A low, steady thrumming filled the room when I woke, and the world beneath me swayed gently.

The trolley was gone.

I padded to the bathroom, filled a tumbler from the cold tap, and drank it all in one long draught. Only then did I notice the curtains drawn tight across the portholes. I crossed the room and tugged them open.

My breath caught.

There was no dock, no Philadelphia.

All that remained was the boundless ocean stretching into a flawless sky.

A soft click heralded a key turning in the lock. Then, a knock, gentle, almost polite.

I hesitated before responding. “Come in.”

The door swung open. The same brown-skinned man who had brought my dinner stepped in, pushing a gleaming trolley ahead of him.

“Good morning, Memsahib. Breakfast for you.”

I rose to my full height, voice stiff with assumed authority.

“Thank you. Please tell the captain I wish to see him immediately.”

“Memsahib, Captain Sahib asked me to say he will come later.”

He remained between me and the doorway, his frame a solid barricade. I began plotting an escape. When he turned to open a drawer, I seized my chance and darted into the corridor, only to collide with another wall of flesh.

No words were spoken. None were needed. I turned and retreated to my cabin, heart hammering, where the other man waited without a flicker of surprise.

“Memsahib, you must stay in here. Captain Sahib will come later. There are clothes in the drawers and wardrobe for you to wear on the voyage.”

He bowed slightly and left.

I eyed the trolley: toast, marmalade, scrambled egg, fresh fruit, and a steaming teapot. Hunger overcame suspicion, and I ate.

Later, seated on the sofa with a cup of tea in one hand and one of my precious cigarettes in the other, my thoughts turned to the clothes.

One by one, I opened the doors and drawers.

A wardrobe filled with dresses. Silk underwear folded precisely. Blouses in soft pastels. A cupboard that overflowed with shoes in pristine boxes, each pair crafted for a different occasion. Every item was haute couture. Every fabric whispered wealth. Wherever I was bound, it wasn’t to hardship.

I pulled a silk dressing gown from the rail and slipped into the bathroom, peeling off the clothes I had worn since leaving home. I ran a hot bath. The tub filled slowly, and I slid into the water, watching it rock gently from side to side with the ship’s motion.

When I emerged, I dressed with quiet deliberation: fine lingerie, a soft dress, and light flat-heeled shoes.

Then I sat on the edge of the bed, hands clasped in my lap, waiting for the captain.

._.

There was no knock, just the rasp of the lock turning before the door swung open. The captain stepped in, his presence commanding despite an unassuming frame. Authority hung in the gold-ringed sleeves of his navy jacket, catching the sunlight that spilt through the portholes.

He spoke with cold formality, but menace curled beneath each word.

“Mrs. Edelman, you are now in my care. I am the master of this ship and master of your body. My power is absolute. Your only concern should be satisfying me. Do you understand?”

I steadied myself, my voice brittle with defiance.

“Captain, I demand you return me to my husband.”

A cruel grin split his face.

“Madam, your life belongs to me now.”

His hands, concealed behind his back, shifted and crossed before him. In his palm, I glimpsed a leather-wrapped handle. His grip loosened, and the tails of leather slipped free, brushing against his thigh.

“The cat has nine tails,” he sneered. “You’ll meet it many times if you cross me.”

“You will serve me,” he said softly, “as you once served your former master.”

With that, he unclipped the suspenders holding his pants, and then unbuttoned his flies, letting the garment fall to his ankles. “Come closer, slut.”

I was on the ship because it was my master’s will and I realised my fate was to continue to serve him here, so I crawled up to the captain, sitting with my face close to his underpants. “Suck me.”

With one hand on each side of his body, I slipped his underpants off his hips until they fell down his legs. Inches from my mouth, his cock stood erect, pale as the pre-dawn sky.

I stared at it, unable to comprehend what I was seeing. The distance from the tip of the foreskin to the captain’s groin was no more than three inches. And he was not circumcised. My mind was in turmoil, in fear of infections and diseases that may have been lurking there. Every negro who had taken me had been cut, clean and at least twice the length.

