Melanie Hampton turned her face to the window of the Chesapeake Lounge on the American Cruise Line's Independence and watched the Maryland Chesapeake Bay shoreline slide by as they sailed toward Yorktown and Williamsburg, in Virginia. It had snowed the night before while they were in the Baltimore hotel waiting to embark, and it was a world of white out here on the bay.
This was a crazy time, she thought, to be taking a cruise and not just because it was February—a special Valentine's Day sailing. She and Howard were at the end of their marriage, not the beginning. The time was past for romance. All of the red hearts and red and white party streamers hanging around everywhere around the ship made her sad, not romantic. But Howard had wanted to do it, to take this cruise, so they were doing it. He didn't have long, so she would give him anything he wanted. Of course he'd always had total control. That's probably why she married him—so she didn't have to make the choices.
"What are you thinking, Mel?" Howard Hampton asked. She turned to her husband, thirty years her senior, looking crumbled in his wheelchair, as well he should have the regime of chemo he just gone through on top of his other paralyzing disabilities, and worked up a smile.
"I was just thinking how good it is to get away from Boston for eight days. But I'm afraid it might be too taxing for you. Maybe we should have planned to do this next year, when you were stronger."
"Next year is as good as saying we'd never do it, my love," Howard said, his voice wistful. "I think we both know I'm not going to be getting any stronger."
Melanie looked over at the third person sitting around the cocktail table, Howard's assistant and increasing his "do everything" man, Bill Walsh. Bill was closer to Melanie's age, in his late thirties and strikingly good looking. They both were strikingly good looking and could be forgiven the number of people they met as the cruise got under way who assumed they were a couple and Howard was a father to one of them.
Howard had been good looking too, ten years ago when he was courting Melanie, who had been working in his investment firm. Melanie and Howard hadn't met until two years after Howard's first wife had died. He'd needed more of a nurse and caretaker even then, as he already was ill, and Melanie had dutifully filled the need. It wasn't that she'd been a "good girl" when they met and started dating. She was a party girl then, willing to party, and she denied him nothing from the beginning of their relationship. But she hadn't broken up his marriage—or anyone else's.
Strangely enough, it had been a good marriage. What they didn't share in generations, they shared in interests—in music, art, literature, and in travel. They'd done a whole hell of a lot of travel. Melanie had been very skeptical of this cruise down and back up the Chesapeake Bay, but Howard had been insistent on taking the trip. They were at a stage where Melanie could refuse him nothing and the risk to his health was getting to be "so what?"
Melanie and Bill shared a look of concern mixed with a shrug. So much was being kept from Howard now to keep him content and comfortable. Whatever the strain would be in this cruise would be endured. Howard had already said he didn't want to do any of the land excursions—that Melanie should do those—and they'd paid extra to have a crew member attend him when Melanie and Bill wanted to do something else. He kept insisting he wanted Melanie to enjoy the cruise.
For weeks Melanie had thought there was something else going on with Howard and this cruise too. He seemed so determined to take the cruise. In a way, his determination had helped him get through this round of chemo, so that was good. But he acted like there was some sort of secret he had and that maybe that would be revealed during this week on the bay. Even more on the surface, he increasingly seemed to be trying to push Melanie and Bill together. He talked of wanting Melanie to have options on taking care of her needs, both now and after he was gone.
Melanie didn't reject Bill Walsh as a possible sex interest—she wouldn't come anywhere close to thinking of him as a love interest. But he wouldn't be her choice if she had one, and all of her energy was going into keeping Howard happy with what life was still available for him.
Their drinks came and they chatted a bit about how easy the boarding process had been and what they thought of their accommodations. The Hamptons were on Deck 3 in a junior suite, with balcony. Bill Walsh was down the hall in a single stateroom that was a bit smaller but every bit as well appointed and also with a balcony. This was not a cut-rate cruise.
As they chatted someone had come into the lounge and was playing romantic tunes on the piano. The playing was exceptionally good, so it was evident that this was part of the official entertainment. Howard was smiling and giving Melanie unusual "cat's-got-the-canary" looks. Finally, as if he could hold it no more, he spoke. "Isn't the piano music fantastic, Mel?"
