Mon, February 06 2012
| TITLE: | The Ocean's Embrace |
|---|---|
| AUTHOR: | Kevin Schultz |
| CATEGORY/TYPE: | |
| RATING/WARNINGS: | NC-17 for sexual situations kinda, and (gasp!) female nudity |
| MAIN CHARACTERS: | Rebecca Fogg |
| DESCRIPTION: | Rebecca and the sea! |
| STATUS: | Complete |
| DISCLAIMER: | SAJV and characters copyright Talisman/Promark/etc. No infringement is intended. ]] |
| AUTHOR'S NOTE: | Thank you to the eternal inspiration that is Loralee. Thanks for letting me borrow the daydream. |
I awoke to the chirping sounds of nearby birds. Opening my eyes, I found myself in my temporary home. The makeshift bamboo and leaf hut was simple, but it did an excellent job at what it was constructed for. Namely, to keep the South Pacific rainstorms off of my head, and to protect me from the harsh winds that whistled across the island from time to time. I sat up, swinging my smooth, newly-tanned legs off of the grassy mat that I slept upon. Stretching to awaken my slumbering muscles, I stood, taking a number of deep breaths to get my circulation pumping at an acceptable level once more. After a final giant intake of air, and a forceful exhalation, I was ready for anything.
Looking down at myself, I noted that my thin, dark green gown had not become excessively wrinkled overnight, as had been the norm for the past few weeks. Good. Perhaps I was finally out of my restless sleep phase. It wasn't the surroundings that had kept me tossing and turning at night. I was unfortunately at a loss to explain the cause of my insomnia. I did my best to dismiss it as just something that happened to everyone at some time or another. I failed to convince myself.
Foregoing my matching robe, I strolled outside, clad only in the clinging gown.
The bright, warm sun had recently risen. It slowly worked its way higher in the sky as I strolled down to the beach. The dark blue, frothing surf crashed into the sand, depositing tiny particles and various seashells as it drifted back into itself. I spotted a tiny, struggling baby turtle squirming its way back to the ocean, finally catching up with the waves only to be pushed back ashore once again. The little turtle immediately turned back to the water and recommenced its seemingly hopeless journey. I watched him (or her?) as he made several valiant attempts to get back home, and at last the little creature made it, disappearing into the Pacific.
I looked around, taking in my immediate surroundings, assessing the situation. No one else was awake yet, it seemed. The others had preferred to remain on board the Aurora and use their cabins for their sleeping quarters. I, however, could not resist the chance to spend as much time out in nature as I possibly could, and had proceeded to create my little hut as soon as we had arrived. Phileas and his new woman, Carlotta, were most likely sleeping off the effects of the not-inconsiderable amount of beverages they had consumed the previous evening after dinner. Jules enjoyed sleeping in whenever he could. Perhaps the most significant surprise of the morning was that Passepartout, his energy always seemingly boundless, had as of yet failed to make an appearance. Perhaps he was already awake and busy in his workshop, tinkering at some insane mechanism or other. That would explain it.
I smiled to myself as I stretched again, running my hands along my body as I worked my muscles. Scanning the area once more, ensuring that no living soul was about, I made up my mind. Time for a dip, I think.
I quickly pulled off my green gown, tossing it aside. My undergarments quickly followed their companion to a dry spot on the sand. Now completely naked, I wriggled my toes in the wet sand, digging them in, feeling the warm, damp dirt squish between my little toes. As they kept working into the sand, a wave crashed onto the beach, the foaming water cascading over my feet as it swept in and back out again. My newly wet feet came out of the ground quite muddy, and I started to walk leisurely towards the ocean.
The pads of my feet tingled with the cool touch of the water upon them. As I slowly walked on, the water reached up to my calves. As the waves washed over me, so too did memories of other sensations...
... I recalled former lovers, men who had touched me, and stroked my calves in the way that I so thoroughly enjoyed. A certain king in particular leapt to mind. His rough yet gentle touches had thrilled me so. And I recalled the smooth strokes of Captain Dominus, the scoundrel pirate of the Caribbean. The Captain had confessed to a certain fascination with women's legs, and with mine in particular. He told me of the way he admired the curves, the way the legs seemed to arch in just the right way. Our adventures together had proved without a doubt that he was absolutely correct. My legs had indeed caused a definite and quite noticeable "admiration".
My thighs were next to feel the warm caress of the ocean. I reached down, reflexively touching my wet skin. Oddly enough, I found myself automatically thinking of Carlotta. Phileas' new lady had the most delicious-looking legs, in particular her scrumptious thighs. How I longed to touch them, yet I knew it was forbidden. That made it all the more desirable, however. Made *her* all the more desirable, to be more precise. Knowing that I must not, and knowing that she was Phileas' woman, I tore my thoughts from Carlotta and turned my scrutiny back onto myself.
I waded deeper into the sea, which now touched the very tip of my sex. The warm waters awoke more forbidden thoughts within myself, as I recalled the last person to touch me there. He had been so kind, and so very tasty. His tall, strong body aroused me no end. Alexander was quite the man, I had to admit. He was handsome, smart, humorous, well-positioned in society. What woman could resist? Well, I could, for one. At least, I had attempted to. He could also be incredibly insufferable, and rather full of himself. I suppose that could be a consequence of his self-confidence. Yes, perhaps that was it.
