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  ENSLAVED © 2014 Colette Gale

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  TABLE OF CONTENTS

  Copyright Page

  Title Page

  Dear Reader

  Coming Soon!

  Colette Gale

  Enthralled

  by Colette Gale

  Published by Avid Press at Smashwords

  Copyright 2013 Colette Gale

  * * *

  Dear Reader:

  Welcome to the sixth volume of Miss Jane Clemons’ (also known as Jane Berkeley, Lady Hampstead) erotic adventures in the jungle…and elsewhere.

  If you have already read the first five volumes, you should move directly to the first chapter herein.

  For those who have not enjoyed the previous volumes, please feel free to read on below for an explanation of how I came to be the curator of these fascinating, intimate, and erotic journals.

  During the late 19th century, the British indulged in much exploration of Africa, searching not only for gold and gemstones, but also for knowledge of this fascinating Dark Continent.

  Professor Everett Clemons, the famous lepidopterist, and his daughter Jane were two of the most famous British citizens to embark on these travels, and although Jane published a book of her drawings and notations about the butterflies her father studied during these trips, there remained little information about her own thoughts and adventures—until recently.

  Not long ago, I was fortunate enough to come upon an old trunk filled with Professor Clemons’ journals and butterfly specimens, and there, within, I also found the treasure of Lady Jane Clemons Berkeley’s personal (and exceedingly intimate) journals. They detail her experiences in the jungle—being captured by natives, being abandoned by her fiancé Jonathan—as well as her passionate relationship with the wild man of the jungle known as Zaren…who was later discovered to be none other than John Berkeley, Viscount Hampstead.

  Because there were so many volumes of Jane’s journals, I have chosen to publish a series of short segments over time in order to make them publicly available as quickly and efficiently as possible.

  I do hope the reader will indulge my decision to follow the popular form of literature from this era, for I chose to publish Jane’s journals as a serialized collection. Not only does this enable me to be more efficient in releasing sections of her work (for it is quite an arduous task to pore over the very intimate and detailed descriptions of her experiences), but it also allows the reader to experience the story in segments rather than in one overwhelming gulp.

  I must also warn you: I have kept with the tradition of the times, ending each serialized episode on a cliffhanger.

  The most recent episode (entitled Enamored) ends with Jane and her beloved “jungle man” Zaren having recently been wed in London shortly after learning that he is none other than the long-lost John Berkeley, Viscount Hampstead. They had been separated by the lascivious Kellan Darkdale, who imprisoned Jane as his submissive mistress until Zaren was able to find and rescue her.

  When we last left our new bride and groom, they were embarking on a voyage from London back to the jungles of Madagascar—the only place Zaren truly calls home. However, someone is watching them…someone who wishes them ill. Someone who means to ensure they never reach their destination.

  I hope you find Jane’s experiences enlightening, exciting, and titillating as we follow her further adventures as a young woman, this time as her honeymoon voyage takes a detour to the Lost City of Amazonia.

  Colette Gale

  2014

  ~*~

  — I—

  “Honey…moon? How can that be…to put honey on the moon?” Zaren looked down at Jane with such a quizzical expression she couldn’t keep from laughing. “I do like honey—on bread, the way Effie showed me, but I don’t understand all this honey-moon talk from you.”

  He lay next to her on the unusually wide and comfortable bed in their cabin aboard The Racing Gull. They’d been at sea for more than two weeks already, and had spent very little time of it dressed.

  “No, darling, it’s what we call an ‘expression.’ It doesn’t mean what it sounds like—to make the moon honeyed or to put honey on it or anything like that. It just means…we’re married now, and very often a husband and wife take a trip together to celebrate being married.” She smiled and swiftly rose to slide her leg up, then straddled his naked body. Her soft, lush quim settled over his warm belly, teased by the rough hair that grew above his magnificent jutting cock. She slipped a bit when she settled into place from the damp gathered there, and smiled at the lick of pleasure that rolled through her.

  Zaren—for despite the fact that her husband was the wealthy and powerful John Berkeley, Viscount Hampstead, he would always be Zaren to her—looked up at her with delight in his intense blue eyes. “Again, my love?” he murmured, reaching to cup her generous breasts as they swayed above him.

  “As often as you wish,” she replied saucily. “And then another hundred times over, my lord viscount.” She sighed when his hot, slick mouth closed over one very ready nipple, sucking and sliding his tongue around and over the throbbing tip. A little shooting pleasure from nipple to her tiny, tight pip turned into a full-strength orgasm that rippled through her like a long, hot wave. “For that…” she sighed, closing her eyes, “is what a honeymoon is about.”

  When the pleasure eased, Jane lifted herself up and slipped his thick, ready cock into position. As she lowered down over him, Zaren’s brilliant blue eyes widened with pleasure…then sank half closed as he grasped her hips to help her with the slow, steady rising and falling as she rode him at a leisurely pace. He filled her with his thick, swollen cock. Every tiny movement, every long, deep stroke, brought with it a blooming of desire.

  Jane was a lusty woman—one whose body craved pleasure and was rarely satisfied for long. She was passionate, responsive, and easily aroused; quite different from the other strait-laced, corseted, and repressed women of London society. At least, as far as she knew.

