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The Only Rules That Matter: Afterlife (TheCorsair, Madam Mim)

Jenny arched her back, crying out as Onontio lifted her off the bed entirely. Her nails dragged from his shoulders down his chest, leaving angry red streaks against his skin as she lost her grip and opted to brace herself backwards against his knees instead. He pulsed inside her, emptying himself as they cried out together in mutual ecstasy the likes of which she hadn't felt for decades. He sagged into the bed and she felt stable enough to lean over him again, grinning.

"That," he breathed, "was incredible."

"It was more than incredible." Jenny leaned down, cupping his face with both hands and kissing him hard.

This was not like China. Well, China didn't count, but even if it did, this was not that. Some deep part of Jenny knew she should feel guilty, should be crying, should be running away in shame like she did in China. Instead she felt invigorated, she felt more alive than she had in years. As she knelt, straddling the handsome Indian still hilt-deep inside her, she felt renewed. Like everything was brighter and more saturated, that the monotony of her immortality had been lifted.

Guilt was for the sun and the fresh air. Here in the close darkness of the longhouse, in Onontio's arms, she had no regrets.

Instead she traced kisses over his face, down his neck, across his chest, gently moving on him as she recovered from the powerful orgasm. "I want you," she murmured against his skin. "I want you so badly, Onontio. I want to go again," she moved her hips forward gently, pressing him deeper inside her once more, "and again," she thrust again, placing another warm kiss on his throat, "and again." Gently her inner walls squeezed his shaft. She moaned softly and pressed her teeth against the flesh of his collarbone. "And you know what else?" She grinned and leaned up so that her lips brushed against his ear when she whispered, "I want to do it all again tomorrow." She placed a gentle kiss behind his ear. "And the day after that."

It was a relief to at long last be honest with herself about what she felt. What she wanted. Who she wanted it from. She had never even been honest with herself about Ion, not like this. Not aloud, outside the confines of her own thoughts. Not where God could hear them. Then a traitor thought whispered in the deepest recesses of her brain,

What God?

~*~

"Like a common dockyard whore."

Aurinda didn't even mind the contempt and mockery in his voice. "Like anything you want," she moaned, complying eagerly as he pushed her head lower and her ass higher. She clenched in anticipation as she felt his head slide over her slick lips, gripping the sheets with a groan. With a single thrust he pushed deep inside her, pulling a ragged cry from her lips even as he grunted in triumph. John demanded to know whether she liked it and all she could manage was a deep moan as she gripped the sheets harder, pressing her ass back against him.

The sudden sting on her rear caused her to yelp, but she couldn't help but giggle after. With a tug on her hair and another slap he demanded that she answer him. "You tell me how much you like this thick dick," he growled.

"More than anything in the world," Aurinda moaned, moving her hips back to meet him. "Fuck...Jack I love the way your cock feels inside me." She bit her lip and made a small noise as he dragged her up onto her knees, forcing his tongue between her lips. Her hands moved back, bracing herself on his hips as he thrust inside her while they knelt there, chest-to-back. The tattoos spidering up Jack's arms, she would later reflect, might add some credence to their little game. But she wasn't concerned about tattoos as he demanded once again to be told how much she enjoyed being fucked like a cheap whore. She moaned against his lips, gripping his hips to pull him harder against her as she craned her neck to kiss him desperately.

"I love being fucked like a cheap whore," she echoed, her lips brushing his. "I love the way you pound me with your thick cock...mmmm...and the feeling of you inside me." Her teeth grazed his bottom lip and her nails bit gently into his skin. "Fuck me harder, Jack. Make me scream like a cheap whore..."
 
A slow, satisfied grin spread across Onontio’s face as Jenny spoke. “Tomorrow,” he agreed, letting his hands explore the sweat-slick contours of her body. “Tomorrow, and the day after, and as long as you like.” A contented sigh escaped him as e felt his semi-soft cock struggle to respond to her movements. “But why wait?”

Gripping her hips he rolled them over, keeping himself buried in her heat as he rose up over her. “I want you again. Now.” As he said it he reluctantly rolled to the side, slipping from her body as he did. “It might take a little while for me to recover, though.”

His lips found hers, lingering in slow motion as he thoroughly explored her mouth. One hand slipped between her shoulders and the blanket beneath her. The other cupped a firm breast, his thumb slowly circling and stroking her nipple. “Should I keep you ready?” he breathed, releasing the breast and letting his hand drift don across her belly. “Keep you slick, so I can mount you as soon as I recover?”

His hand cupped her mound, fingers gently owning her lower lips. “I can feel my seed in you,” he whispered, gently pushing one finger into her. “Can you?”

