Ghost Series - Ghost Part 27

I hope to show them a very good time."

"Yes, I'm sure," the colonel said, grinning as he came around the counter. "May we, perhaps, step outside?"

"Much prefer it," Mike said, following him out.

The colonel waited until he was outside and then lit a cigar. "Even here in the Islands, the stupid antismoking people reign," he said, sticking the stogie in his teeth. "Those are interesting credentials. You are not here on business?"

"Not at all," Mike said. "I'm effectively retired. The materials I carry are purely for reasons of . . . past experience. I hope tohaveno future similar experiences."

"You were DEA?" the colonel asked, tilting his head to the side.

"Bite your tongue," Mike said. "I don't do the War on Drugs."

"There is another war, however, that you don't mention," the colonel said, waving his cigar. "No matter.

We have no problem with terrorism in the islands."

"As I said," Mike repeated doggedly, "I'm here for pleasure, purely."

"And can I enquire as to the nature of the material?" the colonel asked delicately.

"I could show you a manifest," Mike said. "But you'd s.h.i.+t a brick. I carry heavy."

"For defensive purposes?" the colonel asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Sometimes the best defense is a good offense," Mike said. "Colonel, I'm not planning on using anything here in the islands. They're in a locker. I'm not planning on opening the locker in the islands. And if I have to, you'll be the third to know."

"The third?" the colonel said, interestedly.

"The first will be whoever I use them on," Mike said. "The second . . . well, I'm sorry, you don't have the need to know," he added with a chuckle.

"Very well," the colonel said dryly. "Try not to open your locker. Two college coeds, eh? Pretty?"

"Fricking gorgeous."

"Have a very good time in the islands, then," the colonel said, smiling. "I do ask one thing. We occasionally have situations which . . . are difficult to deal with alone. Frequently, we ask the U.S.

government, quietly, to a.s.sist us in such things. Are you . . . ?"

"Not at this time," Mike said. "But if you ask me, and I get an okay, anything for a friend."

"And are you . . . formidable?"

"I'm pretty good," Mike said. "I've got a 'still alive' track record. My enemies don't."

"Very good," the colonel said, nodding. "I hope to meet you again some time. Hopefully, under equally good circ.u.mstances."

"Agreed," Mike said, smiling. "Have a good day."

"All days are good days in the islands," the colonel said, waving his cigar. "Hadn't you heard?"

Pam was cleaning up in the lounge when she heard a faint beeping and followed it to something that looked like a small laptop on the closed bridge. It had a phone on it, though, so she picked it up.

"h.e.l.lo?" she asked.

"h.e.l.lo," a man's voice said. "Who is this?"

"Pam," she said. "Are you looking for Mike?"

"Yes," the man answered dryly. "I was a little worried I'd dialed the wrong number."

"He's over at the customs shed," Pam said.

"Okay," the man said. "When he gets back, ask him to give Bob Pierson a call, would you?"

"Sure," Pam said.

"I take it you're a . . . friend of Mike's?" the man asked.

"Yeah," she said, sighing. "I think the term would be 'very good friend.'"

"Ah," the man said and paused. "Where are you from?"

"Can I ask why you're asking?" Pam said curiously.

"You sound Midwestern," the man answered.

"I'm from Missouri," Pam said. "Why?"

"Just curious," the man replied. "Please ask Mike to give me a call right away when he gets back."

"Will do," Pam said. "Bye."

"Mike," Pam said when he got on board. "You're supposed to call somebody named Person or something like that. I forgot to write it down and he didn't leave a number."

"Oh, great," Mike said, shaking his head.

"Problem?"

"One of my former customers," Mike said, shrugging. "The sort of people I do contracting for. But I am most definitely on vacation at the moment."

Mike went down to the sat phone and found Pierson's number on the speed dial.

"Pierson."

"Jenkins, what's up, Bob?"

"Mike, clear the room please and go scramble," Pierson replied.

Mike frowned and hit the scrambler combination.

"There's n.o.body in here at the moment," he said.

"I guess I should have mentioned that you're under very casual surveillance," Pierson said. "And if you go out of the country you need to check in."

"I wasn't aware I was under surveillance at all," Mike said angrily.

"The Coast Guard just has a general 'keep an eye on' on you," Pierson said. "Half protection for you and half because if you go out of the country you're treading in waters you're not really familiar with, legally.

The Caribbean is no big deal; we own it. But if you go to Europe or something, give me a call first, okay?"

"Sure," Mike said, sighing. "Just another example of change of life, I guess."

"That's what it is," Pierson said. "The young lady who answered the phone. She's not from . . ."

"Nope," Mike said. "Missouri, University of. And, lord, she's good looking."

"Glad to hear it," Pierson said honestly. "I'd been getting a little worried about you down there doing your Travis McGee imitation."

"Travis who?" Mike asked, confused.

"Oh," Pierson said, chuckling. "I'd a.s.sumed it was intentional. Look up the Travis McGee books, some time. And have fun in the Bahamas."

"I will," Mike replied.

They stayed in Bimini that day and into the night, the girls dancing at one of the clubs, then made their way back to the boat. Mike had reciprocal rights at the Bimini Big Game Club and was docked there.

The Game Club had good enough security that he didn't feel he had to leave an anchor watch. Not that there was much theft in Bimini. The island was so small that if anything turned up missing, everyone knew who had stolen it.

