Pirate Ghost

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 2 Pirate Ghost

MARTIN awoke with a hard cock. The tantalizing suggestion of lips caressing the flared head of his erection had him sitting up in bed and staring down at his own naked body. He blinked and focused on his crotch. His cock was definitely hard, and looked wet. What the hell? The breeze from the big bay windows blew in across him, bringing with it the salty smell of ocean and lush Caribbean vegetation. It was late in the afternoon, the sun setting in the west to his right. He’d been dreaming. Leaning out across the bow of a speeding clipper, sails full, he’d inhaled the same Caribbean breeze he smelled now. A solid body had been pressed into his from behind, a stiff cock rubbed against the hairy crack of his butt and calloused hands reached around his waist and caressed his own erection. A bearded face had nuzzled his neck. What was that all about? He rose, shaking his head. Then he breathed in an odd scent that inexplicably clung to his face and body. It was vaguely like body odor; did he need a shower? But it was more like coconut and the smell of sweat. Not really dirty. Just not—antiseptic. What was it? He found himself stroking his hard-on absently as he inhaled the odd aroma, then with a laugh realized what he was doing. That’s when he noticed that all the windows were wide open.

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 3 He’d definitely closed the west-facing ones, and the blinds too, before taking his nap. That was odd. No one was in the house except him. Maybe it was a ghost. Martin let go of his cock and laughed out loud. A ghost! He strode to the windows and stared down at the first floor patio. Palmetto fronds waved in the breeze that was growing distinctly stronger. Was a storm coming? Gazing at the flower-lined patio, he suddenly recalled the conversation he’d had that morning. Ghosts. Yes, that’s when it had come up. “I forbid you to marry that loser. He’s after your money.” Martin had been arguing with his younger sister. Cecilia had just laughed and patted his shoulder. She was infuriating that way. She never lost her temper, and Martin blew his top at least once a day. “I want you to come back to Florida for the wedding. It’s next week, if you recall.” Cecilia’s melodic voice had floated on the breeze. “I also want you to sign the trust papers so Ryan and I can finish college without having to worry about money.” “Fat chance! I told you he’s after your money—” Cecilia was already walking down the path toward the waiting sea plane. She’d turned and waved to him, a bright smile illuminating her pretty face, blond hair blowing on the breeze. “Oh, by the way, there’s a ghost in your house. He’s a pirate, I think.” Martin’s private plane had skimmed across a perfect sea, carrying his little sister back to the States. He’d fumed for a while, then retired to his room for a nap. Then came the

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 4 dream, his hard cock, and thoughts of ghosts. Pirate ghosts. Martin grinned as he recalled their conversation. His little sister was in love! He didn’t believe in love. All the men he fucked, he fucked. That was it. Good sex and fast getaways. No one was going to get their hooks into him like some damn pirate. Pirates! There it was again. His sister was into all that stuff: tarot, clairvoyance, ghosts, and on top of that, she was a history major at the university. Martin pulled on a pair of swim trunks and found his way down to the sea and the little beach below his house, while he ruminated on his sister and ghosts. The reddish tinge of the setting sun glinting off the foam of the jade-blue sea calmed him. Behind him in the swaying palms, island birds twittered in counterpoint to the splashing of the surf. Except for the strengthening wind, the evening was perfect. He was glad he’d bought the old mansion on the coast of Jamaica, he thought as he dove into the waves, even if it had been Cecilia’s idea. Martin rose from the water refreshed, but when he glanced down at the rounded hairiness of his belly just covered by his swim suit, there was that insistent hard-on again. He was alone on an isolated section of the coast and he had no visitors planned. No one to take care of that boner. Maybe the ghost would do it for him, he thought sardonically. He laughed again, setting his worries aside and climbing the old stone stairway back up to the house. As he entered he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. Tall, blond hair

