by Buzz Harcus
Osa had retired to her cabin early, right after the evening meal. She bathed, perfumed, combed her hair and lay back on her bed naked, filing her nails. It was so unlike her to lie there naked, but then, this was the new Osa, more assured of herself, sure of her sexuality. Mrs. Harry Martin, she thought filing her long tapered nails. She smiled. Yes, she would make him a good wife. She looked down the length of her nudity, and suddenly gasped, “Osa Peterson! Shame on you! You‘re naked!” Then she laughed.
Harry should be back in his room by now, she thought. Rising, she decided to put into operation the naughty plan that had been brewing in her brain most of the afternoon. Pulling a loose fitting black wrap-around skirt and sheer white silk blouse from her closet, she slipped into them. No bra or panties. The feel of the material rubbing against her naked body made her feel especially naughty. A chill ran through her.
Pulling on her blue leather coat, she slipped into high heels, then caught her reflection in the dresser mirror. She tried a mischievous come-hither look, then laughed at herself. This was definitely not the old Osa from the days of her marriage to Rudy. No, this was the emancipated Osa, and her thoughts were definitely not pure.
She had remembered that one scene in the X-rated film she and Harry had seen in Shanghai, the one where the girl had worn only a blouse and skirt. Would Harry remember? Knowing him, he probably would.
The young girl in the movie had long dark hair, sultry dark eyes, full red lips and a voluptuous figure—and she turned out to be very wanton. Well, tonight this girl was definitely wanton!
Osa picked up the key to Harry’s cabin and popped it into her coat pocket, then picked up a bottle of cognac that she had taken from ship’s stores. After all, she was the cook and she had a perfect right to make use of the supplies as she saw necessary, and this bottle was definitely necessary for tonight.
Harry lay in his bunk thinking. Twenty-four hours had passed since he and Osa had escaped from the old barracks building with the money. Stan and Mr. Ma’s bodies were still locked in the storage room on the fourth floor. They might be discovered soon, but he doubted it would be real soon as this was Saturday night. Nurad had arrived yesterday, Friday, and unloaded all the remaining grain. Then he and Osa had gone ashore last night. Today, Saturday, they had spent the whole day aboard ship awaiting word for departure but the storm had kept them in port. Hopefully they would leave port tomorrow, Sunday. He gave a shake of his head. No, he didn’t think they’d be discovered soon, maybe never.
The rattle of a key in his lock caught his attention. He grinned; he knew a certain someone was going to enter the cabin and most likely molest him. Now just who could it be? He chuckled as he reached over and switched off the small night lamp leaving the room dark.
The door slowly opened. He grinned at seeing a silhouette momentarily framed in the doorway. Osa. All of a sudden there was a screech of pain as the silhouette was violently shoved inside the cabin, bouncing off the bulkhead, and collapsing in a heap.
“What the hell?” Harry swore, jumping off his bunk.
He feared the worst: Captain Andress! He’d finally caught them! Shit!
The door slammed shut, the light switch clicked, and the cabin was suddenly bathed in light. Harry found himself facing the shadowy figure of a young Chinese man dressed in black— not Captain Andress! The man was holding a gun aimed at him.
“Who the hell are you?” Harry snapped, then paused. Yeah, he knew him. He was Mr. Ma’s driver. He’d sat next to him the other day on their tour of Qingdao and Shantung University.
“Where is Mr. Ma?” the man hissed, holding the gun menacingly before him. “You did something with him. What did you do with Mr. Ma?”
Harry’s mind worked madly, thinking. The last time he’d seen the driver was when he, Captain Andress and Sigmund were dropped off back at the ship after lunch. As this guy was his driver, he must have driven Mr. Ma and Stan up to the University last night. But if so, why was he asking where Mr. Ma was?
Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Osa, who, having been slammed hard into the bulkhead, lay fallen on the deck apparently unconscious.
“I have no idea where Mr. Ma is,” said Harry, returning his full attention back to the driver. He spoke in a soft voice not wanting to upset the man, who obviously was already agitated, his gun slightly wobbling in his hand. “I really don’t.”
