Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

by Rosey M

November 5, 2005 – Rhonda

Ashley had been acting distant for a few months. She bought a laptop with money saved up from her part-time job, and was spending less time with me as a result. She’d sometimes go out, telling me that she was just going to meet a friend, but would never tell me who, or why she was hanging out with them. I hated it. I hated it so much! 

When I asked her to do things with me, she always found excuses not to. She still watched me when she thought I didn’t notice, but I couldn’t understand why she was just watching when we could be spending that time together instead.

She’d tell me that I didn’t have to worry about her, and that she was sure I’d rather spend time with my friends instead of my boring older sister. It drove me crazy! I loved being with her more than anyone else. I always have.

And really, why was she suddenly spending all her time with other people instead of me? Why were they getting all the attention? Was my company not good enough anymore? 

Sometimes, there would be a kind of awkwardness between us when I came home from school or playing with friends. Ashley would avoid making eye contact, and there’d be a look of sadness on her face. I wondered who would make her feel sad, and found myself wanting to be the only one who could invoke her emotions like that. Only me.

It was a Saturday, and Mom was out, so it was just me and Ashley in the house. I tried to get her to sit down and watch a movie with me like we used to, but she told me she was busy and then went to her room. 

For me, that was the last straw. Enough was enough! 

I jumped off the couch and marched over to her room, hammering loudly on the door. 

“Yeah?” an annoyed sounding Ashley called back. 

I threw the door open to see my sister leaning against the headboard, laptop on her knees. She was looking at me in mild alarm. But mostly all I could see was that stupid laptop! She spent more time with the damn thing than she did with me! She was probably talking to that mysterious other person. Enough!

It all came bubbling to the surface, making me burst into tears.

I was dimly aware of Ashley carelessly tossing her laptop to the side as she flew off the bed and gathered me in a hug. “What’s wrong, Rhonda!? Are you hurt?”

At that moment, all I could think was: now she cares!? Where was she when I needed her before? And why did it hurt so much? I collapsed into her as my body shook with sobs. 

“Rhonda!” Ashley exclaimed. “Tell me what’s wrong! I can’t do anything unless you tell me.”

I tried to take deep breaths, but my hiccupping sobs kept interrupting my attempts to get a hold of myself. “Y-y-you like them m-more than m-m-me!” The thought of Ashley liking someone, anyone, more than me made me cry even harder.

She pulled out of our embrace and grabbed my arms to steady me, her dark eyes staring in apparent confusion. “Who are you talking about? You know I’d never like anyone more than you, Rhonda.”

I wrenched myself free from her grasp as a fresh burst of anger seeped into me. “Then why don’t you talk to me anymore!? Why don’t you ever play with me like you used to? I hardly ever see you, and when I do, you barely even look at me!”

Words failed her and it was all she could do to stammer out, “I-I mean, I… I just…” She dropped her head in defeat.

Her shame soothed my rage, and I slowly deflated, my hiccups petering out to the occasional tic. “I miss you so much, Ashley… Whatever I did, I’m really sorry. I just want us to go back to the way things were.”

My sister raised her head to peer at me. There was enough sadness and resignation in her eyes to give me pause. It looked like she was trying to fight back tears of her own. “I’m sorry, Rhonda. I never meant to hurt you. And you didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just… it’s just that you’re getting older, and I know you must want to do other things, make new friends. Why would you ever want to spend all your time with your weird older sister? I’ve been hanging around you so much you must feel suffocated…” She bowed her head, then quietly murmured, “I know I have to move on…” 

Move on? What was that supposed to mean? Suddenly panicked, I cried out, “I don’t want you to move on! I want my sister back! The one who likes talking to me, and cares what I have to say. I want the Ashley who spends time with me, even if you think it’s all dumb kiddie stuff. I play with my friends all the time, and most of it I spend wishing it was you I’m with! I want you, Ashley. 

“And you’ve never made me stop wanting to be around you. Why would you even think that? Please stop avoiding me. It hurts s-so much…”

I could see tears running down Ashley’s cheeks as she huddled on the floor. I’d never seen her that way before. Cautiously, I wrapped both arms around my sister, feeling her tremble against me. She looked so small and vulnerable hunched over like that. 

I wanted to do the same things she always did for me when I was upset, so I stroked her hair, and hugged her as tightly as I could. As she began to relax, I pressed my lips to her head, then gently released her. She peered up at me.

I’ve always thought my sister is the most beautiful person in the world, but at that moment she looked both beautiful and comical. There were black smudges around her eyes, and dark streaks going down her face. I couldn’t stop myself from giggling. “You look like a raccoon!”

She wiped her eyes and smiled, only succeeding in smearing the eyeliner even more and getting it on her hands. “Sorry, I must look a mess. I was going to go out but… You really wanna hang out with me?”

I gawped at her, incredulous. “Did you not hear a word I said? Of course I do!”

I’m woman enough now to admit that I maybe overreacted a little at the time. Of course Ashley had every right to spend time with her friends if she wanted. So with great reluctance I added, “But if you’re meeting with someone, we can always, y’know, hang out when you get home.”

She shook her head, sniffled, then wiped at her eyes again. “No, it’s okay, Rhonda. I don’t want to any more. I don’t need to any more. Just give me a couple of minutes to clean myself up, and I’ll be back.”

A rush of selfish relief washed over me, knowing I was more important to my sister than whoever she’d been seeing.

Ashley exited through the open doorway and into the bathroom. I crawled up on her bed and leaned back against the headboard. That conversation didn’t go quite how I envisioned it, but nothing else mattered as long as Ashley and I could be best friends again.

Eventually she returned with a clean face. I snuggled up to her while she placed her laptop in front of us and told me, “We can watch a movie later, but there’s all sorts of video sites on the internet now. There’s this really funny clip I was watching earlier – check it out.”

***

May 29, 2006 – Rhonda

I squirmed for the umpteenth time that night, trying to find the right position. Rubbing my pussy felt so good, but I just couldn’t get it to happen again.

I’d been doing it the night before, my experimentation culminating in a warm peak of pleasure and tipping me over the edge into my first orgasm. I was tuckered out, and couldn’t exactly remember all the steps it took to get that far, just that I wanted it to happen over and over.

But when I tried to make myself feel good again a while later, I just couldn’t quite reach that special place. I didn’t know what I was doing wrong. Only ten years old, I found myself incredibly frustrated that I was having so much trouble figuring out what I was sure most girls my age probably already knew by heart.

But with Mom out with friends, and Ashley in her own room, I had lots of time to practice.

I tried lying on my back while I rubbed myself, then moved onto my side with a hand clamped between my legs. I even lay on my stomach while I ground against my curled fingers. 

I knew I wasn’t supposed to think about her when I did something like that, so I put it off for as long as possible, instead filling my mind with pop idols, and the teacher I had a crush on. It still felt nice, but it was nothing compared to when I’d think about—

A voice from the hallway broke into my erotic reverie. “You okay, Rhonda? I heard weird noises coming from your room.”

I was barely able to cover myself with a blanket, before Ashley opened my bedroom door and stood in the light from the hall. Wearing small shorts and a loose shirt, my older sister looked beautiful, even that late at night. Framed by long black hair, her tall, lithe body rested against the door jamb. 

Our relationship had mostly gone back to normal after we’d had our talk six months earlier, but something indefinable had passed between us, and now things felt… different, somehow. I was more aware than ever how pretty Ashley was, and how nice it felt to be with her.

I seemed to tingle whenever I thought about my sister, and she was nearly always on my mind when I was making myself feel good. Now Ashley was standing in the doorway, staring at me in concern, clearly waiting for an explanation about those odd sounds she’d overheard. 

I never talked to anyone about touching myself, always figuring it was something I’d get in trouble for. “Oh, I’m fine. Sorry I woke you, Ashley. Just tossing and turning ‘cause I can’t sleep.”

Entering the room and closing the door behind her, she studied me in silence for so long and so intensely I found myself squirming under her gaze. I still had my pajama top on, but I wasn’t wearing any bottoms under the blanket. I suddenly realized they were lying on the floor by the bed, along with my panties. Had she noticed them? 

For some reason, the very idea had my body throbbing, especially with the way she was looking at me. I began to rub my thighs together discreetly, trying to get some of the good feeling I was aching for, hoping Ashley would leave so I could see to myself properly.

Instead, she walked over to my bed and lifted the covers to crawl in next to me. Thankfully, she didn’t pull them back far enough to expose my nakedness, but it didn’t stop the squeak that escaped my mouth. What if she discovered what I was up to!? “Um, Ashley. It’s fine, really. I’m going to sleep now.”

Ignoring my protests, she perched on her elbow and regarded me thoughtfully. “What, I can’t sleep with my little sister when she’s having a bad night?” She nudged my leg with her own, in what she probably meant to be a playful gesture, but we both froze as she came into contact with my naked lower half.

Gaping at her in horror, I watched my sister’s face shift between several expressions before eventually settling on a knowing grin. Leaning in close, she cooed, “Come on, Rhonda, spill it! What were you doing before I came in? Being naughty?”

Unable to hold steady under her interrogation, I burst into tears. “I’m sorry, Ashley! I – I won’t do it anymore. Please don’t tell Mom!”

Ashley’s face fell. She quickly gathered me into her arms. “Hey, hey, hey, I was just kidding! No need for that, sweetie. What happens in here is always going to be between us. Besides, it’s completely normal to start doing that at your age.”

I started crying even harder, now mostly out of embarrassment. Ashley already knew what I was doing. Heck, she probably figured it out as soon as she looked in on me! Did Mom know, too? Was that why she barely talked to me… because she thought I was a dirty little girl?

Hugging me to her chest, Ashley rocked me back and forth for a while, making shushing gestures until I was able to calm down. I grabbed onto her shirt and put my face against her chest, mumbling, “Is masticating wrong?”

“Uh… what?”

I could feel my face getting hot. “Masticating. Is it okay that I do it?”

Trying and failing to hide her amusement, Ashley snickered. “I mean, yeah, it’s cool if you masticate… That’s how you eat food, goofball. It’s masturbate. And there’s nothing wrong with doing it.”

Blushing even harder – if that was even possible – I felt like crawling into a hole and never coming out. “It feels so good… I can’t stop doing it,” I whispered.

Ashley’s arms tightened their hold, pressing me against her body. “Why on earth would you want to stop?”

I peeked up at her face to test the emotional waters as best as a ten-year-old is able. My sister’s eyes shone brightly in the half-light of the bedroom.

The Look is something Ashley would do when she didn’t think I could see her. Her eyes would glaze over, and she seemed to commit every movement I made to memory. But whenever she noticed me looking back, she’d stop and find some excuse to leave the room.

By then I felt a weird tension building between us, and knew I had to ask her something before she had a chance to slip away. Mustering up all the courage I had, I said, “D-do you do it, too?”

Like she was breaking out of a trance, she peered at me in confusion. “Huh?”

“Masticate. Or whatever it’s called. Do you, Ashley?”

“Just call it touching yourself, Rhonda. But yeah, I do it. I think almost everyone does.”

I couldn’t believe it! Maybe she could help me with the problem I was having! “I got this really good feeling while I was doing it yesterday. But I can’t make it happen tonight. What am I doing wrong?”

Ashley’s hand began trailing down my back before suddenly retreating. She let me go and pulled away, jerking her head to the side, then giving me that tight smile I knew meant she was about to leave.

Lurching forward, I held onto her tightly. “Please don’t go, Ashley! I don’t know who else to ask about this stuff. It’s too embarrassing to talk to Mom.”

Her voice sounded a little strained when she spoke. “Well, kiddo. It sounds like you had your first orgasm. Congrats.”

“I don’t know how I made it happen, though. I’ve been trying really hard tonight, but it’s not working!”

“Well… how were you doing it when it happened last time?”

I felt my face turn warm, worried she was going to ask me for specifics.  “Well, um. I was laying here rubbing my, my thingy. It feels pretty good on its own, but it’s even better when I think about girls—“

Ashley interrupted me. “Girls? You don’t think about boys?”

I screwed my face up in distaste. As if I’d ever think about guys like that! “No, that’s gross! Anyway… I was thinking about hot girls while I was rubbing myself, and then it just happened.”

Ashley stared like she was seeing me for the very first time. She looked almost relieved, and I couldn’t help wondering why. “I think of girls when I do it, too. Who were you thinking about? Maybe it was a particular girl that did it for you.”

She wanted names now?! If dying from embarrassment was possible, I think I would’ve given up the ghost several times over by then. But she seemed so happy we were confiding in each other like we used to. I couldn’t let my sister down by clamming up now.

“Do you promise not to be mad or upset?”

She looked at me in surprise. “What!? Why would I be mad? I’d never be mad at you for this. C’mon, tell me.”

Smiling shyly, I told her the truth. “Well… I was thinking about you, Ashley.”

Ashley didn’t react at first, just looked at me blankly. Then she let out a shuddering breath. “Y-you were thinking about me?”

I knew she’d freak out! My first response was to panic. “I’m so sorry, Ashley! I know it’s weird. I won’t do it again!”

She pressed herself against me, burying her face into my neck. When she laughed softly, I felt it more than heard it. “It’s okay, Rhonda. I’m happy you think about me like that.”

Tentatively, I drew back so I could see my sister’s face. “Really? You’re not mad? You don’t mind that I think of you when I t-touch myself?”

She shook her head, biting her lip as she studied me carefully. “I definitely don’t mind, Rhonda.” She hesitated, then continued. “Would you believe me if I said I think about you when I do it?”

I never expected her to say something like that. Not in a million years. A surge of heat smoldered between my legs. 

The next thing I knew, Ashley was moving closer. When we were practically nose to nose, she whispered, “Can I kiss you, Rhonda?”

I quickly nodded, so she bridged the gap between us, pressing her mouth to mine. It felt so good; her lips were soft and warm. 

She pulled away, then asked softly, “Are you okay?”

Was I okay? I was better than okay. In fact, I was amazed – my big sister felt the same way I did! “Um, yeah. I liked kissing you, Ashley.”

Something seemed to shift inside Ashley, and before I knew it she was hovering over me. Her arms were on either side of my body, effectively pinning me to my bed. “I love you, Rhonda,” she whispered.

 “Ashley…” 

She pressed her lips to mine again, more firmly this time. Excited though I was, the intensity of the moment scared me a little. She lowered her body until she was on top of me. “You’re so beautiful.” 

 “Ashley?” 

I’d never seen her like this before. She kissed me again, her tongue wriggling its way into my mouth. I was overwhelmed, my hands resting against the soft warmth of my sister’s breasts as I tried to push her back just a little. Finally I broke away from her kiss, struggling to get her attention.

“Ashley!”

Startled, Ashley looked down at me as realization dawned on her. She clapped a hand to her mouth in horror, then hastily scrambled to her feet. “I am so sorry, Rhonda. So fucking sorry… I-I’m gonna go back to my room.” Hurrying to the door, she halted briefly to mumble, “Please don’t hate me.” Then she was gone.

All I could do was stare at the closed door in shock. What had just happened? One minute we were kissing so sweetly, and then suddenly she was all over me! It wasn’t that I didn’t like it; she’d just taken me by surprise.

Her boobs… they were as soft as I always imagined they would be. I found myself wishing I could have touched them a little longer. I was already regretting pushing her away. 

I don’t know how long I lay there like that, studying the ceiling. At some point I heard the sound of my mother stumbling through the front door. After a while, the apartment was quiet again.

Now I actually was tossing and turning, unable to get thoughts of Ashley out of my head. The kissing had been so nice. And despite being slightly alarmed, even the roughness of it had excited me – the way Ashley had seemed so out of control. My sister said she thought of me while touching herself, and it was her idea that we kiss. Hers.

It was all so much to take in. If I’d had even the remotest idea how she felt about me, I wouldn’t have been caught off guard like that! I figured I’d simply talk to her about it in the morning. Right then, though, I really needed to get some sleep.

On to Chapter Three!

Note from JetBoy: We’ve been promising this one to you for months now, and now we’re kicking it off with this refurbished opening chapter: Rachael Yukey’s “Pages From a Diary,” now available in this newly minted version. Let the hosannas commence!

But first, a bit of history. This story began to unfold at Juicy Secrets over five years ago. It made quite the splash, impressing readers and site staff alike… but alas, Rachael got caught up in personal matters and vanished from sight after the posting of Chapter Seventeen. We tried to communicate with the author, but got no reply, and finally gave up.

Jump ahead to the fall of 2022. Out of nowhere, we got a letter from Rachael, in which she fervently apologized for her disappearance – seriously, she was halfway convinced we’d tell her to go pound sand – and presented us with the first few chapters of a brand new story. On the strength of those chapters, Amanda and I immediately committed to accepting the rest… yeah, it was that good. Not that I need to convince you Juicy Secrets regulars, who know and love “Strange Brew,” the finished result.

Okay, that’s well and good, I wrote Rachael in reply. We love your new one, but there’s the little matter of this OTHER story… y’know, the seventeen-chapters-thus-far saga that never got finished?

Rachael’s response was that she’d written more chapters but was dissatisfied with them, felt she’d lost direction, and had no wish to continue “Pages from a Diary,” at that time. I encouraged her to at least think about it, but told myself that this new story of hers was more than enough to make Ms. Yukey’s return worth it.

So you can imagine my surprise (not to mention my dancing-in-the-streets giddiness) a few weeks later, when Rachael sent me several newly composed chapters for “Pages,” letting us know that she was BACK, baby, and her unfinished tale from years earlier was a GO!

Rather than pick up where “Pages of a Diary” had left off, I suggested that she and I do a thorough proof/edit/polish job on the entire story and repost it a chapter at a time, as if it was brand new. By then, the two of us had established a very solid working relationship after completing several installments of “Strange Brew,” so she graciously agreed. 

Like “Strange Brew,” this story is about a lot more than just sex, so don’t expect lesbian bedroom antics in every chapter. Which isn’t to say that you won’t get turned on in a big way. 

Rachael, my utmost gratitude goes to you for taking this story on again. It’s going to make a lot of people very happy indeed. 

Okay, people – time to knock off my rambling and direct your attention to Chapter One. Do enjoy… and please be sure to leave comments!

***

 

 

by Rachael Yukey

Wednesday, September 20th, 2006

I need to find a place to hide this notebook. I don’t exactly know what I’m gonna write in it yet, but who wants their parents finding their diary?

Hmmm… what do you put in a diary, anyhow? I’m not even sure why I decided to keep one! But you know what? I’m already starting to think I’m not just keeping it for me. That was my plan five minutes ago, but now I think that I’m writing it for people to read someday… maybe my grandkids or something. If it was just for me, why would I feel like I need to introduce myself?

Let’s do that now. My name’s Mallory Kalvornek, and I’m eleven years old. I just started the sixth grade. I live on a farm a few miles outside of a tiny little town of 1100 people in west central Minnesota. I’m an only child… it’s just my mom, dad, and me. Dad’s a grain farmer, and Mom spends most of her time doing volunteer stuff for the church. We’re Evangelical Christians, so we’re always doing religious stuff. If we’re not at church, we’re doing Awana or Bible Study or an outreach or something. I kind of hate it… it’s really boring.

Wow,  now I see why people do diaries! I’ve never admitted that before, not even to myself. It’s true, though… I hate church. Guess I ought to feel guilty about that, but I don’t, not really. It’s like we’re supposed to have this great relationship with God or something, and to me it’s just a bunch of sermons and stupid rules and boring church socials.

Sometimes I’ll hang out with the other kids at Sunday School or whatever, and that’s good because I don’t have any friends at school. I’m really shy and not good at talking to people, but at church they HAVE to be nice to me.

Whoa… I’ve never really thought about that, either. Are they only hanging around with me at church because their parents would get mad if they didn’t? That doesn’t make me feel very good.

But that kinda brings me to what I want to write about today. Maybe the whole reason I started this diary! I think I might be close to making a friend. You know, a real one, not just someone who only hangs out with me at church things.

Her name is Julie Hanson, and she’s in my class at school. She moved to town with her dad Jason last year… I want to say it was November. They bought this really old house right in the middle of town that needs a lot of work. Everybody thought it was really creepy, this guy coming in from the big city with his ten-year-old daughter and buying the cheapest house in town. I don’t think it helps that he’s a musician… some people seem to think you can’t trust them, I don’t know why.

Mr. Hanson plays guitar. He’s not like super-famous or anything, but he’s worked with some people that are. You can go online and see videos of him doing concerts with bands and singers I’ve heard of.

The adults talk about the Hansons sometimes, cause you don’t get new people in town much in a place like this. Of course, they don’t talk about it when kids my age are around, but with parents like mine, you get good at eavesdropping! From what I heard, Mr. Hanson has a lot of family close to here, and decided to stop touring and move back closer to home when he got divorced so it would be easier to take care of Julie.

The rumors are that he gave his wife all of their money and stuff like that, and she gave him custody of Julie. I hope that’s not true. Who trades their kid for money? But they say that’s why he had to come in and buy a cheap old house, because his ex got almost everything when they split up.

People ended up liking Julie and Mr. Hanson once they got to know them, mostly anyway. Mr. Hanson’s really active… this summer when the town did a benefit for this teenage girl with cancer, he got some old friends of his from the city to come up and they did a concert on the football field to raise money. He had a real stage and lights and a big sound system and everything. It was really fun! He and Julie both do volunteer work, and he took an EMT class this spring so he could help out on the volunteer ambulance service. He’s teaching guitar lessons to get by, but Julie told me today he also gets something called royalties for songs he wrote and that’s most of what they live on. Every time a song of his gets played on the radio or used in a movie or TV show, he gets paid for it!

But he also made some people mad, too. Not long after they got here there was some talk about him and a married lady (I’m pretty sure from what I overheard, they were doing sex things). But now he’s got a girlfriend that lives with them, so it’s better. She’s a lot younger than he is but nobody minds as long as he’s not dating lots of girls. My parents don’t approve of living like that with someone you’re not married to, but they seem to think dating lots of people is worse. I’ll have to look and see if it’s in the Bible.

I’ve known Julie for almost a year, but I don’t really know her, you know? We haven’t ever talked much. She’s really bubbly and social, and I’m quiet and never know what to say. I don’t really hang out with anybody at school, but she hangs out with lots of people. I think she’s really pretty. She’s the tallest girl in our class, even taller than almost all of the boys… and she has this long thick beautiful black hair. Me, I’m short for my age and blonde. Both of us are pretty skinny.

Anyway, this year we’re both in a program called Advanced Learning… mostly it’s just called A.L. Every Wednesday we get on a bus and they take us to Alexandria, a bigger town about forty minutes away. We have to get up really early for it, and we get home later than on other days. My mom has to drop me off and pick me up at the school so I can go to it. The idea is that they give kids who have what they call “exceptional potential” (which just means kids who are smart for their age) and take us someplace where we learn stuff they can’t teach us at our school.

The school in our town is really small and has all the grades in it, they call it a k-12. The town we go to for A.L. has like 13,000 people and has elementary, middle, and high schools.

A.L. goes from fifth grade and up, and our school only sends a few kids from each grade. There are only three sixth-graders, me, Julie, and Mitch, a boy who’s really weird. So the bus is usually not very full, and everybody is in their own seat. But today we were bringing a bunch of high school kids along for some other activity, so the bus was stuffed.

As usual Mom was running late dropping me off at the school, and I was pretty nervous because I knew the bus was going to be packed and I would probably have to sit with somebody. I don’t mind if somebody sits with me when I’m there first, but I feel really awkward coming up and sitting with a person who’s already there!

As I said goodbye to my mom and slid out of our green Explorer, I looked up at the bus and felt my stomach tighten. From what I could see, every seat had at least one person in it.

It was rainy and cold this morning, so the bus driver had the door shut. He opened it when I got close, and as I climbed the steps he smiled at me. “Morning, Mallory,” he said.

I looked away and mumbled “Hi,” stopping for a moment as I reached the top step. I was right… there were no empty seats. I looked around, trying to seem calm as I figured out who to sit with. Then I saw Julie Hanson, alone in a seat just a few rows behind the driver, leaning back in the corner with her nose in a book. Her thick black hair hung down, almost covering her face and her glasses with the purple rims.

I decided it was the best I was gonna get… at least it was a girl, and she’s in my class. I shuffled down the aisle, stopping next to her seat. I never know what to do at times like these… do I just sit down, or do I ask if it’s okay?

Julie solved the problem for me. She looked up, gave me a big smile, and said “Hi! Wanna sit with me?”

I was so relieved! I smiled back, said, “Sure!” and sat down. Julie gave me a friendly nod, then found her place in the book she was reading. I dug in my backpack until I found my own novel, the fourth book in the Sapphire Towers fantasy series. It’s supposed to be for girls a few years older than me, but books for kids my own age are pretty boring. I found my place and settled in as bus pulled out of the lot.

A few minutes later, just as we were turning onto the highway, Julie spoke up.“Hey, you’re reading the same thing I am!”

Wow! I’d been trying so hard not to hide my nervousness that I hadn’t even noticed what Julie was reading. It wasn’t exactly the same thing; the book in her hand was the fifth book in the series, and I was still on the fourth.

“Wow!’ I said. “That’s pretty cool. I didn’t think anybody else our age was reading these.”

“Well,” said Julie with an adorable little smirk, “I think books for our age group are pretty lame, don’t you?”

“Yeah,” I agreed. “The characters in these books at least kind of act like real people… you know?”

That was it. We spent the rest of the bus ride talking about our books instead of reading them, about the situations and the characters and everything we hoped might happen. Since Julie was about half a book ahead, she was really careful not to say anything that would spoil it for me.

 ***

Our A.L. group is a bunch of kids our age from different schools. It’s not as structured as regular school and nobody cares where we sit, so Julie and I sat together for the first half of the day, partnering up for the group logic problems they had us do. We also ate lunch together, chattering on about our books at first, then more about ourselves and our families.

For the second half of the day, the group splits up and we go to more specific classes where we get to study things that interest us, and we were separate for part of that. Julie and I have creative writing together, but then I do art and Julie… I don’t even know what she does then, now that I think of it. I’ll have to ask.

On the bus ride home, Julie read to me. We agreed that it was lots of fun to have someone to share our books with, and she wanted me to catch up so that we can talk about all of it as we go. We didn’t quite finish, but she’s going to wait for me to catch up. Which I just did, right before I started writing this! Tomorrow when I see her at school we’ll be in the same place.

When we got off the bus, Mom was waiting for me in the Explorer. Julie just lives a few blocks from the school and usually walks or rides her bike, but it was rainy so her dad was there to drive her home. He drives a blue Ford pickup, the kind with the long cab and back seat.

