Honour the Navy's strange traditions (on your knees)

{if Cold Iron > 1} You cross blades again. Steel flashes, and you manage to fend off her probing attack. She is breathing heavy, but your arms are heavy and dull.

A smirk spreads across her face, shiny with sweat. She fills her lungs with air, her breasts rising and straining against her now skin-tight dress. You would have been unable to block the low lunge even if your limbs didn’t feel like molten lead. Her cold metal penetrates the space between your legs with shocking elegance. You try a counterattack, but she only presses her weapon higher. A twist of the blade keeps the sharp edge from your bewildering erection, but you are overextended and mounting pressure forces your yield.

"Well fought," she pauses to catch her breath. "Bloody well fought."

Her weapon remains between your legs, and her eyes are on your bulge. "Though my victory deserves its reward." She steps closer as if to collect the sword, but grabs you by the hand instead. {endif}

You follow her to the window, dropping to your knees as she turns off the light. Her sword shines as silver as the moon as she moves the tip under your chin. Your head is raised to the smooth skin of her outstretched leg, and your first kiss has her relax the weapon away.

Goosebumps prickle on your lips as you move past her knee, and a loud moan rewards your finger exploring ahead.

"Hrrrngh! Fuck! I – ahhh!"

The smell of her arousal, sweet and humid, fills your nostrils. She drips for you and her shaven lips part for your conquering tongue. You taste her quivers and find her hand playing with her breasts.

The other caresses your hair, turning limp then stiff as you find her pearl. She screams, louder than the other fencers dared. You criss-cross your tongue across her folds, squirm the tip inside and then plant a sucking kiss over the top.

"Fuuu..."

Sweet honey speaks where words fail her. You give and take. Her fingers twitch around her neck while you play through a high-strung bout. Your tongue is the string and her rips, sharp under the flowing dress, are the bow.

Then the terminus.

The throes of orgasm seize her, taking her voice and breath away. She turns weak-kneed, so much so that you need to hold her up. Her legs shake and her body writhes, her lust dripping from your lips. You stay between her legs to placate her with gentle kisses and steady hands until she, shivering still, joins you on the floor.

Her warm body rests on your chest, hers rising from strain. You hold her in your arms as her breath returns.

She gasps, then growls. "Do you think they heard? I have a reputation to maintain, being a woman especially – and my comrades in arms are terrible gossips to a man."

Four feet scurrying away in the dark answer for you.

"You better run!" She exhales and shakes her head. "We should leave. And you cannot stay." Her voice quivers as she climbs up and relights the lanterns. "Don’t be cross, First Officer. I can have tongues in my cunt all day long and they love it when it’s me on my knees, but they get strange if I rest in the arms of a man – it’s not you, it just is what it is." She quickly orders her dress, looking presentable if flushed. "But I would like to see you again, away from here. And I am grateful – for everything."

You say goodbye on the shadowed landing half-a-flight up the stairs from her room. She kisses your lips, scrunches her face at the taste, laughs and kisses you again.

"See you soon?"