Erotic short. A sailor takes something that doesn’t belong to him, and the captain punishes him.
9.2k, cis M/trans M and cis M/M. A carpenter’s apprentice can’t resist the captain’s cabin boy while he’s meant to be performing maintenance, and afterwards, the captain and the cabin boy punish him between them — if the apprentice wants another chance at sex with the cabin boy, he has to let the captain bugger him first.
Warning for unnegotiated somnophilia — the cabin boy is extremely into it and is delighted after the fact, but it is nonconsensual and is accurately defined by the captain as rape and as an assault; there’s also sex under duress as part of an agreement. There’s also age difference, size difference, body worship, bruises and hickeys, anal sex, massive dicks, stomach bulging, enemas, crying, begging, and premature ejaculation with associated embarrassment.
The carpenter’s apprentice and captain are cis, and their cocks and arses are referred to; the cabin boy is trans, and his chest is referred to as his chest and breast, and his genitals are described as his cunt, pussy, and clit.
“Hastings,” said Mr Cork as he came past, and Jacob turned to look at him. “What are you at, boy?”
“Just off to help Mr Hirsch with the straits, sir, more hands, lighter work and all that.”
“Well, before you go off to Hirsch, get down to the captain’s cabin and take measurements off of his right-most window, would you? He says it’s rattling at night — it’s not leaking yet, and when we make port it might well be we reframe the whole thing depending on the warp of the wood.”
“You want me to fasten it in place?”
“Fasten it if you can,” said Cork. “We’ve the store needed to put in a new window, even, just so long as I don’t have to hear the captain mention it another single goddamn time.”
Jacob ducked his head to keep from laughing, but he nodded and grabbed a measuring tape and a square, jogging up the stairs and to the officers’ quarters, walking down the narrow corridor. Loxley, the captain’s secretary, wasn’t anywhere to be seen — he was above decks, taking notes as the captain did his inspections — so there was no one to stop him from knocking directly on the door to the captain’s cabin.
Making his way inside, he closed the door behind him, and he laughed when one of the ship’s cats, a chunky little beast called Pyramid, wove around his feet and prrbted very emphatically until Jacob opened it up again and let her out. It was a bright, sunny day outside, and with the sun behind them the light shone in directly through the end windows and the side. The captain’s desk was empty, his chair pulled slightly back from it and his papers held in place with a weight, his cup of tea still resting empty in place.
He hopped up the three stairs to the upper part of the decking, moving over to the windows and eyeing up the line of the window frames — three of the four were perfectly parallel, but he could see the last was crooked, the central through-bar almost lining up but the bottom one slightly off.
Moving forward, he went to put his fingers on the hinges, pressing on all three of them from the top, the bronze cool under his fingers, then from the bottom, leaning in… And he heard a noise behind him.
It was a soft noise, quiet, breathless, a grunt of dissatisfaction, and when he turned around he had it in his head that it was Pyramid or Castle, except that it obviously wasn’t either, because Pyramid had just gone and Castle wouldn’t linger in a room where she was.
The captain’s bed, Jacob realised, wasn’t empty.
He stopped short, staring with his mouth open, because the noise of dissatisfaction had come because the body in the captain’s bed had previously been enjoying the sun shining in through the windows and was now left cold, sprawled on their side with the sheet thrown loosely over their waist, the curves of their thighs.
The captain didn’t have a wife, Jacob was pretty fucking certain. He’d have heard about it if he did, because there weren’t so many captains that travelled with their wives, even on ships like this that actually carried passengers with them and had other women aboard.
He stood out of the way of the light again, moving to the right and then walking forward, and he stared at his — yeah, his — body, at the swell of his chest on each side, the delicate dusting of hair over his sternum. He was round-cheeked and had patchy hair on his lip and the sides of his jaw, gingery-brown curls on the pillow around him, and he had long eyelashes too.
He was naked, was the thing.
Sprawled on his side with the sheet over his waist, cheek on the pillow, there was the barest shine of sweat on his skin, glistening over the curve of his back where it dimpled just above his arse, a droplet glistening on a fat roll at his side. His hands twitched at his side with the desire to reach out and touch him, feel how warm his skin was — no wonder Pyramid had been here, she’d probably been curled up in the quiet crammed in against this lad’s neck or his side, judging by the grey and white hairs scattered around that didn’t belong to him and weren’t Captain Chisholm’s, either.
He’d never seen this lad about, so it could well be he was one of the passengers and that the captain had just buggered him senseless and let him sleep it off, but he’d never thought Chisholm would be the sort for it.
Turning sharply away again, he went to the window and put himself to work as focused as he could, pushing his fingers into the slight gap where the wood had warped away — he wouldn’t even need to replace the whole frame, just the base of the window where it had chipped on the outside.
He rapidly noted down the measurements, kept glancing behind him to see that the lad was still asleep, and he was, looked perfect in his sleep, looked comfortable, looked entirely content.
Jacob had been two months at sea, and it would be another two before they actually made a proper port and he was able to go out for a few days, and it’d be months and months more before he was actually on leave. He was fucking beautiful, this lad, and whether he was a passenger or not, it was obvious Captain Chisholm had him for a reason, had him naked in his bed for a reason.
His lips were pink and slightly slick with spit and there was pinkness in his cheeks, too, and his eyelashes were just a bit lighter than the gingery-brown of his hair, more of a strawberry colour so that they caught the light and looked purely gold.
He crept forward, careful not to make any sound as his feet moved on the wood, not to let any of it creak, and he put out his hand before he could stop himself, hooking two fingers underneath the edge of the sheet and pulling it back.
The lad asleep in bed didn’t even stir in his sleep, was still fully asleep even as the sheet was peeled back from his thighs and his calves, setting it aside. The lad had one leg back from the other, so Jacob had a perfect gaze between his legs, and he didn’t see, like he was expecting, a plump cock to match his body.
