by Lou Cameron
That was an interesting thought. But Boggs was hard to buy as a Spanish spy. Anything was possible. But it seemed more likely the guy was simply a rule book skipper who lacked the imagination it took to do things sneakily. It hardly mattered, either way. Whether Boggs was working for British or Spanish Intelligence, the re-j suits would be the same. Once they showed their hand in Corozal, any other players in the Great Game would be able to cover all bets.
There was a discreet tap on the door. He’d left it unlocked for Gaston. But that wasn’t Gaston’s knock. So he covered his lap with a pillow and called out, “Entrada” The door opened, and the blonde, Phoebe Chester, slipped in to quickly close and lock it behind her. She was wearing nothing but a blue silk kimono. Somehow that didn’t surprise Captain Gringo. He sat up, keeping the pillow in place, as she gasped, “Oh, you’re not dressed!” He patted the sheets beside him and answered, “Neither are you. Sit down and take a load off your mind. What can I do for you, doll face?”
He thought it was a dumb question, but he’d been raised polite.
The bubbly blonde came over and sat beside him, of course; but she seemed to feel that she had to say, “I can only stay a minute. I wouldn’t have come at all if I’d known you were in bed.”
He put his free arm around her waist as he nodded and said, “Right. You have something important you want to talk about, eh?”
She didn’t pull away, but her face turned a becoming shade of pink as she said, “You sure are fresh. But I know you’re just joshing? I wanted to talk to you in private because I’m worried about that silly Captain Boggs.”
“Why? Has he been getting fresh with you, too?”
“Be serious. I couldn’t help overhearing some of the argument you were having with him about putting in at Corozal. I can’t for the life of me see why he means to take such a chance. Even I can see that’s not the way one keeps a secret mission a secret.”
“Yeah, I told him even a bubble brain could see that. But what do you expect me to do about it, honey? I’m only in charge of security, not navigation. It’s up to old Boggs to say where we go or don’t go in this tub.”
The blonde snuggled into a more comfortable position against him as she said, “Pooh, everyone else aboard agrees he’s being silly. I’m sure that if you seized command from him, none of the others would object.”
Captain Gringo shook his head, snuffed out his cigar, and said, “They call that mutiny on the high seas, doll face. It’s sort of frowned upon.”
“Even if the rest of the crew votes to elect a new master?”
“You’ve been talking to people, haven’t you? It’s still no dice, doll. A ship at sea is not a democracy. It’s under international sea law, which is an absolute dictatorship. I can’t take over. In the first place, Boggs would probably object a lot, and the only way I could take the schooner away from him would be sort of violent. In the second place, even if I could do it without hurting him, and the rest of you all cheered me on, it would still be mutiny. This schooner is on a mission for the British government. The British government hangs mutineers. Those are the rules of the game.”
“Pooh, some rules are made to be broken.”
He said, “Mutiny’s not one I break lightly. But, yeah, I can bend some of Queen Vickie’s sillier rules.”
She gasped, “What’s that hand doing on my breast, sir?”
He pinched her turgid nipple between his cupping fingers and thumb as he grinned at her and answered, “Just breaking a few rules. Chester sure is a good name for you, bubbles.”
She dimpled but insisted, “Take your hand away from there at once!”
He lay back across the bed with her and did as she asked. He slid his free hand off her voluptuous breast to slide it down and inside her kimono on the way to greater glory. Her conversational talents weren’t half as interesting as the naked curves under the smooth silk, so to shut her up he kissed her. It was probably a relief to her as well, not to have to make up words a lady was expected to say at times like these. For she kissed and tongued him back like a greedy child devouring sweets, and although she stiffened and made a half-baked attempt to cross her creamy thighs when he cupped her mons in his hand, she stopped her feeble struggles and spread her legs as soon as he began to finger her.
As he’d expected, she was already well lubricated down there, and his own privates were ready for action, too. So he simply let the pillow in his lap roll any old place it wanted to as he proceeded to mount her.
When he had to stop kissing her for a moment as he rolled in place atop her, she whimpered, “Please, sir, I’m not that kind of girl.”
