SAILORS TAKE WARNING
by Frances LaGatta
A briny breeze ruffled Sky O'Keefe's sleek blonde mane as she caught her breath
at the stern rail under the glow of a glorious red moon. Its trailing
reflection upon the black velvet seas reminded her of millions of sparklers
sizzling in the twilight. The captain's sudden towering presence beside her was
exactly what she wanted; Sky could fairly feel his temper churning beneath his
calm exterior like the pea green wake of his ship.
He seemed born to wear the maritime cap of command upon his dark head, and his
chiseled profile, which normally contained a charismatic smile alive with
affection and delight, was a brooding mask of stone. Legs planted wide, hands
clasped behind him; he simply stared out to sea as if weighing a forthcoming
decision.
He had left his naval blazer back at the dinning table and his rolled white
cuffs and navy tie at half-mast were not the spit and polish image he generally
projected. Yet, his frazzled look told her just how much her provocative dance
with the petty officer had effected him. And since their love affair was a
secret, there hadn't been a damn thing the high and mighty Captain Caleb
Pennworth could do about it! He had to sit and watch and struggle to remain
just as impassive as she had while all those flirtatious featherbrains vied for
his attention. Whoever said payback was a bitch must have been a woman, Sky
thought, smiling to herself. She would never stoop so low as to ask her lover
for a commitment. Caleb had become too comfortable and content with the way
things stood between them. And she knew exactly how to shake him up without a
loss of her pride or dignity.
Caleb ran a proud and efficient private luxury liner with a British Colombian
crew and a cultural melting pot of employees who catered to the whims of the
privileged few. Mold, in her opinion, on the upper crust. These rich and bored
seafarers, who took most of the Majestic Bounty's bounties for granted, were
interested in every detail about their illusive, utterly handsome captain. And
they were a responsibility he never took lightly. But if he simply tipped his
cap in passing to the bathing beauties lined on lounge chairs, their drooling
fairly swabbed the sun decks behind him.
Sky chanced a glance, catching Caleb as he briefly removed his hat to comb his
fingers back through his thick black, silver-threaded hair. She shivered in
remembrance of those huge hands caressing her skin as skillfully as they
maneuvered the ships wheel. He planted a polished shoe on a low rung and leaned
his well-veined, slightly haired forearms over the railing.
"I've really had it with your jealous snits," he finally said with a detached
inevitability that made her wonder if her mutinous behavior had been overboard.
How often did he remind her that their love had kept him sane? She had been
deliberately driving Caleb insane and postponing his rather robust sexual
appetites with inventive lies that would have made a tax attorney applaud. But
she would ice-skate in hell before she would ever admit it to him.
"Jealous snits?" She acted as cliche as the color of her hair.
"If you meant to get my attention by dirty dancing with my petty officer--you
did. Mister Shockley is probably off in his quarters polishing his brass over
you."
"Don't be crude."
"Crude," he said, raising an incredulous brow. "Is only one adjective that
describes your tit and ass shaking performance back in there. If you want to be
treated like a lady, I wouldn't recommend flipping up your dress like some cheap
dancehall hussy."
"That was an accident!" she protested in earnest. "I tripped."
"Well everyone onboard knows you're a true blonde now," he retorted. "And it
was no accident that you made every gentleman under eighty and over twelve who
befurs them hot and hard with that tango."
Including him, she'd wager. "The tango happens to be a sensually expressive
tribute to love."
"I agree. But after your bump and grind peep show? You looked like a vertical
expression of a horizontal idea planted firmly in the minds of men. Most
especially the mind of my petty officer."
"Oh?" she huffed. "Mrs. Merrywidow with the alligator bags under her eyes didn't
exactly look as cold as her pearls when you waltzed her across the floor."
Caleb's electric blue eyes soften with an amusement reserved only for her, and
only when he was off duty, she reminded herself sourly. He rarely acknowledged
her otherwise. "You know I'm required to dance with passengers that pay for the
privilege of dinning at the captain's table."
"I may not be able to dance with you, but there's no stupid ship rule saying I
can't with whomever else I please. I am an aerobics instructor after all.
