by Louisa Trent
Impossible to hold still! Her thighs spread wide as the gnawing in her loins grew insistent, the bite of the need sharp and painful. Only Joshua could ease her torment. "I want ... I want..."
"Let's get you over to the bed, all right?"
She shook her head. "I..." She gazed into his hazel-green inscrutable eyes. "Yes. Yes. All right. The bed."
On the bed, a man flanked her on either side--odd that they remained dressed! On the bed, an artist raised her legs, bent them at the knee, while a sea captain combed his fingers through her loosened hair, still damp from her earlier bath, then leaning over her, kissed her mouth.
She was lost. Her lips clung to his lips, willing to do anything to please him, the eroticism of his beautiful mouth moving over her mouth blocking out the intrusion of the other man, even when that other man spread her legs wide.
"Ah," she heard a distant and unfamiliar voice say, felt an unaccustomed hand glide along her inner thigh, stopping just short of touching her intimately. "She's extraordinary. And you're right, my friend, the tattoo will look wonderful here, against the background of that red-haloed pussy."
While Josh kissed her, open-mouth kissed her, the artist went to work.
She moaned. From the needle punctures? Or from her heated response to Joshua's beautiful mouth?
She couldn't say for sure, but she did know this: once Josh's nicked and callused seaman's finger entered her, she hardly felt the tattooing at all.
"As long as your paramour doesn't move, masturbating her is fine," she heard the tattoo artist say, when Joshua added a second digit to the first.
Not move? Was Sven jesting? She had two long lovely fingers inside her, gently rocking inside her--how could she remain unmoved?
Still, wanting to make the sea captain proud of her, she resisted the urge to roll her hips, to meet the thrusts of those fingers.
Finally, the long, slow, drugging kiss ended. And with the tendons in her thighs gone tight, and Josh's three fingers making her crazed, she asked the tattoo artist directly, her thighs wide open, her vagina as wet as wet can be, no shame, no modesty: "Now? Please may I move now? I will die if I do not."
The artist looked up from his tattooing to her dripping cunny. He grinned across at Joshua. "You picked a fine, juicy one, mate. Is she always so?"
"As wet as the ocean, and almost as many fathoms deep," the lout replied.
The lout smiled at her. "Almost done," he told her. "Do not move yet."
"B-b-but I'm going to come," she said breathlessly, her throat arching upwards off the pillow, her eyes wide with frenzy.
"Not yet," Josh commanded, his green-hazel eyes now solemnly meeting hers. With his free hand, he began to stroke her nipples too, the fingers of the other hand still moving busily inside her. "Not yet, girl. Soon."
"Oh, please?" she begged, her hands going to the bed board, gripping the oak. She licked her lips. "Please, sir, please?"
"The knot is finished," announced the tattoo artist in the nick of time. "Leave the bandage on for three hours, and then gently wash the wound. Take care when you fuck her." He winked at her tormentor. "You are planning on fucking her, right?"
"Do mermaids sing to seamen at night?"
"I have heard them once or twice..."
Joshua opened her up a little wider, pulling back on her labia to rub her clitoris, and regardless of the other man on the bed looking on, her body jolted, straining upwards off the bed. Unconcerned about the audience, she began to keen, " Oh, yes. Right there. Mmm. Oh, yes..."
"Need another set of hands there, Cap'n?" the tattoo artist asked.
"No thank you, Sven," Joshua said politely. "That will be all. You may leave us now."
"Yes, yes, yes," she screamed, unable to wait for the door to completely close before hurling into pleasure.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
His little whore was on the bed, flattened there, naked; her legs open and spread; clearly, she was available to all comers.
"Damn you to hell, Harry, for what you have become," Joshua raged, as maddened as he had never been maddened before. To keep from throttling her, he backed up to the footboard. "You would have let Sven have you!"
"Sven is gone. Do we fuck or not?" she asked, and tossed her head on the pillow.