  But one thing Jane had discovered over the last months—since she’d met and fallen in deep love with Zaren—was that having sex with her husband was the most arousing, satisfying, and shattering experience of all. It was because of the way he looked at her—with purity, love, and respect—every time. Even when it was rough. Even when it was fast, and hard, and urgent.

  Even when she begged for release, when he teased her and taunted her and licked her until she was ready to scream…it was so very different from the other experiences she’d had.

  He loved her. She loved him. And fucking someone you loved…well, it was simply heaven. And then some.

  Her long red-gold hair tumbled around them like a silken curtain as she rode him, teasing and stroking his length with her tight pussy. This time, she refused to allow him to come, as she had so recently done, loving the expressions that filtered over his face…loving that she had control of him and his pleasure as so many had done to her over the last months.

  She loved the way his cock filled her to stretching, the way its purplish head bumped against her clit and slid deeply inside her. She loved the way her labia swelled and grew slick and wet, and the soft sucking sounds her quim made as she moved up and down, back and forward, and in little circles around the jutting rod she rode.

  Zaren’s handsome face wavered between tension, wonder, and delight as she alternated her rhythm: fast, slow, verrry slooowwww, and then fast and faster and faster, until they were both gasping and crazy-eyed and ready to explode.

  But just as she was gathering up to tip into the glorious white heat of release, he yanked her down flat against him, wrapping a length of hair around his wrist to bind her in place, crushing her breasts against his chest. Before she could react, he trapped one of her legs wit
h his powerful thigh, and curled a strong arm around her waist so she could no longer move and tease him. Jane sighed and moaned, bucking gently against his muscular torso as he held her close…and then forced her to be still. Her face was buried in his loose, silky hair, and she drew in a long breath of him: his arousing, delicious essence.

  Each heart thudded against the chest of the other, and Jane’s tiny little pip quivered and throbbed, pressed between his cock and torso. She wanted more…she wanted movement! Pressure! Stroking…release.

  She shifted impatiently and was rewarded with nothing but a little bit of friction before Zaren tightened his arm and chuckled deep and low in her ear. “So very eager, my Lady Hampstead,” he murmured, then snaked his tongue deep and quick into her ear as he slipped his other hand down along the cleft of her arse.

  Jane jolted and shivered as his tongue invaded the sensitive, ticklish depths of her ear even as his fingers slipped around and below the curve of her bottom to find the hot wetness there, around his cock and slicking the lush folds of her pussy. She shivered and bit her lip as he did something to twitch his cock deep inside her, sending pleasure jolting through her while using a wet finger to tease the tiny pleats of her arsehole. She shuddered at the sensation, heard the soft, slick sounds, felt the low moan of lust gather deep in her throat…her orgasm was so close, and yet still out of reach. But it was a beautiful anticipation…a welcome one.

  Yet she was impatient. She wanted more.

  “Zaren, don’t tease,” she whispered, then nipped sharply at his ear. He was salty and warm and tasted of male and sex and fresh air, and she sucked while twitching and shifting as much as she could though still imprisoned beneath him. It was a convivial battle of wills, an amusing contest that would finish with the contentment of both as she struggled to find movement, and he kept her tightly imprisoned. Every so often, he would twitch deep inside her…or give the slightest movement of his hips, allowing her to settle even more deeply onto him. His fingers were busy, slipping around where they were joined, around her tiny pleated hole, and then…to her utter delight and frustration…around between the fronts of them to find the tiny core of her pleasure.

  Jane shivered and sank down close, tasting the salt of his skin, and then shifted softly, slowly…hardly noticeably, but enough that her pleasure began to rise and rise—

  “I don’t think so, my lovely lady,” he muttered, shifting a little. But then she managed a few sharp, desperate movements that caused his breath to catch, and with a little laugh, he held her even tighter. This kept her hips from teasing him but forced her ready clit to be pressed even more tightly between them. “Let us just remain here…soft and easy…and enjoy this honeymoon of which you speak.”

  “I don’t wish to be soft and easy,” she argued, nipping at his ear again, and, when he jolted in surprise, giving a good, hard, noticeable thrust of her hips down onto him. Gad, he was so big and hard and full… She shifted hard again, faster, and reached around to find his ballocks, stroking and teasing the crisp hair growing there, tugging gently, and then grinding her hips down, down, down onto him…

  “Uhhh…” he groaned, and Jane grinned with delight and triumph. That was the sound of her man, giving in…giving up.

  With a sharp, quick movement, he had her on her back and her hips in his hands as he thrust and pumped inside her with breathless speed. Smiling at her win, Jane arched up and gave a little cry as they reached their peak at the same time, coming with a hard, undulating release that left them still panting and gasping moments later.

  “By all that is good,” Zaren said, his damp body pressed against hers, one hand stroking what he called her fire-hair, “I do not know what I would do without you, Jane, my love.”

  “And I you,” she replied, and couldn’t help but remember those dark days when they had been separated, and when she thought he was dead, or lost in the jungle of Madagascar. “It will be so different to see the jungle with you now,” she added. “Captain Morris says we should reach Madagascar in one week.”

