Mutiny on the Booty

Written by minoan

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

We were a crew of scurvy dogs but we sure loved to pump
even though the ship we sailed was just a ragged dump.
Every day we pumped together, standing side by side.
The water kept on creeping in, I thought that we might die.

Into the oceans of hell, my friend,
into the oceans we ride.
Pump with both hands ‘til you’re back on dry land,
we’re sailing the seas ‘til we die.

Alestorm – Man the Pumps

- -

May 14, 1719
Nassau, Bahamas

“So drink, you briny barnacles, drink like there’s no tomorrow! For on the pirate crew of Calico Jack, there may well not be! Huzzah!”

“Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!” 

The crew cheered on the deck of the sloop-of-war as their captain, ‘Calico’ Jack Rackham, finished his speech.

Calico Jack was already a pirate of some renown in the Caribbean, but after his latest score his reputation would surely soon spread far and wide on the Spanish Main. The spoils had been split between the crew and now, docked in the harbor of Nassau – the de facto capital of piracy in the Caribbean – they began clamoring down the gangplank to spend their doubloons in the taverns.

Captain Jack was a feline without too many unusual physical features. He was of average height and possessed a long tail, pointed ears, and the lean, lithe build that was all too common among felines.

Despite this, Calico Jack's appearance always drew glances. He was, as might be surmised, a cat of many colors. He never knew his parents, but judging by his coat they may have been a jaguar and a tiger. Possibly a leopard and a puma? Definitely an ocelot in the mix. Or maybe not. Whatever they were, they left Jack with a coat that was a hodgepodge gumbo of colors and shapes with no rhyme or reason.

As if to accentuate the natural mosaic of his fur, Calico Jack always wore clothing that could only be described as flamboyant. Silk shirts with billowing ruffles, tailored pants and boots replete with golden buckles and fastenings, and a beaver-fur tricorn with peacock feather in the brim were all staples of his wardrobe. And over it all, matching the unique and varied pattern of his fur, he never left his cabin without his signature patchwork coat. Some claimed he’d made it from scraps of clothing stolen from the men he’d killed. Others said it was simply a pauper's garment he patched together out of necessity in the years before his career as a pirate. No one knew for certain except for Calico Jack. And he seemed to like it that way.

George Fetherston looked on the striking figure of the captain as the rest of the crew made their way ashore. It wasn't just the clothes or the cuff, the fur or the feather; there was something about the captain that held George's gaze beyond what would be appropriate if it were simply respect that he felt. No, it was something else. George himself wouldn't be able to articulate it if you asked him, since he wasn't even honest with himself about what he felt, but it was something else. It was adoration.

Very tall and powerfully built, George was a Clydesdale who seemed to be the physical antithesis of the captain he served. Rather than flamboyant dress, George wore simple sailor's garments. Instead of rich, vibrant, multicolored fur, George was a drab, muddy brown over most of his body, with only off-white streaks on his snout and limbs to offer contrast. Even the heavy clip-clopping of his hooves on deck contrasted with the graceful silence of the captain's feline paws.

He'd served as a cabin boy aboard HMS Bellerophon, a Royal Navy third-rate, from the time he was 12. As a draft horse he'd excelled in this role, carrying heavy items from one part of the ship to another day and night. But several months ago, just weeks shy of his 18th birthday, the captain had dismissed him from the crew and abandoned him in Port Royal, Jamaica. He'd told George he was too big and heavy to climb the rigging and work the sails. There was no place for him in the Royal Navy. Stranded in a strange land and with no prospects, it didn't take much convincing for George to join Calico Jack's pirate crew when they dropped anchor in the same harbor days after the HMS Bellerophon sailed away.

"Huzzah!"

Another crew member bumped George as he ran by to disembark, knocking him out of his trance, returning him to the moment. He rejoined the crew and walked down the gangplank onto the pier. The coins in his pocket, his share of the loot, weighed heavily and yearned to be spent. George joined in a raucous song with his crewmates as they made their way to the taverns of Nassau. This would be a night to remember!

- -

"Cockoo!"

"Cockoo!"

