The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 06

Liam gives Anya a lesson in the Gaelic tongue

*

Something was wrong. Liam started awake. 'Twas shortly after dawn and he knew not what was amiss: the bell was silent, there was no sound of wind in the rigging, and no sound of waves upon the hull.

Then suddenly he heard the soft breathing of someone in his cabin --- his head whipped round and there upon the pillow next to him was a dark head. Her! Anya! In a rush the previous night's events came back to him. His body lurched in elation, his morning stiffstander thrumming to full alert. She lay upon her side, facing away from him, asleep. His desire to take her in his arms forthwith fought with his sense of duty; at last he put duty first and slid quietly from the berth. Donning his trousers, he went topsides.

The lake was as still and empty as it had ever been, and all was well with the Selkie. He had ceased to puzzle over the matter, more than content to have no distractions from exploring the pleasures suddenly, miraculously within his grasp.

Opening his trouser front, he tried to piss overboard. Looking down in wonder, he saw the traces of her blood round the base of his cock. He was assailed by intense images and sensations from his amorous congress with Anya, and his erection would not subside. He forced himself to think on something else --- climbing the mast to install the new block --- until the stiffness eased sufficiently to empty his bladder.

Back in the cabin, he doffed his trousers and climbed back into the berth naked --- sliding under the blanket and moving aside her tumbled hair, till he lay behind her, spoon fashion, but not quite touching her. Propped upon his elbow, he admired her profile in the morning light: the brush of dark lashes, the parted lips. Gently he pulled the blanket a little lower, exposing her neck and the start of a pale shoulder. He bent his head and kissed the warm skin there.

She stirred, turning upon her back as her eyes opened slowly. Her shoulder touched his chest and her hip his cock. She looked up at him shyly, the pink rising in her cheeks. "Good morning, Anya," he said smiling.

"Liam," she said softly.

He noticed the telltale rosiness about her lips where his stubble had roughed her. "How goes it with ye this morning, lass?" Their eyes searched each other's for several moments.

"I cannot say," she mused, "I've never felt the like of it before."

Under the blanket his hand came to rest upon her waist. As his fingers caressed her warm skin, he lowered his head to brush his lips ever so softly over hers. "Would ye care to feel it again?" His voice was husky. With the tip of his tongue he traced over her mouth, intermittently dipping between her parted lips.

His hand moved lower, seeking out that mesmerizing bauble between her thighs, but when he got his fingers in her niche, she suddenly whimpered and her thighs squeezed his hand. "Ooooo! You hurt." He attempted a soothing touch, but she winced and pulled his hand away. "Please Liam...pray stop."

She pushed herself to sitting, clutching the blanket up to her neck, her hair in sumptuous disarray. "I must go to my cabin."

"Do ye need to piddle Anya?" he asked solemnly.

She nodded and said. "And I want to bathe."

Resigned to suspending his desire for the present, he climbed from berth and retrieved her nightgown from the cabin sole. After she pulled it on, he helped her from the berth, then draped the ulster over her. "Dinna catch cold." She seemed embarrassed, furtively eying his jutting organ as she left.

"I'll heat some water for your bath." He put on his trousers and went to the galley. In a short while he knocked upon her door with the kettle of hot water. The door opened partially, and she reached out to take it from him, thanking him and closing the door again. He stood there contemplating the tempting possibilities of assisting her in her bath, and was about to knock again to offer his services, when the door opened.

"Oh," said she seeing him there and handing the kettle to him. "Thank you." The door reclosed. He sighed. Well --- he could bathe himself, being as there was hot water left.

'Twas while he was dressing after washing that a happy thought came to him. In a locker above the desk he found what he wanted: a squat, corked pottery jar. Taking it to her cabin he knocked again.

"Anya, may I enter?" Upon her affirmative response he stepped into the cabin. She was wearing the nightgown, holding damp towels and soap; the water basin was upon the floor. She appeared worried. "What is it, lass? Is all well with ye?"

She placed the bathing items upon the desk. Her eyes met his. "Liam...when I washed...your...spunk came out. Is that normal?"

He chuckled in relief, roused by the image. "Aye. That do be the usual way of it --- in a vertical attitude." He put his arms round her and kissed her forehead. "Are ye still hurting?" She nodded. "I've got something that will ease the hurt." He showed her the pottery jar.

