Kiss her. And damn the consequences.

Lightning sparks as your hand touches hers, and the golden band around her finger stings like needles. But her lips are as red as wine, as red as blood, and as inviting as ever.

You pull her towards you, embracing her, and your tongue entwined with hers makes you forget. You forget the sorrow of parting, the lonesome nights at Sea. And she (hopefully) forgets about her spouse. About domesticity. About anyone but you.

Then her greedy kisses answer your own, and her hands are on your cock. She guides your hands and undoes button after button – until you caress her naked breasts. Until her hot moans reward your touch. And until your unlashed manhood probes the wetness between her legs.

”Not here.” She pulls you behind the blackboard, through a hidden door, and along a dusty corridor. ”In here.”

You do not recognize the name on the door, but she has the key and wields it with one hand and your dick with the other. There is a dark office behind, books on unlit shelves and dark masks grinning savage grins. She stumbles inside, pushes a stair aside, and – her ass pressed against the black, hard wood of a large desk – opens her leg for you.

”Fuck me.”

You lift her up and she swipes papers, more books, and unidentifiable knickknacks aside. A stiff peak raises, begging for your kiss. Your fingers free it from shirt and blazer, then find the wetness between her legs – and her absent underwear.

”It gets drenched,” she says between moans. ”Divine Revelation is felt bodily, after all. And – and it sure is convenient.”

You test her theory with your fingers, your mouth, and soon your cock.

Her wide-open legs catch you inside. ”See,” she whispers, her breath hot against your ear. ”I’ve missed your lips, your smile – your dick. You were my first. The first man I kissed and the first to claim my ass. Ohhhh, First Officer, fuck my ass again!”

You kiss her lips and her traps release their prey. Arousal, hers and yours, drips from your cock. She smiles at the slick offering, wets her hands with practised licks, and prepares herself.

A hand guides you down as a thumb tip teases her tightest hole open. She coats your manhood with spit and spreads her cheeks.

”Fuck my ass again!”

You take her. Gentle at first, but she soon demands more. You need more, and you pull her from the desk. Your cock splits her open and she muffles herself by biting down on her fist. Her other hand meets yours between her legs. She comes; from touches and from your dick deep inside her bowels.

"Fuck!" She drops to her knees, opens her mouth wide, hesitates, and closes it again. "Fuck!" She tears one hand away from her overflowing sex and grabs your cock. "Fuck!" Her fingers close around the root and she works you with the same fervour she works herself. "Fuck!"

A familiar twitch widens her eyes, her expression taking you back. Her open mouth begged for your kisses – and for release. You even remember how her loose locks fall over her forehead and shade her eye.

She moves her head. Not quite touching, but with her hot breath caressing your tip. The close warmth teasing you more than the play of her fist.

You come together, her red lips painted white. She smiles and swallows, more running past her nose. Some hits her neck and more explodes across her naked breasts. She falls back and grabs her ankles, exposing her body and leaving you to finish yourself. A spurt hits her hair, and you aim down. But her skirt, no longer pushed aside and sliding down, catches the last, thinning drops.

"I’ve missed you." She takes your offered hand and lets herself be pulled upright. "I've missed being reckless."

You give the reply you always planned to give, and smile at her laughter. And she keeps a hold of your arms, using you as a counterweight as she strips off the soiled skirt.

The lower drawer of a faraway shelf contains a change of clothes, and she bows low to retrieve it. Darkness swallows all the books and most of her body, leaving only her naked ass swaying in the half-light.

She asks about your travels and studies, about your adventures and lovers. You answer even as you tear yourself away from her body, bent over then legs raised, and survey the disordered desk.

Time passes. The moments hazy like the afterglow.

{if The Passage of Time > 95} Your Time in Barenhaven is running out {elseif The Passage of Time > 80} Your Time in Barenhaven is coming to a close {elseif The Passage of Time > 60} You have some Time left in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 50} Your Time in Barenhaven is half-way over {elseif The Passage of Time > 30} You have quite some Time left to spend in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 15} You have a lot of Time left to spend in Barenhaven {elseif The Passage of Time > 5} Your Time in Barehaven has just begun {else} You are now spending Time in Barenhaven {endif}

A nameplate, slightly askew, bears the title of ‘Professor’ and a familiar name. She has kept her maiden name, but you recognize the Occasionally-Hawkish Ethnologist all the same.

The Dean’s Daughter, now wearing a pair of mannish pants, lurks over your shoulder to look down at her husband’s name. "He wasn’t my only." She pauses. "You knew, of course, or you might have guessed. I cannot print all I would like, but even my colleagues know. It is an interesting life, to be sure." She pauses. "Dad doesn’t, I think – I hope. He does not read anything I publish on principle. I am his little girl, and he believes I will change any day now and return to ‘reputable studies’."

She laughs, bitter at first, but soon with familiar mirth. "It’s silly. I do good work, important work, but I still feel like that tempestuous student who’d chosen her university to spite her father – who’d sneak away to steal kisses from you," she says and steals another. "You should come for dinner. I have only started to consider the role of the Sea in the wider postlapsarian framework and I would love to pick your brain." She pauses for an uncomfortable moment. "As would my husband."

You try to demure, to give a non-committal non-answer, but she gives you details – and kisses. Her address, her hand in your hair and the name of her servant. The schedules of all the members of the household and a soft bite on your lower lip. The minimal time of warning her kitchen will need.

"Don’t be a stranger," she finishes, giving you one last kiss. "First Officer."