This story is based on the character of Jack Aubrey, created by the late Patrick O’Brian. No copyright infringement is intended, this story is for entertainment purposes only.  This story does contain adult subject matter and should be considered NC-17.

Subject to the Requirements of the Service

by: Riley

©06/2008

January 1806, off the coast of Brazil

Captain Jack Aubrey stood at the rail with Pullings and Stephen, listening to the guttural language spoken from a man in the small boat below. Stephan translated and Jack’s fingers trailed the map in hand.

“Somewhere…here. A good three weeks ahead,” he grunted. “Damn.” He turned to Pullings. “Let’s get this all squared away, Tom.”

The bustle and voices around him suddenly dimmed as he raised his eyes and saw her. A lovely vision wearing soft gathered fabric that both clung and slightly displayed the rise of her bosoms. She sat shaded beneath a banana leaf parasol, the flesh of her shoulders and neck a delicate cinnamon cream, her eyes; flashing black diamonds.

“Put that woman down, Slade!” a shout bellowed from behind. “This is a ship of his Majesty!”

‘Ah, and indeed it is,’ thought Jack as his eyes met her brilliant smile. He turned with a slight tilt of his head, a tender, subtle sign of respect for her exotic beauty. But before he could walk away, he could not deny himself yet one more gaze over his shoulder. She was magnificent, even with that slight glow of disappointment in her eyes. His feet were heavy, ponderous and refusing the quick escape he required for surely had he stayed a moment longer, he would have fallen into the depths of her eyes, lost forever.

The Captain busied himself with anything that would capture his attention. He oversaw the packing and storing away of goods traded with the natives. He strolled the quarterdeck but struggled with his mind for focus. At his agitated command, they made sail and Jack climbed to the heights of his wooden world. Alone he whispered to the vast waters all around. “I have been too long alone. We have all been too long alone.”

In his cabin, he thought to begin another series of letters to his beloved Sophie, but he had little to say to her, nothing in his heart that he could share. He felt only desire, a heated need for warm, soft flesh beneath his hands, wrapped around his body. But the flesh he envisioned was not Sophie’s fair peaches and cream. It was the luscious, decadent cinnamon cream of the native girl.

“Name?” one of his men had shouted and her answer came, tender aloft the salty breeze.

“Malia!”

Malia. One word. The fluid sound describing his sudden obsession. Malia. Was her body as gentle and flowing as her name? Was her heat the same as he imagined? Was it important? Jack needed to separate himself from those thoughts. He called for an exercise of the guns that went on well past twilight. Usually an activity that raised his spirits, this day, it did not. Blessedly he would dine with his officers.

Rowdy shouts of mirth and camaraderie encircled the Captain at his candlelit table in the great cabin. The wine was poured heavily and the warmth of good natured, respectful friendship abounded. Jack rose his glass, his eyes wavering but his smile full and sincere.

“To wives and sweethearts!” All heads nodded. “May they never meet.”  Laughter roared and Jack swallowed another of far too many glasses of wine. The evening ended late and Killick was left to assist Jack into his bed. His usually sure feet were unsteady and his chuckles often rolled into the giggles of a young girl, but finally he was tucked tight. Killick grumbled and stood, holding his melting candles at the door.

“Will ya be needin’ anythin’ else, Captain?”

Jack waved a weak hand, dismissing his man servant with a silly laugh. “Be off, Killick.”

But as the door closed solidly, Jack distinctly heard the words: “No man be married below the equator.”

Another round of chuckles escaped Jack’s chest before his eyes drooped into a comfortable, drunken sleep.

~*~

The sleep was deep and replenishing, silent of dreams and weighing his body deep into the feather mattress of his hanging bed. The sway of the ship rocked him gently and he sighed.

It was the slight movement of his blanket that stirred him, and when that blanket was fully drawn down and the chill of the night air touched exposed legs beneath his night shirt, Jack’s eyes sprung opened.

