Ten Days at Sea

Eventually, she pulled his dick from her mouth, grinned up at him and said, "Been a while for you, has it, sailor?"

Not trusting himself to speak, he just nodded.

"Well, imagine how it's been for me. Months on my own, and then thinking I was going to die at sea. Look at this as a celebration of life."

And with that, she engulfed his member again, going back to town on it.

Brett sucked in a breath again. He wasn't going to last long at this rate...

Knowing how bad etiquette it was to just blast into a partner's mouth with no warning -- no matter how enthusiastic they might be -- so he groaned, and did his best to push her back a bit when he started feeling the tightening indicative of his balls. Gently, trying to lift her off, she backed off, wiping her lips with the back of her hand.

"Yummy," she sparkled.

"Yes, thanks, that..."

Before he was able to get a complete sentence out, she rolled on her back, spread her legs and said, "Now, I have a fire here, and I need you in there, now. Show me what you've got, sailor boy. It's been months and I need to put out this fire. And you're elected."

A confusing mismatch of idioms, but she made her point very eloquently. Part of Brett's mind recognized that this was almost certainly a delayed reaction to the situation she'd been in. While she had a stiff upper British lip, it couldn't help but affect her, and her present desire was without doubt a result of an emotional reaction.

But, while that was echoing at the back of his brain, at the front of it was a hot woman demanding him to satisfy her. A woman he really really liked. Sooooo...

Without thinking any more, he leaned forward, and guided his rock-hard cock into her willing and very wet folds. She moaned as he pushed in, and sank deep into her, and he let go of a breath he didn't know he was holding.

Fiona moaned again, then pushed back. She felt like liquid fire around his cock -- he'd never been with a woman with such internal heat before, and it was an amazing sensation.

Slowly, he started to stroke it in and out, longer and deeper, each stroke. He looked down at Fiona, and saw she had her eyes open, staring back at him, face creased in pleasure, mouth in a round open shape, lips pursed, her eyelids fluttering each time he pushed into her.

"Harder," she cried, arching her back and offering herself up to him even more.

Both realized this was not love making. This was lust. Passion. Raw desire. Need. On both their parts. Neither was reading more into this than what was there at that moment. They both needed this, and by god, they were going to get it.

Brett also realized that, at this point, he wasn't going to last long. He just wanted to be sure she got off first.

Luckily, he picked up on her movements -- she was arching as he pushed in, and he reached around and starting rubbing his thumb across her clit, lightly touching it on the out stroke, and pushing hard on the in stroke.

Fiona now was reduced to guttural moans, and she started trembling, her moans getting higher and her breathing getting shorter, her face and upper chest flushed red.

"Hard, please, harder. I need..." She moaned, her head lolling to one side, and one hand grabbed and pinched her breasts, going back and forth, pinching a nipple and then rubbing them.

Six more thrusts and she was there. Her body arched, she cried out, a long cry of, "Oh, oh ooohhhh!" and then she fell back, his cock still firmly embedded and her trembling like a leaf.

Her breathing slowly returned to normal and she looked up at him, sly smile on her face.

"Oh, Christ, I needed that. I almost never come that way."

A strange thing to share at that precise moment, but Brett gave her a moment to subside, and then started again, slowly, long powerful strokes, pushing her legs up and wide, to give him more access.

"Oh you... oh I..." she murmured, and he started to increase the pace. Her breathing, again, started to get labored, and it was clear she was on her way to second orgasm. Brett counted himself lucky -- he'd never had a multi-orgasmic woman before, this was a first for him. He was wondering if he could orchestrate it so they came together, when Fiona came to his aid, putting her own finger on her clit, while he pounded away.

"Oh yes, come for me, big boy. Fill my pussy. I want to feel you spurt." The dirty talk, in the passion of the moment, from a refined British accent was enough to spur him on. He pounded and banged, the sweat starting to drip down his forehead, an expression of determination and power on his face.

Fiona started to writhe again under him, pushing herself forward, saying phrases like "More", "Fuck me", "Push that hard cock into this dirty pussy", evidently getting as much off it herself as he was.

And, inevitably, he felt it start, the moment the muscles start to contract, the loss of control, the heady feeling of ejaculation, and he just spurted into her, the ropes of cum throbbed out, time and again. He felt her also arch, her fingers moving furiously, as she rode her climax to its conclusion at the same time. Another first for Brett, a simultaneous orgasm.

