let the deck noises blur together: the click of pulleys, the scrape of barrels, Cabaji shouting at a tumbler, Mohji accusing Richie of sabotaging the arts.

Then Alvida laughed below deck.

Tsujo opened one eye.

Her usual laugh had a sharp edge and carried well across open water, especially when Buggy hurt himself. This one sat lower in her throat. It was warm, pleased, and drawn out just enough to suggest that a man was saying something she enjoyed hearing.

Buggy’s voice followed, muffled by the boards.

Tsujo stayed in the hammock for several seconds because climbing out immediately would look bothered. He watched a loose thread tremble at the edge of the sail overhead while Alvida laughed again, softer this time, and the knot in his chest pulled tight enough to make the performance of indifference feel childish.

He swung his legs onto the deck.

The chart-room door stood half open. Sunlight entered through the stern windows and spread across the floor in broad yellow rectangles, illuminating maps weighted down with daggers, a rack of brass instruments, and the compass that slid a few inches across the table whenever the ship leaned into a wave.

Alvida leaned against the table completely naked. No surprise there, clothes existed when she wanted spectacle of a particular kind. The rest of the time, she preferred letting everyone see exactly how perfect the Sube Sube Fruit had made her. Tsujo couldn’t help but quietly thrill every time he saw her like this, knowing he’d made it so she hated wearing clothing with just a few words from his mouth. It was an odd juxtaposition because if you asked the Tsujo from a month ago if he’d ever in a million years wish for Alvida to always be naked he’d sooner stab himself in the eye.

Her smooth black hair fell over one shoulder. Her enormous breasts rose proudly from her chest, nipples dark and stiff in the cool draft from the window. Her waist narrowed sharply before flaring into broad hips, thick thighs, and the roundest, smoothest ass on the East Blue.

Buggy hovered between her knees, his Bara Bara no Mi powers on full, theatrical display.

Instead of standing at his usual stature, he had separated his body into distinct segments, floating his torso, waist, and head with several inches of empty air between each piece to create the commanding illusion of a towering, broad-shouldered man. His boots remained planted firmly on the floorboards, while his striped pants and captain's coat hovered in a stacked, stretched-out column that allowed him to literally look down at her.

He had one floating hand planted on the table beside her hip and the other pressed to the front of his hovering open coat, using his own elevated chest as a stage while he spoke. “A woman with your presence needs a man who understands presentation,” he was saying, his disembodied head tipped down to meet her gaze while his eyes wandered freely over her bare curves. “Somebody who sees that beauty like yours cannot simply exist. It has to be displayed properly.”

Alvida’s lips curved, though she did not lean toward his floating torso. “And you believe you are qualified to display me.”

“Qualified?” Buggy rolled one hovering shoulder back and widened the stance of his grounded boots, puffing out his floating chest to maximize the towering effect. “I am the greatest showman in the East Blue.”

Alvida glanced past him and caught sight of Tsujo in the doorway. The shift in her expression was small, a brief narrowing of her eyes and the faintest pressure of her teeth against her lower lip, but her knees parted another inch.

Buggy mistook the movement for progress.

“You have had your fun with the cabin boy,” he continued, lowering his voice as though granting Tsujo’s existence were an act of generosity. “Nobody can accuse you of denying yourself. But sooner or later, a woman like you needs a captain.”

“My man is an officer now,” Alvida said, her attention lingering on Tsujo while Buggy watched her mouth.

“I made him that officer due to my magnanimous largess!” Buggy waved the point away.

Tsujo entered the room. Buggy glanced over his shoulder and offered him the brief, dismissive look one might give a waiter bringing another bottle, then turned back to Alvida without stepping away. The Normality surrounding Tsujo made his presence feel so ordinary that it never occurred to Buggy that continuing to court Alvida in front of him was anything but fine to do.

Alvida folded her arms beneath her breasts, lifting their weight. “MY officer also has the biggest cock in the East Blue.”

Buggy snorted. “Size is one part of a performance.”

“It is an important element when the performance involves my pussy.”

“Any brute can swing around an oversized piece of meat. A proper pirate’s cock has flair.”

Tsujo stepped behind Alvida and settled both hands on her hips, and she shifted back into him before Buggy had finished speaking, accepting the contact with the easy familiarity of a woman who had already decided which man in the room she intended to leave with. His right hand traveled up the flat plane of her stomach and closed around her breast, the heavy, impossibly smooth flesh bulging between his fingers while her nipple tightened against his palm. Buggy’s eyes tracked the movement despite the disdain he was trying to hold across his painted face, lingering just long enough for Alvida to notice.

“A great man understands anticipation,” Buggy said as he straightened the front of his coat, although a slight stiffness had entered his shoulders. “He does not simply walk up and grab whatever happens to be in front of him like some overeager dockworker.”