Julie and I got off the bus together, and before we said goodbye she put her arms around me and pulled me into a hug that made me feel all fluttery inside. My parents aren’t very touchy or snuggly people, and I just LOVE getting hugs! When she pulled back her hands stayed on my upper arms for a moment and she looked straight into my eyes.

“Today was really fun,” she told me. “We like a lot of the same things, and you’re really cool. I hope we can be friends.”

Then she was gone. But she said I was cool! NOBODY ever said that about me before. And she wants to be my friend! I hope she still wants to hang out with me tomorrow, and please God, don’t let me mess it all up by being awkward and weird.

 

Thursday, September 21st, 2006

My mom doesn’t cook in the mornings anymore. School breakfast is her friend! She just shakes me awake, leaves the room, and watches TV while I get ready for school. She spends lots of time doing volunteer stuff for the church, but when she’s home she mostly just watches TV. Okay, she does keep the place clean and cook dinner, but not much else. Dad isn’t even awake yet when I get up in the morning unless he’s got stuff to do on the farm, and at this time of year there isn’t much. There’s still some corn that needs combining, but it’s too wet right now. And when he is in the house, he mostly just watches TV, same as Mom.

My parents don’t really pay a whole lot of attention to what I do. I have a lot of rules to follow, but I don’t think they’d notice if I started breaking them like crazy. Hmmm… I haven’t given that much thought before.

Mom and Dad don’t talk much unless they’re badmouthing somebody or fighting about money, but lately they’ve been fighting about money all the time. They think I can’t hear, but after I go to bed I can hear everything anybody says in the living room or kitchen. Dad’s profit margins are doing nothing but going down, and Mom hates having to cut back on spending. So they fight. We’re like the only farm family I know where the mother doesn’t have a job in town, but Mom and Dad believe that a good Christian woman stays home and minds the kids and house. Except Mom doesn’t do that, she spends all day doing volunteer stuff for the church! I don’t see how that’s any better than getting a job that would help with the bills.

I was in a really good mood this morning because I was so excited about hanging out with Julie at school. I was smiling and humming to myself while I brushed my hair and teeth. I wanted to sing out loud, but I knew it would irritate my mom. I was ready fifteen minutes before the bus and the sun was out, so I decided to wait outside. I said goodbye to my mom and she didn’t even look up… just kind of waved.

It was chilly, but the sun was shining and that was good enough for me. I sang at the top of my lungs until I saw the bus coming. Since the weather was nice, I knew Julie would be riding her bike to school, but I hoped to see her at school breakfast.

I’d hoped that Julie would be at breakfast, but she wasn’t. It turns out that she comes to school breakfast maybe half the time. So I ate alone as usual, but she was waiting for me outside the cafeteria. She hugged me right away, and I froze for a second then hugged her back. It just feels so good to be in someone’s arms!

“Hey!” she said as she let me go, “how far did you get in the book?”

“Oh, I caught up to you last night,” I told her.

“Sweet!” she replied. “Should we agree on how far to go each night, so we can talk about it the next day?” She tugged at my hand, and we set off side by side down the hall.

“Sounds great,” I said. “But we can’t read the same amount every night. Tuesdays I have piano lessons, and then there’ll be church things and stuff. And chores.”

Julie nodded. “Yeah, same here. My dad is teaching me to play guitar and I try to get in some practice every day. And I have chores at home too. But not as many as you do, I bet, living on a farm.”

“Not so much,” I said. “I do house chores, but I don’t really do farm things. We don’t have any animals to feed so it’s all tractors and chemicals and other stuff I’m not allowed to mess with. I probably don’t do much more than you.”

By this time we’d arrived at our classroom, and it was time to get in our seats. They don’t give you much time for school breakfast if you’re riding the bus!

“Hey,” said Julie before we headed to our desks, “do you eat school breakfast every morning?”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“I kind of pick and choose,” she said. “My dad will make me breakfast if I want it, so I eat at home unless there’s something extra tasty on the menu at school. Maybe I should do school breakfast more often, then we can talk about Sapphire Towers right away!”

I thought it sounded too good to be true… Julie really wants to spend time with me! I just smiled and nodded, and we both rushed to our seats.

During lunch we chatted about the part of the book I had just caught up on, and then Julie said something that blew me out of the water.

“Um, Mallory?” she said.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think your parents would let you have a sleepover at my house tomorrow night? I asked my dad if I can invite you, and it’s okay with him if it’s okay with your folks. You could come over after school tomorrow, and then hang out with us Saturday.”

Nobody has ever, ever invited me to a sleepover before! I was so happy I thought I was going to cry. Good thing I got myself under control first… I sure wouldn’t want to act like a baby around my new friend!

“Oh, wow, that sounds awesome!” I said. “I’ll ask them tonight!”

The rest of the school day was a blur. Julie hugged me again before I got on the bus, and that warm, tingly feeling came over me again. I squeezed her tight and she squeezed back.

There’s something weird about hugging Julie. I love to get hugs from anybody, but with her it’s not like hugging my grandma. Does that make sense? I can’t put my finger on it. Anyhow, we finally let each other go, and she trotted over to the bike rack, pulled her cruiser out, and pedaled away.

I was a little jealous. Because I live on a farm, the only place I have to ride my bike is on our driveway and the dirt trails Dad drives his tractors on. It’s rough riding and I can’t really go anywhere. The kids that live in town have all these nice paved streets to ride on. But it’s starting to get pretty cold, and a month from now nobody will be riding bikes anywhere until spring.

When I got home I flew off the bus, raced up the front steps, and burst through the door. Mom was in the kitchen.

“Mom!” I blurted. “My friend Julie Hanson invited me to sleep over at her house tomorrow and spend Saturday there. Can I, Mom, please?”

My mom just stared at me like she’d never seen me before, then waved her hand at a package of store-bought cookies on the counter. I helped myself to one and waited.

“That’s Jason Hanson’s daughter. Is that right?” she inquired.

I nodded. My breath was sticking in my throat. I know my parents don’t approve of Jason Hanson.

“It’ll probably be okay,” she said. “But we have to check with your father first.”

Talk about what I DIDN’T want to hear!

Dad came in just in time for dinner. We all sat down, bowed our heads, and Dad led the family prayer for what felt like an hour. I’m starting to realize that I’m a really terrible Christian, and that maybe it’s something I need to work on. I didn’t want to communicate with God… I wanted to get permission to sleep over at Julie’s house!

Finally it was over, and we started eating. I was trying to find the nerve to ask, but Mom beat me to it.

“Jason Hanson’s daughter invited Mallory to a sleepover tomorrow night,” she said. “What do you think, Dan?”

Dad rubbed his eyes. He always looks exhausted lately. He’s only 35, but he looks like he’s in his forties.

“Did Mr. Hanson say it’s all right?” he asked, looking at me.

“Yep,” I replied. “Julie asked him before she talked to me.”

“That’s the respectful way to do it,” said Dad, nodding with approval. “Mallory… how much do you know about the Hanson family?”

“I know they moved here last November,” I said, “and that Mr. Hanson used to play guitar for money. I know they lived in a way bigger city before. And that Julie’s mom doesn’t live with them. Annnd…” I shrugged. “I dunno. I’ve only just started being friends with Julie.”

“Do you know they don’t go to church? Not just our church, but any church?”

“I guess I hadn’t thought about it,” I said, feeling helpless. It seemed for a minute like things were going my way, but it didn’t look so great now!

“Also, do you know that he’s living in sin with a woman who’s not his wife?”

“I kind of knew that,” I said slowly. “But I’m not sure I understand what living in sin really means.”

“It means… an adult kind of relationship between men and women,” said Dad. He rubbed his eyes again. “The kind of relationship our heavenly Father reserves only for marriage.”

“You mean…” I almost didn’t say it, because I was afraid of getting in trouble. “You mean like a, a sex relationship?”

Dad stared at me really hard for the longest time. “Yes, Mallory,” he said, “Like that.”

“So… are you saying you don’t want me to go there?” I was almost in tears.

“I didn’t say that, either,” he said. My heart jumped!

“Listen, Mallory,” he said, “Jason Hanson has done a lot of good things here, too. Remember that benefit for Lizzy Severson? He spent his own money putting on that concert, didn’t keep a dime of the proceeds, and raised more money than everything else we did put together. He also joined the volunteer ambulance squad a few months ago. I think deep down he’s a good man but he’s just… you know… lost. You could help.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” I said, but that was a lie. I knew exactly what he had in mind.

“It’s your time to be a witness, Mallory,” he said. “Show Julie Hanson the effect of God’s good works through you. Show how much your special relationship with God through the blood of his son Jesus Christ enriches your life and multiplies your happiness ten thousandfold, and how she can enjoy the same thing. Once you’ve shown her salvation, the two of you working together can show her father the way. You can save two souls from Hell.”

“So I can go?”

“Definitely. I’ll call Mr. Hanson after dinner and see to any details. Now go ahead and eat before the food gets cold.”

I was floating on a cloud! I gulped my dinner down, hardly tasting a thing.

I was hoping to listen in on Dad’s conversation with Mr. Hanson, but he made the call in his office. I hovered in the living room and watched TV with my mom. When he came out he waited for a commercial before he said anything.

“I just talked to Mr. Hanson,” he said. “He wanted to know if you had a bike you could bring, because Julie wants to go biking with you on Saturday if the weather is good. You’ve never ridden on streets before, so you’ll need to remember to watch for cars. I’ll throw your bike in the pickup tomorrow morning and leave it at the school bike racks for you. You’ll just go with Julie to her house after school. Mr. Hanson wanted to know if there was any food you were allergic to and I told him no, but you remember to be polite even if they serve something you don’t like, understand?”

“I’ll remember,” I promised.

“Mr. Hanson also said that he doesn’t care how late you stick around on Saturday, but you do have church Sunday morning. Your mom or I will pick you up before dinner.”

I pumped my fist in the air and squealed with delight.

“Mallory!” my mom snapped. “Indoor voices!”

“Sorry, Mom! I’m gonna go pack now!”

I raced upstairs to my room and packed a change of clothes, pajamas, my hair brush, and the travel toothbrush kit my grandma got me for when I stay at her house. I went back downstairs and did my piano practice, and then I sat down to write in my diary.

It’s late now, and I’m not quite as happy as I was. I’m still super-excited about spending Friday night and most of Saturday at Julie’s house, but that other thing that Dad talked about is floating around in my brain. You know, witnessing. Spreading God’s word. That’s supposed to be a Christian’s most important job, right? Turning other people into Christians? The Bible says so, in lots of places.

But honestly, I don’t think I’m a very good Christian. Dad said I should show Julie my special relationship with God, but I don’t feel like I even have one. When everybody at church is talking about feeling the presence of the Lord, I don’t feel anything. I’ve never seen anything that looked like a miracle to me. When I pray every night, I feel like I’m just talking to the ceiling.

Dad also said something about showing Julie how it increases my happiness, but it doesn’t! I hate church. Sunday School is better because we do fun stuff, and I like Vacation Bible School in the summer. But most of the church events are boring, the services are worse, and the songs are dumb.

And you know what? My parents are all about being Christians, but I don’t think they’re happy at all! I don’t know if Jason Hanson is a Christian or not, but he doesn’t go to church, and every time I’ve seen him he looks like a really cheerful guy. Julie’s really bouncy and fun, too. She’s probably happier than I am, so how am I supposed to show her that being a Christian will make her happy?

Of course, there’s the Hell thing. If you’re not a Christian, you go to Hell. For some reason that’s not bothering me so much. And it should, right? I mean, if Julie doesn’t get saved we don’t get to spend eternity together in Heaven, and she has to be punished in Hell. That should be terrifying to me, but it’s not. Maybe… I don’t know.

I’m having a hard time even thinking about Heaven and Hell as real places all of a sudden. When I picture them in my head, it’s like something off Cartoon Network.

I need to stop thinking about this. This is taking me someplace really scary, and I don’t like it. I’m going to sleep now, and tomorrow I’m just gonna go to Julie’s house and have fun with my new friend. If I see a chance to talk about God and the Bible maybe I’ll try it, but I’m not going to stress out if it doesn’t happen.

On to Chapter Two!

For a more detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by kinkychic and kinky’s_sis

Chapter Five: Daphne Joins the Siren

Marianna, I, and a few others transferred to the Majestic. The Siren would stay out of the harbour but within signal range. I was relieved to see the harbour was clear of other ships, though it quickly became obvious that all was not well. We could see smoke billowing high in several places, and the breeze carried the sound of musket fire.

“Mister Halcombe,” I said, “signal the Siren to follow us after all and call the hands to quarters.”

No sooner had we dropped anchor than a boat left the jetty and headed towards us. I was astonished to see my old friend John Rudge standing in the thwarts.

“My God, I thought that was the Siren astern,” he said directly as he came aboard. “And you, Captain and Marianna, both safe and well after we thought you had perished. A fisherman reported seeing you in battle with the King’s Navy. We’ve heard no more of you since that day and feared for the worst.”

“We are fine, John, but I feel the same cannot be said for here. What is happening?”

“Slave trouble. A few dozen have gone on a rampage here in Road Town. We fear that more might join them. We have been able to hold them back in some places, but I’m not sure we can for much longer.”

“Tell me, John, would we be allowed to land my men? We can assist your small garrison.” He was quick to agree.

We used every ship’s boat plus a few sent out to us. Soon, there were about a hundred heavily armed men gathered on the foreshore. An extremely relieved-looking sergeant and his squad lined up in front of us.

“We have them cornered in one section of the town, but I don’t have sufficient men to attack,” he said. “I believe they may be ready to break out again anytime soon. That’s when others may be persuaded to join them, and then things will really turn nasty.”

I suppose we presented a motley-looking crowd. Pirates haven’t the slightest notion of how to march. But they know how to make a lot of noise.

The shouting and jeering from behind the barricades came to a sudden stop when the slaves saw the mass of muskets and swords pointed at them as we rounded the corner.

Davy rolled the small two-pounder swivel cannon out in front of us. The master gunner had mounted it on a set of wheels. Now he sighted it on the largest barricade, making a great show of loading it and holding a smoking taper above the touch hole.

I called for quiet, waited for thirty seconds, then, “Prepare to fire.” I raised my sword high in the air.

The first musket flew over the barricade and clattered to the ground. Others, together with pistols and swords quickly followed. A couple of shots still came from another barricade. “Resight the gun,” I ordered. “And sergeant, have your men fire a volley at that barricade, but aim high if you please. I’m aiming to frighten them out, not to kill them.”

Twelve muskets make a lot of smoke and noise when fired in unison.

As the smoke cleared, I repeated my previous orders. The gunner began to lower the taper towards the cannon. I thought for a moment that this time we were going to have to fire. But once again, weapons were thrown out.

The sergeant shouted the order, “Present.” Twelve reloaded muskets aimed at the barricade.

“Don’t give the order to fire, Sergeant.”

More weapons were thrown. Then the barricades started to come down before slaves slowly emerged with their hands held high in the air. They were in a pitiful state, most of them underfed and overworked. I turned to the sergeant and John.

“It’s the owners of this lot that want shooting,” I said, “not these poor buggers.”

The sergeant nodded his head, but then said, “I hope they haven’t killed anyone though, or they’ll hang… the lot of them!”

It was a dreadful sight. I could fully understand why there were revolts, and I was developing a deep hatred of slavery.

The rebels were soon rounded up and marched away, the fight completely gone from them. A few, no doubt, had managed to steal away. Some bore wounds, but thankfully, I saw no dead.

“Where can I get horses, John? We must get to the M & B.”

A short while later, my men were all back on board the two ships. Halcombe had thought I might grant them some time ashore by watch. But I thought not, as tensions were still running high. The last thing we needed was any of our lot getting drunk and causing trouble.

I took six men with us who were capable riders. It wasn’t very long before we arrived at the plantation gates – Tortola is not a large island. We were met by Josh and a few others, all brandishing muskets. I saw the relief on Josh’s face when he recognised Marianna and me.

There was a sudden screech, and Daphne, flying through the doors, rushed into Marianna’s waiting arms.

***

A meeting with Josh and John established that, at least for the time being, the trouble was over. John intended to pursue a point of censure with the island’s proprietary council against the two owners of the slaves who had taken part in the revolt, whose barbaric treatment could only lead to further troubles.

Marianna told Josh she was gifting him the plantation, as she was now wealthy enough that she no longer needed it. All that was required was John’s reassurance he could work out an agreement.

Daphne came to see us whilst Marianna was collecting a few more of her things. “I want to come with you,” she said. “It’s driving me mad here. I must get away.”

How would I explain to the men that I was bringing yet another female aboard? Marianna hit on the answer. “They don’t mind Anne being on board. In faith, she’s probably the most dangerous among us. They see her as a true pirate. She doesn’t seem to be getting any better, not as the surgeon thought. Could we not say that Daphne has been engaged to care for her?”

It was a grand idea. Quite what we would do with Daphne later on, I was uncertain, but I supposed we could postpone a decision on the matter.

I was surprised when Josh and his wife seemed happy enough to let her go.

“They have found out about my wanting a woman to love,” Daphne explained. “My mother wants me gone. She do love me, but she don’t want the shame. It’s how they be.”

Thus it was settled. She would come with us.

Back in Road Town, a crowd of citizens gathered to see us off. The elected head of the council proclaimed we were welcome in Tortola, whenever and whatever our circumstances. “And bugger the British!” he added.

We also gained another eleven experienced crewmen, which would ease Jensen’s under-manning problem.

Our story explaining Daphne’s presence raised no comment, although she did get a few whistles. Had she been white, I’m sure, we would have seen her blush. She scampered off with Marianna as fast as possible.

Our carpenter had built a small cabin for Anne. He now added a top bunk for Daphne. It was a tight squeeze, but there was little enough room on the Siren. They would have to manage.

Daphne was shocked at Anne’s appearance. She quickly checked the invalid’s pulse, looking into her eyes and mouth. She seemed to know what she was doing. Then she sniffed and tasted the tonic the surgeon had left. She shook her head. “No good,” she said. She would fetch something better if there were time enough for Davy to take her back to the jetty.

Later, we caught the evening breeze, which was strong enough to put us on a good north-easterly course and give us a wide berth around the most northerly islands.

***

We had been beating slowly north for six days when daybreak revealed a small ship almost on a collision course with us. The entire crew must have been asleep, or drunk, for no alarm was given as the Siren and Majestic came either side of her.

We hoisted our black colours before firing a blank charge. That brought the crew pouring onto the deck. Half a minute later, she hoisted her own colours, a full skeleton on a black flag. Not a flag I knew. One man, obviously the captain, looked about, sizing up his situation. He wisely decided on discretion being the more sensible course.

“Captain Lowther of Happy Delivery.” He wasn’t sure which of our ships to address.

I may not have known of his flag, but I certainly knew of George Lowther, if only by reputation. He was said to be reasonable and fair. It was his first mate, Low, who was nasty business, somewhat akin to Charles Vane, but worse.

I was about to reply when he turned to speak directly to me. “That flag – you’re the Siren, I’m thinkin’. Is it Captain Bren I have the honour of addressing?”

We spoke of a few minor matters before he asked if I were heading up the Carolinas way. In response to my affirmative, he called, “May I suggest, Captain, you might want to reconsider. There is nowhere safe to harbour. The coastal counties have joined forces to clamp down on piracy. At least thirty have been hanged this last six months. We are heading south, for Venezuela.”

“It’s just as bad in the Caribbean,” I warned him. “Take a wide berth before you cut to the mainland.”

When he had gone on his way, I summoned Jensen.

“We have a problem, Tom,” I said. “We have to keep out of sight for three months. North, it seems, is now out of the question.”

“Could we not return to the safe anchorage we used on the Amazon river? No one is likely to stumble across us there.”

“We could, but it will be a long and tedious wait for the men. Perhaps I will have to ask them. Return to Majestic and bring her as close as you can, the sea is flat enough. I would prefer all the men hear what I have to say at the same time.”

When the crews were gathered on deck, I told them of the dangers we faced both north and south. I reminded them of the possibility of a pardon that might be coming our way, which would allow them, legally, to take what was owed them and do as they wished.

“I want to take us back to the Amazon and hide away for three months. It will be a difficult time for us all, but we will be safe. The potential reward is huge. Will you take ten minutes to discuss and decide?”

They took barely five. It was nearly unanimous. South we would go.

*** 

We found a corner of the bay that we hadn’t observed on our previous excursion. It seemed ideal. Here, the water was clear of the mud from the Amazon, and neither was it salt.

For the moment, though, each ship dropped only one anchor. I sent out four patrols, each with six well-armed men who were to scour the area to at least a two-mile distance to ensure we were alone. Certainly, the beach showed no signs of anyone having been there for a considerable time.

One patrol reported a native village three miles to the west, close to the main channel of the river. It was fortunate Taylor had led this patrol, as, being a calm and deliberative sort, he was apt to observe strangers before drawing his sword. He told me the villagers were not the least warlike, as Roberts had suggested they were. They were mainly fishermen, but they knew the forest well. They spoke some Portuguese and a little Spanish. A village elder had told Taylor we were welcome in the bay and the surrounding forest, but we were not to come to their village.

He then went a bit shy on me. “What is it, Taylor? Is there something wrong?” I asked him.

“Not so as you’d say, Cap’ain. The old’un said that some of their girls might want to visit with the men, if you knows what I mean. But not the men to go there. Er… there were some good lookers an’ all.”

I decided we were safe enough here. I would have a few shelters built among the trees. It would be better than being confined to the ship the whole time, though I did insist that there be one watch on board at all times.

It appeared Daphne’s medicine was indeed more effective than the Navy doctor’s. Anne seemed to be improving, though she remained weak. I had a small hut built for her, reasoning the fresh air under the trees might help.

“Have you seen how Daphne is with Anne?” Marianna asked me one sultry evening. “She’s become most possessive. I don’t believe Anne has noticed yet.”

“Yes, I have seen, and I think you’re wrong about Anne. I saw her reach for Daphne’s hand and hold it as she went into a sleep. I think we made a good choice, letting Daphne come along.”

***

Daphne awoke with a start. She ached from having fallen asleep in the chair alongside her patient’s cot. She let go of Anne’s hand to rub her neck and have a good stretch. Glancing down, she found Anne staring at her. 

Anne had hardly ever spoken, nor did she now. Instead, she reached out with a trembling hand to Daphne’s cheek, touching it briefly. Then she struggled to move her body to one side of the cot. 

“You wish me to lie with you, yes?” Daphne asked.

Lifting her hand again, Anne gave the merest nod.

Daphne took the offered hand. “I been waiting for you to ask.” 

Daphne lay down beside Anne and snuggled herself close. Anne had closed her eyes, but there was a weak smile on her face. Daphne summoned her courage, then leaned closer to press her lips to Anne’s cheek. Anne gave Daphne’s hand a slight squeeze before they both went to sleep.

The next morning Daphne was up early heating water, for she intended to give Anne a proper wash. A sound from the hut made her rush inside. Anne was trying to prop herself up in the cot. It was the first time she had attempted to sit up.

“Good morning, Miss,”’ Daphne said. “You seem stronger today. Shall I fetch you some water?” 

Parting her lips, Anne struggled a moment, then managed to ask, “Is there any coffee?”

Daphne gasped and seized Anne’s hand. “I like how you talk,” she said. “It sound strange, but I do like.”

“’Tis Irish,” Anne said, with a rare smile. “You kissed me goodnight; would you kiss me good morning and stop yer jabbering?”

This time, Daphne leaned in and gave Anne a proper kiss, soft and protracted. When she pulled back, Anne was once again staring at her. “You and me girlie, are we gonna fuck when I have the strength?”

Daphne clapped her hands. “Oh, yes, Miss Anne, we fuck for sure.”

“And you’re not a shy one. We’re gonna do just fine, I can feel it. Now, about that coffee?”

“I fetch. Then I give you a proper wash.”

The brew revived Anne’s spirits and gave her strength enough to sit up. Daphne spread towels on the bed and removed her charge’s soiled gown, pleased to see the unmistakable sign of convalescence – a bit more weight here and there. Anne never took her eyes off the girl’s face, probing the desire in her eyes. For the first time in her life, she felt tenderness and realised she didn’t just want to fuck this pretty black girl, she wanted to love her. What’s more, she wanted her love in return. It was an astonishing revelation. Even in her poorly condition, she felt the familiar stirrings as Daphne washed her body. Her nipples stiffened under the girl’s touch.

“Are you going to wash me, or rub my tits away?” she asked.

“Sorry,” Daphne replied, “but they so nice.” With that, she lowered her head and took a nipple into her mouth. Her tongue circled the hard tip, then she sucked. Glancing up, she saw Anne’s eyes were closed. The look of pleasure encouraged her.

With a sigh, she lifted her head. “I must behave and let you rest while I wash.”

She bathed Anne from top to tail before easing her legs a little wider. She paused for a moment, then fetched her barbering kit. This was a task she was well familiar with. Anne’s unruly thatch was quickly tamed, and Daphne’s expert razor made short work of what remained, leaving just a tidy stripe. 

Daphne sat back and admired her artistry. “There. Your pretty pussy is now to be seen. Now I finish your wash.”

“You are very skilled at that,” Anne said. 

Daphne realised that, of course, Anne knew almost nothing about her. “I worked for Doña Marianna. I have done it many times. I am no longer her maid. It was my choice to come and look after you.”

By now, Daphne was gently sponging Anne’s pussy. She hesitated when she saw the clit, not daring to touch it until Anne whispered, “Please.”

Her resolve instantly dissipated. She savoured the warmth as she bent low to draw the swelling nub between her lips, her heart pounding all the while. At least, she had at last found someone who might become hers alone. She sucked and teased more insistently, and Anne raised a soft moan. Now Daphne would use all her skills. She would make this woman hers.

Gently, she eased two fingers into Anne’s cunt, a slow, rhythmic pumping as her tongue worked its magic. She didn’t want to prolong Anne’s arousal, though. The woman wasn’t yet strong enough. She needn’t have worried, for Anne, deprived of lustful delights for an age, could not hold out. A hand fluttering at Daphne’s cheek, a whispered “Fuck!” – and she was coming.

Daphne watched as Anne relaxed. The woman’s eyes remained closed, and within seconds she was asleep. A final gentle wipe with the sponge, and Daphne pulled the light sheet up to cover her. Outside, she picked a forest blossom, fetching it back to lay it on the pillow beside her lover’s head.

***

The weeks slipped by without incident. The men seemed remarkably at ease with their situation, and the food was good. The natives had shown them how to catch wild boar, which they roasted over an open fire. They built more permanent huts, although no one was quite sure why. Many learned to swim, something that very few seamen were actually capable of. Others were happy to sit on a rock, fishing and smoking a pipe of the natives’ outstanding tobacco.

