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“What is on the desk before you?” Sir Crocodile finally drawled, smoke billowing out of his mouth. You shifted from foot to foot, unsure how to answer his question in a way that would allow you to escape with your head attached to your neck. You’d never been in Sir Crocodile’s direct presence in the three months you’d been working at Rain Dinners -- and you had wanted to keep it that way. Except today Mr. Bones had been waiting for you as you clocked in for your shift as a cocktail waitress, taking you directly to Sir Crocodile’s luxurious office.
Mr. Bones pushed you to stand in front of Sir Crocodile’s large dark wood desk, empty of papers save for two bills on it. You stood there in silence, fidgeting as Sir Crocodile raked his eyes over your form. It was silent except for the sound of him flicking the ash of his cigar into a half filled ashtray in the shape of bananawani jaws. The tiny cocktail waitress uniform felt even more revealing than usual under his gaze, making you want to pull the skirt down further. You remained in place, Sir Crocodile waiting for you to speak.
“Two 500 Berri bills,” you said, unable to meet his gaze as you fought the urge to run out the door. You picked at your nails as you said it, hoping for the best. Your gut told you to prepare for the worst.
“And what do you notice about them?” he continued, his voice even deeper than you’d expected. You bit your lip as you looked at the bills, already knowing what the answer was.
“They look the same,” you said in a near whisper. Sir Crocodile stood up from his overstuffed office chair, his golden hook gleaming in the low light. Circling around to the front of his desk, Sir Crocodile towered over you before sitting on the edge. It felt like he was toying with you, much like a cat would before devouring a mouse whole.
“They don’t look the same. They are the same. In fact, they are identical,” he said, putting down his cigar. His flesh hand was drumming against the wood, like a cat’s tail flicking in interest. You wanted to try and suss out how much he had figured out but didn’t want to reveal your hand if you didn’t have to. You nodded.
“And how did you come to have two identical bills in your till at the end of the night?” he asked, his eyes dipping to the low neckline of the uniform before flicking back to your face.
“I don’t-” before the next word came out of your mouth, the tip of his golden hook was pressed to the underside of your chin in warning. He used the sharp tip to nudge your chin up further to finally look at his eyes, though he hadn’t pierced your skin.
“Don’t lie. I do not tolerate liars,” he growled, pressing his hook a touch harder into your chin, the skin still unbroken. You swallowed, your breath coming in short pants. He hummed with amusement before removing his hook from your neck and standing up, bringing his cigar back to his mouth.
“It’s interesting. You see, I’ve had a problem for months now. Someone’s been counterfeiting money using my casino as a front,” Sir Crocodile explained, walking around you in a slow circle.
“The methods used to cover the operation were clever, discreet. Never large bills, never more than a few a night, always spread among different waiters and the floor. It took me a while to determine what exactly was happening. Or rather, who,” Crocodile said, blowing smoke in your direction. You kept staring straight ahead, your spine straight as he detailed your downfall.
“At first I suspected a rival casino or perhaps a pirate crew. Maybe even the Marines. Imagine my surprise when I finally discover the source of my frustration is a slip of a cocktail waitress in my own employ. As far as I could discover, you are not in leagues with anyone else. A free agent undermining my operations for your own gain,” Crocodile said, now standing immediately behind you. You felt the heat coming off his body, making you shudder with his nearness.
“And now I want to know why.” Crocodile brought his hook around your neck, the cold metal like a noose. Your breath hitched in surprise as he pulled you a step back, your back now flush against his muscled body. You stood no chance of making it out of the office alive, you thought, so you might as well tell him everything. He didn’t remove his hook from your neck as you took in a deep breath, the scent of his amber musk hitting your nose as you began explaining.
“I - I’m not trying to undermine you, Sir. I didn’t - I don’t - I- I have a rare devil fruit, Sir,” not sure where to begin explaining why you ended up working in Alabasta for Sir Crocodile’s casino.
“Continue,” Crocodile said indulgently, like he was doing you a favor.
“It’s - I-” you stammered as you exhaled a shaky breath. You’d never told anyone about your devil fruit power, too afraid that you’d end up in a situation exactly like this. “I ate the copy-copy fruit. It allows me to duplicate anything non-sentient that I can hold in my left hand. When I use my power I can produce an identical copy in my right,” you explained, your breath fogging the gleaming gold in front of your face. Sir Crocodile hummed, his flesh hand coming to rest on the top of your head like you would a pet. If he moved in any direction, he could end your life, you thought with a gulp.
“That explains how, but not why,” he continued, his fingers grabbing a fistful of your hair and yanking your head back. Now you were looking up at his face, his hook at your neck, and his now hard erection pressed into your back.
