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Stowaway

Josephine becomes the plaything of a vicious crew of sailors.
Stowaway

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Josephine had always dreamed of a life on the high seas, as a sailor, or – better yet – a swashbuckling pirate. But it was the year 1680, and no ship worth knowing would sign a woman to its crew. By the time she was 20, Josephine knew that only a life of drudgery and marriage on the shore awaited her unless she took decisive action – and so she dressed herself as a man, and snuck aboard what she was sure was a pirate ship as it was docked in port.

In her fantasies, she would present herself once the ship was at sea, and the captain would give her some minor role on the crew to pay for her passage, where she would demonstrate her value and earn her place on the ship.

But the ship she had boarded was the Crimson Wren, and its captain was Balthazar Burcoat, the Butcher of Gullport, and when she was found almost immediately hiding amongst the barrels in the hold, he had no interest in offering a position on the crew.

“We’ve got no room for stowaways,” he roared. “Throw this cur to the sharks.”

Josephine realised she had made a terrible mistake, and began to struggle against the two burly sailors who were holding her arms, but they were far stronger than her. All she succeeded in doing was tearing her shirt and bindings as she pulled at them – but it turned out that was enough.

The laughter of the pirates around her fell silent as her large tits spilled into view. Josephine trembled with fear and embarrassment.

Captain Burcoat’s grin turned a shade more evil.

“Look lively, boys,” he snarled “This isn’t a common stowaway we’ve caught. This is a grade-A *cunt*.”

There were cheers. One of the pirates stepped forward and pulled at the rest of Josephine’s clothes, ripping them away to expose her cunt and leave her naked.

“Will we rape her, cap’n?” yelled a pirate.

“Shame on you, boy!” laughed Burcoat. “We’re not *monsters*. We don’t go *raping* every stupid cunt who stows away on our ship, do we?”

There were disappointed sounds from the assembled pirates, who had very much hoped that that was exactly what would happen, and Josephine felt hope begin to grow inside her.

“No,” laughed Burcoat. “We’ll let the cunt *work* for her passage.” And Josephine grew more hopeful still.

But after a pause, the captain continued. “Of course, we don’t need any more *male* work on the ship, so your duties will be… unique. Cooking and cleaning, of course. You can wait on me at dinner, I expect. Now, unfortunately, your clothes were just ruined, and we don’t have spares, so you’ll have to go naked…”

It was still better than Josephine had feared a moment ago. She gave Captain Burcoat her most willing expression, with big puppy dog eyes, trying to convince him that she would be a good maid and a good cook, even if she were forced to go naked.

But the captain wasn’t done. “Oh, and we have some other tasks,” he said. “The men need to practice their ropework from time to time, and I think trussing up a cunt like you might be good experience for them. You don’t mind being tied up from time to time, do you?”

She felt her cunt wetten embarrassingly. She actually didn’t mind. As a young girl she had often played “pirates and captives” with her cousins, and she had secretly loved playing the captive as her cousins tied her to trees and fences. The constricting feel of rope, binding her body and taking away her decisions, was a secret guilty pleasure. “No, sir,” she said, trying to avoid revealing the thrill of pleasure she felt at the idea. “I don’t mind.”

“Good,” said the captain, “because in addition to the men practicing basic knotwork, I know Copper John over there has a thing called a ‘tit leash’ he’s been meaning to try. It’s a fine idea, but he hasn’t had a busty enough cunt to practice it. How does it go, Johnny?”

A burly bearded sailor to the captain’s left said, “It’s simple, captain. You tie the rope tight around a cunt’s fuckbags, so it makes them bulge, and then you pull her hard by it. It does a cunt good to learn that she’ll follow where her tits are led. If the rope’s tight enough I hear you can support a cunt’s whole body by her tits. It’ll hurt her like buggery, but pain’s good for a cunt’s discipline. I’ve always wanted to try hanging a cunt by her udders over the yardarm.”