The bird in the clock above the bar told George it was two in the morning in The Witch's Tit, one of the wilder taverns on Bay Street in Nassau. He was one of the only patrons still conscious in the main hall. Many of his crewmates were sprawled out on tables, benches, or on the floor around him, passed out drunk from their night of revelry. George would be there with them, having drank just as heavily, but as a Clydesdale who stood nearly a foot taller than the next tallest crewman he was just too massive for anything short of a truly colossal amount of alcohol to put him down.

He’d had a great night singing, dancing and carousing with his crewmates, but one by one they all either passed out drunk or disappeared to a room with one of the bar wenches. Now, alone in the main hall, George figured it was time to call it a night. He upturned his flagon and started getting up.

“That’s no way to end the night, big guy,” the jaguar bar wench said to him alluringly, pushing him back down and straddling him in one fluid motion. She seemed to come out of nowhere, startling George as she touched him unexpectedly. Those blasted  feline paws…

“I know of a much better way...” she said as she walked her feline forepaws up his torso, settling on his powerful chest muscles. She began kneading them.

“You could spend the night with me...” she said as she traced her paws back down George’s torso, further and further south until they were over the bulge in his pants. She expected there to be a bulge, at least. She ignored the unexpected absence and continued with her enticement.

She leaned forward, wrapped her free arm around his head and whispered in his ear, “You could spend the night in me.”

George abruptly interrupted her seduction. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her off his lap, up into the air, and gently sat her down. Without saying a word he got up and walked out of the tavern, hooves clopping noisily as he avoided his drunken cohorts lying on the floor. Briskly he walked into the darkness, down Bay Street, onto the pier and up the gangplank. Back on the deck of the Ranger.

He leaned on the gunwale, looking out over the town he’d just left behind, wondering why he’d left so suddenly – why he’d done the same thing numerous times before. The jaguar who’d offered her services was an indisputably attractive female, there was no denying that. That’s what so many of his crewmates had been after that night, wasn’t it? At what so many of them had gotten.

George certainly loved drinking, loved singing and dancing with his friends whenever they found themselves in a tavern, but when they started disappearing into rooms with the wenches he’d never felt the desire to do the same. It was as if there was an entire dimension of carousing, of social interaction that he didn’t understand, and it made him feel inadequate. Broken.

“Why am I like this...” George said to himself, staring at the lanterns of Nassau, alone on the deck.

At least, he thought he was alone.

“Like what, Georgey boy?”

“C-Captain!” George said as he spun around and his eyes widened. Captain Jack was standing right behind him! Silent feline paws again, his downfall! How long had he been there? He quickly snapped to attention.

“At ease, sailor. At ease,” Calico Jack said as he moved next to George and likewise leaned on the gunwale. “It’s late, you’re officially on shore leave… I’m not your captain right now, I’m your friend. What’s weighing down your anchor?”

George recounted his interaction with the jaguar bar wench, as well as several similar stories from months past. As he did, the captain was slowly – too slowly and adroitly for George to notice – moving closer to him. By the time George had told his third story about rejecting a foxy fox in Bermuda, Jack was almost touching him.

“So that’s it, captain. I just don’t know what’s wrong with me,” George said, sagging his head.

Calico Jack, infinitely more perceptive than George, had surmised why George never found his way into a bed with a bar wench before he’d even finished his first story. He was more baffled that George hadn’t pieced together what was “wrong” than anything. He decided to test the waters, to fire a shot across the bow.

“Sounds to me like it could be a couple things, George. Could be that maybe these bar wenches aren’t too good at wenching. Could be! Or...” he said wryly, the corner of his mouth upturning in a coy smile, “Or it could be that what they have on offer just isn’t for you. Not your mug of grog. Not the tacking you were tracking. Think that might be it?”

As he said those words, he made the first tiny, nearly imperceptible advance. Delicately, deftly, he repositioned his hand on the gunwale, sliding it so that the pawpad on his pinkie finger was resting on the same digit of George’s much larger hand. If George pulled his hand away, it would be easy to say it was an accident. No harm, no foul. But if he didn’t…

George turned to look at Jack, who was already staring up at him. Their eyes met. George didn’t pull his hand away. Calico Jack knew instantly that he had him.

