Five Minute Fantasies 1

by Cathryn Cooper

  A hatch opened and a light came to illuminate my cramped quarters.

  ‘Who’s there?’ a harsh voice called.

  I bit my lip to keep silent. Just then my room lurched again and my involuntary squeal of terror betrayed my hiding place.

  ‘God’s teeth! A wench! The Cap’n will be mighty pleased to see thee I’ll warrant.’

  I was dragged out into the light where I could better judge my surroundings. That we were at sea I’d already ascertained.

  Hauled along the deck, I had a brief chance to observe my captor. He was short and stocky, had a weather-beaten face and long hair drawn back in a pigtail. He wore a coarse hair shirt and canvas trousers. The latter were held up with a stout belt in which was thrust a mean-looking knife.

  The ship was making heavy weather. It was a raw day. The biting wind was snapping at the sails, leaving the rigging to sing in high falsetto. The vessel lurched violently and I, for one, was grateful that the journey to the Captain’s quarters was short.

  We burst in on the Captain in the middle of a meeting with, what I took at a glance to be, his senior officers. They were much more resplendently dressed than my captor. I was dragged forward.

  ‘Cap’n, begging your pardon. I found this wench skulking in the forepeak.’

  There wasn’t a great deal of light in the cabin.

  The Captain reached out and pulled me towards him. As he did so he ripped my nightdress at the shoulder.

  Lanterns appeared as the ship’s officers strained forward to get a better view.

  ‘Merry lads,’ the captain exclaimed. ‘This wench is freshly washed. I would see more of her.’

  Willing hands stripped me of my thin attire. The Captain, a swarthy villain with magnetic eyes, looked hungrily at my naked body.

  Anonymous hands explored my contours, touching, probing and teasing so pleasurably that I began to quite enjoy being the centre of attraction. The Captain spoke – the hands vanished.

  ‘Comely,’ he said. ‘Gentlemen. We shall have much sport this night.’

  A gasp came suddenly from one of the officers.

  ‘What ails thee Crossley?’ asked the Captain.

  Crossley had the look of one much disturbed.

  ‘Captain,’ he said. ‘I have the garment the wench was wearing. I fear, Captain, we must treat this wench – I mean lady, well.’

  The Captain snatched the limp nightgown from the man called Crossley. A lantern was held close so that he might read.

  ‘St Michael,’ he exclaimed. ‘By my beard, how come you by this name, wench?’

  I fixed him with a stern gaze. ‘Don’t call me wench.’

  Standing totally naked in the centre of a bunch of wild, hungry-looking men called for some quick thinking. It also called for boldness. After all; what else did I have to lose?

  ‘The name is true enough, Captain. Do you challenge it?’

  Sailors are a superstitious lot. I’d read that somewhere. It certainly proved to be the case here. The officers shuffled uneasily and the circle around me widened. Even the Captain was beginning to look less certain.

  ‘Treat me well, Captain’, I told him, ‘or this ship and its crew are doomed.’

  That did it. One took the role of spokesman.

  ‘Please, Captain,’ he urged. ‘Heed her warning. The ship was clear when we left Bristol. We have been gone from that port these twelve months since. She appeared from nowhere. I don’t like it. It’s a sign.’

  I took my nightdress from the Captain’s uncertain fingers and slipped it over my head. Strange, how fear in a man can take his mind off the basics. Precious little else can.

  The Captain wavered but a little longer.

  Urgent noises from his subordinates decided him.

  ‘Very well, my lady. What would you ask of me?’ His tone was gentler.

  ‘I am weary,’ I told him. ‘I need to rest.’

  My eyes left his for a moment to tour the cabin.

  ‘This accommodation will suit me fine.’

  He took a deep breath. The rage within him was easy to see. Yet he was fighting a losing battle with his uneasiness.

  ‘Very well,’ he said again.

  ‘Captain,’ I said. ‘I should like to speak with you alone.’

  He nodded to his officers. Very soon there were just the two of us in the cabin. I stood close.

