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Pink Pantaloons

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Featherstone hemmed and hawed and looked elsewhere as Idelle opened the package he’d given her. “They’re all the rage in Paris,” he explained, a slight tinge of color to his cheeks as she held up the gift. “And I thought perhaps you might like a pair.”

Idelle examined the pale pink pantaloons in her hands. They were beautifully made, pure silk and she imagined how they would feel on her skin. “They’re lovely.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek, causing his blush to deepen. “Thank you.”

“I merely wanted to give you something.” He murmured.

“And now, I’d like to give you something.” She whispered, leaning in to kiss him as her hand slipped inside his breeches.

 

*  *  *

 

Her courtship, for it was a courtship she was fairly certain, by Mr Augustus Featherstone had been an unexpected thing. After those times of fucking the shit out of him, as well as seducing him, Idelle had discovered she liked merely spending time with him. Obviously she enjoyed the sex, that went without saying. Featherstone was enthusiastic and admired her so unabashedly it would have been difficult not to enjoy his company. But the little things, how he talked with her while she was pouring them wine, or getting dressed. How he liked to linger with her, simply for the sake of being with her, made her feel quite sentimental.

He’d started bringing her small tokens of his affection, nothing too fancy, without proclaiming that she belonged to him, and Idelle appreciated that too. She didn’t want to belong to any man. She liked her work, she liked sharing wine with her friends. And she liked spending time with other women as well. The initiation times with new pirates were half the fun of working in a place like this.

Once the tales of Long John Silver started circulating, she liked to embellish upon the stories, letting people know that the legend wasn’t far from the truth, and it wasn’t only his memory that was long. She had a good memory herself, and she remembered the way he had been with her and the other girls that day. Enthusiastic (she really did prize enthusiasm highly, just showed a certain charm to her way of thinking) and polite, strong when it had called for it.

 “Good hands.” She remarked more than one occasion. “He has good hands.” She had a thing about hands, Idelle did.

The other women in the brothel were more than a little weary of hearing about the legend's cock and hands, almost as weary as they were hering about Featherstone’s attractions.

“Either send ‘em to us next time, or shut up about ‘em.” Agnes told her.

Idelle just shook her head. “If he wanted you, he’d go to you.” Her smile appeared in spite of herself. “But he wants me.”

 

*  *  *

 

She had told him eventually, one evening, much later, about how Max had wanted her to get information from him.

Featherstone had listened to this with a stoic face. “I mean, of course, it makes sense.”

“But then I got to know you.” She had pressed his hands together, looking deep in his eyes. “And I wanted to talk to you as well as fuck you.”

Happiness crinkled around Featherstone’s eyes. “You did?”

“Yeah.” Idelle reassured him, cupping his face, stroking his beard. “I did. I do.”

 

 *  *  *

 

She came out into the sitting room, wearing her dressing gown over the pantaloons. Featherstone was sitting at the desk she’d had set up in the corner of the room for him to do his business at while she was working. They were spending more and more time together, in-between the fucking. She found his company pleasant, even when they weren’t fucking. It was a revelation. She rarely enjoyed being around men after the fucking was done.

She asked Maggie, one of the newer girls, about it while they were in bed together. They had finished a session with a man who had taken so long to finish there hadn’t been any time for them, so they were doing it now.

“Might as well.” Maggie had told her. “God knows when we’ll get another quiet moment.”

Idelle agreed. The business was doing so well, it was hard to get some time together. She liked Maggie, liking fucking her. Maggie’s fingers were quick and nimble, and her techniques were delightful. Another time, maybe when she was less sure of herself, Idelle might have been jealous of her, worried she was going to take the best spot in the brothel, get all the good jobs, but seeing the way Max ran the place, seeing how Max treated the other women, and expected them to treat each other, Idelle knew it didn’t matter. Maggie was good with the men, she was pretty and she liked to laugh, she was an asset to the brothel.

And she was very very very good. Idelle didn’t mind saying that. She gasped as Maggie buried her face between Idelle’s thighs, swirling her tongue inside her until Idelle came with a long moan of pleasure.

“Jesus.” Idelle panted. "You're good at that."

“Mmmm.” Maggie stroked her breast, smiling at her.

She rolled Maggie over on her back, tits bobbing, and grinned down at her. “I’ve got one or two tricks to still show you though.”

 

*  *  * 

 

Augustus, she called him Augustus now, had pleasing hands too. Idelle liked features to be distinct, she liked to think of them, connect them to people. She liked mens’ beards to be neat, their nails tidy, and their privates groomed and washed. That last was hard to find on the island, when men came off the ship stinking like brine, but she’d found it didn’t take much usually to persuade them to let her wash them before they fucked.

Augustus came to her smelling of soap and lavender, and he had a clean handkerchief in his coat pocket. Idelle most likely fell a little for him then and there. Not that she’d ever admit though, not her. Love was a fancy for fools.

Idelle was not a fool.

 

*  *  *

 

But here she was, wearing the pink pantaloons, loving how the silk shimmered on her skin as she walked across the room to where Augustus had risen to pour them both some wine.

She slipped up behind him and put her arms around him. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure.” He murmured, taking her hand and kissing it.

“Now.” Idelle said, after she’d accepted her wine and drunk some. “Get on your back and let me ride that thick cock of yours.”

 

*  *  * 

 

His cock fit neatly right through the slit in her pantaloons as she sank down upon him. Fucking with him was better too. Idelle didn’t know why that was, whether it was because he cared for her own pleasure, or for the way he cared for her, or what, but she liked it, liked to watch his face as she rode him, liked the feel of his steady hands on her hips, drawing them up to cup her breasts as she threw her head back, taking him deeper and deeper.

Afterward, while she had taken more wine to refresh herself, and his fingers had found their way inside the slit again to toy with her clit, drawing a slower, more desperate climax from her, making her toes curl and her shrieks of pleasure grow more wild, Idelle let herself think about the future. Usually she didn’t. What was the point? One day at a time was a good strategy in a place like this, taking the knocks as they came, and doing your best to keep your head above the water. But Max had shown her that too, shown her that the future was a matter of perspective, that anything could happen in Nassau, and anything would, as long as they made it happen. 

She wanted a secure future, she wanted happiness. She wanted a house of her own at some point. Idelle thought of these things and then slipped them back inside the intricately carved wooden chest inside her mind. She’d seen one once, in a London shop, the sort of thing a woman had and put things in for her future household. Idelle had liked the idea, knowing she’d never have one, but she still liked the idea and kept the picture of it carefully preserved for foolish moments like this.

Still it didn’t hurt to indulge a bit of foolishness every once in a while, she decided as she took another sip of wine and watched Augustus sleep, a fond smile upon her lips. Nobody knew what the future would hold. You might as well have a few dreams in place, just in case. Only a fool wouldn't have a backup plan, and Idelle was no fool.