Chapter Text
“Ah, ah, ah. We wouldn’t want anyone finding out about our little secret, now, would we?”
His voice is no louder than a whisper, and yet the giggle to it echoes throughout your skull.
You try to hold a hand over your mouth, eyes closed so as to not betray the ache in your stomach or your many silent whines, but nothing you do blocks out the ever-present, hearty squelch of Phule’s fingers.
What started off as suggestive banter (typical of your not-so-coincidental, conveniently timed meetings) devolved swiftly today. Barely a drink in, while publicly trading expletives, the insensible clockwork had you pinned around, your back to his front. Wired as though he was the one to need to feel himself down your trousers, your lack of opposition hastily landed you in that very position.
Presently, he stands over your left shoulder with his pitch-black glove gripped lightly on your arm, acting as though he’s nothing more than a curious court jester— maybe conspiring with you, maybe telling you a joke, but never doing something as grotesque as what he’s doing now.
Only the motions kept hidden behind an old bar counter, tucked away in shadowy low light, could ever betray the fact he’s knuckles deep inside you, toying with your body like some grimy puppeteer.
Granted… your increasingly wrecked expressions aren’t much in the way of subtlety, either. The flutter in your lids proves too hard to fight when Phule paws away at you with striking familiarity. One wayward curl of his fingertips up, and he jolts every part of you forward. One circle of your bud, and your eyebrows crease painfully. That, coupled with your flush, certainly portrays more than amusement, but you continue fighting to keep your composure.
A glance confirms your fellow patrons are still none the wiser: You’ve put in good enough work so far to be sure of that.
And what work it was, you think, as your legs buckle so hard you nearly lose face. Phule pounces eagerly at the chance to exploit this. His pace quickens without any pause.
“I must say, Captain… you’re not very hard to conquer.”
The length of his nose tickles the side of your neck. Middle and ring finger poised against your walls, the thick velvet of their material thrums through you, coaxing pleasant shivers down the whole of your spine. “You’re in for a lot of trouble if anyone finds out how easy you can be.”
He keeps your legs upright and apart with the slide of a knee. Faint thrusts of his thigh, which drag friction along your slit, push Phule’s limbs against each other to worsen the pressure, your collapsing weight here doing you no favors. The entirety of your being feels melty, bordering on incorporeal. Sensitive to the highest degree, when Phule’s voice drops into a low, nasally octave, you listen with intensity to its condescending musings. “Just think… do you even know what your real enemies would give to learn all about our daring little escapades?” A third finger slides in with no warning or resistance. “…Or is that brain of yours no longer capable of thought at all.”
You’re helpless to stop the sharp squeak that penetrates your barricade.
Thankfully, amidst a clanking of glass and hearty cheers, the sound goes undetected.
It’s a real miracle, however, that the split tone clown doesn’t draw in more attention on his own. A sinister air floats above him. Hellbent on riling you up, he’s chipping away with great enthusiasm at your already frail composure. You’d be practically folded over the table right now without your arm to prop you against it, and yet the flagrancy of it all doesn’t bother Phule one bit.
Chortling instead, the clockwork prods further.
“Maybe I’ll tell father everything I’ve learned… What would lie in store for you then, I wonder?”
Your form shakes from another mean thrust. “I mean, really… you’ve let yourself become so vulnerable.”
His threats are near incomprehensible amidst the pumping of your blood, drowning out all sense from your body. Every time you find yourself close to an epiphany— close to feeling some semblance of disgrace— he shifts inside of you, assaulting your core.
“Forget the Armada— think about everyone here. They could all find out what you really are…”
Another tilt of his head digs the tip of his nose deeper into your skin: It’s like a measure put in place to warn you of his next spit of vitriol.
“An insatiable whore,” he starts with a pump, “with no real values” — a pull backwards — “or sense of shame.” A newly bruising grip takes hold of your frame. Black glove on your waist now, he has perfect access to your weakest points. “Does that not upset you? Frighten you?“
Trying to peer around, your thoughts are too dazed to hone in on one point of focus. Between Phule’s hands, body, and knee, you find yourself completely encased in his presence, trembling like a leaf.
Without a closer look, it does appear to frighten you, but the balmy vibrations that wrack your body expose so much more than simple fear. The way you’re slick with peril, instilled by his ministrations, accounts for so much more. You force down a whimper to ensure you remain quiet.
“No… I don’t think that matters, now, does it,” Phule bites with certainty, leaving no room for further question. He pets your hip before running his digits across your midriff.
“Don’t worry, pirate. Luckily for you, I have enough sense left for the both of us.”
Gently, he pushes on your pulse. It hammers in time with your muscles below.
“You know I’d never do something to spoil our fun,” his genial tone promises.
“Your affairs are safe with me.”
As if to prove his point, the dips into your core slow to a tease.
And without a second spared, he furiously palms your clit.
“Well…” he trails, “as long as you can keep quiet.”
The edge to his cackle is more piercing than a snare.