Chapter 5: The Pirate's Treasure
The phone slipped from Mark’s sweat-slicked hand, clattering onto the keyboard. The sound – that rhythmic, wet, obscene slurping echoing tinny from the speaker – drilled into his skull. His knuckles were white where they still clutched the edge of the desk, the cheap laminate biting into his palm. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, suddenly unbearably harsh, bleaching the colour from the spreadsheet glowing on his monitor. His own reflection stared back from the dark glass – pale, wide-eyed, breath coming in shallow gasps.
"Becca?" His voice was a cracked whisper into the dead line, swallowed by the cavernous silence of the deserted office floor. Only the hum of servers and the distant whine of a vacuum cleaner from the janitor’s closet answered him.
He fumbled for the phone, fingers clumsy. The screen showed the call had ended. He stabbed the icon to call back. It rang. And rang. Each tone was a hammer blow against his temples. Pick up. Please, pick up. Tell me it wasn’t… tell me I didn’t just hear…
Ring. Ring. Ring. Silence. Voicemail.
He slammed the phone down. The image from Dave’s video seared his eyelids every time he blinked: Becca, his Becca, kneeling before Dave, her pirate blouse undone, creamy breasts spilling out, that vacant, hungry look in her eyes as Dave’s thick cock disappeared past her lips. And Dave’s casual, mocking voice: ‘Want a popsicle, Becca?’ His gut roiled, a sick mixture of molten fury and a traitorous, unwelcome heat coiling low in his belly. He could almost taste the phantom salt on her skin, smell the faint sweat beneath the cheap perfume of her costume. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to banish it, but it only intensified – the memory of her mouth on him, replaced now by the brutal image of her taking Dave, taking Chad, whoever the fuck was touching her…
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The air in the bedroom was thick, viscous almost, saturated with incense smoke that curled like ghosts around the flickering candle flame. It tasted bitter on Becca’s tongue, metallic. Her head felt stuffed with cotton wool, thoughts drifting like stray feathers. The coin… the shiny gold coin… treasure. Her treasure. She needed it. Everything else was fog.
Chad’s hands, cool and dry, grasped her hips firmly. His magician’s robe brushed against her bare thighs. She was bent over the edge of the sagging bed, her pirate skirt hiked up around her waist, the rough lace of her bloomers a distant sensation against her skin. The wooden bedframe dug into her pelvis. Dave stood before her, his pants undone, his cock – thick, ruddy, already slick with spit – nudging insistently at her lips.
"That's it, wench," Chad's voice was a low rumble behind her, devoid of its usual showman’s charm. Pure command. "Show him how a pirate pleases her crew." His fingers traced the curve of her ass, then slid down, parting her folds with deliberate pressure. She gasped, the sensation sharp, cutting through the fog for a fleeting second. "Earn your treasure."
Dave chuckled, a coarse, wet sound. He grabbed a handful of her dark hair, not painfully, but possessively, angling her face upwards. "Open wide, treasure hunter," he grunted. "Deep. Take it all."
The glint of the fake coin Chad dangled just beyond her reach caught the candlelight. Treasure. Obedience surged through her, warm and unquestioning. She opened her mouth, letting Dave guide himself past her lips. The blunt head bumped the back of her throat. She gagged instinctively, eyes watering.
"Fuck yeah," Dave hissed, tightening his grip on her hair. "That's it. Suck it, Becca. Suck it like you mean it." He pushed forward, forcing his girth down her throat. Her body convulsed, struggling for air, tears blurring her vision. Saliva pooled, dripping down her chin onto the bare skin above her low-cut blouse. The sounds were obscene – wet, choking gulps, Dave's low groans.
Behind her, Chad spat onto his palm. The sound was sharp in the heavy air. He rubbed it over his cock, already hard and straining against his trousers. He watched Dave thrust shallowly into Becca’s mouth, her cheeks hollowing with the effort, her eyes wide and unfocused, tears streaking her face paint. A dark thrill ran through him.Power. Absolute, unquestioning control.
"No more teasing, slut," Chad growled. He positioned himself, the broad head of his cock pressing against her entrance. She was slick – partly fear, partly whatever strange arousal the hypnosis and the sheer violation had sparked. He didn’t hesitate. He drove into her in one brutal, deep thrust.
"UNNH!" The muffled cry was forced out of her around Dave’s cock. Her body arched, a jolt of intense sensation rocketing through her. The stretching fullness, the sudden invasion, the pressure deep inside – it collided with the choking sensation in her throat, creating a terrifying, overwhelming feedback loop of sensation. Pain and something else… something darkly electric.
"Fuck, she's tight," Chad groaned, his voice thick with lust. He pulled back almost completely, savoring the drag, then slammed home again, harder. The bed frame creaked in protest. "That's it, wench. Take it. Take your captain's cock. Earn your fucking gold." He set a relentless, punishing rhythm, each deep plunge jolting her body forward onto Dave's cock.
Dave matched the rhythm, fucking her face in time with Chad’s thrusts. "Hear that, Becca?" Dave grunted, watching her struggle, her throat working around him. "Captain's giving you what you need. Take it all, you greedy little bitch." He pushed deeper, making her choke violently, her body spasming between the two men.
