The pilot smiles. “Of course.”
“I’m not who you think I am. But I suspect you already know that now. Are you really sure you know what you’re doing?” I ask him, seriously.
“I know that you’re a nuanced person who’s a lot more complicated than a few encounters might suggest. And I know that I don’t care about you worrying about your background, or whether I know anything about your real life,” he answers. “I know that I’m incredibly lucky that I found you.
He looked in my eyes, “Yes, Alexa. I’m interested, and I wouldn’t let any bullshit circumstances keep you from me, or me from you.”
“Okay,” I pause, realizing that Jagger’s the real deal, here. He holds me a little tighter.
“Do you plan on running away again?”
I crack him a smile. “Captain, I’m not the one flying all over the world, getting thousands of miles away from me. So who’s running away from what, here?”
He kisses my forehead, pulling me close. “I’m not running. Not now, not ever. I’m here.”
“Maybe you’ve peaked,” I tease. “Try outdoing that last story. I’m a fickle one. You know how they say in Hollywood, you’re only as good as your last movie? I shiver at the thought of you having to be judged by your last story.”
Jagger’s eyes take on an intensity that makes me feel absolutely taken by him. He sits up, positioning me so I’m doing the same too. He runs his fingers all across my body with both hands, and finally slows down, just as he reaches between my legs.
And then he leans forward, whispering in my ear.
“Once upon a time…” and the fire lights in his voice.
Beauty and the Beast of Brooklyn
“A KIND AND WISE KING HAD three beautiful daughters.
“The king wanted nothing more than to see his daughters happy, and so when three strong, handsome men came from afar and his daughters all fell deeply in love with them, the king was overjoyed.
“All that he needed was to be sure that the love the three brothers professed for his three lovely daughters was indeed true love.
“And so he devised a test.”
http://smarturl.it/Beast-of-Brooklyn
© Alice May Ball, TzR Publishing, 2015
© ALICE MAY BALL TZR PUBLISHING, 2017
1st Edition, 2017
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner.
Any resemblance to any persons, living or dead, or to any actual events is purely coincidental.
All the people portrayed in this story are over the age of eighteen, and entirely imaginary. If you think that you know some of them, or that you may be one of them, then you should consider writing fiction yourself.
Cover Design by Signs of Desire for TzR Publishing
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Filthy Royal Bastard
Memories
THE FIRST TIME I SAW ROGER was that day at school, when I was only just sixteen and he was eighteen. An unusual way for us to meet, seeing as he was my brother, or half brother, supposedly, but there it was.
“Hey, Sister!” His cut-glass English boarding school vowels rang like a bell through the room. As I looked up, I felt the eyes of everyone in the whole lunchroom turn on me.
He was in the center of the noise at the big table with a couple of sketchy buddies. A thick cloud of girls clustered, chattered, squabbled and giggled all around him. His strawberry blond curls bobbed above the throng, like a Michelangelo rising out of a scene in some twisted horror version of Glee.
Chairs scraped and rattled when his watery gray eyes swung their beams over to the corner where I sat, peeling the saran wrap from the little sandwiches that Mother had made for me.
It was status, a thing of pride, if kids from the higher grades even deigned to acknowledge your existence. It just was not that common. Didn’t even matter if they were relatives. And he wasn’t. Well he was, technically. Or supposed to be, it all got a bit complicated but at that time he was a total stranger to me.
The fact that it was him calling me should have made it extra cool for me. It was his first day at the school and everybody was already crazy around him. The boys all looked up to him like he was a rockstar, and all the girls were elbowing each other out of the way, desperate to fall under his wheels and as soon as humanly possible.
“Come over here, Sis,” he called, “Come and look at this little skank for me.” He looked around the girls in the group, “That’s right, isn’t it? ‘Skank’ is the correct term for a young harlot, I believe.” The way that he drew the vowels out of the word ‘harlot,’ he made them uncurl and stretch in the air. It rang like an ancient and forbidden curse.
I knew that they were all looking at me, thinking, ‘how can this British toff have that frump for a sister?’ Except they would probably be saying something a whole lot worse than ‘frump.’ I can’t think about it. Even now.