Jacob stared, his lips parting as he took in the surprise between his legs — underneath the neat little thatch of gingery-brown curls to match the ones on his head, he saw a fat red clit and a brightly pink pussy, one that shone in the sun coming in through the window. His nipples were a nice pink too, bigger than Jacob had ever seen, but he couldn’t concentrate on them now, not —
“Fuck,” he whispered, glancing up at the lad’s face again, and he leaned forward slightly, trying to look better at the lad’s face. His features were entirely slack, and they stayed like that even when Jacob put his hand on his thigh, just brushing his fingers over the damp skin at first and feeling the hair there, then putting his palm flat against it.
He was warm, plush, exactly the kind of person you wanted to sink against, sink into, at the end of a hard day — if he was a girl, he’d do well in any brothel, and being a lad, even one with a cunt… Especially one with a cunt, he’d do no worse.
He was already a little bit wet even before Jacob sucked his fingers into his mouth and put them between his legs, touched them very carefully to the bright pink bud of his clit, pressed on it. It was warm, sank down against his pubic bone, and the lad sighed in his sleep, his legs parting further as he fell onto his back.
His jaw was still slack, his eyelids still closed, his head tipped to one side on the pillow, and Jacob just couldn’t resist, stroked down the sides of his fat little cunt. Pushing with his fingers, his mouth went dry at the sight of his lips spreading, showing the openness of his hole with wetness glistening there.
His thighs, which were a creamy white colour, were marked all over with kisses and bruises, and Jacob swallowed at the marks on the insides of them, showing sucked-on and bitten-in marks from the captain’s attentions, most of them red, a few of them purple or dark blue with bruising. He wanted to taste them himself.
He pushed and played over his clit, rubbing at it and swallowing back a quiet moan at the way the lad’s cunt clenched around nothing at all, the way it winked delicately, a droplet of slick sliding down between his arse cheeks. Jacob kept glancing up at his face as he put his middle finger forward, traced the ring of his entrance and felt just how slick it was, heard the grunt the other man let out in his sleep.
He tasted —
Sweet. Musky.
He was obviously the captain’s bedwarmer, obviously used to being fucked, so used to it that he responded this positively, this eagerly, even in his sleep, his thighs spreading further apart, his clit subtly jumping in its place. He swiped his finger through again, biting his lip at the wetness, the way the lad’s cunt clenched down around him, so beautifully wet, so fucking —
He pushed down, sinking his finger right into him and feeling the way he yielded, feeling the way he just welcomed Jacob in, and a sweet, soft moan came from low in his throat but his head still didn’t move on the pillow, he didn’t roll over, his face barely changed.
Jacob couldn’t handle it, the temptation right fucking there, open and easy and so obviously eager for it even though he wasn’t even fucking awake, and he glanced to the door before he quickly unbelted his trousers, dropped his pants, leaned forward, knelt on the bed. It was a fucking soft bed, almost as soft and plush as the captain’s bedwarmer was, nothing like the berth Jacob slept in at night that was as narrow as a rope, and he spared the barest thought for what it might be like to sleep in, even with a lad like this taking up half of it.
Just the tip.
Just the tip would be enough, his cock so hard he couldn’t fucking stand it, but he just needed to sample it, just to feel that wet, tight heat around the head of his prick, and fuck, but it was so wet, so goddamn wonderful he sank his head in and whimpered at the tight clutch around him, the wonderful heat, the sweetness of it. His hands were on the lad’s thighs, pressing and sinking into the flesh there, and he inched forward, further —
He choked out a noise when he bottomed out, overwhelmed by the heat encompassing him on all sides, the way that he clutched and squeezed around him, and it was just —
He didn’t mean to.
He hadn’t fucking meant to do any of this, hadn’t meant to do this at all, and he certainly didn’t mean to get his cock all the way into the lad’s beautiful open cunt and lose himself immediately, lose hold of himself and just fucking come.
The noise that had come out of him was a fucking squeak, and now he knelt over the lad with his cock buried in his beautiful pink cunt, and he breathed heavily, staring down at him, at the round swell of his belly and the twin swells of his fat tits — a man’s tits, very much a man’s tits no matter that it was a cunt between his legs — and his slack, sleeping face, the peace writ on it.
His cock was pulsing, balls squeezed up tight, and it felt wonderful, felt fucking sublime, had just come on too fast, but really, what was the point in being ashamed when he wasn’t even awake to know?
Pulling back, he quickly pulled up his trousers and belted them up again, and he scrambled a little in his hurry to throw the sheet back over him and go down the stairs, across the floor. The lad turned over in bed, putting himself into more of the sun shining in through the window, but he didn’t move after that, just stayed still.
He couldn’t believe he’d just done that.
He —
Probably shouldn’t have.
* * *
“Lluw?” called Ian as he came into his quarters, and he leaned forward to look, expecting to see Lluw sitting up by now, but he wasn’t. He was still in bed, sprawled on his belly, although to his credit he was awake and actively conscious, his nose buried in a book. “Going to get up and dress any time this century?”
“Come the turn of it, maybe,” said Lluw, and he looked like an angel bathed in the last of the afternoon’s warm sunny light, bathing under it, and Ian softly sighed as he surveyed the expanse of his back, the glorious curve of Lluw’s arse cheeks, his shoulders. There was a little valley down his back, showing the line of his spine, and reaching out he drew his finger down over this valley before following one of the offshoots, tracing the crease made by a roll of fat.
Lluw giggled, then laughed, squirmed as Ian pressed his fingers in and tickled him properly, kicked out his beautiful, delicate feet, slapped at him, kneed at him, but ineffectually, and not in a way calibrated to demand an actual stop.
