A Sea of Heartache

When Tammy's toe curler finished, she collapsed roughly against Peter. She was spent. In a flash, Candace was easing her off of Peter's still throbbing pole. Tammy was like a quivering bowl of gelatin, oozing off of his lap. Peter's cock sprang up as it cleared Tammy's satisfied pussy.

Candace settled Tammy on the couch, then dropped to her knees in front of Peter and took his cock in her mouth once again, working him with a vengeance. She stared at him, her enchanting green eyes at half mast as her head bobbed up and down on his slippery dick. After three or four gags, she added her soft little hand to the operation, pumping him from the shaft as her warm, talented mouth worked steadily at the head. Her tongue was doing the same, toe curling magic she'd performed earlier, the wet, sloppy, slurping sound of her ambitious assault bringing him closer and closer.

Tammy rejoined the fray, sitting on the arm of the couch beside Peter's chair. She leaned in and threw a lusty lip lock on him, her hand running along his chest while Candace never slowed at her skilled ministrations.

Peter pulled away from his kiss with Tammy to catch his breath. Candace had him at the brink. "Yeah! Yeah! That's it, Candace! So good!" His moans of pleasure only made her increase her efforts. He reached down and ran his fingers through her damp, raven hair.

Peter's entire body went rigid. His eyes snapped shut and his head wrenched back on the chairback, his hips rising.

"Yeeaaaahhhhh!" He actually growled breathlessly as a load of his hot spunk erupted from his tortured cock into Candace's frisky, waiting mouth. She didn't miss a drop as she sucked and swallowed with abandon, her eyes closed. Tammy jumped down beside her, reached in and rolled Candace's turgid clit in her fingers, her other hand working at one of Candace's pencil eraser nipples. Candace moaned her pleasure around his still draining cock.

"God, Yes!! "He barked yet again, his body twitching from the mind-blowing pleasure she'd delivered.

When the blasts stopped, Candace took him out of her mouth, still pumping him, licking the last drops clear as they oozed through his slit.

"Don't you stop, Tammy!" Candace moaned. Tammy was still working Candace's clit and perky, pink nipple with a vigor. It was only seconds more when Candace rolled back on her back, splayed out at Peter's feet, her long legs spread wide. She was close. Tammy kept working her nipple and nether regions, her thumb going to town on Candace's aching clit, slipping two fingers into her oozing pussy. With Candace barely able to breath, Tammy bent down to take Candace's straining nipple in her mouth, suckling unashamedly. Peter just sat back and watched in awe. It didn't take long before his cock began to resurrect.

Seconds passed before Candace dug her heels into the deck, lifting her ass off of the floor, her tortured pussy spread wide open from Tammy's frantically pistoning fingers. Satiated, she let out a long, breathless grunt. Peter could actually see her flowing juices oozing over Tammy's still busy fingers.

"Stop, stop," Candace moaned, lightly slapping Tammy's hands.

When Tammy stopped, she, too, collapsed on the deck beside Candace. They both looked to each other and began to laugh. Peter just sat there, totally satisfied, praying for a round two as he looked down at the two amazing bodies splayed shamelessly at his feet. That two for one experience had been a first for him. He was hoping it wouldn't be the last.

"Beer, anyone?" Peter smiled."

"Uh uh," Tammy laughed. It makes my pussy hurt!" More crazy laughter from the sexy ladies.

"Holy shit, Tammy! It's five o'clock! We've got to go! Peter, can we use your shower?"

"Sure. Help yourselves." Peter threw on his shorts, slightly disappointed he didn't get an opportunity to instigate a second round, as he watched their two beautiful asses swaying as they disappeared into the salon. He grabbed another beer and kicked back. He was going to bask in the afterglow of that experience for a long time to come.

He was just finishing his beer when both ladies, unfortunately dressed, ran out on the deck to bid their goodbyes.

"When will you be back, Peter?"

"In a few days. I've got to go out and see some patients on the islands tomorrow, then I'll be back. This is probably going to be my base of operations from now on."

"Dreams do come true," Tammy laughed, leaning down to kiss Peter goodbye.

"Thanks for a wonderful afternoon," Candace smiled, leaning down to kiss him, too. "When you get back, you know where we work," she smiled. "Stop in any time."

"You bet I will," Peter smiled, rising to escort them off the boat. When they hit the pier, both started walking exaggeratingly bowlegged, laughing, turning back to wave. Peter waved them off, smiling.

