Growing up near a plantation, I was used to seeing futanari slaves toil away under the blazing sun. Their dark, muscular physique was drenched in sweat, their massive cocks and tits swaying as they moved. They didn't wear clothes, as the slavers didn't regard them as people.
"Animals, the lot of 'em," my father said after a long day of cracking the whip. "Lazy savages who only know how to screw like dogs. Why, if they weren't in chains, they'd be raping our women and burning down our cities like those damn pirates."
When I was young, I took his words as doctrine, but as I grew older and watched the slaves being worked to death, I felt doubts. I wondered what it'd be like if our roles were swapped, and it was their whips that cracked on my back, and it was their feet that I had to kiss, and it was their hands that I had to eat out of, and as I imagined them standing over me with their fat, throbbing cock inches from my lips, I felt lightheaded and there was a swelling under my pants.
That night, I wet the bed. The next day, I woke up a man. A man with a conviction. One that would defile my father's church and split on the grave of my ancestors. I was conflicted -- afraid for my immortal soul.
I tracked along the edge of the plantation. Tall sugar canes on one side, and the vast ocean blue on the other. I swung a stick around, pretending I was fighting a pirate -- or perhaps I was the pirate, a notorious outlaw who was a country unto himself. I wasn't sure. My stick cracked the air, and I heard a scream from the tall brush.
It was a young futanari, no older than I. She cowered at the sound of my stick. Her lean, dark body was shaking like a newborn chick. I saw her around the plantation before. Her skin was blacker than most, and her wavy hair cut short at her neck. She almost looked like a boy, so I handed her the stick and continued walking along the beach. She looked at me with wide eyes before returning to her tasks.
That night, I dreamt of her pretty face and the fear that reflected in her eyes, and by morning, all doubt was gone.
***
I stood on the deck of a ship. The salty wind on my face, and the sun boiling my sweat. I stood in a naval uniform among other officers under the king's banner.
The lookout spotted a flagless schooner in the distance, so I paced to report to the captain.
"Pirates. Dirty, godless, pirates," Captain Osborn sneered. He was a stern gray haired man who reminded me of my father. "Tell the men to man the cannons. We won't be taking prisoners."
"Yes, sir." I saluted and relayed his orders, "All hands to battle stations!"
The sailors rushed to their posts, opening the gun ports and loading the round cast irons into the cylinder. I gripped the hilt of my sword as our ship approached the enemy. The pirates noticed us and raised their black flag as a warning.
"Huh, who do they think they are to threaten his majesty's navy? Shoot when we're in range," Osborn said.
"Hold it steady, men. Maintain routh till we're at eight hundred yards," I said.
Our ship sailed through steady waters with the wind in our back. I began my countdown. "Eighteen hundred... fifteen hundred... twelve hundred... one thousand... eight hundred."
"Shoot the cannons. Kill all pirates!" Osborn said.
The gunners lit the fuse, and explosions erupted like thunder. The shooting gallery exploded and our ship shook from the impact.
"We're hit! Damage to the port beam," one officer said.
"Captain, we lost our left broadside!" another man said.
White smoke and screams filled the air, and the sailors ran around in panic.
"Order! Maintain order," Osborn said. "How did they hit us? No, turn this ship around and hit them with the other side."
"We're too shaky, Captain. She'll capsize," the helmsman said.
"Captain, the pirates are approaching. They plan to board us," a sailor said. "Captain, the pirates... they're futanari. They're all futanari. It's the Black Howl, sir!"
"The Black Howl..." Osborn whispered with an ashen face, "...The slaver hunters."
"What should we do, Captain?" I asked.
Osborn was speechless. His eyes widened with fear.
"Captain!"
"P-prepare your weapons. Protect this ship with your lives!" Osborn unsheathed his sword with shaking hands.
"Return to your cabin, sir. You're too important to risk your life up here," I said.
"Y-yes, well spoken, man. Escort me to my quarters. Don't let those vile animals lay a finger on me!"
Osborn ordered two other officers to accompany him, and together we entered the captain's cabin. I barred the door, locking the four of us in the room, as sounds of swords fighting and screaming leaked through the wooden boards.
"How has it come to this? How were those blasted sea-dogs able to destroy half our ship with their floating hunk of junk?" Osborn cursed and paced behind his desk.
"I have something to report, Captain." An officer stepped up. "We weren't attacked. It was our cannons that exploded, sir!"
"What? How did -- Sabotage! Someone on this ship is a traitor!" Osborn slammed his fist on the table.