  “Only one week left of this?” he asked, his sensual mouth quirking as he gestured to the luxury of the large, soft bed. “Then we must be certain to enjoy every moment we have left, Lady Hampstead. For very soon, we shall be sharing our nest with monkeys and butterflies and the other many-legged creatures of my home.” His voice dropped low on the word home, and she reached to touch his dear, handsome face. She knew how much he missed Madagascar—the freedom, the wildness, the beauty.

  And what an amazing transformation he’d made in the last nine months—from his appearance, to his speech, to his understanding of the world in which she lived and he now belonged.

  When she first encountered him in the jungle, his nut-brown hair had hung well past his shoulder blades, and had formed long, soft coils from lack of combing and cutting. He’d been naked except for an animal skin he wore around his waist, and the long, sleek, tanned muscles of his arms, torso, and legs had been enough to make her mouth go dry. Never—even when she’d visited Michelangelo’s David in Rome—had she encountered a more breathtaking image. Certainly not when she thought of the pale, stringy fops back in London, with their padded-shoulder jackets and breeches.

  She’d found Zaren’s initial appearance both unique and attractive, but now that he’d had his hair cut and combed and wore it tied back into a short tail at the base of his neck, she thought him just as handsome. And she was the only one in London who knew precisely how broad and muscular his shoulders were beneath the tailored coats and crisp white shirts he wore in public. Her Zaren was the perfect combination of wild jungle man and proper, well-dressed gentleman.

  “I love you,” she said, pressing a soft kiss to his sensual lips. “More than you can imagine.”

  Before he could reply, there was a sudden odd lurch, as if the ship had come to a sudden stop. The telescope that Zaren had found so fascinating tipped over and rolled off the dresser. The sound of shouting, alarmed and urgent, reached their ears.

  Jane looked at her husband, whose expression had changed from that of a tender, intimate lover to a sharp and prepared hunter. In the jungle, he’d been able to best any beast with hand, speed, or weapon…and though he looked civilized in his gentleman’s dress, he was still the wild man of the jungle.

  “I know you won’t stay here,” he said, yanking on a pair of trousers with less grace than a man who’d been wearing them for decades would do. “But I will ask nonetheless.”

  “I cannot agree more,” she replied, pulling on a loose shift that required no corset. “I shan’t stay here. But I shall take care and stay close to you. Is it a storm coming? Or perhaps we’ve struck something? Or a sail has torn. Or…”

  She dared not say the word pirate. Surely not. Surely not in this day and age…

  “Be still and safe and do as I say,” Zaren ordered as he took her hand. “I do wish you would remain here, but if you won’t do that, then at least promise to listen to me.”

  “Yes, of course,” she said, bumping into the wall of the narrow corridor as the ship gave another sharp lurch. Had they run aground? Struck some land or rocks somehow?

  But Captain Morris was a seasoned sailor. Surely he wouldn’t make such a mistake…

  The shouting had ceased by the time Jane and Zaren were making their way up the short set of steps that would take them to the main deck. The door that led to the outside loomed just above them when he paused, listening and, as was his way, sniffing at the myriad of scents in the air. All was strangely silent, and then suddenly there was the sound of thudding footsteps just above them, followed by the definite noise of altercation.

  When it became quiet again, Zaren began to ease open the door that led to the deck.

  “Where is she?” demanded a voice.

  Zaren reacted instantly, spinning Jane around and shoving her behind him—for she was the only she on the ship. She felt his muscles quiver with tension as he looked about, and could read his mind as he searched for a way to protec
t her, hide her—

  Someone shouted on the deck above, and then there was a sound…a sound that made the hair on Jane’s neck stand on end. It was…violent and wet and…

  Zaren stiffened against her, his nostrils flaring as he drew in whatever new smell was on the air. She felt rage and fear shuttle through him—fear, she knew, not for himself or for anyone else on the ship but her.

  For Jane smelled it now too: blood.

  “Bring her to me, or this man is the next to die,” proclaimed the voice. “You have until I reach the count of three. One…!”

  She contained the gasp, barely covering her mouth in time to smother it. Eyes wide, she pushed at Zaren, trying to free herself from his powerful grip. “No,” she said, “no, I can’t let them—”

  “Two!”

  “Jane, don’t be a fool,” he hissed. “Don’t even think I will let them—”

  “Three!”

  There was another dull thud, this time directly above her head. She heard the sound of something heavy falling, and then rolling across the deck. Nausea surged in her belly, and Jane stared at Zaren in horror. “No,” she said. “There’s no other choice. Let us see…let us see what it is they want.”

  His eyes blazed down at her. “I know what they want. They want you. I won’t let them have you, Jane, I cannot.”

  “But there is nowhere for us to go, nowhere for me to hide…they’ll find me—and after how many others? How many others will die? What about you?”

  “Jane, no,” he began, but it was too late.

  “I’m here,” she shouted, trying to push her way out of his arms.

  “Jane, no,” he roared. “No!”

  But the door was open and figures stormed down the stairs, filling them with their shadowy bulk. One of them lunged for her, and Zaren roared, blocking him with a powerful upthrust of his forearm.