Juicy Secrets Forbidden Tales of Lesbian Love

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!

Note from JetBoy: Here’s what you’ve been waiting for, happy readers: Part Two of the swashbuckling sapphic sea saga of Captain Bren, in which you will find our heroine and her crew embarking on new adventures, seeking unimaginable wealth, engaging in combat with cannon and sword… and in the case of Bren and her lover Marianna, fucking beautiful women and girls at every opportunity.

Infinite thanks to kinkychic and kinky’s_sis (our beloved Kinky Sisters), for once again sharing the contents of their wicked imaginations with us. Truly, we are blessed.

 

By kinkychic and kinky’s_sis

 

Chapter I: The Slave Ship

The wind was kind to us, providing a rapid departure from Tortola and towards the open sea – and safety. We saw no sign of any pursuing ships. It seemed we were clear away.

We needed to consider our options more thoroughly than we had so far. I hailed for Calico Jack to please come aboard and instructed Halcombe, our newly promoted deck officer, that he was to make sure no one, especially not any English officer, came anywhere near the skylight to my cabin. We must not be overheard.

The first mate, Jensen, the bosun and of course Davy were invited to join the meeting. It was a tight fit, what with those three, Jack and Anne Bonny—who followed him everywhere—Marianna and myself all crammed into my not-so-spacious cabin.

I pointed at the large map of the Caribbean spread out upon the table. “We are heading southeast towards Antigua,” I began, “a fact I’m sure our prisoners will be well aware of. I’ve been pondering the best place to put them ashore – preferably somewhere not garrisoned by the British, yet where they will be treated well until their Navy picks them up.”

I had thought of Montserrat, which, although it was English, had no garrison as far as I was aware. Rackham, however, had a better idea.

“May I suggest the Guadeloupe islands?” he said. “As you likely know, they are in French hands. For once, we are not at war with them. They won’t hurry themselves in deciding what to do with our guests, but they’ll look after them well enough while we make good our escape.”

I had not previously anchored anywhere in the Guadeloupe group, although I had sailed through it. It comprised a considerable number of islands, which would give us plenty of cover. I liked the idea. The only reservation came from Davy,

“Best hope that volcano don’t go blowin’ its ‘ed, it bein’ one of the nasty ones in these ’ere parts,” he warned.

He was not at all upset at the ripple of laughter his observation incited. It had been many years since the mountain had last erupted, although it smoked continually.

Jack raised the very question that had been nagging at me. “May I enquire, Captain, if you are still planning on sailing for Antigua?”

“It’s a good question, Jack,” I replied. “I haven’t put my thoughts to the men yet, but I am leaning towards taking a look south, down the American mainland. There’s a lot of gold coming out of there, bound for Spain or Portugal. No one will be expecting us to head in that direction, least of all the King’s Navy. I wondered whether you might want to sail with us?”

“Aye, I see your reasoning. It’s quite sound, but I will decline,” Jack said. “My crew have made it clear they want to head for New Spain, towards Vera Cruz. They hear of the large Spanish gold flotas sailing from there.”

I had myself considered exactly that possibility, but I knew the flotas were well protected by Spanish frigates. Tangling with them was a risk I neither wanted nor needed to take. “Take care, Jack. There could be big rewards, but it’s a perilous undertaking.”

Later, I put my thoughts and reasons to my own officers and crew, who agreed to my plans. Few had ever sailed far south, but most had heard stories of both wealth and beautiful women. There were tales of an immense river that disappeared into the interior of the country, and of hidden cities where gold was to be seen everywhere. For myself, I believed not a word of it, but it would be wise to disappear for a while, and this was as good a place as any for the purpose.

***

We dropped our captives on the main island of Guadeloupe, as planned. The volcano smouldered at us, but did not interfere – perhaps because Davy kept a constant eye on it.

The Naval lieutenant was none too happy at being put ashore on a French island, yet he maintained his courtly demeanour.

“I must admit to being puzzled,” he said. “Why are we hunting you, Captain? You have treated us well. My conversations with your officers have led me to believe that you have been unfairly branded a pirate when in truth you have a privateer’s warrant. I know you never kill or mistreat anyone unless you are forced into battle. Your action against us was in self-defence, although I’m sure you know it will not be seen that way in England. You are now regarded as an enemy of the state.” He offered me his hand. “I never expected to say this to a woman – indeed, a very young woman – but you are one of the most capable sailors I have ever met. My hope is we do not meet again. I believe you will understand.”

With that, he snapped off a smart salute. Bugger me! It was the first time I had ever been so honoured. I was far more used to seeing the knuckle on a cap.

“Go in peace, Lieutenant,” I said. “If you are able, then speak for me, but do not worry yourself on the matter.”

We cleared the harbour at Le Moule and headed north as if we were indeed sailing for Antigua, but as soon as we were out of sight of land, we tacked and headed northwest. We would round the head of Grand Terre and head for the mainland.

The next day, I waved farewell to Jack. He carried on the way we had been heading, whereas we tacked to the southwest. I was more than a little worried: Why would he even think of heading towards Jamaica? I would have taken a much wider route to avoid the small but dangerous British squadron stationed there. You don’t have many friends outside of a ship in this way of life. I had come to think of Calico Jack as the nearest person, besides my fellow shipmates, that I counted as a friend.

***

“Marianna, listen to this.” I was reading from the Spanish account of one Don Caltez and his explorations in the south. “This Don writes of a hidden bay, impossible to spot from out at sea. They came upon it by accident when a storm almost drove them onto the rocks. He speaks of immense wealth, great quantities of gold and jewels. He is then shipwrecked in another storm, and it seems that he did not properly chart his journey. A few have tried, but no one has found the place again.

“Oh, and he also describes a cult of virgins. Exquisite young women, in his estimation. I must say, that tempts me more than the riches.”

Marianna laughed, “Whoever heard of such a thing? Just more wishful nonsense from men who have been at sea too long, don’t you think, my love?”

I had to agree, though the account did seem quite vivid in its telling. True or not, it was intriguing.

“Land ho!” the topman shouted. “Two points on the starboard bow!”

I hastily dropped the journal and rushed up on deck. It was our first sight of the mainland after two weeks of heading south.

As we approached, we saw a much varied coast. Sandy stretches, backed by tall forest and towering cliffs broken only occasionally by sharp crevices. We scoured our charts, but they were out of date and told us little. Nothing much was known of this area. Once again, it was Davy who spoke up. He was becoming more forward in expressing his thoughts these days, although certainly no clearer.

“I seen this afore,” he said. “We needs to head more south, leastways, I think so, beggin’ your pardon, Cap’ain.”

It made little difference. South it would be.

The following day, the top lookout reported an opening in the coastline. “Could be a bay!” he shouted.

Cautiously, we edged closer. We had our topsails furled, only our bare top spars showing. It would be hard for anyone to see us as the sun dropped below the horizon ahead.

It appeared to be a huge bay with deep water leading a long way inland and no sign of shallowing or reefs.

“What do you see?” I called to the topman.

“Only one sail!” he replied. A short pause, then – “A brig of some sort, lot bigger’n us, almost frigate size. Gettin’ too dark to see prop’ly, Cap’ain. But I sees no activity aboard. Big fire on the beach. Can’t be seein’ if she’s a Frenchie, Spanish, or any other.”

We gathered together – Jensen, Marianna, Davy, and myself.

“What say you? Shall we take her out?” I asked. ”It strikes me her crew are most likely ashore. It should be an easy job.”

I liked Jensen. I always had. But now, I more often saw he had the kind of attitude I needed in my officers. He seldom questioned my judgement, but he was quite willing to express his thoughts.

“Give me the longboat and a few hand-picked men,” he proposed. “We’ll take her for you, Captain.”

“No, Jensen, I must disappoint you. I will lead the boarding party. I want to be on the spot to make quick decisions, and we may not have time to send messages back and forth. I want you to remain in charge of the Siren.”

It proved much easier than we imagined. The majority of the crew, who turned out to be Spanish, were indeed ashore. Those left on board were senseless with drink. It was but a matter of minutes before we had the ship. One lone sailor managed to grab hold of a pistol and fire off a shot. He came nowhere close to hitting anyone, and he was quickly overpowered.

