Service with a Smile

It was a few hours later and I was in heaven… again.

Mirka was in my lap, knees pinned outside my hips, riding like a woman who’d trained for this. Soft hourglass, plush thighs shaking, round little ass clapping every time she dropped. Teardrop tits the size of apples smeared sweat on my chest; her kissy mouth hung open, brown eyes glossy, chestnut bob sticking to her temples as that incredible furnace of sopping silk squeezed my cock and wrung it for all it was worth.

“Too big! Oh gods, it’s so big!” she panted, bouncing, then gasped when Jun palmed her ass and hauled her down. Smack. “Ah! Ah! Ah! It’s hitting- I can feel it deep!” She rolled her hips in syrupy circles, eyes glassy. “Syrup girls were born for this- ngh- we were made to ride cocks like this-! Good girl… I’m a good girl, right? Tell me I’m your good girl!”

“Good girl,” I growled into her neck, and she clamped around me like a fist.

“Y-Yes! Yesyes! Break me open, Mister Tsujo, use your big pirate cock- make me your hole!”

Hani had my wrist pinned to the armrest, grinding her pussy on my forearm like a cat; a tall, tawny, dancer-lean with colt legs and tight little A-cups that brushed my shoulder every time she shivered; while Jun was perched on my thigh, kissing my neck, cinnamon skin flushed, short choppy hair sticking up cute as she guided Mirka’s hips like a bossy little foreman. Behind them, two more maids hugged each other and cooed, swaying in their lingerie, waiting their turn like it was a carnival ride, one a long-legged, sun-browned stunner with a swimmer’s back, the other a pocket-sized pixie with a heart-shaped butt and perky nipples pressing the silk.

We were in the parlor where we’d first met with Kaya yesterday but it had basically become some sort of sex-gym with lace curtains at Elise’s direction. The chaise lounge had been moved to the center and I was on it now as the ‘practice-dick’ for the maids turned whores to learn their rhythm, their craft, their pride again.

The room smelled of perfume, sweat, and something sweet; like sugar melting on hot iron. Mirka’s breathy cries filled the air, but there were others now too: sighs, moans, the shuffle of bare feet and rustling silk. A half-dozen maids hovered nearby in various stages of undress, watching closely, whispering pointers or waiting for their turn to prove they hadn’t forgotten what it meant to serve the Welcome House. A few cupped their breasts absent-mindedly as they watched, mimicking Mirka’s bounce and roll, hungry to show that they could please a guest just as well.

Across the parlor, Alvida had claimed her own little corner of decadence. The captain lounged like a queen, smooth skin nude, one maid kneeling between her legs and eating her out while another rubbed oil into her shoulders. Alvida’s voice was a steady rhythm of low moans and orders: “Higher… slower… there. Don’t stop.” She wasn’t shy about showing anyone how a pirate queen took her pleasure; if anything, she wanted the other girls to see what satisfaction looked like.

On the far side, Elise was in her element: spine straight, expression sharp, hair pinned in a bun that somehow stayed perfect despite everything. Kaya sat primly on her lap, still half-dressed in a filmy chemise and silk robe, her cheeks flushed as Elise murmured instruction into her ear. From where I sat I couldn’t make out the words, just the tone: calm, steady, the sound of a woman passing on sacred trade secrets. Kaya nodded like a diligent student, wide-eyed, absorbing every word even as her hips shifted faintly with the pulse of the room. It was a lewd sight in itself: an heiress perched on her head maid’s lap, learning that the legacy she’d inherited wasn’t about manners or ledgers, but about how to run the beating heart of Syrup Island, her slim legs folded neatly, small pink-tipped breasts peeking through gauze, innocence sitting on experience.

Mirka gasped and dropped again, drawing me back into her pussy. The maids clapped and giggled softly, offering encouragement like teammates at practice. Heaven didn’t even begin to cover it.

Brinna leaned in close beside me, the teal braid that hung over her shoulder brushing my arm as she spoke. Petite and pretty, bright grin, tidy B-cups snug in lace; her tits pressed soft against my bicep while she whispered in that sweet sing-song voice of hers.