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 5 like his sister’s, but cut short and as neat as the thick mass could be tamed; at thirty years old, he was well-muscled but plump, with the healthy glow of good living. He didn’t mind the extra padding; it comforted him and he thought it was sexier than the lean, rock-hard bodies of some men. He smiled at himself in the mirror. He had to admit he was handsome as hell. The blond goatee that surrounded his bowed lips defined a square, powerful jaw. He was impressive. He had all the men he wanted, all the sex he wanted. A wildly successful financier, he got everything he wanted. Everything. Martin smelled it again. He whirled around and faced the door, which had suddenly slammed shut. No one was around, but he felt hot breath on his neck. He recognized that odor, a man’s smell. He smelled like that after a hard game of racquetball. It wasn’t bad, it was just—earthy. It wasn’t cologned and artificially deodorized. And there was that odd combination of coconut and something else. Maybe tar or rope or—what the hell? A hand touched his butt. He jumped. It had to be that damn ghost! He turned toward the empty air and grinned. “What do you want? Tell me.” His demand met silence. The wind had blown the door shut, perhaps. It had really picked up in the last half hour. Had the wind opened the windows upstairs, and the blinds? Of course not; the only explanation was a ghost. Martin laughed out loud. He felt a hand on his ass, groping it possessively.

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 6 Martin jumped and whirled around again to face the mirror. No one but him. He looked closer. There was something else in the mirror! He froze, staring. A misty figure, wavy dark hair and outlandish clothing. A sword at the waist. Martin’s heart pounded furiously. A moment later, there was nothing in the mirror but his own tanned and handsome reflection. He turned slowly toward the door. No one. A hand seized his ass and squeezed. This time he did not turn, although his breathing had become rapid gasps. The hand slid over his ass and teased the crack. Then it was gone. Now Martin dared to slowly turn and face the mirror, his entire body trembling and hot. No one. That could really have been a ghost, he told himself as the hair on his neck and forearms rose up stiffly of their own accord. He wasn’t crazy. He wasn’t hallucinating. Martin took a deep, ragged breath and again spoke to the empty house. “What do you want, pirate. A good fuck? Are you horny after a few hundred years without a body?” No answer. That was rude. Although he trembled all over, Martin shook off the unreasoning fear and managed a rakish grin, aimed at his own reflection. He was accustomed to getting what he wanted. A lot of money and an insistent personality usually assured that.

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 7 But can you buy a ghost? He thought about it. What do ghosts want? It wasn’t that complicated, he believed. Like anyone else, they either wanted something from you or wanted to give you something. They wanted to help you in some way, or to hurt you. Or maybe they just couldn’t care less about you unless you got in their way. He’d test out his theory. He had to do something, anyway, besides stare in the mirror and imagine hands on his ass like a Looney Tune. Martin had hardly explored his new house, and a growing boner led him toward the stairway he was facing. For some reason he sensed that was the way to go. At the doorway, that coconut-male odor was strong, very strong. Okay. This must be the ghost’s treasure trail, Martin reasoned. His heart, which had calmed the moment he took action, began to beat a little faster as he thought of treasure. That was it! The pirate had buried treasure here in this house, back in the 17th century, and was leading him to it. That would be satisfying. Money always made him happy. Martin barely questioned his own sudden feeling of elation. Fear should be immobilizing him, but it wasn’t. Ghosts were scary, he’d always imagined. Yet he was excited beyond any reasonable and rational norm. His hands shook, his heart skipped a beat, but he wasn’t afraid. He was just excited about gold and money, he told himself. He followed the stairs down, knowing they led to the recreation room and, lower still, to cellars stocked with wine. The house was old, but not that old. It had been built in