“I just…I needed more money. I - I’m from Dressrosa,” you began your explanation, twining your fingers together to keep your hands from shaking. You felt like the air had been sucked out of the room, everything suddenly cold in Crocodile’s presence.
“I see. Well you can tell Doflamingo that his little ruse has been discovered. Or rather, I’ll send him your head,” Sir Crocodile’s voice was clipped with anger and you felt particles of sand begin to swirl around your feet. The hook against your neck seemed to practically vibrate with bloodlust and the hand in your hair tightened until you whimpered. You were unable to look away from Sir Crocodile as his teeth gnashed the cigar in his mouth.
“N-no - please! It’s not what you think! I - I don’t work for anyone, not the King,” you pleaded, hoping he’d believe your words before he killed you. “I ran away from there. He- the King, he requires anyone with a devil fruit to register with the palace. Anyone with a useful fruit doesn’t come back. I didn’t - I tried to keep it secret, but I think someone reported me to his officers. There’s a reward for turning in devil fruit users. I fled before I was taken,” you explained quickly as Sir Crocodile’s eyes bored into your own. He tilted his head to the side as if in consideration.
“So why here?” he asked, a hint of interest in his voice.
“I thought - the King is one of the Seven Warlords of the Sea. I wouldn’t be safe with the Marines, they’d just return me to him. I didn’t want to work for a pirate crew and I didn’t want to be discovered by Celestial Dragons. I thought that the safest place would be in the territory of another Warlord, that the King wouldn’t be able to directly interfere. I didn’t want to stay here, I just needed to amass a little more money. I can’t m-move jewels or gold without suspicion and it’s hard to stock up money quickly. I promise I wasn’t going to stay here and counterfeit for much longer,” you explained. Crocodile’s hand loosened in your hair as he played with the ends. His hook hadn’t moved.
“I couldn’t go to Fishman Island, can’t get to Amazon Lily, Dracule Mihawk and Bartholomew Kuma have no territory.”
“And what of Gecko Moria?”
“There is not much information and I was hesitant. I felt your domain was more stable, that I’d be able to – that I could make a life here. At least for a few months,” you finished as the dull section of his hook pressed harder into your neck.
Why you thought you could outsmart Crocodile and duplicate money at his own casino you didn’t know. Duplicating money was trickier than people assumed, you couldn’t float too much or the banks would catch on. You couldn’t have too much either, otherwise it would attract attention to yourself. It was a delicate balance of duplicating smaller bills while exchanging them for real ones. Unfortunately, it turned out Crocodile kept immaculate records and the casino wasn’t as safe as it appeared despite the cash flowing in and out.
Warm sand was piling up at your feet and getting into the high heels that were part of the uniform but you didn’t dare move. The only sound in the room was your harsh breathing and the soft sound of sand piling up at your feet. After a few minutes of silence, Crocodile removed his hook and walked back to his desk in thought, making you want to sag in relief. He was still watching you with his unwavering gaze, your ordeal wasn’t over yet. Sinking back down into his chair Crocodile took out a kerchief and began polishing his hook.
“Show me,” he intoned, using sand to remove one of his hefty rings from his index finger. Your knees nearly buckled as you stumbled over the sand to go to his desk. He dropped the ruby ring into your open left palm and watched you expectantly. As desired, you held out both your hands, squeezing the ring in your left hand. A moment later a flash of light went off and an exact copy appeared in your right. You handed them both to Crocodile, your fingertips grazing his warm palm and you handed them back. He inspected the duplicate closely for a moment before his grin widened. You had a sinking suspicion you wouldn’t be leaving Alabasta any time soon.
“I’m not in the habit of leaving problems unsolved,” he said, stubbing out his cigar in the ashtray. He beckoned to you with one finger. You pressed your lips together, unable to quell the small whimper that left your mouth. Taking the few remaining steps to his chair felt like walking to the gallows. This was it, you were done for. A tear tracked down your face as you stood in front of Crocodile, hoping your demise would at least be swift.
“I’m also not one to pass on opportunities as they present themselves,” he continued, steepling his fingers against his hook. “I’ve been watching you for a while now, you’re a clever little thing. Clever enough to fool me for a short while. Clever enough to save your life,” he said, patting his lap. Your eyebrows hitched together in confusion – did he really want–
“Your life was forfeit the moment you passed off counterfeit money in my casino. Be grateful I am allowing you the opportunity to serve me. Unless you'd rather I kill you,” he said with a shrug of a shoulder, like either option was equally as passable for him. You shook your head furiously and perched yourself on his massive lap, your eyes drawn to the gold chain around his burly neck. He drew his hook up to your cheek, making you flinch back. Crocodile grabbed your jaw in his hand and rubbed the cool metal down the side of your face, the urge to flee returning to you in spades.