I put what crew there were aboard a small boat and set them adrift. The anchor was soon hauled, and we raised sufficient sail to clear the bay. We kept our speed to a minimum, as we were passing through a narrow gap in what was now complete darkness. We sailed together, two reasonably powerful ships under my command.

Davy reported there were slaves below – dozens, he said. By God, I hated slavers, but the poor devils would have to wait until we had cleared the point before I could take a look at them. It wouldn’t do to be trapped inside the bay should a warship appear, especially as my men were now split between the two ships, and each was too undermanned to give fight.

The Spanish ship hadn’t been built as a slaver. It was, rather, a twenty-four-gun man-of-war hastily converted to that damnable trade. I expected conditions in the hold to be wretched, of course, but nothing could have prepared me for the awful sight, nor the dreadful stench that assailed me when at last I went below. So many souls, unwashed, half-naked and crammed into such a confined space! Oddly, they were not black, as I expected, but of a lighter brown. I guessed them to be South American natives. One young girl seemed to have been given her own small area apart from the rest, as far, at least, as her chains would allow. No one was sitting close to her.

There was something about her. She had fairer skin than the rest. Even through the grime on her face, I could see she was beautiful, her delicately boned face topped by lustrous, blue-black hair. Whereas most of the slaves cowered in fear, she remained proud and defiant, sitting perfectly upright with her feet tucked close to her body. Her eyes were on me, and a slightly puzzled look on her face.

There were only two others among the slaves that sat equally defiant. These two were of the African origin I had expected.

I shouted up the ladder, “Get the hatches open and get fresh water down here!” I could not see a key hanging anywhere. “And send someone down with tools to get these chains off.”

I heard Marianna gasp behind me. “These poor people, Bren – such cruelty!” She pushed past me and stopped in front of the girl, who appeared to be the only young one among the captives. She did not flinch when Marianna put a hand to her cheek.

Just as the hatch was lifting, allowing the fresh sea air to come flooding in, young Jason came rushing down the ladder. “I got a key, Cap’ain,” he said. “Might it be the one we be needin’?”

Marianna almost snatched it from the lad before bending over the girl. The key was indeed the right one, and in a moment Marianna was helping the young captive to her feet.

“Take her to the cabin, Marianna,” I told her. “She needs water and something to eat.”

The manacled slaves now seemed less afraid of us, as they had seen we were releasing them and passing buckets of fresh water around. I listened to their jabber, but did not recognize the language. One man, who seemed to be some sort of elder, came forward. He pointed to where the girl had been chained, then at the ladder, speaking an endless, agitated stream of meaningless words. It dawned on me that he, amongst other things, was likely asking where she had been taken.

He went quiet when I beckoned him to follow. He hesitated a moment or two, then apprehensively ascended the ladder behind me.

I entered the ship’s cabin to find Marianna washing the girl’s face. The opening of the door startled the child, but she visibly relaxed when she saw it was me. The elder, if that’s what he was, would not come through the doorway. Instead, with hands clasped in front of him, he bent at the waist before he spoke only a few words.

For the first time, the girl spoke. It was a soft lilting voice, almost chant-like. The concerned look on the elder’s face immediately dissipated. I shook my head at what was probably a question he asked me. I hadn’t a notion of what he might be saying. He pointed to the sores on his wrists then held them together as if still manacled.

I took hold of his hands and pulled them apart, and I attempted to mime removing his chains and throwing them away. It appeared to work. He smiled up at me before clasping his hands together once again and bowing, exactly as he had done when the girl had spoken. He then turned and went back the way we had come. I closed the door.

Marianna had finished washing the girl and was now brushing her hair. This young girl – whose beauty had become fully evident – would surely never pass for white, yet she was quite different from the other natives. It was also now obvious that she was younger than I had thought. She could not have been older than fourteen, possibly younger.

Marianna and I sat together as we watched the girl eat the fruit we had offered her. Her eyes never left us, and the slightly puzzled expression we noted earlier had returned. She glanced down. Marianna had placed her hand on mine, and she had seen. She leaned closer, her eyes searching our faces. The smile that suddenly appeared was dazzling, as she reached out, and her hand covered ours.

She spoke once more. I shrugged, not understanding. It brought her frown back for a moment, but then she entwined her two little fingers together before pointing at us.

Now, I understood what she was asking and so did Marianna, who, ever more expressive than myself, turned and gave me a quick kiss on the mouth.

The girl’s smile widened, and she stood. I was astonished as she unfastened the string that held her smock together. There was no shyness as she spread it wide, revealing her body.

We were stunned by the tattoos that adorned her. I gasped, amazed not only by the unquestionable skill of the unknown artist, but also by the subject matter – beautiful girls, cavorting in the most outrageous ways imaginable. Most would have thought it depraved. I, however, found it quite bewitching.

She had exposed only half of herself. I ached to see more, but she lowered the curtain once again, concealing her body and the small pouch that hung on a string around her neck. Her eyes sparkled. Clearly, she had enjoyed seeing our reactions.

I pulled myself together before turning to Marianna. “Why don’t you try some of your language skills while I go and organise things on deck?” I said.

***

Jensen, in the Siren, followed us along the coast in a southerly direction. After a day of cruising, we had yet to find a safe anchorage in which to spend the night. I was wary of drawing too close to shore, as we had spotted a number of reefs, some just breaking the surface. This was a dangerous area in which to sail without good charts, and this close in, all but impossible at night.

“Deck ho!” the topman shouted. “I sees what looks like a strong flow of dirty water.”

As we edged closer to the coast, lookouts posted to warn of any obstructions, the water changed colour from greenish-blue to yellowish-brown. We could no longer see what dangers might lie beneath the surface. The leadsmen, one to starboard and one to larboard, cast their lines ahead of the ship and continually shouted out the depths.

It was soon clear that we were following a deep, albeit narrow, channel. The helmsman looked concerned. “That be a strong current comin’ out of there, Cap’ain, but I reckons we’ll be fine if the wind don’t suddenly shift. Might be just a tad difficult when we needs to be leavin’.”

I signalled for Siren to drop anchor. We would go on alone for the moment. There was little point in risking both ships running aground.

Any concerns soon proved unfounded. The channel was deep enough all along the centre of our route, no doubt scoured out by the fast-running waters. As soon as the entrance widened into a large bay, I gave the order to proceed towards the northerly shore.

“I thinks one of these ’ere wants to speak, Cap’ain,” Davy said.

An agitated native hesitantly came forward, pointing at the shore towards which we were headed whilst pouring forth a stream of incomprehensible words. It was quite clear to me that he was not at all happy with the choice I had made.

I pointed to the opposite bank, which I estimated was two miles away. He shouted what may have been a ‘yes’, but he certainly looked happier. He then pointed at where we were still headed before miming a bow and arrow, a man throwing a spear and a strange blowing motion which I failed to understand.  What was clear, though, was that there was trouble on that side.

“Take us about. We’ll head for the southern shore,” I said.

The water was now a thick, dirty brown. “Keep those soundings going. We’ll drop anchor if it gets to three fathoms.” I called a powder boy over. “Signal for Siren to follow us in.” He looked at me, a quite blank expression on his face. “Hoist a green flag, younker.”

“Yes Sir, Cap’ain, Ma’am.” He grinned as he hastily searched the box of flags.

The cook had no inkling of what the natives ate, but they cautiously tried what he dished up during the day, and they seemed satisfied. It was not long after we had dropped anchor and the Siren was close alongside that everyone partook of the evening meal.

It had been a long day. I was tired, hungry and in need of a glass or two of something strong. “Mister Halcombe, you have the deck,” I said. “Any concerns, shout for me. You may eat and drink while you watch. Keep a lookout on the shore and upriver.”

It surprised some the way I ran my ship, for my methods were quite unlike those of most pirates. My way had more of a Naval leaning about it. My mentor, Captain LaFarge, had always been a gentleman. Being a privateer had suited him, but a pirate … no! He had been a cut above most men of that type. I found that an element of discipline made for a more efficient ship. It wasn’t overdone or harsh, not in the way of many Naval officers. The men had learned, a few grudgingly, that it worked. It gave us an edge over our opponents when needed. I prided myself in the fact that the Siren most likely carried the best gun crews of any pirate ship in the Caribbean.