“What do you mean, captain?”

Oh, this boy, Calico Jack thought. This boy is either dull as a hammer or naive as a dodo. But there was something sweetly endearing about him, all the same. And of course there was the fact that he was a towering pillar of muscle on muscle, built like a brick shot tower – which, incidentally, was probably not too dissimilar from what Jack knew he must be packing in his pants. He was a horse, after all.

“One, don’t call me captain tonight. Shore leave, friend, remember?”

Calico Jack slid his paw further onto George’s hand. Any pretense of accidental contact was gone.

“Two, how about this: let’s you and me figure out exactly where that jaguar went wrong. Maybe if you can figure that out, your main-mast will be all set for next time and you won’t give her the old heave-ho. Sound good?”

“Yes cap’ – err, yeah, Jack. I guess that might be good to figure out. How can we do that though?”

“Glad you asked, George, glad you asked,” Jack said as he slid his paw further up George’s muscular forearm. “Come on, let’s go back to my quarters, I’ve got an idea for how we can figure it out together.”

- -

George found himself sitting on the end of Calico Jack’s bed in the captain’s quarters. Jack’s idea was that perhaps talking through the incident between himself and the bar wench would shed some light as to why George always seemed to react the way he did. George wasn’t entirely sure how this would help, but from his experience the captain was one of the smartest folks around and always seemed to have the best ideas for getting out of rough seas.

“So you were just sitting there on the bench, right? Kind of like you are now on the bed,” Jack inquired. He was standing in front of the seated Clydesdale looking down at him, hand on his hip, sly grin, weight on one leg. He wasn’t trying to look sassy – for Calico Jack, that was the default.

“Yeah that’s right. I started to get up and then she was just kind of… there,” George said as he brought his hands to his lap, palms upturned. “Like she came out of nowhere. Then she was sitting on me. Maybe I was startled.”

“Whoa there big boy, you lost me,” the captain said as he took off his peacock feather-festooned tricorn and scratched his head. “Did she sneak up behind you like a scheming scalawag? Spook you like a spectral spirit?” 

Jack was putting on a bit of a show to get the wheels spinning on his plan – his real plan. But was he playing up his feigned confusion too much? Possibly. If he was, George didn’t seem to catch on.

“No she didn’t. I mean, not really. I didn’t notice her but I don’t think she was trying to sneak up on me. You know how cats are, always silent whether they mean to be or not. Not like me, with these,” George said as he lifted up a leg, displaying the underside of a hoof to the captain.

“Mm-hmm...” Calico Jack replied, momentarily distracted by the Clydesdale’s powerful legs and inexplicably alluring hooves. “We are a crafty bunch, us cats. Keep your wits about you when dealing with our lot, Georgey! But wait, I’m still confused. Maybe...”

Calico Jack paused for just a moment and brought his hand to his chin. This was the absolute crucial point in his plan, the fulcrum on which the entire scheme depended.

“Maybe it’d be better if you showed me instead of told me?”

“What do you mean, captain?”

“What do you mean Jack, you mean, you mean. Call me captain again and I’ll start calling you Mr. Fetherston. And what I mean is, maybe I’d understand better if we sort of acted out what happened. I’m a crafty cat myself, you may know, so I can play the part of the jaguar wench.”

Calico Jack didn’t wait for a response before he took off his trademark patchwork jacket and walked to the side of the bed.

“Yeah I… I guess we could try that,” the Clydesdale replied.

George couldn’t explain what he was feeling at that moment, not verbally. He’d felt Jack’s finger on his when they were on the deck. Though he’d known he should move his hand, he didn’t. He knew Jack had intentionally felt up his forearm as they’d left the deck. He knew he let it happen. He knew he liked it. 

He was staring as Jack took off his patchwork jacket enticingly. No, George couldn’t verbally explain what he was feeling. But as he watched Captain Calico Jack Rackham saunter to the side of the bed, his body couldn’t lie. The bulge in his pants that the jaguar failed to find was growing.

