Captain Charming (Tales of 1001 Flights)

by Alice May Ball

  I raked my nails in his hair, felt around to the back of his head. I had wanted this for so long. His body here, in my arms and his strong arms wrapping around me, I pulled his face down to mine.

  He pulled back. The conflict blew like storm clouds across his face. His rich, thick lips trembled. His voice was a whisper. “Sis.”

  At the sound of moccasins on the deck, we broke apart. Two of the minions brought canapés or whatever those fussy little pastry things were. He looked at the minions and they froze.

  “Everyone go below decks and into their quarters.” His voice was like gathering thunder, “Everyone. No exceptions. Nobody is allowed in the public rooms or on the berth levels. Not until you hear from me.”

  They nodded silently and began to back away.

  “You two tell everyone. Right now.”

  They nodded again then silently turned and hurried below.

  Then there was only us. Just him, and me. On a deck above the ocean, out of sight of the land. Part of me was still wondering if all of the laws and customs applied if we were were offshore. Was this international waters?

  We stood a couple of feet apart. Near enough that I could feel the heat of his body and hear the soft moisture in his breath.

  I said, “I don’t care about them seeing us.”

  “Neither do I, Sis.” His eyes pleaded, “I want us to have privacy,” he said, “but that isn’t why.”

  “Why then?” I didn’t mean to tease. Well, maybe just a little.

  “You know. You know what I want, Sis.”

  And at that moment, I did know. The trouble was, what I wanted was what all of those other girls wanted. I wanted him to do to me what he did to them. I wanted him to treat me the same way, but I didn’t want him to think of me in the same way.

  I wanted him to grab me with his strong hands, yank the clothes off me and peel my quivering flesh bare to the cool moonlight. I wanted his lips, his mouth and his tongue all over me. As he held me by a tight grip on my hair or dragged me by my ankles.

  He should take me, have me, invade me everywhere, with his mouth and his tongue, with his fingers. With the fine, firm column of his gorgeous cock.

  I wished that he had two cocks, three so he could penetrate me in three places all at once. But it didn’t matter if he had a thousand cocks. Every girl in Long Island, in New York, every woman on the planet could be impaled and violated by him in every possible way. Every girl except for me.

  I couldn’t tell him. Because we couldn’t do it. Not any of it. Or maybe I should tell him. Perhaps if I could deal with it by talking to him, I could find a way past it. Or around it. Even though I knew, knew for certain that wasn’t what I wanted.

  I couldn’t do any of it. But I was itching to do all of it. Everything. I ached for him in the worst way, and it burned me so bad it was fabulous. Just being here with him, hearing his breath and breathing the scents of him, wanting him, seeing the look in his eye was almost enough. Almost.

  The last part though, the bit on the other side of that ‘almost’ was so unthinkably bad. And that very though got me revved again. I trembled all over.

  His voice was low and firm. “You know what we can do, sis.”

  I nodded. I had started to do it without realizing. What we had done that one time, the first time. The only time that ever mattered to me. On the only day that ever mattered to me, the day we met.

  My hand was down the front of my skirt, in my panties. His shirt buttons popped open. Then his jeans. I squeezed and needed my other hand. One to spread my folds and press my nub forward and back, one to drag in my crevasse, to probe as high as I could reach for the magic button.

  His massive mast of flesh extended from the front of his cotton briefs. I fell involuntarily to my knees in front of him, scenting, tasting the hot air around his pulsing bulb. My fingers were awash with my hot juice. As it sprang the scent of it thrilled me. I tipped my face up. I saw his nostrils flare and his eyes blaze.

  His hand stroked so gently on the throbbing wonder of his lengthening rod. I longed to take it’s buzzing heat inside me. Anywhere. Everywhere. I whimpered as my fingers found the combination and my brimming dam unlocked and burst.

  Close enough to taste him, my tongue was out and flat, just an inch from his beautiful cock. He squeezed and pumped and his glorious fountain blasted bolts of thick, steamy, sticky white love. I caught some on my tongue, more on my face.

  I came again as I slurped his seed and pulled it with my fingers, tasting now of us both. We mingled on my tongue and I moaned as I collapsed on the deck in front of him. All I could hear was my hammering heart, my strained breath and his low chuckle.

  The dining room table

  WE SAT IN A DINING ROOM at opposite ends of the long table on straight-backed chairs. It would have been to risky and too hard to sit next to each other. It was too electric. It was hard enough to keep our hands off each other with the length of a table between us. “Mother said that Father wants now to disinherit you.

