Free The Swashbuckling Yarn of Milady Vixen by Christopher Newman Page A

make sure you’re presentable.” Captain Cockrum smiled with a sneer.
    With that, her cologne-scented captor turned on his heel and strode out of the brig. Vixen spotted no less than seven scarlet-coated soldiers standing guard outside the small chamber. She took this as a compliment to her infamous fame and stature.
    “We are doomed, then.” Tom sighed.
    “Aye, did ye expect less?” she replied.
    “I wish for just one more night under the ocean’s stars with ye, Violet.”
    “Like that evening in San Sainte Bridgette?”
    “Aye! You were a wild thing that night.”
    “It was from the pleasurable company and that fine cask of rum.”
    Vixen laughed heartily at the memory of hours of drunken debauchery upon the forecastle, then the crow’s nest and finally in her bunk. The warm tropic winds through her hair, the smell of his skin and the taste of the rum upon Tom’s tongue.
    Standing in a rattling din, she gazed upon his purple-splotched and swollen face. He was more handsome than ever; the marks of his abuse were like badges of courage gracing him.
    “I wish for one more time,” she slurred amorously.
    “We are parted by both chains and bars; how would this miracle take place?” he responded.
    “Grip your cock and thrust it through the bars; I shall bare my arse and press you into me. I would have this last pleasure ere I go to yonder captain’s table.”
    She pulled aside her knickers. Her bottom, a brown swell of ample hills, trembled when touching the cold metal. Vixen hooked her feet around the bottom of the steel imprisonments, then allowed herself to fall forward, her chains keeping her body bent yet unable to fall. She heard the clinking of Tom’s bindings and then the sudden, warm touch of the tip of his member.
    “I can barely reach ye,” Tom grunted forcefully. “I fear I will not be able to delve so lustily into ye as we both desire.”
    “Avast ye! Take me the best ye can!”
    The soft intrusion was shallow, but delightful. Tom’s shaft only sank an inch into her quivering womanhood, but it brushed heavenly against the engorged and reddened bud atop her dewy cleft. Allowing for the violent rocking of the brig, she sobbed out each time at the frustrating shortness of the hot penetration into her quim.
    Quim is a funny word, isn’t it?
    The tantalizingly superficial pressure made Vixen wish her hands were unbound to stroke upon the trembling button and even to reach back to stroke his hard, thick girth.
    “So soft!” Tom muttered. “I wish to bury myself to the hilt in you!”
    “I know. I desire that above all else as well!” she groaned.
    Each tiny jab, delicate rub and sorrowful removal made her shove back harder until the steel bars dented the brown swells of her buttocks. Aft and prow, fore and stern she was lightly pierced by Tom’s cock. The hunger betwixt her thighs was not sated, and she could sense her lover’s thwarted release as well. Vixen pulled away regretfully. Sinking to the dirty straw, she parted her legs with a moan.
    “Why did you stop?” he queried. “W-what are you doing?”
    Her manacles clanked and clinked as she parted her wet labia and began rubbing fiercely on her clit. Splaying her supple thighs apart, she gifted him with an unabashed view of her self-pleasuring. Her sex gleamed even in the faint light from the portholes. She began to play a tune upon herself.
    “Touch yourself,” she hotly ordered. “If I cannot fully enjoy ye, I would watch ye fondle that which I cannot delight in.”
    Wide eyed, Tom seemed mesmerized by her actions. Her fingers glided across her swollen bud, dipped into her moist treasure and out again. Caressing herself, she stared lustfully at the aching hardness jutting out of his breeches. Vixen’s nipples cut against her cotton blouse, increasing her enjoyment while her mind imagined it was Tom’s rough fingers brushing against them. Husky moans and soft cries began to stammer out between her quivering lips. Her lover sank