Authors: Selena Kitt
"Stop."
Claudia froze, her eyes wide, his cock
motionless between her lips.
"You call that sucking?"
Henry asked. "I guess if you want a job done right, you still have to do
it yourself."
With that, he grasped the rear of
Claudia's head with both hands and shoved his cock beyond her mouth and into
her throat, triggering her gag reflex in a most audible fashion.
"That's right," he said.
"If you can't suck a cock properly, you can choke on one properly instead.
I don't feel your tongue. If you want to remain my patient, you'll have to do
much better than this!"
Claudia's eyes watered, but remained
wide and bright as she began rubbing her tongue along the underside of the
doctor's shaft. She continued to gaze upward even as he began to fuck her face.
After less than a minute Dr. Stuart released the grip on his patient's head.
"Now," Henry said in a
whisper. "See if you can suck it right."
Claudia resumed her efforts, once
again caressing the crown of Henry's cock before devouring it, pushing this
most sensitive area across her tongue to the soft cradle at the back of the
roof of her mouth. Her cheeks puffed and shrank in rapid succession as she drew
upon his shaft.
"Yeah," Henry moaned.
"Suck it good and hard, just like that. I'm about to give you a nice
reward, but don't you dare consume it until I give you permission."
Claudia somehow managed a smile when
his cock began to throb between her lips. Her eyelids fluttered and she emitted
a low, "Mmmmm," as the rhythmic streams of semen began to fill her
mouth.
"That's a good slut," Henry
said. "Oh, God, you are good. Keep it up, just like that."
Looking up into his eyes, she
continued to suckle, all the while emitting sharp moans with each fresh spurt.
She slowed her efforts in time while his waning climax until she sat motionless
with his slowly shrinking member resting on her semen-soaked tongue. She
allowed his slowly shrinking cock to slip from her lips only when he withdrew
it.
Her eyes followed the filament that
stretched from her lips to his cock head until it snapped, then she cast her
eyes again to his, her cheeks puffed wide with the bounty they contained.
"Open wide," Henry demanded.
"Show it to me."
Claudia threw her head back. With her
face pointed skyward, she opened her mouth, exposing the creamy white substance
that filled most of the interior.
"Swish it around with your
tongue," Henry ordered. He smiled as he watched the woman comply.
"You really are beautiful with a mouthful of sperm," he whispered.
"I suppose you've earned a tiny reward. Go ahead, do yourself. You may
swallow when you come."
Claudia's fingers shot to the warmth
between her tight and trembling thighs. There she stroked herself for less than
a minute before a hot tremor spread outward from her loins throughout her form.
A warm wetness surged past her fingers, soaking both flesh and cloth. She
closed her mouth and gulped, beaming as the slimy substance began to ease down
her throat, leaving but a sticky residue behind for her to savor. Her eyes
brightened still further at the exact moment her neck expanded, passing in one
pulse what his cock had delivered in many. She then threw her mouth wide for
his inspection, all the while never breaking eye contact.
Henry turned away at once, fastening
his trousers as he walked to his desk. "Get dressed and get out," he
commanded without looking back. "Call me tomorrow evening at seven-thirty
sharp. I must consider if you are worthy of being my patient."
Dr. Stuart stood at his desk as
Claudia dressed behind him. Not once did he even give her so much as a glance.
"Thank you, Doctor," she
offered in a soft tone. With a spread palm holding her blouse together, she
turned and headed for the exit.
Henry did not move until he heard the
click of the outer door. Only then did he dare relax. Releasing a long breath,
he headed the couch, but had not taken two steps before he stopped with his
attention on the place where the young woman had knelt only minutes before. He
walked to a dark spot almost the diameter of a basketball.
Dr. Stuart dropped to his hands and
knees. Putting his face to the floor, he inhaled a deep breath, imagining the
not-so-distant future when he would sample her flavor firsthand.
About Penelope Street
The middle child of three born
to a career soldier, Penny followed her father and older brother, enlisting in
the military, where she met her husband. The birth of their daughter compelled
Penny to leave active duty as a soldier for the even more active duty of being
a mom. Though their marriage would not last, the couple parted as, and has
remained, friends. Penny currently lives in the American Midwest with her
partner of a dozen years. With her daughter now in college, she has time for
her leisure pursuits, including writing, quilting, and not cleaning the
windows.
