A Pirates Life

I was halfway through my bowl at supper when a voice growled behind me.

"Stowaway. You're on bucket duty."

I turned to see Rook, the quartermaster, glaring down at me, arms folded over his massive gut. His shirt was open, stained, sweat clinging to the hair on his chest even with the evening air cooling.

"Report to Flinn and the twins after mess. Captain wants the crew clean. Says filthy men spread sickness..."

He leaned down, breath hot, "And sick men can't fuck, fight, or sail."

He turned and walked off, scratching under his belly as he went.

Titch grunted, abandoning his pot and rummaged around before pulling out a few lumpy, yellowish bars wrapped in scrap cloth.

"Here," he said, thrusting them into my hands. "For the washing."

I stared at the bars, turning them over in my palm.

"You made soap?" I asked, confused.

Titch let out a wheezing laugh, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Yes, boy. I make food and I make soap. Both'll clean your insides, just depends which end I shove it in." He winked.

I nearly choked on my last bite of stew, drawing snickers from the men nearby who'd overheard.

"That's... resourceful," I managed, pocketing the lumpy bars.

"Aye, waste not want not. Save the fat, mix it with lye from the wood ash, boil it up with a bit of this and that." He tapped his nose. "My secret ingredient keeps the men from smelling like dead fish."

By the time I got on deck, the sun was already low, bleeding orange into the waves. Flinn was waiting barefoot, shirtless and grinning from ear to ear.

"Knew you'd be assigned," he said. "Come on, ginger, you're on scrub squad. Gotta feeling you're gonna love it though."

Knox and Reeves, the twins, were at the side, already hoisting the first barrel of seawater from the waves. Their backs gleamed with sweat and spray, muscles shifting as they hauled.

Flinn passed me a rope. "Get pulling."

It was brutal work. The barrel creaked with the weight of the sea, but between the four of us, we got it up and wedged on a stand.

He pointed to a ragged cloth and a pile of what looked like yellowish pulp. "Captain gets the citrus rub after. No one else. Makes his balls smell better than ours."

"Does it work?" I asked, half-laughing.

Knox grinned. "All I know, is it's our job to rub it in."

The deck hushed slightly when the Captain emerged from his quarters.

He walked tall, composed, and stripped his coat and shirt, folding and dropping them into the linen bucket. As undid his breeches, I saw his thatch of dark hair. He pulled the laces wide, dropping them to the floor before stepping out of them.

Naked, he stepped toward the barrel. He was a man built by battle and years at sea, broad but lean, with scars down his ribs and thick dark hair speckled with grey ran across his chest and thighs. His cock and balls hung heavy between his thighs, resting in a matt of thick public hair.

He took the sponge from Reeve's hand, dipped it, and began scrubbing. Methodical. Arms. Chest. Pits. Arse. Cock. He lifted it, scrubbed beneath with the same efficiency, then sluiced himself with a ladle of seawater.

When he was done, he nodded once.

Flinn nudged me. "That's our cue."

We stepped forward with the citrus pulp. Hands trembling slightly, I knelt beside the Captain and rubbed it across his thick thighs.

He didn't speak, just let us work.

I glanced up, and for a moment, our eyes met. I swallowed, my throat dry, and continued my work.

After a few moments we gave another nod and we stepped away as he strolled naked back to his cabin.

Knox muttered behind me, low and dry: "Well I'm hard."

Reeves elbowed him. "You're always hard."."

"Me too though," Flinn admitted with a shrug. "Captain's furry arse is perfection."

After that, the queue began.

The rest of the men weren't nearly so dignified. Some stripped slow, showing off. Most didn't bother with modesty, just tossed their breeches down and strolled up with their cocks swinging free.

"Who's first?" Flinn called.

Jace stepped forward. "You like the show this evening?" he teased, jerking his cock a few times before grabbing a sponge. "Saw you two up there. Better view than you deserved for free."

A few men scrubbed themselves and left. Others wanted help.

"Oi, stowaway," Harrow called, already nude. "Scrub my back? And don't get any ideas, unless they're good ones."

"Sure."

Then Blackburn stepped forward, peeling his shirt off like a snake shedding skin. His cock swung heavily between his legs, thick and veined. "Look at that. I'm all slick from the dream I had of you. Woke up thinking I was still inside."

He dropped his clothes into the pile and walked straight up to me.

"Help me," he said simply.

I didn't argue.

He turned away, as I dipped the sponge in the water. So I scrubbed over the broad expanse of his back. His skin was warm and muscled, hair dusting the base of his spine.

"Lower," he said.

