Letitia tossed and turned in her narrow bed driven half crazy by fevered dreams of hard insistent hands ripping clothes from her body and hot lips searing across her flesh. She woke to find her own hands thrust between her legs and pulled them away with horror, appalled at her own wanton behaviour.
She was being subjected to the worst kind of torture, a torture she did not think she could bear for much longer. By day she was left entirely alone, locked up in this tiny room with nothing to do but read something called ' Memoirs of a Woman of Pleasure' be a Mr. John Cleland which as the title suggested, turned out to be shockingly graphic and do absolutely nothing to cool her overheated imagination. By the time her supposed fiancée visited her once again that evening she was desperate for his touch, which he gave to her with his usual expertise and control, driving her to moan against him as he tantalised her with his mouth and his tongue, and touched her through her clothes but steadfastly refused to go any further no matter how much she breathlessly begged.
She had to get out of this cabin, to breathe some fresh air, see the sky, or she would go crazy! And here was her opportunity, she thought, as the key rattled in the door and the dirty face of the cabin boy appeared, struggling with a tray of food.
"Good morning Miss," he blushed, his gaze on the floor as he stumbled in.
"Jim!" she cried. "How good it is to see you!" She took the tray off him and balanced it on the bed. "What is happening on deck today?"
"Wind is finally up," he muttered. "Captain is full of temper even though we are making good. Should be at Pearl Island by dusk."
That was good news indeed. They might actually release her from her captivity for a while, but dusk was far too long a time to wait.
"So everyone is busy up above?" she asked. "No one down below?"
He just nodded.
"How about letting me out for a little while, Jim?" she asked softly, running a hand over his tousled head. "My legs are badly in need of a stretch."
"Oh, I can't do that," he said. "Hanson would give me a thrashing if he found out."
"He would never know," she murmured. "Just leave the door unlocked. I'll be careful."
Jim looked up at her shyly, his refusal caught in his throat and he quickly fled slamming the door behind him, but not locking it, Letitia realised with satisfaction.
Letitia could hear the sounds of heavy footsteps above but nothing down below, just the creaking of the ship, so she tentatively eased the door open a few inches and poked her head out into the narrow corridor. It was deserted. She tiptoed down the passage, steadying herself by resting her hands on either wall and wondered where the Captain's quarters were. Was she brave enough to enter his private world and try to find out something about this mysterious man? So far, he had given very little away. He had even refused to tell her how they had met and it made her feel powerless and vulnerable and she was increasingly uncomfortable with that sensation. It was bad enough to have lost her memory, but to be so beholden to him did not sit well.
She turned a corner and heard the splashing of water and a cheerful whistling. She was about to change direction when something caught her eye that stopped her in her tracks. It was Hanson, the man who had brought her to the ship that night, and he was naked, completely and utterly without clothes. He stood with his back to her and she was transfixed by the sight of bronzed skin stretched over rippling muscles, as he held a wooden bucket over his head and tipped it so water splashed over his head and poured in rivulets over his shoulders and down his broad back and ran over his tight, round buttocks. He shook his head and his thick blonde locks sprayed droplets around the room. Letitia had never seen a naked man before, not even her husband, and the word 'magnificent' popped into her head as she stared open-mouthed. Then she suddenly realised she had remembered her husband. She had had a memory of him, standing embarrassed in their bedroom, dressed in his long nightshirt, asking if he could share her bed.
She was suddenly roused from her thoughts to see that Hanson had turned round, and she had an excellent view of every inch of his perfectly sculpted chest, a tight belly ridged with lines of muscles that led down to ... oh lord, she had not imagined a man would look that fine, that tempting. His cock rose from a nest of dark blonde hair, much larger than she had ever imagined, thick and rigid and twitching. As she stared, his hand closed around the shaft and his thumb stroked along its length. A drop of some clear liquid oozed from the tip, which caused her to lick her lips.
"Do you like what you see?" Hanson asked in a rough voice.
Letitia jumped and her eyes shot to his face. He was staring at her, the empty bucket dangling from his fingers. She gulped, unable to move or look away.
"Come closer," he said quietly.
And she did, hardly able to believe what she was doing but pulled towards him by unknown forces. Her skirts brushed his bare toes and he dropped the bucket onto the wooden planks, as he took her hand.
"Touch it," he said. "I know you want to."
He moved her trembling hand towards his cock and her fingers touched smooth skin, so unbelievably soft she gasped in surprise. He ran her fingers along his shaft and she felt him swell and grow harder, and when she reached the slippery head he moaned and gripped her wrist tightly.
Suddenly a loud voice thundered from above, "Hanson! Where the devil are you?"
"Go back to your cabin," he said through clenched teeth.
She looked up at him and he gripped her wrist tighter.
"I mean it. Turn around now and go back to your cabin and do not leave it again."
And Letitia turned and fled and flung herself down onto her narrow bed, her heart hammering loudly in her chest.