Sleeping Beauty

"Am I in charge?" asked Captain Chisholm with a sardonic note to his voice, but he did set his pen aside and he did stand up from the desk, coming around it toward Jacob. Jacob was a little shy of five and eleven, but Captain Chisholm was a tall, exceedingly strapping man, nearly six and five, and he had a very thick beard and thick sideburns. The hair was thick on the top of his head too, and he had white streaks through it back from his temples; although he kept it trimmed down, it was probably thick under his hats, and Jacob knew he'd never get away with all that hair in the navy.

He had dark eyes, the colour of them such a dark brown it was hard to distinguish them from his pupils, and the effect was to make him seem either unusually engaged or glassy-eyed and defocused.

His cool expression implied that the truth was somewhere between one and the other.

"Mr Hastings," said Captain Chisholm quietly, "am I correct in surmising it was you who was in my quarters early this afternoon?"

Jacob swallowed.

"Lluw was in here alone," said Captain Chisholm. "Asleep."

"L -- Lou?" Jacob repeated.

"He can't even pronounce your name," said Chisholm in a tone of slight complaint, looking over his shoulder at Lluw, who smiled and leaned forward slightly, looking directly at Chisholm and nodding emphatically.

"Go on," he urged, and Chisholm exhaled, looking back to Jacob.

"You're a rapist, Mr Hastings?" asked Chisholm. "An opportunistic pervert?"

"I just, he just -- He looked so, he looked so good, he's so, and I just -- "

"Mr Hastings -- "

"Let him finish," said Lluw.

"Given the evidence he left behind," said Chisholm darkly, "I thought he already had."

"Mm, but he's about to say how beautiful I looked," said Lluw. "How irresistible."

Jacob stared down at the floor, and one of Chisholm's superlatively large hands gripped tightly at his jaw and forced his head upward, making Jacob look at his face. "You heard him," said Chisholm. "Say what he wants to hear."

"He looked beautiful," Jacob blurted out around the grip at the sides of his mouth, feeling the tension against his cheeks. "He looked -- He looked so fucking, just soft, and warm, and pl -- Plush, and comforting, and like, like people, erm, I mean..."

Lluw was smiling now, his head tipping to one side and then the other, his eyes sparkling. They were brown, only a little darker than his gingery hair, and they were big and full of mischief.

"He looked like...?" Chisholm pressed him, and Jacob squeaked out a noise at the pressure on either side of his face, the way it made his jaw creak.

"Like he'd be, um. Popular. At ports."

"In brothels, he means," said Lluw playfully. "Captain, your sailor's calling me a whore."

"No, no, I'm no -- "

"Why, you don't think I'd do well as a whore?" demanded Lluw, his expression suddenly angry, offended. "You don't think I'm desirable enough to pay for?"

"What? No, you are, you're gorgeous -- "

Chisholm was looking back at Lluw as he started to smile again, his rosy cheeks full of warmth.

"You have a choice to make, sailor," said Chisholm, letting him go. "You can put your hands flat on my desk and take sixty of the best I can give you. Or..." Chisholm scowled, staring down at him, and Jacob swallowed. "You can give me what you took from Lluw. Bend over my desk, and I'll take my pleasure from you."

Jacob stared at Captain Chisholm, huge, imposing man that he was.

"If you pick the second," said Lluw behind him, "I'll make it worth your while. You can fuck me again, if you let the captain have you first."

"Fuck you again?" repeated Jacob, and his stomach flipped at the thought of it, at sinking into Lluw's sublimely wet heat again and feeling the thickness of his thighs but awake this time, feel Lluw reach out and grip at him, tug him closer, even kiss his lips, taste his skin -- He could barely breathe. "Yeah. Yeah, yeah, I'll do that."

"Was he listening?" asked Chisholm dryly.

"He agreed," Lluw said, and eased himself off the top of the desk, his hips and his arse swaying as he came forward and took Jacob by the hand. His hands were soft, the sort of soft hands that had never done any form of hard labour that didn't involve him on his knees or on his back, and Jacob's mouth was dry as Lluw led him further into the room, behind the dressing screen. "Did you fix the window?"

"Uh, no, I just, um, I took the measurements," said Jacob, glancing over to where the window had been braced and then fastened in place with a length of twine -- they wouldn't be able to open and close that window until they made port again, but at least there was no draught.

