Chapter 4
“The Cap’n’s cabin, monsieur.”
“Not bad.” Dale surveyed the room and was pleased with it. The width of the vessel and half as deep in size, it was a spacious room. A bunk was recessed into the near wall, which added a small hallway when the door was open. In the center of the room sat the Captain’s desk. Ornate and showy, much like the Captain himself, it was covered with charts, an open bottle and a plate of leftover food. Crossing the width of the room at the stern was a number of lead glass windows, presently open to allow a cool sea breeze. Finally, sitting in the far corner under one of the windows stood their precious mirror, held upright by their trunk.
“Ah… not so quick, ma chérie. You forget our extra passengers…”
“Extra…?”
“Monsieur, the women have nowhere to stay…”
“Bring them, and the smith, here, Rumkey. We will make some sort of arrangement. May I have a few minutes with my wife first?”
“As you wish, monsieur.” He gave Françoise a toothy grin. At least it wouldn’t be his problem. He turned and left in search of the wayward passengers.
“Lucette and her girls will be sharing the cabin with us.”
“Awwww….,” Dale whined.
“What would you have me do? This is no joy, Dale. We have to stay together.”
Dale knew she was right. Damn her…
“No hanky panky?”
“Han…ky?”
“You know… fun.”
“Pan… ky?”
Dale stepped into Françoise’s personal space, her finger finding a space in the woman’s shirt and teasing the skin underneath. “No more lovin’, huh?”
Françoise felt the tingle all the way to her toes. “Fun…” Dale’s breath found the hole where her finger was. “Hanky panky…” Those two words were going to haunt her in the days and weeks to come. “Non…” Françoise stepped back, putting some space between herself and her tormenter. “We have things to do before the women arrive.”
“Things?”
“The money, chérie.”
“Why not put it in the chest?” As if that was the most obvious answer.
“It is a good idea Dale, but that will be the first place the Captain will look.”
“The Captain? He won’t touch it.”
“Ahhh Dale, Dale, Dale. My sweet innocent Dale. Of course he will touch it. He will not be able to stop himself. We cannot stay here for the entire voyage watching it.” Françoise looked around the room for places to secret it. “There is nowhere to hide it.”
“Well…” The blonde thought carefully as she searched. She moved to the bunk, her eyes gliding over the recesses there. The straw mattress was pushed aside.
“That will not work, chérie. I am not sleeping on gold coin for weeks on end. I have to put up with… with… these,” she waved her hand over her body, indicating the bandage and her crotch.
“No… no.” Dale tapped the wooden base. “Do you think this might be empty underneath?”
“It might be…” Françoise’s eyes lit up. Drawing the dagger from her boot, she pried away one of the boards to find a hollow space. “Chérie, you are wonderful!” Her delight was infectious, drawing Dale into the celebration. Before the blonde had a chance to regain her composure, Françoise was already in motion. With a swift twist of a key the chest was open, the French woman rifling through the contents.
“What are you doing?”
Françoise drew out a rough blanket from the trunk, placing it in the bottom of the hole. “This will dampen the sound, mon cœur.” Reaching for the sacks she had carried on board with great difficulty, she took out the cloth bags, placing one after another into the cloth nest she had made. When there were only two bags left, Françoise banged the wood back into place.
“What about those?”
“We cannot be penniless, Dale. If he does get inside the box, he has to find something. Otherwise he will know that we have hidden it elsewhere. It is better to lose a little than lose it all.” Françoise placed the remaining bags into the chest, tucked away into their supplies.
Dale watched as her lover put the items back into the box. She had not had a chance to see what Françoise had bought and her eyes found it difficult to take it all in. A spare change of clothes, herbs, dried foods and flasks caught her eye before the lid slammed shut. “Where’s the kitchen sink?”
“Sink?” Françoise was getting tired of trying to understand what her wife was saying. Maybe she could get the woman to write them down to save all the confusion.
“Never mind.” Dale hadn’t realized how much she spoke in slang and wondered how much effort it was going to take to stop doing that. Probably more than she had to spare at the moment. “What about that?” She pointed to the mirror frame. “The jewels are still in there, right?”
“Oui. But I will correct that.” With one swift twist and a push here and a prod there, the wooden frame gave up its secret. Carefully Françoise removed the jewels and placed them in the hiding place they had chosen, carefully wrapping them in the rough hewn blanket. “That should do.” If she had her way, she would hide the frame as well. “I hope that will be enough.”
“You said a mouthful.”
“Errr…. fine.” The French woman turned back to the frame and put the panel back in place before turning to the chest and opening it. Her hand flicked through the contents until she found what she was looking for. She knew it was a good idea to purchase these items when she saw them yesterday. Originally she had every intention of keeping a journal as a means of whiling away the monotonous days ahead, but maybe Dale needed it more than she did.
