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Session Start: Fri May 02 23:46:11 2003
Session Ident: #english*channel

[23:55] <Thom> The channel was usually wrought with storms and gales of mighty force. The great sea spending it's wrath upon the shores that denyed it. Considering this, the day as it was was calm and gentle. The breeze stiff enough to give the vessel good speed, more than enough to catch up to the merchant-man the look-outs had sighted. They were brazen about it as well. Those who gave chase. Their flag flew the union jack, England's naval flag, but it was more than certain that this brigantine was nothing of the sort. France and England were at peace, for the time. And why would such a smaller vessel dare to raid another one, especially a merchant? There was only one thing the ship could belong to. Only one class of people, in any rate. And they were not upstanding folk. The ship would draw closer, sails unfurled and pregnant with wind. Even the tri-cornered lateen sail was out and straining against rigging and lines. She was gaining speed quickly, wind whizzing through the lines and past wood loudly. The chase would be quick enough, considering the types of vessels that were involved. As soon as they were close enough, a voice would cry out from the brig. First in english, and then french a moment later. Surrender your vessel and be borded. Or else. And to punctuate that, a cannon would go off and echo down the channel. The ball whizzing through the air. Over the other ship. And the cry would said a second time, again in each language. Just to make sure they were understood. In that interim, the pirate vessel would draw closer, and men could be seen in the rigging. Several armed with heavy arquebus' or muskets, and all of them adjusting for shooting at the merchant and her crew.

[00:03] <simonetta> the ship is the color of cinnamon in this light.  it's masts are thick and stout, upthrust finely into bruised morning air.  as soon as they'd seen the persuing ship, they'd thrown up their sails .. but they were cargo heavy, and they were moving more slowly.  they cut the whitecaps sluggishly, their stiff linen sails were also heavy with wind.  rough waters, always .. but this morning the horizon was red and they had felt - upon leaving shore - that the channel would be passable today.  a scurry on deck.  gunpowder muskets prepared hastily, orders shouted, but they would be inevitablly assulted.

the soldier ismul had the french nobless by her sateen elbow.  "come now, you *petticoated* *brat .. !*"  she writhed from his grip and her smooth white fingers met his salt-burned cheek with force enough to boil his temper.  he caught her by the waist and he hoisted her from her feet.  she thrashed madly and could be seen from a distance in white lace, her screams rolling across the water. 

"WHORESON,"  she called him in lyrical english.  bolts of silk.  gold.  ore, they carried.  and would not carry for long.

[00:14] <Thom> They heaved in close, not seeing any signs of surrender from the ship. But they saw how heavily it sat in the water. The lowest of the cannon-ports could not be opened in the condition they were. That brought many a smile to the crew of the brigantine. And, after a few longer moments the first shots would be sent across the water. The puff of smoke first, then the heavy crack of musketry. Another warning shot, it would seem. For few bullets actually hit, or it could have just been the inherent innaccuracy of the musket. In either case, only one of the opposite ship would be struck and fall into the fridged waters of the channel. "Surrender o're there an' ye won' meet the bottom o'the channel!" The shout skittered across the rapidly closing space. Sails had been furled in a few places, but still the ship carried fast and close. Unless something was done, it was most likely that the two would collide.

[00:17] <simonetta> the man at the helm wore a shirt that bore the sweat of his effort, hanging on his sinew'd arms as though he'd taken an early swim .. his chin dripped saline, the red scarf tied 'round his brow is the color of blood.  he wheels frantically to be the left, crouching, yanking with all of his strength on wood so well polished with his calloused hands that it shone in this most dim light .. his black eyes sparkled and his rank teeth are bare.  soldiers - guardsman of a french nobleman - stand at the curve of the ship that faces the on-rush of the pirate vessel.  return musket-fire, a volley of it that is as sure as wildly rocketing lead-shot can possibly be at this distance.  there are a score of them and no more.  the ship is far too heavy, true, to open it's cannon-hatches.  then again, it had not expected to be attacked.  the blue flag it flew was a powerful sigil.  the child of Gervais had been locked in her cabin.  yet another treasure, hurriedly forgotten.  had only been a small white ghost to those across the small span of sea between them.

[00:20] <Thom> "They ain' heavin' to. We'll 'ave to come close an' drop the corvus." A shorter man, his pate bare except for scars turned to a taller one. Arms folded, heavily muscled and corded, foot tapping for a response. "Right you are, Smitty. Tell Andrew t'bring us to her port side... then swing t'starboard." The taller man nodded, hair of raven-wing black flicking in the breeze. Rings of heavy gold glinted on all fingers, his thumbs the only thing bare of decoration. And he stood immobile upon the officers deck, a few paces before the great wheel that was manned by two men. Not even a shift, as musket balls pattered his ship with their iron-hot caress. "Bring us in closely lads! Ready the grapnels an' corvus!" The ship shifted course, aiming to cut off the turning of the heavy merchant. And the firing that had been done upon the brig was answered in kind. Fifteen pirates or so in the rigging consising of the block of musketmen. Their aim was no better, but they had a single set of targets to shoot at. The guardsmen at the curve of the other vessel.

[00:32] <simonetta> below decks there is a set of powerful, woman-small lungs putting shrieks to the broad oak back of her cabin door.  she is whalloping the carved span of it with her pearly fists, cheeks flushed with rage.  above and around her voice she can hear the fire of the guns, the shouts of men her father had sent with her and with her dowry - she heard the skeleton of the ship around her complaining at the angle of their turning, but it was far too late for the heavy merchant boat to turn.  the pirate's good, lighter ship would nearly skim its side.  another guardsman toppled into the water and was drowned in the wake of both ships, still another skidded across the main deck and into a pile of anchoring rope;  he howled pain, curses, he told them they would regret it and he wept for his father, at once.  his bootheels scrabbled for purchase. he wore captain's sashes and he was handsome, blue-eyed and sharp featured.  simonetta paused.  the air had taken on a different smell, the sea sounded violent.  her fingertips danced across her breast.

[00:41] <Thom> Heavy rope was tossed across the empty space, and a heavy wooden board slammed down with a thud. A metal spike dug into the opposite ship, crashing through the guardrail and into the decking itself. All motion was ended, and both ships would shudder violently with the impact. Both ships crashing against one another with the grating of wood. "Rush 'em lads!" The cry from the officers deck, the captain finally stepping out of his immobile status. The sword at his side was drawn, glinting in the still crimson dawn-sky. A last round of musketry was released from the rigging, before weapons would be tossed down. As the last volley went off, twenty-five pirates leaped across the empty space, or ran across the corvus that now joined the two. "Don' hurt any women, an' try to keep the officers alive! Subdue the rest!" The cry came again, as the captain of the pirate vessel himself crossed the corvus, raven hair flapping like a wing, and gold encrusted fingers glinting. He was dressed much like the rest of his crew, though the heavy coat with golden tassels at the shoulders would denote him.

[00:46] <simonetta> the French captain struggled to his feet, a rope of intestine, life'sblood puddling away from a ragged musket shot in his stomach.  he held himself together and he drew his sabre with a metal hiss, staggering toward the rail - now there were eighteen men including himself, and every one of them met a pirate with his choice of blade drawn and a battle cry on his mouth.  they fought with precision, but there were more pirates than french officers ..  they were mussed with sleep, some of them, shirttails snapping and licking at the breeze, pillow-wrinkles still red in their cheeks .. some of them were boys, and one was dressed in coattails.  he couldn't have been more than fourteen.  a child, and he met them.  simonetta, below decks, was a prisoner in her rooms.  she stumbled backward, falling awkwardly when ships collide. she hits her porcelain brow 'gainst a scrolled table and blood slithers toward gravity on her flossy, hilly cheek .. fright begins to overcome her rage as the commotion above is distinctly desperate.  hurried.  clanging blades.  the stabbing of daggers.  biting, kicking, everything.  anything.  even the helmsman unsheathes his daggers.

[00:54] <Thom> The pirate captain stood in the centre of the maelstrom. His cutlass was crimson with blood, one of the soldiers dying at his feet. The french captain in his death-throes a few paces behind him. He had been the first to meet his blade, but it had not been a fare fight. The man had already been wounded badly. The boy was his next. And their blades crashed and rang upon the damp deck. He was a pirate, yes, but he was not that cruel of a man. The fight ranged, the boy using what skills the others had taught him, and the pirate using none of the manouvers expected in return. Yet, in the end, the cutlass found it's way under the sabre faced against him. But he did not drive it through his face, like it would look. The heavy bell-guard dropped and cracked upon the back of the boy's head. He'd be taken, of course. And perhaps ransomed back to France. But at least he would not be dead. Though, perhaps death would have been better... In other corners of the ship, the fighting was dying down already. Too fast and too many were the pirates.

[00:57] <simonetta> they were men used to hard training against wooden targets .. they had been accustomed to good wine and little threat, fine officers with so little battle experience.  the boy lay sprawled with his neck to the air, a strong-bodied lad of good stock .. he was not an officer's boy, not with hose this way and buckles on his shoes.  he belonged to blood better than the soldier.  he'd fought well and with his soul - he fought with motive, - with love, with angst and terror.  one by one, the ferocious french force fell under cutlasses and fists.  they writhed and gave until there was nothing left to give .. even the scullions had come, belatedly.  they lay in a heap beside the underdeck hatch, hacked from the hole that had produced them.  the ship rolled, listed.  noone at the helm.  the french captain stopped gurgling.  simonetta covered her mouth and went to hide under her bed.

[01:08] <Thom> Pirates swarmed all over the deck, already going to collect those who had perished in the close quarters fighting. And then tossing them all onto one section of the deck. Over and out of the way of their tasks. Those who were still alive, and would heal, would be lifted and then carried over to the other ship and placed upon the deck with their hands bound, if they even needed it. Others yet descended into the dark hold of the french vessel, searching for anything of value. And what a find they wound indeed collect. It seemed to be a noblewoman's dowry, and without needing the order of the captain, the items would be hauled up bloody steps and into the light of day. And then the locked door would be found. The captain went down into the hold. And he would examine the door for another moment or two. Then, finally. "If anyone is in there I'd best be steppin' back away from the door." The call was said only once, and even if they did not understand his english, the meaning was perhaps conveyed... As the two sailors with him hammered at the door with heavy shoulders.

[01:10] <simonetta> simonetta, who had previously been so consumed with anger that the commotion above was surreal .. who had been thrashing against the door, who had been shrieking her outrage .. was now shuddering with fear, crushing herself against the sour smelling wall underneath her bunk.  she held both fine, cultured hands over her mouth and she struggled against every notion, every panicing, thrashing firing brain spark and she felt vomit boiling up in her throat.  she wore pearls in her hair.  she wore them around her neck and in deep cleavage - and when shoulders were thrown against her door she began to scream irrationally, hoarsely.  hidden from immediate sight.

[01:18] <Thom> The door shuddered heavily four times before there was a pause. Long and silent from the otherside... and then? Finally, a shot went off. The smell of gunpowder filling the air, and the crash of metal against the metal lock. The door was again had shoulders applied to it, heavy and hard, that would finally knock it free and swing the door wide. In through the curling smoke would stride the captain. He was tall and angular. With features covered in a scruffy beard in need of trimming. Hair that hung below his shoulders in rivulets. Pretty, perhaps. Were not blood spattered against his cheek, and upon his breeks. If dust did not collect upon his features and hang about him. Even down here, in the shadows of the hold, his golden rings would glimmer. "Look at what we got 'ere. Must be what all this gold an' furnishings are for. Collect 'er, lads, an' take care of 'er. Bring 'er along with the rest, and deliver 'er to my cabin." Soft chortles were delivered by the two pirates, their grin obvious as to their belief.

[01:21] <simonetta> she would be hauled out slippers first, clawing at the floorboards, weeping disbelief.  her corset is bone, is heaping breastflesh above it's flatline lace hem in the style of the day .. her hair is as blonde as daffodils, baby fine and schooled into careful fingercurls.  everything bounced, tremored .. she was slim, short, a woman of carefully raised creme and butter.  her eyes are the green of french hillsides, her lips a plump cupid's bow that might perhaps have spawned ballads and barsong .. dressed in white as a bride might be, rustling, her chin is pointed sharp and crumpled with fear .. deliver?  .. collected?  "my brother .. "  she managed, noticing the blood.  all the blood.  her features blanched.

