The Doldrums: the Sailor and the Virgin Ch. 09

Chapter 09

Liam gets to the bottom of the matter

Liam's eyes slowly opened. In the dawn light he made out the wood planks upon the cabin ceiling; he heard the subdued lapping of water against the hull. He pushed himself to sitting. His head was pounding and his stomach felt dodgy. Jesus! How much had he drunk? Sliding cautiously out of the berth he took up the water pitcher and had a long drink. Moving with great deliberation, he set it upon the desk, then began searching through a locker till he found a vial of willow bark tincture. He poured some in the water pitcher, sloshed it about, and drank the rest of the water.

The main cabin was deserted when he went to refill the pitcher. With bleary eyes he looked at Anya's closed cabin door --- his mind in a fog. Back in his cabin he filled the basin with water and proceeded to wash himself; the cold water and rough, soapy cloth a small restorative.

Grabbing his blanket and the water pitcher, he went topsides to rinse in the lake. The cold plunge cleared the fog, but he still felt ill when he climbed back aboard and wrapped himself in the blanket. He drank another pitcher full of water, then lay upon the cockpit seat, his eyes closing against the pain in his head; the cool breeze touched his face.

He woke again several hours later. The sun was full risen. 'Twas nigh ten o'clock he realized, sitting up stiffly. He could not remember the last time he had woken so late. The little cove was empty save for the Selkie serene upon her anchor line. Glancing down the open companionway he saw no sign of activity below.

With the blanket draped round his shoulders he stepped onto the side deck and emptied his bursting bladder overboard. His cock was tender to the touch --- indeed his whole pelvis felt battered. His body otherwise was largely restored to a sound state; however, his heart was in acute misery.

How had the passage of a mere six days thrown his life into such turmoil?

He sat upon the cockpit coaming and stared out over the water. In the morning sunlight, the reds, oranges, and yellows of the trees along the shore were a brilliant sight, interrupted by white slashes of birch trunks. 'Twas one of Liam's favorite spots upon the lake, but it offered him no comfort.

With the wind direction and speed, they would arrive in Toronto in under three hours. Three hours. Then she would be gone...gone from his life forever.

The events of the previous night weighed upon him. No matter how much her revelation had stung, he was profoundly disturbed at his own behavior. Although he imbibed only occasionally, he was no novice when it came to strong spirits; however even on his most debauched bender in the navy, he had never acted the lout. What the devil had possessed him? He had used her ill and had done nothing to recommend himself to her. She was just a wee innocent girl, beset by ruthless men desperate to have her. He had wanted to be her champion... had he now sunk to their level? 'Twas no wonder she had fled, most likely in horror.

Shite! Three hours --- he had to think --- there had to be a way.

He went below and lit the stove to heat water. He dressed and set about putting his cabin back in order, stowing the whiskey bottle, tidying the desk, and making the berth. As he did so he encountered the jar of salve; he looked at it in his palm, images from last night coming clear in his mind. His face burned in shame and, to his even greater shame: excitement. He knew he had taken her in her arsehole --- his body tingled reliving the singular sensations and sights of the act...

By and by he remembered the kettle and returned to the galley, a little giddy. He had a cup of tea and a piece of hard tack while he prepared a cup of tea for Anya.

With the steaming cup he knocked upon her door. "Anya?" No reply. Again he knocked without response. He tried the handle and found it unlocked. Upon entering he immediately almost tripped over the water basin, which was upon the floor with the pitcher and other bathing implements.

She was wrapped in a blanket, curled upon her side in the berth, facing away from him. "I have some tea for ye, Anya," he said quietly. She did not respond. He set the cup upon the desk and stepped closer to the berth. "Anya..." he murmured. She curled up more tightly.

He gazed at her back, then began again. "Anya, 'tis sorry I be for my conduct last night. I was a brute and a cad --- I could kill myself for how I hurt ye. Please forgive me."

He leaned against the side of the berth and tentatively reached his hand toward her. When he touched her hair, she turned her head further away. He stroked her tumbled hair, pulling entrapped locks out of the blanket. Suddenly a mark upon her neck caught his eye; he brushed the hair up from her nape and leaned closer. 'Twas a bruise. He drew the edge of the blanket down and stared in shock. Upon the nape of her neck were a purplish sucking mark and pink arcs of teeth prints --- one with broken skin. "Jesus! I'm sorry lass! I'm sorry. Dinna move."

