Riptide (PirateJunkratXFem.Reader)

#7=Canines

Your fingers fearfully clawed along the desks surface, trying to pull yourself away from the diabolically grinning captain, but the gory gashes embellishing your trembling skin made that a futile endeavor without scraping the raw flesh even more sanguinary. So you quickly ceased your attempts of escaping, even if bitter and petrified.

You had dreaded this moment, you had laid awake in fear of Rat finding out what you really were, and now that his hands curiously slithered over your bare torso you recalled why. Because he was fucking terrifying when he touched you, rough and merciless like the seven salty seas themself were trying to imitate human nature, and just as cold.

And the knowledge of what he was going to do, of what he had repetitively snarled to himself under his breath at times, phrases like,'Lucky ya are a lad.' or 'Damn slinky pipsqueak', made it all too grossly obvious that he had stored up quite a bit of repressed concupiscence just for you, if you wanted it or not; it was there, and there were not a lot of options to extinguish that covetousness.

And now, that the hampering your deception provided was broken, there was no reason for him to have even a hint of composure. To him, you were fair game now, fair game to fuck. Merely recalling all the torturous behaviour and especially the choking, were bright red flags in your mind, and they told you that there would be no joy in any of this for you, this was for his sick delight alone.

Even if you knew he was damn gorgeous, a perfectly sinew frame attached to a sharp jaw and a set of eyes so brilliant one might have mistaken them for molten gold, you feared Jamie's blatant, breakneck habits. With his large, lanky hands caressing down your flanks to your hips you couldn't help but wimmer, as his slim fingers skittishly hooked into the cloth tape keeping your loose legwear tied around your hips to slyly undo the hitch.

You could only shiver and meekly squirm as his quick fingers underhandedly tug down the slacky pants from your waist to your ankles. You would have pushed your thighs together, but it felt like a waste of energy at this point. You could almost instantly hear a pleased grunt from behind you, making you freeze up dead on the spot, you knew those low, droning sounds all too well.

You had heard them a lot from the bordellos back in Tortuga, or when your mother had customers over, those contented little noises of anticipation they uttered; those knowing humming sounds. "Hmm, Who woulda' guessed, ya really are a wench, and such a ravishing one, too. Hehe, we're gonna 'ave ourselves some fun sheila." The blond man cooed with high-strung, slurred voice, clearly growing more eager and jittery by the second.

There was still not a single sound coming from you, body tightly huddled against the surface of the desk, hands propped against the table, eyes blankly fixed to the beautifully drawn maps below; as if paralyzed with fear of the realization what was going on and the after shock of the numbing pain exuding from the sanguinary gashes trailing down your upper body.Some drops

And all you could hear in your mind was your mother saying:'Told you, your not a dime better than me. You'll end up just like me, it's your destiny, your fate to be nothing but a skeevy whore.' The thought alone made your blood curdle, the sound of your mother's voice reverberating in your mind, it hurt more than expected.

Not even when a sly hand found its way between your quivering thighs did you shudder, not when they eagerly pushed apart your legs, not even when the lanky man behind you gracelessly, and near painfully roughly shoved his knee between your thighs; did you give in to your instincts, merely chewing down on your lips stubbornly.

You didn't want to make a sound, a squeak or scream, nore to moan or cry, you didn't want to give that sicko any confirmation of a vocalized reaction. After all, you knew if there was anything he enjoyed, it was your distress, especially if made audible by your voice. So when the willowy pirate cunningly stroked his lanky fingers up your quivering thighs, you didn't even wince out of unfiltered obstination.