He sat back on his hunches, his cock still engorged, and pointing obscenely at the ceiling, as it pulled out of Fiona.

She stopped writhing and her breathing slowly subsided, as did his.

And then the awkwardness began, as the realization of what he'd just done set in. She was married. He'd made her cheat. She belonged to someone else. And he'd just had sex with her. Unprotected. Jesus. Unprotected at that. Christ almighty, how stupid could he be? He was better than this. But something about this woman... something made him lose control.

He looked down at her, hoping she wasn't watching the expressions march across his face.

She was looking at him, with much the same kind of facial expression revealing the same kinds of thoughts.

Well, fuck.

How does a guy extricate himself from a situation like this? Without it being awkward, and he did have to basically be her companion for the rest of the time on the ship?

One thing was for sure -- he couldn't presume on her. She obviously had her own demons to work out, and his presence was not the thing for that.

When she sat and thought about it, she'd be so pissed at him for taking advantage, he just...needed to give her space.

"I...Um..." he stuttered, not knowing the right thing to say.

"Oh, it's fine. More than fine," she murmured, languidly.

"Look, I think I need to go. I think... Yes. Look, lets um... just... talk later. Or something."

He was totally falling over his own words. He needed to get out. He'd just done something utterly reprehensible, and she was going to realize it. God knows what the captain was going to say, once she told him.

Gathering up his clothes, he pulled on his pants, and stumbled out the cabin door, the light outside hurting his eyes.

Good thing his cabin was only a few doors away -- less chance of seeing any of the crew seeing him as they wandered off to the refectory for lunch. Lunch! Was it only lunch time? Jesus.

He got his door open, leapt in and slammed the door behind him, leaning against the door and breathing heavily.

Brett looked at his enrapt audience. He had very definitely toned down most of the recounting of the actual sex event. They didn't need to hear about their mother in that way. He had stumbled over his words, tried to choose the least offensive way of telling them he had ravaged their mother, and worst still, she had encouraged it and enjoyed the hell out it. There are some things kids do not need to know about their parents' lives.

Amelia leaned back and glanced at Bradly, smiling widely. "Well, go Mum! Woo!"

Bradly scowled at her, "Really Milly?"

"Oh, come on. Did you imagine for a second mother had it in her? So to speak," she chuckled at her own witticism. "I mean, let's face it. Mum is not the most passionate of women. Sensible, yes. Sometimes she goes outside her comfort zone -- very occasionally, like the calendar thing -, but she is calm and collected about it. Duty first, how many times had we heard that Brad? This..." she said, gesturing at Brett. "This is like someone else entirely."

"Look..." Brett was hesitant about continuing.

"So, you'd wimped out, Mum was wiped out, you scuttled away, to...what, consider your navel? What happened next?" Amelia leaned forward, elbows on knees, hands cupping her chin, eyes sparkling.

She glanced up at Bradly, who shrugged, holding up his bottle of beer, gesturing for Brett to continue.

Brett sat in his cabin, after taking a quick shower in the utilitarian shower unit, and dressing in a fresh uniform, such as it was. Then he sat and thought, staring at a glass of water on his table.

This was not who he was. He was a merchant sailor, and while they were mostly a pretty unethical lot, he'd tried his best to retain principles. He didn't fuck whores, he didn't gamble, and most of all, he didn't screw married women. Particularly -- and this bit was crucial -- not minor members of the British Aristocracy, who were married to Dukes.

But he had. He'd let his dick do the thinking and now, here he was. And with no protection. For all he knew, she was over there, ovulating! Oh fuck. When it rained, it poured.

What to do. Did he go tell the Captain? Get out ahead of it? What if she complained? I mean, he had taken advantage. Hadn't he? That massage... well, yeah, it was foreplay. He hadn't really thought about it, but now... she'd been at sea, for months, alone. Of course it was foreplay. Jesus. What a mess.

And then there was a knock at the door. Fuck. First mate, come to clap him irons? What?

He answered the door, and was surprised to see Fiona leaning against the door. Just like first thing that morning, what seemed like all those weeks ago.

"Well, sailor. Going to invite a girl in?" she asked, a one-sided smile on her face.