“Maybe you can write these words down.”
“Which words?”
“The words that constantly confuse me, chérie. I want to understand,
really.”
“Now you know how I feel, my love. All of you talk at a mile a minute and I am left standing wondering what the hell is going on.”
“Pardon?”
“You know what I mean.”
“Oui, I know what you mean.” Françoise handed over the quill, ink and large bound book to her lover. “Help me to understand.”
Dale looked at the items sitting in her hand. Could she do it? Did she want to do it? “Maybe.”
Both women looked up at the knock on the door. “Entrez!” Françoise’s eyes touched Dale’s, her love speaking to the smaller woman in those blue depths. “Everything will be fine, chérie.” Lucette and her girls entered the cabin, followed by Sébastien. “Thank you, Monsieur Rumkey.” The slim man nodded before leaving the group alone.
Dale stood back, allowing her French woman to take control. She never felt so much out of her depth as she did now. It was not her time and not her language. She was an outsider looking in.
“Lucette… I…” What could Françoise say? Things had happened so fast that she didn’t have time to consider the consequences. She had only one thing on her mind and that was Lucette’s survival.
“I should thank you for saving our lives, mon ami.”
“I know it was not what you wanted.”
“But you were right. As much as I did not want to believe it… you were right.” There was a certain amount of resignation in that voice. Françoise watched the heads drop as each French man and woman acknowledged the truth. Things had changed.
“My wife and I have paid passage in this cabin. You are all welcome to share it.” Françoise looked at the brawny man, understanding the confused look there. “You may look elsewhere if you wish, Sébastien. I am not sure what is available, but you are most welcome to sleep here.” Her look sobered. “It is not so seemly but I think the women will need our constant protection so we should all stay together this voyage.”
“I will ask, monsieur, but for now I will accept your invitation.” The blacksmith knew there was another passenger on board but the chances of bunking in with him were dubious. He was a young man of breeding with an attitude to match. Not an aristocrat. No, that class had a certain air of aloofness that was all its own. This young man came from money, a rich merchant’s son. But Sébastien’s upbringing had left him with a certain amount of propriety. A single man did not sleep in the same room as a single woman. And yet… Philippe was there with his wife. Maybe he could find a quiet corner to sleep in away from the temptation.
“Good. Now let us get some air. We will be spending long enough in here in the weeks to come.”
* * *
Françoise was unaware that there was another passenger on board. Everything had been in turmoil, leaving her to focus solely on her own problems. The young man sat on a small barrel looking out to sea. He was perhaps twenty-two years old, of slim build and bordering-on-handsome features. His demeanor, however, spoke of seclusion. He was one who wanted to keep his own counsel.
“Ahhh, monsieur. Excuse my manners. I did not see you arrive on board.”
He scrutinized the young man trying to strike up a conversation with him. “You would not have.” He turned his attention back to the rolling sea.
“My name is Philippe Théroux. Bonjour.”
For a moment Françoise thought the young man wouldn’t return the compliment, but slowly his head turned and looked her up and down once. He extended his hand, hesitating for a moment before placing it in Françoise’s open palm. “Alain Barbineau, monsieur.”
“Barbineau? I know that name…” Her mind wandered off in search of the information, failing to notice the look of resignation on the young Frenchman’s face. “Ėtienne Barbineau? Do you know him?”
“He is my father.” He took in the tattered coat and mud-spattered hose that Françoise wore. “And you… know him?” The sound of surprise in his voice did not go unnoticed.
“Non. I have not met him personally, but I know of him.”
Françoise could nearly hear the ‘I thought so’ emanating from his mind. He took one look at her and dismissed her as inconsequential. She was almost tempted to tell the young whippersnapper about his father. Her husband had had dealings with him concerning some of his more… dubious… requests. The man was a very wealthy and very successful merchant, but he was also not deterred by the legality of some of the cargo he carried.
She watched him, deciding that such petty behavior was below her. If he so decided that she was not worth conversing with, well then it was his loss. Her eyes dropped to the book resting in his lap. “Ahhh, Marivaux. Très bien.”
“You have read Marivaux?” Why did he seem surprised?
“I have read many works, monsieur. Do not let the state of my attire deceive you. ‘Le Paysan parvenu’. That is one of his better works. ‘Les Fausses Confidences’ is also very good, but my favorite is ‘Marianne’. It is a shame that he never finished them.”
“Oui, it is.”
“I would have taken you for a reader of Voltaire or Rousseau.”