“You lie! You do know!” the man spat. “After we dropped you and the others off from touring the University yesterday, Mister Ma said you would probably go back into town, even back to the University last night.”
“Well, he was right about my going back into town. The lady you just knocked down, and I, went to town last evening. We had dinner at the Tivoli, walked around a bit and came back to the ship. I haven’t seen Mr. Ma since you dropped us off here—”
”You lie!” the man screamed advancing further into the room, the gun more menacing. “You know where he is! Colonel Pui said you know where he is!”
“I think you’re Colonel Pui is a damned liar,” Harry snapped. He‘d caught sight of movement behind the man; Osa had stirred. She was listening to the conversation, saw the gun in the man’s hand.
Stealthily, unsteadily, she rose. “I think Colonel Pui knows where your boss is,” Harry said, raising his voice louder to cover Osa’s movement, “If he sent you here to scare me, you’re doing a damned good job of it! Why don’t you put the gun down and just leave. I can’t help you. I really don’t know where your boss is!”
The bottle of cognac held in Osa’s hand smashed solidly against the skull of the intruder. His eyes bulged momentarily, then rolled upwards and closed. He collapsed in a heap. Harry rushed forward and grabbed the gun from his limp hand. “Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, grinning up at Osa. “Good timing.”
“Is-is he dead,” she asked fearfully, still clutching the bottle.
Harry bent low over the inert form, checked his carotid artery, bent closer, yet, and listened for his breathing. “He’s still alive. Just unconscious.” Rising, he looked at her, then chuckled. “You pack one hell of a wallop with that bottle.”
“I-I taught I had killed him,” she said. “He-he knocked me down. I had chust unlocked the door. I never saw him—he shoved me hard. I hit der vall real hard—”
“Yeah, well, I thought it was your uncle at first,” Harry laughed. “Scared the hell out of me.”
“Oh my—” she gasped. “Uncle Karl—I hadn’t tought of dat! Oh my!” She let loose with a nervous giggle. “Oh, dat vould be terrible!”
“I’m just glad it wasn‘t him!”
Pointing to the bottle, he said, “I suggest you open that and take a stiff drink while I get rid of this guy.” As he spoke, he grabbed up the gun, and like a good Marine, instinctively examined it. “A Walther .22 automatic,” he muttered to himself. He checked the clip. “Full eight rounds. He meant business!” He glanced around the cabin for a place to put the gun, glanced at the desk, nodded yes to himself, then tossed the gun into his center desk drawer.
“Vot do you mean? Getting rid of him?” Osa choked. Her eyes were big as saucers. “You’re not going to—” She couldn’t say the word. Kill.
“No, nothing that extreme,” Harry replied. “I’m gonna get dressed, throw him over my shoulder and, with luck on not being seen, I’m gonna throw him overboard—”
“But he vill drown!” she gasped. “No! Not after last night—”
“Don’t worry. I‘m gonna drop him close by the dock. As soon as he hit’s that cold water he’ll come to in a hurry. He’ll see the ladders along the edge of the dock and can climb up and get lost.”
As he spoke, he was stepping into his pants, then shrugged on a sweatshirt and slipped into his deck shoes. Grabbing up the body, he threw it over his shoulder fireman style, and, taking a moment to plant a kiss on her lips, headed for the door. “Save some of that for me,” he said, as he saw her tip the bottle.
Osa sat on Harry’s bunk. The eveni
ng was not turning out the way she had planned. She suddenly realized she was shaking from the incident. She took another sip of Cognac. It burned going down, but after another sip she felt better, even loosed a long sigh of relief. At least no one got killed. She tipped the bottle once again taking a couple of swigs. Her gaze fell across the bunk. It struck her odd; last night it was covered with money, two million dollars worth of money. Now nothing. Where had it disappeared to? She took a couple more swigs of cognac. It burned good. She giggled. The money, yes, she’d have to ask Harry about the money. And she took another swig.
Harry slipped back inside the cabin, locked the door, kicked off his shoes and started peeling off his soaked clothing. “Raining like hell out there. Ain’t a fit night for man nor beast,” he said, as he grabbed a towel and started wiping his face, head and across his body.