What? Yes, of course. It wouldn't do for any of the crew to wander by with her standing outside.

"Oh course. Yes, come on..."

She walked in, swinging what appeared to be a six pack of beer. Where had she gotten that?

"I managed to persuade Pierre to give this up," she said, holding up the six pack. "Don't ask me what I had to do to get him to let go of it. Let's just say, he no longer has to wonder what both royal boobs look like..."

"Look... Fiona. I think I need...we need..."

"What you need, young man, is a beer. God knows I do. Thirsty work, all that working out, yes?"

She handed him a can, with its ring pull that came off the can, and sat back in his bunk, popping one open for herself.

"Ahhh... first beer in months. Lovely," she sighed, after taking a deep draft. "Wonderful stuff. I can appreciate this. A gift from Hugh..."

After taking another draft, and looking at him speculatively, she then chided him, "Oh, come on, Brett. Open a beer. Live a little. It won't kill you. A little celebration of life." That phrase again.

He looked at his beer. Heineken. He remembered Pierre buying four cases of it at their last stop off -- he doubted much remained of it. Shrugging, he popped his open can, and sat down at his small desk, tipping the can at Fiona in salute.

"Look, you ran off. To be honest, I fell asleep for a bit. I didn't really know what to say after... that. But... we need to talk. I think you are beating yourself up a bit unnecessarily, Brett. I came after you. Granted, that massage was a great opening gambit, but I came after you. Don't forget that. Your virtue is intact, such as it is," she smiled broadly at the last statement.

"That doesn't really make it okay, Fiona. You are married." Brett replied, somewhat emphatically.

"Oh, is that what you are worried about?" she replied, nonchalantly. "Brett, do you have any idea how the British royals work? How the establishment perpetuates? Ever heard the phrase 'arranged marriages'?"

"What?" asked Brett, sitting up straight at the thought. "This is the 1980s. Almost the 1990s! That doesn't happen anymore."

Fiona laughed -- a tinkling laugh, Brett couldn't help but notice. Her neck arched as she threw her head back and it was really attractive and FOR GODS SAKE GET A HOLD OF YOURSELF, MAN!

"Yes, well, if you really believe that, I have a bridge I'd quite like to sell you," she quipped back.

"Look, there's this thing where I come from called The Duty. It's imprinted on all Royals from an early age. We live a life of privilege -- land, money, publicity, some notoriety. It's all there. But, the other side of that bargain is The Duty. All capitals, I'm afraid. We have to be above the herd. We have to be unimpeachable in our behavior. We have to be available to act as heralds. We have to open fetes and bazars and have the photographers follow us around. We have to be what the tourists come to see, and keep our stately homes working and provide fodder for the tabloids. We don't have a choice about it -- you don't get to just walk away. You're born into it, and you don't get any other choice. Lots of choices are taken from you. I can't just marry anyone -- it has to be acceptable to the court. Yes, it's all very medieval, but it's still there. The United Kingdom never killed off all their nobility, like France did, so it's all still there, traditions galore, no matter how stupid they are in today's world."

She took another drink, and carried on, face creased with emphasis.

"I mean look at Diana. I know her personally -- she's the patron to the charity I was actually doing my little jaunt in my boat for. HeadWay -- it's a charity for those with head injuries. She and I have worked together more than once. But did Charles want to marry her? Well, sure, but she certainly wasn't his first choice. He wanted some other little number -- Camilla Shand -- now Parker Bowles. She was always his first choice. But the Queen wouldn't have it. As Dad would say, 'common as muck.' She was a commoner, and just declared 'not suitable' by the palace, and that was that. He had to be married to someone of his station, and Diana fit the bill. She's not wildly happy in her marriage, I can tell you, but that has more to do with how she seems to think the entire world is some Mills and Boon romance novel, and reality, well, it doesn't really measure up. She's had her little flings too, of that there is no doubt.

"But the point is, I'm not particularly free to marry for love. I mean, I'm not forced into something against my will, just... my options are limited. Daddy more or less selected Eric for me. There was a selection of about ten gentlemen that were deemed acceptable to carry on the dukedom, and Eric was about the best of all of them. After Hugh, well... I just went with the program, I'm afraid."

"Hugh?"

