by Sandra Heath
Wanton Little Mermaid
Sandra Heath
Sabrina is a virgin mermaid with a secret, fleshly passion for Sir Jake Cranwell, the handsome Regency gentleman she has been spying upon from afar. She wants to give herself only to him, heart, soul and body. She dreams of savoring his lips, his caresses…his penetration. No one else will do. She may get her chance when, on the night of the merfolk’s riverside orgy, where Sabrina alone remains pure, she inexplicably finds herself face-to-face with Jake.
His desire matches hers, as his virile body cannot hide, but is he free? Lady Evangeline Bellington, Jake’s cruel former lover, exerts an irresistibly erotic hold upon him—and she will stop at nothing to win him back.
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
www.ellorascave.com
Wanton Little Mermaid
ISBN 9781419934100
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Wanton Little Mermaid Copyright © 2011 Sandra Heath
Edited by Helen Woodall
Cover art by Dar Albert
Electronic book publication April 2011
The terms Romantica® and Quickies® are registered trademarks of Ellora’s Cave Publishing.
With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.
Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be scanned, uploaded or distributed via the Internet or any other means, electronic or print, without the publisher’s permission. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/). Please purchase only authorized electronic or print editions and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted material. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the author’s imagination and used fictitiously.
Wanton Little Mermaid
Sandra Heath
Dedication
With apologies to Hans Christian Andersen.
Chapter One
Neptune’s annual riverside orgy for merfolk was always the scene of profligacy second to none, and one that his longsuffering queen, the goddess Salacia, refused to attend. The god’s carnal desire to fuck young mermaids, a feat only possible on this one night, was so insatiable and public that his wife would have no more to do with him. Not that he cared. Faithfulness would never figure in his philosophy. He was tall, muscular, golden and handsome, with black eyes, a tightly curled gilded beard and an inflated opinion of himself. Vanity was his second name and Carnality his third.
July nights in England were almost always warm, and this year of 1814 was no exception. The deep River Severn shone silver beneath a full moon, and the orgy was in full swing in a tree-fringed clearing where the Royal Forest of Dean swept down almost to the water’s edge. The clearing was in the grounds of Winterleigh Court, a fine fifteenth-century half-timbered mansion that had been closed for several years now.
Winterleigh Court stood on the leafy slopes above the river, and had beautiful, if neglected, stepped gardens that descended to the strip of ancient deciduous woodland that guarded the semicircle of the clearing itself. A mile upstream, on the busy turnpike between Chepstow and Gloucester, was the small town of Blakenham, where even the advent of a large temporary army camp made no difference to the rural seclusion of Winterleigh Court, drowsing in its secret place.
So much for the setting, it is time to tell of the orgy itself. Such functions are always popular, of course, but Neptune’s was almost ridiculously so because, for just a few hours, chosen merfolk were granted human legs and genitalia and were able to indulge in all human fleshly excesses. Without a fish tail in sight, they could leave water for solid ground and, well…fuck as often as they pleased.
At sundown Neptune had arrived in a pink chariot made from the biggest oyster shell ever discovered. It was iridescently beautiful and commanded attention, especially as it was drawn by a quartet of that rare steed, the greater white hippocampus. The music of the merman orchestra was exquisite, particularly the kelp strings and shark’s teeth pipes, although it had to be said that the conch horns lacked a truly delicate touch. Conversation was ribald, the food was choice, shell lanterns glowed, and the atmosphere was delightfully convivial…and, of course, libidinous. It was the gathering at which to be seen, where inhibitions had to be cast aside and provocative behavior wasn’t merely tolerated but expected. In short, as Sabrina would in future days observe to her best friend Anemone, Neptune’s orgy wasn’t in the least like Almack’s, Carlton House or Brighton Pavilion, but very like the riotous goings-on at certain addresses in St. James’. Not that Sabrina would ever grace such establishments with her presence, of course, she would hear all about them from others.
