The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 12

Oh shite! He could not take the torture anymore...he was beside himself with his craving for her. It had been so long since his body had had any relief...over a month ago, the last time he and Anya had fucked, before they had arrived in Toronto. He popped open the top buttons of the drawers, shoved them down to his clenched thighs, and wrapped his hand round his engorged organ.

Leaning closer, endeavoring not the wake her with his breath, he inhaled deeply as he stared into her cunny. At first, he detected only the faint scent of soap, but as he lowered his head even more and concentrated his nose between her thighs, he scented her female essence and felt the answering surge of his body. His hand jerked up and down upon his cockhead. Gaping at her exposed flower, tugging upon his cock, and trying to smother the sounds of his panting, he was lost in the enchantment of three inches of pink, female flesh, how they could render him speechless and reduce his body to that of a rutting beast. Oh how he longed to grasp her arse cheeks in his large hands and spread her open so that his eyes could plunder her most secret, primal femaleness.

Anya sighed softly in her sleep and shifted slightly, drawing her bent knee closer to her chest. Her cleft opened further, causing her inner cunny lips to softly part, revealing the shadowed groove between, and baring her wee anal twinkle full proper. Oh love! The revelation of her bottom hole --- this aperture that in men and beasts was merely the inspiration for profanity and comedy, but when nestled between the supple buttocks of a bonnie lass was so bewitching and such a source of lewd fascination. His fist stroked faster.

He felt his ballocks tightening as his eyes shifted back and forth between her cunny and her anus, lost in the miraculous feat of how these delicate orifices, each so small and snug, had obscenely stretched to take in his robust organ --- remembering the incomparable sight of each thus impaled...the reddened ring of her taut sphincter, the straining lips of her cunny...his shiny organ stroking in and out...Anya, Anya...his free hand fumbled in a drawer for a handkerchief at the sensation of his fast approaching climax. And the sweet pinnacle of it all --- the rapture of making her spend...the feel of each of her channels spasming in pleasure round his cock. Oh lass, I'm going to...as if in communion with his thoughts, Anya moved in her sleep, snuggling her chest closer to the mattress and arching her bottom up with a faint sigh...he saw the aft-most portion of her cunny and her bottom hole give a soft squeeze...Oh God! Thick spurts of spunk spilled from his jerking cock and filled the handkerchief.

His chest heaved as he strained to keep silent, and his eyes closed in the aftermath of release. He heard the pounding of his heart. When he opened his eyes, he realized that a shot of spunk had missed the handkerchief and landed plumb upon her upper buttock. His panting mouth agape, he stared hypnotized at the thick, pearly glob trembling upon the brink of the cleft, then watched it slide slowly down towards her anus. When it touched the periphery of the delicate, radiating folds, the tickle made the little pucker flinch, and with the movement, her wee hole seemed to sip up his sperm. Now the tiny central dimple was filled with spunk, and a portion of the folds was blurred over. Another droplet oozed down and took refuge between her slightly parted cunny lips.

'Twas a delightful sight, the two shimmering streaks of his love balm stretching from her cheek to her arsehole and cunny. He sighed happily. She had slept through his frigging, but he dared not try to wipe away the evidence. Leaving her otherwise as he had found her, he stealthily pulled the covers back over her bottom. Tugging his drawers up, he gathered his clothes and boots and went to the main cabin.

He sat upon the cockpit coaming with a mug of tea, absorbing the beauty of the early morning sun and cool fall air. It had been a long time since his body felt at ease, but despite it, he even now felt the persistent agitation in his heart and mind. He longed for more --- to sport with her full measure...to kiss, to fondle, to lick, to penetrate...aye...to feel her die away in pleasure.

Gazing out over the little town in whose harbor the Selkie was currently anchored, Liam noticed the town square facing the water. He was struck with the notion that he would like to make Anya a special breakfast --- it had been a while since they had had some fresh provisions. He gulped down the rest of his tea, left a note for her upon the chart table, and rowed ashore in the dinghy. He kept his eye upon the Selkie as he walked round the square making purchases of fresh eggs, milk, cheese, bread, apple cider, and wild mushrooms, and put them in his rucksack.

