Adult-FanFiction.org : Celebrity

The Stowaway; part 2	By : ravenwoman Category: Individual Celebrities > Johnny Depp Views: 3649 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. I do not know Johnny Depp. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1-The Stowaway; part 2
- 1
The sun was rising over the island of Tortuga as the crew of the Black Pearl assembled on deck. We were a decidedly haggard bunch, most of us: yawning, groggy, red-eyed, hung over, sore. Attempting to accomplish a few months’ worth of drinking, gaming, and sex in the span of a two-day furlough has a way of resulting in such effects, I have gathered. I, for one, would not have traded my aches and exhaustion for the world.
The Captain had yet to put in an appearance, which fact generated some ill-tempered grumbling and foul remarks among the men. I knew he was, in fact, up, having only recently left his company. I also knew he was likely as tired, sore, and hung over as anyone here. I did not, however, come to his defense. Such expressions of empathy would only serve to arouse not only resentments but suspicions. It would not do to have these men discover there was a woman in their midst. More, a woman who was spending her nights in their Captain’s cabin, pleasuring him and being pleasured in turn, while they endured weeks or months at sea with naught but their fists and one another for company. Of such things are mutinies made.
Besides, Captain Jack needed no defense. Even those who derided him under their breath and behind his back deferred to him in his presence and dared not challenge him openly. His rule of the Pearl was under no plausible threat.
I had joined the crew in disguise and in disguise I intended to remain. Only two nights before my subterfuge had been uncovered by Captain Jack himself, who, instead of banishing or dispatching me had taken me as his lover.
His plan was to take me on, officially, as his cabin boy. He’d been wanting one, he said, and no-one would question his motives or my identity. As cabin boy, I would, of course, bunk in his quarters, so as to always be "at hand when needed". He’d pointed this out the night before, grinning broadly and emphasizing his words with delicious strokings and probings of my wet, open pussy as I lay beside him on his large, soft bed. I was, of course, soon rendered completely agreeable to his suggestion.
Neither of us had slept much the night just past, being far too intent in our fucking and other like endeavors. And could this man fuck? Oh my! As sore and, in places, bruised as I was after two nights and most of a day of his attentions, the thought of it sent a sharp thrill through my sex and wet it immediately and thoroughly.
And could he put away the rum? Prodigiously. He consumed, I soon learned, vast quantities, all while remaining more or less ambulatory and very much capable of equally prodigious sexual performance. Other men I’d known had typically rendered themselves flaccid and stupid after a few pints of ale, but he was, in this as in other ways, very unlike other men I had known. I was almost surprised his cum didn’t taste of it or make me drunk, so much did he drink and so much jism had he spent in me.
I didn’t know if or to what degree he might be hung over, but MY head ached terribly after only two or three glasses of his spirit of choice. I thought his delayed appearance was most likely due to his taking "a bit of the hair of the dog, luv", as he had put it the previous morning.
Sure enough, when he finally made his entrance, made his announcement, and ushered me to his side, I smelled fresh rum on his breath. "Well then, get to work!" he bellowed, scattering the crew to their places.
Days, I largely continued working among the men. From time to time, Jack would summon me to him, sometimes for some legitimate purpose but more often for some illicit one. The man’s libido seemed as insatiable as his lust for spirits, two qualities which do not, as a rule, coincide.
Once, he waved me over gruffly (his public manner towards me was always harsh and dismissive, which I found rather exciting, in truth, considering his treatment of me in private) and shooed me into his cabin, slamming the door behind us. I’m sure my crewmates chuckled over whatever trouble I was in and whatever punishment I was in for. They had no idea!
Once inside, he pushed me roughly up against the wall and began tearing at my breeches, sending them falling around my spread ankles. Then, holding me by the wrists, arms above my head, with one hand, he tore his own pants loose with the other, his breath quick and hard. With one knee, he forced my legs wider and drove into me. The violence of his thrusts pushed me back into the wall and then up, until I was riding him.
My feet came free of my clothes and I brought my legs up to wrap around him. He slammed into me, using the wall to brace me for the deepest penetration.
"Ooooh, Jack, " I whispered, keeping my voice low as we always tried to do at these times. "Harder, faster!" He groaned and complied, panting now.
My climax was rising, every blow bringing me closer to the brink. "Uh, Oh! God, JACK, yes, yes! YES!" I hissed through clenched teeth, my hands fisted, wanting to scream it.
His rhythm became frantic and he threw his head back, exposing his working throat, mouth open in a silent cry, eyes closed. Then his head fell forward, coming to rest on the wall behind me, and he breathed a low exclamation into my ear. "Oh FUCK!" And exploded.
Nights, we took our time. His quarters, while hardly palatial, were nonetheless luxurious, decorated for comfort and pleasure. Colorful fabrics covered the bed and draped the walls and furniture. Large pillows were scattered about, likewise covered in rich silks woven into bright, complex patterns. Exotic scents burned in metal bowls, hazing the air with their intoxicating smoke. There were intricately carved tables and a massive headboard made of some pale, foreign wood. ("Teak, from Thailand," he told me. "It’s very light", he explained, waving his hands up and down to indicate buoyancy.)