Anemone—being Anemone—would decide that houses of ill repute sounded much more exciting than the stuffy haunts of the human haut ton, but even by mermaid standards, Anemone was of a dissolute disposition. She and purity had long since parted company, whereas Sabrina, a dedicated virgin, had every intention of retaining hers.
Annual cocks and pussies notwithstanding, Anemone was in the sulk of all sulks. She had been appointed Neptune’s concubine for the night, but he had ignored her—and, it had to be admitted, every other mermaid too, but that was not the point. Being neglected was not something to which Anemone was accustomed. She was the most self-important and immoral mermaid of all, and considered herself to be superior in every way. As with the rest of her kind, she was green, from her hair and eyes to her skin and even her blood. She was very pretty, and always fragrant with her favorite essence of red clover. Without exception, mermen found her desirable, but tonight she wanted only Neptune. It was something she had set her heart on, and as his concubine it was something she had every right to expect.
Erotic frissons of anticipation had rippled through her from the moment she’d been chosen. What would it be like to have his splendidly proportioned member inside her? To actually have a god inside her? Although she shivered in delight merely thinking about it, she seemed set to continue wondering, because said divine member, of which Neptune made no secret of being proud, had not been put to use at all, nor had it even stirred with passing interest. It just drooped there against his equally impressive balls and did nothing. It was whispered that he’d had a surfeit of shrimp curry the night before, but no one knew for certain. He seemed well enough as he presided over the proceedings. Seated on a raised golden throne that was adorned with rare water lilies stolen from an ornamental pool at Winterleigh Court, he frequently raised his new jeweled quizzing glass to study the moonlit scene of carnal abandonment before him. But he certainly seemed to be studiously ignoring the little gray-and-white striped awning where Anemone and Sabrina sat together on seaweed cushions.
Insulted and annoyed, Anemone found fault with everything about him. “How vain he is to use that stupid quizzing glass rather than wear spectacles. We all know he’s so short-sighted he can hardly see beyond his nose!”
“He doesn’t need to for what you want,” Sabrina remarked drily.
“I only want what he is supposed to do. Anyway, what would you know? You’re a virgin and will only have to play your silly lute when he sends for me.”
It was Sabrina’s duty to play prettily to entertain the god and his concubine, and her golden lute lay in readiness beside
her. She watched as Anemone picked up a silver mirror to admire herself. “Oh Anemone, how you have the audacity to criticize him for vanity, I really don’t know.”
“Well, I crave milady’s forgiveness for expressing an opinion.” Anemone tossed the mirror down petulantly, and made much of adjusting her pretty blue shell girdle, before parting her new legs in order to show off her pubic hair and inviting little pussy. “Oh, I’m so miffed with Neptune that I’m almost tempted to encourage Derwent.” She glanced at the forlorn figure of the handsome merman who’d been hopeful of her favors for so long now that he’d become a bore to her. He was named after his home river in the northwest of England, and was of an attractive disposition. Attractive or not, the full moon had been shining on his many indiscretions, and Anemone had seen him copulating with numerous other mermaids tonight, and knew that his wistful expression of unrequited love was superficial to say the least. It was impossible to take seriously a merman whose pink backside had been bouncing so busily since darkness fell.
“But you can’t abide Derwent,” Sabrina pointed out.
“He’ll do if necessary. You know what they say, any port in a storm.”
Sabrina didn’t reply, but searched in her sea purse for the little crystal phial containing her precious water lily scent, which she dabbed on her wrists and throat. She liked Anemone a lot but did not share her profligacy. All mermaids were promiscuous, especially on this night, when it was considered dreadful if one failed to take at least four lovers, preferably more. Sabrina was an exception to almost all the rules, especially in her appearance. Not for her the green skin, hair and tail. Instead she had a mane of tawny curls, blue eyes, rounded breasts, upstanding nipples and the pale creamy skin of most humans in this part of the world. And she had legs. All year round. In fact she looked entirely human, but her mermaid mother had bequeathed her the ability to swim like a fish and breathe underwater.
