...nod your head and accept. This ends tonight.

“Excellent!” She ties the gown closed with a smile. “All you need to do is wait outside until I call for you. On you go now.” She doesn’t look at you, taking the time instead to slip her hands under her hair and pull it from the back of the gown with a flick. The dismissal was clear though and with no other choice, you walk slowly to the door, dropping the towel onto one of the nearby piles of clothes.

“Tony, be a dear and send up Fainus.” Tony barks his usual ‘Ay Captain’ response before heading you off in your slow march to the exit, stopping to make you step out first. There’s nothing gentlemanly about the gesture.

“Actually, give it a minute first. I’d like to clear up the mess she made.” She wasn’t referring to the towel.

You find yourself back in the small room you briefly passed through. It contains all it contained before: a vast table covered with maps as well as the many chests and cupboards pressed against the rooms walls, leaving only a little gully to edge around. It contains the three men as well; your escorts. The man with the neat hair and shaven face and almost civilising lack of scars leans against some kind of writing desk on the left wall while the far bigger and uglier one sits on a chest on the right. The room smells; some sweaty familiar funk hanging in the air. Tony opts to walk clear across the table, careful to avoid the maps and charts and papers with his dirty feet. His strides take him through the double doors, leaving them swinging behind him as he continues with his duty.

The two men look at you, forcing your eyes to the floor with their gazes. Their last sight of you...well, you’d rather not think on it, or the last sounds. Not thinking about it doesn’t change the fact that they saw you lick another woman and later heard the sound of you finishing that task. That they saw you **** and abused. Meeting their eyes is a little beyond you right now.

You decide to sit near the door, on a trunk with a flat top, where you might be able to hear any plans she makes that involve her newest recruit. No sooner do you sit down than the big one stands up, walks a sideways hobble around the table and sits right next to you unbidden. You give him a look that he does not see, his eyes brought down as well, but not in shame. Instead he looks at your chest. Looking as well, you see that the cleaning of your mouth and neck with the pitcher had left your black top wet, and the parts that were wet were clinging to you. The parts being clung to were getting cold and reacting accordingly. You fold your arms, covering your body’s reaction with feigned indifference.

They both remain silent but undeterred in their watch: you feel their eyes on you and almost hear the churning of their foul imaginations.

Ignoring them, you try to look at some of the maps and charts on the table, without appearing obvious in the attempts. Nothing leaps out at you, though you do see the seam down the table that suggests it’s actually two separate tables. Obvious really; either they were two tables or they would have had to build the room around it, double doors or not. No sooner had the thought crossed your mind, the doors themselves swing open and Tony walks back in, trailing a flabby looking man that must be Fainus. He wears a yellow/gold overcoat that screams flamboyance, tightly fitting his fatty frame and holding various cream coloured silks far too snugly against his bulging skin. His face is smiling but waxen and pale where not red and blotchy. It overtly beads with sweat and, at first look, you think it may be because of him hauling all those gold rings and chains he’s swathed in up the stairs. Beneath his silks, he doesn’t look so overweight to be exhausted by the short trip, and the show of wealth would no doubt build muscle over time, weighing as much as it undoubtedly does. A closer look as he rounds the table gives a better explanation, showing you he bares the small red veins of a **** addict. They criss-cross the sides of his neck like the cracks of some angry dry dirt, bleeding through from beneath. Wyverns Rest; taken to excess more than once from the looks of it. Tony announces him and receives muffled orders in return (something about managing the search) before leaving. Fainus flashes you a brown smile that briefly gives him a second chin before walking through. “Captain! How have you been?” His nasally high pitched voices rings out before the door clicks shut and the double door swings closed as Tony departs once more.

The man next to you slides closer, until his thigh presses against your own. “So... you like the taste of pussy princess?”

The question snaps your head to him. His face, so hook-nosed and square chinned, almost looks like some ungodly plaining tool from your fathers workshop. It leans in as his hand rests on your thigh, just above the knee. “Hearin the Captain...makes me want to try them lips for myself...”

He leans in closer, head tilted for a kiss. You freeze, what do you do? Instinct makes you lean back, away from his questing lips. Your eyes are wide. His hand slides up your thigh towards your-

“Hands off.”

