Last of the Sirens [Sirens and Sailors] (Siren Publishing Allure)

by Bella Settarra

  The thunderous crash of the ship on the rocks was deafening, and the men yelled and screamed as they saw her pitch to one side, throwing them and their cargo into the freezing cold sea. Amaranda stared at them. The desperate eyes of one of the men caught hers as he plunged to his death. Her heart thudded in horror before she was shoved by Ademia, who stood next to her, urging her to sing. Reluctantly she tried to keep in tune, while watching how the Sirens wiggled their bodies and pushed out their breasts, enticing the survivors, who crawled and groveled their way toward them, suddenly oblivious of their perishing shipmates. A crowd of soggy, aroused seamen hauled themselves onto the rocks, reaching filthy hands to grab at the young girls.

  Amaranda held back, watching the girls make a beeline for the youngest men. The older ones reached out in desperation, leering and pawing at the beautiful girls’ bodies. Looking over toward the ship, Amaranda could see half of their party swim out for the remains of the cargo. She wished she could join them, but a fleeting glance behind her doused any hope of that, as the old women shook their heads vehemently.

  “Come on, gorgeous, you’re mine!” yelled an ugly old letch triumphantly, as he grabbed her around the waist.

  Amaranda yelped at his sudden touch, and callused, tobacco-stained fingers rubbed up and down her soft body. He smelled of stale beer and sweat, and his breath was rank as he attempted to kiss her. His rough hands were strong, and she struggled in vain to get away from him as he laughed loudly.

  “I’m not—I don’t want to…” She tried to speak but his stinking mouth covered hers.

  She pulled back to throw up, which amused him even more.

  “You’re coming with me, my beauty!” he croaked as the bile left her throat.

  Serves him right if my breath smells of sick!

  She shot a fearful look at the old ladies, who seemed satisfied with the proceedings, although Minerva looked a little sad.

  “Here!” the grey-haired old man pulled her arm and led her, still struggling, to a rock almost hidden from the rest of the Sirens, who had seemed to be content to begin their seductions wherever the men had washed up.

  “Ah!” Amaranda cried, aware of the added dangers of being alone with this lecherous old goat.

  Forcing her onto her back, his beard scratched her face as he laid all his weight on top of her. She gasped for breath under his massive, soaking body, but he didn’t seem to notice. He ogled down at her salaciously.

  “All mine!” he gloated as he pawed at her breasts, tugging at her bra.

  “No!” she squealed fearfully.

  She reached up and shakily grabbed at his filthy, soggy shirt, desperately trying to push him off her.

  “I see, you want me to take this off first, do ya?” the repulsive man derided, and hastily pulled the smelly fabric over his head, while pinning her down with one hand and his hefty legs.

  His chest was a repellent matt of grey and black hair, and it was hard to tell what was suntan and what was just plain dirt. The stench of sweat was overpowering as his armpits neared her face, and Amaranda thought she was going to faint!

  He swiped her bra from her shivering body, and she screamed as she felt his loathsome talons scrape across her fair skin. The despicable old man seemed oblivious to her terror, and tears fell uncontrollably down her burning face. He grabbed and pulled at her silken flesh, a stream of profanity gushing from his filthy, toothless mouth.

  Rough hands scraped over her tender breasts, and his hot, smelly breath assaulted her as he licked and kissed her face, her neck, her throat. As he took her left breast in his putrid mouth she tensed and shook in fear beneath him.

  “You like that then, my pretty slut?” he sneered, and grabbed for his waistband. “Then you’re gonna love this!”

  She yelled again, but his baggy trousers were off in a trice and his small but erect cock swung free. The stench of sweat and urine reached her nostrils and she retched in disgust. This severely angered the old fart, and he roughly yanked at her bikini briefs. His scabrous hands brushed harshly over her vagina, and she felt a sharp, crooked finger pierce its way inside her, as he held his dripping cock in readiness.

  “That’s it—all mine!” he heinously hollered.

