The Smuggler's Captive (closed thread)

[shereads]

There are things a man cannot tell you about himself in any way but one: by the way he holds you when he sleeps.

He cannot express in words or with the gift of his passion, what he tells you when his breathing slows and steadies, and his arms relax their hold, freeing you to go, trusting you to stay. In this way, he offers to shelter your fragile body with his stronger one. And in exchange, you are asked to lay your heart upon the altar of his fate. He may sacrifice your heart to whatever gods he has given his own. Or worse, he might not take it at all.

But having heard the request, spoken in the language of the sleeping lover, you no longer have a choice. You lost your heart to him when you hid your face in the warmth of his chest, and dared to taste his skin with a secret kiss.

There will be nights when you sleep peacefully in the safety of his arms. But on this night, having chosen to love him, you will lie awake, unwilling to miss a moment of these few hours when he is entirely yours.

~ ~ ~

It was hard to let go of her anger. And impossible to hang onto it. Emma slid out of Inago's arms with utmost care, and pulled a chair close to the bed. Close enough to make out the features of his sleeping face in the flickering firelight, as she sat for perhaps an hour, simply watching him. What might she learn from this man in the unguarded moments of sleep? What might he reveal of his true nature - and of hers?

She learned that her first instinct hadn't been wrong, after all. He was an honest man, at his core.

We are as honest as any two thieves in Brittany. A perfect pair.

She realized he had risked everything to bring her here, and the realization was as shattering as if he had struck her.

She began to know she had wanted him from the beginning. She would have lost him, though, if he hadn't taken her.

Rather than violate the code of Ladies and Gentlemen that was all Emma knew about men and women, she would have left him when the Black Bird docked at Calais. She would have lost forever the chance to melt and burn for him. She would have regretted it always, never knowing what she had missed or why its absence left a void...

"You're not going to shoot me again, are you?" The wicked whiteness of his smile cut through the shadows. He pushed the blanket away and stretched lazily, reminding her of a well-fed lion.

"I hadn't thought of it," she answered. "I like you when you are sleeping." On an impulse, she moved from the chair to sit on the edge of the bed, bridging the little barrier she had erected between them. "It is only when you are conscious that you inspire me to murder."

She smiled shyly, and reached out to brush a dark curl back from his forehead. A possessive gesture, she realized, suddenly embarrassed. She pulled her hand away as if burned, thinking he might be offended - or worse, he might be unaffected.

When he took her small hand in his big, warm one, she felt inordinately grateful.

Then he drew it to his mouth, turned it palm-up and pressed his lips there, savoring it for long seconds as if there could be nothing more interesting than the texture of her skin. The last of Emma's resistance vanished like fog in sunshine.

She said the word softly, unsure of her right to it: "Inago."

His eyes met hers, acknowledging that she had said his given name for the first time. The first time that counted; she had called him Inago in an attempt to cajole him before. It sounded different when she said it this time, as if she were tasting the word.

"Inago," she said again, laying claim to the exotic sound. "How did you know about me?"

"About your thieving? You boarded a smuggler's ship, carrying a bag that clattered like the kitchens at Buckingham Palace, and you wonder how I knew?"

He was laughing at her. She half-wanted to slap him, but only because he was right. And because he had misunderstood - or had pretended to, and was going to make her clarify her question.

"That isn't what I mean."

"Isn't it?" He wasn't laughing now.

He sat up, and the sight of his big, hard chest and massive shoulders made Emma's eyes widen and her lips part in a silent "Oh!" She hadn't been prepared to hide the little thrill of fear and pleasurable anticipation that she would always feel when reminded of this man's immeasurable power.

She blushed and bit her lip, in a gesture from childhood that signaled her reluctance to say what must be said.

"What is it, Emma?"

"You said...You knew things about me. You knew that I would respond...that I would not dislike what you did."

He hid a grin the only way he could, by drawing her into his arms. When his hands closed on her shoulders, she gasped and stiffened for an almost imperceptible moment, then went limp, like an animal signalling submission to its Alpha. He positioned her with her back to him, and felt her hesitate for only a moment before she relaxed against him, snuggling like a kitten.

"You did not dislike it? I could have sworn that you disliked it."

"Don't you dare laugh at me, pirate." She bit his shoulder - or more accurately, pretended to, barely grazing him with a teasing nip, which she quickly made better with a quick, baby-soft kiss.