He stops in his tracks. Not the stiff as a board paralysis that you’re ashamed to say gripped your off-guard mind for a moment, but the smooth languishing stop of someone with every intention to savour and continue. His head slowly turns to the other man, his eye brows raised in question.

“Captains got plans for her” the clean shaven Symon answers with a level gaze. The two men, evidently not the best of friends, lock eyes with each other for a long moment. You wonder if there’s a way you could convince them to kill each other, but that seems unlikely. Shame; his hand is still resting on your upper thigh.

The man, leaning himself back toward you once more, finally answers. “Yeah, I heard the captain’s last ‘plans’.” He looks away, unfortunately at you. “Don’t worry little licker; when the captains done with you, I’ll set you right. Get you licken what you should.” A black toothed smile splits his face, looking nothing but menacing, and his hand lifts from your leg to slide quickly up your stomach and under your folded arms to clamp unexpectedly around the underside of your right breast. You barely suppress a yell as you undo the scant protection your folded arms afforded, grabbing his wrist to try and pull him away. “A few hours with me an I’ll have you beggin for dick.” Fingers dig and squeeze into your soft flesh, rushing forward to capture more and thwarting your efforts to stop him. The damp black material offers no protection to his attentions and after a single second he pulls a strangled **** sound from your lips as he pulls the little breast you have away from your chest.

“Back. Off.” The other man is standing, looming even from a distance over the bigger but still sitting man.

“I didn’t jerk it like you. I still got needs.”

“Fuck yo-!” He glances to the door containing the captain before lowing his voice. “Fuck you.” He doesn’t sit down, the threat of his stance still in play.

You don’t like the idea of being helpless; some damsel to be rescued by a man who may do the same later on, given half the chance. Right now though, after you last humbling encounter, you’d do anything to be saved. Even by him.

They look at each other again and with a pinching nip, you pull the hand free from your form.

“Tsh” is the only sound that comes from him. The other, considerably more handsome pirate, keeps it up until another grumble sends him sliding back away from you. You consider giving your rescuer a smile of gratitude, but when you look he is already resuming his lean and doesn’t look your way again.

You tug slightly at your black trousers in nerves. The voices from beyond the door rise and fall but are always muffled. The other two are silent and don’t seem keen to look at you or each other. Several minutes of staring at the table and its contents, at the wardrobes and the chests and the general clutter that besets the room, yields nothing but boredom and trepidation in equal measure. Maybe you should have left. Cut your losses. Grim thoughts of missed opportunities are barged aside by the simple sound of footsteps approaching from the captain’s room.

The door opens gently, revealing the captains face. “Come on my dear. Time to shine.”

You take a shaking breath and stand. Yes, time to shine. All you need is an opportunity, a dropped guard, a window wide enough to grab your knife, stab the bitch, and run. You walk, each step heavy with dread; she’s not likely calling you in to fold the laundry. You swallow several times. The water hadn’t fully washed the taste away. Maybe it never would go away. The memory certainly wouldn’t. The...shame.

You cross the threshold and she closes the door behind the both of you. The sight ahead stops you, strikes you dumb despite being almost exactly what you expected. Fainus lifts his head to look at you. He lies back on the end of the bed, fat legs hanging down to the floor where his trousers lay wrapped around his ankles. He stands erect; more so at your entrance.

“You know, I’ve just realised, I don’t even know your name.” Captain Washkins hand presses on your back and guides you forward. The knife is unmoved but distant and the Captain is so close.

“Elly.” You respond, instantly regretting the lie. Why did you choose Elly? Why did you think of her, now? She had been one of the few cases you couldn’t solve, despite your efforts. The name of a shop keeps daughter that was kidnapped and assaulted for days. You had done everything in your power to bring the beasts to justice, but she had been blindfolded and the grunts and cheers of anywhere between ten to fifty men had not been enough to go on. A true tragedy; she had ended her life when the bump at her belly appeared.

You’re not Elly, despite what these two now think. Her end will not be your own.

“Elly. Ok then.” The smile is there, at her mouth. The disbelief is in her eyes. Both had been tidied of the smeared makeup you first saw, replaced with fresh coats meticulously applied.

“Elly, I’m going to need you to get on your knees and suck this man’s cock.”