Was he doing it on purpose? Was Jack flirting with him? George knew the answer. Deep down, he knew. Even though he pretended to the captain and to himself that he didn’t, an almost subconscious part of him was nearly certain where the captain’s little roleplay would lead. He knew. And he was going to let it happen.

“So she was back here, right? Around-abouts back here anyway, out of your line o’ sight,” Jack said.

“That’s probably right.”

“So then you started to get up, right before she…” Jack said, drawing out the word ‘she.’

George knew that was his cue, but he hesitated for just a moment. When Jack touched his hand on the deck, the head of his  equine penis had begun to peek out of his sheath. When the captain began flirting with him his erection had grown even more. It would be fair to say that George was now at half-mast, but given his anatomy as a horse he knew it would be absolutely impossible for the captain not to notice if he sat on his lap.

“...did this.”

The captain finished his sentence without waiting for George to start standing. Just as gracefully and fluidly as the jaguar, the captain snuck to George’s side, lifted his leg, straddled him and sat in his lap. If anything, it seemed to George that his captain was even closer to him than the bar wench had been. George’s equine snout was just inches from Jack’s grinning feline face.

“Y-yeah...” George replied.

“Alone is no way to end the night, George...” Captain Jack said, now superficially role-playing as the jaguar. “I know of a better way...”

The captain’s paws went up to George’s immensely muscled chest. He began kneading, feeling the horse’s powerful pectorals. He rubbed a pawpad over the Clydesdale’s nipples, clearly visible through his shirt.

“You could spend the night with me...” Jack said in a low, sultry voice, sliding a paw down George’s abs toward his pants. He felt the bulging horse cock within and let his paw glide a few inches down the shaft.

He leaned in close to George, grazing the length of his snout with his furred cheek until he was next to the horse’s pointed ear.

“You could spend the night in me...” he whispered.

George felt a shiver pass over his body as the captain’s rough feline tongue licked his ear. The tightness in his pants confirmed that his half-mast was now a full erection, the enormous member trailing down his left pant leg almost to his knee.

Jack slid back until he was once again face to face with the Clydesdale. He felt the horse’s quickening breath on his face as he saw nostrils flare.

Jack wordlessly slid his forepaws down George’s serpentine arms and grabbed his large hands. He pulled them to himself, placing them on his waist.

“So this is about as far as you got with her,” the feline said as he looked into George’s eyes. “But without the, shall we say, ‘peg-leg’ I’m sitting on.”

“Yeah...” George replied. Complex answers were beyond his ability at this point.

“What if...” Jack said, his paws still grasping George’s wrists, “instead of lifting her off you with those big strong mitts, you had kind of...”

The cat slid George’s huge hands under his shirt, guiding them up his torso. Jack grinned deviously as he let go and George’s hands continued groping him, sliding up and down his lean stomach, rips and chest on their own, feeling him, wanting him. He worked down the buttons on his shirt, unfastening them one by one, until they were all undone. Without breaking eye contact he took off his shirt and tossed it aside.

“Is that what you like, George? Feeling up little kitty cats?”

“Mmmm...” was George’s only reply.

George watched his hands as they seemed to move up and down Captain Calico Jack’s body on their own, his patchwork white, brown and black fur being furrowed between his thick fingers. He looked down and saw the growing bulge in Jack’s pants as the captain sat on his lap and noticed a drop of wetness, Jack’s precum bleeding through the fabric.

“But you have me at a disadvantage...” Jack said, beginning to unbutton George’s shirt. George didn’t need to be instructed to lift his arms to allow the captain to remove it once he’d unfastened the last button. Jack took in the sight of George’s rippling musculature and once again began kneading his chest.

As Jack leaned in towards his equine muzzle, George was unsure whether his captain was still role-playing as the bar wench or if they’d moved past that point. As he closed his eyes, met the feline’s lips with his own and felt Jack’s rough tongue in his mouth, he stopped caring.