“Hush, Capitan,” came a soft whisper. He attempted to rise, to sit upright and demand an explanation but seemed held to his pillow. “Hush.” The voice moved closer and his eyes adjusted to the dim moonlight drifting into the cabin through the many windows.

“What is this?” he gasped, blinking disbelief.

“It is I, Capitan. Malia.”

Jack rubbed his eyes, rubbed them again and blinked. How was this possible? But it was she, the lovely Malia, standing at the foot of his bed wearing nothing but a long lace wrap, delicately fringed and most certainly from Spain. She slowly opened her arms wide, the white shawl held out, angel wings framing the most beautiful body he had ever beheld. Jack swallowed hard, his mouth suddenly parched. Licking lips, he pondered the full breasts, nipples high and taut. The shawl trickled from her like a waterfall, puddling at her feet. His eyes traveled the terrain of her warm colored flesh, caressed the curve of her waist, the swell of perfect hips. And at the place where her legs met raged a delicate web of black, inviting curls.

“Do you desire me, Capitan?”

No words would escape his lips; Jack nodded dumbly, reaching a hand to her. The heat of her flesh as long fingers skimmed his wrist then nested in his huge palm brought a gasp. Her eyes smiled and her face ever so slowly lowered to his. These were lips he’d been thinking about for hours, wondering about, dreaming about. And as he captured them in his, Jack reveled in the amazing texture of them, warm honey sliding along his mouth and his tongue drove for more. Her heat was nearly unbearable. Jack pulled away slightly to catch his breath and her hand tugged at his nightshirt, pulling it higher and higher. To his amazement, Malia smiled that intoxicating smile and again lowered her face, this time in an effort to take his breath away again as pearly teeth snared his nipple. His head pressed back with a hiss.

But even in the ecstasy of her enthralling attention, his mind soared. How had she come to be in his cabin? His eyes shot to the closed door. Who knew she was there? Her fingers tangled in the hair at the base of his solid cock and again he hissed then groaned quietly. They must be quiet. This should not be happening, but it was… and even though someone knew, for surely she was a gift secretly placed at his bed, she could not stay. Her hand wrapped around his shaft and Jack’s fingers slid deep into her wild dark curls. He would need to put her ashore as soon as possible…but not tonight. Tonight, he would have her.

Her teeth released his nipple and lips kissed a trail that shivered him. Her tongue twisted and tangled in the coarse hair so close to his straining cock. Jack controlled his demanding need to plunge into her mouth. With a painful groan he gave her time to explore; watching her, pushing the cascades of hair back to see the movements of her mouth. Her tongue was pink, shining with wet as it reached to touch the tip of his agony. It swirled an elegant loop before sliding down, down until her nose was buried in golden curls. When she devoured him, taking him deep and drawing a cry from his very center, Jack pressed her head closer, wishing to find absolute and immediate fruition in the depths of her mouth. The sensations of her tongue pressing up and accentuating the slide of her mouth, the tender slice of her hard teeth along him and the whimpering sigh coming from her throat made him tremble with expectation.

But Jack wanted more. He wanted to be where he belonged, pummeling the depths of her center. His hands grasped tight at upper arms and Malia climbed onto his hanging bed. There, she straddled his belly, sitting with his straining cock, hot and wanting, leaning against her rear and lower back. She smiled and pushed his hair away, trailing a gentle fingertip, tracing his brow. She lowered a stiff nipple, holding it an inch from his lips and with a grin, Jack lifted his head to taste. A deep lick and suck brought a large part of her breast into his mouth. Jack, a man of appetite larger than most, took nothing in small portions and this was no exception. Hands cupped the soft, sweet flesh and Jack pulled her in deeper with a starving suckle, begging nourishment he craved more than air.

“Malia,” he whispered against the breast, lapping toward the other nipple. “My dear, sweet little love.”

But he could play no longer at her breasts. Jack gasped, his eyes offering a clear request and Malia planted her knees, rose and positioned over his demand. Jack slid three fingers along her weeping folds. The warmth of maddening desire washed him wet with sweat. The lovely native girl was as ready for him as he was for her.