Quickly he fetched the balm from his cabin. She was as he had left her. He placed the open jar upon her mattress and moved her hair and the blanket aside to apply balm to the wound. She lay motionless. With a sense of unease, he pulled the blanket further down. Her back was bare...to his dismay he discovered a light bruise between her shoulder blades.

"I'm sorry lass," he said again, his fingertips soothingly brushing over her skin. What the hell had he done? In consternation he drew the blanket completely off --- she was naked. More bruises were apparent. He swore at himself under his breath. "Let me tend to ye," he mumbled.

She resisted not as he rolled her onto her belly so more light shone upon her. He examined her. There was a series of hazy oval bruises upon her pale buttocks, with larger paired marks upon either side of the cleft --- clearly the marks of his fingers and thumbs. He softly rubbed her smooth, round cheeks, mortified at his boorishness. In trepidation, he carefully clasped her buttocks, avoiding the bruises, and spread her unresisting bottom open to inspect her anus.

What he saw first was a small cluster of faint bite marks upon her lower inner cheeks next to the opening. Jesus! He had been a bloody savage! None appeared to have pierced the skin. Her little hole itself appeared somewhat swollen, and a more vivid pink hue. To his relief he saw no blood and no rents.

Holding one cheek aside, he scooped up more balm. Her anus flinched when he touched it; she whimpered. Very gently he rubbed the balm generously into the little folds and the surrounding flesh, caressing the delicate, silky skin, feeling the firm ring of muscle. Taking another dollop, he placed the pad of his middle fingertip directly upon her opening and massaged and pressed upon it till his finger opened her sphincter and penetrated her arse.

He slowly twisted his finger in the constrictive aperture, rubbing the salve into it. He pushed in a little further and repeated the motions. His eyes were fixed in fascination upon the novel sight of his large, calloused finger up the bottom hole of a bonnie young lass. The hot slick grip, by turns fighting his intrusion then tugging him in, cast his mind back to the events of last night...he swallowed hard...his cock began to rise again in his trousers. Although she otherwise was still, he noticed the movement of her back with her breathing had quickened.

At length he realized that his doctoring had transformed into his finger sensuously stroking in and out of her anus. His face reddened and he pulled his finger out, her pucker nipping shut behind him.

He eased her onto her back. She kept her eyes closed and her head turned away --- her cheeks noticeably flushed, but otherwise lay unmoving as he surveyed her front side. Her beautiful breasts were unmarked, but there was a welt like scratch running from her navel to her cunny hair. He parted her legs --- a few more light bite marks upon her inner thighs. With his finger and thumb he spread her lips and bent closer to look. The edges of her hymen were a bit puffy and reddened, in keeping with the recent flurry of vigorous amorous exercise, but he found no acute injury.

He gazed at her dear cunny sorrowfully. Her little flower seemed so closed and far away --- as if she were already gone. Her skin was almost cool under his fingers. "Anya," he murmured. Oh how he wanted to feel her blossom for him again!

He withdrew his fingers, then leaned over the berth and kissed her mound, then her clitoris. Limply she lay as he opened her legs wider. Where he had bitten last night, now he kissed, tender, remorseful kisses all over her inner thighs, clitoris and lips. His tongue came out and caressed her...softly, ever so softly, like the beating of a butterfly's wings, he licked her bud and lips and hymen. Wake for me, my Anya, wake.

Although she moved not, he presently detected a subtle swelling in her flesh and started to taste her sweet lass cream. The tip of his tongue dragged lovingly through her crevice to lap up the treasure, then jigged up and down upon her clitoris to urge forth more. Suddenly he felt her body move and realized that she was crying.

He rose and saw her eyes open, looking at him, tears spilling from her heavy lashes. Heedless of his boots, he climbed into the berth and lay between her open legs, gathering her into his arms. "Dinna cry, Anya." He kissed her falling tears. "I love ye. I'll take care of ye." She shook her head weakly, her fingers clutching his shirt at his sides. "Aye, lass." He sought out her trembling mouth and kissed it, pressing against her soft, pulpy lips, trying to hold onto her life breath.