That night they had a pleasant and casual menage with only occasional, joking, references to master and slave. At one point the girls tried to pin him down and he proved that he could take one of them, more or less against her will, while simultaneously controlling the other. It wasn't easy, but he could do it. They all were pleasantly exhausted, as well as a little drunk, when they went to sleep.

Mike had the boat moving before dawn, though, slight hangover and all. At the Game Club he'd heard that the sail were moving and he really wanted to have the girls hook into a sailfish. By dawn he was floating in the Stream and rigging the kites.

Courtney came up on deck, and her eyes widened when she saw what he was doing.

"We're flying kites today?" she asked, looking at the bird-shaped, collapsible, kite he was rigging to fly in the wind.

"It's a fis.h.i.+ng rig," Mike said. "The shadow of the kite looks like a bird and that attracts game fish. And you can get your bait well away from the boat."

He rigged a live ballyhoo on each of four lines and floated them out on kites, then went downstairs to get breakfast.

"I'm hunting for sail today," Mike said. "We might get wahoo or dolphin, but I'm hoping for sail. The lines are rigged for sail. If we get dolphin, just muscle it in. But we should get up on deck pretty soon to watch the lines."

When the two girls joined him on deck, he looked at them for a moment, the bottle of sunscreen in his hand, and waved.

"Take off the suits," he ordered.

"Uh," Pam said, looking at Courtney. Then they both stripped off their bikinis.

"Pam, do my back while I do Courtney's," Mike said, getting a handful of Bullfrog on his palm.

"Courtney, kneel down, knees together, wrists crossed in front of you and on your thighs."

Courtney breathed hard for a moment and then complied, turning around so her back was to him.

Mike got down on his knees and spread the sunscreen across her back, liberally. There was, as he intended, plenty left over and he reached around, rubbing it on her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and stomach.

"Head up," Mike ordered. "Chin up. Back straight, little slave."

"Yes, master," Courtney said.

Pam was rubbing down his arms, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s pressing into his back, as he reached down and spread Courtney's legs, rubbing the last of the sunscreen onto her inner thighs and then sliding his finger up against her c.l.i.t. He pulled her arms around her back and crossed her wrists there, then reached back around and gently pulled on one nipple while ma.s.saging her c.l.i.t, running his finger in and out of her opening.

"Stay still, slave," he ordered, roughly, as she began to squirm and moan. "If you move from that position, you will be punished."

He continued to stroke her until with a gasp and a clench she came. Then he grabbed Pam and pulled her around, simultaneously twisting Courtney to the deck. He pulled his bathing suit down and then entered Courtney, hard, pulling Pam's head down to her breast.

"Lick it, b.i.t.c.h," he ordered Pam, pressing her lips against Courtney's nipple. "Lick her t.i.t!"

Pam resisted for a moment, then her pink tongue flickered out to touch Courtney's nipple, eliciting a moan of despair and pleasure from her friend.

"Play with her t.i.ts," Mike ordered, pinning Courtney down and holding himself up, then thrusting into her again, hard.

Courtney came, again, as he pounded her, moaning and crying at the waves of pleasure from his taking her and having Pam play with her at the same time. As her shudders eased, Mike pulled out, to a moan of sadness, and pulled Pam around, roughly, to where her t.i.ts were in Courtney's face.

"Now it's your turn, little slave," he said, pus.h.i.+ng her back down so that her nipple dangled above Courtney's lips. "Pleasure this b.i.t.c.h," he said, grabbing Courtney's hand and lifting it up to Pam's p.u.s.s.y.

"Wait," Courtney said, as Pam flinched.

"You can do it," Mike said, much more gently. "You know what feels good for you. Do it to her," he added, pulling her hand into position and manipulating her finger against Pam's c.l.i.t. At that Pam whimpered and bucked, but didn't back away. He rolled Pam down onto her back, keeping Courtney's hand in place, then put Courtney in position to play with her nipples and p.u.s.s.y.

"Stay together," he added, sliding his finger into Courtney's opening and his own mouth to her lovely breast. The position left him with his head on Pam's stomach, Courtney lying on Pam's arm and Pam on her back, spread-eagled, pinned by his body and totally in the moment.

They stayed like that until Pam came and then he rolled over to her, entering her and thrusting hard; Courtney backed away, but he pulled her back to continue sucking on Pam's b.r.e.a.s.t.s. He reached over and slid his hand back into Courtney's v.a.g.i.n.a, playing with her c.l.i.toris as Pam moaned and shrieked into a hard climax. Courtney came at the same time and he followed shortly after.

"Okay," Courtney said, rolling over to lie on her back, panting. "I'm not too sure about that one. It was fun, but . . ."

"You don't want to become a lesbian," Mike said.

"No," Pam replied tightly. "And that felt a little . . ."

"You're not a lesbian from having a touch of fun with each other," Mike replied, pulling them both to their feet and setting them in the bridge couch. He sat down between them and gently rested his arms across their shoulders.

"Kleee-nex," Pam said, desperately, flipping open one of the glove boxes and diving for a tissue.

"You both prefer guys, in general, right?" Mike continued when Pam had the flood under control. He hugged them both to him and then let them up so they could be comfortable.