  “Aaaah!” she screamed with everything she had.

  Chapter 11

  Eban Gal instantly jumped from the rock. Kalliope sprang back in shock. He fastened his trousers as he leapt past her and followed the sound of the scream.

  “Amaranda!” he yelled, taking off in the direction of her cry.

  All around him, startled Sirens and seamen pulled away from each other and headed toward the hidden rock. The desperate scream had jerked them from their trance.

  In the distance he could see Amaranda tussling desperately with the lecherous old man, who was now struggling to keep her pinned to the rock. She pulled at his hair and punched him in the face, as anger and adrenaline evidently swept through her naked body. The old man grabbed at her wrists.

  “You won’t escape me, you little slut!” he shouted as he shoved her whole body flat against the rock, winding her.

  He lay over her, his solid weight keeping her in place. As he released a hand to grab his cock, Amaranda thrust her shoulder into his chest. Suddenly, the man flew backward, as strong hands grabbed his arms and hauled him off the young girl.

  “Don’t you believe it!” hollered Eban, and he threw the man onto the ground.

  He leapt on top of him and let fly with both his fists. The crowd behind them stared in astonishment, before the men started to cheer and whoop at Eban. Then they joined the assault on the despicable man. The sailors dragged him toward the sea, closely followed by the bewildered, naked women. Eban hurried back to Amaranda.

  She stood silently by the flat rock, now in her torn bikini. He knew she would have been mortified by her nudity when the islanders had rushed over. Her little round body was bruised and scraped, blood running down her arm. Her face was puffed from crying, and her eyes were wide and red. She stared at him. He had never seen her look so scared or so vulnerable. Or so beautiful.

  “Oh God, Amaranda!”

  With a deep breath, he strode toward her. Holding out his arms, he was relieved when she flung herself into him. Her uncontrollable sobs wracked through her soft body, tearing at his heart. He wrapped his strong arms around her and held on tight, never wanting to let her go. He could feel her heat and her distress. His soul heaved with the realization of what had happened. Shame and remorse enveloped him. Eban tenderly kissed the top of her head and let her cry.

  * * * *

  The Elders of Refrainia had had a bad day. They had waited ages for the three ladies to return from Destiny Rock, because Ophelie had somehow ended up behind the other two as they made their way up a narrow path, and she had wandered off. Minerva and Solon had been chatting away merrily until they realized their doddery old friend had disappeared. Solon’s temper had got the better of her and she had stomped off in yet another direction to find her, leaving Minerva stranded.

  Returning to the Great Hall alone, Minerva explained the dire situation to the elderly ensemble and, after much deliberation about whether to leave them out there, Hermandine had finally conceded to organising a search party to find them.

  “As long as it doesn’t take all day. We’ve wasted enough time already,” the leader fumed.

  When they eventually all arrived for their meeting, Ophelie and Sofronia, the most crippled of the committee, ate some special berries which served as arthritis medication and promptly fell asleep.

  “They have both walked a long way today,” Pallas said sympathetically.

  The meeting didn’t go well. There was a big argument about whether they should postpone today’s deliberations, given the late hour and the fact that they were still two ladies short—in spirit if not in body—which took them back to their earlier disagreement about whether they should have taken the trouble to find the two renegades in the first place! Solon took immediate offence, poi
nting out that she only went to look for Ophelie, and that the fact that she had stormed off in the opposite direction from the deaf old dear was neither here nor there!

  The “meeting” eventually ground to an abrupt halt when the Great Hall was stormed by a crowd of islanders who came to bring to their attention the anarchy that seemed to be afoot on the outer rock.

  Mumbling something sarcastic regarding the loss of her beloved telescope, Hermandine led the throng toward the causeway.

  “You youngsters will have to swim across,” she ordered, foreseeing the problems which would be caused by lots of women trying to cross the narrow causeway at once. The young girls whooped for joy as they ran off and jumped into the sea.

