Jessamy Beech Ch. 05: Southport

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks to everyone who's given 'JB' such good ratings and for the encouraging comments. And I must apologise for the several typos in the earlier chapters that I've only now noticed after re-reading.

While on winter climbing holidays in the UK's frozen north, I once spent consecutive weeks in two lovely little self catering cottages - Jessamy Cottage and Beech Cottage. As good a source for a character name as any.

I'd always wanted to write a Cormac McCarthy's 'The Road' style book with a female protagonist, and Literotica seemed to be the perfect outlet for it. But rather than write about just sex, sex and more sex, I've tried to incorporate it all into a decent story. My wife and I have travelled from one end of the UK to the other so many of the landscapes Jessamy, Merida and Ewan are travelling through we know like the backs of our hands. But if there are any inaccuracies, please let me know.

In the unlikely event that JB ever gets snapped up by a major film studio, I'll only sell the rights if young JB is played by the superbly talented Jodie Comer and older JB by Katheryn Winnick. With Travis Fimmel as Hamnavoe and the lovely Eleanor Tomlinson as Merida. Ah, I can but wish.

Thanks for reading.

. . .

Orkney. A tiny archipelago off the north coast of Scotland.

Jessamy Beech threw her tattered old Osprey rucksack onto the lumpy bed next to her SA80 and sighed. She felt utterly spent. The mental stress coupled with the physical exertion of tracking down Hamnavoe and bringing him back to Orkney had taken its toll.

Even a lumpy bed was better than nothing.

But now that it seemed her prisoner was actually innocent of his crimes, she had some thinking to do. If what Hamnavoe had told her was true about Trevithick's real identity, it changed everything. Everything.

Jessamy unbuckled her holsters and placed one of the Glocks on the bedside cabinet in easy reach. As she unzipped her goretex jacket there came a tentative knock at the door, "Miss Beech, your bath is ready," called a timid voice.

"Thanks, I'll be there in a minute!"

When the ferry had landed at Burwick on South Ronaldsay, each and every local that she passed had recognised her immediately, by reputation if not sight. Congratulating her on a job well done while screaming abuse and threats at Hamnavoe.

"Ye're gonnae burn in hell for what you did ya bastard!"

"Ye murderin' fuckin' cunt!"

Until she figured out how they would play it, Jessamy would have to keep up the pretense of him still being her prisoner.

Jessamy unlaced her boots, shrugged off her patched softshell, fleece-lined trousers and both sweat-stained t-shirts. Her Bridgedale socks took a little more coaxing, stuck to her feet with weeks of grime.

"I'm getting too old for this shit," she murmured as she flexed her toes against the cold bare floorboards. Standing there in just her skin tight thermal underwear, she peered out into the darkness through the grimy window. The Pentland Venture was still moored at the dock a few yards away, being unloaded by torchlight, the shouts and curses of the Orcadians muffled by the wind.

No transport over the Churchill Barriers until the morning, the skipper had told them. Jessamy didn't fancy a twenty mile hike through the night and with Hamnavoe's leg wound to consider, they'd be lucky to make it at all. The proprietor of the Tomb of the Eagles guest house, a Mr McDermott, had kindly stepped in and offered her accommodation for the night free of charge, though Jessamy had had to use all her powers of persuasion to get similar treatment for Hamnavoe.

Hamnavoe was such a reviled character to the Orcadians that Jessamy had no doubt he would be lynched if she let him out of her sight outside for more than a minute. Hamnavoe was therefore safely cable tied to the bed in the next room, leaving her to take up the owner's offer of a hot bath.

Jessamy snatched up a towel and her Glock from the bedside cabinet and headed across the first floor landing to the bathroom ...

. . .

Jessamy stripped off her thermals, sports bra and panties and left them to soak in the wash basin after transferring some of the steaming hot bath water with a jug. The water had been heated downstairs on the guest house's Aga and carried up by hand so she felt obliged to make the most of it.

She studied herself in the blotchy full length mirror by the fitful light of the single candle, remembering a quote from an old movie, "It's not the years, it's the mileage ..."

Jessamy smiled. Every scar on her body, whether from knife, bullet or natural hazard had its own story to tell. But she grudgingly admitted that she still looked good for a thirty eight year old mother of two. No fat. Just toned muscle, though admittedly in this day and age fat people were indeed a rarity.