The moments following her words pass with unnatural silence. Of course she does. You’re a member of her crew now. You know little of seamanship but you do know the newest hand gets the worst jobs. Same goes for all employment, you expect. The ‘given task’ is risen enough to fall back onto his resting hips and gut with a small slap that breaks the silence. It was either propped up for your inspection or engorged so much by her words and your arrival that it tipped itself over, pointing a hard direction at the man’s round, grinning face. Captain Washkins hand is still on your back. It’s the only thing that keeps you from running.

“Have you ever sucked a dick before, Elly?” It’s all you can do to numbly shake your head. From the corner of your eye you see the captain shoot a smile at them man. It seems to say ‘I told you so’. Fainus props himself up on his elbows, his new angle making a crease in the flab of his stomach as he looks between Washkin and you, intrigued by your natural inexperience. You would think it disheartening, the prospect of dealing with an amateur, yet if anything he seems more flush with excitement.

The captains hand pushes you forward, defeating your resistance step by step. “There’s nothing to it sweetie. I’m going to be right here to guide to through it.”

How comforting. You may have even told her so if you weren’t so distracted looking for a way out; let the sarcasm drip from your mouth unrestrained and turn the whole notion into a joke. She wants you to suck on a man’s... well, manhood? You had heard the talk of whores, sitting in cells to wait out their punishment for indecency and filling time with idle gossip of such acts. It always sounded a dreadfully disgusting task, though most seemed to prefer it to all the other means of income available to them. Apart from that, that’s all you know: it’s a thing that whores do. The thought isn’t as destructive as it would have been this morning. Hadn’t the captain, the woman whose hand burns on your back, already brought you lower than that? At least a man is supposed to want pleasure from a woman. Is that better or worse? The hand moves to your shoulder and guides you down to your knees to face the task she gave to you. It feels worse.

You look at the strange stack men have; a subject you have never had either means or call to examine. Covered with hair and like a small leather pouch, it contains the seed of life. Is that why you have to suck? To...extract it? The thought, while foul, is coldly palatable. You’ve tasted seed before, and recently. While you don’t relish the idea of tapping the source, so to speak, you doubt that it will taste any worse than when it rested between the other woman’s legs. You will survive this. You’ll survive this to ensure the captain at your side does not.

She leans close, pouring whispered words into your ear. “It’s no different than what you did for me. The only difference is it goes in your mouth... instead of the other way around.” You hear her painted red lips crackle with moisture as they turn upward and know without seeing that her smile looks exactly like the one she wore before; the smile seen between naked breasts as its cause probed deeper and deeper inside of her. You can do this. You can do it to kill her. If it’s in the remit of whores then how hard can it be?

She leans back. “Now, open wide.” You do so, letting the hot air brush your mouth as you breathe in and out. “Stick out that wonderful little tongue of yours.” You do you, stretching it out far as though to catch falling snow, straining the ache still within it from your last work. The captain raises the rod with her free hand, her other guiding your head with a grip on your neck. “Aaaaannnnd in it goes.”

The hard bell shaped end of the rod hits your tongue and slides its length as she pushes you forward. Your eyes close as the man sighs with relief; his journey of pleasure beginning with your kiss.

“Wrap those lips around it and let it rest on your tongue.” You do so, content not to think beyond the action itself. “Now, pull back. That’s it. And go forwards. More than that now. Back of the tongue.” Her hand pushes you forward until he tickles the back of your throat. The need to ****, to cough and splutter, is almost overwhelming, and it’s not helped by how your nose presses into the fat of his belly, making breathing another thing to focus on beyond what you’re doing.

“There you go.”

Killing Captain Washkin; that’s all you’re doing.

You glide your head back and forth, unaided by the captains grip. He doesn’t... taste as bad as she did, especially now that he rests inside you. His wrapped shaft shifts under the sliding pressure of your tongue, lubricated by your mouths natural wetness. With your eyes shut, his feel becomes your world; too invasive and unnatural to ignore. The sound of it fills your head as well, audible only to you: a sloshing scrap, rhythmic and unceasing as you glide him back and forth across your tongue. The sound of the captain’s instruction is almost a welcome destraction.