  “He could only do that if he could prove that I was illegitimate and, even though he always swore that I was, I don’t believe him. I think that it’s just something he wants to believe because he hates my mother so much. You know that was why he called me ‘Baz’? Tried to get everyone else to do it, too. Supposed to be short for ‘bastard.’”

  “That’s not even funny.”

  “I know, right?”

  “He can prove it, though, at least according to Mother he can. But Your mother made him sign a contract to say that he wouldn’t, otherwise she refused to relinquish her rights to the title.”

  “Well, she wouldn’t be able to get the title back now.”

  “She would, or he thinks that she would, it seems. The only way that he can prevent her for sure is by having the title conferred on Mother.”

  “That must make him happy.”

  “‘If it’s not one damned thieving harridan it’s another,’ were his words, apparently.”

  “I can just hear him. Where would he be in this world without his charm. Oh, yes, I remember, he’d be a senior member of the British fucking aristocracy.”

  “She’s been to London. Seen lawyers about it.

  “Her lawyers?”

  “His and hers, she said. She told me about how she met two ‘stupendous guardsmen’ while she was there.”

  He made a face, “Really?”

  “You know how she overshares. Told me every detail. I mean every single detail.I curled my fingers,like I was holding two thick oars. Or fat sausages, maybe. “She tells that stuff to me all the time.” My eyes rolled, “I’ve threatened not to call her anymore if she didn’t stop. I think she likes to tell me so she can practice the story.”

  “Practice?”

  “For when she tells him.”

  His jaw dropped. “You think she tells him?”

  “I know she does. She sometimes even makes him go along and watch. I think he secretly loves it.” I saw that Roger was appalled and fascinated at the same time. That was the effect she often had on me when she described her adventures for me.

  “I can’t believe that she does that,” he said, squinting.

  “Don’t you remember her telling how she made the doctor pay a house call and she insisted on him examining her?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Maybe it was after you’d left.” There was a sad catch in my voice. “She made him examine the back of her throat.”

  He frowned, uncomprehending.

  I explained, “With his cock.”

  He blinked several times and then shook his head. After a moment he said, “But Father can’t prove that I’m not his son.”

  “He says that he can.”

  “Not if it isn’t true he can’t.”

  “He says that it is. He’s got DNA evidence, or so he says.”

  “But,” he stared at me, wide-eyed and his jaw slackened. “Don’t you see what that would mean?”

  He snatched up a ship’s phone.<
br />
  In a voice of command he said, “Everybody, to your stations. Now. We’re going to Suffolk County Airfield. Full speed ahead. I need two pilots and a Gulfstream, ready to fly to England, immediately.”

  Mile high knot club copy

  THE INSIDE OF THE SMALL PLANE was nothing like any aircraft that I’d ever been on before. The cabin was hushed by a gentle white noise of the aircon, and a louder version of white noise from the back, which must have been the engines.

  As soon as Roger and I were on board, the plane began to taxi. A willowy redhead in a uniform that could have been out of a porn fantasy, welcomed us aboard and told us that we should sit and fasten our seat belts. Roger did neither and it didn’t seem to matter. Still, I assumed that it was his plane, so it probably didn’t matter all that much.

  Then the girl asked if we would like cocktails. Roger said, “We’ll be about six and a half hours to London, Trixie, so crack open some cold champagne and fix us a couple of steaks with salad and fries.”

  The floor was covered in a thick, cream carpet. All of the dozen swiveling armchairs were padded with buttery soft cream leather. Neat, polished mahogany tables were between the seats and on one side was a small cocktail bar with a galley at the end.

  We sat in the armchairs for the actual takeoff. We even fastened our seatbelts. “Don’t want to risk losing my operator’s license,” he said, “Though there’s very little chance of it. Eh, Trixie?”

  “Next to none, sir.” She bobbed and smiled, shyly. He and I were separated by the aisle. I couldn’t help wondering whether he had taken Trixie up to the mile-high club. Remembering the Roger of our schooldays, it would have been surprising if he hadn’t got between her full, creamy breasts, parted her long, slender legs or had her kneel on the thick rug with her pert ass skywards while he drove his fuselage up her slipway.

  Spending time with him now, unexpectedly, it was like all of the wrong, bad, awful thoughts that I hadn’t had in our years apart, had crammed together and built like a trapped hose. Now I was with him they shoved their way up, broke the surface and gushed out into my mind.

  After we ate dinner, Roger ordered Trixie to dim the lights and retire to the crew cabin. The way that she shook her hips as she left said that either Roger had had her, or that she very much wanted him to.