[01:30] <Thom> "If you mean the boy, alive. An' he'll stay that way if ye don' misbehave. Now be good, else I'll let these heathens at you." A glance at the two, and the captain himself would turn and stride out. His own destination back to his ship and await the final tallies of the plundering. A rich little harvest, this was. And it was more than enough to fulfill some of the debts he and the others had accued. And get them outfitted with enough to take them across the sea and to the new world. Where they could sail in the clear waters around the Antillies or by Panama. Far from the control of any other nation. His laughter could be heard, even in the below decks, as he left. One of the two sailors with the girl eyed her critically, then took hold of an arm.
"Now look'ee 'ere lass. Don' be rough with us, else we'll be rough with ye in return." A hand shifted, and traced along the line of her corset, grinning. "We ain' gotta defile ye, t'punish ye. Jus' so's y'know." And the grin was accompianied by the second man, who took hold of the other arm. Their grips were light, but still strong as iron. She could struggle, but it would lead to bruises.

[01:34] <simonetta> she didn't struggle.  she was familiar enough with the stories and lore to struggle - and in the rear of her awareness, hanging on the very eyelets of the lace at her breast .. on her heart .. was the thought that they, these bloodied men, had slaughtered her guard.  the blood told it.  they'd taken Paris.  they would have the dowry.  and she was no longer headed to England to be a virgin bride. the fingertip that followed the shape of her flesh, disturbed the well woven cotton against her skin .. it raised goosebumps on her arms, hoisted the tiny hairs at the nape of her flawless neck.  she flicked a glance about herself and waited .. waited to wake .. felt she would really and truly be sick .. !  tears hung on her lashes.  she went.

[01:41] <Thom> She would be led out of the cabin, as another salior winked and then entered it behind them. To gather up anything that would be useable. She would be led. And led towards the narrow, crimson steps, and then out into the bright of the day. Gore was spattered against the decks, trails of it where men had been dragged to the prow. The captain had been propped up against the railing by the wheel. His sword still in hand, and his other covering the gaping wound in his stomach. The cut that had finished him, however, was still visible. A violent slash that went from shoulder to shoulder, across his chest. Yet he was arrayed in a semblance of... honour. Some pirates issue that had honoured a man who had faught, vainly, but bravely against them. The boy would be seen, then. Being carried across the narrow plank by two saliors. Of the black haired pirate captain, there was naught to be seen. But the wake of his passage could be easily noted. Men were scurrying to get his orders finished, so they could depart the scene before anyone else happened by.

[01:45] <simonetta> she did vomit.  when she saw the dish washer with his throat still oozing, when she was escorted into a swath of blood from a body that had been dragged by its heels .. when she saw the captain that had locked her in her cabin arranged while he stiffened, his features colorless and his intestines falling from a hole in his stomach .. the *gash* .. maybe it was on someone's boots, maybe it was simply on the deck.  breakfast spilled unceremoniously.  she hung in the hands of the men who had her by the arms.  she struggled in vain, fumbling to raise her wedding gown above the puddled gore and out of the corner of her watering eye she saw Paris' hand flopping uselessly in the air as he crossed the plank to the pirate's ship.  pirate's ship .. ! he would be a handsome young man at fifteen, but now he was still a boy .. a strong-willed and good, if spoiled boy with his collar open and one of his shoes falling free .. they were dead, all of them dead!  the gold, the chests, the ore, the promises .. they were marching away hurriedly.  she felt crushing guilt.  her last words.  he'd loved her.

[01:51] <Thom> The two men eyed each other over her back as she sent the contents of her stomach against the gently rolling deck. It was a gruesome sight, to be sure. The sun bare measures into the sky, casting it's warming light upon the waters. In the distance, the Cliffs of Dover shone with brilliant energy. It was a beautiful sight. Would have been a beautiful sight, with the sky clean and dry. Except for the disarray of the vessel. She had been given a few moments by the two, and then she would be hauled again. More uncerimoniously this time. They had things to do, and they couldn't dawdle by letting her vomit every two paces across the viscera stained decks. The corvus was reached... and she would be simply... hefted upon a meaty shoulder.
And then carried across the waters almost fifteen feet below them. It was not a long fall, really. But the two ships -were- crashing against one another often times. Anyone down there would surely perish from the impact.

[01:55] <simonetta> rump in the air then, and a very fine, round backside it was.  she raised her head to have a last look at the ship, ribbons and rivulets of hair dripping 'round pearl-fine features .. a jewel slipped from decolletage and swung in the air.  she hadn't loved him in return.  but she'd known them from childish days .. all of them, every face.  and though she was a little selfish and a little spoiled .. she felt this pain keenly.  her mouth gaped.  but they left the vessel for good, the french vessel being emptied of its wealth .. of furniture, of her wardrobe and a painting of her mother, a jewel case from her bedroom.  she spied her underthings in one fist and took breath to say something - exhaling weakly instead.  understanding little of their language, but enough to know .. .. most of her english vocabulary consisted of bad names and curses.  she used none of these, not yet.  numb with shock.  the blue flag fluttered to the deck.

[02:01] <Thom> The heavy set man would meet them at the other end of the corvus. His heavy arms were fine examples of masculinity, moving and directing the flow of goods across the corvus, and across a second plank that had finally be lowered. The heaviest items were carried across now and set upon the deck. They were stripping the vessel of everything they could! Foodstuffs, water casks. Rum. Wine. And all the weaponry except for the cannons down below. And rather efficiently it would seem, from their easy haste. The woman... was carried as she was, then. That single sailor carrying her from the centre of the deck towards the rear. The captains quarters. Right past the five men who had survived with minor injuries, and would be ransomable. And her brother as well, it would seem. Lain against a spar to rest as he was. Carried right past him, and to the dark sanctuary that would be her new... home, for the time being. The door would be swung open, waiting for her to step past the portal and inside.

[02:05] <simonetta> she passed the boots-toes of men she recognized.  simonetta said 'god be with you' in barely breathed french, but most of them were far from hearing .. noteably paris, who was still unconcious.  down the deck, paraded past crew with loyalties and intentions all seperate and the same .. she smelled of rose water and of a recent bath, of feminine flesh and of salt sea air.  her skirt folds gathered light, so pale, stealing color from whatever happened to be nearest .. when her slippered feet met the deck, she was momentarily confused.  simonetta wrung her hands and she asked the man to her left what exactly they would do to her and what punishment could possibly entail - all in french, liquid, quick.  a small smile, maybe .. and maybe he would pat her a little, and maybe he'd urge her farther into the doorway.  simonetta of delicate features and strong eyes, of unique structure, she was too sensible to put a hand to any of them.  bide her time, now .. into the shadow of the room, she was swallowed by it.

[02:13] <Thom> The salior just shook his head, and with a light hand directed her into the cabin. The door to which swung shut after she stepped into it. Something was then places against it, to make sure it would not open again. The cabin itself was a smaller sort, though perhaps big by the standards of this ship in particular. A table was nailed down and to one side. A chair with a folding arm the same way placed and mounted. A narrow cot took up the other wall, under narrow windows that were just enough to let the light in. They were locked, but open to the outside. The sea air wafted in gently. It did not quiet seem like a prison, at that. A comfortable place, where a pair of britches were folded at the foot of the bed, and a pair of extra boots on a shelf. Charts were rolled and stuffed in a split between the table and a chest. Lived in, it looked. And it was her place until the captain came along. Himself? He was busily preparing to fire the other ship, and send it to the bottom of the ocean.

[02:16] <simonetta> she stood a moment, mopping at her mouth with the back of one hand, now grasping at one lace-clad elbow .. she went to the narrow windows and she peeped out onto the water .. she paced the room and she, by mere force of will, did not weep.  she would bargain, she began threading the words together in her pretty head.  father would ransom them another ship if he had to, full, for his children .. father would, yes, and he would send it quick as an arrow from a birch bow to meet them.  she'd say that.  she put her hands against the door.  she felt the cot, she began to tremble so badly that her teeth chittered.  they would sink it, every splinter, the corpses, all of them.  she sobbed once, dryly.  swayed with the movement of the ship.

[02:22] <Thom> And as she would be correct in her presumption. Especially as the vessel shuddered with motion once again, wind slowly filling tightly held sails. It would not due to get them tied up within the embrace of the other ship. Sway, and then the rock of sails being fully unfurled. A jolt as the ship started to move, and the feel of it turning in a slow circle. Orders came from above, shouts. And then... the booming of a cannon. One going off, and then a second. A third finally, and the scent of burning timber could be faintly discerned. The ship slowed, it seemed. As if allowing the pirates to watch the specticale of their foe being sent to the briney deep. Laughter, and perhaps a quarter of a glass passed, before the sound of something moving was heard again. And the door would open, allowing the captain of the ship to enter. It swung closed behind him, which he then took a moment to lock.

[02:25] <simonetta> she shuffled back against the table and watched him out of the corner of her eye.  just long enough for him to begin locking the door behind himself - now a quick look 'round for something to brandish as a weapon, anything at all on the desk.  her eyes caught light in facets, stole what little fell in from the slitted windows .. she smelled the smell.  heard, felt the jolts of the ship, it's turnings.  simonetta said nothing, not yet.  she made note of the importance of his dress and the weight in his demeanor .. discerned that this may be the man to bargain with.  .. a look paused on his hair.  on the span of his shoulders.  she felt reasonable.  absurdly frightened, but reasonable .. !

[02:31] <Thom> Indeed, it would be the man to bargin with. He took a moment to remove his coat and hang it. Blood was flecked at the trailing edges, what had been at his knees when the fighting had gotten roughest. His shirt as well, was flecked in it along the torso. He was silent as he removed that as well, used it as a rag to scrub away the little that had soaked through it, and then tossed it into a bin. He was, truly, a solid man. Slender, but with the build of a man used to labor. Arms were well defined, as were the muscleature of his back and shoulders. Nothing like the first mate, nothing at all, but still solid. He turned towards her as he drew on another shirt, and took a moment to comb fingers through damp locks. He had, apparently, just seluiced the sweat off of his head before entering. The wet ringlets of hair collected at the nape of his neck as he moved, then motioned with his hand for her to take a seat. She had the choice of either the bed, or of the bolted down chair. Or of standing.

[02:35] <simonetta> "ne me blessez pas,"  don't hurt me, she blurted, still patting around on the desk behind herself.  the thin-skinned pulse of her wrists touched at the bride - fine ribbons that rode her spine, taut criss-crossed bindings.  she sidled a little farther down the table when he removed his coat - averted her eyes with a violent flush when his shirt came free, too.  couldn't help but stare at the blood pocking his clothes, though, and when a new shirt flared into place in her peripheral vision, she turned her attention back to him.  her fingertips fumbled across a fountain pen.  simonetta walked it into her fist.  she did not sit.  she didn't think to, not even after he'd gestured.  .. too much, to many other things vying for precidence in her fineboned skull.

[02:41] <Thom> He paused a moment, eying her. Eying the room. She had had enough time to devise something, were she intelligent enough. But the room was chaotic, even in it's order. And he was not sure as to where... Ah! And he saw her hand, glanced at quickly from behind pale-blue eyes. A little smirk formed upon his face, and he moved to sit down himself. On the bed. So she would stand, it mattered little to him. He sat and stared for a moment, and then began. His french was... a little off, perhaps. But it would serve. "Vous êtes une fille de nobles?" Then, a moment to watch her. And to appraise her for the moment. His study was very... direct and focused, not taking anything out of account. From the pearls in her hair, to her bare feet.

[02:47] <simonetta> this gave her pause, though she rightly *should* have anticipated it.  she wears a fortune bound to her torso, her skirts alone could create two more garments .. "oui, mais .. mon père vous payera votre poids - le non, le poids de votre bateau dans la pièce de monnaie s'I, mon frère, et notre garde sont entiers et indemnes retournés .. !" my father will pay you your weight - no, your ship's weight in coin if i, my brother, and our guardsman are returned unharmed, she said quickly.  emphasis put to 'unharmed' because she wasn't entirely ignorant of the strength put to eyes when his torso had been naked .. a split hair second, but branded into her memory.  she had, until recently, been cloistered.  his glance.  he knew about the pen.  so be it, she was plain about holding it.

[02:52] <Thom> "Enlevez vos bijoux... et puis votre robe." That was his only response, as a other cloth was tossed to the table besides where she stood. It had the air command to it. Take off the jewels, and then her clothes? He sat simply there upon the bed, hands folding carefully into his lap. He was placid about it, watching quietly for her next move. It was something she could do herself... or have 'help' in doing, from the way he eyed her.

[02:55] <simonetta> "n-non,"  she stammered with a blink, working her little hand in a white-knuckled fist 'round her makeshift weapon .. suddenly feline-still, paused there in the half-light.  coistered in a nunnery to be prepared for the duties of an english wife, a bearer of children, the director of the household .. in truth, maybe her eyes would explain it in small ways. the way she stood and the way her free hand rose to her throat, curving to hold it.  she was refusing the *notion* of it.  couldn't grasp it.  ridiculous.  as though he'd asked her to spin straw into gold.  her toes bunched.