While he was still semi-sober, and still feeling the awesome effects of the afternoon, he went through the boat straightening everything up, retracting the side awnings and closed the top over the sun deck. As a last act, he went down the pier and dumped the flowing trash can and paid the attendant to top off his fuel and water tanks. When he finished, he locked the boat and went down for a long, hot shower.

As his buzz waned, he sat in the galley with another beer and some unidentifiable, microwave something meal that tasted like wet cardboard. He was kicked back, totally relaxed, lost in the music when the NOAA radio sounded another alert. The incoming storm was building in intensity. It was expected to hit the area early Thursday morning. He checked his weather radar, looked at the dropping barometer and made the decision then and there to hit the sheets, get some sleep and leave that night for his sheltered cove. If the storm was due to hit Thursday, the seas were certain to start picking up soon as it heralded its' approach. Recluse rode the waves like a champ, but he didn't care to temp fate. Been there, done that. He loved his boat. He didn't want her damaged.

****

He woke a little after midnight. He was sober, but he wished he wasn't. His head was throbbing to beat the band and that microwave monstrosity he ate was threatening to make an encore. More worrisome was the fact that the seas had started to kick up. He could feel Recluse rolling under his feet. He stumbled in for a cold shower after the requisite ibuprofen. He was still feeling squirrely afterwards and decided to see if the rumors were true. He went into his exam room-surgery and put on a non-rebreather mask, attached it to an oxygen bottle and breathed the odorless air deeply. After ten minutes or so, he truly did feel better. He had a private laugh. Another one up on that bitch, Sandy, who swore that inhaling pure oxygen as a hangover cure was a myth. Although he seriously doubted whether that up tight bitch ever actually had a hangover.

He got a few things from the galley for his trip, started the coffee pot in the pilot house and started the mains. As always, they fired to life instantly. Feeling their synchronized rumble beneath his bare feel always soothed him. He started the generator, switched over to ships power and went out on the pier to let loose the lines. Once he had the brow secured, he easily navigated away from the marina and guided Recluse down the channel and out into the choppy, open water. There was definitely a lulu of a storm coming. There was a hazy ring around the crescent moon; what he could see of it through the massing clouds, and the seas were really picking up. He punched in the coordinates for his secluded cove and settled into his chair with a cup of hot coffee. He just hoped the weather held for the forty mile journey.

The rain started falling about half way across, causing a metrical drumming to echo along the overhead. It was soothing. He flipped on the windshield wipers and turned up the music. Journey started wafting from the speakers. The rhythm of the rain on the overhead mixed with the soothing music was making his eyelids heavy. He poured a fresh cup of coffee to help him stay awake. Unfortunately, the seas and the wind were picking up even more. Whitecaps were breaking hard across his port bow, slowing his progress. Violent pitching was never pleasant; especially not with a waning hangover.

The NOAA radio alerts were coming more frequently. The very area he was currently trudging across was predicted to see twenty-foot seas within hours. He breathed a long sigh of relief; pleased at his decision to make the trip when he did. He brought the weather radar up on the screen again. His eyes bulged. A huge mass of butt ugly was making its' way down with all the fury of a woman scorned. He hoped his patients were battening down securely and preparing for the onslaught. If he still believed, he'd have said a prayer for them. He'd run out of prayers years before. Cooper's Light, where Evan and Emma lived, was low in the water to start with; and wide open. He'd make Cooper's Light his first stop when the storm passed.

By the time he got to the cove on Devil's Rock, the seas were just plain angry. Neptune definitely had a hair across his ass. He gently eased into the cove, carefully dodging the submerged rocks and breathed a sigh of relief when he finally found himself surrounded by the stone cliffs of the welcoming cove. They immediately blocked the gusting winds. He pointed the bow toward the oncoming wind and dropped both anchors to hold Recluse fast to the rocky ocean floor and avoid being dashed against the jagged shoreline. As expected, the sheltered cove offered Recluse safe harbor. He took his binoculars from the console and looked back beyond the opening of the sequestered cove and saw the whitecaps breaking violently over the rocks. He wasn't leaving the safety of the cove until Mother Nature found someplace else to vent her anger. He laughed at the thought that she, too, must have gotten a whiff of the estrogen charged air on Adamson. Whoremongering gigolo indeed!