  Thinking back about Mother, I wondered how it would be, since Roger and I couldn’t ever have real sexual contact, how I might feel to watch him have her. Or watch her pleasure him.

  Rediscovering him was too new, too thrilling and too desperately confusing and I couldn’t think straight. Images flashed and spun in my head. I looked across and saw him looking at me.

  Somehow I was sure that he was thinking the same thing that I was. Remembering our first night, when he lay in my bed, his lean, taut body, pumped and pumping, and I breathed the scent of his heat. His breath as it lapped up my legs, how my juices spilled and gushed just from having him so deliciously near.

  He had always been all that I wanted. And I was sure that he knew it. Constantly I persuaded myself that I knew his feelings for me, that his apparent disdain and hurtful sneers were just a way to keep us both safe in public. The risk if anyone ever caught a hint of how we felt about each other, it could be so very serious.

  All the same, there was still that part of me, as there always had been, the part that wanted to flaunt it, to make a show, for everyone to know that I loved him and that… that he felt the same.

  He did. I was sure he did.

  He stood and moved to a little control panel at the front of the cabin and he pressed a switch. “We’re traveling at almost the speed of sound, we have the world miles beneath us and we have the plane to ourselves.” He gave me an impish smile.

  “I switched off all of the onboard cameras. The crew can’t peek in at us now.”

  Straightaway I stood. I began to take off my clothes. All of them. I wanted to show all of myself to Roger. I wanted to dance for him, for him to be able to see me as I am. And to show him exactly how he makes me feel.

  I swayed as I dropped my shirt, leaned forwards to let my breasts bubble and heave as they swelled in the cups of my bra. My hands were on my thighs and I pulled them up, dragging the hem of my skirt with them.

  His lovely blond curls bobbed as he hoist his tee-shirt over his head. The sight of his beautiful body made me sigh.

  Shyly I blinked as I danced. Where he saw the tops of my thighs, I was sure that he could see how wet my panties were. They must have been about transparent, and clinging to my lips and folds.

  As I spun, looked at his jeans. Yes, it looked like he could see me. His hardening cock was certainly pointed at me, and it twitched with an urgent beat.

  My upper arms squeezed together to give him the best view of my creamy breasts. Then, slowly, I unhooked the bra and pulled the cups upward, snatching my breasts as I did.

  As I danced, he gave me the loveliest show of undressing himself. We danced as far apart as we could, knowing how unsafe it could be if we were within reach, inside touching distance. At arms length or less.

  Naked, I leaned back against the cockpit bulkhead wall with my legs apart. My knees shook as I pulled my breasts, tweaking my bullet-hard nipples. I pushed up my breast to flick my nipple with the tip of my tongue.

  He sat, his huge, reddening cock thick, long and proud. His voice of English command made me weak all over as he “Spread your wings, show me your wet lips. Let me see how hot you are.”

  I moved towards him and stood as close as I dared. Watching him stroke and squeeze his hot, thick shaft, seeing the slick purple bulb bulge and the unbearably dreamy look on his face, I had to move farther away. As I went to move back, my knees gave way and I stumbled, fell onto all fours in front of him.

  From where I fell, I could reach him. I could lean forward and pop my wet lips over the top of him. I could feel the heft of his haft on my eager tongue.

  The thought was too bad and too good and it was almost unbearable. I turned. He groaned.

  “Oh, you thought the sight of my cock was too tough for you?” his voice scraped, “How am I ever going to cope with seeing your gorgeous ass, thrust up in the air, right in front of me.”

  I heard the leather creak as he beat his cock with his hand. He moaned, “Sis, I can smell you from here.” And his voice was tightening and rising. “And I can see your luscious lips, swollen, throbbing and juicy. And your beautiful clit.” A gasp tore out of him, “I can’t take it, sis,” so I turned back.

  His face was reddening. “That’s just as bad. I’m watching your wonderful tits bounce. I stood. “Here,” I said, “Lie down here. Put your head between my feet.”

  He did. I almost came just looking at his glistening muscles, his jutting pelvis and his piston thighs. “Okay,” he said, firmly. “No more touching. We look and we talk. No hands, no fingers, eyes and voices only.”

  My voice shook. “I don’t know if I can do it.”

  “Tell me why. In detail.”

  “I want you.” My voice pleaded, “So bad.”

  “In. Detail.”

  “Oh, god,” my knees trembled but I kept my hands to my sides. He did the same. “Okay, because I want to feel you close. I want to feel the strength of your arms around me.” I was shuddering. My fingers stretched and my thighs clenched. “I want to taste your breath and feel my lips on yours. Yours on mine.” I had to press my tongue against my lips. And bite them.