But I knew what was expected of me. I leaned in, my sight locked onto the captain’s cold, blue eyes, and with a deep breath, I parted my lips.

My mouth wrapped around his shaft, and the captain gasped with pleasure. His fingers curled into my hair, guiding me as I tentatively began to suck. Though the taste was unfamiliar, I succumbed to his control, my fear giving way to a strange sense of duty. I worked to please him, my cheeks hollowing and tongue flicking over the sensitive flesh as I took him deeper. He groaned, his grip tightening, and I felt a thrill at his enjoyment. The cabin seemed to shrink around me, the world outside forgotten as I focused solely on the task. His smell filled my nostrils, a mix of sweat and the sea, and I realised I craved this degradation.

As I bobbed my head, the captain started to rock his hips and pushed fully into my mouth. I gagged but didn’t pull away, determined to prove myself. His hand moved from my hair to the back of my head, pushing me down hard against his skin, my nose crushed in the soft folds of his stomach.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice low and gruff. “Take it all, my sweet little slut.”

I felt his cock pulsing, and I managed to take his small length completely. The captain’s eyes widened in surprise, and then he smiled.

“Good slut,” he praised, his tone dripping with satisfaction. “You’re going to be a fine addition to my crew.”

The taste of his precum filled my mouth, and despite my reservations, my body responded, and my arousal grew. I found a rhythm, and my movements became more confident as I sucked and licked, eager to bring him to climax. His grunts and the way his body tensed told me that I was doing well, and I took a perverse pleasure in it. My hands moved to his thighs, gripping them tightly as I continued to serve, the muscles of his legs flexing beneath my fingertips. The cabin was filled with the wet sounds of my ministrations and the captain’s increasingly desperate gasps.

I was aware of his eyes on me, watching my every move, and this only fuelled my desire to please.

“Fuck, yes,” he groaned, his hips bucking as he neared the edge. “Take it, slut. Take it all.”

With those final words, he spent, and his seed spurted into my mouth. I swallowed reflexively, the salty-sweet taste of his release coating my throat. He pulled out, panting heavily, and I looked up at him with a mix of satisfaction and fear. What would happen next? Would he use me again, or would I be cast aside like a sullied toy?

Still kneeling and peering up, I pleaded, “Please, sir, where are you taking me? What is my fate?”

“You have been purchased by King Adebowale, ruler of Ngombo, as the latest addition to his harem of wives. We will arrive there in eight days, when my job will be done.”

“Purchased? A slave? Slavery has been abolished.”

“It hasn’t at Ngombo, an absolute monarchy. Forget your old life; you are just another missing person, a woman who went out and disappeared without a trace. Your master has been watching you for a long time, observing the way you covered your tracks on the way to meeting him.”

I stared at him, trying to absorb the implications of his words. Then he turned about, pulled up his clothes, tidied himself with his back to me, and departed.

My heart sank, and I crawled across the floor and onto the bed, weeping into the sheets. It was the longest day of my life. The meal trolley came and went, the food untouched. Sometime mid-evening, I stripped and went to the bathroom, looked at myself in the mirror, saw the redness in my eyes, and ran my fingers over the welts along my upper arm and across my shoulder. I counted nine red, angry stripes.

Those few minutes were a turning point. I suddenly realised that I had to control him, and during the night I lay awake for a long time thinking and planning.

._.

I woke with a start to a steady knock at the cabin door.

“Come in,” I called out, voice rough with sleep. It was the breakfast trolley on day two.

As I ate, my thoughts spiralled back to the previous evening. For the first time since the captain took me from the bar, I had a plan. I could shift the balance of power.

My dress and demeanour had to strike the right chord; disarming, yet strong. I chose carefully: a sleeveless white cotton chemise with slender straps barely clinging to my shoulders, skimming my thighs but reaching no further. Over it, a loosely tied ivory silk robe. Nothing else. Bare feet and bare legs. Hair twisted into a bun, secured with a net.

