PleasureAtTheCaptainsHandsOnePassionTwiceTold
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Again, he caught her wrists in his hands and pinned them to the pillow. His strength was both comforting and maddening. She strained against him, but he held her fast. Knowing she was essentially kept by his will alone brought illicit excitement to their joining.
Her heart hadn’t had time to calm before his rigid cock rubbed along her slick folds, and then the captain shoved his hard, thick length inside her. She tilted her hips, and her world dissolved into raw feeling.
His member filled her, stretched her channel to the point she feared she wouldn’t be able to take him in any farther. When he withdrew, she whimpered a protest. The captain rewarded her by thrusting back inside, no less forceful than the last time. She tugged at her wrists. He held her with determined strength. His eyes glittered in the darkness. It was too dark to read his expression, but she knew it would be intense—much like the man himself.
What would it be like to know him further?
“Tell me how much you want this, Miss James.” Captain Epson once again pulled out. His cock head kissed her entrance, toying with her pleasure and keeping it from her.
“Dear heavens, can’t you tell?” Now she understood what he must have been like on the sea, engaged in battle. How easily she could imagine him using his clever cunning to lure the enemy into giving up their secrets. How she wished to give up hers, but those were hers alone for the time being.
“I remain unconvinced of your sincerity.” He dipped his head to flick his tongue over an aching nipple. “I’m waiting.”
“Captain Epson, please finish me. I’ve wanted you for an age.” Her pussy squeezed in anticipation of coming to release for a third time this night. She planted her feet flat against the mattress and raised her hips. His cock slid just inside. Her feminine walls convulsed in a desperate attempt to bring him deeper.
He grazed a nipple with his teeth before raising his head. “Poor Miss James.” He teased her with a series of quick, shallow thrusts.
Throbbing need washed over her. She sobbed for more. He chuckled, apparently finding her angst amusing, and then he moved.
The captain thrust into her with strong, powerful strokes. Faster his hips pumped. The slap of his balls against her cunt rang over the rain. His moans sent flutters into her belly, and she met every push, matched him.
The pressure coiled tight inside and quickened her breathing. The captain changed his position slightly, so that every pump caused his cock to rub her swollen button. Hot desire dashed through her blood. This man was more than she’d thought, and she wanted all of him.
Samantha lifted her head. She nipped the underside of his chin to encourage him onward.
The captain moaned. “Ah, so that’s how it is.” He tightened his grip on her wrists. His hips worked faster.
Strain shook her legs. His fingers bit into her wrists as she pulled against him. She held him between her knees as her heart beat frantic time. She had only seconds now left to be with him.
A brush of the coarse hair on his chest to her nipples ended it all. Already stretched to the breaking point from his earlier play, her body slipped into orgasm. It claimed her like a voracious beast bent on devouring her whole, and she let it, craving him. Samantha bit the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out his name—Oliver. Never would she use it. He wasn’t hers. Their positions saw to that. Yet her pussy sucked him in a greedy attempt to keep him with her.
He grunted. “Bloody hell.” Another shove and his cock twitched and pulsed. The warm jet of his seed filled her passage. He ground his hips into hers before collapsing on top of her, his breath ragged in her ear.
When he released her wrists, she sighed, not in relief, but with a small amount of regret. The night was over—their secret. She listened to the rapid-fire beat of his heart and enjoyed the sweat-slicked weight of him for a few seconds more before she pushed at his shoulders. “I should return to my room now, Captain Epson.”
“Right.” He rolled off her body.
She smoothed her shift back into place.
When she made to leave the bed, he caught her hand. “Tell no one of this night, Miss James. I refuse to let scandal touch my name.”
“I understand. You have my word.” Of course she’d not talk. It would be her job and reputation against his. She needed the job more, and she had come to him freely.
“And, Miss James?” His voice dropped to a seductive whisper.
“Yes?” Heat wound through her body. Her breath stalled in her throat.
“Should you have another… need such as this, by all means come to me. I’ll be very accommodating at helping you through it.”
“I will bear that in mind, sir.” As a blush heated her cheeks, Samantha tugged away from his grip, slid from the bed then scurried across the floor to the door. Moments later, she exited the room and crept along the darkened corridor.
Perhaps she’d take one more night in his bed....
The End?
****
Pleasure at the Captain’s Hands— The Master’s Tale
September 1818, Bridgewater, Somerset England
Captain Oliver Epson—he eschewed the title of Lord Farringer when possible, after all he’d been the spare, not the heir, that was until his brother’s unfortunate hunting accident a few years past—paced the length of his chamber, debating. Earlier in the day, he’d been beside himself when the lecherous Earl of Kenterbrooke had dared approach Miss Samantha James. Oliver had barely resisted the urge to strangle the earl by the man’s poorly-tied cravat—no doubt hastily re-donned after tupping some lady of questionable virtue behind a bush during the hunt. The bastard had an insatiable appetite for food, drink and sex.
Was he any better than his despicable glutton of a neighbor though? Oliver ground his teeth as the crux of his dilemma gnawed at his consciousness.