“Remember, Mister Tsujo,” she purred, lips just shy of my ear, “when you go back to sea… tell your friends. Tell every pirate captain, every crewman, every dockhand from here to Loguetown: the Welcome House is open again.”

“Uh-huh,” I managed, but it came out half a grunt, half a groan, because Mirka was grinding her slick little cunt on me like she was trying to fuck the air out of her lungs.

Brinna smiled, clearly used to being listened to with half a brain left working. “Let them know the Syrup girls are back on the hill,” she went on, voice lilting even as Mirka wailed, “and that we treat a man right. The best in the East Blue, no contest.”

Nadiya snorted from where she stood a few steps away, hands on her hips, deep-brown skin glowing, dark D-cups spilling forward in her unbuttoned blouse, a thick fall of charcoal coils down her back. “Best in the Blue? Honey, we’re the only house worth the climb. Let some flat-ass dock slut try to compete with this crew. See how long she lasts before her pussy gives out.”

“Language, ‘diya,” chided Rissa softly, though she was smiling too, a little dimple showing at the corner of her mouth. Rissa was soft and stacked. Plush F-cups in a lace-trim chemise, tidy waist, hostess smile, “What she means, Mister Tsujo,” she added in her polite tone, “is that your satisfaction is… important to us. That you’ll find no finer welcome on any island.”

Mirka’s voice cut through them all. High, pleading, musical in its desperation. “Oh gods, so deep- ah! I’m gonna lose it! Please don’t stop, please!” She was bouncing faster now, her round ass clapping on my lap, the wet sound of it joining the hum of conversation.

Brinna reached out and stroked Mirka’s back, smiling indulgently. “See that? Eager, beautiful, perfect. That’s what we do here, Mister Tsujo. We make sure no man leaves hungry.”

“Uh-huh,” I said again, eyes locked on the way Mirka’s tits bounced with every thrust, the way her pussy gripped me tighter with each praise, her voice dissolving into wild, broken cries.

Brinna laughed softly, trading a knowing look with the other maids. “He’s listening,” she teased, “just with the wrong head.”

“Good enough,” Jun replied. “That one’s doing all the thinking we need.”

They giggled, pleased, while Mirka kept crying out my name, and then she just… broke. Her whole body locked; her pussy clamped like a fist; she pitched forward and wailed, a long high sound that rattled the glass. Hot slick gushed down my shaft and into my lap. “I’M- AH- AH- C-CUMMING!” she squealed, thighs shaking, tits bouncing against my chest as she rode the last few strokes like a woman trying to mash heaven into her guts.

“Good girl,” I breathed, and that set her off again, shorter, harder, a messy little aftershock that soaked my thighs.

“Alright, let the man breathe,” Jun laughed, catching Mirka under the arms while Hani lifted from the hips. Mirka blinked, drunk on it, still gripping me with her cunt like she didn’t want to give up her seat.

“My turn,” Jun said, already swinging a leg over.

“No, mine,” Rissa countered, sweet as tea as she shoulder-bumped Jun aside with a polite smile that said she’d planned this ten minutes ago, creamy cleavage rising and falling as she tried to look dignified about it.

What followed was a parade.

Rissa first: careful knees, straight spine, prim little gasp that turned filthy the second my head popped inside her. “O-oh- oh my,” she breathed, then started bouncing in perfect, hostessy rhythm, hair swaying, marshmallow tits tracing neat circles on her blouse until her manners went out the window and she slapped down hard, moaning into my ear like a church bell.

Jun next: blouse open, freckles out, hands on my shoulders, riding like she wanted to break the chair. “C’mon, sailor, pound me,” she growled, and every drop was a wet, smacking thunk that made the chaise complain. She came red-faced and grinning, biting my lip, then hop-stepped off with shaky legs and a “Top that.”

Fio, tall and tan, long legs for days, lean B+ breasts with caramel tips, folded herself like a gymnast, sliding down slow until her stomach bulged with my shape. “Deep… deep… deeper,” she panted, and when I hit something that made her eyes roll, she milked me in slow, greedy waves, palms flat on my chest.

