Sea of Grey

silhouetted, feet apart and arms widespread. With a theatric sigh of contentment, she threw back her head to savour that cooler wind, began to run her hands over her body as if smoothing in a lotion made of raindrops, or the night's magic, with her back to him.

Well, he wasn't having any of that! Lewrie sprang from the bed and crossed the room to snuggle in against her from behind, to 'help' her enjoyment. His hands roamed, and made Henriette softly groan deep in her throat; over her waist and belly, the tops of her thighs, then up to cup her bounteous breasts and circle her large, dark nipples and areolae with his thumbs. Up to the tops of her shoulders, then butterflying downward over her breasts again, and she stiffened with delight and parted her feet more widely as he softly traced down either side of her stomach, down to her prominent mons and the pouty lips of her vagina. She leaned her head back on his shoulder, raised her arms over her head, and juddered her luscious bottom against his groin.

A moment more, a groan more, and she stepped quickly away, over to the wash-hand-stand for the sponges and the basin of cool water, so she could return and do the same for him. Working her way down, down, 'til she knelt before him, teasing her hair over his member, now hard as a marling-spike. A look up into his eyes, a teasing smile upon her face, then she half-lidded her eyes, took hold of his manhood, and put her lips over the cap.

'Pour vous, mon amour formidable, ' she whispered, pausing for a moment before lowering her head once more to her ministrations.

The distant thunder seemed to rumble 'twixt his ears, steady as the excited pulse of his heart. He threw his own head back and let out a low moan, put one hand on the back of her head and gripped a shutter with the other.

Whores, by God! he exulted to himself, looking down at last to watch her, and him, work together. Wives never know this, now and then maybe a mistress, but… go it, darlin'. Tonight you're mine t'do ev'rything I want… bought an' paid for, and by God, it feels fine!

The novelty of having a woman so casually, of using her as much as he wanted, any way he wanted, then discarding her without a backward glance-though with a japing, teasing friendliness, a 'fond' parting kiss, and extra shilling or two-it was so damned beguiling, so alluring, that he wondered why he'd eschewed whores all these years!

Wasn't for the Navy, I'd've most-like become a pimp! he recalled from his early days, the chuckle in his throat higher this time, almost a cackle of mirth.

Thud-thud-thud-thud, went the far-off thunder; thud-thud…

No, it wasn't thunder, he decided after a moment of coherency in the grip of mindless pleasure. And it wasn't his heart, either, those regular thuds, for they were in counterpoint to the beat in his chest.

Henriette stopped and sat back on her heels, suddenly looking forlorn and frightened, clamping her arms over her breasts.

'Here, now…' he began to say, irked that she'd quit before the 'melting moments.'

'L'Ouverture!' Henriette squeaked. 'The drums!'

'Drums? Oh!' Lewrie gawped, going to the window. 'So that's what that sound is. Like… like Muskogee Indian drumming. Sort of.'

'Is voudoun!' Henriette gasped, beginning to shiver in dread.

'Cuffy mumbo-jumbo?' Lewrie scoffed.

'Is vrais … is true! Very powerful!' Henriette insisted, at the verge of teeth- chattering terror. ' Voudoun priests bless rebels, and curse town peoples. We hear the drums, it mean L'Ouverture and his armies 'ave come! In the hills now! Oh, Mon Dieu, zey kill us all!'

'They'll not get the town, chene,' Lewrie told her, following her round the room as she dithered, thinking of packing, thinking about hiding the next moment, picking things up and then throwing them down. 'There's a British army out there, with dozens of field guns. Redans and fortifications, lashings of ammunition. There's ships in harbour, just stiff with artillery, too. Nothing to worry about. Now, let us get back to our pleasures. Where were we, hmmm?'

He took hold of her arms and brought her to a halt by the bed, urging her to get back into it. She'd raised his desires, had brought him close to joy, and damned if he was going to quit now.