"Oh Hugh..." she replied, having another swig and then sighing. "Love of my life he was. I mean, no question of marrying him, unfortunately. That would have given Daddy a coronary, much less mother having a stroke. But Hugh was dashing. He had the gift of the gab that one. Taught me all about the mysteries of love. And cricket. He did love his cricket, did Hugh."

She looked off in to the distance, seeing the past and reveling in it.

"He was such fun. A real ladies' man before me, so I'm told. He and I were inseparable. I could see Mummy and Daddy getting more and more uncomfortable about it all. If they only knew what he taught me in the stables... and then... it all came to an end."

She came back from the past and then looked back at me. "We were due to have the week together. He was dropping some plans at the office -- he was an architect, don't you know? Anyway, he was happy about our upcoming week, drove too fast, came around a corner and his little Ford Escort smashed headlong into a lorry coming the opposite direction. He was in a coma for months, and eventually came out of it with rather a lot of brain damage. He never lived alone again, and died about three years later, of influenza. The charity that helped him was HeadWay, and it was for them that I was doing the globe circumnavigation. It was to raise funds for them. I had over half a million all set to be raised, although who knows what will happen now, after recent events."

She sighed, then patted the bunk next to her, indicating that Brett should join her. After a quick mental debate, he did.

"Anyhoo, the point is, my marriage was rather arranged. Eric is not a bad sort. He's Okay. More concerned about the ancestral home and the grounds than me, most of the time, to be honest. It's not like it's any great passionate love affair, but we are British. We just get on with it, rather. It's more business partnership than anything. We are more companions than lovers, if you understand? We share a bed but the wifely duty -- you've heard the expression 'lay back and think of England', yes? Well, it's more accurate than you'd think."

They both had another draft of the slightly warming up beer, and then she said, thoughtfully.

"Don't imagine you are getting in the way of a cosmic marriage Brett. I spoke to Eric the other night as well as Daddy. You know what he wanted to know? What bloody aquarium fish food we use, because he needed to replace it. That was it. He made a few noises like 'Oh, I'm glad you are alright' and then launched into asking questions about the damn household. That's my husband. Daddy was more concerned about my health than my husband was. He never even asked if I was injured. He wanted to know where the insurance information for the boat was."

She stopped talking for a moment, breathing heavily, clearly angry. She calmed down a bit, and carried on.

"We are miles from anywhere, and whatever happens here, stays here. I've been on a boat for months, alone, and I thought I was going to die. I'm sure that what we did today was a reaction to that, and it's not like I'm here for the next great love affair, Okay? Take a load off your mind. It's all just good clean sweaty fun. No wronged husband is going to come looking for you, with a loaded blunderbuss. I'm certainly not going to worry about it, and neither should you. I'm a big girl and I'm not about to fall in love with you, and you aren't going to fall in love with me, either," she said, patting his hand.

Famous last words.

And then she kissed him. She didn't hesitate, just grabbed his head in both hands and kissed him, hard. And despite all his internal decisions, Brett kissed her right back.

And then they were suddenly naked again, and this time, they both took their time. This time, Brett explored her, delighting in making her quiver or moan or breath harder. She took him on a guided tour of her body, and he was only too happy to explore.

This time, she looked into his eyes as he drove her to the edge, several times. This time was for her, but in a decidedly different fashion than from before. This time, she kissed him repeatedly as he looked in her eyes as he drove his steel rod cock into her willing wet hole. This time, she held herself off, barely, so she could coincide her last orgasm with his, and when done, covered him with kisses, before dissolving gently into tears. He held her as the pressures of the past weeks came due, smothering her head with his hands, caressing her and telling her repeatedly, it was going to be alright.

This time, they made love.

And when they were done, they fell asleep, still entangled, sweaty bodies stuck together, breathing hard, and for once, Fiona did believe it was going to be alright.

They slept through the night together, and Brett woke early, gently disentangling himself, smiling as a sleeping Fiona muttered to herself, blearily looking around in a sleep deprived fashion, and instantly falling back to sleep again. He dressed, and wandered off to the galley to gather breakfast, ignoring the jibes from his shipmates. They couldn't possibly know that their good-natured pokes at him, asking if his charge slept heavy or not, were actually squarely on the money, and he wasn't about to enlighten them.