G is for… Ghost Ship

I awaken to the sounds of creaking and dripping and the groaning of tired wood. It’s so dark tonight I can barely see past the end of my nose. Not that it matters. I know exactly where I am. I don’t need to see the ocean beneath me to feel the waves. Along with the sun and the breeze, they’re my only constant.

Something I’m not certain of is where in the ocean I am. Thick banks of fog and cloud obscure the stars so I can’t get my bearings by looking up. And my other means of discovering my position doesn’t seem to be available to me. The men I travel with chop and change with each voyage, but their clamour is always the same. Chests of gold, the chests of women, and the distance between them and their desires.

But tonight, they are silent. I wonder where they are. Reaching out, I search for them. All I find is slimed planks and salt-stiffened rope. I feel wind whistling through shredded canvas, metal rusting where it sits, and corpses propped up against the mast, draped over barrels. What in the seven seas has happened here? There isn’t a solitary living soul on deck, so I go deeper. Scouring everywhere from the cargo hold to the brig. Nothing. There’s nothing here but more carcases of men. I’m all alone. But wait! There’s still one place I’ve yet to investigate.

Bringing myself into the Captain’s cabin feels like an invasion but I must know if he is here. Instead of glowing warm with candles as is usual, the cabin is dark and cold. His desk is overturned, his bed covers torn and moulding. He isn’t here and clearly hasn’t been for some time. How long must I have slept for this level of decay to set in without me knowing?

As I pull my thoughts back, I brush up against something that does, but at the same time does not belong. Not in the state it is in now. It takes me a few moments to work out what this means and when understanding hits me, I list to the right in dismay.

Just as I’m about to retreat from this tragic sight, a light begins to glow. It’s not the warm light of a candle. It’s blue and pale lavender, just like the flames that flickered at the funerals of my sisters. Though it’s pretty, it’s an icy light that casts no warmth on my chilled skin. All it does is illuminate the doublet shrouded skeleton it emanates from.

As I stare at this corpse-light, things start taking shape. Leathery skin slowly plumps. Gnarled clusters of knuckles become two fisted hands. Warped tattoos become anchors, birds, and islands, wisps of hair become thick, but still dirty, locks. The light warms to a soft orange as the Captain rises to his feet and suddenly the cabin is bright and inviting once more.

Oh. This is the reason I never allowed myself to see in here. Discretion urges me to leave, to let this play out without me, but something more urgent tells me that, if it weren’t for me regaining consciousness and bringing myself here, this wouldn’t be playing out at all.

So I watch the Captain clean the grime from beneath his fingernails with the tip of a dagger while a buxom woman with yellow hair sheds her repeatedly patched, red gown. She giggles and dances, dropping her garments piece by piece until all she’s wearing is a ribbon in her hair and a stain of red on her lips.

When she moves her body undulates in much the same way as the waves that caress my own form do. She shakes her shoulders to make her breasts sway. Pinches her nipples, informing Giles, the First Mate, that she’ll pinken them right up for him. She slaps her own thighs, squeezes her own buttocks, parting them with bony fingers to give the men a peek at what they’ve paid for.

The Captain watches as all of this takes place. Half smiling, he nods at Giles. The broad-chested, thick-armed man unbuckles his belt, then rummages around in his breeches. The woman squeals in delight when he pulls his cock free. I feel her knees hit the boards beneath her, she scuttles across them on all fours, taking the First Mate’s cock into her mouth with a moan.

Even at their hungriest, I’ve never seen any member of any crew fill their mouths as greedily as she does. She slurps and gags, saliva hangs from her chin in long, frothy rivulets. I dread the sensation of them hitting the floor, but they do and every inch of me shudders. Part of me knows that her mess won’t ever be cleaned up.

Giles takes fistfuls of her hair and holds her head still. His strong hips pump back and forth, driving his cock further and further down her throat. Her nails gouge into the floor and I feel their phantom sting. Like her mouth, her cunt drips, the fluid seeps between the boards. I can feel it still there, dried now and mingling with particles of salt, sweat, and…something else.

Looking at all of her gaping wide and accommodating is too much for me, so I focus on the Captain instead. My Commander. My Master. That beautiful, swarthy man who calls the sea his one true love and named me the only one he would ever traverse her with.

I should have stayed with the woman because that’s where his attention lies. His eyes are fixed on the sucking hole of her cunt. One moment he’s licking his lips with hunger, the next he’s grimacing, likely questioning the cleanliness of the folds he so wants to taste. I don’t want to see him do it. I don’t want to see him feasting on her with the same enthusiasm she is showing the First Mate.

Everything shifts abruptly to the right. Barrels roll across the floor, bump the legs of the table, knocking a goblet of rum onto a stack of paper. The Captain glances over his shoulder, shrugs, then lurches forward as the cabin pitches again.

Please don’t. I don’t want to watch his breeches drop to his feet, don’t want to see him stroke his cock until it’s hard enough to be pushed into the needy cunt of the woman on the floor. But that’s exactly what happens. Straight to the hilt, quick and hard enough for his balls to swing around her front and slap against her.

Sawing back and forth, the Captain and the First Mate find their rhythm, the former bouncing their plaything forward to throat a solid cock, the latter forcing her back, filling her cunt until she groans. One is pulling her hair, the other spanking her buttocks, scraping his nails over her waist, grasping her hips and fucking harder and faster.

With a roar, the First Mate pulls away from her and shoves her face to the floor. He works his own cock above her, making the Captain shake with laughter as he covers the back of her head with thick globs of off-white fluid.

I know the Captain is close. If he does the same it won’t be so bad. Watching it hit her mottled flesh will be easier than… No! He’s pulling her closer, jerking against her, closing his eyes as he fills her full of semen. When he pulls out it seeps from inside her, landing with wet splashes on the floor. On wooden boards. On my very body.

Plates crash to the floor. Candles topple and splutter out. Waves crash in through the window as they all lurch to their feet. The woman screams, falls over, falls silent. The First Mate runs a few feet, trips on a fallen sextant and is silent.

And the Captain. The Captain presses his hands against the wall, pleading with me, beseeching me to stop, but it’s too late. I’ve already dashed myself on the rocks, broken-hearted, drowning myself in grief. Behind him, a candelabra swings loose and hurtles towards the back of his head. The last thing he sees in his mind is me. Once was proud, beautiful, and protective had become dark, twisted and warped with fury.

That’s why I’m alone now. That’s why my beloved Captain is now nothing but bone. There’s nothing else for me to do but sleep away my sorrow. With any luck, this will be the last time I awaken to the sounds of creaking and dripping and the groaning of tired wood.

7 thoughts on “G is for… Ghost Ship

    1. I really wanted to do a ghost ship story cos I’m basically made of 50% sea and 50% spooks, but when I started it I felt like I was just writing a Black Pearl porn parody (which I would totally be here for if I’m honest, lol). I needed to change that up so I decided to be very literal.x

    1. It felt a bit cruel, I must admit, but I found the idea of a ghost ship haunted by its own memories as a punishment for its wrong-doing quite fascinating.x

  1. I thought for much of this that it was the voice of the figurehead, but later realised it was the ship. It’s a great slant, looping like ‘groundhog day’ around their last wild night, the shipwreck and the vessel’s heartbreak. Wonderfully written.

    If ever you craft some Black Pearl Porn, I’m up for that too!

    1. I’m surprised I haven’t done that yet, cos I could easily be a Jack Sparrow groupie if I got half a chance, lol.x

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