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The Violence of My Affection

Sorcha Black

Belfry Publishing
 Copyright © 2024 by Sorcha Black

All Rights Reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without written permission from the publisher or author, except as permitted by U.S. copyright
law. This is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places and events in this book are fictional. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental.

This book contains dark themes and rough scenes that will be disturbing to some readers. Visit www.sorchablack.com for more information.

This book contains scenarios that should not be attempted or emulated.

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Cover
Cari Silverwood

Editor
Nerine Dorman

To my (adult) kids, who’ve cackled with me about Loïc for the past two years.
And to my fellow neurodivergents, and our intense, beautiful, sometimes awkward af expressions of love.
 Contents

Chapter One: Loïc

Chapter Two: Tarryn
Chapter Three: Valor
Chapter Four: Tarryn
Chapter Five: Loïc
Chapter Six: Loïc
Chapter Seven: Valor
Chapter Eight: Loïc
Chapter Nine: Tarryn
Chapter Ten: Valor
Chapter Eleven: Tarryn
Chapter Twelve: Tarryn
Chapter Thirteen: Loïc
Chapter Fourteen: Valor
Chapter Fifteen: Valor
Chapter Sixteen: Valor
Chapter Seventeen: Loïc
Chapter Eighteen: Loïc
Chapter Nineteen: Tarryn
Chapter Twenty: Valor
Chapter Twenty-One: Valor
Chapter Twenty-Two: Loïc
Chapter Twenty-Three: Loïc
Chapter Twenty-Four: Valor
Chapter Twenty-Five: Valor
More from Sorcha Black
 Chapter One: Loïc

Loïc isn’t real.

None of this matters.
Loïc Leduc, Journal 14

The force of my heartbeat shook my entire body. Darkness clung to me like a shroud.
Were my eyes open or closed?
Her face clogged my mind.
Beautiful. Austere. Cold.
I knew that face better than I knew my own. I’d learned to read every movement of muscle under her alabaster skin. I could
anticipate her whims better than I could read my own hunger pangs. An abundance of meaning was evident in the narrowing of
ice blue eyes.
My brother’s eyes.
My own.
She was displeased. I could feel her irritation grate through me, even though she said nothing. I’d fucked up. I didn’t know
what I’d done, or failed to do. I rarely did.
That was the game.
My life.
Guess, Loïc. Stupid boy.
Cold prickles crawled up my spine, and ice shuddered through my limbs. I shut my eyes hard and opened them again, but she
was still standing there, pale and perfect, in the middle of my moonless room.
I loved her desperately.
Forlornly.
She’d never loved me. Not even a little.
My breaths heaved, loud and ragged. Full of terror.
 Martine wore the silk I’d killed her in, her expression as cold as she’d been in life. Still lovely, still heartless.
“You’re a nightmare. You always have been,” I whispered into the silent room. The words dropped, shaking from my lips.
Treason. Blasphemy.
She frowned, although to other people the difference would be almost imperceptible. The queen was offended.
“You’re not here.”
She wasn’t, was she?
What if she wasn’t dead?
Maybe I’d only run away again. Maybe poisoning her had been a dream.
But no. Every other time I’d run, she had me found. She’d been dead for years now. I’d seen her body in the ornate gilt
casket. I’d hosted her funeral. Given her a charming eulogy.
Her cold, dead eyes reflected steel.
She laughed at my fear, the sound making me feel small.
Groping, I found the whiskey glass I’d left beside my bed. It was heavy in my hand, still half full. The contents sloshed onto
me as I pulled back my arm and whipped it at her, the way Severin had taught me to throw a ball. The glass sailed, unseen, into
the dark, thunking loudly against a wall. I reached out again, found the lamp, then switched it on.
Gone.
That’s what I got for sleeping on a mattress and with the lights off. That’s what I got for trying to prove to myself that I wasn’t
a coward.
I got up and cleaned the mess I’d made, blotting every drop of whiskey I could find, unable to leave it until morning, even
though I tried to force myself to.
Sleeping in a bed always gave me nightmares, but it was time and more than time. I was too old—too human—to sleep on
the floor. Jack kept reminding me of that, but it was difficult to acclimate to.
I ran a whiskey-damp hand through my hair, then tugged on a hoodie and opened the hidden stairwell. Down, down.
The basement in my empty house was chilly, but not humid like home had been. I took the heavy key down off the peg and
turned it in the lock. The click wasn’t quite right, but it would suffice.
The carpenter hadn’t liked working for me even though we’d rarely spoken. People could tell what I was—although in this
instance maybe the man disapproved of what he’d been commissioned to build. He’d probably thought I was some deviant who
planned to kidnap girls and keep them in my basement. I was probably on an FBI watchlist now.
The kennel was perfect. Even if it wasn’t in an outbuilding like at home, it looked almost the same. Same dimensions. Straw
on the floor.
The whole thing still smelled new, though, and too fresh. It didn’t smell like fear or blood or pain. There was no bucket in
the corner.
Under my fingertips the bars were icy. For the first few months touching them had made me feel like I was going to piss
myself.
I went inside, forcing past the dread, sitting in the straw, clutching the key. Forcing my breathing to slow, I stared at the open
door, willing Martine to swing it shut. If she was real—even as a ghost—she would do it.
Beneath Martine’s lovely façade was the quiet kind of evil no one spoke of. If she’d been cruel to me in a fit of pique or
passion, I could have forgiven it. I doubted I’d ever inspired strong enough emotion in her for that.
Now, I might be free, but I was all wrong.
The real cage was gone, yet it lived on in my head.
 Chapter Two: Tarryn