***

I saw the steaming bath the moment I entered the cabin. Marianna passed me a glass, and a quick sniff told me it was brandy. She knew it had become my favourite.

“Drink up, my Captain,” she said. “As you see, we have a bath ready for you.”

It was the one luxury – though nothing more than a leaky tin contraption – we had found aboard this Spanish ship.

“We?” I asked, quite startled.

It transpired that one or two of the freed natives spoke a smattering of Spanish. Marianna told me it had been a slow process but she had managed to learn a little of where they and Yaima came from – for that was our tattooed beauty’s name. “But enough of that for now,” She pointed at Yaima, who stood by the door behind me. “Yes, we have everything ready for you. You have toiled long and hard this day, and we shall be your servants for the evening. You will remove your soiled clothing, if you please.”

I glanced from one to the other. Marianna wore her cheeky grin. Yaima, who was now dressed in a clean, flowery shift, looked expectant, perhaps quizzical. For myself, I was too tired to care, and the bath looked most inviting.

Sword and pistols dropped to the deck, and my clothes quickly followed. I stepped into the tub and sank into the warm water, almost unaware that Yaima’s hands were guiding me. My eyes closed at last, and I felt my body relax, the day’s tension slowly draining away.

I revelled in the attention as my hair was washed and rinsed with a jug of warm water. A sponge was drawn over my body. My breasts were gently raised as they were soaped. I drifted close to sleep, yet well aware of the pampering I was receiving.

Lips softly touched mine. There was a strange, slightly bitter taste, and then my senses reeled. My heartbeat quickened. Every touch on my body was a caress of fire – yet not of pain. My pussy throbbed even as my breasts were pressed and pulled. I was engulfed in sensations, with a heightened awareness of every caress.

My hips responded, jerking at the invasion of fingers deep within me. My clit felt a brushing, so soft, gentle, and loving. My body was coming alive. Never had I been so aware of the wonder of being made love to. I briefly thought of the taste on my lips. A potion? If it was, I would not fight it. Indeed, I could not. I was now at a different level of being, somewhere I had never gone before.

I opened my eyes in time to witness Yaima pour a drop of something from a vial onto a handkerchief, which she then held out to Marianna, who touched it to her lips. Her eyes closed for a few seconds, and when they opened again, the look on her face was one of unfathomable longing, of the purest, most unbridled desire I had ever witnessed

Together, they easily lifted me from the tub to the deck. Then they attacked me.

Yaima seemed to be everywhere. She probed my pussy, biting and sucking my clit, and yet… she was also kissing my breasts and sucking on my nipples. But – the oddest thing! – so was Marianna. They were both all over me at once.

I tasted a familiar pussy, then a different, but equally stimulating tang. I sucked an unfamiliar clit that offered itself to my face. My mind was swimming. This could not be real. Such feelings defied all the laws of Nature. Yet as my body reached its peak, I realised it did not matter. We three were now as one as our orgasms clawed at us.

We lay together, breathless from our exertions. Slowly recovering my senses, I remembered the vial, the contents of which Marianna had touched to her lips, and the bitterness in my own mouth. Yaima evidently possessed some native philtre that could cause three women to be wholly conjoined.

When I looked at her, she smiled and spoke softly as she touched both Marianna and myself, her voice a murmuring, rhythmic chant, her fingers the merest whisper across my lips.

Soon I would learn that she had just initiated us into her sect – a cult of love and worship open only to women.

On to Chapter Two!

by Biker Guy

CJ washed her clothes and hung them out to dry. She donned her only other set, which was just as worn as the first.

She drained the trough and refilled it with water for Alice, then removed her horse’s saddle and bridle so the animal could graze..

Allison had returned to rummaging through the rubble of the house, picking up anything that might be of value or use. She returned to where CJ was cleaning the tackle.

“I found some more fruit and vegetables Momma put up. We can have those for supper. I think there might be some salted meat in the cellar, if we can get to it.”

CJ asked, “Can you cook?”

Allison nodded. “Oh, yeah. Momma taught me how. She taught me how to sew, too. She said those were things all women needed to know.”

CJ was passable with a needle and thread – on the trail, you had to be – but she could barely make coffee or warm up beans. Most of the drives she’d been on had been accompanied by a chuckwagon. “Well, your momma musta been a pretty smart woman.”

Allison teared up. “I… I miss her so much.”

CJ embraced the girl, comforting her. She felt a little choked up herself. Relations with her own parents had never been good, and she regretted that now. “I know you do, sweetie. At least you’ll always have the memories of her and your pappy to cherish.”

“Momma… she’s on the other side of the house,” Allison told her. “Can we please bury her?”

“Sure we can.”

They found a shovel, and CJ dug down into the hard earth until there was a hole big enough for a body.

Allison tried to remove the dirt from her mother’s face as best she could, cleaning her with a washcloth, then arranging her hair. CJ picked up the body and laid it on a blanket Allison had placed in the grave. The two of them stood somberly for a while, until Allison found some words.

“God, please take care of my momma. Please love her as much as I do. Amen.” Bowing her head, she broke down and wept.

CJ felt tears stream down her own face. It was a short prayer, but sincere; colored by the childlike faith she remembered from her own girlhood. God had heard Allison, she was certain of that.

With a deep sigh, she placed another blanket over the woman, and together they covered her remains with the black soil of Kansas.

***

A while later Allison cooked up some stew from the vegetables she managed to scavenge, flavored by the last of the salted pork from the cellar. With the black kettle hanging over the fire CJ had kindled under the mostly intact chimney, the aroma was enough to make CJ’s stomach rumble loudly. Allison found enough flour to make biscuits, too. CJ found the girl to be resourceful and knowledgeable about things she herself had never learned easily. The twelve-year-old was making enough of an impression on her that she began to question the need to hand her over to an orphanage.

“Sorry, we don’t have anything to drink but water,” Allison said as she dished out the stew and biscuits. “We lost all the cows in the tornado.”

CJ spooned some of the stew into her mouth, then nodded. “This is boss! ‘Bout a hundred times better than anything I ever had on the trail. Bully for you, kid!”

Allison blushed. “It’s not much, but I’m glad you like it. Tell me what it’s like to be a cowboy.”

They ate slowly while CJ regaled Allison with tales of her years on the trails and the cattle drives she’d rode over the years. “It’s a hard life,” she finished, “but there ain’t nothin’ on this earth like the freedom a cowboy has, bein’ on the back of a good horse and sleepin’ under the stars.”

As she spoke, CJ studied the expressions on Allison’s face, the twinkle in the girl’s eyes as she listened. CJ knew at that moment there was no way she would abandon this child to life in an orphanage.

They finished eating as the sun began to set.

“S’pose we should get us some shuteye,” CJ said, and led Alice to the back of the barn while Allison cleaned up the supper things. She found some grain there, and placed it in a feed bag. “Fill your belly, girl. Might be there’s some lean days ahead. Not much in the way of work for us.”

It saddened CJ that the frontier life she knew was most likely going to disappear forever. The railroad had drastically changed the landscape of the Midwest in the last couple of decades, and she’d even been hearing tales of gasoline-powered carriages in the cities that had no need for horses.

Her reverie was interrupted by Allison, who came to the barn with an armload of blankets and some clothing she’d salvaged. “I found some of Daddy’s things. They’re probably too big, but Momma taught me how to sew and I can make them fit you.”

“That’s sweet of you, girl.” She glanced down at her own threadbare shirt. “I’ll admit, these old rags of mine are gettin’ worn out.”

CJ was deeply touched by Allison’s kindness. In fact, it surprised her to realize she was falling in love with the girl. She’d never felt this way about anyone before, except maybe her horse – of course, that was a different kind of love. Allison, though… CJ had quickly become helplessly attached to the orphaned twelve-year-old.

Gathering armfuls of straw, Allison built a makeshift bed, then spread a couple of blankets on top. She took off her dress and lay down, covering herself with another blanket.

CJ removed everything but her shirt, then took a place next to Allison. The sun slowly disappeared from the sky until the barn was lit by a half moon peeking through the missing roof.