I crouched and ran the sponge between his cheeks, gently scrubbing around his hole. He didn't flinch, just let out a long, pleased grunt. Then he turned.

"Cock, too."

I nodded, swallowing hard, and wrapped my hand around him.

I scrubbed him slowly, base to tip the foreskin sliding back with every pass of the sponge. I didn't linger. But I didn't rush either.

When I stepped back, he smiled. "Least now it's clean when I put it back in you."

My face flushed, but I didn't break eye contact.

Cutler approached next, face curled in disgust as he saw the now cloudy barrel.

"You let him use that?" he snarled, pointing at Flinn.

"Don't start," Knox muttered.

"I won't wash in another man's filth."

He kicked the barrel sideways. Water sloshed and spilled.

"Haul another!" he barked. "And make it quick."

"You want to haul your own?" Reeve muttered.

"Piss off," Cutler growled, and stomped over to wait, arms folded.

When the barrel was finally up, he sniffed the water and climbed in.

Then came the last surprise.

Titch.

He emerged from the galley, wiping his forehead with the tail of his sweat-drenched shirt.

"Alright, soap fairies," he grunted, his voice hoarse from the heat, "my turn. I smell like a bollock stew."

He pulled his apron off with a dramatic sigh, then peeled the shirt over his head. His skin was pale beneath it, dappled with sun-freckles, and stretched over a frame that had once been wiry, now softened with age.

He stripped the rest without fuss, kicking his trousers aside. His balls swung low and relaxed. His body was a history book of scars and faded ink, a kraken coiled around one thigh, a naked woman across his ribs with only one tit remaining, a dagger stabbed between his shoulder blades, probably inked decades ago.

He stepped up to the barrel and dunked a sponge, then began scrubbing his armpits with short, efficient strokes. "Fuck me, that's better," he muttered. "Don't smell like boiled onions anymore. Maybe now someone'll suck me off."

He smirked at me sideways.

"Well? Don't just stare, ginger. I made the soap, you better show me it works."

I stepped forward, swallowing my hesitation.

"Yes, Titch."

He handed me the sponge without ceremony, but as I dipped it and brought it to his back, I felt the subtle shift the stillness in him.

His skin was hot from the galley, rough in some places, soft in others. I worked the sponge gently between his shoulders, down the line of his spine.

He let out a long breath. Not a groan, not a joke. just a quiet exhale.

I ran the sponge lower, over the curve of his arse, slow and careful.

"No one ever touches old men gentle," he said after a moment, voice thick with something unspoken.

I paused.

"I don't mind," I said, quietly. "You've looked out for me."

He turned to face me, arms slightly lifted. His chest was covered in more faded tattoos: crossed bones, ships, names of ports I'd never heard of.

"Go on then," he said. "Do the rest."

I sponged his chest, careful around the old ink. Down his belly. Over his soft cock and balls. He didn't move. Didn't stiffen. Just watched me.

When I finished, I rinsed the sponge and let it drip back into the barrel.

Titch reached over and ruffled my hair.

"Soft hands for a dock rat," he said. "You'll do just fine here, Ginger."

And then, just as quickly, he was pulling on his breeches and yelling at Reeve for leaving his shirt on the deck like a lazy arse.

Most of the crew had vanished below deck, seeking hammocks or dice games. The few still topside were preoccupied with evening duties, checking rigging or taking first watch.

"Let's haul up one more," Flinn suggested, nodding toward the darkening horizon. "For ourselves."

"My arms are about to fall off," I moaned reaching for the rope.

"Poor baby," Knox teased, flexing his biceps. "Some of us do real work all day."

Together, we lowered the barrel into the waves.

"Heave!" Reeves called.

The barrel creaked upward, water sloshing over the sides as we hauled it onto the deck.

"Now for the good part," Flinn said, already unlacing his breeches. "Last one in is a cabin bitch!"

I laughed and pulled my shirt over my head, tossing it aside. The evening air felt cool against my skin after a day of sweat and work. Knox and Reeves were already naked, shoving each other playfully as they dipped sponges into the fresh barrel.

"Move over," I said, nudging Flinn with my hip as I stepped up beside him. His eyes travelled down my body as he stepped to one side.

"Still sore?" he asked, voice dropping low.

I shrugged, dipping the sponge. "Not as much."

Knox tossed me a bar of Titch's soap. "'Ere, ginger. You're starting to smell like the rest of us."

I caught it with one hand and worked up a lather, scrubbing at mu chest as I pretended not to be distracted by each of their dicks.

"Turn around," Flinn said suddenly. "I'll get your back." The moment I did, his hands were on my shoulders, soapy and warm. He worked his way down my spine, fingers pressing into knots I hadn't realized I'd developed.