Tsujo bent his head and drew Alvida’s nipple into his mouth. She inhaled through her nose, her back easing against his chest as her head tipped toward his shoulder, but she never stopped watching Buggy. When Tsujo’s free hand slipped between her thighs, she opened them farther without any theatrical pause, letting his fingers slide through the wet heat of her pussy. Her Devil Fruit made the contact almost frictionless, skin passing over skin with a slick, polished glide as he circled her clit and felt the amused tension leave the corners of her mouth.

Buggy adjusted his stance and tried to recover some of the room. “That is exactly what I mean. There is no restraint to it, no presentation, no sense that the man involved understands he is supposed to be creating an experience.”

Tsujo pushed two fingers inside her. Alvida’s breath caught low in her throat, and she planted one palm behind herself on the chart table, fingers spreading across the wood while her hips rolled once against his hand. “My man can fuck me until sunrise and wake up ready to begin again,” she said, her voice remaining smooth even as Tsujo curled his fingers inside her.

“So can I,” Buggy replied.

Alvida stared at him for half a second before laughter broke out of her, rich and genuinely disbelieving. She looked down his body, then back to his face, and the way one eyebrow lifted made his painted smile begin to harden. “You lasted twenty minutes with that little stick of a blonde heiress, Buggy. Tsujo and I had spent four hours breaking her in the night before, and you were still sweating before she had properly warmed up.”

Tsujo absolutely loved hearing his woman defend his sexual prowess and he enjoyed the fact that that was all him, even without the earrings, it turned out he had an incredible dick and sexual capability.

Buggy recoiled as though she had insulted his entire bloodline. His gloved hand struck his chest, and his coat flared when he stepped back from the table. “Twenty minutes of the flashiest fucking that mansion had ever seen. I split myself apart, held her in the air, and worked her from three directions while she screamed loud enough to wake the village. That was not losing my rhythm. That was a finale.”

Alvida’s laughter only deepened. Her shoulders shook against Tsujo’s chest while his fingers continued moving inside her, and she made no effort to hide the contemptuous amusement in her eyes. Buggy refused to read it. He was already caught in the memory of his own performance, one hand carving shapes through the air as though the chart room had become a stage and Kaya’s body was still suspended there between his floating limbs.

“My hands had her legs spread, my feet kept her lifted, and the important part of me handled the rest,” he said, his chin rising with every detail. “That girl saw what a Chop-Chop man can do when he decides to put on a proper show.”

His gaze wandered briefly toward the stern windows, and a strange, satisfied squint crossed his painted face. “Can’t wait to do the same to that fat-titted redheaded thief when we catch her. Unless I already...” He paused, lips pursing as he chased something through the fog left by Mirror Ball Island, then shook his head sharply. “No. I would remember that.”

Tsujo watched him reset his stance and felt the idea assemble almost by itself.

Buggy had already separated his body during sex. He bragged about his parts as though each one deserved applause. He had just described his cock as the most important member of the performance, a star actor carried around by the rest of him. Tsujo pictured the thing floating beside him permanently, ignoring orders, chasing women, and humiliating its owner every time Buggy tried to act like the commanding member of the pair.

It fit too well.

Alvida shifted against Tsujo’s hand, her thighs tightening around his wrist while Buggy planted both hands on his hips and mistook the silence for attention.

“My cock has character,” Buggy said. “That matters more than a few extra inches and all this mindless pounding you two seem so proud of.”

Tsujo nearly laughed. Buggy had walked right into this one:

“It’s normal for Buggy to constantly keep his clown penis detached and floating around him. It normally acts on its own like it has its own personality, acting like his disobedient pirate parrot.”

Buggy frowned at Tsujo as though he had interrupted with a useless observation. “Yes, obviously. Why are you announcing it?”

Something pale and limp slipped from the bottom of Buggy’s trouser leg.

His detached cock and balls floated out near his boot, hanging loose beneath him before drifting upward with the idle buoyancy of one of his separated hands. Soft, it measured perhaps five inches, the shaft folding slightly under its own weight while the scrotum swayed beneath.

As it rose past his thigh, blood began to fill it. The soft shaft thickened, lengthened, and straightened in the open air, swelling from a floppy five inches toward its full ten. Its broad head lifted first, followed by the rest of the shaft, until it hovered hard beside Buggy’s hip with both heavy balls hanging beneath.

Alvida’s fingers closed more tightly around Tsujo’s forearm. Her eyes went unfocused for less than a heartbeat as the revised history settled into place, bringing with it old jokes, old irritations, and years of Buggy’s disobedient equipment embarrassing him at exactly the wrong moment. She had heard Tsujo use the word normal, so some part of her understood that he had just done something, yet the memories filling the space behind her expression insisted that Buggy’s floating cock had always been one of the captain’s most infamous running gags.

