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The Wormwood Mutiny

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Barna Bashri, the jackal-headed rakshasa captain of the Wormwood, was deep in his cups at the Formidably Maid. Yesterday’s encounter with the Chelish armada, those fucking attempted colonizers, had left him down to the last two members of his crew. They were, however, his most trusted officers.

There was Master Scourge, his bronze-skinned, black-bearded boatswain and master-at-arms currently having his way with the nereid sex slave bent over the foot of the bed. He’d wrapped their head in the diaphanous shawl that held their life force like a gagging, suffocating bag. Their dark, sea-blue forearms were behind their back with the mithral and adamtine braid of his whip. Their trembling legs were kept spread by a bar shackling each ankle.

Master Scourge held their throat in one hand and dug his fingers into the soft, rounded flesh of their asscheek as he stuffed their ass with his dick. Each thrust pounded their cunt into the hard edge of the footboard. At the same time, the two tentacles that extended from the back of the boatswain’s shoulders coiled around either of their thighs and up into their dripping pussy.

It was little wonder that cumslut screamed at the cecaelia’s every tap and screw. You could take a nereid out of the sea, but you couldn’t take the sea of the pathetic whore’s pussy.

The other officer was none other than Barna’s first mate, Mister Plugg. Like the cecaelia, the drow was enjoying themself by riding a bound sex slave into the floorboards, their long, silver ponytail swinging with every wall-splitting thrust into her asshole.

The triton had her vivid blue cheek to the floor, her sobbing face covered by perpetually drenched white locks. Her arms had been bound to either side of her sleek-scaled torso, fingers clenching with each orgasm the drow pounded into her anal shaft.

Mister Plugg had taken her split tail, resembling two large, twined serpents, and tied it into a pretzel knot beneath them. Not one to leave a bitch wanting, they’d stuffed the triton’s pussy with the well-polished handle of their cat-o’-nine-tails. The mindless, ungrateful cumslut still writhed under them as though she had any hope of escape.

Barna’s black-furred head tilted in thought. If they assumed ownership of these slaves, not only would these cum toilets truly lose all hope of escape, but there’d be more bodies onboard the Wormwood. The captain held no false assumptions of their nautical ability. All ships, however, could use a few whores to batten down any mutinous inklings from the crew.

The lean, slightly-built rakshasa rose from his seat and set a weather-beaten captain’s hat upon his head. “Blow your loads, mates, ‘cuz we’re setting sail and taking these bonny bitches with us.”

Barna’s officers came on command and threw their cum-leaking whores over their shoulders. Of course they weren’t about to negotiate prices for the sex slaves. They were pirates.


The Wormwood was a three-masted sailing ship, a hundred feet long from stem to stern. The pirates chained their new booty to the central mast. Mister Plugg left triton’s arms bound to her sides but unknotted her split tail. The drow clapped an iron collar around her to keep her lashed to the mast. Her gold, angled eyes spread wide in desperate fear.

Beside the triton, Master Scourge switched his nereid’s arms into iron shackles bound to the ropes of the mast over their head. He unwrapped the shawl around their face, letting their dark, perpetually drenched sea-green hair fall free around their bowed head.

The cecaelia lifted their chin on the end of a tentacle, raising their despairing eyes as black as the oceanic depths to meet his. He grinned and stuffed the wad of their shawl into their mouth.

The pirates stepped back into line with their captain to survey their stolen treasures. Captain Barna nodded in satisfaction. “They’re definitely going to earn their keep. But they could probably use some comfort if this is their first time out here on the Fever Sea.”

The first mate and boatswain nodded. They ran off to the belowdecks with a sharp heel-turn, leaving the rakshasa with the kidnapped sex slaves.

He reached a finger into the nereid’s mouth and pulled out their gagging shawl. “What’s your name?”


He slipped a finger between the triton’s split tail and into her tight but perpetually wet pussy. “What’s yours?”

“Rishgo,” she rasped, her eyes half-wincing at the rubbing finger forcing her traitorous cunt into clenching squeeze.

The jackal snorted in amusement. He knew she couldn’t help it. Rakshasas were supernaturally enchanting beings to those without any kind of magical resistance. In the minute and a half it took his officers to go and return, he had the pathetic slut drooling and panting on his finger with her tongue out like a proper bitch.

“That’s just disgusting,” spat Mister Plugg.

“Rishgo’s just disgusting,” Barna corrected. “Use a whore’s name, would ya? Our other salty little slut here is San.”

“San.” Master Scourge tested the name in his mouth. Soft, round, and ripe. “Yeah, that’s definitely the name of a cumslut.”

Barna nodded, taking the “comfort” from his officers’ hands. They were toys from Besmara’s Throne, the mist-veiled island of the pirate goddess herself. The long, thick wooden dildoes had been carved after the tentacle-dicks of the Sea Banshee’s aquatic servitors.

The pirates stuffed their whores’ every hole, cunts, mouths, and anuses. As soon as the dildoes penetrated their victims’ shafts, their wooden lengths swelled and vibrated to life. Nereid and triton writhed on the deck and screamed onto the wooden cocks in their mouths, gagging their tortured cries.

Master Scourge laughed ruthlessly. The cecaelia twisted his nereid’s shawl into a long cord. He used it to lash the two bound, squirming slaves together at the waist so that one’s hips bucked into the other’s.

“Safe and secure,” the boatswain cackled.

“It’d better be,” Mister Plugg muttered under their breath. The drow gave their triton a swift kick in her over-stuffed crotch.

Rishgo convulsed, the full length of her scaled back whipping into an orgasmic arc. Her golden eyes rolled to the back of her skull. Her hips continued to buck and hump into San’s, the split lengths of her tails coiling tight around the nereid’s trembling legs as though possessed.

“ gonna be one Hell of a sail, isn’t it?” said the first mate, their voice low and husky in a voyeur’s heat.

“That it is,” grinned Master Scourge. The boatswain had his cock out, pumping it in both tentacles over the tangled mess of sloppy whores. He came onto their rocking bodies in seconds.

“Alright mates, back to work,” said the captain, clapping his hands on either of the taller officers’ shoulders. Even the sluttiest fish needed time to acclimatize to a new tank.