“Now you need to add a bit of a suck. When you pull back, try to keep the pressure on.” You do so, hollowing your cheeks with pressure as you pull back. You open your eyes, if only to keep track of him, and when your lips reach his head and its odd shape, your suck turns into a loud slurp. The drag of air through spit rips through the room, and your eyes flick up to his lifted head, meeting his gaze with crimson faced displeasure, horrified at the noise you didn’t know existed. His head tips back, taking his lidded gaze with him.

“Ohhhh, yeah.”

You slide back down, more disgusted by him than ever.

The captain, with a hand still resting on your bobbing neck, calls to him seductively. “What does virgin territory feel like?”

Another sucking withdraw conjures another accompanying moan; brought through gritted teeth and let out shamelessly into the room for all to hear. It takes him a long moment to respond. Your moment; a part of your life you’ll never get back, nor ever wish to remember.

“Mmmm. Good. Keep that tongue on girl” His hand, ringed with gold bands that squeeze thick fingers, comes to rests on the back of your head, its weight making an already difficult trial even harder, working with the captain’s hand to pin you to task.

“Yes, keep constant contact with your tongue. Try to lick him when you’re not sucking.” You do so, purposely unthinking, slowly waggling you tongue against him like a flag caught in a cross wind, painting him as he withdraws from you. When he’s at his furthest point, you circle him with your tongue and pickup a familiar taste: the salty bitter residue of the captain’s encounter with Roland. Is he close? Will this soon end? The satisfied sigh that comes from him at least tells you you’re getting closer.

You look sideways at the blade, eyes only as you rise and fall. It’s the same distance away as it’s always been. The captains thumb strokes the line where neck meets hair, as if to remind you not to do anything foolish, and as the bulky merchants cock brushes the back of your throat and brings tears to your eyes, you wonder if that’s even possible, trapped in action as you are. He moans again at your displeasure. What would they do if you just bit him? Kill you. The answer comes readily and with unerring certainty, punctuated by your tongue licking the odd slit sitting on his rod end and smearing more of his leaking essence onto your palette. The flavour sends your eyes back to the blade and the unfortunate knowledge that the captain would be on you before you even took the dick from your mouth. She’s bigger than you, in almost every way, so that’s one fight you don’t want to be in. Where is her sword? It’s not at her hip. It must be nearby though. More reasons to finish your whore’s task and hope for an opening to finish her whore life.

You put your hands onto his hips for more balance, resting your arms on thick and pallid thighs, veined and blotchy with **** abused health. It could be worse. Not just his health but the task itself. It’s a poor comfort as you lick and suck back and forth on a strangers cock, bringing the beefy man to a state of blissful release with lips and tongue and humiliation. The notion that there are worse places that his meaty and increasingly hot hard self could be moving back and forth in is a mixed bag to say the least. You push the bad aside and look for whatever positives you can. For one it gives you fresh insight into the mind of a street walker: to kneel and bob back and forth. Divorced by time of its humiliating and degrading aspect, it must be a fairly simple if repetitive means of income. Like with the captain, you watch and wait and listen for the small gasps of sensitive places: weaknesses that will lead to a quick and hopefully profitable finish. Unlike the captain, he’s less...complex in his enjoyment, not to mention he tastes only of sweat and salty musk and does not strain your tongue so much.

‘You’re not a whore’, you think to yourself as a hard suck drags a particularly satisfied moan from the man your lips glide against. Other Agents, female obviously, were known for doing this: for doing whatever it took to succeed. You’d always looked down on such women, those who are technically your peers; your thoughts of them dismissive and reproachful, not just for their methods but of the occasional assumption brought down upon you as a result. Looking at him now, you can see the benefit; he’s like clay in your hands, or mouth, **** to your touch. You could bring him to **** with ease if you controlled the encounter, or interrogate him effortlessly with access to such a **** spot. Water comes to your eyes as he brushes your throat and you struggle to think of more good to think on.

He does it again for the briefest moment; careless depth brought about by his heavy hand. He moans as you swallow down rising bile. ‘You’re not a whore’, you think, you’re an Agent of the Principalities. Others Agents do this with a smile... somehow. The kind of women you promised you’d never be. Knew you’d never be. The rare kind of woman who seeks justice on her back like a whore seeks coin. That’s what you are? Your self-justifications sound hollow, unsuited to cover the sloshing sound your bobbing fellatio fills your head with. You’re not a whore; you just look like one, sound like one, and no doubt feel like one.