When Ian did stop, Lluw rolled onto his back and looked up at him, smiling beatifically, his eyes glittering.
“You are very lovely,” said Ian. “Do you know that?”
Lluw’s smile was radiant and self-satisfied as he said, “Mmm… Yeah.”
Ian chuckled, put his hand over Lluw’s when Lluw placed his hand on Ian’s waist.
“Did you fuck me?” he asked, and Ian frowned down at him.
“I have done,” said Ian. “Many times, I have.”
“This afternoon,” said Lluw.
“I’ve been on duty since the early morning, lad,” said Ian, perplexed, and Lluw hummed, his expression thoughtful as he fell back onto the mattress, his legs falling open. Ian looked between his legs, then frowned, reaching between them and feeling where he was wet and open, recently used. “Who’d you have in here, Kant?”
“You tell me,” said Lluw, yawning against the back of his hand. “I woke up with someone’s come leaking out of me, and I figured it couldn’t have been you — I’d have felt it, if it was you. Whoever it was, they obviously rode me very gently or had very little to them, because I slept like a fucking baby.”
A cold and burning rage had settled in Ian’s chest, a particular awareness that someone had been in his cabin, that someone had been in his rooms and more than that, had been in his fucking boy — none of his men would fucking dare to come into his quarters without his permission or Lluw’s invitation, which meant it had been one of the passengers or one of the crew.
“Oh, don’t,” said Lluw, and he twisted his hand to grip at Ian’s, tugging it down between his legs, and Ian chuckled as he assented, slid two of his fingers into the lad where he was open and ready and eager. “Don’t be angry.”
“Don’t be angry?” Ian repeated quietly, arching his eyebrows. “Don’t be angry that some wee cunt has been in here and plundered you as you slept? What sort of fucking pervert would do that?”
“I’d like very much to find out,” said Lluw, and sighed in pleasure as Ian slid his fingers smoothly forward, sinking in to the second knuckle and then to the third. He rocked down onto Ian’s fingers, letting out a breathless noise, his eyes fluttering shirt. “Will you beat him?”
“I’ll fucking kill him,” said Ian, and Lluw opened his eyes for the purposes of frowning up at him.
“No,” he said sternly, “don’t do that. Beat him — and let me watch. Or, would you fuck him?”
“What are you talking about, Lluw?”
“Instead of beating him,” said Lluw, leaning forward and sinking down onto Ian’s fingers, “you could fuck him. Couldn’t you? Bugger him over your desk? That would be a better punishment than a beating, anyway.”
“I’m not in the habit of buggering my sailors, Lluw. That’s what you’re for.”
“I thought I was here because I’m beautiful and lovely and you like to look at me and touch me and sink yourself into me after a terribly long day,” said Lluw, and then moaned when Ian responded by curving his fingers in and pushing at the roof of his cunt, putting pressure there. He spread his thighs wider, tipped his head forward against Ian’s upper arm, sliding one hand around his arm, touching the back of his elbow as he rocked on his knees, thrust down against Ian’s fingers. “I thought I was, mmm, here because you loved me.”
“I don’t think I love you enough to bugger one of my sailors.”
“Yes, you do,” said Lluw simply.
Ian opened his mouth, closed it. “I expect he’s ugly,” he finally went on dryly. “I should have him fucking hanged, not let him off with a beating, let alone a buggering.”
“I hope he’s thin,” said Lluw dreamily, clenching around his fingers. “I hope he’s skinny enough that when you sink your cock into his arse I can feel it through his belly. I hope he sobs his eyes out.” He said all this very calmly, with a sort of gentle serenity that made Ian’s blood run cold, but for all his blood was cold it did rush downward, his cock hard in his trousers, straining.
It was difficult not to adore Lluw, really — he was beautiful, of course, but what was easy to love about him was the ease with which he carried himself, the way he lounged, the way he slept so many hours of the day, the way he laughed, the way he enjoyed things. Ian loved the lad to pieces, but it was easy, at times, to think of him as in-line with Pyramid and Castle and whatever the rest of the young cats aboard were called. He was cat-like in the way he stretched, the way he craned into someone’s touch, the way he relaxed and melted into you or all but purred when you rested your head against his chest.
Who was Ian to deny him anything?
“And if he is ugly?” he asked coolly. “If you lay eyes on him and haven’t the slightest interest in my buggering him?”
“I’ll still watch you beat him,” said Lluw sweetly, and Ian twisted his fingers in him, making him whine before he sat up on his knees and pulled Ian down to kiss him, pulled Ian on top of him so that Ian would mix his come with the stranger’s already dripping from him. “Will you fuck me?”
“Yes,” said Ian, and dragged his teeth down the side of Lluw’s neck, down toward his chest, sucked at one of his nipples and chuckled at the way Lluw arched, spreading his legs wider, clenched down on his fingers. “Whatever you want, lad. I always give you whatever you want, don’t I?”
“Mm,” hummed Lluw, and pressed his chest up into Ian’s mouth for more.
* * *
“Hastings,” growled Woodsley, and Jacob jumped up from his bench, staring at him, his hands at his side. “Report to the captain’s office, now. He wants to see you.”
Dread formed like an iceberg in the base of his stomach, sudden and cold and incredibly heavy, and he swallowed hard but then rushed to do as he was told, rushing down the corridor. He just wanted to get it over with, wanted to go in and get beaten and get told precisely what a nasty little cunt he was and to told he’d be cut loose once they made port again, just wanted it to be over and done with.
Wanted it to be over so badly, in fact, that he forgot to knock.
Throwing open the door, he tripped over the jamb as he came in, and almost fell onto the ground as he came inside. He stared across the room at Captain Chisholm, who was sitting at his desk with a pen in his hand, and at his cabin boy, who was dressed in shirt and trousers with a silk banyan overtop, belted around his waist.