Pirates were scarce in the area, so my second guess was vampire. Whatever the man was, he was the most beautiful person I'd
ever seen, and considering who was in the club tonight, that was a bold statement. Or, it would be a bold statement, if there
was anyone around to make it to.
Longish, messy black hair, sensual lips, silver hoops in his ears. If that wasn’t bad enough, he was wearing leather pants, a
faux-fur vest with no shirt, and what looked like biker boots. He had the kind of big dick energy that was impossible to miss.
I wasn't the kind of woman who drooled over people I didn't know, but the man made my brain glitch.
From across the club, I saw my husband clock him seconds after I had.
“Let me guess…that one?” Valor asked as I reached his side. He brushed his fingertips along my back where my new dress
left it bare. I shivered. When he held out his hand, I put my neatly folded panties in it, which he then tucked into my clutch. He
hadn’t wanted me to wear them at all tonight, but he’d agreed to let me keep them on for an hour.
“Do you seriously think a man like that would look at me twice?”
“Absolutely—unless he’s not into women.”
I gave him an affectionate shove with my shoulder. “Are you sure we want to do this?” I hoped I didn’t sound like a prude.
He was far more adventurous than I was, but I usually enjoyed his games—whatever they were—when I got used to the idea.
“This might be our last chance to back out.”
“I don’t think I’m as jealous as I used to be.”
He didn’t think he was?
That wasn’t reassuring.
But…tonight was his fantasy, not mine. I’d finally agreed to let him have this, but I’d secretly hoped he’d back out
I smiled up at him, then continued to watch the man on the dance floor. It was a packed house tonight, and it seemed as if all
of the most beautiful people on the planet were here. Sure, I was pretty, but I felt out of my league—especially if Valor had his
heart set on this specific guy.
Who was he? No one even knew about this club unless they had money—musicians, actors, rich business people. We were
only allowed in because my husband had business connections that opened some doors. My acting career was decent enough,
but I was one of the little fish here.
“Propositioning someone for something like this can’t be that much different from finding a couple to watch and be watched
by, can it?” I tried to sound confident, but had no idea if it was true.
 He smiled and shrugged. “We already knew those couples from kink clubs. This is different. For all we know, he could be
completely vanilla and be horrified. That’s part of the fun.” Valor sipped at his drink and slid his glance over to the man again,
who was dancing alone, eyes closed, moving as though the music was running through his veins.
“Your definition of fun is getting weirder every year.”
“You enjoy my brand of weird.”
“Till death do us part. If our kinks keep evolving together, we may just make it, Mr. Davenport.”
“Was there ever any doubt that we’d make it?”
“I don’t know. You need to stop dressing so well. It’s making me look bad.”
“Duly noted.”
I laughed up at him, and he grinned back, brushing his lips against mine.
God, I loved this wild, gorgeous man. I wished we could spend more time together.
“Should one of us go up to him first and ask to dance? Buy him a drink?”
My pulse was throbbing in my ears almost in time with the music. I still couldn’t believe Valor wanted to watch me have sex
with another man. I also couldn’t believe I’d finally caved.
The ghost of my old purity ring was thoroughly tarnished. At least I no longer believed I was going to burn in Hell because of
our kinks.
“I’m really hoping he says no,” I admitted.
“I’ve yet to meet a straight man who couldn’t be enticed by a gorgeous redhead.” He tangled his fingers in the back of my
hair and gave it a firm tug that made my knees weak.
My husband’s smile should be labeled as a controlled substance. I gazed at him in nervous adoration. We’d started dating in
fifth grade. In all the years since, neither of us had ever slept with anyone else. How could I let him talk me into this? What if
my family found out?
“What if you’re jealous?” I asked. We’d already discussed this to death, but I needed more reassurance. “What if you can’t
get over it?”
“I won’t let a scenario I’ve talked you into ruin our relationship. It’s my fantasy, so it’s my responsibility if I hurt my own
feelings with it.”
Watching the stranger, I groaned inwardly. We’d set our sights too high. The man danced with illicit, unbridled sensuality. It
was impossible not to think about what he would look like when he was fucking.
My heart fluttered uncomfortably.
Even imagining the man naked felt dirty and disloyal, but if I was going to do this, I was going to need to talk myself into a
heck of a lot more than just letting my thoughts wander.
I longed to run my fingers through Valor’s blond hair for reassurance, but he was too tall for me to reach it. I loved him so
much—had loved him since we’d met—and I was terrified that this might mess things up. The last thing I wanted to do was be
Valor’s ex-wife. We were supposed to beat the odds and stay together, despite already having been together forever.
“I want to try it once, okay Nymph? If you hate it, we never have to do it again.”
He always said that, but I always ended up absorbing his kinks as my own. It was frustrating. Was I that impressionable, or
did he know me better than I knew myself?
I blew out a breath. “If he laughs in my face, you’re paying for my therapy.”
With as much confidence as I could muster, I made my way onto the dance floor. How was I supposed to do this when I’d
never even flirted with a stranger?
When I reached the crowded space, I let the music take over, trying not to be self-conscious about dancing without a partner.
I could feel Valor watching me and damn him, my thighs were already slick, and my nipples felt like they were going to poke
holes in my thin dress. Could people see my piercings through the fabric? I’d forgotten to check.
I could still feel his touch where it had lingered on my bare back, and I shivered.
The man could talk me into literally anything.
The stranger was intimidatingly stunning—tall, dark-haired, hard jaw. He wore his clothes with an easy elegance that spoke
of money. I couldn’t figure out if he looked familiar.
Movie star? Rockstar? Model?
His clothes skimmed his body like they’d paid for the privilege. He had broad shoulders and a narrow waist and hips, but
then again, expensive clothes could do a lot for a person.
If this worked out, I’d see this stranger naked.
Did I really want to see him naked?
Well…yes.
But did I really want a stranger touching me? No. Not even so my husband could watch.
The idea was terrifying rather than thrilling, but I would do anything for Valor, up to and including making a fool of myself. It
had always been that way with us, and he had rarely steered me wrong.
 I shifted closer to the stranger a bit at a time, trying to make my approach look accidental, but probably failing miserably. By
the time I was in front of him, I’d been on the dance floor for at least ten minutes. I tried to pretend we were dancing together,
but his eyes stayed closed. I glanced back over my shoulder, and Valor was taking a casual sip of his drink, but his eyes were
sharp, fastened on me, like they almost always were.
He was eagerly waiting for me to make my move. I could see a hint of his arousal in his jeans, and I gave him the most
coquettish smile I could muster, even though I felt like I was going to throw up.
As I turned back to the stranger, the man’s eyes snapped open, and he stopped dancing.
God—his eyes. They were so pale they were almost silver. His gaze was unnerving.
“Can I help you?” he demanded, his accent faint and sexy, albeit irritable.
French?
I grimaced and bit my bottom lip. “I’m…sorry. Do you want to be alone?”
He turned to walk off the dance floor, but snagged my hand as he did so, pulling me along with him. Surprised and a bit
alarmed, I trotted after him, hoping he wasn’t planning to drag me down the hall to a bathroom, or worse, out into an alleyway.
Valor would love that, but I wasn’t prepared for anything so public. I had a career to think about.
As soon as we were off the dance floor, he headed for a quieter corner. At least he hadn’t pulled me towards the door.
“Did Martine send you?” His tone was suspicious.
I blinked at him. “Who?”
He studied my face. Wow. His eyes really were disturbing. They were strange, wolf eyes, and they made me feel like Little
Red Riding Hood. It would make perfect sense if a man this beautiful was some sort of paranormal creature, like a werewolf
or vampire. Men like this didn’t converse with mere mortals.
“Never mind. What can I do for you?”
Yes, he was definitely French, but his English was flawless other than the accent.
“We were wondering if we could buy you a drink,” Valor said, coming up behind me. I’d expected him any minute,
considering he’d never left me undefended in all the years I’d known him.
“Why would I accept a drink from not one, but two strangers?” He leveled his gaze on Valor, but my husband was used to
dealing with powerful, suspicious men.
“I don’t think we’ve ever seen you around before.”
“Is there a rule against strangers being here?”
“No, of course not. I’m sure the club would go out of business if new people stopped showing up.” Valor chuckled, but the
other man didn’t even smile politely. It was interesting seeing the two of them standing together. The stranger was tall and
forbidding, with longish dark hair, while Valor looked like he could’ve been the star quarterback at our high school. He’d
always been too busy for anything other than his ambitions. It was how we’d gone from teenagers living off of macaroni and
cheese in a shitty apartment, to being where we were now, at the ripe old age of twenty-eight.
The stranger’s expression held the sort of ennui one would expect from an immortal. “What do you want?”
“Why come here if you don’t want to socialize?” Valor asked.
“The same reason as everyone else—the energy.”
Valor signaled for a server. He ordered another drink for himself but I shook my head. There was no way I was drinking
more tonight. He raised an eyebrow at the stranger who gave a dismissive flick of his fingers.
“Thank you, no.”
So haughty.
Yeah, this guy wasn’t going to work out. Unfortunately, rather than moving on, Valor looked all the more intrigued. My
husband didn’t like anything as much as he liked a challenge. I tried my best not to roll my eyes but neither of them was paying
attention to me anyway.
“I’m sorry if we interrupted your evening.”
“You’re not sorry.” He paused. “Are you sex workers?”
My unflappable husband, who conducted business meetings with high-powered executives every day, choked on the last sip
of his drink.
“Pardon?”
“Are you sex workers?”
“No. I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before.”
Ice-blue eyes moved from my husband to me and back again. “Then what do you people want?”
Valor laughed, but the man did not. It was hard to tell if he was annoyed or intrigued. I was hoping for annoyed. If he wasn’t
interested, maybe Valor would give up on this idea, at least for tonight. We were only in town for a few days before we both
