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Hook Wanks Off	By : TickTock Category: M through R > Peter Pan Views: 8125 -:- 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
- 1-Hook Wanks Off
- 1
The stillness was unnerving... unnatural and extremely irritating to Captain James Hook. The normal tilt and sway of the Jolly Roger had been choked and frozen, the ship trapped in a thick layer of ice. He paced the perimeter of his cabin, subconsciously attempting to trick his mind and body into feeling some movement.... even in the timeless atmosphere of Neverland it felt like they had been still for ages, and James found the absence of a gently rocking wave, or even a sharp and violently chopping surf most distressing.
He had confined himself to his quarters, with distinct orders to Smee to ensure he was left alone by his increasingly chilled and agitated crew, unless the hated Peter Pan turned up. Pan, Pan, Pan.... the insolent boy who so constantly plagued his thoughts had not been seen since the frost hit, and Hook was finally weary of scouring the sky for him personally, leaving the task to his immediate subordinates. He gave up on his pacing and sat down hard on his ornate wooden chair, and lay his forehead on his desk, covering his many maps with long curls of dark hair.
He was tired. That came along with age, he supposed, though he wasn’t quite to the point of constant aches and pains that burdened Smee, and his senses were sharp as he ever remembered them. But still... he felt old... and alone. Feared, but unloved, in every sense of the word. He sighed and raised his head, forget-me-not eyes peering blearily ahead, not really focusing on lush furnishings or plundered treasures. Cold, hard metal, cold velvets and furs... he’d forgotten what softness and warmth felt like despite his luxurious surroundings. Well, not entirely forgotten them... the warmth and softness of flesh and innards as he plunged his hook to the hilt into a still-breathing body was his most frequent foray into those textures. But there were other forms of softness and warmth, he remembered, straining his memory, furrowing his brow. He realized his gaze had come to focus on a stolen portrait ofovelovely young woman he did not know. Dressed in a light silk dress, soft hair brushing her milky skin, and her dark eyes smiling coyly out to him. He stood slowly, pushed away the chair and walked towards the painting, stockinged feet padding across thick Persian rugs and polished boards. The lamplight illuminated the paint, making her glow and if he squinted just a bit, she looked almost alive. Alive, and beautiful... and inviting.
It was one thing to rape a woman... it was another to have one welcome you into her arms. To be clutched at instead of pushed away. To have her writhing and responsive to your touch instead of cowering and frozen, or kicking and screaming. There were no women on Neverland, save for the Indian savages, and they weren’t much to his taste, and too heavily guarded by the men of their people. A few of those wild women gave his crew a hard time themselves as well, he thought wryly. But this... a lovely young English woman (or perhaps French? It didn’t really matter)... of fine breeding and form. How long had it been since he’d seen one of those in the flesh? How much longer still since he’d touched aforementioned flesh? He closed his eyes and swayed gently on his feet, again trying to mimic a lolling sea, and indulged his imagination to wander a bit.
What he would do if a woman such as that were in his cabin... only feet away from swelling curves and warm secrets bound into confining boning and silk. Long tresses held up with pearls and clips, he would release them with his deft hand and guide them down with his hook, watching the way the hairs curled around the curve of metal. He would take her hand with his, and guide it to his chest, where she would grasp at the silk of his blouse, first gently, then with earnest when he bent to plunder her soft lips, trailing the back curve of his hook from her hair down her neck.
James brought his good hand to his chest and caressed himself lightly, and half opened his eyes to glimpse at the portrait again. His tongue darted out to moisten his lips. She almost seemed to move in the flickering lamplight. She would snake those tiny pretty hands into his blouse and comb through the dark curls there, while he latched onto her dress and pulled her nearer to him, hand wandering over her body, sensing her flesh bursting to be released from the bonds of proper attire. And he would oblige that flesh, being the gentleman that he fancied himself to be. He would start at the back, breaking their kiss and turning her around, where he could gather her hair and lay it over her shoulder, baring her nape and the very tops of her shoulders. He would plant a kiss there, right on the bulge of the largest vertebrae, before beginning to work on the buttons and clasps and lacing. She would tremble ever so slightly as fabric fell away and skin was revealed, inch by ivory inch, until he pushed the garment forward and down her arms, and was faced with the smooth expanse of her back.
Hook’s breathing deepened as he imagined pulling her back against him and lowering his face to that graceful neck, smelling her, nuzzling the warmth behind her ear, making her squirm against the tickle of his beard. His hand traveled down his own front, unlacing his remaining laces to rub his chest and belly in turn, imagining the curve of her ass pressing into him, wiggling minutely as he reached around to stroke her now exposed breast. She would bring her own hands back, clutching as much of him as she could reach, rubbing his thighs through their breeches. He would wrap his hooked arm around her body, and withdraw his hand from her breast and draw her own hand to his groin, guiding her over the steadily increasing bulge. He groaned softly, mirroring those imagined movements on himself, swaying more now, and tilting his head. One eye opened to a slit, his iris now dark and smokey blue, and focused on his lady’s face for just an instant before closing it again and rolling his head back a bit, stroking himself through his breeches a bit harder, thrusting just slightly, imagining the soft scratch of fabric as he moved against her.
