L.A. Pirates' Party: tease a Mast

Continuing to taunt me, Jackie turned and walked out the booth door with wide, determined steps.

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Chapter 9. The Ghost and the Kraken.

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I looked at the door from which both Jackie and the pirates had exited, dragging the duchess by weight as she kicked and struggled and screamed not to kidnap her, out of pity.

The people moved away and the hallway remained dark. I could hear the sounds of footsteps on the stairs, his wife's screams fading as they moved farther and farther away.

I continued to stare into the darkness. Suddenly, a blue glow appeared before my eyes. It was a human hand, but only the hand, without the body.

Like in the Addams Family.

The hand gestured to me to be calm.

"Calm!?" I thought without patience. "How can I stay calm while a haughty, snooty whore gets my wife drunk so her party guests can fuck her? And how do I stay calm while a ghost's hand appears to me in the dark?"

I heard a long, howl-like groan. From the door, I felt a wave of an icy cold coming over my skin that chilled my bones, raising goosebumps on my arms and chest.

My instincts would have prompted him to flee ... but the metal rings at his ankles were too tight and my biceps were not strong enough to undo the thick manacles on my wrists. I was forced to stay vis à vis with a ghost.

The hand signaled for me to slow down. Slow down. Strange how some gestures can have universal meaning across all centuries and among all nations.

Then, I saw a human face appear, and his index finger rested over the lips of the face: the universal sign to command you to be quiet. Then the hand drew a quick line under the ghost's neck: the universal sign to threaten to cut your throat if you say just one word.

I recognized the face: I had seen him in many interviews. It was Jackie's husband: former producer John Jefferson Jameson III, nicknamed J3 or J-Cube by the media. His father and grandfather were among Hollywood's top film producers. The gossip papers had speculated for decades around the strangest assumptions around the fact that he had never married: some imagined that he was gay, or into some kinky fetish, unmentionable even in Los Angeles. But he met Jackie when she was in her early twenties, and immediately fell in love, even though he was almost thirty years older than her. Many accused Jackie of being a gold digger, a whore, and - how ironic - a piratess.

And now his face stared at me motionless, while his hand continued to gesture. The ghost's lips did not move as his voice boomed through the room.

"I leave these words of mine for anyone... (groan) can relate them to my wife, Jackie... Oh, sweetheart, your Octopus has killed me... I am dying because of your damn huge Octopus, because of its giant tentacles... (groan louder) my stomach is tearing... oh, Jackie, Jackie, why did I allow you to do this? Granting you this whim of yours, it was the worst mistake of my life... past (groan)... of my past life."

I was petrified. I had never believed in ghosts, before. But to be nit-picky, I had never found myself chained to the Mast of a Corsair Vessel, before.

It was the voice of Jackie's husband. I remembered meeting him a couple of times, but more importantly, hearing him on several television occasions when I would freeze-frame for some portrait of Jackie to masturbate to at night.

Huge Octopus.

Jackie had said something about an Aquarium, which they were supposed to visit, which she may have had built at the back of the mansion... is it possible that...

Blam!

Next to me, the window of the booth burst open. It was deluging outside: pouring water. Until then, I hadn't noticed what was outside the window, because the curtains were closed. But now that it was open, I could see what was outside as lightning illuminated the space outside.

The window was lower than my eyes, and to my enormous surprise, I saw that there was an aquarium and that that booth was probably where they fed the fish from! I had seen in some zoos that keepers let children approach and pet the manta rays at the water's edge. Here, the window balustrade offered a chance to quietly touch the water. Who knows what fish were being raised there?

A tentacle emerged from the water, all wet. It was the size of a thigh of mine. Curved, twisted, and dripping. A second tentacle also emerged, huge.

The ghost might have been a hallucination.

But the drops falling to the ground from the tentacles were real.

The heart pounding in my chest, it was real.

The chains locking my wrists and ankles were real.

If I said I did not scream in terror, it would not be true.

I screamed.

My voice was overpowered by thunder and lightning.

As the first two tentacles whirled dancing in front of me, dropping large drops of water that soaked the inlaid wooden floor, another tentacle emerged from the window, thinner. It was straight, like a pole.

As it stood, the skin covering the end began to shrink, like the foreskin from an uncircumcised cock. And under that layer of skin, the Kraken exhibited something that might have resembled a large, off-white ivory dildo, sculpted with the shape of an erect, huge human cock. It was very realistic, with pulsating veins and a frenulum.