[02:58] <Thom> The man eyed her for another moment, the swell of the ship casting light against his face. Handsom? Perhaps if he shaved, and there was not the stray speckle of blood within the dark stubble upon his face. Eyes darted to her hand, and then up along her body. The sort of look that was more caress... than simple look. Finally, after the words formed within his head...
"Faites-le, ou je le ferai... pour vous." A little stumble, perhaps. But the meaning was clear enough. It was what his eyes said. Oh, no. He would not take her to his bed. She was worth more whole. But that did not mean she was not... exquisite to look at.

[03:04] <simonetta> her chin slipped, dipped aside and her face turned away from him.  her thoughts worked around it, put sense to it, and knotted it all together.  he wanted her clothes and the pins in her hair, the necklace hung heavily 'round her neck.  .. "tournez votre de nouveau à moi, puis,"  she whispered.  he would turn his back to her, then.  only her husband, a religious notion in her head, a ghost of *correct* .. "tous mes vêtements .. ?"  all of them, she wondered at him in a barely raised murmur .. ?  perhaps just to her slip, and that would be alright.  it kindled a little hope in her.  not such a sin, then.  it was a desperate little flame.

[03:07] <Thom> The gaze he leveled would be enough. Enough of an answer that he would go for neither of her requests... She was, after all, his prisoner, and not the other way around. Arms folded along the line of his chest, where muscles twisted under the thin shirt. An eyebrow arched a notch or two, fixing with a simple glance. And a simple command. "Maintenant. Tout le lui."

[03:16] <simonetta> she had, she surmised, only a few spare moments to think this through.  he was still wearing his blade.  she had only the pen.  she weighed the humiliation of nakedness against the possibility of harm and found one option lacking in sensibility .. knowing he could not hurt her if he wanted ransom at all, afraid that wasn't his intention.  "j'ai besoin de l'aide .. l'aide avec mes lacets .. "  she creaked finally, her lower lip quivers and she attempts to conceal it by catching it between her teeth .. her eyes stung.  simonette struggled not to weep in front of him.  she couldn't unlace the bride's corset from her body without hands to loosen it.  simonette turned her long back to him as though to indicate the ribbons that marched up her back in a straight column.

[03:24] <Thom> He stood then, taking a few steps towards her. As he did he knelt and drew a slender dagger out of the sheath at his boot. Hefted a moment, he drew close and eyed her. She could dare something, with the pen of hers. But he held the better position. Hopefully she would recognize that. He really did not want to harm her in any way, beyond a backhand anyway, not unless he had to. A shift, then his words would issue out softly. There was no need to speak with force, when they were this close. "Tenez-vous directement, et ne vous déplacez pas... et soyez calme." He smelt as well. Of man, and of battle. Sweat and gunpowder. Of the sea, which was the most prominant. Of tar, and the effects of the ship itself. Hand was raised, and steadied. He aimed to cut the corset from her.

[03:27] <simonetta> her nostrils flared with his scent.  delicate nostrils, small velvet nostrils that had been spared such musks after they'd left port as much as they could be .. but here it was, very close, closer than an arm's length and closer than any man had been to her save her fafher .. she couldn't help it, startling when his blade tore a jutting, staggered path through the white satin ribbons that held the pearled and embroidered confection to her waist and to her breast.  it fell open, slid, and she caught the bone - and - silk thing in her hands.  she paced away from him quickly, two strides, and still with her back to him .. she put the pen and the heaviest part of her garb aside and onto the chair.  quavering fingers loosed the knots that held weighty overskirts to her body .. they puddled with a hiss and a whisper, she stepped out of them.  crenoline beneath, the wrinkled sheer of her slip .. now the stiff underskirts went, they nearly stood by themselves.  wearing only her slip, she hesitated again - a long moment, turning a look over her shoulder that hid her lips.  such needled, gathered brows.  a glance that pleaded with him.  what for, said pupils and irises?  another length of silk, this plain covering?  an arm rose and cradled her bosom.  even from his vantagepoint, he may see just how heavy her breasts were.  how small her waist, the perfect heart of her backside.  

[03:38] <Thom> The man stood there for another moment and observered, then shook himself a little. Voice slipped out again, light and directed at her. "Cela aussi bien." Quietly it was said, and she would feel the pressure of the dagger. It was not pressed against her back, not at all. But it was there. Present and waiting for her to do something foolish. He hoped that she would not do anything of the kind. Another moment of silence, and then he spoke again. "Alors tournez autour de et regardez-moi." That, was an order. And she would not have anything else to say about it. Other than attempting something insane.

[03:41] <simonetta> he would .. !  he did .. !  he said .. !  her face turned away again and her chin rose, she regarded God in a moment of numb reflection - now i wake .. ?  she asked him and it was just words in her head, it was not french, it was emotion .. she closed her eyes and tears seamed their lids closed .. quick, quick.  it would have to be quick. she bent and reached for the hem of her slip, it's capped tiny sleeves, it's miniscule lace accents, and she pulled it off over her head.  abruptly - beautifully - awesomely naked save for the pearled pins in her hair, the necklace still hung 'round her neck.  flawless white flesh, buttocks like a child's .. slim, long, narrow thighs and a waist that literally blossomed with hips.  the firm, unsubtle globes of  breasts, peeking.  she covered breasts again with the bend of an arm, she cradled the little mound of her sex with the curve of a hand - implied, this last, by the angle of her arm .. and very slowly, with eyes closed, she turned 'round.  the natural pearls of the 'lace are embraced by breastflesh, squeezed between.  a slight curve in her stomach.

[03:50] <Thom> He stood for a moment looking at her, one eyebrow arching at the sight before him. Then then dagger was resheathed within it's home in his boot. Rise then, and his hand moved out and took a hold of the pearl jewelry. That had been one of his commands, and she had not done as he had said. Fingers curled, and then pulled them from her neck in a cascade. Little pearls rained upon the floor, the rest curled in his hand. The action would have brushed fingers against the inner curve of her bosom, and rough fingers would have touched that soft curve. Another moment to stare at her, and the pearls were set aside. Tossed onto the desk. Something to deal with later. Another shift of his hand, and he aimed to push away her arms from what they covered. Breasts and patch of hair at once. "Déplacez vos bras."

[03:54] <simonetta> up to this particular moment, she'd led herself to believe he only desired the jewels piled upon her, the wealth of her clothing.  up until the calloused push of his fingers for the necklace, the yank of it being torn from her throat - 'till he asked her to move her arms .. and now she was truly afraid.  she whispered around a lump in her throat, pleaded carefully:  "je ne peux pas, monsieur, je peux .. !"  simonetta cried, her chin dimpling, even as he pushed her hands away and heavy, high globes of flesh fell free.  untouched until that moment by any man.  not seen by any man.  crowned in pink .. a blonde triangle, almost a girl's thin curly thatch between her legs .. her hands sought to cover herself again, now it had gone too far.

[04:01] <Thom> His hands stalled her own. Keeping them from moving, but he did not touch her as she might have tought he would. He observed her, only.... "Quel âge avez-vous?" His next question. And still holding her hands away from their attempts to cover. Eyes coursed over her body in slow enough order. Like a man who was appraising horse-flesh. Though. He could not but be allured by her look. By the fact that she was naked as the day she was born, before him. The heavy curve of her breast was tantilizing, as were the soft downy curls of pale hair that grew between her legs. She was a beauty, for certain. One he had not seen the like of in a while. He stood close to her, yes, and the scent of her was almost maddening. Only the need of ransoming her kept him at bay.

[04:04] <simonetta> "dix-huit,"  she answered with all of her eighteen years, and waited for disgust .. she was a spinster to go to be married at eighteen in these days, an old maid.  the tremor of her body echoed in her bosom, in the tiny coils of blonde at her temples and her ears .. he held her hands at bay and she sensed she was being appraised.  appreciated in a way that felt to her as though he'd seen not a few other women this bare .. she felt herself blush miserably, an odd pinch and a humiliating heat between her legs .. her eyelids wrinkled, she squeezed them together.  such plainly unused nipples.  the little hill of her stomach, the coy shyness, the way she twisted her legs together as though she could still hide from him.

[04:13] <Thom> A nod then, after a few minutes of observing. Then she would feel the touch of fingers against her shoulder. Then the touch moving down her arm. The hand was calloused and rough, telling of years at sea and working with his hands. The caress was almost gentle, though it also had that... testing sort of manner behind it. Like he was cheking her lines. Then they moved, down her hip a moment. His hand moved, and felt along her thigh, then resting lightly upon her bottom. And paused. One eyebrow arched as he peered at her. She was as red as a beet! It was... almost very becoming. He stared a moment... "N'avez-vous jamais senti le contact d'un homme?" Then away from her backside, up. Hand cupped a heavy breast and weighed it. She would sell well, if not ransomed by her father. Or whoever would pay the price.

[04:18] <simonetta> the muscles in her arm gave reflexive tremors, her forearm twitched.  her fingers bunched in fists, her hip fit a pristine curve into his palm .. a well-formed, softly made backside and a breath hisses out from her nose.  a rivulet of something she knew, dimly, was not urine .. slithering hot down the inside of her left thigh as her left breast overfills his fingers.  she shudders invoulentarily.  is her mouth a little more plump .. ?  finally:  " .. non .. "  she summoned from her throat, her cognition looping it up from pure notion to syntax, then to word .. thus it moved slowly and it was afraid.  this was not *correct.*  this was heathen.  he was wrong to touch her, wrong to look at her without having married her.  her heart rattled her ribcage.  "ne me touchez pas comme cela."  don't touch me like that.

[04:29] <Thom> "Et pourquoi est-ce que je devrais?" It was a challenge. Why should he? At all? Fingers remained against her breast, cupped to it gently. They fondled her gently, as it was there. He had no care for correct. For proper. He was his own law, his own master. Especially here, upon the sea. Maybe he would just... just claim her, and not bother selling her back to Father and France. She certainly would do well to warming his bed on those cold nights that came once in a while. But still. The ransom would be great, if he did not... touch her, more than he already had. But it was hard not to. Not to do this, at least minimally. Second hand moved, and pressed flat to her stomach. A pale smile echoed across his face.

[04:33] <simonetta> "parce que - parce que je suis en valeur plus à vous un vierge qu'une putain,"  she gave, breathed, winced .. he wasn't simply accessing, no, he was enjoying the weight of her breast in his palm.  her eyes rolled behind their lids when he put a hand to her navel and her lids came up just enough .. she looked at him from a veil of sooty lashes, she took gasps, harsh little breaths now.  another drip of moisture was coursing down her leg, reaching for her knee.  wrong.  all wrong.  a woman who was not a virgin in the marriage bed was a whore.  her mother said.  so it was.  she died a little, her sex fluttered and as a consequence, the muscle in her middle quivered underneath his palm.

[04:39] <Thom> A soft laugh for her words. He guessed it was true enough, if one believed in that line enough... "Ce qui si je ne veux pas vous retourner?" He paused a moment, glancing over her for a scant moment or two. He saw it! The glistening that trailed down her leg slowly. It excited him more, really. More than he would have expected... "Ce qui si je veux vous garder?"
That hand upon her stomach felt the flutter. The twitch of her stomach. Then slid down, fingertips entering the downy curls of blond hair. Combing gently. Angling for that... most forbidden of spots. Her breast was released, the Captain shifting to turn around behind her.

[04:43] <simonetta> she made a noise, it left her mouth and fell from her lip before she realized she was making it.  it was the beginnings of a whimper, an ashamed, aroused noise .. her arm crept up again as though to cover her breasts, cradle them, something, anything but let the breeze from the windows turn caresses around undercurves any longer .. she shook her head and she said nothing, she shook her chin back and forth and she reached for his wrist with her other hand, she was putting her fingers between her body and his touch.  pushing at his fingers, down on them, rejecting them weakly.  she felt her innards, the core of her drawing up tight.  she felt her pulse at a point in the front of her sex, at a point inside herself and at the back .. she'd never touched herself.  never looked.  improper, sinful, outrageous!  "do not .. "  she said, halting english.

[04:50] <Thom> The motion of his hand was inorexable. At least, up to the point he brought it too. Fingers paused, just there at the beginning of the crease of her sex. Paused and... felt the warmth that beaded there damply. He laughed lightly, then pressed there gently, testing something, perhaps. Already, he had gone past his own plans. But she was beautiful. And young. He did not find her a spinster, not at all... And, perhaps, she could feel it with him as well? The arousal of being close to such beauty. His hip was pressed to her thigh, and the heath in his breeches against her rear. Fingers touched, as if... wanting to penetrate deeper.

