Steamheat: Forbidden Desires

Steamheat: Forbidden Desires

by 

Ben Hannigan

I lay watching him sleep; he's perfect, beautiful and sweet. I heard him call my love and my mother figure to ask what he should do. Asking whether he deserved the chance to ask for me. I feel safe with this man, feel like I can let down my guard. He hasn’t touched me other than healing me, he hasn’t laid a finger on me even as I lay naked, legs spread, unconscious and ready to be used.

I expected him to take me, expected I’d have to use the last of the brandy to steady my nerves in order to pay for my passage by letting him use me, but I’m still chaste. Why?  I still ask that, still half expect that I’m to be used; any kindness something I fear I have to pay for.

And yet, I lay here and watch him and I feel something new, something terrifying in its intensity. I feel guilt, fear. nerves, and arousal. Nerves because this is new; this hunger, this emptiness, and this need. The guilt; am I betraying Mary? I want this man to do everything that was done to me for money before, everything that my heart sister has done with me, to me - I want with him. Am I hurting her? Committing adultery?   But she said it was OK, that she has taken a male lover before and after meeting me. 

I remember I cried, lying in our bed curled up waiting for her to return that first time. Terrified she wouldn’t, that she would be hurt, beaten or would decide not to come to me or to our bed.  Will she feel that worry?  That fear?   Will I hurt her by acting on the other feelings?  Acting on my lust, my desire?

He is a beautiful man in his actions, in his stance, his poise. I have been wanting him since that first day of awareness. Pressed into his body as I used the loo I hungered for more than his thigh to press into my bottom and hated myself for it.

Feeling the fake bulge in my breeches that I used on her advice to make it real in accidental contact and appearance.  It being used to make me feel male as his body ground against me, as he brushed past me. Feeling his heat, his pressure, his mind,  his caring -- he was perfect.   

My nights are filled with secret lusting glances at his nude body on his rack and frantic workings of the toy I used as protection of my secret, the movement looking like a masturbating male. The occasion where he awoke and caught the movement making my image as a boy somehow more real. The guilty look and the blush making me seem the awkward teen male I professed to be. The constant companion of my arousal was a nervous guilt and a fair sickness at my betrayal but...

They had given permission so logically Mary won’t mind if I take her up on her offered acceptance. And to know he wants me as well but knowing I cannot tell him I know because I was meant to be asleep. How does one court a man? My experience of the male has been a monetary transaction and the girls at home approached sex and requests for sex as nonchalantly as borrowing a pen. Do I ask him to fuck me at breakfast as Layla did to me on my 17th birthday or do I lay naked on his bed artfully posed in a position that leaves no doubt to whether he has permission as I did for Mary on hers?

What is a relationship? Can I have the love, the acceptance, the shared togetherness with a man? Can I trust myself to be brave enough to try to reach out?  Because I’m scared of reaching in case his desire is from my dependence; my injury being his desire, a product of our close contact or because I dress like a boy, swear like a boy, because he believed me to be a boy? Is my desire because I know he's safe? Because he wants Ellis rather than Eliza? God, do I want that? I have the bulge and the knowledge to use it. Could I be that for him if it gives me the man I want? Yes, I think I could.

 I look up nervous. Once sure I’m alone, the Captain on his night patrol, I wet the toy in my slit and rub it across the place I had forbidden my lover, even myself to touch. The "moneymaker", the reason my uncle did so well at cards. I run a finger across and shiver. I repeat it, moistening myself with my own arousal. I’m on my hands and knees on his hammock in the shirt he dressed me in after my collapse. It still smelling of his sweat, his scent. My face buried in his pillow engulfed, wrapped in his leather, his cinnamon, and his smoky citrus.

My breeches round my ankles still playing the boy.  On my few excursions on deck as I recovered, my injury having been explained by a coal slide.  The 6" hard rubber leather wrapped toy in my hand,  wet from my lips and my flower; an obscene image no doubt as I wet it. My mind returning to my training, working the toy as if it was his.

