by John Ringo
“Now that has a certain… something,” Pam said, grinning.
“In a way that was what was going on,” Mike pointed out. “You were, each, helping me to bring pleasure to the other. Maybe you’ll take it further, between you two. I know several girls who take the position of ‘girls for comfort, boys for pleasure.’ It doesn’t make you a lesbian.” He paused and grinned. “Okay, maybe a touch bi.”
“You are evil,” Pam said.
“The very devil,” Mike admitted. “And the one who has to keep his head about him, despite your lovely nipple staring me in the face. We need to finish really putting on sunscreen and then get ready to fish. We’re just lucky we didn’t get a hit while we were in play; it would have really ruined the mood.”
* * *
Courtney was sitting on the port fighting chair, sipping a Fosters, when the nearest line unclipped from the kite and began screaming out.
“That’s not sail,” Mike said, hooking the harness on her naked body. “Probably wahoo.”
“Why’s it called wahoo?” Courtney asked, picking up the line and settling it in her holder.
“When I hit the drag, give it a good yank,” Mike said. “Then hang the hell on.”
When the hook hit the wahoo, it took off like a rocket in a three-hundred-yard run, the line screaming out of the reel.
“Waaaaaahoo!” Courtney screamed, fighting the bucking rod.
“Now you know,” Mike said, grinning ear to ear.
Wahoo weren’t sustained fighters, and lighter than most sail, so in twenty minutes it was onboard and pictures taken. They were, however, good eating, and it went in the cooler. The fight hadn’t even disturbed the other kites, so Mike got the whole line rerigged pretty quick.
“Mike, I gotta know,” Courtney said. “What’s in the Bluebeard Room?”
“Get used to disappointment,” Mike said, chuckling. “Okay, I’ll tell you. I have locks of hair from each of my conquests, with date and time, up on the walls. It’s a little bizarre, so I stopped showing them off and now I keep it locked.”
“That I can almost believe,” Pam said. “Are we going to do a scene tonight?”
“How do you feel about it?” Mike asked.
“Nervous as a virgin,” Pam admitted. “Eager as one, too. I’ll admit, I really, really enjoyed the scene the other night. And, okay, what we did this morning.”
“I’ve got one problem with it,” Courtney said, frowning. “I hate to be petty, but you’ve had more… in time with Mike than I have.”
“Pam, do you mind if we adjust that a bit, tonight?” he asked. “It might mean you get a bit shortchanged.”
“I can handle that,” Pam said.
Mike turned to a control and hit a series of keys, and steel guitar started to ring from the speakers.
“What is that?” Courtney asked.
“A one-hit wonder from the ’70s,” Mike said. “It’s off an MP3 collection from my CDs. This piece is called ‘Thunder Island’ by Jay Ferguson. There’s probably a bunch of stuff you won’t recognize. Generational thing, and I’m also into Goth and industrial. On the other hand, there’s also Pink, Enya, Evanescence, stuff like that. I like a lot of modern music.” He looked up as one of the lines dropped loose then nodded. “Fish on. Pam’s side.”
Pam got up and put on the harness and lifted the rod, stepping back and then hitting the drag.
“Holy cow!” she shouted as the fish began its initial run. Suddenly the sail burst out of the water and tail-walked from port to starboard, shaking its head.
“Keep pressure on it,” Mike warned. “Otherwise it will throw the hook.”
“It’s strong,” Pam yelled.
“That’s what the harness is for,” Mike said. “Let your back do the work.”
He got the other lines reeling in with electric motors and halfway back one of them hit.
“Damn,” he said. “Courtney, get it. Try not to cross the lines.”
Fortunately, the two sails stayed well apart and both girls had one hell of a fight on their hands. Pam got hers in in about thirty minutes, bringing it into the transom where Mike pulled it up onto the deck.
“I’d like to make sure we can release it,” Mike said. “Can you get the camera and get down here?”
They took pictures of Pam with her sail in the flooded flush deck and then Mike fed it some raw wash and a ballyhoo and got it back running with a tap on the tail.