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 8 1850, but there had been another, older mansion before it, burned to the ground in a mysterious fire. He knew that; his sister Cecilia had researched it. The narrow stairs made two turns, and at each turn, Martin felt the hair on his forearms rise and tingle. Was he afraid? Nothing jumped out to confront him, not yet. He descended the creaking stairs in semi-darkness and finally came out into the recreation room. Old wood paneling made the room murky and brooding. Beyond the next doorway was another set of stairs. The scent drew him forward, his body trembling slightly as he anticipated the possibility of another ghostly hand suddenly touching him somewhere. He felt it as he reached the stairs—a light shove from behind. This time he didn’t bother looking. It had to be the ghost. With his tongue thick in his mouth and his throat constricting—excited, afraid, whatever—he descended into the cellar. Wine racks lined the walls, most empty. He wasn’t really much of a drinker, but guests and business acquaintances required good wine. He looked around the dusty room. Something askew caught his attention in the far corner. The rack along the wall had been moved aside. The floor was bare, no dust on it. There was that hand on his ass again! Martin stood completely still while fingers caressed a cheek of his ass through the material of his swim suit. He remained frozen in place as he felt the hand slide up and

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 9 then under his suit against his bare flesh. It slid into the crack of his ass, then abruptly pressed deeper, searching and finding his asshole. Martin jumped and jerked on his feet like he’d been burned. The hand was gone, only a memory and a tingle in his ass crack and twitching hole. Martin shook his head and managed to laugh out loud, although the sound was ragged. “So far, I can see you’ve got a thing for my butt, Pirate Ghost. But what next?” The clean floorboard ahead beckoned. There. Go there. A voice! The ghost’s voice. He rushed forward, peering in the dim light toward that empty spot on the floor. There! It was a trap door. Cool! Martin gripped the inset handle and lifted. It opened to another stairway, leading down to a landing that looked empty from where he crouched. What was down there? Treasure? Pirate treasure. Jewels and Spanish doubloons spilling out of an old chest, jade and exotic Indian handiwork. His heart beat faster at the thought of what it would be worth on today’s market. He peered into the darkness, wishing he had a flashlight. Should he go get one? A hand on his naked back pressed him forward. He jumped at the feel of that calloused palm, but then rallied and focused on the task he’d set himself. The ghost was telling him something. He suddenly couldn’t wait. That ghostly hand had done

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 10 more than upset him; it both made his cock hard and set his imagination on fire. He recalled the dream, and the feel of the man behind him on that ship, and the misty figure in the mirror, and suddenly he wanted that man, that ghost, more than anything. Martin wanted to feel him, to feel that pirate inside him. Fear and exhilaration were now channeled into lust. Lust for a ghost! He was absolutely out of his mind. So what. He clambered down the steep stairs in a rush. He gazed around, the dim light from above merely offering him a glimpse of an empty chamber—so far. Suddenly, the trap door slammed closed and he was in utter darkness. He shivered. Was the ghost playing tricks on him? He still wasn’t really worried, or truly frightened. In fact, his cock was aching to get out of his swim suit. There it was, that hand on his ass again. He gasped. Two hands were on him. That smell flooded his nostrils. All at once he knew what it was. The pirate smelled like the sea, salt water and rope and tar and the fruit of the island coconut palms. He snorted in the raunchy odor with sudden greed. Then, in the pitch darkness, while he breathed in the ghost’s scent, ethereal hands began to strip him. Those hands shoved his swim suit down to his ankles. His mouth open and nostrils flaring as he inhaled the ghost’s smell, Martin stepped out of his swim suit, trembling and

