Suckling Pig
folder
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
5,391
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Category:
Pirates of the Caribbean (All) › Slash - Male/Male
Rating:
Adult +
Chapters:
1
Views:
5,391
Reviews:
4
Recommended:
0
Currently Reading:
0
Disclaimer:
I do not own the Pirates of the Caribbean movie series, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.
Suckling Pig
Disclaimer: I don’t own the rights to the Pirates of the Caribbean
or its characters, which solely belong to Disney, et al, but that hasn’t
stopped me from writing about them.
Notes: Written for lost_marbles555 who wanted something written about what “really” happened to Will during his first stay on the Black Pearl with Barbossa and his crew. I think I will expand this at a later date, more specifiy why when my laptop is fixed.
::Suckling Pig::
“Ye look jus’ like a suckling pig, ladie-o,” Barbossa laughs, giving Will’s flank a healthy slap.
Shivering with fear and a hatred so deep it hurts, the boy struggles within the coarse rope binding him. In a complicated series of doubled figure eights his elbows and knees have been bound together, forcing him to hunch forwards. A line of pain runs up the left of his spine as his muscles quiver and spasm in protest of sucposiposition. A leather thong cuts deeply into the corners of his mouth and a ripe green apple wedges it open. The final indignity, the true progenitor of the incipient terror transporting the boy past reason, is the fact that, beforehand, he was stripped of all his clothes.
Now, dappled in the buttery light from a nearby candelabra and dewed in sweat at the center of the usurping degenerate’s table, Will feels more the animal for slaughter, the lamb in the wolf’s crushing jaws, than the heroic martyr he pictured. He prepared himself for his own death but not this! He hadn’t even conceived of such a…a…
Elizabeth’s luminous image has been doused in the rising tide of panic overtaking his mind. At this moment, if given the opportunity, he would betray all else, forsake everything he has ever exalted, for himself.
“It be too bad that all must taste of dust and decay,” the cursed pirate comments as he runs a finger through the tart juices dribbling down the boy’s chin. His watery blue eyes trace Will’s helpless form with palpable hunger and his cracked lips twist into a gruesome grin. The boy shudders violently and averts his gaze. Perhaps if he closes his eyes it will all go away. Barbossa pinches his hip in a brutal twisting of flesh between thumb and forefinger. Will screams out a muffled obscenity.
“Can’t understand a word yer sayin’, apple-boy, but I suspects it be less than complimentary, eh? But if ye could only serselrself—God’s eye-teeth! It’s like walking past a hatter’s shop and seein’ all those fancy hats and knowin’ ye can’t have ‘em ‘cause ye don’t have enough shine with what to buy ‘em.” As he speaks, the damned creature walks about the boy until Will can no longer keep him in sight. Whining in the back of his throat, he struggles and contorts his body to catch even a peripheral glimpse of just what Barbossa is doing behind him.
“It’s a right shame ye hafta die, whelp. Would love a chance to swive ye, but only half a Turner so gots to spill it all jus’ to sure likes. ‘Course that don’t mean I can’t store away a sweet memory to keep me company away from port,” the usurper announces grandly. Will’s straining ears hear him place several items on the table. Dread surges nauseatingly in his stomach.
A violent spirit takes possession of his body at the first contact of a rough finger against a very personal and wicked place on his body. Choking on his gagged screams, he twists against the ropes with all the strength his vocation has blessed him with—all for naught. The ropes refuse respite. Defeated, he goes limp and sucks in desperate lungful after desperate lungful through his nose.
“Tired yerself out now? Good.”
Will grunts as the finger forces its way into his body in a most obscene and unnatural act. He can feel the inner muscles of his passage contract in rebellion of the invasion. A dark blush sweeps across his cheeks. It feels like…
“Now here be a surprise. It ‘ppears Sparrow didn’t plug ye at all; and he rarely leaves any furrow unplowed if it has a pretty enough face. ‘Course he always did prefer bananas to apples, if ye catch my meaning. Though, this time I might be tempted wi’ a conversion o’ sorts.” The finger twists roughly within him before being withdrawn. Will shivers in a rolling contraction of nearly all his muscles. This isn’t what he gave up for Elizabeth. This wasn’t what he intended! What he meant!
“Bananas, indeed,” Barbossa chuckles darkly. It is then that the boy feels something cold and hard begin to slowly press against his protesting entrance.
Not flesh, not human…Oh God no!
*~*~*~*~*
Moments after moaning brokenly and spilling slippery seed between clenched thighs, Will feels nausea take hold. In a thick, acidic wave stomach bile fills his throat and gushes into his mouth. Some of the noxious liquid spurts past the apple and drips down his face, but the rest remains there in a foul puddle around his tongue. Choking, gagging, tears beginning to trickle from the corners of his eyes, he swallows it down.