But by then he had her with her derriere braced on the edge of the mattress, with his bare feet braced on the deck and his hips between her open legs. So he said, “You are, now,” and thrust home to the roots as Phoebe gasped in pleasured surprise.
She said, “Oh, my God, it’s too big. You’re abso-bloody-lutely splitting me with that perishing great tool!” But even as she protested, Phoebe was loosening the sash of her kimono to let the blue silk fall away to either side, as their bare torsos combined forces. As he flattened her heroic tits against his chest and kissed her hard again, Phoebe was unable to protest further, so, what the Hell, she started screwing like a mink.
She raised her knees and enveloped his naked body in her arms and legs as she thrust hard to meet him with her pelvis and gasped the shaft inside her with muscular skill that hinted at lots of practice. He didn’t mind. He’d had a lot of practice too, and she wasn’t the sort of girl a guy thought about taking home to mother. She was clean, beautiful, a fantastic lay, and at best a moron. In other words, exactly the kind of girl a hard-up guy thinks about when he’s jerking off. So, after he’d ejaculated in her the old-fashioned way, Captain Gringo got her up on the bunk on her hands and knees to enjoy an innocent sex fantasy or two with her.
It was more than two. Phoebe wasn’t bright about most things. But she was blessed with a vivid imagination when it came to sex. Aside from taking shorthand, another art that takes more skill than brains, Phoebe concentrated all her physical and mental skills on the art in which she was most skilled. Once the ice had been broken and even she could see that it was a little dumb to go on protesting innocence, Phoebe made love like an experienced, expensive whore showing off to a pal. She offered to take it all three ways, so she got to. Her greedy little mouth and rectal muscles were amazingly skilled, too. So Captain Gringo wasn’t keeping track of her orgasms at first. But when they finally took a break and he lay back, sated, with Phoebe’s blond head on his shoulder and her hand fondling his semi-erection, he asked her casually, “How many times did you get there, honey? You didn’t mention coming, at the time.”
She toyed with his shaft teasingly as she answered, “Oh, I never come.”
“You don’t?” He frowned, adding, “How come you seem to enjoy it so much, then? You sure as hell don’t act frigid, Phoebe!”
“Pooh, I’m not frigid. I love to make love. It feels bloody marvelous.”
“I noticed. But, no shit, don’t you ever come?”
She sighed and answered, “I don’t even know what it’s supposed to feel like. I’ve been told I’m missing something grand. I’ve tried making something happen by using my fingers and even, well, wax bananas and so forth. A doctor I consulted said I was a classic nymphomaniac.”
“That sounds reasonable. But what did the doc tell you about the way you can screw by the hour without, ah, results?”
“He said that was why I was a nymphomaniac. Girls who have easy orgasms tend to want to stop. Isn’t it grand that I don’t have to? I love to play with perishing great dongs, and I get to do it hour after hour!”
Captain Gringo laughed and said, “It sounds a little frightening. I’ve read that some famous, ah, sporting gals didn’t really enjoy sex, but—”
“Oh, no, Dick,” she cut in, “I love sex! Now that we’re such friends, I may as well confess I was hoping you’d seduce me when
I came in here. I knew you had a great dong, and … hmm, speaking of great dongs, this one’s beginning to show signs of life again.”
He felt the renewed throbbing in his shaft as she skillfully played with it. But he was still more curious than desperate, so he asked, “Seriously now, Phoebe. What’s the point of all this for you? I’m okay for the moment and you don’t get anything out of it, so what are we out to prove?”
She looked up at him in innocent wonder, and asked, “Do we have to prove something darling? Fucking is fun!”
“Yeah, but if you don’t come…”
“Pooh, don’t you enjoy it before you come?”
“Well-sure, it feels fantastic, just going in, but … hmm, I’m starting to see the light. Girls like you get all the pleasure leading up to the climax, and just miss the climax, right? It must be sort of like enjoying a good novel and not getting to read the end.”
“Haven’t you ever found yourself reading a book so good you hoped it would never end?”