He decided to pass on the beer and grabbed a pile of medical journals he'd been meaning to read. At about half way through the first one, the ugly memories started breaking through his forcefield again. No matter how hard he tried, the nightmares, awake or asleep, always managed to find some way to ooze through the cracks. Trying to read and retain what he read was useless. He'd been there far too many times before. Resigned, he reached for a cold bottle of his favorite memory squelcher and took a long draw. He was a doctor. He knew alcohol wasn't the answer: but it sure made the questions stop their rampant march through his thoughts.

"Beer and pussy," he sorrowfully toasted to no one, holding his bottle aloft. He walked to the salon and plunked down on the couch to watch the seas and drown his sorrows once again.

The next morning, when he woke, sprawled out on the salon couch, he slowly opened one eye to see if it was his head spinning or the boat. It was definitely the boat. The storm was coming on fast. Even sheltered in his cove, the boat was pitching and rolling enough to concern him. He grabbed a beer, breakfast of champions, and climbed the companionway to the pilot house and brought up the weather radar. The pitching and rolling were intense, yet the radar showed the storm to still be many hours to the north. This was going to be a monster. Regardless of his sheltered anchorage, monster storms still called for drastic measures. He got the bottle of Jameson's from the bar, filled an ice bucket and went out to sit on the sun deck to see the raging storm first hand while he sat out his alcohol enhanced anchor watch.

*****

By Wednesday night, Mother Nature was showing her fury in full force. The storm passed directly over the cove and, for the first time, after his long, alcohol induced nap, Peter let common sense prevail. He decided to forego the alcohol and pay close attention to the anchors. Never had he ridden out such a fierce storm. Looking out beyond the cove, even with the binoculars, became impossible as the massive squalls and blowing rain made seeing beyond the handrails of the sun deck impossible. He wasn't overly concerned, as long as the anchors held, but if the worst case scenario came into play, he'd need all his senses about him. He spent the night sitting in the pilot house, ready to light off the mains at any second, listening to music and finally putting a dent the mammoth pile of medical journals.

Sometime around three AM, regardless of his sober diligence, sleep overtook him. The pounding waves and the boring literature slowly rocked him to sleep.

Six hours into his slumber, the squawking radio woke him.

"Recluse, Recluse, this is Adamson Station! Mayday! Do you copy?!"

"What the fuck?! Is she calling to give me more shit?" He was hollering at the inanimate radio. It was Sandy and she sounded strange. Reluctantly, he responded.

"This is Recluse, Adamson. I copy."

"Oh, thank God! Peter, we need you now!"

"Are you nuts? After the way you treated me? Fat chance."

"Peter, we got hit hard here. The island's a mess. Lots of injuries. I can't handle this alone."

Peter perked up instantly. "How many injuries?"

"Thirty-one so far. They're still weeding through the wreckage. Please, Peter."

He only paused for a brief second. "I'm on my way! I'm at Devil's Rock. It'll take me an hour or so to get there."

"Just get here as fast as you can. Please! Adamson base out."

As mad as Peter was, he couldn't just ignore a mayday. This was serious. They obviously needed help. He'd extract his pound of flesh when the emergency was under control.

He looked out through the rain spattered windshields and felt some relief that the rain had finally slowed some. Unfortunately, the seas were still raging. He checked the radar to see what he'd be up against. He'd be traveling south, following the tail of the storm. He wasn't looking forward to what he was certain would be a perilous trip, but he knew Recluse would handle it in her stride. He started the mains and rushed fore and aft, watching the anchor chains as they rose, covered in sea flora and fauna, and disappeared into the hawse pipes. Thankfully they'd held firm during the worst the storm had to offer.

Once the anchors were secured in the hull, he backed out of the cove, Recluse pitching and rolling, and navigated straight into hell.

He was going with the swift current, riding a strong tail wind, but the boat was pitching to beat the band. Massive waves were breaking over the forecastle and beating against the pilot house windshields. He was happy he didn't have a hangover. They didn't go well with violent seas.

An hour and twenty minutes later, he saw Adamson Station coming into view through the pea soup fog. He couldn't believe his eyes. He grabbed his binoculars to make sure the sea spray hadn't left ghostly salt images on his windshields. Unfortunately, they hadn't. Armageddon had visited Adamson Station with a vengeance, and had apparently taken no prisoners. The only fully intact building he could see still standing was the hospital. The pale yellow light creeping from every window in the crumbling building was casting an eerie gloom over the wreckage. Thankfully, their generators had weathered the massive storm.