They both grew still and quiet. When Emma spoke again, her voice was a husky whisper. "How did you know that I wanted you to...to take me that way? As if I were not a lady? And why didn't I hate it as a lady ought to?"

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Swann pulled her down with him into the bed, pulling her so that one again her back was against his chest, his face in her hair, her scent and her softness like a thicket around him. His hand closed easily on her breast. He was conscious of the bruises he had caused her, yet the tenderness and remorse he felt was nonetheless mixed with a strange savage pride that almost shamed him.

How well she fit against him, and how exquisite her breast felt in his hand. In his life he had held a king’s ransom in jewels in his hands, had let fortunes in gold slide through his fingers, yet none felt as perfect and as precious as what he held now, as if his hand had been made for the sole purpose of holding her thus.

"How did you know that I wanted you to...to take me that way? As if I were not a lady? And why didn't I hate it as a lady ought to?"

“What is a lady but a woman who has learned to conquer her own passions?” he asked into the softness of her hair. “I did not know you would respond so. In fact, I didn’t know anything but that you were a wild and impetuous woman whose passions lay very close to the surface and inflamed my blood. It was you that brought it out in me. I was hardly thinking at all. You gave me that: the ability to stop thinking at all and just feel with my heart. I’ve never made love like that, with the totality of my being, without thinking “should I?” or saying “I shouldn’t”. Let me remind you that I was hardly the gentleman myself.”

Emma’s hand closed over the hand which held her breast. She pressed his hand against her, feeling the pain of her bruises, taking her own pride in them. She remembered the look in his eyes as he had whipped her: the savage desire, his unbearable excitement. Even now she closed her own eyes and repressed a shudder at what it had felt like to be desired that much, as if he would die without her.

Swann felt her desire. He took her poor, abused nipple between his fingers and softly pinched it and felt her stiffen against him, her ass pressing back against his hardening cock. She stiffened, and then seemed to melt against him in sensual acquiescence, his to do with as he wished again, her body of no use to her: his, only his.

The hand on her breast was the hand beneath her. She took his other hand now, the one that was draped over her body, and brought it to her lips where she breathed her hot breath on it. She licked it, tasting the sweat of his body, then opened her mouth and sunk her white teeth into the palm of his hand, telling him she was ready for him again: the tigress wanted to play.

Swann sat up in the bed, moving awkwardly amidst the tangle of bedclothes. He pushed and pulled her until he had them as he wanted: him sitting with his legs crossed, she above him, her thighs around his waist, her knees on the mattress. Her pussy was directly above the rampant stalk of his cock, and she could feel him throbbing against her wet and heated flesh. He seized her arms at the elbows and pressed them back behind her, forcing her breasts up and out where his lips and teeth could get at them.

“Now you,” he said. “You show me how a lady fucks. Show me how you love the feeling of my hard cock inside you.”

Emma was helpless atop him. Her pussy was already spread around the blunt head of his prick, and her over-sized nightdress was open to her waist, the shoulders down around his hands, leaving her chest entirely naked. Even though he held her captive once again, with her unable to free herself from his powerful grasp, still she had that look of defiance, albeit tempered with her own hot desire to feel him inside her once again. It was a look that made his blood boil and made his cock twitch against her, hungry to penetrate that angelic body once again. Swann felt another brief pang as he saw the bruises and welts on her breasts, but Emma thrust them forward with pride, showing them off as badges of honor, of her love and her willingness to take all he had to give.

“Fuck me, bitch,” he hissed in his excitement. “Fuck me you delicious whore!”

His words inflamed her. Only he could call her such things, for only with him was it true. He relaxed his grip just enough to let her sink down on his massive cock, and again she felt his most intimate caress.

Her pussy was likewise bruised and battered, but the pleasure she felt far outweighed any discomfort, and with Swann holding most of her weight in his strong hands, Lady Emma began to move her hips in a most lewd and depraved manner, squeezing him, rolling him around inside her, making it good for him, making it better than anything he’d ever known.

The sight of that angelic face and perfect body moving with a whore’s selfish hunger brought a deep groan from Swann’s slack lips. Emma held him so that his head was just within her tight, wet ring of muscle, and the tables were turned now. Now it was her turn to make him groan and gasp with helpless pleasure, and she went at him with a vengeance, feeling the deep, satisfying thrill of her own power to thrill him, her pretty teeth bared, her eyes glittering, showing him that she could be every bit the whore he wanted her to be.