Besides, I thought you loved the way I get them moving to the music in my
classes."
His arched both brows. "Oh, I do darlin'. But those moves were meant to be
shared with me in the privacy of my stateroom. In fact. . . You can report
there right now." Her pulse began to beat erratically at the threat in his deep
voice. "And while you're waiting for me? Keep in mind how I'm going to take
you over my knee, lift that sexy red number you're wearing--" He scanned her
dress and fixed her with a steely stare. "Pull down those skimpy panties, and
get your shapely bottom swinging to the very hard rhythm of my hand."
She lifted her chin and met his gunmetal gaze point blank. "Well, screw you
too, Cap'n Ahab," she sang in sweet defiance.
"After your month long embargo? I'm sure you'll find Moby's rate of knots more
vigorous than usual." The lively twinkle in his eye incensed her more. "If you
end up sore from more than a spanking, you only have yourself to blame."
"If you think for one minute I'll meekly allow you to spank me like some willful
child and then," her flustered tongue stalled and she tossed her silky length of
hair over her affronted shoulder. "Well, you can just stick your Moby where the
sun doesn't shine."
"Keep that up, and you'll be licking Irish Spring, too, Miss O'Keefe."
"Of all the--"
"And after I'm through spanking you? You'll be begging me to navigate into that
uncharted, sunless region." He cut a look from her face to her bum. "I
promise." His penetrating eyes set off an unwelcome and instant tingle of warm
arousal, as if he had just touched her clitoris.
"I told you, you're much too big to consider it," she feigned prudish
indifference while her pulse picked up its pace.
"I've a few ancient oriental secrets that will guarantee a comfortable passage.
A little yang in your ying is not only overdo, but it'll certainly cure you of
the nasty little bug you've had up there," he said lowly, and she could almost
feel his warm breath on her ear with an image of his enormous penis poised at
her threshold flashing her brain.
"I will never submit to anything of the sort," she scoffed.
He peered at her intently. "Yet you have no compunctions about doing the
horizontal hip-hop with me and then locking your legs together with out-and-out
lies, do you?"
She deliberately shut out any awareness of him. "How dare you accuse me of
being a liar."
"Reminding me of what I've been missing with a blatant threat to give it away to
another was your biggest mistake."
"You're the one who is mist--"
"And your prick-teasing scheme to dangle it until I eventually consent to give
you everything you want if you give me what I crave is what bought you a one way
ticket over my knee."
She lowered her lashes to escape his true blue stare. "I have no idea what
you're talking about."
He gripped her chin. "Look at me." His expression conveyed furious
determination. "You're going to learn, even if the hard way, that my marriage
to you will never work this way."
"Marriage?" Her astonished voice squeaked awkwardly.
"Tidewater runs through my veins, Sky, and this vessel is my life. That you
imagined for one second I would risk losing it all if I didn't intend to spend
the rest of my life with you makes me want to reenlist the old salt's tradition
of a public flogging." His eyes seemed to lash at her. "I came damned close to
giving that male audience of yours a gander of just how red and hot your shapely
bottom can turn out to be when it's the focus of my attention." He roughly
released her chin.
"I-uhm," she stammered with mounting anxiety. "Didn't realize--"
"That I was about to propose to you with the band microphone when you decided to
act like a bitch in heat?"
A suffocating sensation closed her throat.
"And Mrs. Merrywidow? Her name is Katharine Pennworth. Kindly address my
mother as such," he pronounced, and she willed herself to disappear into the
deep blue abyss of the sea and lock herself in with Davy. "Her husband, the
admiral, also my father, had to pull quite a few strings when I told him about
us. My forbidden love for an employee predicament was about to be solved with a
surprise engagement party that involved enough red-tape to circle this ship."
She cupped a hand over her gaping mouth. "Oh-m-gawd," she muffled.
"He had nothing to do with your unholy show."
Her mortified, panic stricken eyes filled with terrible regret and remorse.
"Save it for when I really give you something to cry about," he glowered and
then he eyed his wristwatch. "You have exactly forty minutes to prepare for my
arrival. I suggest you get-a-move-on."
