by Delta James
Sealord
By
Delta James
Copyright © 2020 by Stormy Night Publications and Delta James
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
Published by Stormy Night Publications and Design, LLC.
www.StormyNightPublications.com
James, Delta
Sealord
Cover Design by Korey Mae Johnson
Images by iStock/Vac1, iStock/DieterMeyrl, and iStock/DaniloAndjus
This book is intended for adults only. Spanking and other sexual activities represented in this book are fantasies only, intended for adults.
Table of Contents
Title Page
Copyright Page
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Epilogue
Similar Books by Delta James
Books of the Wayward Mates Series
More Stormy Night Books by Delta James
Delta James Links
Chapter One
Western Ireland, not far from the coast
Caoimhe nestled in her bed. It was warm and soft, a far improvement over the one she had shared with Oisin in their previous home. Their farmhouse was small, but more than adequate for their needs and offered more privacy and autonomy than they had enjoyed when they lived in the Cave of Tears. Caoimhe and her husband had been a part of a small community of humans who had found safety in a sea cavern that was reputed to have once been the last stronghold of dragons.
Over the years, the society of human refugees had evolved into artisans, fishermen, and more. As the great wolf packs banished the marauding mutants from all of Britannia and Eire, the people of their village began to venture out to cultivate fields and establish themselves upon the rich, fertile farmlands. Oisin and Caoimhe were one such couple.
No one paid much attention to the stories, but Caoimhe had always wondered about the shards of thin crystals that were found throughout the cavern system. Shortly after she had married Oisin, Caoimhe had found what appeared to be a large egg made from the same crystalline structure. She had polished it with a soft cloth and used it to decorate their small space. When she and Oisin had decided to try to make a go of it up on the land above the bluffs, she had packed it amongst their things and brought it with them.
The couple had not been blessed with children and so the small farmhouse suited them. They had worked hard not only to cultivate their land but to purchase and begin to raise livestock, most notably sheep from which they got milk, that Caoimhe made into prize-winning cheeses, as well as their fleeces and meat. When not helping Oisin with the back-breaking work of preparing their fields, Caoimhe had worked to make their little house a warm, comfortable home. She had placed the egg on the hearth by the fire, where it reflected the light in a cascade of color all around the main room.
Caoimhe knew that having finished shearing the sheep, Oisin would be tired. She also knew he had loving on his mind as he had headed her toward their bed with a longer caress along her backside, saying he wanted to wash up before joining her there. She smiled; Oisin was considerate that way. Unlike some, her husband had always taken great pains to see that she enjoyed their relations and tonight was no different. She hoped he wouldn’t tarry too long as her body had begun aching for his touch.
Her thoughts were interrupted as she felt him crawl up onto the bed, humming in a way he knew she found seductive. Oisin turned back the covers and slipped in beside her, chuckling as he found she was as naked as he.
“So, my wife would ask that her poor, tired husband who has toiled all day shearing their sheep now see to her wanton needs and desires?” he asked in a low, rumbling voice that still caused her to shiver with desire.
Caoimhe reached out and grasped his hard, throbbing shaft.
“Aye, my lord, she would. But I think you exaggerate your weariness for what I hold in my hand feels more than adequate to the job required.”
Laughing, Oisin said, “Perhaps you are right. I find my weariness evaporating in the wake of my ever expanding need to sink my shaft in your wet heat.”
Arranging her on her back, Oisin removed her hand from his cock, as he rolled on top of her, neatly parting her legs with his own. He positioned his staff so that it was perfectly aligned with her sheath, grasping her hips and tilting them so he could mount her in one smooth, sure stroke.
Caoimhe arched her body into his, moaning in response to his possession. She clung to him as he began plunging into her, thrusting in and out and savoring his attention. He held her still as he plundered her relentlessly, seeming to revel in her response—her fingers clutching the muscles of his back, her body trembling, and her pussy quivering. She felt it begin to contract all up and down his staff, as he drove into her with long, hard strokes.
She felt her body stiffen in anticipation of her impending orgasm. Her breath sped up, and the noises she was making became whimpers and then a cry of exultation as her climax overwhelmed her. Oisin showed no signs of joining in her rapture, continuing to thrust within her. His mouth captured hers as his tongue danced inside it. He nipped her lower lip before burying his head, beneath her hair, in the crook of her neck.
Oisin’s fingers flexed along her buttocks, holding her steady as he continued to extract all of the pleasure he could from her. Caoimhe orgasmed again as she bit down to keep from screaming, something she had learned to do when they lived in the cavern where privacy was mostly an illusion. Harder and faster he pummeled her pussy as he called forth one climax after another until it seemed they all blended into one never-ending orgasm that left her writhing beneath him.
“Oisin,” she screamed as she climaxed again.
