Mike pulled the wahoo out of the cooler, skinned and gutted it, and cut it into steaks with a machete. Three of those went on the deck grill in a light olive oil marinade. Along with leftover rice and some cut fruit, it made a great lunch.
"If we keep eating this light," Courtney said, "and getting all this . . . exercise, I'm liable to lose weight."
"You don't have any weight to lose," Mike said, laughing.
"I could lose some on the hips," Courtney said, shaking her head.
"You could stand to gain some on the hips," Mike said. "But, yeah, eating like this is as natural a way to lose weight as you can ask. I actually have to be careful or I start losing muscle mass. I need to do more swimming."
"How far can you swim?" Pam asked curiously.
"I've done twenty miles," Mike said, shrugging. "But that was when I was younger and in shape for it. Five miles is about right these days. That's just swimming with goggles. With fins I'm good for ten to fifteen."
"Damn," Courtney said. "That's a long ways."
"And staying able to do it takes doing it," Mike said, smiling. "I haven't been keeping in shape since you girls have been here."
"Don't let us stop you," Pam said. "I'd love to have something wear you out."
"You wear me out, Pam," Mike said, grinning. "But, yeah, I think I'll go swim."
"Out here?" Courtney said. "What about that sailfish?"
"If I worried about sharks I never would have joined the SEALs," Mike said. He walked up on deck, picking up a pair of swimming goggles, and went over the side with a splash.
The boat was well out to sea and moving with the different vectors of wind and current. Mike decided that keeping no more than a hundred yards away was prudent. He generally stayed within no more than fifty meters, letting the Stream be his opponent and swimming into it. He was used to swimming in deep water, having done so all over the world. Sometimes fleets would just stop at sea for some down time; it was called "Steel Beach." SEALs attached to the fleets would generally spend the time doing races from ship to ship, sometimes swimming as much as ten miles.
He got into the rhythm, riding the swells, keeping half an eye on the shadow of the boat, just looking into the deeps. One time he saw a pod of sailfish riding the current northwards to cooler, more productive, waters. They turned to check him out, their sides flashing in bands of color, then turned away, hurrying north. Another time it was a turtle, uninterested in the marine mammal paddling overhead, being carried in the current and headed to wherever turtles head thinking whatever turtles thought. A small bait pod came past, chased by a tiny pod of dolphin. A string of sargassum weed came past and he ducked under it, turning over to look at the small fish on the underside. The weed lines were the only cover in the blue waters and the small fish huddled in their shade, hoping to escape the predators that roamed the big blue. The predators, however, knew that and thus homed in on the weeds, or human trash, or floating tree trunks, whatever floated at the surface. It was the reason to fish along the weed lines.
He noticed that the boat was drifting faster and quickly swam to the side, climbing up onto the flush deck and shaking water out of his hair.
"That was just amazing," Pam said from the fishing deck. "I'd have run out of energy half an hour ago, max."
"I didn't swim long enough," Mike said, walking up the stairs to the deck. "The wind is picking up a bit."
"Mike, do we have to fish this afternoon?" Courtney said, coming down from the bridge and handing him a beer in a koozie.
"No," Mike admitted.
"Good," she replied, tossing a cushion on the deck and dropping to her knees, head bowed. "Master, can this slave service you on her knees?"
"Over here," Mike said, walking to the fighting chair and sitting down. It was adjustable vertically and he dropped it to the lowest setting then pointed at Pam.
"Slave, take off your clothes, grab another cushion, and come over here."
He put Courtney in front of him and Pam to his side, facing Courtney, carefully resting the beer bottle on Pam's back.
"Stay very still," he said roughly, "and it won't fall over. If you spill my beer you will be punished. And watch this training; you will be next."
He looked at Courtney and pointed to his crotch. "Show me what you can do. I doubt that you know how to truly give a blowjob."
Courtney's eyes widened in anger and he held up a finger.
"I checked the repeater," he said, waving at the small group of instruments on the fishing deck. "There aren't any boats around. Consider this in scene."
"I'm still not too sure about being told how to 'truly give a blowjob,'" Courtney said exasperatedly. "Most guys are just glad to get them at all."
"Well, we can play a different game," Mike admitted, "or we can find out if you know how to give a really good blowjob. And, if not, I can give you some tips. Your call."
"If she's not game, I am," Pam said, desperately trying to keep the bottle upright. "And she can be the table."
Mike picked up the bottle and set it on the deck.
"Your call," Mike repeated.
"What's involved in a really good blowjob, then?" Courtney asked.
"Well, I haven't found out if you already know, yet," Mike admitted, grinning. "Care to test the waters?"
Courtney raised one eyebrow, then pulled his shorts down, trailing her hair over his crotch and using her hand to take him in her mouth. She started fellating him, slowly, sucking moderately hard.
"Okay," Mike said, "question: Are you trying to make it last or get it over with, quick?"
"Huh?" Courtney said, straightening up.
"Because if you're trying to get it over with quick, we need to talk," Mike said, shrugging.
"I was . . . just doing it," Courtney said, confused.
"All right, first item to know," Mike said. "If you go slow, you're drawing it out. By that I mean head motion. If you want to give a long, slow blow, that's cool. If you're trying to drive the guy crazy, it's very cool. If you're trying to get it over with, you'd better speed way up and suck harder."
"I'm always afraid to suck too hard," Courtney admitted. "I bothered a guy that way one time. He said it hurt."
"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 off really quick, you can stick a finger up his rectum and tickle his prostate."
"That's gross," Pam said. "Yick!"
"I'm not saying you should do 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 balls."
"Mmmm," Courtney said, her head starting to move faster.
"Try sucking harder," Mike said hoarsely. "Like you're trying to give a hickey . . . that's it." He lay back and groaned. "Yeah . . . like that."
"Don't cum 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 cum," 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 cum 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 cum.
"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 me too 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-cumulus clouds and a thunderhead building. Crap.
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 orgasm 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 orgasmed 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 orgasmed 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. Strongly recommend 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 a huge 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 nobody tries to chart them. Also a few very 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 passing yacht like us. They've generally got very small 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.