“Yeah, I said I got the point, odd as it sounds. And speaking of points …”
“Yes, it does seem hard enough now.” She giggled, pulled away to get on her hands and knees above him, then lowered herself onto his lap. She hissed in pleasure as she spitted herself on his shaft, saying, “My God, that feels yummy. I’m so happy you’re not as, well, short-winded as some chaps I’ve met.”
As she started moving up and down, he laughed and said, “So am I. I’ve heard it’s a greater joy to give than to receive, but you give indeed, and if I hadn’t started out hard up, you’d have finished me off by now!”
She shot a worried look down at him as she moved faster, her big breasts bouncing out of gait with her rippling belly muscles as she pleaded, “You don’t mean to quit on me so soon, do you?”
He arched his spine to thrust deeper as she did most of the work. He laughed and said, “I think I’m game for another round. But, ah, how do we know when you’ve had enough, Phoebe?”
“I never get enough. Alas, I generally stop when the gentleman I’m with forces me to by falling bloody asleep!”
So the tall, muscular American relaxed and enjoyed it, as well as a man could enjoy a beautiful, not-too-bright sex freak. One part of his mind was somewhat miffed that she wasn’t fully enjoying his body as much as he was enjoying hers. On the other hand, it sure beat masturbation, and there were things to be said for making it with a frigid but willing partner. He didn’t have to concern himself with pleasing her. Knowing it wasn’t possible, he could just let himself go in her anytime he wanted to and not feel like a selfish heel. Phoebe offered all the carefree joys of a beautiful, clean whore, without the distaste a man felt for having to pay and probably seeming foolish to a woman who had no respect for him. Phoebe obviously didn’t think of him as a john. Hell, she didn’t think at all. So what was he thinking so much about? He was in bed with a beautiful dame and hard as a rock, now. What else was there to know?
He rolled her over, keeping it in her as they exchanged positions of dominance. As he began to pound her in innocent selfishness, the little but pneumatic blonde sighed. “Oh, loverly! Can you rub it harder against the bottom, dear? I like to make dongs hard. It makes me feel good when I know I’ve made a man as hard as he can bloody get!”
He didn’t answer. Her ideas were too weird to talk about. Phoebe seemed arrested in some immature stage where sex organs were confused in her mind with toys, and, for Chrissake, she was playing dolls with his old organ grinder!
He found himself slowing down. The stateroom was like a steam bath, and they were both filmed with sweat as their flesh slid against each other’s. Her bubbly body was still stimulating him, but her bubbly mind, and the odd things she had in it, were throwing him off his feed a bit. He’d lost count of how many times he’d ejaculated in her, or where, and although it still felt great to slide in and out of her, it was starting to feel more like work than passion. He moved them into an easier position for him, with him semi-reclining on his side, with one of Phoebe’s drawn-up knees pillowing his ribs as he rutted with her sideways. She protested, “It doesn’t go as deep that way.” So he put his free hand down between them to massage her moist, wet clit as he slid his shaft in and out just under it. She giggled and said, “That tickles. Why are you playing with that little bump I have there?”
“Don’t you? It’s supposed to feel good to girls, Phoebe.”
“It does. But what do you mean, don’t I? It’s just a perishing bump.”
Her clit was responding to his fingering as he frowned and said, “You told me you’d played with yourself without results, doll. Do you mean to tell me you never stroked your own clit?”
“Is that what you call it? I thought it was just another fold. Why should I want to muck about with my pussy trimmings, Dick? I thought the idea was to fill the real thing up as often and as much as possible.”
He muttered, “I don’t believe this.” But he didn’t try to explain. There was still a chance her clit was as frigid as everything else, if one could call her lovely, pulsing vagina frigid. He started timing his thrusts with the movement of his hand as Phoebe spread her thighs wider and lay her head back to sigh, “Oh, that does feel yummy. Both places are starting to feel so … so bloody fucked!”
Her hip movements and the way her innocent clit was starting to swell inspired him to greater effort, and if he wasn’t breaking in a virgin in a grotesque way indeed, it was still a lot of fun to try.