She turned and looked, taking in the piano and the pianist from across the lounge. Giving a little cry, she stood and said, "Sorry, I suddenly don't feel very well. I think I'll go back to the cabin to rest. Please, continue lounging here . . . and enjoying the music." She picked up her drink and swept out of the lounge.
"Well, that didn't work quite as well as I expected it too," Howard said. "She took her drink, so I don't think she feels unwell."
"Perhaps not physically unwell," Bill Walsh said, the tone of his voice dry. "I think I told you, though, that she might not appreciate it being sprung on her this way."
"I think she'll come around. I think I can convince her that this is the best for her."
"I hope so," Walsh said, taking a deep pull on his drink, and turning his assessing eyes on the piano player. It wasn't at all clear that he hoped so—at least not with the piano player.
Fleeing the ship's lounge, upset and near tears, Melanie collided with a man in a white uniform and would have spun out of control if he hadn't reached out and steadied her.
"Prends soin de toi! Easy there, ma'am, let's not spill that drink," the ship's first officer, Jourdon Jardenes, called out in a voice trained to be calming and welcoming. "There, sorry about that," he added as Melanie was brought upright, apologizing even though it was Melanie who had careened into him in the corridor outside the Chesapeake Lounge.
Melanie stared into the smiling eyes of the hunk of a dark-haired man of no more than his mid-thirties in a trim white uniform and speaking with a slight French accent.
"No, please, it was my fault. Thank you for breaking my fall . . . and for saving my G and T." In embarrassment she fled down the corridor. In her wake, the first officer called out, "I'm Jourdon Jardenes, first officer on the ship. Please don't hesitate to call me if there's anything you need."
She hurried, smiling to a couple she passed but not fully conscious of where she was, up the staircase, and back to her cabin, number 305, above where she, her husband, and her husband's assistant had been sitting in the lounge. Entering her cabin and shutting the door, she leaned up against it, striving to compose herself from the surprise and shock she'd just gotten. For some reason, though, the touch, melodic voice, and French accent of the first officer—what was his name?—intruded in her mind. No, she had to admit to herself, it was the beauty—the sensuality—of him, not his voice that had struck her. Why had she become like this? What had Howard brought her too—just because she had tried to be a dutiful wife?
And what the hell was Steve Shelton doing on this ship? But she suspected she knew why. She was sure now that this had been the little secret Howard had been husbanding and why he'd been so insistent that they take this cruise. A special Valentine's Day cruise. So obvious.
* * * *
Standing and leaning against the inside of the cabin door, Melanie tossed off the rest of her G and T, composed herself, and walked over to the bureau where she had laid her clothes out in the drawers when they had embarked in Baltimore earlier in the afternoon. She pondered her sleep loungewear and chose silky pajamas over the sexy gown Howard had insisted she bring. Howard didn't really have to be persistent much about his wants—and Howard was all about wants, although he treated her like a princess, she readily admitted.
Theirs had been a marriage of the older man's dominance. She couldn't argue that she hadn't liked it that way—from the beginning, despite the unusually kink Howard had acquired in the past few years, as he was becoming ill and couldn't always perform on demand as he did early in their relationship. He had always been a highly sexed man. But he'd also been highly capable. It wasn't Howard's money that attracted him to her—not really, although the money, of course, had helped.
Showered, powdered, and decked out in the silk lounging pajamas, Melanie perched on the side of the bed, waiting for Howard to appear, not looking forward to the conversation they would need to have. Hearing the fumbling in the corridor, which wasn't really constructed to accommodate wheelchairs, she went to the cabin door, opening as Bill Walsh, leaning over Howard in the wheelchair was about to pass his copy of their door key over the lock. He smiled at her over Howard's head and gave her an appreciative lookover when she'd opened the door.
Melanie was quite an eyeful. A striking, statuesque blonde, she had Scandinavian-stock good looks on a voluptuous body. She'd been a standout in customers services at Howard's firm, combining sunny friendliness with a sharp wit and an assured presence. A graduate of Smith College in Massachusetts, she had no trouble holding her own in cocktail party chattings. There was no secret why Howard Hampton had been attracted to her and had wanted her despite their thirty-years difference in age. As commanding a figure as he was then, there was no secret why she had been attracted to him either. There was no scandal to be had. Howard's wife had died, worn out, some had said, by Howard's sexual demands, while Melanie was still in college and had no knowledge of Howard's Boston investment firm.
