Date: Tue, 8 Apr 2025 20:55:26 +1000 From: Marcus Aureus Subject: Jonathan, the Cabin Boy. Chapter 1: The Captain's Table (Gay -- Adult Youth) This is a fictional story involving a grown man, an adolescent boy and a forced sexual encounter. If this subject matter disturbs you or is illegal where you are please click away now. Also please donate to Nifty, to ensure that we can continue to make and read fictional adult content online. Jonathan, the Cabin Boy By Marcus Aurelius Chapter One: The Captain's Table Jonathan's first hour aboard The Providence. The door closed behind him with a finality that made his spine stiffen. The captain's quarters were lined in dark timber and the scent of lacquered wood and salt-damp canvas. Maps were spread like skin over the great desk in the center of the room, anchors inked in black and red across territories neither of them had ever seen. Captain Harrow did not look up. "You're the new hand." Jonathan's voice caught before he found it. "Yes, sir." "Name?" "Jonathan Fielding." "Age?" 12 years, sir" "Orphan?" "Yes, sir." "Brought anything with you?" He hesitated. "Just what I wear." That made Harrow pause. His gaze rose, eyes pale and unreadable. "That so?" "Yes, sir." "I think otherwise." He straightened, stepping around the map desk like a shark that had caught a tremor in the water. He slowly started to approach the new cabin boy. "It seems that there's scum like you in every port, in every dock, in every God forsaken City I go to, all with a pitiful story, all with the same desperation. Jonathan's mouth opened, but the words crumbled before they reached his tongue. Bending down to look Jonathan and the eyes Captain Harrow said "You wouldn't bring something contraband onto my ship. Would you?" "I--I didn't--" "Enough." Harrow's voice dropped, cold and low. "Hands on the map table. Lean forward." Jonathan didn't move. "Now!" Slowly, he obeyed. Palms down on the parchment. The table stood low, and the position forced him forward, bent over at the waist, feet apart. Vulnerable. His breath trembled in his chest. The Captain approached, gloves creaking as he flexed his fingers. "Let's see if you're hiding something. Shell we." His hands began at the waistline, skimming deliberately down the curve of Jonathan's trousers. Not rushed. But clinical. He paused around the boys buttocks before proceeding to the upper thighs, then leaned in, fingers travelling back up the stitching of the trousers hem, before settling between h Jonathan's cheeks and probing the crevice. Jonathan's legs began to shake. He clenched his jaw, eyes wide and fixed on the opposite wall. "There," Harrow murmured. As he rubbed against the tight virgin rosebud that was Jonathan's 12-year-old anus. "Remain over the table and pull your trousers down to your knees . Legs apart." "Sir, please--" "Don't beg." His voice was even. "It won't help." Jonathan, almost paralysed with fear, slowly pulled the rough fabric of his trousers down over his hips with shaking hands he exposed the pale white behind of a prepubescent boy. The room was too quiet. The wood of the desk bit cold against his bare forearms. His knees locked rigid in fear. The Captain's finger slowly pressed into Jonathan's unlubricated asshole up to the first knuckle, tugging free a single grunt of discomfort and disbelief from Jonathan's lips, then just as slowly the finger withdrew. The sound of Captain Harrow removing his belt was a slow whisper of leather against linen. Jonathan stiffened as he felt his quivering ass cheeks being spread slightly by the tip of Captain Harrow's ramrod hard cock, felling the head slowly coming to rest nestled up his terror clenched asshole. The last thing Jonathan remembered before his ordeal began, was being momentarily shocked by the heat he could feel radiating from the small amount of Captain Harrow's flesh pressed against such a soft and delicate place. Then-- the first thrust came without warning. The Captain's cock pierced him like a knife, his rectum was suddenly assaulted with burning hot pain, a sensation that felt like he was filled with molten metal. A loud cry broke out from Jonathan's lips. His knees gave, and he would have surely collapsed if not caught against the table's edge. "Quiet!," the Captain snapped. Holding himself still with only half his cock having managed to enter the young boy on the first thrust, he paused momentarily before calmly saying. "Do not disgrace yourself." Another thrust--Harder. Deeper. Fire lanced through his flesh. He bit down hard on his lip, tasted copper. After the third thrust warm flesh pressed against his quivering ass cheeks and the Captain's heavy balls smacked against his upper thighs. His small hands clenched the table so hard his knuckles blanched. Captain Harrow's breathing deepened. Slow. Controlled. He said nothing, but with every thrust that entered Jonathan he increased his pace--looming over the boy, repeatedly stuffing his tight little asshole as deep as he could . Ten thrusts. Fifteen. Twenty. Each stroke of the captain's cock seared into his raw ass. Jonathan's legs buckled again, and this time he hit the table hard, a sob escaping him before he could silence it. "You think you're the first boy to cry in here?" the Captain murmured, not pausing. "Take it. You want this." The thrusts kept coming--powerfully and cruelly. The final five entered him with an unrestrained frenzy, those heavy balls slapping against the flesh of his upper thighs with an almost surgical precision. Jonathan cried openly now, his entire body shaking. As the Captain's seed filled him he buried his against the map table. His body was heat, stinging pain and the faint smell of blood, sweat and feces. With a final loud gasp Captain Harrow collapsed over Jonathan, his entire weight coming to rest against the boy's back. The Captain lay there, his hand pressed flat against the side of Jonathan's face, anchoring him in place, his body refusing to move. Slowly he felt the captain's manhood shrinking while still inside him, when it finally left his bruised and stretched anus, he felt the sensation of something warm and sticky slowly dribbling down over his smooth hairless ball sack --blood or semen-- he knew not. Then, as suddenly as it began, the crushing weight lifted from Jonathan's 12 year old frame. Captain Harrow there stood behind him, his breathing deep and even now, slowly exhaling as he gently reached down and touched the curve of one of Jonathan's exposed ass cheek. Not with lust now. No, it was something deeper. A quiet satisfaction of dominance. Or ritual completed. "You'll remember who owns you," he said. Jonathan closed his tear filled eyes, trembling. The captain stepped back, pulling up his embroidered trousers, slowly covering his glistening wet cock . Before he quickly and deftly replaced his belt, with a snap of leather that caused the young boy to flinch where he lay. "You may dress." Jonathan didn't speak. Didn't look up. With shaking hands he slowly fumbled his roughspun spun trousers back up over his waist, arms barely responding. His legs shook as he painfully pushed himself upright, face pale and wet. He took one step--and collapsed to a knee. Captain Harrow said nothing. Just watched. "Bunk's in the hold," the Captain said, already turning his back. "If you can't walk, crawl." Jonathan swallowed a cry and dragged himself toward the door, one trembling hand at a time. His brutalised anus screamed and burned, his thighs shaking with each movement. But he crawled. The door opened with a creak. Cold air hit his face. He didn't look back. And no one else saw him leave.