It was more than Swann could take, and as he felt his orgasm start, he let go of her arms, letting her fall onto the impaling bar of his cock. He took her tortured breasts in his hands and squeezed, and the feel of his cock jetting inside her, his groans of ecstasy, and the feel of his angry strength against her tits sent her into yet another orgasm. She fell atop him, biting his chest in the throes of her own gushing release. It was a feeling she was coming to need like she needed the air itself

* * * * *
Deepest night with utter silence outside, the moon down long since. She hardly moved as she slept, and then only to pull his arm tighter around her or push more closely against him, as if her were her blanket and only source of warmth. As he dreamed he felt the lift and roll of his ship in his body, the gentle heave in his knees and thighs, and yet in his sleep it was all confused with the sweet urgent lift of Emma’s body against him, the tightness in his loins as he found his pleasure in her.

Tomorrow he would send his men away to deliver the rest of their contraband farther up the coast to where their contacts waited, and he would put the word out that he had the Farquahar jewels and was ready to deal, even to return them without profit could he be sure that no questions would be asked, no reprisals set in motion. He had to get rid of them now, as they were like a rope stretched around Lady Emma’s neck.

His plan was to present himself as Lady Emma’s captor, and to return the jewels to Farquahar out of his own sense of duty and patriotism and his desire to stay in the lord’s good favor. He would request a very small and proper ransom, of course, left anyone see through his very uncharacteristic altruism, but he would make it understood that Lady Emma remained his prisoner.

It would take some skillful acting on both their parts, but Swann was confidant in his own ability, and the thought of convincing the world at large that Lady Emma was his personal chattel, his own love slave, brought a smile to his lips.

As long as she didn’t overact her part! That was his one concern.

 

[shereads]

He had told her just enough of his plan so that Emma understood when her stolen treasure disappeared into his keeping. Beneath her gratitude, there remained a nagging element of fear. She had learned at Cedric's hands that a woman without means was helpless.

When she had taken the Farquahar Sapphire, she had meant to take it hostage. The great, garish thing was His Lordship's one true love. There had been no plan, as such, but she had hoped to bargain with it for her freedom and a portion of her father's estate. The rest of the jewels, and the silver, had been an impulsive theft and a foolish one.

It would be a relief to have the whole cursed lot back in Bellingham where they belonged. But returning them would leave her penniless - and powerless - once again. Dependent on a man for her survival.

She toyed with the idea of asking Inago to set aside a diamond or two, so she could have something to live on if he tired of her.

If, or when.

She pushed the thought away and resolved not to consider it again. Emma knew instinctively that her trust was essential to Inago. And hadn't he earned it, when he risked arrest by hiding her here? Hadn't he saved her from an impetuous flight to France and the near-certainty of failure and the gallows?

In the end, she made peace with her decision, albeit an uneasy peace. She would trust Inago Swann, and demonstrate her trust by asking no questions. Not just because he had proven himself, but because he had her heart.

~ ~ ~

He'd been called away; some dispute about the disposal of goods. For the first time in her nineteen years, the girl Emma felt a woman's fear: What if something happens to him? What if I never see him again?

She had been afraid for herself for months, and had born it well. Being afraid for her smuggler was an unfamiliar fear, like waking up with a missing limb. Arriving on the heels of her misadventure as a jewel thief, this new source of tension seemed more than she could bear. There was no one to confide in, for she was a stranger in this isolated place and the few servants regarded their master's "guest" with caution. The three days of Inago's absence might as well have been a month.

Back at Bellingham, fear and loneliness had been dangerous enemies. She had used anger to keep them at bay.

By the time Inago returned to her bed, Lady Emma Finch-Hadden was mad as hell.

~ ~ ~

She sensed his return before she heard it. Emma awakened with a start, expecting to find him in the room with her. But she was alone. She lay still as long as she could, listening to the silent house. The clock on the mantelpiece ticked with infuriating slowness, as if to mock her racing heartbeat. When she could no longer stand the stillness, she kicked away the bedcovers and went to the window, opened it, and was rewarded with the sound of approaching hoofbeats.

Inago found her in bed, her back to him. He undressed quietly in the dark...Why was this chamber so cold, when a fire still burned in the hearth?