“You work for me now. You do what I say, when I say to do it. Understood?” he said quietly into your ear, his breath warm on your neck. You nodded but Crocodile’s grip on your face only tightened.
“Say it.”
“I work for you now,” you whispered. Your heart felt like it was going to beat out of your chest as you sat on the lap of a Warlord like a docile pet. He let go of your jaw and patted your cheek forcefully, enough that it turned your face.
“I’m pleased we’ve reached an understanding,” Crocodile said as he set you gently on your feet.
“Strip,” he commanded as he opened the humidor on his desk to select another cigar. Putting it into his mouth, he gave you a “come along” gesture, as if waiting for a show. With shaking hands you reached behind your neck to unzip the flimsy uniform, allowing it to pool at your feet. You weren’t in anything fancy underneath, just a cotton bra and panties meant for a comfortable shift at work. You shivered as the cool air hit your skin, your arm unconsciously coming up to cover yourself fully.
“Don’t make me ask again,” Crocodile intoned, now lighting his cigar. You unclapsed your bra and slid the straps off your arms, letting it fall to the ground. You grabbed the elastic of your panties with trembling fingers and pushed them down to your feet. He’d said strip, so you reached down to unbuckle the uniform high heels when he stopped you.
“Those stay on. Come here,” he said, beckoning you to the right side of his desk. You walked on wobbly legs to his side, sure you were about to experience something from your nightmares. You couldn’t contain your tremors as his hand reached for you, looking away from what was surely to come. Surely he was going to ravage you, to make you sorry you’d ever come to this sandy shithole…
What you didn’t expect was for Crocodile to put his hand behind your neck and guide you until you were bent over his desk, your torso pressed against the cool wood. He trailed his fingers up and down your spine a few times, your skin prickling in the wake of his large hand. He put his hand on the middle of your back and kept it there, drawing small circles with his fingertips.
“You can prove your worth to me by starting at the bottom rung of the ladder. As furniture,” he drawled, fingers lazily dancing up your spine. You tensed and shifted your weight but stopped as his large hand pressed you against the wood grain of the desk. His large, warm hand spanned nearly the entirety of your back, his fingers curling over your side.
“Relax. You’ll be there for a while,” he said with a puff of his cigar. Crocodile picked up the top paper off the stack to his right and began reading. That was…that was it? You were going to be bent over his desk while he worked?
“I don’t-”
“Desks don’t talk,” Crocodile said mildly, tapping his hook on the middle of your back. Your mouth snapped shut. If this is what Sir Crocodile wanted, you could provide it. After all, this wasn’t so bad.
At first.
Because every so often, you felt a long, slow stroke up your naked cunt. Crocodile wasn’t playing with you, not exactly. He would run a fingertip slowly up and down your slit, making sure to avoid your clit the entire time. Or he would absently stroke the very inner part of your thigh, where it met your leg, while he read some document or other. Worst was when he would intermittently press the pad of his thumb against your hole, prodding gently but never entering you. You knew you were getting wet by the slow drip of your fluids down your legs, but you didn’t dare move from your position. Your breath came fast when he gave you attention but he always pulled away before you got too close to the edge.
It was an endless tease, punctuated by billowing smoke and annoyed sighs as Crocodile’s hand left your skin to pick up a pen. Occasionally he would run a finger through your cunt and use it to quickly flip through his papers, the lewd act making you flush as he conducted his business in silence.
“Copy,” Crocodile intoned at some point in the late afternoon, placing a piece of paper in your left hand. You blinked and did as he said, the duplicate appearing in your right hand moments later. Crocodile took both of the copies and reviewed them without another word to you, though a wide smile and a pat to your head told you he approved of your work.
Not only were you reduced to sentient furniture,, but it was humiliating being naked as Crocodile conducted his business for the day. Everyone who came in got a full view of you bent over Crocodile’s desk, including other casino workers you knew from the floor.
If anyone had something to say about you splayed over Crocodile’s desk, they didn’t say a word. You even saw the white high top boots of Miss All Sunday as she came into Crocodile’s office. Just like with everyone else, you’d steadfastly kept your gaze averted to the floor, not wanting to make eye contact with anyone.
“Quite the show,” she’d said, her voice dripping with amusement.
“She was the counterfeiter,” Crocodile said as he continued to flip through papers.
“Oh? Just this little one?” Miss All Sunday said as you felt two hands brushing against the insides of your thighs.