[04:53] <simonetta> the touch spawned an uncontrollable writhe, her hips twisted a little and she felt a surge of piety just underneath her breastbone - of propriety - and she might strugglle forward now with half a squeal, shamed, abashed, his fingers were making her toes leak feeling. they went pins, needles.  the lump between his legs .. instinct and rare-heard tales, she knew what it was and what it meant.  too far, too far, and her body was betraying her.  her sex was sopping, there were parts of her body that throbbed to be pinched - cradled - driven into - and she cried out against it, withering with the heat of it.

[05:09] <Thom> "J'ai pensé ceci étais contre votre... croyance." He was close to her then, intimately close to her as it was. His hand was indeed pressed flatly against her sex, the tip of his center finger pressed within the soaking fold. And dragged enough to dampen the hairs there as well. He was almost amazed at her state of arousal. His own was cry as well, though. And he pressed close, a hot and damp kiss was sent to the back of her neck. The other hand again finding her breast. Holding it gently.

[05:12] <simonetta> now his arm crossed her body and what little struggle she had left to make was quickly swallowed by new sensation .. his finger, his calloused finger, his rough finger dipping between virgin lips.  testing wetness, nested between the two pulses making her ill with want.  want of what, there was only word of mouth, woman's myth .. but her knees were weakening.  his mouth against the back of her throat was kindling something in her middle, her hips were moving without her consent, her neck was arching and her breast was lifting into his grip .. "Dieu m'aident .. "  she mouthed, her expression wept but her body went on, wedding dress peeled away and there was a bride beneath .. given to the wrong man .. .. was this still *wrong?* ..

[05:19] <Thom> "Dites que vous le voulez..." Soft again, his lips pressed hot against her shoulder. Then again at her throat. He had moved around again and was before her, though a bit to the side. And still close. The hand on her breast pulled aside, and grabbed one of her wrists. Dragged it away and to his own hip. Stepped even closer. The tent in his breeks could be felt against her thigh. "... parce que je vous connais..." His line conitnued, softly. As he would then press a kiss to soft lips. The finger he sent was twisted, and then slipped further into her, against her tight and dampened folds.
[05:31] * Disconnected
Session Close: Sat May 03 05:32:03 2003

Session Start: Sat May 03 23:57:38 2003
Session Ident: #english_channel
[23:57] * Vialweh is now known as simonetta
[23:58] * Thom ([email protected]) has joined #english_channel

[00:04] <Thom> He shifted once more, pressed close and tightly against her naked flesh. There was no hiding, and he was making no attempt to hide, the thick steel at his groin, pressed as it was through breeks and against pale, smooth flesh. Indeed, he had shifted and slide the middle of his fingers into her. Barely a notch above the first knuckle. Enough to feel the tight gripping. The dampness from her arousal. Something he knew she was attempting to fight. Knew she was failing it. Her body wanted this caress, as much as he now wanted to caress her in return. To send more than... just that single digit probing into her virginal sheath. Twist slightly, his finger turning a quarter notch within her damp folds. Wrist brushing against pale and dewy nether-hairs... "Vous voulez ceci... Je vous connais ..."

[00:11] <simonetta> grey, rising light from his cabin's thin windows - silvering the French noblesse's flessh, painting itself obscenely, languidly across the perfect globe of her right breast .. hair still caught, trapped in pins tipped with pearls .. she shuddered now, shuddered and felt ill, something heavy and wet and ready was blossoming in her groin .. her gaze fought out of its lids and its lashes, it lifted and it was kindled - morose - ashamed.  "comment pourriez vous probablement savoir ce que je veux,"  she whispered even while her sweet-musk juices made his pulse slick .. while her body fluttered around the finger he'd put *into* her.  into her.  brides did this, her mouth twisted and remembered his kiss.  she pushed at his arm again, she would draw away and she would protest weakly.  father would pay it.  somebody would come and she would tell noone that he'd covered her breast with his hand and that he'd looked at her this way.  she shook her head and remembered her prayers.  her body suffered and thrived together beneath and around his touch.

[00:21] <Thom> How did he know? He could tell, at least what her body wanted from him. From the way that she reacted to his touches and caresses... "Puisque je sensation de bidon..." And his finger tisted again, slow and circular within her. She was not the first woman he had evern taken to bed... but she would be one that he would enjoy taking immensely. Immensely. Yet, he finished his sentance, his words softly against her ear. Where lips kissed and his body did not yield to her pushing. "... il dans votre corps..." Soft and light were the caresses of lips against her ear, against her jaw. Slow was the up and down motion of that one finger within her.

[00:26] <simonetta> against his mouth her chin would lift and her ear would fall back, hands raised and arms bent though she does not touch him .. fingers poised and paused in the air, half curled .. they'd said things, those old wives and mothers, but this was entirely new and simonetta forgot to breathe .. girlishly drenched, devoured by the supersensitive nerves he seemed to stir - no pain, not as the nuns had warned.  though - it was - also true that simonetta knew nothinng further than what he'd done .. that each touch was a better threshold, was a newly birthed delight.  lord esrole carmine forscythe.  her right hand lifted a little more.  it drew back a little farther.  and it might deliver a firm little skin-skin *crack* to his ear and his cheek.

[00:35] <Thom> His head twisted to the side, the hand that caressed her breast stopped. The slow fingering as well. He laughed, softly, and brought the slick finger away from her damp lips and rose it. Slowly until it was before her. She would see the slickness of it, the shining softly in the pale light that filtered through the windows. "Ce... est votre désir." And he licked it slowly, from knuckle to knuckle. Then the captain himself would move, hand arching and grabbing her arm tightly. Eyes flashed as his spare hand unbuckled his belt, letting the sword and scabbard fall. Feet worked to push boots off as well. Then... in an forceful and violent manner, he thrust her towards the cot that was bolted to the sidewall.

[00:44] <simonetta> she tried again because she simply couldn't just allow this without defending her own honor, without explaining, though doubtless he wouldn't care a whit for *her* rules:  "si vous faites cette chose je serai sans valeur à mon père sans valeur à ma fiancée suis vous ainsi voulant laisse aller de plus de wealh - une meilleure richesse! - que vous violeriez une femme avec quui est rien à à vous commencer ? pourquoi pas conserve ma ma valeur.  pourquoi pas .. "  she said with all of the reasonability she could gather in her defense, because she wanted to believe he was wrong and she was the victim .. "pourquoi ressource violer ..  le plaisir momentané .. "  her french is seductive, her thighs are meeting the cot's edge ..  " .. quand vous pourriez être en pourparlers avec deux maisons riches pour le coût de mon honneur."  she groped downward at the blanket.  modesty squirreled inside her violently - she thought, then, that she would sccream.  that she could scream.  and shriek and shriek .. a madness, this was madness.  want and desperation.

[00:56] <Thom> He listened almost... impassively. As she spoke his shirt was removed and tossed aside. To land upon her discarded gown, hands fell and hooked into the hem of his breeks, a little twist and they, too, would fall to pool about his feet. Naked as the day he was born, the heaving of his chest causing the shifting of his manhood. It had swelled, heavy and thick. Hair was matted around it. The end of it glistened softly.  Just as his finger had. Her words ment nothing, not now. He had enough in the way of resources. Enough after her dowry. Lips were licked slowly... "Faites-vous veulent vraiment être la femme d'un certain seigneur obèse, qui ne vous saura pas comment au plaisir... qui ne saura pas ce que signifie il pour faire vraiment l'amour à une femme..." His voice was soft, incessant. What was honour, when there was desire and lust. What would it matter, down the road. Eyes narrowed upon her, hand darting out to grab the blanket and tear it away... "Ne prenez pas la peine de ne crier... personne viendra à votre aide."

[01:01] <simonetta> she looked.  and she looked and she couldn't help but look and even after she covered her eyes she still knew he was perfectly naked - the impression, the stark only-skin of him and the thing that jutted out from his body toward her.  mutely, she threaded bits of information gleaned in the past twenty minutes .. she was stringing them together, realizing what they'd all been implying.  now it all made sense.  his finger and their tales and the nun's careful warnings.  she sat down hurriedly on the cot because there was nowhere else to go and she shrealed her embarassment - withering, now, withering shame - frright - and somewhere dark, at the root of her stomach, an ungracious pressure in her sex .. somewhere, she was put afire.  he didn't care.

[01:14] <Thom> Stepped closer once again, sway of his hip and of his waist again sending the shaft to rocking back and forth once more. He stood close, hands moving to each of her knees. Moving to spread them. Oh, he was more than intent on taking her. Her struggling would mean nothing in the long run. A grin, slight and narrow... He stepped closer yet again, peering downwards at her... "Dites-moi que vous le voulez... il lui fera tout le beaucoup plus agréable..." And he bent to press another kiss to her body. Against her breast is where he angled it. Aiming to drive her passions higher, to flame them. He wanted to hear her cry out for him.

[01:19] <simonetta> she did but she didn't and she did not give voice to either feeling .. he spread her knees.  she was downy curls and blood-plump pink lips, demure glittering folds and perfectly cultured, sateen inner thighs .. she'd covered her face, though, and her fingers are pressed tightly to one another.  his kiss might fall to the crest of a breast that rises into the bend of her elbow, the pretty angle of her arms is pressing breasts to plump, succulent bulges.  her stomach and it's faint curve are gleaming with a new sweat covering, her scent is suddenly that much *louder* in the room - the fragrance of her sex, clean perspiration.  and that kiss .. made her startle, raised gooseflesh again.  he wouldn't, she reasoned.  he wouldn't.  he simply couldn't.  he would.  she wanted him to.  he shouldn't ..

[01:26] <Thom> Another kiss, hand driving away her own. Pressed to soft and pink nipple. Tongue darted out and licked against it, aiming to bud it. Harden it. -Show- her what it was like to be in the arms of someone who knew what he was doing. Hand against pressed against her sex, fingers rubbing against her dampened mound. Again, he whispered. All rough stubble and husky voice. "Parole juste vous me voulez... élasticité dedans à votre désir... Je vous ferai le sentir rien vous s'être senti avant..." Then the press again, nostrils flaring at the scent of her. Her musk filling the air. A finger slid into her once more, slowly stroking slick flesh.

[01:36] <simonetta> she writhed and she took a name in vain, but she wouldn't take her hands from her face .. though she'd moved her arm when he'd pushed at it, and her nipple was painfully hard beneath his sucking kiss .. despite all of this, her mother's upbringing and her father's insistance on the nunnery sprouted a sheer monolith in her mind.  its prayers were for her own good, they had made her a lady and they had sent her to be a lord's wife .. how could she now that his fingers had tasted the flesh of her, that he'd seen her sex drool juice at the feathertouch of his fingers.  she felt that each time he touched her, spoke to her, said such ludricrous filth to her, that she was farther from england .. and she bided her time.  her hips were moving, jutting against the stroke of his finger and she couldn't make them stop.  she whimpered, wept a little, begged him to stop.

[01:42] <Thom> "Dites-moi... ce qui est votre nom, ma pêche?" A soft growl, head raised. His eyes were leveled upon her face, a face covered by fingers... Hand moved again, he was almost on his knees, the two of them manouvered by struggle and by his forceful motions. Onto the cot, partially. He was between her legs, as his hand grabbed her wrist. "Regardez-moi! Regardez!" It was a command. An order. And punctuated by a short jab with his finger. A shallow thing, he wanted to hear her cry out for it... Again the little thrust. His breathing was hot against her flesh. His own desire insistant.

[01:47] <simonetta> twin exhalations, jagged puffs of air and one hand is jarred from her face.  the other lifts an inch and it's just enough to see - enough to paint into her memory an instantaneous image, his body arcing up and over her - the desire in his features, the coal-keen brightness of his eyes in his face.  more air startling from her body, his finger was delving deeper and this was new yet - his fingertip may ride up against pressure, against that which made her virgin.  her body paused, then.  she stared at the thing nodding between his legs, down her body .. at it's umbrella-ed head, how rigid, and the smell .. her abdomen gave a profound series of tremors and she attempted to turn over.  onto her stomach to get away and to tear her sight from him.  her pins are loosening.  she's scrabbling for purchase and now the screams are bubbling from her - uncareful, irrational screams.  wrong to want it, wrong to look, wrong to have it, wrong *not* to resist and so she *did* twist, writhing to be off of the other end of the cot.

[01:55] <Thom> And so the choice would be made, it seemed. He had desired facing her when he first slipped into her, but she did not make that a viable option as she made her wriggle away. A little lunge his arms going around her waist, and hauling her back against him and into his lap. He held her tightly with one arm, then. Using hips and that arm to heft her a little higher, his cock swept from against the curve of her heart-shaped behind. And pressed itself, lenght-wise, against her dampened flesh. A soft whisper, harsh and into her ear. He did not bother it in french, but it was obvious what he said. How his hands now touched her. He had grabbed himself, and was shifting the both of them to fit himself into her... "I tried being gentle... Now enjoy being filled, I know you will..." Hissed, and he fit the mushroom like head of his shaft into her.