“Considering what has happened to France, monsieur, my heart is not in reading such prose right now. Times are dark enough without reading about their so-called ‘enlightenment’.”
“Interesting…”
He eyed her suspiciously. “Do you have some complaint, monsieur?” His voice hardened as he asked the question.
“Not at all… Alain.” She stopped to gauge his reaction to her using his first name. When no response came, she continued. “It just surprises me that someone of your obvious breeding who is well versed in the arts is reading a comedy instead of immersing himself in the ideals of Rousseau. It is a time of upheaval, monsieur, and most young men’s minds have turned to politics and freedom.”
“And you do not believe in such things… Philippe?” He smiled at her, throwing her own name back at her.
“I am a merchant, Alain. It does not matter to me who is in power. Goods are sold to those with money, despite whichever regime controls it.”
“Ahhh…” He relaxed. “You sound just like my father.”
“I do not mean to do so…”
“Non. Do not apologize. Successful merchants take advantage of the circumstances presented to them.” But there was a tinge of resentment in his voice.
“Well, I am not taking advantage now. My wife and I are returning to America. Her father is gravely ill.” The well-worn lie slid off her tongue easily.
“We are not going to America, monsieur.”
“I am aware of that. We are hoping to find another ship at St. Domingue.”
“That may prove difficult. Not many French ships travel to the English Colonies. We are not on good terms with the English.”
“I am aware of that, Alain. Nevertheless, we will try. It is better to be nearly there than not to have left at all.” And nowhere where you could be caught and hanged…, she added mentally. “Ahhh… there is my wife.” Françoise watched her wife stride across the expanse of deck towards her, her gentle sway of her hips under the dress enchanting her. “Monsieur Barbineau, may I present my wife, Madame Isa...,” she paused. What was the point in hiding it? “…Dale Théroux.”
“Bonjour, madame.”
“Dale, this is Monsieur Alain Barbineau. It appears he is another passenger on this ship.”
“Pleased to meet… bonjour monsieur.” Her words trailed off, knowing very well that the young man had no idea what she was saying. He took her offered hand and kissed the back of it.
“If you will excuse me, monsieur, I will adjourn to my room.” He walked off in the direction of the cabin, his head turning for a moment to catch young Rosalie’s eye for a second. While Françoise had secured the Captain’s cabin for the voyage, young Alain had a much smaller room that backed onto the wall of the larger cabin. On the other side of the ship was another small room, which was being used as a food storage locker for the voyage. They could ill afford to eat spoiled food from the cargo hold.
“Cupid is busy, I see,” Dale murmured.
“Hmmm…?” But Françoise’s mind was elsewhere.
Dale finally realized where the vessel was. “I thought we were going to America. Why are we sailing along the coast?”
“Ah.” Françoise’s time had just run out. “We are going somewhere else first.”
“You mean a detour?”
“Oui, un détour, as you say.” She remained quiet, hoping that Dale would be satisfied with that answer.
“And…?”
“And?”
“What are you not telling me, oh husband of mine?” Dale knew it was going to be bad. Françoise was skirting the issue.
“We are going to Africa first,” the French woman mumbled, the words trailing off to nothing.
“Going where?”
“We should reach Ouidah in a few days.” Rumkey informed the passengers. “Once we have picked up our cargo and supplies we will begin our journey to St. Domingue.”
“Merci, monsieur.” Françoise glanced at the back of the short man as he walked away.
“Where are we going Fra… Philippe. What’s going on?” But the tall woman just couldn’t speak the words. “Come on, spit it out.”
“I will do no such disgusting thing, Dale.”
“Tell me!” Dale was all but shouting at the woman.
“We are going to Ouidah… the Ivory Coast… to pick up slaves for the west.” There. It was said. Now she herself had never really thought about the plight of black slaves. She was always led to believe that the slaves were being taken to a better life. It was not of her concern and therefore not her problem. But Dale… From what she had seen of the future social propriety had changed. Her sweet Dale worried about everything and this would be one more thing that she would take to heart. That was just the way she was. “This is a slave ship, chérie.”
Dale said nothing, her eyes gazing at the water in contemplation. “Say something, mon cœur. This silence is… is… maddening.” Still nothing. “Slap me, kick me, yell at me. Do something!” Dale’s eyes looked into hers, showing the betrayal in those emerald depths. “I had no choice. There were no other ships.”
Dale stopped. It was not Françoise’s fault. The woman was just trying to get them out of France quickly, and by what happened on the waterfront this morning it was a wise move. “Sorry. You just took me by surprise.”
“Maybe I should have looked elsewhere…”
“Don’t question your decisions now… Philippe. These women are alive because of you. How I feel about this will just have to be put aside for the moment.”