Staring at her lips, still red and swollen from the imprint of his mouth, an extended kiss she had lustily accepted in the presence of another man, he ripped off his coat and cravat and shirt. "We fuck," he growled.
"Hard, Joshua Kane," she spat up at him. "Do me good and hard. Make it last."
"You flame-haired bitch! You are naught but three cargo holes in need of lading."
"That's right," she snarled, teeth bared. "Are you man enough to fill them?"
"You will soon see." To hell with the rest of his clothes! He tore open his breeches and freed his cock. His member bludgeoned the air.
Her narrowed eyes went wide.
"Beg me for it," he said, sliding back on his heels on the bed, a fist gripped on his blood-engorged sex, the head shiny with a slick of pre-cum.
"I have never begged for anything in my life."
"You will start now."
It didn't take any too long for never to become right now.
Her swollen lips twisted. "Please," she begged.
"How do you want it first?"
"I would like to taste it."
"Then, best get over here."
She made as though she was about to leave the bed, and walk around to the footboard.
"No! Your feet may not touch the floor, girl."
She went to a feral crouch on the bed, thighs parted, arms on either side of her limbs. She was so wet, she could easily have cried pussy tears.
"But how can I taste you if I am here and you are way over there?" she asked.
"I'm sure you can think of another method of reaching your destination."
She dropped back down to all fours. "Like this?"
"There's a good girl," he said, encouragingly. "Now, you may come here to me."
One hand before the other, hips wriggling, large breasts toppled and swaying, bottom undulating, she crawled forward to him across the length of the bed.
She came to a stop before him, still on hands and knees, eyes lifted to his face, wild red hair mussed, legs spread like a she-animal. She would have given what she had between those spread legs to Sven.
Anger coiled in his gut like a snake waiting to strike.
Digging his fingers into her disordered mane of hair, he dragged her head down and over him. "Lick it."
Her pink tongue came out; she flicked a drop of pre-cum into her mouth.
"Don't be greedy," he admonished. "Save some for later."
Disregarding his edict, she went at him with avarice, the gluttonous wetness of her tongue steaming the heat of him.
"Ah, good," he crowed, one hand still fisted in her tangled hair, the other moved down her endlessly straight back. "That's right, girl. That's right. Not too fast, my little whore."
She bit him! Intentionally. On the head of his cock.
Outraged, he pulled on her hair. When her neck snapped up, he took her mouth, savagely took it, tasting the salt of himself on her tongue, sucking it off her tongue.
When her mouth softened, he yanked the kiss to an abrupt end. "Say you're sorry, girl."
"Why? You have put your teeth to me many a time..."
"Apologize!" he roared.
"Go fuck yourself."
"Had I wished to do that, I would not have paid you!" With a lift and a heave, he turned her about until she was faced away. "Bring your bottom up."
Finally, a command she didn't refuse. Performed with ridiculous speed, she not only brought her bottom up, she wiggled the two rounded halves of a very tempting whole in his face.
His hurting cock made a piercing arc, the urge to charge her like a rutting stag almost irresistible.
The imp grinned at him over her shoulder. "Do your worst."
"Eyes forward," he
"I don't suppose you own one of those lovely rattans?" she asked, looking right at him. "I would dearly enjoy the bite of the switch. Oh, for a few raised welts to show off to the whores at Ruby's." She turned away. "Your resolve to discipline me is still ... uh ... firm, I hope?"
Impossible for it to get any firmer.
Where once was a cock, there was now an iron club, an unyielding cudgel ready and able to pound rocks into dust, ready and able to give her the only kind of discipline a disobedient female like her could understand.
"You are not prone to premature ejaculation, I hope?" she asked solicitously.
That did it! Strike a man in his staying power, and you strike a man in his vitals. His arm came back, his palm ready to deliver a corporal discipline to her backside she was not likely soon to forget!