"Thank you, Bill, I'll take him from here," Melanie said as Howard's assistant wheeled him into the cabin. Their stateroom, well forward in the ship, was next door to the owner's suite and had been outfitted for disability. Although well insulated, they could faintly hear the piano playing from the lounge below them, and that gave meaningful background to the discussion they inevitably had to have now.
Bill, still giving Melanie the eye, voiced the one-word question, "Later?" And, although he was looking at Melanie, Howard gave the answer.
"Yes, later."
Melanie hummed, providing a false sense of calm, not realizing that the tunes she hummed were being signaled by the piano below them, while she got Howard undressed, showered, and sitting on the foot of the bed. First things first, she knew, before she could initiate the discussion they had to have.
But even before that, Howard spoke—in his to-be-obeyed voice. "That's not the gown I asked you to bring. Change into the gown, please."
"Yes, of course, dear," Melanie said and she went to the bureau and took out the sexy gown Howard had insisted she bring. She could hear his intake of breath as she stripped off her pajamas and, momentarily, stood there, naked, as she unfolded the gown and put it on. When she had finished, she came over to the bed, where Howard, naked, sat, his now nearly useless legs dangling off the end, one hand fisting his shaft. Howard still, into his early sixties, was a fit-looking man above the waist, despite the various debilitating infirmities that had attacked him over the recent five years. He still worked out with weights, which kept his torso hard bodied for a man his age. There also was no change in the proudness of his endowment—he was still a long and thick man. It just took more to get him up now.
Howard and Melanie had had an active and mutually satisfying sex life, albeit it had become somewhat kinky on Howard's part, which Melanie had accommodated. Their arrangements had only recently become somewhat complicated. He needed extra incentive to be able to achieve a hard that could penetrate.
Reaching the bed, Melanie knelt by her husband. He leaned over and took her mouth with his and they kissed, the kisses becoming ever deeper. She reached over with a hand, brushing Howard's hand off his slowly engorging cock and taking over possession and stroking of it. Howard's hand went to the bodice of her sexy nightgown and he released her amply breasts from the bodice of the gown and kneaded them with his hand. His mouth came down on her nipples as she continued to stroke his shaft. At length, moaning deep in her throat, she pulled away, moved, on her knees between his spread, almost useless legs, and took his cock in her mouth. His hands played in the golden curls of her head, while they both waited for his nearly turgid release.
Later, Howard's desires momentarily satisfied, he sat on the bed and she moved to one of the tub chairs near the sliding glass door out onto their balcony. It was dark now, and there was nothing to be seen but lights along the Maryland shore they glided past, and just hints of sounds from the passing waves and the piano music from below.
"You knew Steve Shelton had signed on to provide the piano entertainment on this cruise, didn't you?" Melanie asked, trying to keep her tone calm and nonjudgmental.
"Yes, of course. That was my surprise. You can respond as you wish. Whatever you wish."
"I knew you were hiding something about this cruise," she said, it not being lost on her that he was giving her permission to indulge her need—as long as it was with a man he provided. "You shouldn't have done that. What I had with Steve was a long time ago. There's no reason to dredge that up now."
She had long known it had been a mistake to tell Howard about Steve. That had once been part of their lovemaking, though, telling each other about past lovers and what they had done with each other in lovemaking. They would tell the other about something unusual they had done with another lover and then they would do it with each other. It hadn't just been a Howard "thing," though. Melanie had enjoyed it as much as he had.
Steve Shelton had been Melanie's first lover. He'd gone to Amherst College, a music major, while she was going to Smith. The two schools had crossover classes and the two had met and been attracted to each other. Steve was a real hunk—a Nordic blond, like Melanie, a fit, robust body and movie star looks. They had been a striking couple and had easily fallen into being lovers, Melanie giving herself to Steve for her first experience. She didn't even know that one of Steve's preferences was kinky until she'd told Howard about it—and then he wanted to do it too, and, after that, had acquired it as particularly arousing for him. She didn't really enjoy it that way, but she did enjoy pleasing her lover and heightening their arousal and performance.