"What is it?"

"'Tis a magic salve I bought from an Iroquois medicine man. 'Tis made from flowers and herbs I have no ken of. But 'tis a wonder at soothing pain, preventing corruption, and healing. 'Twill feel a wee bit greasy at first, then it absorbs in, and only the magic remains."

"Magic? I shall try it. Thank you." She held out her hand for it.

He hesitated. "Anya, will ye let me apply it for ye?"

She looked at him in astonishment, her cheeks coloring. Before she could open her mouth, he continued, stroking her hair. "'Twas I who hurt ye --- be it not right that I tend your wound? I be your sweetheart now --- who else should see your beauties?"

At length she relented, and timidly started to pull up her gown. He stopped her. "Nay, over here." He lifted her into the berth so that she was sitting upon the edge, her feet dangling. "Bring your feet up upon the mattress," he instructed. She did so, bending her legs; she hugged her bent knees together, her toes peeping out from under the hem of the gown.

"Aye. Now lie yourself back."

Her face was uncertain, and she complied slowly; when she let go her knees, her feet started sliding upon the mattress.

Liam considered. The foot high wood retaining wall along the side of the berth had a central cutout that allowed for ingress and egress. 'Twas in this gap that she was situated, trying to keep her feet in place. "Here. Give me your foot." He lifted her foot and placed it against the edge of the wood cutout. He placed her other foot upon the wall at the other side of the gap, nigh two and a half feet apart. Her feet were thus braced, but her calves were sharply angled as she still pressed her knees together.

He grasped her hips and drew her bottom to the edge of the berth. Striving for solicitous composure, he eased the fabric gently from her fingers and raised the gown to her waist. Her strong slim thighs, closely apposed, defeated his intent. Placing his hands upon the outside of her knees, he bent to kiss each pale kneecap.

Looking down at her anxious eyes, he said, "Dinna be shamed Anya. Lovers may look upon each other --- 'tis Nature's intent, so it is. Open up your legs sweetheart...there's a lass...aye...just let them fall to the sides."

Gradually her legs opened; he froze in the act of reaching for the jar, stunned in spite of himself. Her spread knees were forced up towards her shoulders by her extreme posture. Never before had he been afforded the opportunity for such an unrestricted perusal of a lass's charms. Everything between her thighs --- from stem to stern --- was visible.

Her cunny was as petite as the rest of her. Framed by the creamy white of her thighs and bottom, the rose pink lips bulged up and slightly apart. The little sprig of dark curls adorning her mound above trailed off part way down her outer lips. Her inner lips were dainty petals that met at the sweet bud of her clitoris. He peered closely, but the opening proper was not discernable. Her cunny seemed to him a luscious flower on the cusp of blooming. Below all this, between rounded buttocks, delicate folds of skin radiated together to form her tiny pink bottom hole.

Spellbound he drank it all in --- his heart beat and breathing chaotic, his cock straining at full attention. He was possessed of one thought: so fortuitously positioned in height and posture was she that he need only unbutton his trousers to take her again. His hands gripped the jar with his effort to resist the temptation.

"Liam?" her nervous voice broke his train of thought. "Is all well?"

"Aye, love," he groaned. "Ye be so lovely, ye'd give a saint a cockstand. I lost my wits and forgot what I was about." She raised her head; he saw her gaze fall upon her blatantly exposed cunny and beyond that, his laboring trouser front; her head dropped back and she covered her flaming face with her hands. Fortunately she remained in position.

"I'll be about the doctoring now, so I will," he assured her.

He uncorked the jar and scooped up a small dollop of the thick salve upon a fingertip. With his other hand he touched her cunny, making her jump; her bottom hole winked. Between his thumb and forefinger, he gingerly spread apart her little inner lips till he spied her rent virginity: there were fresh tears to port and starboard. Between the edges was a hint of the opening.

He stared in awe; he could not fathom how such a diminutive orifice had taken in his engorged mast --- oh how he longed to do it again! He swallowed hard, and brought his hand close, maneuvering his large finger to carefully smear salve upon her wounded flesh, making her whimper. His apprehension of last night resurfaced --- what if she were hurt inside as well?

With another dab of salve, he gently insinuated the tip of his middle finger between the edges of the creamed hymen...up, up till it was all the way in. She moaned softly, her warm wet channel nipping firmly round his finger. Inside, her cunny felt smooth, sound, and oh so divine. His cock throbbed jealously.

