Chapter Text
She almost tumbled the Pirate King, once.
She has tumbled quite a few other big name pirates, takes more than a bit of pride in keeping their Wanted posters pinned up in her cabin the way some folks make notches in their bedposts, but although she came damn close a few years back, Priscylla wasn’t quite able to move fast enough to seal the deal and add Roger’s face to her line of conquests.
Too late now.
The body is likely still warm, up on that execution platform, as the crowd erupts into chaos and surges for the harbor. Swearing and dealing a few vicious stomps of her booted feet to those who mindlessly shove a lady, Priscylla makes it out of the main crush and into a sheltered alley, empty for the simple reason that it goes crosswise rather than lead out to any of Loguetown’s docks.
Or at least, mostly empty. Underneath the shouts and rumbles of the crowd, she suddenly catches a bitten-off sob, and casts a wary glance over one shoulder. No one of note, clearly. A small huddled shape, no bag, head ducked and hidden by-
-a hat.
A straw hat.
With a red ribbon, matching distinctive, bright red hair.
(“So is it true, what they say?” She’d flirted, leaning in close to that curling mustache and wide grin. “That the Pirate King’s own, personal treasure is liquid gold?”
“Well, if you’re that set on finding out, I’m sure we could-”
“Captain!” A thump, and they’d both sat up straight, her out of surprise and him with a wider grin. “Captain, Buggy said he saw-” The brat who’d just crashed into their back table nattered on at full speed, not a care for what he’d just interrupted, and Priscylla almost opened her mouth to tell him off when Roger abruptly laughed.
“Alright, Shanks, alright, let’s go grab Bug and have a little fun!” At which point the Pirate King stood up, abandoning her, in favor of scooping the grinning boy. “Hey, Prissy, want to come?”
Priscylla, she nearly snapped, still annoyed. But that would hardly do for making up lost ground later, so. “Ah, no thanks. But I’ll still be around whenever you get back, big boy~”
“Sounds good! Bye!”)
And with that, off he'd gone - to get involved with some nonsense that wound up drawing marine attention, and the Roger Pirates skipped town without Priscylla ever getting that second shot at her prize. But here, years later, that very same cabin boy is sitting huddled against a wall, face pressed to his knees. No one else to be seen. Just a sniveling little brat all by his lonesome.
...then again, Priscylla considers upon a second look, perhaps ‘young man’ is more accurate at this point. And just like that, an idea springs to mind: part revenge, part personal advancement, part simple fun. So she schools herself, taking on a concerned expression, shrugs her coat closed for a slightly less risque appearance, and calls out a gentle, “Hello?”
With a hitched breath, Roger’s brat looks up.
“Oh, it is you,” Priscylla says, taking a few careful steps closer. “Don’t suppose you remember me, do you sweetheart?”
He frowns, wary. Shakes his head. “Don’t- just stay, stay back-”
“It’s okay, I’m a friend, I promise. At least, I think I’m a friend; Roger and I had fun, sharing stories over drinks, and-” She lets her face crumple, just a bit. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart.” That does it. His expression wobbles, grief overwhelming everything else, and the fingers that grabbed for his sword go slack. Priscylla works her way closer, until she crouches next to him, offers a hand to shake. “You’ll have to remind me of your name, I’m afraid, but I’m Priscylla, Perfume Priscylla.”
A deep sniff that does nothing for the snot already running down his face. “Sh- Shanks.”
“It’s nice to see you again, Shanks. I’m sorry it’s not under better circumstances.” One hand on his shoulder doesn’t trigger a bad reaction; she goes a little further, sliding her palm over so her arm wraps around him, and she gives the youth a half-hug. “I know, it probably feels like the world’s just ended. Shouldn’t you be with- I don’t know, a friend? Family?”
He shakes his head. Even with most of it hidden by that silly hat, his hair still glints. Very pretty hair, she can admit. “They’re all- they’re- gone. Even- even Buggy, he’s-”
“Aww, shh, I’m sorry.” Priscylla squeezes him, sways a little, and it does the trick, gets him to shut up and go back to sniffling. “It’s no good to be alone at times like this. I know something that might help, though.”
“Stiff drink?”
Okay, admittedly, she barks out a laugh, taken by surprise. Shouldn’t be that much of a surprise that a cabin boy from the Roger Pirates has a good sense of humor, even when miserable. “That’s certainly one thing, yeah. But I have another that can work just as well, without a hangover.”
Different side effects, instead, but she doesn’t mention those. The youth tucked under her arm looks up, a little intrigue peeking out from below his unhappiness. “What?”
Her other hand, left deliberately free, plucks a vial from one of her belt pouches, unstoppering and holding it out in one smooth movement. “Here. Breathe in.”