One evening, we retired early, as the seas were rough and a hard rain whipped the deck. The storm was not severe enough to warrant concern, so all those not essential to routine operations had taken shelter below.
Jack began undressing me the moment we were alone, peeling off my wet clothes and draping my nude body in a nearly sheer spread of some loosely woven and incredibly soft cloth. "When we next weigh anchor, I’ll get you some proper clothes," he said softly, carefully adjusting the folds to cover me.
Then he undressed, draping his sopping clothes over chair backs and tables to dry. He poured himself a glass of rum, and, setting it on the table beside the bed, lay down. He patted the cover next to him and placed his arms behind his head, his nakedness a thing of beauty. I climbed in, but not beside him. I crawled on top of him, shrouding us both in long folds of silken fabric.
I began kissing him, his lips, his neck, his throat, armpits, chest, working my way slowly downward. I paused to lick both nipples, raising a soft moan of pleasure and a slow smile from him, then continued lower to his stomach. His cock was fully erect now, but I studiously avoided it, teasing him. He seemed to be enjoying the game.
A sudden inspiration struck, and I crawled back up him. He raised his head to protest, but I shhhhed him with a kiss, and he settled back into the bed under me. I reached above him and drew one of the long, silky scarves from the headboard, and, still sucking his tongue, wrapped it around one of his wrists. He broke the kiss and turned to see, watching as I pulled the other end through the headboard and tied it.
"Are you absolutely certain you’ve never been to Singapore?" he whispered. I smiled and bound his other wrist in like fashion.
"Well, now," he murmured. "Now you’ve got me. What are you going to do with me, luv?"
"Anything I want," I replied, staring into his black rimmed eyes steadily and seriously. His smile broadened and he shifted underneath me, pressing himself towards me. I moved away from his demanding prick and began laying gentle kisses on his neck again. I felt the vibrations of his voice when he spoke.
"What about my rum?"
I raised myself and reached over for the glass, taking a sip into my mouth. I fed it to him, placing my lips over his, slightly open, and allowing him to suck it from me. He continued sucking after he’d taken it in and swallowed, but I pulled away, going back to my ministrations.
I lingered over his nipples, sucking and licking them until he writhed under me, gasping and straining to reach me with his cock. Then I descended, finally taking his member into my mouth. He was thrusting towards me, but I held back, giving only the most superficial contact. He cried out, frustrated, perhaps even angry.
"How do YOU like it?" I demanded, grinning.
"I love it," he growled. "Don’t stop or I shall punish you again."
We both laughed then, but soon became serious, me covering him with teasing kisses and he moaning and pulling against his restraints, finally begging me to release him, either from his bonds or through orgasm or both. I knew he was capable of escape, knew he was playing along, and I loved him for it.
"Alright, then, good Captain. I shall take pity on you." I mounted him, sliding his inflamed cock slowly into my tight, wet pussy, taking control and making him proceed at a taunting pace. "AHHHH," he cried, "Parlay, fair wench, I invoke parlay!"
Laughing, I plunged downward, fully onto him, and he forged into me desperately. I rode HIM this time, driving myself onto him like a man, until he tossed his head from side to side and yelled out that oh dear holy Neptune, he was coming!
"I didn’t come," I confessed a few minutes later, after I’d untied him and we lay together, me stroking his chest and he sipping his rum. "I know," he said, and set his glass down. He turned to me. "Tie me up again. And take your fill of me. I shall not come until you tell me to."
I was dubious, but I did as he requested. I began by sucking him until he was hard again, then I got on top of him, slid onto him, and began slowly moving on and against his shaft, finding the places that thrilled me most, using him. He lay quietly, either watching me raptly or with his head turned aside, eyes closed. He responded with motions matching my own, but neither made any sound or motion indicating he was nearing release.
I moved on him with increasing fervor, pleasuring myself shamelessly. I climaxed once, twice, again, I loose count. All the time, he lay there, following my moves and adding the occasional unanticipated gyration. I do not know if it was a trick of the mind or of the rum or both, but his endurance was beyond belief. He never softened yet never gave any sign of spending himself. I felt myself approaching orgasm yet again, and, as the sensations overtook me, I moaned out, overcome with passion, "Come now, Jack, fill me with your hot spend!"
At once, he responded, rising into me, letting himself go, like a mighty wind once restrained, now freed. He came with me, loosing his flood as I contracted and gushed. We cried out together, secure in the knowledge that the wind and lashing rain would smother our noises.
Meanwhile, the Black Pearl sailed bravely on, Mistress of the sea, carrying this stowaway and her good Captain safely onward through the storm.
- 1
You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.You need to be logged in to leave a review for this story.
Report Story

The Stowaway; part 2