The Pirate King Ch. 01

He tortured me like that for what felt like eternity, going as slow as possible, watching me squirm, and curse, and beg. In time even he couldn't handle it and he began to pick up speed, falling into a rhythm of moans and curses and fucks and please, sirs, until we became a blur of cock and curse and pleasure and I couldn't tell where one thing started and the other thing began.

"Touch me," he cried out, and my hands lept from the headboard where they had been gripping, obeying, bone white. I grabbed him tight, wrapped him up like before and pressed him deep, and we cried out together as he came inside of me.

We lay there for a moment, breathing, panting. Then he pushed himself to stare down at my body with that same mixture of confusion and desire he had on his face earlier. He gently pulled out and I gasped as his member slide from my sensitive body. He traced the gaping hole he had left. We both felt it close around his finger.

He looked up at me. "Fuck," he said softly.

He collapsed next to me, tracing my body with his fingers. My hands now free, I found his hand and entwined my fingers with his, pulling his fingers to my mouth. I kissed his hand, then his fingers, then gently bit the inside of his wrist.

"Fuck, do you want more?" he laughed.

"I think I'll always want more of you," I told him, because it was true and because I was flooded with endorphins.

He propped himself up on his elbow and watched me. I let him, because there was nothing to see but me, and I wanted him to see me. Eventually he leaned over and kissed me, softly, gently, and I let him do that too.

"Hey," I asked him when he pulled away, "what's your name?"

"Fuck," he laughed. Then he thought a bit and said it again, and it didn't sound as humor filled. "Fuck." He pulled away. "Shit, I'm sorry."

"For what?"

"For." He gestured vaguely. "This doesn't feel good."

I laughed at that, endorphins still rushing through my system. "I thought it felt pretty good."

"No, not like." He sighed and sat up. I followed his lead, pulling my bulk up after him. "I feel like I just used you, somehow."

That got him a raised eyebrow. "Used me?"

"Yeah, you know. I'm the captain."

"And?"

"And the captain shouldn't be having sex with the prisoners."

"I'm not a prisoner." I had never been a prisoner, could never be. But he misinterpreted my argument.

"Technically, you still are. We have to take a vote, to see what we do with you. We're democratic."

"Okay. So I'm a prisoner." I shrugged at him.

"Yeah." He pointed at himself. "And I'm the captain."

"You already said that." I smirked at him. "If you feel like you used me, that kind of implies that you wanted this all along, doesn't it?" I felt lazy. Felt drained and happy where I was. Safe. Safe enough, maybe, to needle this man a bit. "When exactly did you know you wanted to fuck me, Captain?"

He looked away. "All I'm saying is, there's a power dynamic here. You could have. I don't know, felt like you had to do what I asked." He looked down at his pointing hand, still pressed to his chest.

I wanted to laugh at him, at the statement he had just made. I was still caught up in what had just happened, trapped in a web of satiated desire and the false tranquility that came after. As if this man could have made me do a single thing I didn't want to do. As if anyone could. But he looked so concerned, so guilty, that all my laughter disappeared from my lungs. Instead, I found myself telling him the truth, a new habit I'd picked up in his presence that I wasn't very fond of. "I would have done what you asked," I told him quietly, "no matter who you were."

He went very still.

"If you were the first mate," and I took his hand in mine, "or a deckhand," and I grabbed his waist, "or a scullery boy." I lifted him into the air, and he squeaked. It was a ridiculous sound to come from the captain of these pirates, these big tough baddies, and I smiled softly at him and put him down on my lap facing me. He tried to push away, weakly, and I captured his hand and put it behind his back. When he tried with his other hand, I put it behind his back too, and was pleased to find I could hold both his wrists in one hand. With my free hand I smoothed back his hair, taking my turn now to search his face, to watch him think through options, think through scenarios of what I could do now that I had him. He pushed against my hand with his wrists, and I pushed back, let him know that he couldn't break free. At the realization he made a small noise and I couldn't help it, I had to kiss him.

He looked dazed when I pulled away. "You're dangerous," he said.

I couldn't not agree with that.

"You make me dangerous." He searched my face one last time, then shook his head. "Let me go," he said, and I knew it was a command and did it. "We need to get cleaned up."

I looked down at myself, his cum still dripping out of my ass. "I kind of like how I am."

