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By Hook or By Crook	By : OktoberBlack Category: M through R > Peter Pan > Het Views: 14973 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Peter Pan, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Author’s Note:
First off, I don’t own any of the characters in Peter Pan. I do not make any money from them and never will. In the meantime, however, I do derive pleasure from them and shall continue to do so as long as I can.
Secondly, please review, even if it’s just a few words. I really need to know how this sounds to other people. At the moment, I’m not sure it works. Let me know if it does or doesn’t. Oh, and sorry it’s taken so long to get to the sex part. I hope the rest of it was good enough for you to continue reading up to this part.

By Hook or By Crook (for want of a better name)

Chapter Four: Lemons, at last!

I spent the day reading and napping, having nothing else to do.

I wondered whether anyone realized the cruise ship had gone down and how many people had died last night.

I wondered where my knapsack was and whether my computer was as dead as I thought it was.

I wondered whether I was really in some institution somewhere and that this was all just a wild hallucination brought on by too much work. I mean, Captain Hook? Peter Pan? Neverland? This was ridiculous. I felt like I was in an episode of Lost—where everything just gets weirder and weirder and suddenly there are polar bears on a tropical island.

I also noticed that there wasn’t a single whole, working clock anywhere in the cabin. Bizarre.

Smee, who pushed a large cart into the cabin, awakened me much later from one of my little catnaps.
“Just setting up for dinner, Miss,” Smee said, as three other pirates followed him with carts as well.
“Do you all eat in here?” I asked. I knew this couldn’t be the case, but wondered at the amount of food Smee and the others lay on the table.
“Oh, no Miss! This is the captain’s table. We all eat from a pot Cook brings out on deck,” one of the other pirates said. There was something wrong with his hands, but I couldn’t actually tell what it was. When he put a platter on the table, however, I was able to see that it looked like his hands were on… backward? Was that even possible?
“This seems like an excessive amount of food,” I said, as they piled platter after platter on the table. “What happens to anything the captain doesn’t eat?”
“Oh, we get some of that later,” one of the pirates said. This one was black and had long dreadlocks. “Usually the next day in some other form.”
“There you go, Miss. The captain will be along shortly,” Smee said. He hustled the other pirates out the door and then stood next to the table, waiting for his captain. I didn’t know what to do, so I sat on the bed on the other side of the room, and waited too.

We waited for what seemed like ages until finally the captain strode into his cabin.
“Ah, Smee, I see you’ve got dinner ready,” he said, as he rubbed his hands together. He appraised me from his seat at the table. “And you’ve got dessert ready as well, I see. Well, come and have a seat, Miss Mann.” He gestured to a seat at the opposite end of the table from him. I sat down and Smee poured me a goblet of red wine. I drank from pewter; Hook drank from an ornate nautilus shell on a stem. He had on his full pirate garb and he looked more dandified than frightening, really. The only thing that was really scary about him was his hook. He used it in place of a hand exceptionally well, spearing food and slicing meat with it as he ate. He didn’t stand on ceremony, but began to eat with gusto as soon as the wine was poured. I took whatever Smee handed to me or placed on my plate—most of the food was at the other side of the table, out of my reach. It was really good and I was seriously hungry. Hook’s plan of starving me during the day so I would eat at night had worked. I guess he’d had a lot of time to perfect his treatment of captives on board his ship.

After the meal was eaten, when Hook sat back with two large (and smelly) cigars in a double holder, I decided to finally ask what was on my mind.
“So, Captain,” I began. He eyed me over his cigar holder and puffed out a perfect smoke ring. “What exactly are your plans for me?”
“I was thinking about selling you when we got to port,” he said bluntly.
“Really.” I drank a bit more wine.
“Well, yes. Frankly, you wouldn’t make a good addition to my crew, Miss Mann, tattoos aside. Women on board ship are considered unlucky, you see, so the men wouldn’t put up with it for very long,” he said, and blew another three smoke rings before he continued. “With those tattoos, you might do well as a prostitute. You’d be something of a novelty, I suppose,” he mused.
“I don’t imagine you would consider just letting me go,” I suggested. He laughed.
“I’m a pirate, my dear! I don’t just let my captives go. You are either in a position to do something for me, or make some money for me. That’s how it works,” he said.