"We've discussed this before, Mel," Howard said. "I won't be around much longer. You need to move on. You were quite fond of this Steve Shelton. I want you to have somewhere to move on to when I've passed."
"I wish we didn't have to talk about you passing, Howard," she said. "We're doing everything we can to keep you alive."
"I know you are—and I have no worries about what we mean to each other and that you are doing everything you can for me. But I still have my interests and my desires. And I want to know that you will have choices when I'm gone. You will be a rich woman when I'm gone. You can have whatever you want, and you are still young and beautiful. You often said that what didn't work out with you and this Shelton fellow was his contentment to play the piano—to live on the edge financially. You said you just couldn't live that way. Now that you're going to be rich, you could have the secure life you want and the piano player as well."
All choices you have provided—your choices, not mine—Melanie thought, but she didn't. "OK, as you wish," she said, in defeat. Howard always had his way. She didn't know why she even tried to be the one making the decisions. Resigned, she added, "What now, then? What do you want to do about Steve Shelton? We're both here, on a ship, now. What do you want from us? I presume you've already talked to Steve."
"Yes, I've already spoken with Shelton. And you know what I want now, Mel."
She started to speak, but she heard a rustling at the cabin door. Before she could get across the cabin to answer the door, it had opened, and Bill Walsh was standing there, smiling. "Now?" he asked.
"Yes, now," Howard answered from the bed. "Help me over to a chair, Mel," he added.
Bill dutifully fucked Melanie on the bed, while, sitting in one of the tub chairs drawn up close to the bed, Howard fisted his cock, stroking himself, and watched. Bill certainly enjoyed the duty and Melanie appreciated the release, although she wasn't in love with Bill. He was a handsome devil, relatively young, fit, hard bodied, and big cocked—picked out as Howard's assistant more to substitute for Howard with Melanie's needs than for his prowess as Howard's "do-it-all," as all-encompassing as "it all" was in this case—and Melanie needed the release.
Melanie arched her back, gave Howard lustful looks, and mewed, as Bill, naked and erect, glided his hands up her inner thighs, brushing the hem of the sexy gown up to her waist and, kneeling between her calves, spread her shapely legs. They positioned themselves on the bed, so that Howard had a good view of the center of the action.
Howard had already released her breasts from the bodice of the gown. Hovering over her, Bill's lips and teeth went to her nipples as his hand reached her pussy, played in her folds, and found her clit. She gasped, arched her back further, and reached out and stroked Howard's cheek, pushing her thumb into his mouth for him to suck, as Bill sank two fingers inside her and moved them—in and out, in and out, varying the friction to her jerks and sighs.
His lips started their short journey down her torso to the quick of her, where he began to feed. Melanie's eyes rolled up into her head and she panted and gave little gasps as the man fed on her. Her hands went to digging into the dark hair on Bill's head, holding him in place and grinding her pelvis against his face. She experienced a series of little explosions, rocking against Bill's face, after which he disengaged, rose over her, entered her strongly, and began to pump. She struggled against him briefly upon penetration, which both men enjoyed immensely, but when he was irrevocably inside her, Melanie surrendered with a long sigh and settled down to moving her pelvis ever so slightly, but in unquestioned submission and acceptance, as she always eventually did when Bill fucked her under the gaze of her husband.
Panting hard and stroking himself vigorously, Howard glided his free hand up and down Melanie's thigh, as, giving a grunt, tensing and releasing, tensing and releasing, first Bill came and then Howard, not fully engorged, but close enough for release, did so as well. Melanie let out a long sigh as she collapsed under Bill and he continued stroking inside her.
* * * *
"A lovely day on a lovely bay, as observed by a lovely lady."
"Oh, hello there." Melanie, sitting lone in the Chesapeake Lounge, facing the Virginia shore sliding by, and savoring a cup of steaming coffee, looked up to see the ship's first officer, the hunky Jourdon Jardenes, standing there in his spiffy whites and his sparkling good humor.
"You're looking pensive. Are you contemplating tomorrow's land excursion to Yorkton and Williamsburg, in Virginia?" Melanie found his smile dazzling. She wasn't put off by his hunky body, either.
"No, I was just thinking . . . of times past."
