Lovers Peak

by Dani Stowe

  “I want you to tell me what you want,” I interjected.

  “Huh?” She looked almost shocked.

  Squatting between her legs then kneeling on the floor, I ran my hands along her inner thighs. “Tell me what you want.”

  She shook her head, blushing. “You are asking what I want?”

  “Yes,” I smiled. “Just tell me.”

  She said nothing so I nuzzled her nipple with the tip of my nose and she giggled until I latched onto her teat. Her nipple hardened in my mouth and she gasped while I sucked on it.

  I paused, thinking perhaps this was still not so different than what she was used to, but she pulled my head tighter to her breast with both hands. My hands traced up her thighs, my fingers leading, until the tips pushed firm between her slick folds. I let one set of fingers lay against her entrance while the other set found her nub. She arched her back as I began to rub her with both sets of firm and flat fingers. Quickly, my fingers at her opening became soaked, near drowning, but I kept them afloat, avoiding the plunge into her body because I wanted to give her something different, something I’m sure her master did not. I wanted her to experience ecstasy—ecstasy that comes before the peak. The ecstasy of my own fine skills. The ecstasy of me.

  Except, ecstasy wasn’t enough. “Master Mayhem?” She grabbed my chin and pulled my head up so my eyes could meet hers. “Do you know how to...,” she cocked her head sideways, “make love?”

  My hands were still rubbing her as I chuckled. “Is that not what we are doing now?”

  She sighed. Her chin dropped and I stopped, withdrawing my hands, to question her. “Is that what you want? You want me to make love to you?”

  “I always believed there might be a difference between what I feel with my lord and what I might feel if I was in love. Is there a difference?”

  “I don’t know,” I said embarrassingly. “I’d never really considered it.”

  “So, you’ve never been in love?”

  I swallowed hard. “No.”

  “Hmm,” she sighed with disappointment. “I guess that’s not something you could offer me.”

  My manhood seemed to be slipping from me and I felt like I had to do something about it. “I think I could try,” I grinned, “make love to you, I mean.”

  Her face brightened. “How so? Shall we pretend that we are in love?”

  “I don’t think we have to pretend. Honestly, I think people in love have sex rather boringly, laying flat on top of one another while holding each other in a tight embrace and perhaps with more kissing.”

  “Will you hold me then?”

  The question had a strange effect. I felt a flutter in my gut. I had suddenly become an inexperienced child about to partake in something peculiar, yet exciting. I’d pleased many women, as they pleased me, but never had I attempted to make love to a woman. Not genuinely, anyway.

  “Come,” I said and crawled onto the bed. She followed to lay next to me and face me. I pulled her in tight and lifted her long hair away from her face and I kissed her.

  “Tighter,” she said as she tugged on my arms, so I squeezed. But she was not content. “If you loved me, would you not squeeze even tighter?”

  In truth, I did not want to crush her. “I only have two arms but maybe...” I climbed on top and got between her legs, “if you embrace me as well.”

  She wrapped her arms and legs tight around my torso and squeezed. The whole thing should’ve seemed trivial—the simple squeeze of our warm embrace, but it was quickly becoming more complex than what it seemed.

  “Is that tight enough for you?” she asked—her breath in my neck, her thighs clenched at my waist, and the head of my cock magically resting at her entrance.

  I could not contain myself! I thrust up inside her.

  “Ah fuck, it’s tight!” I exclaimed.

  In the moment, I knew I was supposed to be making love to her. That’s what she asked for, but the walls of her cunt wrapped tight around my cock made me want to fuck her. I squeezed her as tight as I could, wrapping my arms under her back as I fucked her hard until she let out a moan so deep and so loud, I knew she was coming.

  I couldn’t believe it at first until her pussy began to pulsate tensely around my shaft forcing me to let go of her, lean up, and pull on her hips to fuck her so I could get deeper and go harder until I came.

  Guilt washed over me and I felt shame. She wanted love and I fucked her. I couldn’t help it! I couldn’t control myself. She turned me on so much.

