"You wicked, wicked woman!"
She looked up from her writing desk, started by the interjection.
"You are a naughty woman, Milady - writing such filthy diatribes."
"But.........but Milord, my stone rose verse was for you."
"That is no excuse you naughty wench," he muttered, pulling her slowly out of her seat by her hair.
"Ouch!" she flailed helplessly in the air, hating this moment when she had lost control. She snarled as he lifted her up towards him, with a slightly cruel smile on his lips. The grimace was replaced by a pout, indicating a change of mood as he placed his palm on her shoulder and very softly, very slowly ran his flat palm over her shoulders, pulling her gown away from her shoulders and letting it puddle around her feet
"At your service, Milady, as ever," he smiled back and the sensation of slipping silk was soon forgotten, as slowly, his fingers ran along her spine. He teased each bony ridged and palpitated each fleshy hollow, causing her to quiver against him.
"And I forgive you, always," he grinned.
He held back, watching her lying on the bed, as cool as the proverbial cucumber, delighting in the capricious movement of her evocative limbs, limbs that he so wanted to touch and taste. Running his fingers over his palm as if to emulate the feeling of his hands running over her skin, he imagined himself caressing the yielding flesh and then turned to look up at her again.
She seemed still blissfully oblivious of his presence, her skirt rucked up around her upper thighs, kicking her legs in the air in time to the jazz music playing through the window. Reaching to turn over the page of her book, she ran her hand through her hair, letting the fine strands flow down her back and then immersed herself in her romantic dreaming.
He would have loved to have inched forward and slipped his hand up her hip, feeling her tremble receptively at his presence, but held his position. His eyes gazed at her undulating contours, all the way up her thigh to catch an innocent yet at the same time promiscuous glance at the white cotton that lay beneath that skirt, the damp container of her pleasure trove and his desires.
She wriggled on the bed trying to get comfortable and reached down to scratch her upper thigh. The skirt flipped up over one cheek of sweet backside, showing the gleaming whiteness of her panties to the world. Nonchalently, she left it there, feeling the cool breeze from the fan on her lower regions and wriggling again to feel the blanket rub against the exposed flesh of her thighs. It was a good book and one that excited her imagination, making her want to reach down and touch herself. That was for later though and right now she just contented herself with a gentle rubbing of her neck, unbuttoning her collar, to feel the perspiring flesh.
He licked his lips at the sight of her naked back and shifted his position in the dark corridor. He was only five - no four paces away from her and it would only be a matter of a few moments to slip accross the carpet and to take those lovely packages in his hands. He almost shuddered as a tremble of expectation ran down her shoulders, making the flesh ripple gently, a ripple that he followed all the way down her back, under the bra strap, to her waist where it was lost in the gentle swell of her upturned buttocks.
She turned the page again and gasped as silks were torn and ladies were thrown onto four poster beds to be toyed with at their ravagers leisure. It was funny how they always managed to get a four poster bed in even the meanest of cabins on these ships, she giggled to herself, wiggling animatedly at the thought of some buccaneer seizing her in such away. She wondered if he would threaten her with beatings or defilement and raised her bottom of the bed as if bent over awaiting retribution. Would his eyes gaze coolly at her exposure and take pity upon her or would he be incited to uncontrolled lust.
He struggled to control himself as he watched her play acting with herself, her fine rump stuck lewdly in the air in front of him. Her skirt had flopped up and bunched completely around her waist now, leaving her panty clad bottom fully exposed, the pink flesh teasingly disappearing under the soft material. The soft curve of her back was so exquisite in this position that he was hard pressed to contain himself and reached down, hesitant as to whether he should release himself to cool his ardour.
All these ladies in her stories seemed to wear bloomers or voluminous layers of skirts, but she thought that the sight of her cotton clad behind must be far more exciting. Would a pirate be able to resist pulling them down and feasting on her exposed flesh she wondered? Would they run their fingers down the crack of her behind before finding the pearl that they sought between her thighs, laughing gleefully at her blushing state. She could always throw herself upon their mercy and offer him her all....now that might satisfy the passions that had built up in her, or should she reach for a long hard cylinder that lay in her top drawer and relieve her frustrations.
His hands, strong, but soft and his thin lips wandered over her shoulders to kiss them and stayed her. He continued to run his palm up and down her back, slowly over her shoulders and then back down. He could see the smile spreading across her face - smoothing, caressing, warming. Spinning her around, he leant her back so that his chin nudged her dark brown hair away from her neck and then kissed the nape.
He let his hand wander over her dimpled cheeks and then returned to her back. Reaching down suddenly, with one finger he traced the inside of her thighs. She squirmed and separated her legs for him. He watched as she shivered , and a wave of goose bumps spread across her flesh, only to subside again. He began to trace the valley between her bottom cheeks. A hand slid between her legs until he felt the hair of her pussy, returning to circle first one cheek and then the other, letting the desire build within her gradually and inexorably. As his hand followed her curves he slowed and reversed and kneaded her resting muscle. He heard her sigh.
At the end of one sliding traverse of her backside, his hand stopped and began to creep further on, rubbing the small space between her backside and her pussy. Tight little circles, pressing firmly into her, alternated with a back and forth that pulled alternately at those luxuriating havens. He felt her twitch, her hips move against him. His fingers traced and opened her labia. Inside she was wet all over, and his finger slid easily into her, and out again, and forward, and back, and in again. As his finger explored her, he watched the muscles of her back tense and relax, following the rhythm of his penetration of her interior and its red excitation.
He could plainly see the pulse dancing in her jugular as it paralleled the taut tendon of her throat. Finger covered with her secretions, he turned endless circles around the jutting nub of her sex. Her twitching intensified. Her hands closed in tight fists, reaching back behind her to clutch at his dress shirt for dear life. Her breath became a series of staccato gasps. She came, the animal sounds muffled by his chest and he let her slip slowly to the ground at his feet, reaching down to stare into her dark, misted pupils.
He saw a tear drop slipping down her cheek and pressed his finger to her cheek, catching the precious fluid. The wet and salty drop balanced on his finger as he raised it to his lips. She raised her head and watched its ascent, smiling to herself, as he let the salty droplet slide onto the tip of his waiting tongue to mingle with the saliva that had gathered in his mouth, during the recitation of this escapade. This was a conjunction of them both. The reclining woman and the hesitant , yet ultimately decisive man who, aroused by her her excited antics, had taken her, cool as that cucumber, in the passageways of her mind.
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