Mistress and Commander Ch. 01

"His clock is winding down, it seems. Jenny, are you in?"

"No Mistress, you are all I ever want or need."

"Jenny, my dear, you have the makings of a politician. You always surprise me, love. Double ration of Kotex for you, and a bottle of the best rum we can get here, which won't be much, I don't think. Now as for our pneumatic Romeo over here, Michelin's dream-come-true, I won't leave him to cut our throats or rob us blind when he recovers from his fuck with Spiderman. I'll tie him up--bear a hand there, Robin and Jenny--and in the morning return him to his native peat, wi' a glass of rum at his head and feet, eh what?"

Morning came too soon. "Come on, slugbutts, get the Whaler hoisted out." Margarethe threw herself into the evolution, prodding and cursing. She lifted the Brazilian, now dressed, his bonds untied, his cock at last flaccid, but he still shaking off the effects of the night, in a fireman's lift and got him into the Boston Whaler. The engine started on the first shot, even though it had sat for more than two weeks unused.

They let the man off at the beach where he pointed, and he splashed his way ashore, smiling and waving. "Good luck to you, laddie!" called Margarethe, "if you're ever in the old nabe, come by for a wee jar and some jiggy-jiggy! And bring your spider friend and his brother!"

She turned the Whaler sharply about, and said, "All right, crew, you see how your Mistress takes care of you. Now to re-stock, a wee bit shore leave (even you, Robin boy, you did good for once, but don't presume on it) and a swim on these fabled fucking beaches of Recife; then a good dinner and a few capairiñhas (and none of these damned capiroskas, they roil my guts), and off to the end of the world."

"Aye aye," they chorused, "Mistress and Commander."