The blue Celtic designs tattooed across one side of her face swirled down her neck and around her naked shoulder. A conscious attempt many years previously to make herself look fierce. Jessamy had since learnt that it was experience and attitude that made one look fierce, not ink. She tied back her blonde dreadlocks and stepped into the blissfully hot bath ...

A moaning purr of pure pleasure bubbled up from the back of Jessamy's throat as the water enveloped her body. She felt the skin on her legs, her belly and her breasts tingle from the heat of it.

Jessamy hardly allowed herself any luxuries but instead could soak up every minute bit of sensation from the simplest of pleasures like this, "Fuck, that feels good ..."

She remembered another bath, many years before in the bowels of Torosay Castle on Mull, back when she was still a naive girl of eighteen. When she'd been instructed to ready herself for the attentions of the island's commander, Butcher Beaconsfield. The first man she'd ever killed when he'd tried to rape her. A lot had happened since then. A lot.

Not wanting to waste the hot water, Jessamy quickly soaped herself all over as she thought, using some abrasive concoction the islanders had come up with, made from pig fat and seaweed.

She had to keep Hamnavoe alive. Hamnavoe could help her track down Trevithick. Because not only was Trevithick the real perpetrator of the gruesome murders on the islands, he was quite possibly the key to stopping Thanatos wiping out every last living thing on the planet ...

Hamnavoe. In all her years as a bounty hunter, she'd never once been even remotely attracted to one of her targets. Bring them back, dead or alive. Collect the bounty and go for a celebratory dram at Helgi's bar.

But Hamnavoe was different. Somehow, without knowing it, she'd let him get under her skin.

He was infuriating with his constant stream of double entendres. He was loud, rude, arrogant and ...

Jessamy realised that while considering Hamnavoe's mischievous eyes and somewhat lop-sided smile, her soapy fingertips had been lazily circling her breast. She noticed with a shock just how hard her nipple was.

"Hamnavoe, you bastard," Jessamy murmured, "look what you've done to me."

Jessamy's voice trailed off as her fingers trailed down over her flat belly, almost as if they had a mind of their own, towards the sparse patch of blonde curls between her parted thighs.

"NO!" she slapped the water in frustration, "get out of my fucking head, you ..."

She was stressed, Jessamy realised. That was all. She needed some sort of release and her mind had fixated on the closest available male. Which happened to be Hamnavoe with his charming wit, repulsive eating habits ...

and tight, toned ass ...

Jessamy hadn't realised before now that she'd taken so much notice of his ass! But in her mind's eye she could see it, imagine how it would feel as she clutched it against her as he ...

"FUCK!" she punched the side of the cast iron tub with a reverberating clang, and climbed out of the by now filthy tepid water. There was only way she could scratch this particular itch ...

. . .

Hamnavoe jolted fearfully awake as Jessamy stormed unnanounced into his room, wearing nothing but a damp bath towel and an angry scowl.

And carrying a gun.

"Uh, hey JB. Wh-what gives?"

She slammed the door behind her.

Hamnavoe strained against the thick cable ties securing him to the old-fashioned brass bedstead, but it was no use. He was helpless. His wide eyes followed the gun as the moonlight shining through the window glinted on its oiled metal.

Without taking her eyes off him, Jessamy carefully placed the Glock in easy reach on a low shelf beside the bed.

"You want tae, um ... talk some more aboot Fredrickson?"

Jessamy climbed onto the bed and straddled Hamnavoe's legs.

"I g-guess not. Wh-what the fuck are you d-doing JB?"

In the darkness, Jessamy fumbled with Hamnavoe's belt, "What's the matter? You've been working yourself up to this for days," she said in a low voice through gritted teeth, "you're not having second thoughts now are you?"

She tugged his trousers and thermal underwear roughly down over his hips. Despite his protestations, Hamnavoe was quite visibly eager and ready to go.

"C-couldn't you untie me first JB? Maybe ch-chat a bit first?"

Jessamy shuffled up the bed, "Just shut the fuck up."

She positioned his thick cock up between her wet labia and sat down on him hard, so that Hamnavoe slid up inside her and filled her with one movement. She gasped.

"Ohmygod!" he moaned.

Jessamy rose and fell desperately on his throbbing cock, aroused beyond belief. Hamnavoe had wanted this since she'd caught him on Ben Macdui. But to her it was suddenly a necessity. She needed it like air to breathe.

Jessamy rose and fell, pleasuring herself on him, the knotted bath towel coming loose and falling open to expose her body. Hamnavoe gazed up at the glory of her nakedness in awe, stunned, drinking in the sight of her, "Ye're absolutely fuckin' beautiful lass."

