...shake your head and decline. It’s past time to leave.

The odds were never on your side; your recent experience was a humbling example of this. So long as you’re in her power, fixed in her gaze, there is no attack she wouldn’t see coming. The safer path. Whatever game she had in mind for you, you’re not playing anymore.

“Are you sure?” She glances at you as she pulls her gown closed, folding her body behind its immodest silks before tying it closed once more.

If you can get away, to some lonesome cabin or scrubbing some deck, you could slip free and put everything you’ve done behind you. Far, far behind you.

For that to work, you should try to appear none threatening. Broken.

“Yes, er, I am...” Feeling that a little grovelling hurts only your already scarred pride, you add “thank you for the offer though...captain.” The words taste almost as bad as she did.

“Hm, a pity. We’ll have to work on your stamina.” She waves her hand with an airy motion. “We can negotiate your pay and amenities later on. Along with your dress...” You wondered if new recruits are given something red and white to wear. Evidently they are, or perhaps it’s just those in your position. You shuffle from foot to foot as she turns to Tony. “Take her to the ship. Keep her locked below deck...in irons.” What? That would make escape...

“I-“ The words die on your lips once more.

“Yes?” It’s not like she ever owed you escape. But still...

“I thought I was a member of your crew? Er, captain. Not a prisoner.” Her laugh isn’t genuine but her smile seems to be.

“Oh my little lapping land crab: Just because your tongue was in it doesn’t mean your heart was.” She walks over, putting a hand on your shoulder, thumb stroking your neck. “And just because you got me gushing doesn’t mean I’m made a fool either. Don’t worry. You’ll get your chance to serve.”

There’s nothing for you to say. She holds you like that, hand on shoulder, thumb stroking neck, gazing down into your eyes. There’s no laughter in her stare now, nor anger or distrust; it’s a look you’ve never seen in the eyes of any watching woman. Lust. Considering, calculating, lust. How many women has she made do what you just did, you wonder. How many men? You’d bet gold to rot that there’s been more men between her thighs than tongues. What a legacy you must have joined: a litany of unrecorded names and faces; a far from exclusive club made of all the people who had ever been inside her, with you as its latest fledgling member. She leans forward, lips softly parting. Is she going to kiss you!? Her head tilts, eyes still watching. Your heart beats fast. She’s going to steal your first real kiss? That seems petty. How do you stop her? Do you want to? What was that last thought? Her kiss flows around you at the last moment, landing on your cheek with deliberate wetness and leaving you flustered. When she pulls back, the smile had returned.

“Definitely a licker. Mind and body.”

Her arm drops as she turns to Tony once more. “Tie her back up first and take Davod with you. Get one of the girls to watch her though. Someone trustable.” She turns away, dismissal obvious.

Tony barks an “Ay captain!” before grabbing your arms and wrapping them back in strong knots. You don’t resist. What would be the point? He drags you out and commands the uglier of the two waiting men to act as escort, explaining the order and your destination. As you pass out the room and down the stairs, your mind works furiously. You’ll be locked aboard the ship, hopefully not for the amusement of her crew. Still, the moment you’re out to sea, sailing the islands of the archipelago, they’ll probably let you out on deck. At that point, jumping over board and swimming for the nearest shores would probably be the best bet.

You pass into the warm summer night in silence, past the other ratty guard at the front door. There still seems to be a busier presence than before; evidently, the search hasn’t been called off just because you told the truth. The escort, Davod, makes some crude comment about the noises Captain Washkin made. The noises you made her make. He asks questions and makes remarks, but quiets when you ignore him.

The mansion path turns to village road turns to docks in silence as you work your way back down to the boated shoreline. The captain’s ship is massive and truly impressive, though you lack any chance to make a study of it thanks to the dark and the quick pace set by your guard. It’s busy, outside and on board, even while most of its crew enjoy the pleasures of the island. The banging of cargo and th shouts of work and play, along with the stares of the curious, assail you on all sides as you pass into its guts, down into the hold and the freshly scrubbed cell waiting for you. A few more comments come grumbling from the brute about him making you scream as only a man can before he is unhappily replaced by a surprisingly frumpy looking woman: more fisher wife than fearsome pirate.

The irons really are made of iron, and clamp your ankles and wrists both, with little room to move even in your tight cell. How had it come to this? You came to this island to kill Captain Washkin and now you’re a member of her crew? Still, you can’t be locked in here forever. Freedom or victory, preferably both; you’ll settle for nothing less.