had to head to our respective homes, and I’d rather spend the time alone with my husband.
“I’m looking for a man to sleep with my wife.”
Seriously? I wanted to swat him. How could he throw that out there without even trying to make friends and maybe ease into
the subject? If he was going to be this unsubtle about it, we could have put an ad online. Maybe taken out a damned billboard.
The stranger looked from him to me again.
“Does she get a say in the matter?”
“Of course. She agreed.”
“It wasn’t your idea?” he asked me.
“No. He wants to watch.” I probably should have made an effort to make it seem like I was more on board with the idea, but
hey, if Valor wanted to lay his cards on the table with this guy, I could do the same.
“Are you having fertility issues or something?”
Valor seemed to have lost the ability to speak and stared at the man. “No, why?”
“Why else would you be offering the woman I presume you are in love with to a complete stranger? If this woman was mine,
I would gouge out a man’s eyes for admiring her too long. I definitely wouldn’t be offering to share her.”
Wow… I…
Why was that hot?
I hid my ripple of mortified laughter by turning to greet the server who had returned with Valor’s fresh drink, and to take his
now empty glass. At least the interruption broke the silence.
If my husband was that violently possessive of me, would I be flattered or annoyed? It was definitely sexy when this guy said
it.
“Everyone has their kinks. Just because it’s not your kink, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with it.”
The man grunted.
Why wasn’t Valor giving up on this guy? Even if he was determined this had to happen tonight, there must be other men at the
club who would be a better match.
“Is that hard for you to wrap your head around?”
“I would be too jealous. Maybe I could share my lovers with each other, but not with a stranger.”
Long, strange hesitations stretched out before his responses. He had an intense way of focusing his attention, too—staring,
then avoiding eye contact. It made him difficult to read. Hot, cold, hot.
“What if the man you choose is dangerous? Maybe you invite him to your apartment and he kills you and keeps your beautiful
wife for himself. There are a lot of creepy men around.”
Valor frowned. “Are you one of them?”
“One of what?”
“One of the creepy men?”
The stranger considered it. “I think everyone is creepy if they take an honest look at themselves.”
“Well, that’s reassuring,” Valor said with a twist of his mouth that I think was mostly a smile.
“You’re the one propositioning a stranger. It’s not my job to reassure you.”
The two of them stared at each other, and I could almost feel the energy crackling between them, like a fight waiting to break
out or maybe something more sinister.
“Will you fuck my wife while I watch—yes, or no?”
The man flashed an angry smile. “I will, if only to protect her from your reckless self-absorption.”
He didn’t look at me, but I was fluttery all the same. That a complete stranger would do this to protect me from other
complete strangers was ludicrous but also strangely chivalrous.
“Do you have somewhere in mind, or will the back alleyway suffice?” He said it so dryly that for a moment I thought he was
serious.
So, he was doing this grudgingly? Great. That didn’t make me feel like a pity case at all.
“I was thinking a hotel room.”
“Smart not to invite me into your home. I could turn into an obsessive stalker.”
“There’s no guarantee anyone we meet on any given day won’t turn into an obsessive stalker.”
He chewed on that, not looking happy about it. “I don’t even know your names.”
“Doesn’t the anonymity make it more exciting?”
“It’s not my fantasy, so I don’t find any of it exciting. If you don’t want to give me your real names, at least give me fake ones
to use. I usually got that much consideration even when I was a whore.”
If he was looking to scare Valor off with that statement, he had no clue who he was dealing with.
“A whore?”
“Yes. Retired. Does that shock you?” This poor man seemed impatient and aggravated, but I could tell Valor was intrigued.
“No, we’re not easily shocked. I wouldn’t have guessed you used to do sex work, but that doesn’t matter to us.”
“Please don’t feel obligated to do this,” I cut in. It had to be said, and I was the only one in the situation who would bother
saying it.
“Oh, don’t get me wrong. I’m perfectly willing to fuck you. Have you done this before? Picked up a stranger at a club…or
wherever?”
“No. Neither of us has ever been with anyone else.”
He gave a nod, as though us never having had other partners wasn’t unusual. “I’m Loïc.”
Sexy name—it suited him.
“I’m Tarryn. My husband is Valor.”
He studied us for a moment, then led the way out of the club, not checking to make sure we were following him.
The car ride was awkward. Valor encouraged me to ride in the backseat with the stranger, probably anticipating that
something sexy would happen. Instead, I focused on trying to stop my hands from shaking while both men watched me—Loïc
covertly, and Valor in the rearview mirror.
After what seemed like three hours but was probably ten minutes, Valor pulled up at a hotel, and a neatly uniformed valet
came to take over. A bellhop grabbed our bags from the trunk.
Checking in was awkward. Loïc and I stood silently by one of the front windows while Valor spoke to the woman. It felt like
everyone was staring, like everyone knew what was about to happen. Hopefully, they were only curious about the beautiful
man I was standing with.
If anyone recognized me, this could get even more embarrassing.
Of course, Valor had chosen somewhere upscale. A motel would have been easier, with an outside door we could use to
maintain some anonymity, but we hadn’t been poor in a long time, and Valor had become allergic to anything that reminded him
of our former money troubles.
Even the elevator was fancy.
“I don’t think this was what your husband had in mind,” Loïc said conspiratorially, as we watched the numbers zip upward.
I smiled, glad to know I wasn’t the only one feeling ill at ease.
“Yeah, I don’t think he fantasized about awkward silences.”
Loïc chuckled. The stiff hostility he’d shown at the club had melted away, probably because the couple who’d picked him up
were acting like virginal dorks.
Valor gave me a secret, excited smile, and I couldn’t help but smile back.
The elevator door opened, and Valor led the way down the hall to one of the two suites on the top floor. Loïc didn’t seem
impressed by the lavishness of the hotel any more than Valor was, but even though I was nervous, I was cataloging the style
choices and admiring the light fixtures.
Valor used his thumbprint to open the suite door and gestured us inside.
In the entryway, Loïc took my hand, and slid my clutch off my wrist, then put it on the side table by the front door.
The suite was gorgeous, with a vaulted ceiling and so many windows that during the day it must feel like sitting on the face
of the sun.
City lights winked far below, as though we were in a spaceship hovering far above the rest of humanity.
“Why would you ask a stranger to do this, rather than asking someone you knew and trusted?” Loïc asked as Valor flipped
the deadbolt shut.
“I thought it would be easier if it was someone we wouldn’t see again,” I admitted.
“Understandable. Condoms?”
My gaze clashed with Valor’s. He wanted to watch another man fill me with cum, but I wasn’t so sure.
“We’ve been tested and don’t have any STIs. You?”
“I’ve been tested extensively, and I’ve been celibate for a few years.”
Really? Why was a guy this hot celibate?
His gaze shifted from Valor to me. “Are you sure you don’t want condoms? What if you get pregnant?”
“I’m on the shot,” I informed him, feeling myself heat with another blush as the thrill of possibility ran through me. God, what
if he really did get me pregnant? The shot wasn’t a hundred percent effective, but the chance of me getting pregnant from one
encounter was minimal—especially since I’d been with Valor for years and had taken many more risks. I was starting to
suspect that if we were going to have biological children, we’d need medical intervention.
The idea of this man filling me with cum, though…breeding me right in front of Valor…it was shockingly dirty. Distressingly
hot.
He was watching me with calculating curiosity, as though he were reading my mind. He held out a hand and waited, his gaze
fastening to mine, making me feel like he was looking through my skin, x-raying my feelings. When I laid my hand in his, he
pulled me closer, until my chest was pressed against him and he was looking down at me, close enough that if he lowered his
head our lips would touch.
“Do you think he’s jealous yet?” he stage whispered.
His smile was almost imperceptible, but a flicker of amusement in his pale gaze made his eyes less eerie.
Valor had settled into an armchair across the room, apparently determined to stay out of our way.
“If he was jealous, why would he want me to do this?”
 “That’s a good question.”
He wrapped his arms around me, and I tipped my head back, wordlessly letting him know I was fine with him kissing me if
he wanted to.
“No one but your husband has ever kissed this mouth?”
I bit my bottom lip and shook my head. “Valor has been my only for everything.”
Loïc found the bare skin at the back of my dress and swept his fingers up my spine. They were rougher than I would have
anticipated—not smooth and uncalloused like Valor’s. The awareness that I was being touched by another man, burst through
me, a forbidden thrill. It wasn’t one of my fantasies, but if it was what Valor wanted? I could do this for him.
My plan had been to try not to enjoy it, so I wouldn’t feel so disloyal, but…
I went up on my toes and wrapped my arms around Loïc’s neck. Tentatively, I let my fingers slide into his dark hair.
I pressed my lips to his, feeling silly, not sure if I knew how to kiss right. He kissed me back, pulling me in closer, his tongue
sliding between my lips, opening my mouth with gentle insistence. My shudder was involuntary, as was my quiet gasp. I played
with his hair, running my nails along his scalp, and he groaned into my mouth. We kissed for a few minutes as he slid his hands
slowly downward, then cupped my ass and pulled me close. I could feel his erection, and I rubbed against it, trying to imagine
this was Valor—that he just felt different tonight. But he didn’t kiss like Valor, or smell like Valor, and his hands were bigger,
harder. He was a bit taller than Valor, too, and the sweep of his hair brushed my cheek.
He broke our kiss and pressed his forehead to mine. “Your skin is soft,” he said reverently. “Your mouth is so sweet.”
I tried not to look at him, but his gaze insisted on eye contact, and then there was no way to pretend this man was my
husband. They weren’t the same at all and trying to trick myself wasn’t working.
He picked me up, and I squeaked in surprise. Instinctually, my legs went around his waist. I was afraid to look at Valor, but
then was afraid not to. I glanced his way as Loïc moved us to the sofa. Valor looked relaxed, leaning back in the chair he’d
claimed, but his rapt gaze and flexing jaw told me he was turned on.