  I thought of her lord, but, even then, I knew I was not like him. I by no means wanted to beat her. I wanted to beat myself for not having any control.

  “You must take me back now, Master Mayhem,” she said throwing her legs past me and to the side of the bed.

  I didn’t want to take her back though I didn’t know why at the time. Maybe because I felt like I floundered. It was ludicrous—feeling like I had failed a whore. A whore! It didn’t matter. I thought about what might await her if I should take her back and I wasn’t ready to let her go. Not to mention, the whole thing seemed to be ending too quickly.

  I felt as if I was begging. “Why don’t you stay here for the night?”

  She picked up her silk robes. “You know I cannot do such a thing.”

  “I don’t think you should go back.”

  She fumbled with the robes until she got them on, straightening a big bow to her back. “I must go back now, Master Mayhem, or my lord will be suspicious.”

  I sat at the edge of the bed watching her pin up her hair. “Maybe I could be your new lord. Maybe you could come stay with me on my ship.”

  “My lord has great power and wealth. It is not funny to joke about such a thing. It would be wise for us to stop pretending we are in love.”

  “I’m not joking and I’m not pretending.”

  Kumiko’s eyes fell flat. “Take me back.”

  I reached my hand out to her. “Look, if you don’t want to stay because you didn’t feel loved enough, I can try again. I know you wanted this to be different, so you have to give me a chance to—”

  She gripped my palm and kissed the center of it. “Oh, but it was different Master Mayhem. You are different. Forever will I think upon this night. Forever will I envision my lord with your face when we are in bed and I will be comforted by the thought of your arms wrapped tight around me when he feels ashamed afterward.”

  I cringed at the thought she would be thinking of me holding her as he beats her.

  “Please,” she begged. “Our agreement has come to completion. I have given you your reward as you asked and I have received my own for saving my lord from your lashing. Take me back to him,” she demanded.

  I reluctantly got up and got dressed. She admired me quietly and she admired my sword—the final piece to my ensemble, as I slipped it out to check it before sliding it back into the scabbard.

  On the street, Kumiko scurried along hastily. I trailed behind hoping to slow her down. When we came upon a fine home in an upscale district, I escorted the lady to the rear of the home where she knocked and two women answered, speaking in whispers.

  “Where have you been?” asked one as the other gripped Kumiko by the arm pulling her in. The other two maidens were quite fair—one with fiery red hair and bosoms so big she looked as though she was straining to carry them. The other was blonde, her hair in curls, with a waist so small yet a bottom so big, her figure looked as though it was the perfect hourglass, made to slow time.

  Indeed, time did slow while I watched Kumiko enter the house through the servants’ quarters just as a tall and slender figure came into view. Her lord, with his graying hair slicked back and pulled into a tail behind his neck, marched straight to Kumiko, took her by the throat, and began to strangle her singlehandedly.

  “Hey!” I yelled and her lord let her go to come and inspect me.

  “Who are you?” he asked, bringing a candle with him to the door.

  “I’ve brought your lady back. She was in dis
tress. Her guard was killed, but I managed to disarm her attackers.”

  “You are a man of our Majesty’s Navy?” he asked with a single thick gray brow raised. “Are you saying you saved her? She’s a whore, you know?”

  “Yes, she told me.”

  “Oh, she spoke? She will get a lashing for that. My wife, you see, she does not like me and I don’t like her either; she allows me my pets as long as they keep quiet and hidden. I pay to have them trained and I suspect you want some form of payment as well for your silence.”

  I shook my head and looked back to Kumiko, catching her eye and I smiled, but she turned her head away instantly. My heart felt as though it was about to burst. “I just wanted to see the lady home safely.”

  “I see,” said the lord. “Wait here.” I waited in awkward silence, each set of maiden’s eyes looking only to the floor until his lordship returned with a small purse of coins.

  I did not reach up to take it. “Kind sir, this is not necessary.” I waved my hand in denial. “I thought perhaps I could call upon you one day in the near future so we may sit and share stories. You have a fine house and the ladies you host are no doubt a testament to your vast travels.” I looked to Kumiko again; her back was towards me.