“CJ? Can you hold me?” Allison asked softly.

“Of course, baby.” CJ lifted her blanket and Allison scooted over, snuggling into CJ and resting her head on the woman’s breasts.

CJ breathed out a shivery sigh. This sudden intimacy was causing a stir between her legs. No chance she could sleep until that was dealt with. She wrapped an arm around the girl and the two of them shared each other’s body heat.

“It feels so good to be next to you,” Allison murmured, “and to feel your skin on mine. I think I’m feeling all tingly again.”

CJ smiled in the half-light. “Well, ain’t that a coincidence. I’m gettin’ pretty tingly myself.” She craned her head to kiss Allison on the mouth, then their tongues were dancing and playing.

When they broke apart, Allison said, “I never knew kissing would feel so good. Is it wrong to feel that way?”

“Nope. Just because we’re both gals don’t mean we can’t enjoy and love one another. Fact is, I like you better than I ever liked anyone.” She kissed the girl’s lips again.

Allison leaned back, suddenly breathless. “Does… does that mean you love me?”

CJ knew this was a pivotal moment in her life. She’d always been by herself, responsible only for her own welfare. But she’d never experienced emotions like this. “Yes, baby girl. I love you.”

“Oh, CJ, I love you too!” Allison squealed. She covered CJ’s face with kisses, pressing her body hard against the woman.

CJ’s heart went into overdrive, waves of passion washing over her. She reached down to cup Allison’s ass, guiding the girl on top. Allison’s shift and CJ’s shirt rode up until their sexes were pressed together.

Allison twitched and trembled. “Lord, that feels so nice…”

CJ arched her hips, rubbing her groin against the girl’s pussy. They moaned together as CJ spread Allison’s buttocks and pressed her finger into the dark cleft.

Allison responded by grinding her bare pussy on the older woman’s hairy mound. She kissed CJ’s breasts, lightly biting the tender nipples.

CJ’s desire soared to new levels. She rolled Allison over onto her back, then ran her hands over the girl’s bare chest, massaging the small mounds and tweaking her nipples. She felt them stiffen; took one into her mouth and sucked hard.

“That’s wonderful,” Allison moaned. “Do the other one too.”

CJ claimed the other breast, swirling her tongue around the bud while she sucked on it. Sliding her hand down to the girl’s flat tummy, she teased the belly button with the tips of her fingers.

“That – that tickles!” Allison giggled.

CJ’s arousal spiraled higher and higher, leading her closer and closer to an orgasm. She let her hand move even lower, down to the fuzz between Allison’s legs, then trailed a finger through the sparse blonde curls.She teased the girl’s tight slit, tracing a path along the thin lips surrounding her pussy.

Allison writhed beneath her. “Wow… it feels so much better than when I do it.”

“It always feels better when someone else touches you, especially when it’s another girl. We know how to be gentle and make it feel real good.”

As if to prove her point, CJ found the girl’s clit and pressed her fingers against it. Allison trembled uncontrollably, ecstasy racing up to meet her. “I’m gonna… gonna…!” She arched her back, and CJ’s hand was suddenly dripping with the girl’s honey.

Allison twisted and trembled for a long moment before finally settling down. She took a long, deep breath, then spoke. “There’s no words I know to say how you make me feel, CJ. I love you so much.” She raised herself up and the two of them shared a deep kiss. When they drifted apart, Allison said, “I want to give you the good feeling, too.”

Lying back, CJ spread her legs. “Make me come, baby girl. Make me come hard.” She closed her eyes and waited for Allison’s touch.

Allison figured that whatever made her feel good would probably work for CJ, too. She straddled the older woman, her hair tumbling down over CJ’s body. Seeking out the same nub that had made her feel so good, Allison rubbed it with fingers moistened by juices from her own pussy.

It set CJ off in a big way. She gyrated her hips, pressing herself tightly against Allison’s hand. “I’m so close, baby,” she groaned.

Growing bolder, Allison plunged two fingers inside her lover’s hot wet slit, thrusting them back and forth until CJ lurched almost violently. A few pumps more and she was trembling from head to toe as her orgasm took control. Allison continued to pump furiously, doing her best to take CJ to that wonderful place.

When thick juices began to flow from CJ’s pussy, Allison surprised the woman by placing her mouth over the pink crease, gulping down the precious elixir. That made CJ come one last time, filling Allison’s mouth with more of her tart fluids.

When she’d recovered, CJ drew Allison into her arms, and the two of them shared the flavors of their love making.

“Oh, my word, Allison. You just about set me on fire.”

Allison licked her lips like a contented cat. “So you liked it?”

“No, sweet girl – I loved it.” They kissed again. “I love you to the deepest part of my soul. I never wanna let you go.”

They lay side by side, holding each other close, until CJ finally said, “Allison, I need to ask you an awful important question.” She ran her fingers through the girl’s thick hair. “I don’t wanna give you to a orphanage. I want you to stay with me. Now, I can’t offer much, and it’ll be a hard life. But a life where we get to be free to do whatever we want, and love each other always. Will you, Allison? Will you stay with me?”

Allison didn’t hesitate. “Yes! I want more than anything to stay with you. I want to be with you forever!”

CJ’s heart soared high as the stars. All the years she spent by herself now seemed pointless. From this day forward, she planned on savoring every single minute with her new lover. “You’ve made me the happiest person on this earth.”

Allison gripped CJ tightly. “I never want us to be apart, CJ! Not ever!”

“Call me Janice. Only my friends call me CJ, and you’re way more than a friend. You’re the love of my life.”

“I love you, Janice.”

Bein’ in love’s even better than bein’ a cowboy, CJ thought before sleep claimed her.

The two of them fell asleep, satisfied and happy.

***

“The horses are back!” Allison hollered. She ran to the water trough and stroked the two animals. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“They remembered where their food came from,” CJ said as she emerged from the barn and surveyed the steeds. Not the finest of stock and well past their prime, but they could make it to the next town, where CJ would find a suitable ride for Allison.

“What about the cows? Do you think they’ll come back?”

“Most likely found some wild cattle to run with,” CJ told her. “Cows ain’t as sociable as horses but they can survive better on their own.” She strolled over to Allison and put her arm around the girl. “These two ain’t fit for riding, but we can trade them for a young filly.”

Allison would be sad to see the horses go, but she knew CJ was right – life on the trail would be too tough for them. “When do we leave?”

“First light tomorrow.”

They spent the rest of the day loading what supplies they could salvage, packing them onto one of the steeds.

CJ found a saddle and adjusted it to fit Allison’s smaller frame, then put it on the better of the two horses. “You ever ridden before?”

“Not really. Just around the yard, but never very far. Daddy said these horses were only good for pulling the wagon.”

“Your daddy was right, but this one’ll do you for now.”

Allison was pleased to discover that her father’s clothes fit CJ fairly well. The pants were too long, but she found her mother’s sewing box, battered but still intact, and managed to hem them up. For herself, she dug out two pairs of pants and a couple of shirts Momma had made for her to wear on days when Daddy needed help with the farm work. Her dresses would be of no use on the trail, but CJ asked her to take one along. “I’d like to see you done up like a lady sometimes,” she said.

That night the stars shone down on them. They lay together on the blankets, completely naked.

“I’m so excited about you teaching me to become a cowboy,” Allison purred as she nuzzled her face between CJ’s breasts.

“Maybe you can teach me to cook,” CJ responded with a chuckle.

“Hey, I can’t work miracles.”

They laughed together beneath the moon. CJ loved Allison’s sense of humor, as well as her positive attitude. She hoped the weeks that lay ahead wouldn’t dampen her enthusiasm. The harsh realities of the trail could be a rude awakening.

They agreed that their special relationship wouldn’t be accepted by most, so Allison would pretend to be CJ’s niece, should anyone inquire.

“It’s not fair that we have to hide our love from people,” Allison complained. “People should be allowed to live how they want.”

“You won’t get no argument from me. Maybe someday folks like us might be accepted, but until then we gotta play it smart.”

“Hmm… well, I’ll love you no matter what anyone says,” Allison vowed.

“Oh, is that so? You know, I was just thinking about showin’ you some love too,” CJ teased.