By that time Courtney had brought hers alongside and he landed that one and got pictures. All in all it took about an hour to get the two sails to the boat and off, and by that time both girls were elated and exhausted.
Mike got the lines back up and soon after there was a dolphin on board. He climbed up to the tuna tower and noticed that, by luck as much as anything, the kites were dropping by a weed line. Shortly after the dolphin, Courtney hooked up to another tail walker — her first one hadn’t left the water — and she fought it for about three minutes after its first run and then the line went, mostly, slack.
“Probably threw the hook,” Mike said, letting the kites back out. “Put it on the winch and let that reel the line in.”
When the line came alongside it was clear the fish hadn’t thrown the hook. The sail was gone from just behind the head with a big, crescent, bite mark just past its gills.
“Oh, wow,” Courtney said, looking at the head as Mike pulled it over the side.
“Want a picture of this?” Mike asked, grinning and unhooking the head.
“Yeah,” Courtney said. “And you want us to go swimming in this water?”
“Any time you enter the water you’re in the food chain,” Mike said. “But snorkelers and divers hardly ever get unprovoked attacks. It’s safer than driving in Springfield.”
“Maybe,” Courtney said. “But if you’re in a wreck, they don’t eat you.”
They landed a couple more sail and dolphin by noon, then the run pretty much ended.
“Let’s get lunch,” Mike said, reeling in the lines. “They probably won’t start hitting again until this evening.”
Chapter Ten
Mike pulled the wahoo out of the cooler, skinned and gutted it, and cut it into steaks with a machete. Three of those went on the deck grill in a light olive oil marinade. Along with leftover rice and some cut fruit, it made a great lunch.
“If we keep eating this light,” Courtney said, “and getting all this… exercise, I’m liable to lose weight.”
“You don’t have any weight to lose,” Mike said, laughing.
“I could lose some on the hips,” Courtney said, shaking her head.
“You could stand to gain some on the hips,” Mike said. “But, yeah, eating like this is as natural a way to lose weight as you can ask. I actually have to be careful or I start losing muscle mass. I need to do more swimming.”
“How far can you swim?” Pam asked curiously.
“I’ve done twenty miles,” Mike said, shrugging. “But that was when I was younger and in shape for it. Five miles is about right these days. That’s just swimming with goggles. With fins I’m good for ten to fifteen.”
“Damn,” Courtney said. “That’s a long ways.”
“And staying able to do it takes doing it,” Mike said, smiling. “I haven’t been keeping in shape since you girls have been here.”
“Don’t let us stop you,” Pam said. “I’d love to have something wear you out.”
“You wear me out, Pam,” Mike said, grinning. “But, yeah, I think I’ll go swim.”
“Out here?” Courtney said. “What about that sailfish?”
“If I worried about sharks I never would have joined the SEALs,” Mike said. He walked up on deck, picking up a pair of swimming goggles, and went over the side with a splash.
The boat was well out to sea and moving with the different vectors of wind and current. Mike decided that keeping no more than a hundred yards away was prudent. He generally stayed within no more than fifty meters, letting the Stream be his opp
onent and swimming into it. He was used to swimming in deep water, having done so all over the world. Sometimes fleets would just stop at sea for some down time; it was called “Steel Beach.” SEALs attached to the fleets would generally spend the time doing races from ship to ship, sometimes swimming as much as ten miles.
He got into the rhythm, riding the swells, keeping half an eye on the shadow of the boat, just looking into the deeps. One time he saw a pod of sailfish riding the current northwards to cooler, more productive, waters. They turned to check him out, their sides flashing in bands of color, then turned away, hurrying north. Another time it was a turtle, disinterested in the marine mammal paddling overhead, being carried in the current and headed to wherever turtles head thinking whatever turtles thought. A small bait pod came past, chased by a tiny pod of dolphin. A string of sargassum weed came past and he ducked under it, turning over to look at the small fish on the underside. The weed lines were the only cover in the blue waters and the small fish huddled in their shade, hoping to escape the predators that roamed the big blue. The predators, however, knew that and thus homed in on the weeds, or human trash, or floating tree trunks, whatever floated at the surface. It was the reason to fish along the weed lines.