George slid his hands down the captain’s back and onto his ass as their tongues danced. He squeezed hard, each enormous hand covered one of the captain’s cheeks. Jack, without missing a beat, moved his hands from the horse’s chest to his own crotch and untied the laces on the front of his cloth breeches. He pulled apart the flaps and exposed his erect feline penis. Calico Jack then moved his paws to his hips and began to pull down his pants without breaking the kiss.

George felt his captain’s breeches begin to slide down underneath his hands. He looped his thumbs around the waistline of Jack’s pants to help him pull them off. Barely a minute since their lips first met, George had the captain of the Ranger sitting totally naked in his lap.

Calico Jack broke their kiss, a string of their mixed saliva trailing on his tongue. He began reaching down toward George’s pants. George opened his eyes after their electrifying kiss to see Jack staring lustfully into his eyes.

Jack began untying George’s breeches. He broke his gaze at the Clydesdale and looked down to the horse’s bulging crotch, seeing the outline of his enormous cock trailing down one pant leg.

George then looked down and, for the first time, saw Jack’s erect, tapering feline cock poking out of his sheath. Compared to his own it was small, but that wasn’t saying much since almost all other species had small cocks when compared to horses, especially a Clydesdale. It didn’t matter. George found the captain’s anatomy, so different and alien from his own, to be strangely erotic. He wondered if it would taste as good as Jack’s tongue did.

Jack had finished untying George’s breeches and was transfixed by the enormity of… everything. The horse’s cock had to be as thick as his forearm, his balls were bigger than his fists. A brief flush of trepidation swept him; is this too much? But that thought was quashed and forgotten as he pulled down the Clydesdale’s pants, inch after veiny inch of the horse’s cock revealing itself, culminating in a flat, dimpled head. As it cleared the last bit of fabric, the upward tension was released and the horse cock sprang up and back, crashing into George’s lightly furred belly with a loud slap. Now, with George’s pants removed and him just as naked as his captain, Jack was about to go down on the horse.

But George surprised him.

As effortlessly as he had lifted the bar wench, George lifted Captain Jack up into the air. The horse leaned back on the bed until he was laying down on his back with the captain suspended above him. Grasping firmly onto Jack’s hips, George slowly lowered the captain’s waist to his equine muzzle and greeted his feline penis with his own tongue.

“George… oh god...” Captain Calico Jack moaned as the horse brought his member into his mouth and began sucking.

It tasted as good as George hoped. But even better than the taste was the unexpected texture. When they’d kissed, George was surprised by the roughness of the captain’s feline tongue, the interplay between it and his own resulting in the most amazing kiss he’d ever experience. Now, as he began bobbing his muzzle over Jack’s shaft, prickly barbs dragged against his tongue. They weren’t sharp enough to pierce, or even truly hurt, but the sensation was indescribable.

George wrapped his large hands around the cat’s posterior as he worked the penis in his mouth, using his strong hands to encourage Jack’s hips to start grinding. Such a beautiful contrast, George thought. On one hand there was his soft, silky calico fur, the subtle, sultry curves of his body, his litheness and his lightness. On the other, roughness of his tongue, the barbs on his penis… it was as if his own body was rebelling against itself, features protesting dominance in a frame that craved to submit.

Jack wrapped his arms around one of the large pillows on his bed. He was now openly thrusting into the Clydesdale’s mouth, but even as he did he knew the submissive side of him had already won the rebellion. He couldn’t say for certain whether he was humping George’s muzzle or whether George was doing it for him, the horse’s enormous hands nearly wrapping completely around the his feline hips.

George swirled his large tongue over and around his captain’s penis as it plunged in and out of his muzzle, pulling and pushing quicker and more forcefully in time with Jack’s thrusts.

“So fucking good… god you’re so good George… if you don’t slow down I’m...”

George felt the captain’s humping into his mouth become more erratic and desperate.

“I’m gonna...”

The captain’s thrusts were now so disjointed that he almost wiggled out of George’s hands, but the Clydesdale’s grip remained firm. Then, George felt Jack make one last deep, resolute thrust into his mouth.

“Ahhhh!!!”