The woman pulls some needles out of her skirt and starts knitting. You wonder what they’ll make you do first. Hopefully scrubbing the deck or some other menial task. The Captain doesn’t seem the type to let her latest toy get **** to oblivion. A loud gulp comes unbidden from your neck: you really hope she’s not. Pleasing her may be the best way to avoid that fate. To... to be the licker she thinks you are. Meek and defeated until you can get away, but only meek before the captain. You resolve that whatever happens, you will not live to be a toy for the men of this ship; to be used like some cheap whore. The cuffs on your wrists wouldn’t give you much choice. **** would be better.

The clicking of the woman on the other side of the bars is actually something of a comfort, especially when the first man walks past. They’ll slip up. They won’t get the best of you. You won’t let them. You lie down and try to sleep, to conserve your strength. It could be a long swim tomorrow. You’ll get off this ship. Somehow, you’ll get off. Soon.

You know it.

A year later.

“Unf, unf, unf, unf, unf, unf, ahh, oh, you like dis, uh, ah, pale whore?” You grip the sheet as he pounds into you, shaking your body with his hard impacts. Sweat pours off you both. “Unf. Dyed white, errgh! northern whore!”

For your part, you remain silent; teeth gritted against the mistreatment of your poor abused cunt. Between your hands and knees on the bed lies your captain, smiling up at you, framed by the jumping wet waterfall of your cascading hair. She raises an eyebrow, prompting you to respond.

“Unnn. Yes! Oh fuck yes! Harder! Oh fuck me harder!” You shout it all with a blank passionless expression, mimicking the falsetto cry’s you learned from the other woman in similar such circumstance. You could have just said it in a normal voice, conversationally in fact. Despite the last ten minutes, your passions are hardly alight. You don’t need to shout to be heard either; he hits you hard from behind but your flat rear makes for a poor drum and the slap of his hips don’t carry nearly so far as when Wendigo is in a similar position. That can sound like a round of applause. It’s only his grunts and moans and curses you really have to be heard over. Despite the lying request in your voice and the faux moans of pleasure, his efforts between your legs, your cheeks, your lips, back and forth, continue unchanged. How had it come to this? It wasn’t the first time you’d thought that. Time had proven that there was always more ‘this’ to come.

His rampant thrusting sends him slipping out of you. A moments hasty grab and aim from him is the only warning you get to raise your hips and make sure he hits his target. Surprise anal is a deeply unpleasant experience, though as you’ve found, the same could be said for sodomy in general. Captain Wendigo relaxes beneath you, laid out like all is right with the world. You’ve seen the look before; that of anticipation. Gods you hope he cums inside you! Hope he squirts every speck of his milk into your cunt. It would make what comes after so much easier. He’s going to cum and then you’re going to make her cum. The only difference is where he makes his mess.

“Ugh, yes, you northern whores! You love the brown cock of Empire men!”

Captain Washkin rolls her eyes with a smile, again prompting you to say something back. “Ugh! Yes! Give me that black empire cock!”

Strange that you can get so out of breath from just kneeling here, though it grows increasingly difficult staying in position against his deep thrusts. He pushes into you harder than you can push back. Why did he have to be talkative? The captain is better at responding; your words always seems so insincere, so ridiculous to your ears.

“Oh! Cum inside me with that, ugh, that big dick!” He’s close, you can feel it. He’s already turned your raw beef into a hot stew. All you need now is his spice. “Uhhhh! I’m so close! I’m gonna- I’m gonna-“

You wonder what the chef will make today...

He slaps your behind, squeezing it before throwing you off the bed. The floor hits you. You look up in despair to see him now balls deep in your captain, her legs up around him as he continues his humping. The indignity! You were going to pretend to cum for him! You’d already nearly reached your make-believe climax. Maybe you were too convincing and he thought you done? There’s a first time for everything. All that work, the soreness in your pussy after he beat it for so long, and for what?

“Get back here!” You can barely understand him over the captains loud and far more realistic moans, but you pick yourself up and go to him anyway. As soon as you’re in arms reach, he grabs a fistful of hair at the back of your head and pulls you into a kiss. Fat lips press against yours, wide nose crushing your own. You let your mouth drop and offer some token movement as his tongue bashes brutishly against your own. He keeps humping, you can feel it judder through his face and hand. His breath breaks hard against your face. Too hard, and too frequent. He breaks his kiss, holding you close and moaning into your face as he breathes hard, his eyes closed and mouth open. Southerners, as well as their dark skin, have very wide noses, you now realise. Before now, in most of your interactions with him, he was behind you.