Her looks were entirely due to her father having been Sir Andrew Winterleigh, the very human young Gloucestershire gentleman whose family had owned Winterleigh Court for several centuries. She’d been conceived in the house on this very night twenty-three years ago, when her mother, using her temporary legs to explore the house and its grounds, had come face-to-face with Sir Andrew. Their great love had blossomed swiftly. They’d been married according to mer-law as well as the rites of his Church, courtesy of a very understanding, discreet clergyman in Blakenham. She, Sabrina, had been born just over nine months later.
To return to the orgy, Anemone’s pussy could not have been more on show as she stretched her newly acquired legs, which she always found very awkward indeed. Most mermaids managed the transition without problem, but she always felt clumsy. It wasn’t good for her self-esteem, especially when Sabrina had the unfair advantage of permanent legs—long, shapely, beautiful legs that Anemone envied.
Derwent observed lustfully. He had indeed been spreading his virile new cock’s favors, but it was Anemone he really wanted. It didn’t matter to him that she was Neptune’s concubine for the night, just that he, Derwent, might have a chance of getting into her first. Hopeful, and already with a huge erection, he approached the two friends. His extended cock swung heavily, its head glistening from all the fun it had already been having…and the fun it still hoped to have. He paused before Anemone to gaze hotly at the exciting goodies in the apex of her legs, goodies she displayed for Neptune’s benefit. Much good it was doing her.
Derwent halted, gripping his cock for fear of committing the social faux pas of dripping upon her. “You seem lonely, Anemone,” he said, as if Sabrina didn’t exist. “Do you want a little male company?”
“Oh go away, Derwent,” Anemone replied, waving him off with a languid hand.
“And waste this?” He thrust his hips forward until his cock extended right over her. “Come on now, let’s have some fun. Some hearty screwing will do us both good, and might even relieve me for another year of desiring you.”
How romantic, Sabrina thought, wondering what effect such a basic approach would have on Anemone.
He swung his cock up and down. “Hm? A little fucky-wucky to cheer us?”
Anemone glanced up at his quivering member, which really was quite remarkable. Certainly it was a vast improvement on the lesser appendage of last year. Her interest had evidently been aroused, because she stretched up a finger to twiddle his plump balls. Her other hand slid between her legs to the bud from which she derived more pleasure than anywhere else. Hmmm, perhaps a nice little fucky-wucky would indeed be the thing. Temporarily forgetting Neptune, she extended her arms, and in a moment Derwent had leapt upon her, forced his rampant penis into her moist channel and commenced driving in and out with all the finesse of an out-of-control steam engine. He gave her no time to assemble her desires, nor did he pay her the compliment of any erotic stimulation. No, he rammed her with his piston, and it was all over and done with in double quick time. Then he got up again, his spent organ dangling, his expression one of pride in having acquitted himself brilliantly.
Sabrina looked on with open-mouthed astonishment, while Anemone lay in an unattractive sprawl, her hair in a mess, her body used and her temper giving off sparks. “You call that a nice little fucky-wucky? What do you think I am? A receptacle? An inanimate object? A privy in which to ease yourself? You were as subtle as a walrus in a rock pool! How dare you treat me in such a way!”
He gaped down at her, his cock retreating nervously into its foreskin. “Eh? I—look, Anemone, I thought it was what you wanted—”
“You didn’t think! You never do, you selfish reptile! Mermaids need much more consideration. I must have been tide-struck to let you in, and I’ll warrant every other mermaid you’ve fucked tonight is thinking the same. You can count on it that I’ll see you don’t have much success next year!”
“Oh come on, Anemone, it wasn’t that bad.”
She glanced up at him through her dishevelment. “You’re right. It was much worse!” She seized the mirror and threw it at his genitals, at which point he took flight.
Sabrina couldn’t stop laughing. “Oh Anemone, that was the funniest thing I’ve seen in an age.”