I wanted to be at the center of his attention though, just like everybody did, and I had no idea who he was. Still I kept him waiting while I finished my sandwich. Somehow I knew that was the way. Then I padded over to the edge of the heaving mass around the table.
All the girls, all older than me with their on-trend hair and makeup, they all squinted down their noses and took an extra second or two to get out of the way. Making a point. The point being to show him, ‘I wouldn’t make way for this dumpy brat, I’m only doing it to show respect to you.’
They were pathetic, and they made me sick.
When I got near enough to the table to see, he stood behind Alix Mayburn, one of the fashion-plate cheerleaders. Teased and pampered peroxide-blonde hair and butterscotch skin, she had on way more jewelry and makeup than the rules allowed.
A thin golden rope chain rose and fell on the tops of her breasts. Her shirt was open to the bottom of her cleavage.
“See these thick red lips?” he held her jaw, moved her face from side to side and said, “I thought I might fuck her, Sis.” Right from that moment and for all the time we were at school together, he never once called me by my name when anyone could hear.
“She’s got good enough tits, look…” his hand slid slowly down along her throat, then into her shirt and her eyes rolled as she sighed. All the girls around rolled their hips and clenched their asses. Their scent was like a cloud.
Her face and body folded as he squeezed her breast, “and her ass is suh-weet.” As he took his hand up her skirt, her mouth drooped and her tongue lolled, soft, limp and wet.
She turned her head and her eyes pleaded up at him. He wasn’t looking, because his focus was still on me. “Only, I want her to suck my cock first, and I need her to get it all the way down her throat. She says she can do it, but look at those lips.” He lifted an eyebrow, “You think she can do it?” My panties were soaked so bad by this point, I’d have given anything just to get them off.
“Hey, I think your sis might want in on the action, too.” Gutbucket raised his nose to make a show of sniffing the air and he craned his neck down in a big, theatrical gesture to sniff at me.
He pulled a face and grinned as he said, “Eeew, gross!” and they all laughed. Gu
tbucket said, “I’ll fuck her for you. Just to do you the solid, y’know?”
All the fun drained out of his face, and his eyes popped as my stepbrother’s arm whipped out and his hand clamped on Gutbucket’s throat.
“You don’t so much as look at her,” he hissed, loud enough for everyone to hear. “You don’t get within breathing distance of her, get me?”
I had never seen eyes blaze like that before, or felt a tremble of rage like the one in his voice. He spoke in a low snarl through his clenched teeth. My throat was tight and my heart thumped.
I heard one of the cheerleaders mutter, “Well, who’d want to?” and they all doubled over in giggles.
First time I saw him
THE NEXT TIME I SAW HIM was that night at home. I knew that what I felt was wrong, although I probably wasn’t even old enough to know why. Was it wrong then, if I didn’t know? I never really got why it was all supposed to be so dreadfully wrong anyway. It was all way too complicated for me.
I’d heard about him from Mother and father. Lord Chatterton told me since I was tiny, probably since the day I was born, all about my brother back in England. He was in a fee-paying boarding school there, called Cricket or something like it.
I sat on the top of the stairs in our old house and he came in the door. He stood at the bottom of the stairs looked so much older than me that he was like another kind of species.
I was kind of scared. I knew that Lord Chatterton, the asshat called him ‘Baz,’ but I didn’t know why, of course I didn’t. It would be years before I found out.
Standing in the pool of light at the bottom of the stairs with his shaggy, curly blond hair, he looked angelic. At least, he had, until he turned to look up at me and I saw his eyes and his cunning smile. I felt like my insides melted and splashed out of me, and cascaded down the steps.
It was then that I realized he could see straight up my skirt. I knew that I should move, to close my legs or pull my skirt tighter. It was kinda hard not to. But it gave me a dark sensation, a thrill that I had never experienced before that moment. It was something I have never forgotten. It was so very wrong. And I wanted it, again and again.
As his eyes lingered on the bottoms of my thighs, I could almost feel them, like he was touching me, just by looking. I knew that I needed to press my thighs tighter together and to sweep my plaid skirt tight underneath them.
That wasn’t what I did, though. As I felt the caress of his gaze sneak higher up my legs, farther up my skirt, I let my thighs part. Just a little. Just enough. His stare scraped like a fluttering touch up even more. I felt he wanted to get all the way up. Up to the very tops of my thighs.
