The First Mate, Part III

To read Part I click here.
To read Part II click here.

Standing barefoot, for the first time in six days, outside his cabin, I took a deep breath, trying to calm my rapidly heaving chest. My hand raised to knock five times before I dared let my skin make contact with the door. I stood, swaying slightly, my pajamas just a little too short, ending above my ankles, tee shirt still clinging to my nervous shoulders. Despite knowing, vividly, that this encounter was not about aesthetics or public status, I still wished I had brought my blue nightdress. But then that thought made me roll my eyes; I did not want to be the kind of girl who brought seductive lingerie sailing. When the endless list of pointless thoughts was finally slowing, I rapped decisively on the door.

Beckoned inside by his low voice I found myself on the other side of the door, quiet as I scanned his humble cabin. It was small, littered with worn clothes and stray tobacco, well thumbed books and travel souvenirs. The bedding on his bunk – larger and more bed-like than mine – was rumpled and filthy. White was grey and I could see the grease on his pillow. For a moment I felt the impulse to step backwards, to leave this grotty beast to his solo sexuality. But as my ambivalent eyes met his, I knew I had already rescinded that choice. I was in the creature’s lair and there was no escape.

The cabin was small enough that from the bed, where he lounged casually, he could touch me. Extending his hand, he took hold of my tee shirt and pulled me until I hit the side of the bunk. There was one delicious moment of delay, eyes met as his fingers tickled my bare shoulder. I heard my heart thump in my ears, felt his musty, thick breath on my face, and knew I was about to be plunged, completely submerged, in ice cold water.
Cloth tightened sharply across my back as he ripped the tee shirt, pulling it over my head and casting it aside, his hands already tugging the clasp of my bra open. I watched as it followed my tee shirt to the floor and he spread his hand over the bed beside him.

“Get up.”

His order was absolute, not to be questioned, and I followed it obediently. The mattress sagged slightly under my weight and he was on me, teeth biting into the plump, salty flesh of my breast as his fingers pressed firmly into my hips. I could feel the roughness of his caress, calloused palms, as he moved me to his liking, pressing so deeply, unapologetically into the softness of my body. I had never been touched so completely, never felt fingers dig so deep into the flesh society said I ought to exercise away. He devoured all the parts of my body I had fought to love; pinched, grabbed and slapped my curves with complete self-certainty. Beneath him I writhed, arched, pressed against his broad frame, and just as my hands snaked around him, ready to pull him close, he moved away, sitting up, hunched under the low ceiling to pull his filthy, heavy shirt off, exposing the ruddy, skin of his chest, covered in a fine layer of golden hair. Bearing down on me once more, he resumed his rough touches, his natural domination and pressed me deeper into the mattress. I squirmed again, trying to rub my wanton body against his. Holding me down, his forearm across my chest, he pulled back for one moment to hiss down at me.

“Stop fucking moving.”

I went limp, still breathing hard as his knee parted my legs forcefully and he settled himself between my widespread thighs, grinding the hardening bulge of his cock against my belly, teasing me until I had to bite my lip to muffle my moans of pleasure. His hand pressed between my breasts, and worked down to the waistband of my trousers, crudely pushing inside my damp knickers to tease the light brown curls that dusted the lips of my cunt. I shivered, whimpering as he pushed three blackened fingers between my labia and caught my wetness.
He growled deep in his throat, his eyes lingering closed for a moment as he felt my heat. Slowly he turned his gaze to my open mouthed face.

“I don’t usually fuck little whores like you.”

I was tempted to ask why he was making an exception, something in my female mind begging for compliments in the midst of this rough search for satisfaction. But I knew why. He was full of pent up desire, his body screamed to fuck and be fucked, and a shameless slut was not something to be passed up in the middle of the sailing season.

So I kept my mouth shut, reveling in the familiarity of the verbal abuse. Whore, slut, bitch, cunt; these were all words I knew well, and just the mention of any of those delightful terms created another wave of heat to pulse in my cunt, over his hand, clasping my mound so possessively.

I felt more than heard the groan that rumbled in his throat as he smeared my wetness over my eager cunt. And then he was tugging at my waistband, directing me to raise my ass off the bed so he could strip me. At the same time his other hand fumbled with his belt until he too was kicking off his heavy trousers, releasing his rock hard dick, lying beside. In the split second I was free, I brought my legs together, lying demurely, nude on the grubby bed, Lucretia-like, gazing at him with soft eyes. This was not what he wanted, moving over me, he growled again.