  Hermandine wanted to eat her words when she neared Destiny Rock and realized there were men on it—living men!

  “This doesn’t look good,” Solon grumbled.

  The Sirens, recovering from their sexual frustration, had donned their bikinis, and the men, having heartily thrown the offending old fart in the sea, had put on their trousers, at least. They had found the supplies, which the working party of Sirens had “kindly” retrieved from the ship, and they were all happily drinking ale and eating the provisions. All were milling around and chatting. Destiny Rock had turned into a beer garden!

  “What is the meaning of this?” demanded Hermandine, impatiently pulling her big scarf over her silver lamée bikini.

  Minerva, Pallas, and Solon also covered themselves and took their places behind her.

  “Oh look—it’s The Golden Girls!” shouted one of the sailors, and the men all erupted into whoops of laughter. Some of the girls giggled, though they didn’t really understand why.

  “Will someone tell me what is going on?” Hermandine shouted crossly.

  Most of the islanders had to stay in the sea, as Destiny Rock was too small for them all to clamber onto, but many had managed to find a space to stand and stare at the men.

  “What’s your problem, granny?” asked one of the sailors, raising his half-drunk bottle of ale to her, before beckoning to the others, “Someone get granny a drink, she looks like she needs one!”

  The men erupted again, and the girls looked stunned. Hermandine looked like she was about to expire!

  “I think this needs sorting out,” came a sensible voice from behind them, and the crowd parted to let Eban through with Amaranda clinging to his arm.

  “You! I might have known you were behind all this!” Hermandine screeched.

  “Now hold on.” Eban put his hand up to pacify her. Some hope!

  “How did you escape the cave?” Solon wanted to know.

  “That doesn’t matter now,” Eban said sternly, tormented by his own weakness. “What matters now is that you can’t carry on the way you have been doing. It is wrong!”

  “How dare you!” hollered Hermandine in an outrage. “Girls, take him back to the cave!”

  Eban puffed out his bare chest and folded his arms across it. None of the girls moved.

  “What is this?” Solon chirped up. “What do you think you are doing?”

  “There will be consequences for each and every one of you!” threatened Hermandine, menacingly scrutinizing the Sirens.

  There were gasps and wails from some of the women, and a few of the men put their arms around to comfort them. The women were startled at first, totally taken aback by the show of affection, but most of them soon snuggled happily into the protection of the sailors.

  “I think you’ll find,” Eban began, taking an intimidating step toward Hermandine, “that you are severely outnumbered here, so maybe you should be very careful what you say to these women.”

  Hermandine was horrified. She swallowed deeply, looking over at the crowd, which was slowly standing and edging toward her. The young women clung to the sailors, following uneasily.

  “You know as well as I do that the Sirens are much more powerful than these mere humans.” Hermandine struggled to keep her voice from shaking. “These men will be dead within minutes.”

  “I think you are assuming that the women will want to obey your orders,” Eban continued, gesturing with one hand to the crowd. “It looks to me as though they are quite content with these men—they don’t appear to want to murder them for you!”

  Hermandine was outraged.

  “Murder?” she screeched. “What we do here is not murder. It is survival!”

  Solon nodded wholeheartedly. The other two crones weren’t so sure.

  “Is that what your God, Poseidon, calls it?” Eban asked pointedly.

  Amaranda, still trembling, gasped, and he stroked her shoulder gently.

  “He knows we need to uphold the tradition of our ancestors,” Hermandine replied, a little uneasily. “The future of our people depends on it.”

  “I don’t believe it does,” Eban stated. “There are other ways you can survive without involving prostitution and murder!”

  There were gasps, followed by shouts from the crowd. The old ladies looked pale and sick. Hermandine looked fit to burst, her anger palpable. Eban put his hand up to silence the crowd before turning back to their leader.

  “What’s the matter, Hermandine, do you use other words for their activities? Maybe you have another word for rape, too?”

  Minerva and Pallas stepped forward and caught their leader just before she slunk to the ground.