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 11 leaning forward slightly to open up his ass crack. He was about to get fucked by a ghost. Hot flesh pressed between his ass cheeks. A column of throbbing cock rubbed into the deep crevice and pulsed insistently. A ghost cock! A pirate ghost cock! The blond financier bent over, grabbing hold of both his knees. He wanted it! He had never felt so willing and so hard. Those ghostly, calloused hands on his butt cheeks felt as real as the wooden floor beneath his bare feet. The hands parted his butt cheeks and held them open. Something wet and slippery dribbled down into his crack. It smelled like coconut and something else—lard? He was being greased! He groaned as the fat helmet of a cock pressed against the opening to his tender asshole. The cock pushed, and Martin willed himself to open for it. Then he was being filled, the cock riding up inside him, stuffing him and possessing him. Yes, he was being possessed! He shouted out loud, “Fuck me!” A dare, a challenge, but there was no answer—except for the cock sliding deeper and higher up inside him. For a moment, Martin reeled. The insanity of the moment, his unreasoning lust and his bizarre acceptance of the ghostly hands and cock possessing him, all hit him like a blow to the gut. He moaned and blubbered something incoherent, then capitulated, surrendering to his own crazed desire. He

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 12 spread his feet wider, he squatted to open himself up, and he grunted like a gored pig as the cock slid all the way home. A pair of hairy ghost’s nuts nestled between his own hefty but firm butt cheeks. Out of the steamy, ghost-scented darkness, with a cock buried up his asshole, it hit him. The whole house rocked, then reeled. He lost his balance and would have fallen except for the cock in his ass and those firm, all-too-real hands gripping his butt cheeks. They held him in place as violence erupted all around him. It seemed as if the very earth heaved. A scream of crunching sound filled the chamber. Martin heard his own shriek of fright, naked fear now replacing his former crazed lust for gold, treasure, and cock. Abruptly the world shifted. He was on that dream-ship again, sails full of wind, his body still bent over, naked, as he was fucked from behind. The hands on him were solid and real. He craned his head around as wind whipped past him, shrieking in his ears. The pirate ghost stood behind him, his thick raven hair blowing wildly in the wind. He was naked too, a body so massive and hairy it looked as sturdy as the ship itself. A wicked grin sparkled against a deep tan. A scar ran across the pirate’s cheek. “William Heathcliff, buccaneer of the West Indies!” The pirate’s roaring voice whipped away with the wind. His laughter fled with it as he tossed back his head and plowed hard into Martin’s willing asshole. The cock rode in

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 13 and out in a furious rhythm. The blond financier rode it back, humping and writhing with the rapture of it. His prostate ached, his balls ached and his stiff cock throbbed in time to the one pounding his guts. He was mesmerized by the potent vision of this flesh-and-blood buccaneer, William Heathcliff, fucking Martin’s naked ass right there on the prow of his pirate ship. The brutal, powerful fuck was more than just that. There was an insanity to it, the insanity of something more than mere lust. It was tantalizingly like love, or what Martin imagined as love. Visions all at once began to bombard him, even as the cock continued to stuff and fuck him with relentless fury. William was captain of his vessel, raiding the Caribbean. It was a lawless time, but he was not a cruel man. He was fair, and he was brave. Martin saw many marvelous things through the buccaneer’s bright hazel eyes. Fleets of Spanish galleons, heavy with the spoils of their cruel domination of the New World, their sails bellowing like white wings against the pristine powder-blue heavens. Sleek British pirate vessels with all cannons firing, crazed buccaneers boarding their prey with swords flashing. Incredibly lovely islands like green jewels scattered across the azure seas. Sandy beaches overhung by palms, the rich scent of jungle beyond. Moonlight on the waves. Carmine dawn painting the seashore before a storm. Towering clouds over the water in the distance with flashing lightning in their darkly menacing bellies. Port Royal, the reeking den of iniquity where pirates