By Erin O’Riordan
Peter Thackeray LeBon was in London on business. He hadn’t wanted to stay the extra day; he hated to leave Emily alone
in the manor house with only the servants and the children to look after her. A
man in his position had certain responsibilities, however, and the foremost of
these was to keep the investors happy. When Geoffrey Liston, the owner of
LeBon’s ship the
Atlantick Pearl
, told LeBon to meet him and a couple of
investors over ale at the public house that evening, LeBon was in no position
to say no.
He glanced at them as they walked
through the door, the motley group of fancy whores. Women like them were
fixtures at the public houses these days. The women shared a table across from
LeBon, Liston, and the investors. LeBon ignored them and went back to business.
The laughter of one of the whores
caught his attention. He looked across the table at her. She was an African
woman dressed in a billowing gown of white silk. An African whore was not so
uncommon in London, but LeBon knew this particular woman. Her name was Badhu,
and she was something far more sinister than a common streetwalker.
His eyes fixed on the woman seated
across from Badhu, a woman with a black silk shawl across her back like a
Spanish lady. She was a European, tall and deeply tanned, with black hair than
curled over her shoulders and down her back.
He knew who she was, and why she wore
the shawl on such a hot summer night. The shawl hid the tattoo that covered her
back. Were she to drop her shawl, LeBon’s companions would instantly recognize
her from the posters that papered the waterfront. Her name was Rachel Templin,
but she was more commonly known as Raven. The image of a great raven was
tattooed on her back, its wings reaching nearly to her breasts, at least in the
imagination of the artist who created the posters.
LeBon knew the mark of the raven
intimately. It was branded on his back, thanks to an encounter with Raven
Templin aboard the
Pearl
.
The
Pearl
was a slaver,
and everyone knew that the pirate Raven Templin detested slavery. She and her
crew— all women—had attacked a dozen British, Spanish and Portuguese slavers
over the years. When she took the
Pearl
, she left LeBon the only
survivor. She flogged and branded him before letting him go on a small island
in the Canaries, instructing him to warn the others.
Liston knew that the
Pearl
had
been taken by pirates, and all the African captives set free. LeBon hadn’t
mentioned Raven’s name. The thought of everyone knowing how he’d been
humiliated by a woman was too much to bear. Instead, LeBon had described to
Liston a terrifying attack by
male
pirates.
“LeBon,” the
Pearl
’s owner
said, slapping LeBon on the back, “are you quite all right?”
“Yes,” LeBon said. “Forgive my
wandering attention. It’s only that . . . that whore looks so familiar.”
The investors laughed. “They all look
familiar after a while, don’t they?” one of them jested.
He could have exposed her. He could
have had her arrested right there in the pub and seen her hanged in the public
square by the time he returned home to Emily. But quickly it dawned on LeBon
that this was not what he wanted. He had other, more private humiliations in
mind for the woman who’d flogged and branded him.
LeBon kept silent while the investors
drank another round, then bid them and Liston goodnight. Only when he was alone
did LeBon approach the women. He saw a flicker of recognition on Badhu’s face
as he walked up behind Raven and put his hand on her shoulder.
He leaned in low to whisper in Raven’s
ear. “I know who you are,” he said. “I’ll see you hanged from the gibbet,
Templin.”
“Sir,” she cried out in
mock-indignation. “To say such things to a lady.” Her English was perfect, but
her accent was deep. LeBon didn’t know where she was from, but it was certainly
somewhere in the Slavic countries. Like many things about her, the place where
Raven came from was a mystery.
The other women tittered. LeBon’s face
flushed. “I haven’t forgotten what you’ve done to me,” he told her.
She arched her eyebrows. “And I
suppose you’ve forgotten what’s become of the men and women you sell as slaves.
Have I done you a greater wrong than you’ve done them?”
Without thinking of what he was doing,
LeBon took hold of Raven roughly by the arm. The other women at the table
reached into their garters and boots and drew out daggers.
Raven shook her head and waved her
hands. “There’s no need for that, ladies,” she said. “The gentleman and I are
just having a conversation. Perhaps we should continue this conversation in
private, Captain LeBon.”
Badhu said a few words to Raven in a
language that LeBon couldn’t understand, and Raven answered her.
She strode over to LeBon’s table. Her
long skirts flowed behind her. LeBon had to admit that Raven looked almost
elegant. He’d never seen her in women’s clothes before. Aboard ship, Raven and
her pirates dressed as men. Staring at her long, lean body, he almost forgot
his purpose.