What of the roles other distinction? What if they ask for more than your mouth? For what you won’t give? For all your actions now, you’re definitely not a whore or like those other, freer favoured women, and won’t spread your legs like one. What if they don’t ask?

“You’re a natural at this. Maybe you’re not a licker after all.” Captain Washkin breaks your self-distraction, gaze rising and falling as she looks into your eyes. All you can do is look back, blushing sourly as another ripping suck cuts the air.

The man tries to speak, struggling through your efforts. “Uhhhhhhhooghffuuuckk. Haaa. She’s- ouff haaaa ha ha- She’s a licker?”

Tracing every hitch, every curse, every gasp or swallow or wordless moan to the actions of your tongue and lips reticent motions is a bitter thing to... well... it’s a bitter thing. The captain moves up to the bed, sitting next to him and tilting his hips with her weight on the mattress. You adjust your angle, really not wanting to hear her response.

“Well, that tongue of hers was mining my nethers not long before you came.” Is that what you were doing? ‘Mining her nethers? Disgusting.

“So-“ His sentence stops for a swallow, but yours doesn’t. You open your lips enough for the gathered spit and musky emissions to run down him and mix with his short hairs. “So, not so much virgin territory then eh?” You hadn’t thought of what the captain made you do as the first of anything, but it definitely was a first. Gods willing, it was also the last.

She plays with the man’s hair, lank with grease long before his sweat reached it. “You’re certainly going where no man has ever been right now sweety.” You wince at her words and the hand that pushes you too far down again, feeling every bump and groove of him with your tongue as you hurry back to his tip. Her whispered words carry horribly. “Yours is the thirst cock she’s ever tasted.” It takes real effort, real willpower to push back down him again. His taste assaults you worse than ever.

“Haaaaaa, ohhhhh. She g-gon swallow?” The captain smiles and slides down the bed toward you, her scant blue gown, still pressing against the mattress, rides up her as she sinks, baring thick long legs and a little of their all too familiar terminus. The smile switches from him to you and if anything, it grows in size, finally reaching her eyes.

“Oh yes. When you cum, she’s going lock those pretty little lips around you and swallow all the seed you give her.” You pull away, dragging your lips up his dick as you tilt your head back to look at the captain, wide eyed. She looks back. It’s a half-second moment you share; a moment in which you realise exactly what was said. Unfortunately, before the other half of the second comes and gives you time to think, he responds

“Good. Ugh. Cuz that’s right now!”

You flinch as the hot liquid seed hits the roof of your mouth, just behind your front teeth, breaking like a sea wave and crashing its froth across your oral shore. Several things happen, then, in such quick succession that you lose track of them in the frantic, panicked seconds that follow. First, you look down at him, forgetting that what you want to see is lodged firmly in your mouth. Second, you automatically try to block him with your tongue, pressing it flat against the small slit the slimy fluid seems to spill from. It doesn’t work. The next emanation forces through to splash and spray sickeningly across your sense of taste before joining the first load swimming about your molars. He tastes the same as Roland’s leavings, but the consistency is...fresher; wetter and more pressing in its pervasiveness. As though bitten by the burning fluid, your tongue jumps back, lowering as the next shot fly’s past to the back of your mouth, hitting a spot where naught had ever hit before. You wince as more comes, brought by twitches and moans despite your stillness. The Captain watches, waiting for obedience. She knows and sees the growing contents; the domain of cocks and their emissions is a well walked path for her. Disgust and desperation war on your face. More comes, his sack rising and falling with each squirt. You shut your eyes and swallow.

Perhaps it was too soon.

It sticks hard to the back of your throat, almost refusing to go down and bringing up a counter cough that shakes his last dribble across your bottom lip, creamily reaching towards your chin in slow decent. A last few twitches bring his final foulness then nothing at all. His hand rests hard, not pushing, simply resting its full meaty weight on your head like the arm of a chair. The room is silent. You swallow again, audibly, deafeningly, feeling as though much of it will never leave the back of your throat.

