Ahoy there! Erotica on Board! Some Sexy Sailing and a Spanking Story from Her Stern Gentleman
Hello! I was inspired to share this excerpt today from my sexy spanking story novella, Her Stern Gentleman – for two reasons – the first, I’m going to Canada very soon and am going to meet up with the awesomesauciest gal, Queen Jayne Renault – in Montreal! *faints* Well – this story is set aboard a ship in the 1950’s which sails from Liverpool and docks in Montreal – I’m so excited to see the place for real after researching it for this tale.
The second reason is, my wonderful friend Oleander Plume shared a tweet saying that some folks, including writers, still looked down on erotica as a genre. So I wanted to share my thoughts on that. Erotica is a deeply important medium to tell stories – you can truly delve into a character’s humanity and psyche through sharing their internal sexual experience. It’s a grossly under valued genre. Some of the most moving writing I’ve read has been erotica. I will defend the power of this genre to the LITTLE DEATH AND BEYOND.
This novella actually took me a few years to write. I knew I wanted to explore the character of a woman who feels frozen, cold to the core. How she feels stuck and bewildered by her own nature. Through erotica, I could tell her story with all the intricate nuances that make us who we are. I absolutely love this book and am proud that I wrote it. I am proud of being an erotica writer and I’m even more proud of my erotica writing friends and colleagues. It’s not all about the shagging, though bravo when it is, it can be about shining a light on the deeper, sometimes darker, sometimes lighter aspects of being human. And for that, it is and forever will be my medium of choice.
Anyhoooo, please enjoy this rather long snippet – then go buy the book – honestly, it’s worth it! Only £1.99!
Chapter Two – Her Stern Gentleman
She can’t quite believe it. She is lying on a sun lounger in her bikini—in her bikini!—watching the sun glinting off the swelling surface of the ocean as she is rocked and soothed by the gentle loll of the cruise liner. It is unusually warm and calm for this crossing, she has been told. A sea breeze whips up and raises goosebumps on her upper arms and she pulls her cardigan around her shoulders—she knew it was too good to last. Tutting, she fastens the top button and lies back trying to soak up as much of the sun’s rays as she can before it will disappear off into the evening. James is playing poker somewhere below deck with lord knows who—but she doesn’t mind at all. Solitude suits her, she thinks, and begins to unbutton her top once more.
The one-way ticket from Liverpool to Montreal on this new RMS Carinthia had cost them almost all their savings, but James had insisted it was all right—they’d find work in no time. The fares had not been the ten-pound tickets Aunt May had raved about, but they’d managed and even James’ father had seemed pleased for them, crushing some cash in Elizabeth’s hand as they said goodbye. “For a nice dinner on the boat,” he’d said with genuine affection and for the first time, Lizzie thought he might actually approve of her after all—either that or he was delighted that he may never see them again.
She smiles at the memory, deciding to plump for the latter explanation for his sudden apparent change of heart toward her. If she is cold, that man is arctic. He seems to get on with most anyone else but Lizzie, who he just can’t connect with on any level, until now, goodbye being the key to their bonding. Lizzie thinks it is because they can sense each other’s cold hearts through warm smiles. She knows his secret and he doesn’t like it. After a couple of sherries one night, she’d let her guard down and told James about her theory—he’d simply ruffled her hair in that way she found terribly patronising and told her not to be silly.
After all these years together, she still can’t understand why he can’t see how dead she is inside. The only thing that keeps her alive and vital is him. But he just can’t see that. Of course she loves and adores him, she just doesn’t love herself.
It is quite warm now and Lizzie feels brave enough to discard the cardigan. What a difference a bit of sunshine can make. Adjusting the straps on her bikini top, she starts slightly at how cold her fingers have remained despite the sun and glances up just as a sailor strides by catching her eye. He winks at her and tips his hat. The most peculiar thing happens to Lizzie as she watches him disappear down deck with his pristine whites hugging his shape in all the right places. A blush from deep within her abdomen rises and spreads through her entire body, turning her fiery red from the inside out. Panicking at this new self-generated sensation, she sits up abruptly, fanning herself with her paperback.
“Oh, yes, honey, the sight of a sailor will do that to a gal.”
Lizzie looks quickly to a woman in her fifties who appears to be a regular cruiser.
“Oh, no, it’s not like that, I just…” But she can’t think of anything to say and so turns away from the cackling woman and stares at the scrambling words in her book.
