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Your husband’s going to do the same thing on your wedding night.
She’d been thinking about those words for far longer than a lady of good breeding would care to admit—then again, she’d never belonged in civilized society.
She’d thought of Sandokan, running his large hands across her pristine skin; she visualized the deep yearning in his eyes as he slowly peeled off each layer of cloth to bare her naked flesh—he would be patient with her despite the longing of his own lust. She ached to give herself to him in the promises of marriage.
But that was where much of her fantasies had ended because she was embarrassed to admit that she wasn’t entirely sure what came next between a man and a woman.
She flinched when the door to the captain’s cabin opened, a smile of hope brightening her face. The brush in her hand stilted its progress against her flaxen locks which were newly detangled from the sea waves.
“Sorry I took so long,” Sandokan set his scimitar down on the nearby desk, “my brothers wanted to share a drink.”
“That’s okay,” she felt a small twinge of exclusion, but understood that if she was to be permanently accepted on board the prahu she would need to give the crew time and perhaps some space. “You're here now.”
His imposing figure walked towards the makeshift dressing table he had arranged for her and leaned down to place a kiss on the crown of her head.
Marianne’s smile grew as she watched Sandokan’s reflection through the corroded mirror, her breath catching as he began to take off his shirt and then his belt. She began to hold her breath. She’d certainly seen and explored the hard, warm, plains of his chest before. But now they were alone, with a bed two meters away and the promise of forever between them.
Sandokan caught her looking and grinned devilishly. “See something you like?”
Her neck felt warm and she feared her cheeks might actually flush with excitement or embarrassment, she couldn’t quite translate the knots in her lower stomach at the moment. “Yes I do.”
“Come here.” He called for her, extending an awaiting hand.
Marianne rose from her rickety chair and placed her small hand inside his own, all encompassing and safe. With a gentle tug Sandokan pulled her towards him. They were mere inches apart as he looked towards her lips then back into her eyes before turning her hand over and very gently pressing the flat of her palm to his pectoral.
“Go ahead,” he whispered, his left hand reverently tucking the detangled hair behind her ear, “touch me.”
“How?” she closed her eyes at her own ineptitude, but then felt a gentle finger tilt her head upwards. She swallowed as she opened her eyes, the intensity of Sandokan’s deep brown gaze almost overbearing.
“There is no rule book for pleasure, Marianne. So long as both parties are respected, what is shared between them is sacred.”
Marianne felt a surge of warmth at her core that was, quite frankly, alarming; but she didn’t want Sandokan to think she was unwell lest he refuse to continue.
“Do you respect me Marianne?”
“Of course!”
“Do you want to experience pleasure with me?”
This time her answer was less vehement—not because she wasn’t earnest in her desire, but because she was feeling vulnerable. “Yes.”
“Then,” his left hand cupped her face, “we will learn together what pleases each other. If you want to?”
Yes I want to! her mind screamed. But I’ve never done this before! I don’t know how! But surely he already knew that; surely he could tell by the way her hand was trembling.
Instead of stating her fears she simply traced the tips of her fingers over his chest, feeling the light spatter of soft hair before she encircled his nipple. He seemed to like that, as she felt his hand tighten in the hair at the back of her neck, his nostrils flaring as he watched the wonder shift across her face. Her finger moved downwards, tracing the dips and curves of his muscles until she traveled towards the waist of his pants.
Feeling emboldened she rose to the tips of her toes and captured his lips in a kiss, the familiar salty taste of his mouth slipping into her own ignited her desire. She brought both hands up to trace over his shoulders and back down over his pectorals, towards his abs, his waist, and eventually tucking herself into his embrace as her hands dug into his back.
It was then that he groaned, the hand at the small of her back tugging her chest flush with his own. He began walking them backwards, their legs tangling until the back of Sandokan’s calves met with the side of the bed and he tumbled down, taking Marianne with him.
She was in his lap in an instant, the fabric of her night dress bunched at her thighs as she straddled his hips. She felt his hands run along her waist, press against her back, grip onto her thigh, and even, for a small perfect moment, skim over her breast. His hands were firm and comforting, and they were everywhere but—infuriatingly—they remained over her clothes.