Shivers of fear stirred my chest at that sight.

I thought back to the words spoken by the ghost: the hideous giant octopus had ripped through his stomach. Had it gone through his navel or his anus? I was fortunately tied to the Mast, and penetrating me from behind would have been very difficult: but the tentacle was so long and menacing...

Thunderous thunder, and immediately lightning. Zang! It must have been so close. The tentacles retreated a little: perhaps the Kraken was afraid of storms?

I heard the footsteps of a pair of very wide boots. The she-captain was coming. I heard her voice shout, "Unleash the Kraken!"

OMG.

Then I heard her correct herself. "No, you stupid scoundrels, rednecks, rascals! You must not let him loose, you must rewind the chain! Put my Kraken back to sleep!"

Then Jackie walked briskly to the booth where I was. She entered triumphantly, dragging a staggering person by the hand. "Dear Duke, in a few minutes you will meet the drunkest person on my ship: Mr. Smee."

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Chapter 10. Meet Mister Smee.

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"I don't like Rum, I don't like your Rum breath, and above all, I don't like you... she-captain Jackie Swallow!"

I thought he was whipping me to death, but instead, he burst out laughing uncontrollably.

"Ha, ha, how funny you are, Admiral! And you say such silly things -- you're going to crack me up if I don't stop you first. And because of that..."

Captain Swallow untied the knot of her scarf, involuntarily opening her blouse, and with a mocking smile she said to me in a flat voice, "Do you consent to my gagging you, dear?"

I nodded and opened my mouth. She pressed her pierced erect nipples against my chest as she knotted the scarf: it was tight but not too tight and impregnated with her perfume. A drop of precum gushed involuntarily from my cock, leaving a stain on her camel toe.

"Uh, so many reasons to chastise you tonight, Admiral!" chuckled Jackie Swallow. "A mouth too big, and a cock too fast. But it's not my turn now: I'll punish you later. Don't get cocky. I'll be back!"

Stomping the wide heels, he walked to the cabin door, opened it, and ordered, "Quick! Let Mr. Sponge-Smee in!"

From the door, someone pushed in a staggering person wearing a dirty brown tunic and pants with wide vertical, white, and blue stripes. I could smell the stench of rum from a distance. The drunk raised the index finger as if to threaten she-captain Swallow, and in a hoarse voice gurgled, "You don't give orders inside my booth!" Jackie laughed boisterously.

Who was that person? I couldn't tell if I was looking at a man or a woman with a hoarse voice. The tunic was too shapeless and the pants too baggy: the head was covered by a crooked wig. But two thin feet peeked out from under the fabric, and they were so pretty, with nails painted with emerald green polish...

By all the Hurricanes in the Caribbean! I recognized those slender feet!

As I stood petrified staring at my feet, the drunk turned toward me, getting down on one knee and removing the toes from my eyes. With one hand she brushed a tuft of hair from her forehead, showed me the heart-shaped lips I knew so well, and said, "Don't you want a kiss, my love, darling-Admiral? HICCUP! A kiss from your She-Sponge-Smee, drunk as a chicken soaked in Madeira? Huh? Or - HICCUP! - perhaps you would prefer - HICCUP! - That I kiss the tip of this insolent cock of yours?"

Jackie ordered the men out. "Let's leave these two newlyweds alone for a moment ... and go find my guns. As my grandfather Arsène used to say, walk softly and carry big guns!"

One of the men said to her, "But, Captain, you never walk softly, you can hear your boots stomp the floor all over the house!"

She slapped his face. "Sure you can handle me, commoner?"

I heard their footsteps moving away. But I couldn't take my eyes off my wife. She no longer looked like a duchess-she looked like a boozebag.

She smelled like rum to a high degree. Maybe she had vomit on her chest. But my cock was hard and I was bound and gagged. Even if I wanted to stop her from doing anything, I couldn't speak or move.

Susan could not get up, so drunk was she. She took the tip of my cock in her mouth, leaving the shaft out. With her lower teeth, she scratched the frenulum - a gesture she had never done while sober.

Then Susan moved her neck back and licked my violet knob with the tip of her tongue.

She moved sinuously, like a drunk who has lost his sense of balance. Fortunately, no one could see her.