"Well, thank you," said Lluw, and he said it in that husky, meaningful way that people sometimes did, when it was the implication that came before something else, when they were saying it flirtatiously, when there was going to be sex out of it. Not that Jacob had too much experience in this arena, not with people really -- "Hey, sailor," purred Lluw, suddenly close up to him, smacking Jacob lightly across the face, and Jacob shivered at the sting of his palm. "Take your clothes off."

Jacob was obeying before he could even consider what else to do, even thought about potentially disobeying, because all he could think about with Lluw in front of him was Lluw's body, the swell of his chest and what it'd feel like under his palms, his beautiful, plump lips and his pink cheeks that would become so much brighter if he fucked him, the curve of his arse, and fuck, fuck, his cunt. Jacob would crave more of Lluw's cunt forever, he thought.

Lluw had walked away, and as Jacob dropped his clothes quickly over a chair, he stared at Lluw's generous arse, his thick thighs, imagined Lluw on top of him, then imagined fucking him from behind, craved to reach out and touch him again.

Lluw turned back around, and Jacob swallowed at his loose trousers, which were belted around his belly, weren't tight at his crotch in the same way but Jacob still thought about falling to his knees and mouthing at him through them, wondered if he'd be able to taste them through the fabric.

"Over you go," said Lluw pleasantly, "you can brace your forearms on the captain's chest."

Jacob glanced at the clothes chest Lluw was gesturing to, and then at Lluw's hands, at the length of rubber pipe he was holding in one hand, squeezing it in his palm and moving his fingers over the end nozzle, and the dark red rubber bag in the other.

"The fuck's that?" he demanded.

"This?" asked Lluw, smiling. "It's an enema bag. Captain Chisholm likes a clean ride, Jacob, and he's a very big man. You'll be glad of the enema once you've had it."

"I'm not getting a fucking enema," said Jacob, taking two stumbling steps back, suddenly cognizant of his hardening cock and putting his hands over it, and Lluw arched his eyebrows, looking innocent.

"Oh," he said. "Well, if you don't want to try another roll with me..."

Jacob's heart skipped a beat, his stomach twisting.

"Ian," said Lluw, "he wants the whip inste -- "

"No," said Jacob. "No."

Lluw's eyebrows raised higher.

Setting his jaw, Jacob shuffled forward and put his elbows down on the top of the captain's clothes chest, bracing his elbows on it. It was high enough that he could still keep his legs straight, but he was bent forward just a little bit more than was comfortable, but it was nothing compared to the strange feeling of the wet lube between his legs, the strange invasion of the nozzle into his arse.

He'd never been buggered before.

He didn't know what to make of it, the push of the nozzle inside him, the smoothness and slight coolness of the pipe -- his muscles moved without his consent, his arse clenching down on the nozzle the way he would at the toilet, trying to expel it, but it stayed in place, unmoving. It was a wholly odd sensation, unlike anything he was familiar with, and then he heard a sloshing pour followed by a glug-glug of water piling up.

Looking behind him, he saw Lluw had hung up the rubber bag on a hook, and he was pouring water from a jug into it.

"Wait," said Jacob. "Wait, I, ah, ah -- " Oh fuck God shit fuck but it was the weirdest fucking thing he'd ever felt, the water rushing into him, feeling it flood into his arse. It wasn't cold, but warm, and it was nothing like the occasional backsplash of water against his arse when he bathed naked -- it was completely inside him, filling him, and he realised he was making humiliating noises as it flowed, rushing inside him. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, God, I can't, I can't -- "

"Oh, you can, bachgen, you can," cooed Lluw, his beautiful soft palm settling on Jacob's naked lower back and rubbing over the skin in a neat circle, his hand warm. "You are, see?"

Just a bit would have been alright, he thought.

Just a little bit, just as much as he'd had already but no more, but it just kept fucking going, more and more of it, and then he heard the jug glugging again, and he wailed in overstimulation and yeah, maybe a bit of fucking fear. "No, not that much," he whimpered. "No, I can't, I'll die -- "

"You'll not die, now," said Lluw, patting his arse and then doing something to the bag so that the water suddenly flowed faster, pushing into him harder, and Jacob choked, scrabbling uselessly at the chest underneath him. It was heavy, so heavy he couldn't stand it, and as more and more water flooded his guts he felt it fill him right up, felt it push inside him and fill him deeper than anything ever had before.