He noticed that the boat was drifting faster and quickly swam to the side, climbing up onto the flush deck and shaking water out of his hair.
“That was just amazing,” Pam said from the fishing deck. “I’d have run out of energy half an hour ago, max.”
“I didn’t swim long enough,” Mike said, walking up the stairs to the deck. “The wind is picking up a bit.”
“Mike, do we have to fish this afternoon?” Courtney said, coming down from the bridge and handing him a beer in a koozie.
“No,” Mike admitted.
“Good,” she replied, tossing a cushion on the deck and dropping to her knees, head bowed. “Master, can this slave service you on her knees?”
“Over here,” Mike said, walking to the fighting chair and sitting down. It was adjustable vertically and he dropped it to the lowest setting then pointed at Pam.
“Slave, take off your clothes, grab another cushion, and come over here.”
He put Courtney in front of him and Pam to his side, facing Courtney, carefully resting the beer bottle on Pam’s back.
“Stay very still,” he said roughly, “and it won’t fall over. If you spill my beer you will be punished. And watch this training; you will be next.”
He looked at Courtney and pointed to his crotch. “Show me what you can do. I doubt that you know how to truly give a blowjob.”
Courtney’s eyes widened in anger and he held up a finger.
“I checked the repeater,” he said, waving at the small group of instruments on the fishing deck. “There aren’t any boats around. Consider this in scene.”
“I’m still not too sure about being told how to ‘truly give a blowjob,’ ” Courtney said exasperatedly. “Most guys are just glad to get them at all.”
“Well, we can play a different game,” Mike admitted, “or we can find out if you know how to give a really good blowjob. And, if not, I can give you some tips. Your call.”
“If she’s not game, I am,” Pam said, desperately trying to keep the bottle upright. “And she can be the table.”
Mike picked up the bottle and set it on the deck.
“Your call,” Mike repeated.
“What’s involved in a really good blowjob, then?” Courtney asked.
“Well, I haven’t found out if you already know, yet,” Mike admitted, grinning. “Care to test the waters?”
Courtney raised one eyebrow, then pulled his shorts down, trailing her hair over his crotch and using her hand to take him in her mouth. She started fellating him, slowly, sucking moderately hard.
“Okay,” Mike said, “question: Are you trying to make it last or get it over with, quick?”
“Huh?” Courtney said, straightening up.
“Because if you’re trying to get it over with quick, we need to talk,” Mike said, shrugging.
“I was… just doing it,” Courtney said, confused.
“All right, first item to know,” Mike said. “If you go slow, you’re drawing it out. By that I mean head motion. If you want to give a long, slow blow, that’s cool. If you’re trying to drive the guy crazy, it’s very cool. If you’re trying to get it over with, you’d better speed way up and suck harder.”
“I’m always afraid to suck too hard,” Courtney admitted. “I bothered a guy that way one time. He said it hurt.”
“There’s sucking and sucking,” Mike said. “But the way to get a guy off, quick, is to suck very hard, move your head fast and use your hands at the same time. For that matter,” he added, shrugging, “if you want to get him off really quick, you can stick a finger up his rectum and tickle his prostate.”
“That’s gross,” Pam said. “Yick!”
“I’m not saying you should do it,” Mike said. “I, personally, don’t like it. But it’s how to get a guy off really fast.”
Courtney had found herself lightly stroking him and she suddenly stopped, blushing.
“I can’t believe… sometimes I sort of catch myself…” she said, half laughing.
“Same here,” Pam said, moving from her knees to sit cross legged on the deck. “So slow and light for a long blow and hard and fast for a short one?”
“In general,” Mike said. “Some guys get off really fast on them. Some don’t. Some guys, and I think they’re either lying or nuts, say they don’t like them. Me, I love them, good, bad, or indifferent.”