  For the first time since my arrival in his cabin, he smiled. His hands went about me. His hands were pleasant against my body. Desire took the better of him. He lifted my night attire; I relished the most delicious caresses I had ever experienced. My heart raced, my blood thundered hot and lustful in my veins.

  After gently squeezing each nipple he paused, admiring the firmness they achieved. Sliding his hands lower over my belly he probed between my legs. My breath raced as fast as my heart. I wanted more and was disappointed when he moved from me.

  ‘I would be honoured, madam,’ he said gallantly and then left me.

  Drained by excitement, the movement of the ship did little to ease the feeling of exhaustion which rapidly overcame me. I lay upon the Captain’s narrow bunk and slept like a – well – like a saint.

  I awoke. The cabin was darker than it had been. The gently swinging lantern cast weird shadows. The raging seas had quietened, the ship moving to a more kindly motion. I opened one of the small windows overlooking the stern. The salt-tainted air added freshness to my stuffy surroundings.

  When the Captain finally appeared I was taken aback by the transformation. Gone was the swarthy, angry man that first clamped eyes upon me. In his stead stood as handsome a dandy as a woman in my position had reason to expect.

  Clearly he had gone to great pains to impress me. His waistcoat was of decorated pure silk. It covered a white shirt with cuffs of delicate lace. The doublet was blue with fine gold trimming. His beard was trimmed and neat, and the shoulder length hair hung tidily.

  The broad smile as he extended his hand was totally disarming.

  ‘Captain Broadtree at your service, Ma’am.’

  I felt my own wardrobe no match for his splendour.

  My torn night attire left a great deal of flesh exposed to his gaze. His undoubted interest made it worthwhile. I smiled. ‘Service is exactly what I desire.’

  The food arrived. It was both hot and delicious and the wine helped to ease it down as well as loosen tongues.

  Time and time again I felt myself drawn to those magnetic eyes. He was a powerfully built man and carried his authority well.

  ‘I’m puzzled,’ he said. ‘Why did you choose the Endeavour to eh…eh…visit?’

  ‘Because I was interested. What work is the Endeavour engaged upon?’

  His eyes twinkled. ‘Merry, my lady, aren’t you the curious one. The good Endeavour does,’ he sucked his teeth, ‘does survey work.’

  There was something he wasn’t telling me.

  ‘Such as?’

  He roared with laughter and slapped the table. ‘We find ships which appear overloaded; then help them with their cargo.’

  A pirate ship! It should have concerned me more but the wine had lulled me into a mellow state. A thought struck me.

  ‘You haven’t managed to find any ladies’ clothes, have you?’

  He was prevented from answering by the arrival of the steward to clear the table. He left the wine. The Captain refilled my goblet and walked to the stern window.

  ‘A kind bright night,’ he observed.

  I joined him. Enough of the moon remained to show the clean, straight track behind us. The ship moved gently in the swell. I shivered in the cool breeze.

  The good Captain closed the window. He put his arm about me to steady me as the movement of the ship brought us closer together.

  His hand slid through my torn garment and touched my breast. He swiftly sought to take his hand away but I moved against him. I was not that much of a saint! After all a torn nightie wasn’t going to offer that much protection anyway. The last time it was removed
in that cabin I was surrounded by a bunch of suspicious, hungry men. Now it was just the one. For all that, a year at sea wasn’t going to do much for his self-control. I was grateful for that.

  The gently swaying lamps offered only a limited amount of illumination.

  Yet it was sufficient for me to gauge that the bad Captain Broadtree was going to have a bit of trouble getting out of those tight trousers.

  ‘St Michael,’ he whispered against me in the half-light. ‘Thy skin is like velvet.’

  His beard wasn’t. As he brushed it against my nipples, the sensuous shock alerted my entire body.

  There was a flurry of activity in the dimness. As I anticipated, the huge bulge in his trousers needed the concerted effort of two pairs of hands before it was released.

  It was well worth the effort. The man was clearly a leader amongst men in more ways than one.

  Captain Broadtree’s spartan quarters provided space for little else than a single cot in one corner of the cabin. His busy hands ensured my undivided attention as he lay me upon the narrow bunk.