She knew he enjoyed hearing her call his name, understanding he had wrested all control of her response. She reveled in his lovemaking, beginning to feel him begin to strive for his own gratification. She felt his cock thicken, filling with cum before he began spilling himself. Her pussy responded by clamping down and milking every last drop. Caoimhe loved the feeling of her sheath being bathed in his essence; she only wished she had been able to provide his seed with the fertile ground needed to produce a child. It was the only mar in their joyful consummation and life. Sensing her disquiet, Oisin nuzzled her and captured her mouth, bruising her lips with his as his cock throbbed and twitched, spurting out the last remnants of his seed.
“Shh,” he quieted.
“I just wish...”
“I know, sweetheart, but if it is never to be, I am content. You complete me in every way and have brought such great happiness to my life that I want for nothing,” he said, rolling to his back and drawing her close.
Caoimhe snuggled against him as he stroked her body to comfort her. While she always reveled in their lovemaking, she often times experienced a bit of sadness, which Oisin understood and did his best to dispel. They lay quietly together, each lost in their own thoughts, until they heard a loud cracking noise coming from the main room. Oisin quietly disengaged from her and grabbed his trousers, pulling them on.
“Stay here and get dressed quietly,” he whispered. “If I d
on’t give you the all clear or come back in a matter of moments, you are to slip out the window and hide yourself in the fields until you can make your way back to the cavern.”
“I won’t go without you.”
“You will do as I say,” he hissed before picking up the ancient musket and creeping toward the main room.
Her heart clutching in her chest, she watched as he swept the room with the musket, scanning the semi-darkness for signs of an intruder. Oisin entered the room and lit several candles to illuminate the small space. Caoimhe didn’t realize she’d been holding her breath until she heard him catch his own before calling to her.
“It’s all right, sweetheart. Everything is fine, but I think your egg preferred the dark, cold cavern.”
Caoimhe pulled on her nightgown and rushed to the beautiful object, trying not to let her anguish show. The egg had been a memento of their first home together, of the place they had met and fallen in love. Oisin was right; a crack had developed from the top tip and was starting to run down one side. She reached out and touched the irregular surface of the crystals, feeling the elevated temperature as fissures developed all along the surface.
“Perhaps I should have listened to you,” she said. “But it always looked so pretty in the firelight.”
“Maybe if I move it away from the fire, we can find a way to put it back together.”
Oisin reached out for it but recoiled when his fingertips made contact with the heated surface. Caoimhe watched in dismay as the shell continued to crackle and small shards began to snap and fall away. Not knowing what else to do, they stood with their arms wrapped around each other as the object continued to reflect the light from the banked fire and seemed to develop an interior glow of its own. The crackling became louder as more and more of the egg began to break apart. Along with the sound from the shell disintegrating, they began to hear another sound... the quiet cries of what sounded like a baby. They glanced at each other and both jumped back as a small fist emerged through the upper half of the egg.
Caoimhe tried to rush forward, but Oisin held her back.
“What witchcraft is this?” he cried, clearly alarmed.
“It’s not witchcraft, Oisin, it’s a baby,” she said, disengaging from him and moving toward it.
Caoimhe reached out with her finger to touch the tiny fist, which reacted by opening and grasping her finger within it. Instead of being frightened, Caoimhe was fascinated and delighted. She moved closer and began to flick away bits of shell as they cracked. Little by little, the shards fell away and revealed a small baby within. She was tiny but appeared to be strong. Caoimhe reached down to the hearth and picked up the small infant, bringing her to her chest. The babe kneaded Caoimhe’s ample breasts but could not get to the nipple hiding behind her gown. As she had not given birth, Caoimhe knew she had no milk to offer.
“Quick, get some of the sheep’s milk in the cooler and bring it over here to heat.”
“What?” Oisin asked.
“She’s looking for food and I have none of my own to give her. She needs to eat.”
“She? How do you know what it wants?”
“She’s a baby, obviously a little girl, and she is instinctively looking to suckle. Get me the milk.”
“We don’t even know what that thing is...”
Caoimhe whirled on her husband, the babe held close.
“She is an innocent baby that the gods have placed in our care, perhaps in answer to our prayers. I, for one, will not turn my back on such a gift. If you will not help me, then I will get her food without your assistance.”
“No. You keep her warm by the fire. I’ll make something to use as a feeder for Míorúilt while the milk warms.”
“Míorúilt?”
“She has to have a name, and as you point out, the gods gave her to us. She is our own miracle, so Míorúilt seems a fitting name.”
Caoimhe smiled at him and cooed to the baby, Oisin went about heating the milk and using a small water flask, to which he affixed an artificial nipple, to make something the baby could suck from. Once it was finished, she thought he looked rather pleased with himself as he filled it with the heated milk and handed it to her. The tiny infant began to suckle with vigor, seeming to find the nipple Oisin had fashioned to her liking. Caoimhe made herself comfortable on the floor, Oisin sitting behind her, cradling both her and the babe in his arms. When Míorúilt had finished her meal, Caoimhe went about the task of examining her and found that for all intents and purposes, she seemed human.