“I know how you feel, little one.”
“How? We’ve never discussed this before.”
“You do not need to. I can see it in your eyes.”
“And you, Philippe? How do you feel?”
“It does not matter how I feel. I only want to make you happy.” Françoise eyes tried to make contact with Dale’s.
“Tell me.”
“I…” What could the French woman say? Tell the truth or a small white lie? She had kept enough from her partner already. Dale seemed to want to know the truth. “I have never really thought about it, mon cœur.”
“Did you have any slaves?” Did Dale really want to know?
“At first we did. One or two. But that was my husband’s doing, not mine.”
Dale understood. From what she had learned he was a man of macabre tastes, so a black slave or two would not have been out of the realm of his predilections. Her gaze returned to the sea. “And after his death?”
“They were gone by then. He was too… ill… to enjoy their talents.” What had actually happened to her husband was to forever remain a mystery and she would work very hard at keeping it that way.” Concerned blue eyes watched the smaller woman shiver. That was exactly how she felt and she had been there. “I got rid of them... sold them.”
“Why didn’t you leave as well?”
Why didn’t she? “I had nowhere else to go, chérie. My family had disappeared. I now had money and a title that was worth something. The cause of my pain was gone.” All of that was true, but the basic truth was far deeper. She sighed. “He took everything I had and I just did not care any more. I stayed because the servants looked after me so I did not have to look after myself. They could have left me but I was the source of their wages. We needed each other.”
“I’m sorry…”
“For what? None of this is your fault.”
“Because I made you feel again. I made you take responsibility.” Dale rested her chin on her hands sitting on the rail. “Maybe I am a taker as well.”
“Maybe, my love.” Surprised eyes looked up at her. “But then where would I be?” Françoise smiled sweetly. “At the end of a hangman’s noose perhaps?”
“I sort of got the impression that’s where you wanted to be.”
“Before…maybe. I was tired of living. But now? Do you not realize how important you are to me, chérie? Everything has changed. Everything.”
Dale felt a bit of that guilt slip away. She had known that Françoise’s life was not ideal and she had always wondered if what she had done had helped or hindered her. Now she knew. A cold finger touched her cheek, drawing her attention to the woman standing next to her. “You saved me, Dale. I was lost but now I am found.”
“Amazing Grace…” Dale warbled. The tall woman chuckled, relieved that Dale had accepted her tale. “This is all part of our destiny, you know.”
“Destiny…” Françoise peered at the coastline, wondering where this was all going to lead. “Hmmmm…. Destiny.”
“Monsieur… a word with you.” The Captain grumpily commanded an audience with the young man.
Françoise looked over her shoulder at the unkempt man and shuddered. She could smell him even in the gentle breeze. “What do you want?”
“In my cabin.”
“It is our cabin now, Captain.”
“It will always be my cabin, monsieur.” The Captain bristled. “You are there because I agreed to it. Never forget that.”
“So, what do you want?”
“In my cabin.” He repeated, already swiveling on his feet to walk away.
“So what does Mr. Stinky want?”
“I think he wants his thirty pieces of silver, my love.” How appropriate was that biblical reference? Françoise and Dale smiled at one another, fully understanding the depth of that sentence.
* * *
“Where is my money?” The Captain was seated in his chair as Françoise entered the room. He was stamping his authority on this vessel.
“Your money, Captain? I thought the fare would go to the owner of this vessel.”
“In due course…”
Françoise seriously doubted that, otherwise he would have accepted payment above deck. She unlocked the trunk and searched around for the sack of coins. The bag landed with a clink as it hit the tabletop. “There.”
He reached for the bag quickly, his eyes glowing with greed. His bushy eyebrows met in a frown. “Where is the rest of it?”
“You will get it when we reach the New World, Captain.”
“That was not our agreement.”
“We agreed to the amount, Captain, not how it would be paid.” Françoise’s lips curved up invitingly. “If the voyage is satisfactory, I will add another one hundred livres to the amount for the other passengers.”
“One hundred? They are worth ten times that!”
“One hundred, Captain. That is all I am offering.”
“They still have to be fed, to be housed…”
“I will pick up supplies and they will stay in this cabin with me.” Her look hardened and she told the Captain in no certain terms that she was serious. “Now, if you will get out of my cabin, Captain, our business is done.”
Angrily, the stout man grabbed his charts and instruments and moved across the room, standing in the doorway as his eyes fixated on the trunk.