“I’ll always want that from you, Janice.” It made Allison feel special, being the only one who could call CJ by her birth name.

They kissed softly and slowly, letting the anticipation of lovemaking prepare them for the act itself. CJ just couldn’t get enough of Allison’s tender young body, but it went deeper than sex. She had bonded to Allison in a way she’d never experienced before, and was willing to do anything for the twelve-year-old.

Allison was becoming bolder during their coupling, often taking the initiative and surprising her partner with a willingness to engage in just about any sexual activity. “Let’s lick each other,” she said. “I really enjoy having your face in my pussy while I’m licking yours.”

CJ flipped around and lowered her groin to Allison’s mouth. She felt the girl trace her tongue around the entrance to her already wet vagina.

Allison tickled CJ’s clit with her tongue, then sucked it into her mouth, thrilled by how the engorged bud stiffened and pulsed. Entwined with her lover, she almost felt like an extension of CJ’s body.

As for CJ, she found herself intoxicated by Allison’s fresh, young aroma. It never failed to make her horny as hell. She dipped her tongue into the sweet honey that oozed from Allison’s slit, as potent, in its way, as a double shot of whiskey. She burned with a desire that took her breath away and left her head floating among the clouds. She wanted this beautiful young girl so very much.

Pulling CJ’s hips down onto her face, Allison sank her tongue deep into the hot volcano of her lover’s pussy, eager to have it erupt and gush that liquid fire into her mouth.

CJ ran her tongue down through Allison’s slit, pressing hard on her small clit before teasing her way inside the girl’s vagina.

When Allison grabbed CJ’s butt cheeks and sank her fingernails into them, just deep enough to cause pain but not draw blood, she felt certain it would drive the woman wild.

CJ pushed a finger inside Allison’s pussy, enjoying the snug fit as she pistoned it back and forth. When Allison began to tense and tremble, CJ knew she was close to orgasm.

“I – I’m almost there…” Allison confirmed, so CJ sucked the girl’s clitty into her mouth, pressing her lips around the sensitive nub. Allison’s body seized up as a climax roared over her like a steam engine. Convulsing against CJ, her pussy gripped the woman’s fingers like a vice, a thin rivulet of liquid trickling down her hand.

Satisfied that her young lover was fully spent, CJ gave in to her own barely contained pleasure, the orgasm bursting free from the confines of her body. She let it come, her juices flowing freely into Allison’s eager mouth, the twelve-year-old capturing every drop of the sweet nectar and savoring its silky smooth texture as it flowed over her tongue.

Finally, they rested in each other’s arms.

“I love you so much,” Allison told CJ. “I swear, you make it better every time.”

“I think we were made for each other, sweet girl, I really do.”

CJ suspected that part of the thrill was having sex with a girl much younger than herself. At first that was what drove her passion, but in the few days they had known each other she’d come to love Allison on a completely different level. It was like a spiritual awakening, a resurrection of emotions she’d thought long perished. She’d been reborn.

She gently kissed each of Allison’s eyes. “Go to sleep, my love. We got a long journey ahead. Might be this is the last time we can get us a good rest for a while.”

Allison snuggled deeper into CJ, and soon they were both fast asleep.

***

CJ woke just as the pre-dawn light began burning away the shadows of the night. Allison snuggled closer, still deep in slumber, and CJ wondered how she’d ever slept without this angel next to her. Reluctantly, she slipped out from the blanket and strode outside to relieve herself.

“Is it time to go?” Allison asked when CJ came back to the barn, then stretched herself with a huge yawn.

CJ began to pull on her clothes. “Yeah, best to get going early and beat the afternoon heat.”

Allison threw the blanket back to reveal her naked body. “Don’t suppose I could tempt you to come back to bed for a while?”

CJ regarded the petite youngster – the sharp peaks of her small breasts, the flat prairie of her tummy, the valley between her legs. “Much as I’d like to feast on that luscious body of yours, we need to get going. Got a long journey ahead.”

“Well, fine.” Pretending to pout, Allison collected her clothes and began to dress.

They packed up Alice, saddled one of the other two horses, then mounted. They rode slowly towards the crest of a hill, a short distance from the remains of the homestead. Allison stopped and turned back for one last look, wiping away sudden tears. “Goodbye, Momma. Goodbye, Daddy. I’ll always love you.”

CJ took her hand and gestured out towards the plains. “Out there’s our future, our destiny. The adventure we was born for. Out on the trail is where cowboys live and die.” She smiled. “And love.”

As the horses moved forward, the woman and the girl clasped hands, then set out towards whatever fate life might hold for them.

The End

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, has begun putting clues together linking the source to her own hometown. Some suspect Terry’s involvement, as his ex-wife is a convicted drug trafficker. 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 Kathryn is the linchpin of the criminal enterprise behind the overdoses. A showdown occurs in which Halee is shot, and Terry taken hostage. Nettie does a little snooping and, with the help of retired drug trafficker Adam Bixley, unearths a massive stash of heroin left there by Kathryn’s gang.

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

by Rachael Yukey

“You can drop me off back at my four-wheeler,” Adam Bixley told Agent Bridgett Ranscone.

“Mr. Bixley,” she said with considerable starch, “I’m not letting you out of my sight just yet. Mostly for your own protection, now that you know what’s in that tunnel.”

We climbed into the Suburban – the swarthy man driving, Bridgett at his side, and the third agent, an intense-looking young black man, clambering awkwardly into the third-row seat. It was myself, Adam, and the tall blonde agent in the second row, with Adam adroitly inserting himself into the middle before either myself or Blondie could get in.

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said. “It’s not every day a man my age gets to be the meat in this kind of sandwich.”

As the Suburban jounced over the rough terrain, Bridgett turned towards where I sat behind the driver.

“About twenty minutes ago,” she said, “half a dozen unmarked white vans parked along the highway near Smokey Bear State Park, then unloaded approximately eight men per van, wearing quasi-military uniforms and carrying assault rifles. Some heavier, crew-served weapons also seem to be involved. They surrounded the DEA agents and police officers staking out the cabin where Terry Wilder is being held, and demanded that they stand down. There really wasn’t any choice in the matter; our people were outnumbered and outgunned.”

My insides twisted. “Who are they?”

“Mercenaries. The commander has been identified as one Jameson Hayes, a longtime hatchet man for Gordon Musciari. Ever heard of him?”

“Jesus bleeding Christ,” Adam burst out. “Is that bastard still on the loose?”

Bridgett favored him with a thin smile. “You would know his name, wouldn’t you, Mr. Bixley? When it comes to the international narcotics trade, he’s the kingpin of kingpins, yet nobody has ever gotten enough on him to take him down. He’s the Holy Grail of drug busts.”

The Suburban eased out of the driveway to the locker, accelerating onto the comparatively smooth gravel.

“What does he want with Terry?” I demanded to know.

“I doubt if he’s interested in Terry at all,” countered Bridgett. “Think about it. All that heroin was supplied by someone with a lot more access to finance than Kathryn Wilder currently has. That someone is probably pretty pissed off that the facility is under our control, even if they don’t know whether or not we’ve found the heroin. I’m guessing they’re after Ms. Wilder.”

“But what would they want with her, if she can’t get at the drugs?”

The tall blonde agent was shaking her head before I’d finished speaking. “It’s a mistake to think in strictly rational, dollars and cents terms here,” she said. “A man like Musciari lives by his reputation for ruthlessness. He wants people scared of him. If Kathryn just lost him several million worth of heroin, he has to make an example of her.”

“I got threatened a time or three when I was in the business,” Adam put in.

“So… what does this mean for Terry?” We were on asphalt now, the lights of home on the horizon.

“They might still use him as a hostage to secure whatever exit strategy they have planned,” said Bridgett, “but they’ll almost certainly waste him once they’re done. This just turned into a full-on rescue operation. Our only saving grace is that they appear to be approaching very cautiously. Our people on the ground believe the mercenaries are operating under the impression that Kathryn is in possession of far more manpower and weaponry than she actually has.”

I was starting to feel sick. “Is there a plan?”