George tasted a new flavor on the tip of his tongue as his captain reached orgasm. He savored the first spurts of cum before swallowing.

Jack felt the horse’s grip on his ass cheeks tighten as he came, all control lost as he squeezed the pillow tighter. After several more jets of cum splashed in the Clydesdale’s mouth George opened wide. He continued to eagerly lick the feline’s barbed cock as the last few spurts coated his long equine face.

“Fuck, George, you’ve never done that before? Fuck...” the captain said, still weakly humping. Then, regaining composure and his trademark sass, he continued, “but I’m not sure that’s a skill that will help you much with the bar wenches. No, not at all. Blow the man down, you got a little sidetracked there stud, that just won’t do...”

George felt his cum-covered cheeks begin to redden under his fur, blushing as Captain Jack rolled off him.

“But I know how you can get back on track. This is all for you George, I really want to help you out...” the captain said teasingly as he crawled to the edge of the bed and opened a drawer in the teak nightstand. George couldn’t help but watch at the cat’s sleek body stretched and reached, tail dancing in the air like a spinnaker in a storm. He saw the captain pull a small glass bottle out of the drawer.

Jack playfully rolled back to George’s side, the bedside treasure in hand. His face went straight for the horse’s enormous erection. Like a housecat on its owner’s leg, he began rubbing his face up and down its length, claiming it as his. He nuzzled the horse’s huge balls and arched his back as he trailed up George’s massive length and girth, inch after veiny inch, past the medial ring and finally to the slightly bulged, flat-headed end. Some of the horse’s precum coated his chin before he looked forward into George’s eyes and spoke again.

“You could make any wench in the Caribbean squeal with this monster, Georgey boy. They’d line up to walk your plank. But you need to know how to use it. Mm-hmm, you need some practice… and what kind of a captain would I be if I didn’t train my crew? If I didn’t keep their morale up?”

Calico Jack opened the small bottle and poured oily liquid into his hand. He started coating George’s cock with it, but it was too large for one handful. Or two. Or three. By the fourth, he felt it was as well coated as it was going to get.

“So I’ll help you out. Let you practice on me...” Jack said, the ruse so far past the point of believability that even as he said it he realized how silly it was. But if nothing else, he was a cat prone to silliness.

Jack poured out another handful of oil from the bottle and reached back behind himself, between his ass cheeks. He bit his lip, staring at George’s blushing face as he coated the exterior of his tailhole with the liquid, then slid a finger inside himself.

“I want you to fuck me, George,” he said almost in a whisper as he pulled his finger out of himself. He got up on all fours and crawled up the bed towards to the headboard, then adjusted slightly so that his rear end was facing directly towards George, who was still laying down but eyeing his captain’s every move lustfully. As George began to lean up, Jack spread his legs, lifted his tail and raised his ass, presenting it as clearly as possible. He looked back over his shoulder.

“Fuck me, George, X marks the spot. That’s an order!”

George couldn’t help but smile as he rose to his knees. There was that irresistible contrast again – the absurd, almost comical insistence of toughness and authority while he was lifting his tail and waggling his ass. Was it intentional? Was it just his personality? George couldn’t say. Whatever else it was, he thought it was sexy beyond description.

The Clydesdale’s immense erect cock wobbled and oscillated from side to side in wide arcs as he shuffled behind his captain and placed both of his enormous hands on Jack’s ass cheeks. He spread them slightly, admiring the cat’s tight hole. He let go with one hand and slid – slowly – one finger into the captain.

“Mmmm...” Calico Jack cooed as he felt the horse’s meaty finger enter him. George slid it in and out a few times, teasing him, before removing it and firmly grasping his own equine penis. He shuffled his knees on the bed, inching forward until the flat head of his cock brushed against the soft fur on his captain’s ass. George struggled to line up the head of his large, unwieldy, undulating horse cock with Jack’s lubed feline tailhole, smearing the captain’s white fur with precum. Finally, after several misses, George found the gap between Calico Jack’s cheeks and slowly sank in.

“Ahhh!” Captain Jack cried out.

George hesitated momentarily. Did he hurt the captain? Was he too big? But before he ask it, Jack answered his question for him.