He’d been bedding Miss James—he wouldn’t allow himself to think of her as Samantha lest he slip while addressing her during the day—for nigh on a month now with no consideration for anything but their mutual pleasure. Though unlike the earl, he’d ensured there was no cause for even a hint of scandal. Oliver never indulged himself with his children’s governess during the daylight hours—no matter that he’d sometimes had an almost overwhelming need to bury himself in her wet heat and forget the concerns of the day. They’d always waited until the entire house was abed, as it was now.
The clock tolled the quarter hour and anticipation tightened his groin. He’d been more than a little relieved when his sister had found him at Kenterbrooke’s Hunt Ball and insisted upon returning home at the unfashionable hour of eleven. She’d been looking a bit peaked, but she was a hearty soul and never sick. Normally, he would have questioned what had caused her agitation, but he wanted to talk to Miss James, and if he’d been forced to do his duty as chaperone until the wee hours of the morning, that would not have been possible.
He glanced at the clock. Five ‘til one. The normal designated hour approached. Blood pooled in his cock, lengthening it. Well, talking wasn’t the only thing he wanted.
Would she come? Because of the ball, they’d had no rendezvous scheduled. Had she heard him, his sister and their mother return? Was she even now bare of feet, padding down the hallway in her linen shift?
A week ago, he’d attempted to present her with a warm wrap and slippers—he didn’t want her to catch a cold traipsing the halls so poorly clad now that the nights grew cooler. She’d tossed the offering at his feet and ranted about how she was no bit o’ muslin to be dressed at a man’s whim. He shook his head. He much preferred the temperamental sea, a less exacting mistress than any woman. Even Amelia, his docile deceased wife, had had her moments.
Another wave of what could only be guilt washed over him. First, the moral dilemma over an affair, and now, more unwanted emotions because the affections he’d held for Amelia had dimmed and been supplanted by some very uncomfortable feelings for Miss Samantha James—the governess, the woman who claimed to want nothing to do with aristocrats.
As the clock tolled one, the door handle silently turned. Miss James—the end of her long blonde braid flirting with her breast—smiled as she entered the room. A strange tightness settled in his chest even as his cock hardened at the thought of that braid wrapped around his fist while he gently tugged the length and his tongue flirted with her peaked nipple.
Ignoring the throbbing in his prick, he straightened, refusing to return her smile. The nature of this relationship had to change. She had to accept his proposal of marriage. Otherwise, he’d have to turn her off. He couldn’t deal with this level of uncertainty in his life. He preferred smooth seas.
Her steps faltered on the Oriental carpet and the smile fell from her lips. “Were you not expecting me, Captain Epson?”
He crossed to stand in front of her. Tracing her braid, he said, “Punctual as always, Miss James. Were you lying awake in bed hoping for my early return? Or perhaps you had plans to meet one of the footmen in my absence.”
She sucked in a sharp breath and rocked back a step, but he grabbed her braid. He didn’t know what devil had prompted his words. However, she hadn’t exactly shunned Kenterbrooke’s advances earlier today. Rather, he’d overheard her tell the earl that he’d chosen a most inappropriate moment since she had a job to perform.
Was she already looking for Oliver’s replacement? She’d been no virgin when he’d taken her. Worse yet, had she lied about not wanting to have anything to do with the aristocracy? Kenterbrooke’s title was the more prestigious, even if the blackguard himself was not.
“How dare you accuse me of being unfaithful.” Miss James’ eyes flashed fire in the candlelit room.
He raised an eyebrow. “My dear Miss James, unfaithfulness implies an understanding of some sort, but to date, the only thing we’ve engaged in is mutually-satisfying sexual congress.” He wound the length of her braid around his fist. “A good fuck does not a relationship make.”
Despite his grip on her hair and the vulgarity of his language, she stood her ground. Narrowing her eyes, she pursed her lips. “I believe I made it clear from the outset that I had no designs on you, nor any desire to cause you scandal. If you wish to terminate our meetings, then please just say so and be done with whatever bizarre notions you are entertaining.”
Since she would not relent and step forward, Oliver closed the distance between them. “The bizarre notion, as you call it, that I’m entertaining would definitely put an end to our secret. It would also halt whatever other assignations you had or might desire with the men of the area.”
With a closed fist, she thumped his chest. “Oh you despicable oaf, did you not hear my earlier words? Did too much time at sea cloud your hearing? For you to turn me out because of some imagined transgression is beyond the pale. I’d thought you an honorable man.”
Her passion stirred his own, but before he could forget himself and lose himself in her warmth, he must convey his intent. “Miss James—Samantha—I fail to see how a desire to switch your title from governess to Lady Farringer makes me less than honorable.”
She gasped, her mouth forming a perfect O that he wanted to thrust his cock into, not only for the pleasure but to prevent her refusal. After all, hadn’t she just said once again she had no interest in joining the ton? “Captain, while you do me a great honor, I have no desire to rise above my station.”
Despite his premonition, her words were sharp jabs to his belly. She must prefer the thought of being Kenterbrooke’s whore to Lady Farringer. If she wanted to be treated like a woman of loose virtue, then by God he’d oblige. “Then perhaps you should kneel lest you be tempted.” He exerted a steady pull on her braid.
