Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Heterosexual, Science Fiction, Humor, .
Desc: Sex Story: Chapter 1 - Dan survived ten years of the war as a U.N. Special Forces officer and retired with his wife to Tampa to start a charter boat business. His wife was killed soon after and for the next five years his life has been nothing but work, war buddies and memories he wishes he could run away from. Into his life comes Antigua Delmar, the latest in a seemingly endless line of teen pop stars, destroying his numb but comfortable existence and setting into motion events that will someday change the world.
The biggest drawback to living in Tampa is the freaking heat. It was 10:00 in the morning and it was already 35 degrees C with the humidity pushing its way up past 90 percent. Still, it beats the shit out of Indianapolis, or anywhere else up north for that matter. Beats the jungles of South and Central America where I spent the better part of ten years, that's for damn sure! There I had the heat, the humidity and someone trying to kill me on a daily basis. I'll take just the heat and humidity, thank you very much!
I suppose I could have lived on one of the Great Lakes up north but I prefer the ocean even if it is just the Gulf. I've found running a charter out of the Bay suits me just fine. Keeps the beans on the table and the beer in the fridge. What more could anyone ask for?
Anyway you get used to the heat but it still makes you feel old when you haven't slept for 48 hours or so. Sure, I know they say the AI's (Artificial Intelligence) can con the boats better and safer than us mere humans, but it's my ass and my passengers' asses on the line so I stay up anyway. Call me a throwback if you want, I don't mind. I've sure been called a lot worse. You don't stay alive in the jungle by being careless and I see no reason for being stupid now.
So there I was, bone tired, stubble on my chin from where the depilatory was wearing off, sitting on the covered deck of my 15-meter cruiser, firing up a Mexican Marlboro and minding my own business. Okay, I was minding the business of the cleaning crew working their magic on my 50-meter charter yacht sitting across the pier from me.
Not that I have to. After five years I've found the best way for them to get the job done is for me to stay out of their way. Not that I would ever tell my cleaning contractor who he should put on my crews but it seems like most of them ended up coming from Honduras, Guatemala or Venezuela. They seem to like working on my boat and that's fine with me. I wasn't even born yet when the lazy bastards up here in the States started to complain about the brownies moving up here and taking all their jobs. Like those lazy shits would do them anyway. My little brown-skinned brothers and sisters may have learned a lot up here but thank God they didn't learn the NorAm work ethic! I may be prejudiced but I'd probably never hire anyone but a brownie if I had my choice. Damn, do they work hard! Of course, now I hear them complaining about the Chinese coming in to take their jobs. Go figure.
Anyway, there I was relaxing or employing "distance supervision" if you prefer, when I look up and see this vision staring at me over the railing. If she stood over 160 centimeters and weighed more than fifty kilos then I'm a poofy-boy, which I'm not. Bright blonde hair pulled back behind her head in a ponytail, long slim legs and hands on her hips sporting a mildly disgusted frown on her face. I knew that look and if it had been on my wife, or my mother for that matter, I would have known there would be hell to pay soon, and you can bet who would be writing the check. I guess I am a throwback because I love old 2D vids, especially the animated ones, and seeing her there brought only one thing to mind immediately.
"What can I do for you, Tinker Bell?"
"Isn't that illegal?" Her sun shades were perched on the top of her head so I could see her eyes narrow and her nose wrinkle up, very cutely I might add. Now I was pretty sure what she was talking about but one can never tell. There were a number of things around me that might not be construed as precisely legal. The Scotch was legal; you can still get a drink in the States, wonder of all wonders, although I might have forgotten to pay the import tax on this particular bottle when I brought it in with me, along with the other fifty or so cases that came with it. The 2-millimeter needle gun resting in the small of my back was very legal. As ex-U.N. SpecFor I was authorized to carry pretty much anything I could hold anywhere the hell I wanted to. Now the cigarette was illegal as hell, but she didn't look like a TEA-cop (Tobacco Enforcement Agency) so I wasn't going to get broken up about it. If she was packing anything except for a nice pair of tits under that tail-tied top and skimpy shorts I sure couldn't see it. I never did figure it was any of their fucking business what I smoked anyway; marijuana was okay, tobacco wasn't. Screw 'em.