What just happened? she wonders. It was more than a blush—she’d created her own heat. From simply looking at the sailor. Where the blush now subsides, guilt sets in. James. She remembers how gently and tenderly they made love last night in their swaying cabin. They’d cuddled together content and sated while he’d chattered in a low voice about what they would do when they arrived in Canada.
She can’t reconcile her body’s reaction and the words are still jumping around the page of her book, so she gathers up her things to go and find James. She’s not sure if she really wants to do anything with him right now, but her guilty conscience needs him close to try to dispel the strange feelings.
As she goes to push herself to standing, she realises with horror that her bikini bottoms have become very damp. She quickly sits back down and arranges her towel about her waist and discreetly wipes any patches on the sun lounger away by wriggling her bottom over where she lay. She is holding her breath and praying that the cackling woman hasn’t noticed her mishap.
“See you later,” Lizzie murmurs over before leaving. She is mortified that her body has betrayed her so. Or more so than usual. At last she knows her body is capable of making heat as ferocious as that, so why is she always so cold?
The lower cabin is dark and stifling and the men huddle around a solitary table with a single dim bare lightbulb illuminating the baize and cards. Lizzie stands in the doorway just watching the scene and listening to the manly banter. She’d popped back to the cabin first to freshen up and change her bikini just in case James might suspect anything. Guilt still rages through her in an irrational destructive loop she just can’t break.
“Hello there, love.” James lays his cards down and pushes the chair out behind him.
It squeals across the floor in that ear-shuddering way and Lizzie is instantly irritated and cold standing in the shadows.
“Hello.” She takes a breath and matches his beaming smile as he strides toward her, taking her in his arms and ushering her to the table. The sun and blush have totally left her now and she lets him pull her in close, so she can take what heat she can from him.
“Come and meet the guys,” he says, friendly and happy. They all turn and smile up to her in the same open way that James has. Meekly, she raises her hand in a little wave and James pulls her onto his lap at the table. “I’ll teach you how to play.”
“I know how to play bloody poker,” she snaps a little too quickly and wishes she could suck the air that carried the words back into her lungs. “I did go to an all girls’ school after all,” she says brightly and nudges him playfully, hoping to disguise the previous irritability.
“Wish I’d gone to an all girls’ school,” a large bearded man in overalls says, laughing.
“Okay, whose deal is it?”
They play a few hands with Lizzie perched with one of James’ thighs jammed between her legs. When their stake is finally lost, he picks her off his knee and stands to shake his new friends’ hands.
“Well, you’re too good for us, gents. I think we’ll call it a day.”
“Same time tomorrow?” the bearded man calls after them as they make it out to the deck.
“Maybe, we’ll see. Don’t want to lose all my travel money now, do I?”
Chuckling diminishes as they fall in step along the deck and up to the upper level to the bar
“Why are you so quiet and distant?” he asks.
She twists the straw around in her gin and tonic and tries so very hard to lift her gaze to meet his. The gnawing guilty feeling hasn’t left but she is recognising it as something that’s always been there now—but she had managed to keep it hidden even from herself. She tries out an excuse.
“I don’t know,” she speaks slowly and quietly, focussing entirely on her libation. “I think I’m just nervous—you know, new country and all.”
Reaching over, her gently cups her chin and lifts it.
“We’ll be fine, Lizzie. More than fine. This is an adventure, a once in a lifetime opportunity.” He ruffles her hair. “It’s what we always talked about.”
It’s what you always talked about. She keeps the thought inside and plasters on her best smile. “I know, I know. Just let me get used to it. It was all very sudden.”
A few gin and tonics and a foxtrot later, Lizzie is feeling like she’s finally thawed out. She is holding her strappy heels in curled fingertips as he guides her along the listing corridor to their cabin.
“I had a lot of fun tonight,” she says and she feels the glow coming from deep within her chest.
“I could tell.” He closes the door and reaches around her to lock it, pinning her as he does. “I was so happy have to my Lizzie back with me again.”
So he has noticed.
“I’m sorry I’ve been a little frosty recently…” she manages to say before he presses up against her.