Bridgett grimaced. “Not yet. The governor has been asked to call up the National Guard. DEA agents are good, but we’re not trained or equipped to take on mercs with assault rifles. Meanwhile, I’ve been ordered north to take command of our agents there.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Why you?”

Bridgett smiled sweetly. “Because I really am that good.”

The swarthy man signaled left onto second street, and pulled up to the curb next to the fire station.

“Am I not allowed to leave your sight, either?” I challenged Bridgett.

“Honestly, I have no grounds to forcibly hold either of you. Mr. Bixley, we really would prefer that you remain in the company of agents for the moment. Ms. Hastings, I’d like you to come with me to International Falls.”

“Wait… what?”

“A helicopter will be landing at the airstrip in about ten minutes to pick me up. I’d like you on it.”

“But why?”

“Because my first choice combat medic is on sick leave, and my second choice can’t be there for almost six hours. You’re right here, and between what I’ve seen of your work and my examination of your records, you have a history of solid decision-making and a cool head under pressure. I called up your boss at Thormleton, by the way. Greg Wahlberg says you’re the most gifted young medic he ever trained.”

“For fuck’s sake,” I said. “I’m not a combat medic. I’m the clinical director of a dinky mom-and-pop service in Johnstown, Minnesota. Thormelton Ambulance, old people shitting in diapers a specialty. Besides, I’m not an employee of your organization. How will that even work, for legal purposes?”

Bridgett smiled. “For legal purposes, I have the authority to mobilize civilians with appropriate specialties, so for the duration of the mobilization, you’re an employee. You’ll even get a paycheck. If you’re worried about direction, I can guarantee our medical director will rubber-stamp my choice. As far as your abilities, I trust both my research and my gut. You’ve got what it takes for this. What do you say? I need a decision; I have to get to the airstrip.”

I thought fast. A desire to be where Terry was, to be part of the team that was coming to his aid, warred with my sense of responsibility to his daughters. The thought of Terry’s desperate situation wracked not only my mind but my entire body. I squeezed my eyes shut, fighting back the tears. This is what friendship is, I realized. To love somebody so much that losing them would be devastating. It occurred to me that Terry and Halee might just be the first people I’ve ever truly felt that for, at least since… I pushed the thought away.

Another truth was pervasive: the younger girls would be fine. My mom was delighting in having young children to care for, and would be thrilled to continue for awhile longer. The fact that it was more ego satisfaction on her part than genuine empathy mattered not even a little.

I opened my eyes. A single tear fell from each, but for the first time since I was a little girl, I didn’t care if people saw me cry. Tears still on my cheeks, I looked Bridgett straight in the eye. “What are we waiting for?”

***

What Bridgett had referred to as ‘the airstrip’ is in fact the Bronning Municipal Airport, but that name is an exercise in self-aggrandizement. Roughly a mile south of town, it consists of two old steel-sided hangers, a small air control tower, and an unpaved runway. To even call it an airstrip seems to be stretching the definition.

The helicopter was landing as we arrived, its lights blinding us as it settled into the grass. I’ve put enough patients onto whirlybirds that I know how to approach one, and I automatically crouched low, putting myself in the pilot’s line of sight.

Difficult though this may be to believe, I’d never flown before. I got my critical care certification with a specific eye towards becoming a flight medic, but then never did, and what little traveling I’ve done in my life has been by car.

My stomach dropped as the ground fell away, the lights of the airport fading swiftly into the darkness. I’d expected to be terrified, but it was exhilarating. My god, I’ve been missing out. I only wished that it was daytime, so I could see more of what was below.

“Wind conditions are ideal,” the pilot’s voice announced through my headset. “We’re looking good to make International Falls in less than an hour.”

Bridgett was texting rapidly on her cellphone. Finally she put it down, unmuted her headset mic, and turned to me.

“The cabin in question is at the end of a row,” she said. “There are more cabins in a line going west from the building Kathryn Wilder and her people are holed up in. The access road is on the north side, and there’s forest on the opposite side of the road. There’s also forest behind the cabins… that’s the south side… although it only goes back about half a mile before it hits some fairly sheer drops down to a dried-up riverbed. There’s nothing but woods on the east side of the cabin. Essentially, the cabin is flanked by forest on the north, east, and south sides.

“It seems the mercenary units have dispersed into the woods on those three sides, with one unit using the cabin immediately west of 505 as cover. So they’ve got cabin 505 surrounded. We’re not sure exactly where all of the units in the woods are located, but they seem to be proceeding with extreme caution. We’re pretty sure they expect Kathryn to have a lot more firepower than she does. Which is good. It buys us time.”

“Time for what?” I asked.

“Well, the governor has agreed to call up the National Guard, and we’re in luck – there’s an Army Guard field exercise taking place right now, on some state land only about an hour from International Falls. I’m guessing the mercs don’t know that, or they wouldn’t have taken the risk. Still, it takes time to get military units loaded up and moving, and we won’t see any soldiers in position for a couple of hours. Hopefully the mercs’ inflated notion of Kathryn Wilder’s capabilities slows them down enough for the Guard to get their asses in gear, because I simply don’t have enough agents on the ground to do anything effective against the numbers and firepower we’re dealing with. Have you ever been to International Falls, Nettie?”

“Yeah,” I said, my face contorting in a grimace, “my grandparents on my dad’s side lived there. When I was little, we used to drive up a couple of times a year. I got sick every time. I’m probably allergic to something that paper factory is spewing out of its smokestacks.”

Bridgett smiled sympathetically. “Hopefully we won’t get close enough to town for that to be a problem.”

***

We landed in a large clearing on the edge of Smokey Bear. There was a thirty-foot trailer in the center, obviously a mobile command post, and a large number of vehicles. Police cars, black SUVs, and armored rigs that I assumed must belong to a local SWAT team.

A short young blonde woman approached at a fast jog. Obviously of Norwegian ancestry, she looked like an adult version of Naomi Wilder. I pegged her at roughly my age; mid-twenties or so. She was wearing a gray uniform that looked like combat garb, but there were trauma shears and a penlight poking from the thigh pockets of her tactical pants. Over her right breast pocket, the name SVENSON was emblazoned. The patch over the left breast read PARAMEDIC. There was a critical care patch on her left sleeve. Slowing to a walk as she approached, she eyed me dubiously. I realized I was the only person present wearing street clothes.

Bridgett faced her as she approached. “Are you the local SWAT medic?” she inquired, as the young woman came to a halt before us.

“That’s right. Clarice Svenson.”

“I’m Bridgett Ramscone, incident commander. This is Antoinette Hastings.” Bridgett gestured towards me. “She’s a paramedic on special assignment to the DEA, and will be taking command of on-scene EMS. I’d appreciate it if you’d get her up to speed, but do it quickly. Time may be short.” Bridgett set off in the direction of the command trailer.

Clarice Svenson stuck out her hand, a sour expression on her face. She obviously resented my presence, and I couldn’t honestly say that I blamed her. I shook her hand.

“Pleased to meet you, Antoinette,” she said, sounding anything but. “Come with me, please.”

She turned on her heel and set off towards where most of the armored vehicles were consolidated. With a couple of long strides to catch up, I fell in beside her. I understood why this pretty young SWAT paramedic, specifically trained to operate in crisis situations, was upset that I was taking over what should have been her job, but that didn’t change the reality that I had been placed in charge. I was damned if I would trail along behind.

“We have local EMS staged just outside of the park,” she informed me as we walked. “As many crews as we could get. There are three ALS ambulances, and two BLS. They’re regular, unprotected street ambulances, so we can’t bring them anywhere near the scene. If there are more patients than the two of us can handle, we’ll have to use whatever resources we’ve got to get them out of the hot zone.”

“How far away is that?” I wanted to know.

“Almost a mile.”

“Shit,” I said. “What do you mean, the two of us? Didn’t they send you out with a partner?”

She snorted. “This is International Falls, not St. Paul. The SWAT team has one medic, and one EMT. We get called up maybe once a year. My usual EMT is in fucking Fargo right now. You are my partner.”

I considered telling her the county I lived in didn’t sport a single city boasting a SWAT team of any description, but decided to let that one go. We’d entered the little enclave of armored vehicles, and she stopped in front of a six-wheeled machine, vaguely hexagonal in appearance. It looked excitingly chunky.