He stroked her hair, her face, her shoulder. Then somehow her breast was in his hand...and he was pushing his tongue into her mouth. He could not resist her tender charms --- she was stark naked under him, and although he was fully clothed, his body was permeated with the feel of her...her quivering breasts, her little mound. God help him, he could not resist her!

Groaning he lifted his hips and reached down to unbutton his trousers and pull out his cock. He mounted her, finding her soft, moist chink with his broad crown...and knowing she must be sore, pushed gently. Slowly, slowly her opening expanded and accepted his cockhead. She moaned and her fingers dug into his flanks. Easing his weight onto her, scarce pushing, he let her snug cunny take in his organ at her own pace. He looked into her eyes as he sank full into heaven. Oh love!

He moved in her carefully.

"Li...am," she sighed tremulously. Her arms and legs went round him, holding him tightly.

"Stay with me Anya," he urged. "Marry me."

Their fused organs undulated together

Her shining eyes held his gaze. "I ...can't," she whispered between panting breaths, a tear running down her cheek.

"Aye, ye can."

"I can't." Her eyes were intense, searching his face as if committing every detail to memory.

Despair mounted at her repeated refusals. Her eyes betrayed her love --- why could she not see reason? There was an unfamiliar pressure in his throat and eyes; he swallowed and forced it down, forced it down --- along with the ache in his heart --- down to his cock.

With the influx of emotion his cock seemed to swell monstrously. His muddled mind was possessed by the thought that he could somehow fuck her into marrying him. His thrusts grew more insistent. He knelt up, holding her legs behind the knees. With every stroke he pushed her legs further and further up till her petite body was doubled over, her knees pressed to her shoulders, her pelvis tilted up and her vulva bulging round his engorged staff.

His thrusts abated into a single, prolonged push, his boots braced against the wood bulkhead, concentrating more and more of his weight down onto her cunny. Her eyes were wild, fixed upon his, her mouth a tense, intermittently gasping O, as he penetrated deeper and deeper into her body. He felt the very root of his cock --- that last, thickest quarter inch that was ever deprived of its share of amorous activities --- cram into her cunny. Her lower belly visibly bulged...her breasts shook...her huge liquid brown eyes entreated him...then she swooned away.

Panting, he eased up the pressure upon the back of her knees. He drew out of her cunny and in a few moments saw her eyelids flutter, then slowly lift. Dazed eyes regarded him where he knelt below her raised legs. His eyes coursed over her wobbling breasts and spread cunny. His voracious organ was unappeased, glistening fluid sliding from the opening. Irresistibly his gaze was drawn to her anus; he pushed her knees back up against her shoulders. Luminously pink, shiny with balm, and helplessly exposed by her extreme posture, the swollen little star was a beacon to him.

He swung his cock till it lodged against her bottom hole...she gasped softly. With a slow, rolling motion of his hips, he rubbed the head of his cock in small circles upon the rim, gradually pressing against the tight center. Carefully he pressed, oh so carefully...gently compelling her anus to spread open round him. Push.....push.....push.....then the sudden delicious yielding that made them both moan. Her overstuffed orifice spasmed voluptuously.

He eased his way up, his eyes flicking from her face to the sight of his organ disappearing up her distended bottom hole. He sighed in wonder. Her eyes were closed now, the long sooty lashes wet and matted, her cheeks flushed under iridescent tear tracks, her mouth panting.

As in her cunny he let his full weight gradually bear down into her upraised hole. At full insertion he paused and rocked upon her, lost in an otherworldly pleasure of claiming the very vitals of her. His cock was enclosed in an intense heat wherein he felt the hammering of her heart, the pulsing grip of her muscles. A sheen of sweat broke over her breasts, and her nipples rose erect.

Desperate for her, he lay forward upon her body, her knees hooked under his elbows, her calves a few inches away from the sides of his head. He licked her salty tears then fed upon her soft, gasping mouth. He moved in and out of her bottom with deep, smooth strokes. He could feel her lush breasts heaving against him, her wet, swelling cunny lips and clitoris press...press...press to his lower belly...and hear the slippery sounds of his organ thrusting in her lubricated anus.

"Stay with me Anya," he groaned.

Her small body quaked under him and her hands grasped feebly at his arms, a wavering moan her only reply --- she seemed stunned --- her consciousness overcome by the profound act of possession being visited upon her body.

