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The author of this story has read and accepted the rules for posting stories. They guarantee that the following story depicts none of the themes listed in the Forbidden Content section of the rules.
The following story is a work of fiction meant for entertainment purposes only. All sexual acts depicted in this story take place between consenting adults.
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Title: The Rolling Ocean
Author: @Lucius
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This story participates in the Kristen's Board Memorial Contest.
Louise Brooks participates in this story.
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The Rolling Ocean
It was the tango that did it.
Nothing existed for Spally Evesham but the sharp rhythm of ‘La Cumparsita’, the relentless, wave-like flow of the melody as he and Louise danced close together. It wasn’t the perfect, seamless oneness, but they were doing well. Spally was happy they had done the waltz-like camel glide earlier in the evening, learning how the other one moved.
It seemed to Spally that he could float in the air—Louise along with him—all the way up to the crystal-and-carved-wood ceiling of the enormous, brightly lit, oak-panelled lounge. Sometimes he literally did float, the floor leaving his patent-leather-covered feet. Notwithstanding the captain slackening the speed of the Majestic for the Thanksgiving dinner and dance, the largest ship in the world rolled on the angry waves of the Atlantic while she made her way to New York.
Spally was a good, competent dancer, but no more than that. As for Louise, she was spectacular, bold and incredibly sure-footed, in charge of her own balance, hiding each of his many moments of indecision with a well-timed corte, a waiting move. Every toss of her proud head, the scythe-like spit curls of her glossy, slightly dishevelled jet-black bob slicked forward to mow down hearts, fuelled his desire.
They had been introduced last summer in Paris at a party thrown by his uncle, Lord John. Louise for the most part ignored Spally in favour of her filmdom friends then. Duke of Evesham or not, he must have been just another titled society swell to the young American actress.
Nevertheless Spally was thrilled yesterday when he saw the name of Louise Brooks on the list of the first-class passengers joining the ship at Cherbourg. The present head of the House of Cossington, Spally strove to do justice to his notoriously libidinous forebears, never missing the opportunity for a brief romance.
The music was over. Lost in her large shining eyes of deep brown, Spally mouthed superlative pleasantries.
‘You can sure strut your stuff, Tango Toes!’ Cutting his effusions short, Louise slipped out of his grasp, grabbed a champagne glass from the proffered tray and downed all of its contents, sending more fizz into her blood. She revelled in how well she could handle the alcohol—she was truly thankful for that!
Thankful for not getting seasick too, especially as it was her fourth Atlantic crossing of the year 1929. Yes, the fourth—the Île de France, the Olympic, the new record-breaking Bremen and now the Majestic.
‘Well done, Brooksie!’ Edna Wallace Hopper, the Gay Nineties stage star turned stock trader and beauty specialist, glided past her—her face, mask-like from plastic surgery, creased in a knowing smile. Louise smirked back at the only woman adding ten years to her age, all the better to sell her ‘aids to youth’.
The English duke was next to her, drinking, his gaze flitting now and then to her cleavage—Louise’s half-naked bright red gown left little to the imagination.
Louise knew what it was he’d been wanting all the time. He was young—just three years older than her—and something of a Lothario.
Would she or wouldn’t she?
Shame about his horsey face, but he had fine golden hair and it felt terrific when he was bending over her in the tango. The man was a good dancer, not so uptight as the English tended to be...
She drank another glass of Moët. She was a little tight—so what?
‘Shall we… go?’ His fingers brushed her naked arm. Louise looked into his pale green eyes, glittering with desire.
‘Don’t get the eagers now, Tango Toes!’ Louise whispered. ‘But don’t lock the cabin door either. I’ll come… Maybe!’
And Louise scuttled out, knowing that everyone in the lounge was following her with their eyes.
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Lying in bed in his silk pyjamas, propped up by pillows, Spally was leafing absent-mindedly through Parker's Roman Legions.
Would she or wouldn’t she?
He heard the door creaking open. In a couple of seconds, Louise emerged from the corridor.
‘There you are, Tango Toes! You can get lost in here,’ the girl kicked off her slippers and pirouetted barefoot into the bedroom of the starboard Regal Suite—the eight rooms occupied by Spally and his valet Rudman. She wore a filmy negligée with light, fluffy marabou feather trim over her Japanese-style pyjamas. ‘In the mood for a new conquest?’ she nodded at the book.
‘You came, you saw, you conquered,’ Spally said softly, getting out of bed to wrap her in his arms, pulling her close to him. ‘And for that, I give thanks unto thee, the impenitent sinner…’ Louise giggled at his being silly, then shushed the aristocrat. Shrugging the negligée off her shoulders, she grasped his head in her hands, then linked them behind his beck, rising onto her toes—after all, he was a foot taller than her.
Their lips met for a long, passionate kiss, their bodies drawn together by the urge they were not about to deny. Relieved of the need to think, Louise could just feel. In a daze, she sensed the man undressing her until she stood naked in front of him.
‘You’re a marvel, Louise,’ Spally breathed out, undoing the Chinese frog clasps of his jacket. His eyes feasted upon her lithe body until a roll of the liner sent her into his arms again.
‘They used to place a candle in the sinner’s hand… A heavy, lighted candle…’ Louise boldly yanked Spally’s pyjama bottoms down. She cupped his heavy balls, then wrapped her fingers about his hard flesh, feeling it from end to end. Her pussy, already slick, clenched in anticipation as she stroked his prick, gently shifting the foreskin to and fro, sensing it quiver and swell further in her hand. Spally was kissing her hard on the mouth again, the tip of his tongue toying with hers. His hands caressed her breasts, her nipples pebbling under his touches, and then roamed down her flanks to knead the taut cheeks of her bottom.
