Her auburn hair billowed behind her, falling across her toned shoulders as she turned to face the young gentleman. Richelieu had been pursuing her attention doggedly for hours. But let us not hold that against him. Being the only twenty-year-old amongst a crew of old salty sea-dogs, who can blame him for being so cunt-struck?
She was becoming increasingly bored with his lacklustre attempts to conceal his pursuit. She did not mind his staring, it was more the fact that after twenty minutes he had not worked up the minerals to talk to her. At the captain’s table earlier in the evening, his eyes avoided her own, preferring to rest upon her golden cleavage. As the passengers cleared and washed their plates, he was last to get up from the table and, instead, sat staring at her pert ass. To her, voyeurs were no more than little boys. How could he fuck if he had no bollocks in the first place?
And a good fuck was what she needed. See, pride is a funny thing in men. Pride provokes men to cultivate an image of sexual bravado amongst their peers and banter about successful steps to seduction. Pride forces men to create lies upon lies about how many virgins they have deflowered so they can save face in the tavern. Pride will also make men completely miss the point that women just want you to reach down between your own legs, give what you claim is there a squeeze, and just walk over to her.
She was used to men like Richelieu. Judging by her quick glances at his fine-cut dark purple summer suit and his vicious side parting, he was a yuppie with a hard-on and pockets full of cash. He would do.
In her act of turning, he froze. She stared at his boyish expression and smiled. This was not the coy smile of a young maiden with downcast eyes. She stared directly into his eyes and her lips curled over her porcelain teeth. She was a lioness in heat. It was all he could do to stop himself from ejaculating in his breeches.
"You can give up your ruse now, I know you're following me.” Richelieu’s reverie was broken. He umm-ed and ahh-ed. His attempts at making an excuse were awful at best.
"What is it about me that you find so captivating?” She asked, maintaining eye contact all the while.
“Well, your beauty is…I have never quite seen something so exquisite and…on a cargo barge no less…sorry, I am not implying that...” She cut him off.
“Pull your tongue out of my ass and get inside my cabin. Room 24.” Her tone was commanding but sensual, wafting into his ears like a sweet vapour. He gasped slightly, stunned by the forwardness of her request. He could not quite believe his ears. She jerked her proud head to the side, indicating that he should get a fucking move on. He had not even caught her name!
“Sabine. Just in case you have some moral qualms before I let you fuck me.” She had read his mind. Hopefully she had not read his other thoughts.
He felt her eyes burning into the base of his skull as he quickly made his way to her cabin. He heard her slow languid footsteps behind him and his heart quickened. They suddenly became faster and she leapt onto his back. He yelped and could not stop himself before he barrelled into the cabin door. It was unlocked and they came crashing to the ground. Somehow in the ensuing chaos she had created, she had managed to straddle him. She ripped at the lapels of his blazer, pulling it over his head and off his body. His shirt didn't last much longer. She licked and kissed his slim torso all the way down to his crotch. Looking back up at him with fiery eyes, she pulled his zip down with her teeth, a lascivious smile playing at the corners of her mouth. She was dirty, and she wallowed in it.
His member bulged against his trousers, trying to find the new exit route she had made. Her deft fingers navigated their way inside and tugged at his blood-filled penis, bringing it out for some air. He gasped. Was it the shock of Sabine’s sudden pull on a tender region or his own lack of control? She stared down at him. Her eyes were a mixture of cruelty and longing. He clearly was not her first.
“I want you inside me." Her voice held an urgency, as if he was a drug for which she yearned. The truth was, she just craved cock. With great skill, in one fluid motion she pulled up her summer dress and shifted her panties to the side. He reached up to touch her glistening pussy. It was sopping.
“Fuck me like you imagined earlier.” That was enough. She launched herself on top of his proudly erect penis, gyrating her hips and flexing her perfectly formed abdominal muscles. She touched herself all over as he strained under her sexual power. He fucked as if she was a predator and he the prey; as if his life depended on it. She made a noise like a distorted squeal, all throaty and low and stared into his handsome face. She turned around with his dick still inside her and began dancing, moving her hips in time with his thrusts. She arched her back and flipped her mane from right to left. She looked over her shoulder back at him. She brought a finger to her lips and tasted it.
“You want to taste me?” Richelieu was speechless. He nodded, dumbfounded. She got off him and moved to the bed. She lay on her back and stared lustily at his lean frame. She stroked the length of her body, tit to cunt. She was glowing. Richelieu gazed at her lightly tanned mature body with a mixture of fear and delight. Her breasts were not small and perky like some of the women back home.