Colby Jack
Copyright© 2026 by OmegaPet-58
Epilogue
Fiction Sex Story: Epilogue - [2/11/26: Epilogue added.] Jack Colby is eating breakfast in a Miami hotel restaurant when a dispute between an elegant woman and a boor disturbs him. She's done with their commercial arrangement, he doesn't want to hear it, and before he can get violent, Jack intervenes and chases him off. Impulsively, Jack offers Renée a new deal which becomes a GFE, three letters new to him. He's skillful in bed, but lonely, surprising her.
Caution: This Fiction Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Fa/Fa Consensual Lesbian BiSexual Heterosexual Fiction Anal Sex Masturbation Oral Sex Sex Toys Prostitution
FIVE YEARS LATER
LEILA KANE-BURLEIGH
After a stressful drive on the “wrong” (left) side of the road, I parked the rental car in the Shop and Save parking lot. I wanted to pick up some fresh groceries for our next several days in our rented home in Nadi.
It was Carter’s idea to celebrate. This month was our third wedding anniversary, and it was three full months after my surgery. To celebrate, he rented a jet, packed it with our extended family, and flew us to Viti Levu, the primary island in the Fijian archipelago. Nadi (pronounced NON-di) is where the country’s international airport and the center of tourism are, as well as our rental next to an amazing beach.
Teach (LC) told us all about Fiji on the long, long flight from the US to the South Pacific. She reassured us that everyone in Fiji spoke English, so no language worries.
I thought the baby might dislike flying, but Ren kept little Jacob on an even keel most of the time, and when Ren was sleeping, Jordi managed his son just as well.
LE insisted that our grumpy selves periodically stagger up and down the main aisle of the jet, to keep away the clots. Finally, we were on the ground. A wave of warm humid air washed through the cabin and I fully relaxed for the first time in so many weeks.
Today was our tenth day in Fiji, and I’d shopped before in this well-stocked market. I was going down my lengthy shopping list. What was next? Ah, cooking oil. Wiping my sweaty neck, I turned into the appropriate aisle.
Strangely, the market stocked those large bottles of oil up on a higher shelf. I reached for one and gasped with an intense and sudden sharp pain. Unbalanced, I tipped into the shelves, and lost complete control of myself. I couldn’t steady myself or speak (except to whimper), and tears began rolling down my face.
Two local women saw me and rushed to my side, then one of them turned away to get help. The Fijian woman was strong, sturdy, and powerful, easily supporting my weight with an arm around my waist.
“What happened, child? I’ve got you. My cousin’s calling 9-9-9. Don’t worry. Tell me, what is wrong?”
I managed to spit out a few words. “Cancer. Sur-g-ries. Muscles.” I think that’s when I blacked out.
I later learned that I’d been unconscious for about six hours. As my eyes opened, I saw two very dark-skinned faces—a woman and a man. I didn’t recognize them.
“Car-ter?”
“Your husband is right here in the room, we just need a few minutes to evaluate you. Shh. He’s right by your feet, Mrs. Burleigh.”
I felt his hand on my ankle and I smiled.
“You felt that? Very good,” the man said.
“I am Sister Lal-Singh. Oh, ‘sister’ would be an American senior nurse title. He’s Doctor Prentice. You’re in Nadi District Hospital, and we’re fixing you right up.”
The doctor asked, “Do you remember what happened?”
“Cooking oil.”
“You slipped on an oily floor?”
“No, some moron put the oil on a store’s high shelf. I reached for it, and it felt like my arm tore off.”
“That level of pain corresponds to the extent of your injury. How long ago was your bilateral mastectomy?”
“It was ... it was...”
I heard Carter supply the date.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got you full of the good stuff, temporarily. When you reached for that oil, you tore apart some tissue in your axilla. Sorry, that means armpit. I’m sure they told you they go rooting around in that area, leaving you with a deficit. Our surgeon, Dr. Welby, has gone in and repaired the injury, the tear.”
“I see.”
“You’re going to have to wear a sling for a couple of weeks, and not stress the area for a month after that. And then you won’t have any new trouble, I believe. If your healing goes well, you should be back in your accommodation in three days. I’ll look in on you tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Doctor, Sister.”
Carter’s dear face was before me now.
He smiled and said, “Hello, beautiful.”
I winced. Suddenly, he showed concern. “Pain?”
“No, I’m full of drugs. Don’t. Don’t call me beautiful. Not any more. I’m a hideous, titless, helpless troll. I’m scarred from my shoulders to my pubes, my chest isn’t flat—it’s sunken. I can’t raise my hand, or my arms. Before these drugs today, I was in pain all the time. Beautiful? Not any more. Not any more.”
I closed my eyes.
“Carter, I know you want to argue. I know you love me. But I’m exhausted. Just let me rest now.”
“OK. I promised everyone I’d tell them when you woke up. I’ll ask tomorrow if you will be ready to see them.”
“That would be good. Thanks...” I whispered, slowly. He kissed me on the lips, gently, and slipped out. I might have fallen asleep before the door swung closed.
CARTER
I called LE, and waited for them to assemble together where they could hear the phone. I explained her medical situation and repeated what the doctor had told us.
Ren said, “That’s the physical part, now tell us how she’s doing.”
“Um, not so good. She went back into the scars and the breastlessness and the arm troubles. Spiraling. She dismissed me, and I think she’s asleep. I had to tell her I wouldn’t bring you to see her until she felt ready.”
The conversation stuttered along. There wasn’t much more to cover, and my voice was fading.
Wearily, I said, “In the morning when I know more, I’ll call you from here. You guys get some rest.”
LE called out, “OK, that’s fucking bullshit, Carter. Teach and I will be there in 40 minutes.”
“Wait! Leila said she wouldn’t be ready for you to come visit.”
“We’re not coming for HER, dumb ass. We’re coming for YOU. We love both of you. We can’t help sweet Leila right now, but sure as hell we’ll put our arms around the man at the center of our lives. I promise you, if it weren’t for the little nipper, Ren and Jordi would be coming too.”
The phone stayed silent.
Finally, LE asked, “Carter?”
I croaked out, “Thank you, I’ll see you in a bit.”
I ended the call and searched for paper towels for my wet face.
A couple of weeks later, when we were ready to leave Fiji, I changed our plans and flew to Kauaʻi for a few days to adjust for the time change.
Leila complained, insincerely. “You’re all fussing over me like I’m made of lemon meringue and will crumble in a strong breeze.”