  Parting my willing thighs he left me for a moment. He returned to stand before me, his huge proud-standing cock a feast for my expectant body. Yet the good Captain sought to play other games to tease. He drank from the goblet he now held.

  Drinking half the contents, he upturned the goblet to empty the remainder over my belly, to run strawberry- coloured down between my thighs.

  Tossing the empty goblet from him, he knelt to bury his head between these same welcoming thighs which had delighted in the recent soaking.

  The combination of coarse beard, tantalising my soft skin, and his probing tongue, sent shivers of delight through me. He expertly parted the lips of my vagina. Soft, the moist tip of his tongue teased the nub of that skin which is at the core of my sexual universe.

  Ecstatic, I thrust down upon his wicked tongue, taking his head in both hands, parting my thighs even wider so that no part of this erotic experience was denied me. He knew my readiness.

  Lifting me from the cot he turned me over. In the half light I saw his cock, monster proud, standing in sentinel, its round purple head straining and pulsing in preparation.

  The Captain’s cot was not anchored to the bulkhead but rather swung freely with the movement of the ship. This yet proved to be a bonus as the Captain placed me upon it in a kneeling position, thighs parted wide.

  I was but a second in this position, the walls of my vagina moist with anticipation. He reached around me, the gentle fingers once more probing my entrance.

  Two fingers parted those lips as he guided the head of his throbbing weapon there. I felt the walls of my vagina contract in welcome as the head of his big tool gained admission.

  The cot swayed forwards as he thrusted. My anxiety that I might fall off the cot was stifled by groans of pleasure. I could not possibly fall off. I was hugely, wonderfully impaled upon his mighty organ. I realised that too much anticipation had gone into this coupling for it to last long. But I determined to enjoy the experience, no matter its fleeting moment.

  The pirate plundered my womanhood with great abandon. Grasping my thighs tightly, he withdrew his formidable length to thrust it more wildly into me.

  Just when I felt that completion was imminent the door suddenly burst open. In strode Crossley. Both men seemed totally unfazed by the position we were in.

  ‘Cap’n, we have sighted a light on the horizon. Through the glass it looks like a merchantman.’

  The Captain grunted approval.

  ‘Stay, Crossley,’ he said.

  I couldn’t believe it! Now I was being fucked by the Captain in front of an audience. If I should have been embarrassed, the thought was swiftly cast aside.

  The good Captain was nearing completion. I wasn’t far behind.

  Almost with the thought came the deed. Totally impaled on the Captain’s mighty organ I thrust back against him in ever increasing delight.

  The quickening pace electrified all three of us in that small cabin. The insistent bucking drew a strangled oath from the captain’s lips. I felt his cock expand as with a mighty thrust he pumped his searing juices deep within me.

  My own juices mingled as I thrust and thrust again backwards, milking his shaft to limpness. He withdrew from me, but such was the girth of the man that, momentarily I felt that he was still embedded within me.

  His attention reverted to his first officer. ‘A merchantman say you, Crossley? At last. Tarry awhile Crossley. I think this lady may still have need of you.’

  Both men looked at me expectantly. I smiled.

  ‘I shall be pleased to help.’

  The Captain smote his naked thigh and broke into loud laughter.

  ‘Merry, Crossley,’ he said. ‘We have an enchantress in the good lady. Mark well you say nothing of this elsewhere.’

  ‘Indeed no, Captain.’

  The bearded mariner hastily dressed.

  ‘A merchantman,’ he gloated. ‘You bring us luck mistress St Michael. Farewell, I will see you presently.’

  So saying he left us, me sitting on the cot, the good master Crossley unbuttoning his doublet.

  He was not so self-assured as his leader. Indeed I got the impression that his experience with women was limited. Such thoughts enhanced my further anticipation. Captain Broadtree had been quite right. As far as Crossley was concerned, I had not finished.

  He came to me displaying milk white skin and a certain anxiety. Unlike the captain, his trusted lieutenant was shaven. His blue eyes caressed my naked body, yet his hands hung useless, uncertain.

  Taking a leaf from the captain’s almanac I poured myself a goblet of wine. Drawing Crossley to me, I then sat back upon the cot. With the remainder of the wine I bathed Crossley’s reluctant wang.

