You Can Call Me Blackbeard - by Miss Quin



"You can call me Blackbeard if you want to," I whisper in his ear, grinding my hips into his backside. He's so close, he's shuddering. I loosen my hair from its twisted braid, letting strands of it fall against his back.

"Oh. Oh Fuck!"

I pull the polished wooden phallus nearly all the way out of him, then slide back in again harder, harder. The leather straps holding it in place are rough against my hips. The pressure of the heavy wood feels so good against my groin, I could come like this anytime, but I'm not ready. The force of my thrusts rocks the bed, and my fingers make their way into his hair, pulling his head back. I want to ruin this beautiful man. I lower my voice to a hiss and drive into him harder: "Do it, Iz.”

He breathes Blackbeard's name in a strangled cry as he comes.

His grunts find me shaking and carefully removing the phallus from him. I barely have time to unlatch it and toss it away before he's on me, his fist wrapped tight in my long sweat-dampened hair. His cock is still hard and he doesn't wait for permission, he already knows he has it. He sinks his teeth into my shoulder while he brutally slams himself into me with one thrust. I'm soaking wet from arousal and we are both slick from the effort of fucking each other. The humidity has tempers running hotter and bodies slicker than usual all around Tortuga and the air is steaming in the room around us.

How long he fucks me, I don't keep count. His thrusts drive my bed into the wall with a rhythmic thumping that echoes through my body. I lock my ankles beneath his ass pulling him in deeper, adjusting the angle until I'm unable to hold back my orgasm any longer.

"Say it again!"

He groans Blackbeard's name once again before his teeth find my breast, biting me hard as punishment for reading his needs so well. In his eyes, I can see the desire to slap me. Save it for your crew, I think with a satisfied smirk. We separate and lie flat on the damp sheets; the only sounds are our gasping breaths as we bask in pleasure. We revel in the moments we have.

His gold coins line my purse. His secrets echo against my skin. This could be the last time I see him or the first in a long line of rainy months. Such is the life of a whore and a pirate.

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