“Here’s our ambulance,” she said.

I felt my eyes bulge. “Are you fucking kidding me right now?”

She looked up at me with unconcealed scorn. “You really are new at this sort of thing, aren’t you? I’m not trying to be a bitch, but I don’t understand what you’re doing here.” She let out a heavy sigh, then beckoned with a sweep of her arm. “Come on.”

We entered through a thick steel side door. There was a standard Stryker ambulance cot, a Zoll monitor, and a bunch of wall cabinets. I couldn’t see what was in them, because the doors were steel instead of the usual transparent plastic. As per usual, there was a chair at the head of the cot, and a bench seat on the passenger’s side. The cot was set against the driver’s side wall, precluding the jump seat to which I was accustomed.

There were screens embedded into the upper walls on the driver’s side, with what appeared to be a map on the one in the center. I pointed at it.

“What’s that screen telling me?” I wanted to know.

“That’s the area,” she said. She indicated a big red dot. “There’s the cabin. The little green dots around it are the estimated positions of the mercenaries. Over here,” she pointed to a series of orange dots, “are the ambulances that are staged. The big blue dot is Rainy Lake Medical Center. That’s the International Falls hospital, and it’s our only option for transport. It’s a level four trauma center.”

I considered the map for a moment, then turned my attention back to Clarice. “So… we have one hospital, which can basically do nothing for severe trauma, and we already have as many trucks as we can get.”

“Right,” she said.

“Okay,” I replied. “Walk me through the equipment and supplies in this rig. Just an overview; I’ll be counting on your knowledge of the layout if shit gets real.”

Clarice might have been resentful of my presence, but she was nothing if not professional. She gave me a rapid-fire rundown of what we carried and where it was located, pausing to point out quirks and abnormalities.

We were working on the last cabinet when my phone rang. I pulled it out of my back pocket, and almost did a double take as my eyes fell upon the screen.

“Holy shit, it’s Terry,” I said.

Svensons’s eyebrows shot up. ”You mean the hostage?!”

I nodded as I swiped the accept button. “Terry! Where are you? What…”

“Nettie, stop talking.” His voice was low and urgent. I could hear a weird gurgling sound in the background. “How quick can you get hold of Ramscone?”

“She’s only fifty yards or so away. What’s going on?”

“A very tight, wet space is what’s going on,” he replied, still sotto voce. “Kathryn’s boys were freaking out about something and left me unsupervised in the back room of the cabin, upon which I did the logical thing and bolted the fuck out the door and into the woods. Only to run into some kind of weird-ass paramilitary organization. These people don’t look like agents or police of any description, but they’re everywhere and are sporting some very large, very ugly guns. I’m just lucky I saw them before they saw me. I’m wedged into a drainage culvert, and here I stay until I figure out who the righteous fuck these people are.”

“Terry…” I said. “Christ. Stay on the line.”

Covering the phone with my hand, I turned to Clarice. “I have to go talk to Ramscone. I’ll be back in a few.”

She shrugged. “I’ll wait.”

I ducked out of the side door, making for the command trailer at a dead run. Bridgett, after hearing my report, asked me to put my phone on speaker.

“Mr. Wilder, ” she said, “can you give me an estimate of how far you are from the cabin?”

“I’d say maybe a quarter mile at most.”

“Okay, very good. How many of these armed individuals do you think have passed your location since you went to ground?”

“I’ve heard three. One went right over the top of me.”

“Mr. Wilder, I’m sorry, but why are you calling instead of texting?”

“I tried, but my fingers are too numb to text. I was barely able to get into my contact list.”

“Fuck,” Bridgett muttered under her breath. “Okay, listen carefully. Those individuals are closing in on the cabin, and you’re probably outside of their circle by now. But that doesn’t mean it would be smart for you to extricate yourself. Here’s what I’d like you to do. Put your phone on vibrate, and keep it somewhere you’ll feel when it rings. Unless your situation changes, do not contact us, we will contact you. We’re going to triangulate on your phone, and send someone to get you out of there. Do you understand, Mr. Wilder?”

“Got it. No worries, I have nothing but time here.”

Bridgett made a slashing motion across her throat, and I terminated the connection. She was already turning to one of her subordinates.

“We should have Mr. Wilder’s cell number on file,” she said. “We can use that to ascertain exactly where he’s located, then send in a team to extract him. Get some people on it. The quicker we can get him out of there and negate his usefulness as a hostage, the better.”

***

“Team Beta is in position.” the radio feed informed me. Clarice Svenson and I were hunkered down in the back of our armored ambulance, positioned as close as we could get to Terry’s location without giving anything away.

“Team Beta, this is Incident Command,” Bridgett’s voice replied. “You’re a go to move in. Radio silence from this point; no further contact until mission objectives are accomplished or assistance is required. Command is clear.”

A thought occurred to me. I plucked the microphone from its clip. “EMS One to Incident Command.”

“This is command,” said Bridgett.

“The transporting ambulances are over a mile from our present location,” I said. “Can I have some units assigned for emergency transfer to the cold zone?” Clarice glanced sharply in my direction, surprised appreciation written on her face.

“I’ll send two armored trucks to your location,” Bridgett replied. “I’ll also ask for volunteers from the EMS units in the cold zone to staff them; maybe one EMT per truck with a go bag. They can move patients out of the hot zone if you deem them sufficiently stable. Will that suffice?”

It was more than I’d dared to hope for, and certainly the best I was going to get. “Copy,” I said. “That will do, and thank you.”

“Good call,” Clarice said, a hint of grudging admiration in her tone.

“Thanks,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.

We sat back and watched the center screen. Terry’s cellphone was lit up in violet, in the woods directly south of the cabin from which he’d escaped. It was the one piece of information we could be sure the mercenaries surrounding the cabin didn’t have. The transponders from Team Beta, moving in to extract him, showed up in yellow. There were four of them, moving in carefully from different points of the compass, converging on Terry’s location. Suddenly one of them stopped moving, and the light signifying that agent began to flash.

“The flashing means that unit has encountered an obstacle of some kind,” Clarice informed me. “They have a little button they press that changes our display like this. The other agents out there will have gotten it too. See how all four of them are holding in place?”

Indeed, all four yellow lights had ceased to move forward. My eyes were riveted to the screen.

“The hostage… he’s someone you’re close to?” Clarice said suddenly.

“My best friend,” I told her.

She regarded me thoughtfully, sympathy written on her face. Despite her initial misgivings, I felt that she was warming up to me.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “That really sucks. If it makes you feel any better, I’ve worked with the feds before. They’re pretty good at this.”

Eventually the yellow to the northwest ceased to flash, and the four lights began moving in again. Twice more, one yellow light or the other flashed, and all four held in place. Each pause was pure agony, my guts clenching to the point of nausea for fear of what might happen to Terry. The third time they stopped moving, Clarice reached out and took my hand. I squeezed tightly, fighting back tears, grateful that I wasn’t alone.

Finally the four yellow lights converged upon the violet one. Agonizing minutes later, all five lights, four yellow and one violet, were moving rapidly away from the cabin, heading straight east.

“Beta One to Incident Command,” a tenor male voice squawked across the airwaves.

“Go for command,” Bridgett’s voice acknowledged.

“We have Subject Omega in hand, repeat, Subject Omega is in our custody. We are moving east away from the cabin, and will circle around to the location of EMS One. Acknowledge.”

“Command acknowledges,” Bridgett replied, “and well done. No further communication unless absolutely necessary. EMS One, did you copy?”

“EMS copies,” I said, fighting back the urge to ask for a patient update.

It took team Beta over ten minutes to reach us – circling around to the north, then back to where we were situated towards the end of the long row of cabins. There was a sharp rap on the side hatch. Clarice released a lever, and the door swung open, revealing four agents in camouflage and a shivering, disheveled Terry Wilder, still in the same clothes he’d been wearing on that mad dash to the farmstead on Shadow Lake Road.

One of the agents gave him a boost from below, with Clarice and I drawing him up into the rig by his elbows. He looked at Clarice with a weary smile, then fixed his gaze on me as we eased him onto the cot.

“Nettie?!” he exclaimed, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Long story,” I told him. “Just rest. How do you feel?”