"You have to be more specific, Tink," I answered.
"That thing," she said, nodding her head at my cigarette. "And who are you calling, Tink? What's a Tink?"
"Tinker Bell, Peter's fairy friend."
"Peter? Fairy?" her nose scrunched up again just as cute as the first time. She muttered to herself, listened with her head slightly cocked and suddenly comprehension shown on her face. "Oh, Peter Pan! I remember seeing that one when I was young. I liked it. You think I look like Tinkerbelle?"
"Dead on," I nodded. "Yes this is illegal, no I'm not worried that you see it and other than brightening up my day, what is it you want?"
"I'm looking for a Captain Mayhem," she said grinning.
"Well, this is both our lucky days, it seems. I'm who you're looking for."
"Are you sure?" she sounded a little reluctant to believe me. "Captain Mayhem, the charterboat owner?"
"'Fraid so, Tink," I smiled. "Impressive, eh?"
"Impressive, no," she actually giggled. "May I come aboard? I said that correctly? Come aboard?"
"Well enough," I admitted. "Spread your wings and flit on over here." The walk-through was just a meter or so from where she stood but she leaned over, placed her hands on the rail and vaulted over it and onto the deck. She walked over to me and stuck her hand out. Either the scotch or the butt had to go so I flicked the cig over the side. I didn't have to worry much about water pollution; the paper and the filter were hydro-degradable and would dissolve in less than a minute into perfectly harmless constituents. Very eco-friendly and if you happen to be a smuggler you can just dump it over the side and the evidence is gone, poof!
"I want to hire your boat for a trip the weekend after next, Friday to Sunday," she said as I took her hand. It was cool and smooth and my hand felt like a paw around it. It felt like I was handling fine china although given that vault and a general feeling I was sure this was no delicate little flower.
Now I could have been a smart-ass and asked if she wanted it for her sweet-sixteen party and how the hell was Daddy going to pay the 20K New Dollars per day I charge, but I didn't. There was something more to this little honey than met the eye and besides I may seem a bit rough around the edges but I've always made it my policy to treat people as I would like to be treated until they show me otherwise. If she thought she could afford the charter then maybe she could.
"Let me check the schedule," I answered releasing her hand. "Sara," I said to nobody in particular, "are we available then?"
"Yes, Daniel," a low, throaty contralto answered seemingly out of thin air. It was my wife's voice; she had given it to our AI only months before she was killed. She jokingly told me she wanted me to know who was boss even when I was out at sea and she couldn't be there. After she was gone I couldn't bear to change it. Sure it hurt like hell hearing it especially for the first few months but it soothed me, made me feel like she was still there somehow looking after me like she did for our seventeen years of marriage.
"You are scheduled until that Thursday, but available for the time period requested," she continued. I know some people get huffy when I anthropomorphize an AI and call her a she but screw 'em. Sara is smarter than a lot of humans I know and more real to me than most others.
"Thank you, Sara." I looked back at Tinker Bell. "Looks like we're available, Tink. What did you have in mind?"
"I have a new comp (that's compilation; we used to call them albums) that's going to be released next quarter and Mom and I thought it would be good if we could get some of the big muckity-muck distributors together for a little jaunt. Actually I don't think it's really necessary, but it couldn't hurt and besides it sounds like fun."
"So, you're a singer, vid artist?" I asked. I didn't recognize her, but then what do I know about today's music? Music like anything else goes in cycles and today's music was mostly soft, soothing and delicate. Nice if you're riding in an elevator, but otherwise it gets old, after maybe two seconds.
"Antigua Delmar," she said and cocked her head as if wondering when the light was going to blink on over my head. Unfortunately I wasn't going to be able to give her the satisfaction; I'd never heard of her that I could remember. Still, if she thought it was a name I should know then it probably was. I could ask my daughter; she'd probably know, if she were talking to me that is.