I sat in the armchair facing the door, rehearsing my words in endless loops, lips moving silently.

Then a key turned in the lock, and he strode in.

I rose slowly and walked toward him, spine straight, chin lifted. My stance was deliberate; a challenge. It stopped him cold. His eyes narrowed. His mouth opened, but no sound came.

Then the critical move. I slid a hand to my waist and loosened the robe’s belt. With calculated care, I shrugged it off.

There I stood: a vision in cotton.

My voice cut through the silence. “Do you see me, Captain? What do you think the King will do if he receives me marked by you?”

His confidence faltered. He stared, unsure, perhaps afraid.

“If you want my favours”, I continued, “it will be on my terms, not yours. And I will not remain locked in here like cargo. I demand access to fresh air. The first condition depends on the second.”

Inside, my nerves writhed. Was it too much? But I held his gaze.

“You drive a hard bargain, Mrs Edelman,” he said at last. “No more of the cat. You’ll have the boat deck. But you’ll eat alone.”

Sweet victory surged through me, heady and electric. But there was one more truth that I needed to make clear.

“Captain, you know my history. The men I gave myself to were black, and they all treated me with respect. My master saw to that. If you want my favours, you’ll do the same.”

His reply came crisp and calm. “Very good. I accept.”

And at that moment, I grasped the essence of power: how utterly it transformed the one who held it.

I pointed at the rumpled bed, “Undress and lie down here. And face me as you do it.”

I watched as he sat to discard his shoes, then stood again and removed his jacket, shirt and vest. Finally, he dropped his pants and stepped away before lying on the bed. Naked except for his socks.

His tiny, flaccid schmeckle lay on a bed of curly hair, and I sat beside him and reached across to stroke the soft shaft. My ministrations elicited the desired effect, and I watched it rise gently to its modest three-inch length.

I used two fingers to pull his foreskin back, admiring the transformation into something much more to my liking. Then I bent forward, deliberately allowing him a tantalising view of my breasts hanging loose inside my chemise, before I took the engorged tip into my mouth.

Small it may have been, but there was plenty of sensitivity, and my tongue did not take long to have him moaning and writhing under me. There was something else, a warmth between my thighs; I was aroused; there was a hunger there that needed to be satisfied. The previous day, I had been scared; my body and mind shut out every emotion other than fear. Then I did what I always did when I was with my negroes; I reached down through my bush, sought my sex, and parted the folds. It was wet, an affirmation of my need.

His eyes widened as I gracefully straddled his thighs, his hands instinctively moving to my hips to guide my movement. With a gentle ease, I lowered myself onto his three-inch member, hardly feeling its modest girth as it sank into my wetness.

I began to rock back and forth, accompanied by a soft creaking of the bed. Despite its small size, it filled me just enough to kindle familiar feelings within. The captain’s grip tightened on my hips as his back arched, pushing deeper, and his moans grew more urgent. His face contorted as my movements became more deliberate, each stroke bringing him closer to the edge of climax.

But his cock slipped out, too short, too slim, for my muscles to hold inside. Its glistening tip rested on his taut abdomen. His eyes were filled with a mix of confusion and desperation as he watched me adjust my position, placing my mound over his small member. I begin to rock my hips, pressing down and grinding against him. The sensation of his shaft sliding over my mound transferred to my sensitive nub and sent bolts of pleasure through my body.

His hands moved to my breasts, squeezing them gently through the thin cotton, as he watched my face contort with every movement.

The captain seemed to understand my intention as I focused on my pleasure. He watched intently as I ground myself against his abdomen, my wetness running down and coating his shaft as it moved against me. His hands ceased their gentle exploration of my breasts and instead clutched at the bedcovers. His eyes were wide and glassy, his breath coming in shallow gasps as he felt the tension build in his own body, desperately wanting his climax.

