Lady Tittle was rapidly assuming command of the ship. The young man, infatuated with Hony, allowed her mother to do pretty well what she liked, and she was enjoying herself. She more than suspected her little daughter's liaison, but she winked. Her own flagrante delits with the bosun were so obvious that she hardly dared comment on her daughter's. She felt practically certain now that the young man was the Duke of St Eden, but still pried for proof. Lord Reggie, of course, knew, but his lips were sealed. Two days after the putting-in-irons episode the young man sent for him.
'You know who I am, of course,' he said.
'Of course, I do, Archie.'
'Now, now, not even here. Well, no one else does, though the old woman has her suspicions, and has set the kid on to pump me. Now, I want your word that you won't give me away. One of these days you'll know the whole story.'
Lord Reggie promised, and the two shook hands and split a pint on it.
On about the seventh day out, the young man was sitting in his cabin, reading. Little Hony was curled up between his legs, her head resting on-well, where it shouldn't have been, and there was a something pressing against the girl's ear which she knew wasn't his hand. One arm was round her head, and her hand gently caressed it. As she felt the throbbing of the young man's member she gently stroked it with her soft head, and his thoughts came down to earth with a crash. He had been thinking out a wireless telegraphy problem, but now all the wireless telegraphy had descended from his brain into the top part of his trousers. He bent down and kissed her.
Hony twisted herself round between his legs, and let her fingers slide gently over the palpitating member in his trousers. Slowly her little fingers undid his fly buttons, till his cock sprang out and slapped her on the neck. Her fingers played with it, tickling it gently with rosy, deftly manicured nails. She breathed her warm, sweet breath softly and sweetly on the delicate membrane of his penis, and then her tongue just touched the orifice of that 'root of all evil'.
Her hair-Hony could sit on her hair easily-fell forward over her face as she bent quickly down. Her soft tresses swam over the young man's penis, and he twisted a lock round it. 'By Jove,' he murmured sotto voce, 'this is Danae's shower the other way round; gold, gold, gold, but she shall be paid for it in white- the whitest diamonds that ever left the Rand. “Corpo di Baccho- what Elysian drink have the gods sent me!”'
'What a shower of gold from the mount of the gods,' he said aloud.
Hony hadn't the slightest idea of what he was talking about, but she thought it sounded nice and she made no objection at all when the young man collected all her hair he could lay his hands on round that which he sometimes regretted he had ever had.
The young man knew music more than a bit, and he remembered the 'Habanera' from Carmen.
'Listen, little darling,' he said, 'While I sing this, and keep the movements of your head in time.'
He sang, in his rich, baritone voice, that fatal song-patting little Hony's head to keep her to the right beats. He gave himself absolutely away to music and lust, and the lust won by a short head. At the last:
'And if I love thee, then beware'
the young man forgot all about the song of Bizet, and would have blinded little Hony, but she- knowing before her time-knew from the kiss on her head what was coming.
It came, not on her hair, but in her mouth: she was just in time to twist her little lips round his penis, and to drink-well-what ought to have made another pirate.
Hony wiped her lips on her delicate little lace-bordered handkerchief. The young man raised the little figure kneeling in front of him, and pulled her gently on to his knees.
He poured her out a glass of champagne, and she drank it. He took a glass himself, and sank back into the luxurious armchair with the delightful exhaustion of satisfied desire.
Hony lay in his arms, her head resting on his shoulder. With one hand he clasped her tightly to him, with the other he softly caressed her luxuriant, silky tresses.
Dreamily he closed his eyes: pictured to himself the beautiful girl as he had seen her on that first evening in the embraces of her dark-skinned little lover, divested of everything, the perfect white flesh, the delicately moulded, miniature figure, the little silky curls only just beginning to show between the dainty thighs.
As he recalled the vision, all his vigour returned to him, and Hony felt something between those little thighs that Leighton would have loved to paint (the thighs-not the something-though that something might have appealed to a famous Cornish artist). She was glad, for she had not been satisfied herself, and her first taste of a male organ in her mouth had made her long to feel it again in the spot which nature had designed for it.
She was consumed with desire, and her thighs twitched together as she sat on his lap-but she was not to be so easily satisfied.
The young man's hand stole over her legs, and under her light skirts. He softly smoothed the velvety skin and played with her firm little bottom, while his fingers wandered and gently tickled the tiny orifice.
It was too much for Hony. Raising her head, she slipped her arms round the young man's neck, gripping him tightly, and pressing her lips to his. Her tongue shot out, right down his throat She writhed with lascivious passion.
The young man's fingers still further wandered and entered the cleft valley, which he had but so recently opened. It was already moist from the overflowing of her lust.
Hony withdrew her lips from his, and the young man whispered, 'Hony, darling, you remember our first evening when I came in and saw you with Carrie?'
Hony did not reply. She blushed and hid her face on his shoulder, and he continued. 'Hony, I want to see you like that again.' She raised her head and gazed at him.
When?'
'Now,' he said, and Hony slipped off his knees. She commenced unfastening her dress, but he stopped her. 'No, darling, let me do that.' And bit by bit he himself gradually removed her clothes.
He stopped every now and then to kiss and admire her; he raised her arms to kiss the down beneath them, and inhale the perfume.
At last Hony was reduced to a silken chemise, almost transparent. He stepped away, and watched her with intense admiration as she stood half ashamed and half pleased.
Then he said, 'Hony, let it fall to your feet and step out of it.'
Timidly, she complied. It was not mock modesty, but her nervousness was because she really loved him.
He posed her in nearly every way he could think of, watching for the effect. Each time he came back and kissed her.
At last he lifted her up, as he would a child, naked as she was, and laid her gently on his bed.
He kissed each little breast, toying with them with his tongue, and sometimes savagely sucking them as if he would bite off the rose-coloured nipples. His kisses went lower and lower; his tongue travelled over her honey-sweet skin; he came to the soft little downy mount, and kissed it, opened her legs, and buried his face between them, his tongue working furiously-he almost hurt her. He felt at that moment he would like to devour her, then his kisses went still further down each exquisitely formed little leg to the tiny foot. He loved the delicate feet, so perfect of shape, and so pink and white. He kissed them long and fervently.
Gently he turned her over, kissing her neck, her back, and the two beautiful little rounded curves of her bottom, and one long fervent kiss between them.
He could stand it no longer, and roughly he turned her over.
Hony had almost fainted with the ecstasy of her sensual passions, such as she had never felt before, but as she felt him turn her over, instinctively she opened her thighs.
Without hesitation, the young man was on top of her, and in a few, all too brief, seconds, it was over.