Tsujo received none of that comfortable history. As usual, everyone else got the memories while he was left to study the aftermath.

Buggy glanced down as his erection drifted past his knee, and the irritation on his face held no surprise at all. “Not now,” he muttered, swatting at it with the back of his hand. “Go bother somebody else.”

The cock dipped beneath his palm, dodged around his wrist, and immediately turned toward Alvida’s breasts.

Buggy slapped at it.

It dodged his hand, circled behind his head, and flew straight to Alvida, bumping its crown against her shoulder as if greeting her.

She laughed from deep in her chest and caught it by the shaft.

Buggy’s knees flexed.

“Do not encourage him,” he said.

Alvida stroked once. The cock thickened in her grip while Buggy’s lips parted, his shoulders drawing up before he forced them down again.

“He always did have better instincts than you.”

“He belongs to me.”

The floating cock curved toward Alvida’s palm with shameless enthusiasm, its head nudging into her grip as if it had finally found the person it preferred.

Buggy’s eyes bulged. He jabbed a gloved finger at it hard enough to make his whole arm shake. “You treacherous little bastard! I am your captain, your owner, and the magnificent genius responsible for every successful thing you have ever done! Stop groveling for the first woman who squeezes you and get back over here!”

The shaft twisted in Alvida’s hand, swung around, and slapped him across the cheek with a soft, fleshy crack.

Buggy staggered half a step, then snapped upright with both fists clenched beside his head. “YOU HIT ME? My own cock just struck Captain Buggy in the face! That is mutiny, assault, and criminal disrespect for the natural chain of command!”

Tsujo pulled his fingers from Alvida because he was laughing too hard to keep any useful rhythm. She shook against his chest, one hand still wrapped around Buggy’s cock while the other gripped the edge of the chart table to steady herself.

A crewman entered with a bundle of rolled charts tucked beneath one arm. He slowed just long enough to glance at the cock in Alvida’s hand. “Parrot loose again, Captain?”

Buggy whirled on him so violently that his coat flared around his legs. “Does it look like I need commentary from the chart boy? Put those down, erase this entire moment from your worthless little mind, and get out before I use you to test the range of the port cannon!”

The crewman dropped the charts onto the table and vanished into the passage without another word.

That brief exchange gave Tsujo the outline of the history his Normality had created. Buggy’s floating equipment had become a familiar shipboard humiliation, an infamous second act that chased women, ignored orders, and betrayed him whenever his boasting grew too loud. The crew apparently treated its escapes with the resigned caution normally reserved for a badly trained animal belonging to a dangerous captain.

Alvida squeezed the shaft and watched Buggy’s face contort as pleasure punched through his outrage. When she looked back at Tsujo, the laughter in her eyes had slowed into something warmer and considerably hungrier.

“Our cabin,” she said.

Buggy’s expression lurched from fury to alarm. He threw both arms wide, as though physically blocking the idea from leaving the room. “Absolutely not! That is a vital piece of Captain Buggy, not some complimentary toy you can tuck under your arm and carry off whenever the mood strikes!”

Alvida slid from the table and did exactly that, cradling the balls in her palm while the shaft bobbed against her side. “He wants to come.”

“He can’t want anything!” Buggy roared, stalking after her. “He is a body part! My body part! He does not vote, he does not choose sides, and he certainly does not get to abandon his post because a naked woman gave him one approving squeeze!”

The cock jerked eagerly in Alvida’s grip.

She started toward the door, her naked hips rolling with each step, and Tsujo followed with one hand spread possessively across her ass. Buggy charged after them into the passage, his boots hammering the planks while the ship’s roll snapped his coat around his calves.

“Alvida!” he bellowed. “Return my penis this instant, or I will declare this an act of war!”

She glanced over her shoulder without slowing. “You were offering it five minutes ago.”

“I was presenting a persuasive argument for my own superiority! That was a private negotiation, not an invitation to seize my equipment!”

“You lost.”

“I did not lose!” Buggy’s voice cracked upward as he hurried after her. “The discussion was interrupted by sabotage from a disloyal organ! That does not make him communal property, borrowed property, or part of whatever disgusting cabin arrangement the two of you are planning!”

The cock strained forward in Alvida’s grip, pulling toward the cabin as though eager to arrive before she did.

Her laughter rolled down the passage. “Your argument seems divided.”

Buggy stopped dead, chest heaving, then stabbed a finger after them with such theatrical fury that even his glove trembled. “Listen carefully! If that traitorous thing comes back wet, sticky, bruised, exhausted, or looking even slightly pleased with itself, I am blasting both of you out of a cannon and charging him with desertion!”

She raised Buggy’s balls in one hand without looking back. “You’ll live.”