“Very good, whelp,” comes the bastard’s satisfied voice. With a harsh yank the implement of the boy’s torture and forced pleasure is removed. A hand pats his side in the manner of a man petting his prized hound. “Very, very good.”
~End~
or its characters, which solely belong to Disney, et al, but that hasn’t
stopped me from writing about them.
Notes: Written for lost_marbles555 who wanted something written about what “really” happened to Will during his first stay on the Black Pearl with Barbossa and his crew. I think I will expand this at a later date, more specifiy why when my laptop is fixed.
::Suckling Pig::
“Ye look jus’ like a suckling pig, ladie-o,” Barbossa laughs, giving Will’s flank a healthy slap.
Shivering with fear and a hatred so deep it hurts, the boy struggles within the coarse rope binding him. In a complicated series of doubled figure eights his elbows and knees have been bound together, forcing him to hunch forwards. A line of pain runs up the left of his spine as his muscles quiver and spasm in protest of sucposiposition. A leather thong cuts deeply into the corners of his mouth and a ripe green apple wedges it open. The final indignity, the true progenitor of the incipient terror transporting the boy past reason, is the fact that, beforehand, he was stripped of all his clothes.
Now, dappled in the buttery light from a nearby candelabra and dewed in sweat at the center of the usurping degenerate’s table, Will feels more the animal for slaughter, the lamb in the wolf’s crushing jaws, than the heroic martyr he pictured. He prepared himself for his own death but not this! He hadn’t even conceived of such a…a…
Elizabeth’s luminous image has been doused in the rising tide of panic overtaking his mind. At this moment, if given the opportunity, he would betray all else, forsake everything he has ever exalted, for himself.
“It be too bad that all must taste of dust and decay,” the cursed pirate comments as he runs a finger through the tart juices dribbling down the boy’s chin. His watery blue eyes trace Will’s helpless form with palpable hunger and his cracked lips twist into a gruesome grin. The boy shudders violently and averts his gaze. Perhaps if he closes his eyes it will all go away. Barbossa pinches his hip in a brutal twisting of flesh between thumb and forefinger. Will screams out a muffled obscenity.
“Can’t understand a word yer sayin’, apple-boy, but I suspects it be less than complimentary, eh? But if ye could only serselrself—God’s eye-teeth! It’s like walking past a hatter’s shop and seein’ all those fancy hats and knowin’ ye can’t have ‘em ‘cause ye don’t have enough shine with what to buy ‘em.” As he speaks, the damned creature walks about the boy until Will can no longer keep him in sight. Whining in the back of his throat, he struggles and contorts his body to catch even a peripheral glimpse of just what Barbossa is doing behind him.
“It’s a right shame ye hafta die, whelp. Would love a chance to swive ye, but only half a Turner so gots to spill it all jus’ to sure likes. ‘Course that don’t mean I can’t store away a sweet memory to keep me company away from port,” the usurper announces grandly. Will’s straining ears hear him place several items on the table. Dread surges nauseatingly in his stomach.
A violent spirit takes possession of his body at the first contact of a rough finger against a very personal and wicked place on his body. Choking on his gagged screams, he twists against the ropes with all the strength his vocation has blessed him with—all for naught. The ropes refuse respite. Defeated, he goes limp and sucks in desperate lungful after desperate lungful through his nose.
“Tired yerself out now? Good.”
Will grunts as the finger forces its way into his body in a most obscene and unnatural act. He can feel the inner muscles of his passage contract in rebellion of the invasion. A dark blush sweeps across his cheeks. It feels like…
“Now here be a surprise. It ‘ppears Sparrow didn’t plug ye at all; and he rarely leaves any furrow unplowed if it has a pretty enough face. ‘Course he always did prefer bananas to apples, if ye catch my meaning. Though, this time I might be tempted wi’ a conversion o’ sorts.” The finger twists roughly within him before being withdrawn. Will shivers in a rolling contraction of nearly all his muscles. This isn’t what he gave up for Elizabeth. This wasn’t what he intended! What he meant!
“Bananas, indeed,” Barbossa chuckles darkly. It is then that the boy feels something cold and hard begin to slowly press against his protesting entrance.
Not flesh, not human…Oh God no!
*~*~*~*~*
Moments after moaning brokenly and spilling slippery seed between clenched thighs, Will feels nausea take hold. In a thick, acidic wave stomach bile fills his throat and gushes into his mouth. Some of the noxious liquid spurts past the apple and drips down his face, but the rest remains there in a foul puddle around his tongue. Choking, gagging, tears beginning to trickle from the corners of his eyes, he swallows it down.
“Very good, whelp,” comes the bastard’s satisfied voice. With a harsh yank the implement of the boy’s torture and forced pleasure is removed. A hand pats his side in the manner of a man petting his prized hound. “Very, very good.”
~End~