“Before you go, Captain, there is nothing of value in that trunk, so do not bother wasting your time trying to open it.” Françoise made a show of sitting down in the Captain’s chair, shuffling paper around as if she had serious business to take care of. “By the way…,” she said, not bothering to look up, “…if you are thinking about doing something stupid remember this, if something happens to us there will be no more money. My business partner does not take kindly to harm befalling me or my wife, and as he will be the one paying the rest of the money I would suggest that you ensure that we get there safely. That now includes the other passengers as well. Is that understood?”
He growled, “Understood.”
Françoise thought she could hear his teeth grind. She had made her point.
* * *
“What on earth are you doing?” Dale glared at Françoise standing at the railing with a clay pipe hanging from her mouth.
“I am blowing bubbles, chérie,” she replied sarcastically.
“That is a disgusting habit. How come I never knew you smoked?”
“I do not smoke.”
“But… but… you just….”
“I am supposed to be a man, Dale. I have to do manly things.”
“Manly things? That’s shaving, scratching your crotch, spitting if necessary and making love to me standing up. Not smoking.” She eyed the offending piece of pottery with great disdain. “Nope… uh uh… no.”
“I’m not actually smoking it. I’m pretending to smoke it.”
“And that’s pretend smoke coming out the top then?”
“Remember this moment in the weeks to come when I do not have a beard, Dale. How are we going to explain that?”
“Oh…”
“Oui, oh.” It was so nice when she won an argument against her younger companion.
The burly blacksmith sidled up along side the tall woman. “I did not imagine that you were a smoker of that weed.”
“Do you partake, Sébastien?”
“Not any more, Philippe. I lost the taste for it.” When Françoise began to put it out, he held up a hand. “Do not stop because of me.”
“I am not, my friend, I am stopping because of her…” Her finger pointed at Dale. “…I want to sleep well tonight.”
* * *
Sleep had been eluding Françoise. Since the beginning of the voyage the Captain had been observing them or, more to the point, observing her waiting, plotting, planning. She felt it was her duty to watch him also and anticipate his every move but it was wearing her out.
She rose from bed and wandered over to the window, skillfully avoiding the mass of bodies sleeping on the floor. As she looked out the moonlight cast its ghostly light over the sea, touching the foamy tops in a fluorescent glow. The sea never slept, negligently tossing whatever had the impudence to sail on it.
Her eyes slipped to the left to their luggage and, more importantly the mirror resting behind it. It was barely visible in the dark but she knew it was there. She could feel it. With one last glance at the darkened waves Françoise moved to the frame, allowing a lone finger to slip over its contours.
The familiarity of it stimulated a memory of a night back in the infancy of their romance. It was a night when she had observed Dale asleep in her bed, the same moon illuminating the bed through the skylight above it. She had been so tempted to cross that portal.
As her mind recounted the moment, Françoise’s hands absently caressed the dark wood that warmed to her touch. It was soft and pliable like familiar soft skin….
I sit at my toilette just observing her. I am pleased that I had the mirror moved to a more amenable place, easily accessed from my seated position.
It is dark and I cannot sleep. The exquisite creature that haunts me is sleeping in her bed, teasing me with her beauty and just out of my reach. I had allowed her to come to me, to be sure of her commitment to me as I am of her. But the sight of her disheveled state, uncovered from the bedclothes wrapped around her, sorely tests my resolve. Her bare legs are visible up to mid-thigh because her nightgown has ridden up her body. It is a torture that I can no longer endure.
Despite my best intentions my hunger needs to be sated. With that thought in mind, I stand before our deliverer… the mirror that had given us new life. I slip my lace jacket and nightgown off my shoulders and place them on the bed to await my return. The chill in the air is immediate and my body responds in kind.
Without a moment’s delay I take that step that my Dale has taken in the past few days, feeling for the first time that wash as I cross the portal of time. It is a strange sensation and yet hauntingly familiar. It is almost like a blessing from God, granting us passage to re-unite. To Him I am grateful, for without her my life has no value.
The air is different here, a drier and slightly warmer atmosphere than the one I had just left. It is foreign and reinforces the situation I am in. I am with her.
Dale stirs, as if she feels my arrival. She sighs and shifts, the cool cotton sheet slipping again and giving me full view of her sweet body. As if to aid me, the light from the moon brightens as it emerges from behind a cloud, bathing her in an ethereal aura. She is an angel sent from heaven to save my immortal soul.
I have had my fill of watching her and now seek a baser sensation. The mirror is not far from her bed and I only take two steps to fulfill my need. I watch as my hand reaches out for her, the pads of my fingers drawing the sweet, sweet sensation of her skin. I close my eyes so that my touch can greedily absorb her, discovering all over again the contours and planes that define her. My eyes open when I feel her stir again, this time to be met by the emerald shards glittering in the moonlight.