"Pleased to meet you, Ms. Delmar,"
"You have no idea who I am," she stated. Now from somebody else that would have sounded pretty pompous, or maybe patronizing, like I was a half-civilized troglodyte living under a rock, but from her it didn't. It was just a statement of fact. She did seem somewhat amused by it, though.
"Sorry, I haven't a clue," I admitted. No sense in lying about something stupid like that. "I take it you're somewhat popular and I'm displaying my incredible ignorance by not knowing it."
"Yep, but then I'm guessing you're one of those old time rock and rollers," she grinned. "Most cavemen are." Great! A freaking mind-reader.
"Got me in one, Tink. So anyway, you serious about a charter?" She nodded. "You have a business agent you want me to send the contract to?"
"We can do it now, if that's okay."
"Sure, if you can..." I stopped myself. This little elf may look sixteen but that didn't mean she was. She made it sound like she could sign her own contracts and if that was the case then me and my big mouth could easily piss her off. Under most circumstances I consider it bad form to piss off a client. " ... if you can wait until I open up the office."
"Good catch," she grinned again. "Yes, I'm old enough to settle it right now. I may look fifteen but I'm actually twenty-one, almost twenty-two if truth be known. I'd like you to keep that a bit quiet, if you would. My demographics are the twelve to seventeens and they wouldn't be happy listening to an old lady."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to..."
"That's all right," she interrupted. "It happens all the time. I know I look young, but that's all part of the shtick. Most people, especially the old farts, try to pat me on the head and tell me to find my mommy." She flashed me a big toothy grin and chomped her teeth together a couple of times. "I wouldn't try it, though. I bite." I had to chuckle at that. I think I could really like this little munchkin.
"I'll remember that," I answered dryly. "My office is just down the road about a klick. If you have a few minutes I'd like to wash some of the grime off. Smelling like an old barnacle may sound nautical and romantic, but it's not very professional. Won't take me more than five minutes or so."
"Go ahead, take your time," she answered with a wave. "Is this your boat? I understood you could sleep thirty; this doesn't seem big enough."
"It's my boat, but not my charter. The Gulf Dream is the charter. It's across the pier there and yes, she can handle thirty if that's what you want. If you'd like we can have a look at her before we head down to the office."
"Ow, pretty." I have to admit the Dream is a pretty sight. "Maybe later if it's all right with you. But go ahead, I'll wait right here." I slapped some dipli on the whiskers, sprayed the body wash, a minute under the water, a clean shirt and pants and I'm ready to go. She was waiting for me when I got back up on deck, just sitting in my chair watching the cleaning crew carry the trash off the Dream. I will say, I'm not normally attracted to the young fluff, something about a girly being the same age as my daughter just doesn't sit right, but I will say she had some killer legs!
"Right, I'm ready," I said. "I assume you have a car. If you want you can follow me; it's not far." I could have followed her lead and vaulted the rail but I took the easy way and walked over the gangplank as she followed. My bike was parked just a couple of meters away so I just strolled over and mounted.
"This is yours?" I swear she almost squealed. I get that a lot, hell it one of the reasons I keep the old brute. "This is so kold! What is it?"
"A 2010 Harley-Davidson Road King Classic," I answered proudly. I really was proud of that old bike, forty-four years old, just like me, and still ready to kick ass, same as me. I'd picked it up for a song when I was in school and spent a couple of years restoring it. Of course it wasn't stock. Shit, back then they still used gasoline! Now it ran on CA (Condensed Alcohol) and the electronics are all new, but it looks stock, sounds like it too. Kathy used to joke that it was my pussy lure when I was trolling for strange and I suppose it would have been good for that except I'd never even looked at another pussy the whole time we were married. Still, I did like the reaction it got. Nothing like a hog or a puppy to make a woman coo and giggle and while I like dogs I like my bike better; it doesn't shit on the deck.
"Icy! Can I get a ride?" Now I like having a nice set of seat covers hanging on the back of my bike as well as anyone, but Tinker Bell is probably worth some serious jack and I'm betting whoever her handler was would have some severe problems with me taking her for a spin in the open as it were. But then again she's an adult and if she wanted a short ride it certainly wouldn't bother me any.
