Pirate's Tail

It hadn't been true that there was nothing more I could learn to heighten the pleasure in the fuck for both my partner, or partners, and me.

* * * *

"I am sorry I agreed to this now that it is happening."

"You need a radio operator for the ship. I must show my gratitude to you." I made the effort of placing my hand on Fons' arm. I needed him to think this was all to benefit him. He had used me again—cruelly as if he'd never see me again—in his bath that morning, my legs straddled on the sides of the porcelain tub, my buttocks resting on his meaty thighs as he closed his hands around my throat and rode me hard. He wasn't long, but he was thick. And, in erection, he was long enough to be felt. I usually maneuvered so that I straddled him and could control the rhythm, but he was excited this morning. And thus he was longer and harder than usual. His thrusts were harder than ever previously.

I had no doubt he wanted me to stay. But I was equally sure that I wouldn't be able to take much more of his cock—and the occasional meeting with Captain Rao as well. It was no contest which one of them I preferred.

"You show your gratitude to me," he said, letting a hand go to the small of my back. "You've become like a son to me." This made me wonder what he did with his son. "There's danger on the sea. I've instructed Dietrich to sail only at night and to come into a port during the day—to the extent he can. You'll be running up the horn of Africa to the Gulf of Aden, then into the Red Sea, and up the Gulf of Aqaba—to the port of Aqaba, under Ottoman control. From there the cargo goes overland through the Levant to Turkey. But I want you to be brought directly back to me in the Natal. I've instructed Captain VonKnussen to bring you back safe to me."

"Not sailing during the day when we can avoid it? Won't that take longer?" I had asked the question of him, quite cognizant of the hand at the small of my back, mindful of what we'd done in the bed before going to the bath that morning—of me in his lap, his hand at the small of my back, pulling me into him, on his cock. I shuddered. I was speaking to him but looking out beyond the harbor at Port Elizabeth, where Captain Rao's barque, the Devi, was already under sail. The instructions on the running of the Natal would help the Devi stay well ahead of us.

"Pirates," Fons said. "They have cleared most of them from the Indian Ocean that have lurked around Madagascar, in the Mozambique Channel, but not all. One, in particular, the pirate known as Big Jack, is still at large. Pirates, though, generally carouse at night, they do not pursue prizes. I've told VonKnussen to be very careful with you. I'm sure he will be."

And VonKnussen was very careful with me. He had me in his cabin and on his bed before we'd even cleared Port Elizabeth harbor—and he was careful that no one who might tell Hertzog he was fucking me discovered us. I did nothing to deflect him from getting his pleasure on my back—it was my pleasure as well. He was a tall, strapping Dutchman in good trim.

Showing me to his cabin, he placed his hands on my arms from behind, arresting my progress farther into the space. I knew even before then that he would cover me. I knew it from the way he looked upon me as he was welcoming me to his ship. I knew it from the way my loins reacted to him, wanted him. By now I fully knew my nature and interests—as well as my appetites.

"I know why Master Hertzog is so solicitous of your well-being, Geof Merriman," he whispered in my ear, bringing his lips close in. I leaned back into him. "He does not make much of a secret of who he wants . . . and who he has had."

"No, he doesn't," I answered quietly.

"It's a long, testing voyage to Aqaba."

"Is it?" I answered. "In some ways I like long and testing." I could hear his intake of breath. He was taking in the scent of my reddish-gold curls. Just that morning Fons had run his fingers through those curls, sharing his sweet-smelling shampoo with me, as I slowly rode his cock in the bath. I had lost all embarrassment of lying with a man. I was riding the cocks of other men by then—Hertzog's house steward and another young apprentice at the merchant's office and, occasionally, a man off the street who my loins took a fancy to and who signaled that he wanted me. And once a man had had me, he was wild for having me again.

The captain was quite right. It would be a long voyage, much too long to be celibate. My eyes had scanned the crew of the Natal. There were possibilities, but the captain himself was the one who stirred my loins the most.

"You have gained a certain reputation in Cape Town," he murmured. He kissed me on the back of my neck and I tilted my head, encouraging him to do so again, which he did.

"I enjoyed earning that reputation," I said. "The men who have ridden me have enjoyed my reputation too." We were past being coy about this. He was fondling my cock and balls through the material of my trousers. I covered his hand, but just to hold him there, not to try to repel him.

"I am, no doubt, longer than Master Hertzog. And I know I stand taller and am more handsome and in better form."

"That goes without saying," I said.

"And younger and more vigorous."

"There is much to be said in favor of a vigorous stroke," I answered. "You needn't sell me on your prowess with words, Captain. It would be better if you showed it to me in action. I am here, in your cabin, now."