An ancient tribeswoman came to see Anne. With much foul-smelling smoke, potions and incantations, she worked her own sort of magic. No doubt it was the potions, rather than her guttural chanting, but Anne’s health improved rapidly. The first time she made an appearance outside her hut, there were shouts and cheers from the men present. She gave them the finger, and the cheering redoubled. Where once she would have scowled, now she smiled. Anne was back from the dead, yet changed.

A few nights later, as we sat around  fire on the beach, she told the story of her and Rackham’s capture.

“We were at Jamaica, anchored at Bry Harbour. There weren’t many on board that night. Them that was, was stone-drunk. They been out on the town with a gang of turtle fishermen and some other mates. Then Jonathan Barnet heard tell we was there and found us.

“He attacked with cannon first. Jack cut the anchor cable and tried to run, but it was no bloody good. The crew were too drunk to man the ropes, and Barnet boarded us in short order. Those cowardly drunks had gone and hid below. What the fuck good they thought that would do, fuck only knows.”

She paused for a moment’s reflection. “There was only three of us sober – me, Noah and Mary. We screamed at the curs to come up and help us fight, but they stayed put, shiverin’, no doubt. We fought alone. Three against twenty was hopeless, and we was soon done for.

“We were taken to Port Royal. I only saw Jack the once, the day they took him out to hang. I told him blunt, ‘If you’d fought like a man, you wouldn’t be hanging like a dog.’”

She turned to face me. “You, Cap’n, you told him to stay away from Jamaica. He didn’t listen, and now they’s all dead.” She looked at Daphne, sitting close by her side, “All except me. You lot rescued me. This girl saved me.”

There was silence. We had all liked Calico Jack, but the manner of his capture was a shock. Most would have expected better of him.

Anne got to her feet. “I’m feelin’ spent. You want to help me, sweet girlie?”

Some of us gave a knowing look, but none spoke. The men were now accustomed to seeing women together. Besides, few dared comment within the hearing of Anne Bonny.

***

At last, our exile was over. It was time to sail for Bermuda and to discover where our future lay.

We had lost only two men, lured away by native girls. Even the thought of the gold they were giving up didn’t tempt them. When I saw the girls, I understood. They were quite beautiful. And as Davy said, such men would likely have drunk themselves to death.

We left our sanctuary and eased slowly into the Amazon. The lookouts reported no sails in sight. The current further from the shore assisted the light wind in whisking us out to sea.

Getting to Bermuda was sure to be dangerous. We’d have to pass many islands, almost none of which would look kindly on our presence. I decided on a northerly route that would take us around the western tip of Cuba. We would then have a relatively straight eastward run out into the Atlantic. The most pressing danger would come from the Spanish ships plying the lanes between Florida, New Spain and Cuba.

Experienced Caribbean sailors know that a powerful current sweeps easterly just above Cuba. It then swings sharply northward up the coast of Florida. It could add almost five knots to the speed of a ship. Once again, we would be passing our hidden treasure. I pondered on whether we should stop to check on it, but decided not. Nothing would change the gold being there or not, and we might draw attention to its location.

Luck was with us, or so it seemed. We had safely rounded Cuba and were beating east, making good time in a stiff breeze. Then, as the sun broke the horizon – “Deck ho, many sail to larboard.” And a moment later: “They’re all over the place, too many to count and there’s land behind ’em!”

I knew at once I had misjudged the current and allowed us to be pushed too far north. That land must be Florida, and we were running headlong into a Spanish flotilla.

“All hands, action stations! Mister Halcombe, look to the sails, as much as we can carry. Master, bring us to a southeasterly course.” The hands complied, and the Siren and Majestic flew across the waves.

Maybe, just maybe, the Spanish might decide there was little to gain by pursuing us. But it was soon apparent that two large frigates were giving chase. I was at a loss as to why they were bothering, but the fact remained: we were in trouble. I wracked my brain for an answer but could find only one, and it was folly. We would head directly for the Bahamas, which would put us at risk of running straight into even more powerful British ships.

My main concern was that if we lost the Florida current, the Spaniards would quickly overtake us. Even now I could feel the Siren slowing. The Spanish captains almost certainly knew these waters better than I, for they didn’t follow us directly. Rather, they kept their ships to a slightly more northerly course, running parallel to us and gaining on us by the minute. Soon, they would tack and cut across our bows.

One initiated a manoeuvre, while the other carried on. What were they doing? Then it dawned on me. The first would cross close to our stern, and the second would head across our bows. We would be caught between two broadsides, and much bigger than ours. I guessed they carried thirty guns apiece. Our only chance was to more or less repeat something we’d done before – with one crucial difference.

“Signal Captain Jensen to tack to larboard — now.” I waited only until the signal flags were ready and on their way up.

“Mister Halcombe, let wind slip from the sails to slow us quickly. Then we will tack. Majestic and Siren will approach the Spaniard on either side of her. Guns, load the twelve-pounder with chain shot and aim for her masts. I shall veer away to give you an early shot. Then we’ll come back on course. Ready the nine-pounders with chain-shot as well.”

The difference between this engagement and our attack on the English frigate would be the twelve-pounder aimed at the rigging. With the Englishman, we had fired at the waterline.

I hoped Jensen had thought to load with heavy shot, but it didn’t matter much. I was out to disable the frigate, not sink her.

The second Spaniard had by now overshot us by a mile. He was out of the fight, at least for now. For the moment, we had but one to contend with.

On to Chapter Six!

Note from JetBoy: You may remember Rosey M from her delightful tale of the confusion and joy of first-time lesbian love, “What’s With That Girl?” I’ve hoped ever since to see her grace us with something new, and now she has: the first book of a novel that draws heavily on her own experiences as a young girl, growing up gay with her lesbian sister and disturbed mother. It’s very different from her previous story and, in my humble opinion, even better. Don’t miss this one, readers.

I should mention that this is a slow burning story, one that takes its sweet time getting to the actual sex. If that’s a problem, go read something else, preferably at a different website. The rest of you, please stick around — it’s going to be well worth it.

Rosey wishes to extend heartfelt thanks to BlueJean for editing this story.

by Rosey M

March 14, 1996 – Ashley

It’s funny; I remember that night like it happened just yesterday. I was lying on the floor in my room when Mom threw the door open and told me that her water broke. She was upset and in pain, and I had no clue what I was supposed to do.

I called Mom’s friend Heather, and she wanted to know where my dad was. I told her truthfully that he’d already left for the bar. She didn’t sound very happy about it, and Mom took a break from hyperventilating to shoot me a warning glare. What, was I supposed to lie? She assured me the baby would be fine, which wasn’t something I was all that worried about to begin with.

Eventually Heather came to pick Mom up, and I was left behind to track down Dad.

I dusted off the Yellow Pages to start calling bars in the area, and eventually found the one he was in. After a quick explanation he hung up the phone, and half an hour later came by the house to grab some things for Mom. He cracked me upside the head shortly after he got in for ‘saying things I didn’t need to be saying’. Apparently he called the hospital to check in, and Heather got hold of the phone to chew him out. Eventually he left, and I went to bed.

I didn’t want to consider the ways my life was about to change, and I fell asleep thinking about how unnecessary this new member of our family would be. I barely registered in my parents’ eyes; no way would this kid get treated any better.

***

Dad came home in the morning to tell me my new sister was born, then without any other details, told me to clean the house while Mom was gone.

I did as he said, and in addition to the cleaning, I prepared quick meals for both of us, because he wouldn’t cook.

I had to wait until he left the house before I could vacuum the floor – he absolutely hated the noise; especially when he came home late, reeking of booze. Listening to the crackle of the vacuum across the carpet, I couldn’t stop thinking about this sister I now had. Why were they getting her? Was I not good enough for them? I mean, I know Dad didn’t think I was worth more than the crud on his boot soles, but I thought Mom valued me at least a little!

I spent the rest of the day fuming about how little I mattered to anyone. Late at night, as I was lying in bed, I did my best to stifle my frustrated sobs, the sound of the slamming front door resounding through the house as Dad returned from one of his drinking sessions.

***

The following day, my mom called and told me that I could come and see them.

Next thing I knew, I was sitting in the car with my dad, trying to ignore the smoke from the cigarette between his fingers. He complained about all the trouble this new kid would bring into our lives; how there would be less money and food for everyone, how the screaming and crying would keep us all up at night, how I’d have more responsibility, and how all the attention I usually got would go to my sister instead. It was too early to risk the smack he was trying to goad me into earning, so I just bit my tongue.

Besides, what attention? In the seven and a half years of my life up to that point, Mom and Dad hardly noticed me. Heck, I can barely remember the times when they did. Mom loves to brag about what a well-behaved girl I was, like she had anything to do with it. But that aside, Dad made some good points. I already hadn’t wanted a little sister; now I wanted one even less.

We eventually got to the hospital and found our way to the maternity unit. Once we reached Mom’s room, my eyes immediately locked onto her face. She looked tired, but so happy and content as she held the baby to her exposed breast. I felt a twinge of jealousy as I watched them; Mom never looked at me like that.

Once the baby was done suckling, she motioned for me to come closer. I approached the bed and let her place the baby into my arms. “Ashley, this is your little sister, Rhonda.”

As I looked down at the bundle in my arms, I was immediately struck with a feeling of revulsion. This… this thing was supposed to be my baby sister? I figured it must be some sort of weird joke. But nobody was laughing, and it eventually dawned on me that they were completely serious.

Mom reached over to lightly hug me against her for a moment, then took Rhonda back. She was showing so much love and adoration for this creature. She even began talking to it in a stupid baby voice. “Rhonda, that’s your big sister Ashley! She’s gonna protect you, juuuuuust like a big sister should!”

I had to hold back a snort. That was never going to happen.

***

February 25, 1997 – Ashley

A lot had changed over the course of a year. Mom cooed and fawned over Rhonda for the first few months, while I did my best to make myself scarce around the little beast. My hair certainly doesn’t miss the feel of those grabby little monster hands as they roughly grasped handfuls back in those days. The smile she’d look up at me with was the only thing stopping me from getting too mad whenever she did it.

Mom eventually started bugging me to help take care of Rhonda – I guess the excitement of having a new baby doesn’t last forever. Especially when the constant crying began, and Rhonda would go at it for hours. I wanted to scream back at her to just shut up, but somehow I always stopped myself. I mean, it wasn’t the baby’s fault that Mom didn’t know how to take care of her.

Oddly enough, Rhonda would always stop crying if I was the one to hold her and try to calm her down. Her hands would cling to my hair – thankfully, she was a lot gentler by that point – and she’d settle down and cuddle into me. Mom said it was ‘meant to be’, and that’s why it was ‘only right that you spend more time with your sister’. I was taught how to change her diapers, how to prepare her food, how to play with her, and even how to bathe her.

At first I hated it. I hated how my whole life had changed because of a choice my parents made, and how their responsibility was pushed on me because they didn’t care enough to bother. I could barely find time to go outside and play, because there was a baby at home who I knew wouldn’t be looked after properly if I stayed out for too long.

Once I found a way to balance school and look after my baby sister, I found I was okay with how things turned out. The first time Rhonda pointed at me and addressed me as “Ah!” was one of the best days of my life, and I wouldn’t have that memory if she hadn’t been born.

By then, I was happy to be there for Rhonda; she’d never have to experience being alone, wondering if anyone cared about her. I loved her more than anything in the world; she’d always have big sister Ashley to look after her.

That day, I was sitting watching TV while Rhonda sat by my feet playing with her blocks on the floor. She looked so adorable crawling around in front of me, wearing the red jumper I picked out for her that morning.

Then Mom entered the room, interrupting our peaceful time together. I was immediately hit with the smell of cheap booze. She and Dad had started fighting again, and she always got hammered after an especially bad one. It was so gross to have to be around that kind of thing, day in and day out.

“How are my girls doing?” Mom slurred, scooping Rhonda off the floor and rocking her in her arms.

Rhonda started crying and reaching her arms out toward me. “Ah! Ah!”

She’d only been in the room a few seconds, and already managed to upset Rhonda. I angrily held out my hands toward my mother. “You made her cry. Give her to me.”

Mom made no move to hand her over, so I stood up and pulled Rhonda out of her arms. She didn’t try to stop me. Instead, she slumped onto the couch and put her face in her hands, sobbing almost as loudly as Rhonda. I cradled my sister in my arms, whispering words of comfort to her until she finally stopped crying.

I smiled down at Rhonda, giving her cheek a little poke. She giggled back at me as she swiped for my finger. “Ah!”

“Yes, it’s your Ashley, Rhonda!”

Rhonda laughed happily and called out, “Ash!”

She’d just said my name!

Mom was still crying, the hitch of her voice growing more frequent after my baby sister’s unexpected first word. Maybe she was upset because it wasn’t ‘Mama’ or ‘Dada’ Rhonda had called out, I don’t know. But of course Rhonda would say my name instead of theirs. She was mine, after all.

I bounced Rhonda in my arms, cooing to draw her attention while Mom sobbed next to us. Thankfully, I had my little sister’s chubby little cheeks to keep me occupied as she smiled lovingly up at me.

She was so cute; the only thing that made me feel like my life meant anything. If only it could last forever.

***

June 6, 2001 – Rhonda

“Shut the fuck up, you stupid bitch!”

“Fuck you!”

The sound of glass smashing always triggers one of my earliest memories, and I can’t help but think back to that night. It was what finally made me take my blanket with me as I crawled under my bed to curl into a ball.

I hated when my parents would fight like that; their constant shouting only got worse as the night dragged on. I was scared, but I couldn’t do anything to stop them.

A couple of months prior, I tried to get in between them after they’d started drinking, but Dad screamed at me, swatting me on the butt so hard I cried. My sister Ashley shrieked and launched herself at him, but he struck her in the face, knocking her to the ground. Mom got even madder and started throwing things at him. Everything gets hazy after that.

I couldn’t stand the fighting, but when I tried to intervene, I always seemed to make everything worse. I could never do anything right with them.

I wasn’t able to fight my tears, body quivering as I quietly cried in the safety of my hiding spot. My bedroom door opened a crack and a small, silent figure slipped in. Bare feet came to a stop in front of my bed, and I felt myself tensing. I was pretty sure it was the one person I could always rely on to comfort me, but I could never be completely certain without hearing her say my name.

“Rhonda?” a gentle voice called out to me, and I could feel my body immediately relax.

“I’m down here, Ashley.”

My eleven-year-old sister fell to her knees to peer under the bed, her dark eyes gleaming in the glow of the streetlight outside. I could just barely make out the design of her apple-print pajamas, and the loose black hair that hid part of her face until she brushed it back behind her ear.

She shimmied under the bed to join me. I didn’t resist when she took one end of the blanket from me, pulling it over herself. I felt one of her arms wrap around my shoulders to draw me near, and I huddled against her; melting into the warmth and safety she offered.

As long as I can remember, Ashley has been there to protect me. Mom and Dad never seemed to have much time to spend with me, too busy screaming at each other to even look in my direction. But not Ashley – she’s the best sister a girl could ever want.

She’d listen to me whenever I’d tell her all the fun I had playing with my friends, or ask me what I learned at school that day. She was always happy to play silly games, or sit and watch my favorite movies with me. When I cried, she held me and wiped my tears, her hugs so tight I felt like she wanted to squeeze and squeeze and never let go.

I never minded that all-encompassing embrace. To this day, I love how protected it makes me feel. She’d laugh when I did something funny, and was always smiling when she saw me happy. She was there when I needed to be told everything is okay, and I always believed her.

I don’t know how long we’d been lying there when I realized the house had gone quiet. Ashley’s fingers were stroking my hair as I rested my head against her.

“Do you think they’re done?” I murmured.

My sister’s fingers paused for the briefest of moments before continuing their soothing task. “Yeah, they’ve either made up or passed out. But they’re not going to shout anymore tonight. You’re safe, Rhonda. I’m here.”

The calm surety of her words helped erase some of the lingering tension in the air, and I could feel myself getting sleepy as we lay under the bed together. “Can you stay here tonight?”

I heard Ashley’s small laugh as she tightened her arms around me. “Of course, Rhonda. I’m not leaving you.”

I whispered, “Good night. I love you, Ashley.”

I could feel her body tremble against mine before relaxing. As I dozed off, my mind dimly registered Ashley saying, “I love you too, Rhonda. I’ll love you forever.”

She’s always been so sweet…

***

February 13, 2003 – Rhonda

As I entered the classroom that day and took my jacket off, I noticed the teacher had put all kinds of colored construction paper and art supplies on our desks. I’ve always loved art. Maybe not as much as my sister Ashley does, but she taught me how fun it could be to make things with your own two hands.

Our teacher Ms. Walker waited for everyone to take their seats before she addressed us. “Okay, class! Since it’s Valentine’s Day tomorrow, we’re going to be making cards to take home to our families.

“Everyone take a few pieces of construction paper, and start thinking about what you want to make. I’ll be going around the room to check on you all, but if you need any help, just raise your hand.”

After a minute of deliberation, I grabbed four different colors. I wanted to make a red and pink card for Mom, and a black and orange one for Ashley. She’s always loved spooky and dark things, so I was sure she’d like it!

I went to work, deciding to do Ashley’s card first. After a while, Ms. Walker approached and knelt down to examine my work. “That looks really nice, Rhonda! Is Ashley your sister?”

I nodded enthusiastically in response. “Yup! I love her a lot, so I want to make a card with her favorite colors on it!”

Ms. Walker squeezed my shoulder and said, “Well, I’m sure she’ll really appreciate the personal touch! Let me know if I can help with anything, okay?” But even as she moved away to check on my classmates, I knew I would never ask. That was mine to work on; nobody could make a card for Ashley but me!

***

The next day, I gave Mom her card before school. She thanked me and gave me a kiss on the cheek. Ashley’s class was on a field trip that day and she had to leave early in the morning, so I had to give her the card after school instead.

In spite of barely getting to see Ashley, it was a very fun day! We had paper bags shaped like hearts taped to our desks and everyone went around putting Valentine’s Day cards into them. Everyone seemed to like the Sailor Moon cards I gave out, and I got some really cool ones, too! The Monsters Inc. ones were probably my favorite; I adored Sulley!

It didn’t hurt my good mood that the chocolate and cupcakes we had in class were really good as well! I always thought it was so cool how some of the kid’s parents would bring in treats like that for all of us. I couldn’t wait to see Ashley to tell her all about it!

I could hear the TV playing loudly in the living room as soon as I got home. I quietly hung my jacket, then tiptoed through the hallway so I could surprise Ashley. Right as I reached the door, she called out my name. How’d she know I was there!? I leapt into the living room yelling, “Here I am!”

Ashley shrieked and bolted upright, pulling her hand hastily out from under her skirt, then flattening the fabric against her thighs. “Rhonda! When did you get home!?”

I stood in front of her, puzzled. “What do you mean? You knew I was home; you just called out to me.”

Her cheeks reddened. “A-anyway! Never mind that. What’s up? How was school today?”

I wanted to ask why she seemed so flustered, but I shrugged it off and smiled at her. “It was amazing! I got lots of cards, and we ate chocolate. Oh! I have a gift for you! Let me go get it!”

I hurried to my room to grab her card. When I brought it over to the couch, my sister was looking far more calm and composed than she’d been thirty seconds before.

As I sat next to her and handed over the card, I felt the warmth of her body through the fabric of her skirt. Ashley opened up her Valentine’s gift and just stared in silence at what I’d written. I started to get nervous. Didn’t she like it?

“Is something wrong, Ashley?”

She turned her head to gaze at me, and I was shocked to see tears in her eyes. “No, nothing’s wrong. I love it, Rhonda. I love you. Thank you so much for the card. Wait right here.”

She bolted off the couch and went to her room, returning a short while later to hand me a chocolate heart wrapped in red paper. Wiping her eyes, she gave me an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Rhonda. I wish I’d thought a little harder this year, and made you something as nice as you made me. But this is all I got for you.”

I took my gift and put it on the coffee table, then launched myself into her for a big hug. “This is plenty! You know I love chocolate, Ashley. Thanks so much!”

Ashley held me tightly, and we lay on the couch together, contentedly enjoying each other’s warmth in front of the TV until Mom got home and shooed us upstairs to tidy up our rooms.

***

September 17, 2004 – Rhonda

I giggled as I skillfully evaded my friend Maria’s swiping hand. We were at the playground playing cops and robbers with other kids from school, and I’d quickly proved my mettle as one of the quickest thieves around.

Our backpacks were scattered into various piles on the ground as bags of loot, and my skill at snatching them up and safely making it back to home base under the slide was unparalleled. I was the greatest!

I deposited my ill-gotten gains and jumped back into the fray.

I sprinted toward the farthest pile, untouched since nobody else was willing to risk the extra distance. As I grabbed one of the bags and began to make my journey back, I was set upon by three kids at once, all intent on stopping the most notorious robber in the realm. Didn’t they know they could never catch Rapid Rhonda!?

I faked like I was going to run past to the left, then as they moved to stop me, broke fast and rushed past their right side instead. As they hollered and gave chase again, I laughed triumphantly, reveling in their futile attempts to apprehend me.

Suddenly, I thought I felt the weight of a familiar gaze on me, and in that moment turned my head to look back at my hapless pursuers. I can only assume that lapse in concentration caused my foot to hit a loose scattering of pebbles. I slipped and began to tumble forward, my hands held out in an attempt to break my fall. My right hand and knee scraped along the rough concrete as I came to an abrupt halt.

A voice was yelling my name, but I couldn’t focus on it due to the stinging pain. Everyone winced and sucked air through their teeth before crowding around to see if I was okay.

Thankfully, the backpack in my left hand cushioned the fall, preventing any further injuries. I let it go and rolled over to grab my leg, rocking back and forth in pain. It was only bleeding a little, but the skin on my knee was bright red and badly scraped, as was the palm of my right hand.

My eyes watered from the stinging sensation, but in the distance I saw a dark figure sprinting across the playground toward us. It was Ashley.

As she got closer, the crowd parted, and she immediately dropped to her knees to inspect the damage. The panic in her face slowly evaporated when she saw the extent of my injuries, and she cradled my body against hers. “Oh, Rhonda. That looks like it really hurts! Are you okay?”

I nodded, trying to put on a brave front, but my tearful eyes gave me away. Ashley wrapped my arms around her neck, then hoisted me onto her back as she straightened up. She asked Susie to go get my backpack for me, so my friend hurried off to retrieve it.

As Ashley told them I was done playing for the day, and that she’d be taking me home, I found myself tuning everyone else out, until only my big sister was left. All I could focus on was the warmth of Ashley’s body, which made the throbbing in my hand and knee seem unimportant.

Ashley released one of my legs to take my backpack from Susie, hanging it on her arm while she supported my body. I waved mutely to the other kids as we left. What must they have thought of me for getting so cocky, then wiping out like a dork? God, I was so embarrassed I could die!

I buried my face in Ashley’s neck as she carried me from the playground and onto the sidewalk. I breathed in her familiar scent, and found it helped keep me from worrying about my cuts and scrapes. Nothing else has ever soothed quite like being close to my sister.

But I couldn’t figure out why she was even there to begin with. She was sixteen by then; much too grown up to want to play kiddie games with us, and I hadn’t seen her at any point before or during. “Were you there the whole time, Ashley? I didn’t see you.”

She gently squeezed my thighs, a chuckle escaping her lips. “Yeah, I was watching the whole thing from the bench across the playground. I wanted to check up on you. You were fast! Faster than all the other kids. Sucks about your fall at the end there; it’s a drag your streak ended like that.”

“But aren’t you too old to watch us play? Must’ve been boring.”

Ashley gave a thoughtful hum, then shrugged. “I mean, I wouldn’t watch if it was just a bunch of random kids, but it’s never boring when you’re there. I love watching you in your element like that; you always look so happy.”

There wasn’t much I could say to that, so I just allowed my sister to carry me the rest of the way home, warmed inside by the sweetness of her words.

She brought me into the bathroom, where I was gently deposited onto the bathroom vanity. Turning to face me, she reached into the medicine cabinet above my head, her boobs now at eye level.

I’d watched the swell of her breasts slowly increase over the years, and couldn’t help but peek at them whenever they were in my line of sight. Ashley had caught me looking several times, and would just smile and thrust her chest out, almost like she was offering her titties to me. I always figured she was making fun of me, so I’d scowl in protest. Ashley, she’d just laugh it off.

Now I could only sit transfixed as Ashley’s tits lightly brushed my face while she leaned forward to grab some things from the top shelf. She brought down cotton balls, a box of bandages, and a bottle of rubbing alcohol. “This is gonna sting, okay, Rhonda?”

Making a face, I slowly nodded. Ashley poured some of the rubbing alcohol onto a cotton ball, then took my right hand, holding it tightly as she wiped down my scrape. Hissing in pain, I tried to pull away, but she held me fast until the job was done.

Bringing my hand up to her lips, Ashley pressed gentle kisses against my sore palm. It felt really soothing, and I was glad it was my big sister doing this.

She looked up at me, concern written on her face. “This next one’s really gonna hurt, Rhonda…”

I couldn’t keep from crying out when the soaked cotton came into contact with the scrapes on my knee. I was still whimpering a little when she tried to talk me through it. “Shh, shh, Rhonda. It’s almost over. This one was a bit worse than your hand, but I’m almost done, okay?”

I yelped when she took another cotton ball to my knee. When she was finished, she knelt and began kissing the scrapes on my knee to make me feel better.

My pain began to fade as her lips slowly trailed from my knee and began peppering my thigh, the ticklish sensation making me giggle. Ashley would get so sweet and loving when we were together like this; treating me like I meant everything to her.

When she gets married and has a baby, that’ll be the luckiest kid in the whole world, I told myself.

Then I had another, less happy thought. When she leaves you to take care of someone else.

I remember how that thought made my heart ache. I wished we could stay like that forever; that I could be the only one she ever looked at. Like she was looking at me in that moment, her gaze so brilliant I thought I might burn from its intensity.

Ashley paused in the midst of lavishing my leg with kisses, but her mouth remained where it was, pressed to my skin. She inhaled deeply, as if smelling something intoxicating, then released a shaky breath. With that, her kisses resumed their journey up my thigh until her lips grazed the hem of my shorts.

The feather-light sensation of her lips finally got to be too much for me. I laughed as I put both hands on Ashley’s head and pushed her away. “Knock it off, Ashley! That tickles!”

She stood up with a smile, kissing my brow before stepping back. “Hop off the counter and go lay down for a bit, okay? I’ll be in my room for a while, then maybe we can make dinner together.”

Ashley helped me to my room so I could rest, then went back to her own.

I remember lying there trying to make sense of the confusing thoughts I was having about my sister – wanting to be her one-and-only, of hoping she never got married or went to live with anyone else. Of needing to be with her forever.

As I did my best to ignore all these feelings and take a nap, I thought I heard a stifled moan from somewhere nearby.