Confusion clouded her eyes for a moment before they cleared. Whatever thoughts she might have, to protest wasn’t one of them for she dropped to the floor with a calculating glance. What did she have in mind?
“Is this what you want, Captain Epson?” With nimble fingers she undid the belt of his dressing gown. Beneath it he wore nothing.
He bit back a groan when she took his length in one hand and cupped his balls with her other. She was a temptress. No, a talented whore. Was it any wonder he’d temporarily forgotten himself? She had to go… after she pleasured him one last time. “No, I want you to suck my cock until I come.”
Was that a smile flirting at the corner of her lips? No respectable woman would want to be treated in such a way. Her refusal of his marriage proposal had no doubt saved him years of torment, contrariness at the very least, and a certain disturbance of the ordered life he craved. But why did the thought give him no relief?
All questions fled as she flicked the head of his prick with her tongue. He sucked in a sharp breath. “Come now, don’t tease, my dear. I’m in no mood for games.”
She dropped her gaze. “As you wish, Captain Epson.”
Without any further prelude, she swallowed as much of his length as she could, startling a groan from him. The warm wet haven of her mouth and the smooth glide of her tongue against the sensitive spot beneath his cock head already had his balls tightening.
She set a relentless pace, sucking and sliding up and down his prick, taking a bit more of him each time, until finally the tip hit the back of her throat. Then, she swallowed, massaging the head.
His thighs trembled with the effort to stay upright. “Enough,” he bit out. Though he’d commanded her to make him come, he would not embarrass himself like some green lad, spilling his seed within moments of being taken inside a woman.
She chuckled, the vibrations shooting through his prick and sending him that much closer to the edge. He tugged on her braid. Her only response was to tighten her hold at the base of his cock and start a fast bobbing that had his length moving in and out of her mouth at a remarkable rate. Then, before he knew what she was about, she’d swiped a finger wet from the moisture trickling from her mouth to coat his balls and thrust past the tight ring of his arsehole.
“Bloody hell!” His release ripped through his cock in painful spurts as she relentlessly pumped his prick and finger-fucked his arse. Not since his early days at sea had anyone ventured into that dark, forbidden territory, and never had he admitted to finding pleasure in the act. Miss James had rested the secret from him without him needing to utter one word. He dug his free hand into her shoulder for balance, tossed his head back and grunted as one last spurt left his body.
“Mmm,” she hummed as she slid free of his length, removing her finger from his rear passage. “I see you’ve been withholding some of your hidden desires from me.” She licked her swollen lips.
Yes, and now that she’d unleashed them, he’d truly treat her to torments no gentleman would subject his lady to. “Clean up. Then strip and lay on the bed.”
He shrugged from the dressing gown as she followed his instructions without protest. Apparently Miss James had her own hidden desires. If they matched with his, then perhaps he’d reconsider letting her go.
When she’d positioned herself in the center of the four-poster bed, he said, “Show me how wet you are for me.”
Though a gust of breeze blew through the open window carrying a chill, she made no move to cover herself. Her nipples beaded from the wind’s cold kiss as she spread her legs wide. She was no shy miss. He’d known this from the first time she’d come to his bed without invitation, but revealing herself thusly showed she was a complete wanton. One he wanted to explore. The corner of his mouth kicked up. Or rather, have her explore.
The curls of her cunt glistened with moisture, but also shielded that part of her he most wanted to see. “Open yourself.”
She
didn’t hesitate or ask for clarity, but used two fingers to spread the folds of her cunny. Already, the lips grew plump and the nub poked from its hood with her arousal. How far would she go to satisfy him?
“Pleasure yourself.”
She rubbed her middle finger across her slit, her eyes falling closed.
“Look at me.”
Samantha snapped her eyes open and met his gaze as she thrust a finger into her channel.
“Use your other hand to hold yourself open. I want to see you fucking yourself.”
A small moan escaped her lips as she complied. The pulse in his cock renewed. It wouldn’t take long before he was hard again. “Add another finger.”
She did.
“And another.”
She bit her lip as she worked the third finger inside. How many would she add before protesting? His mouth watered as her juices slid from her body. He loved her flavor, but the need to dominate her, control her actions shoved aside that fleeting desire.
For long moments, the wet sounds of her fingers fucking her cunt were the only noise in the room. Then her breathing turned to panting. She was close, and his cock stood once again at full mast.
“Come.”
She pressed the heel of her palm to her nub and worked herself until a low, keening cry tore from her. While trembles shook her body, he climbed on the bed and flipped her onto her belly. He lifted her hips then rammed his prick into her still-convulsing cunny.
The strength of his thrusts shoved her up the bed, forcing him to shift with her. The headboard finally halted her retreat. She flattened her palms against the wood, which protested on his next hard shove inside her.
Her cunt was so slick, and her juices now coated his balls, which swung against her swollen lips with wet smacks. No fuck had ever been better. And he was nowhere near done.
Once again his balls tightened. “Come again, dammit.” He slammed into her over and over, repeating the command until with a small scream her cunny greedily grabbed his prick. With a grunt, he shot his seed inside her pulsing channel.