Jessamy clutched at her own breasts, pinching her painfully engorged nipples, "Uhh ..."

She shuddered with delight, wondering what Hamnavoe might be capable of with his hands and clever tongue if she untied him for half an hour. But no. This was her time. It was all about her. Hamnavoe and his strong, hard cock were just the means to an end.

Hamnavoe moaned aloud as she rode him, faster and harder, plunging herself down, impaling herself. His head swung helplessly from side to side on the mattress as his orgasm approached, "I'm no' gonnae last much longer lass ..."

Jessamy rocked back and forth as Hamnavoe began to thrust his hips urgently, meeting her every stroke as she fucked him. He gave a sudden sharp cry and writhed against the cable ties that bound him and Jessamy felt his hard cock throbbing and pulsing deep inside her as he came.

She forced herself down on to him and ground her swollen clitoris against his body, feeling her own climax sweeping through her. Then she slumped forward against his chest, gasping for breath ...

"F-fuckin' hell JB. Wh-what was that all about?"

Jessamy tugged Hamnavoe's trousers up to conceal his shrinking cock, still glistening with their mingled fluids, gathered her towel around her and climbed off the bed. His cooling semen dribbled down her thigh, "That was a one off. It doesn't mean we're engaged or anything."

"But why JB?" Hamnavoe asked worriedly. Was fucking her like a last request for a condemned man or something?

Without even glancing at him, Jessamy snatched up her Glock and padded towards the door, "Get some sleep. We've got a long day tomorrow. Trying to stop the locals tearing you limb from limb."

CHAPTER FIVE: SOUTHPORT

Just over nineteen years earlier.

The following morning it was raining heavily in Threlkeld. Dirty grey water ran down the steep flank of mighty Blencathra along tumbling, rocky gills, turning the duckboarded paths in and around the village to muddy quagmires.

Jessamy hadn't slept a wink. She squinted out through the steamed up windows of the Horse and Farrier's public bar at the first grey light of the day. A new day, much like any other. Only this one couldn't possibly feel any different to Jessamy Beech.

Everything she knew had changed ...

Ewan, her dear friend and lover for almost a year, was really her long lost brother, Ross.

She'd spent the last ten years of her life slaving away on the crofters' farms on the desolate island of Mull, thinking never to see any of her family again. While on the mainland, Ross had somehow sustained a head injury that had made him forget his own identity, let alone hers.

Now at last, Jessamy knew why she'd thought he looked familiar.

He'd changed from a spotty teenaged elder brother into a full grown man. A full grown man that she'd had absolutely wonderful sex with dozens of times.

Jessamy felt nauseous, sick.

She'd slept with Ross.

Ross, who used to chase her on the beach waving long, slimy fronds of kelp, fresh from the Cornish sea. Ross, who used to walk her home from school and help with her homework.

Sisters didn't fuck their own brothers. Calgary had warned her about that back at the distillery in Tobermory when two of the other workers, brother and sister, had been discovered one night ...

. . .

Jessamy had scrambled out of their bed and pulled her clothes on as quickly as she could, feeling a storm of mixed emotions. Ecstatic happiness that her brother was alive, shame and disgust at what they'd done together while Merida was still busy elsewhere.

She still had her own brother's semen drying on her face!

"Jess, I don't know what to say," mumbled Ross, "I had no idea it was you."

"Where the hell have you been Ross? Why didn't you come to Mull?"

"I've not been myself Jess. Merida can tell you that. When we met ... I'd lost a helluva lot of blood. I was concussed or something," Ross tapped the ugly scar on the side of his head, "I don't even know how I got this. There are still ... gaps."

Jessamy huffed, with tears stinging her eyes, "I know it's not your fault Ross. It's just that ... well, you're my brother! That's insec ..."

"Incest," Ross supplied.

"Yes, that. I'm glad you're alive and okay ... b-but things need to be different between us from now on Ross ... I'll sleep downstairs tonight. I need time to think."

"No you won't Jess. It'll be fucking freezing down there. I'll go," Ross argued.

"And if you go what will Merida say when she gets back ... if I'm in here on my own?"

Ross paled, "Ohgod, Merida. What are we going to tell her?"

Over the last few months, Merida's sexual appetite had been almost insatiable. She had absolutely no preference between sex with Jessamy or sex with Ross - or Ewan as she still knew him. And every time, whether Jessamy participated or merely watched it was always amazing.