When his belly suddenly cramped, something twisting or stiffening at the weight of the water, he wailed, and Lluw laughed, his palm sliding from his back over his hip and then under him, over the surface of his belly.

Jacob let out a horrified noise as he realised that his belly was hanging a bit lower than it should have been, and he dipped his head to stare underneath him at the swell of it, made bigger by the water, weighed down by it. Choking on another cramp, he whimpered, because his cock wasn't as hard as it had been, but he could see it bounce against the roundness of his belly where it should have been flat, smearing it with slick.

"Do you think we could make you as fat as I am?" asked Lluw in a pleasant, teasing tone, and then pressed down on the taut flesh. Jacob bit down on the howl that came out of him at the fucking pain, the way his whole abdomen clenched tighter at that, but why, why, did it make his cock harder at the same time?

He started to rub then, rubbed pleasant, soothing circles on Jacob's belly the same way he'd been doing to his back, and at first it was soothing, took the painful edge off of the cramping, was warm and nice and made Jacob almost sob as he pressed his stomach into his palm for more, but then the cramping started up with a vengeance, and he realised that all Lluw was doing was encouraging the water deeper.

"There, that's enough," he said after Jacob had been cresting this wave of agony for some time, and eased the nozzle free.

"Wait, wait, don't do that," he whined, "I can't hold it, fuck, I can't hold it, stop -- "

"You don't need to hold it," said Lluw, but he slid his fingers over the ring of Jacob's arse as he said it, pressed on the muscle in a way that made him squeak. "Captain's head is just there, bachgen -- you can make it three feet, can't you?"

It felt like the longest distance he'd ever traversed, bent over, clutching at his slightly swollen belly, his knees apart as he hobbled, shuffled on the floor, clenching everything -- his arse, his hips, his teeth, his fucking soul, desperate not to spill a drop, because if he spilt a drop, he'd spill it all.

When he shoved up the hatch and landed heavily on the seat he sobbed as he let go, felt the painful relief of it, his elbows on his knees, his breathing heavy.

He couldn't make eye contact with Lluw, couldn't look at him until he turned away and glanced around the screen and he could stare at Lluw's arse again.

They were talking to each other, but it was low and quiet and he couldn't make out the words, didn't know what it was they were saying, could only focus on the impossible, strange relief as he voided his fucking guts out, left more empty than he'd ever been in his life.

When Lluw finally turned around, he said, "Done?"

"Y -- Yeah," mumbled Jacob.

Lluw's smile was light sunshine, was one of the most painfully, agonisingly beautiful things that Jacob had ever seen. "Good," he said brilliantly. "Time for the second round, then."

Jacob felt even more like the pit had fallen out of his stomach, and shivered at the devilishness to Lluw's smile.

* * *

Ian had never seen Lluw quite like this.

When he'd met him, he'd still been working out of that posh little university, working as a clerk in their admissions office and modelling now and then for the artists. He could read and write, and owing to the fact that his father and uncle had both been navymen themselves, he could read a map, he knew the fundamentals of a ship and sailing, and he knew sailors even though he didn't want to be one.

Ian had pretended to mistake him for a whore when he'd made port, had clapped him on the arse, and Lluw had looked him up and down and instead of correcting him, had laughed and put on the act himself, had fluttered his eyelashes and climbed directly into Ian's lap.

Over the past three years, he brought Lluw with him everywhere, kept him in the cabin or brought him ashore with him too -- Loxley was his secretary, was training up for a real clerk's position on another ship, but Lluw had given him a great deal of training thus far, and Lluw kept Ian's cabin in perfect order, kept everything clean, neatly organised. He occasionally helped the accountant, too, and Ian couldn't deny he felt relieved at times, when Lluw took on certain social duties with the passengers or the newly merchant sailors who'd come to the Budding Spring from navy vessels.

He knew that Lluw could be two-faced and deceptive, and he even loved it -- Lluw would go around the ship and come back with all sorts of gossip burning a hole in his pocket, and Ian had witnessed him before soothe ruffled feathers and cool down tempers before they could reach their boiling points when it came particularly to the passenger dramas. He knew how to be subtle, how to comfort people when they were angry or when they were upset, and he knew how to stand up to people too -- but this?

This wasn't Lluw getting under some posh woman's skin because he didn't like how she'd been talking to her daughters, and it wasn't Lluw biting at a parson who was being too catty with a veteran who showed no interest in his religious services, and it wasn't even Lluw sitting back and watching a conflict he'd orchestrated and manipulated into coming to a head for his own entertainment.