Again the intake of breath. He didn't ask, which gave me a little thrill. He took. I heard first, the buckles of his suspenders hitting the floor and then felt him release mine. Our garments were puddled at our feet. He placed his hand on my naked lower belly and pressed in and up, both lifting me and pulling me back to him so that I had to go up on my toes. His hand was broad, strong, calloused.

The steely grasp of his hands squeezed me, as if I might resist, and then it was my turn to gasp and take in my breath at the sharp pain and immediate sensation of being penetrated and filled without further prelude to the act. He was big, thick. I rolled my buttocks up even more to him to ease the slide of him up into my channel. The entry was long and slow, taking my breath away, making me moan deeply. By now I was well used, well able to accommodate him, my walls quick to respond and open to the invasion, grabbing his cock and pulling him inside me.

He laughed a low, guttural laugh. "It goes right in. You're a little whore."

"Yes," I answered.

"You have been covered by many more men than Hertzog."

"Yes. Does that disgust you?"

"No, it excites me. You must be well experienced in the coupling."

"Experience enough to give you pleasure, I wager."

He held one hand there, on my lower belly, pressing and releasing to match the stroking of his cock inside me. His other hand went to cupping my chin, holding my head into the hollow of his neck.

At first he took me carefully, deliberately, slowly, from behind, embracing me tightly with his muscular arms, ever solicitous of whether or not he was too deep inside me or pumping me too hard. He wasn't initially.

He groaned. "You pull me in, caress it with your inner muscles. Where did you learn that?"

"What does it matter?" I whispered. I don't know if he would be disgusted to know that I had learned it from Indians—Rao and Ajit—as secrets of the East. "It only matters that it gives you pleasure."

"Which it surely does—it surely does. Not a whore, no. A courtesan."

I liked the sound of that—not just a whore, but a courtesan. That's what I wanted to be, a courtesan to men. Rao and Ajit were teaching me many secrets of making love to a man's cock that would help me in that way. I turned my face to his and we kissed deeply. I took my hand off my own cock, which I had been slow stroking, and moved both hands to his buttocks, the orbs pressing into me and then releasing in the rhythm of the fuck. I clutched his buttocks, squeezed, and pressed my fingertips into his tender flesh. VonKnussen groaned, his grip on me tightened, and his cock moved deeper inside me with the next thrust.

He was indeed younger than Fons and more handsome, and longer, if not thicker. And he was sweet and clean smelling—and such a relief after the older Dutch munitions broker. When he bent me over his bed then, the stroke became more vigorous.

"Yes," I murmured. "Even harder, please. Take me hard; make me suffer."

He held my hips in his hands as I lay my chest on his bedspread, extended my arms, fisted the material of the bed linens and luxuriated in a man who was more of a man than Fons Hertzog was. He slowly became rougher, more cruel as the pace of the pump increased. He was a hard-worked man, virile, powerful. He stroked me hard and fast. He didn't handle me like a porcelain doll, but roughly, pounding me with force, like I was a seasoned whore and could take all that a virile man could provide. And I could take him. I cried out repeatedly, passionately, with deep pleasure, until we both gave a cry, ejaculated, and he fell on top of me on the bed, not leaving me, letting me luxuriate in the feel of him going flaccid inside me.

If I had a cabin assigned to me on the Natal, I never saw it. I slept in Captain VonKussen's bed—under Captain VonKnussen.

For five nights, as the wind took us up the western coast of Africa, I rode VonKnussen's cock in his cabin after twilight and before he went on duty for the night sail, and then I went to the radio room, did all of the messaging he had given me, and, as the last act for the evening, radioed the Natal's position to the Devi. With luck, I reasoned, the Devi was already far north of us considering how leisurely and careful our progress was.

* * * *

The pirates struck as soon as the Natal entered the Mozambique Channel, north of Madagascar and south of the Comoros Islands. The fight was short and relatively bloodless—or so I was told. The Schooner sailed with fewer than twenty hands. Two of those—the captain, Dietrich VonKnussen, and the radio operator, I—were busy fucking on the captain's bed in his cabin when the pirates crawled over the gunwales.

We had already done it once, but he had still been hard when he had seeded me, so he was late going to the helm. I had been on my belly, on his bed, naked, with moonlight streaming through the large, multipaned bay window in the bow of the ship and making my fair skin and blond head and pubic hair glisten. Kneeling beside me, he was running his hand over the contours of my back and between my thighs, giving my cock and balls attention. He sucked in air as his attentions made me slowly press in with my knees and raise my buttocks to him. "Plow me again," I whimpered. "Cover me and plow me."

"You are such a whore," he whispered.

"So, you don't want me?" I asked, with a low laugh.

"Of course I want you," he answered in a guttural voice. He straddled me and fucked me like a dog, but it didn't dissipate his heat. He wanted more. Very soon after that he was on his back, his head resting on his bent arms, smoking a cigar, and watching me as I straddled his hips and rode his cock. There wasn't even enough of a sound from the brief scuffling outside of the pirates hoisting themselves over the sides from their attack skiffs to disturb my ride or VonKnussen's enjoyment of it.