His hips began to thrust upward in a bid for re-entry, but I kept him at bay, my eyes locked on his face as the rhythm of my movements became more frenzied. The pressure built, I felt my muscles tightening, and then, with a final, forceful rock, I cried aloud as I spent, my entire body spasming with the intensity of my orgasm.

His eyes never left mine, and as the waves of my pleasure ebbed away, I felt a twinge of power in realising how much he needed release.

I leaned forward, my breasts hanging over his chest, and wrapped my hand around his shaft, stroking it with the same rhythm that brought him to the edge before. He gasped, and his hips bucked upward involuntarily as I brought him back to the precipice.

“Fuck, Mrs Edelman, please...” he whispered, his voice a hoarse rasp.

I smirked, enjoying the power I held over him as I continued to stroke him, my hand a blur against his skin. I leaned in closer, my breath hot against his ear as I whispered, “You want to spend for me, don’t you?”

He nodded frantically, his eyes squeezed shut in a mix of pleasure and desperation. I could feel his orgasm building; his cock was pulsing in my hand.

I increased my pace, watching the tension coil in his body like a tight spring ready to snap. “Beg for it,” I murmured.

“I’m begging, please, Mrs Edelman,” his voice tight with need.

I tightened my grip, feeling the veins throb under my hand as I brought him closer to the edge. “What do you want?”

“I want...I need...to spend,” he stammered, his voice strained with desire.

I leaned back slightly, giving him a view of my body. “Then tell me how much you need it,” I demanded.

His eyes opened wide and met mine with an intensity that surprised me. “I need it. I need it more than anything. Please, let me cum.” His words were a declaration of desperation.

I smirked, feeling the power in his submission. I leaned closer, my breath hot against his neck, and whispered, “Then cum for me.”

I increased the speed and pressure of my strokes, and my thumb swiped over the sensitive head with every pass.

With a strangled cry, he did as I commanded. His body arched off the bed, his hips thrusting upward as hot seed shot from his cock beneath my hanging chemise, painting my stomach and breasts with his release.

The sight of his ecstasy, the feel of him on my skin, sent a renewed jolt of pleasure through me. I watched him come down from his peak. His body trembled and glistened with sweat, a look of utter relief and gratitude on his face.

“Thank you, Mrs Edelman,” he murmured, his eyes still closed in the aftermath.

I eased myself off the bed and stepped into the bathroom, the tiles cool against my bare feet. Standing at the basin, I washed my hands, watching the water swirl away the last traces. My eyes fell to the front of my chemise, splattered with stains I hadn’t wanted. I stared at it and wondered how it would be cleaned, who would clean it and what they would be thinking.

Back in the cabin, he was sprawled face down across the bed, snoring at peace. His clothes lay in a heap on the floor. One by one, I gathered each item, folding them with a precision that felt ceremonial. The jacket came last. As I shook out the creases, my hand brushed something solid in the inner pocket. I reached inside.

It was the cat.

A knotted corded whip with nine thin tails, each tipped with a cruel knot. The same one he showed me the day before.

I laid the jacket across the chair, then settled into the armchair, the cat coiled in my lap like a sleeping serpent. I studied it, ran my fingers over the knots, then looked toward the captain, motionless in post-coital sleep.

Standing beside the bed, I lifted my arm high. The cat hissed through the air, the tails slicing downward in an arc for the second before they flailed the bare buttocks. I watched, mesmerised, as the captain convulsed from the pain, followed by a long, deep moan.

“Take that, you brute!” I shouted, the words cracking through the cabin.

“Feel what you wanted to do to me.”

He flinched, then rolled onto his side, clutching at his stung flesh, his eyes locking onto mine with a stunned kind of reverence.

His voice came low and heavy with awe. “You’re a fiery piece, Mrs Edelman.”

Without another word, he rose, gathered his clothes, and disappeared into the bathroom, slamming the door with a force that echoed.

I stood alone; my breath quickened. Had I gone too far? Was this defiance or disaster?

And yet… I felt good.

When he returned, polished in his uniform and unbothered by what had passed, his expression was cool, unreadable.