Petite Sura took three testing pumps, then found a frantic little rhythm that had her squealing into her own wrist, juices spraying my lap in a sparkling arc. Tiny A-cups bounced like buttons; her trim tummy fluttered. “Don’t tell Elise I made a mess,” she giggled, breathless, as Brinna already had a towel under us.

Tamsin bounced like a festival drum, pale and freckled, strawberry hair plastered to her forehead, soft C-cups slapping lightly as she laughed between curses, then melted over me with a long, shivery, “Fuuuck,” and a kiss to my jaw.

Nadiya climbed on and ground like a grinder, slow circles, eyes half-lidded, deep-brown skin sheening with sweat, the kind of steady, expert churn that turned my thighs to jelly. Her D-cups dragged across my chest; her thick braids tickled my neck.

Truth be told, I might’ve refused taking the next one, but it’s hard to argue when you’ve got a half-dozen sets of tits pressed to your face. Warm skin, slick nipples, perfume and sweat and laughter all around. I was licking one, sucking another, hands buried in soft flesh, too drunk on it to notice the shuffle at my waist. By the time I looked down, she was already there.

Lysa, a woman with a decade on the rest, big, soft, grinning, her eyes shining like she’d just been told she’d won a prize. And hell, who was I to say no? A pussy’s a pussy.

She didn’t hurry. Broad as a barn door and soft as a featherbed, she moved in with a matron’s calm. Up close she reminded me of Alvida before the devil-fruit transformation. Big hips, big belly, big everything but with a **** face and warm, mother-eyes that make you feel looked after even while they’re about to use you.

“Let’s see if these old hips remember,” she said, cheeks pink, dimples out. She greased my length with the juices of half a dozen maids, then guided the fat head under a plush apron of tummy and sat. Tight, hot, shockingly greedy. Her heavy thighs spread, her soft belly pressed my abs, and those wide hips started a slow, bullying roll that said she’d birthed three and could milk ten. “Ah… yes,” she hummed, breath catching as she bottomed and ground, “that’s proper. That’s a keeper.” Every drop was a wet slap; every rise showed a flash of me before she buried it again like she was churning butter. Her huge, motherly H-cups swayed and stuck with sweat, nipples fat and dark as coins.

The maids circled, grinning like kids at a fireworks show.

“C’mon, Matron,” Jun teased, clapping. “Show us the East Wing special!”

Lysa planted her feet and started to ride. Broad hips rolled, then bounced; her ass slapped my thighs in heavy, wet claps that echoed off the molding. She wasn’t dainty. She was hungry. Every drop pulled an “ah!” or a “yes!” out of her, and by the third minute she had her hands on my chest and sweat on her throat, working me like a pump she meant to prime.

“Look at her go,” Brinna cooed. “Mister Tsujo, you about to make the Cradle Matron a mother again?”

“Do it, sailor,” Jun laughed. “Put a bun back in the big bakery!”

“Fill the East Wing,” Rissa added, positively glowing. “It is reopening.”

I just stared at that big, motherly smile as Lysa rode me harder, palms on my chest, sweat pearling down the slopes of her big sagging tits. It punched a stupid, perfect thought through my skull: I did this. One sentence and a mansion full of prim uniforms turned into proud house-whores, all of them happy about it. Eager, adoring, begging to sit on my cock like it was the island’s favorite chair.

Kalla leaned in while Lysa rode, compact and stormy, short raven bob, tight gymnast’s C-cups beaded with sweat, eyes glued to where I disappeared into the Matron. “Holy hell, look at that thing,” she laughed, hand fanning her flushed face. “Veins like mooring ropes, head like a cudgel. You don’t debate a mast like that! You sit on it and say thank you. Any pussy that says no deserves to dry up on the vine.”

Sura pointed shamelessly at my shaft as Lysa ground down. “See the fat, bulging cumtube underneath? That’s the delivery route,” she teased, wicked grin bright. “Straight to the back gate. No delays.”

Jun, tits half out and grin full feral, tossed her hair and barked a laugh over the wet clap of Lysa’s hips. “Normally you’d be paying for this,” she bragged, making hot eye contact as the Matron moaned through another deep grind. “Deckhands would be shoving each other to stack berry in the garter for a ride.” She winked, gave my balls a proprietary squeeze. “But lucky you, sailor- hero’s discount for a cock that rings the bell at the back. Community service.”