He stood up and stretched. “You may clear the table, Smee.” Smee jumped from where he’d been sneaking a bit of lobster and hastily began to clear the table. He ran out of the cabin with dishes piled in both arms. The door slammed behind him. Hook rolled his eyes. “It’s so hard to find good help these days.” He stood behind me and ran the fingers of his good hand lightly down my neck to my bare shoulder. “Now, my dear,” he said, and I could hear the smirk in his voice, even if I couldn’t see it. “What could you possibly do for me?”
“I have no idea,” I said, but I knew what he wanted. Was that any better than being sold into prostitution on some random Caribbean Island?
“I think you do,” he said. His hook caught my hair and pulled it back from my neck. Smee re-entered the cabin abruptly and Hook paused, his hand on my shoulder. “Smee…”
“Just finishing clearing the table Captain, and then I’ll be out of your way,” Smee said. Two other pirates came in and within a minute the table was spotless. Then they bustled out.

“Now, where was I? Oh yes,” Hook said, as his fingers and hook worked at the lace ties at the back of my dress.
“Why make me wear the dress when you’re just going to take it off me anyway?” I asked testily. I stood up and walked away from him.
“Taking it off is at least half the fun,” he said. One eyebrow quirked as he smirked at me. “Now, as regards your fate, my dear, perhaps being sold on the docks of Neverland harbour as a prostitute could be… reconsidered.”
“And how might that be possible?”
“Turn around,” he said. I sighed and acquiesced. He returned to his previous task of undoing my lacings with hook and fingers. My ribs throbbed as my dress loosened around them. “If you were to… please me, one might say, then perhaps I’d be willing to keep you here instead of selling you like an animal.”
“Why are you dancing around this?” I said, and turned on him once again. He still held my dress laces, so it looked like I was a marionette and he was my puppeteer, which, in a way, he was. “You’re a pirate, right? So get to the point. Either I fuck you whenever you want me to like a prostitute would, or you make me into an actual prostitute by actually selling me to a pimp.”
“Well, to a madam, but the idea is the same, yes,” he agreed, with a tug at my laces. “You’re obviously quicker than you look.”
“Thanks a lot,” I said. I turned around again so he could finish unlacing me. “What it comes down to is whether I want to be fucked by a lot of different men, or whether I want to be fucked just by you… that is, until you get tired of me and either kill me or sell me anyway.”
“Very astute! Perhaps a bit less poetic than I would have preferred, but all quite true,” he said. My dress slid off my shoulders and landed in a heap at my feet. “And from what I see here, you seem to have made up your mind.”

“Given the choices, this one seems the least worst,” I said. I stood, naked, my back to him. “I thought it was unlucky to have a woman on board ship.”
“It is… unless I say it isn’t,” Hook said. He slid his hand down my flat stomach. He kissed the back of my neck and I shivered. “The men will have to live with it.”
“You might end up with a mutiny,” I suggested.
“I’m Captain James Hook. No man will mutiny against me,” he said, as he pushed me away. “And if they seem like they might, I’ll either kill them… or share you.”
“Great,” I muttered. He pulled off his coat and hung it up on a rack near his desk. I sat down on the edge of the bed and wrapped my arms around myself. Yesterday I was on a cruise ship, enjoying a well-earned vacation. Today I was a sex slave of Captain James Hook, a fictional character who, it appeared, did actually exist. I wasn’t sure my life could get any more bizarre. “So, how long have you and Pan been chasing each other?”
“Oh, I’ve lost count of the years. I would guess at least a hundred years, if not more,” he said, one boot in his bootjack. I blinked. Okay, it could get more bizarre.

