1. Pirate Erotica


    Date: 8/19/2015, Categories: First Time, Gay Male, Shemales, Author: buggiebug10, Rating: 100, Source: xHamster

    Were are sailing off the West Indies. A pirate flag is spotted. The sailors begin preparing for battle. The captain advises me to go to my cabin, to keep the door locked. I pace. I fret, wondering whether the ship is prepared. Cannons are fired. I hear the sounds of fighting outside. Then there is silence. It’s an agony of waiting. There’s a knock at my door. Who is it? I am the only survivor from my ship. My life is spared because of my youth and good looks. As I’m taken into custody I hear the pirate captain tell his first mate, “Don’t kill this little whelp. He’ll fetch a pretty penny in the slave market.” I’m full of outrage and disgust. All around me lie the bodies of the fallen sailors, some of whom are my friends. The ship is sinking. There’s not much time left. I’m kept at the point of a sword, and must walk across a plank onto the pirate ship. Then it’s down into the bowels of the vessel. They put me in a jail cell. It must be near the hull, because I can hear the boards really creek. I’m in the bottom of the boat, amongst various treasures and stolen items. For days I sit alone in that cage, wondering at my change of fortune. If I’m to be sold as a slave I will probably die of hardship or disease. It’s clear that I must do whatever is necessary to avoid getting sold. But I have no love of pirates. They are dirty fellows all, and crude. All of them without exception fill me with disgust. Realizing my situation is desperate I confront the jailer who comes to bring me ...
    bread and water, occasionally a fish stew. He’s very muscular and lean, with wild hair and wild eyes. I ask him, “Is there any way for me to escape this fate of slavery?” “Nay, lass, he says to me,” for it is evidently the custom of the pirates to address civilized men the same as women, for we are like women to them. In addition, I am underdeveloped and overcivilized, for my age of eighteen. My hair is kept shoulder-length. I am fond of art and poetry. Actually, there is quite a bit ladylike about me. I do prefer things that are elevated and refined. I prefer romance to science. “Really, Tom. I’ll do anything to escape slavery,” I say, my pride retreating before the prospect of a death in f***ed labor camps. “If you’ll let me touch ye,” he says, “I’ll show ye how to make yer way.” Oh the horror of such a suggestion! I don’t give in to him. The hours pass. The days. Fear takes hold of me. There’s a sense of hopelessness, so in desperation I let him do what he asks, on the condition that I can keep my eyes closed and ignore the proceedings. It seems there is no other way to reclaim my life. Into the cell he comes, with a big smile, as if to say—that’s a good lass. He makes me strip my clothes and face away. He runs his filthy hands over me, caressing my cock, caressing my ass, running them all over me. I feel his excitement. It thrills me a little, but I still it, for there is more disgust than excitement on my part. I am horrified by what little excitement I feel, and I tell ...
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