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cryptidwritings · 1 year

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Dark Water

Chapter 13 : Swamp Pirates

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CW: restraining, gagging, indentured servitude, attempted (unsuccessful) noncon, unconventional and desperate means of escape, multiple whumpers.

The horses were amiable the next day. When Isidro approached the stable, they waved their heads and brayed excitedly at him, and he spared a few moments to pet each on the nose and offer them a personal good morning.

"No apples today," he sighed, "I got a warning - sort of... Not sure she'll be as kind a second time."

The last horse moved against his hand, and he grabbed the shovel and turned to the pile of manure that stacked to his knees and splayed out three feet each way. The garden Theodora had mentioned was just beyond the well.

She seemed to own quite a bit of land; a few acres in an odd shape that encapsulated her beach-front pub at the north, and extended back towards the swamp and to the left of the stable, which was east, all surrounded by a low wall made of mud and stone.

To the west were outhouses and other food-waste with bones piled to be robbed by rats and other wild animals until it could be buried; which, judging by the rest of the place, was probably on the list of Isidro's many tasks.

Leading east from the pub door was a walkway of sorts that trailed down the beach, cutting into the low grass just beyond Theodora's wall and into the swampy tree-line where branches curled and dropped like willows down to wide trunks that plunged into murky waters.

Within it was the real Talon; housing swamp pirates in the trees with buildings built from sunken ships - traveling on rowboats of the same material. Though, if he listened hard enough, Isidro could hear the shrill strike of a blacksmith coming from the west. Somewhere further up the beach, perhaps?

He began his work, carrying shovel-fulls around the stable and twenty feet toward raised beds with small green sprouts struggling out of the soil.

Maps of Talon were often inaccurate. As one would imagine, there aren't cartographers wandering around, and any who did try to document the island were sent home with their unfinished map pinned to their chest with a knife.

Rumors paint the island as a literal head of a vulture. Without exploring the island, Isidro wouldn't know for sure, but he did find it odd to be surrounded by beaches and yet unable to see any other buildings, or a proper port with a dock master and market. Pirates were reckless and ruthless, but they were still human.

It quickly dawned on him that the main dock was possibly further away than he expected it to be, and Theodora, quite remarkably, had her own private dock as well.

His muscles strained, and on the fifth trip he had to halve the amount of manure on the shovel just so he wouldn't have to take a sizable break to catch his breath. Damn thick sea air. He could already feel the lack of food and fresh water chipping at his constitution. He didn't like it.

Another shovel of manure later and he noticed two men approaching from the trail. They spotted him early on, and stepped off the path, resting on the wall as they talked amongst themselves before addressing him.

"Oy!" One yelled, "come 'ere!"

Both had stained clothes and a bandana around their foreheads that sported dark hair falling mid-shoulder in wiry braids.

"Miss Theodora wants this done by midday. I can't spare the time!"

The hair on the back of Isidro's neck stood as they swung their legs over the wall, and made their way forward. He gripped the shovel tightly, and walked around the planter, putting it between him as he evened out the soil.

They got closer. Isidro glanced up, meeting dark eyes and similar faces that towered over his own. The one on the left looked to be a few years older than the other.

"I see," the older one mused, flashing a golden-toothed smile, "so ye belong te Theodora? What's ye name?"

Isidro kept a steady hand, "Duncan."

They nodded in tandem.

"Seems like Theodora has quite a debt over ye head," the youngest stated, his voice sounded as if it had grown over a scar; deep and scratchy, and with effort.

"Unlucky for her, we are here to collect on some of hers."

"Aye," the eldest sat back on his heels as he crossed his arms, "ye don't get good business without a bit of... persuading from time to time, aye?" he winked and smiled, then glanced toward the pub before taking another step toward the planter and lowering his voice, "between ye and I, she's three hundred gold under, and how much ye wanna bet she don't have it?"

Isidro bit his tongue, and the eldest stood back again with a sudden twinkle of mischief in his eye that flicked over to the left. It was too late before Isidro noticed the youngest had managed to sneak around.

He stepped back and swung, and his breath caught in his throat as a hand wrapped around his wrist, leading to the older pirate whose look of mischief suddenly turned to one that made his blood run cold.

Then he was tackled to the ground, and the shovel was ripped from his hands.

"Ah! Get off!" He screamed, taking an unarmed swing at the man on top of him. His fist connected, but it didn't faze the brute, and he forced Isidro's hand behind his back as he flipped the sailor onto his stomach in the grass.

Isidro's next scream was cut off by a bandana around his mouth as his arms were quickly pinned and tied. Within a blink he was weaponless, staring forward at the pub entrance that stood a quarter acre away with loud music radiating from the door.