Loïc settled onto the seat, with me on his lap, straddling him, super aware of my bare pussy rubbing against the warm leather
of his pants. My face was hot with embarrassment as he trailed his curious fingers underneath the back of my dress to my ass.
“Did someone steal your panties?” Loïc asked gravely, as though I might want to report the theft to police.
“He made me take them off. I spotted you just before I handed them over.”
“So, you’re the one who chose me?”
I nodded, even though it had technically been both of us.
“I could be anyone with a dick and it wouldn’t matter to him?”
“I don’t know. You’d have to ask.”
“It doesn’t matter to me. I was only curious.”
He slid his hands under my dress to cup my backside. He squeezed, and let out a rumble of appreciation. “You have a sexy
ass.”
Rather than attempt to come up with a reply, I kissed him again. It was easier to reach his mouth in this position. Was it
wrong that I enjoyed kissing him and the way he was touching me? His fingers brushed over my pussy, and I blushed, aware of
how wet I was. It felt weird and forbidden, but Valor had taught me to enjoy so many shameful things over the past several
years.
I could feel him in the corner, watching us, so I tried my best to look pretty for him, then forgot about him again when the
fingers between my legs found my clit hood piercing and explored it gently.
“Naughty girl.” Loïc smiled against my mouth. “Not an innocent little almost-virgin.”
I shook my head and wriggled my hips to grind my clit against his fingers, but he pulled them away.
He slipped my dress off my shoulders and trailed his fingers over my bare skin, slowly lowering the bodice until the fabric
glided down, exposing my breasts.
“Perfection.”
I blushed at the praise, knowing I was far from perfect but feeling far more confident because he was attracted to me.
He explored me with his hands, then pulled me up to a high kneel across his lap. Leaning in, he tugged one of my nipple
piercings with his teeth, making me gasp. His soft lips latched on, and he sucked my nipple into his mouth. Jolts of heat spread
through my already overheated body. By the time he got to my other nipple, I was whimpering and making little begging sounds
that seemed loud in the suite’s living room. Hopefully the place had decent soundproofing.
He moved his mouth back and forth—one breast, then the other. He made me ache and itch and squirm, my cries getting
louder and more plaintive the longer he tortured my poor, eventually sore nipples.
When I was impatient for more, he stood me between his knees and stripped my dress the rest of the way off, then removed
my heels.
I stole another glance at my husband, hoping this was okay with him—wanting to know if it wasn’t. I couldn’t read his
expression for once. Torn maybe? Or was that just wishful thinking on my part?
Was it terrible that I wanted him to regret letting another man touch me?
 When I turned my attention back to Loïc, his gaze was roaming over me, lingering on my face, my eyes, my lips. He stroked
the column of my throat with a gentle hand.
“You’re very beautiful,” he murmured low enough that I doubted Valor could hear from where he sat.
I felt a blush heat my face and neck.
“Your husband is a fool for sharing you. If you were mine, I’d lock you away.”
What?
He pushed off his vest. Before that, I hadn’t noticed the scars. There were several, as though he’d been through some shit. It
probably wasn’t polite to ask a one-night stand what had happened to him.
If anything, the scars made him hotter. More dangerous.
His body looked like it had been sculpted by a meticulous artist who spent half of his time gazing longingly at his own
creation. Every bulge and angle and curve was perfect—lean, but a true work of art. He wasn’t bulky enough to be a serious
bodybuilder, but he was so appealing to the eye that I was lost, trying to decide if I should be admiring his face or the parts of
him that held it up.
“Do you wax your chest?” Valor didn’t. Loïc’s was perfectly smooth, without a hint of stubble.
His mouth quirked. “No. I can’t seem to grow chest hair. Does that make me hideous?”
As if anything could?
I laughed, and his eyes lit with shared amusement.
He sat back on the sofa and patted his lap. Shaking, I perched on his hard thigh, feeling small and exposed.
“Before we go any further, you need to tell me if this is what you really want.” He gave me a wicked smile. It was a good
thing I was already sitting down because my knees felt like they were made of water. “Has this gone far enough? Should I leave
so you can be alone with your husband?”
I should have looked over at Valor to see what he wanted me to do, but Loïc’s uncanny eyes had arrested me, and I couldn’t
look away.
“Don’t even think of looking at him. Tell me what you want.”
“I…” My voice faltered. I didn’t know how to ask for what I wanted. I’d never needed to ask—Valor always knew. He
always gave me what I wanted in bed before I even knew I wanted it.
I fumbled with his belt buckle.
His hand covered mine, gently stopping me. “First you need to ask for what you want, and then I’ll decide whether you’re
getting it.”
A jolt of pure lust ran through my bones, along with the desire to hide from his eyes. He kept my chin up and made me meet
his gaze.
“Use your words.”
“I want you to fuck me,” I admitted hesitantly, watching his expression, not sure if I was saying what he wanted me to say.
What if he didn’t want this at all? Was he really just agreeing to protect me? “And can you be in charge? I’m not an in-charge
kind of girl.”
The desire in his eyes put my conscience at ease, at least where he was concerned. He wasn’t simply doing this out of the
goodness of his heart.
“Do you like it rough?”
A thrill of apprehension stole through me. “Yes,” I breathed. “Not too rough though. No maiming or anything.”
“Do you want a safeword?”
With a stranger? Absolutely. “Ghost pepper?”
“Not a big fan of ghost peppers?”
“Too spicy for me. Does anyone really like them?”
His eyes gleamed with amusement. “I’ll keep that in mind. It’s probably a good safeword for all of us tonight.” He shot Valor
a look, and Valor nodded.
He picked me up. I thought he was carrying me to the bed, but he walked over to the wall with me, putting my back against it
between two of the suite’s large windows.
Night was thick and velvet beyond the glass, and the room was dim, but I still wondered if people on the street could see us
if they bothered looking up.
The spot gave Valor a front-row seat. Heck, he was potentially in the splash zone.
This time, Loïc’s kiss was hard and demanding. I wrapped my legs around his hips more firmly and kissed him back, letting
my husband see me put my tongue in Loïc’s mouth, hoping he was jealous as hell and regretting loaning me out.
I was grinding against him, sucking his tongue, when he broke our kiss and shoved me higher up the wall. I squeaked in
surprise and clung to his head as he hooked my thighs over his shoulders. He laughed at my sounds of distress, his breath hot
against my damp pussy.
He groaned and buried his face between my thighs, giving one of my pussy lips a nip that made me yelp. He bit the insides of
my thighs, leaving sharp teeth marks in the pale flesh, making me feel like I’d been mauled. With a growl, he grabbed my ass
and stroked his tongue around my clit, seeming fascinated by the clit hood piercing, making me whimper with frustration before
zeroing in on where I really wanted him. His big hands kneaded my ass, and his fingertips strayed to stroke my asshole, making
me squirm shamelessly against his mouth. I panted, planting my hands against the wall behind me. My feet found purchase on
his flexing back, and I pushed myself at him, angling my hips insistently.
His sexy, indulgent huff of laughter penetrated the lusty fog of my brain. I whined, wanting more, impatient for his cock.
When I was shaking with frustrated desperation, he slid me down his body. He reached under me and lined himself up, then
impaled my already-slick pussy in a series of delicious thrusts. His cock was thick and so hard it felt like it had no give to it—
as though it were metal rather than mortal.
“You like a stranger’s bare cock in your hot little puss, ma jolie?” he whispered harshly in my ear.
I shuddered, already so close, my impending orgasm making my lower belly cramp.
He was big and the position was overwhelming to the point of pain, but I needed him so badly I whined but didn’t actually
protest. Each of his thrusts was hard and wild, and he crushed me against the wall again, grunting, making me feel as
substantial as a doll. With my feet on the back of his calves, I tried to participate, but he didn’t need my help. My head fell back
against the wall, each of my breaths a gasp of pained pleasure. I was unsurprised to discover I couldn’t take all of him, but I
did what I could, squeezing him with my inner muscles and tipping my hips to get a better angle.
A cruel hand buried in my hair, making me shudder as he exposed my throat and grazed it with his teeth.
Maybe he really was a vampire.
What a fucking way to die.
He slid his mouth up my neck to my ear. “I’m going to fill you with so much cum, your body will know it’s mine,” he
growled, then moved his mouth lower, biting my neck, making my eyes roll back. I half expected his teeth to slide deeper, to
open my neck, for my blood to spurt into his mouth. I ground against him, hanging onto his slick back, every flex of muscle
under my hands and thighs perfect and beautiful.
My pussy was dripping, his cock was slick, and my clit was crushed against him, the erotic flex of his hips rubbing exactly
where I wanted.
“Do you think your birth control will hold out?” he whispered. “Or do you think your husband is going to be stuck raising a
little French bastard?”
A blush heated my chest and neck. My orgasm teetered, trembled. If he said one more fucking word I was going to explode
on his cock.
“Yes, you like that idea, my dirty little pervert.” His voice was a warm rumble in my ear that made my body shake with the
force of my lust. Every thrust was more emphatic. “I’m going to come in this tight little pussy. I’m going to put a baby in your
pretty belly. Maybe I’ll steal you for myself.”
I gasped as my body tensed, locked. My high-pitched whine filled the room.
“That’s right, woman. Milk my cock. I know my cum is what you really want.”
The first shuddering pulse of my orgasm made me gasp for air and struggle on the cruel bar of his dick.
“Fffuck.” He groaned against my throat, grunting through thrust after thrust as I came hard, squeezing my eyes shut as his cock
bucked inside me, hot and slick and filling me up.
My cheeks were wet. Was I crying?
He rubbed his face against mine, holding still for much longer than he needed to, his slickness slowly sliding out of me and
back onto him, and dripping onto the floor. He’d come deep inside me. The hot liquid scalded like a brand.
“Such a good girl for me.”
Carefully, he withdrew and lowered me to the floor. My legs wobbled. He swept me into his arms.
His words echoed in my head.
My birth control shot will hold, right?
“Fucking hell,” someone murmured.
Oh shit.
I’d completely forgotten about my husband.
 Chapter Three: Valor