[02:00] <simonetta> she muttered, whispered, stuttered french but it meant nothing .. her eyelids were heavy again and her body is arcing, her back is an ivory bridge, her shoulders fit neatly against his chest, apple meat white .. she struggles, writhes, but this only aids the settle of his length against her unseamed sex.  the bounce, the rub of him against that knot of pleasure settled in the front of her slit .. he's rewarded with a hiss of air in her teeth, helpless sign of her desire.  and she felt herself lifted, propped up by a thigh and a hip and she knew he had taken that rigid organ to hand .. when it pressed at the back of her lips, she was seeing dimly.  simonette was groping for his forearms.  his head, that belled head was breeching her.  simonetta felt herself suck him in, press him out at once .. she felt herself stretch for the first time, really *stretch* .. tight, tight as a fist around him.  now sweating in slipping drops, adrenaline, her pants blew white noise against his ear.

[02:09] <Thom> Shift once again, his own hips slipping against the cot. Hips arched, and hands which were upon her hips pulled her downwards upon that thick shaft. He released a heavy groan into her ear, loudly exclaiming the pleasure felt from such a tight and arresting squeeze. Shift again, a moment of pause at that... last line of defense for her virginity. There was no stopping it, now. None at all. He thrust upwards, hard. Aiming to drive as much of that thick length into her as was possibe in a single thrust. Not enough, he was certain. He did not think she could take the entire length of his cock... but it was enough to pleasure to lance through him. For a secong groan to erupt besides her ear.

[02:14] <simonetta> there it was.  it was as white as the noise of breath on one's ear and a thousand times as bright;  it was pain, blossoming, beautiful and shattering pain.  shattering as a mirror falls, brief and startling, light sheared away from air at myriad angles .. he would not fit, a third of him still left outside of her body.  the rest, though, is sheathed .. is gripped, is pinched, milked, her expression is dissolving in a grimace of brief agony.  it was gone, the innocence, the struggle for it, it was gone.  her fingers worked a rictus at sinew-roped arms, she's gone pale with thought and terror - he'd pierced her, his body was *inside* her body.  and it was devastatingly *good.*  simonetta exhaled a lengthly, shuddering, purging breath.  free.

[02:20] <Thom> He remained still for almost a minute, savouring the feel of tight flesh wrapped about steel hard flesh. A long sigh, lips pressed against her ear. Suckled upon it, hand shift. They coursed along her body, caressing. One rested at where their bodies were joined, bracketing the shaft that was pressed into her. The other rose to cup a breast, holding it carefully. Fondling.
"Comment est ce, ma pêche... Faites confiance que je... qu'elle se sentira mieux comme nous allons sur..." Whispered along with the soft kissing and suckling of her ear. Then... slowly, hips moved again. That length twisting within her. The head slipping down, down, almost out... before being thrust back upwards again in that same pace. All her struggling would be for naught...

[02:24] <simonetta> breastflesh filling, spilling, bunching soft and firm at once between his fingers .. this second thrust and she sank a little lower on his shaft, closer to the root of him .. her mouth fell open soundlessly, the direction of her gaze slipped and fell and stuck to the place where he pierced her, down her body, pried open to have him.  blood was joining the girljuice wetting his pubic hair, sluicing the skin of his sac.  he was saying something about the smell.  her nose was full of it, their musk, it was just one scent now.  simonetta spread her legs a little farther apart.  she caught her tongue between her teeth - she felt the pulse of her heart around him, felt every ridge, the head of him buried up into her belly.  her hair was falling now.  pins slid.  a fall of babyfine gold, tickling his mouth and his chest.

[02:31] <Thom> Fingers continued to caress her there, stroking back and forth slowly and gently... then pulled away to bring those fingers up. The other breast grabbed, hips continued to roll upwards slowly. Filling and empting her body. Her sheath was slick, tight and perfect for this act. And he could feel her acclimating to it, somewhat. Her legs spread, accepting it more. Even a little deeper went that length of flesh... Again the whisper against her ear, lips plasteed with the fine hairs upon her head... "Plus rapidement, ma pêche ? vous l'aimez plus rapide, plus de remplissage..." Hips rocked, the tempo increasing. She would watch the heavy thrust, the thick vein down the centre of it disappearing into her. The sac of flesh undear his cock flapping with the motion. Sweat made finely. Scented with the mix of two in the act. He growled softly, would he even wait for her response to his question? Or would he shift, and take her hard and fast as his own body wanted to feel it.

[02:36] <simonetta> he asked, he asked something, she was too full and the french noblesse is whimpering .. hypnotized with watching, looking down her body and between her legs at his balls.  at the back of his shaft and the ridge - not quite the tip of him that had nodded at her and every time she slipped a little lower, she was a fraction more full.  "faster .. "  she said in lacking english, and she leaned forward onto her hands.  with that, surrendering.  it was done.  she couldn't go home, not now.  not to the bridal bed .. she didn't think of paris or the captain with his intestines spilt.  she didn't think of her dowry being spent on women and beer at the next port.  she thought of the head of his cock tapping her tailbone.  she arched her back, showing herself to him.

[02:41] <Thom> Rewarded then! With his teasing and his soft testing earlier. He laughed huskily as she leaned forwards, as her back arched. Hands gripped at her waist, pulling her backwards onto him as his hips pressed hard upwards into her, but it was not enough. No, far from it. He pulled free of her, cock popping out of her tight clutch. Hands grabbed her, and rolled her over onto her back. So he could face her. see her. He would look down at her, his eyes wide, sweat slicking his dark hair to his head. Fingers flashed golden as he slid back between her legs. Thrusting that great length of himself into her again. She had said it, accepted. Hips moved with frentic speed, aiming to mash more and more of himself into her.

[02:45] <simonetta> her body hummed, sang like a bow string, pulled itself into a taut crescent even before he fills her again .. she's looking at him over hilly cheeks, watching him from lashes and from passion, from a ferocious space where her own blood doesn't matter .. speared with him again and she remembers hurt, a breathy cry in a squeaking pitch .. her sex is a girl's, is first used, is resistant and it holds him better than any more experienced sheathe - it flutters, spasms inside itself with unfamiliar and startling pleasure, the little inner mouth of her womb touched and passed and he's thrusting into the very guts of her.  breasts jounce.  her hands are groping in the blankets - she's pulling them down to herself.  her mouth is wide, slack, her neck is savage art, straining.

[02:54] <Thom> And he was straining himself against her fully. Hips rocked with the force of one who had spent too much time at sea. Another little shift, his head bowed and lips pressed against hers in return. His back was arched to press in further. Yet she was... too, tight. And the friction was too great to hold back. He could feel it welling within his balls, even as the slaped against her ass. Breathing became harsher. Heavier. The deep thrusting was going out of rythem, as he attempted to keep himself from coming just yet. It was a battle he would nto be able to win. Not With as tight as she was.
[02:59] * Thom ([email protected]) Quit (Quit: The soft silence of a lover's breath is all I desire.)
[02:59] * Disconnected
Session Close: Sun May 04 02:59:59 2003

Session Start: Sat May 10 23:57:07 2003
Session Ident: #english*channel?
[23:57] * Thom ([email protected]) has joined #english*channel?
[23:57] * simonette sets mode: +snt
[23:58] * simonette sets mode: +o Thom

[00:00] <simonette> when she straightened she was crying silently - not piteously, not sniveling, becausse simonette was stronger than that - but weeping, all the same.  shee utilized the bowl of clean water and for lack of anything more suitable, the noblesse's daughter dried herself with her own petticoat.  she mopped at her pretty face with the heels of her small white hands, upper arms pinching breasts together in a perfect crease .. never in all her years, not even when her parents had left her at the convent gates, had she felt so abandoned.  she prayed a little then, said a rosary under her breath, and she told him she was done .. her tongue slid to test the split in her lip again.  the right side of her face was hot in four places.  standing beside the desk, naked simonette began to comb her hair with her fingers.  she was certain she would look, at the least, collected when he chose to look at her again.  after listening.  and standing there.  there was no more to keep hidden.

[00:07] <Thom> He did offer her a good number of minutes to do just that task. His eyes had been settled on the door men had come and gone through. Finally, the man turned about, bringing his gaze back upon her. An eyebrow arched a moment as she simply stood, and did not attempt to hide her charms from the pirate captain. A few steps closer and he rose his hand, pressing fingers against her chin to turn her head. Back and forth, a moment, then he settled his eyes upon her fully. Head tilted back, a little smile upon his face. "Je ne vous vois plus essayer de se cacher de moi..." He certainly did not, but then he had had no shame in stepping outside of the cabin to summon men, when in the nude. A smile, as his hand trailed again. Caressing soft flesh between her breasts.

[00:12] <simonette> she said this next very slowly, nipples hardening and gooseflesh beading on her skin while she spoke:  "je sais que vous fatiguerez de moi et je connais, quand ce moment vient, que vous me vendrez loin. je serai patient et attente."  whispered, yet her lashes still flutter to kiss one another and shame flashes white at the curve of her left eye .. simonette allowed fingers to walk the length of his sternum.  she'd learned this shape quite well, the edge of it and the way his ribs branched away under muscle.  she'd kissed and he'd taught her to bite.  she'd suckled, he'd told her when to stop .. likewise, she found her instincts with him to be wise and often correct.  she touched him where he'd not thought to be caressed .. elbows, the backs of his knees.  the pulse on the inside of his wrist, massaging it while he throbbed on her middle.  though, when he'd settled and when he'd nearly put the thing to her mouth, he'd hesitated .. her touch now, fingerprints wondered about it.  maybe he'd thought she'd use her new biting skill to nip him off at the quick.

[00:22] <Thom> A soft sigh from the touching she administered, the sensations she had awoken were... tantilizing. Then a laugh, light. His hand traced at her stomach gently, playing along the smooth flesh there. Daring to caress into downy hair. "Mmm. Si vous continuez car vous avez eu la nuit avant... Je penserais que je vous garderais pour toujours, et ne vous laisserais pas partir..." A glance at her, lips licked slowly. Fingers... pressed, then. As if to mirror the actions of those against him. He had the fear, yes. That she... acted as she did to further her escape. But that made things more exciting. Pleasureable. And the joy of release with each act more powerful... "Apprécieriez-vous cela, ma pêche ? Pour devenir ma jeune mariée de pirate..."

[00:27] <simonette> she watched his eyes very carefully as he spoke, his throaty and unstumbling french drawing her eye to his mouth .. yet she knew he was English.  and all she'd heard of pirates were brash and uncouth stories overheard from the stablemen's supper table .. she tugged at the coarse hair on his chest just beneath the last curve of his last left rib. other fingers played at his navel, which she'd watched very closely the evening before when he used her breasts like a sleeve for his sex .. simonette's thoughts seemed far away with a man she'd never met.  truth be told, she'd heard rumours that he was fat.  that he preferred men over women and that he had agreed to take her to wife only to bolster the failing reputation of his house.  truth be told, her brother had had many clandestine plans to be a thief in the cobblestone underbelly of London.  he'd been picking pockets from the tender age of six. truth be told, the pirate's body made whatever was instinctual and human and soft and untouched by pearly religion .. whatever it was, whatever sundry core that remained was curling against his fingers.  she exhaled as his fingers parted already abused and sore nether lips.  they were wet again.  simonette said nothing.

[00:37] <Thom> A soft laugh as he felt the dampness, a finger pressed into that recess slowly, the first knuckle disappearing into her warm embrace. Eyes were leveled, resting quietly. Waiting a response, perhaps? Or just enjoying the soft touches of her hand upon his flesh. The soft warmth of his flesh within her own. At least, he had her name. Something wrung from her in the midst of love-play. But he knew, though, how she had enjoyed him last night. Though he was certain it would take more than one night to fully understand her. It might have simply been the fresh understanding of her own sexuality that brought about release so often. Or the pure lust of being ravaged such as that had been. Anything, but the truth. And he was intent on learning what it would be.

[00:39] <simonette> she winced, just faintly.  his cot had been tainted with her maidenhead's blood .. she thanked heaven, if there was one, that he was not italian.  that these particular blankets would not be hung out on the balcony rail.  simonette had not forgotten all of the many ways there were for catholics to be guilty .. and she had, in the course of less than 24 hours, become the very epitome of what her father had striven to squelch in her.  simonette had been a silent girl who climbed out windows .. simonette had taken horses to the French meadows, she had undone her hair in the shade of oak trees. penetrated again.  it hurt her.  the girl, as she was only a woman by ceremony .. was reaching, groping for the edge of the table.  not for a quill to hurt him, though he might find this suspect .. but for balance because her knees remembered the force of his thrusts, and she sagged a little beneath the pleasure of this touch.  "vous ne me demanderez pas de telles choses."