“What the hell George?” The captain growled as he turned his head and shot a glance behind him. “Didn’t I give you an order? Quit teasing and fuck me!”

George slammed his cock deep into Jack’s hole. Jack cried out again in pleasure, giving no indication that the Clydesdale’s massive member was in any way challenging for him to take. George began riding him now, roughly, the way he’d thought he longed to ride one of the bar wenches but had never been able to. It was clear to him now, as he pumped in and out of his captain, that it wasn’t the riding part of sex that had ever been his “problem,” it was the wenches. What was on offer didn’t interest him, it was that simple.

But this – this, all this, George thought as he looked down at his veiny cock plunging into Captain Jack’s tailhole, wet slaps as his thighs and balls smacked against Jack’s cheeks – this was what he wanted all this time and didn’t even realize it. This was right.

George spread the captain’s cheeks to get a better view before quickening his thrusts. He pounded Jack harder and harder, then slowed his pace again, then sped up once more. Jack moaned underneath him and began pushing back into him in time with his thrusts.

George leaned forward and dipped his powerful arms under Jack’s armpits, laying his torso flush against Jack’s back and pushing him into the bed with his weight. He wrapped his arms around Jack’s chest and pulled him close, his humping never slowing. Together they crashed down into the bed, George’s hips driving Jack deep into the straw mattress.

“Yeah George, just like that. Swab my p… plunder my booty!”

George had total control over his captain as he relentlessly plunged his cock in and out of his ass. With the full weight of the Clydesdale on top of him, arms locked and legs pinned, the captain wouldn’t have been able to escape if he wanted to – which he didn’t.

“Hahh-nhhh fuuck George! Nnnnhh!”

Captain Jack had lost all ability to string together words coherently. He was utterly dominated by the horse that covered him, restrained him and filled him. Faster and faster George brutally pistoned into him, edging closer to climax.

George pulled one arm up from the captain’s chest and wrapped it around his neck, leaning in even further, placing his head next to and touching the captain’s. He could feel Jack’s hot, strained breath on the side of his muzzle as he buried his cock into him as deep as he could. He whinnied louder than the captain moaned as the head of his equine cock flared and a torrent of cum gushed into the deepest part of Captain Calico Jack Rackham. George continued bucking, a bronco possessed, surge of equine cum accompanying each deep thrust. With one last push he hilted the feline as deeply as he could, his shaft pulsing and his life-buoy equine tailhole clenching below his raised tail with each shot. He held there as the last few spurts filled the captain.

“Oh god… god, Captain Rackham...” George said breathlessly.

“It’s Jack, Mr. Fetherston...” the captain replied in his sassiest tone as he kissed the side of George’s snout.

- -

George awoke in his hammock several hours after sunrise. When the afterglow had faded and they’d gotten cleaned up, Jack convinced George that it would be for the best if he didn’t spend the night in the captain’s cabin. What would the crew think if they saw him leave the next morning? So he’d left, wishing he could fall asleep next to Jack but also understanding the captain’s position. He’d fallen asleep in his hammock wanting more of the intimacy he’d shared, but also grateful that even if nothing else ever happened between him and the captain, he’d at least made the discoveries he did about himself. He knew who he was now.

He rolled out of the hammock, but was surprised to see that no one else was on the crew deck. Sure, most of the crew were probably still in Nassau recovering from last night, but he expected to see at least a few familiar faces. He put on his breeches, shirt and overcoat before climbing the near-vertical ship stairs to the main deck and walking out into the bright, sunny Caribbean morning.

“Ahh, there he is!”

Captain Calico Jack Rackham was standing on deck, dressed in his finery, his feathered tricorn and his trademark patchwork jacket. Around him many members of the crew were gathered.

“There he is laddies, there he is! That swarthy steed, that indomitable bronco, that muscle-bound mer-mule! He’s up for promotion! May I present to you, my salty scalawags, the master of ‘jolly-rogering,’ the newest ‘first-mate’ on my crew, George Fetherston!”

“Huzzah! Huzzah! Huzzah!”