"Happy times, I hope, Ms. Melanie. It is Melanie, isn't it? We're a small ship and we like to know our passengers intimately."
Melanie looked sharply up at him when he said that—contemplating his use of the word "intimately." How could he have known during the dinner service the previous even, with him supervising the service, how she herself had thought in terms of "intimate" with him? Frequently when she sought him out with her eyes as he moved efficiently around the dining room, speaking to passengers here and wait staff there, she'd noticed him looking at her and they had exchanged smiles. But he was French. He probably wasn't fully in tune with the various meanings of that word.
"Yes, it's Melanie," she answered. "It's Mrs. Hampton, of course, but I am happy to be on a cruise where everyone is on first-name basis. It's Jourdon, isn't it?" she made like she had to scrutinize his name tag to pull that name up, but she'd already checked that out.
"So, can we hope you are having happy thoughts this morning? I've seen your husband, and I know that life is probably a bit difficult for you now. I hope we can make you both comfortable and give you memories you will treasure."
Again, Melanie wondered if they were anywhere close to being on the same track in their thoughts. Jourdon Jardenes had featured in her dreams the previous night.
"Most of the thoughts are happy ones—some from some time ago," she said. She looked across the lounge, where Steve Shelton was playing the piano softly. When she entered the lounge, he'd been at the piano and had said, in passing, that they needed to talk. She had been waiting for him to reach a break so that he could join her briefly. She thought it was just as well that they met like this—that he'd have to return to his work after only a short break. She hadn't been looking forward to the conversation they needed to have.
"I do hope you will join the excursion tomorrow," Jardenes was saying as her full attention returned to him. "I understand your husband will not be able to go, but he's told me himself that you could use the break and he hoped you'd take the excursion. He'll be in good hands here. I'm leading one of the groups myself—a small one. It's the C group. I do hope you'll take the opportunity to go off the ship. I assure you that you would be in good hands for the excursion."
"It sounds lovely," Melanie said. "I hadn't thought of going, but I'll have to consider it."
Having delivered what he'd come to do, having been prompted by Howard Hampton to cajole his wife to take the excursion, Jardenes moved on to talk to another couple. As he withdrew, Steve Shelton advanced, having stopped to fill two coffee cups, one to bring to Melanie.
"Imagine my surprise that you wanted to hook up with me again, Mel," he said, as he sat by her at the expansive glass overlooking the water and Virginia coastline.
"I assure you that it wasn't something I wanted at all, Steve," she responded. "I knew nothing about it. This is Howard's idea. He's been matchmaking."
"It certainly is an unusual proposition. He hasn't long to go, does he?"
"No, I think not."
"It's quite sensitive of him to try to look out for you beyond the grave. He told me this cruise—a cruise I'm working on—was to be a Valentine's Day gift to you. He didn't tell me that you didn't know what the arrangements were to be."
"The arrangements?"
"I think you know. He said you would enjoy it—that it would be a fitting present, and he hoped it might lead to something . . . for you and me. Regaining lost opportunities. It is what you want, isn't it, Mel? I've never stopped thinking of you—of loving you."
"It's what Howard wants."
"I have one more cruise in my contract—down the Colombia River from Spokane to Portland, Oregon. And then I can be free. I'll be there when . . . if . . . you need me."
"I'll keep that in mind," Melanie answered. She was trying to keep this neutral. She almost lost it, though, when he reached out and touched her on the forearm. She'd always been weak in the knees where Steve was concerned.
"I have to get back on the piano now," he whispered. "Later then?"
"Yes, I suppose . . . later." It was what Howard wanted, and Melanie wasn't sure how much of what Howard wanted was connected with what she herself wanted or needed. She couldn't help but acknowledge that Steve had once met her needs very nicely. She didn't think she loved him, as he had just professed to her. But she'd have to think about that. From that first day Howard had appeared at her desk with roses and had taken her on a date and then bedded her, all of her efforts and thoughts had gone to Howard.
But was that really true, she wondered.
In watching Steve return to the piano, Melanie's eyes picked out Jourdon Jardenes, jollying an older couple sitting at another table. When her eyes went to him, he instinctively knew that and captured her gaze. His smile was more than just a look of studied hospitality.