Caoimhe gently washed her and fashioned some cloths to act as diapers. When she was finished, she looked up to find that Oisin was in the midst of modifying the half barrel they had used to contain firewood into a snug crib for the infant. He had ensured that all the rough edges were covered.
“I can build her a proper cradle in the next few days, but for now, this can work.”
“A proper cradle is it?” she teased.
Oisin grinned at her. “No daughter of mine is going to be sleeping in a kindling carrier... well, not for long anyway.”
“Then we can keep her?”
“Aye,” he said. “You’re right, the gods gifted her to us and trusted that we would care for her as our own.”
“How will we explain her?”
“Don’t you fret. No one has seen us in months and Míorúilt is small. We will simply say she was born prematurely and that we believe she survived because she is special. There will be no one to dispute that and our friends will be overjoyed that at last our prayers have been answered.”
* * *
And so it was that Oisin and Caoimhe welcomed their daughter, Míorúilt, into the world. Oisin had been right. No one questioned the appearance of the small baby who seemed to grow like any normal child. Over the passing years, her parents never told her of her true origins, but Caoimhe did tell the girl the stories of the dragons and their Cave of Tears where her parents had first come together as one.
“But, Mama, why did you and Papa live with others in a cave?” Míorúilt asked one sunny afternoon while she helped her mother make cheese.
“Because after the great plague, the world was not safe for humans. Mutants roamed the land killing and raping and trying to use human females to breed. Eventually, the great wolf-shifter packs began to reemerge and slowly but surely drove the mutants from our shores and established a culture of civility and law.”
“Do the wolves want to breed human females?”
Caoimhe shook her head. “Not for the most part, although they say some male wolves are called to their fated mate and if she is human, they change her to one of their kind.”
“But what if the woman doesn’t want to change?”
Caoimhe laughed. “Most men, human and wolf alike, do not much concern themselves with what a woman wants.”
“That doesn’t sound fair,” Míorúilt protested.
“It isn’t, but it is the way of the world,” said Oisin, interrupting them to get a drink of cold water. “That is why good little girls obey their fathers and do not stray from their homes.”
Míorúilt rolled her eyes. “You just say that so I’ll obey you.”
Oisin nodded. “Partly, but also because it’s true. I will not let anyone force you and will keep you and your mother safe for as long as there is breath in my body.”
Míorúilt hopped up and hugged her father close.
“I know you will, Papa. But are our lands really that dangerous?”
“More so than they used to be. The pack that once ruled here has fallen into disarray and fractured into thirds when the last alpha died leaving no clear-cut heir. They have been too busy fighting amongst themselves to worry about those of us who live beyond the confines of their keeps. The island wolves seemed to have fared the worst and what was once a great castle has now fallen to ruin both from fighting and the ravages of the wind and the ocean.”
“Mama says that the island and its keep was once the stronghold of the last of the drag
ons.”
Oisin shook his head. “Your mother has some fanciful notions. But yes, they say it was once the fortress of the green dragon, Tiarna Na Farraige or Lord of the Seas. But once the dragons were gone, it rose and fell with the fortunes of humans, mutants, and wolf-shifters. Now it sits isolated and alone, a glorious relic of a long-forgotten past.” He reached out and stroked his daughter’s dark, shimmering hair. “You are growing into such a beauty, your poor papa is going to have his hands full beating back the proper suitors for your hand, much less mutants or marauding shifters.”
Míorúilt smiled at him and rubbed her cheek against the palm of his hand. She was happy with everything the way it was, but knew she was now at an age when she would be expected to find an appropriate suitor and marry. But, how could she? Her parents knew nothing of the dark warrior who had begun to invade her dreams. When he had first appeared, she’d feared for his safety as she watched him in battle, his mighty sword swinging through the air as he fought his way toward some goal she did not understand. In the ones she’d begun to have since she had matured, he crawled into her bed, growling seductively before working his way up from her feet so that his body was parallel over hers. He would lock gazes with her, slowly lowering himself so that he breached her thighs with his own, lining up his hard cock with her pulsing sheath, driving into her and shattering her virginity.
Míorúilt knew that she should not be having such dreams. The elders cautioned the girls of their village to guard their maidenheads as a gift to be given only to their husbands, but she knew that her parents both enjoyed the physical side of their relationship. Her mother spoke far more candidly to her than her friends’ mothers did to them. While Caoimhe told her it was best to remain chaste until she was married, she also let her know there was nothing wrong in a woman reveling in the lovemaking she shared with her husband.
Míorúilt often told herself that like the wolf-shifters, perhaps she too had a fated mate and the warrior from her dreams was he. She wondered if maybe her future mate was a wolf-shifter and if he would turn her into something other than human. It was only in the darkest hours of the night that she questioned why the thought of not being human didn’t frighten her.