“The cold I can deal with, love.” He nuzzles into her neck and the effect is instant; she melts between her legs just as he forces his knee hard between them. Her thighs part automatically and she rocks her pelvis onto him. “It’s the distance I can’t bear.” He is barely whispering into her hair just behind her ear and she stills, holding her breath to hear what he will say next. “Where do you go?” His voice is so sad and draws a melancholy alongside the arousal she’s feeling with his thick thigh clamped between hers. “Where do you go that takes you so far away from me, even when you’re in my arms?”
She crumples. He catches her and she sobs, tears she knows wouldn’t be flowing if it weren’t for the gin. She’s glad she is crying and he lifts her up as she wraps her legs around him, gripping him tight and suddenly her mouth finds his and she is kissing him hard and passionately. He responds as if he’s never kissed her before this moment. Tears mingle and seep between their lips and the taste is pure love. She wants him like she used to. There’s a yearning throb building in her sex and it centres in her clit, welling and peaking until her desire leaks from her and she undulates her pelvis onto his belt buckle. The sharp metal catches her delicate flesh and she whimpers.
He hoists her up a little higher and reaches under her buttocks with both hands, raking her skirt up with frantic fingers into the ripe soaking space inside her knickers.
Lips still hugging lips, she breathes hard through her nose, kissing him as if she wants to eat him whole. And she does. She suddenly wants to have him inside her, all of him. She is ravenous for him and grinds herself up and down his trousers, which barely contain his hard desire. She feels like she could come like this, just humping up and down, as his fingers probe her from behind smearing the slippery liquid over her sex. Her heart is racing and she pulls away from his lips. If she doesn’t say it now, she doesn’t know when she ever will.
“Fuck me, James.” Her breathy words, thick with desire, hang in the air as he hesitates. She sags. She shouldn’t have said it. He hates her to curse. But she does want to be fucked. Not made love to, fucked. Hard. Her eyes are on his chest and she wants to cry again.
Fingers vacate her and she is suddenly thrown onto the bed, her dress flouncing up over her face. The click and slide of a belt being drawn though its loops has her frantically dragging the fabric off her to see what’s going to happen next. Is he going to beat her for being so crass? His face looks hard, determined and full of lust. She’s never seen that look before and for a moment she fears he will strike her with the belt. She is instantly afraid but for the second time that day, her sex betrays her and her clit peaks and wells again and she feels empty and hollow.
The belt falls to the floor and she is relieved and disappointed. His trousers land with a gentle thump and he stands before her erect as he unbuttons his shirt, staring directly between her legs. In a moment of bravado, she parts her thighs and invites his eyes to feast on the soaking treasure. She can’t quite believe it when she finds her own fingers exploring the hot fleshy lips, pulling them apart to give him a better view. The ache is unbearable and she could roar and scream and writhe but instead, she says it again.
“Fuck me, James.”
He whips off his shirt and crawls onto the bed, pausing for a moment to inhale her wet fragrance, then up to her face. She can’t see it but she knows he is holding his erection, guiding it to her entrance. She also knows there’s no need for that; she’s so wet, it will find its own way easily.
Silently, he places the tip of himself at her opening and stretches it just a little then plunges in, fucking her hard and rough. He’s grabbing great fistfuls of her hair now, baring his teeth and growling as he stares at her chest. Grabbing her dress with both hands, she rips it open to expose her breasts. He bites down on the flesh and thrusts inside her harder and faster. Squeaking, yelping noises are coming from her throat and they heighten her want even further. The sensations are tunnelling right up inside her and she’s never felt it in there before—it’s always been on her clitoris, but this, this is something else entirely. She squeezes her vagina walls hard around him as he ravishes her and the mounting, building, welling, and peaking continues until everything stills and she feels like she’s falling into blackness. A black hole. Her own black hole. Then she comes hard with him still thrashing about on top of her. Finally in a convulsing spasming groan, he comes too and falls exhausted onto her. Their chests heave together and Lizzie feels like she is going to suffocate. Heartbeats bang so hard she can’t tell whose is who.
In the slowing and stilling, she feels the familiar rising hesitation and guilt. What has she just done? He is a gentle man. Her alcohol- and sex-fuelled glow begins to subside and she fans out her fingertips, reaching about for a blanket to pull up over herself.
“Are you all right?” she whispers, terrified of the response.
He rolls off and out of her, dragging the covers over him.
“Yes, Lizzie, I’m fine.” He reaches behind and pats her on the arm. “I love you, Elizabeth,” he says and she knows she’s in trouble.