The other glowered. “I don’t think it’s at all funny.”
“Yes, you do, and just think what amusement you’ll have when comparing details with everyone else he’s imposed himself on tonight.”
Anemone continued to scowl, but gradually a sleek little smile appeared on her lips. “Yes, that will be pleasant, won’t it? He’ll soon be wishing he hadn’t been so hoggish. It takes two to make love, a small fact that seems to have slipped past him.” Then the smile faded and she looked guiltily toward Neptune.
Sabrina soothed her. “You needn’t worry. It seems the suspect shrimp curry is a thing of the past, for our great lord is now too busy enjoying a helping of lobster bisque to notice anything.”
“Are you implying that I’m of less interest than a dish of fish soup?” Anemone’s eyes flashed.
“No, of course I don’t mean it that way,” Sabrina replied hastily, “just that he didn’t happen to glance toward us.”
“You’re sure?”
“As sure as I can be, for I admit that your over-in-a-trice roll around with Derwent did rather claim my attention.”
Anemone’s nostrils flared. “It wasn’t so much a roll as a squashing, a complete flattening.” Then her voice became wistful. “Oh what I wouldn’t do for a true act of love, a romantic, beautiful, tender, exquisitely satisfying coupling of two adoring souls.”
Like my mother and father, Sabrina thought. Her mother had always said that her brief time with Adam Winterleigh had been the most joyous and erotic time of her entire life. Sabrina fingered the ivory miniature of her father that was always around her throat. He’d given her the tawny hair and bright blue eyes of the Winterleighs, but had died in a carriage overturn before knowing her mother was carrying her. She, Sabrina, could only know him as the engaging young gentleman in the little likeness.
Winterleigh Court had a new owner now, the achingly attractive Sir Jake Cranwell, but after living there all the time at first, he’d stayed away for the past three years. The once delightful house had been closed and shuttered all that time. Sir Jake was clearly a gentleman of ton who preferred the high society of the capital to the rural charms of Gloucestershire. She’d been told that Jake was his nickname, and that he was really Sir James Cranwell.
She’d only been fifteen when he first came to the house, but one glimpse had enslaved her forever. With his dark wavy hair, long-lashed brown eyes, athletic figure, natural elegance and infectious laughter, he had always caught her undivided attention. His clothes had to be the work of London’s very best tailor, and his pale gray breeches fitted him like a second skin. He was everything mermen were not, nor ever could be, and his very difference drew her like a foolish little moth to a flame, arousing sensations she had never experienced before, pleasing sensations that brought a bloom to her cheeks and a new light to her eyes. She had spied upon him all she could, adoring him and resenting any pretty woman who happened to be among his house guests. How she missed him, even though they had never exchanged a word.
Sabrina fingered her tawny curls dejectedly as she surveyed the orgy. Such unbridled lust was all very well, but she had always wanted what her mother and father had, a love that was glorious, even though so sadly curtailed. Tonight the fleshly ache was worse than ever, and it was all she could do not to satisfy it herself, as she sometimes did in the secrecy of waving water weeds, where no one could see her. In her heart of hearts she knew that her deepest, most enduring desire was to lose her virginity to a human man. To Sir Jake Cranwell.
She sighed, recalling how often she’d spied on him. He might have been fashioned to please her, and she wouldn’t change him by so much as a hair on his head. The impulse to run to him and kiss his lips had occasionally proved hard to resist, and the mere thought of him naked was sufficient to send ripples of pleasure through her pussy. She never had seen him naked, but for one fleeting moment she had glimpsed his cock. It happened in the ancient woods between the clearing and the lowermost level of the gardens. He’d been consulting with his head gamekeeper, who had hurried away to attend to whatever order had been issued, leaving him alone. She’d watched from the anonymity of some thick bushes as he’d glanced around and then unbuttoned his breeches to step behind a large, very ancient oak tree. In the split second before he went out of sight, she had seen him take out his cock.