She shouldn't have come out on the promenade deck alone. But the party in the cruise ship's Spotlight Lounge had become so loud and boisterous—and the swirling crowd so suffocating—that Ellen had to get away. If anyone asked why'd she'd strayed, she'd just tell them that Little Bo Peep was looking for her sheep. That was the costume Stephanie had gotten for her, whereas Stephanie was decked out as a sexy Cleopatra.
Ellen half suspected that her friend and coworker at the Atlanta ad agency that picked the costumes on purpose. Stephanie was always trying to steal a march on Ellen. Ellen had made the mistake of saying she looked forward to this Caribbean Halloween-themed cruise as an opportunity to let loose, and she knew Stephanie didn't want to be upstaged in that regard. She also had found that Stephanie had taken this as license to throw every half-way decent man she could find at Ellen—the ones that Stephanie didn't want to use up first, of course.
As soon as she'd come out on deck, though, Ellen decided this had been a mistake. It was so dark out here and she'd felt as she walked toward the bow of the ship from the stern that she was being watched.
And now she thought she heard the scrapping of shoes on the deck behind her.
She turned. Yes, there was someone there. Tall and dark. Dressed in black. In fact all black. A black man. And one of some height and build.
Ellen's throat constricted. She couldn't help it. She'd moved to Atlanta from New Mexico. There hadn't been hardly any blacks in Albuquerque. But there certainly were in Atlanta. And she didn't live in the best of neighborhoods. She knew she shouldn't be frightened in the presence of a person of color—a man, mainly; black women didn't bother her. Black men frightened her—and something else, too, though. They intrigued her, in a sensual, "what if" way. But this only frightened her more.
She thought now that she recognized him from the costume party—as much as a stranger in a mask and costume could be considered "recognized." And she had to admit that this was one reason she'd retreated from the party. He'd been tall—almost overpowering—and decked out all in black. A pirate, she thought. And it seemed like he'd been watching her and was moving ever closer to her as he moved around the party room floor in a seemingly random manner.
And there he was—out on the deck. Maybe following her. She quickened her steps and came around to plate glass doors of the casino at the stern of the boat—and ran right into a tall, masked man in a Harlequin costume.
"There you are, Ellen. I searched for you at the lounge but didn't find you."
It was Riyad—the intriguingly handsome Saudi businessmen who had been assigned to her dining table—the one that Stephanie had said, with some regret, had the hots for Ellen. The man who had kissed her hand as she sat at the table on the previous two evenings that the ship was steaming toward Puerto Rico—and then, just this afternoon, had leaned down and brushed her lips with his before he left the table—much to Stephanie's obvious chagrin, with the whisper of just one word—"Later"—which seemed to be saying so much more than the one word. And that had seemed to be taking so much for granted. Riyad had already conveyed the impression that he prized himself highly and took what he took as if by some right of being Riyad.
"Riyad. I'm so glad—" She didn't have a chance to tell him why she was glad to see him and he obviously jumped to his own conclusions on that. He took her in a strong embrace, pushed her into an alcove with a door in it that likely led to a service corridor, and mashed her lips with his, taking her breath away. She yielded to the kiss. And as she did so, his hands began to wander.
One was inside the low-necked bodice of her peasant costume, and she couldn't hold back her moan of pleasure when his hand cupped her breasts, skin on skin, one after the other, and first his thumb, and then his lips, found her nipples.
His other hand was hiking up her short, full skirt and moving under the waistband of her panties. She jerked and let out a long groan when a finger snaked into her slit and found her clit. She might have tried to stop this then, to explain that she had just been retreating in fear from an unknown stranger—a foreboding black man. But wasn't this what she'd come on this cruise for? What Stephanie had convinced her she needed to experience in her life? Riyad was tall, and dark, and handsome. A good conversationalist. Sexy as hell. And he probably owned an oil well or two or was a sheik. She'd wanted something sexy to remember this cruise by. Couldn't get much more sexy than this.
But she didn't want him to think she was easy. She laughed at that thought—almost hysterically; most probably genuinely on the edge of hysteria. The man had two fingers inside her now and she was flowing for him. They were way beyond him thinking she was easy.
Riyad gave a low, throaty laugh too, probably misinterpreting hers as encouraging wantonness.
"My cabin; come to my cabin with me."
It wasn't a question.
In his cabin—which proved to be a junior suite—Riyad pushed Ellen down to a seated position on the foot of the bed, and slowly stripped off his costume and everything else he was wearing. He was doing an exhibition for her—showing off what he had. And Ellen couldn't complain about what he had. He was brown as a berry and tall and well-built. A beautiful man. And he was ready for her.
It was a little off-putting that he seemed so taken with himself, but Ellen gave the murmurs of approval that she thought was expected of her and rose to start to undress herself.