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised that he doesn’t knock either,” said Captain Chisholm witheringly, and Jacob bowed his head and stared at the ground.
“I’m so — I’m so sorry,” he said. “I’m so, I’m so sorry, I didn’t think, I didn’t mean to — I never — ”
“Close the door,” said the cabin boy cheerfully. He had a warm voice, and when he smiled, dimples showed in his cheeks.
Jacob swallowed and obeyed, pushing the door shut.
“And lock it,” he added.
Jacob’s hand trembled, but he did as he was told.
“He’s thin,” commented the cabin boy. “Don’t you think, Captain? Isn’t he thin?”
“I suppose,” said Captain Chisholm.
“And passably handsome,” the cabin boy went on. “Not pretty and not remarkably attractive either, but not ugly.”
Jacob rubbed at his arm, feeling his eyes burn with threatening tears, and then he went on, “I’m so sorry. I know I can’t possibly apologise eno — ”
“I’m bored of that now,” said the cabin boy loudly, and looked to the captain. “Well? Aren’t you in charge, aren’t you going to ask him?”
“Am I in charge?” asked Captain Chisholm with a sardonic note to his voice, but he did set his pen aside and he did stand up from the desk, coming around it toward Jacob. Jacob was a little shy of five and eleven, but Captain Chisholm was a tall, exceedingly strapping man, nearly six and five, and he had a very thick beard and thick sideburns. The hair was thick on the top of his head too, and he had white streaks through it back from his temples; although he kept it trimmed down, it was probably thick under his hats, and Jacob knew he’d never get away with all that hair in the navy.
He had dark eyes, the colour of them such a dark brown it was hard to distinguish them from his pupils, and the effect was to make him seem either unusually engaged or glassy-eyed and defocused.
His cool expression implied that the truth was somewhere between one and the other.
“Mr Hastings,” said Captain Chisholm quietly, “am I correct in surmising it was you who was in my quarters early this afternoon?”
Jacob swallowed.
“Lluw was in here alone,” said Captain Chisholm. “Asleep.”
“L — Lou?” Jacob repeated.
“He can’t even pronounce your name,” said Chisholm in a tone of slight complaint, looking over his shoulder at Lluw, who smiled and leaned forward slightly, looking directly at Chisholm and nodding emphatically.
“Go on,” he urged, and Chisholm exhaled, looking back to Jacob.
“You’re a rapist, Mr Hastings?” asked Chisholm. “An opportunistic pervert?”
“I just, he just — He looked so, he looked so good, he’s so, and I just — ”
“Mr Hastings — ”
“Let him finish,” said Lluw.
“Given the evidence he left behind,” said Chisholm darkly, “I thought he already had.”
“Mm, but he’s about to say how beautiful I looked,” said Lluw. “How irresistible.”
Jacob stared down at the floor, and one of Chisholm’s superlatively large hands gripped tightly at his jaw and forced his head upward, making Jacob look at his face. “You heard him,” said Chisholm. “Say what he wants to hear.”
“He looked beautiful,” Jacob blurted out around the grip at the sides of his mouth, feeling the tension against his cheeks. “He looked — He looked so fucking, just soft, and warm, and pl — Plush, and comforting, and like, like people, erm, I mean…”
Lluw was smiling now, his head tipping to one side and then the other, his eyes sparkling. They were brown, only a little darker than his gingery hair, and they were big and full of mischief.
“He looked like…?” Chisholm pressed him, and Jacob squeaked out a noise at the pressure on either side of his face, the way it made his jaw creak.
“Like he’d be, um. Popular. At ports.”
“In brothels, he means,” said Lluw playfully. “Captain, your sailor’s calling me a whore.”
“No, no, I’m no — ”
“Why, you don’t think I’d do well as a whore?” demanded Lluw, his expression suddenly angry, offended. “You don’t think I’m desirable enough to pay for?”
“What? No, you are, you’re gorgeous — ”
Chisholm was looking back at Lluw as he started to smile again, his rosy cheeks full of warmth.
“You have a choice to make, sailor,” said Chisholm, letting him go. “You can put your hands flat on my desk and take sixty of the best I can give you. Or…” Chisholm scowled, staring down at him, and Jacob swallowed. “You can give me what you took from Lluw. Bend over my desk, and I’ll take my pleasure from you.”
Jacob stared at Captain Chisholm, huge, imposing man that he was.
“If you pick the second,” said Lluw behind him, “I’ll make it worth your while. You can fuck me again, if you let the captain have you first.”
“Fuck you again?” repeated Jacob, and his stomach flipped at the thought of it, at sinking into Lluw’s sublimely wet heat again and feeling the thickness of his thighs but awake this time, feel Lluw reach out and grip at him, tug him closer, even kiss his lips, taste his skin — He could barely breathe. “Yeah. Yeah, yeah, I’ll do that.”
“Was he listening?” asked Chisholm dryly.
“He agreed,” Lluw said, and eased himself off the top of the desk, his hips and his arse swaying as he came forward and took Jacob by the hand. His hands were soft, the sort of soft hands that had never done any form of hard labour that didn’t involve him on his knees or on his back, and Jacob’s mouth was dry as Lluw led him further into the room, behind the dressing screen. “Did you fix the window?”
“Uh, no, I just, um, I took the measurements,” said Jacob, glancing over to where the window had been braced and then fastened in place with a length of twine — they wouldn’t be able to open and close that window until they made port again, but at least there was no draught.
“Well, thank you,” said Lluw, and he said it in that husky, meaningful way that people sometimes did, when it was the implication that came before something else, when they were saying it flirtatiously, when there was going to be sex out of it. Not that Jacob had too much experience in this arena, not with people really — “Hey, sailor,” purred Lluw, suddenly close up to him, smacking Jacob lightly across the face, and Jacob shivered at the sting of his palm. “Take your clothes off.”
