"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 offreallyquick, you can stick a finger up his r.e.c.t.u.m and tickle his prostate."

"That'sgross," Pam said. "Yick!"

"I'm not saying youshoulddo 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 b.a.l.l.s."

"Mmmm," Courtney said, her head starting to move faster.

"Try sucking harder," Mike said hoa.r.s.ely. "Like you're trying to give a hickey . . .that'sit." He lay back and groaned. "Yeah . . . like that."

"Don't c.u.m 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 c.u.m," 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 c.u.m 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 c.u.m.

"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 metoo 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, tumbling 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-c.u.mulus clouds and a thunderhead building. c.r.a.p.

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 onto 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."

"You want to go south, go south," Courtney said.

"I'm game," Pam said. "I could use some help with the rods."

They headed south at max speed, but Mike pulled into a protected, and empty, harbor just after dusk.

After dinner he set up a scene where Pam was tied watching as he played with Courtney and "taught"

her. He finally took Courtney after he'd brought her to o.r.g.a.s.m and he held back, continuing to screw her much longer than she'd expected. She had gone into a continuous quiver when he entered her, but as he continued to take her she o.r.g.a.s.med again.

Still, he'd held back, and when he left her he started on Pam, spread-eagling her alongside Courtney and playing with both of them until Pam o.r.g.a.s.med and he took her as well, then went back to Courtney.

The storm had caught them at anchor, and as it built up the boat began to rock and the two girls seemed to climb to some other plane. They were blindfolded and gagged and the rocking motion left them both quivering uncontrollably by the time Mike, finally, came into Courtney and called the scene.

They spent the night cuddled up in a ball in the main cabin as the storm raged outside. He got up from time to time to ensure the anchors were holding, then went back to the warm bundle in the bed.

"It's wild outside," Courtney said at breakfast, looking out at the sheets of rain running down the windows.

"It is that," Mike said, looking at the weather instruments. The wind was blowing about thirty knots, steady, with gusts to forty. "This is going to get interesting."

"Up to you, Mike," Courtney said. "I trust that you're not going to drown us."

"No," Mike said calmly. "But you might get seasick.Stronglyrecommend the scop."

"Where is it?" Pam asked.

"This is cool," Courtney said, staggering onto the closed bridge and looking out the windows. The rain was so solid there really wasn't anything to see even with the wipers going full blast. "What are you doing? Driving on GPS?"

"Mostly," Mike said, gesturing at the instruments. There were even more than on the flying bridge, and larger, giving the closed bridge something of the look of flying a plane. "Keeping an eye on the radar and the sonar, too. Watching the weather map update. I think we'll probably be out of this by the time we get to Andros."

"It's rough," Courtney said, holding on to a stanchion and then making her way to one of the seats.

"It is that," Mike said. "Seas are about nine, ten feet. I'm staying to the outside of the islands, rather than trying to run the Gap. We'll just hook around the south of Andros and head over in the direction of Long Island. I'll keep going tonight and we'll be clear by tomorrow morning. But there's not really anywhere to dock down there, a few outlying keys, but no really good harbors." He frowned and shrugged. "It's a bit .

. . lawless in that area. Lots of drug running goes through there. And there are . . . well, I'd hate to dignify them with the description 'pirates,' but there are people that occasionally attack boats."

"And you'll do what about that?" Courtney said, her eyes wide. "Throw a whip at them?"

"There is far more than a whip on this boat, Courtney," Mike said, glancing at the radar. "But I think I'll be on watch for a couple of days."

By the next morning they were clear of the wind and rain, but the storm to the north was still kicking up the seas to nearly six feet.

"I managed to make coffee," Pam said, coming up to the bridge with a travel mug. "I didn't make ahuge mess."

"Not much fun being battened down, is it?" Mike said, smiling as he took it from her and set it in a holder.

"It's cleared up at least," she said, looking around. "Except for the clouds."

"They'll clear off by, oh, tomorrow," Mike replied, shrugging. "I won't be happy until we're down to the south of Andros, though."

"The pirates Courtney was asking about?" Pam said, looking off to port. "There's clear water over there," she said, pointing.

"Yep," Mike said. "And see the breakers between us and that clear water? That's the great Bahama Banks. You can't get a cabin cruiser in there. You can't even get a cigarette boat in most of it. It's an area where conditions are just right to form calcium carbonate from sea water and carbon dioxide. Major carbon dioxide sink. There's an old land-form that supports it. And it's mostly extremely shallow. There are a few channels in it, but they move and n.o.body tries to chart them. Also afewvery small keys. They're technically uninhabited, but some of them are used as layovers by drug runners and some have the 'pirates' on them. Really just criminals with small boats that try to sneak out and pick up . . . well, the occasional pa.s.sing yacht like us. They've generally gotverysmall boats, though. What you'd probably call a john boat. I doubt even they would try in these conditions. But I'm keeping a close eye on the radar.

And an eye out in general-sometimes they don't show very well on radar."

"That's scary," Pam said.

"I have various methods to convince them we're not a good target," Mike said. "Just going up on deck with a fake rifle will usually make them veer off."

"And do you have a fake rifle?" Pam asked nervously.

"Yes," Mike replied.

"What about a real one?" Pam asked. "In case they don't scare off?"

"No comment," Mike said. "The Bahamas is very down on guns. One of the reasons that criminals find local yachts easy pickings since plenty of guns come in with the drugs."

"I noticed that the customs guys didn't actually search the boat," Pam said.

"They generally don't," Mike said. "But they're very down on guns, nonetheless. Using one to defend yourself is nearly as bad as getting picked off by pirates. Nearly."

"What do the pirates do with the boat?" she asked, gulping. "And, uhm, the people on board?"

"You don't want to know," Mike answered.

"Thought so," Pam said with a sigh.

Chapter Eleven.

Mike allowed Pam and Courtney to spell him in the late morning, as the waves moderated, and caught a few hours of sleep. By the time he got up in the afternoon, things had really started to calm down, but there was still solid overcast. He looked at the tropical satellite update and the general storm tracks.

There was another depression forming off Africa, but other than that it looked pretty clear.

He was munching a sandwich for supper, watching the sun go down in the west with Pam sitting next to him, when the sat phone rang. He'd called in to the OSOL last night, giving his location and destination to the duty officer. It was a pain in the a.s.s, but if it was the price of being armed, he was willing to pay it.

"Jenkins," he said after putting in the optional headset. n.o.body but OSOL had the number, so it had to be them.

"Pierson," the colonel said. "Go scramble."

Mike punched in the code, watched by a puzzled Pam.

"Go scramble," he said.

"Mike, what is your position, exactly?"

Mike frowned and glanced at the GPS.

"24, 33, 93 by 78, 46, 21, more or less," Mike said. "Why?"

"Hang on," Pierson said, then sighed. "Mike, you have a presidential request to go operational."

"What?" Mike shouted. "Pam, could you go below?" he said, more calmly. "Hang on, Bob." When she was gone he said: "What?"

"Mike, we have a fixed location on WMD in movement," Pierson said tightly. "Specifically a nuke, probably refurbished Russian in origin. It's located at a key in the outer Great Banks, but it's going to move by tomorrow morning about four-thirty. We'd forward punched all our teams, trying to intercept it in Europe or the Mideast. We've gotnospec ops that can deploy to the Bahamas before about 0600 tomorrow. If it moves, we'll lose it and have to reacquire. You're in position. It's less than forty miles from your current position."