He cums. You can tell. Not just because he stopped while breathing hard through gritted teeth, but because Captain Wendigo does the loud moan men like to hear when they cum. Makes them feel like they satisfied you or something. You, meanwhile, simply watch on as today’s meal gets progressively worse. You’ve done it to her clean, after helping her bathe, and it was almost pleasant, comparatively at least. Damn it but you’ve even sucked dicks to the finish and had them taste bearable! What is it about a used cunt that turns you green? The mix of man and woman that sours everything?

A moment passes, one that only he blissfully occupies, before you find yourself laying beside him, arm on his chest and leg lifted to lie across his. Your pose is mirrored by the captain on his other side as she waits for him to catch his breath while she pretends to do the same. The man -some fugitive defector from the empire who took his men and a ship and made a try of piracy- strokes a dark hand up and down your thigh. The captain now has him, like a spider has a fly. A quick negotiation, the skilful promise to draw him in, the tease to get him going, the denial of what he wanted with the promise that if he’d only just agree... You played your part of course; wearing the smiles and ridiculous clothes she’d told you to. You did what she said, even as it had brought you down on all fours. Nothing you hadn’t done before.

You remember the first time this happened. The man with the long hair and the square jaw. He had fancied you more than the captain, pointing you out as you attended to them with drinks and linens. You’d half expected Captain Washkin to be mad or jealous, only realising after that she had brought you in for that very reason. He’d requested you join them after seeing you, demanded you when you seemed ****. You remember that night clearly. He did everything to you. He was only rough when he needed to be and despite your tears and his sometimes brutal insistence, he’d been gentle as well. Still, relative to your current position, it was less a slippery slope and more a short, sharp drop. It had also been successful, with your captain gaining a sizable cut of his operation. He’d ‘renegotiated’ several times in the last year, asking for you each time.

Captain Washkin leans forward, kissing his nipple deeply. You watch as her tongue snakes out to circle it; defter than her sword arm and often times more dangerous. Two circles and another kiss. Calculated.

“I’m so glad we could come to an understanding.”

He simply pants his response. His stamina had been impressive, in the thoroughly unimpressive world of men. The captain had teased him so much beforehand you had expected him to finish within the first minute. Your well used, almost chaffed discomfort tells a different story.

They talk and you ruminate to yourself, only half listening. The threats that had kept you under her thumb this last year were of particular note. You consider how tame they were to start with. **** sex? With a member of her crew? After that long night of firsts, that had almost become the norm, with you a gift given to the favoured. The threats changed. A flogging, a beating, a group of men; each was ticked off the list with time, though with considerably less regularity and a little more misbehaviour required each time. When they happened, the captain liked to watch. Her smile had been your constant companion throughout each ordeal. What next, thrown to the crew? You know many would like that. Some had already gotten a taste.

The thought of punishment lingers in your mind, spurred by the anticipation of upcoming disobedience. Today’s the day. The day that you finally-

“-Oh look, our friend has returned.” The captains words draw your eyes to hers before following her gaze downward. She’s right, he’s full again. You almost groan; hopefully you won’t have to ride him. Instead, you fix a smile and look back at him, stroking you thigh across his and your hand across his chest.

He only has eyes for Wendigo. “I won’t. You know this. 40% is not reasonable. Why don’t-” His words are cut across with gentle ****; an avalanche of silk that pours into the ear.

“Why don’t you just lie back and relax. Everything is open for debate...” Her hands take his face as her lips briefly take his mouth, kissing him luxuriously before pulling back. “...and we have all the time in the world.”

Her eyes flick to yours and she presses her tongue against the inside of her cheek. The message is clear. You suppress a sigh while keeping your smile, moving down the bed and the sweat slick form of his blanked body. The rod, so recently slamming inside you, stands glistening before your eyes, thick and dark and slightly veined. His boasts about southern men may be true, but not for him. You’ve taken bigger.

You run a hand through your sweat darkened hair, pulling it back and over your shoulders to give him an unobstructed view. He slips past your lips and for the next few minutes, you fall into the unthinking state born of mindless labour. Back and forth, sometimes sucking the end and sometimes the whole, circling with your tongue before going to the back of your throat and even beyond. You straddle his shins so you can work him directly, a student trained personally by a master, keeping an eye on him and the captain. They talk, him clearly distracted and arguing between the shortened breaths you **** past his lips, her pouring more of her toxic words down upon his **** ears. After a while, she sends you a signal; her bare foot gently pressing down on your shoulder, pushing you back. He comes out with a pop.

“Ah. Her. Hoh. Come on!” He looks down at you, face stained with beads of sweat, then at the captain. You try to copy her expression, which seems to say ‘we’re **** to continue, but...’