On to Chapter Two!

For a more detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by kinkychic and kinky’s_sis

 

Chapter IV: A Rescue Plan

The steering master didn’t question my instructions when I gave him a northerly course. The only other senior hand on deck was Davy.

There was a grin on his face as he approached. “I knows you, an’ what you’s at. Jack and Anne, I be thinkin’.”

I grinned at him in return. Davy, here alone, was my friend. “We’ll overnight at the same river bay as we did on the way down,” I said. “I want to talk to everyone. I have a plan.”

“You always does,” he said.

***

Marianna seldom objected to my decisions, but this one worried her. “Bren, are you sure of this?” she asked. “To sail into Port Royal seems like offering yourself up to the hangman – along with the rest of us.”

“The men will be gathered shortly, my love; I will put my plan to everyone. I believe it has a great chance of success.”

Everyone seemed eager to know where we were going, and whether I had resolved the question of how to dispose of the treasure. There was complete quiet as they listened. I planned to sail the Majestic into Port Royal, while the Siren would stay well out of sight to the northwest of the island. No one would recognise the Spanish ship, which would now be flying a British merchant flag. We would pass under the guns of Fort Charles and anchor among the many other ships in the harbour. With luck, no one would give us a second glance.

“Our aim is to at least make an attempt at rescuing Calico Jack and the two women,” I said. “As for Vane, I may well release him, but he won’t be welcome to come with us.” I waited for the crew’s babble to die down before continuing. “As some of you may know, I grew up on the streets of Port Royal. I know my way around and I’m certain that I can make my way into the prison without causing a rumpus.”

Davy spoke up, “’er, the Cap’ain, was a street urchin when I found ‘er… beggin’ your pardon, Cap’ain. Just paintin’ a picture is all.”

It was true. Davy had likely saved my life. He had brought me aboard the Siren when he discovered I lived on the streets. At the time, I was only twelve years of age.

“So, what say you? Remember, we would all likely be dead anyway had Jack not been there to help in the fight with the English frigate. I think we owe it to him to give it a try.” I paused. “But as ever, I listen to your opinion. I consider and then I decide. But I ask you, have I ever yet been wrong?”

An exuberant cheer erupted. “Calico Jack!” they shouted. “Calico Jack!”

I held up a hand, signalling for silence. “Now, the treasure. What are we to do with it? We cannot sail about the Caribbean with such a fortune below decks.” Again, I had to wait until the noise quieted. “But after much thought, again I have a plan.

“On our way to Jamaica, we will pass close by an island. There are a number of old lava tunnels that lie at sea level. Mostly they are ignored, as they are dangerous places, but I know of one that has upper levels and a cave that is very difficult to get to. We may conceal the treasure there.”

I sensed most were in favour of what I was proposing, but there was some dissent.

“You have known me long enough to know I am as one with you,” I said. “I would never rob or cheat my own men. So when I tell you this island cave has to be a deathly secret, you will understand. Any whisper, any slipped or mistaken word, and all is lost. Hundreds will be searching for our gold. So, I am suggesting the location remains a secret known to only four of us – Jensen, Davy, Marianna and myself. We will keep back enough that each man has sufficient to enjoy whatever pleasures he wishes for the foreseeable future.”

I let them talk among themselves for quite some time. It was Taylor who spoke up.

“Cap’ain, we are agreed. We goes with yer plan. If’en we succeeds in the rescue, then we talks again. Be’in’ you happy with that, Cap’ain Ma’am?”

“Mister Taylor” – I doubt he’d ever been addressed so courteously – “I am content with that. We shall discuss the plans tomorrow. You, Mister Taylor, will please join us in my cabin when I call a meeting.” I had noticed these past few weeks that Taylor seemed that bit brighter than many of his fellows.

A final word for the crew: “I will add Taylor to those who know where our gold is hidden. This way, you can have a deckhand, one of your own peers, sharing the knowledge.”

Several men looked at Taylor as if he’d just been promoted to the rank of a senior officer. “Thankee, Cap’ain,” he said proudly.

***

“Here is Aruba,” I said, placing a finger on the unfurled map. “A Dutch island with little to recommend it. No one is interested in the place. It’s the proximity to Curacao that makes it Dutch. We can safely anchor there without being observed. There are caves that can only be entered by boat, and then, only when the tide is low. They lie under the high cliffs, which will shelter us from prying eyes. These caves offer a safe hiding place. Of that, I am confident.”

Of those gathered, only Davy, aside from myself, had ever seen the caves. “I didn’t much likes it in them caves, Cap’ain, but I thinks you be right. ’Tis a good place to be stashin’ things,” he said.

Everything went smoothly. The waters were calm enough, allowing us to anchor safely close in. I dispatched scouts to the cliff-top. Once they had given the all-clear, we could proceed.

Two of our best topmen had soon scaled the cliff inside the cave. I myself had been up there a few years ago, and it wasn’t something I wished to try again. It very nearly killed me the last time. Lefarge had brought us here, although he hadn’t made clear exactly why. We’d scaled the cliff out of simple curiosity.

On this occasion, I waited for the rope ladders to be put in place, along with spars, blocks and tackles that would enable us to hoist the treasure. It was only a few hours before our riches were safely hidden away. Before departure, we checked that we had left nothing behind to show that we, or anyone, had been there.

I held some gold in my cabin, more than enough to keep every man happy for ages to come. A pirate’s needs were simple – rum, baccy, and a good whore. I had retained more than enough to pay for all of them.

***

We approached Port Royal cautiously. I felt a foreboding that something was amiss, though I knew not what. I doubted it was at all possible that anyone expected our arrival, but it was wise to assume they had. As we passed the small islet at the entrance to the harbour, Davy called to me. “Cap’ain, yer telescope, larboard side, small island.”

Instantly I knew we were too late. Tears welled in my eyes, which I hastily wiped away. It was Jack! The gay clothes left no doubt as to his identity. The poor man had been gibbeted for all to see. His body, left for the gulls to pick at, was a message to any pirate who dared to approach Port Royal — nowhere are you safe.

When we had anchored, I took a while to consider. One man’s execution did not mean all the prisoners were dead. I had to know the fate of Mary Read and Anne Bonny. We waited until dark before Davy rowed me ashore, just the two of us.

I was dressed more like I had been all those years ago. The only difference was my age and the weapons I carried, quite aside from the giant of a man who walked behind me.

It took immense resolve to walk into the tavern where I had worked before. Davy had his hand on my shoulder. “Cap’ain,” he whispered, “be strong, likes you is.”

I discovered two things: Anne Bonny was still in the prison, and worse, my tormentor from all those years before was still there in the tavern, as loud and tyrannical as ever, shouting at the young girls, groping them while they served. The present owner was clearly no better than the one Davy had killed.

“Davy, before we leave, I will kill that man,” I said. “But not right now. We have plans to make.”

With Davy at my heels, we edged our way around the back of the fort. A jumble of bushes hid a crevice I knew from years before, and it was still there, though more overgrown than I remembered.

The crevice had been opened by a massive earthquake some years ago. More than half of Port Royal had been swallowed by the sea and sand, and many hundreds had perished. Tonight, though, they were not my concern. I needed only to find the way into the prison that I had used on previous occasions to steal pistols and swords I could sell.

Fort Royal was the only fort out of four that had survived the earthquake. I didn’t know why, nor did I care. My one concern was … yes! There it was! Was it still safe? The sand was slipping all around me.

Then I breathed open air. I was through. I saw no one, no sentries, nothing. They clearly didn’t expect anyone to be breaking in.

“Davy,” I said, “we might as well take a look while it all seems quiet.”

It took us a while to find the passageway that led to the cells. Stealth was unnecessary. There were no guards. Only one torch lit the gloom, but it was enough. “Anne,” I called softly. There was no answer.

Again, a little louder this time. Then out of the darkness, I heard, “You, the bitch captain.” It was the unmistakable voice of Charles Vane. “How the fuck did you get down here?”

The blade of my knife stopped an inch from his throat where he stood at his cell bars. “Is Anne here, Vane?”

He didn’t answer me, he just laughed.

“Vane, is she here?” I again demanded.

He laughed again. “Go fuck yourself. Fucking women pirates… nothing but trouble.”

I heard a whisper, maybe more of a croak. Then I saw her. Shrivelled up in a filthy blanket. A hand reached out. “Help me.” I had found her.

As much as I tried, my blade failed to force the lock. Then I heard someone coming down the stairs. It sounded like a very unsteady approach.

A British uniformed soldier appeared, holding a lantern up high as he weaved from side to side, drunk as they come. He never saw my approach from the shadows as he staggered past. Nor did he feel the hilt of my dagger bang into his temple. He slowly sank to the floor as I grabbed hold of the lantern before it shattered on the flags. The bunch of keys at his belt soon yielded the one I needed.

It was clear Anne was in no condition to walk, though Davy could carry her easily enough. She was as light as a starved kitten.

Vane’s voice came out of the dark. “Throw me the keys, then I’ll look after myself.”

It was my turn to laugh. “Vane, this bitch doesn’t take kindly to your insults… so, in your own words, go fuck yourself. Had you half a brain, you might have been civil. It was your choice, and now you’ll hang for it.”

I took a look in the other cells, but there was no sign of Mary Read. Vane still laughed, “You lookin’ for the other bitch, don’t waste your time. She’s dead.”

Davy helped me drag Anne through the cleft below the wall, the sand constantly crumbling and shifting around us. Without his added strength, we would have been buried alive. Then, suddenly, we were free of it, forcing our way through the bushes. We crept from shadow to shadow, back towards our boat.

I was about to follow Davy aboard when I heard the voice. I turned towards the sound. My concern for Anne had allowed me to forget for a time, but here he was.

“Cap’ain, leave it. The scum ain’t worth yer trouble.”

He went unheeded. The feelings from all those years ago welled up – a hatred like nothing I had ever felt. I strode towards the sound of the voice.

He saw me coming, a dagger in my hand, and he laughed. “Stupid li’l bitch with a sticker in ’er ’and an’ pointin’ it at me. You wants to play, then let’s us play, then I fucks you to death.”

“You don’t remember me, do you, pisspot?”

“Why’d I needs remember one tart from another? You’s all just cunts waitin’ to be fucked.”

“A question for you then, fuckface. Remember the little girl you made piss herself, the day the landlord got killed?” I watched the changing expressions as his addled brain tried to deal with the question. I saw a flicker of memory. It was enough. “Yes, that was me. You made my life a living hell. Now, you pay. The world will be well rid of you.”

He sobered up quite quickly. He was looking at my knife, sizing me up. But I wasn’t here to play. It was simple revenge for a little girl’s nightmare.

Still laughing at me, he raised his blade, but to no purpose. My hand had passed in front of his face without his dull brain even registering the fact. His free hand clutched at the reddening slit across his throat, and the blood burst through, pouring between his fingers as he fell.

For a few seconds, I looked down at him as he died. I felt no satisfaction, no pleasure, not even release. It was merely something I had to do.

Davy watched as I cleaned my blade on his clothes. “’Twas needed, I s’pose,” was all he said.

***

Anne was in a bad way. I doubted her chances of survival. It seemed our rescue mission had been in vain. Jack and Mary were dead, and Anne soon would be. For perhaps the first time in my life, I didn’t know which way to turn.

Marianna snapped at me. “Bren, listen to me.” It made me sit up, she had never spoken so sharply, but her voice calmed before she continued, “Bren, my love, we need you. We need your decision-making. The men are becoming restless.”

I knew she was right. I had set an aimless course, not knowing where to go, but meandering would only lead to further trouble.

A rumbling broke into my thoughts. It was cannon fire.

Hastening to the deck, I asked Halcombe, “What do you see?”

“Nothing very much as yet, they’re too far away.”

I turned to the sailing master, “More sail. Let’s take a look, shall we?”

Two hours later we beheld an astonishing sight. An English man-of-war, of at least seventy guns, was under attack by three large frigates flying Spanish colours. Spanish frigates are, generally, far larger than the British, often with two decks of guns.

“I don’t understand, Halcombe,” I said. “Why are the Spanish fighting a British third-rate in this part of the world? Bartholmew had mentioned a squabble of some sort in the Mediterranean, but way over here, it doesn’t make a lot of sense.”

I studied the scene through my telescope. The man-of-war was clearly sluggish in the water, yet she flew an admiral’s pennant. It was also obvious that the frigates were methodically knocking her to pieces. There could only be one outcome.

None of us owed a damned thing to England. Yet, I couldn’t just stand by and watch this senseless slaughter.

“Clear for action. Starboard guns load with chain, larboard with ball. Signal Jensen. We attack. He is to follow me until we see how the Spanish react.”

Perhaps the Spanish were so intent on their purpose that they did not see us coming. Our chain shot ripped high up into one frigate. Jensen’s did the same to another. Siren’s cannon wreaked havoc. Ropes parted, sails went awry, and then one mast teetered, having lost all its support. The wind did the rest. The mast snapped and fell.

The third-rate fired, and one of the frigates seemed to leap from the water. Her guns were silenced as her captain struggled to control a critically injured ship. Jensen, even with his extra firepower, hadn’t managed to cause as much damage as we had. But then, he was undermanned and had no experienced gunners aboard.

The frigate he had attacked was now returning fire, they exchanged broadsides, and the Majestic was getting the worst of it.

“Wheel hard a-starboard,” I yelled. “Tight on the sails!”

The Spaniard was coming close. Would we clear her, or would we come together before we had turned? Marianna had learned enough to recognise the danger. I felt her grip on my shoulder, but I had no time to ponder.

“Starboard guns fire as soon as you bear,” I said. “Big twelve to fire at her waterline.”

Shot whistled overhead, from both the Spanish and the British. We were drawing between them, and it was a dangerous place to be. It was now hard to see what was happening, as the smoke enveloped us completely. I could only hope Jensen had got clear and that the bloody seventy-four didn’t sink us.

The Siren took a massive series of blows. At least five shot simultaneously hit her hull. She heeled over as I prayed the masts would hold. Suddenly, the sky lit up, even through the smoke. Then the explosion hit us. Again, Siren heeled, this time from the force of the blast.

The smoke slowly cleared in the wind, revealing a rolling sea littered with timber. The Spaniard’s powder had blown. She was gone.

The third frigate had seen enough and decided to run. The Majestic hauled alongside its one remaining adversary, which had lowered its colours in surrender. Likely her captain realised that given the forces arrayed against him, it would be only minutes before he was also blown out of the water.

***

We were close by the British ship when she hailed. “Who are you? You haven’t shown your colours. Whoever you are, we are in your debt. We would not have survived without your intervention.”

I was in a quandary. What did I answer? I was wanted by the British. I suppose we could have just sailed off, but that wasn’t my way.

“My name is Dawlish, but that is unimportant. I saw an uneven fight. I did what I thought was needed.”

His hail came right back. “Captain, on my word of honour, safe conduct if you will come and talk with me. We have already suffered much damage. I do believe your two ships could sink me if it were what you wanted.”

I marvelled at the sheer size of this mammoth of a ship as I set foot on the quarterdeck. A line of pipers tweeted me aboard, something that simply wasn’t done for a civilian. An old man, obviously the admiral, actually saluted me. I returned his salute with a bow.

He read my surprise. “We likely owe you our lives. Is that not worth a salute, Captain Dawlish?” I had never been referred to as Captain Dawlish before. Was it possible that he still hadn’t realised who and what I was? He seemed to read my mind. “Oh, I know who you are, and I know of your ship. Not the other vessel though. Either way, welcome aboard the Nassau, of His Majesty’s Navy.”

He was about to continue when the officer standing behind him softly cleared his throat. The admiral glanced over his shoulder. “Yes, quite right, Captain, thank you.” With that, he stood aside and beckoned for me to accompany him. “Will you join me in my quarters, Captain? I have things that need saying.”

Like everything else on board this ship, the main cabin was vast. The oak table alone could seat more people than the whole of my cabin could fit.

A steward waited for his orders. “I need a stiff drink after today’s business. I’ll take some of that heathen whiskey. Will you join me, Captain?”

I had never tasted the stuff before, and I soon found I probably wouldn’t ever want to again. I would stick to my preferred cognac, or indeed, any brandy.

The admiral didn’t waste time once the steward had left. “I know all about you. You are in my orders,” he began. “When I take up my post, my instructions are to apprehend you at all costs. The amount placed on your head is now one thousand pounds by direct order of the King. I used your surname for good reason. I didn’t want it bruited about that I had Captain Bren on my deck, and yet I had not arrested you. Perhaps my Captain is aware, but I doubt any others are. I now have reasonable excuse to claim that I had not known who you really were. Do see, Captain?”

I was coming to like this man. He might well be old, but he was sharp as a handspike. “I know the King feels he is right to want my apprehension,” I said. “I did sink one of his ships. Perhaps though, he is not aware that it was in self-defence. His frigate had no reasonable right to be attacking me. I was still sailing on a privateer’s letter of marque. It was one Hornigold who branded me a pirate, something that was not within his rights to do.”

“At the enquiry, the first officer of that frigate raised the very question,” the admiral said. “He expressed concern about the legality of their orders. He also spoke of how well you treated the men. He said many more would have perished were it not for the rapid deployment of your boats. I am aware that you have never taken a British ship, only Spanish and French. Indeed, until the sinking of the frigate, I do not believe you have ever fired a shot at anything English.”

I took another sip of my fire-water. The admiral must have seen my grimace. “I think the Captain might prefer a drop of … perhaps brandy?”

He didn’t ring for the steward but fetched the bottle and a fresh glass himself.

“Now, Captain, let’s get down to business. I do not take up my post for another four weeks. So I will not be issuing any orders regarding yourself for some time to come. In the meantime, I intend to make a few more enquiries. You may or may not be aware that Hornigold is dead, but I want to know who sanctioned his orders, and on what grounds. Do see where I am going, Captain?”

He saw my appreciative look when I took some of the fine cognac. “You have expensive tastes, I see.”

“Admiral,” I said, “I could afford to buy the place that made this, never mind just a few bottles.” I had a flash of inspiration. “What if I were to bring the King at least two fine frigates to replace the one he lost?”

The admiral almost choked on his whiskey. “You are that wealthy, Captain? No, I beg your pardon. That is an intolerably rude question. Please forgive me.”

Once more I laughed. “It’s of no consequence, sir. You see, I am intolerably rich. Quite possibly, the richest person in England … were I ever to be allowed in England, of course. I understand it to be a cold and dismal place, but I would still like to see it.”

The admiral stared at me for ages, until at last he said, “I wonder whether you truly know what you are saying. There are a lot of very rich people in Britain.”

“You may take my word for it, sir. I was already immensely wealthy before I found a lost Spanish treasure galleon. She carried more gold than I am sure even the King has. You see, Admiral, I could buy the King a new Navy, never mind a brace of frigates. My one problem is that I have had to hide most of our fortune, and I currently have no access to my bankers.”

“Another cognac, Captain?” He paused to pour. “I do see your problem, and I can make no promises, but you have confirmed what I was coming to believe. It may take some time, but I do have the ear of the King. You need to keep out of the way for a while, perhaps somewhere up the American coast beyond the Spanish territories. I am bound for Jamaica but will be in Bermuda soon after.”

We discussed a few other matters. It was agreed we would wait three months at the least before the Majestic would send a boat into Castle Harbour, flying a flag signal that only the admiral’s staff would recognize.

As I rose to leave, the admiral said, “Wait one moment, if you please.” He took a highly ornate ceremonial sword down from the bulkhead. “Please accept this as a token of my gratitude for you and your crew’s valiant action today. I am in your debt, Captain. I would have paid all of your men a reward, but it would seem there is little point.”

Back on the quarterdeck, I found Jensen talking with the captain. The admiral approached them. “And you, sir. I believe you must be the captain of the other frigate that engaged the Spanish. I would know your name, so I may shake your hand.”

“This is Captain Thomas Jensen, my second in command and my business partner,” I said.

Jensen passed the Spanish frigate’s flag to the admiral, who looked puzzled

“Their captain insists he surrendered to the Navy, and not a ‘witch pirate’, as he put it,” Jensen said. “So, the prize is yours, Admiral.”

“You see, the King already has a better frigate than the one he lost, and you will receive the prize money,” I said.

The ship’s surgeon was sent back with me, to do what he could for Anne. He prescribed no more than a tonic and a strict feeding regime. “Provided there is no organ damage, she will be fine,” he told me.

***

I charted the safest route I could think of that would take us north. We would shelter for the first night at Charlotte Amalie on the Danish island of Saint Thomas. The authorities had little objection to guests who caused no trouble, but they did not care to see a British Naval vessel unless it were an officially arranged visitation. We wouldn’t even be going ashore.

From there we could stop by Tortola to see how Josh and Daphne were managing.

On to Chapter Five!

A final recap of the Story Thus Far: Rural paramedic Nettie Hastings finds herself in the middle of a flurry of unexplained overdose calls and, with the help of her best friend and former lover, Terry Wilder, puts clues together to link the source of this mysterious unidentified drug to her own hometown. A DEA agent named Bridgette Ramscone is brought in to work the case, and she takes a special interest in Nettie who, in the meantime, has entered into a clandestine affair with Terry’s preteen daughter Halee. It turns out that Terry’s ex-wife Kathryn is the linchpin of the criminal enterprise behind the overdoses. A showdown occurs in which Halee is shot, and Terry taken hostage. Thankfully, Terry escapes, Halee survives, and the drug dealers are all arrested or killed. While Halee is recovering in Intensive Care, Nettie meets an anesthesiologist named Hannah; both feel an immediate attraction. In addition, Hannah recognizes the special love Nettie holds for Halee, which leads her to reveal that she is sexually intimate with her thirteen-year-old daughter Bethany. Shortly thereafter, Nettie is invited to visit Hannah and Bethany for a home-cooked meal… and all the pussy she can eat for dessert.

For a more detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by Rachael Yukey

We didn’t visit Halee at the hospital that weekend as planned. Terry and I both caught the cold that had been going around and agreed it would be irresponsible to carry that into a children’s hospital. Instead, we FaceTimed with Halee several times, both together and individually, and Hannah told me Bethany had asked to visit both Saturday and Sunday. I was more convinced than ever that those two were going to be especially close and soon. Hopefully, I’d be there when it happened.

Even better, Terry was informed on Friday that Halee’s wounds were healing nicely, and if the doctors were satisfied after Monday morning rounds, she could go home.

Meanwhile, I stuffed back the symptoms with a small pharmacy worth of over-the-counter cold medications, and set about making Dad’s place my own. I gave notice to my apartment manager and got to packing, separating out boxes of stuff that would come with me from the portion that was headed for the Goodwill. It’s amazing how much unused detritus can accumulate when you live in the same place for six years.

On Sunday Terry and I were both feeling better, and he brought his pickup to help me move. By the end of the day the garage was piled to the ceiling with boxes, and I realized the even bigger task would be going through Dad’s stuff, deciding what should go and what should stay.

Monday morning found us en route to Minneapolis in Terry’s Equinox. He’d arranged a sitter to get the girls off to school so we could be on the road at five AM; barring an unforeseen problem, discharge was anticipated by eight. We found Halee in good spirits and more than ready to leave the hospital. She still had dressings over her wounds, with firm instructions for their care, but the docs weren’t anticipating any real trouble. I’d hoped to see Hannah, but she was in surgery. She did visit Halee prior to scrubbing in, and sent me a selfie of the two of them side by side.

A few days after that, the dressings came off. Halee had weaned entirely off the analgesics, and reported only occasional pain. The doctors pronounced her fit to resume normal activities, so long as those activities didn’t involve athletics or heavy lifting. By that time I’d cleared everything out of my apartment, abandoning most of the furniture at the curb. I was busy integrating my stuff into the house, starting with getting my audio system set up in the living room. While it was disconnected anyway, I’d splurged on a new turntable, and was eager to try it out.

I FaceTimed with Hannah a few times during this period, culminating in some extremely hot cybersex each time. On two of these occasions, Bethany joined in. Late Friday evening, as Hannah and I lay naked on our respective beds in post-orgasmic bliss, she mentioned having overheard Halee and Bethany cybering a couple of hours prior as she passed her daughter’s bedroom.

Saturday night found Halee and me in my new living room, snuggled up on the love seat. Naomi was spending the night at Chelsey’s grandma’s house, where Chelsey was still staying for the moment. Her mom was out on bail pending legal action, but had been deprived of custody – for good, I hoped. Long-term arrangements were still very much up in the air. Halee’d informed me that Chelsey and Naomi had been spending a great deal of time together, mostly behind closed doors. We had a good chuckle over that.

A record was playing. Halee wanted to check out some of my music, and had plucked an album at random from my vast collection. After checking her selection to make sure it wasn’t a dud, I’d put it on. I was basking in the pounding strains of Savatage’s underappreciated The Wake of Magellan, the new turntable and cartridge defining the mids and lows in a way that my old rig never had. Halee, on the other hand, had a more critical look on her face.

“It’s… interesting,” she said. “I like how aggressive it is, and this guy can really sing. But it’s like… I don’t know. What’s the word I’m looking for?” She pursed her lips thoughtfully. “I guess the word is busy,” she said. “It’s too busy. Like they’re trying to do too much.”

I chuckled. “That’s a matter of perspective, isn’t it? I think your music is too simple. It’s all chug-chug or strum-strum, and lacks musical depth. To my ears, at least.”

She let out a snort of laughter. “That’s fair. It’s what Dad says, too.”

“As if he knew anything about good music,” I said, making a dismissive gesture. “So… how are you feeling, really?”

“Good,” she replied. “I can do most normal stuff, and it stopped hurting a couple of days ago. I’m not supposed to lift more than fifteen pounds, but I can do everything else.”

“Are you up for a little fun, then?” I said, going for a sultry tone.

She favored me with a smug little smile. “Who says I haven’t already been having fun?”

I grinned. “Hannah told me she overheard you and Bethany having some cyber-fun yesterday. What else have I missed?”

Halee’s cheeks flushed a bit. “Well, if you must know… Naomi came to my room a couple of nights ago, asking for ideas. Y’know, about sexy stuff she can do with Chelsey. I don’t think she realizes I’m not that much more experienced than she is. She figures you’ve taught me pretty much everything there is to know.”

“Believe me, kiddo, you’re learning fast,” I said. “So what ended up happening?”

Again, the Patented Halee Wilder Sarcastic Grin. “Well, up till a couple of days before that, even trying to play with myself hurt. So I hadn’t gotten off in a while, and Naomi talking about it got me all wet and ready to go. Let’s just say it ended with both of us naked and happy.”

“That’s great!” I said.

“Yeah, but I’m not sure how much longer she’ll want to fool around with me. I think her and Chelsey are turning into a thing. I’m hoping I can get with both of them a couple more times before they make it official.” I felt her fingertips lightly trace the back of my neck.