I was unreasonably angry.

Wildly horny.
Jealousy gripped me in brutal jaws, and yet I’d humiliatingly come in my jeans and was hard all over again.
She’d tried to be quiet, had failed miserably, and now tears were streaming down her cheeks.
Had he been too rough? He’d manhandled her like she was a doll.
Or was she only overwhelmed…or was she upset about what I’d talked her into? She tried so hard to be perfectly
submissive, but sometimes it was a terrifying responsibility knowing she expected me to be able to read her mind. Did I want
to push her a little past her comfort zone tonight? Yes, but I absolutely didn’t want to traumatize her. She was my entire heart,
and if I betrayed her trust in me, I would never forgive myself.
With a beautiful flex of muscle all along his shoulders and arms, he carried her into the bedroom. His back was broad and
artfully sculpted, and narrowed to his waist and hips, where his leather pants had slid low, clinging to his body. When we’d
picked him up at the club, I’d known objectively that he was hot, but I hadn’t realized how cut he was until he was half naked.
I’d noticed his scars at the club, but there were more than I’d anticipated. From a man’s perspective, the scars were cool, but I
had no idea whether Tarryn found them attractive.
Watching him fuck her had been one of the most erotic experiences of my life, and yet it had twisted me up knowing she
wanted him, and that his cock was inside her—inside the pussy of the woman I loved—sharing that intimate part of her that had
only ever been mine.
That his cum, rather than mine, was dripping down her thighs.
No one else had ever even kissed her, let alone been inside her. Now some other man had come inside her, and I was frantic
to get inside her again and replace his claim with my own.
The thought of sliding into her pussy when it had been left slick by some other man? It made my cock twitch so hard I
worried I might get off again before I even got her alone.
He’d whispered that maybe he’d try to steal her, but my Nymph would never leave me. Not even for him.
She’d been mine since the day she’d been the new girl in our grade five class and I’d sat with her at lunch, basking under her
fascinated and fascinating attention.
I’d been obsessed with her.
I still was.
 Was I jealous? Fuck, yes. She had liked this more than I’d anticipated, and had looked for my support and validation less
than I’d thought she’d need. She’d even opened his pants and had participated in the fucking, instead of lying passively, the way
I’d imagined…the way I’d trained her to. Watching him pumping into her naked, helpless body, had been indescribably erotic,
though. The arch of her body in his arms. His mouth on her. The interplay of muscle in his back and ass. The way his pants had
slid low, showing me his body.
I wanted to see the rest of it.
I swallowed at the thought of seeing him entirely naked. My balls felt too tight again. What the fuck?
It was fine to appreciate the physique a man obviously worked hard on, right? Admiration wasn’t the same as desire. Anyone
would inspect the hard bulges and flat planes of his body. It was the same urge as wanting to run fingers over sculpted marble.
Admiring beauty wasn’t inherently sexual.
Seeing her tight little pussy stretched around his big cock had been…
I shuddered, wishing I could have recorded some of it to replay later. Their expressions. The sight of their bodies fitting
together. Her gorgeous tits mashed against his hard chest. His very vocal enjoyment of my beautiful, treasured wife.
The sight of his cum dripping from her swollen little cunt.
When I couldn’t see them from my vantage point, I followed them into the bedroom, my jeans a mess, my cock still drooling
and balls blue.
What did he plan to do with her next? He laid her out on the sheets.
Tarryn was glassy eyed and shut down, the way she got in the aftermath of a spectacular orgasm, but if his still-impressive
erection was any indication, he wasn’t done with her yet. I stood inside the doorway, watching, not sure if he would get freaked
out if I whipped out my dick and gave it some attention. It wouldn’t take much to relieve the pressure from watching him
worshiping her the way she deserved. I was married to the most beautiful woman I’d ever met, and doing this had been as
erotic as I’d hoped, watching him appreciate what was mine—what would never be his.
He turned his head to look at me, his pale eyes almost electrifying me where I stood. I shuddered, and he crooked a finger,
summoning me closer.
Cautiously, I approached, wondering what he had in mind. Maybe he wanted me to hold her down, or for us to double-team
her? Tarryn and I hadn't discussed that ahead of time.
“On your knees.”
What?
I stared at him, realizing he was broader than me, and slightly taller. The idea that he could probably make me do it flashed
through my mind. It had been a long time since someone had tried to boss me around. I was dominant, and I wasn’t into men.
“What? Why?”
“You’re the one who wanted to play this game. You invited me in.”
“So?”
“Get on your fucking knees.” There was something in his gaze that let me know I wasn’t the ringmaster of this circus, no
matter what I’d thought.
I shook my head. Swallowed. “I don’t…play with other men.”
“I’m not playing.” He pointed to the floor in front of him. He didn’t touch me, but his jaw hardened, and I could see it all in
my head—how I would refuse, and he would force me down. Maybe it was only my imagination, but the malice in his gaze was
evil and captivating. “This is your fantasy.”
This wasn’t part of my fantasy.
I searched his face. There was no hesitation in it, no hint that he thought I might refuse him. I’d never submitted to anyone in
my life. It absolutely wasn’t my kink.
“I don’t think—”
“I didn’t ask you to fucking think.” He caught me by the hair and pushed me downward. I should have fought—should have
safeworded—but instead, I lowered myself to my knees, my gaze taking in every hard ripple of muscle in his chest and stomach
on my way down. His pants were open, in peril of slipping from his hips, and his cock jutted straight at me, imposing,
glistening with his and Tarryn’s combined cum.
“Clean this mess.”
What? No.
I wouldn’t.
Absolutely not.
I lifted my gaze to his, assuming there would be some last-minute reprieve where he would laugh and tell me he was fucking
with me.
Why wasn’t I getting up? Pushing him away? There was no gun to my head, but he was impossible to refuse.
Why?
There was an aura around him—command mixed with a desirability that made me feel like I was his inferior. No other man
had ever made me feel that way.
“I don’t want to do this.”
“It wasn’t a request.”
God, his eyes were cold. Calculating. Was he reading my mind? Could he see something I’d been hiding from myself? I’d
never wanted a man before, but I got the feeling his gender was completely irrelevant to how I was feeling.
Maybe I was slightly curious to see what this was like. It didn’t need to mean anything. If Tarryn had been doing this for me
since way before we should have even been thinking about sex, I should at least know what it felt like. Right? It felt weirdly
fair.
“I don’t know how,” I admitted sheepishly, regretting the words as they left my mouth. Now he was going to think I was into
it—worse, she was going to think I was.
“I’m sure you can figure it out.”
I glanced at Tarryn. As dazed as she was, she was watching what transpired between us. The idea of doing this was strange
enough, but doing it in front of her—letting another man dominate me in front of the woman I had been dominating forever—that
was a completely different story. What if I did this and we could never go back to the way we were? What if I did this and she
saw me differently forever?
You did this to yourself, jackass.
I wished he would overpower me—yank me closer, not give me a choice. It would give me an excuse. His look of patient
expectation was enough, and I was ashamed of not wanting to fight him harder.
I closed my eyes.
“Ah, ah,” he admonished. “Keep those pretty eyes on me.”
Fuck, this was humiliating. Hot, but humiliating.
Hesitation was only prolonging the inevitable.
I leaned in and licked the head of his cock, tasting my wife on the thick head of it. Her taste was so gratifyingly familiar it
was like a trick he was playing, masking himself with her taste and scent to make me forget what he was making me do.
No. What I was doing with very little prompting.
I dragged my tongue over him again, trying to keep my eyes locked on his, realizing only then how difficult it was to do. How
did Tarryn make it look so easy? So sexy?
I had a fleeting thought that I should ask her later, but the idea of requesting blowjob pointers from my submissive wife was
surreal.
“Good boy,” he rasped. “Now take me in your mouth.”
I bristled, glared, offended that he would refer to me as a boy. We had to be nearly the same age. Because of the language I
used with my submissive, about her being a good girl, it hit too close to home.
“Open for me. Wider now. Perfect.”
I hated myself as he flexed his hips and pushed the head of his cock inside. It felt huge in my mouth, and I tried not to gag. He
took my jaw in his hands and stroked it, closing my reluctant lips around him.
“Now suck, Valor. Make me feel good with that pretty, slutty mouth.”
I felt my cheeks warm, embarrassed, and turned on, feeling like a teenager experimenting back when everything was new.
Hell, this was new.
Self-consciously, I sucked, giving him what I liked. Then I remembered to listen to his body the way I used to coach Tarryn
to do for me. He leaned back against the footboard. Was he looking for support from the furniture because it was good, or was
he bored with my fumbling attempt? How many men had he done this to? He was too confident, his gaze unwavering on mine as
though he were controlling me with his mind. It was more difficult to do than I thought it would be, and I had an embarrassingly
shallow gag reflex, but his hips stirred and he eventually directed me more firmly with his handful of my hair, his grip half
erotic and half cruel. He pushed deeper, crooning to me.
“That’s right, pretty. Open your throat.”
It was humiliating, and I hated it, and I hated him as he made me gag and drool. My eyes felt red, and I hoped like hell I
wasn’t crying. It was only my physiological reaction to being so close to puking so many times, right? How did Tarryn bear
this? When we were young and I was training her, I’d always teased her for being a baby about it. Loïc quickly taught me more
respect for her—for what I’d put her through, and for what she’d learned to do for me.
How could I be giving a guy a blowjob and yet falling more in love with my wife every minute?
My jaw hurt. My tongue was sore.
He pulled me off him before he came, but I could feel the tension in his body. His orgasm had been close, and I was
unreasonably proud of myself for achieving that much. He was going to get up and finish off in Tarryn, or maybe come on her
tits. That would be hot. My jaws hurt, but my hair hurt more as he tugged me to my feet.
He let go and unbuttoned my jeans as I stood there, staring at him, frozen in surprise.
Oh…he probably felt like he owed me a blowjob now. Having a guy blow me was a weird idea, but it made sense that this
would be reciprocal.
He shoved down my jeans, and I waited for him to notice the wet mess from when I’d come in them—maybe to mock me for
it. Damning precum was dripping from my dick.
“All of it off.”
I stripped naked, completely confused. Why he needed all my clothes off to give me a blowjob, I wasn’t sure, but I was glad
he understood we were both dominant—both equal. Maybe this would save me in Tarryn’s eyes, at least a little.
“Very nice,” he said, perusing my body. “Now, turn around.”
What?
He yanked on my arm to make me turn, then pushed me down over the end of the bed. My hips caught on the edge of the
footboard, tipping my ass obscenely upward.
“You haven’t been fucked in the ass before?”
What the fuck?
“N—no.”
He spat, and I gasped at the feel of the rude liquid sliding down the crack of my ass. He spread it over my skin, lower, his
fingers touching a part of me no one had ever dared to touch before. I’d never even explored there myself, other than to wash.
“No, I haven’t done this before.” My voice cracked as one of his fingers investigated, coaxed, quested inside just a little. I
sucked in a breath and my cock bobbed alarmingly.
“I’ll try to be patient.” He spat again, adding more lubrication as he convinced my body to take his finger deeper.
I gasped.
I needed to stop him before this went any further. It felt weird. Too…good.
“An ass like this and no one has ever fucked it before?” Loïc sounded dumbfounded. “This ass was made for a man’s cock.”
No, it wasn’t!
Was it?
Inside me, he curved his finger and touched…something. He stroked it, and my breath hissed out. I clenched my teeth against
a surprised cry of pleasure. My dick strained and twitched in desperation, starting to leak like I’d come, even though I didn’t
think I had. Yet.
Handing control over to him felt wrong, but he’d simply taken it. How had we even gotten to this point? Fuck—Tarryn was
watching us, and I wasn’t even objecting.
I met her gaze. She’d sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and was nibbling on it with her straight white teeth. Hell, was she
turned on by this? Was me getting steamrolled into submitting hot for her to watch?
Before I lost control, the finger inside me retreated, only to be replaced with two. My guts cramped alarmingly, and I was
brought back to when I’d trained Tarryn to take me even though she’d been afraid and had complained about the same
sensation. I breathed through it, shaking.
Ugh. Was he spreading his fingers? Was he planning to give me three?
He got behind me and kicked my feet wider apart.
Why wasn’t I stopping him?
“Be a good boy and hold still.”
Wait.
The safeword.
I remembered the words, but they wouldn’t come out of my mouth.
He lined himself up with my ass, pausing as though giving me a chance to object. When the words stalled in my throat, and I
didn’t say anything, he pressed the head of his cock against my asshole. I flinched and shut my eyes, willing him to stop, or for
me to stop him. Instead, my heart pounded recklessly as he slowly worked the head of his cock inside me, as though he was
confident his fucking donkey dick would fit into my virgin hole. He felt so huge, all I could do was lie there and gasp, clutching
at the bedsheets.
I realized my unfocused gaze had fallen on Tarryn. She’d crawled closer, her elegant brows drawn down in concern.
“It gets easier,” she whispered, smoothing back my hair.
It was thoughtful of her to say, but it felt like a lie. He was splitting me in two. How did she fucking bear this? Her little
asshole was so tiny, it must have been worse for her. I remembered talking her through it the first few times, convinced I knew
what I was doing, but too young to be doing it to anyone.
Her tears had turned me on. Made me reckless and stupid.
Now, I was the one who had hot wetness dripping from their eyes. Of course, I wasn’t crying, but the feeling was so intense
my throat was tight, and my eyes were burning in sympathy, no doubt, because my ass felt like it had been set on fire. Now, I
was afraid, in pain, jealous and angry, and turned on. I wasn’t sure how to sort out all those feelings, so I fell into her gaze, my
dick hard as hell, my brain begging silently for this to be over.
“Such a good boy.” Loïc’s voice reminded me Tarryn and I weren’t alone in the room—that this wasn’t some random pain I
had to bear, but a sexual act I was submitting to.
I was gasping, my mouth open, probably even drooling. My eyes couldn’t focus anymore, and I shuddered at the feel of him
inching deeper inside me, hot and achingly painful. So full.
If I asked him to stop, would he? I wasn’t so sure.
When he was balls deep inside me, he covered me with his body, holding still and letting me adjust. He bit the back of my
neck, and I clenched around him. We groaned for two different reasons.
He flexed his hips slowly, crooning to me. I made the most ungodly, un-dominant noise that had ever left my throat. I gritted
my teeth, and his breath was hot against the side of my face, curling intimately around my ear.
“Fuck, you feel so good clenched around my cock. I’m so proud of you for taking all of me.”
My cock bobbed in response. I startled as he wrapped his hand firmly around my dick, then immediately regretted it when I
became even more aware of his presence inside me—his dominance over my body.
“How often do you fantasize about being fucked by a man?”
What? Never. Of course, I didn’t!
I shook my head, silently denying his words. He started to move his hand on my cock, his hips following the tempo. It was
perfectly awful, and awfully perfect, and I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do other than try not to beg for mercy.
The helpless sobs parting my lips embarrassed the hell out of me, but the sensation was so overwhelming I couldn’t make
myself stop. My knees shook even though they weren’t supporting the weight of my body.
He cupped the back of my head with his big hand, comforting me as though I were an anxious pet. My face felt hot and red,
and tears pricked my eyes as they plopped to the coverlet.
“That’s right. You know who you belong to now, don’t you?”
I could barely understand what he was saying, and the hand stroking my hair moved down to collar the back of my neck. My
cock twitched in his other hand, and he chuckled, thrusting harder, stealing my breath. “I’m your first. You’re never going to
forget me.”
I whimpered an answer but wasn’t sure what I’d said after the words had left my mouth. They probably hadn’t made sense.
“Yes, we’re both going to remember this.” He said it as though it was romantic rather than traumatic, but the longer it went
on, the more I was having to force myself to focus on how terrible it was. It was mind-blowing, but he was being more careful
with me than I probably had been with my wife the first few times.
Tarryn left us for a moment, and I reached for her with anxious, ineffectual hands. She came back with the bottle of lube I’d
brought for her.
Loïc sighed. “I guess I could add some lube. You’ve been a very good boy for me. You deserve it.”
The lube bottle wheezed, and he withdrew for a moment then shoved back in, the silky glide paired with his thick length
feeling dangerously close to orgasmic. I had the momentary notion that if I opened my mouth Tarryn would be able to see the tip
of his cock at the back of my throat. Leave it to me to get seduced by a man with such a big dick. He had no business being
anyone’s first for anything.
He groaned, then picked up the pace, drilling into me. My hips were bruising against the wooden footboard, but I arched
back to meet him, ashamed of myself but unable to help it.
“So good at taking my cock.” He leaned over me again and brushed his lips against the back of my ear, making me shudder as
he triggered the bundle of nerves there. “Such an eager boy.”
His cock gave me no mercy, and I sobbed into the bedspread, while my wife made sympathetic sounds and stroked my hair.
I bit my lips together, trying not to loose a high-pitched squeal—trying not to let myself come. I was so close, and had been
on the edge for what felt like hours. He knew damn well how to jerk a guy off and keep him painfully close to the edge without
letting him go over. I was desperate for relief. My balls felt too tight, like they may burst, but I didn’t want to give him the
satisfaction of me getting off from this.
From the moment we’d laid eyes on Loïc, it was like every choice had been stripped from me.
“I want to feel you come,” he murmured, his voice seductive.
He angled his hips differently, and I gasped, feeling like I might swallow my tongue.
“Come for me, Valor.” His hand on my cock wasn’t stopping this time.
I tried to breathe through it. I didn’t want to come. Not like this. “No!”
“What are you trying to prove? I can feel how desperately you need to. Your cock is dripping everywhere.”
It was true. My cock was leaking alarmingly, embarrassingly. “Just do it. I’m not going to get off from this.” I sounded
stubborn, petulant, but I didn’t care. I was never going to see this man again anyway.
He gave a roll of his hips and gasped in pleasure. “Of course, you are. I can feel you trembling around me. You feel so good
squeezing my cock with your tight little hole. Does it ache, pretty boy? Do you enjoy suffering for me?”
I shuddered hard. I didn’t want him in my head, but his voice stroked at my brain the way his hand stroked my cock, and his
dick felt huge and hard and far too horrible and perfect deep inside me.
A stray breeze, a wrong word, and I was going to lose my last shred of dignity.
Another random document with
no related content on Scribd:
 Ik stond met Hendrik op de plecht van onze zeilboot. Hendrik was
de schipper, de patentste, de meest bevaren, de wel-bespraaktste
schipper, die jullie je kunt voorstellen. Het schip dreef lui en log met
het langzame tij af. We hadden niets anders te doen, dan den wacht
houden bij het ankerspil. Slechts van tijd tot tijd moesten we de
armen uit de mouwen steken om den spilbout aan te vatten. Maar
den meesten tijd hadden we er het luieren toe te doen. De boot
dreef[a266] immers van zelf! En dan kortte Hendrik zich en mij den
tijd met z'n schippers-verhalen. Daarbij verschoof hij regelmatig z'n
tabaks-pruimpje van de linker- naar de rechterwang.