Palm up and his other fingers pressed against the skin next to her anus, he wiggled his finger tip, taking care not to move upon her hurt flesh. "Does it hurt up here?" he asked, his voice strained. She shook her head... he noticed that her breathing had quickened. He crooked his finger again...and again; then unable to resist, he brushed his thumb back and forth over her clitoris, hearing her soft gasp and feeling her cunny squeeze even more tightly upon his finger.

He groaned to himself, watching her face transform from embarrassment to pleasure. Oh sweetheart! He could stand it no longer --- he had to be inside her. With his free hand he started to unbutton his trousers...then he stopped short...nay...he could not take her while she was yet so tender.

Reluctantly he withdrew his finger from the heaven of her cunny. Sighing, he guided her feet down, pulled her to a sitting position, and drew down the gown, whereupon he put his arms round her and leaned his forehead against hers. "Oh Anya," he murmured. They both were breathing unsteadily. "Ye best get dressed. I'll get breakfast round afore ye tempt me too much and I hurt ye again."

*****

Breakfast was had in the cockpit as usual. Anya emerged from the cabin clad in the lad's clothes, sat and took the plate and mug that he handed her. They ate in silence, she apparently as engrossed in thought as he. Although he looked at her intermittently, her gaze seemed distant.

His reasoning was fuddled, but he was too jubilant to try to make sense of the import of what had passed between them. At length he felt the silence had grown stilted; he pondered what he might say, but then she resolved the dilemma by speaking up herself.

"What do you do during the winter if you don't hire out the boat?"

He set down his mug. "I find what work I can. In winters past I worked at ship-building yards. This year I've hired on as crew to an ice breaking fleet."

"What does that mean?"

He went on to describe the work, detailing the boats used and the manner of breaking ice upon the lake. 'Twas bizarre speaking of his life as he heretofore had known it...before she had entered it...it all seemed so far away. Perturbed, he knew that the doldrums could not last forever. His heart was so entrenched in the current oasis of joy that he could no longer fathom delivering her in Toronto and simply returning to his life.

"Will you be living on board one of those boats or on the Singing Selkie?"

"'Twill be too cold aboard in the winter, so it will. I'll be staying at a boarding house."

She seemed to mull this over. They again lapsed into silence. Liam wondered what her questions signified.

Apart from commenting as they went to the foredeck that she would finish repairing the sail today, the silence continued. Bewilderingly, she had reverted to the air of detachment of the previous days. She sat upon the deck absorbed in stitching the sail, while Liam assembled the new block. When he completed that, he then went on to the deck boxes, modifying them with strips of wood and oilcloth to make them more watertight.

He was distracted in his work by a flood of thoughts on the happenings of last night and this morning...from the feel of her smooth lush flesh that still anointed his body, to the hot squeeze of her cunny...to the expression upon her face and the little sounds she made as he thrust in her...to the sight of her cunny and bottom hole flaunted by her nigh doubled posture. His body was on edge --- the whole region of his pelvis in a state of fluctuating congestion for the next several hours as they worked.

On a couple of occasions, she went below for briefs periods before returning to the deck. From time to time he tried to catch her eye, but she met his gaze with an impassive face. The thought crossed his mind that she did not share his jubilation. Was she regretful of the incident? Was it to be an isolated occurrence, never to be repeated? Had he affronted her modesty beyond repair when he had positioned her for his examination earlier today?

By late afternoon her distant manner made Liam begin to question his own perception. Had any of it happened? Be it all an eerily lifelike dream?

Disconcerted, he went to his cabin; he stood there contemplating the familiar surroundings, seeking some trace of her presence. Nothing appeared altered from its usual ordered state. He swiftly caught up the pillow and held it to nose, inhaling deeply. Was that not the scent of her hair? 'Twas so faint, yet he felt certain he detected it.

Then he drew back the bedclothes and saw it, his heart swelling: a small spot of dried blood and spunk upon the sheet. Aye ---- 'twas true! Thank God 'twas true! He smoothed the covers back and went topsides assured of his sanity.

He was determined to address her upon the matter. Reaching the foredeck, he knelt beside her. She was sitting cross legged with a fold of sail in her lap, knotting the thread.

"How goes it with ye?" he asked.