After Steve Shelton had settled back at the piano and Jourdon Jardenes had left the lounge, Melanie rose, went to the purser's desk, and signed up for the Williamsburg and Yorktown land excursion the next day, making sure she had registered for the C group.
* * * *
Melanie answered the knock on the cabin door wearing a black negligee over black lace bra and panties and black mesh stockings held up by a garter belt. Howard had brought them in his luggage, wrapped up in Valentine's Day wrappings. He had just given them to her just now, insisting that she wear them, strut about wearing them and her black spike heels, while he sat, naked in his wheel chair, appreciating the view, working himself up and working the two of them into a sexy afternoon.
She had thought she was doing this just for Howard, this strutting around in sexy black lace, probably to finish with her kneeling between his legs or leaning over him, with his head between her thighs, which basically was what their sex life had been taken to by his increasing disabilities. But when the knock at the door came, she instantly knew what this was about—and who it was who would be at the door. It always could have been Bill Walsh or the cabin attendant, but instantly she knew that it wasn't.
Steve Shelton was at the cabin door. Melanie wasn't surprised. She had already figured out what was transpiring here and, as always with Howard's planned activities, resigned to it. Steve slid into the cabin, closing the door behind him, and let out a low whistle.
"Absolutely stunning," he murmured, as he took Melanie into his arms. They embraced and kissed by the door, while Steve's hand's moved between them, flaring Melanie's negligee open, unhooking her bra at the front, and then feasting, first his hands, and then his lips and teeth, on her breasts. He briefly turned his head to acknowledge Howard's presence and acquiescence, and being satisfied, went back to work-pleasure.
Howard watched them from his wheelchair, a hand stroking his shaft, a slight smile on his face, his tongued darting out to lick his lips, as Steve guided Melanie to the bed, laying her down on her back on the edge of the bed, sliding the black lace panties off her legs, raising and spread her legs, and then going down on his knees between them and burying his face in her sex. Moaning and arching her back, Melanie gave in to the scenario her husband had set up, bringing to bear her first lover.
She reached down and ran her fingers through Steve's blond curls, holding his head to her as his lips and teeth worked between her folds, sucking on her clit, and tonguing her vagina opening. All of this was positioned to enhance Howard's arousal at seeing her shapely stockinged legs raised and spread in a V arising from the back of Steve's head, Melanie's fingers laced into his hair. Howard sighed at the sounds of Steve lapping and of Melanie moaning and groaning.
Howard wheeled close to the bed, as Steve rose, stripped, and positioned himself between Melanie's thighs, grasping her ankles and spreading her legs as he moved into position and she gave a little cry as he entered her. Close behind him, in his wheelchair, Howard grasped the younger man's butt cheeks and helped guide the fuck all three now were fully invested in.
Steve didn't finish her in that position. At Howard's request, he moved into the signature move that Melanie had told Howard about and that Howard himself had practiced until he had gotten too debilitated to manage it. Steve withdrew, put an arm under Melanie's back and coaxed her to turn and move up onto the bed, positioning her on her forearms and knees, her body parallel to the side of the bed, where Howard sat in his wheelchair so that he got a good view of it all. Steve then came up on the bed as well, hovering over Melanie from behind. Covering her body, he mounted her from the top and back, in the position of the dog. She groaned as, covering her close, his hands clutching and squeezing her breasts, he fucked her in long slides showing his long cock entering, thrusting, and pulling back.
Panting hard himself and emitting little moans, Howard reached out and stroked Melanie's forearm. He leaned over and took her mouth in his in a deep kiss. She went with the kiss, but then jerked away, arched her head up, and emitted a little cry. In his signature move, Steve had withdrawn from her pussy, repositioned himself higher, and was working his shaft into Melanie's ass channel.
Melanie writhed and huffed and puffed and Howard made appreciative noises, murmuring, "Yes, yes, like that," the fingers of one of Howard's hands going to between Melanie's legs, invading and working her folds and clit, as Steve fucked Melanie in the ass. After her initial struggle against it, old memories of heightened arousal and completed satisfaction came flowing in for Melanie, and her focus going to the fingers working her between her legs, she moved into the rocking rhythm of Steve's cock moving in and out, in and out, of her ass.