  “She’s fainted!” exclaimed Solon, as the other two laid her down and covered her with her shawl. “Now look what you’ve done!”

  “Eban, I think you have a point,” Pallas said, “but we are not the ones to make this decision.”

  “Well I don’t think she’s in any fit state to!” jeered one of the sailors, who held Kalliope around the waist.

  There were sniggers from the crowd.

  “So, can’t the rest of you decide?” Eban gestured to the three old ladies. “Or maybe you could become a democracy, let the people of the island decide for themselves how they want to live?” he asked, enticing whoops and cheers from the crowd.

  “Yeah,” shouted a sailor, “why does the old biddy think all these youngsters should do what she says? They could easily take her down!”

  The girls, never having considered the option before, stared wide-eyed at the men’s encouragement, as the sailors echoed the sentiment.

  Amaranda, sensing the chaos about to ensue, clutched Eban’s arm tight. She looked ’round at Pallas and Minerva, who were looking equally nervous at the situation.

  “Eban, wait,” the young girl pleaded.

  He turned to look at her, slightly surprised by her anxiety. Her face was wan and she wore a harrowed expression. His heart ached.

  “Don’t worry, sweetheart,” he urged, “we can escape. We can overturn this ‘pensioners committee’ with sheer numbers. The men will help. None of you will have to heed to these old crones anymore.”

  “No, Eban.” She shook her head sadly. “That is not how things are done here.”

  “Sweetheart, that bastard almost raped you. You’re telling me that’s how things are done here? You’re happy with that?”

  Tears pooled in her eyes again as she stared up at him.

  “Of course not. But we have been brought up to respect our elders and obey them. Poseidon has decreed that they have charge of the island. He is our God. To disregard them will be to disobey him! We cannot do that! We know better!” she whispered.

  Eban sighed. He looked over at Pallas and Minerva, who now looked concerned and slightly vulnerable. Solon, for all her bluster, looked oddly susceptible, too. He looked back at Amaranda. She was right. God, I love her!

  He put up his hand to quiet the crowd, who were becoming rowdier by the minute, probably due to the amount of ale they were consuming in the warm evening sun.

  “OK, people, listen to me,” he commanded.

  Their cries died out as they waited.

  “This is an ancient island with timeworn traditions. It is not like our world, and the inhabitants here have not be
en raised like our people.”

  “Shame!” shouted one man, followed by laughter.

  “We cannot come here and turn their lives around, much as we would like to,” Eban went on.

  There were nods of agreement from the men. The girls looked mostly stunned.

  “These ladies have been elected under the laws of this island to make the decisions for those who live here. I understand, however, that their God, Poseidon, has the final say in what happens here.”

  Pallas and Minerva nodded their confirmation.

  “I propose that we ask Poseidon’s help in this matter. Whilst we respect the ways and traditions of the island, there are some aspects which have changed since they were put in place, and it is possible that things could be run differently now. Poseidon’s power, with the wisdom of these elders, can help decide what changes are to be made.”

  Although not overly enthusiastic, the mood of the crowd was mostly one of reason and common sense, and they nodded their agreement to his suggestion. The three standing old ladies also nodded. Pallas even smiled slightly at Eban.

  “OK, ladies, if we are all in agreement, perhaps you could arrange a meeting with Poseidon as soon as possible so we can get this sorted?”

  The expression on Pallas’s face fell suddenly. “Actually, it’s not quite as simple as that…”

  Chapter 12

  “We cannot just summon Poseidon to suit our needs,” Hermandine announced haughtily, trying her best to regain authority.

  One of Hermandine’s many privileges, as leader of the island, included living in the biggest house with the nicest furniture salvageable from the wrecks. This had made her home the most sensible place to hold their discussion about contacting the Sea God. The growing darkness and the chill in the air had put paid to any idea of assembling in the Great Hall, and their sheer number—all the elders, Eban and Amaranda, and a couple of the sailors from the wreck—prevented anyone else’s hut from being used.