Again the aching pressure rose in his heart and throat and eyes...he stroked faster...the pressure cast its lot in with blinding pleasure that was fast overwhelming him. Suddenly waves of erotic euphoria squeezed and rippled round him, lifting him and making him swell tenser and tenser like a sail about to burst... hoarsely he cried out her name... then he began to shudder, his body jerking forcefully against her. He spent. And spent. In gushes he poured his soul into her.

The sound of their panting...then for a long time there was naught but shining, white silence. Sweet silence, and the feel of her close.

Gradually he became aware of the lapping sound of water upon the hull, the slap of a halyard against the mast. He felt the long forgotten sensation of tears in his eyes --- turning his face into her soft hair he covertly wiped them away.

Raising his head again, he saw her still face, her closed eyes. Her breath was soft upon his face. She did not look at him. He eased himself off of her, letting her legs down, and pulling out of her bottom. Miserably he climbed out of the berth.

When he turned to look at her, an intense sense of anguish came over him. Her slight body lay limply, just as he left her when he had dismounted --- her legs wide splayed, knees bent. Between her thighs both of her ravished openings were laid bare --- swollen and soft, messy with fluids and salve. Her little tuft of hair was matted.

Sheepishly he drew her legs together and pulled the blanket over her body. He found a clean towel and lay it in the berth next to her. He picked up her nightgown and the bathing items from the cabin sole, pausing to wash himself before re-buttoning his trousers.

When he saw the jar of balm, he thought for a moment then opened it one more time. Uncovering her lower body once more, he gently spread her legs and applied fresh salve to her cunny, then to her anus, noticing as he did so a pearl of his spunk well up from the opening and ooze onto the rosy rim.

He closed her legs and covered her again. He looked down into her vacant face for a long time, stroking her hair, wanting to say something, but his heart and mind felt dead. At last the only words that came to him were, "We'll be getting underway then. 'Twill be a three-hour sail to Toronto."

She responded not.

He left her cabin.

The next three hours passed in a daze. His body performed the familiar tasks of weighing anchor and raising the sails in a rote fashion, lashing the wheel as needed to move about the deck. He hoisted a yellow harbor flag in preparation for signaling for a tow.

Standing behind the wheel as the miles passed, with the sounds of the water and wind his only companions, his mind scarce turned. His eyes again and again went to the open companionway, willing her to appear. She did not. The single potential idea that came to him was to change course and go elsewhere. He even began to consider prospective alternative ports of landing --- but then abandoned the notion in the absence of any indication from her of wanting to stay with him.

He should go below and speak to her. He had not the gift on the gab, but he had to try to persuade her with all the eloquence of his heart. And this time, keep your cock in your breeks, ye damn idiot! As he was reaching to lash the wheel in place, a sudden image of the terrible blankness of her face stopped him short. Slowly he straightened.

The rest of the sail, he remained nigh immobile at the helm. Dimly he was aware that he should now be planning for his own preservation, but his mind was numb.

As the breakwater of Toronto came into view, he dropped the sails save for the jib, and tacked back and forth in the light wind at the mouth of the harbor till a steam tug came alongside. He spoke with the captain, paid the towing fee, and gave him his towline. Lashing the wheel at centerline, he worked upon deck as the Selkie was towed in. He readied dock lines, then furled the sails.

The buildings of the waterfront were sliding by when, as he was working on the foredeck, he saw Anya's head appear in the companionway. She looked about the deck then spotted him, her face intense. "Liam! I must talk to you! I have decided ---"

"Anya! Anya!" came a cry from shore. Both of their heads swung in the direction. Standing upon a pier was a couple; the woman was waving a handkerchief and calling out to her.

Anya waved, then the Selkie glided past them. As she turned back to look at him, Liam was confronted with the most stricken expression he had ever beheld. She suddenly disappeared below. What the devil had she been about to say?!

Urgently he started aft, but was interrupted by a shout from the tug --- which way did he want to come into the dock?

Thenceforth he had no opportunity to speak to her. The Selkie was towed in a wide slow circle and the tow line thrown back. Standing upon the cockpit seat, holding the wheel with one hand and a dock line in the other, he steered under the residual momentum so that she came port side along the pier. He heaved the bow line to a lad waiting upon the dock, then leapt to the dock himself holding the stern line. Together they pulled the boat to a halt and fastened the lines.