She is neither scared nor anxious, but mildly curious and a little bit amused. “What are you doing here?”
“You are dreaming, chérie,” I answer, but a rakish tilt of her eyebrow tells me I have fooled no one. “To be with you,” I admit. What can I say? It is the truth.
She smiles that secret little smile that reveals her pleasure.
“Do you want me to leave?” The question is unimportant because I will convince her one way or another that I am meant to be here to love her.
Again she smiles, not a word passing her dry lips. Just as I consider moistening them for her, a small pink tongue emerges and licks them. I feel the action in the pit of my stomach. She has to just lick her lips and I am lost.
Her eyes slip down my torso, stopping momentarily at the heart of me. Again my libido reacts to the subtle signals she is giving me. I want her and I want her now.
Her index finger beckons me near and I oblige, letting my hands slide up the willing body underneath them. Muscles twitch and harden as my touch stirs her, the cloth of her sleeping garment barely felt between us. As if answering my call, my hands have unwittingly snagged the material and are slowly rising up her body. Her skin, bathed in the white glow of moonlight, pebbles lightly with the night air. She giggles seductively.
Just as I am about to reach my destination she rolls over, presenting her back to my wandering gaze. I have wanted to investigate this piece of skin since she teased me with it when she stripped in front of the mirror, if it could be called that. The material left little to my imagination but my mind had more than enough knowledge to easily complete the enticing picture she presented. How wrong was I…
I am only now becoming aware of her sweet treasure and how little I really know about her. I know that it is presumptuous of me to assume so much but I have felt I have known her in another life, so strong was her effect on me that first night I spied her in the mirror. But it is a matter for the daylight when I am no longer in her presence.
My body covers hers, warming the cooling skin with my own. Ahhh…it is like coming home, but not like any home I have ever known. It is full of warmth and love, something I have never experienced in my life. But what am I doing? I am intent on ravaging her and she has me thinking of love and romantic declarations.
My lips find her skin, latching onto the back of her neck. I cannot help but taste that piece of anatomy. My tongue slides along her painting her back in long moist stripes, intermittently interspersed with nips from my teeth. She is indeed a delicious banquet to be savored slowly and fully. Dale sighs as my breasts rub along her back. Her own back muscles tense as my tongue finds a ticklish spot. I cannot help but admire the display moving under my lips. She is exquisite.
My hands have been idle while my lips have traveled over her, supporting my weight with shaky hands. I want it to never end but my arms will not comply. As my strength gives out I allow myself to lower to her skin, rolling to one side for access to her.
Her eyes are like glittering emeralds as she watches me. I return her frank gaze with one of my own and smile, all the while my hand maps the curvaceous terrain. Our lips meet, at first in gentle greeting but swiftly our hunger is ignited by the touch. Her tongue touches my skin and I give her entry, permitting her to take control. She deepens the kiss, her tongue skillfully searching out mine like one soul finding another.
My reaction is immediate and sweet as her tongue slowly circles mine, strongly demanding that I comply with her needs. She draws me out until we can feel nothing but air gliding between our parted lips. This is not a subtle dance. No, a minuet is too tame for the power between us. It is more like some lowly sultry Spanish country dance that sets our passion aflame. It is a dance that requires absolute dedication and fiery resolve.
Before I have even realized it she has made her move, steely arms and taut stomach have aided her to move with lightning speed. I am now on my back without any knowledge of getting there. It is this fiery streak in her that I want to nurture, to protect and be the recipient of, for I know it is her true nature. Her shyness is more of lack of experience than apprehension and with time I will ease her of that burden.
Her tongue darts out and touches my ear as she re-acquaints herself. While I am more than grateful for any attention she wishes to bestow on me I am in the mood for something more… I cannot find the word for what I want. Wild? Passionate? Earth-shattering? What I want is beyond all these and more.
As if she has read my mind, her tongue is replaced by teeth firmly grasping the lobe and biting hard. The dart of pain flows through me like brandy, heating my veins and stirring my blood. She is caressing me everywhere with her body, her hands, her tongue, her lips, her teeth. She has become the savage beast that I desire.
Short nails scrape up my side, hard enough to leave red tracks but soft enough not to break the skin. I feel every agonizing inch of torture deep in me, teasing the heart of me and setting my soul afire.
Her teeth continue to discover me, traveling down my neck to torment a neglected nipple. The bite makes me jump, more from surprise than pain although she is not gentle in her ministrations. She is determined to leave her mark on me. I only hope that it is not something that I will carry with me for the rest of my life.