The chit had left the window open.

He pulled it shut with a soft thud, and joined Emma in the big bed, eager for her warmth. And more eager for her heat.

She was curled up in a ball, with nothing showing above the blanket except the long, gleaming braid of her hair, and the high neck of a white-linen nightrail. She did a convincing impression of a sleeping girl, until he touched her shoulder and began to draw her close to him.

"No."

Ah. Inago Swann had heard that word in half a dozen languages. On the lips of a neglected mistress, its meaning was universally understood.

"'No,' you are not happy to see me? Or 'No,' you are overwhelmed and need a moment to gather your wits?"

"I am overwhelmed by your arrogance," she spat, addresssing the wall. In truth, her relief at having him home really was overwhelming, and it frightened her. "You think that because you've been gone for a day or two, I should leap into your arms like - like - your lap dog!"

"Or my bitch?"

"You low-born bastard!" Had a woman ever moved with such speed? In the space of a breath, Lady Emma had thrown back the blanket, turned to face him, and landed a stinging slap. Inago, whose reflexes were honed by a lifetime of danger, was more stung that she'd managed to surprise him.

Striking him had been a mistake. She knew it in an instant, and the realization took her breath.

His reaction was chilling in its restraint, reminding her of the heartstopping seconds on the deck of the Black Bird, after she'd insulted Captain Swann in front of his crew. For an interminable moment, he didn't move, nor did his face betray his anger.

But his eyes glittered with something...something awful, contained by the force of his will.

"I - I didn't mean -"

Silence.

Her effort to take back what she'd done disappeared beneath a jumble of thoughts and feelings, not the least of which was the sensation of melting, as if her body had softened, all at once. She was boneless. Beneath Inago's gaze, Emma recalled a montage of lurid things. Things he'd done to her. Things she'd begged him to do.

Do it harder. Do it faster...It hurts. Sweet God, it's good.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a hoarse whisper, as if the big house were as intimate as a ship's cabin; as if it listened with slavering curiosity, like the crew of the Black Bird.

"Get on your hands and knees."

"What? I - No."

"Don't make me tell you twice." He rose from the bed, and disappeared for a moment into the shadows outside the half-circle of firelight. Emma watched, frozen, as his shape moved in the darkness. He leaned over an old trunk in the corner. The lid was thrown back with a thump that might have been a gunshot, the way it made Emma jump.

By the time the ominous rustling noises ceased, and the floorboards creaked with her master's approaching footsteps, Lady Emma was on her hands and knees, as instructed.

Master?! She had a long time to wonder where that thought had come from. Long seconds to wait, to hear her breathing grow harsher, to feel her pulse begin to race. More than enough time to feel him watching her, evaluating her. The modest nightrail covered her body, all but her bare feet and calves, but the longer he looked and did nothing more, the more naked she felt. He was standing near the bed, to her side and slightly behind. She could have seen him if she'd turned her head. But something compelled Emma to remain still.

Does he see me trembling?

Does he know I'm beginning to be wet?

Her body had gone from melted to frozen to fever-hot. Pinned in place by Inago's silent stare, she felt a dozen things, each a contradiction to the feeling that preceded it. She was hot and cold. Frightened and elated. Deeply ashamed, and outrageously aroused.

She was confident that he would never harm her. And certain that he would hurt her until she begged for more.

 

[dr_mabeuse]

Was it a game she was playing? Or was she really so unaware of what she really wanted?

Swann decided it was the latter, that like so many high-born ladies, the shape of her own desires was barely known to her. Lady Emma might be able to notice the waves on the surface of her sea, but she did not sense the powerful currents that lie below, pulling her passions this way and that, and so she foundered, showing anger or impatience when it was something else entirely that she really wanted.

But that suited him just fine. Her dignity and her confusion fired his desire for her and made his conquest of her that much more delicious, for he knew her better than she knew herself. He knew what she wanted even if she didn’t, and he knew just what to do.

He picked up a riding crop from the trunk, long and flexible, and walked slowly to the side of her bed, slapping it idly against his thigh. Lady Emma was on hands and knees upon the mess of bedclothes, her head down so he could not see her expression. The fire light glinted on the white linen of her nightdress that hung loosely about her, showing a glimpse of her dangling breasts through the oversized neckline, the smooth contours of her thighs where the fire light rendered the fabric nearly transparent. He felt his cock lurch hungrily to life within the tight confines of his breeches.