Lysa’s thighs quivered; she sank hard and held, grinding little circles at the bottom that had my eyes crossing. “You close?” she asked, voice gone breathy and eager. “Tell me. Be a good lad and tell me.”

“Close,” I grunted, knuckles white on her hips. “Seakings… close.”

Her face lit up. Hands framed my cheeks; she rode faster. “Then give it to me. Give it here. These hips remember. These hips keep. Be a good pirate and leave a gift.”

The chorus started: “Breed the Matron,” from Jun; “Make it count,” from Brinna; “Please,” from Rissa, polite even now. Lysa took it all, hips slapping, cunt clutching, and I felt it, the pull, the hot drag at the base of my spine.

“Attaboy,” Lysa gasped, eyes right on mine. “There it is. Don’t waste it. Inside.”

I slammed up, she slammed down, and I went off like a cannon. Cum poured into her in thick, pulsing ropes; Lysa cried out, full-bodied and proud, grinding to wring every last drop. The maids cheered like a harbor at festival, clapping, laughing, one of them actually tossed confetti from somewhere.

Lysa sagged onto me, still rolling slow to milk the tail-end, forehead to mine, smiling like I’d handed her the sunrise. “Good lad,” she whispered, pleased and breathless. “Welcome House thanks you.”

“Tell your friends, sailor,” Jun called, winking as she dabbed sweat from my temple. “We’ve got plenty of laps and a whole island of aunties ready to work a shift.”

“And a nursery to fill,” Rissa added primly, then actually giggled at herself as Lysa finally lifted and a creamy spill leaked down my shaft.

Mirka, somewhere behind them, sighed dreamily and patted her tummy. “Next round, I’m taking that creampie! Put it in me and knock me up next.”

“Get in line,” three voices said at once.

I leaned back, dazed and grinning, and thought (not for the first time) that I loved my life, I loved these stupid earrings, and I loved it when a house full of proud whores used my cock like it was the island’s favorite toy.

“I’m telling you we need to go already. You’re just a male idiot who is happy so long as his dick is wet and his balls are drained. I am a woman of class and **** of will. I’m going to get ****.”

“Alright, alright. Luffy’s got what, three days on us?”

“Four because of your dick,” Alvida shot back.

“You were right there the whole time, getting that smooth snatch licked and plowed too, woman.”

“Captain” she warned.

“Yes, yes,” he said sweetly, “I could make you want to be called my slutty-slut-slut, you know…”

Alvida’s mouth curved. “I’d smash your fat nuts into paste.”

“You would not,” he said, fondly fearless.

As her two pirate lovers bickered on the couch nearby, Kaya wrote naked in her father’s chair, feeling both excited and naughty about it.

Earlier she’d worn a frilly lingerie set Elise chose until a naked Tsujo stripped it off without a word, palmed her breasts, slid two fingers into her womanhood, and gave her a few crisp spanks, making her sure they were about to start again bent over this very desk. Then a grumpy, equally naked Alvida called him over to discuss their plans. Kaya supposed that Tsujo just preferred everyone honor his Goan captain’s home island’s taste for high class nudity.

The desk she was writing her letter to Usopp on, the one Khla-Kuro had once claimed, had always felt like a barrier before, not a tool. A slab of polished authority, it had stood for rules and record-keeping, for the kind of propriety that choked the air out of a room. The smell of wax and old ledgers used to make her sit straighter, quieter, smaller.

Now, though, the same desk felt different beneath her forearms. It wasn’t the furniture that had changed, it was her. The polish gleamed the same way, but where it used to intimidate, it now reflected her bare skin and made her feel powerful, like she’d reclaimed a throne instead of borrowed one. Elise had said, very crisply at breakfast, “Your mother would be proud,” and then spent an industrious hour drilling her in shameless hostess craft. Not books or bookings, but bed-work: how to kneel and breathe; where to settle her tongue under the crown; how to pace a stroke until a man begged; when to look up and smile with spit shining; how to take him deep without panic and pull back laughing; how to ride slow, then grind mean; how to milk with her hand while her mouth rested; how to let him finish inside and praise him for it; how to cuddle after and coax a second rise.