Boots entered his view, and the eldest crouched down, weaving hands through Isidro's hair before lifting his head to meet his eyes. Isidro's jaw clenched, and he wretched with the taste of sweat on his tongue. The older pirate was still wearing his bandana, leaving little mystery as to which one was between Isidro's teeth.

"Ye serve ye Miss, don't ye?" The eldest asked, "Consider this a part. Maybe we forgive a bit a her debt, and that'll trickle down to ye."

Isidro tried to pull away, yelling in pain as his hair was further yanked from his scalp, and the other pirate straddled his back with his entire weight.

"Go inside. I'm gonna knock 'im round a bit," the youngest rocked his hips over Isidro's bound hands. He screamed again, but it was cut short by the painful angle of his neck.

"Not out here ye not," the eldest spat, glancing down as Isidor grunted in pain, "go to the stable."

"What? Why? What's the difference, anyway? He ain't a pirate-"

"-Keep it quiet or ye leave 'im 'ere."

They stared at each other; a moment's away from a fist being thrown.

"Fine," the youngest conceded, begrudgingly.

Isidro's head dropped as the eldest stood with an annoyed sigh and began walking away, muttering tiredly to himself.

"Ugh. I need a pint."

Isidro screamed into the bandana as the eldest opened the pub door. Maybe someone would hear him. He could see bodies moving within the frame, and as the door began to shut he jostled his shoulders and kicked his legs as his voice cracked behind the gag.

A hand gripped his collar, and the younger man leaned forward, pressing his lips to Isidro's ear as his other hand wrapped around his neck and pulled him up.

"Keep struggling," the voice wafted in Isidro's ear, "see what it gets ye."

The threat made Isidro freeze, and the pirate sprung up, lifting the sailor to his feet to pull him toward the stables.

Isidro's heart assaulted his ribcage. He had to get out. Where could he go? The pub was far and he was too tired to sprint the distance. There was no promise that anyone would stop the pirate, anyway.

The horses brayed in surprise at the unfamiliar face as they entered the stables, and the pirate scowled at them.

"How many horses does one person need? Disgusting beasts," he kicked the door to one of the enclosures, causing the horse to whinny and rear up on its hind legs.

The pirate reeled back, covering his face as he shrieked - and Isidro ran to the only place he could think of.

His shaking legs bounded, and he jumped and landed on his back in the pile of manure.

The pirate had turned to follow, then grit his teeth in disgust at the smell, and the now filthier Isidro, who was unable to hide his shaking breath and dilated eyes as the brute paced with a set jaw; debating as to whether it was still worth it.

He let out a frustrated growl and threw his hands to his sides before pointing a finger at Isidro.

"Ye made ye Miss' job that much harder, worthless bilge-sucker," he snarled, then walked out.

Isidro shivered, breathing harder though the smell and stress made him feel like passing out.

As soon as the pub door slammed shut, he attempted to get up, but the moisture held him in a grip and he found himself absolutely stuck as the sun climbed and the heat beat down.

Eventually he was able to release a leg, but even with his boot planted underneath him, he didn't have enough strength to get himself out. With each movement it threatened to swallow him deeper, so he kept still - his heart beating, body aching, and the smell of the pirate coming off the bandana that made him want to vomit more violently than the feeling of shit between his fingers.

The horses made sounds back and forth as if talking to one another. From his vantage point, he could see the first stall, and the dark eyes that met his own every few minutes.

He took a deep breath, trying to get any oxygen that might be in the wind. He could die like this. That would be an embarrassing way to go.

"-I'll set 'im out to sea without a paddle!" Theodora's voice boomed as the pub door swung open and slammed against the backside of the building. Her boots dug into the dirt, and she came into the stable, heading straight for the horses.

"Did 'e hurt any of ye?" She touched the first horse on the nose with a leather-bound hand that looped around her wrists multiple times.

She hadn't noticed Isidro, and he debated whether or not it might be worth staying there a bit longer. The pirate could have said anything - maybe even blamed it on him somehow, and how could he defend himself? Like it had been eagerly pointed out: Isidro wasn't a pirate.

But he was stuck, and Moss was still unwell. He would just have to prepare for the inevitable pain. She would probably cane him; get him in the back of the knees or on the stomach if she was feeling bitter. It would hurt, but he could take it.

He called to her, and Theodora whipped around. Her face fell from disgusted to a certain level of understanding that rested over her familiar look of scorn. She approached the pile, looking over him quickly.