Jessamy had felt a pang of intense grief. An aching in her stomach as she thought about their other friend, Merida. Their relationship. What the three of them had had together had been beyond perfect.

Why the fuck did it have to be her own brother?

Jessamy turned towards the door.

"Jess, I ... at least give me a hug."

"Ross. You're my brother. And I love you very much. But ..." she opened the door, "don't come after me."

There was steel in her voice that warned Ross not to push his luck. Jessamy slammed their bedroom door and stomped down the dark staircase, wrapping her softshell about her against the cold.

. . .

That had been six or seven hours ago. Ross had respectfully made no attempt to come down in the night and Jessamy hadn't even heard Merida come in during the small hours.

She scrunched up some sheets of newspaper and went about getting the fires lit for breakfast.

Merida plodded into the room as Jessamy was measuring out oats to make porridge. She yawned expansively and ran her fingers roughly through her thick red curls, "Morning sexy. Where were you last night?"

"Wha ... I uh, couldn't sleep," blurted Jessamy.

Merida slumped into a chair, "I can't believe how much stuff we brought back from Keswick. It took hours to share it out and decide where to store it all."

"Did you get finished?"

"Yeah. There's going to be a meeting later. To decide on a new leader ... now that Mr Scanlan's dead. After that there's going to be another expedition into town to get the rest of the stuff. Have you made coffee yet?"

Jessamy wordlessly spooned Nescafé into chipped mugs.

Merida yawned again, "Fuck me I'm knackered. Did you notice Ewan was a bit ... off last night?"

"Ewan? No, why?" Jessamy's cheeks burned as Merida caught her eye.

Merida grinned, "Were you two up to no good last night? If so I want details. Cummon, spill ..."

Jessamy slammed the coffee jar down on the counter, "JUST DROP IT MERI!"

Merida was stunned as Jessamy tearfully snatched her goretex jacket from a peg by the door and without another word stormed outside into the rain.

"Was it something I said?"

But whatever was going on with Jessamy and Ewan, Merida decided that it would have to take a back seat. She currently had much bigger problems of her own to worry about ...

. . .

Threlkeld's village cafe had been chosen for the meeting that evening. The twenty or so villagers filed in, shaking the rain from coats and muddy wellingtons as they made themselves comfortable. Jessamy found an empty seat in a corner at the back, from where she could watch Ross on the other side of the room.

She watched him chatting to the old school teacher Mrs Martini, but every now and then he cast a furtive glance in her direction. What was going through his head, Jessamy wondered.

Jessamy wanted nothing more than to be able to hug her long lost brother, tell him how much she'd missed him and how much she loved him. But after all that had passed between them over the last year it would be just too awkward.

She noticed also, as the villagers lit oil lamps and candles, that there was no sign of Merida.

. . .

"People of Threlkeld," said Mrs Taber in her strong Cumbrian accent. Her voice was loud and confident and easily carried across the crowded cafe, "thank you all for coming on such a miserable wet evening. We'll all have a hot bevvy once official business here is concluded."

A smattering of applause rippled through the assembled villagers.

A gust of wind made the candle flames dance as the cafe's door opened and Merida squeezed in, mouthing an apology for being late. Jessamy noted that she looked terrible, pale and sweating.

Mrs Taber continued, "We're here, as you know, because Mr Scanlan is no longer wi' us. But his sacrifice has given Threlkeld and all of us a fighting chance. To feed ourselves. To defend ourselves. To survive. Mr Scanlan and our newcomers, Ewan, Merida and Jessamy have done us all a great service."

There was murmured agreement, and a grizzled old farmer sat nearby reached over to pat Jessamy's shoulder.

"But the time has come to elect a new leader," Mrs Taber took a deep breath, "by popular agreement it seems that you've decided - though God knows why - that I ... would be a suitable candidate. Thank you. I will do me utmost to serve this community to the best of my abilities."

And so, to a resounding cheer and rapturous applause Threlkeld's new community leader was welcomed in. An widowed ex-midwife in her late fifties may not have been everyone's idea of a perfect leader but Louise Taber had shown that she could get things done. She was respected and well liked by everyone present.

The rest of the meeting involved the appointment of a deputy, plans for the distribution of stores plundered from the wreckage of Air Force One and arrangements for future expeditions into Keswick to collect what remained.

Jessamy found it impossible to concentrate on any of it.

An hour later, as steaming mugs of Threlkeld's new supply of hot chocolate and tea were passed around the room, Jessamy watched as Mrs Taber approached Merida, "Are you alright love?"