“My steward, Gonzales, will show you where you can relax,” he said, as if nothing had happened. “Good morning, Mrs Edelman.”

And, for the first time, he did not lock the door when he left.

Later, Gonzales knocked, invited me to view the boat deck and left me in a sheltered spot, sitting on a wicker chair while he cleaned my cabin.

._.

I didn’t see him for the next two days and sank gratefully into solitude. Gonzales mentioned the ship could accommodate twelve passengers, though it seemed I was the only guest. Beneath the officers’ quarters was a shaded veranda and an adjoining sitting room with a bookcase holding a modest library. I settled there each noon, shielded from the glare, reading quietly with cold drinks and a well-prepared buffet luncheon. Occasionally, a crew member would pass by, silent and indifferent. Had it not been for the fact of my abduction, it would have been a pleasant time.

._.

On the fifth day, I was in my customary spot on the veranda when Gonzales approached and set the table for lunch, laying out two places.

“Captain Sahib will be joining you,” he informed me—less of a courtesy, more a decree.

He arrived promptly, a chilled glass of beer in hand. Without ceremony, he sat opposite me and waited silently for Gonzales to retreat and fetch the buffet.

“Mrs Edelman”, he began, “you’re owed some explanations. I had to play it tough to get you aboard this ship. You’re important to me and to the King.”

He paused to sip his beer.

“His Majesty is an educated man. Schooled at Eton and Cambridge, fluent in English, deeply cultured. He was welcomed into English society—but only up to a point. When it came to romantic prospects, there was an invisible wall. None of the women deemed suitable were willing to consider him a suitor. So he made his own arrangements. There are native wives, yes, but he longs for a European favourite. He sought someone compatible—someone who appreciates men of colour. That someone, Mrs Edelman... is you.”

He gave me a pointed look before continuing.

“He knows your preferences. That your marriage was arranged. That you’re childless. And—though you may not know it—he’s aware that your husband shares your taste in black men, albeit with different inclinations.”

I was stunned. I had believed my steps so careful, my discretion impenetrable. But here I sat, exposed. My secrets had made me desirable—not to a mere man, but to a monarch. And what did he mean about Omer?

We sat silently as Gonzales reappeared with cold meats, cheese, fruit, salad, and fresh juices. Only when we began to eat did the captain speak again.

He talked of isolation, of command, and of how he missed home. His words softened, then shifted.

“I was sent to a nautical boarding school—an old wooden warship moored in a river. I was just a boy. Small and vulnerable. They bullied me mercilessly. There was nowhere to hide in the communal bathroom, and my little prick earned me the nickname Tiny Tim. Officer-cadets punished us for the smallest things, and I was always a target.”

He paused, eyes distant.

“Everything became twisted. Somehow, pain and arousal became entangled. And when you put the cat across me, I felt desire rise. So I have a request. I want you to do it again.”

He looked at me with something like hope.

I considered his words, feigning deliberation. Then I answered quietly, “Tomorrow morning. Ten o’clock.”

After the meal, I stood beneath the lifeboats, gazing at the endless ocean. His revelations pressed against me. What was I to make of them? And more unsettling still—did I ever wish to return home?

._.

On the morning of day six, I sat alone in my cabin, breakfast half-forgotten as I mulled over the captain’s request, unsure how much of a performance I was expected to give. The wall clock read 8:25. An hour and a half until his knock.

I was restless. I reached into my purse and retrieved the Chesterfields, surprised to find three sticks still nestled inside. Had it been days since my last? I studied them, then dropped the packet into the waste bin. I wanted my nerves to settle on their own.

I moved to the drawers and closet, scanning for something suitable. Something that would set the scene that the captain wanted.

The lingerie I chose was a silky black set—more suggestion than support. The brassiere was gauzy and insubstantial, and made no effort to conceal what was already pronounced. The knickers, sheer and styled like shorts, flirted with discretion, my dark hair just visible enough to arouse.

Then I found the dress.

