In Pandora's Wake

[Veroe]

((Closed for Myself and LunaWolf72))​

IC: Damian Harriman

The moon was high above the midnight blue waters of the Atlantic Ocean. Damian sat in a loungechair on the deck overlooking the shimmer of the moonlight on the placid seas. The scotch in his glass was top shelf quality burning with a sweet smokey tang. His wife, Helena, stirred at one side of him. The tall stunningly fit blonde bombshell stood up from the chair beside him. The frilly inadequately small pink bikini she wore barely concealed her large breasts or hour glass figure. She turned to him and gave him a sultry smile.

"It's about time, my dear," She told him softly in her slight swedish accent, "The sedative should be wearing off soon."

He sat up and placed his scotch on the table between their chairs. "I suppose we should go greet our new guests then."

Helena stepped over to him bent over and gave his cheek a tender peck, "Happy anniversary, husband."

"Happy anniversary, you siren of the deep," He chuckled at the old nickname he'd given her on this very boat long ago. "Go have some fun, now." With that he turned his head and they kissed with a fiery passion. Helena was usually ice cold, but always got affectionate when he gave her chances to unleash her true nature as a sexual sadist upon some poor man he'd aquired for her. The one that she had in her dungeon down below was just the type she got off on hurting.

She pulled away from the kiss and made to pass him to the stairs down from the deck to the innards of his ship. He chuckled again swinging and giving one firm buttock a playful spank. She jumped and glared at him, but did not stop heading down to her dungeon. He knew her ire would be unleashed upon the poor victim they had there.

He stood upon taking one last sip of his Scotch admiring the view. His ship was a sleek and luxurious yacht, approximately 115 meters long and consisting of four decks including the bridge above. It was named, Pandora's Wake. It was where he did most of his business in the legally grey area of international waters, and business was good for an arms dealer. The way the world was, everybody needed weapons, and he was the man to come to for them.

But right now this voyage was more pleasure than business. He turned towards their cabin and his own half of their anniversary presents. The cabin was spacious with elegant and rich furnishings. the center of which was a kingsized bed a naked woman was sleeping in. She was already beginning to stir groggily as the sedative was begin to wear off. He strutted inside his bedroom and to the bed she was stirring upon. He sat on the edge and leaned back against the headboard watching her efforts to shake off the drug-induced slumber.

She was pretty, not Helena of course, but where his wife had the statuesque beauty of some goddess. This woman was real with soft feminine features. In most ways she didn't hold a candle to his wife. Breasts the size of apples rather than cantelopes, a tiny almost nonexistent ass compared to one that overwhelmed every man she smothered with it. She was also shorter and looked like she'd break in half if she spun around too hard. No, his wife was better in every measure you could name, but he reached out and traced fingers over her spine with such desire, down, down, down.

His palm slid under the blanket and cupped her buttock and down her thigh and back up along her side. He traced over her arm to a shoulder. Lowering his head to place a kiss there and then down the other side of her, down her chest to caress and give a squeeze the apple of her right breast. Fingers coaxed the nipple to harden before leaving it behind to forge further southward over a not flat, but neither fat stomach down, down below. He pushed his hand between her thighs. There it was. A pussy that had never known true satisfaction.

Soon. He promised it. Soon.

As his finger tip found her clitoris her eyes shot open, focusing on his face.

"Sshhh," He murmured to her as his finger between her thighs was welcomed by heat and moisture from a place that had so very very little cause for either in so long, "You want this. Let go. Take what you want."

 

[Luna_Wolf72]

IC: Aika Swanson

There is something vastly unsettling about not being able to open one's eyes when one wants to. Of course, Aika was unaware, at first, that her circumstances had changed. How could she be? She was drugged into insensibility and far from the comfort of her small library or the office that housed her life's work. She remained deeply asleep though the rolling of her "room" sent her tummy into a tizzy. How does one fight motion sickness when one is asleep? For that matter, how does one think at all when one is supposed to be out of it for the duration?

The small frame lay nestled amongst soft sheets, almond-shaded flesh ensconced and surrounded by the softest silk. The sweet scent of salt-tinged winds and lush flowers drifted through an open window. Aika was a slip of a woman, though well-formed enough, and the air chased goose flesh along bared limbs and drew her from the abyss of sleep in such a way as to presage her awakening with a small grimace of displeasure.

'Why am I cold?'