My eyes wander down my chest to be met by blazing green eyes watching me. They are full of fire, with a healthy mix of anger, determination and lust. Ahhh… here is ma petit sauvage in all her glory and I silently applaud her courage. I smile at her gently in approval and she continues her consummation of me.
While she has me thinking about my nipple, her hand has moved to between my legs gently drawing out my passion without my knowledge. My nipple starts to ache with the constant attention but I am loathe to stop her. I am walking that fine line between pleasure and pain and I wish to keep that balance.
My hands begin to wander, filtering through the soft blonde strands of the head hovering over me. She senses my restlessness and begins to travel down my body. I feel that loving attention in every moist trail of her tongue and every stroke of her determined hand. She has me standing on top of the highest mountain ready to throw myself off into oblivion… and I do not care. For the first time in my life I have no fear of that leap. In fact, I welcome it.
I close my eyes to absorb her love without distraction. It is as close to heaven as I can reach, feeling every single nuance of her love. Her hand has moved, prompting me to open my eyes. I look down the length of my body and she is staring back at me, her tongue poised over her fingers and wisps of her shaggy hair veiling her eyes. She smiles for a moment before she lowers her head, touching me in so many ways that I cannot count.
It is such a sweet, sweet ache that is truly appreciated in the dark. I lay back and just feel…the touch of her tongue on me, a wayward hand that has found my left cheek and gently digging in her nails in time to her tongue, her hot breath touching me in its passing sending sparks skittering across my skin, or while her foot is caressing my lower leg. She is using every part of her body to worship mine and I am undone. Dale has come of age. What more can I teach her that she does not already know? She has an innate sense of what is needed and is able to accomplish this.
I can feel the precipice approaching quickly as she intensifies her ministrations. She takes me by surprise by nipping me, her teeth taking hold of the center of me and swiping her tongue. It is almost too much as each intense spike of pleasure makes me jump. I fear for Dale’s safety as she continues to play me. Should I make her stop? But the sensation is too much for me to forego. I am in limbo, caught between desire and concern, and I cannot make up my mind. I barely have a valid thought in my head while she is loving me, so I have none. I cannot fight this maelstrom so I succumb to its madness…
Françoise stared blankly at the empty mirror. She was shaking and exhausted. The dream was both erotic and illuminating, and the message was blatantly obvious. She needed to get laid…and soon. Her only course of action was to breathe in some cool sea air and try to calm her raging libido.
* * *
Françoise leaned heavily on the railing, looking out over the moon-kissed water. Her emotions were roiling. How much longer could she last without touching Dale? Her dreams gave her away, showing her what could be and what was being denied. Looking over her shoulder at the upper deck she observed the two men on watch, one at the wheel while he other surveyed the horizon for possible danger. It would be so easy…
Silently Françoise moved further away, seeking the shadows near the bow. Her fingers had already reached for the buttons of her breeches, shakily feeding them through the well-worn holes. Her hand hovered there, her mind in conflict over seeking completion and remaining true to Dale.
“What are you doing out here?”
The French woman felt the blonde’s presence even before she spoke. Should she lie or tell the truth? “Getting some fresh air, ma chérie.”
“I can see that. Why do you need fresh air? Why didn’t you just come back to bed?”
Françoise could feel that her lover knew. It was a bit unnerving that someone could read her so easily. “I…”
“I know how you feel.”
Françoise seriously doubted that. After her dream she was about to explode. Her head hung in defeat. Dale was in her presence so any relief was going to have to wait. Her hood eyes turned to her partner trying to look into eyes that hid in the darkness. “I had a dream…”
Dale heard the rough edge to the words and knew what was bothering her tall companion. “Really? What was it about?”
“You do not want to know, chérie. At least, not here.” How could she describe the erotic images without throwing the woman down on the deck and consuming her?
“Is that all you think about?” Dale teased. They were both trying to be celibate and it was proving too much for her more experienced lover.
“Is there anything else?” Françoise retorted. She was being bitchy, she knew that, but her need was clouding her judgment.
“Hmmm…” Dale momentarily looked out over the waves before returning to Françoise, “I suppose not… at least, in your case.” Hesitantly she asked, “Do you want to go somewhere?”
Françoise was speechless. Her little American was growing bold. “Ahhh…” She threw caution to the wind and grabbed Dale’s hand, sliding it down between her breeches and her heated skin.
Dale’s heart was pounding. Françoise’s action had been totally unexpected and she wasn’t sure how to respond. She couldn’t help but look over her shoulder at the top deck, pleased to see that the two sailors seemed to be ignoring them. Or so she hoped. She withdrew her hand and heard an intake of breath beside her, knowing that she had probably not only disappointed her lover but silently admonished her for even considering such an action.
