The Pirate and His Slave (Queen of the Atlantic: Book 1)

The door immediately opened. I won’t bother telling you who opened, you probably wouldn’t believe me if I did. What I will tell you what followed, what specifically happened after it did. In it entered two persons: a man (looking to be in his mid-late thirties), presumably a sailor, and his whore, quite clearly a Negra woman.

It took them not long to get undressed and hit the hay, as the bonking bed was just two-feet beside from them.

“You know,” the sailor spoke out, “I hadn’t heard one word come out of your mouth since I’s gotten here …”

There was one brief pause as both he and the Negra stared at one-another.

The sailor then added, “Not that I be complaining at all.”

Following that moment, the Negra then slowly continued to undress. Three seconds later, she was fully exposed from head to toe. Her tits were visible enough, which was more than what could be said for her snatch. Her skin was so dark that it was hard to tell if the carpet matched the drapes; either that, or the room was so dimly lit that perhaps the skin appeared darker than it actually was.

The sailor took a slow step or two backwards. To which, the Negra did the exact opposite, walking up closer to him as he backed away. Only then, by that point, he fell right into the foot of the bed and fell right onto it. That did not stop the Negra as she immediately climbed right onto him.

The sailor then chuckled, “You be a feisty one, ain’t you?”

The Negra did not respond.

To which, the sailor added, “Out of all the bitches I had me in a lifetime, truth be told, you probably be the best one.”

But upon hearing that, the Negra did not appear to smile, nor even grin. As instead, she continued to make her way with the scurvy sailor. As such, she immediately pulled his trousers down from his waist; his hairy cock and balls were now fully exposed.

As the Negra leaned her head in, the sailor glanced down in delight, loudly whispering, “God almighty!”

Right then and there, the Negra’s lips and tongue were on the tip of the head.

Two seconds later, the sailor tilted his head back with pure pleasure.

While giving the scurvy sailor the time of his life (at least, what was left of it), the Negra slowly reached into the left holster of his belt. She succeeded in pulling the gun out in no more than a second or two. Luckily enough, not only was the weapon intact, it was heavy enough to feel practically loaded. That may very well have been wishful thinking on the Negra’s part, but it did not prevent her from taking the chance to do the unthinkable. To keep the scurvy sailor non-the-wiser, she slowly got onto her knees and took the pleasure she was giving him to the next level, riding on him like a horse four seconds later.

“Oh, lord.” the sailor belched out, “Lord, have mercy!”

Watching and hearing him damn-near scream at the top of his lungs, the Negra then held the gun (from behind her back) and pointed it directly at the sailor’s face. And funny enough, the sailor was entirely unaware of this — up until the moment — he had finally — opened his eyes. With the sound of a click, the next thing he knew, a pistol (that of his own) was being held — directly — at his head.