‘Oh!’ Spally slid one hand between Louise’s thighs, cupping her mound of Venus, ruffling her wiry hair. His finger stroked lightly along the whole length of her narrow slit, then tickled her heated clitoris. He repeated the slow movement over and over and over, caressing the seat of her pleasure with each pass.
He was driving her crazy. Lust surged through her body—every inch of her bare skin was on fire. Letting go of his cock, heedless of the roll of the transatlantic liner, the flexible Louise raised her leg, planting her slender bare foot on the seat of the chair standing nearby so that her thighs were wantonly spread for him. Biting her lower lip, her eyes closed, her clit pulsing, she kept the lewd pose through the rolls, holding onto the man as he began slipping his middle finger deep into her sodden pussy.
Spally couldn’t wait another second. He guided Louise, pliant in his arms, over to the bed and eased her down under him.
Louise lay back, breathing hard, her small breasts rising and falling rapidly, her nipples taut. Her face all aglow, her hair wild, her lips swollen and moist from his kisses, she was a vision of lust. She spread her legs for him, wetness glistening between her thighs.
‘Don’t you worry, Tango Toes, I’m wearing a cap…’ Louise panted.
Spally knelt between her legs, caging her with his forearms. She felt his prick sliding up her inner thigh to rub against the swollen lips of her pussy.
He pushed forward, the tip of his cock opening her up, spreading her slick moist heat. Louise’s hips rose off the bed to take him deeper. He caught her hands—their fingers interlacing as he began to move, giving her shallow thrusts at first, sinking a bit deeper each time, slowly, relentlessly.
‘It’s all right… Don’t hold back!’ Louise lifted her strong legs to coil about his thighs, urging him on.
Spally drew in a ragged breath and speared his cock into her as far as it would go, his heavy balls slapping against her rump. Looking into her wonderful eyes, hazy with passion, he began to fuck her with long, hard thrusts, her breathy moans driving him wild.
Her heart battering against her ribs, Louise couldn’t hold back screams when his in-strokes coincided with the movement of the ship rolling his hips into hers with incredible force. Little flames of pleasure began to gather in her pelvis until it was a great fire burning inside her.
Spally’s sensations were centred on the head of his prick as he quickened his forceful thrusts.
Louise writhed under him, her strong inner muscles rippling on his shaft, so full, so hard, so thick… Her pleasure grew and grew and grew until—
Her entire body tensed. Arching her back, she shuddered, crying out in ecstasy, her pussy clasping around his shaft.
A couple of strokes later, Spally stilled, feeling her taut flesh quiver wetly all around his prick. A second later, he erupted inside her with a grunt of utter satisfaction.
Louise, wild waves of joy rolling through her body no weaker than the full force of the Atlantic Ocean, thrashed on the bed, feeling every twitch of his prick, every squirt of his semen deep inside her.
‘My sweet… My joy… My darling… My dear Louise!’ Spally lowered himself to lie on top of the girl, pressing her heated body into the bed, kissing her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks, her lips. Her spasming pussy kept milking his shaft.
‘That was good. That was damn good,‘ Louise said languidly, kissing him back.
‘By Jove, it was!’
Spally was inside her still. Louise lay under him, boneless and sated, until she felt him getting smaller, then slipping out. The man rolled off her to lie his side, embracing her again as the lovers drifted off to sleep to the distant drone of the ship’s mighty turbines and the lapping of waves against the cliff-like sides of the great transatlantic.
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‘Good morning, Your Grace!’
‘Rudman…’
‘Oh. Uh-oh!’
‘Good morning, Miss Brooks!’ Spally’s valet didn’t raise an eyebrow.
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‘Good morning, Your Grace! Miss Brooks.’
Louise and Spally had enjoyed themselves to the full during the following five days and nights of the crossing.
Spally looked at Louise. His love affairs were intense and transitory, and it was yet another one. Yes, he needed to marry and to to sire a boy. Lord John, the heir apparent to his titles, was not the sort of man that would ever get married. The next in the remainder was Spally’s fourth cousin once removed, a Charterhouse schoolboy—ugh!
He could marry Louise. She was amazing in bed and out of it—he hadn’t expected the Kansan girl to know that Marcus Aurelius waged wars throughout his entire reign, much less to offer an intelligent if rather dubious comparison between Parthia and modern Japan. Peers marrying players happened all the time, and Spally was rich enough to not seek out an heiress.
But Louise was too fast, a tart at heart. Everyone had seen her photographed in the altogether, give or take a scarf. No Duchess of Evesham could have such a past.
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Louise looked at Spally. She recalled the end of her Denishawn Dancers days, with the oh-so-great Ruth St Denis firing her in front of other dancers because Louise allegedly wanted life handed to her on a silver salver.
His life was handed to him on a golden salver. But that was no life for her. No pictures, no freedom—just a succession of golden cages. They might be the size of the Majestic’s lounge, but cages nonetheless.
A cage was not where she was meant to be. She was going to be the brightest of the silver screen stars! Then there was George waiting for her in New York—she had cheated on him many times, but she was certain she loved him.
It was all over.
Later that day, Louise and Spally said and kissed their goodbyes on the verandah of his suite, gazing at the jagged Manhattan skyline as the great liner was making her way up the North River.
They never saw each other again.
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