"Sure, if you want," I shrugged and opened one of the bags to pull out two cranium covers. I may like to act the macho-man but I'm not a complete idiot; when I ride it's with a brain-guard. Of course it's not like I used those old fiberglass or steel behemoths of yesteryear. My bike may be a classic but that doesn't mean my safety gear has to be from the Stone Age. I like the modern reactive gear just fine, thank you. It's a light-weight plastic mesh that inflates when struck. Most of the time you don't even know it's there, but it'll do the job if needed. She didn't argue a bit when I handed it to her, just pulled the shades down over her eyes, slapped it on and fastened the strap under her chin.
"Wait till I get ready," I said throwing my leg over and thumbing the start pad. 2010 was the first year Harley started using the biometrics instead of the original key-starter but this was an updated version, for anyone else except me the bike would be nothing but a pile of iron and rubber. When I touched it...
There ain't nothing like 350 kgs of throbbing iron moving and humming between your legs! Okay, maybe there is one thing better, but this is pretty damn close. Tinker Bell didn't wait for me to tell her anything as she hopped on the back, put her feet up on the passenger runners and grabbed me like she expected us to take off.
"Ready?" I asked as I pushed it down into gear. I tried to keep this as close to original specs as possible, including the loud pipes but she didn't have any trouble hearing me since these two helmets were mated with their own intercom.
"God, this is so kold!" she squealed and I almost winced since it was coming directly into my mastoid implant. Luckily the internal compensator toned it down to just below the painful level. Nodding I lifted the kickstand and let out the clutch. That's right, real clutch (look it up: it's right there next to rotary telephones in the obsolete technology section of the encyclopedia, ) real gears and it takes real practice to use them together.
We started moving smooth as a baby's butt and by the time we passed the end of the pier and glided around the huge, and I do mean huge, black limo parked there I was becoming a little afraid Tink was going to orgasm and fall off the back. Not that it could happen, she had her fingernails through my shirt and I swear three centimeters deep into my sides. Uncomfortable yes, but there are worse things than having a pretty girl leaving claw-marks on your body ― much worse.
"I take it you haven't ridden much," I said as I pulled out onto Apollo Beach Boulevard heading towards the intersection with North Tamiami Trail and eased it up to 35 kph.
"Never!" she gushed. "Well, a couple of times on a scooter, but Mom just about killed me when she found out."
"Am I going to have to watch my back from now on? I don't need someone gunning for me because I gave their money train a thrill ride."
"I'll never tell." I could almost hear her grin.
"You won't need to," I answered nodding to the rear-view mirror. That big black limo had pulled out behind us and was tailing at a discreet distance.
"He won't say anything; at least he'd better not!" I just shrugged. It wasn't very far as I'd promised and soon we were pulling into the parking lot of the building where I rent a small office to handle the business crap that needs to be done. The lot was empty so I pulled into a space next to my office door. Thumbing the kill-switch the 1.6 liter engine rumbled to a stop and Tink jumped off. I swear she was vibrating when I dismounted and took my headpiece off.
"God, that was great!" Her blue eyes actually sparkled as she handed hers to me and I dropped them in one of the bags. "When are you going to take me on a real ride?"
"Business before pleasure," I chuckled thumbing the lock and pushing the door open. Being the gentleman I held the door open for her as she skipped into the office.
The lights came on as we entered; I knew nobody would be there today. It was Sunday and Crystal wouldn't come in till sometime late Monday morning to clean up anything needed from the weekend. Sally sometimes helped out in the office also, but she had been out on this last trip with me and probably felt just as wasted as I did. Besides, she would be getting ready to watch Bob, her husband, play this afternoon if the Bucs were out of town today, if not she'll be heading to the stadium. Football never did interest me all that much so I never knew what their schedule was. Didn't matter; I could handle this and if I fucked it up too badly Crystal would fix it tomorrow.
"Sara?" I said to the air.
"Yes, Daniel," came that beautiful contralto. Damn, I miss that woman even after five years.
"Standard contract, fill in the dates and the options as Ms. Delmar and I discuss them."