[00:50] <Thom> He was close to her, and then settling himself between her thighs. He did not slip into her, no, not yet. Simply he pressed close against her and pressed a hot kiss to her chin. Another was laid to her shoulder. "Ah, et pourquoi est ceci ? Craignez-vous la répercussion?" Silence for another moment as those fingers did their slow work upon her breast. Caressing the hardness of one of her small buds. "Faites confiance que je... personne sera là pour dire oui ou non..." Another kiss, this one to her lips. Careful, though, to avoid the split upon her lower one. It was a little kiss, then a soft grin as he squeezed that captured pink nipple. Gently squeezed and released... "Faites confiance que je... personne sera là pour dire oui ou non..."

[00:56] <simonette> "no,"  simonette murmurs in a voice that is cultured in a language of curved vowels and tongued consanants .. very clearly english, said the moment his shaft grazes the bruise flowered and sateen flesh of her inner thigh .. impossible to say whether she responded to the question of marriage or to yet another bout of violent trysting .. against her will and again, her body is flushing.  her sex is slick with nectar.  her upper lip tastes of water from the basin and her cheeks are heating with more than his backhanded punishment .. her nipple, twisted, causes a yelp to fall from her mouth.  the touch of his lips leaves desire, bleeding down her neck.

[01:05] <Thom> Another soft kiss was applied, and again. Perhaps he would show her? That he was capable of more than just deep and heavy strokes. That he could, if he wished, be gentle and soft with a woman. In this case, though? A soft laugh again, and he pressed another kiss. This one leveled against the swell of a breast. Heavy head of his erection was pressed, against those seeping folds. Yet not yet pierced, he left it there... Presence known and unable to be forgotten, hip motion sent it slowly agianst her. He was tender, from the acts of the night before, but he felt up to another day of it. "Et pourquoi pas?" It could have been applied to either definition of her no... but he was certain which one it belonged to. Her body spoke for her.

[01:10] <simonette> she sighed through her mouth, and her breath snagged on the purr at the bottom of her throat .. her chin fell up and aside, her fingertips were exploring his arms, lingering on biceps, squeezing shoulders .. underneath his first kisses and now the third, the canteloupe-sized round beneath his mouth is heaving up to meet him .. she turns her gaze down her cheeks, looking beyond his ear and toward the door.  her backside rode the edge of the table and his heavy head was *sliding* between most abused lips, flushed and plump inner folds .. "parce qu'un monsieur ne se comporte pas pendant que vous.  *je voulez épouser un monsieur.*"  the girl said with a shudder, fingernails biting at him ever so gently.

[01:18] <Thom> She wanted to marry a gentleman? He laughed softly, "Un monsieur" Another soft laugh, quiet and light. And he -slowly- slid himself upwards into her, inching into that lovely embrace. His head remained bowed to her breast, soft kisses to either. Licking at the sweat that formed from heat and desire. Hand shifted, holding to her waist lightly. Fingers squeezing there at hip. "Et ce qui... le monsieur vous satisferait jamais ainsi..." Slowly he did it, hips rocking upwards to slip that thick length of flesh into waiting folds. It was... almost... almost love-making.

[01:22] <simonette> she slid up and onto the table just an inch as though to be away from him, but it did not serve her purpose .. her impulse had only made a better position in which he could slip into her .. fill her, stretch her little glove until she was just loose enough to take what he had.  she gripped at his side, had a hand balled up at the back of his neck.  simonette stared downward, watching as she had not had the opportunity to do much of when evening had fallen .. he seemed bigger and more solid for her soreness, and he made himself a little more slippery with blood again.  less this time.  she was sweating, yes, heavy high breasts were startling into his face .. "vous parlez comme si je suis déjà votre putain,"  she panted, managed, and swore afterward, her mouth curling in a delicious grimace.

[01:31] <Thom> A soft laugh oonce again. Throaty. Hips pressed against her in slow and even thrusts. The kissing of her breasts was stilled as he leaned backwards. To allow her a better view of the sight of him. The sight of her. Of their sin, as she would perhaps see it. It made him laugh once again, as heavy sacks swayed from the too and for motion of hips. "Votre corps le dit, si non vos lèvres. Bien que je ne doute pas de qu'elles à temps." Another soft laugh as he settled himself within her. Then stilled the action. To feel it. For her to feel it simply... there. Eyes rose and settled upon her, hooded orbs of greyish hue for the moment. Lips were licked, lust and desire were set behind those orbs. Hand shifted, cupping her chin. "Je sais que vous aimez ceci..."

[01:38] <simonette> the hand fisted at the nape of his neck is sliding to cover the space between sea-honed pectorals .. swimmer's build, lacking nothing in muscle coordination.  fluid, flexible, she could not turn her eyes away.   .. at the last, watching him disappear completely into her.  pubic bone to pubic bone, sealed closed.  his belled head stretched the sheathe of her sex as taut as a new leather glove, outer lips stretching, her bud and button nearly turned downward to touch him, narrow that she was and thick, he, at the root of his cock .. she pulsed, shuddered, juice dribbled a landscape of veins down his balls, florid skin .. when he held himself, waited, she raised a hand and curved her palm, it *clapped* like a gunshot into the flesh covering his heart.  simonette struggled to breathe.  she knew he was toying.  that he was playing, that he was trying to convince.  muscle in her middle gave a coursing ripple.  she made a sound that began with 'k,' and her lips were gaping.

[01:49] <Thom> Throaty this time came the sound from him. And hips pulled backwards away from her hips. Pulled free from within her. The withdrawl done slowly to make every inch felt intensely. Shift, and he carried her into the direction of the bed. He released her, and turned her about. He enjoyed it like this, really. The positioning and the feeling, especially if she moved correctly. Then he slid into her, settling much like before. The dampness of her, and the feeling of being within her were extatic.. "What... was that, my peach?" In english, it hard to pick out the french in his head.

[01:56] <simonette> she fell against her hands, hips tugged up, her cheek meets the blankets soon after .. her body bunches a little, the middle of her back lifting when he fills her again.  her brows are gathered.  fingers walk folds of fabric up and into fists until they're over full, nipples rasping on wool .. she says nothing, she's not breathing now.  holding it with a faint squeak   when he slides home again, completely, effortless .. the notion, sensation of him settling wholly against her sex.  the rough knarls of his pubic hair put to the sweet, tiny pink pucker of her backside.  pirate wife indeed, pirate bride, she was writhing to be unimpaled.  weakly, helplessly, instead .. rolling her hips, massaging her body around him.

[02:07] <Thom> He stilled for a long moment, then started the motion once again. Flesh clapped against flesh in slow rythem. Heavy sacks of flesh swayed betwee them from the motion. Slow and even. But building up. He could feel it. She would know it. His motion increased, as this was, really, his most favourite of positions. If not when he was between two slender thighs. It was like this. He had made her aware of that as well. And when they were like this, he more than often released into her belly. Or whipped it out to come upon her backside. The pumping increased in tempo. Speed and depth. Heavy and deeply into her, once over and again. Hands gripped at her waist then... Her... writhings he perhaps took differently. Not for the desire to not be taken, but for the feeling of taking it more.

[02:11] <simonette> she was already tipping, tumbling, falling over the edge of that pressure - the glow - the centered *pulse* in her groin where he cleaved her legs apart with heat, where she shuddered now and where she might be suddenly so *red,* pink folds flooded with blood.  inner flesh milking him, she nested her outcry in the blankets beneath her.  he had but to touch her to dampen her.  to push into her to excite her, to soft-spank into her this way and simonette the cloistered child would fall aside .. drunk with it, but she knew he wouldn't stop until he was done and she would keep coming until he stopped *moving* in her .. she said his name smallishly, begging faintly, the whole of his name in two syllables as she'd heard it said by the doctor.  more, it said.  no more, it said.  she held her own heart, her breast, in desperation.  arching again, shoving backward into him, her lips lift from wool and her forehead touches instead.   *looking.*

[02:18] <Thom> That signaled it, the milking motion of flesh around him. The sight of her face against wool and the muffled cry of her pleasure. Settled it as his hips were tightly pressed to hers. The thrusting short and shallow and fast. Then, the crashing came. His balls shuddered along with the rest of his body. Which was thence shifted again. The first surging started within the embrace of her body. And the look he saw, as he started spending his seed into her. A groan, and a half-withdrawl. The end of his cock twitched against dampened folds, leaving more trails of his release against her then. A groan, hands squeezing upon her hips tightly. His eyes... locked... with her own, as the twitching subsided.

[02:22] <simonette> she turned her face away once they'd stared, naked pupils and crushed violet irises, she was embarassed to be so *bare* and shaken again by her body's willigness.  frightened.  yellowblonde curls spilt against green.  she breathes in, out, so that her fineformed ribcage expands and collapses completely.  she dripped a cocktail of him and her. simonette's hand fell away from her breast.  she knew, in essence, where children came from and how they were made.  from this, she drew conclusions .. if he did what he did into her this often, and days passed .. they would soon be married by flesh, if not by ceremony.

[02:27] <Thom> He laughed softly, swiping the thick end of his cock against her damp folds, then flopped onto his back besides her. Eyes rose and floated towards her, even as hands circled her waist to draw her close. She would feel that hot and damp length against his thigh, and the way pulled, with her front to his, against her thigh as well. Eyes pierced upon her, eyebrows arched. He knew she enjoyed it, in the end. The look he gave her told her that. "Je me demande... comment votre frère le prendrait... s'il nous voyait ainsi." A soft laugh, and hands squeezed. Possivley and securely. She was his, and he would not be letting her go for anything at all. Another squeeze. "You are mine, my peach... and we will not be parted..."

[02:32] <simonette> "il vous tuerait," she said simply and a little hoarsely, dropping against his body, exhausted both by passion and by the well-divided opinion in her heart .. paris .. had done more than thieve in his day.  simonette listened to thom's heart, beating.  she longed both to fall asleep atop it .. and to still it with her own teeth, now altogether. 

[02:34] <Thom> Another little laugh, fingers collecting at her hips to slowly caress soft and damp flesh. Light and tender touches, of a sort. Another little shift, his eyes soaking her up again. A kiss was pressed again to her own, soft and light, with his body pressing closely to her own. She was tougher than he had thought, originally. A grin spread. He... loved it.
[02:44] * Disconnected
Session Close: Sun May 11 02:44:30 2003

Session Start: Tue May 13 00:33:34 2003
Session Ident: #english*channel
[00:33] * Now talking in #english*channel
[00:33] * ChanServ sets mode: +l 5
[00:33] * Thom ([email protected]) has joined #english*channel
[00:33] * Vialweh is now known as simonette
[00:33] * simonette sets mode: +o Thom

[00:42] <Thom> Evening had come, in it's fullness finally. And there were stirrings once again, within that room. The love-play had continued for the rest of the morning, before he had finally gotten tired and laid back upon the cot. Strong arms had encircled her, as if to make sure she would not have the chance to wiggle out of his grasp once again. The cut across his face was still tender. And there was no need to revisit that injury with another. She would be held closely, almost... gently... in that steel like embrasure. At least for a while, before sleep would slacken arms and make them loose. A bowl of water had again been placed within, ordered along with a bit of food that would keep as well. Somewhat fresh fruit resting besides the water.
Outside, a number of the crew were laughing softly around a barrel. Their own meal of thin gruel and bread before them. They were eagerly anticipating their docking in Ireland, since the captain had ordered that each man get an extra share each, since he had claimed the woman. Another thing done blearly between bouts of sex. Their talk was about that, truthfully. As if surprised, but not, at the same time that their captain had gone and done that. Truly, they had captured other women of high class, and some of them had been pretty... But this one. Their laughter indicated that she was the best of the lot. And if they were the captain, they would have done the same. They did not care to hold their tongues around the other captives. Least of all the boy who had lost the tip of his ear because of his temper. Perhaps they did it on purpose.

[00:47] <simonette> simonette was better than exhausted.  bruised light painted everything in the cabin a shade of blue .. water ribbons moving on the ceiling, the nearly imperceptable rock of the ship.  .. the way her hand cradled the nape of his neck in rest, a knot of other fingers hiding her lips away like a child .. was tender, decidedly willing.  her ear still lay on his breast, above his heart .. the curve of her scalp arcing underneath his chin, finespun hair spilt on his shoulder.  a firm, weighty breast on the left side of his ribcage, the other pressed between bodies .. she stirred as though she were waking, turning her face into his neck now.  muzzily.

paris had been busy with the knots at his wrists.  he was often mistaken for a boy of thirteen or fourteen, built this way, his face in an ageless pause .. but paris was fifteen, struggling away from awkward years, lean beneath his clothes.  he was still to be looked at from the front, but at the small of his back the boy was working the lacings free of his trousers. he'd worked a little hole in the silk, and now he was pulling the cord out from the back .. slowly, it slid away from the folded-over hem that had hidden it .. and though his features were schooled to seem at rest, paris was already murderous.  .. and paris was not afraid of killing a man.  yet another sibling flaw, his warped revenge, his stunted sense of guilt .. paris felt no guilt.  only love, only pain.  he walked the silk, strong cord into his fingertips and from a veil of little boy lashes, he watched the neck of the man nearest him.  waiting patiently.  simonette would not waste on this ship, unhonoured, nobody's whore .. !