Becca was lost. The world narrowed to the choking thickness in her throat, the deep, brutal pounding splitting her open from behind, the ache in her jaw, the desperate need for air that never fully came. The coin swam in her tear-blurred vision. Treasure. Must earn treasure. The commands were anchors in the sensory storm. She tried to suck, to move her tongue, anything to please, to make the pain and the overwhelming fullness mean something. Her moans were strangled, guttural things, vibrating around Dave’s shaft, punctuated by ragged gasps whenever he pulled back slightly. Sweat beaded on her forehead, mingling with tears and spit. Her fingers clawed uselessly at the rough bedspread.
Chad’s thrusts grew harder, faster. He leaned over her, his breath hot on the back of her neck. One hand snaked around her waist, fingers finding her clit, rubbing in hard, demanding circles. "C’mon, wench," he panted, his voice strained. "Show me you want it. Show me you’re my good little pirate slut. Cum for your captain." His fingers worked mercilessly, adding another layer of sharp, conflicting sensation to the brutal penetration and the choking.
The combined assault was too much. A scream tried to tear from her throat but was immediately muffled, drowned by Dave’s cock. Her body locked up, rigid as a board, then shattered. Wave after wave of intense, involuntary convulsions wracked her – less pleasure, more like an electrical overload, a system short-circuiting under the brutal stimulation. She clamped down hard around Chad, her inner muscles fluttering wildly.
"FUCK!" Chad roared, the sudden tightness triggering his own release. He buried himself to the hilt, grinding deep as he pulsed inside her, hot jets spilling into her depths, his hips jerking erratically.
Dave felt her throat constrict wildly around him as she came. "Oh shit, she's swallowing!" he gasped, his own control snapping. He shoved himself as deep as he could into her spasming throat and erupted, thick spurts hitting the back of her gullet. She gagged violently again, trying to pull away, but he held her head firm, pumping his load down her throat until she was forced to swallow, coughing and sputtering as he finally withdrew, leaving her gasping, strands of spit and cum connecting her swollen lips to his softening cock.
Chad slumped over her back for a moment, breathing hard, then withdrew. Becca collapsed forward onto the bed, a trembling, sticky, ruined mess. Her breath came in ragged, wet sobs. The fake gold coin lay discarded on the floorboards, reflecting the dying candlelight. The thick scent of sex, sweat, and incense hung heavy in the air.
Chad smirked, wiping himself off with a corner of the bedspread. Dave chuckled, zipping up. "Man, hypnotized chicks are wild," he said, shaking his head with a grin.
Dave zipped his fly with a satisfied smack of his lips. Becca lay crumpled on the stained sheets, her breath hitching in wet, broken gasps. Sweat plastered dark strands of hair to her forehead, smudging the pirate eyeliner into bruised-looking smears down her cheeks. Her blouse hung open, one breast exposed and glistening, the cheap fabric of her skirt bunched uselessly around her waist.
Chad watched her trembling form with detached interest, adjusting the velvet lapels of his magician’s coat. He nudged her bare hip with the toe of his polished shoe. "Look at that. Wrecked." His voice held no pity, only a cool assessment. He reached into an inner pocket of his jacket, fingers searching. "But not quite done earning her keep, are you, treasure hunter?"
Dave leaned against the wall, lighting a cigarette. The flare of the match briefly illuminated the tattered pirate flags. "Think Mark saw the video?" He blew smoke towards the low ceiling, the acrid scent cutting through the lingering sex and incense. "Bet his dick’s hard as rock right now, poor bastard."
Ignoring Dave, Chad pulled something small and metallic from his pocket. He crouched beside the bed. "Becca," he commanded, that low, resonant hypnotist's tone cutting through her ragged breathing. Her glazed eyes fluttered open, unfocused but drawn to his voice. "Look. Treasure."
He held it out. A single, cheap, gold-coloured plastic coin, the kind from a child's pirate set. It caught the guttering candlelight. Becca’s breath hitched again, but differently this time. A low, needy whine escaped her swollen lips. Her trembling hand, sticky with drying fluids, shot out, fingers closing convulsively around the coin.
The effect was instantaneous, violent. Her spine arched violently off the mattress, her head thrown back. A guttural scream ripped from her throat, raw and shattered. "UUUNNNGGHHH!" Her hips bucked wildly against nothing, legs kicking spasmodically. Her knuckles went white around the coin. It wasn't pleasure; it looked like electrocution, an agonized convulsion tearing through her exhausted body, making her toes curl and her muscles lock rigid. Cum leaked visibly from her onto the sheet beneath her.
Dave choked on his smoke, coughing. "What the fuck?!" He stared, eyes wide. "Did she just...?"
Chad watched her shudder through the aftershocks, a cruel smirk playing on his lips. The coin held her rapt, the source of her torment and her trance’s anchor. Her chest heaved, the screams subsiding into choked, whimpering gasps. Her eyes stayed fixed on the coin clutched in her fist, her whole world reduced to that plastic disc.
Silence hung thick for a moment, broken only by Becca’s ragged panting and the hiss of Dave’s cigarette. Chad leaned in close, his breath hot on her ear. His voice dropped to a velvet murmur. "Good girl. Such a greedy little wench, cumming for her shiny coin." He let the words sink into her dazed mind. His fingertip traced the curve of her exposed breast, circling the nipple. "Want another one?"
Becca flinched at his touch but didn't pull away. Her eyes, still hazy, flickered from the coin in her fist to Chad's face. Hunger warred with exhaustion. She moistened her cracked lips, a fresh trickle of saliva escaping the corner. Her voice, when it came, was a raw, breathless rasp, stripped of everything but desperate need.