He could not see her face from this position, but he could picture its look of nervous anticipation and picture her confusion. She’d just been angry at him, refusing his touch, and yet now she was poised on hands and knees just as he’d commanded, and she had no idea why. She would have no idea either why this obsequious position excited her so much, why it felt so right to her, Her long braid hung over one shoulder, revealing the tender and vulnerable back of her neck to him, and the sight of that smooth and vulnerable expanse of skin, her attitude of subservient expectation, suddenly filled him with a wild and intoxicating lust. He had an urge to take her like that, shoving himself up brutally into her from behind, of closing his teeth on that neck like a tomcat and holding her in place while he took his pleasure of her.

He reached out and put his hand on the small of her back, gathered her nightdress in his hand and drew it up, raising them hem up over her legs, the back of her thighs, up over her bottom. Emma could feel the radiant heat from the fire on her bare flesh as he raised her gown but she said nothing, made not a sound, biting her lip to keep from moaning aloud as he exposed her intimate treasures to the light. Shame filled her body, and something else: an eagerness to be shamed even further, a desire to be used again, to be taken and plundered by the selfishness of his lust.

Swann stared down at her for a long moment, admiring her lean thighs, the proud thrust of her buttocks. He thought he heard her whimper softly and he smiled. It was such an exquisite game. How fitting that she should be on all fours like a pony while he carried the whip. Like a horseman he would teach her to be ridden, to love the wpur and the saddle. He would teach her to run and to leap; to breath the wild air of freedom and to use her power to take them both wherever he wanted them to go.

“In order to escape the retribution you have coming," he said, "It is essential that you learn to play the slave to me, Lady Emma. It is imperative that everyone think that I’ve taken you for my own use, otherwise any one of your enemies will think you fair game and will snatch you up, and then your fate will be something I’d not even like to contemplate.” He reached out with the head of the crop and ran it slowly over her buttocks. “Now, what sort of slave would I be likely to have? A whore perhaps? A high-born lady who I’ve taught to be my slut? One who’s learned to submit to my own depraved lusts? Do you think you could play that part, my Lady?”

The tip of the whip trailed over her flesh, then slipped into the groove between her cheeks. He slid it over her anus, then down between her legs where he pushed it gently forward, causing the braided shaft to saw against her wet slit. Emma clenched her eyes shut tight and dug her teeth into her lower lip to stifle her moan of arousal.

He raised the crop and brought it down with a sharp little smack! against the exposed flesh of her buttocks.

He saw her jump and heard her cry out, but she did not flinch away and her cry was one of surprise, not protest. He noticed that as well and he smiled. She was waiting for more, expecting it, and, he knew, wanting it.

“Silence, bitch! If you cannot retrain your cries, put the pillow in your mouth, for you’ve been a very naughty slave, and you’ll take your punishment as I see fit to give it! I can’t have you crying out and waking the entire neighborhood.”

He hit her again, the crop leaving a raised welt that was quite visible in the firelight, then twice more as Lady Emma grabbed the pillow tight and bit down on it. All the time she kept her buttocks thrust up proud, waving slightly to ease the pain, presenting him with a delicious target.

Swann put his hand between her shoulder blades and forced her down so that her chest was pressed against the bed, leaving her ass in the air in a most undignified and salacious position: a gorgeous ass, round and perfect, and long accustomed to a noble woman’s cushions and gentle fabrics, now sporting the welts from his whip and hungrily begging for more. In the gentle light from the fire place he could see the gleam of her wetness on the lips of her sex, and, once again, the thought that she enjoyed this kind of treatment made him almost dizzy with lust.

Several more sharp slaps and Swann changed his tactics. He positioned the crop beneath her and between her legs, and he began to slap upwards against the puffy lips of her exposed sex. Lady Emma’s naked hips began to move, her buttocks clenching in a lewd and involuntary imitation of coitus to bring her sex down towards the head of the crop as it flicked up to meet her, fucking against the whip, and as she did so she snarled as if in anger, anger at her own body’s betrayal and the sudden overwhelming excitement she felt to be treated so cruelly.

Swann couldn’t resist. He reached out and ran his thumb down her oily slit, plunged his thumb inside her and found her wet and ready. He reached his fingers around to her pubic mound and grabbed hold of her, taking possession of her cunt, owning her, and Lady Emma gasped at the way he claimed her with such easy male arrogance. As a miser might fill his hands with coin to feel the pleasure of the metal between his fingers, that’s how he took her.