“And now you,” he said, turning to her, not really aware he was standing before her in just his skivvies. “You’re timing was impeccable, and I‘m really glad you didn’t break the damned bottle.” He took it, and took a healthy sip. “Yeah . . . ”
“Harry. Vere is all der money?” Her voice was slightly slurred.
“Hidden in plain sight?”
Grinning at her perplexed look, he stepped to his closet and pulled the door wide. Before her hung the same jacket he had worn the night before, the one they had stuffed all the money in, now hanging right before her eyes among several shirts and a couple of work jackets.
“In der jacket?” Her brow wrinkled. “Isn’t dat dangerous— so much money—”
“Nope. You and I are the only ones who know about the money, and you and I are the only ones with keys to this cabin. And, I do trust you, and I do love you.”
“Oh, Harry,” she blushed, a sudden warmth radiating through her body. “Tank you. And I do trust you, and I do love you, too.”
“Good,” he replied holding up the bottle. “Good stuff.” He took a second swig. Easing down on the bunk beside her, he reached over, put his hand behind her head and pulled her toward him planting a long, sizzling kiss on her lips. “You’ve been on my mind all day,” he whispered. “Oh . . . Harry . . . ” she moaned as their lips made contact.
“No. Not like dis,” she said, suddenly pushing him away. Standing up before her startled lover she shrugged off the coat letting it drop behind her, and stood before him wearing a sly grin that played across her lips.
The silk blouse caught his attention, especially the hard nipples pressed against the thin, almost transparent material. The top three buttons were unbuttoned. His eyes traversed downward, caught sight of the black wrap-around skirt.
“Stand up,” she ordered, interrupting his view. “Up! Up!”
Trying not to laugh, he stood up wondering what she had in mind, already feeling a hardening sensation taking place under his skivvies.
Osa pulled the desk chair out, turned it about and pointed at it. “Sit,” she commanded.
Harry obeyed, sitting down and facing her. “What?” he questioned.
“You vill see.”
She tried to keep a straight face, but managed a giggle. She took a swig of cognac, then passed the bottle to him. He took a long sip. “Remember der movie in Shanghai ver der young girl sat on der man’s lap?”
Harry thought for a moment trying to recall the scene. Yeah, he suddenly remembered, and he broke into a big grin, yeah, in the second film. The young scullery maid who had straddled the handsome Count. Yes, indeed! He laughed.
Even as he thought of that scene, Osa had proceeded to hike her skirt up higher, while at the same time straddling his thighs. “Like in der movie,” she whispered leaning forward, squirming on his lap.
There lips met, mashing together, tongues darting, searching, dueling. Harry‘s hands moved lightly over pliant breasts, fingers fumbling at the buttons, and then the silk material parted, quickly pulled aside exposing full ripe breasts, nipples distended and hard. His mouth moved to one, sucking greedily, then to the other, sucking, biting.
“Ohhh . . . Harry . . . ” she mewled. “I love it ven you do dat.”
Her hands moved furtively between them as she tore at his skivvies, ripping at them, popping buttons until, with a satisfied growl, her fingers wrapped around his burgeoning manhood. “Yes . . . ” she hissed. “You are like a bar of steel.”
She groaned as her right hand grasped his erection. “I vant it now,” she gasped in his ear as she rose momentarily, guided him, then impaled herself offering a deep groan of pleasure. “Now, Harry, make love to me.”
Harry thrust upwards, “Whatever you say—Mrs. Martin!” he grunted. She bore down hard rocking, thrusting, driving him deep inside, emitting cries of joy. “Yes,” she gasped. “Mrs. Harry Martin.”
Again and again she drove down hard against him, her buttocks churning rapidly, her breath ragged, gasping in his ear as she enjoyed the feel of him. Harry clutched her buttocks firmly in his grasp, holding on tight with both hands, afraid her rapid thrusting would shake the damned chair apart.
“Ohhhh . . . Harry!” she cried out, stiffening. And then, with a deep satisfied groan she fell against him. “Ohhhh . . . Harry . . .” she sighed in his ear. “Dat vas good.”