A sudden thought seized me: surely someone must have fucked her? Surely they have stripped her naked, and everyone must have seen her naked in the salon: this dirty tunic is not hers, and these striped pants must belong to a waiter - much taller than her, it seems to me.

Our gracious host had given orders not to do any sexual activity that she had not asked for... but what if she had asked for something? No one would have resisted the temptation to kiss, lick or fuck a naked Duchess, drunk on rum...

My thoughts were interrupted by her gurgling. She was licking the whole length of the shaft, alternating long side kisses with long mouthfuls in which she took my whole cock inside her mouth. Oh, Susan, Susan, that's how you make me cum....

Suddenly - just as I was about to ejaculate - my drunken wife took her mouth off with a resounding "POP!"

She looked at me with a half-closed eye and admonished me, "I'm going to undress for you now - HICCUP - but promise not to cum before you get the aim right."

Aim?

Susan took off her tunic. On her tits, I could see the marks of some hickeys, and some bruises: had someone beaten her, or had they held her down?

But the she-captain had ordered to avoid harassment. What if Susan had asked for it? The rum...

My wife lay with her back on the floor. Her pants were very loose and her bare legs came out of the fabric in an instant. I looked at her thighs: on both the outside and the inside, there were sharp marks of spanking given with an open hand, with the five fingers red on the skin. Had someone spanked her? And not only on the outside but also in the middle of her thighs!

My wife raised her legs. Because the Mast was very wide, my legs drew a diagonal: my wife was under me, and with her feet, she stroked my balls and shaft.

"Would you like to cum now, my husband? I know that your family - HICCUP - is very famous for the aim with which they fire your cannons. My best friend, the she-captain Jackie Swallow, has promised to set me free.

She will free me from boredom forever, she said, forever. But first, I must get enough points, she said.

Will you help me, my husband? HICCUP!"

Each hiccup rattled her chest and made her squirm on the floor. She had stretched her arms above her head, like a mermaid at sea. She looked at me through half-closed eyes, almost as if she was about to fall asleep: I wondered how much rum she had drunk.

"The captain said I'll be free if I can get at least 350 points-it's a game they often play on Tortuga Island. I have to make you cum using only my sweet little feet. The cum dripping down your legs and pussy, counts for nothing. Zero. If you can spurt at least on my navel, I earn 30 points. 50 points if you cum on one boob: 120 points if you cover both. 100 points the chin, 100 points the eyes: over the eyes counts zero, although I know it might be fun for you to spread your cum on my hair. And most of all, 200 points the lips, and 300 points if it goes into my mouth: so, Jackie said, I'd better keep my mouth wide open all the time, like a baby bird in the nest."

To me, it sounded like hallucinations. The voice was my wife's, but none of the words I heard spoken belonged to the woman I had married.

"Well? Are you going to help me? I see you've been gagged, but I don't have the strength to go up there to free you. I'll tell you what. If you don't want to help me with your cum, then, drop this erection and come back flaccid as a buckskin glove. If, by contrast, you want me to caress you with my emerald green polished toes ... which is the same color as the silver object I've been wearing in my ass for hours ... then keep this erection, which I'll have you aiming for in a few minutes ... in my mouth, huh! Take care... I need the She-Captain to relieve me of my boredom..."

Never. Never in my whole life had my wife stroked my cock with her toes. I had always wanted it, and sometimes I had even asked her, but she said she felt uncomfortable--and now instead she was as skilled as a circus juggler. She was fondling my balls, grabbing my knob by spreading her big toe and index finger, teasing my frenulum with her little toe...

I would have wanted my cock to go flaccid again, to communicate my disappointment to her. But my cock was reasoning on its own, and it was getting harder and harder. She, below, had begun to masturbate and was moaning with her mouth wide open, begging me to cum....

She was beautiful, seductive, dirty, she was the most attractive woman I've ever seen, and she was literally begging me to cum on her face while she masturbates ... while I'm shackled to a Mast, and I've seen a ghost, been attacked by a Kraken, and threatened with a rapier by a piratess ... too many emotions.

And my wife's toes look like silk, velvet, and jelly... A drop of precum gushed out and she immediately caught it with her big toe and smeared it all over the knob, which is now shiny and purple...

I had to resist, I had to-but what if the pirates came later? Or what if she removes her feet, tired, and falls asleep from the rum?

I had to cum, I had to be able to reach her mouth, I absolutely must allow her to be released...

I closed my eyes.