[00:58] <Thom> Ahh, but alas for that sense of belief, it would seem that she was, indeed, slowly becoming that. But she would not be just... anyone's plaything. She would not be unhonoured. No indeed. She would belong to the Captain himself, her and hers would be his. And he would honour her as much as a man like him could ever honour a woman. Especially this woman who made him feel like steel. The slow motions of the girl brought him around, slowly. Enough to feel the nuzzling of face against neck. A slight grin, eyes raising to peer at the planking that made up the roof of the cabin. Fingers... shifted, soft and light strokes along her hip, done in a lazy and complacent manner. Lethargy still held over him, contentment. Outside the conversation grew rancous, as each man traded stories of their favourite whores, and what they liked to do with them. They jibber-jabbered in the polyglot that was the ships tongue, mostly english, with bits of french and spanish tossed in so that they could all understand each other, these dregs of the sea. None payed any attention to the mannerisims of the boy. After all, he -was- just a boy, was he not? Almost beneath their notice, excepting that he might make a good sale someplace down the road.

[01:05] <simonette> paris had always been a beautiful child.  he was the sole heir to what was left of his father's wealth after simonette's hefty dowry .. his face and his body had gathered more attention to him at this age than it rightly should have.  but now he was on the brink, the threshold of hasty growth and true broadness .. his education had been thorough.  from swordplay to english, he had been tutored more completely in the art of leadership than his sister .. he understood most of what they had to tell.  their stories, offerings, and he wound the silk cord tight across his knuckles.  paris remembered how they'd displaced the blame.  the smell of blood.  .. the corner of his mouth twitched into half a smile.  he waited just a few more moments.  until the man who would receive his wrath was in the very midst of a tale boasting his prowess with two Indian princesses.

 .. .. simonette sighed a little, fingertips riding over her hip made her shiver invoulentarily .. she woke a little more then, her tongue clicking against the roof of her mouth, her nose rode the swoop of his throat into his chin and her lips sat against the divit beneath his mouth.  she breathed against the seam of his lips.  "thom-as."   and her stomach snarled, yowled a little against the ridge of his hip.

[01:15] <Thom> Silence for another few moments, quiet, then a slight rousing once more. The fingers did not still in their stroking, though it slipped a bit to encompass the swell of her bottom. Enjoying it, as it was. Eyes flicked a bit, then turned towards her. They were greyish, a blue hint at the centres of them. "Yes, my peach?" And another shift to lie closer. The feel of her breasts against chest was magnificent, the scent of hair and sex and clean sweat intoxicating... Their conversation outside was in no way slowing, though a few filtered off to catch a little sleep, and a few others wandered off to get to their watch cycle. As it did, there were only three men remaining around the make-shift table.  They were still talking, the one who was his target still the main conversationalist there. He was describing now the last time he had had -five- women at once, and the day spent in their leggy tangled embrace. Laughter abounded as he mentioned the cost, and how he might try it again, with the largess of the captain to be considered.

[01:19] <simonette> paris leapt as paris could leap, with predatory silence.  the gleam of a wide-eye moon peeled across the cruel white of his bared teeth - his snarl was a man's snarl, the rumple of his face is keen and red and veined when he loops the silk cord around the throat of the nearest man.  savagely, ruthelessly, he yanks up and back - not merely to choke, but to break tendon.  to burst vein, to suffocate.  he hauled backward and if he'd gotten the man securely enough, they both would stumble backward to the rail .. paris might put a knee in the shipman's back, at the small, forcing him to bend.  the flash in the man-boy's eye is mad and bright. 

.. "you know this is a sin .. yes?  this thing we do .. ?  that we are doing .. ?"  she tongues and whispers, lifting her head, shuffling a little so that she may look into the color of his eye.  the blue and the grey of it, the black of it.  she studied him with girlish eyes and girlish, abused, kiss swollen lips .. her hair around, coils of tangles and sateen to shield them from everything outside.  the murmurs outside temporarily dying.  her fingertips are perusing his side.

[01:32] <Thom> The crew member made a harsh, hacking noise as the corded silk bit into his throat. Neck torn back from that violent grab, and his back being hit as well. Arms went wide out, as his voice was taken. The other two with him laughed for a moment, thinking at first that the splaying of arms was an attempt to embellish the story. But as the saw the shadowy motion behind him, they started and moved to intercept. The boy was mad, truly. And their shouts at him were a mix of belligerence and a mix of awe. This coming from the boy whos ear was hacked off yesterday, and then beaten around since then. It almost served their companion right, for not paying enough attention.

 "A sin? To enjoy the pleasures of the flesh? Ah, my dear... I do not think it a sin to enjoy what god above has given us to enjoy..."  The words were husky, rumbling through broad chest and stocky neck. His hand paused in it's slow stroke, the curve of her rear was almost fully engulfed by his hand. The other had mirrored it, since. She was captured once again... "And if it is? Then so be it, I will enjoy myself now, and you, and worry about the concequences later." A little kiss was spent upon the curve between lip and chin.

[01:41] <simonette> paris would haul him back to the rail.  pulling with all of his strength, bearing down into the small of the shipman's back with his sharp little knee .. they both will lean over the rail a few inches, paris edges the crewmember a bit to the left.  threatens, hisses, his voice breaking like a child's:  "vous me laissez voir ma soeur, ou cet homme va par dessus-bord,"  he  said and he tossed his head, flinging his curls 'round, the bandage rolled across his brow is slipping .. perhaps the crewman's eyes are rolling now.  perhaps the sockets around them are turning blue.

 .. .. inside the cabin, round buttocks curved into his hands .. simonetta sits up a little.  turns her head toward the door with narrow eyes, lifting an ear to the air.  she flicked a glance at him and was very still.  abruptly aware that *something* outside their cabin-world had gone awry.

[01:49] <Thom> The two other sailors laughed softly, glancing at one another then shoulders rolled. "We'll 'ave t'ask the Capin' that, boyo. Put 'im down, eh, else y'ell be gettin' nothin' " One of the two pulled away and went to the captains quarters and knocked upon it. Knuckles rasping upon the weathered wood frame. Within, the Captain sighed softly. "Séjour dans le lit..." Then he leveled himself out of the cot, and took a blanket to wrap around himself. The door opened, and a glance cast to the sailor, who talked hurriedly to him. A glance over his shoulder, towards Simonette, then towards the rukus. A laugh then, and he nodded. "Votre frère veut vous voir." And he smiled slightly, his eyes flashing with... mischief, that was all that it could be.

[01:53] <simonette> "pas jusqu'à ce que vous me lui portez,"  the man-boy whispered, watching the other man walk away while he continued to strangle the crewman .. farther and farther they both leaned over the rail, until gravity threatened to take both of them to the thrashing sea .. paris tasted the sea salt on his lips and studied the ear of the man he held.  studied it very closely.  distracted only when he noticed the man he'd been 'negotiating'  with strolling back into the corner of his vision.  he knew how far his violence could take him .. they could not but be proud, these simians, of his bravery and balls.  to do such a thing. 

.. ..  simonette had slid from him so that he could rise, remaining in the cot, sitting up now with their blanket held to her breast .. she squinted at the silhouette in the doorway, trying to decipher some of their conversation.  and when he spoke to her again .. wide eyes, she shook her head violently.  "non, non ..il ne peut pas me voir, pas comme ceci. il vous tuera .. "  she rasped because she was hoarse with her mostly muted pleasure, thirsting with hours of hasty bodies, slapping .. the french noblesse put herself in a corner of the cot again, slowly.

[02:03] <Thom> Yet he moved towards her and took her by the arm. To lift her once again to her feet. "Pas si vous lui dites la vérité. Que vous vous amusez, maintenant. C'est... la vérité, oui ? Il le sent quand nous dégringolons..." A smile, mischevious again, and he would pull her along. She was allowed to keep the blanket though, just as he kept himself girded around the waist himself.  Out he would go first, and the two crewmen would nod and eye the boy. One rose his voice again, jerking his head towards the nearly naked captain who just stepped out of the cabin. He would surely recognize him, the man who he had dueled with, and lost too... but who had spared his life. "Là vous allez, le capitaine. Il a votre soeur..."

[02:08] <simonette> she dragged the blanket because she simply would not go without it and strove not to go at all, shrieking like a mad thing, writhing on the end of his arm like an unwilling cat.  she even leaned to bite at his knuckles, to kick at his knees, she hauled back against his grip with all of her strength.  which is, perhaps, not wise.  because if he let her go she would fall smartly on her rear end. paris, cruel paris tossed the man he had captured to one side.  whether the man went overboard or no, simonette's brother was charging across the deck with the silk cord hanging from one fist .. knotted at one end, it would make a fine whip.  stark boy .. still, he would seem so young to them.  in a silly immature rage.  when the manboy is close enough, he will attempt to swing the makeshift whip across thom's bare chest.

[02:14] <Thom> It was a strike that was taken in stride. Welts rose upon his chest, and the hand that held Simonette was undone. She would fall away, as Thom shifted and retaliated with a blow of his own. Hand lashed out, heavy handedly, to strike at the boy before him. Already the two of them had fought, his speed and strengths were no surprise to the pirate lord.  ... Even if he -was- just wrapped up in a towel. For the moment, Simonette would be forgotten, though the saliors now had a good view of the area. The man whome had been captured was unconcious, his head cracked agaainst the side railing. No one paid him any heed, though. -This- fight was going to be an important one. "Settle down boy!" English, but the meaning was clear enough.

[02:18] <simonette> simonette fell to the deck in a tumble of pearlescent limbs, jouncing breastflesh, blanket, locks .. she cried out a little and saw the outside of the cabin for the first time in over twenty-four hours.  she breathed air that had not been, once, breathed by him too.  she pushed backward, shoved at the deck with her bare pink heel and she glanced about frantically - this was not the way it was supposed to go, her mind flailed! paris was bellowing pain.  the fist had caught him in the shoulder and had pounded him backward, he sagged as though to tumble to his knees .. he had had little to drink, he was weak from the battle before, loss of blood .. but he surged back up again, now he had the cord wound around his knuckles again.  a movement as though he would dance forward, around further blows because he was small and because he was absurdly quick .. he would reach as though to wrap the cord 'round Thom's thick throat this time, as though to wring it.  and he had not seen simonetta yet.  he'd not even glanced her way.  perhaps others, now, would get the eyeful he was not taking advantage of.

[02:25] <Thom> Thom grunted with the fire that came from being hit with the cord along his throat. But the encircling of his neck was not going to happen. Hands rose to grab the boy by the shirt and to haul him up off of the ground. Grey eyes were murderous, murderous and laughing all at the same time. He was -laughing- at Paris, and angry at the same time. Throaty and harsh laughter rose from his throat. The captain had long arms, enough to hold the boy away. His body was toughened by years at sea, being battered in battle and in heavy seas. Kicks and punches were nothing to those corded muscles. "Simonette... Levez-vous et venez ici..." It was said with a painful grunt, as well. His arms, while strong, would be getting tired.

[02:28] <simonette> she was already on her feet, had struggled to be standing when paris finished reeling from thom's first crushing blow .. she was hanging on his left arm to make things more difficult, the imprint of his knuckles on her cheek, her kiss ravaged mouth pleaded and shrieked:  14"ne le blessez pas!  vous le blessez, vous le blessez!"  she tugged, and she pulled, and paris was struggling like a little boy.  kicking impotently.  thrashing without hope of being really free.  he'd bitten his own tongue and blood was dribbling from his mouth .. his collarbone seemed blessedly unbroken, but the way the boy grimaced would speak volumes about the pain that it still gave him.  expensive boots, kick-kick.  now he saw simonette.  now he saw her, his eyes mirrored her, and his struggles ceased.  bruises flowered her neck, suckling brands.  she hadn't slept well, her eyes were a little blue 'round the edges .. but his attention caught on her lips.  they'd been mauled.  paris held his breath and stared, jealously.  *covetously.*  then miserably.  this pirate captain, this orangutan, this uneducated sloth .. he'd taken her maidenhead, he'd ruined her.  paris' eyes filled with coarse tears.