The first I knew was the door to the passageway and the pirate captain standing there, magnificent of body, clad only in a loincloth.

"Captain Rao," I exclaimed, in surprise.

"Big Jack at the moment," he answered in a booming voice, a grin plastered across his face.

Other pirates came streaming into the cabin and bore a swearing VonKnussen away. I was assured that none of the Natal's crew had sustained more than minor injuries and that all had been set adrift in a skiff close enough to land for them to reach Madagascar by morning.

I had no means of checking this out, as Big Jack was taking up where VonKnussen left off. He not only appropriated VonKnussen's cigar, but he moved into position between my legs as well, fucking me hard and deep. I was too busy moaning and sighing to spend much time fretting over what had happened and why—and why I was still on the ship when the others had gone over the side.

When Big Jack had finished me—and himself—and permitted me up on deck, the Devi was lashed to the Natal and wooden boxes from the Natal's hold were being transferred to the Devi. One case was dropped and shotguns fell out.

"Winchester M12 shotguns, American make," Big Jack explained. "Hertzog had obtained them to transfer them illegally to Turkey—to the Ottomans. My friends in Bombay have greater need for them. A pan-Indian mutiny in the British Indian Army is afoot to rise from the Ghadar Barracks."

Stupid me. I should have realized that a priority sailing of goods in time of war by someone dealing in munitions would be military weapons. But Captain Rao had had me bamboozled. Neither I nor anyone else in Cape Town, I'm sure, had realized that the captain of the barque Devi that had shown up in South Africa was really the pirate Big Jack of the Mozambique Channel.

Speaking of being had, Big Jack transferred me to his cabin on the Devi and had me, deep and hard, while his crew completed the cargo transfer, set fire to the Natal, and pushed it off into the channel. I didn't care as long as the captain was fucking me. I even was naïve enough to believe that I hadn't been sent off with the crew of the Natal—assuming they'd been sent off at all in a skiff rather than to a watery grave—because Big Jack was going to recruit me for his crew and plow me regularly.

When I suggested as much, saying I was willing, Big Jack snorted. "Why would I let loose of the son of a deputy governor-general and lover of a rich arms merchant? Why, you're worth your weight in gold in ransom."

"That can't be it," I cried out. "You wouldn't do that with me."

"Let me show you what I'd do with you," he said, with a laugh.

Bending me over the bed, grasping and spreading my legs into the splits on the bed, and covering me close from behind, he showed me.

An hour later he showed me in a different way. His crew was receiving their reward for a well-executed pirate attack—aided in no small way by my nightly reports to them on the Natal's position. I was in the forecastle of the Devi, prominently positioned, stretch on a saw horse-configured stand, wrists and ankles bound on the four legs, bare ass waving at one end, while the crew of the Devi was given its way with me at both ends, each sailor, in turn, as they wished, and being sailors they all wished. Big Jack's confederate, Ajit, who I knew from the tavern and who had intimately known me there, was the man who conveyed me to the forecastle and was the first to plow me, bound, on the apparatus. Saddling up behind me, each man who wanted to fucked me and slathered me with his seed and then gave over to the next and then the next and then back to the top of the order. The stream ran from face fucking me to get their cocks hard to my ass to get them soft again.

Big Jack didn't take me into his bed again. He gave me to the crew for their use for the next ten days, as the Devi sailed around the edge of the Indian Ocean, destined for Bombay. When the crewmen discovered that I would willingly take them, singly or in quick succession—or even two at once—and would fully join in the fuck, they released me from the various constraints they had been using and I was given the run of the ship, becoming one of them with the exception that they were masters and I the slave.

A ransom demand had been radioed off to Cape Town, but Big Jack became antsy about arrangements to hand me over and, instead, sold me to a desert Sheik in Muscat and Oman as the Devi sailed past the base of the Arabian peninsula before making the curve around to Persia.

It's another story of harrowing adventure and the taking of men's cocks of how I was traded across Arabia, but I eventually made my way to Aqaba, where the Natal had meant to take me in the first place, where I subsequently was liberated from Ottoman slavery by the Arab Revolt in July of 1917, led by Auda ibu Tayi, assisted by the British soldier and spy, T. E. Lawrence. Lawrence of Arabia was quite a man, and a favorite in bed of the leaders of the Arab Revolt as, upon liberation, was I. But that is another story altogether, one that I have yet to tell. Let it be said, though, that Arab men made me forget the talents of Big Jack Rao altogether and erased any desire that I had to return to Cape Town, South Africa. They had nothing on Rao in size, but they had technique that matched what Rao taught me—technique that made all of the difference in the world.