-*-

Jack gripped her rump, fingers digging into her flesh as he pulled her tighter against him. “Oh, I will,” he promised, flexing his thighs to lift her knees entirely off the bed. The wide-eyed look of surprise as her weight impaled her on his shaft was gratifying. “You’ll know you were well and truly fucked when I’m finished.”

Shufting, he let them topple into her back, listening to the bed creak as they hit the mattress. Still cupping her ass with one hand, he tangled the other in her hair once more. “Going to earn your coin?” he growled, teeth scraping the porcelain skin of her throat. “Cause I’m going to get every penny out of you.”

His hand tightened, nails digging into her skin as he drove into her. The slap of skin on wet skin sounded above the creaking of the bedframe. His own gasps wer muffled against her skin as he bit at her, leaving stinging red marks on her throat. “Fuck,” he grunted out. “Oh, oh fuck, I’m…”

He came with a cry, hips pounding uncontrollably against her as he emptied himself into her. When it was spent, braving himself on shaking arms, he stared down at Aurinda. “Enjoy yourself?”
 
"Oh!"

It was half a surprised yelp, half a cry of pleasure as he lifted her off the bed and let them fall back. Aurinda gripped his shoulders, her nails pressing half-moons into his flesh as he gripped her rear with one hand and her hair with the other, yanking her head back and scraping his teeth against her throat. She pressed her hips up to meet his as he thrust into her.

"Every ha'penny even," she moaned breathily as he dug his nails into her skin. "Jack...fuck Jack...!" Aurinda's walls clenched gently at each little bite, stinging her throat and marring her flawless skin. The creak of the bed, the sound of skin against skin, the gentle gasps and moans of their game...

It was perfect.

"Cum for me, Jack," Aurinda moaned, sliding one hand up to tangle in his hair. "Oh fuck please...!" A choked cry escaped as he came and she toppled over the precipice with him, clinging to his shoulders and lifting her hips off of the mattress, tightening her thighs around his waist. "Jack!" Her voice broke as she cried out his name in a tone he'd not heard from his wife in many a decade.

Aurinda collapsed beneath him, breathing heavily, grinning, spent. "Immensely." She giggled--giggled like a schoolgirl!--and pulled him down, wrapping her arms around his middle and turning them as he fell. One leg slid over his hip and she stared at him while they both caught their breath. "It's been far too long." Her fingers ran tenderly through his hair then cupped his cheek. "Might need a minute....but what game shall we play next, lover?" She grinned again and kissed him tenderly, pressing her body against his. "Or shall we simply while the afternoon away in bed, dining lavishly without a care for the world, hm?"

~*~

"Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow," Jenny laughed. She had read Shakespeare, but she didn't always understand it. That mode of speech had been antiquated even by the time she had been born a century and a half later. A giggle as Onontio rolled them over, then a groan when finally he pulled out and lay next to her. "Take your time," she encouraged when he admitted it might take him a bit to be ready again. "We've the whole afternoon. I don't have to be back until suppertime."

She pushed away thoughts of John. Of marriage at all. Of her children and the lifetime and a half she had had with the same man. He didn't exist in this moment, he never had. Over a decade of waiting for one man to come home, out of devotion more to a God who had abandoned her than to him. No...it was devotion to him too. She did love him, even now. But she had spent so much of that time being angry and sad, and now she was still angry and sad even in death. Yes, she had chosen this, but what else was she supposed to do? Wait God knew how long on her husband again? She was fucked either way, and she didn't know what she had done to deserve that. She deserved an afternoon of happiness, even if it was in the arms of a stranger.

"In here we can forget the world," she promised, leaning in to kiss him gently. "The sun and the moon and stars, the wind and the rain...all gone."

Jenny smiled and leaned into his kiss as he explored her mouth. She ran her hands over his shoulders and down his back, sliding her leg over his hip as they slowly explored one another and caught their breaths. She arched an eyebrow slyly as he offered to keep her ready.

"Not if you're going to mount me like a rutting beast," she teased. Leaning in she groaned gently against another kiss as one hand came down to cup her mound. "But I'm certain I could see my way to allowing you to touch me..." She gasped gently when Onontio pushed a finger inside her, groaning and moving against his hand. "Yes..." she breathed, pulling him back into another kiss.

Hours later--had it truly been hours?--they fell apart again. For a fourth time Jenny gasped for breath, reflecting that she hadn't had a day like this in years. Decades, possibly. Sliding her hand down Onontio's arm, she laced their fingers and kissed his knuckles one by one, smiling up at him.

"I'm afraid the sun is starting to fall, my dear," she murmured, lips brushing his fingers, "and I've got to go soon. What shall I do without my beautiful savage slave, hm?"
 