"Turn."

I did.

He dipped the sponge again and started on my chest, down over my ribs, between my legs. His knuckles grazed my cock. I bit my lip.

"Don't go getting hard on me," he teased.

"Bit late for that warning," I muttered. "How is it I'm surrounded by unwashed sailors all day and this is what does it?"

Flinn snorted, hand pausing on my hip. "Get a bunch of men isolated in the middle of the ocean an it's inevitable."

"You're learning fast, Ginger. Took me three voyages to figure out wash duty was just fancy foreplay." laughed Reeves.

Knox back against the barrel, his cock half-hard as he soaped his chest. "He walked round t full mast for weeks."

Reeves laughed, splashing water at his twin. "Don't start with me, least I didn't fuck that whore in Tortuga. Remember? The one with the wooden teeth?"

"She didn't have wooden teeth," Knox protested, his face reddening.

"No? Then how'd you get splinters on your balls?" Reeves mimed pulling splinters from Knox.

"Shut it," Knox growled, lunging at his brother. "That never happened!"

"Alright, you two mares," Flinn laughed, tossing them each a rag. "Dry off and take it below before the Captain comes out and makes you both sleep in the rigging."

"Come on," Knox said, slinging his wet rag over his shoulder. "I need a drink after that shit about the splinters." He grabbed his breeches, not bothering to put them on, just holding them bunched in his fist as they headed below deck.

Flinn was still in front of me, the sponge forgotten between us.

"Well," he murmured, "looks like it's just us now."

His hand brushed mine, then slid down, wrapping around my cock with the same slow certainty he'd used with the sponge.

I leaned back against the handrail, heart hammrring, the lantern light painting his wet skin gold.

"Go on then," I whispered.

And Flinn knelt.

Flinn knelt, lantern light flickering across his wet shoulders, his grin wicked. He took my cock in hand, gave it a slow stroke, then leaned in and dragged his tongue over the tip.

"Mm," he hummed, looking up at me.

Heat shot through me and I tangled my fingers in his damp hair and pushed forward. He opened his mouth wide, lips stretching round my cock, taking me deeper. His throat flexed, gagging once before he laughed around it, obscene and unashamed.

"Fuck," I hissed, bucking into his mouth. His tongue swirled, spit dripping down his chin onto his chest.

He pulled off with a gasp, grinning, teeth flashing.

"Aye, the Earl's son couldn't do this could he?" Flinn teased before sinking down on my full length. "Poor little lordling with his arse spread wide." He turned, dropped to his elbows against the rail, and shoved his arse back toward me. "Show me how you ruined him."

I dropped to my knees behind him, spreading his cheeks apart. His hole was already wet with seawater and sweat. I spat once, then pressed my mouth to him.

"Christ!" Flinn yelped, half laugh, half moan. "That's it eat me, stowaway. Lick me like you licked him."

I dragged my tongue over him, slow and deliberate, circling, then plunging deep. His body jolted, arse pushing back against my face. I gripped his hips hard, burying myself between his cheeks, spit and salt slicking him open.

He looked over his shoulder, eyes dark in the lamplight. I pulled back, spit shining on my lips, and shoved two fingers into his mouth. "Get them wet."

He sucked greedily before I dragged them back out, pushing them straight into his hole. He groaned, rocking back, hungry.

"Fuck me, Thomas," he begged, voice low and ragged. "Don't keep me waiting."

I stood, braced against the rail, and lined my cock to him. The head pressed firm against his spit-slick rim. I spat once more, rubbed it in, then pushed.

He gasped, knuckles white on the rail, as I sank inside. Inch by inch, tight heat gripping me.

"Ahhh fuck yes," he growled, pushing back. "Earl's boy never had it this good, eh?"

"Shut up," I muttered, thrusting harder.

He laughed, breathless. "Make me."

I grabbed his shoulders, slammed into him. The sound of wet skin, the creak of the rail, the slap of my balls against his arse filled the night air. He groaned with every push, cock dripping against the wood.

I pulled out suddenly, shoving him down to his knees. His head turned in confusion just as I pushed my cock, wet from his arse, into his mouth.

"Fuck!" he choked, but didn't pull away. He opened wider, lips stretching round me, sucking greedily at the taste of himself.

"That's it," I groaned, rocking into his throat. "Lick it clean."

He bobbed his head, spit and arse-slick drooling out the corners of his mouth. When I pulled free, he gasped for breath, eyes wild.

"Again," he panted. "Do it again."

I bent him back over the rail, drove into him once more. Harder now. Relentless. His body jolted with every thrust, moans tearing from him.