Josephine felt faint. Being *leashed* like an animal? Being *hung by her tits*? Surely he couldn’t be serious… and yet, her pussy was so hot and wet at the very thought.

“Speaking of those tits,” said the captain. “I keep telling our bo’sun Mr Tomms that he’s a fucking shit aim with a whip. You can’t keep discipline if the tip of your whip can’t find a man’s hide, can you, Mr Tomms?”

A large tattooed man said, “No, sir, I’m afraid you cannot.”

“So I think Mr Tomms would benefit greatly from using your udders as target practice for his whip,” finished the captain. “What do you say to that, cunt?”

What could she say? She was nude and her arms were being held in a vice-like grip.

And it wasn’t like she had never tried to spank her *own* tits at times, when she had been very horny and needed a little something extra to help herself find an orgasm. A little pain could be a lot of pleasure…

“Yes, sir,” she said, meekly. “My tits will try to be a good target for your bo’sun’s whip.”

There was a mutter of general approval for her willingness to offer her breasts to the whip.

“And unfortunately,” said the captain. “We can’t pay you. Not even in food or water. We travel light, and only bring enough for the crew that we have, not the crew that stow away. And we expect to be at sea for months.”

She looked at him in dismay. “But… I’ll starve…” she protested.

The captain shook his head. “There’s 80 men on this ship,” he said, “and their combined daily sperm should provide more than enough protein and moisture for you. I’m sure a whore like you can live perfectly well on a diet of sailor cum, don’t you think?”

She couldn’t find words. Sucking off 80 men… every day? He couldn’t be serious, could he?

Except he clearly was.

She whimpered.

The captain leaned in close and whispered, “I’m not a *monster*. If I can see you’re making a good effort, I’m sure we can find a bit of tack and lemon and rum to supplement your diet and keep away the scurvy.”

There was nothing she could say, except a weak, “Thank you, captain.”

===

She was surprised how quickly she got used to it, serving the men with her tits in tight bondage, being led around on a leash, cooking and cleaning for them and sucking their cocks. Often the men would fuck her cunt or ass instead, and it was embarrassing to have to transfer their cum from her other holes to her mouth using her hand, but she learned quickly that she needed to swallow as much cum as possible to not feel desperately hungry every day.

Some of the men were rough with her, and at first the captain made an effort to intervene. “We’re not *monsters*, men,” he’d insist. But then he saw how hard she would orgasm if the men slapped her face or punched her tits before fucking her cunt, and after that he let them have free reign with her.

In fact, after that point the captain was the roughest of them all. He would fuck her every second night, and he always set her a challenge – if she could prevent him getting his cock into her for 15 minutes, no holds barred, she would be spared her duties the next day and given a full meal. Every time, she struggled and bit and kicked, but he would always overpower her, and the feel of his cock sliding into her cunt and knowing she was completely helpless to prevent it made her orgasm immediately and powerfully every time.

She took a tit whipping every second day, and the pirates allowed her to masturbate as she was whipped to offset the pain. The bo’sun was actually quite merciful, and never drew blood, and the painful welts on her tits only heightened her enjoyment the next time a pirate pulled her tits tight against his chest or forced them against the wooden deck while fucking her.

Through the entire voyage, she never told them her name, and they never asked. She grew accustomed to answering to “cunt”, and in the third month the captain arranged for the ship’s most skilled tattooist to emblazon the words “My name is Cunt / I want you to rape me” across the inside of her left wrist, oriented to be readable by anyone she extended her hand to. The tattoo should have been humiliating, but it filled her with a strange pride. Somehow it made her officially one of the crew.

And when the ship finally made port – its hold swollen with stolen gold and silver from the vessels they had plundered on the way – the captain, true to his word, offered her the chance to flee the ship and return to a normal life.

She didn’t even have to think twice. She merely sank to her knees, placed her tit-leash in his hands, took his cock in her mouth, and signed up for another voyage.

(END)

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