[02:39] <Thom> The boy was lowered and then released fully from his grasp. Eyes cast to Simonette a moment, then he reached down to take her shoulder... Eyes settled for a moment, sailors had come closer. Enough to stop another attack, at least. Or, rather, slow another one down that could cause any more problems. A glance to her, then a glance back towards Paris. "Venez ici, si vous , Simonette. Et stand sans compter que moi comme j'ai demandé de vous." He shifted again, leaning his head backwards to continue watching each of them. He was just... waiting for something.
[02:53] * Disconnected
Session Close: Tue May 13 02:53:24 2003

Session Start: Sun May 25 00:30:10 2003
Session Ident: #english*channel
[00:30] * Now talking in #english*channel
[00:30] * ChanServ sets mode: +l 5
[00:30] * Thom ([email protected]) has joined #english*channel
[00:30] * Retrieving #english*channel info...
[00:30] * simonette sets mode: +snt
[00:30] * simonette sets mode: +o Thom
[00:32] * Thom changes topic to 'Now I don't blame him 'cause he run and hid, but the worst thing he did was named me Sue.'
[00:33] * simonette changes topic to 'You get your cow back, your dog back, your wife back, your double-wide trailer back, your taco back ..'

[00:41] <Thom> Paris was sent to the ground, to be tended to by his nalf-nude sister. At least until Thom called back to her and repeated what he had said within the cabin. Stand by my side. The implications would be there, he was certain that Paris would be a smart enough boy to figure it out, especially if Simonette did as she had been bidden. As she had been... asked, almost.
He had whispered it fiercely. Come and stand besides me, Simonette. Besides. Not to the right, not behind. But besides. And he had smiled with that fierce and raptor-like smile, with locks of black hair hanging loosely. Neck was red where the boy had tried to strangle him, where he had been hit. Eyes flicked back and forth between the two of them. He would fold his muscular arms, his feet planted. The breeches he had hastily drawn were hanging loose at hips. Opened at the front a little to show the trail of dark curls. He was unabashed in it. More, he was... proclaiming it before the boy. -He- was in charge here. Not him.

[00:48] <simonette> "vous êtes sa putain, maintenant ? la putain de cet homme, simonette ? vous pourriez avoir été - "  began the boy hoarsely, the agony in his shoulder is making his pale eyes dribble, saline rivers down his cheeks in small ways .. his gaze flicks from her face to her throat, to the space just below her breastbone where she clutches the blanket.  clinging to it, holding it closed on her breasts.  bruises from his mouth, a collection of knuckle-sized impressions on her cheek, fingerprints in her upper arms .. his mind flailed around it, he struggled to understand.  jealousy, outrage, miserable hurt.  .. and she was whispering at him, paris couldn't look at her face.  "shh, Paris, un non autre mot que vous savez mieux que cela et si nous jouent à nos cartes bien, nous pourrions être libres de ce bateau plus tôt que vous réalisez .. !"  simonette interrupted, on her feet now.  straying to the pirate captain's side with a wandering air.  something different, something unsimilar to force that put her bare feet beside his.  paris panted, leaned on a hand.  his ear pounded a tattoo, he could feel the blood in his head.  she *lied,* she *lied,* paris' treacherous brain surmised.  she wasn't pure, she wasn't the last maiden - betrayal, he was squinting and speechless.

[00:59] <Thom> And he just watched them carefully, arms remained folded against bare chest. Head lowered, leveled in their fury of grey-blue orbs. And as she swept besides her, those massive arms would unwind and then circle her smaller waist. Fingers settled upon her hip and caressed in a familiar manner. Almost... gentle? Amazing. But he still had his gaze for Paris. Fury? No, the fury had sifted off as she came besides him. Turned into amusment? That was a good way of putting it. Firey amusment. "Vous êtes un bon combattant, jeune homme. Et vous bested Darren. Je respecte cela, comme je respecte la puissance." A shift a little, and in the process drawing simonette along... A pause, and he glanced back. "Observez-moi, parce que cela j'épargnerai votre vie cette fois, et je vous offrirai un endroit avec ce bateau et son équipage."

"Oh... " He glanced at simonette a moment, hand rose to brush along cheek. He turned so that she as infront of him, so that she was facing Paris, and so that he himself was facing Paris over her shoulder. Arms circled her waist, and he grined a wicked sort of smile... "...et votre soeur n'est pas ma putain. Elle deviendra ma dame."

[01:06] <simonette> despite his pain, paris' body thrust itself up, into a fighting stance - his thirteen-year-old chest heaved, his fifteen-year-old heart gave a fisting twist .. he threw down the length of cord blistering his palm and he turned away from his sister, from the pirate captain, to the crew.  he leveled a look to each eye that stared at him, he threatened each pupil with the balls not to look away.  a beautiful boy in fop's clothes, a boy that could have been a beautiful girl though the evidence was there to be seen .. the entire event had given him a rigid erection.  an urge to try to choke another of them.  "soyez un de vous ? morons puce-infestés! vous amélioreriez tous le ce soir ouvert d'oeil de la subsistance une un oeil ouvert,"  he demonstrated to those who wouldn't understand his French, modulating his tone of voice, throwing a fist, pulling his eyelids wide open with his fingertips.  and maybe, perhaps they'd know .. he was not vengeful.  only methodical.  and not quite healthy.  simonette in a circle of sinew-ed arms, she struggled forward just once .. but simonette had known.  knew more than she would say now.  and at length, she .. shrank, even leant against the pirate's chest.

[01:24] <Thom> The captain himself laughed lightly, simonette would be able to feel his breath filtering along her cheek. His arms tightened a little as she shrank back against him. "Vont maintenant, ma pêche douce. Revenez à la salle, je laisserez-vous se reposer, pendant un moment... À moins que vous me vouliez encore..." It was accompianed by with a slight tracing of her shoulder. The crew themselves, once it filtered amoungst them as to his meaning... grinned at the boy. His spirit at least, was bright enough. And he'd demonstrated his... lack of subtlty when it comes to fighting. And he was dangerous! Ah, that made they cackle all the more. One of them took a step forward and thumped his chest. "Come now lad! Put y'self a'ease an' well treat ye to a lovely Irish lass t'treat yer self to!" This brought a round of glances to him again. And his state of arousal. The crewmembers all laughed again, one of them making a rather rude jesture of sex. "Mettez votre jeune homme parti de poignard! Jusqu'à ce que nous rencontrions les dames encore!" Yelled another. -They- would accept him, it seemed. The Captain was... used to these sort of deals.

[01:31] <simonette> the man who put a friendly blow to his chest - which was, despite surprising muscle, rather sparrowboned - would be rewarded with a threatening pace, paris was reddening to the hairline, the rush of blood in his ear is palpable .. it's flowering red in the bandage they've wrapped 'round his head, his soft blonde-brown curls dripping the sweat of his effort.  but the excitement, the lack of food, the loss of blood, pain and weariness .. the collected *frustration* of his sex, risen up taut against his trousers .. a woman, yes.  he did need a woman.  but paris was wilting, swaying with nausea.  "lovely irish lass .. "  he slurred, punch-drunk english, as one man caught his arm and another rounded him .. swallowed by a crowd, perhaps to be fed.  or challenged.   simonette watched paris' blue satin back out of the corner of her eye as she drifted back toward the cabin .. her blanket is an awkward green train, puddling petals along at her ankles.  the long bare of her back, mottled by the effort of passion.  the tumble of her hair.  the stables, the stories they told .. she remembered other things .. and forgot to say oui or non, as it applied to 'more.'  her eyes contained an ocean of distance.  some dimness.

[01:42] <Thom> He rolled his shoulders a little, glancing at the first and second mates that had drawn by towrads the end of the little show. He glanced at each a moment, then nodded. "Watch him, boyo's. But treat him well. I think he'll be fitting in, in time. Now then. Let's get headin' to Dublin." He grinned, and the three men laughed. They'd be rich, when they landed. Thom turned, and made for the cabim himself then. She had not answered his question, but that was neither here nor there. It was -his- cabin, anyway. And if he was going to change to stand a little watch like the others, then he'd need to change at the least. So he would folloe her into that room.

[01:45] <simonette> simonette had wandered to the desk .. it was where the food had ended up, the fruit.  now she plucked and picked at what was left, the blanket held closed securely - but not uneasily - against her bust.  the was thoughtful, standing there .. options and happenstances tottered around behind her eyes while she ate, noting with a little pinprick between her legs when he came in through the cabin door. hands on her shoulders, hands that had held her closely a hundred nights before this one .. they shook her violently and threw her neck from the pillow, tossed her ears against the linen.  "what, what .. !  paris .. !"  his eyes were wild, his clothes were covered in blood.  "he's dead, simonette, he's dead, i killed him for you!  don't you see now, don't you see .. ?"  she touched a bit of soft, barely good pineapple to her lips.  crushed it softly between molars as the vision faded, an ear on where he was in the room.  and it was a little more than a solid, stirring something in her loins when he passed her for clothes .. simonette failed to notice it, yet.  but the seed of it germinated not far from her heart.

[01:57] <Thom> The pants he had thrown on at first were slipped off of hips and then set down. He turned to her, one brow arching. Arms folded as he glanced at her. Vous pensez, ma pêche. Est-ce que j'ose demande ce que c'est que vous vous demandez?" A momentairy grin, and he picked up shirt and pulled it over torso. He delayed in drawing on breeches. Almost as if to tempt her with that thick muscle that hung between his legs. The heavy sacs that dangled under them. The shirt barely even hid him properly, though it hung to the hip. Padded past her, tugged on the edge of the cot to straighten sex-stained and scented sheets. "Vous devriez vous reposer maintenant... Simonette." The first time he had used her name? At least, the first time when not in the throes of passion. A glance at her, a brow arched.

[02:04] <simonette> she gathered up a few grapes, a stem of them .. crossing the little room with which she'd become so accquainted to sit on the cot.  the apex of his legs is at eye level.  she can't help a less than covert glance at him and a little smile .. settling, though not completely on her back.  on her elbow, the grapes laid across the scent-drenched pillow. "just .. that i hope your crew are as vicious as my Paris may be .. .. he is a violent sort,"  she managed to say in French without divulging just how violent she felt him to be .. though, for some reason, she felt the urge to go on:  "he's never hurt *me,*"  with a flicking -
[02:08] <simonette> glance and a shift, a half-vinegar grape exploding on her tongue.  an idle hand drifting outward to massage his thigh, fingertips stroking the space between sac and leg .. another vision rose up, reared in her mind's eye.  the nunnery gates.  the carraige, teetering away.

[02:14] <Thom> He glanced down at her massaging hand, then arched an eyebrow at her actions. A little bit of a smile, and he was leaning back as she did something that he rather enjoyed. He did, though, think over the words she had just said to him. Lips were licked a moment in consideration, thinking about it. Then a little grin. "My crew..." He began. His words slipped a little. The action of her hand caused that little bit of change. "... will be fine. They are vicious dogs, and idle friends. I think... we will be well." He laughed again lightly, his hand shifting to brush along the curve of her thigh. Slow and light caress of calloused hand.

[02:18] <simonette> "they might want to .. mm .. lash his wrists together when they sleep .. "  she suggests very carefully, gauging his reaction to this while she disguises its gravity with her touch .. the length of him slipping across the inside of her forearm.  fingertips gathering up his balls very gently, barely grazing, thoughtfully touching .. yet, all the while, there was a nagging hail mary.  there was years of education, of careful instruction, of culturing .. nights when she'd had to send paris back to his bed, for fear.  he'd gotten angry once.  just once.  another grape, she held it in puckered lips and sucked it onto her tongue for him.  being lasvicious .. felt good ..

[02:26] <Thom> If eyes had not closed already, they did so now. lidded lightly, with lashes barely containing his eyes. Had tilted, and then focused upon her. He managed to catch the end of her little suckling the grape, lips were licked as well. A little twist, and that hand upon her hip moved along thigh, and then over the top of one. Searching, though he knew right where to go with those rough fingers. He'd been doing to her almost since the first time they had rocked that bed. A low grin, then, fingers paused against her flesh. "I will... suggest it..." A glance, through eye-lashes. "What are you after, hm?"

[02:29] <simonette> new to this ploy, then, this tack .. because she was noticing now that when she tickled the back of his balls this way with just her fingertips, and when he was nestled against her forearm .. he was half listening.  and she wondered, in the way of women in such situations, how much she could *get away with* .. "nothing.  nothing at all.  he's a murderer .. "  she made certain to say, to be perfectly clear .. though, she thought of him as a murderer too.  all of them, and as this fell open like a new flower in her thoughts .. it led her to other places.  hesitance.  then a little self-revulsion.  and she withdrew her hand, eating the last of the grapes without fanfare.
[02:49] * simonette is now known as sally|skellington
Session Close: Sun May 25 02:49:44 2003


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