A flurry of movement then as Swann released her and quickly stripped off his clothes, and then he was in bed with her, sitting in front of her, the whip under his arm. He grabbed hold of her braid with one hand and took hold of his cock with the other, and brought the two together, ignoring her sudden moans of shock and outrage.

“Any whore of mine will know how to suck my cock,” he said angrily. “It’s time you learned!”

Emma protested, fighting him, keeping her lips tightly closed as he rubbed her lips against his hard shaft, but Swann took the whip from beneath his arm and brought it down sharply across her ass: once, twice, as if she were a recalcitrant cart horse, and Lady Emma opened her mouth and took him inside, moaning with shame and excitement.

Swann threw his head back and groaned himself at the delicious heat and wetness of her virginal mouth. He used the whip again, and Lady Emma, acting purely on instinct, began to suck him, bobbing her head up and down, wailing and blubbering as she did so, as the blows continued to fall, and each slap of the whip seemed to strip her of another bit of her reluctance and push her more deeply into the embrace of her salacious lusts.

Swann leaned back against the wall and looked down over the hard and hairy ridges of his stomach to see his the thick stalk of his cock disappearing into her delicate mouth. Lady Emma brought her hands into play, one cupping his heavy balls and playing with them, the other holding his prick up where she could get to it, and now her lips slid up and down, impaling herself on his hardness until the tip struck the back of her throat. Each spank of the whip brought a groan of pleasure from her throat and made her waggled her backside in lewd invitation for more fiery kisses.

Swann watched her with his eyes glowing, knowing how the pain and outrage of the whipping had merged with her own savage hungers to drive her wild with lust. He had never felt a woman go at it with such mindless fervor and desperate hunger, and he held her hair in his hand and began to fuck his cock up into her sucking mouth, lifting his lean hips off the bed and driving into her mouth. He could feel his own lubricant seeping from the tip of his cock, and as soon as it appeared, Lady Emma sucked it down, moaning with masochistic pleasure.

Lady Emma was on her knees to his right. He took her hair in his left hand, and with his right he worked the whip down under her body and began to spank her pussy and clit with it as she sucked at him. Lady Emma dug her nails into the rock-like muscles of his thighs and screamed around his prick as the whip struck home, splashing in the pool of wetness that was her cunt, punishing her throbbing clit. He felt her shudder, felt her body clench as her orgasm began, and he pulled her head off his cock as he felt his own come boiling up from the depths of his being. He dropped the whip and grabbed his cock, pointed it at her mouth, and had only a second to watch her in the grip of her ferocious orgasm before he was overwhelmed by his own climax and his cock began to spurt its heavy load into her open mouth.

It splashed against her teeth, splattered against her cheek. Gouts of come shot against the flat of tongue as she reached for him, but Swann hardly stopped. No sooner had he stopped shooting than he threw her off him. He climbed from beneath her and Emma fell weakly onto her side, reaching up with shaking hands to feel the heat of her master’s semen on her face.

But Swann wasn't done. With rough hands he arranged again her the way she’d been, on elbows and knees, ass in the air. He got on the bed behind her and took his deflating cock in his hand and entered her, pushing his flaccid penis into her with his fingers as Emma gasped in surprise and dismay. He wasn't hard, but he was hard enough to penetrate her in her open and aroused state, and he managed to get deep enough inside her so that he could begin to fuck her again, and as he fucked her he quickly began to harden.

“Oh my Lord!” Emma exclaimed, and Swann didn’t know whether she was talking to him or invoking the deity.

“Hold onto the headboard, my beautiful bitch! I’m not done with you yet!”

He fucked her hard as Emma groveled in the bed sheets beneath him, filled with his prick. The light from the fire threw grotesque shapes on the wall: two giants, one posed subserviently on her knees with her ass in the air, the other rearing up in triumph behind her, his hands on her hips, holding her tight as he thrust into her with savage fury. Emma pressed hard against the headboard to withstand the powerful thrusts, and her breasts swayed beneath her until Swann reached forward and took her nipples between his fingers. He pinched hard and then harder just as he pushed himself into her as far as he could go and she felt him throb dimly inside her, spurting again, giving her everything he had left.