I let my legs slowly part and his eyes widened and glowed as they came to probe and hold on the soaking, hot fabric of my knickers. The air in all my body had come to life. I panted hard and my chest pressed out.
My hard nipples were sore and an unbearable ache began between my legs as I saw the effect that the sight of my knickers had on the swelling, lengthening, hardening flesh inside the front of his bluejeans.
Father was in the kitchen. I overheard him telling Mother, “His mother was a cruel and callous bitch and I hope the school has knocked every part of her out of him.” His eyes blazed at me and his lips drew back.
His blond curls bobbed as he came slowly up the stairs. An electric tingle ran from my stomach down into my panties as he came nearer. That tingle I had only felt a couple of times before. Times when something good somehow felt really bad, or when something bad felt really, really good. Now it made the whole of my body jolt.
He muttered in that whisper of his, said that his Mother was the better part of him. That she knew what she wanted and how to get it. And that he knew that, too. As it slipped out under his breath, he told me that he cursed his father, our father, for depriving him of his mother for almost the whole of his life.
As I heard him, I cursed our father too, but for a different reason. This manboy, this vision, was the only boy I had ever wanted. I sensed that he wanted me, too. Not only to leer up my skirt, which I was happy for him to do, whenever and however often he wanted to, but more. I knew that he wanted much more. As I did.
And our father had made it so that he was the one, the only boy I could never have. Not without the most dire of consequences.
That first night he was in our our home he shared my room. There wasn’t another room spare, although he could have slept on the couch in the living room. But he didn’t want that. I didn’t want him to do that, either.
Dinner
WE ALL ATE DINNER TOGETHER, WITH father at the head of the table, just like we always did. The only difference was that, this time, I was able to spend the whole of dinner gazing at the most beautiful boy I had ever, ever seen.
Father was talking about the new house. “Should have got us moved in before the boy came, of course. Damned inconvenient. Blasted contractors. Can’t get the staff for love nor money.”
I saw a strange expression light up Mother’s face at that moment, but it passed quickly and she was obviously keen to hide it from Father. Father was looking at Roger. “Settling in at the school alright? Not what you’re used to, obviously. Much for the better I’m sure.”
Roger’s voice was hard, “Cheaper is what you mean, isn’t it?” he stared hard at his father and Lord Chatterton stared hard back at him. It was like watching a bull and a young stag locking horns. “Although why you care what anything costs,” Roger said, “with all of your money, beats me.”
Between my legs I throbbed and buzzed like a tugboat.
“What number are you in line to the throne?” Roger taunted father.
“Not something a chap thinks about,” father lied, “About a hundred and thirty seven.”
“So!” said Roger triumphantly, “You do think about it.”
“No point dwelling on it. Never going to happen.”
“But if, just for instance, if all one hundred and thirty six of the others were on the same plane,”
“Which would be treasonous,” Father thundered, “Endangerment of the realm act, fourteen ninety three.”
“If the plane went down,” Roger pressed on, “And then you happened to be in a car crash,” he lifted his glass of water, “then I would be King of good old merrie England!”
My thighs tightened as I tried to contain the liquid streams of tingling sensation. I hadn’t ever heard anyone speak to father like that. His face darkened.
“It isn’t something you would understand, obviously. Still, proves that I made the right choice pulling you out of that school. Clear to see they didn’t teach you anything of much value.”
“Your values,” Roger snarled, “wouldn’t be anything much to treasure. Still, I’ll be able to make my own judgement when I inherit all your of money. Do you have any plans to die in the near future? Is there anything I can do to assist?”
Father snarled at him, “Don’t be so sure about the inheritance, boy,” his eyes burned, “I may have found a way to fix that.” And his eyes slipped over to me.
I wasn’t really listening at this point. All of my concentration was on keeping my hands on the top of the table and not letting my fingers plunge into my panties.
~
After dinner, Roger and I went upstairs to the bedroom. My bedroom. We both stood in opposite corners of the room. I wanted to undress, but I was afraid to. Even more, I wanted to see him undress.
Captain Charming (Tales of 1001 Flights) Page 16