  I regret the lord took notice of my spying and his faced burned red. He gripped my arm, pulling it until he had my hand and shoved the coins hard into my palm. “I don’t share stories. I don’t share anything, so take your reward and leave us.”

  I tried to be calm, as I didn’t want to leave. Perhaps if Kumiko had been allowed to turn and say goodbye—make any kind of acknowledgment, I might’ve left with resolve. Instead, she kept her back to me, as did the other ladies, who were also displaying faint bruises.

  “My lord,” I tried not to snicker, “I mean you no disrespect, but surely my heroics is worth some shared time between men to talk.”

  Perhaps Kumiko’s lord knew I didn’t want to talk. Perhaps he knew I wished to kill him, which was why he was so eager to turn me away.

  “Unfortunately sailor, I, myself, will be setting sail tomorrow. I am bound for the Americas. I have been granted passage aboard Captain Averill Porterman’s ship. Have you heard of him?”

  Porterman! He’s a fat crook and a slave trader.

  “Yes, I’ve heard of him.”

  “Good fellow that Captain Porterman. He’s made space for both my most favorite harlots and me. Can you guess which one of these fine wenches I’ll be bringing with me to the new land?”

  I didn’t have to guess. I already fucking knew. I didn’t answer.

  “The Oriental,” he smiled and I glanced past him to see Kumiko still with her back to me. “Farewell...uh, I’m sorry, I don’t know your name.”

  “I am a Master at Arms. Orphelius Mayhem.”

  “Ah, the infamous Master Mayhem! The walloper. Well, I’m glad you’ve brought my wench back in one piece. With your reputation, I’m surprised the poor thing did not come back ruined after having been marred, as your reputation suggests.”

  “I don’t hit women.”

  The lord coughed. “Yes, well, that would be a fine discussion, but since I mentioned, I don’t have time. Please accept the reward and perhaps we will run into one another one day on the high seas.”

  “Perhaps,” I said and as he began to shut the door on my face, I noticed his ring. It had an odd twisted shape, which I recognized matched the scar on Kumiko’s forehead.

  Fucking bootlicker!

  The door shut and I stood there staring at it, for which I could not comprehend. I believe I was waiting to hear any type of commotion or screaming so I may barge through and rescue the ladies.

  Instead, it was quiet. A breeze blew in from the sea and for the first time, the scent of salt and fish in my nostrils made me uneasy—soon Kumiko would be at sea. The thought disturbed me. The sea was my home. I was its lord and Kumiko would be there to ride upon it except not with me, which I felt strongly she should be.

  Walloper. That’s what his lordship called me.

  Fucker. That’s what I should’ve called him. To his face.

  I laughed to myself as I turned my back to the servants’ entrance and made my way towards the grassy front and onto the dark street where I pulled out my sword to practice with it while I made my way towards the Annabelle.

  Walloper. To wallop, I believed meant to beat or strike thoroughly to the point of defeat. Of all the things I’d been called, I’d never been called a walloper, but the title began to grow on me because I guess I was sort of one. I was a Master at Arms for fuck’s sake; it was my duty to strike justice whene’er I felt it necessary.

  Kumiko’s lord may have had wealth and power, but at sea it was I who possessed those things. I had sails, a sword, and the power to strike.

  And strike I vowed I would. Justice was coming for her lord and I was sure that was something Kumiko would find different. Very different.

  For her, and for me, things were going to be different indeed.

  Chapter 6

  Kumiko

  SHELLEY FLASHES A FAKE grin in my direction as she pins her fiery red hair behind her ear again and pulls at my arm, glossing her eyes over me. I’m ecstatic. She’s finally going to read my palm, except she flinches.

  “What’s the matter?” I ask.

  Shelley blanches, staring at my shoulder. “Your tat...too,” she stutters. “Your dragon—it’s looking at me weird.”