The window of a small shop after the market caught his eye; it appeared to sell woolen goods, and the display in the window included a sweater whose intricate cable patterns reminded him of the garments Irish women knit. He ventured inside, where the friendly proprietress immediately approached him with an enthusiastic stream of French. He didn't understand, but he let her guide him round the shop till he saw something that struck his fancy. 'Twas a pair of stockings, or more like very long socks, knit of fuzzy cream wool with the cable patterns running from toe to thigh. He smiled; they would help keep Anya's legs warm as the weather grew colder. The lady wrapped them up for him.

Heading back to the landing dock he was confronted with a sight that rooted him in place: a young lad sitting upon a bench with a basket full of kittens. "Voudriez-vous acheter un chaton, monsieur?" the boy asked, standing up eagerly. Liam understood the gist of the question, if not the exact words. He recalled Anya's story of how her stepfather had killed her pet cat. He'd known of boats that had had pet dogs and sometimes cats, there be no reason why the Selkie couldn't have one. Selecting a grey and black striped kitten, he paid the lad, and gently tucked the squirming little creature inside his coat. He fetched the bailing bucket from the dinghy and filled it with sand from small beach adjacent to the dock.

Climbing back aboard the Selkie, he found Anya dressed and sitting in the cockpit with the sketch book. He flipped up the collar of the pea coat to hide the kitten's head peeking out. "Good morning, lass," he said, stepping into the cockpit. When her big brown eyes lifted to his, he felt the heat rising in his cheeks as he remembered how less than two hours ago, he had frigged to the sight of her bare bottom. He cleared his throat. "I have a surprise for ye, Anya." She looked confused. "Close your eyes." She searched his face. "Go on then, close them." She complied, her lovely face raised towards him. What he truly desired to do was to bend and kiss those sweet lips, but instead he opened his coat and lifted out the wriggling, mewling kitten and set it upon her lap.

Her eyes flew open and she gaped at the kitten. "Oh!" she gasped, her face suddenly animated with delight. "Oh, how wonderful! What a dear kitty!" She pressed her knees together and reverently petted it. Then she scooped it up and cradled it to her bosom. Her eyes raised to Liam's; they were shining with tears. "Oh, thank you! Thank you!" Her voice was a mix of a sob and a laugh. He scuffed his boot self-consciously against the cockpit sole, sensing he had done well. "'Tis a fine one, then?" he asked. She laughed and hugged the kitten.

"Is it a boy or a girl?" she asked.

"'Tis a boy." He cleared his throat again. "I'll get breakfast round, then." As he prepared omelets in the galley, he could see her up in the cockpit playing with her new pet, and hear her chattering to it. He grinned, happy at her joy, happy at the thought of his secret gifts upon her little lass holes. And when, instead of picking at her breakfast, she ate it with enthusiasm and more 'thank yous,' that made him happier still.

"Can ye tear yourself away from thon cat long enough to help me weigh anchor?" he teased after breakfast had been cleared. She placed the kitten in the main cabin and came topsides to hold the wheel as he raised the sails and hauled up the anchor, as had become their routine. During the sail, at her inquiry, he pointed her to a bag of rags. She began cutting strips of fabric from one. "What are ye making?" he asked.

"A harness for the cat, so he doesn't fall overboard."

"A harness for a cat! By Christ, that be a new one! Just let him fall in once, and he'll learn soon enough to stay upon deck, so he will."

"Will you fetch him out of the water when he falls in?" her brown eyes were all innocence.

He considered the cold water round them. "A harness for a cat --- 'tis a grand idea."

Throughout the day she worked upon the harness, folding the strips up and sewing them into bands, and intermittently going below to check upon the cat. Between tacks and consulting the chart, Liam passed the time in pleasurable contemplation of her, thinking on her cunny and bottom hole, wondering if the spunk was still visible. He pondered on the erotic squeezing motion they had made just before he spent --- of what had she been dreaming? Or had it merely been involuntary?

By and by he asked her what name she had given the kitten.

"I think his name is Oliver," she said, looking up from her sewing.

"Nay, lass," he said shaking his head solemnly. "Not that. There canna be any creature named Oliver aboard this boat."

She stopped short with the needle, looking uncomprehendingly at him, clearly unsure whether or not he was teasing her. "Why not?"

"Do ye ken who Oliver Cromwell was?"

"I heard of him in school," she responded warily.