You watch the captain as you pull away, letting him pop out of your mouth and fall back to his belly. She doesn’t protest. At some point, her silk robe had been loosened to show a lot more of her skin. You stay on your knees, like some obscene worshipper, though gradually leaning further back. Your hands move from his lap to your own while his hand slips from your head and rests next to him. Eventually, you sit back on your heels, watching him wilt and waiting for her instruction. None come. Instead, both of you seem to wait for the over fattened man to catch his breath; a breath you seem to have sucked right out of him. Your eyes watch his small meaty teats rise and fall, flicking between them and the captain wearily.

As soon as the **** scarred man, this Fainus character, the man you debased yourself for, looks up at you and lifts himself as if from slumber, Captain Washkin reaches for your face. You flinch slightly at the speed, expecting a slap, but all she does is drag a finger up the trickled road stretching from chin to lip. Her touch is gentle, far more so than you thought her capable, until she stops, keeping it before your lips as though shushing to silence. Of course; now the man watches and the last drop remains unswallowed. You know what the bitch wants, you see it in her eyes and the upturned corners of her mouth. You take the finger past your lips and suck off her ‘gift’, completing the horrendous task **** upon you. It’s a small thing. A gesture of power. A game. Well, if she wants to make you play it... You lick the tip of her finger like she instructed you previously, before sliding down its short length a second time, sucking as you withdraw. It’s nothing; just a finger. Barely a few minutes had passed since you had done the same with a cock. She doesn’t even reach the back of your throat. Her eyebrows rise, mild but carefully hidden surprise on her face. As your lips kiss her finger goodbye, you can almost feel her guard lower. Maybe you can get her to think you as much a slattern as she is. Hopefully.

“Ahhh. That was good. Not as good as you though.” His voice sounds different to when it was dripping with pleasure; it sounds more ragged and tired, and less prepubescent, as though he had aged since the first words you heard him speak.

The captain laughs like tinkling chimes as she returns to him, sinking to his side. “Naturally” She’s strokes fingers through his lank hair and is subjected to a wide and doting smile in return.

Despite the simple minded expression on his face, his tone is a wry one. “Don’t think you can get out of our deal next time.” It’s met with a smile and a kiss. From your kneeling perspective, it looks very odd. She’s taller than him, leaning into it and pushing him back, giving her a far more powerful appearance in the exchange. In silhouette, you might think her the man. His eyes close as her tongue slips in, while hers stay open and fixed on his face. In a moment, it’s over. He seems more drained than ever.

He smiles dreamily, swaying slightly as though under some spell. For the first time, you notice the pathetic attempt at facial hair staining his upper lip. It makes him look younger, and not in a good way.

“You can’t just distract me with some whore you know, no matter how cute.”

Some whore. The words catch in your mind like a chilling wind, cutting deep. The captain, now sitting back beside him, playfully crosses her legs to caress a bare toe up his still bared calf. Even the nails of her feet were painted. How long must such a pointless frivolity have taken?

“I can and I will...” Her eyes glance over you, still kneeing before the fallen alter of his sucked pleasure. “...and I have. Sweetie, why don’t you wait outside like a good girl.”

You don’t need to be told twice, though you linger at the sight of the pitcher of water; needed now more than ever. You can still feel him clinging to the back of your throat, gurgling with each breath. His essence avoids your swallows, each and every one, as though still blocking and lingering about the centre of your skull. Even if you had the words to speak, to ask for the privilege, you throat wouldn’t let you. Now is not a time for words. You stand and walk away, opening and closing the door without thought.

The room is the same. The two men occupying it are the same. They know what you’ve done, as before; you can see it on their faces. The urge to wipe your mouth is unbearable but you don’t. So long as you don’t acknowledge it, they can never be sure. You’ll grab that thin sliver of control as long as you can, real or imagined.

Another thought comes to mind; you could leave. They don’t know what she asked you to do. You could walk out of here and get off this island, with the proper confidence. Are you not part of the crew? It could be a better way out than before and you don’t know what she’s going to put your mouth to next. You really want to leave, and yet... Going now would be giving up. Didn’t you resolve to see this through?

They’re looking at you. Best make up your mind now.