This wasn't in Riyad's plan, though, He pushed her back down on the foot of the bed and pulled down her bodice so that her breast spilled out. He cupped them in his hands and leaned down and took her lips with his again. After a lingering kiss, he moved in close to her, and she almost exclaimed in astonishment when he came in real close, still holding a breast in each hand, and then moved his erect penis to between the two breasts and started to stroke it up and down while his hands squeezed her breasts.
Ellen hadn't gotten over the shock of this before his hands had gone to cupping her head and he was pressing the head of his phallus at her lips. She had never done this for a man before. But she felt trapped—and he was so beautiful. And she had come on this cruise for an adventure. She opened her lips to him and went completely docile, letting him show her what he wanted—and doing as much of it for him as she could manage.
It was almost with gratitude that after some minutes she let him turn her bent over the bed, left long enough to retrieve condoms and a tube of lubricant from somewhere, and tossed a string of the condoms—she could see the word Maxim on them, which caused her to groan at the memory of the size of him—on the bed beside her head as he opened one of the packets and prepared himself. His hands were cold and wet, as he pushed the back of her skirt over her shoulders; ripped away her lacy panties with a low, guttural laugh; and moved his staff into her slit. The width of him was almost overpowering, as was his impatience, but now that they were here, Ellen was determined to get all of the pleasure out of it that she could. This she had done before. Not often with a man this well endowed—not often at all, actually. But this was natural, and this was what she was hoping she would find on the cruise.
She murmured for him to go slowly, but he either didn't hear her or he didn't care. He was pistoning her deep and fast and muttering to her in a guttural Arabic that she didn't really want to understand. There was no question that this was all about, all for, him. She should have guessed that this was the Arabic way.
She heard a card key scraping at the lock of the door to the corridor and she barely had time to turn her head toward the glass doors out onto the balcony. She had no idea who it might be—a room attendant or even an irate wife—but she didn't want to see them before she had to, and preferably not at all.
"Fahd," Riyad hissed in a growl. "I have mine already. You wanted the other. Don't come back."
Fahd, Ellen thought. The other young Arabic man at their dining table. Stephanie had flirted with him, although the two of them had speculated on whether Riyad and he were a pair. Stephanie had said they both were much to luscious not to be a gay pair. But she also said that she wouldn't mind having a go at Fahd. Well, they might be a pair—might even be into each other—but they quite obviously weren't limited to gay.
After the door closed, Ellen began to relax. She was taking him deep and waves of pleasure were rolling over her. Riyad obviously could feel her relax, as he raised his chest from her back, and moved out of his crouch without lessening the stroking. His hands were on her hips, but one moved around the curve of one of her buttocks and she tensed up at the feel of fingers at her bung hole.
"Oh, oh!" she gasped, her sphincter muscle closing down hard on the lubricated finger he was inserting into her.
"Relax; don't fight it," he hissed. "You'll love it. You want me."
He continued to stroke his staff deep inside her vagina as his fingers teased her other opening increasingly more slack and open to him. She moaned deeply, and he laughed.
"A little whore, aren't you? A sweet whore."
She wanted to object, but she was too taken with the mixture of pleasure and pain, of shock and fear—but also of, yes, wanting him.
She cried out as his cock came out of her cunt and moved to her other opening.
He commanded her to lay still, not to fight it—that it was what he wanted. What he knew she wanted too. She panted and groaned and writhed under him—he had leaned over her again and, now having establish purchase inside her ass channel, grasped her wrists to completely control her. Within moments, he was deep inside her. She stopped fighting him, tried to relax and will herself to open to him as much as possible, her groans turning to whimpers. She began to cry softly, her eyes focused on the berry brown of his strong hands clasping her white wrists.
Sensing her complete surrender, Riyad started moving his hips again—in, farther in, partial withdraw, in again. Ellen groaned at each invasion.
"There, I knew you wanted it, that you would love it. Tomorrow we move your things to this cabin."
She should have fought this. But she didn't. This was what she'd taken the cruise for. Yes, even for the exotic lovemaking—if it could be called any form of love.
He was withdrawing from the one channel and moving back to the other. She moaned deeply in welcome—loving it even more now that it had been lost to her for several minutes. God, the man had remarkable staying power. She had managed it. But who knew what she'd do when she returned to her own cabin.
In the morning, when Ellen returned to her cabin, there no longer was much of a question what she would do. A naked Fahd was on his back on one of the twin beds, smoking a cigarette and leering at Ellen while she moved around the cabin gathering her things. Stephanie, also naked, was straddling the Saudi's hips and riding him in long, languid motions. Ellen had no idea if Stephanie looked at her while she was in the room; Ellen was too embarrassed to make eye contact.
Riyad was waiting just outside the door to the cabin to take her back to his stateroom—and to roughly fuck her again.