“Like the fourth day of a three-day weekend.”

“Cute. Does anything hurt?”

“I can’t feel my fingers or toes.”

Clarice was already examining one of his hands. “I don’t think he’s got frostbite yet,” she said.

“You checking the feet, too?” I asked, as I wrapped a pressure cuff around Terry’s arm.

“Got it,” she said. I saw out of the corner of my eye that she already had a shoe and sock off.

Once we got to work, Clarice and I had an instant rapport. It seemed to take almost no time for the two of us to have the wet clothes off him, pack his pits and groin with heat packs, get a hot hat on, and cover him with warm blankets. I got an IV started while Clarice spiked a bag of fluids from the warmer.

“What’s your name, pretty lady?” Terry asked, eyes fixed on Clarice as she hung the bag. He was wearing that goddamn lopsided grin I knew so well.

“I’m Clarice,” she said cheerfully, “and I can see you’re very charming. So I’ll save you the trouble: I’m gay.”

“Well, hell,” said Terry. “I had this whole spiel I was about to lay on you. Now it’s all going to waste.”

“Let’s focus, loverboy,” I admonished him. “Any pain anywhere?”

“Just my fingers, where the circulation is coming back. And before you ask, I’m not suffering from dizziness, nausea, or shortness of breath.”

I chuckled, studying the monitor. Terry’s vitals were good, the ECG unremarkable.

“Okay,” I said. “I think we can send him for transport to the hospital in one of the BLS rigs.”

“I don’t need to go to the hospital,” Terry protested.

“The hell you don’t,” I said. “You’re dehydrated and a touch hypothermic. Don’t make me punch you in the balls, Terry.”

“I want to go home and see the girls. Speaking of which, any further news on Halee’s condition?”

“Not since I last texted you,” I said. “Besides, the girls are in bed asleep. Go to the hospital for an hour or two, get your core temperature up, and then maybe you won’t look like dogshit when you see them. Don’t fight me on this; I will punch you in the balls.”

Terry fixed his eyes on Clarice, looking for sympathy. “She really is kind of a bitch, isn’t she?”

“What are friends for?” I said.

***

We helped Terry out of the rig and into one of the armored trucks that had been assigned to our location.

“Make sure you send him in one of the BLS rigs,” I reminded the driver. “He’s stable, and we might need the ALS rigs here. As soon as you offload, come right back. You guys are our only link to the cold zone.”

As we clambered back on board, my cellphone was ringing. It was Bridgett.

“Put me on speaker so I can talk to both of you,” she said.

I took the phone away from my ear, hit the speaker button, and set the phone down on a cabinet. “You’re on,” I told her.

“Okay,” she said, “this isn’t going out over a radio channel yet, but the National Guard has arrived. Some units will probably be moving past your position in a few minutes. As near as we can tell, the mercenaries are now set up in a tight little circle around the cabin. The merc commander is calling for the surrender of the cabin’s occupants. There’s been a single shot fired that we think came from inside the cabin itself.”

“Does the Guard being here change our status?” I wanted to know. As I spoke, I saw lights passing our location through the armored ambulance’s narrow viewports. It didn’t look like the light patterns you’d see from normal highway vehicles, and I had to assume it was the National Guard.

“For the moment, you’re still the first line of emergency care,” she said. “The Guard was able to get infantry deployed very quickly, but medical units are lagging. The Guard units are planning to cordon off the entire area, then announce themselves. No reason to be subtle, now that Terry Wilder is out of play. The mercs can’t outfight the Guard, so how bad this gets will depend on how far they’re willing to go to avoid prison. Stay ready.”

Looking at the animated map, I watched new lights, silver this time, fan out around the area occupied by the mercenaries. “I take it that’s the Guard,” I said. Clarice merely nodded. I couldn’t help but notice that the Guard units were only covering three sides.

“What about the south end?” I said.

“That’s where the old riverbed is,” she reminded me. “It’s basically a big cliff back there. They probably figure nobody will be suicidal enough to try going that way.”

Long, agonizing minutes stretched out. Finally I had to break the silence.

“What you said to Terry…”

“Is true,” she broke in. “I’m a lesbian. My gaydar says you kind of swing in that direction, too.”

I chuckled. “Oh, yes.”

The radio screeched. “This is Lieutenant Colonel Tim Dunn, State of Minnesota Army National Guard,” a voice proclaimed. “Mercenary units surrounding Cabin 505, we’ve been monitoring your radio traffic. If you wish to communicate with our units, please switch over to channel one zero niner. Respond, please.”

Clarice and I glanced at each other, waiting with baited breath.

“Mercenary units, this is Lieutenant Colonel Dunn of the Army National Guard, and we have your location surrounded. We are observing with night vision, and can give you a precise numbering of your present personnel, and their locations. If you do not respond, we will begin closing on your position.”

“Army National Guard,” a harsh, slightly accented voice burst forth. “We have what you’re after. We’ve captured Kathryn Wilder. If you want her, you let us pass undisturbed.”

“I have no orders to capture a specific individual,” Colonel Dunn replied, “merely to cordon off this area and prevent personnel within from escaping. To be clear: nobody is getting through this line. Attempt any such, and you will be fired upon. Do I make myself clear?”

“National Guard,” said the accented voice in a mocking tone. “We will now exit the building we currently occupy, using the road to the north. We advise you to stand aside and let us pass, unless you actually want this to come down to a fight. Do I make myself clear?”

“Mercenary units,” Colonel Dunn’s voice replied once more, “You are certainly welcome to try. Be advised that we have night vision both on the ground and drone-mounted, as well as body armor and armored vehicles. Moreover, we have assumed defensive positions, whereas it will be necessary for your troops to expose themselves while exiting the facility. I repeat, attempt to break our line, and you will be fired upon.”

A minute or so later, from a distance, there were burp-burp noises, repeating and in short bursts.

“Goddamn it,” Clarice said bleakly. “That’s the assault rifles going off. Looks like we’re going to matter after all.”

It went on for a few more minutes, and then there was silence.

“Incident Command to EMS One,” Bridgett’s voice cut in.

“EMS,” I replied.

“The mercenaries have surrendered, but a number of them were injured in the brief fighting that took place. Casualties coming your way.”

The first to arrive was dead; a shot had gone right through his temple. A half dozen more came through, with varying degrees of injury, all bullet wounds. Clarice and I bandaged them up, stabilized them if need be, and shipped them off to the waiting ambulances outside the park. As EMS commander, I made the calls for ALS or BLS, and how many per ambulance. The last to arrive had been shot through the heart, and had been dead long enough to have cooled. Nor was he wearing the same quasi-military garb as the mercenaries. He also had a nasty tib-fib deformity. I was shocked to realize it was one of Kathryn’s hired guns; the one who had fallen and broken his leg back at the farm on Shadow Lake Road. That was the shot from inside the cabin, I realized, wondering if Kathryn had pulled the trigger herself.

Finally all the patients and dead bodies had been shipped off, and Clarice and I sat alone in the back of the armored ambulance, momentarily forgotten in the general hubbub. We were even isolated from the driver up front, separated by a heavy steel hatch.

“I’m sorry if I was a bitch at first,” she said. “You’re really good. I was proud to serve under you.”

“Forget it,” I said with a shrug. “I kind of got sucked into this, and I get why you didn’t like it. You’re one of the best I’ve worked with.”

We were seated side-by-side on the bench seat, and she placed her hand on my thigh. “I’ve never told anybody this before,” she said, “but the adrenaline letdown right after bad shit happens always messes up my hormones. I’m crazy horny right now.”

I realized that I was feeling the same way. “You and me both,” I said.

She slid her fingers up my thigh, unbuttoned my jeans, and slipped a hand inside. A moment later I followed suit, my fingers sliding beneath her tac pants and underwear. She was deliciously wet. We sat there that way, fingering one another, delighting in each other’s raspy breath and gasps of pleasure.

Clarice came first, pressing her sopping pussy hard against my fingers and throwing an arm across her mouth to stifle the moans. My climax hit a moment later, intense bursts of pleasure practically overloading my nerve centers. I clenched my teeth to minimize the noise.

On to Chapter Twenty-one!