His palm was within spanking range of her perfect buttock, when a strand of fire-red hair, fallen across the undefended globe, caught his eye. He brought the lock to his nose, the reason he wasn't already inside her forgotten in his inhale.
Nothing else mattered but getting into her, but seeing her face as she came. And she damn well would come this time, or he would die trying!
He flipped her over onto her back and entered her hard, pushing and driving up inside her, the sound of his harsh breath echoing in the chamber, her gasping breath bouncing off his face and echoing too, their loins slamming together. Relentlessly. Furiously. Both of them making the sounds that wounded animals make, as they hurled toward completion.
She screamed at the end, screamed and scratched at his humping back, tore her fingers through his hair. Her legs thrown up in the air over her head with his hammering, she came on a writhing roll of hip, the unexpected genuineness of the orgasm leaving him wet with sweat, and her bathed in a golden rich sheen of perspiration, both of them limp with release.
He refused to stop.
Hauling her legs higher, up over his shoulders, he entered her semen-wet vagina, pounding the mouth of her womb as she pounded her fists into him, the ball of hurt over what she had become exploding inside him. For seven long years he had lived as a dead man, but he was fully alive now.
"Come for me!" he shouted.
The second climax hit her harder than the first; she came apart on a shudder, hitting him with her fists with all her might, just as maddened as he.
He held her fast, with all his might, two arms wrapped around her. Still she managed to squeeze loose, to whack him upside the skull.
He captured her arms, held then over her head, pinned there with one large hand. "Do not strike me again."
She spat up into his face.
"Once more and I quit," he promised, flexing his pelvis, her spittle a tag on his chin.
To prevent another volley, he opened his mouth over hers, sent his tongue to her throat, and kept pumping his hips.
The last climax left her wrung out, poor little sweetheart, and undoubtedly sore. He pulled out carefully, lest he worsen the situation, and rolled to her side.
"Rest now," he told her.
With the fight gone out of her, she drifted quickly to sleep.
Yanking off his remaining clothes, he fell asleep naked behind her, his arm holding her close.
* * * *
It was just after midnight, and Joshua rubbed Harry's spine, stopping at the fullest part of her derriere. "I think I would like another tattoo here," he whispered into her ear.
"When will Sven do it?" she asked, chin propped in a hand.
He dropped a kiss on the spot. "Not Sven. I will do it. I have before, many a time."
"With other ladies?" She glanced away. "I mean, with other whores?"
"No. On fellow whalers. I learned the decorative skill in Tahiti, where tattoos mark a special point in the wearer's life: when boys become men, upon marriage. Seamen oft times collect them. My dragon was drawn on me in China." Using his fingertip, he scored the flesh on the raised cheek, moving gradually down and over. "A red rose this time, right here, on the flank."
"Aye, aye, Captain."
"I will use a good sharp needle and red pigment for the punctures. Applied here, you should feel little pain. "
"Are you implying I am plump?"
"No, not at all. You're body is ... perfect," he mumbled, telling her the truth because it was the truth. Seven years before she had pleaded with him to make love to her, only to suffer her change of mind when she had cried off. He could not afford to fall vulnerable to her caprice again. He could not let her interfere in his life, interrupt his plans, sway him from the course his life had taken. They could have no future together!
But she would wear his mark always; there was some satisfaction to be had from that.
The knot was not just any knot, and it meant more than a simple decoration, though he would never tell her so. Too sentimental. Harry was his whore and their arrangement was based on financial considerations, not emotion. To turn this into anything more than what it was, would be a grave mistake. He could not give this thing between them any more importance than it already held in his life. He was not in a position to form an emotional attachment to her, not of any sort, and for more than one reason.
Still prone on her belly, she turned her jaw to face him, her lively gamine face pensive for once. "I am glad you will be the one to do the rose."
"Oh, you didn't care for Sven?"
"I liked him well enough, I suppose."
"He's a fine man. Completely trustworthy."
"Do you plan on this completely trustworthy tattoo artist joining us in bed in the future?"
"No!"