  I look down and sure enough, the creature that should be permanently painted to my arm looks as though it has wound itself differently—further up my arm so it can get a good look at Shelley with its eager eyes and wide-open hungry mouth.

  My eyes roll, although my response is all for show. “Pfsst, that’s silly,” I say smugly, despite my dragon looking keen on Shelley, watching her for whatever reason.

  “Where did you get that tattoo?” she asks.

  “At a carnival. I told you.”

  Shelley looks at Henry, who’s intrigued. He raises his brows with a cocky nod and Shelley turns back to me. “Tell me again.”

  I slouch. I’m sure I told this story to Shelley before, except it wasn’t as interesting to her the last time because she wasn’t involved with Henry then.

  I take a breath. “A witch suggested I get it. When your aunt would not read my palm, I got a bit obsessive about it so I sought out a palm reader. I stumbled on one at a carnival. She claimed to be a witch. She was a black woman—mysterious, but quite lovely. Most patrons seemed afraid of her, walking straight past her tent. She was oddly dressed—very little clothing that revealed her curves. But I got a warm and welcoming feeling from her. I paid her five bucks for my fortune and she suggested I see the tattoo vendor next door. She said my soul was lost—wandering through time, and I needed something permanent on my body to unite the two—my soul to my body, like a beacon. I told her there was no way I was going to allow a stranger to stab me repeatedly with a needle for hours on end. Plus, I wasn’t too thrilled about enduring that kind of pain. But it was her argument on pain that won me over. The witch said she could sense an aching loneliness in my core that lingered since before I could remember anything else. ‘The pain,’ she promised, ‘I would not feel alone.’ She made up some mumbo jumbo about my true love and how he can feel my pain no matter how far apart we are. It all seemed ridiculous and I left more confused than when I went in until I passed the display of tattoo samples outside of the tent next door. The dragon didn’t just appeal to me, it almost seemed to beg to be on me and I endured a whole night of endless torture to be united with the thing.”

  Henry wheels his chair closer and runs his fingers over my shoulder. I swear my tat looks like it just blinked and is now wearing a sweet and pleasant smiley face.

  It irritates me. This dragon and me have been through a lot together. The witch was right—I don’t feel as alone with it tapering down my arm. But to see Henry manipulating it with his magical, mystical crap pisses me off. I decide to give him a bit of my own fun
ky magic.

  I kick Henry in the shin and he grunts as he rubs at it.

  “Hey!” cries Shelley dropping my hand. “What’d you do that for?”

  “Your boyfriend just touched me,” I smirk. “Doesn’t that upset you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” she snaps getting up and walking to the counter to fold more clothes as Henry rolls his wheels to follow behind her. “He was...he was...”

  She’s stuttering, which means Shelley’s hiding something.

  “He was what?” I get up. “What is going on, Shelley? You and Henry both know something. Read my palm! Why won’t you take a moment to read it?”

  “Because I don’t have to!” she blurts. “I already did. Whenever we’re hanging around, your hand is just there and it reads itself to me, like it’s speaking to me.”

  “So, what does it say? I demand to know! Stop keeping secrets. Tell me my fortune or—”

  “You died!” Shelley cries. “And if you don’t come to terms with what’s happening here, especially with Orphelius—if you don’t start to believe, then you’re going to die again.”

  I feel sick. “What...what are you talking about? Don’t you think that’s something you should’ve told me?” I question her, exasperated and confused.

  “No,” she whines. “If there’s one thing I learned from my parents it is that we have choices. Death isn’t always the end of everything and if that’s your path, if you should choose it when the time comes, then, as your very best friend, I will respect that. But right now, Henry and I have to leave.”

  “Leave?!”

  Shelley just dropped a bomb on me—talking about my death or my several deaths, and now she’s leaving? I see two suitcases in the corner and I realize why they’ve been folding clothes with their laundry sprawled about. “Where are you going?”

  “I’m taking Henry to see a specialist down south. Doc called in a favor and we have to leave today. Henry is getting worse. He’s losing feeling in his feet and doc says the bullet is migrating closer towards his spine.”