Rolling Seas

The storm had finally settled, the night had come in quickly, and the adrenaline of almost being on the bottom of the ocean had finally started to dissipate. Tiredness washed over not just me but everyone as they made their way to the lower bunks.

I had one last job before I could tuck myself in with everyone else. Our food rations had split open, and dried meat tins and cuts lay on the floor. As a sign of goodwill, I aided the cook in collecting our food back up into the kitchen. The Captain tapped my shoulder as he walked to his quarters in silence, enjoying the fact that we were all still alive for the moment. Other men moved past me, some tapping my shoulder also before they disappeared into the darkness of the other rooms to go to sleep in the hammocks.

Before long, the tins were collected, the meat was stored back to where it should be, and the cook gave me an extra helping of gin as a thank you for helping out. I was more of a floater, moving to whoever needed my help, and in return, I got a little more of a good life compared to the others.

The cook smiled as he took the left for his own room, locked away with the ship doctor on the opposite side of the decks with the men. I took a swig of my dry, metallic gin; it wasn't good compared to that on the mainland, but the burn spread to my limbs to warm my cold body. I was too busy enjoying my small helping before hands held my waist softly, I knew who it was, but I still jumped out of the hands and moved away.

Peter stood in front of me with a menacing smirk, like he enjoyed my shock. "What the fuck are you doing? What if someone were to see?" I asked, looking behind us to ensure we were alone.

"Calm down, my boy. No one but us and God." It was a whisper, but it felt like the bellows of a banshee.

"Don't say that!" I grunted back with gritted teeth.

I moved towards the bunks before being pushed into the cabin beside me by a solid hand from Peter. He closed the wooden door, trapping me in the small cabinet filled with shelves and spare clothes. We were hardly in a space that was silent from the outside, but better than where we were.

His rough hand held the gold cross that haloed around my neck, my most expensive personal item left by my mother. "I forgot, you can be a whore for a man, but the Lord's name in vain is a big no- no." He wagged his finger in my face condescendingly, and I pushed it away with a roll of my eyes.

"I'm no man's whore." I mumbled, hiding my face by looking past the man who had trapped me in the storage cabinet.

His hair was tied back, his large winter coat was missing, possibly in the pile of wet, cold clothes that needed to be dried in front of a fire. The tattoos that were burnt into his skin had started fading, a warning that he had been a pirate in another life, but had survived the gallows to work for the Navy. His skin was noticeably more tanned than mine. The first time he had me, he said I was white, glowing like an angel, but I brushed it off with a blush at the time.

Nodding at my comment, his face didn't look convinced. "Then shout."

"What?" I asked, shocked he would even mention bringing attention to ourselves.

"If you're no man's whore," he paused dramatically, pushing a lock of hair out of my face as he leaned in closer. His nose bumped mine, his hand threaded into my hair to hold me still. "Shout you're no man's whore, and that there's a Molly in here trying to get the good Christian boy to bend over for him."

Lips touched mine, not soft or gentle, hard and with a purpose. His beard scratched my skin deliciously, burning, and pulling me in for more. I could have screamed, but I didn't want to; my mouth opened to feel his tongue against mine. He also tasted like gin; he must have finished his last portion and came looking for me like I could make him forget his misery like the gin could.

With rough, hard hands, he held my head in a twisted, clenched fist, and the other wrapped around my waist to pull my body to his. He was huge, much larger than myself with more years of heavy lifting and hard labour under his belt. I held his arms tightly, his forearms supporting me as the grip on my hair pulled me tighter and higher than I was tall.

When he was done with me, he dropped me back on my feet and pulled at my trousers. I wanted to tell him no, tell him that the last time was the last time he would ever have me. I would get home, find a nice girl, and she would make a husband out of me, except I didn't. I let him pull at my clothes until he exposed my cock. He did the same to himself, harder than myself as he enjoyed the little game of chase more than I had. I knew he liked the chase more than I did, and I played his game without even knowing it.

Peter put both of our cocks together in one hand, thrusting into his tight, rough grasp. The precum spilling from the head of his cock nudged mine, slicking my cock until the grasp had become fluid and soft. I didn't need to thrust into his hands as his thrusts combined with his fist moving was enough to pull a small moan out of me.

"Sh. Shout or silence, my boy." He chuckled, happy he was winning a game he couldn't lose. He fingered the cross again before pushing it between my lips. "Suck on that, keep you quiet." He winked, and the idea of doing something so profane to something so scared felt wrong, vile, and against everything I had been taught when I accepted the gold Cross into my mouth and sucked as he had instructed.

Doing as he instructed caused him to continue, and to silence himself, he hid his face in my neck. He panted and gasped, my skin breaking out in goosebumps. If it were all real, then Peter's pants of lust would be the only sin that could be considered Holy. It always sounded guttural, like he was grunting from deep in his chest, breaking through the silence imposingly.