This had done the trick with Howard. He was hard as a rock and was pulling at the couple on the bed. "Me. Sweet Bejeejus, I'd thought never again. That I'd never again. . . . Now. Put her on me now," he muttered in a lust-filled voice.
Steve climbed off Melanie, put an arm around her waist, turning her toward the edge of the bed. She helped, knowing what they were doing, grateful that she could do this for her husband—that he was able to get it up well enough for one more time. Steve helped her settle in her husband's lap, facing away from him. She came down into Howard's lap on his now-fully hardened cock, sheathing it in her ass canal, as she recognized had been what had aroused him to this point. Her legs were draped over the arms of the wheelchair, but she was able to use the muscles in her legs to rise and fall on the cock, as Howard held her waist between his hands, arched his head back, and savored the ride—perhaps the last ride.
"Thank you, thank you, thank . . ."
Steve sat on the side of the bed in front of the wheelchair, and Melanie leaned over and took his cock in her mouth, helping him—helping them all—to reach a climax.
Howard could say that this was all for her, to ease her into life after him, but she knew better. She didn't resent it, though. It had always been more about Howard than about her anyway. She did wish that just once it could be her choice. It wouldn't be long until it was all just her choice, though.
For some reason, that thought scared her more than gave her comfort.
* * * *
Melanie thoroughly enjoyed the land excursion to Yorktown and Williamsburg in Virginia, although, even after having been to both, she couldn't have told you what the significance of either was or why the cruise had included land excursions there. As Jourdon had promised, his tour group was a small one, only seven people, the other six paired up, two mixed couples and a couple of retired women librarians traveling together. With a group that small, Jourdon could give Melanie a lot of attention without slighting the others, and that's exactly what he did. By the end of the day, when they were back on board and the gangplank was up for the start of the cruise back up the bay on the ocean-side coast, the two were practically in each other's arms.
On board and the other excursioners sent off with smiles, Jourdon turned to Melanie, "That was thirsty work. Would you like to have a drink with me? I don't think you'd finished telling me about your trip to Paris."
"Yes, that would wonderful," Melanie said. "I should go back to my cabin to freshen up and check on my husband. But I could meet you in the lounge."
"Alas, I'm not permitted to drink in the lounge when I'm not on duty."
"You're not on duty now?" She asked.
"No, not for four more hours," he answered, giving her an even look and a little smile. "For the next few hours I am all yours, if you like."
There it was again, the man saying something that could be taken as laced with sexual innuendo or just as a foreign-language speaker trying to carefully navigate English.
He continued. "I have all of the fixings of a bar in my cabin. We could go there. Now. You could do whatever freshening up you needed to do there."
She couldn't check up on Howard, though, if she went straight to Jourdon's cabin. But she didn't mention that. Their eyes meeting, she knew what he was proposing. At last a choice she could make of her own. "That would be fine," she said. "Which way?"
"Whichever way gives you pleasure," he said. They both understood what the proposal was, and she put her hand in his for him to guide her.
As first officer, Jourdon had a nice enough cabin. It wasn't in the bowls of the vessel where most of the staff and crew were stacked up. It was one of the balcony cabins on Deck 2, well aft of the Chesapeake Lounge, smaller than the Hamptons' cabin, but more than adequate. They were able to get there quickly without any of the other passengers or crew seeing them.
Jourdon had a gin and tonic ready for Melanie when she came out of his bathroom, and she was impressed—and said so—that he remembered what drink she'd nearly spilled on him the first day out of Baltimore. She took it to the balcony doors and watched the ship nosing out of the York River and back into the Chesapeake Bay. When Jourdon came out of the bathroom, having taken a short shower, he was wearing just a towel wrapped around his waist. Melanie turned her head and smiled at him, not showing surprise that he wasn't dressed.
"You left these in the bathroom," he said, as a matter of explanation for the assumption he was making. He was dangling her bra and panties from a raised hand. "I took that as a signal that I needn't dress."
"Yes, I can understand that you would," she answered.
"Before we take this any further, I think I should tell you that I won't be on the cruise all of the way back to Baltimore. I am based in Annapolis, which will be the last stop before Baltimore. I'll be replaced as first officer there. I live in Annapolis. It's a beautiful place."
"Why are you telling me this?" she asked.