She gulped the hard knot lodged in her throat. "Prepare?"
His whole demeanor grew in a severity that rippled along her spine. "If your
peep show is not shaved as bald as an billiard ball when I pull your scanty
panties down, I'll do it myself and add one hundred more cracks for the
trouble."
She flinched at his tone and waves of apprehension swept through her. "And if I
refuse?" she managed lamely.
"Revoking your ship privileges and shore pass hardly corrected your
insubordinance, did it? Or did you imagine I would never find out about your
unauthorized escapades to the islands for yet another girl bonding party?" he
asked with a humorless smile, and the silent impasse between them became
unbearable. "Third times a charm, Sky," the conviction in his stern voice rang
in her eardrums like a courtroom gavel.
Her face drained of color. "Please, Caleb. You can't fire me."
"I can and will if you don't haul ass and make ready for what you deserve. Red
Sky at the night is a sailors delight, sweetheart." He adjusted the rim of his
hat. "And when your cute lil' rumba is as sweltering as the morning sun, you'll
never again question who's at the helm." And with that, he pushed away from the
rail, retreating with long, purposeful strides into the galley.
* * *
Sky flew into the blue-carpeted fitness room where she held classes for
vacationing exercise enthusiasts. She promptly locked the heavily paned doors
behind her and she began to tremble as fearful images of those huge and powerful
palms striking her bottom built in her mind. She eyed the rowing machines in a
crazy but desperate fantasy of escape. Knowing Caleb's robust sexual appetites,
she didn't doubt his promise of pleasure in the aftermath of her punishment, but
at what price to her doomed behind? If the meted pain equaled his unbridled,
and deprived--no thanks to her--passions; she wouldn't be able to sit for a
month.
The clock on the wall above the swimming pool ticked a startling reminder that
she had only twenty minutes left before she bared-it-all to her commander and
chief. She was only certain of one thing. . . she could not imagine her life
without Caleb. The first time she'd opened the pool early for the captain's
private use before the guests arrived, they fit together like rain in the
springtime. They talked about everything, and nothing, and laughed at each
other's jokes. While working out with weights and swimming laps, every
accidental brushing of their bodies turned to frustration and longing. When she
straddled his weight bench, haunch-to-haunch, sharing Gatorade and laughing,
their mouths sobered and then hovered, breath mingling, and then his lips
touched hers in a featherlike quest, a leisure stroking of his tongue, his teeth
nipping at her bottom lip.
"They could make me walk the plank for this, Sky," she remembered him mumbling
into her mouth.
"I could never live with myself if I were the cause. Oh, Caleb," she had sighed
forlornly. "What are we going to do?" She rested her defeated head on his warm
chest.
"I don't know. . . But trust me. I'll find a way." He gently caressed her
back, and then deftly unfastened the tie of her halter beneath the hair at her
nape. The front flap fell, freeing her full breasts to the cool air and his
heated gaze. He thumbed her nipples to harder pebbles, eliciting jolts of
exquisite electricity that had her emitting breathless little shudders. His
hungry mouth then found her, first one nipple, then the other, the shadow of his
beard part pain, and pure pleasure against her soft skin. "I want to make you
mine, Sky," he rasped, and gently guided her hand over the iron rod of arousal
straining against the frustrating red fabric of his gym shorts. She remembered
how she had gasped in surprise, and first teased Cap'n Ahab about his Moby. Oh,
how she adored his deep, sexy chuckle. The way his warm, solid chest had
rumbled against her breasts with his embrace. "I love you, Sky," he murmured as
his lips seared a path up her neck to her ear, imprisoning her lobe with his
teeth. "Come hell or high water. . . gotta have you. . . ." And they
had torn at each others clothes, ravenous in their hunger to taste and touch and
explore every naked mystery, until he gripped her hips and impaled her, and she
rode him, wild and bucking, into a breathtaking, blissful horizon.