"Yes, Daniel." Tink was looking around curiously and raised her eyebrows when she saw the monster cage, okay, the playpen, over in the corner by Crystal's station. She didn't ask so I didn't say anything. Crystal brings her two-year old and newborn to work most of the time which is just fine with me so long as the rugrats don't reprogram the system or anything like that. Hopefully since the oldest is only two, I won't have to worry about that for a couple of years. Anyway, they don't bother me when I'm in here, which isn't that often but she gets to bond with her kids and I get one very happy employee. Win-win as far as I'm concerned. Yes, since you ask, Crystal is a fucking knock-out but she's about as happily married as a woman can get which suits me just fine. I like having pretty women working around me but I strictly adhere to the "You don't make your bed where you make your bread (slang for money, you babies!)."
Anyway I know both Bob and Norm ― that's Crystal's guy ― and happen to like both of them a lot. I would never do anything to hurt either one of them and it has nothing to do with the fact that Bob about doubles my mass and can bend steel rebar into pretzels without breaking a sweat. Come to think about it he just might be able to take me in a fair fight. Luckily it would never come to that since I never fight fair. As for Norm, well Norm is one of the sweetest, most gentle beings I have ever met. Hell, if I was gay I might try to fuck him myself. Both of my girls think the world revolves around their guys and as far as I'm concerned that's just as it should be. God love them both! I get a happy crew and for some reason they both think their boss would walk on water if it weren't for the nail holes in the bottoms of his feet.
Beats the hell out of me where they get that, they must be crazy since I know for a fact both of them are a hell of a lot smarter than I am. Of course that's damning with faint praise; Specfor didn't recruit me for my brains, just my ability to kill, destroy and survive.
I motioned for Tink to have a seat in front of the wall screen where I could project the list of options she might be interested in. She grimaced a little when I lit up a smoke but didn't say anything. Fuck it, my office my rules, the only thing I hoped was the deodorizer would clear the air before Crystal came in or she'd have a fit and give me a ration of shit. I never smoked around her kids but that didn't stop her from trying to reform me. Lots of luck on that! What is it about women that when they feel comfortable around you, somehow they assume they have the right to run your life? Kathy did it, Crystal does it and come to think about it so does Sally. Oh well, nothing's perfect.
I started the canned presentation for Tink and let her make the decisions. I mentioned options but to tell the truth there weren't that many. I run top-end luxury charters that include pretty much everything including food, booze and entertainment. The choices came down to mostly how much and what kind of each. Did they want human servers, if so how many? Everything could be automated but I find those who can afford my prices like having real humans doing the grunt work. Suits me; it all pays well. The only thing I don't provide is the sex partners; those my clients have to bring themselves. I have nothing against pros but I'm no pimp and I don't get into that part of the deal. My clients can bring anyone they like out with me and do about anything they want just so long as it's consensual. And no rough stuff. You want to pay a woman to use her body that's between you and her but you take a swing at her on my boat and you'd better hope your medical is paid up. It didn't happen often but I have had clients who thought their money could buy anything and came back with a broken wing because he thought his pretty bit of arm fluff would look better with a black eye. I make sure what few rules I have are well known and I never give a second warning, or a second chance for that matter.
This part turned out to be easy. Some clients will sit there dithering back and forth over minutia until it about drives me crazy which is why I usually let Crystal take care of it; she's much more the diplomat than I am. Why someone would want to sit there and worry about a two-thousand ND difference when they're plunking down forty to sixty grand minimum is beyond me. I try to live by the rule you don't sweat the small stuff and believe me, this is the small stuff.
Tink wasn't like that at all. She just plunked down in the chair, crossed those killer legs ― did I mention she has killer legs? ― and started gabbing with Sara as the program ran. I know some people ― okay, a lot of people ― aren't comfortable talking to an AI. Tink wasn't one of those. She just sat there and talked like they were old friends. Myself, I'm ambivalent about AIs. I know they're supposed to be nothing but really sophisticated programs with variable logic that simulated thought, but I'm not so sure that I don't qualify under that definition. All I know is I find it easier to believe Sara is self-aware to some extent than I do believing in some nebulous god-thing out there somewhere; Sara I've talked to, the god-thing I haven't. I don't want to get started on the whole religion bag; talking about it to someone is about as useful as trying to teach a pig to sing: it's a waste of time and it annoys the pig.