Moving away to spit on our cocks, the warm spit made the sound of the squelching louder, but the feel was only more euphoric. He pushed his face back into my neck to press kisses and nips to my neck, sure to not cause bruising or any noticeable marks. A man who had escaped the gallows before knew better than to tease them with his return. The Cross in my mouth danced around a tongue struggling to keep the moans inside my throat as each nip and suck dragged more pleasure out of me.

"I want to take you again." The words are surrounded by prayer, and like a priest, I heard them alone with a quick nod.

We had to be careful; if anyone was to see us now, then we could escape with tarnished names, but being caught like that would ruin us. I couldn't handle myself, I needed him more than I needed to be an unruined man. I knew better than to speak in my condition, and instead pulled his head to mine, pushing the cross into his mouth so it may twist and stir in both of our mouths. It felt less like a sin, and more a perfect cleansing of our filthy mouths and bodies.

He pulled away from me and spun me round, I leant over the shelves instinctively to present myself to Peter. I watched as he pulled a small bottle out of his pocket, his small black bottle of olive oil, a better slick for both of us. I had asked him where he got it before, scared he may have stolen it from the cook, and we would be caught. He laughed and told me he brought it for himself as he moved his wrist in a wanking motion.

Slavering his own red, twitching cock with the golden liquid before pressing his fingers to my hole. He pushed into me unceremoniously, one finger and then two. It was painful at first, the stretch being forced open, but the spark of pleasure from the sensitivity of my hole forced me to bite the clothes in front of me to keep my moans silent.

Even with the rushed nature of his fingers, I was thankful for him trying to open me slightly before his cock. He reached inside of me and pressed until he found the spot that made my knees weak and my jaw tighten until the Cross was indented on my tongue against the cloth. He pulled away from me before he pushed his cock into me, a hand on my hip and the other on my shoulder so I couldn't pull away as he pushed deeper.

In one long thrust, he forced my body to accommodate him and bared me to him entirely. He was big, bigger than I could handle at first, and I breathed quickly, trying to relax. Not waiting for my command, Peter moved in small thrusts. The glide of his cock inside me was enough to help me relax, I loved the feeling of him moving in and out of me. My blood burnt hot, the pain subsiding until it felt like he could force my body to feel enchanted by him.

I held onto the cloth by my head, needing to hold onto something to ground myself and remind myself not to moan at the feeling. He seemed to take this as a sign as he sped up, trusting longer, deeper than before in a controlled by quick thrust. I hated how much he took care of me, taking his time to make sure I could enjoy our sin as much as he could. A part of me wished I hated it so I'd never want it again, but I don't think I could live without it now that I had taken a sip from the delightful poison.

My body buzzed with lust, I let him fuck into me like a rag doll just accepting the pleasure. I didn't want to move, I didn't want the pleasure to end as it raced through me and made my limbs almost numb in eroticism.

Peter leant over me, pounding harder and in shorter thrusts, his lips against my neck once again. "So fucking good, my boy, better than the most gifted whore on the mainland. I'll have to dress that pretty face up and make you my wife when we get back."

While the thought of being in a corset made my stomach turn, Peter acknowledged we would continue when we're finished this trip, when we get back. When we reached the mainland, Peter had no money, but he could find a pretty young thing to keep him company. An angel must have heard my prayers to be his pretty young thing.

I let Peter hold me, unclenched my hands from the cloth and reached back to hold the back of his head. The cropped, blond hair felt rough under my hand, but it was Peter under my palm, so I loved the feeling as though my body relied on it to survive. He growls into my neck, feeling me hold him, wet kisses and a lapping tongue pushed against my skin.

My other hand pushed below our hunched stance to drag a closed fist over my aching, begging cock. It all felt like too much, the Cross pushed into my tongue, sharp and delicate just like Peter. My body burnt, and I matched the pace of my hand to Peter's sharp jabs. My hole, my cock, my neck, my tongue, all of it used and abused for my pleasure.

"Cum for me, my boy, I want to feel you cum on me." The filth in his tone and words made me whimper, and I chased my climax trying to follow his instructions.

I wanted to be good for him, and his demand was enough to paint my palm in white globs of my bliss. The hot, white pleasure vibrated through my body, and Peter held my weak body against his. Thrusts were now harsh, Peter was chasing his own release as his cock pounded into my cum tightened hole.

His large arms wrapped around my body like a bear hug, holding me up as he groaned in pleasure in my neck. I could feel my hair move with his pants, and my own arms reached forward again so he could let me go without my body crumbling onto the floor like an old rag.

As he released me, his hands came away, and my body turned cold without his body against mine. I wanted to be held, but I knew I couldn't, not now but maybe one day on my mainland when we had our own place. We separated from each other, and my hole felt empty without Peter inside of me, but we needed to leave and go to bed.

As he pulled his clothes into place he whispered with joy in his tone. "I guess I'm right." He chuckled, pulling the Cross from my mouth. I felt silly, I hid the necklace under my shirt, which caused him to laugh softly again.

"Let's go to bed," I muttered, pulling my clothes over myself once again.

He pressed a soft kiss to my cheek, delicate and pure. He smiled and left me in the storage room. I pressed my fingertips to my cheek where he pressed his lips, smiling to myself.