by Selena Kitt
"That's a good slut," Henry said. "Oh, God, you are good. Keep it up, just like that."
Looking up into his eyes, she continued to suckle, all the while emitting sharp moans with each fresh spurt. She slowed her efforts in time while his waning climax until she sat motionless with his slowly shrinking member resting on her semen-soaked tongue. She allowed his slowly shrinking cock to slip from her lips only when he withdrew it.
Her eyes followed the filament that stretched from her lips to his cock head until it snapped, then she cast her eyes again to his, her cheeks puffed wide with the bounty they contained.
"Open wide," Henry demanded. "Show it to me."
Claudia threw her head back. With her face pointed skyward, she opened her mouth, exposing the creamy white substance that filled most of the interior.
"Swish it around with your tongue," Henry ordered. He smiled as he watched the woman comply. "You really are beautiful with a mouthful of sperm," he whispered. "I suppose you've earned a tiny reward. Go ahead, do yourself. You may swallow when you come."
Claudia's fingers shot to the warmth between her tight and trembling thighs. There she stroked herself for less than a minute before a hot tremor spread outward from her loins throughout her form. A warm wetness surged past her fingers, soaking both flesh and cloth. She closed her mouth and gulped, beaming as the slimy substance began to ease down her throat, leaving but a sticky residue behind for her to savor. Her eyes brightened still further at the exact moment her neck expanded, passing in one pulse what his cock had delivered in many. She then threw her mouth wide for his inspection, all the while never breaking eye contact.
Henry turned away at once, fastening his trousers as he walked to his desk. "Get dressed and get out," he commanded without looking back. "Call me tomorrow evening at seven-thirty sharp. I must consider if you are worthy of being my patient."
Dr. Stuart stood at his desk as Claudia dressed behind him. Not once did he even give her so much as a glance.
"Thank you, Doctor," she offered in a soft tone. With a spread palm holding her blouse together, she turned and headed for the exit.
Henry did not move until he heard the click of the outer door. Only then did he dare relax. Releasing a long breath, he headed the couch, but had not taken two steps before he stopped with his attention on the place where the young woman had knelt only minutes before. He walked to a dark spot almost the diameter of a basketball.
Dr. Stuart dropped to his hands and knees. Putting his face to the floor, he inhaled a deep breath, imagining the not-so-distant future when he would sample her flavor firsthand.
About Penelope Street
The middle child of three born to a career soldier, Penny followed her father and older brother, enlisting in the military, where she met her husband. The birth of their daughter compelled Penny to leave active duty as a soldier for the even more active duty of being a mom. Though their marriage would not last, the couple parted as, and has remained, friends. Penny currently lives in the American Midwest with her partner of a dozen years. With her daughter now in college, she has time for her leisure pursuits, including writing, quilting, and not cleaning the windows.
Wicked Pirate Raven
By Erin O’Riordan
Peter Thackeray LeBon was in London on business. He hadn’t wanted to stay the extra day; he hated to leave Emily alone in the manor house with only the servants and the children to look after her. A man in his position had certain responsibilities, however, and the foremost of these was to keep the investors happy. When Geoffrey Liston, the owner of LeBon’s ship the Atlantick Pearl, told LeBon to meet him and a couple of investors over ale at the public house that evening, LeBon was in no position to say no.
He glanced at them as they walked through the door, the motley group of fancy whores. Women like them were fixtures at the public houses these days. The women shared a table across from LeBon, Liston, and the investors. LeBon ignored them and went back to business.
The laughter of one of the whores caught his attention. He looked across the table at her. She was an African woman dressed in a billowing gown of white silk. An African whore was not so uncommon in London, but LeBon knew this particular woman. Her name was Badhu, and she was something far more sinister than a common streetwalker.
His eyes fixed on the woman seated across from Badhu, a woman with a black silk shawl across her back like a Spanish lady. She was a European, tall and deeply tanned, with black hair than curled over her shoulders and down her back.
He knew who she was, and why she wore the shawl on such a hot summer night. The shawl hid the tattoo that covered her back. Were she to drop her shawl, LeBon’s companions would instantly recognize her from the posters that papered the waterfront. Her name was Rachel Templin, but she was more commonly known as Raven. The image of a great raven was tattooed on her back, its wings reaching nearly to her breasts, at least in the imagination of the artist who created the posters.
LeBon knew the mark of the raven intimately. It was branded on his back, thanks to an encounter with Raven Templin aboard the Pearl.
The Pearl was a slaver, and everyone knew that the pirate Raven Templin detested slavery. She and her crew— all women—had attacked a dozen British, Spanish and Portuguese slavers over the years. When she took the Pearl, she left LeBon the only survivor. She flogged and branded him before letting him go on a small island in the Canaries, instructing him to warn the others.
Liston knew that the Pearl had been taken by pirates, and all the African captives set free. LeBon hadn’t mentioned Raven’s name. The thought of everyone knowing how he’d been humiliated by a woman was too much to bear. Instead, LeBon had described to Liston a terrifying attack by male pirates.
“LeBon,” the Pearl’s owner said, slapping LeBon on the back, “are you quite all right?”