Zoo raakte hij dan, met bei' z'n armen leunend over den spilbout,
aan het babbelen. Hij begon met zijn onafscheidelijk, half
grinnekend, half ernstig stopwoordje van "Kcha! kcha!" dat hij steeds
gebruikte, als hij met een van zijn schippers-verhalen begon.

"Kcha! kcha!... Hendrik kan van alles!... daarveur is 't-ie z'n leven
lang schipper 'eweest. En zoo'n zeilbootje bouwen, dat leeren wijlui
waterschippers zoo met 't waaien mee!"

Hij ving zijn verhaal aan. Dat waren altijd van die kneuterige
verhalen, waarnaar ik telkens weer genoegelijk stond te luisteren. Ik
leunde naast hem, ook met beide handen gesteund tegen den
tweeden spilstok. En je zit daar maar wat best tot luisteren op zoo'n
bolder.

Hij begon te vertellen.

"Laat me je nou vertelle van m'n notarisbootje. Ik heb d'r net an

verdiend wat ik d'r an verdiene wou, en "dank je nog wel, Hendrik!"
zei de[a267] ouwe notaris toen ik 'm 'n hand reikte om 'm met z'n
karkas in z'n eige bootje te helpen, want eigelijk was 't bootje voor
z'n zoon, die door Onze Lieve Heer met 'n bochel was geschape."

"Wat was dat wel voor 'n scheepje?" vroeg ik; want ik stelde
hoegenaamd geen belang in een, mij onbekenden, notaris, maar wel
in het bootje, door Hendrik op stapel gezet.

"Dat was nou 'n niet te groote sloep, m'neer," begon Hendrik
peinzend, en hij scheen zich nog iets anders dan z'n schepping te
herinneren, "ik had d'r 'n mastje bijgemaakt met touwwerk en zeil, en
groen in de verf met 'n knap wit biesje langs de boorden.

'n Bootje, meneer, om alles mee te ondernemen; om mee te roeien,

want de riemen had ik er bij gemaakt; om in te visschen, want 'n
aardig kaartje met gaatjes als een zeef had 'k er midden-in geprutst;
om mee te zeilen, want de zwaardjes hingen 'm links en rechts
langs[a270] z'n ribbekes. Nee, 'n kiel had ik 'm niet 'egeven, want de
notaris wou juist 't bootje hebben, om te visschen, zonder nou altijd
met z'n bottines aan de waterkant te staan. En vandaar de boot, dat
ziet m'neer zoo.
 "Notaris!" zeit Hendrik, "je zult je bootje hebben, eer de rematiek je
langs je beenen sluipt." Meteen Hendrik aan 't prakkiseeren. Eerst
was daar de vrouw en ... 't hout. De vrouw doet altijd wat opstandig
as ik daar met zoo'n warm plannetje thuis lei. — "Wat zit je weer op
'n houtje te knabbelen, Hendrik?" oproerde ze. Maar ik zei niks
anders dan: "Hou[a273] jij d'r je gezicht nou 's buiten. Hendrik
prakkiseert hoe ie 't zal flikken." Toen hadden we drie weken
ondeugend weer in de kajuit, want ze wou weten, waartoe ik al die
planken 't vlieringtrappie opsjouwde. Maar Hendrik had 'n handbalk
over 't luik geleid, en as ze d'r van benee' 'an kwam rommelen, hield
Hendrik z'n eige sjakes."

't Schippertje glunderde bij de herinnering; hij verschoof z'n

pruimpje, en omdat de schuit nog recht op den stroom verder
treuzelde, had hij niet beter te doen dan doorpraten.

"Drie weken heb ik 'ezeid, is 't niet m'eneer? Nou dan! 't Benne d'r
nog geen zeuventien daagjes 'eweest, of ie stond al droog in de
groene verf en glimmend in de vernis as 'n penantkast in de
poelitoer. Ik sla 't luik met 'n spijker dicht, want m'n wijf lei maar te
zaniken van de rommel die Hendrik op zolder had 'emaakt. Maar ik
schuif zoo op m'n toffels naar 't "Witte Paard," en ik roep: "Kcha!
kcha! jonges, wie drinkt d'r eerst 'n glaasje bier voor de notaris z'n
cente, en steekt dan 'n handje uit om Hendrik te helpen?" Zoo krijg ik
wel 'n half dozijn van die kaajschip[a274]pers mee. — "Wat is d'r
loos, Hendrik?" vragen ze me buiten! Maar ik zeg alleenig maar:
"Hebben jullie ooit een schip op zolder 'ezien, jonges?"
 — "Wat wil die nou!" stoeien ze. Tot ik ze 'n dubbele lijn in d'r
handen gaf. — "Nou strak houwe, manne, en zachtjes aan, dat jullie
me moeders schoorsteen niet mee omlaag halen." M'n wijf stond
met 'n gezicht as 'n vuile lucht an 't vlieringtrappie te sjagrijnen.
"Skiet nou op", lach ik inwendig, "as je wat zien wilt wat je
nooit[a277] 'ezien heb, wijf, steek je temet je hoofd tusschen je
kozijnblommetjes, want daar zweeft d'r 'n boot omlaag." Ik tippel
naar boven, sla 'n takel uit, wikkel 'n tros om de boot, en steek m'n
pet door 't zolderraam. "Kenne we al halen, Hendrik?" roepen m'n
mannen van benee. "Ho!" schreeuw ik kwaad terug, want ik had
vergeten de maat te nemen van 't venstergat. En m'n boot kon d'r
niet door. "'n Momentje, jonges! en hou 't lijntje maar zoolang strak!"
Want ik was toch zoo kwaad van binnen, dat m'n wijf nog zou
triomfeeren. En ik neem m'n gereedschap en ik hak zoo 't heele
venster met sponning en al an splinters, en 'n paar ouwe pannen
kieper ik net op den neus van m'n toffel, en wat spanten van 't dak
zaag ik door. 't Was maar 'n arm huur-huizie, mot u redeneere,
m'neer, en dat dak zat er toch maar zoowat bovenop 'ekleefd. Later
heb ik 't al weer eigenhandig bijgepriemd. Maar ik schreeuw: "Nou,
jonges, laat 'm zweven!" En meteen halen ze 't lijntje door de takel
en schiet me de boot de ruimte in!"