“Open your fucking legs. I’m not here to make love to you.”

Remembering myself I immediately parted my thighs and he positioned himself between them, rubbing the shiny head of his cock against my clit, making my shiver with desire. Just as I thought he would plunge deep inside me, he changed his mind. A whimper of need escaped as he sat up on his knees, pulling away from me.
For the first time that night I saw him smirk beneath his stubble.

“Turn onto your side.” He drawled in a steady tone.

I did as I was told, lying on my right side, looking at him over my shoulder, questioningly. Then he was sliding behind me, slipping his erection between my thighs. It was a position that had always felt fiercely protective and passionate to me, a man spooned around my lust-filled body. But with him it was something else entirely. One hand between my thighs he pulled my legs wide, exposing the wet folds of my cunt and the tight pucker of my ass to his hungry eyes. His dick throbbed against my pussy and I trembled. Just as I began to press back against him, the head of his cock pushing between the lips of my cunt, he slipped one hand around my head, clasping it tight over my mouth, the other pulling my arm back painfully so that he could completely control how he fucked me.

He rammed his cock inside me, completely. Filled me to the hilt and I screamed beneath his calloused palm. He grunted and began to fuck me, rhythmically, taking me thrust by thrust, stretching my cunt around his generous dick, clearly not bothered by my muffled whimpers and cries. He tugged my arm harder and I felt tears well in my eyes. My body was contorted around his, stripped and spread wide open for his pleasure and it pulsed in pain, parts of me screaming for release. But between my thighs I grew wetter and wetter, more tender, more wanton. The idea of not having him inside me was unbearable. And if I had had any say in the matter, he would still have been fucking me, hard, deep, making me scream.

Six days onboard, without release, watching him, pushed me close, fast. Within minutes of him thrusting inside me, I was pushing back against him, clenching around his throbbing dick, arching my back, ready to come.
“You… are… such… a… fucking… whore,” He growled, one word for each thrust as he ground deep inside me.

It was more than enough. Yelping, gasping, whimpering beneath his hand, I came in fits and starts, soaking his cock, moaning my pleasure. As I did, his palm came down hard on my ass, and the sound of my stinging flesh resounded in the small room.

Pushing me onto my stomach, he hunched over me and fucked me like an animal, all grunts and growls and hissed abuse. His body worked mine on automatic, using me in every sense of the word, until he pushed deeper, causing my back to arch once more, held himself there and came. For a whole minute I felt the spurts of white hot come inside my cunt, filling me completely. And then he was slipping his softening cock from my rosy lips, turning me over once more. On my back I was surprised to see his palms pressing my thighs still wider, his body shifting down the bed until I felt the bristles of his moustache against the perfect, silken contours of my delicate sex. I felt stubbled cheeks against my inner thighs; so masculine, such utter possession.

Running his rough tongue along the slit of my cunt, he tasted himself on me, catching the bead of cum that slipped from between my labia. I smiled into the feeling despite knowing that it was for his pleasure. Holding the folds of my sex open he lapped up his white come, sucking my cunt clean, pushing his tongue deep inside, and creating in me such waves of pleasure that I had to bite the back of my hand and grasp the sheets, white knuckled, to keep myself from crying out.

He made me come, again and again, bit down on my clit at it’s most sensitive, hit away the hands that desperately tried to force his head away when it became too much. But, as I already knew, I was not in charge. When he finally rolled onto his back beside me, both breathing heavily, I was shaking with forced pleasure.
I could barely walk but he pushed me away, mumbling that he needed to sleep, and I fell onto unsteady feet before slipping away to my own bunk, shivering and used.

This entry was posted in Fiction, Lustful, Rough, Series, The First Mate. Bookmark the permalink.

2 Responses to The First Mate, Part III

  1. pratthead says:

    wow… very raw. very rough. the sex fits the setting so well! and the raw desire is vividly described. well done!

  2. Loki says:

    This is why I love surfing the ol' interwebs. Occasionally you find a treasure like this. The story itself leaves me conflicted (on account of the male protagonist being the sort of guy who needs a good keelhauling) but the writing captures the scene wonderfully.

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