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 14 caroused, sinking in an earthquake, treasure lost and treasure buried. Martin’s pulse raced as he thought again of treasure. He saw it in William’s mind, Spanish doubloons, Aztec treasures, jewels, and jade exactly like he’d imagined himself. But then, that fat pirate cock fucked him harder, the calloused pirate hands roamed over his body— massaging, kneading, and pinching. Those hands reached under him and tweaked his nipples, then gripped his cock and pumped it. The cock up his ass rode in and out and in and out. The wind screamed, louder and louder. The world rocked violently, the ship crashing up and down in the battering waves. He rode the fuck like the pirate ship rode the storm on the sea. His naked, wind-battered body writhed under William’s powerful pistoning. His brain was flooded with images of seas and shores and battles, savage and beautiful and wild. His asshole ached and trembled under the powerful assault. He loved it! It was a storm of love, a hurricane of wild, sensual sex. The world shifted again, and he was in the darkness beneath his Jamaican mansion. He still felt the ghost’s cock thrusting up inside him, the pirate’s rough hands caressing his torso and own stiff dick. Another shift, and he was in William’s mind again, plying the emerald Caribbean seas. There was the blood and gore of violent battles, but this violence was only part of the real William Heathcliff. The young man William had once

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 15 been had served in the British Navy, escaping the cruel bondage to become a buccaneer, a free man of his own. William sailed into wild ports, discovered pristine islands with iridescently brilliant parrots and cuckoos under a tropical sun. Coconut palms waved on sandy beaches, mahoes with their golden-yellow flowers bloomed everywhere. Martin felt the cock up his ass as he knelt in the sand of a small island. Waves washed at his ankles; his thighs were widely parted and William’s massive, hirsute body enveloped his from behind. Thrust and parry—like battle, but somehow more like love—invaded and thrilled him. He inexplicably sensed all the pirate’s secret desires, to be loved, and to have a man of his own to live out his wild existence with in a safe harbor. The smell of coconut, a man’s sharp odor, and then orgasm flooded Martin as the world rocked again. Then sudden silence. Silence and darkness. The stillness was total. He shook all over as he knelt on the stone floor. His ass was warm and stretched. His cock leaked his seed and his body ached all over. He stumbled to his feet, alone. But not really. He inhaled that particular scent through ragged breaths and imagined he heard distant laughter, full of joyous mirth. In the total darkness, he felt his way up the stairway and pushed at the trap door. It flung open to brilliant sunlight. He gasped and staggered up into his devastated

Pirate Ghost | Jay Starre 16 mansion. Light flooded down from his ruined house into the cellar. With a feeling of shocked awe he picked his way through rubble up to the yard. His house was totally destroyed. A storm? Hell, maybe a hurricane! Martin laughed, and laughed again. He fell to the ground and held his sides. William the pirate ghost hadn’t come to give him treasure. He’d saved Martin’s life. He would rebuild. The clouds in the distance hovered over a sun-washed sea. Life was an adventure. Maybe he could find someone to share it with. In a strange way, he knew William was there, and he would always be there. He had a friend for the first time in his life. Martin somehow knew William was feeling the same thing. If this was possession, it was all right. It felt more like love.

About the Author

A writer, actor, and personal trainer, JAY STARRE once owned a horse ranch in the rugged interior of British Columbia. Jay now pumps out gay erotica from his downtown apartment in Vancouver, British Columbia, only two blocks from the beach. He won second place in the 2002 Mr. BC Leather Contest and was nominated for a 2003 Spectrum Award for one of his gay-themed science fiction stories. He takes advantage of the mild Vancouver weather by cycling and hiking nearly every day. You can e-mail Jay at [email protected].

Copyright

Pirate Ghost ©Copyright Jay Starre, 2010 Published by Dreamspinner Press 4760 Preston Road Suite 244-149 Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the authors’ imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover Art by Anne Cain [email protected] Cover Design by Mara McKennen This book is licensed to the original purchaser only. Duplication or distribution via any means is illegal and a violation of International Copyright Law, subject to criminal prosecution and upon conviction, fines and/or imprisonment. This eBook cannot be legally loaned or given to others. No part of this eBook can be shared or reproduced without the express permission of the publisher. To request permission and all other inquiries, contact Dreamspinner Press at: 4760 Preston Road, Suite 244-149, Frisco, TX 75034 http://www.dreamspinnerpress.com/ Released in the United States of America October 2010 eBook Edition eBook ISBN: 978-1-61581-646-0