He proceeded to acquaint her with some of Ireland's history --- in particular, Cromwell's rape of his homeland. She listened attentively, her eyes wide. After some time, she said softly, "Oh."

That evening as he worked in the galley, she approached holding the kitten against her chest. "Orville?" she asked hesitantly.

He smiled at her. "Orville it is. Ye like a name with an O at the start, so I see."

She shrugged at little, petting the little furry head. "When I look at him an O seems proper."

He nodded, thinking on the way her mouth looked when she spent. "Aye, 'tis a right proper letter."

*****

The kitten effected a transformation upon Anya. No longer was she a wandering, listless shell; now her soul seemed re-united with her body. Her eyes, when she looked at Liam, appeared to actually focus upon him, and her ears to full hear his voice. One of her first actions was to ask for Liam's help in building a sandbox for the kitten; he was already thinking on the matter, and he brought out scraps of wood and his tools. Together they sat upon the foredeck and he took her through the construction. The finished box was filled with sand and placed in the unused forward cabin. Anya pulled out a lower drawer in the cabin and lined it with rags for a bed. Next they looked through the galley to assess what they might feed him.

She completed the harness and one day brought Orville on deck to try it. Liam found a thin rope for a leash and they let him explore the deck. Much of the time he spent tangling himself around objects or scuffling with the leash. Anya would untangle the leash and play with him, laughing and crawling round the deck with her fetching bum in the air.

Her appetite returned and with it the rosy bloom of her cheeks and sparkle in her eyes. 'Twas a joy to once again see her smile and hear her laugh. A couple of days after he had given her the cat, Anya appeared at the entrance to the galley as he was working on supper and asked if she might assist him. He gave her praties to peel. From then on, she worked beside him in the galley to prepare their meals.

She started to ask him questions about the boat, sitting in the cockpit with him as he held the wheel. "What is that?" was how it began one day as pointed at the boom vang. He told the name and explained what its function be. She asked about the reef lines and why the rope went so many times round the mainsheet blocks. The next day 'twas the harpoon log, and how the steering wheel made the boat turn --- and so it went. He enthusiastically expounded on the workings of the Selkie, his heart thrilling at the possibility that she might see herself in this life.

But while the restoration of her spirit be a blessing from providence, 'twas not complete. She remained shy of him, averting her eyes from his bare chest and his clinging drawers when he came to bed, and tensing when his touch ventured beyond her hand. Unchanged also was her scooting anxiously away from him should their bodies graze each other under the blankets. He continued the nightly ritual of reading to her, savoring the interludes when her slumber allowed him to feel her against him.

So the days passed; they continued up the Saint Lawrence, which had widened considerably after Quebec City. The Selkie made good progress with the outflowing current, and the weather held fair, indeed, unseasonably warm for late autumn. 'Twas nigh a week after he bought the cat that Anya joined him in the cockpit one morning, a most anxious air about her. "What is it, lass?" he asked immediately.

She responded not, but fidgeted with the hem of her coat, her eyes downcast.

"Is Orville sick?"

She shook her head, still not meeting his eyes.

"Are ye sick?"

Spots of color appeared upon her cheeks. "Can we go ashore, to a general store?" she asked in a hesitant voice.

"What is it, Anya? What do ye need?" he asked concerned.

Still no answer. He contemplated her downturned eyes and her blush, and had a dawning of understanding. "It is your monthlies?" he asked tenderly.

Her mouth fell open in astonishment. "How do you know about that?" she gasped.

He laughed, thinking her so very adorable in her embarrassment; that she should think he would be off-put by such a thing! "Oh me sweetheart," he chuckled, wanting to hug her. "Dinna forget that I'm a farm lad, and that I have two sisters. Ye need not be shamed of nature." She was blushing even more, and he squeezed her hand. "In the dinghy with ye, love. Let's go."

To shore they went. In the general store, he left her being attended by a young woman behind the counter as he went to the other side of the store and found cans of kerosene. He could hear her soft exchange with the clerk, and was surprised to realize that she was speaking French, apparently quite fluently. What a lot he didn't know about her!

Over the next week, as the Selkie approached the end of the river, he managed to learn a few details more about her. She was in general quite reticent, but did respond to his queries: her father's family was French, and her mother's Russian. Like himself, she had been raised in the Catholic church, but in answer to his curiosity about the current state of her religious beliefs, she was vague. He did not press her, as he ken that he himself would have difficulty with the question.

