Captain bent and kissed my forehead, then each cheek and the tip of my nose. When he paused, I thought of Romeo kissing Juliette's lips, so I rose to my toes, tilted my head back and wet my lips to beg receiving his.

A broad smile spread across his face, then he ran his tongue quickly over his lips before brushing them lightly across mine and back, causing me to tremble.

I pushed the tip of my tongue out, wetting his lips as they passed. He caught it with his, and then with his mouth, and I his with mine.

We probed and nibbled with caution a few moments, then he lifted his head away to gaze down into my eyes.

I sighed a trembling moan, "You may do that again, Sir. If you wish."

"And I do wish, Camille."

Our lips met again, this time with less caution. I caressed his bearded cheek with a hand, and he ran one of his down my back and beyond, cupping a butt cheek and drawing me closer, my nether mound pressed against his thigh.

We both trembled.

Then pulling my mouth from his, I said, "I am unclean, Captain. I must bathe." I grinned up at him, chuckling.

He winced. "Shall I hie to my quarters and not show my face until you bid?"

"You may. Or you may remain here and assist."

He winced again. "As I ought to have allowed you."

"We will learn, Sir. This is new to us both."

"You might call me Charles, if you wish."

"Charles. Such a noble name."

"Mother named me after the murdered King."

"And your family name?"

"Mother knew no family. Abandoned in the street. She was given the name Elizabeth, for the Queen because of her red hair, but she grew to be called Bethy the Char. I took to calling myself Charles, Bethy's son, then later, Betheson."

"As fine a name as any." I tilted my head over my shoulder, "But my water grows cold, and I remain unclean."

He released my butt, and I, my nether mound from his thigh, feeling the cooling of my wetness. No need to ask him; I now understand.

As I stepped back, my shirtfront opened, and I watched his eyes dart there. Then smiling in my remembrances from Shakespeare on the charms of women, and I shook my shoulders. His eyes grew round as his mouth opened wide, and I felt his hunger.

"Might I... Would you allow me to examine them? To touch them?"

I looked down and frowned. "They are not so nice now as usual. The red lines and the purple bruising are from the bindings."

"Are they tender?"

"They are." I paused to consider my desire. "All but here, around my nubbins." I pulled one and twisted it. "See, these are fine to touch."

He reached out and fondled one, and I moaned a long sigh as I looked down to watch. Beyond his fingers, I saw his britches swelling, so I set my attention there, remembering how Edwards' pizzle had lengthened and risen when he had begun stroking. But this – so much bigger.

I enjoyed his careful touch on both nubbins for a long while, then I said, "My bathwater cools still."

"Shall I assist you out of your shoes and breeches?"

"You may. And to be fair, I you out of yours."

He glanced down and reddened. "I fear my passion will show."

"I have sensed it for a long while – and observed it with interest." I nodded down at the strained cloth. "It begs release."

He reddened deeper. Then as I unbuttoned his front, he undid mine, and we each shuffled our breeches to our ankles. Exposed, we stood ogling in quiet appreciation before we united in an embrace and a kiss.

"The hot water," I said a passionate interlude later. "I must clean if we are to continue."

We sat to remove our shoes and stockings, and to doff our breeches from our ankles, then we stood again to remove our shirts and caress each other's beauty with our eyes. "The water," I said to break the spell.

He remained pointing skyward as we poured water into the tub from four of the kettles, and as I stepped in and sat to wash my nethers, it grew bigger still. How would that fit in here? I tested with a finger, then two and three before realisation dawned. Of course, this is where babies come out, so it needs to expand.

I asked him to soap my back while I lathered my hair, pleased it no longer hung to my waist. Shoulder-length, as men wear, is far easier to attend.

When he finished my back, he asked, "May I now wash your front, Camille?"

"Please, Charles, but gentle with the bruises."

And he was gentle, handling each breast as if it were a fragile treasure of great value. I trembled, in awe of both his tenderness and of the sublime expression on his face.

When we had finished soaping and rubbing everywhere, I instructed Charles to pour a slow stream of water over my head as I worked the soap from my hair. Then another kettle as I sluiced its flow with my hands to rinse my asselles and beneath my breasts.

I had enjoyed studying his pizzle through all of this – difficult not to with it so proud and so close. As I stood to rinse below, I watched it twitch, but I held my question, thinking this is no time for one of his long explanations.

After the third kettle, and then the fourth, I stepped out into the huge bath sheet he held. As he blotted me dry, I hummed a loud sigh and said, "We must make a habit of this, Charles."

"I would dearly love to, Camille. But first, I must find a way."

I tilted my head. "Find a way?"

He shook his head. "Though I now see it is not, most of the crew still believe it a curse to have women among the ship's complement."