"Christ. Look at ye," she mumbled and shook her head, "when the bastard said 'e left me a present here I thought... hell, I was ready to find somethin' dead..." She covered her nose with the back of her hand as she planted her boot just at the edge of the mound and gripped Isidro's shirt.

He flew forward. The horses brayed as he stumbled over his feet and fell to the ground. He choked on the sharp intake as he smacked down with graceless force that left him catching his breath.

She pulled down his gag, and he immediately flipped to his knees and shoved his forehead into the dirt.

"Miss!" He gasped with the clean air, "I hope I didn't cause any trouble. The-He..." Isidro shook his head and balled his hands, unable to find the words but finally settling for: "I'm sorry."

Theodora sighed, looking away from the pathetic display.

"No, ye ain't," she pulled his restraints loose and shook the muck from her hand, "now get up before I make ye a footstool."

"Yes, Miss," he responded quickly, scrambling to his feet as he desperately relieved his neck of the bandana and tossed it into the garbage heap.

His legs were still shaking as he followed her, and she stopped him just at the back of the pub - pointing to her right where a large keg barrel sat beneath an overhang of splintering wood.

"Get clean," she finally said, "the brothers are busy, so don't worry about 'em for now."

"Y-yes, Miss," Isidro nodded, "thank you."

"Don't thank me," she walked away, "do as I say, and finish ye work."

taglist: @sparrowsage @kixngiggles @honey-is-mesi @annablogsposts

(let me know if you would like on or off this list!)

#pirate whump #whump writing #indentured servitude #whump community #restraining tw #gagging tw #attempted noncon tw #multiple whumpers #creepy whumper #dark water by jovi #writeblr

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mandwhore · 2 years

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Kinktober Day 2

Prompt & Type: Gagging, blurb

Pairing: Boba Fett x Afab!Reader

Word Count: 496

Warnings: Oral (m!recieving), gagging, lots of mentions spit, idk *guestures vaguely* it’s very short and idk how I feel about it. No beta

Minors Do Not Interact!

Your jaw aches. It’s worth it though, to hear Boba’s deep honeyed groan. At the faint sound of metal clanging on stone, you glance upwards and are met with the sight of his neck pulled taught, the slight bulge of his adam’s apple barely visible with his helmet on.

It sends a rush of heat through your body, and you wriggle unintentionally to provide some friction. It does absolutely nothing but reminds you of how soaked you are and the way your underwear clings uncomfortably to your pussy.

You inhale deeply and the musk of him makes your mouth water, and makes your brain feel slightly fuzzy. Though, perhaps that’s the lack of oxygen.

The saliva pools uncomfortably in your mouth, coating the underside of his dick. The heaviness in your mouth, and your body instinctively tries to swallow.

It’s a jarring surprise to the both of you, your throat spasming the way it did. The constrictions resulting in the instinctive thrusting of his hips into the wet cavern of your mouth. The tip of him hitting the back of your throat causing a sudden stop of air flow, your hands flying up to the tops of his thighs to press on them.

You sputter and cough on empty air, spit leaking from the edges of your mouth. Undeterred, you reach for his cock once again to continue blowing him, whining when he rests his hand on the hollow of your collarbone to keep you from placing the comfortable weight of him back into your mouth.

“No, little one.” His words are serious enough to halt your whining, gaining your attention. You peer up at him and are surprised when you meet his brown eyes rather than the imposing green helmet.

Your head is still slightly fuzzy, your gaze darts back to his cock, then back to his, impatient to begin again.

“Are you okay?” He asks.

You nod, and begin to speak anticipating his request for you to, if you had not spoken. “Yes. I’m fine, Boba.” Your voice is slightly raspy.

“Are you sure? We can stop.”

You were growing impatient. You glower at him, and begin once again. “Boba, I promise you I’m fine. Lemme suck your cock!”

His worried expression softens slightly, his thumb moving to glaze across your lips, and darken when your suck his thumb into your mouth with a small pop.

“You let me know if it gets to be too much, okay?”

His concern has you melting. His soft gaze on you makes your chest puff up, and you can’t help your preening, smiling and nodding around his thumb. You release his thumb, and lean up to place a small kiss at the curve of his hip.

“Of course. Now,” you swat his hand away, licking up the length of your palm and wrapping it around him, placing your lips to the tip of his cock and peering up at him, “I wanna gag on your dick again.”

#boba fett x reader #boba x reader #boba fett smut #boba fett #star wars #tbobf #tppkinktober2022 #ami writes #i do not know how I feel about this and i just know i'm gonna have issues with it going in the tags haha #gagging tw #airway trauma tw #spit tw

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