The cool slide of silk dragged across sensitive skin. Aika could have ignored it, even though she KNEW the bed she shared with her husband was in no way, shape, or form draped in such refreshing bed linen. However, there was something else. A touch, a scent, body heat belonging to a body that did not smell of Eric Swanson, her husband of the last decade. Finally, there was the voice, a low seductive baritone which caught her ear and begged her to awaken just so she could see who it was that spoke to her. After all, that voice definitely did not belong to her husband and neither did that marauding finger.

A frown marred her expression as dark, tip-tilted eyes struggled to open and then focus. A deep throb greeted that fingertip and those words. Fear? No. That wasn't it. Maybe it was the permission? She couldn't tell, didn't know, couldn't focus well enough to make heads or tails of the situation she'd found herself in. 'Who? What?' She had no answers even as her hips jerked, the slight brush of fingertips between the cup of her thighs enough to distract her from what should have been enough to send her screaming from the room.

"Where am I? Who are you? Where's Eric?" Each question was a whisper in the silence, her sweet soprano lilting in such a way as to show that English was not her mother tongue. She attempted to close her legs, to dislodge that questing finger, and tore her mind away from the slow drag of that digit. 'What the hell had happened?'

"Where's my husband? Is he here?" Worry for her lifemate, the man she had once considered herself lucky to have, forced her to struggle against gravity as she attempted to sit up and scramble away from the large form who had made himself at home in what she supposed was his bed. Dark eyes assessed this other man even as her hips gave an involuntary jerk and a small whimper escaped her arid mouth. NO. This was NOT happening. With almost ruthless efficiency, Aika divorced her mind from the pleasure coiling through her.

"Why am I here?" She was awake now, 5'3" and 105 pounds of furiously spitting kitten, her shoulder-length ink-black hair tangled around her head in a morass of nearly there curls. This man, attractive though he was, was NOT Her husband. Without even thinking about it, she reached down and tried to drag that hand away from its resting place. "Stop touching me!" Honestly, if he didn't stop? She'd probably gush all over his pretty bed and then demanding a damned answer would be impossible.

 

[Veroe]

IC: Damian Harriman

As his finger tip found her clitoris her eyes shot open, focusing on his face.

"Sshhh," He murmured to her as his finger between her thighs was welcomed by heat and moisture from a place that had so very very little cause for either in so so long, "You want this. Let go. Take what you want."

His fingertip brushed over her clitoris and she instinctively flexed her lips pressing her sweet sweet neglected pussy into his touch. She wanted it, alright. All women wanted it. The problem was that they were taught from the days of girlhood before they ever grew up into women that wanting this was wrong. The conflict between their nature and their upbringing brought only misery and frustration. The path of liberation was difficult but so much more rewarding when one learns to just take what gives them pleasure regardless of the petty and debilitating complications of the outside world that weighs them down like shackles.

Her eyes widened and her next words came as fearful whispers tinged with an exotic-sounding Asian accent. "Where am I? Who are you? Where's Eric?"

"You are my guest on my yacht. My name is Damian." His fingers were plying their nimble magic over her clitoris right now as one parted and pushed past the lips there. "Do not panic. You are perfectly safe."

"Where is my husband?" She asked with fear and worry beginning to mount in her tone, "Is he here?"

"He is here," Damian told her as his fingers continued plying their magic between her thighs even though she pressed them together to prevent him from slipping any further inside of her sex, but his fingers nonetheless knew precisely what to do in the limited room to maneuver they were given to earn a short but rich and telling whimper from her as a reward. "Eric is a guest of my wife's tender mercies down below."

"Why am I here," She asked her hand reaching down to force his hand away from fingering her delectable pussy. "Stop touching me!"

"Is that really what you want," He said not letting her budge his hand from between her thighs. To push him away she had opened her thighs back up and taking that oppurtunity two fingers delved inside as his thumb strummed over her clitoris. They were adroit and knew exactly what they were doing. They made such sweet sweet music to all the secret places in Aika that made women melt instantly into pleasure-soaked puddles.

She was looking defensive from fear of her situation, but at the same time she was suddenly flooded with the pleasure coming from his fingers doing what they did best, It would be interesting for Damian to see what she'd do next. Whether it was a fist in the face or letting go and allowing him to escort her over the edge to the nirvana of an orgasm she must not have felt from Eric in a long long time.