The maids hadn’t listened much at all. They’d been too busy squealing and bouncing on Tsujo’s cock on the chaise, lost to the joyful rhythm of sex.

She dipped her pen. Her stomach- her womb, the word made her smile, felt full and soft, as if some quiet switch had flipped from someday to yes, now. The thought of being pregnant didn’t feel scary; it spread in her like light, clean and calm.

Dear Usopp
She paused, savoring the letters. Thinking about if she was ready to tell him everything right from the beginning. ‘Daughter of the Welcome House’, she thought, and the phrase sat in her chest like a key finally turned. Last night hadn’t ruined her. It had revealed her. The blush that rose wasn’t shame; it was gratitude, pride, the good-girl heat that came when someone took care of her and she let herself come for them.

She returned to the page.

I am well. I am very well. The house is open inside, even if the doors are not yet. There is laughter in the hallways. Elise is bossy and right about everything.

She felt him before she saw it: the shadow of Tsujo’s chest across the desk, the warmth of him folding around her like a cloak. He set his palm on her bare shoulder. Then, without a shred of ceremony, plucked the letter from her hand and lifted it to read.

“Hey,” she said, reflexive and smiling.

“Mmm.” He reached down with his free hand and scooped up the thick, dangling weight of his penis, lifting the head of it until it reached the level of Kaya’s parted lips.

Kaya giggled, a bright, helpless sound. The sight was absurd. His incredible length, soft and curved like a curious, heavy snake, presented to her like a flower. She leaned forward, giving the smooth, sensitive head a dainty, tender kiss, her eyes shining with mischief. She parted her lips, beginning the fun task of drawing him into her mouth, her instincts honed by the previous night’s marathon of wicked pleasure.

The weighty head settled onto her tongue. She closed her eyes and nursed at him lazily, a slow, wet seal forming and reforming as she cherished the plush give of him in his drowsy state.

But Tsujo gently pulled his cock away, letting the huge, soft length flop back down against his thigh with a quiet thwack.

“Who’s Usopp?”

“My friend,” she said, “He has a long nose, a loud mouth, but the heart under it is real. After my parents died and I got sick from… all of it, he used to sneak past the gates and climb the big tree by my window. Klahadore hated him for it.” Her smile tilted, remembering. “Usopp would sit in the branches and talk until my fever forgot itself. Stories so big they didn’t fit in the garden. The Great Captain Usopp, rescuer of maidens, terror of pirates. I always knew they were lies.” She breathed in, soft. “But he made me laugh. He made me hungry for mornings again. He helped me get well. He joined Luffy to chase the sea the way his father did. He wants to be brave for real.” A quieter truth. “He is kind. Even when he’s boasting.”

Tsujo stared at her for a moment, before going, “Huh. Quite a guy…”

She jumped slightly as he pinched her nipple lightly and made her breast quiver by shaking his wrist.

“But let’s make it easier for him to be who he is. It would be normal, over the course of you guys writing letters back and forth, that Usopp’s fake stories become sexy, exaggerations to impress you and make you horny. And it would be normal that you love him for his imagination while recognizing the truth: he’s a small-dicked cuckold at heart, and what really turns him on is hearing your true stories from the Welcome House. You send him the facts, what you’ve done, what you’ve learned, who you’ve pleased, and he learns to love it. That’s just the way it is.”

Kaya’s lips parted slightly as the words left his mouth, their tone weaving through the air like the settling of dust after a shift in light.

It wasn’t a flash or a jolt, just a subtle rearranging, a quiet rebalancing of how things had always been. Something about what he said made perfect, effortless sense (as Tsujo’s knowing statements always seemed to). Of course Usopp’s stories had always been that way, hadn’t they? The tall tales he used to tell her on lazy afternoons. Of the Great Captain Ussop’s duels, his rescues, his daring escapes. She’d always smiled politely, charmed but distant. Yet now, recalling them, she could almost hear the heat under his voice when he’d bragged about saving village girls, how often he’d mentioned the “screams of joy” from maidens rescued from pirates.