'British keep us safe?' she asked, sounding leery about it.

'Safe as houses, I assure you,' he lied, embracing her and kissing her neck and shoulders, her hollows, but with a bit of a spraddle-legged dance to the edge of the mattress, a bit of pressure to topple her back to her duties. 'Can't let a pretty young thing like you get in their clutches, now can we, Henriette… ma chйrie?' he coaxed.

She submitted, and sat on the edge of the bed to re-engage her mouth over him. Sulkily, at first, but quickly warming to her work.

'Ah, that's me girl,' Lewrie sighed, rock-hard again.

She quit, again! But this time, it was merely to reach over to the nightstand to retrieve a fresh, unused cundum and sheath him with the tanned sheep-gut, to tie off the ribbons around his waist and under his crutch, then award him a brave smile as she lay back and opened her limbs to him.

Lewrie slid in, kissing his way up her body, lingering over her groin for a long minute or two, 'til she began to grind her hips and make whimpery little groaning sounds. Up to kiss and lick her belly, that. actually shuddered under his feathery touch, her hands now eagerly drawing him higher. Tonguing and suckling on her marvelous poonts and even play-nipping, that made her squeak and bounce and chuckle. Then her thighs raised and he was atop her and in her, and the Mongol Horde or all the Imps of Hell could have been howling for blood below-stairs, for all that Lewrie cared. Henriette, too, it seemed to Lewrie; this time was not artful or coy, but furious and mindless, as if sex could silence those drums and drive the bad'uns away.

Rap-rap-rap on the door. 'I say, Alan old son? Time t'be out and doin',' Cashman muttered.

'Go… away! Later! Plus tard!' Lewrie gasped back, amid a skirl of squeaking bed- ropes and slats, and Henriette panting into his mouth as if trying to suck a long life from him. Whining in ecstacy!

'Heard the drums? I really think-'

'Bugger… off ! Drake had time t'bowl… I've time for a romp! Whoo! Darlin'!'

Henriette was keening, grasping, clawing, nigh to a scream!

'Oui oui oui, mon Dieu, oh oui … I' Henriette shrieked. 'I am going… eeeeehhhh!'

'Aarrhhh!' Lewrie chimed in a moment later. 'Rule, Brittania, by Jesus, yes'

He collapsed on her, aswim in perspiration once more, gasping like a pair of landed fish, aslither to press close and grasp to keep the mind-lessness in hand as long as possible.

'Happy now?' came the sardonic, muffled voice beyond the door.

'Ain't Paradise yet, but damn close,' Lewrie called back as he rolled off the bed, groaning with exhaustion and lingering joy, as he stood bare-arsed naked and stripped off the cundum for a quick washing and later use. 'Quick sponge, and I'll be out in two shakes of a wee lamb's tail… and the first's already been shook. Uhm, Henriette, me darlin'… know where I dropped my shirt?'

Though it was hours before dawn, and still raining in a light, desultory way, the streets of Port-Au-Prince teemed with people. Some refugees were up and packing, or trundling two-wheeled handcarts down to the harbour, in hopes of a departing ship. There was more light at last, with almost every window or porchway illuminated by the curious and the fearful. Citizens stood on their stoops or balconies to stare out towards the countryside, or shout questions at passersby and their neighbours, who were also up and peering in their nightshirts or gowns.

British troops, and those handfuls of persecuted Saint Domingue Royalists who had taken arms with them, mustered and marched to drums of their own, and the thin tootle of fifes, in the opposite direction, forcing Lewrie and Cashman to shoulder and sidle aside on their way to the port.

And those far-off drums still thrummed, regular as a metronome, seemingly from every inland point of the compass, as if Port-Au-Prince was already surrounded and under a fell siege. There were some out on the streets who seemed glad of it, though it was far too early to show enthusiasm or loyalty. The guillotines set up by the original Jacobins still stood, waiting for their next victims; terrified petits blancs or