She pulled back from the kiss. “You can touch me too.”
“I am touching you.” As if to demonstrate his point his thumb drew down her kiss swollen lower lip before sucking it back into his own mouth.
“I meant…I want to feel your hands on my skin.”
He swallowed.
Marianne had never felt more precious as she watched Sandokan reach for the petite buttons at the front of her nightgown. He began to undo them, until the front of her gown from the waist up was undone. He brushed aside the fabric, as he ran a gentle finger over her collarbone, his gaze marveling at the peaks of her small breasts, her nipples tight and raised in a way she had never felt before. She let out a whimper when his hand cupped her breast, nestling perfectly beneath his palm as he kneaded the flesh. She closed her eyes, overcome by the way her nipples appeared to speak to that ache in her lower centre.
Driven by a biological impulse, Marianne began to rock against him, feeling the firmness of his manhood press against her centre. It had startled her the first time she’d felt it in the Labuan jail cell, but now it excited her—she understood it meant that he wanted her. She felt his hips buck towards her, and more roughly then he meant to, he pulled her nightgown over her shoulder and began kissing the skin at the juncture of her neck.
Marianne leaned back and let out a desperate cry, a sound she’d never heard herself make before and if she was anywhere else, with anyone else, she might have felt embarrassed; but now, with Sandokan, she just wanted him to drive that sound out of her again. She wanted to know if he would make sounds like that too, if she could command them out of him.
“I don’t know how to give you pleasure…” she hesitated. “I’m not even really—”
His hands stilled on her waist, his hips halting their rocking, as he cut her off. “Have you ever pleasured yourself?”
Marianne let the question sink in as he cupped her face in his enormous palms. She didn’t understand what he meant. “What?”
“I’m sure you know?” His brows drew together as he tried to read the answer in the expression on her face. “You must have heard the men do it while you were my hostage.”
She smiled at the way his eyebrow rose playfully. She thought fondly about how far they had come since he had kidnapped her.
“Well yes…sort of. There was a lot of grunting and shuffling…but that’s—a woman’s not built like that!”
Sandokan laughed, a deep rich, full bodied sound that she hadn’t properly heard since his brief time as Ismail.
“Please don’t mock me.” She stiffened, her shoulders feeling suddenly cold.
“I could never mock you.” Sandokan said seriously, letting his laughter die as he brought his right hand back up to her cheek. “I wasn’t then and I’m not now.” His left hand brought her hand to his lips and soothingly kissed her knuckles. It was a familiar and intimate gesture that made her feel at ease with his touch. “Come, let me instruct you.”
“What?”
“Do you trust me?”
Marianne nodded wholeheartedly.
“Well then, you were my guide once, let me be your guide now?”
“Okay,” she smiled.
“Can we take this off?” Sandokan’s hand toyed with the fabric at her sleeve.
Marianne rose, standing before him. With the moonlight shining against the top of her head she let her nightgown fall down her body and pool on the wooden floorboards.
She watched the rise and fall of Sandokan’s chest as his eyes roamed over every inch of her exposed body. She resisted the urge to cover herself. She knew that God would understand. It was sacred to allow the man that she loved to covet her.
“You’re so beautiful.”
He fell to his knees before her and Marianne gasped as his hands came to grip her naked hips. He peppered open mouthed kisses at the undersides of her breasts and moved lower towards the supple flesh of her stomach. In response she tangled her hands through his hair as she felt the tickle of his beard move across her virgin skin.
“I want to be worthy of you,” he murmured reverently, barely loud enough for Marianne to make out as he resisted the urge to bury his face in her curls.
“Sandokan, please!” She didn’t know what she was asking for but Sandokan seemed to understand. He rose to his feet and kissed her hungrily. His hands found her ass and her eyes rolled into the back of her head as he carried her towards the bed in his cabin.
He set her down upon the bedding and loomed over her body, one hand pressed flat against her stomach. The pieces began to make sense in her mind—how a man and woman might fit together—and so she bravely reached out for the waist of his pants and began to pull them over his ass.