I laughed. “My God, I’ve created a monster.”

She was cupping the back of my neck now, thumb and fingers lightly teasing me there. I reached back to capture her wrist. “Stop that, you,” I said in teasing tones. “You know damn well what that does to me.”

“Uh-huh. That’s the point.” Freeing herself from my grip, she resumed her caresses.

I closed my eyes and let Halee touch me, arousal quickening my pulse. Still teasing, I said, “Aren’t you all worn out, between Bethany last night and your sister the day before that?”

She snorted. “Are you kidding? I’m sitting in a puddle right now. I have two weeks of catching up to do.”

“Well, then,” I said, my tone changing from teasing to sultry, “How’d you like to meet a nice lady who’s just dying to make your acquaintance?”

Halee’s eyes widened. “Um… you have my attention.”

Once I filled her in and got the hoped-for response, I picked up my phone and called Bridgett Ramscone’s number. “Hello, darling,” I said, in the sexiest tones I could muster. “Operation Shuddering Climax is a go.”

***

Fifteen minutes later, Bridgett was in my entryway, kicking off her flats. She was dressed in evening wear; a form-fitting green dress over hose, and a simple emerald necklace.

She took my face in both hands, stood on tiptoe, and kissed me full on the mouth. I met her with equal enthusiasm, slipping my tongue between her lips. When we pulled apart, she turned her attention to Halee, who was smoking hot wearing the deliberately ripped jeans she’d received for her birthday and a snug Siouxsie and the Banshees t-shirt with nothing on underneath. Her hair had been freshly dyed black with blue highlights, courtesy of the gift certificate I’d given her.

“Hello, Halee,” Bridgett said. “I’m Bridgett. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“I know you,” Halee said. “You’re the DEA agent. Dad was just talking about you today.”

Bridgett rolled her eyes. “So you know me as Special Agent Perky Tits. Wonderful.” But those eyes were dancing.

Halee grinned. “Actually, he referred to you as Special Agent Delectable Tushie.”.

“Terry has a few of them,” I said with a chuckle.

Bridgett stepped past me, facing Halee directly. They were roughly the same height. “A handshake is the traditional form of introductory greeting,” she said, “but under these circumstances, I feel like a kiss is more appropriate. May I?”

Halee surprised us both by taking one step forward, lacing her arms around the woman’s shoulders, and pressing her mouth to Bridgett’s. Lips parted, tongues engaged.

When they separated, Bridgett’s color was high. “My God,” she said, “this young lady isn’t just fooling around, is she?”

“Neither am I,” I said, placing a hand on each of their delectable asses to indulge in a bit of freelance exploration. Bridgett fixed me with an almost predatory gaze, and Halee shivered deliciously as I ran my fingertips along the crack of her ass.

“If this is the way it’s going to go,” said Bridgett, “why don’t we take this to the bedroom?”

Halee grabbed Bridgett’s hand, turning on her heel. “You just follow me.”

As Halee led her across the spacious living room, I fell in beside Bridgett, still fondling her ass along the way. Down the short hallway, though the door into what was now my bedroom, me bringing up the rear… with both hands on Bridgett’s rear.

I’d replaced Dad’s old queen-sized bed with a brand-new California king; there was plenty of room for it, and I was anticipating lots of company. Halee marched Bridgett right over to the edge of the bed, then lay down, stretching like a lazy cat. Her toes were curled, arms spread high above her head.

Bridgett and I exchanged a glance. “Wanna make a sandwich?” I inquired. Not waiting for a response, I slid into bed alongside Halee, wrapping an arm around her and slipping my tongue into her eager mouth.

“Right behind you,” Bridgett exclaimed, scrambling onto the bed and enfolding the girl from the other side. She slipped a hand under the Goth tee, stroking Halee’s belly as the other hand brushed the blue-highlighted hair off to the side, clearing the way as her mouth descended to the teen’s neck.

I trailed my hand downwards, slipping over Bridgett’s until it rested on Halee’s leg. I caressed the bare thigh where it showed through the deliberately placed holes in the fabric.

Halee was shuddering, hips undulating. I broke our kiss, moved my hand from her thigh to the hem of her shirt, which I gently tugged upward. Getting the hint, Halee lifted her body. Bridgett and I pulled the shirt over her head and off, each of us working on a different side.

Halee lay back down again… and despite her assurances that she was back to normal, I noticed she lowered herself carefully as opposed to just flopping in place. I reminded myself to be gentle.

Bridgett was playing an index finger up and down across Halee’s belly, lingering a little near the gunshot scar on the lower right abdomen. She looked into Halee’s eyes. “No pain?” she asked.

“No pain,” Halee said, her voice slightly hoarse.

Bridgett nodded, drew her finger across the entrance scar just below Halee’s budding breast, and ran that finger lightly around the circumference.“So beautiful,” she murmured.

Halee moaned as Bridgett dipped her head, taking a nipple into her mouth. My hand was playing across the other breast while I placed delicate kisses across the girl’s belly. Unbuttoning her jeans with one hand, I slipped my tongue below her waistline, then pulled the jeans down and slipped them off over her bare feet, pausing to give each one a kiss.

I nuzzled my way up her legs, moving from one to the other, taking my time. Bridgett and Halee were kissing again, their tongues dancing back and forth. Suddenly Bridgett got to her knees and lifted both arms above her head, her eyes pleading for a helping hand. I slipped my hands beneath her green dress, raising the garment as my fingers made the journey from the backs of her knees to that delectable ass.

Bridgett and I kissed as I fondled her butt, then I felt a small hand on my own backside. Looking down, I saw Halee grinning up at us, rubbing my ass with one hand, Bridgett’s with the other.

Impatient to see Bridgett naked, I tugged the green dress over her head, wadded it up in a bundle and hurled it across the room. Her chest was bare beneath. Her hands were grasping the hem of my sweater, pulling it up and over my head. It, too, flew across the room, hitting the wall and landing on top of her dress.

Then Bridgett’s arms were around me to unclasp my bra, which rapidly joined the growing pile of clothing on the floor. Both of us paused for a moment, staring at each other’s bare chests.

“The view is just great from down here,” said Halee, grinning up at us from below. Lying back, she laced both hands behind her head.“Nettie,” she added, “why don’t you lick Bridgett’s nipples.”

I raised my eyebrows, then thought, What the hell. I leaned in, running my tongue up one luscious, round tit and across a nipple, then all the way to the top of the breast. Bridgett shivered, sucking in her breath. I repeated the procedure on the other one, this time eliciting a low moan.

“Nice,” said Halee, her voice a little unsteady with excitement. “Now Bridgett, kiss Nettie’s neck.”

“Hey, no fair!” I protested. Damn her, she knew that was my weak spot. But Bridgett moved in before I could get in another word, kissing and biting me a couple of inches below my ear. Within moments I was breathing in harsh gasps.

Pulling back, Bridgett was grinning. “I see why she wanted me to go there. But I still want to play with these.” I felt her hands cup my tits, caressing and kneading them, then pinching my nipples. We kissed again, and then her mouth returned to my neck.

Jesus Christ! I was out of my mind with helpless lust, thrusting my hips forward and moaning like a banshee.

“Nettie’s about to lose it,” Halee said from below. She reached up with both hands, undoing my fashionable, form-hugging jeans and struggling to pull them down, but it just wasn’t going to happen in that position. I pulled away, got to my feet and shoved the jeans to the floor along with my panties.

Halee was scooting down the bed, creating some space between herself and the headboard. “Sit on my face!” she exclaimed.

I positioned myself over my young lover’s face, lowering my cunt to her waiting, eager mouth. As Halee pressed her tongue to my clit, I felt her fingers slip inside me, and cried out in ecstasy. Straddling Halee, Bridgett wrapped both arms around me, groping my tits.. Her mouth was on my neck once more, peppering me with little love bites. Moments later I was coming, wave after wave of ecstasy coursing through me, wailing with every breath until the torrent subsided and I collapsed sideways onto the bed.

I felt movement to the side and saw Bridgett’s mouth practically devouring Halee’s. Breaking the kiss, Bridgett looked my way. “You taste delicious on her,” she said, and began to lick Halee’s chin and neck, where I’d made an even bigger mess than I usually do. Halee was squirming as if possessed by a very dirty-minded demon, the front of her light blue panties all but dripping with wetness.

“Do you need your pussy eaten?” Bridgett whispered to her. Halee just nodded, seemingly helpless to voice her desire. She lifted her backside as Bridgett tugged away the sodden panties.

Then Bridgett got down on her belly, head between Halee’s legs. She spent a little time teasing the girl’s inner thighs and labia with soft kisses, but not for too long – Halee was beyond ready. Her eyes met mine, but I don’t think she really saw me.

As Bridgett slipped her tongue into those sweet folds, Halee sucked in her breath with a sharp hiss. Wanting to participate, I got behind Bridgett, tugging at her hose and the black panties she wore beneath. Without missing a lick, Bridgett shifted around, making it easy to strip her lower half completely bare.

I teased her buttocks and upper thighs with kisses, making her hump the bed furiously. Hearing the increasing stridency of Halee’s moans told me she was getting close to coming, I abandoned that effort for the moment, moving up the bed to gather my precious little lover into my arms. I held Halee like a child, kissing her cheeks, chin, nose and forehead as she came.

Then Bridgett rolled away. She was panting with lust, her cheeks flushed, hair mussed – a far cry from the cool, always-in-control DEA agent I’d come to know. She beckoned Halee. “I want to have my mouth on those gorgeous little titties when I come,” she breathed.

Halee obligingly straddled Bridgett, bending down to allow access to her chest. Grasping the girl’s shoulders, Bridgett closed her mouth around a nipple. As for me, I lowered my head between our guest’s legs, inserted two fingers and put my tongue to work.

Bridgett was grinding her cunt into  my face, so I really didn’t have to do much. She was  sliding back and forth across my tongue, fucking my fingers, all hot, slick and gooey inside.

I was in heaven, especially with the view I had of Halee’s bare ass astride Bridgett’s belly, just inches from my face. Suddenly Bridgett gave one final thrust, then went bone-rigid, a choked scream exploding from her throat. Then she squirted, her warm fluid coating my face and dripping from my chin. I sucked at her cunt like crazy, trying to get it all, until she went limp.

We lay in silence for a time. Finally Bridgett propped herself up on one elbow, lightly tracing the right side of Halee’s torso where the scars were. “These don’t hurt at all?”

“Not for a few days now,” Halee replied.

“I feel kind of responsible for what happened to you,” Bridgett said with a sigh.

Halee sat up against the headboard, pulling the blanket up to her chin.

“It’s my fault,” she said. “It was completely stupid of me to rush out there like that. I just got… I don’t know. The moment I saw Mom’s picture on Chelsey’s phone, I knew that she was behind all the stuff that happened. I got so angry, I couldn’t think. That’s why this happened… and why Dad got kidnapped.”

I realized she was almost in tears. Sitting up, I wrapped an arm around Halee’s shoulders. Bridgett laid a hand on her arm.

“It was a rush of blood to the head,” she said. “I’ve seen it happen to trained agents. You’re only thirteen. Besides, if you hadn’t done what you did, your mother would still be out there, maybe starting up the same thing someplace else.”

Halee’s lip curled. “I’m not stupid,” she snapped. “If I’d just told Dad or Nettie, they’d have gone to you, and you’d have gone out there and arrested her. The whole thing was avoidable.”

Bridgett sat up, snuggling Halee from the side opposite me. “It’s not as simple as that,” she said. “I had no basis to arrest her. Think about it – the only evidence you had was a photo. Just being here doesn’t make her guilty of anything. I’d have had to question her before I could even think about asking for a warrant, and that would have tipped her. She’d have been gone in a matter of hours. Minutes, maybe.”

Studying Bridgett’s face carefully, Halee finally said, “No shit?”

“No shit.”

Halee lay back, closing her eyes. “You know,” she said, “I was asking myself, while I was riding out there, if it was a dumb thing to do. I kept going because I couldn’t really believe she’d hurt me, or even Dad.”

“She wasn’t the one that hurt you, or your father,” Bridgett reminded her.

Halee’s eyes opened again, revealing a hardness there I’d never seen before. It broke my heart a little to see such an expression on the face of one so young.

“She didn’t stop her men from pointing guns at us,” she said, her voice bitter. “She used Dad as a hostage, and I’m not so sure she’d have just let him go when she was done with him. Besides…” She hesitated, drawing in a deep breath. “I was hurt, but I wasn’t unconscious. I didn’t miss that Nettie practically had to beg her to let the ambulance come get me. Fuck her. She’s dead to me.”

“I think realizing your parents aren’t who you’d like them to be is something a lot of people have to deal with when they’re growing up,” I said. “It happened to me, and I struggled with it, a lot. But it wasn’t anything like this. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through.”

The hard lines in Halee’s face softened as she pondered something, then said, “Do you think that’s why Dad tries so hard? Because of who Mom turned out to be?”

“That might have something to do with it,” I said.

Then Halee chuckled. “You know,” she said, “this is going to sound terrible, but I think some of it’s just ego. I don’t mean that he doesn’t love us, because I know he does, but you know how Dad is. He can’t stand to fail at anything. I think once Mom went to jail he was all like, ‘If I have to be a single father, I’m gonna show everyone else how it’s done. I’ll be… Ultra-Dad!’ Does that make any sense?”

I burst into laughter. “That’s Terry, all right.”

Bridgett was nodding, her eyes fixed on Halee. “It’s also an insight I wouldn’t have expected from someone your age.”

I caught Bridgett’s eye and grinned. “Told you so.”

***

Bridgett left shortly after that, bidding us goodnight with feather-light kisses, then  Halee and I snuggled close and drifted off to sleep.

I awoke in a cold sweat, barely stifling a scream as that same damn nightmare reached its inevitable climax. As always, when the dream was particularly vivid, tears were dripping from my eyes within moments, and I knew I’d be dissolving into sobs soon enough. I started to roll out of bed, to run away from Halee as I’d always fled from Terry and others before him – but this time, something held me back. I had to stop running away.

I gently shook Halee awake. She gazed up at me, saw my tear-streaked face in the moonlight filtering through the window.

“Nettie, what…”

I shook my head wordlessly as the sobs began to wrack my body. She pulled me close and cradled my face to her chest. Finally the worst of it had passed, and we simply lay together, naked in each other’s arms.

“Tell me what it is, Nettie,” she whispered.

“I can’t,” I said, my voice still choked with tears. “Not yet. But I’ll get there, sweetie. I’ll get there.”

The End

 

Afterword

I have a fascination with damaged people. Think Doctor Cox from the medical sitcom Scrubs, and you’re getting close. Haven’t seen Scrubs, you say? You’re missing out! It’s the best sitcom ever filmed. Go ye forth and binge it on the streaming platform of your choice.

Where was I? Oh, yes: damaged people. Nettie’s been so fucked by her past, she doesn’t even know which way is up. She’s drowning in booze, she can’t maintain a relationship to save her life, and she’s lucky to get a good night’s sleep. Just the kind of person I want to write about. 

Or consider Terry Wilder. His beloved wife turned out to be an international criminal, and he ended up with sole custody of four (FOUR!) little girls. His trauma manifests itself in an insane level of perfectionism in everything he does, and a public facade of unflappability. He wears it well, but it slips from time to time.

The kids are fucked up, too. Halee and Naomi are old enough to remember their mom getting arrested, convicted, and sentenced. Chelsey’s mom is the stereotype of small-town meth-head trailer trash. The list goes on.

My creative writing professor in college (I double majored in English and music during my undergrad years) used to hammer the point home: create an outline, and stick to it. To her, plot was everything, and characters were sculpted out to fit the plot you have in mind. Plot was immutable, characters infinitely malleable.

I’ve found her outlining rule to be fantastic advice for academic papers, and one that I impress mercilessly upon my graduate students as they begin their theses. But when it comes to fiction, it doesn’t work for me. At all. At the end of the day, my stories don’t start with plot. They start with people. I have a germ of an idea; a starting point. The characters are shadowy figures in my mind, but quickly take on shape and definition. Going forward from there, the characters determine the plot. 

That’s my entire methodology: I have a tiny, almost inconsequential idea, and I dream up these damaged, lovable characters to populate the world in which that idea lives. Then I just start writing. When I wrote the explosion at the meat locker, I had no idea what caused it. I hadn’t even decided for sure at that point who was responsible for the overdoses. It may sound crazy, but that’s how I write.

The sex? It’s really just a fun bonus. I’m a bisexual woman living with a long-term female partner, from whom I’m separated for small portions of each year due to the demands of our respective careers. I also happen to be a woman of fairly strong drives, so during those periods of separation, I indulge in a bit of me-time! Not a big fan of video porn, I turn to written erotica when my imagination needs a boost. I discovered Ff fiction when a Google search led me to Naughty Mommy’s “Teaching Amanda,” and was immediately hooked. The rest, as they say, is history.

It’s been great fun watching “Strange Brew,” publish chapter by chapter over the past year, and even more fun reading all of your responses. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I also thank the Juicy Secrets staff for the tireless and often underappreciated work involved in keeping the site alive and thriving.  

It’s been said that to write is human, to edit divine. The biggest thank you must be reserved for my magnificent editor JetBoy, who has been by my side throughout this entire process. His comments, suggestions, and occasional criticism have been invaluable, and unquestionably improved the work. Thank you so much, my friend!

For a more detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by kinkychic and kinky’s_sis

Chapter III: Bartholomew Roberts

I thought I might have a solution to the problem of any further intrusion by outsiders. The Siren’s twelve-pounder, I was sure, could bring down the leading edge of the cliff, thus blocking the entrance to the channel. I told Atiena that I would investigate the possibility after we had returned to the bay. If we were successful, the villagers could still safely travel down to the bay should they wish to.

Tempted as I was to remain with Yaima and the sisters for a while longer, I explained that I dared not be away from my other ship for too long, as there was work to do back at the bay.

Atiena said she and Yaima would visit us in a few days. They asked that we not depart for the open sea before they arrived. Two of the natives would travel back downriver with us, and they would show us how to avoid the dangers of the forest.

The return journey was less arduous than the excursion upriver had been. The current was sufficient to carry us along, with only the occasional need for the cutter to tow us about the more difficult bends.

A joyous cheer erupted from the Majestic when we reappeared. Jensen rowed out to meet us just as quickly as he could get a boat crew together, coming alongside even as our anchor plunged to the bottom. I was pleased that his first inquiry was for the well-being of Yaima and the natives.

He pointed to the galleon. “She’s likely a lot older than we thought at first. Every coin we’ve recovered that has a date on it is from the fifteen-hundreds. There is nothing after.” He saw my grin. “You’ve found out something too, I see.”

I told him a brief version of what I had learned, but I was careful to make no mention of the gold and jewels that the sisters possessed. I wanted that information to remain a secret. When I mentioned the shrine of Sofia, he pointed along the beach. “We found it, hidden in the edge of the forest a short way over there.”

“You did?” I asked, astonished. “It hasn’t been touched, nothing taken?” He shook his head but looked puzzled. “It was built by Yaima’s ancestor and her partner, I believe her fifth or sixth great-grandmother,” I explained. “I doubt she knows it still exists. I would like to take her there before we go.”

It was Marianna’s turn to interject. “Can we get to the subject of the Santa Sofia? How has your salvage been going?”

Jensen laughed, as did the few men who had come over with him. “We are rich beyond anything you could begin to understand,” he said. “We have recovered thousands upon thousands of gold and silver coins. There are ingots on the ship as well, but we have only taken a quick look so far. The whole ship is ready to collapse. I don’t understand how she’s still in one piece. But unless we can come up with some kind of plan, those ingots are staying where they are.” Another laugh. “But it hardly matters, we already have enough for every man to do as he pleases for the rest of his life.”

Naturally, I thought he exaggerated. Later, though, I saw for myself the astonishing amount so far recovered. And still, the hoard was growing, with chests of gold and jewels everywhere. It was impossible to estimate what each of us was now worth, but certainly, any one of us could buy his own island or a very large plantation.

Our prospects, however, hinged on several significant questions.

How did a simple-minded sailor deal with having that amount of gold? What did he do with it? He couldn’t just bank it, especially not in the West Indies. How did he spend it? In fact, how did he even carry it?

Then there was the small matter of most of us being branded as pirates. The gold would only draw attention to ourselves. Then, too, there was the problem of sailing with a king’s ransom on our two ships. Word would be bruited about soon enough, as sailors can’t help boasting when they get a tot of rum in them. At that point, every ship in the Caribbean would be hunting for us.

In many ways, we would have been better off had we found only a few handfuls to be shared, and not this vast fortune.

Calling a meeting of my officers and senior hands, I explained the dilemma we faced. It was clear none had taken the time to think it through, and the reality of the situation brought them back to earth with a resounding thump. The men would have to be told, that much was clear, but what the solution could be, I had not the faintest idea.

***

The following day the master gunner laid small charges around the Santa Sofia. We would collapse the ship and, so we hoped, gain access to the rest of the gold. Heaven only knew why we wanted anymore, but it seemed a waste to leave it sitting where it was. A lookout was sent to the cliff top to ensure there were no ships in sight before we fired the charges.

Individually, each charge was quite small, but collectively they comprised a considerable amount of gunpowder. The explosion, when it came, was louder than most expected. The jungle erupted with the sound of frightened parrots squawking in their thousands. Many stunned fish rose to the surface of the bay.

The smoke and dust cleared to reveal only a few oak ribs still standing. All else had been obliterated. Most of the water-logged timbers had sunk, while a few floated slowly away on the current. But, there in the middle, just protruding from the water, was the mountain of gold ingots glittering in the sunshine for the first time in over a century.

The carpenter built chests from any sound wood he could retrieve from the wreckage. These we filled with the treasure and ferried to our two ships.

We also found one gun worth keeping. It was made of bronze, beautifully carved and decorated. We didn’t really need more artillery, but this was too good to leave behind. Nateby, our master gunner, took a great deal of pleasure in cleaning it up.

Halcombe and Nateby had surveyed the cliffs. They thought it unwise to touch the outer, seaward section, as there was a danger of the whole arm collapsing and revealing more of the interior, thereby making matters worse. The inner side of the channel was already unstable, however, and should be easy enough to bring down, Halcombe said. The risk, he added, was that we might inadvertently dam the river, which would lead to flooding.

“I reckon we’re all finished, Captain. There’s hardly any gold left to find,” said Jensen, taking a seat on a barrelhead. “We’ve taken on water, fresh fruit, salted fish and pork, and we have a cage full of wildfowl. We’re done.”

“Atiena and Yaima should be here soon,” I said. “I don’t want any crewmen ashore when they arrive. A select few will stay with us, and I want both ships ready to make sail. We will be back on board as quickly as possible.”

***

Morning light saw both ships with anchors short-hauled, sails ready to unfurl. Nateby had laid his charges along the cliff, most on a fault line at the top, rather than at the base. It was going to be a long and tense wait while the fuse lines burned. We weren’t going to use the twelve-pounder after all.

Just as the sun’s rays touched the summits of the hills upriver, a dozen or more canoes rounded the bend. The natives were adorned with red and yellow dyes on their skin and brightly coloured feathers in their hair. Many were armed with bows and poisoned arrows, clearly alert for any danger.

Two of the canoes had poles stretched between them. These supported a platform with two raised seats upon which Atiena and Yaima sat, each with a girl standing behind her. Another, longer canoe carried six pretty young girls, but oddly, they were not wearing the habits of the order. They appeared to be commoners from the village.

One canoe beached ahead of the others. Four natives dashed into the trees, bows at the ready. The remaining canoes held back. I supposed their caution came naturally to them, but I also knew that we were safe here. We had not seen a single sign of an intruder anywhere close by. My own suspicion was that the Santa Sofia was regarded as a ghost ship, and that fear of angry spirits would be enough to keep any hostile neighbours at bay. It would also explain why the gold, all but lying out in the open, had been left untouched.

A whistle from the trees told us all was well. The sisters’ boat came close to the bank before the attendant girls helped the royal women ashore.

Yaima’s effort to maintain her composure was of no avail. She ran up and threw her arms about us. Atiena quietly beckoned Marianna and me aside. “We ask a favour,” she said, pointing at the six pretty girls, and then at the members of my crew who were standing about. “We need fresh blood. Your men – they make father?”

For a moment, I was puzzled. Then I laughed. “Oh, I think we may find a few suitable volunteers.”

I left it to Davy to sort out who the lucky studs would be. He could include himself if he wished, and I saw by the way he looked at the one particular girl, and the way she returned his look, that he’d already decided, for himself at least.

I told him to wait, however, until we had left for the shrine and were out of sight of the ships. The last thing I needed was a riot on my hands if word got around there were willing young maidens to be had.

“And check the men for the pox first,” I said.

Then I turned back to Atiena and Yaima. “Did you know that Sister Caterina’s shrine still exists?”

Atiena staggered back a step, and her dusky face went quite pale. I put forth a hand to steady her.

“Come, we will show you,” I said once she had regained her composure.

It was a fairly large cave with a stone wall built across the front. More stone walls divided the interior, which was also choked with shrubs and vines.

“Be ready for a surprise,” I warned, before lighting the two torches we carried. The flames revealed a number of rough, faded paintings on wooden panels that hung on the walls, or leaned against them. Most were depictions of a young naked girl alone, but one showed an older lady kneeling between the girl’s legs, clearly pleasuring the girl with her mouth.

Atiena knelt and began her chanting. Yaima leaned over the crude altar, her arms stretched across it as she wept. Then she straightened up, dropping her robe to the dirt floor as she turned. Lifting the pouch from around her neck, she beckoned Atiena to her. She touched the liquid to each of their lips before slipping Atiena’s robe from her shoulders. The look on the older woman’s face was one of awe and joy as their bodies came together. We quietly withdrew, leaving them to their ritual lovemaking. Marianna dearly wanted to stay and witness the act, especially as the two had seemed oblivious of our presence. I had to drag her away.

She looked about outside the shrine. “I don’t see any of the men,” she said. “There were twelve of them. You don’t suppose…?”

(Davy later told me, “Well, it seems them girls watched us drawin’ straws. Then one comes over and points at all of us an’ then she points at the girls. She goes over to Jed, grabs ’is hand and drags ’im to stand next to me. She was the one I likes, see. Then they’s all takes two men each off to the trees.”)

Atiena and Yaima eventually emerged from the shrine. Where they had previously been overwhelmed, they now seemed radiantly happy.

Atiena came and took my hands. “We have much to thank you for. Rescuing and returning our people… especially Yaima. Then finding the Shrine of Sofia. Now you will block the way so that no others may find us again. What can we do in return?”