She cut the thread and smoothed her hand over the patch. "It is finished," she announced proudly. Liam ran his fingers over the neat row of stitches. "'Tis a first rate repair," he observed. "'Twould seem Abe has cause to fear for his future employment."

Her head was bent as she unbuckled the sailmaker's palm; he saw the flash of a pleased smile upon her face.

Absent mindedly he continued to touch the sail for several moments; then he raised his eyes and looked directly at her. "I've been thinking on ye Anya," he said. She met his eyes; he stared at her pointedly, his feelings undisguised --- she fumbled with the leather strap, her cheeks coloring.

Suddenly she rose to her knees and started crawling awkwardly over the piled up sail, away from him and towards the cabin top. He scrambled after her and tackled her in the pile of canvas, so that they both lay upon their bellies, he next to her with his shoulder and arm over her.

"Where are ye running to lass?" He nuzzled her ear, making her giggle. Gathering her thick hair, he swept it aside. His hand ran over her back, over the lad's shirt where the sun had warmed it. Close to her ear he murmured, "How is your dear little cunny, Anya?" She hid her blushing face in the sail. "Does it still hurt?" She shook her head. Under his hand, through the cloth of the shirt, he felt her slim straight back with no other apparent undergarments...he slid his hand further down, following the curve of the small of her back.

He kissed the crest of her ear lightly. "Was it a pleasure to ye last night?" he whispered. His lips traveled down her ear to the soft lobe...he nibbled it. After a moment she whispered "Yes." His fingertips were just under the waistband of the trousers where the shirt was tucked in; he started pulling the shirt out of the trousers.

"Did ye like when I kissed your breasts?" His tongue tickled the opening of her ear. "Ye...es." His hand was now under the shirt, stroking her bare back, from the nape of her neck, over her shoulder blades, and down the graceful indentation of her spine. "Did ye like when I sucked your nipples?"

Again his fingers were drawn to the trousers' waistband...tracing along her skin just under the fabric. Her whispered yes was barely discernable from her breaths. By feel he could tell that the excess fabric of the oversized trousers was bunched up to fit her small waist by the strap and buckle upon the back. He tugged on the buckle, pulling the strap out completely. Now his hand glided down her back, to her waist, and moved without obstruction under the loosened trousers --- no other undergarments present --- onto her naked arse.

The smooth curve from her lower back to the swelling rise of her bottom was exquisite --- her skin satiny and supple under his calloused palm. "And when...I...touched your cunny...did ye...like it?" he said between hot breaths against her ear and neck. His large hand closed over one succulent cheek and squeezed it.

"Mmmmm," her response was muffled against the sail.

His further advance between her thighs was now hindered by the trousers. Withdrawing his hand from under the trousers, he grasped the loosened waistband and started tugging them down...over one hip, then the other, then over her buttocks till he got them down to the middle of her thighs...baring her bottom to the afternoon sky.

He turned his head and gazed down her body: the shirt was bunched up at the level of her armpits: she was exposed from her mid back to her thighs. Her bottom was sweetly protuberant below the small of her back, seeming to Liam like a ripe peach --- all rounded cheeks and coy cleft. In glee his hand roved over her naked buttocks, moving from one cheek to the other, squeezing and stroking...his fingertips exploring down the silky cleft.

"And when I put my cock in your cunny Anya...was it a pleasure?" He felt the faint nod of her head as he tried to slide his fingers onto her cunny; her closed legs stymied him. "Tell me love..." he said huskily, his lips traveling forward from her ear. Using the heel of his hand he wedged her firm buttocks open just above the junction with her thighs. "I...I liked it," she breathed. "What did ye like?" In the warm space between her inner thighs his finger found the downy lips and the moist crease between.

"I liked...your...cock in my cunny." Her whisper was barely audible. "Oh love..." He sighed and touched the corner of her lips with his tongue, while his finger traced from her clitoris to the skin between her cunny and bottom hole...her face turned out of the sail towards him...and their mouths melded in a flurry of lips and tongues. His body pressed hungrily against hers.

"Anya," he groaned, kneeling up. Abruptly he rolled her onto her back and proceeded to yank her trousers down. She raised her legs, nimbly bending and kicking them --- showing beguiling flashes of the pink between --- assisting him, till he pulled them off over her blue stockings and boots.