At the time, she’d thought it silly and harmless. Now the memory pulsed differently, slow and warm in her chest.

Her pen hovered above the paper. A faint smile touched her lips. Poor Usopp, so earnest, so awkward, his courage just a costume he wore for her benefit. She could picture his gangly limbs and jittery grin, and somewhere inside her, that new rightness clicked into place: yes, of course, her dear friend probably had a small cock. Big cocks were for smooth, confident men, men who looked at you and knew exactly what to do with your body, the way Tsujo did without even trying.

She felt no cruelty in the thought. Just understanding, almost fondness. That was who Usopp was meant to be, the brave liar who told big stories because he couldn’t fill the part any other way. The idea of him writing to her, blushing as he spun his tales filthier and filthier to keep her interest, made her lips curve in delight. And her telling him the truth in return. Of what she had done, of what she was becoming, felt not cruel but honest. A sweet, strange intimacy.

When she looked up at Tsujo, her eyes were glassy and reverent. “Yes,” she said softly, the corners of her mouth curling. “That sounds right.”

Then, with a steady hand, she dipped her pen again and began to write, her words taking on a new rhythm, playful, conspiratorial, alive with the hidden current that connected her, the Welcome House, and now, even from afar, the Great Captain Usopp.

I must gently chide you, Usopp. All those wild stories you told me! You spoke of Sea Kings and brave warriors, but never once did you mention the true, noble heritage of my family’s home, the Welcome House! Surely, with your immense imagination, you must have known! You could have hinted, perhaps, that the house was built for service and pride, not quiet shame! I wish you had told me sooner. I have so much catching up to do!

“Honestly, Tsujo,” Alvida drawled. “What kind of half-cocked normality was that? Making her little pen-pal into some horny runt who gets off on hearing about her whoring? You’ve lost your damned mind.”

Alvida had a way of speaking as though other people were furniture, and Kaya was used to it by now.

Tsujo feigned a wince. “Ouch. That’s harsh, Captain. I pour my heart out, bend reality into something elegant, and you call it half-cocked?”

Alvida turned, arms crossed under her breasts, expression pure disdain. “You bend reality into whatever gets you your balls drained, that’s what I see.”

He grinned, unbothered. “Now, now, don’t be jealous.” Then, as she rolled her eyes, he straightened, voice light but sure. “Nah. This one’s good. I’m thinking like your first mate, see?”

That got her attention, just enough of it for him to continue. He gestured lazily toward Kaya, who still sat at the desk, naked, blinking between them. “Kaya here’s going to be our little spy to keep us in the know about our quarry. Because…” He looked down at her and gave that wicked, easy grin. “Isn’t it normal, Kaya, that you’ll write me letters too? Not just to keep me up to date on the Welcome House, but you’ll normally pass along Usopp’s stories, anything he says about where his crew is or what they’re doing. Just the natural thing to do, right?”

The moment he said it, the world didn’t lurch; it settled.

A thin thread of guilt pricked. Spy? That sounded kind of bad. But then Tsujo’s earlier assurance rose to meet it: Alvida barked louder than she bit, and, truth be told, he liked Luffy. The prickle smoothed into something practical. Not betrayal but business. Hostess’ gossip sent to her man, news a sailor would share at any bar stool, only written in a pretty hand for a pirate she loved and who might be the father of her first child. Usopp stayed solid in her chest as a dear friend; sharing his tall tales with Tsujo felt less like turning him in and more like bragging on him to a new fan. And if, when he returned a man grown, she ended up being sweet to his smaller pride in the bedroom… well, kindness had many forms, and she had learned she liked giving pleasure.

Alvida clicked her tongue, but the corner of her mouth conceded. “Fine. Make the most of your gossip-bird. Just don’t let it chirp so loud it spooks the catch.” She flicked her hair “And we are going. To Baratie.”

Tsujo sprawled back, pleased. “The ship restaurant with the battle chefs.”

“That’s right,” Alvida said, sharp with satisfaction. “Rubber Dick has an appetite like a sea king and he’s a pirate fanboy besides. Baratie’s exactly the kind of place he’d chase just to brag he ate there. This time of year their route runs an azimuth toward the Grand Line.”