Hours later - many hours later - John took his leave of the DeLorean household. A few hours later than he had intended, to tell the truth. He’d attempted to leave sooner, but Aurinda had been extremely persuasive. And far more adventurous than he’d expected as they took one another over and over again in every way they could imagine. His back was sore, and his legs shook slightly, and he was sure she’d walk with a limo for a day or so. It had been amazing, far better than sex with Jenny had been for… for… God. How long had it been since he’d enjoyed sec that much?

Jenny.

The dark streets of Detroit seemed even darker as the euphoria of the afternoon and evening wore off, and the enormity of what he’d done sank in. This wasn’t like that time in Hong Kong, where he was half sure he’d been drugged and completely sure it had been the only way to get the information they needed. This was betrayal of his wedding vows. Complete, utter, willing betrayal. And worse, he was certain he’d do it again if Jenny wasn’t back from visiting her Indian friends tomorrow. Because as much as he loved Jenny, Aurinda made him feel desired in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time.

“I’ll make it up to her,” he decided, muttering out loud. “Somehow.” Flowers, maybe? Or jewelry? Maybe a new dress, one that fitted close and showed off her cleavage? Or, maybe… maybe he could just fuck her the way he’d fucked Aurinda. Even better, maybe. Because somehow, what he’d done made him want his wife of a century and a half like he hadn’t wanted her in decades.

Yes, that was it. He felt inspired. He’d make her feel like the most desired, most desirable woman in the world. Show her what his newly awakened passion meant. Make her moan and scram the way he’d been able to do when they were newlyweds.

His face fell just a little as he made his way up the gangplank of the Pearl. If he did it well enough, then she’d never even guess how much he’d betrayed her.
 
Spitalfield, London
June, 1870

He wasn't supposed to be out this late. Mum had told him to come straight home from Jeremy John's house, but the two boys had stopped by the river and poked at some frogs. Jeremy had been horrified, for some reason, when he pulled the frog's leg off to see what it looked like, if they had bones or if they were filled with goop the way Jeremy had said. And when he'd threaten to tell his mum...well...

Evan Aderyn wandered up and down alleyways, wiping the river water from his hands onto his pants. It had been an accident. They'd been pelting each other with little rocks by the river and he'd thrown his too hard. Not that he was going to tell Mum, but if anyone asked. If anyone found Jeremy before he was washed out to sea. Mum said that everything in the river wound up in the sea eventually, and Jeremy had said that pirates got buried at sea and they played pirates all the time. They were just playing pirates that's all. So he--

"...steal a man blind?"

"The price is the price, love. If you're not enough of a man that you can afford me..."

"Oh, I can afford yer alright."

Evan gasped quietly and pressed himself against a wall, then peaked around the corner. A red-headed woman in a low-cut dress stood with her back to the wall, grinning and fiddling with a man's lapels. A second man with dark, shoulder-length hair passed her a few coins while the sorter man fished in his purse. Mum had always rushed him by whenever they passed women like her in the street, not that there were many of them out and about in broad daylight, but he had always been fascinated by them. Those women--as his mum called them--sold something. He could never quite tell what, but they reeked of danger and reward. There was no way he was going to miss his chance to watch one of them here in the dark and the fog, away from the protective embrace of his mother. Evan watched surreptitiously while the men pawed at her, pulling her blouse open and hiking up her skirts as they pinned her between them.

Something deep inside Evan stirred, a second soul he hadn't noticed creeping in. The curve of her face, the fire struck from her hair even in the light of a dingy sodium lamp at the top of the alley, it was all...familiar. Like he'd seen her in a dream. He tilted his head, his eyes wandering from flaming hair to mossy green eyes, to her throat. She wore a simple ribbon as adornment instead of a proper necklace but it was red. He stared at that thin red line until he could practically see the blood dripping, as though her throat had been slit, over pale flesh. His breath caught. She was beautiful.

Old Brompton, London
October, 1885

"You'd think it gets old, but it never does." Jenny grinned from beneath her mask as John handed her down from the carriage. "Honestly, I approve of these Hellfire clubs. I mean, I always have but fifty years ago I would never have said so." By some small miracle her gown compressed as it went through and made it out untouched. In the past decade or so she had really started taking to cheeky mockery of the sacraments, marriage particularly. Nothing truly blasphemous, of course, but opening their marriage had brought the Sparrows closer together than ever. When they'd been invited to His Excellency's "secret" society meeting--and on All Hallow's Eve no less--she'd instantly been taken with the idea of wearing white the way so many brides did nowadays.

Once they were on the pavement, she paused with her husband and looked around. "If you'd told me a century and a half ago that I'd be invited to a party in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in London," she said, "I'd have laughed myself into a coma." She looked up to John and gestured. "Shall we?"