“We need nothing from you,” I answered. “We have gained friends even though we will likely never see you again. We have recovered much gold from the ship. That’s sufficient.”

But Marianna gave me a nudge.

“What is it, love?” I asked her.

She pointed at the string around Yaima’s neck. “Some of that would be nice.”

Atiena spoke to the six girls, who were now waiting close by. They burst into fits of giggles and dashed off into the trees.

“You must dry the leaves they will bring, then they will last for a very long time,” Atiena said. “You add a small bit to cold water, soak half day. Then boil, a short time. The water will last many days … one season to the next.” She took hold of our hands before continuing. “Use with care, not too much, not too often. Or you go mad.”

The girls, still giggling, returned with armfuls of leaves. “Enough for many years,” Yaima told us through Atiena. “And the other bay we stopped in, can get more there. Just to be careful, not good peoples in forest.”

***

The natives were massed on the beach as we departed, waving right up to the moment we disappeared into the channel.

The flag waving at the masthead told me all was clear. There were no sails to be seen. Nateby was already on the rocks at the base of the cliff. “Light your fuses, guns!” I called. “Then back to the boat as quick as you can.”

He actually had to light only one, which then split into five separate fuse lines. A brief hiss, and then I could see the smoke from all fuses rapidly climbing higher. The gunner scrambled back and climbed into the cutter.

“Pull,” Davy shouted, “like yer life depends on it!”

As soon as we were at what I thought to be a safe enough distance, I turned the cutter about so as we would be bows-on to the wave I was sure was coming. We had barely completed the turn when the first charge blew. There was a good, loud explosion but only a few flying rocks.

The next four all went in rapid succession and this time, half of the cliff seemed to jump into the air. Giant boulders cascaded down. Bugger. I thought. Too much.

Then the wave came rolling towards us. Davy timed it well, waiting just long enough. “Pull with all you’s got, boys!” The bows rose high, twisting sideways, threatening to capsize us. Then the oars bit, the cutter straightened and surged up the mountain of water.

We waited for the dust to clear enough to see that no boat, never mind a ship, would ever go through there again. Then we rowed in closer until, with some relief, I could see the dusty water swirling out from between the rocks in quite a strong current. The river still flowed freely.

“Take us back, bosun,” I called to Davy.

We hadn’t got very far when we heard the faint cheers. There, several hundred feet along the cliff, we could see them waving. The men were doing a native dance. They had made the climb to the top to see us off.

We hoisted full sail and resumed our southerly course. We needed to be away as quickly as possible lest the explosion attract unwanted visitors.

***

It was a couple of days later when I said to the first mate, “That looks like fresh, muddy water to me, and the coast has suddenly curved to the west. I thought it should still be going south.”

Davy came running in answer to my call. “You said you’ve been this way before,” I said. “Do you know what’s happening here?”

“I thinks this ’ere’s that big river that goes a long ways inland.” He told me.

“But why can’t we see the far bank if it’s a river mouth?”

“Like as not it’s more an’ a hundred miles wide. This ’ere’s that Amazonia thing.”

We continued south, the water growing even muddier. Then the shout came from high above. “On deck, sail two points to starboard!” Even as I was reaching for my spyglass, he shouted again, “Four lots of sail, comin’ fast!”

“Clear for action, and fire off a charge to warn Jensen in case he hasn’t seen them.”

Through the glass, I saw a small flotilla consisting of a large frigate and three smaller ships. The frigate hoisted its colours, and I could just make out what appeared to be a dancing figure on a black flag.

“Hoist Siren’s black colours,” I called. I knew there was no point in running. The wind was foul for us but not the flotilla, and they were in the out-flowing current. If we tacked, we’d lose too much time and they’d be on top of us.

Now that I could see the flag better, I knew who must be commanding the vessel. I’d never seen these particular colours, but I had heard of them. They belonged to Bartholomew Roberts. The flag bore a portrait of the man himself holding a flaming sword and standing upon two skulls, one labelled ABH (“A Barbadian’s Head”) and the other AMH (“A Martinican’s Head”). Roberts had devised it after swearing revenge on Barbados and Martinique for conspiring to trap him. A number of his men had been killed, although he had made good his own escape.

“Don’t have the guns run out, but keep them ready to go at my command,” I told Halcombe. “They haven’t run any of theirs out.”

The four ships reduced sail, and I gave orders for our two vessels to do the same. I watched as the frigate tacked to come abreast of us. I remembered it was named the Royal Fortune.

As soon as we were within hailing distance, a voice boomed through a trumpet.

“So, you’re the famous Captain Bren. A pleasure to meet you at last, Ma’am. Bartholomew Roberts at your service.”

“The pleasure is mine, Sir. I have heard much of your success, I believe there’s quite a penny on your head. Would we visit, or do we keep shouting?”

He turned and spoke to one of his officers before turning back. “You would do me an honour were you to invite me aboard the Siren, Captain.”

Roberts was an imposing character. His rugged good looks were spoiled only by a ridiculously large moustache. His bow was exaggerated, but in no way mocking. I gathered he intended it to be expressive. He turned to face Marianna. “And who is this startlingly beautiful woman, if I may be so bold as to enquire? Spanish, I feel?”

“May I introduce my partner, the Doña Marianna,” I answered. “And yes, Spanish by birth.”

“Indeed, I do believe I had heard something to that effect.” His eyes sparkled before he now gave Marianna the same bow. “Encantada, mi señora.”

I knew Enofe would have everything prepared by the time we reached my cabin. Bart, as he insisted on being called, asked if we had any good claret. He said he hadn’t had a decent glass for ages.

When had taken a sip from the glass that Enofe had poured, he raised an eyebrow. “Good Lord, this is remarkable! An absolute delight.”

He asked, in reference to my earlier comment, “Did you not know the same price is on your head as on my own? Five-hundred pounds!”

It was a staggering amount – more than twenty years of wages to most labourers. Bart went on to tell us how many pirates had been either killed or caught. Some like Rackham and Vane were awaiting trial.

That made me sit up. “Jack caught? Where is he?”

“They have him in Port Royal, along with Anne Bonny, Mary Read and Vane. Can’t say I’m sorry about Vane, but it will be sad to see Rackham go. He’s a likeable fellow, if not much of a pirate.”

He went on to say that he was planning on sailing for Africa, as the Caribbean had become too dangerous for his liking. He invited us to join him, seeing as we’d make a formidable force.

“I thank you for your consideration, but no, not for the moment. I fear I have things to sort out. Perhaps later,” I answered.

“Then allow me to offer my advice. Stay away from any British islands, especially those with decent harbours. It is my inclination that our days of pirating in the Caribbean are coming to an end.”

I didn’t try to explain why I couldn’t go with them. After all, I was heading for Jamaica and Port Royal!

We parted with a newly formed friendship. He was delighted with the two bottles of claret I gave him. Enofe had told me we couldn’t spare any more, not of that particular vintage, but he added four of a lesser quality.

Before his departure, Roberts told me of a reasonably well-hidden anchorage just a short distance up the Amazon. “But keep good lookouts posted. The natives in the forest are a nasty lot. We hear they eat their captives.”

***

We found the anchorage in short order. A beautiful spot, even if there were hidden dangers. Night lookouts were set. Mister Halcombe had the watch, and we retired to my cabin. Working his usual magic, Enofe had a superb meal waiting. In barely a couple of weeks, this man had become rich beyond his dreams, yet he remained the perfect steward.

I don’t know whether it was his sense of timing or whether he recognized that look I was giving Marianna, but whatever it was, he discreetly disappeared.

I paused, a glass halfway to my lips. “Fuck, I love you,” I said.

Marianna’s eyes shone back at me. “As I love my Captain. Ever since I knew what love was, it was only for my Bren.”

I knew it was true. Her passion for me was intense. Mine, for her, was perhaps more tender, but no less heated. Our interludes with other women and young girls made no difference to us, so long as we were agreed.

She came to my arms. We kissed for an age, hands roaming, caressing. Her gown slipped from her shoulder, exposing a breast. “Did I ever say?” I murmured. “The most beautiful tits in the whole world.” My lips fell upon a nipple. She gasped, though I had not bitten very hard – just enough to convey my desire.

“For God’s sake, will you take me!” she said. “I need you.”

Suddenly, we were ripping our clothes away, clinging to each other, our mouths rammed together as our hands moved about. We tumbled to the deck, her cunt pressed to my searching fingers. She clawed at my back with one hand, her other digging deep between my arse-cheeks. She pulled me to her more intently than I ever remembered. Then her hand found my pussy. No words were exchanged. We simply knew. We turned about, like ships in the wind, bow to stern, her mouth to my cunt, mine to hers. We sucked and teased. The Goddess Sofia urged us on, though we had no need of her magic liquor. Our fingers were added, and we fucked to a climax previously unknown to either of us.

Soon we lay gasping, gazing at one another. Finally, I found words: “What was that?”

Marianna put her fingers to my lips. “Atiena and Yaima have shown us the way. Now we know true sisterly love.”

On to Chapter Four!

A quick recap of the Story Thus Far: Rural paramedic Nettie Hastings finds herself in the middle of a flurry of unexplained overdose calls and, with the help of her best friend and former lover, Terry Wilder, puts clues together to link the source to her own hometown. A DEA agent named Bridgette Ramscone is brought in to work the case, and she takes a special interest in Nettie who, in the meantime, has entered into a clandestine affair with Terry’s preteen daughter Halee. It turns out that Terry’s ex-wife Kathryn is the linchpin of the criminal enterprise behind the overdoses. A showdown occurs in which Halee is shot, and Terry taken hostage. Thankfully, Terry escapes, Halee survives, and the drug dealers are all arrested or killed. While Halee is recovering in Intensive Care, Nettie meets an anesthesiologist named Hannah; both feel an immediate attraction. Hannah quickly recognizes the love Nettie holds for Halee, and reveals that she is sexually intimate with her thirteen-year-old daughter Bethany. Shortly thereafter, Hannah invites Nettie to her home for dinner… and whatever else they might think of to pass the time. Dinner passes pleasantly enough – now it’s time for dessert.

For a more detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by Rachael Yukey

My pulse hammered with excitement as Hannah and Bethany led me to the lower level of their home, which featured a large, luxurious bathroom with a bathtub big enough to accommodate four or five adults comfortably. Water was running, and I now understood what Bethany had been doing when she went downstairs.

Hannah turned to me. “Bathing should be a social activity when it’s possible… wouldn’t you agree, Antoinette?” She pulled the unflattering scrub top over her head, revealing smooth, silky skin.

“I would,” I replied, removing my sweater. I did it slowly, going for a light tease and hoping my pits didn’t stink too much after a long day. I started to reach behind my back, but Bethany was there first, reaching for my bra clasp.

“May I?” she said.

I nodded, not trusting my voice to remain steady. She undid the clasp, gently peeled my bra away and tossed it atop my sweater, which I had just dropped to the floor.

Hannah was eyeballing my chest with desire etched into every pore. “Oh, Antoinette,” she said. “Those are nice.” Bethany scooted around behind her mother, unclasping Hannah’s bra and casting it aside. Now it was my turn to stare. Hannah’s breasts were large, round, and looked gloriously firm. Her nipples boldly protruded from quarter-sized pink aereolae.

She caught my gaze and held it, craning her neck to maintain eye contact as she slowly shoved her scrub bottoms and panties to the floor. I undid my jeans, pushing them down from my hips along with the underwear. As I stood there, pants around my thighs, Hannah removed her socks, eyes flicking downward to my womanly center. I’d shaved it smooth that morning in anticipation of this evening.

Finally Hannah stood upright, and I took a good long look down below. She was as freshly shaven as I was, her pussy lips pressed tightly together. She was an innie. I bent over as I pushed my pants down the rest of the way, taking the opportunity to get a better look at her cunt. Seeing what I was doing, she placed her feet further apart, showing me everything she had.

After I’d divested myself of pants and socks, I stood upright, and our eyes met again. Hannah stepped forward, took my hand, and guided me to the tub. She climbed in, sighing with pleasure as she stretched her body beneath the water’s rippling surface. I admired the view from above for a moment, then joined her, luxuriating in a tub with room enough for me to stretch out full length. I closed my eyes and allowed my head to sink, so only my face was above the water.

I lifted my head, and was treated to the sight of beautiful little Bethany standing a few feet from the tub admiring her mother and me, her expression a portrait of helpless lust. Her breathing was wobbly and harsh. Mostly, her eyes were on me, roving up and down my bare body.

It wasn’t lost on her mother. “I warned you,” Hannah said to me with merriment in her voice, “Bethany is all about tall and dark. You’re in deep trouble.”

She turned her eyes to her daughter. “So… are you joining us, or what?”

As if in a trance, Bethany pulled her t-shirt over her head, tossing it into a corner. She wasn’t wearing anything underneath, and my eyes fixed on her budding breasts. They were larger than Halee’s, but still just small mounds that could be almost entirely concealed by a baggy enough shirt. The aereolae, however, were the same size and hue as those of her mother. The nipples stood stiff and erect.

Bethany pushed the leggings to the floor, leaving her panties in place for the moment. When she stood, she ran both hands up the inside of her thighs, coming to rest just below a dark wet patch in the white cotton. “That’s how hot I think you are,” she said. It occurred to me that this girl would probably also be attracted to Halee, who was already taller than Hannah and still growing, and whose natural hair color was a dark brown. I ought to set up a playdate, I told myself, filing that delicious thought away for later.

Bethany slipped out of her panties, revealing a smooth, silky slit with just the faintest sprinkling of red down. Between Hannah’s intoxicating proximity, the naked nymphet standing before us, and the imminent thrill of sex with a mother and her daughter, I felt like it would just take one more stimulant to make me come.

Bethany stepped into the water, stretching out at my side. I felt a little overwhelmed, lying there in that bubbling pool, the woman pressed against my left arm, the girl at my right. Glancing at Hannah, I found her watching me with an intense, hungry expression. Wrapping my hand around the back of her head, I pressed my mouth to hers.

There was no subtlety to the kiss, no buildup. Tongues dueled frantically, desperate desire oozed from every pore in our bodies. Then she pulled away.

“Let’s… oh, God.” Hannah’s words came out raspy and harsh. She drew in a steadying breath “Look, you keep doing that, and it’s all going to go down right here. But I always feel gross after a shift at the hospital, so let’s get cleaned up first. Then we can do whatever we want.”

I nodded, forcing myself into some semblance of control. The truth was, after a long while with no opportunity to shower, I felt pretty disgusting myself.

We lay side by side, washing our bodies with big, soft sponges, then shampooing our hair. Every movement, every touch of our bodies, hit me like a dose of low-level electric current. When I ran the sponge over my cunt, an intense wave of pleasure coursed through me, and I bit my lip to stifle a moan. Uneven breathing to either side of me gave me to know that I wasn’t the only one in this state. None of us spoke much.

Finally Hannah stood, water cascading in rivulets down her glistening buttocks. Reaching above her head, she plucked a towel from the rack. “Who’s ready to adjourn to the bedroom?” she inquired, vigorously toweling her hair.

We padded naked up the stairs – Hannah in the lead, me right behind her and Bethany bringing up the rear, no doubt staring at my ass every step of the way. Hannah’s bedroom was surprisingly goth, adorned with lava lamps and smelling of incense. It occurred to me that I’d never seen her in anything but scrubs, and I wondered what her wardrobe looked like. Then I spied the king-size bed, and the excitement of what lay before us expunged all other thought from my head.

Hannah gestured towards the bed with an ‘after you’ flourish. I climbed aboard and stretched myself out, tingling from head to toe. Advancing towards the bed, Hannah lowered her body onto mine. The weight of her glorious nakedness, skin pressed to skin, the warm wetness of her cunt against my thigh… well, it tore away the last vestiges of my control.

I threw both arms around Hannah, crushing my mouth to hers in a bruising kiss. Our tongues dueled, bodies ground together. I felt like we’d been restraining ourselves from doing exactly this from the moment our eyes first met in Halee’s ICU room.

I ran my hands down Hannah’s back, fingernails scraping the soft skin until I reached her shapely yet oh-so-firm backside. It fitted my grasp perfectly. I began to squeeze and massage that amazing ass, slipping my fingertips into her crack and sliding them up and down. She broke the kiss, trailing her lips across my chin and down to my neck. I began to thrusting my hips into hers, my body alive with raw animal hunger.

In my peripheral vision I saw Bethany sitting cross-legged on the bed. She lifted one hand to her budding breast, dipping the other between her legs. Thrusting a finger between those sweet pussy lips, she threw her head back. A hitching breath was followed by a low moan.

Hannah must have heard as well, because she lifted her body slightly to look up at her daughter.

“Keep going, you guys,” Bethany gasped. “I’ll g-get my turn.”

Hannah turned back to me, but before she could return to her ministrations, I used her semi-erect posture to get my hands on those luscious tits. I cupped them both, glorying in a perfect combination of firmness and pliability. They felt every bit as good as they looked. I circled my hands around them, sampling their impressive heft. Hannah arched her back, mewling like a cat. I buried my face in the valley between those two mountains of succulence, running my tongue around one, then the other.

Hannah was ecstatic, making little growling noises in the back of her throat. Her hands sought out my tits, flicking my nipples, then pinching them. “Fuck!” I panted.

When I finally took the tip of her breast between my lips, teasing it with lightning-fast flicks of the tongue, she moaned, then began grinding her pelvis against mine.

I glanced up at Bethany, still perched on the edge of the bed. Her hand was still moving in a slow, steady, thrusting motion as she fingered her cunt. The girl’s breath came in huffs and sudden sharp intakes of air. Her lips were slightly parted, jaw trembling.

Meanwhile, Hannah’s movements were becoming more urgent, her need for release plain to see. I chose to be merciful. Placing my hands on her hips, I brought a leg up between her thighs. She went with it, stretching her legs out behind and rolling us a little to one side. She slipped her leg in, thigh grinding against my pussy. White lights went off before my eyes as I fell into Hannah’s rhythm.

We moved frantically, urgently, squeezing each other in a mutual death grip, crying out in purest bliss as we humped each other. Blinding flashes of pleasure radiated out from my center, surging through my body. Hannah’s moans became low and guttural as mine grew more high-pitched and strident.

Then I was coming, pleasure overwhelming my senses and shutting out any remaining capacity for rational thought. I’m sure I screamed.

My rhythm slowed as I came down, but Hannah was thrusting harder and faster against my thigh. I met her equally, determined to give her what she’d just given me, and was rewarded with renewed fireworks of my own. Her body went rigid; she pressed her face into my shoulder and howled as a convulsive orgasm consumed her. And suddenly I was coming again, my cries mingling with hers in shared ecstasy.

Then we lay still, clinging to each other like children. “Oh, my God,” Hannah whispered. “Oh, my God, Antoinette.”

As my eyes slowly drifted open, I became aware of movement on the other side of the bed. Looking up, I saw Bethany still sitting there, still masturbating.

Hannah gave her head a sharp shake and rolled onto her back, eyes fixed on her daughter. “I’m sorry, sweetheart,” she said with an abashed chuckle. “I guess we kind of forgot you were there for a moment.”

“That’s okay, Mom,” Bethany intoned in a husky voice. “That was, like, the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. You two just… just melded together.”

“But now you need to be taken care of,” the girl’s mother replied.

Bethany simply nodded, lowering her head and drawing a shuddering breath. Her finger had yet to cease its slow, steady grind between her labia, making tantalizing liquid sounds with each stroke.

A wave of renewed lust hit me like a thunderbolt. I just had to have that tender young cunt in my mouth.

“May?” I said, beckoning the girl closer.

She drew near, straddling my belly as she presented her sex to me. I snaked my way between her legs until my head was directly beneath her glistening cunt. Reaching out to cup her delectable little buttocks, I guided Bethany down to my already open mouth. Bethany was shivering in anticipation, and I wasn’t even licking her yet.

Knowing this wasn’t the time to tease, I slipped my tongue straight up into her slit, moving it in slow circles, then licked a pathway to the hard bud of her clitoris. She rewarded me with a hoarse moan, and her nectar began to flow, coating my lips and chin. I picked up the pace, maintaining pressure and moving my tongue in a circular motion. Her shaky breathing and those little catlike sounds she made were sweet music to my ears. Bethany was slowly working her hips against my jaw as she raced toward full-on meltdown.

Determined to make that orgasm one to remember, I reached between Bethany’s legs, teasing her dripping hole with a finger. Moving cautiously, I penetrated her, meeting no resistance. I found myself wondering how old she’d been when Hannah took her hymen.

When I entered Bethany, she gasped loudly and bucked against my face. Encouraged, I decided to risk a second finger. It went in easily, and she shuddered, accompanied by a sharp moan. She was humping faster now, fucking my face and fingers, making ecstatic noises with almost every breath.

Hannah, I saw, was stimulating her little girl’s nipples with the fingers of one hand. “Fair warning,” she whispered in my ear, “Keep finger-fucking her like that, and you’re apt to get squirted on.”

Sounded good to me! I licked her even faster, my  head moving in time as I kept the pressure on with my tongue. I worked my fingers in and out at the same tempo, Bethany’s body moving along like a well-oiled machine.

Then she was jerking helplessly, crying out over and over, her pussy muscles squeezing my fingers so hard that it actually hurt. Her cries mounted to a sharp scream, and a gush of warm liquid drenched my face. Wow, she really can squirt! I marveled, trying to gulp down every drop of her essence.

Bethany finally collapsed, slumping to one side. Hannah caught the girl and lowered her to the bed with the ease of long practice. She held her baby girl, snuggling her close and whispering softly in her ear. I wrapped my arms around Bethany from the other side, placing gentle kisses on her cheek.

After a moment, Bethany opened her eyes. She smiled at me, turned to smile at her mother, then looked back at me. “Hope you didn’t mind getting sprayed.”

“Oh, I warned her, but she didn’t stop,” said Hannah with a giggle.

“You taste amazing,” I assured her.

Hannah leaned over her daughter, capturing my lips with hers. We made out slowly, sensuously, and then she let the tip of her tongue roam my cheeks and chin.“Scrumdiddlyumptious,” she said.

We all laughed.

***

“Bethany has school tomorrow, so she has to go to bed soon,” said Hannah. “Would you like to tuck her in, Antoinette?”

We adjourned once more to the lower level, and they led me to Bethany’s room. It was obviously the bedroom of a girl transitioning into her teen years, equal parts stuffed animals and band posters.

I arched an eyebrow. “How much time do we have?”

“Oh, enough to do it properly,” Hannah replied, tipping me a wink.

Loosening my towel and letting it drop to the floor, I advanced on Bethany. I practically ripped the towel from her body, then took her face in my hands, fingers sliding across her cheeks and tangling in the girl’s still-damp hair. Her breath was already quickening and becoming irregular; Hannah hadn’t been kidding about that short fuse.

Sensing that Bethany wanted to be dominated, I tilted her head back and began nuzzling her cheeks, her chin, her nose. Every time I got close to her lips, I backed away. Those lips were parted, tremulous breaths shuddering in and out.

“Your Mommy says it’s bedtime,” I said, wondering what had gotten into me. “Were you a good girl? Did you eat everything on your plate?”

I heard a whimper from my left. Casting my eyes that way, I saw that Hannah had discarded her towel, perched herself on a chair, and was now fondling her breasts.

“Yes, I ate every bite,” a wide-eyed Bethany whispered.

“Then you can have some dessert,” I said, and my mouth captured hers. Our lips alone dueled for a moment, sucking and nibbling, finally bringing our tongues together. Without breaking our kiss, I lifted Bethany by her bare butt and carried her the last few feet to the bed, tumbling her down upon it.

I stood over her, hands on my hips, feeling my skin tingle deliciously as I gazed down at that sweet little body.

What a time these last few weeks had been! I’d had the adventure of a lifetime, and all my secret sexual fantasies had come true, starting with Halee, continuing with Naomi and Chelsea, and culminating in this bizarre yet amazingly hot tryst.

“That was delicious… but it’s not really what I wanted for dessert,” Bethany gasped.

I looked across the room to Hannah. She was hand pinching and caressing a nipple with one hand, the other playing across her belly. “This is some spoiled brat you have here,” I observed.

“You have no idea,” Hannah breathed. “But if we’re going to have any peace tonight, you’ll have to give her what she wants.”

“Fine,” I said. I lay down on the bed, spreading my thighs wide. “Here, kiddo. You decide what you’re hungry for.”

Bethany loomed over me, then swooped in like a bird of prey, mouth leaving traces of fire all over my belly. Then she found my breasts, licking, sucking and lightly biting at my nipples. When she moved higher, her tongue flicking out across the nape of my neck, I groaned loudly.

Bethany lifted her head. “Ooh, Mom,” she said. “Her neck is one of those, um, erogical zones.”

“It’s erogenous, sweetie,” Hannah said with a laugh. “And yeah, I noticed that when we were in the tub.”

Then Bethany was kissing and biting my achingly sensitive neck, unfolding her sweet, clean, delicate body on top of mine. I clutched her tightly, kissing her face and ears wherever I could find a way in.

Resuming her journey, she scooted down to kneel between my open legs. As her mouth explored my thighs, she paused, her kisses now slow and deliberate. She kissed one leg, then the other, slowly moving upwards and inwards.

“It’s all delicious,” she whispered, “but I’m getting close to what I’m really hungry for.”

Then her tongue was sliding across my pussy, circling my hole, finally coming up to brush across my clit. I whimpered, clamping my hands across the back of her head. She reached between my legs, slipping a finger inside me. I shuddered in ecstasy.

She lifted her face as far as my clutching hands would permit. “Two fingers… or three?”

“How many is that now?” It came out as almost a wail as she withdrew, then slid them in even deeper.

“That’s two.”

“Oh… oh, my God. Three!”

Another finger joined the first two, and as her tongue found my clit again, she began pumping them in and out.

“Oh God,” I heard myself say. “Oh God, oh yes, fuck me.”

Bethany’s tongue and finger action only increased in urgency. Suddenly Hannah was by my side, her sweet mouth covering mine, a warm tongue parting my lips. Her hand caressed my breast, tweaked the nipple.

“Bethany loves the dirty talk,” Hannah whispered in my ear. “Isn’t that right, you filthy little slut?” she said more loudly.

A guttural sound escaped the girl’s throat, her tongue grinding against my clit.

“Harder, you d-dirty bitch,” I spat out. “Eat my pussy like the little whore that you… oh… dear fucking God…”

As I climaxed, my hips were rocking so frantically that I was afraid I’d throw Bethany off like a rodeo bull. But bless her, she rode it out with me, her face and mouth remaining firmly in place until I collapsed in a dazed, sweaty heap.