He told her. And then he came over to her at the sliding glass door out to the balcony and took the glass out of her hand, placing it on the desk by the door. He was in back of her, close, and encased her in his arms, his lips going to her throat. She made a moaning sound deep in her throat, as one of his hands grasped and squeezed her breasts, kneading them gently, driving her crazy with what his thumbs were doing to her nipples. She pushed her rump back, into his crotch, feeling him hard there, and, groaning, rocked against him. Leaving one of his hands to divide his attention between her breasts, he slid other one down her trembling body to the V between her legs. She writhed a bit and continued moaning as he worked her with his hands and his lips.
At length, he murmured, "Yes? Permission to mount, my lady? That is a word for it—mount?"
"Yes, oh yes," she whispered. "That's a perfect word for it." This was her choice. At last she had a choice. Something Howard didn't arrange and somehow develop for his pleasure as much as hers.
"To mount and à baiser, à visser—to fuck, to screw?" he asked. "I am sheathed. I think it is sex you want now, not just some romantic lovemaking. That can always come later. You want me to talk dirty, to be dirty with you now."
"Yes, now. Do it," she answered. "Screw me!"
His mouth moving from hers to her throat, he unbuttoned her blouse and her skirt and let them float to the floor. She was naked in his embrace and he continued working her breasts and pussy with his hands and fingers from behind until, crying out, she begged for the cock. She had reached back, unknotted his towel, letting it fall to the floor, and handed his sheathed cock, finding him thick and long and in full erection.
"Jut your ass back to me," he commanded, and Melanie did so, raising her arms over her head, one cupping the back of his neck, holding his face into her throat, the other palming the glass of the door of the balcony, and pressing her cheek to the glass as well. Jourdon palmed her lower belly with one hand, used the other to put himself in position and to gain purchase before moving the hand back to her breasts to worry her nipples during the mounting.
"You're sure?" he whispered. "I screw you hard the first time?"
"Yes. Do it. My choice. Fuck me!"
He thrust deep and thick up into her as she cried out "Yes, yes, own me," and there, against the window, he fucked her, in strong, rapid strokes, for the first time of three times that afternoon, moving from insistent and needy into the romantic.
* * * *
Howard didn't ask why Melanie didn't appear in their cabin until dinnertime. He didn't appear to have any curiosity about that at all. She had prepared excuses, but he didn't seem interested. He was chipper enough, though, and the four of them now—Melanie, Howard, Bill, and Steve had, at least on the surface, a jovial dinner. The tension between Bill and Steve could be cut with a knife, though, both of them having nursed the possibility of a claim on Melanie after Howard kicked the bucket but Melanie not playing favorites between them. Howard seemed to be enjoying the evening the most. Jordon, once more supervising the dinner service, seemed on edge too. But then he knew he was in the same competition as Bill and Steve were.
The next two days of the sail back up the Chesapeake Bay nearly exhausted Melanie. Steve and Howard fucked her in the afternoon; Bill and Howard fucked her in the evening. Jourdon fucked her whenever they could steal away. On the night before they docked in Annapolis, Maryland, for the last land excursion before arriving back in Baltimore, Melanie slipped a double dose of Howard's sleeping medicine in his nightcap and he slept the sleep of the almost dead while she moved silently around the cabin, gathering up her clothes and packing her bags.
Howard woke from his stupor late the next morning, with the ship already docked in Annapolis and the excursioners disembarking. Melanie was gone. She'd left a note, which said, "I'm not leaving you, but I need some time away from this. I'll be back in Boston by the time you get there."
The effect on him was a bit unusual in the circumstances. He smiled. "Good for her. The girls still got some spunk," he said to himself. "She'll be OK when I'm gone."
There was another envelope that had been shoved under the door. It took him a while to work his way over there and to pick it up. The note was from Jourdon Jardenes and a torn check for $2,000 was included with the note in the envelope. The note said, "I'm returning the check, as I am quite happy to do this. I will take very good care of her. She is worth it."
This note, too, made Howard smile. His investment in Plan B had achieved the desired return. Howard had come to realize that the barrier that had come between his wife and him had been how overbearing he was being to the end. She just wanted to be able to make her own choice in this "what after the end?" question. Now she had, even though still in the framework Howard was providing.