  Then holding it gently I ran my wet tongue over its head. The response was immediately encouraging. Crossley moaned with pleasure as I took his hardening cock between my lips, drawing upon the head, smoothing a passage into my eager mouth.

  By this time Crossley had found my nipples.

  His touch was kind, warm and sensuous. He found instant sensitivity in the place the captain hadn’t bothered to search.

  Within a short space of time foreplay became redundant. Crossley stood proud, if not as large as his master. I, on the other hand, felt a great moistness between my thighs which demanded action.

  I motioned Crossley to sit upon the cot. He was happy to do my bidding. Bless him. I settled him splay-legged and turned my back upon him. Grasping his eager cock between my legs, I lowered myself gently upon it.

  With no trouble it found an easy passage. Lowering yet further, I found myself impaled for the second time. It was wonderful! Crossley came alive behind me. He grasped my hips and with his newly discovered passion, thrust up inside me.

  The anticipation, together with my previous encounter with the captain, all served to feed my impatience. I bounced up and down upon Crossley’s throbbing shaft, eager to reach completion.

  Reaching round he stilled my bouncing breasts, squeezing gently upon each nipple. With a cry of exultation my greedy body gorged itself on the pumping rod of my lover.

  His joy gave vent to a passionate plea ‘Fuck me woman,’ he screamed at me in the throes of ecstatic release. I was only too happy to oblige.

  Finally we extricated ourselves. I felt the wonder of total completeness. Crossley, on the other hand, was a man in awe of an excitement never before realised.

  He dressed and left me soon afterwards, his warming smile betraying his innermost gratitude. He promised to return when his duties were done, bringing me fresh clothing.

  I lay back upon the cot with a feeling of almost indescribable completeness. Daylight was beginning to creep through the cabin window. Perhaps I dozed, I’m not sure. What I was sure of was that there was a great deal of noise coming from above.

  I looked out of the cabin window. A ship stood close by, edging close to the Endeavour. This was a strange- looking merchantman.
Its deck bristled with soldiers.

  Above me I heard the urgent call of command. The voice which rose above the rest was that of Captain Broadtree. He sounded angry.

  ‘God’s teeth. A Navy ship. We are betrayed. Crossley, go below and get the wench. Hers will be the first head to fall.’

  I ran to turn the key in the door.

  Almost at once I heard the clattering of many feet upon the ladder leading from the deck. Terror gripped me.

  Just before all senses left me, I heard the closing hail.

  ‘Heave to…Heave to…Heave to…Three two…Three two…Three two…’

  ‘What?’

  I came to with a start. I lay uncomfortable. The room smelled of stale beer. In the blinding light overhead I tried to focus.

  ‘I said three two,’ George said.

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Where have you been anyway? I came up a while ago and you weren’t in bed.’

  ‘Must have been in the bathroom.’

  ‘What, in the dark? There was no light under the door.’

  I shrugged and said nothing. He lost interest rapidly.

  ‘Bloody ref. Daylight robbery. He was offside by a mile. The linesman was as bad. Didn’t need glasses, he needed binoculars.’

  As he was raving on, George was busily throwing his clothes on an empty chair. He climbed into bed.

  It sagged to one side; almost like a ship in a heavy swell. George looked across at me.

  ‘You’ve torn your nightdress. How did you manage that?’

  I was now wide awake. ‘It’s a long story,’ I told him.

  ‘In that case I don’t want to hear it.’

  So saying, George switched off the bedroom light, leaving me to smile quietly to myself in the darkness.

  Boss Leggy

  by Landon Dixon

  I’ve been a leg-man ever since I’ve been old enough to walk, been trailing after leggy women for thirty years and counting now. And some times, a lot of times, I catch up with them, let them walk all over me.

  A ‘for example’ is the leggy lady who used to boss me around at a hotel I once worked at. Her name was Lindsay, a tall, slim, icily-cool brunette with medium-sized breasts and oh-so-very-long legs that she unabashedly flaunted in all kinds of different-coloured, different-fabric stockings and pantyhose.