Leaning back, holding his sweaty face in her hands, she looked deeply into his eyes. A satisfied smile brightened her sweat-streaked face. “Did you like dat?” she asked. “I tink you did—I know you did,” she added. “I vas der little tramp scullery maid, yah?”
“Yah,” he managed. “A naughty, naughty scullery maid.”
CHAPTER 6
Fear of Being Caught
Harry stood at one of the large windows of the bridge looking out across the city of Qingdo. Although it was once a German colony with strong German influence in the architecture of the city, it was now a bustling Communist port.
The city had come alive after the storm. A warming sun was peeking through breaks in the passing clouds. The streets were once again crowded with throngs of people, cars moving, honking, pedestrians ambling along uncaring of the bleating horns nor the sea of bicyclists. Along the dock a bevy of ragtag workers were cleaning up storm damage.
Aboard Nurad a work crew was repairing damage to a couple of the hatch covers while another crew was hosing down the decks washing debris and fine sand swept in from the Gobi desert overboard.
At the moment his thoughts were about Osa. He grinned thinking of last night. For a 44 year old widow, she had turned into a man-eater. She had found the joy of sex, and she loved to make him happy, and she had last night, real happy!
“Good morning, Harry,” Sigmund said entering the bridge. “Did you survive the storm okay?”
“A little rock and rolling at first, but then I slept good,” replied Harry.
“Yah. It vas rough at first. Terrible vind, rain, tunder und lightning. Der ship is in good shape. As far as I can tell, ve are ready to go.”
“And none too soon for me,” Harry replied. “I’ve got itchy feet; I just want to get underway. Get back to the good old United States.”
“Yah. Me too. Stockholm. But dat vill take several more months in order to bring anudder shipment of grain back here, and den ve go home.”
“You got a special someone waiting for you back home?” asked Harry.
Sigmund hesitated a moment, then with a slight tinge of pink, replied in a somewhat embarrassed voice, “Parents. Two sisters und a brudder. Uh—I know several vomen,” he added quickly so that Harry wouldn’t think he wasn’t man enough to have a steady girl, “ but, no, no vun special.”
“Dat Osa fixed vun fine breakfast dis morning,” interrupted Captain Andress stepping onto the bridge, rubbing his stomach and offering a big grin. “Did you eat yet?” he asked the two.
“No,” Sigmund answered. “I checked out der vessel. Everyting is all set for our departure. Two hatch covers had to be repaired, and another crew is hosing down der decks to get rid of storm debris.“
“Go. Go eat,” ordered Captain Andress. “I vant
to check der charts before we sail. Go. Enjoy.” He laughed as he waved them off.
Osa and Hans were still behind the counter serving when Sigmund and Harry entered. Osa’s face brightened, breaking into a large smile. “Good morning. I tought you two hungry brutes vould be der first vuns tru der line dis morning,” she teased.
“Checking storm damage,” Sigmund replied. “Late start today,” chuckled Harry. “I had a very busy night last night. It got a bit rocky and I had to really hold on for all I was worth—”
“You veren’t on deck last night?” Hans gasped, looking at Harry. “It vas a terrible night.”
“No. Not on deck,” Harry replied, winking at Osa. “It was rocking and rolling down in my cabin. I had to really keep my mind on what I was doing or I would have fallen off my chair.”
“Yah,” Hans said, nodding in agreement, not knowing what the circumstances were that transpired between the two. “It vas rocky.”
“It vas a rough night,” agreed Sigmund. He seemed to be inspecting Osa as he spoke. “You look tired today, Osa. Did you haf trouble getting to sleep?”
“Yah, I did! I had a real hard time last night,” she said straight-faced. “I had to hold on for dear life, bouncing around. I vas up and down, up and down—I vorked up a real sweat before I vas able to settle down und get a couple hours sleep.”
“Yah, it vas rough,” Sigmund agreed, the double entendre in her comments going completely over his head. “I suggest you take a nap after breakfast. You earned it.”
Osa smiled at him and curtsied. “Tank you, Sigmund. I’ll do just dat.” She bit her tongue to keep from laughing. “I gif you both an extra helping to get your strength back,” she added as she ladled more food on Sigmund’s plate. “And for you, too, Harry,” she added. “You keep strong to do all dat extra vork.”