Anyway in no time at all Tink was done, a contract signed and we were ready to leave. I'll tell you what, that little girl is no air-headed bit of fluff; she knew exactly what she wanted and made decisions without a second's hesitation. Just my own opinion, mind you, but I think you can estimate the real intelligence of a person by watching them make decisions. Others say making snap decisions indicates you're lazy, or not able to comprehend the full ramifications of the decision. Bullshit! In my experience ― and I've seen plenty of both kinds ― the dithering un-deciders make just as many mistakes as the ones who know what the hell they want; it just takes them a lot longer.
"So now what?" she said jumping up from the chair.
"Now?" I muttered as I signed my own X at the bottom of the sheet. Remember, I'd been up for over two days and the only thing I was looking forward to right then was my rack, a shower and a tumbler of scotch; not necessarily in that order. Maybe later I'd hook up with the Lost Boys at Bennie's, fry a few brain cells and maybe, just maybe see if Sue was interested in some company for the night. Sue was the big-titted waitress who worked most evenings at Bennie's and at times she was interested in sharing a little sheet time with me. I haven't looked for, or wanted, any serious relationship since Kathy died but I didn't mind a little female company every now and then. Sue already had five or six exes trailing behind her so she wasn't interested in anything more than a little mutual pleasure every now and then herself which suited me just fine. I blame it on the lack of sleep but I'd be damned if I could figure what my little fairy princess was talking about.
"A ride," she prompted. "You promised me a ride on your bike."
"I did?" I did? Okay, maybe I did, sort of. "Oh, that's right, I did. Not today, Sunshine. I told you I've been up for the past couple of days and there's no way I'm taking anyone out for a ride when I'm this wasted. Ain't safe. Maybe later on this week if you really want to."
"I thought you bikers were big tough guys who didn't worry about that stuff," she pouted. That's right, she actually pouted! Well, actually it was a fake pout. Don't ask me how I could tell but I could.
"You must be thinking of the olden days," I chuckled. "Back when men were men and sheep were nervous. Sorry to disappoint you, sweetheart. I may be old but I'm not as old as I want to get yet. Riding around dead tired is a good way to get just that: dead, and while you'd make a pretty honor guard for the trip to Valhalla there's no damn way I'm taking you there. You want a ride then that's fine with me, I haven't turned down a pretty girl on the back of my bike yet, but it'll have to be when I've had a few hours sleep."
"Okay old man. When?"
As I was to find out about my little Tinker Bell, she was persistent as crotch-rot in the jungle; she never took no for an answer and when she clamped down on something she was more pit-bull than fairy. You had a better chance of dissuading the tide from coming in than you did keeping her from what she wanted. Actually I kind of admire that in a person, even if it did come wrapped up in a package prettier than a Christmas present. Okay, especially if it came in a hot little package.
"Fine," I sighed. "Sara, please give Tinker Bell my ident', give me a call and we'll set up a time."
"Wednesday, 1600 hours," she answered decisively. I think I'll have to stop putting that modifier in for her, everything she did I think she did decisively.
"Ah, well," I mumbled.
"You are free for that evening, Daniel," Sara interjected. I know I'm considered crazy and not overly bright to boot but I know when to declare victory and retreat.
"Fine, fine, 1600 Wednesday," I chuckled.
"Where?" she came back immediately, I'll bet she never even contemplated I wouldn't fold like a deck of cards.
"Just show up at the boat where you found me. I would suggest you wear some long pants and boots if you have any."
"Icy! I'll see you then!" With a flutter of motion that I swear had to produce fairy dust in the air she was out the door and gone.
"What the hell was that all about?" I mused.
"You have a date, Daniel. Wednesday at 1600 hours," came Sara's disembodied voice.
"I don't date," I responded automatically.
"Of course not, Daniel."
Edited by Morgan