A black satin evening gown, floor-length with thin shoulder straps and a deep V-neck that pulled the eye downward. Its wide belt shimmered, the silver clasp ornate enough to anchor attention. It even had a train—subtle, elegant, but treacherous if I moved too quickly. Still, I liked the drama of its style.

No stockings. Just a pair of black high heels, simple and effective.

When I saw myself in the mirror, I looked like a film star and a woman who knew what she was doing.

At precisely ten o’clock, he knocked once and entered as I stood, answering with a crisp, “Come in.”

His gaze settled on me, lingering over my attire.

“Do not speak, Captain. Just follow my instructions.” His brief nod was the acknowledgement I needed.

“Hand me the cat. Then remove your clothes. Face me at all times.”

He extended the item without hesitation. I cradled the cat o’ nine tails against my dress, resting between my breasts.

Piece by piece, his garments fell into a heap at his side, until only his socks remained.

I tilted my head toward them. “Those too.”

He obeyed without a word. I stood, tapping the braided handle against my palm.

“Turn around. Back to me. Hands behind your neck.”

As he complied, I lifted my arm and draped the tails across his bare shoulder. They slid down his back before I drew my arm back, then sharply downward.

The crack echoed through the cabin, and the tails left marks across his buttocks like flashes of lightning.

A sob broke from him, low and guttural, born of pain too deep for restraint.

I raised my arm again, and the cat sliced through the air before landing across his lower back. My third strike followed instantly, lashing his upper spine, and a fourth curled round his shoulders.

His body quaked under each blow, the sobs now ragged. His shoulders sagged, and his breath faltered as he battled the waves of pain coursing through him.

I stepped into his line of sight. Tears glazed his eyes, and from trembling lips came a whisper: “Thank you.”

I let my eyes drop down his chest to find his half-erect penis and grasped it in my fist, gently masturbating him to full hardness.

A slow smile curved my mouth. “Ah. So you crave the sting. Let’s find out just how much more you can endure.”

I circled him again, trailing my gaze across the raw welts blooming across his torso.

My fingertips found the raised, inflamed ridges. My fingers traced them delicately, and the captain’s body shivered at the touch.

Then, standing to the opposite side, I repeated the four strikes of the cat, leaving his back crisscrossed with welts. I stepped back to admire my work and spoke softly, “Turn around to face me, Captain.”

I watched his pained shuffle and his chest heaving from his sobs. When he was full-on, I smiled, lifted my dress shoulder straps and let them fall against my arms.

I kept my voice low and sultry, “Time for your reward.”

I released the silver buckle on my belt and wriggled my hips and arms. The dress slipped down slowly, but inexorably, gradually exposing the lingerie beneath. At that moment, I saw the captain’s cock harden and rise until it pointed straight up.

My fingers slipped quietly under the waistband of my silky knicker shorts. The soft material clung to the back of my hand as I explored my mound and found the wet heat between my thighs.

“Time to stop playing games, Captain.” I bit my lip as a shudder coursed from my bud through my body.

He stared at me, his eyes darting from my face to my groin, taking in every part of me. He spoke softly, “Mrs Edelman, I’ve been waiting for this, the moment when pain becomes an aphrodisiac.”

I stepped closer to him, and my breasts brushed against his chest. He cupped my cheeks, tilted my head back and kissed my lips. His tongue probed and explored every part of my mouth, and I responded frantically, seeking his tip, desperate for the sensation and connection.

His hands dropped to my waist and pulled me against him, grinding his shaft against my mound, the friction transferred to my throbbing sex.

The captain’s weight pushed me backwards until I fell onto the bed.

He looked down on me. “God, Mrs Edelman, you are beautiful.”

I was smitten; no man had ever said that to me, certainly not Omer, who was very sparing with his affection.

He reached down, grasped the knickers and pulled them down my legs in one swift movement. I could see the hunger in his gaze, which made my juices run even more. He climbed on top of me, his little cock horizontal against his abdomen. Then, I looked into his eyes as he penetrated me. His size, or lack of it, didn’t matter. He was a man, and he wanted me.