"Why?"
"Because I'm not a man who easily shares. Because ... excuse my bluntness here ... I want all your portals for myself!" He felt his face burn. "Simultaneously."
She smirked, the old Harry returning with a vengeance. "Three penetrations at the same time! My, what if such a thing were possible? Think of the problems that would present! I mean, how would the additional rigging ever be stowed?" She fluttered her lashes. "As is, one can only pity the tailor who must fit the cut of your breeches around that bulge at the inseam." Her gaze dropped. "The head alone ... it is extraordinarily wide, is it not?"
"I have had no complaints, madam!" he declared stoutly, and rising just as stoutly to the occasion--he was always at the ready when Harry was close at hand.
Wanting the conversation at an end, he said, "Up you go now," and helped her straighten.
Harry's tangle of red hair fell into her eyes. Josh pushed a few strands back from her forehead, then his eyes dipping, watched in bemusement as his semen dribbled down her legs. His little whore was at her most beautiful when she was cum-coated.
"You want it again," she said, and presented him her back.
"No," he replied.
But his member played him for a fool.
"It's really all right, sir," she said, a grin in her voice as his cock nudged her bottom. "This is what you paid me for, after all."
His fingers tightened on her shoulders, as his cock rooted for entry between her cheeks. Harry didn't draw back, didn't chastise him at all, as the plum head prodded her, her equanimity telling him she had been down this road many times before.
Furious with her for yet another unwanted reminder of her whoring ways, he gave her a push, through the adjoining door into the water closet. "Commode first, then the tub for a wash-down. The tattoo must receive aftercare."
"Can you find your own way out, sir, or shall I walk you to the door?"
A chuckle formed deep in his chest. He refused to surrender to the urge. "I stay."
Two hands on her shoulders, he pressed her down onto the commode. He was proud of his water closet, the first and only in all of New Bedford, and he allowed himself a smile of vainglory as her rosy rump hit the oak seat, sitting there so shy with her legs closed.
"Go," he said sternly.
He distinguished her blush even in the pre-dawn darkness. "Sorry to disappoint, but I really have no need."
"It would pleasure me greatly to watch my little whore pee into this very expensive commode. You are paid to pleasure me, are you not?"
Under his palms, he felt the heat of her embarrassment rise from her skin as she made her stream, the sound of loud splashing causing him to laugh out loud.
Her chin dipped, her red hair falling forward over her face. "I think I might possibly die."
"Certainly not from this," he soothed, his hands rubbing down her bared back.
"I shan't ever forgive you this humiliation."
He sighed, lifted her chin. "Yes, you will. When I fuck you, and you scream to the ceiling in abandon."
The girl was too stubborn by far, a situation monitoring her every breath would soon correct. As long as he was paying for her time, she would not have the freedom to make a wrong decision, like whoring for example. If Ben had kept a better watch on her, not allowed her run wild, put her on the short leash, Harry might not have run off to Boston and taken the easy way out. Taking money for her body was the lazy way, the dishonorable way, of getting by. She should have done anything...taken in laundry if need be...rather than sell herself.
The thought of Harry bent over a washtub, her hands swollen and red, scrubbing other people's soiled linens, flashed through his mind and almost made him change his mind about her doing anything to get by. But there must have been something else she could have done to tide herself over. And he wondered again what she had done with that money he had left her.
"Later, we are off to Boston to make reparations to your last employer. I will not have a charge of thievery hanging over your head like a gloomy cloud. I want you, and your thoughts, all to myself for the time we are together."
"But sir, there is no need! I can handle the situation."
"Harry, I am a wealthy man of some considerable influence and I do not want it known that my ... housekeeper ... is a thief."
"Very well," she grumbled.
"This all comes together very well. As it turns out, I have an errand to run in Boston, as well as a party to attend. An associate of mine asked I deliver to him a manservant--and a merchant friend of mine is giving a house party. This is a case of killing three birds with one stone."
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