• 2,99 €

Publisher Description

Elizabeth Weltham had hoped to return to England and find a proper match, but sailing from the New World has run into a problem. Faced with a forceful, gorgeous captain of a crew of roguish women, Elizabeth may have no way to prevent her from Taking her Prize...

Set on the high seas, Taking Her Prize features simmering scenes of lesbian seduction and a proper young lady yielding to the passionate embraces of her captor. This story is quite certainly for adults only.

An excerpt:

"And you are, then, Dona Elizabeth Weltham?"
"Are what?" I said, trying to shrink back.
"A lady. A fair lady, perhaps, on her way to return to the green and pleasant land of your England."
"Well of COURSE I am!" I protested. "I am a perfect-"
"I don't know about perfect," the captain interrupted me. She straightened again, considering me, and there was a note in her eyes that I did not like one little bit. It seemed hungry, somehow, leering. Sailors perhaps are the same even when they are women, I thought, blushing; even so, it would be best if she could have spared me this strange examination.
"We shall have to see for ourselves," she continued. "If you two fine ladies of fortune could bestir yourselves to raise our prize's arms?"
They shifted their grasp; shocked, I gasped, and struggled, but not as hard as I might have. The two of them had been coarsened by their nautical habits in any case, and what is more, even if I were to break free, what is it that I should face? Even though now, with new eyes, I could see that the crew of this ship were all female, albeit hardly the fairest specimens of same...
Would I do better in the sea, with the sharks? I had the fortune to be able to swim after a fashion, thanks to my nurse and the languid river that passed near our manor. Even so, there was all the ocean sea around us. I would simply suffer, then perish, if fortune were not wholly with me. At least among these women, I might escape...
Escape what, or to where? I couldn't say. More to the point, the captain had drawn her sword.
I cringed backwards, but I was held too firmly, like Christ on his cross. She drew the tip of it downwards, cutting over my blouse - then turned the cutlass, sliding it in between the boning of my corset.

Fiction & Literature
September 26
Dana Bowman

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