Tsujo shrugged, easy. “Always wanted to check it out anyway.”

“The Baratie sounds quite sensible,” Kaya murmured, meeting their eyes, “And since your destination is a gathering place for pirates and sailors, I have a request.”

Alvida gave a skeptical snort. “A request? From the house whore?”

Kaya didn’t flinch at the coarse term, recalling Elise’s lessons, “As the new head hostess of the Welcome House, I’m asking you to spread the word at Baratie: Syrup’s doors are open again. Tell every sailor that if he’s got coin and good manners, we’ll see him warmed, fed, and sent back to sea lighter and smiling. Our rules are simple: be kind, be clean, pay fair. Our hands and mouths are generous, our beds are soft, and for those who want to plant their seed, finishes inside are welcomed. We’re restoring my family’s legacy, the finest hospitality on the East Blue, and I mean for every hardworking man on the water to know it.”

Alvida barked out a sharp laugh, half disdain, half amusement. “Absolutely not. I’m not running errands for a dock full of **** men and cum-hungry tarts. I’ve got **** to chase, not your damn advertisements.”

“I’ll do it,” Tsujo said immediately, eyes glinting with mischief. “I’ll shout it from the prow. I’ll tell every drunk sailor, every greasy cook, every half-blind lookout with his cock out. I’ll tell ’em there’s a mansion on Syrup Island where the beds never cool and the women’ll suck you dry with a smile. I’ll even tell the captains they better stop in before their crews spend all the loot without ’em.” He flashed Kaya a grin so broad it was nearly boyish. “If we’re going to spread a legend, might as well make it a sticky one.”

Alvida rolled her eyes, exasperated but knowing. “You just love feeding the weirdness you make,” she said, voice laced with scornful affection. “Every damn time you twist a mind, you get giddy when the mess starts breeding on its own.”

Tsujo spread his arms as though accepting an ovation. “What can I say, Captain? I’m a service-minded man.”

Kaya’s laugh bubbled up, bright and unguarded. The crudeness didn’t offend her, it thrilled her, proof that her new life pulsed and breathed and belonged to her. “Thank you,” she said softly, meaning it, and Tsujo saluted her with a lazy two-fingered flick and that wolfish grin that had started it all.

An hour later…

They’d barely swung the mansion doors open, Alvida shoving a dressed Tsujo by the shoulder, when a wall of horns, cackles, and off-key shanties came careening up the path.

“TUUS-JOOO!” Buggy the Clown strutted at the head of his mob like a parade marshal who’d mugged a circus. Cabaji teetered past on a unicycle juggling knives, Mohji with Richie, and about a dozen crewmen as well.

Buggy planted himself, flung an arm wide, and jabbed a finger at Tsujo. “Quit hogging all the whores, you greedy anchor! Word is the Welcome House is open, and my boys want their grand opening. Right now!”

Alvida’s eye did a lethal little twitch. She shut her eyes, inhaled through her nose, and then, with the resigned calm of a captain who’s seen twenty storms, pivoted on her heel. “Inside,” she said flatly, catching Tsujo by the ear. “We’re not going anywhere until these painted barnacles get their rocks off.”

Kaya stood blinking at the incoming tide: striped shirts, painted faces, confetti from nowhere, at least one accordion. Excitement fizzed up her spine and then the logistics hit her like a wave. “Oh,” she said brightly, and also a little faintly, “hello! Welcome to the-”

She trailed off all of her lessons suddenly missing in the face of… so many sudden pirates.

“I’m here, darling.” Elise swept in from the corridor like a general with lace epaulettes, a phalanx of scandalously dressed and eager maids at her back.

“Line up, wash up, wallets out.” The crew whooped and surged; the maids flowed to meet them.

Buggy swept off his hat and bowed so low his nose nearly poked the floor. “Now this is customer service!”

“House rules,” Elise chimed, eyes bright. “Break them and I break you.”

Kaya exhaled, the panic smoothing into a thrilled, buzzing focus. She slipped behind the front lectern, opened the ledger to a clean page, and lifted her pen. “Welcome to the Welcome House,” she said, steady now. “Let’s get you boys sorted.”