He would finally turn her around and step back slightly, so he could take in the view of her standing half-nude before him, all flushed cream and silk, pert breasts rising softly as she breathed open-mouthed, eyes searching his for approval. And, being the gentleman that he was, he would give it to her, smiling debonairly and dragging his gaze from her torso to her eyes, so she could see his dilate with pleasure. James did not stop himself from smiling slightly as he shrugged out of his blouse and started to move towards the red velvet fainting couch to the starboard side of his cabin, where he would lead her after pushing the rest of her dress off and discarding his own blouse. He lay back onto the plush cushions, his hair tumbling around his naked shoulders, obscuring his tattoos. His hand never left his body, and his hook began now slowly tracing patterns into his breeches at his thigh, as his minds’ eye saw her climb softly atop him, straddling his waist and leaning down to meet him in a passionate kiss. He saw her lean back and gaze down at him, still shy and proper, despite being naked atop him. He could picture so clearly the undersides of her breasts, the way her waist would take in before swelling into full, lusciously padded hips and a softly curved belly and down farther to her thick dark curls which were grinding rhythmically against his now straining erection.
Hook’s breath caught in his throat and he squeezed himself through the fabric, raking a tear in his breeches with the tip of his hook. He barely noticed, instead occupying himself with the drawstring at his waist, fighting impatience and attempting to remain graceful. It would be she to do this task were she here, releasing his rigid member, holding him lovingly in her tiny hands until lifting herself slightly so he could slide the garment away down his legs. Then she would sit back down on him, so his turgid penis nestled against her curls, and he could feel heat and moisture emanating from that most secret place. He wouomb omb the locks of her hair with his hook as she leaned forward to kiss his chest, taking a hard nipple into her soft, wet mouth, sucking gently, all the while moving against his pelvis. He would grapple the soft, full flesh of her ass, pulling her closer, lifting her chin from his chest with the tip of his hook, careful not to prick her with it.
James squirmed more urgently on the couch as he though about what her nipples would taste like if he held her up over him, moving her hands to grasp the arm of the furniture behind his head, allowing him full access to the soft globes. He ran his thumb over the tip of his quivering penis, pushing down the velvet foreskin, and fingering the tiny slit as he drew his hook through the hair of his thigh, thinking about grasping that fertile waist and pulling her down onto him. Slowly, oh so slowly, to show he was in still control.... he would look into her eyes and see her dissolve into a beautiful, wanton creature, hungry for him and him alone. She would mew softly and arch her back as he sat up to draw her closer to his heaving chest, rubbing her breasts into his chest hair and clawing his shoulders in need. Sweltering heat would surround his cock, the clenching velvet of her muscles milking him as he wound her hair in his hook yet again and pulled her head back to assault her throat with his mouth. Hook licked his lips repeatedly as he imagined tracing the pulsing muscles and veins of her throat with his tongue, and squeezed his testicles quickly before resuming stroking his purpling erection with greater force, swiping the moisture leaking from the tip with his thumb and distributing it along the veined length.
He could imagine reaching down to where their bodies joined, extending one lean finger and stroking her pearl of turgid flesh, feeling her gasp against him and reward him with another nerve-shattering clench of her muscles. Faster and faster his hand moved against his own flesh, as in his mind he circled his fingers faster and faster on her clitoris, whispering against her neck... commands, compliments..... withdrawing his erection to dip his fingers into her warmth, drawing out some of her musky slickness to ease his ministrations to her most sensitive buhen hen plunging in again. She would whisper against his ear, entreaties, pleas, nuzzling his long hair, pinching his nipples and raking his chest and arms with her fingernails.
“Come for me, my love...” he growled out loud in his cabin, “Yes.....give me your pleasure...” He smiled again, shining pearls of teeth in the flickering light to match the glistening sweat rolling down his brow as she would began to shudder against him, clutching his shoulders hard and moaning his name in a long, keening wail. How his lover would buck and writhe uncontrollably for him.....because of him. The thought of this power excited him beyond anything he’d experienced for so, so long.... bringing this creature to her own little death was infinitely sweeter than any murder he could commit. She was his.....he owned her, and she was more willing than was proper.
This final thought proved too much, and with a lurch he felt every muscle in his body contract, thrusting his hips upwards into his imaginary lovers body. His neck corded and he bit back a moan, gritting his teeth and jerking erratically. His hook plunged through the skin of the cushions, piercing the velvet and lodging in stuffing as ropes of semen spurted from his penis onto his taut belly and thighs. He thought about her receiving his seed, welcoming his final thrusts until he shuddered slowly to completion.
James Hook lay spreadeagle on the couch for a while, panting and soothingly stroking his spent member back down till it rest against his leg once again. Eventually he realized he had destroyed the upholstery of a fine fainting sofa, and carefully disengaged his hook from it. Feeling sleepy and sated, he wanted to lay there for the rest of the winter, but God forbid he be discovered nude, disheveled, and rather sticky by Smee or one of the crew. He forced hlf tlf to rise, and found a soft embroidered cloth to clean the evidence of his orgasm. He looked back to the painting, and found the familiar sadness creeping into his heart once again... the warmth that had been radiating begin to ebb and fade as a chill loneliness took control. He sighed, and began to unclasp the leather mechanism holding on the hook, laying the device on an ornate gilded sidebar and examining the revealed stump in the mirror above it, looked into his own eyes, returning to ice from their lust darkened state.
He decided to sleep after his exertions, to delay the inevitable blackness that would find him and focus his brain fixedly on Peter Pan. He pulled on his breeches, and staggered back to his desk, again missing the usual rock and sway of the ship. Sitting heavily again at his desk, he lay his head down on his arms and fell into tormented sleep until Spring.
- 1
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