Jacob was obeying before he could even consider what else to do, even thought about potentially disobeying, because all he could think about with Lluw in front of him was Lluw’s body, the swell of his chest and what it’d feel like under his palms, his beautiful, plump lips and his pink cheeks that would become so much brighter if he fucked him, the curve of his arse, and fuck, fuck, his cunt. Jacob would crave more of Lluw’s cunt forever, he thought.
Lluw had walked away, and as Jacob dropped his clothes quickly over a chair, he stared at Lluw’s generous arse, his thick thighs, imagined Lluw on top of him, then imagined fucking him from behind, craved to reach out and touch him again.
Lluw turned back around, and Jacob swallowed at his loose trousers, which were belted around his belly, weren’t tight at his crotch in the same way but Jacob still thought about falling to his knees and mouthing at him through them, wondered if he’d be able to taste them through the fabric.
“Over you go,” said Lluw pleasantly, “you can brace your forearms on the captain’s chest.”
Jacob glanced at the clothes chest Lluw was gesturing to, and then at Lluw’s hands, at the length of rubber pipe he was holding in one hand, squeezing it in his palm and moving his fingers over the end nozzle, and the dark red rubber bag in the other.
“The fuck’s that?” he demanded.
“This?” asked Lluw, smiling. “It’s an enema bag. Captain Chisholm likes a clean ride, Jacob, and he’s a very big man. You’ll be glad of the enema once you’ve had it.”
“I’m not getting a fucking enema,” said Jacob, taking two stumbling steps back, suddenly cognizant of his hardening cock and putting his hands over it, and Lluw arched his eyebrows, looking innocent.
“Oh,” he said. “Well, if you don’t want to try another roll with me…”
Jacob’s heart skipped a beat, his stomach twisting.
“Ian,” said Lluw, “he wants the whip inste — ”
“No,” said Jacob. “No.”
Lluw’s eyebrows raised higher.
Setting his jaw, Jacob shuffled forward and put his elbows down on the top of the captain’s clothes chest, bracing his elbows on it. It was high enough that he could still keep his legs straight, but he was bent forward just a little bit more than was comfortable, but it was nothing compared to the strange feeling of the wet lube between his legs, the strange invasion of the nozzle into his arse.
He’d never been buggered before.
He didn’t know what to make of it, the push of the nozzle inside him, the smoothness and slight coolness of the pipe — his muscles moved without his consent, his arse clenching down on the nozzle the way he would at the toilet, trying to expel it, but it stayed in place, unmoving. It was a wholly odd sensation, unlike anything he was familiar with, and then he heard a sloshing pour followed by a glug-glug of water piling up.
Looking behind him, he saw Lluw had hung up the rubber bag on a hook, and he was pouring water from a jug into it.
“Wait,” said Jacob. “Wait, I, ah, ah — ” Oh fuck God shit fuck but it was the weirdest fucking thing he’d ever felt, the water rushing into him, feeling it flood into his arse. It wasn’t cold, but warm, and it was nothing like the occasional backsplash of water against his arse when he bathed naked — it was completely inside him, filling him, and he realised he was making humiliating noises as it flowed, rushing inside him. “Fuck, fuck, fuck, God, I can’t, I can’t — ”
“Oh, you can, bachgen, you can,” cooed Lluw, his beautiful soft palm settling on Jacob’s naked lower back and rubbing over the skin in a neat circle, his hand warm. “You are, see?”
Just a bit would have been alright, he thought.
Just a little bit, just as much as he’d had already but no more, but it just kept fucking going, more and more of it, and then he heard the jug glugging again, and he wailed in overstimulation and yeah, maybe a bit of fucking fear. “No, not that much,” he whimpered. “No, I can’t, I’ll die — ”
“You’ll not die, now,” said Lluw, patting his arse and then doing something to the bag so that the water suddenly flowed faster, pushing into him harder, and Jacob choked, scrabbling uselessly at the chest underneath him. It was heavy, so heavy he couldn’t stand it, and as more and more water flooded his guts he felt it fill him right up, felt it push inside him and fill him deeper than anything ever had before.
When his belly suddenly cramped, something twisting or stiffening at the weight of the water, he wailed, and Lluw laughed, his palm sliding from his back over his hip and then under him, over the surface of his belly.
Jacob let out a horrified noise as he realised that his belly was hanging a bit lower than it should have been, and he dipped his head to stare underneath him at the swell of it, made bigger by the water, weighed down by it. Choking on another cramp, he whimpered, because his cock wasn’t as hard as it had been, but he could see it bounce against the roundness of his belly where it should have been flat, smearing it with slick.
“Do you think we could make you as fat as I am?” asked Lluw in a pleasant, teasing tone, and then pressed down on the taut flesh. Jacob bit down on the howl that came out of him at the fucking pain, the way his whole abdomen clenched tighter at that, but why, why, did it make his cock harder at the same time?
He started to rub then, rubbed pleasant, soothing circles on Jacob’s belly the same way he’d been doing to his back, and at first it was soothing, took the painful edge off of the cramping, was warm and nice and made Jacob almost sob as he pressed his stomach into his palm for more, but then the cramping started up with a vengeance, and he realised that all Lluw was doing was encouraging the water deeper.
“There, that’s enough,” he said after Jacob had been cresting this wave of agony for some time, and eased the nozzle free.
“Wait, wait, don’t do that,” he whined, “I can’t hold it, fuck, I can’t hold it, stop — ”
“You don’t need to hold it,” said Lluw, but he slid his fingers over the ring of Jacob’s arse as he said it, pressed on the muscle in a way that made him squeak. “Captain’s head is just there, bachgen — you can make it three feet, can’t you?”