They were late--only fashionably late, but still late--and the party was already in full swing. Cheeky parlor games were being played in the rooms closer to the front, the kind where articles of clothing (except masks, of course) were slowly removed and women were made to giggle and blush and hoped to catch the eye of men they recognized under the masks. The more seemly games were kept towards the front in case someone uninvited showed up on the stoop. Jenny took Jack's hand and made straight down the hallway, toward the back. Perhaps later things would move upstairs but for now she wanted to see who was here, and whether any of the new initiates were delicious enough to taste.

"See anything you like, love?" she asked over her shoulder, leading the way through the crowd.
 
“If you'd told me a century and a half ago that I'd be invited to a party in one of the wealthiest neighborhoods in London," she said, "I'd have laughed myself into a coma."

“II’ve been to a few parties in wealthy neighborhoods,” Jack chuckled. “Not that I was strictly invited, mind you. But I always made them memorable.”

Jenny had decided to dress like a bride on her wedding day, one of her current fancies, so he’d dressed to compliment he look. Top hat, tails, waistcoat, the whole nine yards. It wasn’t as comfortable as his usual clothes, but still a damn sight better than the powdered wigs and skin-tight hose of the prior century.

She looked up to John and gestured. "Shall we?

“Of course,” he replied, offering her his arm and escorting her up the stairs. Inside a servant dressed in toga and sandals collected his hat and gloves and her shawl (and a guinea he’d handed over with the gloves), then discretely vanished. Still holding her arm, he led (followed?) Jenny past the more prosaic and slightly incomprehensible parlor games and down a darkened hallway towards the deeper recesses of the estate.

"See anything you like, love?" she asked over her shoulder.

“I’ve noticed a few,” he replied with a little shrug. “Nothing to pursue just yet, but the night’s still young.” Then, with a devilish grin, he stepped close. “Still, my love, remember we’re to be married in the morning. Be certain you comport yourself modestly, as a bride to be.”

That should get her juices flowing, he smirked. Still, knowing her current tastes, he decided to offer a final line. “How could you face the priest and the holy sacrament he will perform, if you defiled yourself with your carnal urges?”
 
Jack admonished her to behave as a bride the night before her wedding ought and Jenny giggled. He knew how to get her going, and as a reward of sorts she pushed herself onto her toes and kissed his nose. "Of course, darling," she assured him, though the glint on her eyes betrayed the lie. "I'll be every bit as chaste and pure in the morning as I was this morning." She winked, and bit her lip at her husband's smirk. When Captain Jack Sparrow had that look, a good time was always sure to follow. A lustful twinge ran through her when he mentioned the priest and holy sacraments.

"Well, as my husband you must lead me in all things." It was difficult not to laugh at that and ruin the game. She'd hardly allowed herself to be led anywhere even when alive. One hand crept up and pulled him down by the lapels, their masks bumping lightly when they kissed. "I trust you to guide me throughout the night, for surely we're to be surrounded by sin and temptation." Jenny grinned as she settled back down onto flat feet, but then by chance her eye caught sight of something over his shoulder. "Oh, my love, look!" She turned him and pointed to a young man dressed as a priest, wearing a red and gold horned mask. She sighed and tugged at her husband's arm. "He's perfect! It's fate, don't you think?" She looked up at him, eyes glittering behind her mask. "He could marry us right now, and we've all the witnesses we could ever want, right after we make our confession." She was already tugging him through the crowd, drawn by a tie she couldn't quite define to the man making a mockery of the faith. He was tall, slightly taller than John, and judging by the bits of his face she could see under the mask he couldn't be more than 25 or 30. The rest of his body was a delicious mystery, a present to unwrap.

Jenny touched his arm to draw his attention from the woman on her knees, surrounded by four men. "Forgive us Father, for we've sinned." She grinned, holding onto Jack's arm.

Evan jumped when he felt the touch on his arm and tore his gaze away from the woman swallowing one cock, riding another, and stroking two more, more out of habit than out of any true desire to look away. He was glad he did. The vision in white grinned up at him enticingly. Her flaming red hair offset the ruby necklace which drew a line across arteries with which he was becoming ever more familiar, the droplets enticing his eye down to creamy breasts which, for once, he was able to openly admire. His Passenger--for that was what he had long called the second soul he felt, urging him to do things which felt only natural but which society deemed monstrous--stirred and made his fingers itch. He blinked hard, once, behind his mask and glanced over at the man she was hanging off of before looking back down at her.

"Of course, my child," he played along, "and what is this dreadful sin you have committed?"

"We're to be married in the morning," the young woman replied eagerly, "and yet all around us are carnal temptations. Surely you would guide us through such a labyrinth of base desires?" She stroked one finger up his chest to the base of his throat.
 
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