When their love had been new, hiding away from the world was as natural and
necessary as breathing, and for a time, their forbidden secret added a delicious
risk-taking element to their stolen rendezvous'. But then she had wanted to
declare her love to the world, and she did not understand why he didn't, and was
too damned proud to ask or press the issue. All the while he had been planning
to pop the question, she had been too busy lying, denying him, and herself, and
of the passions they shared. Too busy seething with petty jealousies and
defying his authority aboard his own ship; as if to say to his crew, 'you're
silly rules don't apply to me Captain Crunch.' And Mother of Mamba's. She
couldn't, didn't, want to think about her whorish behavior in front of her
future in-laws who were probably here to meet her. She had ruined Caleb's
romantic surprise like the castrating bitch she had become. And if there was
ever going to be a future with Caleb, she knew what she had to do. She couldn't
lock herself in here for the rest of her life like a frightened fool.
Sky undressed, stepped into a shower stall, and quickly soaped her body under
the steamy cascade. She placed the razor to her furry blonde mons; denuding
herself with mechanical precision while memories that she should never have
forgotten pelted her mind. She stepped out, toweled herself off, and fished in
her locker for her toiletries. She lotioned and misted her toned body with
Caleb's favorite scent--Obsession. The wedding white satin panties felt cool
and sleek on her denuded genitals, and she selected black spandex leggings a
matching midriff runners bra for want of a better choice.
At the long marble vanity, she preened before the lighted mirrors. Applying a
touch of mascara and lip-gloss; she skipped over the blusher for the obvious
reasons. Using one of the guest-provided blow dryers and her favorite old
hairbrush, she dried her sleek blonde hair, which she then styled into the high,
girlish ponytail she usually wore when working out. With a resigned, but
fortified sigh, she turned old faithful over in her hand to study the wide,
oval-shaped back, made in the USA, like her, of sturdy, natural oak. It was
smudged with war paint from her deliberate Dances With Wolves. Whoever said
payback was a bitch must have been a man . . . she ironically realized in
retrospect.
Gathering up her slinky scarlet dress, matching garter belt, G-string, and misty
red silk stockings, she stuffed the completely hated couturier caboodle into the
trash bin, picked up the hairbrush, and padded barefoot down the seemingly
endless hallways that led to her master's stateroom.
MAN AT HELM
by Frances LaGatta
Sky closed the door and pressed her back against the woodwork, instinctively
guarding what was about to be punished. Even the air seemed to be holding its
breath as her eyes adjusted in the dark. His government green front office with
its husky, brass trimmed, polished wood furnishings, and heavily mirrored walls
came into focus. A slice of yellow light at the base of the adjacent door
indicated that he was in the sitting room, probably sipping Crown Royal from the
quaint rattan bar, enjoying his nightly cigar, his large frame comfortably
stretched out on his favorite leather chaise lounge.
Somehow she did not imagine he'd be reading, as was his usual practice before
he retired with her into the bedroom. He'd been too livid, too preoccupied with
taking her to task. If only she could diffuse his anger. . . . Maybe she
could dissuade him from spanking her by soothing his frustrated lust? She knew
just the sort of submissive seduction that might possibly make up for all her
horrid behavior.
Her heart beat as erratically as her frantic thoughts. Mother of Majestic
Bounty. She should run for it while she still had the chance! Before she could
turn to do just that, a startling flare illuminated Caleb's chiseled face in the
shadows. He framed the matchstick with his huge hand, staring at her through
the flame while he cuffed his cigar to life. He seemed to take up a lot of the
space while he sat on that armless antique chair with his knees planted wide.
She fumbled for the light switch on the wall with shaking fingers.
"Leave it," he commanded in a tone that reduced her spine to cooked spaghetti.
"I, uhm--"
"C'mere," he bellowed.
She shivered not from a chill, but dread as she shuffled forward to stand
between those massive thighs. Head lowered, her polished red toenails digging
into the plush white carpet, she offered him her hairbrush like a grail. "I
deserve it, I know. . . But before you spank me," she whispered softly.
"Please, darling. Let me show you how truly sorry I am." She sank gracefully
to her knees, and with her hands together as if in prayer, she brought her
parted palms hovering over his crotch. She licked her generous lips
suggestively, her dainty fingers searching for the tine of his zipper, and
slowly, she began to ease it down, her head lowering.