It felt like the longest distance he’d ever traversed, bent over, clutching at his slightly swollen belly, his knees apart as he hobbled, shuffled on the floor, clenching everything — his arse, his hips, his teeth, his fucking soul, desperate not to spill a drop, because if he spilt a drop, he’d spill it all.
When he shoved up the hatch and landed heavily on the seat he sobbed as he let go, felt the painful relief of it, his elbows on his knees, his breathing heavy.
He couldn’t make eye contact with Lluw, couldn’t look at him until he turned away and glanced around the screen and he could stare at Lluw’s arse again.
They were talking to each other, but it was low and quiet and he couldn’t make out the words, didn’t know what it was they were saying, could only focus on the impossible, strange relief as he voided his fucking guts out, left more empty than he’d ever been in his life.
When Lluw finally turned around, he said, “Done?”
“Y — Yeah,” mumbled Jacob.
Lluw’s smile was light sunshine, was one of the most painfully, agonisingly beautiful things that Jacob had ever seen. “Good,” he said brilliantly. “Time for the second round, then.”
Jacob felt even more like the pit had fallen out of his stomach, and shivered at the devilishness to Lluw’s smile.
* * *
Ian had never seen Lluw quite like this.
When he’d met him, he’d still been working out of that posh little university, working as a clerk in their admissions office and modelling now and then for the artists. He could read and write, and owing to the fact that his father and uncle had both been navymen themselves, he could read a map, he knew the fundamentals of a ship and sailing, and he knew sailors even though he didn’t want to be one.
Ian had pretended to mistake him for a whore when he’d made port, had clapped him on the arse, and Lluw had looked him up and down and instead of correcting him, had laughed and put on the act himself, had fluttered his eyelashes and climbed directly into Ian’s lap.
Over the past three years, he brought Lluw with him everywhere, kept him in the cabin or brought him ashore with him too — Loxley was his secretary, was training up for a real clerk’s position on another ship, but Lluw had given him a great deal of training thus far, and Lluw kept Ian’s cabin in perfect order, kept everything clean, neatly organised. He occasionally helped the accountant, too, and Ian couldn’t deny he felt relieved at times, when Lluw took on certain social duties with the passengers or the newly merchant sailors who’d come to the Budding Spring from navy vessels.
He knew that Lluw could be two-faced and deceptive, and he even loved it — Lluw would go around the ship and come back with all sorts of gossip burning a hole in his pocket, and Ian had witnessed him before soothe ruffled feathers and cool down tempers before they could reach their boiling points when it came particularly to the passenger dramas. He knew how to be subtle, how to comfort people when they were angry or when they were upset, and he knew how to stand up to people too — but this?
This wasn’t Lluw getting under some posh woman’s skin because he didn’t like how she’d been talking to her daughters, and it wasn’t Lluw biting at a parson who was being too catty with a veteran who showed no interest in his religious services, and it wasn’t even Lluw sitting back and watching a conflict he’d orchestrated and manipulated into coming to a head for his own entertainment.
He’d known that Lluw was a man who carried a bit of sadism with him, but he’d never seen it so concentrated in its direction, and he’d never known Lluw could be so cruel, so cutting, whilst also maintaining that beatific charm of his.
He spoke so softly and so sweetly to Jacob Hastings as he worked him through the second enema, chuckled when Hastings sobbed and gasped, laughed when Hastings begged for mercy. Lluw had a sparkle in his eyes, his lips shining where he was smiling, as he came back around the screen, hips swinging, almost dancing on his delicate little feet.
“You’re a menace,” said Ian in a low voice. “A sort of demon who pretends he’s just a beautiful young man.”
“Do you think I’m still young?” asked Lluw sweetly, as if he wasn’t still a year shy of thirty, and Ian reached out, catching his hand from underneath and bringing his hand up to his mouth, brushing his mouth over the backs of his knuckles.
“Very young,” said Ian. “The youngest and most nubile “nephew” a man could ask for.”
Lluw laughed, then pursed his lips together and tried to look like he wasn’t pleased, but there was pink blooming in his cheeks.
“I hope you realise I’m doing this for you,” said Ian coolly, “and you only. Not for that… man.”
“Why would you be doing it for him?” asked Lluw, seeming entirely baffled by it. “He’s nothing.”
Ian glanced back to Hastings as he came around the screen, his hands over his crotch to hide his cock, and Ian stood up from his seat, slowly pushing back his chair. He’d already cleared his desk off in preparation, and he watched Hastings’ nervous expression as he did as Lluw directed, bent over the desk, his elbows and forearms braced on the wood.
Lluw had wished he was thin, but Ian didn’t typically go for thin lads like this, boys with not much weight or meat to them — he was a big man, had a big cock, big thighs and hands, muscle packed all over his body, and he knew his own strength, knew how to control himself, sure, but when a man was built like Hastings and looked like a stiff wind could kill him, it was hard to fuck them and really enjoy it. Lluw was gorgeous and he bruised beautifully but not easily, his body was strong and well-padded, able to take everything that Ian felt like throwing at him with ease.
For once, looking at a lad like Hastings, skinny little fuck that he was, Ian had no thought at all as to the danger of hurting him. If Ian hurt him, so be it — if Ian thrust too hard and his cock popped out of the boy’s fucking mouth, ran him straight through and killed him by impalement, so be it.
Lluw was smiling indulgently as he slid his fingers into Hastings’ arse, slick with lube, and Hastings was moaning into his forearms. His voice was too deep for Ian’s liking — Lluw’s was low and warm, but not pitched in line with Hastings’ — but Ian’s cock still gave an eager twitch, was thick and swelling within his breeches. His cock wasn’t hard for Hastings, not even the moans he made or the way his little chicken legs spread at the push and shove of Lluw’s fingers in his arse. He was hard because whenever Hastings seemed as though he was suffering, whenever he whimpered or gasped or jumped in his place over the desk, Lluw seemed more pleased, and at one point, he put his other hand between his legs, palming over himself as he scissored his fingers.