“Wait, wait…” Sandokan pulled back from their kiss.
Marianne panicked. Had she gotten something wrong already?
“Let’s take care of you first.”
“Take care of me?”
Sandokan pressed compassionate closed mouth kisses across her face. Before rolling onto his back and sitting up so that he was partially leaning against the wall of the prahu.
“Come here,” he gestured for her to fit herself in the space between his spread legs.
Marianne was even more confused, but acquiesced to his instruction as he pulled her back against his chest. His skin was warm to the touch and she liked the way his imposing thighs cradled her small frame. He adjusted her legs cautiously, making sure her centre was open to him.
“Are you comfortable?” He whispered against the side of her ear.
Despite the goosebumps that had risen across her skin Marianne’s answer was honest. “Yes.” She felt quite content tucked up against his body in this embrace.
“Have you touched yourself before?”
“A little.” Marianne admitted, but her explorations hadn’t resulted in much. The British had a complex relationship with sexual intimacy and as a result most of her learning came from observing animals and the substandard reproduction lessons given by her Aunt Francis: Your husband will spill his seed inside you and even though it will hurt, it is part of a wife’s duty. It hadn’t sounded like much pleasure was actually involved; but then again, she’d never trusted her Aunt.
“Your body has many points of pleasure.” Sandokan ran a feather light touch across her arms as if to demonstrate. “Your neck,” he began to kiss along the skin, damp with sweat and the previous worship of his tongue. “Your breasts.” Marianne squirmed when his coarse hands began to pull and cup her chest—rough and sweet touches sending mixed signals of bliss through her body. “Your nipples.” She cried out this time when he pinched the sensitive little bud. Her own hand shot up to grip at his forearm, nails digging into his skin as he plucked this wantonness from inside of her. “Your stomach,” his hand began to travel lower and she understood what was coming as he groaned, “your centre.”
“Oh!” she gasped, her hips rising off the bed the moment she felt his fingers reach her labia. For a brief second of horror she recalled when Sandokan had been tortured, when the doctor had invaded her body on her father’s behest.
“Is this okay?” Sandokan sounded concerned.
“Mhmm,” she hummed as she enthusiastically nodded her head, all thoughts of before washed away with the promise of forever.
His fingers danced over her lazily, and although Marianne had a desire to watch, to educate herself, her eyes quickly closed to better embrace the satisfaction.
“This is where you’ll find most of your pleasure.”
“The clitoris,” she gasped and felt the gentle rumble of Sandokan’s laugh against her back.
He placed another kiss to the side of her head, a casual gesture of affection while his fingers simultaneously teased at the opening of her channel before coming back up to encircle that little fleshy nub. He repeated the motion several times until Marianne began to feel a tingling sensation in her lower half.
“Touch yourself,” he whispered.
Sandokan began to pull his hand away from her core—but before he could get too far Marianne grabbed his wrist. “But I…I like it when you touch me.”
He strained forward a bit, ensuring they could make eye contact as he explained: “You need to know your own pleasure before we can share it.”
There was a beat as Marianne absorbed the tender expression in his eyes. “Okay.” Marianne gave him a quick kiss to his lips before looking down at her curls. She felt Sandokan’s hand grip the underside of her left thigh, bringing her knee up further to create more room for them to access her womanhood. That same hand then rose to comfortingly run through her hair as Marianne brought their own hands down upon her centre together.
She swallowed as the sensations returned: the heat at her core, the emptiness, the pull of her nipples to her navel. She realized that in her earlier efforts she had been too focused on her clitorus—it was maddeningly sensitive and a caress around was more than effective. Her hips began to undulate, working in tandem with her fingers.
“Is it always this wet?” She breathed out and in response she felt Sandokan thrust his manhood against her lower back.
He accidentally nipped her shoulder at the innocent question. “Only when you’re with someone you desire.”
Marianne understood now, why many women thought it might hurt; they weren’t ever with men of their choosing, men who cared for them, men who respected them. But it wasn’t like that with Sandokan. She loved him.
“I’m ready to take you inside.”