“Fine.”

She looks on in mock puzzlement. “Fine what?” You make sure to keep your mouth close, your breath on him.

“You get your 40%!” He sounds ****.

She smiles, leaning close. “45”

“What!? Are you-” You decide to help hurry things along. You lick, from the base of his balls and stopping on the tip, maintaining contact in both tongue and eye, poised for a decent. “Neeaargh! Fine! Fine! 45! 45 fucking percent!”

Your captain smiles. “Oh, you’ve made me so happy!” She rushes in for a deep kiss. An action you mirror, both stopping with your lips pressed as firmly against him as possible, and as far as they can go. She had timed it perfectly. With a few more deep bobs and a single hearty suck, he leans back, grips your hair tightly and explodes across your tongue. You drink, as always, sucking more and more out of him as he holds you close to his short hairs. Eventually, he slips out of your mouth and almost into unconsciousness.

“We could always go another round?”

He buttons his shirt angrily.

“Yes, and I lose my ship and crew as well?” You lie on the bed, feigning exhaustion as the two banter.

“Don’t be so sore. You enjoyed it.” Captain Washkin lies next to you, as undressed as you are, her hand stroking you possessively. What’s to come hasn’t changed.

“It is not that I did not enjoy it. I have to tell my men this deal... and they did not enjoy it. They do not like getting fucked without getting their cocks wet.”

You try to look relaxed when he leaves. Try to think of things other than what’s next. The open door briefly shows Tony ready to escort the southern would-be captain back to his ship before swinging shut. Tony’s cum tastes different to that which is still on your tongue. It’s been a few weeks but you know that much. You wonder what could cause the difference. Is it whatever is responsible for the southerners dark skin, or something different? A hand slips up your inner thigh.

“That was some good work today.” You turn to see the captain looking at you. You’ve seen her face without makeup and the difference is quite remarkable. As it stands, its barely touched, save for some smearing around the lips. You doubt yours has held together so well. Her hand goes from stroking up your inner thigh to what’s just above it.

“So good I could kiss you...”

Your breath catches. Around ten minutes of dicking and barely a quiver but as soon as her fingers slip in... Is it worth it? Delaying it for one more day? The few times she’s wanted your company for more than just cleaning have been the highlight of your stay here. You remember them all. If she wants-

“...if I didn’t want to wear out that tongue.”

And just like that, half formed smile slipping from your face, you’re free to proceed.

You do things a little differently this time. Instead of crawling over and taking your position between her legs, you step off the bed and walk around to its base. Leaning forward and letting your hands slip under her rump, you pull her down towards you, silencing her questions by bowing forward and commencing. She tastes unpleasant, of course, but whether it’s the cum on your tongue or what you have planned, she seems at least a little more palatable. What’s left of your red lipstick quickly come away with the damp, staining her red as you lick and suck and probe and drink. His seed had since turned lukewarm compared to the gouts of heat that hit the back of your throat before. Hands grip the sheets, a head tips back and releases a moan, fresh wetness comes. She had been right that day: time and practice had made you as good as Misty, if not better. It had taken a return trip to the island and two mind-blowing lessons to learn just how good that was. Sometimes, when a man is inside you, you still think of that night, to ease his passage.

As the captain grows lost in the moment, things become clearer to you. You hand stretches, groping at for the underside of the bed. You almost have a heart attack, fearing that your recent fucking has moved it, before your fingers close around the handle.

“Oh fu-.” The whispered expletive, regularly drawn out by your work and making her seem truly ****, is cut off with a bitten lip and drawn out moan. Not yet, you think to yourself. You go on, deeper, twisting and delving and pressing on her sweet spot. It’s not long until she’s clean; you’ve had a lot of experience with this. Minutes pass, but you take them gladly, drawing her to her close.

“Ahhh! Ohhhh! Just a little bit moooooh! Ohhhhh!” She tilts her head back, eyes shutting tight. “AHHHHHHHH!”

You remember that feeling. Her second scream is silent, an almost pained expression of bliss on her face. You switch to fingers and crawl up her and the bed until you’re looking down. She cracks an eye and seeing you above, grabs your head and pulls you down for a kiss. Her tongue dives into your mouth, despite where it had just been. The blade in your hand sinks into her heart, despite how you feel about her.

Necklace in hand and familiar shores visible out the open window, you get dressed calmly, taking the time to wash the blood off your hand. The bounty was 50,000 gold and an island. That was last year. You wonder what it will be now. Looking at the beautiful body of Captain Wendy ‘Go’ Washkin and the memory of all you’ve had to do, you doubt it will be worth it.