't Schippertje kletste van de pret 'n hand op z'n knie. Hij mikte 'n
langen bruinen straal over[a278] 't ankerspil en grinnikte z'n plezier
uit met z'n gekke: "Kcha! kcha!", hetgeen krek op 'n spottenden
eksterroep leek.
 "En je vrouw, Hendrik!"

"Eerst wille we 't anker wat halen, m'neer", raadde Hendrik. En

onder het inplanten van den spilbout in het vierkante gat van 't
spilblok, grin[a281]nikte hij, glunderend van binnenpret: "M'n vrouw,
m'neer? Die heeft Hendrik in geen vier dagen thuis 'ezien, want we
benne 't bootje met 'n paardje wezen rije naar m'neer de notaris...
Dat vertel ik je temet. Eerst je anker vieren, m'neer. Hup! twee! ....
hup! twee!"

Het zware anker was met rinkelend geweld omlaag gedreund;

daarna hadden Hendrik en ik uit alle macht onze beide spilbouten in
het blok gestoken, om den roestigen ketting rond het blok te winden,
wijl de schuit weer op stroom was komen drijven.
 Hendrik, daarna de houding aannemende van een, op zijn wapen
rustenden hellebardier, bekauwde z'n porteriekje, en vroeg waaraan
hij was toegekomen.

"Je zou dat nieuwe bootje voor den notaris immers naar 'm toe
rijden, was je aan 't vertellen?"

" Juustement, m'neer, dat nieuwe bootje, dat ik voor dat

bochelzoontje van de notaris had 'emaakt, zou ik d'r heen rijje, want
vare was te ver, en ook vanwege 't vernis, want zóó'n glimming heb
u nou nooit of nergens 'ezien als om die schuit straalde!"[a282]

Hij droogde zich het dampende voorhoofd, want Hendrik had tot
gewoonte, zich bij elke werkzaamheid van pure opgewondenheid in
het zweet te zwoegen.

"Toen de boot dan in de lucht hong, as 'n vlieger an z'n touw, krijg ik
de ingeving. M'n wijf stond d'r tramontanen te zamelen achter de
horretjes, maar ik schreeuwde omlaag naar de schippers: "Leg effe
jullie lijntje om die boom, dan ben ik zoo beneej'." En mèt stond ik bij
ze omlaag. "As ik nou 'n kar met peerd had, dan zouen jullie pas
lachen!" zei de gek. Want ze stingen al maar vroolijkheidjes te
maken naar die zweefboot, alsof die zoo van 'n karmisspul was. Eén
laat de lijn los en roept naar me: "Je zel je kar hewwe, Hendrik!"

De andere jonges goggelen naar me: "Wat let ons, of we late je lijn
skiete, en je bootje left an schilvers asse we met z'n alle niet magge
mee rije!" — "Houw jullie de lijn stijf, en al de manne magge mee in
de boot óp de kar!" zeg ik eerlijk terug; want 't waren zoowat goeiïge
hajebaje, die wel erris 'n verzetje mochte. Daar steekt m'n vrouw d'r
hoofd uit tusschen de reseda's: "Jij[a283] gaat niet mee, Hendrik!"
gilt ze. Maar meteen late de jonges de lijn door de takel vieren, en
skiet me die boot bijna twee vaam omlaag. En zij d'r hoofd weer
'eborgen achter d'r horretjes. Rijdt me al peerd en wagen veer; die
drieste makker op de bok. En wij met z'n alle de boot op de wagen
'epast en vast'esjord en Hendrik kommendeeren as in 'n
oorlogssloep: "An de rieme! en met Gods zegen, — drieéje!"
 Zoo rijje we ons steegje uit, en koope 'n graantje in 't "Witte Hert,"
en rijje fijn de straat door, en koope 'n graantje op de hoek, waar 't
ruite-wapen uithangt, en rijje de heele stad door, en legge overal
aan, en koope overal effe 'n klein glaasje van 't een of ander, want
de notaris had 'ezeid dat-ie zelf de transport-kosten wou dragen.
Nou, we zitte daar in die boot, net asse matrozen, maar de riemen
hieuw ik weg 'eborgen, want d'r zou geen spatje aan 't spul
bederven, eer Hendrik de boot had afgeleverd. We rijje 'n lange weg,
en we rijje perjuu nog wel een eindje om ook, en as 't zoo pas geeft,
roept Hendrik naar die drieste koetsier voorop: "Hou' nou 's je peerd
in, man, want we raken buuten asem[a284] van 't roeien!" En daar
sting dan altijd wel, as Hendrik liet strijken, 'n gelegenheid voor 'n
dorstig varensman."
 Hendrik's glimmende kop was nu een en al gegrinnik van
herinneringspret; den spilbout had hij laten zakken, achter zich, en
langzaam daarmee bewegende, wees hij: "Zoo stond Hendrik
achter[a287] in de boot, as 'n stuurman an z'n roer, en die manne op
de roeibankjes, en dat alles boven op de kar; op 't nokkie zat de
koetsier, met 'n merakelschebrom in. Maar we kwamen d'r. En 't was
nog knap vroeg, met nog geen streepie licht an 't duuster. Toen
kommedeert Hendrik: "Vast, manne! nou 'ezwegen, of jullie verbeurt
je handgeld!" En stil as nonnetjes rijdt me de kar de tuin van de
notaris binnen, net voor de slaapkamer van de jongeheer met z'n
bult, want voor die was 't presentje bestemd. Zoo benne we daar
zitten blijven, tot 't boven wat begon te klare; de rieme buiten boord,
't zeiltje 'eheschen, 't fokkie voor an de mast, en allemaal zwijgen as
moffe uit 't beeldespul.

Wordt eerst de notaris wakker,

wrijft zich zijn oogen uit, zet zich z'n
fok op, en schuift me van
verbouwereerdheid 't raam open...
"Wat is dàt nou!" — "Je bootje,
m'neer de no[a290]taris!" salueer ik
en al m'n manne make groot-saluut,
as de jongeneer van Hendriks stem
wakker wor' en in z'n slaaphempie
voor de ramen komt dansen. "M'n
komplement!" zeit de notaris, "'t
lijkent me 'n knap stuk werk, maar
hoe prakkiseer je 't, Hendrik, om
zonder water te raken die boot hier
'n m'n tuin te rijje?" — "We rijjen 'm
ook nog voor je te water, notaris, maar eerst wou ik je op je nuchtere
maag laten genieten van de vernis!" En ik schreeuw naar m'n
koetsier, die te slaapknikken zit: "Vor-uit, drieste, naar de waterkant;
en jullie zette me de boot te water, zonder dat d'r 'n krasje an
mankeert!"... Die notaris, wat 'n man van ervaring was, neemt
Hendrik ampart en zeit tegen me: "Die mannen die je 'eholpen
hebben, Hendrik, late die 'n glazie bier gaan drinken op je
gezondheid en op mijn rekening." — "Dat hebbe ze al 'edaan,
m'neer de notaris," tik ik an m'n petrand; "we bennen zoo al 'n dag
an 't manevreeren met uwé's bootje, en 't kan nog knap 'n dag extra
worre eer we weer bij moeder thuis legge, want zoolang as ik nou al
vaar, en toch ben ik al als klein kind op 'n skuit 'eboren, heb ik nog
nooit of[a291] ooit 'n schip over de weg zien rije. Of wat jij, m'neer de
notaris?"

Hier moest Hendrik weer den ketting vieren, want ons drijvend
schip was dwarsstroom gegleden, en juist moest het met
wetenschap om een der uitstekende strekdammen geloodst worden.

Waarvan Hendrik zich met rusteloos gepruim en met vele pareltjes

op z'n rooden kop verdienstelijk kweet. Slechts had hij nog den tijd,
me het eind van z'n verhaal aan te kondigen:

"Met lachen waren we begonnen, maar met huilen benne we

geëindigd. As ik je dat straks vertel, m'neer, moet je naar Hendrik
luisteren. Maar zou je nou niet eerst dat ankertje voor me willen
tillen, want met je tweeën werk je as met m'ziek, zooas de
kapelmeester blieft te zeggen. En uit die eigenste boot van Hendrik
is dat bocheltje van de notaris nog geen week daarna komme te
verdrinke!... Haal toch door je spil, m'neer, hup twee! ... hup twee!"

't Was avond geworden; onze schuit lag stil op de rivier, en stevig
voor anker, — waarvoor Hendrik trouwelijk gezorgd had. De
ankerketting stond strak. Met geluidlooze sidderingen wrong[a292]
zich het immer stroomende water langs de schakels, zoog de
boorden van het schip langs, teekende grillige figuren over de rivier.
We keken ernaar, zwijgend uitrustend na ons eindeloos gestoei met
de rivier, die onze drijvende schuit maar geen oogenblik met rust had
willen laten. Later raakte Hendrik toch weer aan den praat, —
hetgeen hij niet kon en wou laten, noch onder het werk aan roer of
spilblok; noch onder het poozend kringetjes-spuwen bij avond-
stemming genieten op de rappe rivier.

"Je liet je verhaal liggen, Hendrik, nadat je dat bootje had

afgeleverd aan den notaris."
 "'t Is niet eens 'n verhààl!" piekerde nu Hendrik, na den arbeid
rustig gezeten, en ook voor het eerst dien dag de handen in zijn
diepe schippers-broek-zakken gedompeld. "As 't nou nog 'n verhaal
'eweest was! Maar de warentigheid is nooit lang zoo aardig niet.
Nou, luister dan 's zelf, m'neer, hoe 't met Hendrik z'n bootje 'egaan
is."