Three of them — four of them.
“Do you think he could take my fist?” he asked casually, and Hastings whined desperately, shaking his head, but his cock was hard, and it jerked and sputtered out just a little clear thickness that dripped down onto the wood boards.
“Perhaps,” said Ian. “But that’s not what he’s here for, is it?”
Standing to his feet, he unbuttoned the front of his breeches, and Lluw beamed at him before wiping his lubricated fingers off on Hastings’ lower back. He hurried around the other side of the desk as Ian stepped forward.
He gave the lad no warning, no further preparation, didn’t bother to speak to him, just let his cock fall between his buttocks, let it rest in place. Hastings whimpered, the sound full of fear, and Ian hummed at the feel of his arse clenching underneath the shaft of his cock. It was quite open, slick with all of the attention Lluw had been paying it, and Ian leaned back just slightly, taking his shaft in hand and resting the head of his cock against the neat pucker of Hastings’ arse.
He was taller than Lluw, but he was little in most aspects, had thin shoulders, a thin waist, a thin body, a flat little arse with no particular definition to it, and his hole… It was open, just slightly, from Lluw’s attention, but not so open that it was easy when Ian pressed himself against it. It was nothing like Lluw’s hungry, eager cunt, nor even his slightly less hungry but no less greedy arse — pressing forward was an slight strain, more of a strain than he’d ever find acceptable with another partner.
This sort of push necessary and he’d ordinarily pull back, encourage whoever he was with to ease themselves down on him, to let them control the pace.
Ian didn’t particularly care for this little cunt, nor his boycunt.
He pressed forward smoothly, thinking he should be grateful for the great amount of paraffin greasing his cock, and groaned at the incredible sensation, so unspeakably tight it was like a vice grip around him. It wasn’t just the tight ring of the boy’s arsehole, wasn’t just the muscle, but the whole of his channel, the whole of it swallowing him tightly on all sides.
He could scarcely breathe as he bottomed out, sheathed himself entirely, felt his balls kiss against the boy’s.
“You look like you’re going to have a heart attack,” said Lluw serenely, leaning on the desk and not so much as glancing at the sailor between them. “Are you? I’ve never seen a man have a heart attack before. The sweat’s pouring off you.”
“Just because I’m not beating him doesn’t mean I can’t still beat you,” whispered Ian, trying to concentrate on his words and not on the inferno his cock was buried in, the tightest, hottest environment it had ever had the pleasure of enjoying — although right now, it was so intense that pleasure was almost left by the wayside. His heart was beating fast, and he was aware he was flushed bright red under his uniform, could feel the blotchy red in his cheeks, his chest, could feel that he was sweating. “Mock your captain again, young man, and you’ll find yourself bent over my knee as soon as I’ve finished buggering your sailor friend.”
Hastings moaned underneath him, moaned, “Please, please, please — ”
Ian gave a savage thrust forward, rocking his hips into Hastings, and the choked sound he made was desperate, animalistic.
“Shut up, Hastings,” Ian growled. “Not another word out of you.”
Hastings whimpered again, but to the little fuck’s credit, he held his tongue.
* * *
The enema had been nothing compared to the amount of cock he was full up with now.
Captain Chisholm was a big fucking man and his cock was big too, was so massive inside him that Jacob could barely fucking breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t do a goddamn thing but like there over the desk and whimper because of how much was stuffed inside him, and it was hot and hard and he could feel the pulse of his fucking heartbeat through it, could occasionally feel his cock jerk as he stayed buried in place.
Even his balls were superlatively large, making Jacob’s own balls feel fucking tiny in comparison, and he was breathing heavily, tears on his cheeks, his whole body soaked with sweat.
His big hands rested on Jacob’s waist, thumbs pressing right against his hipbones, and Jacob moaned at the way they talked over him, even though most of the words blurred together, so much so that he couldn’t really fully digest them, take them in.
“Have you ever been buggered before, bachgen?” Lluw asked him, and he didn’t even know what the fuck a back-gin was, but he knew he felt soft and warm and malleable with the way the word made him feel, the soft way that Lluw said it. “Have you ever had a man up your arse?”
Jacob shook his head, and Lluw chuckled, and his smile was beautiful, his palms warm where they cupped the sides of his jaw, tipping his head up toward his face.
“How does he feel, Captain?” asked Lluw.
“Tight,” grunted Captain Chisholm, and then slowly eased himself back.
Jacob moaned incoherently at the feel of it, the impossible slide and tug of Captain Chisholm’s cock against his walls as he drew back and then slammed forward, sheathing himself inside him, and then he did it again. Jacob’s brains were being liquefied, and possibly his guts, too, fuck his guts, probably every one of his organs with the amount of cock stuffed inside him, and his head was spinning.
“Back, back, u — Ian, hook his shoulders. Under his shoulders, use your elbows, yes, like that, da iawn.”
“Ridiculous,” muttered Captain Chisholm, but he hoisted Jacob back anyway, lifted him clean off the desk with his arms framed under Jacob’s underarms, and Jacob couldn’t help the wails that eked out of him, the sound that started low in his throat and wrenched out of him. Like this, held up just by Captain Chisholm who, it turned out, wasn’t actually a man at all and was obviously some sort of demigod or male Amazon, so fucking strong as he was, he was impaled on his cock, and when he looked down he started sobbing because he could see the imprint of Chisholm through his fucking belly.