He was. Phoebe’s internal muscles began to pulsate wildly as she rolled her blond head from side to side and moaned, “Oh, stop! Something mad is happening! I fear we did it too much today after all and I’m starting to feel faint and … Oh, my God, what you doing to me?”
He didn’t answer in words. He rolled deeper into the saddle and began to pound her deep and hard as he kept massaging her excited, albeit innocent, clit. Phoebe suddenly cried, “Oh, Jesus, stop! You’re driving me mad! I think I’m going to piss or something. It feels so strange. It feels so … oh, bloody marvelous!”
He liked it, too. As she contracted in a prolonged, shuddering orgasm around his shaft, he let goof her other pleasure center and let himself go completely, topping off her first orgasm with an old-fashioned pounding. He ejaculated in her. It felt so good he kept going. It felt good to her, too, for she dug her nails into his buttocks as she tried to take him, balls and all, moaning. “Oh, sweet Jesus, it’s happening again!” And so it did, for both of them.
As they relaxed, later, sharing smoke and cuddles, Phoebe murmured, “So that’s what it feels like to come. I was wondering what all the fuss was about.”
“Are you sorry, Phoebe?”
“Pooh, not bloody likely. I’ve never felt such a thrill in my life.” Then she took a drag on his cigar, handed it back to him, and added with a little sigh, “At least, I don’t think I’m sorry. You’ve opened some new horizons indeed for me, darling. But I’m not sure I’ll ever be the same girl again. I mean, somehow I feel, well, relaxed down there now. I see now why most people can fall asleep when it’s over. I fear now I’ll never be able to go on as long with a bloke.”
“Look, there’s quantity and there’s quality. I’m not sure you’d better fall asleep right now, though. It’s still broad day out and Gaston could pop in on us any minute.”
She laughed and said, “Up until a few moments ago I might have suggested he join us for a game of three in a boat. But you’re right—for the first time since I learned to screw, I seem to have had enough for now.”
As she sat up to slip on her kimono, Phoebe sighed and added, “God damn you, Dick Walker. I fear you may have ruined me as a sexual athlete!”
*
They made Corozal after nightfall, so Captain Boggs thought they were slipping into the harbor pretty slickly. Anyone who knew the tropics could have told Boggs that the tropic natives tend to be night people and that everyone would be up, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, looking for excitement after the dull, hot afternoon siest
a. Captain Gringo knew the tropics better than he wanted to, but he didn’t say anything to Boggs as the Flamenco Lass steamed in with sails furled, lest someone mistake them for poor fisher folk.
Corozal lay between the estuaries of the New River to the south and the Hondo to the north. The Hondo was the border between British Honduras and Los Estados Unidos de Mexico, according to the British. The Mexicans had other ideas. Guatemala, to the west, inland, claimed the same land. The British had simply moved in and set up shop all along the Mosquito Coast earlier in the century. Later, they’d given most of the Nicaraguan part of the coast to Nicaragua, which had no doubt pleased the Nicaraguans, but tended to make others feel that if they pushed hard enough they could have the rest. And British Honduras was about it. Thus, in addition to Spanish agents one could worry about, Corozal offered endless possibilities for Mexican, Guatemalan, and U.S. agents, now that President Cleveland was on the prod about the Monroe Doctrine and the recent flap he’d had with Her Majesty to the south in Venezuela:
A customs launch came out to meet Flamenco Lass. They went away after Boggs showed them papers indicating that he was on Her Majesty’s business, of course. Captain Gringo thought it was a swell move. The black enlisted men manning the customs launch would be going off duty any minute, and of course they wouldn’t say a word in any waterfront cantina, right?
They tied up in the basin of the Royal Yacht Club. Where else? And Boggs went ashore to see about arranging for the burial of the dead crew member, now reposed under canvas in the hopefully cooler hold.
Lieutenant Carmichael and one of his diving crew approached Captain Gringo on deck as soon as Boggs had left. Carmichael said, “Your chum, the Frenchman, says you chaps know this port, Walker.”