“Gods have mercy on me.” She heard him mutter before feeling his fingers tangle with her own at her centre. “Are you sure?”
“Yes Sandokan, I want you.” And she always had. From that moment she learned he was telling the truth, that her whole life had been built on lies and genocide; from the moment he arrived before her bloody and broken, but thinking of her. She wanted him. Forever.
She felt a large finger slip inside of her—and while this wasn’t exactly what she had meant, she didn’t quite care. She continued to rub against the top of her clit, while his finger thrust into her body, reaching depths of bliss she hadn’t even known were possible. When he added a second finger her head lolled back against his chest, the stretch nearly unbearable as he slowly worked her open.
“Is this still alright?”
“It's wonderful!” She nearly laughed, disbelieving that her body had been capable of feeling this good.
Her rocking continued as they built a steady rhythm between her hands, his fingers, and her hips. She was slightly caught off guard by the obscene squelching sound her centre was making as his fingers plunged inside of her, smearing her wetness. But then he crooked his fingers, digging against a soft wall in her channel that made her audibly scream. “Do that again please!”
This pleased Sandokan, she could tell because he began to rut against her, seeking something for himself as he kissed her neck. She brought her spare hand up to her breast, pushing up and cupping the fat as she began to roughly frig herself.
“Oh God, Sandokan what’s happening?”
“Shhh,” he soothed, “let it happen Marianne.”
She broke with a cry, the adrenaline rushing through her blood and causing her body to spasm. She felt herself clench down around Sandokan’s fingers, as if her body wanted to keep him there, forever. She felt a distant cramp in the bottom of her foot and her thighs quacked as her vision went white. The world was blurry when she began to blink her eyes open again and she realized that she might have been crying.
“I didn’t know I could feel like that.”
Sandokan lightly removed his fingers from her body and sucked them into his mouth, before turning her in his embrace, as if her listless body weighed nothing. He brought a hand to her face and his smile was so wide Marianne couldn’t comprehend the beating in her chest. He kissed her, softly, sweetly. As if they had forever to sit in one another’s arms and share the press of lips and the longing slide of tongues.
“What about you?” Marianne whispered. “How do I—”
“Don’t worry about me. You must be tired we should—”
“At your side, remember?” She brought a hand up to his cheek, reveling in the masculine feel of his beard against her skin. “I want us to be equals. I want to give you pleasure too. Everything is to be shared.”
Sandokan laughed and she knew he was surprised that she’d thought of his people, of the Dayak way of life in a time like this.
“Have you seen a naked man before?”
“Of course…in paintings.”
He patted her bottom with a grin. “Move over a bit, let me get my pants off.”
Marianne’s pulse raced at the prospect. She watched him struggle to shuffle the fabric down, the bed rocking more than the sea as he lifted himself up to pass the garment over his hips. Marianne couldn’t help but stare as his manhood literally sprang upwards past the waistband of his trousers. She could have sworn she saw it twitch as Sandokan’s legs kicked his pants off.
Everything about his body was firm and all encompassing; his thighs, his shoulders, his hands, his manhood. Now she was certain why Aunt Francs said it would hurt.
She looked up to meet Sandokan’s gaze, who had been sitting very still almost afraid to touch her.
“It’s much larger than I’d imagined.” She had no idea what a compliment like that did to a man.
“So you’ve been imagining this?” Sandokan teased and Marianne narrowed her eyes at him in challenge. “Because I certainly have.”
The admission sent a thrill down her spine and she caught him off guard by confidently reaching towards his manhood. She wrapped her hand around the thick shaft, her fingers barely touching as she began to explore. She was shocked by how soft the skin was and yet how firm his member felt. The contrast was thrilling as she studied the anatomy before her.
“Grip it tighter,” his voice was raw in a way Marianne had never heard before as he covered her small hand with his own and together they started to pump. “It’s very easy to please a man, Marianne.” Sandokan stared at her, his pupils blown wide as she twisted her wrist against him. He groaned out, his own hand leaving hers as she realized she was undoing him, she had the power to make him feel this way, to please and comfort him. “That’s right.” He refused to close his eyes, intent on watching her share this intimacy with him.