Credit where it’s due, Shanks must be able to sense something off, tries to lean his head back and ask “What is-?” But Priscylla presses the vial close, right up under his nose, and that initial whiff is all it takes for resistance to fade, for him to go slack as this particular formula works its magic.
“That’s it,” she croons, pulling him closer as he slumps, rubbing her other hand up and down his arm. “Just keep breathing, sweet thing, breathing and relaxing and drifting, there you go. Your mind is going empty, you’re just going to float and drift along, listening to my words, my voice is the only thing you want to pay attention to right now, isn’t it?”
“Yeah...”
“Good boy, very good, just listen to me and let everything else sink away, such a good boy. You don’t need to worry about things when I’m around, you can just sit back and enjoy feeling good, just keep saying yes when I offer you things, alright? Do you want to be good and accept what I give you, sweet thing?”
“Mmhm...”
Priscylla coos. “Pretty little Shanks, why don’t you stand up and come with me, we’ll go to my ship and get you cleaned up, how does that sound?” Past the capacity for speaking, he nods, eyes hazy and a slack, easy smile on his face. “Good boy, good pretty boy, and then you’ll keep on accepting what I give you and doing what I tell you, and everything will be nice and good and you can keep floating and enjoying yourself.”
Another droopy little nod. Oh, she is going to have SO much fun with this new pliant toy. And more than that, as long as her perfumes keep him pliant, Priscylla will be able to brag about Roger’s former cabin boy being- well. Not part of her crew, really.
But a pet, definitely.
She does indeed start with getting him cleaned up. Can’t have a pet that’s covered in tears and snot, after all, to say nothing of whatever street grime Shanks has picked up from sitting around in dirty alleyways.
A few members of her crew give catcalls as Priscylla ushers her new plaything up the gangplank, recognizing the glazed expression on his face. She doesn’t often need to make use of her Hypno Perfume to get someone into bed, usually it’s reserved for flirting her way into a bank or rich man’s mansion, but it does come in handy with last minute hesitation. “Isn’t that one a little young for you, cap’n?” Her navigator calls down, draped over the upper deck’s railing.
“He’s plenty old enough,” Priscylla laughs, steering Shanks towards the door inside. “And besides- more importantly, he used to be on Gold Roger’s crew~”
Several ooohs ring out, followed by a call to set sail now that their captain has returned. NOT for the Grand Line, or at least not yet - Priscylla talked this over with her officers the day before, weighing the odds of how many people might set out right away to search for Roger’s legendary treasure. And in her view, well. Might be better to linger in the East Blue for a year or two, going after easy pickings with so many other big names heading off for bigger seas.
To say nothing of the boost her reputation will gain when the Perfume Pirates do hit the Grand Line with Roger’s very own apprentice firmly under Priscylla’s thumb.
“Here we are, sweet thing,” she hums, guiding him into her cabin and straight towards the bath closet. “Lets get those dirty clothes off, yeah? Get you nice and clean and comfortable.”
Shanks sways a bit when she stops pushing, and the dear does indeed try to fumble with his shirt. Clumsy fingers aren’t all that helpful in stripping down, however, so once Priscylla tosses aside her hat and coat she takes over. At least he’s easy to undress: silly hat removed, loose baggy shirt off over his head, sash untied to release his sword and trousers at the same time. He does manage to step out of his sandals without assistance, and she makes sure to praise him for being a good helpful boy over it.
There is just a hint of a fuss when she tugs at his underwear, however. Mouth turning down at the corners, a faint questioning noise, fingers catching at the waistband. “Oh now, none of that, sweet thing,” Priscylla tuts. “Don’t pout, we need to get you clean all over - there’s no reason to act shy, I bet plenty of pretty girls have seen you with your clothes off already, haven’t they?”
Adorably, he blushes, and Priscylla coos all the more as she shucks off the garment. Decent sized cock, for a teenager; she gives it a teasing tug, and oh, isn’t it cute how his breathing stutters.
A few other scented oils go into the bathwater she uses to wipe him down, specially made to stimulate and arouse and keep the atmosphere languid. It’s fun seeing what else earns cute reactions as she goes, touching him here and there, triggering twitches and faint whines along the way. Shanks all but melts when she tips his head back into a bowl to wash his hair, expression blissful and relaxed, no concerns at all. Priscylla takes the time to repeat her earlier commands, reinforce that he’s perfectly happy here, that he’s delighted to get to do what she wants, all is well and relaxed and still floating. Another vial of her perfume is rubbed into those gleaming red strands once the actual washing is finished, too, just to make sure he stays nice and subdued for a good long while.
Once bath time is finished, Priscylla gets her plaything up and over to the spacious bunk that dominates her cabin, lined with cubbies and drawers that keep plenty of supplies on hand. So she has a bit of an insatiable appetite - none of the men she’s brought home have ever complained!