She scrabbled up the bed, throwing herself onto me. I kissed her hungrily, tasting and smelling my own juices. She was humping my thigh, little “uhs” and “ohs” escaping her lips. I ran my hand down the gentle curve of her ass, then slipped a finger into her pussy from behind. I meant for it to be just a little tease before moving on to something bigger, but it turned out to be the catalyst that tipped my young lover over the edge. She came hard, her lips still crushed against mine, emitting little yelps straight into my mouth.

Afterwards, we put Bethany to bed for real. She washed up, got into pajamas, and brushed her teeth. Then Hannah and I each kissed her goodnight. Hannah gave her daughter a full, hungry, open-mouth kiss with lots of tongue, and I could only follow suit. As I held this bewitching little beauty for the last time that night, I felt the fire inside me smoldering again, despite having already enjoyed three orgasms that evening. Jesus, girl, you’re just fucking insatiable these days.

Then Hannah and I were together in her big queen-sized bed on the upper level, exploring each other’s bodies, taking our time. Eventually the moment came when I buried my face and two fingers into that sweet pussy for the first time and ate her, glorying in her frenzied movements and guttural yowls.

“Oh, by the way,” she gasped as her gyrations reached maximum intensity, “the squirting is genetic… UUUUHHHHOOOHHHH!”

As her vagina clenched my fingers, Hannah’s warm fluids doused my face and trickled down my chin. I lapped up as much as I could, then crawled up the bed to flop down next to her. We shared the heady essence of pussy in a sensuous kiss.

Finally she broke away, smiling. “Will you sit on my face?” she asked, exactly as one might say, ‘Please pass the peas’.

Moments later I was on my knees while Hannah ate my pussy from below. I reached around behind and finger-fucked myself, shuddering and groaning as my final orgasm of the night claimed not only my body, but my soul.

Afterwards, we lay together in relaxed silence. I felt drained of energy, not to mention fluids, but completely at peace for the first time in what seemed like ages.

Finally Hannah spoke.“It’s too bad we live at such a distance,” she said, “because I’d really like to get to know you better. I don’t think I’ve felt such a strong connection to someone on such short acquaintance, not ever.”

“I’m there with you,” I acknowledged. “I mean, it’s too early to tell anything for sure, but I like you a lot. And sexually…”

“I know,” she said, giggling, “when we were humping, just wrapped around each other, I was gone. I’ve never experienced anything like it before.”

“It isn’t hopeless,” I said. “We can FaceTime or whatever for now, and get together when we can. And if it’s really good for us, who knows? I’ve been toying with the idea of moving to the city for a long time.”

Hannah laughed. “That’s funny. I was about to say that I’ve been toying with getting the fuck out of the city for a long time.  I know Bethany would be all about it. She keeps telling me she wants to be closer to flowers and trees and nature.”

I laced both hands behind my head, smiling as I realized I’d picked up the gesture from Terry.

“So we date, in person when we can, digitally when we can’t. And we keep our options open.”

Hannah nodded. “I like it. I do think it’s a little early for exclusivity. You agree?”

“Oh, definitely.”

We fell asleep in each other’s arms.

***

Of course, the nursing staff was in on it. We told Halee we were leaving for the day at a quarter to four, got the cake and pop out of the fridge at the nurse’s station, and assembled the troops outside of her hospital room door. I was astonished at the sight of the pop; Terry rarely allows his girls sugary drinks.

At five minutes to four, Hannah and Bethany arrived. Bethany was dressed to kill in a form-fitting turquoise sweater, a maroon floor-length skirt, and a green scarf looped fashionably about the neck. Hannah, of course, wore scrubs.

And so it was that myself, Terry, Halee’s sisters, Hannah, Bethany, and a handful of nurses burst through the door, singing “Happy Birthday.” Halee put both hands over her face and groaned, but I could see the smile underneath.

After the song, the nurses excused themselves, and Terry got things rolling with his customary efficiency. He’d brought a set of bluetooth speakers, and on his phone he’d already conjured a playlist of the indie punk that Halee had been indulging in lately. I knew this music was sandpaper on Terry’s soul, but he put it on with an easy grin, then began cutting the cake.

As he attended to these tasks, I beckoned Hannah and Bethany over to the bed. “Halee,” I said, “these are the new friends I was telling you about. I thought you’d like to meet them. This is Hannah, and her daughter Bethany.”

Halee perked up considerably upon meeting the two lovely redheads, and it did my heart a world of good; she’d seemed pretty down at the mouth when we’d told her we were taking off for the day. She and Bethany were instantly making eyes at each other, and even better, they hit it off right away. Hannah and I shared a secret smile.

How Terry had gotten a bakery to bake a personalized cake on such short notice I’ll never know, but he’d chosen a good place, and the chocolate cake, emblazoned with “Happy thirteenth birthday, Halee,” in green icing, was delicious. Terry presented her with an iPhone, and her sisters each had an accessory for it to give her. I gave her a gift certificate for the best hair salon in Johnstown, remembering her desire to put colored highlights in. Of course, I’d cleared that with Terry first.

Hannah and Bethany brought a gift as well, something Hannah had procured during her lunch hour. She’d quizzed me that morning on the sort of clothes Halee liked to wear. I wasn’t sure of her size, but Hannah had seen enough of Halee during surgery to make a decent guess. Their gift was a set of ripped-looking goth jeans.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Terry mouthed at Hannah as Bethany stepped forward with the package.

Hannah reached for my hand; gave it a squeeze. “I wanted to.”

***

After the party, it really was time to go. “Your sisters have to be back in school tomorrow morning,” Terry said to Halee. “We’ll be back either Friday evening or Saturday morning, and now that you have a phone we can communicate whenever you like. Call me anytime, kiddo, and I mean that.”

“That goes for me, too,” I told her. “You want to talk, I’ll be there.” I’d noticed earlier that when Halee was setting up her new phone, she’d tested it by sending Bethany a text. I had a feeling those two would be communicating quite a bit in future.

As we all filed out of the room, Terry turned to Hannah. “Are you still on-shift?”

“No. I swapped off my last couple of hours so I could come to the party.”

“We’re going to stop for dinner on the way out of the metro. Would you and Bethany care to join us? I’m buying.”

Hannah smiled. “I never turn down free food.”

On to Chapter Twenty-Three!

by kinkychic & kinky’s_sis

Chapter II: A Treasure Galleon

After a bit of thought, I decided that I would transfer back to the Siren. Jensen would be the master of the Majestic – the slaver’s new name, chosen by the crew. She was indeed a majestic ship. More heavily gunned than the Siren, she could fire a total of two-hundred sixteen pounds against the Siren’s one-hundred seventy-two, and she could carry more sail – that is, when she had a full crew. I, however, was more comfortable in familiar surroundings. Besides, as we had proved in our battle with the Naval frigate, a lone twelve-pounder was worth more than two, possibly even three, nine-pounders by way of the damage it could cause.

The freed slaves had gathered on the Majestic’s deck, keeping their heads bowed whilst Yaima spoke to them. She explained that we would try and return them to their homeland, if we could find it. I saw them look up as she pointed at Marianna and me. They turned as one, facing us, before breaking into a chant. Bowed lower as the tempo quickened, they would no longer look us in the face.

I raised an enquiring eyebrow at Marianna. She spoke to the interpreter. “It seems we are now acolytes of a religious order, my Captain,” she said.

Again, Yaima spoke, but only briefly before her subjects – for such they were – filed away to return below deck. Only one remained above – the one who spoke the better Spanish.

I had managed to calculate roughly where we were on the chart, having added more detail which might be useful at some future time. It took an age to explain the concept of the chart in relation to our physical surroundings, but eventually, the interpreter seemed to grasp it, if only partially. Reckoning by the time they had been at sea, we surmised the hidden entrance to their river might be only about a day’s sail away.

One of the two black men we had liberated asked to speak with me. He spoke Spanish quite well, plus a little French and English. He asked what was to become of them. Were they truly free?

He appeared to be wearing a uniform of sorts, although it was now grubby and tattered. In answer to my question, he related how he and his companion had been captured by the slaver. They had been in a small sailing cutter, fetching fresh provisions from one island to another, when they were caught in a sudden squall. Their mast had snapped, and they were capsized. Only the two had survived before being picked up by the slaver. This man had been majordomo to a Spanish admiral on Hispaniola, but still remained a slave. His Spanish name was Enrico, but he preferred to be called by his African name, Enofe.

I told him that they were indeed free and could stay with us as long as they wished – certainly, until we found somewhere safe to drop them off. He stood to attention before he said, in a halting macaronic, “El Capitán and dama not having… serviente.” He tapped his chest. “I a man but very… discreto.”

I held up a hand. “Enofe, I don’t want servants, but I could do with a steward. As such, you would be a crew member… share the rewards and the dangers, comprende?”

Marianna interrupted – “Un senescal.”

Enofe gave a small bow of his head. “Then I go work. Gracias, Capitán.”

The remaining black man also wanted to join the crew, in any capacity where we thought he might fit. Better a free pirate than a slave, he said. I left it to Halcombe to decide, as I was sure he’d find the man a suitable berth. If we set these men ashore, he said, they would only be taken into slavery again.

Yaima, plus two of her people, along with Enofe and his fellow African, returned to the Siren with us. I had to send more crewmen over to the Majestic, which left us both severely under-crewed.

***

“She’s up an’ down, Cap’ain!” The shout came from forward. It told me the anchor was now directly below the Siren.

“Let go the main,” I called.

It was barely daybreak, when the night breeze still blew out to sea. It would soon change direction, but for the moment, it gave us steerage in the fast-flowing current.

“Haul away the anchor!”

For a few moments the men on the capstan gave it all of their might, and the anchor broke free of the clinging mud. The Siren surged forwards. She felt eager to be out to sea once more.

“Why do we get this wind at about dawn and at sunset?” Marianna asked me. “And why does it blow in the opposite direction?”

“At certain times of the year, when the sun comes or goes, the land temperature is different from that of the sea,” I said. “As the sun beats down, the sea warms more slowly than the land. This causes a difference in pressure, and thus a wind. It doesn’t last long, but it can be useful for getting in or out of a tight place if you’ve timed it right.”

“How very clever, yet simple when one knows,” she observed.

The ships sailed on in a southerly direction, as close inshore as we dared. I knew the cleft we searched for was hard to spot. It would usually never be seen, but we were looking for it, aware that it existed, and so had a better chance.

I had just got to wondering where we might anchor for the night when the lookout shouted down. “Deck ho! I maybe’s seein’ som’it Cap’ain – ’ard to be certain like.”

I snatched up my telescope. At first, I saw nothing. I took another sweep, more slowly this time. There! The upper profile of the cliff looked odd. It didn’t fit with the surroundings. A quick check of the wind told me we could beat in the right direction, anchor off for the night and take a closer look in the morning.

We took many soundings before dropping anchor. We were now quite close to the cliffs. In the rapidly fading light, I could see what might have been a dogleg, which could well have been the way in. Tomorrow we would find out.

“Anchor be holdin’ fast,” Davy shouted. “Seems a good bottom.”

Soon, everything was stowed, and I could send the hands for their evening meal. Majestic was anchored close by. I ordered an extra issue of rum, with a double issue for the observant lookout, which brought a resounding cheer that echoed from the cliffs.

Enofe had a bowl of hot water ready for me, and the table was set for dinner. Three full courses – how rare! Thoroughly refreshed and in clean clothes, I came from behind the screen to find my new steward waiting for me in the company of two beautiful girls.

I immediately noticed his uniform. It had been cleaned and repaired. He was standing with a napkin over his arm and a bottle in his hand, looking every inch a true majordomo.

The wine was a crisp, dry white, though don’t ask me the name. I was never a connoisseur. I knew, though, that Enofe had dangled it in the sea below to cool it as much as possible. I’d tasted many different vintages from the ships we had raided. The names meant little to me, but this was Enofe’s world. He knew exactly what went best with what we ate.

He served us soup. I didn’t ask how he had produced such a thing – and so delicious. For our main dish, we ate what the crew ate, something I had always insisted on, and yet Enofe had somehow made it taste different … much better.

Then a dessert such as I’d never tasted before. Enofe had taken stale bread, added a sweet madeira sauce, then topped it with brown sugar. It was then quickly oven-baked at the highest temperature the cook could achieve. The result was a cracking toffee on top. It was so easily prepared, yet quite delicious. I later learned that the ship’s cook had not been too happy with this black man doing strange things in his galley. But when he saw what was produced from almost nothing, he had shaken Enofe’s hand. “You’ll be doin’ alright for me,” he had said.

After dinner, I sipped a glass of port (that much I knew), while Yaima and Marianna had a sweet madeira each. I thanked Enofe and told him to take a glass of whatever he fancied, though I guessed he most likely had already done so. I told him his duties were done for the day, and we’d see him tomorrow.

He paused at the door, “Capitàn … happy … with my…?”

I laughed. “Enofe, you have a job with me as long as you want. Now bugger off!”

It was obvious that Yaima was unused to drink, for she seemed quite tipsy. With a coy look, she produced her pouch. I held her hand and shook my head. She didn’t understand my words when I told her we didn’t need her magic potions, but I think she got the idea.

I worried that she might fall when she climbed onto the table, as there wasn’t the headroom for her to stand. Instead, she wriggled free from her shift and lowered herself to her knees. She writhed this way and that, her rapidly moving hands giving only brief glimpses of the pinkish lips between her thighs. Always moving, always teasing, she was an expert in the art of arousal. I reached for those glistening lips, but she playfully smacked my hand away.

Leaning forward, she faced Marianna, her small breasts drawing close enough to provoke a quick attempt at a kiss. This movement bared her arse to me, and I again reached out, but even as I made contact, her hand took mine in a firm grip, holding me fast. She straightened up, head held high, and began to chant.

I saw her draw Marianna’s head down and in. The chanting rose in tempo as her body went rigid. Marianna was suddenly pulled in tight, her mouth at Yaima’s pussy. My hand was also held fast. Yaima gripped my thumb, forcing it hard into her arsehole. The downward surge took me into her hot depth, and somehow she curled my fingers, urging them into her dripping cunt. Her hips undulated in many directions as she literally fucked herself on both of us, with Marianna’s lips at her clit, and my fingers busily employed in both of her openings.

The chant went on. Then a sudden silence. I felt the tremble, gentle at first, which seemed to come from deep inside of her. Mariana and I fucked and sucked her harder, and the tremble grew to a feverish quaking. Yaima gave a short screech, then shook violently as she rode her orgasm, on and on, like a wild beast. My hand and wrist ached, as I suspected Marianna’s jaw did as well. Time seemed to stop in deference to Yaima’s climax, but eventually she calmed, touching our heads ceremoniously and murmuring some sort of prayer.

When she had climbed down from the table, she took our hands and bent her head towards the cot. We stripped briskly and climbed between the sheets. Yaima gently placed her fingers against Marianna’s mouth, and then against mine. Reflexively, I licked my lips, and I knew at once I was lost. There was the bitter taste. That damn’d philtre again, and there was no resisting it. A momentary dizziness, and then, madly, deliriously, I was clutching Marianna to me as the cabin spun about and the candles began to go dark.

***

It was that hour before dawn when the quiet is broken by the sounds of a ship waking to a new day. The night watch was relieved, eager for breakfast and sleep. Majestic’s cutter was already on its way, bringing Jensen to the Siren. It was a larger boat than anything we possessed, and it could carry a fair-sized sail, but more important, it could mount a two-pounder bow swivel gun.

It was soon agreed Jensen would take ten armed men and one native to investigate what lay hidden at what seemed to be a misalignment in the cliff face. The Siren would fire off a pistol shot if the cutter was to make an urgent return. Jensen would repeat the signal to show he had heard. Otherwise, we’d fire a cannon.

The natives on board, as jungle folk, had never been to sea before being taken by the slavers. They were already chained below deck when the slave ship had sailed away, and none of them had the slightest notion whether we were in the right place.

I wished I had gone with the cutter myself. The waiting was eating at my nerves, and our position was too vulnerable for comfort. The lookout thought he saw the masts of a ship breaking the horizon, but whoever it was, they either had not seen us or were not interested enough to investigate.

I had barely stepped down to my cabin when a lookout shouted, “Cutter in sight!”

Back on deck, I saw they were having to row. The wind was wrong for their sails. Through my telescope, Jensen looked to be bursting with news, urging the oarsmen to pull harder.

He was climbing the ladder almost before the cutter was alongside, and he hadn’t even reached me before the incoherent jumble of words poured out.

“Tom,” Interrupted him, “please calm yourself and speak in a manner that we might understand.”

He took a deep breath and contained his excitement. “Sorry, Captain. There’s so much to tell. It most likely is the right place. That front portion of cliff” – he pointed to the left of where the cutter had disappeared – “hides a deep channel that runs parallel to the front of the cliffs, with another cliff behind. It is about a hundred yards before you bear right into a deep-water bay. The bay is sort of pear-shaped. The far end is fed by a wide river that we followed for some distance before turning back. It all appears to be perfectly navigable.”

I saw his excitement when he paused. It was evident something dramatic was in the offing. “There is a large ship, wrecked many years ago, Spanish I believe. The name was quite indistinct but I thought it said the Santa Sofia. There are no signs of any survivors in the area.”

Tom was still holding something back. With a flourish, he raised a hand. There was a gasp from all that could see, for he held a clutch of doubloons and several other odd-looking coins –  mostly gold.

“We were looking for any sign of people, and Taylor saw something glittering in the water. It only took minutes to collect these. There must be hundreds more.”

An excited babble grew in volume until I raised a hand and called for quiet. “Never fear, my lads. We will search out every bit of gold or silver that ship may have dropped,” I said. “It would seem we are lucky that the slavers did not spot it. It could well be that we’re all rich. Shall we not sail in?”

Of course, I knew the answer, but I wanted my crew to feel they had their say. A good pirate captain always works in that way.

***

The Siren was smaller and handier than the Majestic, and so we led the way. All went well until we turned into the cleft between the cliff faces, where we lost the wind. I had, however, anticipated this situation. We had a tow line to the cutter that sailed just ahead of us. The bosun saw our bow swing away. “Out oars!” Davy yelled. “Pull, you bastards! You be wantin’ gold, then fuckin’ work for it!”

Slowly, laboriously, they pulled us in.

The bay, when I beheld it, was a hidden paradise, a place of true beauty, and the promise of gold only enhanced its allure. Marianna and Yaima stood beside me as we reached the centre of the expanse, where we could see the ghost of a once proud ship.

Yaima spoke so softly, I almost didn’t hear. “Sofia,” she said. How did she know that?

It was still early morning when we dropped anchor. I insisted on both ships being tidied before allowing the hands to surge onto the beach.

In minutes, we heard excited shouts. There was gold almost everywhere, vast amounts of it. As a crew, we were already quite rich. Now we were wealthy beyond imagining. This was not just the scavenging of a few scattered pieces of eight. This was the haul of a lifetime. The slavers had sailed away with a valuable cargo of captives. A moment more of their time, and they could have been kings.

I left Jensen in charge of the salvage operation. He had looked hard at me. “You would trust me with all this gold and a ship with which I could sail away?”

“Aye, my friend. I would trust you, and there are few I would.”

We sailed upriver. Sometimes the wind was in our favour. At other times, the cutter had to tow us. It was hard work.

The natives grew excited. Their one interpreter told me that some recognised what they saw. We were drawing close to their home. Then a cheer erupted as we rounded a bend, and I beheld many hundreds of natives on the riverbank. They must have known we were coming. Both on board and ashore, a strange, deafening whistling assaulted our senses. We had brought these people home.

Yaima stepped forward. She spoke in her chanting voice, indicating our ship as she addressed the others. Then she, in turn, bowed her head. The gathered crowds now looked up at us, then they roared and whistled.

Hundreds of boats surged out towards us. They stopped alongside, not attempting to board. That strange whistling sound continued.

Then silence… complete silence.

I could see a woman on the bank, dressed in a shimmering golden robe, surrounded by many more women and girls, all dressed almost as radiantly as she.

She paused, letting the moment linger. “Yaima” – the name carried across the water. I understood nothing more.

Yaima replied only a few words at first: “Ingles y Espanol.” But then she went on, and we understood nothing of it.

The woman onshore interrupted her in mid-flow. “Is enough, I am understand,” she called. “You bring our special one back. We must thank you.” She clapped her hands and spoke rapidly to the crowd around her.

The freed captives were soon ferried ashore, to be met by many ecstatic relatives. They had never expected to see their loved ones again.

A man climbed to our deck from a boat. He spoke a form of Spanish I could barely understand. Marianna translated for me.

“He says our ship is safe here, they will watch all the time. The men may come ashore. We welcome them. You and I are asked to go with our precious lady, Yaima. Please to not worry or fear.”

Yaima smiled at us, “Ven conmigo.” Her Spanish had improved on our short voyage. We accepted her invitation and followed.

***

We were carried in something like a European sedan chair, weaving through the jungle for what seemed an age. There would never have been the slightest chance of us finding our way back unaided. At what seemed a clearly defined point, the men handed us over to the women. It seemed yet another age before we arrived at a huge clearing surrounded by trees that seemed to reach to the heavens. Stone steps rose to a towering gate.

Yaima took our hands so that Marianna and I were on either side of her. Then she led us up.

The woman we had seen on the shore was there to greet us. She bowed low before squaring her shoulders regally and addressing us.

“You not know. Cannot know. You are now special to us. You bring back to us our most important one, the pure one. She tells us you are believers, you are at one with us. Yaima also says you are worthy of our elixir, that you may take with us.”

There was a loud chorus from those gathered around us before she continued. “Yaima tells us you have tasted the elixir, that you were one with her. l not allowed this to happen yet but she said it is time. You two her first. Now, you are now special to us.”

I was unprepared for this. I did not know what to do or say. So many on their knees before us. What should I do?

Yaima turned to face us. She unfastened her clothes and let them drop to the plank floor. She stood facing us, totally naked, as the chant began from the gathered sisters. A young girl came forward. She touched a finger to a vial and then to our lips – Marianna, Yaima, and myself.

Everything around me seemed to swirl. The chanting grew louder. I saw my two beautiful girls close by, and they looked utterly inviting … fuck, I needed them. Them? No, I was them. And yet they were me. I was aware that Marianna and I were now naked, yet not when or how or where our clothes had gone.

We three were spun together. Yaima, Marianna and I were as one as we made the most beautiful love.

The women prayed to us. Their most sacred one had come of age. They chanted as we fucked. The sounds lifted us ever higher. A maelstrom of fingers, tongues, clits, and finally, an almighty orgasm. I heard screams echoing about the vaulted ceiling, although I had no recollection of screaming myself. I had always put conscious thought into my lovemaking, but here there was none. It was as if our spirits simply united. It could not be explained. It merely was.

After the ceremonial fuck, Marianna and I were carried away to another room, where we were deposited on a bench of solid gold – in fact, everything appeared to be made of gold. Jewels sparkled everywhere in the flicker of lanterns. The legends my lover had unearthed were indeed true.

Yaima was carried in by a dozen naked young girls, who stopped before us and lowered her to the floor.

She spoke her name before continuing. The interpreter came forward, translating her words: “I, Yaima, the true holy one, am now of age. These two have brought me forth. They are holy sisters. They are of us, the Sisterhood of Sofia.”

She looked around at the many faces. “Yet … they are not of us. They come from a different world, a world we cannot know. I have seen enough of this world to know it is evil, even though they themselves are holy.”

Yaima came forward and held our hands as she spoke the next words: “I would wish them to stay with us, to be of us. Yet I know it cannot be, and so I wish them a safe journey to wherever life is to take them. But you, the Sisters of Sofia, will write them into our story. Bren and Marianna are now at one with me and therefore with us. Embrace us, sisters, we are the true Trinity. We three, at this moment, are your one God.”

I am not at all religious, but I knew enough to realise how blasphemous that statement would sound to the priesthood of the outside world. Did I care? Not one bit! I was, however, intrigued. What was this Sofia business? Was there some connection between these people and the wrecked ship?

The one that I thought of as the High Priestess, whose name was Atiena, was pleased to spend some time with us. She wanted to know more of the outside world, and she wanted reassurance that she and her people were safe from further raids. When I asked about the Sofia, she didn’t pause to think. It was more like the recital of a well-remembered litany.

The ship had been struck by a hurricane and driven many miles off course. Badly damaged and foundering, she was swept onto the rocks beneath the cliffs, where she would have been smashed to pieces, and all aboard lost. Miraculously, the split in the cliffs had saved them. The crew managed to tow themselves into the bay, driving the ship onto the beach, lest it sink. This had happened in the days of Atiena’s ancestors, ages ago, though naturally, given the lack of written records and her people’s apparent indifference to time, she could not provide a precise date.

Though safe from the storm, it transpired that the Sofia’s crew and passengers had merely exchanged one nightmare for another. They came down with the fever, over two hundred of them perishing within a month. Only three survived – a nun, a young girl and an Englishman who had been a prisoner.

The fact that the young girl’s name was Sofia, the same as the ship’s, was quite coincidental, but to Atiena’s people, it was a portent of great significance. The Santa Sofia had delivered the founder of her order.

The Englishman, whose name was Thomas, had taken a small boat and travelled upriver, promising to come back for the other two if he found help. Eventually, after many months, he did return.

Meantime, the nun and the girl had built a small Christian chapel, where they prayed for deliverance. They survived by foraging, which led them to a plant that possessed a most powerful magic. One morning they had awakened to find themselves lying naked and wrapped in each other’s arms. Still under the influence of the plant, they had again made love.

They understood what had occurred, and both were happy about it. They consumed more of the plant, laying together day after day under the spell of their discovery.

Thomas, on his return, found the nun was now quite mad from overindulgence in the plant. The chapel, now believed lost, had become a shrine to female worship, with Sofia herself the object of that worship.

With great reluctance, Sofia and the nun travelled back upriver with Thomas, who had established himself with the tribe. They hadn’t been there long when the nun, now known as Sister Caterina, discovered the site that was to become the present-day home of the religious order.

Eventually, it was said, Thomas fathered a child with Sofia. They were Yaima’s ancestors. There are many descendants, and it is from these that the sisterhood recruits its followers. The sisterhood became connoisseurs in the herbs of the forest, which allowed them to cure most of the illnesses from which the tribe suffered. The well-being of the people came to depend on these women, and in time a new religion was born. Above all, the sisters cultivated the lust-inducing plant, from which they learned to distil their irresistible elixir. It was their most sacred medicine.

We listened with rapt attention. It was a remarkable story. Marianna and I were now members of the order. We may not have placed our faith in its otherworldly mysteries, but we were certainly converts to the favours of women.

On to Chapter Three!