The hairbrush came before her pert nose, thwarting her intended destination.
"Hoping to change my mind about using this?" she heard him say around his sweet
smelling cigar, and the applied pressure of the brush under her chin left her no
choice but to look up at him. His dark eyebrow was arched, his steely stare
determined. "Or are you praying I won't be able to resist such a tempting offer
after denying me with those lying lips?" He touched the flat of the brush to
her moistened mouth as if to both silence her and reaffirm his aim. "You
certainly place more emphasis on the word cunning, when it comes to
cunninglingus." The brush came away and he smacked it down into his open palm.
She flinched at the sound, and dropped back onto her haunches, shielding her
bottom.
"The first lesson you're going to learn is that you can't use sex as a
bargaining chip to manipulate me. And that's just the tip of the iceberg when
it comes to your misbehavior." He set the hairbrush on the polished mahogany
desk beside him and effortlessly yanked her up to her feet while he remained
seated. "I can see you still like to bend the rules to suit you. You didn't
follow my orders to the letter. And I didn't I find you here when I arrived.
Care to enlighten me before I turn you over my knee?"
"B-but I went to the gym to. . . prepare," she wheedled.
"No. You went there because even in the face of all you have done, you still
want the upper edge of doing things your way."
"I-I was scared," she protested.
"Not scared enough to do as you were told." He scrutinized her exercise
apparel, expelling an aggravated stream of sweet smelling smoke over her torso.
"While there's no question you're going to receive the work-out of your life,
I'm not a man who'll settle on second best. I caught more than an eyeful, along
with everyone else, under that sexy red number you had on."
"I threw it in garbage can! I never want to look at it again!"
"Oh, but I do," he replied matter-of-fact, and then he picked up the phone,
placed the receiver to his ear, and punched one of the many hailing buttons on
the com. "There's a ladies red dress stuffed in a trash can somewhere in the
gymnasium. I want you to find this dress and bring it to my stateroom." He
tapped his cigar ash into the crystal, anchor-shaped tray while listening to the
voice other end. "If you have to tear the ship upside down, you'll find it
before it reaches the incinerators, mister," he growled around the cigar and
then paused to listen with more chuffs. "No. That's not all," he expounded.
"I'd also like two of those disposable type enemas from the Binnacle Store.
That's right," he said, chuckling as he cut a look from her horrified turtle
brown eyes to her bum. "With a name like Fleet, you can't go wrong." He
slammed the receiver down. "At least my men know how to follow orders."
"If you think for one min--"
"Did I give you permission to speak?" He silenced her with a glare and stabbed
his cigar out in the ashtray.
"Permission to speak?" she asked snidely, her rebellion resurfacing.
"Denied." He hooked his fingers into her waistband. "These are tighter than
skin on a wiener, but they'll keep you from kicking." He peeled her leggings
and panties down to her knees.
Her face colored fiercely and she quickly folded her hands over her over her
hairless mons with confusing rushes of fear and anticipation and embarrassment.
He reached for something to the left of him on the floor and swung a black
leather footstool around which he promptly planted before her feet. Clasping
her waist, he brusquely lifted her on, and when he let go, she teetered for
balance with her legs locked in black spandex.
"Now." He perched his fists on his thighs and jerked his strong chin closer to
her pubis. "Spread yourself open so I can look at your clitoris in full bloom,"
he demanded, and the crisp bite to his words made her wonder if he about to
pleasure her, or punish her, or both, because surely this was torture.
"Do it, Sky," he snapped at her hesitation and she complied with a thumping
heart and heated face.
He flicked on the desk lamp, the only cover of dignity left to her, gone in a
blaring blinking of her eyes. His gaze focused on her splayed, denuded, damp
lips, the hood pulled up, her scarlet stamen betraying her and standing at his
attention.