"Adamson Station, this is Recluse requesting permission to dock."

"Ten four, Recluse. If you can find a mooring, have at it." It wasn't Karen or Conrad answering his request.

As Peter eased in, the wreckage became even more evident. Debris scattered the tiny island and floated like landmines in the cove, slowing his progress. It was as if some mythical god had ripped the island off its' moorings, shook it violently and tossed it haphazardly back on its' base. He saw what the mysterious voice on the radio meant. The sturdy pier was gone.

Watching his depth finder intently, he idled in as close as he dared and dropped the anchors, shut down the mains and went to the fantail to drop his Zodiac and the collapsible access ladder down with it. In a panicked haste, he ran down to his berth and grabbed his foul weather wet suit and dressed quickly. He grabbed his emergency bag on the way up, then descended the swaying ladder down to the violently pitching Zodiac and pulled the small outboard to life. He had to maneuver carefully around the floating flotsam and jetsam, but reached the storm eroded shore in minutes. One of the resident eggheads was rushing toward him in a panic, waving his arms erratically, as soon as Peter broke through the fog.

"Doc! They need you at the hospital like yesterday! I'll secure your boat for you! Go, go, go!!" He was screaming to be heard above the howling wind. Peter grabbed his bag and ran.

"Oh, Peter! Thank God! Am I ever glad to see you," Sandy blurted out, obviously overwhelmed. She looked just plain haggard; so out of character from her usual, not a hair out of place, runway model appearance.

"Yeah, yeah. Save it," he grumbled. "Where do you want me to start?"

"I've got a triage area set up in the ward. We've lost three already. I don't want to lose any more."

"Where's Karen?"

"They just brought her into triage. She and Conrad were trying to secure the data center when the worst of it passed over. Conrad was one of the three."

"And Karen?!" He couldn't explain it, but he felt his heart skip a beat. His stomach was doing anxious flip flops.

"I haven't seen her myself, but I'm told she's in rough shape. She's next in surgery."

"I'm on it," he barked, a little louder than he intended.

"I don't know whether she wants you touching her, Peter."

"This is no time for that horseshit, Sandy!" He didn't wait for her response. He rushed down to the ward. Adele, one of the nurse practitioners, was examining Karen when he arrived.

"What cha got, Adele?!" Anxiety uncharacteristically overwhelmed him. Adele pulled Peter aside, whispering nervously.

"I don't think anyone can save her leg, Peter. One of the metal roof trusses fell on her and had her pinned down. I don't know how long the circulation was cut off, or how much internal damage was done. She's been unconscious since they found her."

"Let me borrow your stethoscope, Adele," he said, taking it from her neck before she had time to react. He rushed to the bed and pulled back the sheet. Her leg was cold and pale, massive bruising and lacerations ran across her ribs and down to her knee.

"What do you think, Peter?"

"Help me here, Adele," he barked, whipping her bed out of the room toward the OR. "I'll need you to assist."

"Shouldn't you clear that through Sandy first?"

"Fuck Sandy! She called me for help, not the other way around! Now are you coming or not!?"

"Ok, ok," she responded, helping him push the bed. They burst through the ancient OR doors in a flash, causing them to slam violently against the wall, and quickly rolled the bed into the one of the two OR's. Sandy was just starting a procedure in the other one across the hall.

"Adele, can you handle the anesthesia?" he asked, stripping off his wet suit to scrub and get into a surgical gown.

"I'm not certified, Peter?"

"I didn't ask if you were certified, Adele. I asked if you can do it? That leg can't wait much longer!"

"Sure. Yes. I can do it."

"Good. Help me get her up on the table."

Adele set to work getting Karen under and intubated while Peter scrubbed and gloved, then went to work cleaning the area and got her shaved and prepped.

"Is she under, Adele?"

"One minute...She is now. BP's eighty over sixty, resps are ten."

"Get some ringers running and over ventilate her. Her volumes must be low. And say I prayer, Adele. He stopped listening to me a long time ago."

Peter worked diligently for the next three hours. He did a vein graft, two bypasses, his signature specialty, and repaired numerous tears and other damage; including repairing her femur above the knee with a plate and screws. The truss had done massive damage to her tiny, beautiful body.