"Fuck you're good at taking cock," I growled into his ear, teeth scraping his neck.

"Aye," he gasped. "Fuck me, Thomas, fuck me raw. Show me you're no lord's pet."

I slammed into him, faster, deeper, till the lantern swung madly above us. My balls slapped against him, his hole stretched and sucking me in.

"Gonna fill you," I grunted.

"Do it," he begged, shoving back. "Breed me, stowaway. Fill me like you filled him."

That broke me. I buried myself to the hilt and spilled inside him, cock pulsing, hips locked.

Flinn moaned, grinding against me, milking every drop. Then, laughing breathlessly, he slumped against the rail, cum dripping down his thighs.

"Fuck," he gasped, head hanging. "That's wash day done right."

I leaned against him, chest to his back, cock still buried. "You're insufferable."

"Aye," he said, grinning, "but you're the one balls-deep in me."

Flinn laughed breathlessly, still bent on the rail. He gave me a kiss on the cheek, quick and cheeky, then peeled himself free of me with a wet slip. My cock slid out, dripping, and he winced, grinning.

"Fuck, you did me good. I need a drink before my legs give out." He pulled his breeches on half-heartedly, not bothering to lace them, cock swinging as he shuffled toward the hatch. "Don't stay up too long, Ginger. Captain'll have you climbing rig in the morning."

I could only pant, leaning against the rail, sweat cooling on my skin, chest heaving.

"I'll stay a while," I managed, voice rough. "Need the air."

Flinn just waved, disappearing below deck with a grin that made my stomach twist.

The lantern swayed, throwing long shadows across the empty deck. I let my head fall back, eyes closed, sea air sharp in my lungs.

"You fuck loud."

My eyes shot open.

Blackburn was there, stepping out of the darkness near the mast. Bare-chested, massive, arms folded. His grin was slow and dangerous. "Whole ship could've heard ye. Me included."

I froze, still naked, my cock wet with cum.

Blackburn stepped closer, his bulk blotting out the lamplight. He smelled of salt, sweat, and rope tar. His voice was low, steady. "Put on a good show, stowaway. Now I want my turn."

I swallowed, throat dry. "Blackburn..." but the words died in my throat as he closed the distance between us, his hulking form towering over me.

"Turn around," he commanded, voice low but firm.

I hesitated, just for a moment, before complying. I knew what was coming, knew I had little choice. The ship wasn't my territory. I turned and gripped the rail, the wood still warm from where Flinn had been.

Blackburn's rough hands settled on my hips, "Good lad," he murmured, his thumbs tracing the curve of my spine.

I heard him spit, felt the warm wetness land between my cheeks. His fingers spread it, working it into my hole. I winced, but didn't pull away.

"Relax," he grunted. "Ye' taken me pole before."

His cock pressed against me, thick and blunt. He pushed slowly, giving me time to adjust, "There we go," he grunted as he sank deeper. "Take it all, Thomas."

I gasped as he bottomed out, his hips flush against my arse.

He pulled back, almost withdrawing completely before slamming forward. I gasped, my fingers digging into the railing as he established a brutal rhythm, each thrust rocking me forward.

"That's it," he growled, his voice rough as the sea itself. "Take what ol' Blackburn's givin' ya."

I bit my lip, watching my soft cock and balls swinging back and forth in time with the pounding.

"Ye don't seem to be enjoyin' yerself as much this time," Blackburn observed, slowing his thrusts. "Let's try somethin' different, shall we?"

Before I could respond, he withdrew completely. "Spread 'em," Blackburn commanded, dropping to his knees on the hard deck, and burying his face between my cheeks.

"Fuck!" I gasped, unprepared for the hot tongue lapping at my hole. His beard scratched my sensitive skin as he worked his tongue in deep, making obscene slurping sounds that carried across the empty deck. His massive hands spread me wide, thumbs pulling at my rim.

He slid two thick fingers inside me, curling them upward in a way that made me jerk and gasp. My back arched as he found that spot inside me, pressing and rubbing with deliberate pressure.

"Fuck-" I gasped, one hand flying to my mouth to stifle the sound.

Blackburn's laugh was low and smug. "That's it, boy. Let me hear ya."

"Didn't think ol' Blackburn knew his way around a man's pleasure spots, did ya?" He twisted his wrist as he continued to finger me, his rhythm matching the strokes on my cock. "Been sailin' longer than ye been playin' with ye little pecker." His free hand pulled at my spent cock, as it struggled to get hard. Blackburn grunted, letting go of my cock with a dismissive snort. "Ah, forget it. Ye've spent yerself on pretty boy already." He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "No matter. I'll get what I need either way."