"Met de schippers-kameraden an den rol gebleven? tot je met de

kous op den kop bij moeder-de-vrouw weer thuis kwam?"[a293]

"Kcha! kcha! is dat nou 'n verhaal, om zoolang daarna nog na te

vertellen?" dee Hendrik. Er klonk iets van minachting bij mijn
waardeering van z'n schippers-bedrijf uit zijn woorden. "Dàt kome
wel meer veur! Zaturdaags poets je dat wel weer in 't reine, asse de
vrouwtjes 'n handvol met blanke daalders in d'r boezelaar ziene
leggen. Zoo benne ze allemaal, m'neer, mot je nog van Hendrik
leere?"

Het schippertje bleef peinzend voor zich uit staren. Toen in-eens
kwam het slot van zijn schippersverhaal over de eigen-gemaakte
boot.

"Zoo is 't d'r toen verder mee gegaan, m'neer," haastte hij zich
blijkbaar. "Ik lag nog geen week thuis, of d'r was al 'n pampier-
schrijven van de notaris; de schoolmeester heeft 't me net zoo veur
'elezen, en of Hendrik de volgende week zoo vrindelijk wou wezen,
om bij m'neer de notaris te komme, want dat dan die jong z'n jaardag
vierde, met z'n ronde ruggetje, en dat die kwajonge as eenig
verlangen 'n zeilpartijtje begeerde. Nou, die notaris was me ook
geen schippersvak 'ewend, dat had ik van wel vroeger 'emerkt; die
'ebruikte z'n bootje alleenig maar tot visschers[a294]werk. Maar
Hendrik had 'm toch 'n bootje 'ebouwd, dat juustement rank 'enog op
't water lei', om zonder al te veel jan-klaasen 'n aardig gangetje te
zeilen.
 "Daar begeef ik me niet an!" zeit me die notaris, "ieder z'n werk, ik
de aktes, en Hendrik de takelage." — "Je kan 't bestelle zooas je
maar wil, notaris," zeit de gek, en ik wijs dat bocheltje 't plaatsje
vooran, waar die[a297] geen goed of kwaad kon uithalen. Maar wij
zijn nog niet buuten, of dat jong wor' ongedurig, en temet mot
Hendrik op z'n zeilwerk lette, want daar kwam 'n windslag van wat
ben je me. "Ga je nou zitte, jongeneer!" Mot m'neer hooren, net as
Hendrik 't nademaal nog altoos in z'n ooren hoort roepen: "'n Bult
drijft, Hendrik!" En zoo is die over boord 'eslagen, en as Hendrik 'm
wil grijpe is die al heelemaal weg, zoo snel as Hendrik nog nooit of
ooit 'n wolk voor de zon heeft zien verskiete. Ik smak m'n roer om; ik
zeil de plek over. Drie keer, vier keer. Zijn 't er honderd keeren
'eweest? Weet Hendrik ook niet meer. Maar toen Hendrik thuis
kwam met 't bootje, was 't voorplaasie leeg. — "Je bocheltje is
verzope, notaris," zeit Hendrik. En meer niet, want ik heef' nog nooit
zoo'n prop in m'n spraak 'ehad."
 Hendrik zweeg, vervaarlijk kauwend op z'n tabakspruim. Ik zweeg
mee. Wat viel er te spreken? Toen spoog Hendrik recht naar een van
die malle speelsche water-kolkjes ter weerszij van den ankerketting,
en beëindigde aldus z'n verhaal:[a298]

"Die notaris was 'n ijzelijk man, m'neer. Ik heb 'm later niet weer
'ezien. Hendrik wou 'm niet meer zien. — "Neem nou je
gereedskap," zeit ie, "en hak me die boot an zulke gruzelementjes,
dat geen mensch zal zien, dat 't ooit 'n skuit kan zijn 'eweest."

Ik probeer nog wat te zeggen, van de zonde en van de jammer,

omdat 't toch 'n goed stuk werk was wat ik 'm geleverd had as boot.
Maar ie was ijzelijk van stilte. — "Neem nou je gereedskap,
Hendrik,"[a301] zeit ie, "en geen spaan of splinter wat an m'n
scheepje herinnert!..." En zoo gong 't dan met dat bootje, meneer."
 Later bedacht Hendrik onrustig, dat hij 't verhaal toch niet volledig
verteld had:

"Heel 'n week heeft Hendrik d'r an gewerkt, om 't ding ongedaan te
maken. Je breekt 'n skuit wel eerder af, dan dat je 'm opbouwt. Maar
om 'n gaaf scheepje tot splinters te vernielen kost ook z'n tijd. "Niks
meer van over, Hendrik?" vraagt die stille man. — "Niks, notaris!" —
"Hoeveel ben ik je schuldig, Hendrik?" vraagt die notaris. — "Niks!"
zeit Hendrik, en ik keek 'm van terzij an, om 'm goed te laten weten,
dat ie met die larie geen tweede keer bij mijn aan boord most
komme. — "Je mist 'n week loon, Hendrik," probeert die waarachtig
nog. — "En jij mist méér dan een week, notaris," schreeuw ik. Want
ik kon die ijzelijke man niet langer daar zoo zien staan kijken naar 't
stapeltje brandhout, dat er van 't bootje over was.

"Hendrik is toen maar weg 'eloope. Weet je wat ik onder m'n arm
hieuw, m'neer? 'n Splinter van 't voorpleggie, waar die jong op
'ezeten had, met[a302] z'n bultje tegen de mast 'eleund. As de
notaris 't 'ezien had, was die nog in staat 'eweest, 't me af te nemen.
Zoo nam ik 't mee naar huis. "Laat maar," zeit Hendrik tegen de
vrouw, toen ze me vroeg wat ik haar mee bracht van m'n zeiltocht.
Had die me nog maar uit 'elachen om dat leste spaandertje van
Hendrik's eigen-geprutste boot."

Bij dezelfde uitgevers verscheen:

 AVIATOR
DOOR

JAN FEITH

PRIJS IN PRACHTBAND f 2.50.

Dit werk is ongetwijfeld een der meest boeiende en spannende

boeken, welke van dezen, zoo bekenden schrijver zijn
verschenen.

Op treffende wijze, geeft hij hierin een romantisch beeld, van

het spannende, emotievolle bestaan der vlieghelden.

Bij elken Boekhandelaar verkrijgbaar.

Transcriber's notes
Het papieren boek accentueert sommige woorden met
uitgebreidere letterafstand ("expanded letter-spacing"). In de
'platte-tekst'-versie wordt dit met underscores aangegeven:

_gespatieerde tekst_ → g e s p a t i e e r d e t e k s t

Bladzijdenummers zijn in de 'platte-tekst'-versie weggelaten. In

de HTML-versie zijn ze wel zichtbaar, maar virtueel, wat het
voordeel heeft dat u kunt zoeken op tekst-fragmenten zonder
dat de bladzijde-nummers het zoeken hinderen. Dit werkt alleen
als de bladzijdenummers in de tekst staan (maar niet in de
kantlijn).

Bladzijdenummers staan bovenaan een bladzijde. U kunt

zoeken op bladzijdenummers: door bijvoorbeeld p.20 in te
tikken.

Als u de weergave van de bladzijde-nummers wilt aanpassen,

kijk dan met een tekstverwerker in het <style> blok naar de
CSS-klassen [.blznr] (voor bladzijde-nummers) en [.hyphen]
voor afbreekstreepjes

Voor de hand liggende interpunctie fouten zijn gecorrigeerd

maar worden hier verder niet genoemd.

Dit boek bevat een aantal zetfouten.

De volgende zetfouten zijn gecorrigeerd:

[niet-zelf-richtende reddingboot] →
[niet-zelfrichtende reddingboot]

[een algemeen gegemopper,] →

[een algemeen gemopper,]

[bediening der toestelllen] →

[bediening der toestellen]
[oostersche mogendheid] →
[Oostersche mogendheid]
Zie het vergelijkbare [Aziatische] in de tekst.

[plooiig over] →
[plooiïg over]
Zie ook vergelijkbare woorden: [goeiïg] en [lawaaiïg] in
tekst.

[mesroom] →
[messroom]

Enkele fouten die waarschijnlijk van de schrijver afkomstig zijn

en niet van de zetter, zijn niet gecorrigeerd. Voor de volledigheid
worden ze hier wel genoemd:

Bij een aantal hoofdstuktitels is er verschil in schrijfwijze tussen

inhoudsopgave en het daadwerkelijke hoofdstuk. Dit wordt
veroorzaakt doordat de hoofdstuktitel in een illustratie is
verwerkt:
[In den Onderzeeër] /
[In een Onderzeeër]
[Hollandsche Scheepsspreekwoorden] /
[Scheepsspreekwoorden]
[Met de Koningin aan boord van een onzer
Oorlogsschepen] /
[Met de Koningin aan boord van een onzer
Oorlogschepen]
[Een overlevende van Shimonoseki] /
[Een overlevende van/de Shimonoseki]
[Van oude Uithangborden] /
[Op oude Uithangborden]
[De Millioenen van de Lutine] /
[De Millioenen-schat op/den Zeebodem]
[oorlogsschip] / [oorlogschip]
Eerstgenoemde spelling komt 5x voor, laatstgenoemde
12x. Het woord is een samenvoeging van de woorden
"oorlog" en "schip" waar tegenwoordig een "s" wordt
toegevoegd. Omdat vergelijkbare woorden in dit boek ook
op twee wijzen geschreven worden, is hierop geen
correctie toegepast.
[een weddingschap]
Alhoewel dit op een foutief gebruik van het Engelse
woord "wedding" lijkt, is dit de Vlaamse schrijfwijze voor
[een weddenschap]
[Zuider-Zee] / [Zuider-Zee-vaarder] / [Zuider-zee] / [Zuiderzee-
haventje] / [Zuiderzee-visschersman]
Door elkaar gebruikte hoofd- en kleine letter "z" in "zee",
evenals soms een koppelteken tussen "Zuider" en "zee"
en soms niet.
[Spaansche matten]
Men zou kunnen denken dat hier "Spaansche munten"
moet staan. Het is echter correct, en was de Nederlandse
bijnaam voor zilvermunten van 8 real.
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