"I may love all the textures and juices and spices of you," his warm breath
fanned her swollen nub as he reached around to gently cup her buttocks. "But if
I'm going to tongue this." He pulled apart her cheeks and cold air puckered her
anal maw. "I want you clean and fresh as flower." The hard tip of his tongue
flicked her clit and sent stars shooting through her in a shameless and instant
reaction that had him issuing a deep-throated chuckle. He thrust one, and then
two, thickset fingers into her drenched vagina and piston pumped her canal until
she whimpered for release. "And I'll have you as well lubricated and as
comfortably stretched when I finally decide to stick my neglected dick where the
sun doesn't shine." He then withdrew his slippery fingers as impersonally as a
gynecologist.
Sky covered her denuded sex like Eve realizing she was naked for the first time
in Eden. Her emotions rioted with queer and conflicting mixtures of love and
contempt and shame and fury at her vulnerably to him. He had made her hunger,
and feel undeserving of pleasure in a bittersweet warfare of arousal, turning
the tables, her very words on her, with denial, and insult, all in the space of
a few moments. "I'm not a whore, Caleb."
"You certainly gave an Oscar winning performance of being one. It's time to get
your shapely bottom the appropriate shade of red until your dress arrives and
you can really play the part. . . For me. " He hooked an arm around her
waist and flung her over his lap with a harrumph. He hiked her bottom with a
muscular thigh and he pressed her head low; her blonde pony tail tickled the
plush white carpet beneath her scrabbling red fingernails.
She looked up to see his nostrils flaring with his arm arched high, the oval oak
hairbrush looking small and insignificant in his large hand. It descended in a
blur and hit her bottom with a lightning force and thunderous crack. Sky winced
and pressed her pelvis into his lap to escape the searing sting that spread heat
through her flesh. His pectorals moved in rhythm with his shoulder, arm, and
hand as they swung the hairbrush up, and then down, like the never-wavering,
painful beat of a metronome. Strong. Insistent. Monotonous. Maddening as she
struggled to free her imprisoned legs.
Sky bit her lower lip to stifle her yelps and groans and she clamped her eyelids
shut with a vow not to cry. And as physically fit and toned from all her
workouts, her gently curved buttocks mocked her, bouncing and wobbling,
embarrassingly, like twin bowls of peach Jell-O jiggling during rough seas.
He flipped the brush back and forth over her bum, strategically alternating
stings from one cheek to the other, dead center, and far below, as if he was
some crazed Picasso painting an oyster white canvas with pink strokes, scarlet
streaks, and magenta splotches. She screwed up her face and breathed in and out
through her teeth. Perspiration misted her forehead and runneled her nape when
his efforts brought the blood circulating to her radiating bottom in two small
concentric circles.
When he stopped and waited and then whaled her, these surprise attacks of 'there
she blows' were the worst. She hated anticipating what was about to happen, hot
cheeks clenched tightly for the horrendous sideswiping, peeling motions that
exposed her anal opening. She inhaled sharply as he smacked her directly over
this office before her cheek flapped back into position.
His thumb then skimmed between her cleft, melting her tautly straining muscles
with a delightful, unexpected zing. He dipped, deeply, into her vagina, and
while she moaned for more of the same, his dredging fingers immerged. He spread
her cheeks apart, and circled her pink anal bud, moistening her with her own
juices. When he gently worked the tip of his index finger inside her rectum,
guilty heat coursed through her core. He then strummed her clitoris while he
slowly sheathed his finger to the hilt. Her empty tunnel began to tremble with
a need to be filled. Her calves and spandex imprisoned knees levitated under
this intoxicating magic, her pedicure red toes stretched straight out in the air
behind her. And on the verge of spiraling into oblivion, he abruptly withdrew,
and then cruelly cracked her bottom with his open palm, putting a sharp, painful
stop to what she mewed for.
The brush returned to her buttocks, resting on her flaming skin in an awful
reminder that her penalty wasn't over. "Did you know I had to suffer through
crude comments about this cute little ass and pussy during your little show? "
Shallow, short smacks on her most tenderized spots were delivered with a speed
that had her squirming sideways, almost off his knees. He yanked her against
his solid center, and continued with an unfazed concentration that hurt like
unleashed hell.