During the day, she worked upon her sketches, endeavoring to capture the beauty of the surroundings before the boat sailed by. In the evenings when he plotted the next day's sail, he now factored in the tide, which waxed ever stronger as they neared the Atlantic.

"How do you decide which course to take?" Anya asked, looking over his shoulder as he sat at the chart table. He described the rationale that included an estimate of how many nautical miles the boat could make in one day, the prevailing winds in the area, the tides, and what ports or anchorages were available. He turned to her as he talked, his legs right next to hers, hoping to entice her with a warm strong lap to sit upon as he showed her how he charted, but alas she remained standing. He was unprepared for her next question: "Is Boston upon the chart?" He flipped a few pages ahead and showed her. "How soon will we be there?" Disconcerted, he responded: "Nigh two weeks, I'd wager." He studied her face as she examined the chart, but her thoughts were unreadable. Was she so eager to be boarding a train away from him and the Selkie?

*****

The coming of night helped ease his agitation. Every day he looked forward to story time: 'twas the closest she allowed him and yet remained relaxed. The warm berth was an enchanted realm for Liam...side by side they be, their bodies so close, she in her delicate cotton nightgown, he in only his drawers...'twas so tender, yet so ripe with possibility. The night they reached the point at Gaspé --- poised to head out into the Gulf of Saint Lawrence proper the following day --- the enchantment played with him as he read. The story drifted into a dream in which he was sailing the Selkie upon a river inside the earth. The closer he sailed to the center, the hotter it became, till it seemed that the heat was licking over his body in long sinuous swaths.

Suddenly he felt the heat brushing over his cock, and within his dream he ken, with the bodily awareness peculiar to all who possess a penis, that said penis was being touched. He opened his eyes. So it was: unfortunately, 'twas clearly inadvertent. This time they both had fallen asleep, having slid down their pillows. Her head was upon his chest, his arm round her with his thumb still in the closed book. She slumbered, her breath tickling his chest, and her hand was in his lap, loosely cupping his organ, with his drawers between.

But 'twas all he needed...his cock stiffened, filling and widening the curve of her hand as the girth expanded. Sights and sensations came rushing back to him: her fascination that night so many weeks ago when he had first put her hand upon his cock...her eager efforts at frigging him the way he had demonstrated, her impulsive kissing and licking of his turgid crown. Now he stared mesmerized as the movement of their breathing shifted her light hand gently over him. Unless she wake and let nature take its course, he would either have to frig himself or find a less stimulating subject upon which to cogitate.

Setting the book down, he rose slightly and turned, his arms lifting her to the other pillow. She sighed. Lying beside her, his yearning organ grazing her thigh, he rested upon his elbow and looked down at her face. His free hand was tempted to stroke her hair; instead he rested it upon the mattress next to her far shoulder. In the lantern light, her white face shone so lovely with the contrast of the dark wings of her brows and her thick lashes. Her lips be like a split fig, so luscious and pink...bringing to mind her other luscious pink lips.

He was overcome with the desire to whisper certain words to her, but he spoke not, letting the magic stretch on. Then her eyes slowly opened; she gazed up at him, the tawny port of her irises aglow. For several hushed moments they stared at each other, their faces less than a foot apart. Then she turned her head slightly and saw the pillar of his forearm next to her. She hastily sat up, her forehead bumping his nose. "I...I need to use the commode," she stammered, slipping from the confining circle of his arms and out of the cabin.

He fell back upon his pillow and breathed into the tent of his palms to calm himself. When she returned, he let her in, and gave her the foot of separation between them that soothed her fears. The following morning, when Priapus paid his daily visit, Liam woke possessed of an idea. He slid out of the berth and quietly opened the bottom desk drawer to retrieve a cigar box. This and his clothes he took into the main cabin.

The box contained Franklin Webster's treasured mementos of his wife and son. When he had been alive, he had shown them to Liam as he reminisced about his family. Finding the box when the Selkie had become his, Liam safeguarded them in memory of his mentor. Inside, he unfolded a handkerchief and carefully searched through the objects till he found what he sought. He ken that Webster would approve of his idea. He gathered the tools he would need --- pliers, vise, sail needle, magnifying glass, and kerosene lantern --- and repaired to the cockpit.