Here, though, Shanks makes a bit of token protest again, trying to shrink into himself when Priscylla shoves his bare body down against the pile of pillows, stuttering a soft “Uh- um-” as she climbs on top of him.
“You aren’t going to turn out to be a heartless little tease, now, are you?” She puts on an exaggerated pout. “That would make me so sad, sweet thing.”
“O-oh...” Dazed eyes stare up at her. Poor dear doesn’t know up from down right now. Priscylla needs to encourage that.
She starts by bending down and catching his mouth for a deep, searing kiss.
Whatever experience Shanks may or may not have already had, Priscylla enjoys giving him a whole new level to his sexual education.
His first orgasm comes incredibly quickly, once she puts her mouth on him, leaving a dozen lovebites on his neck and chest and stomach even before she ever reaches his cock, at which point just a few minutes of kitten licks and light suckling are enough to make him spend. Deciding not to repeat that disappointment, she digs out a bundle of pink cordage to weave a cute little cage, perfectly tailored just for her plaything. Once that’s secured, it’s another hour of slow exploration, working up and down his whole body, finding all the best sensitive spots to make Shanks whimper and squirm. A couple of times, one or both of his hands weakly try to push at her; after the third, Priscylla sighs, and uses slightly thicker silk rope to pin his arms, tying each to the lowest set of rings built into the posts of her bed’s headboard.
“That’s very naughty of you, sweet thing,” she chides him, plucking harshly at a nipple to make her toy twitch. “I think you ought to make it up to me.”
Her cunt is more than wet enough to swallow his cock at this point, but it’s the principle of the thing to crawl up and position herself over his face, to coax Shanks into licking her entrance and clit. He isn’t terribly good, and makes a disappointed sound when she says as much, but Priscylla just pets his hair and murmurs that they have all the time in the world to help him improve.
As soon as the heat in her belly is sufficiently stoked, she slides back down, and easily sinks onto his quivering cock, woven cage and all. The added texture is delicious; as she slowly rides him with soft, breathy gasps, Priscylla muses over what else she can tie him up with to create similar effects in future.
Her climax is lovely, all rushing heat and curling toes. And even better is the soft babbling from Shanks when she stops moving, “Pleasepleasepleaseplease-”
“Of course, sweet thing,” she coos, finding the end of the cord and giving it a firm tug, clenching down at the same moment the tension around his balls and cock releases. Shanks arches beautifully, baring the sun-kissed skin of his throat and chest, crying out in MUCH more appropriate fashion for one of Priscylla’s playthings. “Good job, gorgeous, so good for me, baby boy, oh, I can’t wait to see how pretty you look with the next one~”
Shanks whimpers, and she gives him another kiss.
They spend the rest of the day in her bed, and over the course of the next few hours Priscylla lets him come twice more. By that point the stink of sweat and sex is starting to overcome even her strong perfumes, so she opens a window to air out the cabin, before donning a bedrobe and sashaying into the ship’s galley. Wolf whistles and gleeful grins meet her upon arrival, everyone absolutely aware of what their captain has been up to.
Priscylla gives a little twirl before accepting the plate her chef holds out, the big-chested woman making a point of leering and asking, “Is he just for you or will we each get a chance to play with your new boytoy, boss?”
“I haven’t made up my mind yet,” Priscylla answers airily, settling into her personal velvet seat and digging in. “Maybe he can be a reward for jobs particularly well done.”
A few hoots and hollers ring out, approving of that option. She spends a few minutes answering questions and sharing all the best details in-between bites of dinner, and by the time Priscylla departs with a tray her crew seem fully invested in getting to see firsthand how their boss breaks in Roger’s apprentice.
For his part, Shanks is still in a daze when she returns, mouth opening automatically as one bite-sized tidbit after another is held to his lips. Crackers with bits of steak on top, sauteed vegetable slices, a few strawberries dipped in whipped cream for dessert... He chews and swallows without complaint, a glimmer of gratitude in his hazy eyes.
“Yes, you’re very thankful, aren’t you sweet thing,” Priscylla murmurs, bending down to lick a smear of cream from his upper lip. “I’m being so nice to you, keeping you warm and fed and comfortable, and all you have to do in return is keep me happy! That’s hardly anything at all, is it baby?”
A faint noise, too weak to be called protesting or agreeable. Priscylla ignores it with a shrug. She sets aside the empty tray, unties his arms, and peels away the bed’s quilt so she and Shanks can snuggle down into the clean sheets below.
“Tomorrow,” she hums, tucking the youth’s face into her bosom so she can pet his pretty hair, “We’ll get a lovely little collar, so everyone knows who you belong to now.”
A tremble travels down her pet’s body, so Priscylla pulls the sheets higher and hugs him closer, before drifting off into sleep.