Finally, I was ready. Moistened and turned on with a fire I had seldom found in my self-reflection, I rubbed the head over my ring. Oh gods! It was tearing me apart. My eyes rolling back in my head, gasping into the goose down. I shook and worked it in slowly. The pain, some delicious pleasure! The more it slid in, the more I worked it; this amazing burning desire spread.  Faster, faster, my hand shaking with the strain, moving as if struck with a palsy as I lost my mind to the image of him rogering his cabin boy.

My eyes rolled back, I slammed the toy in, clenched in a vice of my muscle and arched my back almost squatting on my haunches to drive it deeper.  His pillow wedged between my thighs to put a pressure on my wetness and I screamed for more, screamed his name and as I came, shouting "Please Captain Malloy. Gods fuck me, use me. Use your cabin boy's arse! Keep me as a fucktoy at sea! I screamed all this in a breathy growling gasp; the gasp that sister Mary so loved.  The gasp that hardened her nipples just at the sound.  The voice she swore could make her come, listening to me begging for more and more intense, perverse acts. A way for me to break her resolve or trigger an orgasm as she sat working on an illuminated manuscript, my masturbation both sating me and demanding her attention.

My vision blurred and I shook for a second as I tried to rebuild my world. The difference between the magic imagined world and the real always difficult to bridge. Distancing myself from the mind crafted feelings of a partners touch, skin, and hot breath from the reality of solo gratification.

I heard a whistling sound of appreciation and my heart pounded.  But before I could process anything I heard a growl and the sound of breaches and sword belt hitting the floor. 

“Fine” he growled before I felt his skin on mine, my shirt pushed up and teeth on my shoulder. The toy moved away. I watched it land in front of my eyes covered in my wetness and my release. This was new. Bigger, thicker, stretching me! My thighs pushed wider and I was being lifted, dragged, and bent over the windowsill we used as a bathroom ledge.  Hanging half out of the ship the breeze in my lungs, my carer suddenly harsh,  my master buggering his cabin boy on the ship.

The last thing my mind -- clouded by desire, pleasure, and lust -- focused on was a comment overheard from my lover to my captain was: "If she offers you a situation where she is the weak, the submissive, she trusts you. She wants it and she has found safety and a home. If it’s offered take it first and talk later. It’s how I found her as a lover and a partner. I managed to get her to explain once. She doesn’t have the words for love, for trust.  She can’t explain to people what she feels because when she was young it wasn’t there, wasn’t taught, it just wasn’t her life. She saw bodies offered for 'love' to be kept and those who felt safe offering sex. If she doesn’t want you, doesn’t feel safe and doesn’t have an emotional connection, she will offer sex as payment, as a returning of a favour, but it will be empty. Her body will be limp, any moves mechanical, clinical. If she feels safe she will show desire and if she loves you, she will be vulnerable. She will shut her eyes and just feel. She will let you inside her mind, will become one with you.”

I heard this conversation in my head as some sort of voice over as he worked me. I smiled and felt him move us again onto the mat on his floor. The sheepskin an electric pleasure on my bare skin, a feeling of decadence, being engulfed and caressed. I looked up at him and deliberately rolled my hips onto his cock and took his hand guiding it to the toy I had returned to my cunt him gripping the dildo inside, my hand making him masturbate his 'boy'. He moaned with the touch mumbling “So erotic. Fuck! It looks so hot, but I’m straight. But all I can think of is fucking my boy,my girl,  whatever u are.”

I looked into his eyes and softly stated  “I’ll be whatever you want. Whatever you need.”

 He grunted with desire and shook as I clenched on him making sure his attention was mine.  He stared into my eyes and I slowly and deliberately shut mine.  He gasped again, grunting. “Fuuuuck, shit you do.”

 I smiled and did something I thought I’d never do, I just let myself feel with a man.

Not replacing Mary, never that.  I had found a second lover that day.  I have found heaven.