“So you’re, like, what? A hundred years old? A hundred and fifty?” I asked, my eyes narrowed at him. He thought for a moment.
“Oh something like that, I’m sure,” he replied, and pulled off his shirt. He wore a strange metal, rope, wood, and leather contraption to hold his hook in place. He undid it with a sigh of relief and placed the rig on the back of his desk chair. The hook went into a special velvet lined box. I tried not to stare at the stump of his arm, but it was difficult.
“Doesn’t that strike you as a bit unusual?” I asked. He paused in the process of undoing the buttons on his trousers.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” I said, folding my arms across my chest, “that most people only live to be, say, 100 at the most and then they’re, like, old and wrinkly.”
“Ah,” he said, the buttons on his trousers coming undone swiftly. “Well, I should think obviously Pan and I aren’t ‘most people.’” He removed his trousers and hung them up with his shirt. He stood before me, nude except for the smirk he seemed to enjoy wearing too much to take off. “When one arrives in this world fully conceived as an adult male pirate, with no mother or father even in potentia… well, one is willing to put some conventions of the real world aside.”
“It doesn’t disturb you at all that you’re not really… real in any sense of the word?”
“I’m real enough for anything that matters,” he said. He sat down on the bed next to me and placed my hand on his semi-erect cock. “I believe you’ll find me very real indeed.” Then he kissed me.

He was gentle at first, which seemed a bit odd from a man who had threatened me with slavery if I didn’t have sex with him. But soon enough his kisses grew more demanding as his tongue forced its way into my mouth. He pushed me back on the bed as his passion grew; he nipped at my lower lip and then kissed his way down to my breasts. He sucked on my nipples hard, pulled on them with his lips and nipped at them with his teeth. He leaned on his elbow, his stump resting on the bed, while his other hand worked busily between my thighs. He found my clit and stroked it quickly, as if demanding I prepare myself for him. Then he slid two fingers inside me, and finger-fucked me slowly as he worked on my nipples. Without any more preamble, he lay down on top of me and slid his long cock into me.

I didn’t want to respond, I didn’t… but it did feel pretty damn good. The only problem was he kept leaning on my ribs and then I would wince with pain and the pleasure would disappear. He didn’t seem to notice but just thrust away, his hips flexing with a smooth rhythm as he fucked me with his eyes closed. His face was intent, as if his climax proved elusive, but soon enough his eyes rolled up in their sockets and he let out a huge groan as he came. When he collapsed on top of me, I yelped in pain. He rolled off of me suddenly, and landed on the far side of the bed.
“What was that?” he demanded.
“My ribs, you idiot!” I exclaimed, as I held my bruised side. He grabbed my throat with his good hand and I thought he was going to choke me to death.
“Don’t ever insult me like that,” he hissed at me. I tried to take in a breath, but he was blocking my windpipe. Stars appeared before my eyes and the edges of the world grew black. I gasped like a fish out of water and he pushed me away. I heaved in a great breath of air thankful I was still alive. “I will do my best to remember your injuries next time we engage in such activities. In the meantime,” he said, throwing a blanket and a pillow on the floor next to the bed, “you can sleep on the floor.” He blew out the candle and crawled into bed. He pushed me onto the floor with his feet. I landed with a thump on my ass on the floor.

God. I wouldn’t cry and give him the satisfaction of hearing me. I rolled myself up in the blanket and tried to get comfortable on the hard wooden floor. What the hell was I going to do? I couldn’t very well count on Peter Pan to rescue me. He was a kid! And he was notoriously unreliable. I tried to remember the story of Peter Pan and Captain Hook. There was something about how he wanted a mother, so he brought Wendy to Neverland with her two brothers. And if I remembered it properly, Wendy was the one that had to tell Peter to take her back home. He would have kept her there forever, but she wanted to grow up. It was this whole raiding cruise ship thing and how the hell did I get to Neverland thing that I didn’t understand. I didn’t understand how I could suddenly be in some kind of fictional universe that intersected with my real one. I closed my eyes and rolled over, trying to find a way to make my ribs hurt less and finally ended up on my back. Just as I began to drift off to sleep, Hook started to snore. Oh joy.
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By Hook or By Crook