“Perhaps you and I could come to an
agreement,” Raven said, sitting down in the seat Liston had vacated. “Surely
there’s something you want, other than my public execution?”
She reached for her purse, stuffed
with coins. She had more money with her than a real prostitute would have seen
in a month. It was more than LeBon routinely carried. He thought of the vessel
it must have been plundered from, and found himself filled with anger.
“I don’t want your money,” he said.
“There must be something,” she
repeated, almost pleading. He looked into her eyes. He remembered those
brown-black eyes from that terrible time aboard the
Pearl
,
and
felt only the vaguest sympathy for her. He knew her to be a wicked woman, and
he would see her punished, one way or another.
“All I want,” he said, leaning in
across the table, “other than your violent end, is your utter humiliation at my
hands.”
She thought for a moment, glancing
over at the other women. “You would have me be your slave,” she said, “And for
this, I have your assurance that my companions and I will leave this place?”
He sneered. “You have my word as a
gentleman.”
“Safely?”
“Relatively,” he said. “I won’t turn
you over to the hangman.”
“Go to the barman,” she said, “and
arrange for us to have a room upstairs. I must make plans to meet my ladies afterward.”
“Tell them you’ll see them in the
morning.”
She nodded. He tried to read the look
on her face just before she turned away. It seemed for a moment that she was
frightened, but in the next instant she looked rather excited. Almost hopeful.
LeBon wondered what the pirate had up her sleeve.
***
The room was small and dirty. There
were no windows. The only light was from two small candles on the wall. The
barman lit them before disappearing down the stairs. Raven listened to his
heavy footsteps retreating as LeBon locked the door.
Raven felt her heart hammering in her
chest. She was aware of every sensation in her body, from the tightness of her
corset to the hairs standing up on the back of her neck. LeBon seemed to be
aware of her heightened state of attention.
“Are you frightened of me, Templin?”
The thought was so ridiculous she
wanted to laugh out loud. Raven Templin hadn’t been afraid of anything since
she was seventeen years old. But she’d placed herself under LeBon’s control, at
least for the night, and she would have him think that he was truly in control.
Raven would never forget the face of
one of the African women she and her crew had rescued from the
Pearl
that night. She seemed at first to be wearing a mask. Up close,
however, Raven saw that the woman’s face had been lined with deep scars. Using
Badhu as a translator, Raven had asked the woman if LeBon’s crew did this to
her.
“No,” the woman had said through
Badhu. “I did this to myself, praying to the gods that they would find me too ugly
and not take me. These men are not human.”
Raven pushed the thought from the
front of her mind. Peter Thackeray LeBon was wicked and cruel, to be sure. But
his wickedness was perfectly human. Like all human beings, he had weaknesses
that could be exploited. Raven could easily have killed him in that room. Just
like her companions, Raven kept a dagger hidden in her boot. But Raven knew
something else about LeBon, something perhaps he didn’t even know himself.
She knew that he didn’t really want to
hurt her. She could see it in his eyes. The night that she flogged him on the
deck of her ship, the
Radiant Maiden
, there had been a look of pure
hatred his clear blue eyes. That look had been replaced.
Raven stood in the middle of the
floor, inches away from the ragged bed. LeBon walked up to her slowly, never
letting his eyes off of her.
“Your boots,” he said. “Take them
off.”
Her first instinct was to refuse.
Raven never took her boots off; she even slept in them. Her dagger was her last
line of defense. Without it, she felt intolerably vulnerable. She said nothing,
but stood in stoney silence.
LeBon took off his vest and shirt. He
stood with his back to Raven, making sure that she could see the brand that
she’d ordered placed on his back years ago.
“Do you remember that night, Templin?”
he asked. “After your crew branded me, and before they flogged me, what did you
order me to do?”
She remembered. Despite the horrific
pain of the branding, he’d had the same attitude of arrogant hatred as before.
Most men broke down and vowed never to practice slave trading again before they
even smelled the burning-hot iron. Not LeBon.
“I said that I would be the master of
you,” she said, “I ordered you to kneel and kiss my boot.”
He nodded. The heat in this tiny,
filthy room reminded him of the heat of the Canaries. He felt the sweat
starting to roll down his back. Raven looked uncomfortably hot as well, giving
LeBon the feeling that he and Raven had both gone back there in their minds.
“That’s right,” he said. “And I refused.”
“You were full of pride,” she said.
“Too true,” he said. “I was full of
pride, just as you are now. Take off your boots.”