...He enters me. He resides in me. I sweat and I writhe in his presence. My walls shudder. My mind reels.
He comes and goes from our stateroom, having not invited me to join him topside. Returning just now smelling of liquor and cigar, he pulls the underclothes from my trembling body, lifts my skirts and drives me against the far wall, the sound of the ocean and the rumble of the ship. He lifts me from the floor, pulling my legs around his waist, and I am carried away to the point of frenzy, the point that any shard of ladylike behavior is lost to his lust, his penetration. My lipstick smeared, my breast exposed and the object of his attention, I can no longer maintain my composure I cry out into the stateroom, "Oh, John. Dear John!" my fingers raking toe back of his dress shirt, "Dear God in Heaven! I have never... I have never..." And all my shameful release so unexpectedly serves to engorge him, to send him into a fevered pitch, a furious, frantic pace where the thumping of my bare bottom on the wall up my spine and fills my ears like drumming. He pins my arms to the same wall, his face a crimson cry, and I wail behind his release like some wounded animal, humiliated and reduced to a trembling, panting state of spent excitement.
And he loves it.