“Yes,” LeBon said. “Forgive my wandering attention. It’s only that . . . that whore looks so familiar.”
The investors laughed. “They all look familiar after a while, don’t they?” one of them jested.
He could have exposed her. He could have had her arrested right there in the pub and seen her hanged in the public square by the time he returned home to Emily. But quickly it dawned on LeBon that this was not what he wanted. He had other, more private humiliations in mind for the woman who’d flogged and branded him.
LeBon kept silent while the investors drank another round, then bid them and Liston goodnight. Only when he was alone did LeBon approach the women. He saw a flicker of recognition on Badhu’s face as he walked up behind Raven and put his hand on her shoulder.
He leaned in low to whisper in Raven’s ear. “I know who you are,” he said. “I’ll see you hanged from the gibbet, Templin.”
“Sir,” she cried out in mock-indignation. “To say such things to a lady.” Her English was perfect, but her accent was deep. LeBon didn’t know where she was from, but it was certainly somewhere in the Slavic countries. Like many things about her, the place where Raven came from was a mystery.
The other women tittered. LeBon’s face flushed. “I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done to me,” he told her.
She arched her eyebrows. “And I suppose you’ve forgotten what’s become of the men and women you sell as slaves. Have I done you a greater wrong than you’ve done them?”
Without thinking of what he was doing, LeBon took hold of Raven roughly by the arm. The other women at the table reached into their garters and boots and drew out daggers.
Raven shook her head and waved her hands. “There’s no need for that, ladies,” she said. “The gentleman and I are just having a conversation. Perhaps we should continue this conversation in private, Captain LeBon.”
Badhu said a few words to Raven in a language that LeBon couldn’t understand, and Raven answered her.
She strode over to LeBon’s table. Her long skirts flowed behind her. LeBon had to admit that Raven looked almost elegant. He’d never seen her in women’s clothes before. Abo
ard ship, Raven and her pirates dressed as men. Staring at her long, lean body, he almost forgot his purpose.
“Perhaps you and I could come to an agreement,” Raven said, sitting down in the seat Liston had vacated. “Surely there’s something you want, other than my public execution?”
She reached for her purse, stuffed with coins. She had more money with her than a real prostitute would have seen in a month. It was more than LeBon routinely carried. He thought of the vessel it must have been plundered from, and found himself filled with anger.
“I don’t want your money,” he said.
“There must be something,” she repeated, almost pleading. He looked into her eyes. He remembered those brown-black eyes from that terrible time aboard the Pearl, and felt only the vaguest sympathy for her. He knew her to be a wicked woman, and he would see her punished, one way or another.
“All I want,” he said, leaning in across the table, “other than your violent end, is your utter humiliation at my hands.”
She thought for a moment, glancing over at the other women. “You would have me be your slave,” she said, “And for this, I have your assurance that my companions and I will leave this place?”
He sneered. “You have my word as a gentleman.”
“Safely?”
“Relatively,” he said. “I won’t turn you over to the hangman.”
“Go to the barman,” she said, “and arrange for us to have a room upstairs. I must make plans to meet my ladies afterward.”
“Tell them you’ll see them in the morning.”
She nodded. He tried to read the look on her face just before she turned away. It seemed for a moment that she was frightened, but in the next instant she looked rather excited. Almost hopeful. LeBon wondered what the pirate had up her sleeve.
***
The room was small and dirty. There were no windows. The only light was from two small candles on the wall. The barman lit them before disappearing down the stairs. Raven listened to his heavy footsteps retreating as LeBon locked the door.
Raven felt her heart hammering in her chest. She was aware of every sensation in her body, from the tightness of her corset to the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. LeBon seemed to be aware of her heightened state of attention.
“Are you frightened of me, Templin?”
The thought was so ridiculous she wanted to laugh out loud. Raven Templin hadn’t been afraid of anything since she was seventeen years old. But she’d placed herself under LeBon’s control, at least for the night, and she would have him think that he was truly in control.
Raven would never forget the face of one of the African women she and her crew had rescued from the Pearl that night. She seemed at first to be wearing a mask. Up close, however, Raven saw that the woman’s face had been lined with deep scars. Using Badhu as a translator, Raven had asked the woman if LeBon’s crew did this to her.
“No,” the woman had said through Badhu. “I did this to myself, praying to the gods that they would find me too ugly and not take me. These men are not human.”
Raven pushed the thought from the front of her mind. Peter Thackeray LeBon was wicked and cruel, to be sure. But his wickedness was perfectly human. Like all human beings, he had weaknesses that could be exploited. Raven could easily have killed him in that room. Just like her companions, Raven kept a dagger hidden in her boot. But Raven knew something else about LeBon, something perhaps he didn’t even know himself.
She knew that he didn’t really want to hurt her. She could see it in his eyes. The night that she flogged him on the deck of her ship, the Radiant Maiden, there had been a look of pure hatred his clear blue eyes. That look had been replaced.
Raven stood in the middle of the floor, inches away from the ragged bed. LeBon walked up to her slowly, never letting his eyes off of her.
“Your boots,” he said. “Take them off.”