He closed his eyes for a second. "Let's go," he finally managed.

He walked me to the washroom, keeping at my side the whole time. It was a private suite as part of his captain's quarters. I took it in, noting the mirror, the private toilet, the full basin of clean water set out for a nightly wash. I walked in, expecting him to leave, but he simply crossed his arms. I kept my back to the wall and moved forward. "A bit of privacy, perhaps?"

He shook his head. "I'd rather you weren't out of my sight."

"Why not? Afraid I'll come after you?" He frowned at me. "Afraid I'll find something something like this," I picked up a straight razor from its box, "and try to kill you?"

It was meant as a joke. I thought I was dreaming, I think. It's the only explanation for how I'd been acting, for my careless words and even less careful actions. I was a planner; I planned. I knew what would happen when I picked up a knife.

So I shouldn't have been so surprised when he grabbed a weapon of his own.

"You don't need that," I said, watching him get ready to fight. He eyed me warily. "See?" I put down the razor, raised my hands in submission. My knees dropped to the floor for him, one after the other, an action I had never taken for any being before. He watched me submit. "I already told you," I reminded him quietly, "I'll do anything you ask." I saw the hunger glowing in his eyes.

He slammed the door in my face.

I stayed there for a moment, processing the moment of desire and lust I'd read on his body before he'd closed me in. Then I shrugged and got myself cleaned up. There was nothing I could do about that now.

The Captain didn't look at me as I emerged from the bathroom, dripping and clean, just pushed past to clean himself. I didn't understand his sudden change in attitude, but I felt a twinge of concern that it had been brought on by something I had said. I settled myself in bed and hoped.

He'd taken clothes with him into the wash room. He emerged in that same light shirt, same tight pants, and I was shocked by how much he still took my breath away. I had just seen him naked, had just watched him -

I stopped my thoughts, swallowing hard. He caught my look and scowled.

"I need to tie you back up," he said, all business, but my breath caught in my throat. "You're still a prisoner, and you just tried to attack me."

"I didn't -"

"It was stupid to untie you in the first place." He wasn't looking at me, just gathering what he needed.

I shrugged. He was in some sort of a mood. I leaned back and offered up my wrists.

"Really," he continued, "You should be in the cells. You should be in irons."

I sat right back up and pulled my wrists into my body. He was staring out the window, watching the night stars dip and pull against the fabric of the sky.

"Put me in irons," I said, my voice as quiet and still as the darkness he watched, a completely different voice than the one he'd heard all night, "and I will never speak with you again."

It was an odd threat, coming from my lips. But you should never threaten someone unless you plan to follow it through, and I would never kill this man, or hurt him in any way, so this was the threat that came.

He turned to look at me, then, saw my face and, I think, saw that what I said was true. Or at least that I meant for it to be. "Okay," he said quietly. "Ropes." And he might have been doing it to make me more comfortable, but really, what was my comfort to him? I let him tie me. Knots couldn't hold me, but he didn't know that yet, and his knots were as good to me as instructions to follow. He made the motions mechanically, not looking at my body, not looking at my face that lay so close to his, but the shake of his hands gave him away. When he was finished, he sat back.

I tugged gently against the ropes, settling to a more comfortable position.

"Stop it," he asked me, his eyes closed. I stopped. "I'm sorry," I said. "I just needed to move." He nodded without letting his eyes open. He waited until he was sure I was done, then made his way to his side of the bed. Only then did he actually look over at me in full.

"Shit, your pants."

I looked down at my still naked body. "Will it bother you?" I watched emotions go to war on his face. Eventually, practically or selfishness won out, and he let me be. He blew out the candle and sat on the edge of the bed.

In the cover of darkness he spoke. "I'm sorry for the way that I acted tonight. I should have been more in control."

"I don't know what you're apologizing for," I tried, but he cut me off with a firm, "Be quiet." I was glad I couldn't see his eyes.

"You deserve to be treated better." I disagreed, didn't understand what he was talking about, but his instructions had been clear. I heard him get settled under the covers. "Now, go to sleep."

He was asleep before the I could think to say anything else.

I felt the ship lurch around me, comforting and known. Outside, the night sky held a thousand stars, and the sea was endless.

I looked up at my bound hands, then at the sleeping man beside me. Things were not going according to plan.

Not at fucking all.