Glancing around, I noted that Phileas and Carlotta had arisen, and were now walking hand in hand along the beach some distance off from where I had set up my temporary home. As a result, the two had failed to spot me yet, but I knew that would not last. In recognition of my stark nudity, I strode further on, hurrying to reach a depth where I would be visible only from the neck up. As I moved forward, the waves drifted up my belly, and eventually consumed my breasts.
I was immediately reminded of another encounter. This time with the young girl, Melissa Portman. The fact that she had been duped by von Kessler into one of his nefarious schemes did nothing to lessen her beauty, much less my attraction to her. She was the first woman who had ever touched me in my special places. Admittedly, we did not have the chance to proceed to a mutually satisfactory conclusion during our liaison. However, the time we had spent together, the moments we had shared, they were indeed quite special to me. I recalled fondly the feel of her soft fingers upon my breasts, gently squeezing them and playing with my hard nipples. No one else before or since, man or woman, had ever had the same soft, loving touch upon my breasts. I, in turn, had attempted to return the favor by caressing hers, then gently suckling at them. I recalled fondly the feel of our chests as they pressed together...
As these and other happy memories flitted across my mind, I reflexively moved my hand down to my opening, inserting a delicate finger almost without thinking. I swam deeper, the water finally reaching my neck, and I was now safely covered up from any prying eyes. I turned back, gazing at the shoreline. I saw that Phileas and Carlotta had noticed me, and were both waving. I waved back at them with my free hand, then turned to swim away once more, this time using both hands.
After having exerted myself with the swim, I treaded water for a time. Lazily, I tipped my head back, arching my spine, and dipped my hair below the surface of the ocean. I worked my hands vigorously through red locks, twirling and wringing them strongly. This must have been the morning for reflections, for once again I was reminded of a recent incident.
Two weeks ago, we had been visited on our island by a small group of men. They had made their way to our isle from their own using a pair of finely crafted canoes. They had seen the Aurora as it had flown over their homes some days hence, as it turned out, and had decided to send a welcoming committee. Or a raiding party, were it deemed necessary. However, seeing as we were friendly and unthreatening, and had interesting items to trade with them, they welcomed us warmly. One moment did strike us as a bit more... interesting, shall we say.
I had not been on the shore when the islanders had arrived. I was onboard the Aurora, gathering a number of supplies for my recently-constructed hut. As I emerged onto the beach, clad in a grass skirt and a loose white cloth top, the dark-skinned islanders immediately stopped speaking in their language. As one, they all turned to stare at me. It turns out that it was not merely the fact that I was a woman. Carlotta's presence on the shore confirmed that. No, it was my red hair, apparently. They had never seen another human being with red hair before. They were mostly black-haired themselves, and had previously seen blonde visitors on rare occasions. But a redhead, never.
After their initial shock wore off, they began speaking again. However, I could not help but notice that every now and then they each took a turn to glance in my direction, even as they were speaking with Passepartout, our translator.
Well, it only made sense. Half the time we cannot understand Passepartout, and neither could we understand the islanders. So logically one could argue that they would be able to communicate with each other. As it turned out, it took a short time, but eventually they did manage to converse, mainly through body language and mining. Passepartout, with his natural physical gifts, was the perfect choice for translator.
Their visit was brief, and involved a few small trades of goods. Before they left, however, one of the islanders, the leader, we guessed, mimed to Passepartout that they would very much like to have a small sample of my red hair. In the hopes of staying in their good graces, as we had noticed the large spears and a number of swords stored in their canoes, I smiled demurely. Fetching my dagger from my hut, I sliced off a small lock, handing it ceremoniously to the leader of the islanders. The man smiled an incredibly huge grin, displaying shining white and gold teeth, and a curiously long tongue, before turning and running to his canoe with the others. They rowed off, happy laughter floating back to us over the waves.
Now those waves lifted and dropped me as they rolled in towards the beach of our little island. I held my breath and ducked under the water, swimming in random directions, staying under as long as my breath would allow me. I thrilled to the sensations of being completely submerged in the ocean, the water flowing across my body and quickening my pulse. Soon I crashed up and onto the surface. Sucking in huge gulps of air, I blinked as the sunlight reflected off the ocean and into my eyes.
Again my memories assaulted me, as I pictured Alexander and his gorgeous dark green eyes. His warm smile. His slightly crooked nose, bent out of shape by a thief he had arrested on patrol one evening. His thick black hair. His full mustache. And again his eyes. I kept returning to those magnetic eyes.
What had I been thinking? I had stormed off from him in a pique of anger just before we had departed for the South Pacific. It was over a minor trifle, something which he had merely been joking about. It was the silliest little thing, which for the life of me I could not even recall. I had to go back to him. And not just in the geographical sense. In every sense. Emotionally, physically, and every other way I could think of. He had touched something within me which few men had touched before. And he kept on engaging my interest, whereas with other men I seemed to tire rather quickly. But not my Alexander.
"My Alexander"? Good grief, now I was claiming him as my own.
Hmmmm...
Now there is a thought.
I looked back at the distant shoreline, quickly spotting Phileas and Carlotta. They had found a nice patch of sand and lain down together, side by side, clad only in the briefest of undergarments. I could tell even from this distance that they were holding each other's hand. They looked happy. Comfortable. They looked so right together.
I pictured Alexander in my mind's eye once more, and envisioned myself next to him on a beach. It happened almost without effort. The vision seemed just as right as my cousin and his new lady.
Right. Well, that settles it, then. My mind is made up. He *will* be mine. Whether he likes it or not.
A smile crept into the corner of my mouth as I began swimming back to the shore. The future lay before me...
THE END