Grasping the beam above her head, she lowered herself onto him. It was a slow engulfing; a searing, blissfully painful plow into heaven and Jack held his grunts at bay until she rested upon his belly lightly. Several small cries came from her as he managed three short thrusts that seated her fully, attached her to his heart forever in the memory of those sensations; the native girl who was his salvation when he most needed her.

Malia’s head dropped back, the tips of her wild curls tickling along his thighs and adding to the pleasing stimulation of everything his body was enduring. Jack’s fingers dove, searching the hardened jewel near his sliding cock. So evident was her need, he stroked but a few times before her path trembled then crushed over him, driving him to thrust deeper, harder, faster.

She was a vision, her cinnamon cream flesh glistening with perspiration, breasts high and proud. Jack was overwhelmed, his breath hitched and belly tightened, the muscles of his strong thighs convulsed and he held her hips tight as he shot his seed deep into Malia’s womb. She collapsed into his opened arms, cradled there until they could again breathe.

She was as precious as gold, a prize to treasure and Jack nuzzled into her neck, whispering tender phrases of endearment. His hands soothed her and his lips kissed. But finally, his mind regained control and he sighed.

“My dear little love, how did you come to be here?”

Fearing that she’d stiffen, afraid to confess her accomplice, he prepared to act the Captain, but of course, a Captain with restraint and tenderness. After all, she was but a girl. A sweetheart he would still hold for a few hours longer before the requirements of the service demanded the action of removing her from his Majesty’s ship. But she did not appear fearful. Her face rose, her lips touched his with a gentle brush and she smiled.

“You called to me, Capitan. I heard you on the wind, felt you in the surf. It is you who has brought me here.” Her eyes focused at the windows behind his bed. “The moon. She is beautiful upon the water, is she not?”

Such a sweet child, Jack realized. It could have been her first time aboard such a craft. He could not show her his ship with pride, but he could offer her the freedom to enjoy the view he had come to take for granted. He released his hold and she slithered from the bed. Malia wrapped herself in the shawl and walked to the windows. There, she bent over the window seat to see out.

“Ah, so magnificent! So very beautiful.”

“Yes, Malia. So very, very beautiful.” But he did not speak of the view outside the glass panes. It was the view inside his cabin that had taken him again to the panicle of urgent desire. Standing he stroked his aching cock and stepped close behind her. “So very, very beautiful, Malia,” he said softly.

She sighed and pressed her hips back against his thighs. Nothing would restrain him at that point. He would have her again, have her fully and quickly and as quietly as possible, for only God knew when he would again hold such a treasure. Grasping the shawl he rolled it into a ball, pressing it between her head and the window sill.

Fingers dove into her, twisted and curled. “Come again, Malia, show me the fullness of your passion.”

She relaxed to his ministrations, swayed her hips and gasped. He watched her flesh darken with a rosy tone in the moonlight as her breath quickened. And as she stiffened, Jack took command, holding her thighs opened and thrusting deep until the head of his cock kissed her womb with a thud.

Together they released a groan and he held strong, feeling the last of her inner trembles suck at him with the rhythm of native drums. Slow, purposeful slides followed, his plunge and retreat controlled, long, painful delight until his heart demanded more, his balls tightened and his breath caught in his chest. Gripping her shoulders, Jack leaned his forehead down against her back and drove with the recoil of a cannon. His seed was fire, soaring through him and into Malia as together they squelched cries of ecstasy, shaking, sighing, slumping to their knees on the floor.

Jack’s face rose to speak his thanks, but the soft dawn was painting the sea and there, clear as a bell, the sail of a ship!

“Sail ho!” The cry came from above. “Looks like a frigate!”

Jack suddenly sat up. He was in his bed, alone, his night shirt drenched and sticky with the nocturnal dream he would not forget soon. Perhaps never.

Malia would forever hold a piece of Captain Jack Aubrey’s imagination, but for now, the reality of the Acheron must have all of his attention.

…but his smile was not easily wiped away, even as he burst onto the deck.

THE END

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