Dale turned around so that her back was lightly brushing the railing, before changing the angle of her body so that she was facing her partner. Her right hand took up position where her left hand had been a moment before. “Too hard the other way,” she whispered.
Françoise didn’t know what to think. One moment she was in the depths of despair as the hand moved away from where she needed it most, to the next moment where her libido was soaring with desire as another hand took its place. Dale had placed it there. Her little blonde had willingly agreed to this. It was unbelievable. The woman continued to surprise her in so many ways, each a welcome gift to her soul.
All thought scattered to the four winds as that hand crept slowly along her skin, seeking out the heat of her. Françoise’s eyes looked into Dale’s as the woman’s hand agonizingly crawled towards her destination, until finally she could feel a lone digit finding its home. There was almost an innocence in those emerald eyes communicating with hers, a sensuality in those shadowed lips curving slightly in invitation and a breathlessness in the satiny cheek touched by the moonlight. Françoise felt her throat tighten with emotion.
The rest of Dale’s hand negotiated the leather fixture in her pants and was eagerly finding the source of Françoise’s pleasure. Her own fingers tightened on the railing as Dale moved subtly, stimulating the nerve endings that had jumped to life at the arrival of the blonde’s first touch.
It was harder than she thought possible to keep silent, so Françoise resorted to taking a deep breath and holding it, allowing the sweeping pleasure to drown her. It was like quicksand, slowly drawing her down into a mire that she couldn’t, and didn’t want to, escape from. It was a trap that she was willing to die for.
Long after she had come back to earth Dale continued to caress her, keeping those same nerve endings on edge and sending sparks through her body in an uneven rhythm. Dale had her right where she wanted her… on the edge of that precipice, ready to jump with a flick of a finger. She was becoming light headed with all the deep breathing but it was the only thing stopping her from crying out to the heavens. And she wanted to… oh Lord, she wanted to. To cry out not only her pleasure but her love for the woman loving her. Her eyes returned to Dale and told her without words that very thing.
“Feeling better?” Dale’s voice was teasing and sensual. A roving tongue emerged and touched her fingers, prolonging the seduction a little bit longer.
“Mon Dieu…,” Françoise moaned softly at the display. She leant on the railing, her body still tingling and her mind still reeling. She found it very hard to care about anything at that moment. Her mind had shut down in favor of just absorbing the sexual signals still bouncing around inside her.
“What brought this on?”
“You have to ask, chérie?” Dale didn’t answer, not that she expected her to. “I was reminiscing.”
“Yeah? Anything I should know about?”
“I couldn’t sleep. I was at the window when saw the mirror. I just had to touch it. Maybe I was to remember why we were here but it found a memory in me. Well, more a fantasy.”
“Really? You want to tell me?” Dale shifted closer.
“It was just after you came to me. I was watching you sleep in your bed. I was so tempted to come to you that night but I didn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Well, my scared little rabbit, if you woke up in your bed with me standing over you, you would have run away fast. No, ma petite sauvage, it was always your decision. I know I can be sometimes…”
“Overwhelming? Dominating? Sex on a stick?”
“Oui, and more.”
“So, what about this fantasy…”
“Well, I think I should save it for another day.” She laughed at the pouting lip of her lover. “A bedtime story when we have time to investigate it more.” The twinkle in her eye could barely be seen in the low light, so she allowed the joviality to seep into her voice. “Now, back to bed, my sweet.” She could almost hear the audible moan of disappointment. “Soon, chérie.”
“How soon?” Desperation laced Dale’s words.
“When I can find somewhere quiet on this vessel that we can hide. As you can see, it is a little crowded. Still, you did very well for your first performance in public, ma chérie.”
“My first perfor...? Oh no, no, no it’s not.”
Françoise could feel the heat from Dale’s blush. “Oui, it is.”
“It is only if they know what you’re doing.”
Françoise looked up at the bridge crew as they entered the hall of the lower deck, taking in the smirks crossing their faces. “How silly of me to think such a thing…”
* * *
The door opened with a squeak of hinges, sounding loud against the breaking waves and the occasional snore. The two women shuffled quietly back to the bunk, shifting around on the lumpy mattress until they were able to settle. Françoise was quite proud of herself, managing to satisfy her lover’s need in the storage room. Dale had bit her hand to stifle her cry but otherwise the location seemed perfect for their purposes.
“Are you happy now… Philippe?” Lucette’s voice cut through the darkness, followed by the snickering of females. Françoise suspected it was all of them, but she picked out the distinctive high-pitched giggle of Lisette.
“Oui, tantine…” Françoise grumpily scratched the storage room off her mental list of possible locations. So much for that solution…
* * *