“Oh, yes,” hummed Lluw, and he reached out with one of his delicate hands and pressed on the outline of Chisholm’s cock, showing a bulge from the flat line of Jacob’s belly, and the pressure of his palm was unspeakable, felt good, felt awful, felt like he was going to fucking die, felt like he’d go to heaven just beforehand.
Chisholm was grunting low in his throat at the effort of lifting him, and with every thrust of his hips Jacob was dropped down on him, so much so that his cock was leaking and he couldn’t concentrate on anything but that, anything but his fucking impalement, anything —
He didn’t know how long it lasted, his mind dulling to a bright fuzz for what seemed like an eternity before Chisholm hummed and then threw him back over the desk and started pounding into him. He was making deep noises, sounded desperate, and Jacob just had to take it, heaved in gasps whenever he could.
When he finished it was a hot, wet flood inside him, pulsed in a way the enema hadn’t, and Jacob felt dizzy when Chisholm finally drew back. There was come leaking out of him, dripping out of his fucked-open hole and over his balls, and he laid there for a few minutes, breathing heavily, trying to catch his breath back, trying to reorder his thoughts.
“Did he come?” asked Lluw, and Jacob blearily looked to where his voice was coming from, then pushed himself up on his palms when he realised that Lluw was already naked, reclining back on the pillows with his legs spread, his fingers playing over his clit. He was so wet he glistened in the evening candlelight, shining so pink he looked ready to eat.
“He didn’t,” said Chisholm, and Jacob bit his lip, pushing himself up and standing straight, his legs a little bit unsteady. He glanced back at Chisholm for permission, and Chisholm arched an eyebrow at him, his gaze cold.
“Are you going to fuck me or not, Mr Hastings?” asked Lluw, and Jacob swallowed, twisting around the desk and going up toward him, approaching the bed.
It felt weird. His arse felt open and raw and open and not, not bad, actually, and his cock was so hard he couldn’t stand it. He fell on top of the bed and he whimpered when Lluw gripped him tight by the hair and pulled him into a kiss, his lips plump and so soft he couldn’t help but sigh.
“There,” murmured Lluw against his mouth, his fingers playing over the side of Jacob’s neck. “Good, bachgen, good… Going to fuck me, yes? Going to satisfy me?”
“Yeah,” said Jacob breathlessly, nodding eagerly as he put his hands on Lluw’s chest, his belly, felt the pure heat of him and then went to cup his thighs, his arse. He let out a noise without meaning to, a soft, desperate sound, and rushed to line himself up.
Fuck, but he was just as soft and wet and wonderfully yielding as he was before, and Jacob was overstimulated from the fucking that Chisholm had given him, and Lluw was so beautiful and so plush and he was smiling and he clenched so sweetly when Jacob bottomed out and —
Lluw blinked several times at the strangled noise Jacob let out, trying not to shudder in his place, and then leaned back.
“Oh, dear,” he said softly, voice so blisteringly cool that Jacob wished he could crumble into dust. “Already?”
“I’m so sorry,” moaned Jacob, “I’m so, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry — ”
* * *
Ian had no objection to watching Lluw fuck other men, had often enjoyed it — one or two of his officers, Kant and Guthrie particularly, had sampled him before, and Lluw sometimes invited other men over at parties, or in bars. He enjoyed being admired, enjoyed fucking, and Ian had known other men that enjoyed having sex with others to embarrass or undermine their partners, but the most amusing thing about Lluw was that it really wasn’t that.
Many times, he’d observed Lluw make a man come or enjoy his attentions, and then sweetly and quite devastatingly say that he had a better man at home, or that whoever it was had served as the perfect appetitizer for his main course, so to speak, before he returned to Ian.
But apart from that sweet but venomous jabbing he did with strangers, he was sweet and warm and yielding, he was lovely. He was only ever submissive, only ever welcomed other men’s command, their attention.
With this boy, with Jacob Hastings?
This young man could tell Lluw to step out of a room on fire, and Lluw would likely raise an eyebrow and think twice before he did it.
“He already came?” asked Ian dryly. “That why you didn’t feel it earlier, because he got his fucking cockhead into you and popped his cork before he so much as thrust?” Hastings shuddered, bright red and looking humiliated, and Ian had to bite back the savage smile that came to his mouth, satisfied.
“I’m so sorry,” Jacob blurted out again, all apologies when he wasn’t raping sleeping men or blowing his load at a fucking gust of wind. “Let me, um, can I — With my mouth? Can I use my mouth to…?”
“Mr Hastings,” said Lluw, all sweet, poisonous condescension, “have you ever put your mouth on a man’s cunt before, hm? Would you even have the slightest idea what you were doing, or would you be fumbling with your tongue the same way you do with your cock?”
Ian stifled a chuckle at the way Hastings stumbled, stammering out vague noises that didn’t quite approximate to words, and Lluw pushed him back with two fingers on his chest, clucking his tongue.
“Captain?” asked Lluw, pouting out his lips and looking at Ian with his eyes big and wide. “Won’t you show him how it’s done? I want to come so badly, I enjoyed so much watching you. Isn’t it unfair that you’ve come, and he’s come so easily fucking me twice, and I haven’t gotten to come at all?”
“It’s very unfair,” agreed Ian, moving slowly forward.
“Won’t you show him how it’s done?” asked Lluw again. “So he’s good for something?”
Hastings let out a low, embarrassing sound, and Ian still held no fondness for him, would never, but it was difficult not to be engaged with Lluw’s excitement, Lluw’s eagerness to have Ian’s tongue on him, to show off how much Ian could please him where Hastings could never compare.
He fell between Lluw’s legs with his mouth open, put himself to work, and he’d be a liar if he said he didn’t take in Hastings’ wanting noises and desperate, focused attention as much as he did Lluw’s moans for more.
FIN.
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