Her first instinct was to refuse. Raven never took her boots off; she even slept in them. Her dagger was her last line of defense. Without it, she felt intolerably vulnerable. She said nothing, but stood in stoney silence.
LeBon took off his vest and shirt. He stood with his back to Raven, making sure that she could see the brand that she’d ordered placed on his back years ago.
“Do you remember that night, Templin?” he asked. “After your crew branded me, and before they flogged me, what did you order me to do?”
She remembered. Despite the horrific pain of the branding, he’d had the same attitude of arrogant hatred as before. Most men broke down and vowed never to practice slave trading again before they even smelled the burning-hot iron. Not LeBon.
“I said that I would be the master of you,” she said, “I ordered you to kneel and kiss my boot.”
He nodded. The heat in this tiny, filthy room reminded him of the heat of the Canaries. He felt the sweat starting to roll down his back. Raven looked uncomfortably hot as well, giving LeBon the feeling that he and Raven had both gone back there in their minds.
“That’s right,” he said. “And I refused.”
“You were full of pride,” she said.
“Too true,” he said. “I was full of pride, just as you are now. Take off your boots.”
She had only to step back a short way to sit on the bed. Reluctantly she pulled off the left boot, the one that did not hide the dagger. She was even more reluctant to take off the right. She had to pull out the dagger first. She did this, slowly, letting him see what she was doing so that he would not misunderstand.
LeBon’s lip curled when he saw her remove the weapon. He reached for it, putting his hand on top of hers and pulling it away from her. He held the weapon up to his face, examining it with great curiosity.
“How many men have you killed with this, Templin?” he asked, scraping at a bit of blood on the blade with his thumbnail.
“A few,” she said quietly. “None that didn’t deserve it.”
He stuck the dagger into the waist of his pants. The handle stuck up just above the bony arch of his hip. “But you didn’t kill me.”
“You were to be my messenger,” she said. “You were to warn the others.”
“As you can see,” he said coldly, “I’ve failed in my mission.”
“Then I’ve failed in mine as well,” she said. “Perhaps a few more stripes, or another brand, would teach you your lesson.”
He sat very near to her on the bed. She began to lean against him, welcoming the touch of his body in spite of herself. Suddenly he snatched the shawl from her shoulders. With one quick motion he had the shawl wrapped around her neck, loosely, just as a warning. He caught aquick glimpse of black ink against her tanned skin.
“You forget yourself, Templin,” he said. “Your crew isn’t here to receive your orders, and you’re in no position to give me anything other than your obedience. Only one of us will be the master tonight.”
She gritted her teeth before remembering her secret. “Yes, Captain,” she said.
“Which of us is the master, Templin? You or I?”
“You, Captain,” she said through gritted teeth.
He let the shawl fall to the bed. “Now take off your dress.”
A faint smile crossed her lips. She hadn’t been able to get into her new gown without Badhu’s help this afternoon, and doubted she could get out of it on her own. “I’ll need your help,” she said.
LeBon stood, taking Raven by the hands and pulling her to her feet. She kicked over one of her boots, reminding her that she was barefoot and vulnerable. With a violence that surprised her, he took hold of the back of her dress and pulled, tearing it, sending the buttons falling to the floor. The torn remains of the gown slipped from Raven’s shoulders. She stood in her long slip and corset. With the same violence, he soon had her out of these, too, naked in the oppressive heat of the chamber. Sweat collected between her breasts and rolled down her back. She breathed harder.
Now he could see the whole of the raven tattoo. Just as in the image on the po
sters, the wings of the great black bird stretched across her back, the tips of the wings just touching the curves of her heavy breasts. The raven rose and fell with her breathe.
“You are afraid,” he said.
“Yes,” she whispered, realizing afterward that it was almost true.
He took her black shawl from the bed and tore a long strip from it. He placed this over her eyes and tied it behind her head. The little bit of light from the candles disappeared. She felt him beside her, breathing in the scent of her expensive perfume. She didn’t care for it herself. She missed the smell of salt water.
LeBon took Raven’s hand, then her other hand, pulling them behind her back. He bound her hands tightly with the shawl. The fabric dug into Raven’s skin. She was glad that it was silk and not something coarser.
She felt his mouth on her nipple, hot and wet. His fingers reached over and took hold of her other nipple. At first he groped gently. Then he began to twist and pinch the nipple. Raven shivered.
The sensation struck her as being somewhere between pleasure and pain. She didn’t want to protest. Despite her efforts to bear this feeling quietly, a moan escaped her lips. LeBon responded by sucking with more urgency, and assaulting the other nipple with even more force.
Finally his hand fell away from her breast. She didn’t know what he would do next. Then she felt his fingers on her leg. He forced her legs apart suddenly, nearly causing her to lose her footing. She was lucky enough to catch herself before she fell over forward.
Now Raven felt LeBon exploring her vulva. He touched her, but not with his fingers. It took her a moment to recognize the shape of the thing moving outside, then inside, the lips of her vulva. It was the handle of her dagger. After a moment of tentative exploration, LeBon shoved the handle of the dagger inside her cunt. He withdrew it just as quickly.