He'd known that Lluw was a man who carried a bit of sadism with him, but he'd never seen it so concentrated in its direction, and he'd never known Lluw could be so cruel, so cutting, whilst also maintaining that beatific charm of his.

He spoke so softly and so sweetly to Jacob Hastings as he worked him through the second enema, chuckled when Hastings sobbed and gasped, laughed when Hastings begged for mercy. Lluw had a sparkle in his eyes, his lips shining where he was smiling, as he came back around the screen, hips swinging, almost dancing on his delicate little feet.

"You're a menace," said Ian in a low voice. "A sort of demon who pretends he's just a beautiful young man."

"Do you think I'm still young?" asked Lluw sweetly, as if he wasn't still a year shy of thirty, and Ian reached out, catching his hand from underneath and bringing his hand up to his mouth, brushing his mouth over the backs of his knuckles.

"Very young," said Ian. "The youngest and most nubile "nephew" a man could ask for."

Lluw laughed, then pursed his lips together and tried to look like he wasn't pleased, but there was pink blooming in his cheeks.

"I hope you realise I'm doing this for you," said Ian coolly, "and you only. Not for that... man."

"Why would you be doing it for him?" asked Lluw, seeming entirely baffled by it. "He's nothing."

Ian glanced back to Hastings as he came around the screen, his hands over his crotch to hide his cock, and Ian stood up from his seat, slowly pushing back his chair. He'd already cleared his desk off in preparation, and he watched Hastings' nervous expression as he did as Lluw directed, bent over the desk, his elbows and forearms braced on the wood.

Lluw had wished he was thin, but Ian didn't typically go for thin lads like this, boys with not much weight or meat to them -- he was a big man, had a big cock, big thighs and hands, muscle packed all over his body, and he knew his own strength, knew how to control himself, sure, but when a man was built like Hastings and looked like a stiff wind could kill him, it was hard to fuck them and really enjoy it. Lluw was gorgeous and he bruised beautifully but not easily, his body was strong and well-padded, able to take everything that Ian felt like throwing at him with ease.

For once, looking at a lad like Hastings, skinny little fuck that he was, Ian had no thought at all as to the danger of hurting him. If Ian hurt him, so be it -- if Ian thrust too hard and his cock popped out of the boy's fucking mouth, ran him straight through and killed him by impalement, so be it.

Lluw was smiling indulgently as he slid his fingers into Hastings' arse, slick with lube, and Hastings was moaning into his forearms. His voice was too deep for Ian's liking -- Lluw's was low and warm, but not pitched in line with Hastings' -- but Ian's cock still gave an eager twitch, was thick and swelling within his breeches. His cock wasn't hard for Hastings, not even the moans he made or the way his little chicken legs spread at the push and shove of Lluw's fingers in his arse. He was hard because whenever Hastings seemed as though he was suffering, whenever he whimpered or gasped or jumped in his place over the desk, Lluw seemed more pleased, and at one point, he put his other hand between his legs, palming over himself as he scissored his fingers.

Three of them -- four of them.

"Do you think he could take my fist?" he asked casually, and Hastings whined desperately, shaking his head, but his cock was hard, and it jerked and sputtered out just a little clear thickness that dripped down onto the wood boards.

"Perhaps," said Ian. "But that's not what he's here for, is it?"

Standing to his feet, he unbuttoned the front of his breeches, and Lluw beamed at him before wiping his lubricated fingers off on Hastings' lower back. He hurried around the other side of the desk as Ian stepped forward.

He gave the lad no warning, no further preparation, didn't bother to speak to him, just let his cock fall between his buttocks, let it rest in place. Hastings whimpered, the sound full of fear, and Ian hummed at the feel of his arse clenching underneath the shaft of his cock. It was quite open, slick with all of the attention Lluw had been paying it, and Ian leaned back just slightly, taking his shaft in hand and resting the head of his cock against the neat pucker of Hastings' arse.

He was taller than Lluw, but he was little in most aspects, had thin shoulders, a thin waist, a thin body, a flat little arse with no particular definition to it, and his hole... It was open, just slightly, from Lluw's attention, but not so open that it was easy when Ian pressed himself against it. It was nothing like Lluw's hungry, eager cunt, nor even his slightly less hungry but no less greedy arse -- pressing forward was an slight strain, more of a strain than he'd ever find acceptable with another partner.