Suddenly, I heard my wife's voice ordering me, "Lucas! Cum all over me! Now!"

I could not resist.

Out of breath, I spurted out.

The first stream of cum made a long flight and hit her hair. Damn! Zero points! What was I supposed to do? Higher or lower? She decided: with toes, she continued the strokes, but raised the cannon upward.

The second stream of cum fell on her chin and left a necklace of numerous pearls on her cleavage. I looked at her, convinced I could see the disappointment in her eyes, but I saw only love and trust: I could do it.

The third cumshot came a second later: but I gave a kidney stroke. The difference may have been millimeters, but my cum landed on her nose: she moved her tongue, greedy, quick, and collected it in her mouth.

We have won: we have defeated the pirates.

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.Chapter 11. Last Chapter: The Curtain Falls

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After my intense triple cumshot, I slumped against the wood of the Mast, exhausted. I just wanted to sleep, but I had a duty to watch over my wife, naked and drunk.

She looked at me lovingly.

Her eyes were shiny and full of joy.

She continued to masturbate, with her right hand, while with the fingers of her left she slowly collected the drops of cum from her chin and put them in her mouth, sucking the phalanges one by one, staring at me lustfully.

Then, my wife stood up. Without faltering, without staggering. She was standing in front of me: she drew her mouth close to my ear. To my amazement, I heard my wife's voice, serious, whispering, "honey, close your eyes and pretend to faint."

Without understanding I executed: I had not yet understood the slightest clue, but it was just what I longed to do. I closed my eyes and collapsed as if fainting.

While everything is dark, I could hear my wife's voice ordering dryly, "Cut!"

I did not dare to open my eyes. Could they have cut my throat, my cock, a hand?

I hear a buzz and applause: dozens of people cheering.

But what was going on?

"Bravo! Bravo!" (it was Jackie, in her half-hearted voice).

I opened my eyes. I saw my wife bowing to an audience-an audience?

Where before there was a wall full of books and maps, now there was a large room with seats like a private movie theater.

Some were still in costume, others wore the clothes of everyday life.

I recognized the Drunken Pirate Patch Eyed, who had molested my wife, the British Officer, who had danced together with my wife, and the Fortuneteller, who had predicted a change in my wife's future.

My wife.

My wife "Vanilla-Susan", shy and prude... how it could be?

My little and shy wife, daring to perform in that theater, almost naked and with a necklace of pearly drops on the cleavage?

And now, w and now, with self-confidence and self-control, she spoke in a clear voice, dispensing compliments to those present as she bowed like a seasoned actress?

I hear her voice in disbelief. With a big smile and gesture of her hands, she said "to you, it's to your credit, thank you, each of you acted well, thank you also to the makeup artists and costume designers, and the sound technician for the thunder, my thumbs up, all very good..."

A lightning bolt lit up the booth. Now I saw it: we are not on a sailing ship, but on a movie set, with an audience in the room that had been watching everything from a big screen.

Susan the Director. Susan the Movie History Teacher. Susan, who in high school encouraged a stuttering model to become a famous actress. Susan, who taught her friend how to act. Susan, who starred in the miracle, "The Day In Which Little Susan Saved Me by Changing My Life."

Susan now staring at me with adoring eyes. "Are you okay, my love, honey?"

"I'm fine... but: what's going on?"

"We're making a movie, honey. YOU are the main character. A little bit like Truman Show, a little bit like Scream 3... it's Halloween, after all."

"And you're not the main character?"

"Well... without false modesty... sincerely, I'm just the Director. Jackie is the main character. The movie is much longer, and the scenes in which I appear as an actress are almost over."

"But I..."

"But you, dear Big-Mouth hubby, you have a bad habit of signing documents without reading them. Remember? When the mansion valet approached the cab, he asked you to sign in the bottom right-hand corner... and you, without reading, signed a contract committing you to act in this film, today, tomorrow, and even Monday."

As she explained the trick, Susan slid in beside me, hugging me tenderly. Near the left side of the Mast were some wooden steps, she climbed up to hug me and stroke my hair, while she hugged my head against her perky tits.

"You were to be my main actor (unaware and a little bit reluctant). I, your wife, will be the Director, and Jackie, my best friend, will be the Producer and also the main actress. And we will have to shoot several scenes and several close-ups again, to cut out all the times when some fool shows a watch on his wrist, or talks about anachronistic things, like the Geneva Convention..."