Marianne began to run her other hand along his collarbone heading towards his neck, remembering: your neck, your breast, your nipples, your stomach. She carefully caressed each part of him, finding those egregious zones, all while bringing pleasure to his member. She began to notice a bead of liquid spilling from his slit, as the head of his member began to peek through the foreskin.
“You’re getting wet too?”
“It means a man is close,” he exhaled a shaky breath. “For a woman it’s…” he stumbled over the words, trying to focus on the lesson while his beloved held him in her hand, “it’s preparation—”
“For penetration.” She finished his sentence and at the mention of penetration Sandokan’s head fell backwards and he finally closed his eyes. She liked to think he was visualizing them now, in a very penetrative position.
Not knowing what overcame her, Marianne had the strongest desire to plant a kiss to Sandokan’s hip, which quickly began to migrate towards his manhood. She held him firmly as she indecently placed a soft kiss to the tip of his shaft, feeling the sticky and salty liquid press to her lips.
His eyes shot wide open. “Marianne—”
But before he could get another word out she had slipped him inside her mouth. It felt like the right thing to do; she wanted to do it. She quickly felt Sandokan pull her hair back, holding it up and allowing her to slip the tip of his shaft into her mouth. She sucked on the head and she heard him hiss before his head thunked against the wall of the ship. She couldn’t take him very deeply, but he didn’t seem to mind as she lightly played with him.
She continued her ministrations, paying special attention to pump her hand and then suck on the tip, he seemed to enjoy that combination of motions the most.
“Don’t forget the balls,” he supplied moments later when Marianne first began to feel his thighs tense. “It feels good when you tug on them too.”
Marianne released him from her mouth and flushed at the crass words; she imagined Sandokan, as a pirate, was capable of any number of filthy words but he’d never used any of them in her presence before.
Experimentally she gingerly pulled on one of his hairy testicles, surprised by how soft they were.
“Marianne I’m close,” he grunted and she smiled, happy to be his undoing. “You might want to move back, it’s messy with a man.”
But she ignored his warning and when his own hand joined hers and began to pump himself with a speed and roughness that she thought might hurt she continued to tussle his testicles. She felt the moment they pulled upwards and was shocked when a burst of warm fluid shot from his member, accompanied by a loud masculine groan from Sandokan’s lips. The display was almost beastly, but in a way that made Marianne want to touch herself again.
His breath was coming out in heavy bursts and she soothingly ran her clean hand over his thighs, along his stomach, across his eyebrows and to cup his cheek.
When he opened his eyes Marianne felt overcome. There was something in the way he looked at her, a fierceness to the depths of his feelings, but a reverence to her person.
“Here, let me clean you up.” Sandokan rose from the bed and she noticed the way his member had begun to soften, decreasing in size. He rinsed his own hands and then carried over a bowl and cloth, first bringing it to Marianne’s hand, cleaning away his seed. He gestured for her to open her thighs and then he ran the cool cloth between the cleft of her arse cheeks and the sides of her folds. He finished by bringing it to his manhood and roughly tousling the member with the cloth, which he eventually abandoned in the now milky water of the bowl.
He crawled over her body and rolled them over onto the bed, taking her with him in his embrace. They were now laying together, their naked bodies tucked neatly against each other, their legs tangled in the sheets. He pressed a kiss to her crown—it was her favourite type of his kisses.
The beating of their hearts had settled and soon the only sound in the cabin was the splashing of the waves and the groaning of the prahu.
“That was rather fun.” She confessed after a moment of stillness.
“It was, wasn’t it?”
“We should do it again.”
Marianne felt Sandokan smile against the back of her neck before planting a little kiss to her sweaty skin.
“A man can’t be ready so soon after an orgasm, but a woman can go endlessly.”
“Endlessly?” she questioned as she turned over her shoulder to meet his gaze with an expression of joy.
Sandokan laughed and pulled her to him tighter. “Or at least until I am ready to go again?”
“Rest,” Marianne said before she leaned forward to give him a kiss. “We have until forever.”