His rhythm started slow and deliberate, as if savouring the moment, but gradually increased to a driving force.

My fingernails dug into the cat’s marks on his back, and he groaned as if in pain, “Hurt me, dig deep, don’t stop.”

His thrusts bore on my clit, finding the perfect spot on every one.

My voice was a mix of need and desperation as I panted, “Fuck me, Captain, fuck me hard.”

The bed creaked with every movement of our bodies as our passion mounted. The captain kissed me constantly, saliva drooling over my chin, while his hands were trapped between our bodies, squeezing my breasts.

Suddenly, he lifted off, and I felt his cock fall out of me. A hand slipped down my tummy, over my mound and into my wet cunny. His fingers found my bud, circling the sensitive head with practised ease.

I moaned, “Oh, God,” the sensation sending waves of pleasure crashing through my body.

Above me, his teeth gleamed as he laughed, watching me fall apart.

“That’s it,” he murmured, his breath coming in pants, “Cum for me.”

I did; my orgasm hit me like a thunderclap, and my whole body convulsed beneath him. His fingers kept the pressure, and I could not stop my spasms.

Laughing, he kissed my neck, “You taste so sweet.”

I ran my fingers through his hair, pulled him closer, willing him to go on, and never stop that delicious feeling below.

Still thrusting out of control, I felt him roll me over onto my front, then he nibbled at my earlobe, whispering, “I’m not done with you yet.”

The captain mounted me once more and pulled my legs apart before slipping his little cock into my hole. The new angle was exquisite; he fucked me hard, and the extra penetration sent shudders through my body. Each thrust slapped against my buttocks, and the shock wave travelled up my body, forcing my cheek against the pillowcase.

I could sense he was getting close, and I wanted his seed in me, but I was not ready for that to be the end. I reached down under my body and spread my lips, pressing through the wetness of my arousal to find my bud, rubbing it as he thrust into me.

The added sensation sent me spiralling over the edge again, my body flexing and juddering in climax.

The captain growled, animalistic and raw, as he felt my muscles clench around his shaft. I was still spending, pleasure ripping through my body, moaning, “Give it to me, all of it.”

And then I felt him pulsing, a warm wetness spreading inside my cunny, sending me into a third orgasm, this one even more intense than the others.

He collapsed on my back, his weight pushing my body into the mattress, even as I convulsed and flashes of supreme pleasure spread deep through my whole self.

His breath was hot in my ear as he nibbled my lobe again, “You are amazing, Mrs Edelman.”

I smiled into the pillow, feeling a sense of accomplishment and power, having brought him to his peak.

He slipped off me, then lay alongside and immediately fell asleep. I felt weak and exhausted, trembling with immense satisfaction, and followed him into a deep slumber.

._.

He left quietly while I was asleep, and I didn’t see him again until after lunch the following day. I was immersed in a novel on the veranda when I heard footsteps approaching.

I glanced up and smiled. “Good afternoon, Captain.”

“Good afternoon, Mrs Edelman. Would it be alright if I joined you for a while?”

I gestured to the vacant chair beside me and watched him sit down carefully.

“You seem a little sore today, Captain. I hope it’s not too uncomfortable.”

He looked at me, then laughed, his body shaking with amusement. “You certainly left your mark—those aches and itches will remind me of you for a while yet.”

After a pause, he added, “We’ll be anchoring near Ngombo tomorrow morning. Our time is up. This voyage has been far more eventful than I imagined, and I’m grateful to have had you aboard.”

“Thank you, Captain. I’ve found it rather fascinating myself.”

“You head off to your new role in King Adebowale’s court, and I go on to Lagos. You’ll be senior wife now, a role with considerable influence—use it well. I’ll be tied up with duties in the morning, so I may not be able to see you off. Farewell, Mrs Edelman.”

He rose, turned toward me, gently lifted and kissed my hand, before he walked away, leaving me alone and pondering my immediate future in a royal harem.