When she reared up, frantically looking around for escape, her bottom resembled
two red apples nested in pink cotton candy. "Please, no-no more, no-more" she
pleaded, not caring how pitiful she sounded, gulping in big drafts of air on his
wild roller coaster ride of pure pleasure alternated with strict pain.
He pulled her leggings off and tossed them on the floor before her nose. "Well
now your baring every naked inch of it to me." He then hiked her higher, his
polished heel planted on a low rung of the chair, her body nearly jackknifed,
her feline whiles on full display. He shoved her exercise bra down until her
breasts were exposed and jutting. "They talked about these as if you were some
dancer for hire in a sleazy nightclub." He tugged on her nipples as if he was
milking a cow and an invisible cord connected from her breasts to her clitoris
responded in a hated electrical charge.
"I didn't know--"
"How it feels to be humiliated and powerless to do anything about it?" He
deftly worked his thick thumb into her tight rectal ring, an index finger deep
into her canal, and his remaining, fisted knuckles kneaded her swollen nub, a
grinding pistol n' mortar of mortification and need. "You've been sticking it
to me all month, haven't you, Sky?"
"Yes," her voice quivered with shame so acute, she wanted to disappear into the
carpet. He popped his fingers out and colors exploded behind her eyes when the
paddle of old faithful broke away from the handle.
"Spread your legs wide. Wider! Hold your cheeks open for me."
She complied; feeling the pulsating heat of her punished flesh under her splayed
fingers and the cool rush of air on her anal bud and over the unfurled folds of
her creaming and inflamed sex.
Ever hear of the expression pussy-whipped, Sky?" His brawny fingers smacked her
wet labia, blazing a trail reminiscent of a scarfed five-alarm chili pepper
while her clitoris pulsed in confusion.
She let go of her bottom and wriggled wildly under the relentless claps of his
enormous palm that followed, calloused flesh striking soft sore flesh in a
heartfelt applause. In her upended view of the world, she was flung over a
horse bucking back to a barn while hornets stung her bared behind. Her pelvis
ground into his thighs for climactic release while her boobs bounced painfully
as if she were jogging topless. He ignored her crazy full-throated shrieks and
picked up his pace as if he was a long distance runner just breaking his stride.
"Pleeeasse," she implored in misery, not sure if she meant 'Please stop' or
'Please more.' And he covered every nook and cranny, hill and valley, until her
bum was as hot as the cigar that had glowed in the dark. Until something
switched off in her brain, and she became conscious only of power, his power, an
awesome conglomerate of pure masculine power, a sharp scalpel of dominant realty
that sliced opened her floodgates, and freed her. . . at last.
The moment she allowed her tears to fall like rain, she shattered into a
thousand million stars, exploded into an all encompassing orgasm that rocked her
body over his sprawling lap, his iron hard arousal nudging encouragement against
her hip.
"That a girl," he rasped, spreading her cheeks and fleshy folds apart with his
fingers as if watching in amazed wonder. "Let it all go, darling. Give it all
up to me."
Her surrendering vagina twitched with awesome, apoplectic relief and release
while she wept aloud. "I hate you," she croaked feebly.
"No you don't," he murmured with a resonating chuckle, gently rubbing her lower
spine with a coaxing palm, watching her hot crimson cheeks contract and relax in
a spasmodic culmination of so many different and novel sensations.
"I-I don't understand--"
"Shhh." His handsome dark head descended, and he inhaled deeply, as if savoring
her scent. "Don't think it to death my beautiful, Sky." His warm breath fanned
her skin and he pressed his sensual lips to her orbs in a reverent kiss. "It
just is." He came up on a long exhaled sigh as she lay limp across his lap,
emotionally, and physically depleted, a deflated life raft adrift on a sedentary
sea.
A distant rapping noise penetrated her drained brain. The nervous, and instant,
knocking, she realized, was coming from the other side of Caleb's door.
"Come," his hoarse reply broke the spell, and in the mirrored wall in front of
her, Sky watched the petty officer she had danced with spill into the green
room. Her red dress was draped over his arm. . . and he had a brown paper bag
clutched in his hand.
To read more of Author Frances LaGatta's erotica go to www.wickedvelvet.com
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