1. Pirate Erotica Chapter 2


    Date: 8/28/2015, Categories: Anal, Hardcore, Shemales, Author: buggiebug10, Rating: 67, Source: xHamster

    when they see my angel. And when I reach Lenore’s house the f****y welcomes me with such warmth and civility. And they are not doing this because I am a nobleman. It is their custom to warmly entertain and welcome friends of the f****y. There is nothing like this in the cynical world I come from. My f****y act more like pirates, suspicious, hostile, envious, proud, arrogant. So I carry my bouquet of flowers to Lenore’s sick bed. Her lovely pale-blue eyes slowly open. Those eyes are art, pure art, a timeless blue, a dreamy, sl**py white. Her fever-reddened lips slowly part. I hear my name. Oliver, she whispers, through a broken voice that once was as sweet as fresh milk. I see at once that she is covered in sweat. I dab her gently with a cloth meant for this purpose. I can still smell the antiseptic. She suddenly tears open her nightgown and thrusts lovely bare breasts at me. Then like a brazen she spreads her legs, effortfully pulling the nightgown up, showing me a golden treasure. There is a crazy kind of hunger in her lovely eyes, a fire that lights them for a moment. This is so unlike my Lenore, who has saved absolutely everything for marriage. I press my worshipful lips, lips of pure adoration, to her, at her request. She bids me kiss her mouth, her breast. And I kiss the place that should go nameless in an angel. With that kiss, her eyes roll back, and she shakes. The shaking goes from a slight tremor to a violent and nasty fit. She soils the bed with the fury of it. I ...
    try to still her, but am unsuccessful at last. So I cover her nakedness and call for the f****y. They rush to the bedside and call for the doctor. It’s an agonizing memory. For I do not again see her amongst the living. Only later do I understand that in her dying moment she offered herself to me. If only I had taken her properly. I curse myself for an idiot. But at least I know the taste of her sweetnesses, the juice of her lips, the salty sweat, the heaven that lies between thighs. I taste, but I can’t penetrate, nor can I merge, and this vexes me. It drives me mad, almost. This is the event that pushes me from my home, from my people, from my country, from my books. Sick at heart, full of grief, I take passage on a sea vessel. I dedicate my life to writing the poetry of beauty. I will paint sailors, and the sunset, and the rigging of the ships. I will paint savages. I dedicate my life to art. I renounce everything else. I am roused from my revery by the d***ken first mate. He stands next to me staggering, holding a green flask. “We want ye,” he says, “to enjoy yerself. It’s decided tha’ tomorrow we hang ye.” He hands me the flask, and I sip at it. I go to the captain to beg for mercy, but he is having his cock teased by a pretty young wanton and also a deck hand, made up to look girly. The captain’s cock rises from his trousers like a great grey whale. The leviathan is ribbed and hooded and covered with veins, like a prehistoric sea monster. Slick with spittle it twinkles ...
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