A quick recap of the Story Thus Far: Rural paramedic Nettie Hastings finds herself in the middle of a flurry of unexplained overdose calls and, with the help of her best friend and former lover, Terry Wilder, puts clues together to link the source to her own hometown. A DEA agent named Bridgette Ramscone is brought in to work the case, and she takes a special interest in Nettie who, in the meantime, has entered into a clandestine affair with Terry’s preteen daughter Halee. It turns out that Terry’s ex-wife Kathryn is the linchpin of the criminal enterprise behind the overdoses. A showdown occurs in which Halee is shot, and Terry taken hostage. Thankfully, Terry escapes, Halee survives, and the drug dealers are all arrested or killed.

For a more detailed breakdown of this story’s chapters, please consult the Chapter Links.

by Rachael Yukey

Terry flatly refused to be debriefed before he’d seen his kids. The DEA was less than thrilled, but Agent Ramscone herself made the call to cut him loose. “He won’t be of much use to us anyhow, not until he gets some sleep,” she said.

Terry and I were transported back to Bronning by helicopter about an hour after the mercenaries surrendered. I don’t remember the trip; I was too exhausted to stay awake for most of it. I got him home, shoveled his semi-comatose ass into bed, then stretched out on his couch. Even making my way to the guest room felt like too much work. Before I crashed, I set my alarm. I still had obligations to meet.

When the clock went off a couple of hours later, I staggered to the kitchen, got some coffee going, and called my mom. She cheerfully agreed to keep Dawn and Maya until I was ready to come get them. I got a cup of coffee and some toast into my gut, then drove to Chelsey Milne’s grandma’s house.

Natalie Milne greeted me cordially, told me the girls were in the bedroom down the hall, then settled down in front of the television, turning it up even louder than it already was. As I neared the end of the corridor, I could hear the muted sounds of girls giggling. I found my way to the door from which the giggling emerged, knocking lightly.

Instantly the giggling ceased, and I heard the sound of frenzied movements. “Hold on, Grandma,” Chelsey called out.

“It’s Nettie,” I said. There was a chorus of renewed giggles, then the sound of the door being unlocked from the inside. Naomi was staring up at me. I couldn’t help but notice that her blouse was buttoned crooked.

“Hi, Nettie!” she said, stepping back and ushering me in. I stepped inside and closed the door. It wasn’t lost on me that Naomi immediately relocked it. Chelsey was supine on the bed, covered to her chin with a blanket. I felt a grin spreading across my face; there was no missing what had been taking place here.

“We thought you were Grandma,” said Chelsey, smirking at me.

“Yeah, I thought so,” I replied. “Aren’t you worried she might hear you?”

“Hear us doing what?” Naomi inquired innocently, and both girls erupted in a fit of giggling.

“Grandma can’t hear very good,” said Chelsey, “so we don’t worry. Don’t you hear how loud she cranks the TV?”

“Any word on my dad?” Naomi asked, her voice suddenly anxious.

“He’s home,” I told her.

“YES! When can I see him?”

“He’s sleeping right now,” I told her, “but I’ll take you back with me. You can see him when he wakes up.”

Naomi looked at Chelsey, then back at me. “So do we need to go now, or…”

I chuckled. “Exactly what was happening when I knocked?”

“Well,” Chelsey said in a saucy tone, “I just made Naomi come, and she was about to eat my pussy.” She threw the blanket off with her good arm, and I caught my breath at the sight of her glorious nudity.

I advanced towards the bed, suddenly overcome with need. Not a need to get off myself, but a need to touch this beautiful young body. I sat down on the edge of the mattress, running my fingertips from Chelsey’s soft young neck and down across her belly. The girl shivered deliciously.

“I’d like a taste of that,” I said. “If it’s okay with you girls.”

“Are you cool with that, Naomi?” Chelsey inquired.

“Oh, yeah, then I can watch,” Naomi said, her voice a bit breathy.

Gently I spread the girl’s thin young legs, running my hands up and down her thighs. Chelsey’s response was immediate, her breath harsh, hips moving. I bent to her, my tongue delicately tracing those smooth, almost hairless labia. I split her open with my fingers, a blissful sigh escaping my lips at the sight of her glistening, girlish treasure.

I slipped my tongue inside, enjoying the tangy flavor of her vagina before moving upwards to find her clit. I began to lick, slowly and gently at first, enjoying her response. Out of the corner of my eye I saw Naomi off to the side. She’d shucked her pants and was fingering her sweet hairless pussy, lips shuddering, mouth working soundlessly.

I slipped a finger into Chelsey’s tight little cunt, then another as she opened up for me. She moaned in response. Sensing her readiness, I really went to work, licking her clit and fucking her. In what seemed like no time at all she was crying out, then coming, grinding her pussy against my mouth.

Looking up, I saw Naomi masturbating furiously off to my right. I lifted my body until we were at eye level.

“Do you want to taste Chelsey on my lips?” Naomi nodded, and our mouths came together in a furious kiss. She threw her head back and wailed as she came.

***

“The locker, as near as we can figure, started out as a sort of science lab,” Bridgett was saying. She, Terry, and I were sipping coffee in his living room around noon. Terry and his girls had been reunited a little over an hour before, although Dawn and Maya, not fully comprehending the import of what had just happened, had gone off to play in fairly short order.

Naomi had been a bit more clingy, but when she’d received an invitation to go to the local clinic for what Chelsey referred to as her “brace removal party”, Terry had encouraged her to go and be there for her friend. Really, we figured Chelsey’s grandma would need help getting her in and out of the car. Finally, the kids mollified for the moment, Terry had agreed to tit for tat; he would talk if Bridgett would. He’d given his sworn testimony, and now it was her turn.

“They were experimenting with a new drug,” Bridgett went on. “According to Adam Bixley’s grandson David, they’ve been working in there since late December. They had the perfect setup; an entry and exit pathway nobody would remark on because it’s private land and no one knows the owners, and a location no one visits anymore. This stuff they were making… among other things, it uses ordinary sap from the sort of pines that grow around here, so that was definitely a bonus.”

“David must have been involved from the outset,” Terry said thoughtfully.

Bridgett favored him with a humorless smile. “My people arrested him last night, and it took all of five minutes to shake him down. Turns out, he and his wife have been involved in the distribution of meth coming up from Mexico for years, and they’d been integrating their sixteen-year-old son into the family business.”

“Jason,” I said.

“Jason,” said Bridgett with a nod. “If Fronse had the brains God gave a goose, it would have occurred to him at some point to wonder how David Bixley was making a living on a two hundred acre hobby farm. I think his grandfather must have suspected; he did the same thing with the meat locker for fifteen years. All Ms. Wilder had to do was channel some inquiries through her old contacts and find out who was distributing out here, then make overtures.

“This experimental narcotic is powerful stuff,” she went on. “I don’t understand it all, but basically it operates directly on the brain’s pleasure centers. It’d be like an hours-long orgasm. And it’s fairly safe while you’re using it; almost impossible to overdose on. The trouble is it’s addictive as hell, and worse, the stuff stays in your bloodstream. It goes inert after four or five days with no supply, and the inert form causes the kind of distributive shock with strange neurological symptoms that the two of you saw in your ambulance.”

“So what Sam Jensen told me was right,” I said. “It was withdrawal symptoms we saw, not the actual high.”

“Yes, but it probably looked like a high. And the stuff they found in the bloodstream was in its altered, inert state. At the time Jason Bixley had his accident, his dad tells me that they’d used up their first batch a few days prior. So the kids they’d been testing it on started to come down off the mountain, and go into withdrawal. Jason was just the first one it hit, and it was really bad luck it happened when he was driving.”

“So that’s why his parents protested the autopsy,” I said. “They were worried about what would come up in the blood tests.”

“That’s right,” said Bridgett. “They were devastated, but not so devastated that they wanted to go to prison. But they’ve had a few weeks for it to eat at them, and they broke down in no time when we questioned them last night.”

“What was the Milne sisters’ involvement?” Terry wanted to know.

“The Bixleys have been using them as mules for years, mostly paying them in meth for their own use. It was easy enough to incorporate them into the new venture.”

“So where does the heroin come in?” I asked.

“Kathryn Wilder is nothing if not an opportunist,” Bridgett replied. “She took note of the inconsistency of hard drug supplies in this area, and thought it would be a fantastic way to create a revenue stream while they were ramping up the new product. She hasn’t talked much since we arrested her last night, but we were able to establish that she went heavily in debt with various underworld financial backers to fund the whole thing.

“So she got in touch with some of her old contacts, and those people thought even bigger. They saw Bronning and the meat locker as an ideal distribution point not just for the area but for the entire region, including funneling product up into Canada. There’s an international drug kingpin associated with all this. It’s mostly members of his organization who were involved in the raid on Smokey Bear State Park last night.”

Terry stretched, then sipped more coffee. Despite his affected nonchalance, he looked gaunt and haggard, and I knew the experience would stay with him for years to come. I promised myself that I’d be there for him, come what may.

“So how did that play out?” he wanted to know. “There’s been zero press.”

Bridgett cast a surprised glance in my direction. “Didn’t you tell him?”

“Haven’t had a chance to yet,” I replied.

“Our people are preparing a public statement for tonight,” she said. “Until then, media blackout. The short version: you did us an enormous favor by ducking out of the cabin last night, Mr. Wilder, although there were a few tense moments going in to get you. The whole reason your ex-wife stayed in the Bronning area after the locker was raided was to try and find a way to get the heroin out of that tunnel. We think Darren Sanders was possibly on a mission to find a secluded place to burrow in and get at the goods from another direction. There was millions of dollars worth of product in there; the single biggest heroin bust in the history of the state. The people who provided it would have the person who lost it strung from the yardarm, so to speak.”

She sipped her coffee. “So anyway, a small army of soldiers for hire was sent in to retrieve Ms. Wilder, with enough firepower to back down the DEA and police forces that were cordoning the area. They dispersed into the woods and surrounded the place, probably right about the same time you slipped out the cabin door. It’s a miracle that you saw them first.”

“Not really,” said Terry. “I was trying to be quiet. They weren’t.”

“Fair point. But what they didn’t know was that there happened to be National Guard units conducting a field exercise nearby, and the governor agreed to call them up without wasting time on deliberation. They were given orders to deploy less than thirty minutes after the mercenaries forced the authorities in the area to stand down. It was one hell of a lucky break for us, needless to say.

“So… the mercenaries surrounded the cabin, identified themselves, and advised Ms. Wilder and her men to surrender peacefully. There was a shot fired inside the cabin. We discovered later that one of Ms. Wilder’s people shot and killed the guy with the wounded leg. He was already dead weight, and at that point he was calling for surrender so he could be taken to a hospital.”

“He almost got shot a couple of times while I was still with them,” said Terry. “Like you said, he was dead weight. They didn’t like him slowing them down.”

“I’m not surprised,” Bridgett said with a grim smile. “We don’t know all the details, but Ms. Wilder eventually surrendered to the mercs anyway. By this point we had you out, Mr. Wilder, and there was nothing else to stop the Guard from surrounding the place. The mercenaries had assault rifles, but the Guard units had armored vehicles, drones, body armor, and night vision. The mercenary unit commander said ’Get the fuck out of our way, we’re coming through.’ The Guard commander said ‘Make my day.’ The mercenaries realized the Guard was there in sufficient force to simply surround the cabin and starve them out. A few of them tried to fight their way through the line, with predictable results. The remainder surrendered shortly thereafter.”

Terry threw his head back and laughed. I looked his way with concern.

Bridgett’s eyebrows were raised. “Something funny, Mr. Wilder?”

Terry sobered, met her gaze. “Tell you what,” he said. “You stop calling me Mr. Wilder, and I’ll stop calling you Special Agent Perky Tits behind your back. What’s funny is that I got the girls out of LA partly to get them away from the drug culture, and the gang situation that goes with it. Then we come here, and it fucking follows us.”

Bridgett chuckled into her coffee. “There is a certain irony here, isn’t there… Terry?”

Terry shifted in his chair and picked up his phone. “If we’re going to be in Minneapolis when Halee comes back out of surgery this afternoon,” he said, “we’ll need to depart soon. But I do have one further question. What caused the explosion at the meat locker?”

Bridgett sighed. “Bad luck, aided and abetted by carelessness. It was apparent to them that somebody had put two and two together and alerted the police. David Bixley told me that last night. So Kathryn, her backers, and her suppliers all agreed to pull up the stakes and re-establish elsewhere. They actually did try to prevent any further withdrawals. The morning of the meat locker raid, they’d called as many of the kids as they could reach to come get something they’d developed that would help wean them off.

“By this time they’d consolidated all of their supplies and equipment into one room. Which was a terrible idea, because they had some different items stacked up together that caused a chemical reaction.”

Terry was shaking his head. “And of course it just happened to be the room Kathryn’s hired dickweed stuffed the kids into when they threatened to go to the fuzz. The timing is incredible.”

“Isn’t it?” Bridgett replied. “According to our forensics people, the stuff that went off would have taken roughly an hour to build up to a reaction. We’re thinking when they moved the kids into the room, something got bumped or shifted that caused the interaction.”

“So… wait a minute,” I said. “There were more of those withdrawal cases over the next few days after the raid. A couple of them died.”

“They weren’t able to reach all of the young people who’d sampled the goods,” said Bridgett, “and not all the victims knew each other. Some of them went to different schools, or weren’t in school anymore. The whole reason we had those kids from the raid kept in the hospital was so they could get fast treatment when they inevitably got sick. Even once they identified it, the docs couldn’t figure out a way to neutralize that toxin. They just had to wait for it to finally filter out of the bloodstream. The kids from the raid were able to identify some others who were at risk, and we rounded them up, but a few slipped through the cracks. Unfortunately.”

“What did they have planned for the heroin?” I asked.

“David doesn’t know, and everyone else has lawyered up. I imagine getting it out presented something of a problem. It would have taken them months to stockpile that much.”

“Wish I could have seen it,” Terry replied. “Fucking Adam Bixley. Who would have thought that old coot was a coke dealer?”

“It’s never who you expect,” Bridgett replied.

“All that aside,” Terry said, with an air of finality, “Naomi should be back any minute, and we have to be ready to roll at that time. I’m going to book a suite for the girls and me. Shall I get you a room, Nettie?”

It wasn’t lost on me that he wasn’t inviting me to sleep with him in the hotel, but this time it didn’t hurt. Some things can’t be undone. Terry’s my best friend, and I think I’m his, but maybe it’s better to draw that line between us. We’re great in bed together, but we’ve already tried and failed to make it as a couple. We both needed to move on.

Besides, I had other plans. I’d received a text from Hannah that morning that read: Don’t know if you are planning on coming back to see Halee today, but if so my calendar for the evening is open. 

“No need,” I said with a smile. “I’m staying with people tonight.”

We saw Bridgett to the door. She shook Terry’s hand. “I misjudged you,” she said. “For that, I am sorry. And I just want to add this: you have the balls of a tiger.”

She gave me a carefully restrained hug. “I’ll see both of you around town,” she said as we parted. “The follow-up here is going to take a week, at least.” She turned to go, then looked back, favoring Terry with a raised eyebrow. “Oh, and Mr. Wilder?”

“Yeah?”

“I think I like Special Agent Perky Tits. Continue to use it, if you want.”

Terry was chuckling as she walked away. I couldn’t help but notice how he watched her ass sway to and fro under that tight black skirt. That was okay, because I was looking at it in exactly the same way.

***

Hours later, I sat with Halee in her hospital room. Terry had taken the other three girls to the cafeteria. He’d offered to buy me dinner as well, but I’d pleaded not hungry. It wasn’t really true, but I wanted a little time alone with Halee. At least this time they’d deemed her stable enough to put her on the floor rather than ICU, so we had a reasonable amount of privacy.

“Remember what you said the other day, that the rules dictating who can do what with who are dumb?” I said.

“Yeah… why?”

“Did you mean that?”

She nodded, a suspicious grin on her face. “Yes, but where are we going with this?”

“What if we were talking about a mother and her daughter? Say, a girl Naomi’s age or older.”

She seemed to consider. “I guess I can’t see a problem, if they both wanted to. Now c’mon Nettie… what’s going on?”

I filled her in on my meeting with Hannah and Bethany the previous day, and my plans to spend the night at their house.

“You wouldn’t think I could get turned on right now, but this is making me kind of wet,” she said.

“So you don’t mind?”

“Of course not! It’s awesome. I just wish I could go with you tonight.”

I smiled. “I have a funny feeling that we might be able to offer you a rain check, once you’ve healed up a little.”

“Well,” she said with a smirk, “thanks for giving me something to look forward to. Maybe now I can muster up the will to go on living.”

We both laughed. “God, you have to knock that crap off,” I said. “You’re starting to talk way too much like your dad.”

She sobered. “Speaking of which…” She let the question hang in the air, but I knew what she meant.

“I think that’s over,” I told her. “He offered to get me my own hotel room tonight, instead of inviting me to sleep in his. And that’s probably best. We both need to move on.”

“If I know Dad,” Halee said with a roll of her eyes, “he’ll probably just end up screwing the hotel receptionist or something.”

I chuckled. “That wouldn’t surprise me at all, and good for him if he does.”

She reached out and took my hand, wincing as she did so.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” she growled. “I can’t stop using my arms, just because my chest hurts.”

“If it hurts too much, the nurses can get you some more Dilaudid.”

“I know, but I’m not there yet.” She shifted a little, then settled in again. “You really like this Hannah lady… don’t you?”

I pursed my lips, trying to think of the best way to respond. More than anything else in the world, I didn’t want to hurt Halee. At the same time, I knew I couldn’t lie to her. “I do,” I said. “There’s an attraction between us that’s hard to explain.”

“Good,” said Halee.

“Is that really how you feel about it?”

“Yep. Remember what we talked about the night before I got hurt? I’m twelve… well, almost thirteen. I’m not ready for a forever thing. I probably won’t be for a long time. But you… you need someone, Nettie. And… can I say what I’m really thinking?”

I sat back in my chair, almost faint with relief. “Fire away,” I said, a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.

“Don’t screw this one up, like you did with my dad.”

Three weeks before, I’d have taken offense. Probably been pissed off, as a matter of fact. Something had happened to me during that time, something I still can’t put into words. Sitting there in Halee’s hospital room, I felt like maybe I’d finally come to a place where I could go the distance with someone, and not fuck it all up.

“I’ll try not to,” I said. “But on another note, let me tell you a little something about DEA agent Bridgett Ramscone…”

***

Hannah picked me up at the main entrance to the hospital at six, waving through the windshield as she pulled up to the curb.

Terry, standing by my side, raised his eyebrows in appreciation. “Nice booty call,” he mouthed into my ear. I slapped his shoulder, but couldn’t suppress a grin.

“Stay put,” he told his girls, as both of us stepped towards the car. I got into the passenger seat, as Terry walked around to the driver’s side. Hannah obligingly rolled down her window as he bent low.

“Hi, I’m Terry Wilder,” he said, flashing her that same flirtatious grin with which he always favored beautiful women, and sticking a hand through the open window. “I hear you participated in my daughter’s care.”

Hannah shook the proffered hand. “That’s right. I did anesthesia for her surgeries, both yesterday and today.”

“I can’t possibly thank you enough,” he told her.

She smiled back at him. “My pleasure. She’s a trooper. Anesthesia can be really tricky with that kind of pulmonary damage, but I had almost no trouble. I think she’ll pull through just fine. On another note…” she hesitated, then plunged ahead. “I saw her date of birth when I was looking through her paperwork, and couldn’t help noticing she turns thirteen tomorrow. Is there something she would like for her birthday?”

“Halee needs company more than presents,” said Terry. “We’re having a birthday cake in her room tomorrow. Probably around three. If you’re able, come to the party.”

“I wouldn’t want to intrude…”

“Don’t be silly. You’re a friend of Nettie’s. She tells me you have a daughter Halee’s age; even better if she could drop in, too.”

Hannah pursed her lips. “If Bethany took a city bus from school, she’d be here by four.”

Terry shrugged. “I could push it back that far.”

“Then we’ll be there,” Hannah said with a brilliant smile.

***

“So that’s Terry,” said Hannah as she pulled away from the curb. She drove with her left hand, fingertips of the right coming to rest lightly on the back of mine. I wondered at the source of this incredible magnetism between us.

“That’s Terry,” I agreed, taking her hand in mine.

“I get it,” she said. “I’m gay as they come, but he has kind of an aura, doesn’t he? If I wanted to sleep with a dude, I’d have exchanged numbers with that guy.”

“I slept with him the day we met,” I admitted.

“Nothing wrong with that,” said Hannah. “Have you eaten yet, Antoinette?”

“Uh-uh.” Our fingers were intertwined now; our hands resting together on my thigh.

“Good, because there’s a roast in the crockpot. Bethany should have it ready to eat by the time we get there.”

It was a fifteen minute drive from Children’s to the pleasant little suburb of Bloomington. We spent it in light conversation, getting to know one another. I found myself admiring Hannah all the more as I learned about her life, and the struggles she’d faced to get to where she was today. The time flew, and before I knew it we were entering a neighborhood full of virtually identical split-level homes. I imagined on a drunk night, you could circle the blocks for hours and never identify which house was yours.

I followed her up the walk, overnight bag slung over my shoulder. As she opened the door, we were greeted by the wonderful aroma of roast beef and herbs. The entryway was typical of a modern split-level, with one short stairway going down, and another going up.

Music was coming from upstairs… heavy music, which after a moment I identified as Disturbed. I’m not that into the extreme side of metal, but I can appreciate it, and it’s not everyday that I meet other young women whose tastes in music even remotely align with my own.

“Perfect timing!” a voice called out. Bethany’s face appeared a moment later, peering down at us over the railing of the upper level, red hair hanging down. I was struck by how much she looked like her mother.

“Dinner’s on the table,” she announced.

“Hi, sweetheart,” said Hannah. “We’ll be right up. There’s something I have to do first.” Then her hands were on my waist, her body pressed against mine. She turned her face upwards.

“I probably smell bad,” I warned. “It’s been a long day.”

She giggled. “Who cares? I’m still in my scrubs. We’ll get cleaned up after dinner.” Then she stood on her toes, elevating her open mouth to mine.

We came together in a lover’s kiss, exploring each other’s mouths in a leisurely, unhurried fashion. The kiss deepened, slowly but surely reaching a frenzy. Finally she pulled away.

“Okay,” she said, voice unsteady, “you keep kissing me like that, and we’re not gonna make it past the entryway.”

“I’d be down with that,” I said, trying to get my own breathing under control. I let her lead me up the stairs.

Bethany was waiting for us at the top, hands on hips. “I’m being deprived,” she declared. “That’s twice I’ve had to watch you two make out.”

Stepping boldly into my path, she wrapped both arms around my waist, tilted her head back, and gazed up into my eyes. “Will you kiss me?” she inquired.

I glanced towards Hannah, who rewarded me with a big smile and a nod of encouragement. I leaned in, bending the girl back slightly, and took her lower lip between my teeth. I sucked it in, then felt her tongue tracing my upper lip. Such a bold move from this delicate red-haired creature, barely into the early stages of puberty – almost drove me over the edge. I opened my mouth wide, letting my tongue dart between her lips. She met me with a lustful fervor, and I pulled her closer. Her hands dipped lower, cupping my ass, and I let my fingers trace her butt crack through the bottle-green leggings she wore. When I broke the kiss, her breath was coming in harsh gasps of deep arousal. She was kneading my buttocks, desperately hugging my body against hers.

Hannah chuckled. “I should have warned you: When it comes to sex, Bethany has an even shorter fuse than me, and that’s saying something. We’d better eat now, or that roast will be bone dry before she’s had enough.”

We parted, Bethany visibly struggling to get her desire under control. Truth to tell, I wasn’t in a much better state. I scanned the room, trying to focus my mind on something besides how Bethany would look divested of her clothing. Their home was a big, open-concept space, with the living room opening out directly before me, a dining table and chairs to my right, and the kitchen beyond that.

Peering into the living room, my eyes widened as they fell on the wall where the TV was mounted. There was a decent component stereo system there, with bookshelf speakers and a subwoofer. Nothing remotely on the same level as my own setup, or even on the same planet as Terry’s, but a far cry from the crappy soundbars they sell at WalMart. And there was a large rack of CDs. Physical media, as opposed to streaming. Wow.

Hannah saw the direction my gaze had wandered. “Bethany,” she said, turning to her daughter, “why don’t you find some music that’s a bit more suited for company?”

“No, this is fine,” I assured her. “I’m a metalhead myself. I’m more into the melodic side, but I can dig the extreme stuff.”

Hannah’s room-warming smile reappeared. “Cool! I’m the opposite. I prefer the extreme stuff, but can dig the melodic side. Who’s your favorite band?”

“Blind Guardian,” I said without hesitation. “What’s yours?”

“Lamb of God,” she replied. “Let’s eat.”

Bethany had laid out the roast, the potatoes, the carrots and the gravy in attractive serving trays, and properly set the table. There was also a chilled bottle of Reisling, with nice long-stemmed wine glasses. Bethany poured a glass each for Hannah and I, and grape juice from a pitcher for herself.

“It’s a special evening,” Hannah told her daughter. “You can have a glass of wine if you want it.”

“No thanks, Mom,” she said, making a face. “The last time I had one, it gave me a huge headache.”

As we dug into the food, Bethany was eyeing me speculatively. “Y’know, Mom,” she said, “if Nettie can stand the same godforsaken racket that you and I like, maybe you should just skip the whole dating thing and marry her.”

“Bethany!” Hannah said, but there was laughter in her eyes.

“What kind of music does Halee like?” Bethany wanted to know.

“She’s just recently gotten into punk,” I replied. “Indie bands, of the angry girl variety. Not my thing, but I don’t mind it too much. Her dad’s worse. He’s got like twenty thousand dollars worth of audio equipment, and only plays classical music on it.”

“I like classical music,” said Bethany. “I’d love to hear Bach on a twenty thousand dollar stereo!”

I snorted. “I can arrange that.”

The conversation continued this way and that, flowing easily around the table. I learned that Bethany was planning to follow her mother into medical practice, with an eye on possibly becoming a doctor. She knew a good deal about hospital life from Hannah, and proceeded to ask me some very smart, penetrating questions about how things are done in the prehospital setting.

“Sounds like working on an ambulance would be a good job to have while I’m in college,” she mused. “You’ve got to have some kind of medical work on your resume to get into med school.”

“Once you’re sixteen, I can get you in for a ridealong day to see what you think,” I told her. “If you’re still interested, we’ll talk.”

About halfway through the meal, Bethany excused herself and ran downstairs, returning a couple of minutes later. She and her mother exchanged secretive smiles.

Finally our plates were clean. Pushing her chair back, Hannah rose from the table. “Bethany, you wanna help me get these leftovers stuffed into the fridge?” she said. “Then we can introduce Antoinette to our idea of dessert.”

On to Chapter Twenty-Two!