“Mmh. Works for me now,” Crocodile hummed, not taking the opportunity to explain anything further. You tensed your muscles and tried to move your legs closer together but found them immobilized by dozens of hands suddenly sprouting from the table. You nearly picked up your head from nervousness, remembering you were a table only seconds before disobeying Crocodile.
“Calm,” he ordered, stroking the top of your ass with one thick finger. You wished you could stop those soft hands from touching you, but you were now well and truly stuck. Crocodile surely saw what was happening as he sat in his chair with you on the right side of his desk. The fingers inched their way to your sopping folds, stroking and teasing all the while. You bit your lip in preparation for their intrusion but felt only the warm large hand of Crocodile covering your core.
“No,” was all Crocodile said, pushing the fingers away from you. Miss All Sunday laughed, a low tinkling sound, before she stood up from her chair. A hand sprouted in front of you, grabbing a cup of water off Crocodile’s desk. It delicately held the glass to your lips, allowing you to drink. You were thirsty from being there for so long but you tugged your head away from the glass. You’d only be doing expressly what Crocodile told you and nothing more.
“She’s practically training herself. She’s waiting for your word,” Miss All Sunday purred, her crossed arms pushing up her already ample bosom. Another hand appeared and grabbed your jaw, immobilizing you from moving any further away.
“Good girl. You may,” Crocodile said with a grunt, patting your ass like you were a pet. You drank from the crystal glass, the water running down your mouth as the fingers swirled delicate patterns into the sensitive skin of your thighs. The cup was placed on the table after you finished, the hands poofing into petals seconds later.
“Alright, I’ll leave you to your fun. Your meetings are done for the day,” she murmured as she sashayed from the room. You felt little flower petals landing on your skin as the hands disappeared, leaving you alone with Crocodile once again.
Over the course of the long afternoon, Crocodile continued working and ignoring your presence. At times, the only sound was the clock ticking in the corner and your own breath as he read and notated, humphing with displeasure at various line items. He had also continued to tease you, going farther than he had before his afternoon meetings. It felt like Crocodile’s fingers never left you, always pressing, stroking, and petting you.
Once, Crocodile had decided to rub the slowest possible circles on your clit, his hand practically dripping with your slick every time he pulled it back to rifle through more papers. He was setting an impossibly slow rhythm, his fingers moving to some unnamed tune as he drove you to madness.
Despite the lazy tempo, you felt the band in your lower belly tightening against your will. You wanted to rock back against his hand, grind to find some measure of relief but you held yourself still. Crocodile hadn’t given you an express order, but you didn’t need one to know that he didn’t want you coming without permission. You whimpered as he rubbed your clit between two of his thick fingers, the metal of his rings against your slick folds.
“Desks don’t make noise. I warned you once already,” he’d chided, pulling his hand away. You could have groaned from frustration, but bit your lips to keep from making any more noise. A few moments later, the cool metal of the flat of his hook ran up and down your spine. Goosebumps appeared where it had been, the late evening air chilling you even further. You heard the tinkling of metal behind you but you didn’t dare look back.
Looking out the window, you saw the moon rising in the sky. Normally you’d be working the floor already, counterfeiting whatever small bills you could and mixing it in with your tips.Clearly that wasn’t in the plans for you tonight. After straightening a final stack of papers, Crocodile stood up from behind you and stretched. He pressed his hand down between your shoulder blades as he walked to the front of the desk, keeping you pinned.
“You did well as my desk,” Crocodile drawled, his fingertip running up your neck. You shivered, but didn’t reply.
“Copy,” Crocodile demanded. You held out your left hand and Crocodile pooled his thick golden necklace into it. Immediately you created a copy in your right, holding the hand aloft. Crocodile picked up both, setting one on the table.
“You’ve been promoted,” Crocodile continued, as he handed you the other. Understanding what he wanted, you fastened the necklace around your neck, the warm metal heavy against your skin. Your head was picked off the desk as Crocodile slid his hook into the loose links, tugging your face upwards to look at his own.
“Instead of being my desk, you are now my pet,” he said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. You were no fool, the necklace was a method of claiming you. Now you wore a golden necklace an exact match of his own, your collar secured by your own hand.
“And what do pets do?” he asked. You licked your lips as his flesh hand squeezed your cheeks. Much like a pet, you were unsure what to do with an inconsistent prompt – you didn’t think you could talk with him squeezing your mouth and you weren’t sure what the correct answer would be. Luckily, Crocodile didn’t seem to mind filling the gap for you.
“They obey their Master,” he replied. He removed his hook, allowing your head to drop back down on his desk.