“Hand and head will be tricky,” Courtney said, grasping his member with her hand and lowering her head.
“Try just the forefinger and thumb,” Mike said as she started to get in rhythm. “It’s easier. And you won’t keep slamming the heel of your hand into my balls.”
“Mmmm,” Courtney said, her head starting to move faster.
“Try sucking harder,” Mike said hoarsely. “Like you’re trying to give a hickey… that’s it.” He lay back and groaned. “Yeah… like that.”
“Don’t cum in my mouth,” Courtney said, leaning back for a moment but continuing to stroke.
“Won’t,” Mike promised, his eyes closed.
“This is hard on the neck,” Courtney said, coming up for air again and pulling out a hair.
“Practice makes perfect,” Mike admitted, pulling her hand away. “Pam’s turn.”
“Yes, O master,” Pam said, chuckling. But she scooched over to where Courtney had been as Courtney took her pad.
“You didn’t cum,” Courtney said, frowning.
“I was holding back,” Mike admitted. “Otherwise you would have tasted the fruit of knowledge.”
“That’s one I haven’t heard,” Pam said, taking his member in forefinger and thumb and going down on him.
“You’re going slow on purpose,” Mike said accusingly.
“Yep,” Pam said, coming up with a grin. “I figure it’s payback time.”
“Can I cum in your mouth?” Mike asked.
“Sure,” Pam said, going down on him again. No more than a minute later she felt his member start to pulse and then her mouth was filled with cum.
“That was quick,” she said, swallowing and then picking up his beer to wash the taste out.
“Let’s just say that I was ready,” Mike admitted, grinning. “And I wasn’t about to let you tease me too long.”
“But now the lesson is all over,” Pam said, mock sadly.
“Oh, we haven’t even started,” Mike promised.
Afterwards he led them through the five major positions of dominance, then shackled them together on the lounge floor, forcing them to play with each other while he moved the boat to a protected harbor and got supper ready. When it was prepared, he tied them, facing him, on their knees, and fed them bites from his plate, forcing them to ask for each morsel and each sip of wine. They played on into the night and only stopped near dawn, tumb
ling into the main cabin bed in an exhausted, happy pile.
* * *
Late the next morning, when Mike woke up, he could feel by the rocking of the boat that the weather had changed. Sure enough, when he looked outside, there were high alto-cumulus clouds and a thunderhead building. Crap.
He limped into the lounge and checked the weather radar, which showed that things were definitely building, then went back to the cabin to wake the girls.
“I think we need to cancel the day’s fishing,” he said. “Looks like weather’s coming in.”
“What should I do?” Pam asked nervously.
“Not much,” Mike said. “Maybe rinse down the rods with fresh water, then put them away; we should have done that yesterday, but I got sort of caught up. Then fold the kites and put them away. They go in the locker forward of the rod locker.” He grabbed a shirt and bathing suit, heading for the closed bridge. He first checked the text message system and shook his head.
“What’s going on?” Courtney asked, coming up from below.
“There’s a tropical depression forming,” Mike said, pointing to a weather map. “It’s over in the Gulf, but the storm track is for it to cross the peninsula and come this way.”
“Is it a hurricane?” she asked as Pam came in the bridge.
“No,” Mike said. “It’s a storm, but a small one.” He thought about the different waters around and shrugged. “We can dodge it. But we’ll have to dodge south. We might try to run the Gap over to the Deeps and the Tongue of the Ocean. But I’m not sure about that because the storm might catch us in the Gap and that would be bad. Or we can just run straight south to hook around Andros. I’d rather do that, but we’re still probably going to get some effects.”
“Define effects,” Pam said.
“Rain,” Mike said. “Maybe lots. Some winds. Like a thunderstorm, but going on for a day or so. Nastier in a small boat, and this is a small boat make no mistake, than in a house. You might want to take some scop; we’re liable to pitch a good bit.”