“So long as you obey me, you’ll have a wonderful life as my indolent little copy machine. And I have plenty of ideas on how to pass the time together,” he said, the heels of his shoes clacking on the cold tile of the floor as he walked back behind you.
“Does that suit you?” he asked, his fingers stroking your skin once more.
“Yes, Sir,” you replied, your voice creaky from so many hours without use.
“Good, because you have a lot of work ahead of you,” he said, the dull metal of his hook running through your folds. “You’ve been soaking my desk,” Crocodile commented, his hook now pressed against your clit. You tried not to squirm and settled on shifting your weight from one side to another.
“I know, I know. It’s been a long afternoon for us both,” Crocodile murmured with fake sincerity in his tone.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you. As long as you’re mine, you’ll be safe,” he said as he leaned over you, covering your nude body with his own. His words were shallow comfort – you had no doubt you’d be dead before you could betray him again. You tensed as his warm chest brushed against your back, unsure what he would do. Crocodile pushed his fingers into your hair, tugging your head to the side. He placed a singular kiss over your carotid artery before disengaging his hands and standing back up.
You heard the sound of rustling fabric before something long, warm and hard smacked gently against your lower back. You couldn’t resist the urge – you looked backwards at Crocodile’s hard cock, your mind trying to imagine how it would fit inside you. You didn’t have to wonder for long as Crocodile picked it up and lined himself up with your hole, his foot kicking your legs wider apart.
“You can take it. You’ve been waiting for it all day,” he said, his tip pressing against you. You took a deep breath as he pushed forward into you, your fingers gripping the edge of his desk tightly. His cock was massive, impaling you as he slowly pressed into you. The stretch was too intense, too much, too soon, but Crocodile wasn’t asking.
“Breathe,” he ordered softly as he kept pushing forward. He stalled for a moment for you to take a shuddering breath before continuing to hilt himself within you. After a moment, he began again, until the front of his thighs met the back of your own. You felt his brocade vest on your back as Crocodile began shallowly pumping within you. You doubted it was kindness, but you appreciated him not wrecking you completely.
Crocodile fucked you much like he had toyed with you that afternoon, with a casual laziness that belied his own interest. He set a slow pace, pulling out nearly all the way before pushing himself back in. He placed his hook underneath you, giving you nearly enough friction against your clit as he pounded into you from behind. Tears were on your lashline with frustration, but you weren’t going to argue with the man who had your life in his hands. Your harsh breaths filled the room as Crocodile picked up the pace, his hips snapping against you.
“Put your knee on the nnnh desk,” Crocodile ordered, pushing your leg up. Once you did as he ordered, the new position had him going even deeper within you. You couldn’t help yourself, you moaned loud and low as his cock filled you to the brim. Your core tightened around his length as he gripped your ass, pulling you down onto him as he fucked into you.
Sweat dripped down your chest as the band in your stomach wound tighter and tighter. You bit down on your lip as Crocodile worked himself in and out of you, his grunts growing louder as he came close to orgasm. His fingers gripped you so tightly you knew you’d be bruised as he came deep inside you, his warm come dripping out of you. You were close yourself, so close, if he just kept himself inside and if he kept his hook right there and if…so close…
“Ah, ah. Your betrayal is fresh in my mind. Pets have to perform to be rewarded,” Crocodile sneered, pulling out of your spasming cunt and removing his hook. Your chest was heaving as the orgasm slipped away from you, your body hot with unreleased tension. For as much as you wanted to protest, you merely sagged against his desk, allowing yourself to catch your breath. You felt his eyes on you as he used his fingers to push his leaking come back into your sopping core. Your pussy pulsed around his fingers as he pushed them inside, but Crocodile merely laughed. Crocodile then wiped himself with a handkerchief but made no move to clean you up in any way.
“Let’s go. I want you to make your appearance at the Casino in your new role,” he said, helping pull you to standing. You felt exposed, not only because of your nudity but also because of your combined fluids dripping down your thighs. It almost felt like a branding you wouldn’t be able to remove, no matter how clean you got. Crocodile opened his humidor and selected another cigar, lighting it with practiced ease. A billowing cloud of smoke obscured his face as his hand rested on the back of your neck.
“May I please wear my uniform?” you asked timidly, looking at your clothes pooled on the floor. Crocodile scoffed, ashing his cigar into the Bananawani jaws.
“Of course not. You’re done with those cheap rags. You may don this,” he said, draping his large green coat over your slimmer shoulders. Your shaking fingers gripped the edges, pulling it closed over your naked body. Crocodile tipped your jaw upwards, kissing you deeply on the lips before pulling away.
“This way no one will question who you belong to.”