Author Topic: Family Crews (Fin)  (Read 2074 times)

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Family Crews (Fin)
« on: October 16, 2017, 09:49:39 AM »

"I'm going to take a break."  Jerry took over my station, and I followed her back to the shower room.  

4 days out, and she hadn't had any fun.  Her parents, obviously.  Her father met her at the poolside, and swaddled her in a towel like a baby, before someone saw her in that hideous ruffled single piece.  Swam extremely well for one with a ruffle over the shoulders to cover her breasts, and a modesty skirt, with some abstract pattern designed to break up her figure.  Honestly, I wasn't aware they made such things in adult sizes, you half expect her mother to put on arm floats when she comes out.

"Are you all right?"

She'd gotten it about halfway down, at the family sized locker.

"Yes," she turned, "Why wouldn't I be?"

Looked about 18-21.  Petite, fit.  "Well, the way you're swimming."  She looked at the [Lifeguard] printed on my left breast.  "It looked like you might have been working off some stress."

"Huh!"  He looked as if she might swoon, but just pushed the suit down her thighs.  "It's supposed to be a vacation, but I don't get to go anywhere, see anything, or do anything.  At least back home I have my friends to talk to, but out here it's just us, and now it seems like day after day of the same thing."

"Mhm?"  I sat down.  "You're a swimmer?"

She finished drying her tummy, wiped her legs, and scrubbed the patch of hair in front.  Hairy legs too, like telltales.

"I lettered in it at school."

"You graduated?"

"Hih!"  She hung up the towel.  Perfectly.  Tugged out the corners so they matched, as one would do if fixing the stateroom, for turn-down service.  

Naked, I looked back up when she turned around.

"I can't wait for college.  I'm a little scared, and yet expectant to be starting my new life."

Strange way to put it.  Come to think of it, sounds almost like a line out of a romance novel, or soap opera.  

"I'm just so sick of being treated like a child!"  BANG!  Beat on the door next to the open locker with her wrist.  "I'm nineteen!"

Never actually talked to anyone who really spoke like that before.

"Well, if there's anything I can do to make your trip more enjoyable."  I've upset her.

"Did you go to college?"  She followed me to the end of the row.

"Yes, of course.  Sports medicine."

She nodded.  Looked around.  "Were there a lot of."  Lowered her voice.  'Rapes there?'  Her eyes got wide, excited.

"Ab'd I don't know what you'd call a lot, but."  I nodded.  "There were stories.  Around the dorms."

"Like what?"  She blushed.

"Well, I mean.  You know, the mode was probably involving alcohol.  Either at a party, or walking home from the strip.  Out alone at night, that sort of thing."

"Hhihm!"  She smiled, and walked back to the locker.

Blushing.  All over.  I blinked, shook my head. That's not sunburn, she's tanned around the neckline, arms and legs.  Took breaks on the lounger to catch her breaths, then dove in to attack the water again like it was a race.  The  lap pool, but we didn't have any lane markers up, mostly kids using the diving boards.

"Thanks."  Jerry hopped down from his station.

I climbed up, and puzzled over the conversation.

We're basically a decoration, so parents feel safer.  I'm qualified, got my EMT, we've a defibrillator at the first aid station, and a half gallon of aloe vera with a pump top to soothe sunburns.  It's mostly just sitting here watching kids play, and occasionally something out of the ordinary.

I worry.  I was a track girl, but I know the personality.  

"Ah, there she is."

Father dotes on her like a princess, and paces back and forth in front of her door with a shotgun so nobody breaks in at night, and sees her in her negligee.  Like he did in front of the locker room, until she came back out, on the pool side.  Puts his arm around her shoulder.  Protectively, possessively, and dresses her for a church picnic.  I'd bet a week's salary she had a petticoat on under that floor length dress, and like she said, this is supposed to be a Vacation.  

"How was your swim, princess?"


I'm not so sure she would be all that safe at college.  I worry about that too.  Mother just looks up, over her book, and saves her place.  Under a sun hat, fabulous flying saucer of a thing, in a glamour suit.  Fashion plate mom, walks like Vanna about to turn a letter.  Joining them, long legs, matching white pumps, look like 2 1/5" wedge heels at a Pool.  

Never swims, but then that suit isn't designed for swimming.  It's designed to look good, lounging by the pool, and that would mess up her hair.  Wouldn't have to swim anyway with those buoys she's got stuffed in her chest, and the father looking around for men looking at his wife.

Not his daughter.  He makes sure of that, which is fortunate for Jerry, because he doesn't want to break up a fight.

She ran back.  Around the pool, right across the [No Running] sign on the side, and straight to my station.

"Thanks."  I leaned down from the platform.  "Um, are you a lesbian?"

I looked up, at her parents, waiting by the door.  Shook my head.  

"Well, thanks for the talk.  See ya tomorrow!"  She skipped off, and joined her family.

What a strange girl!  Swimmer's figure.  Even with the extra drag of all those ruffles, she cut through the water like a cigarette boat fleeing for international waters.  

No, I'm not a lesbian, but I must admit.  Well, for one thing, I don't really believe in gay, or straight as absolutes.  Everyone has same sex attractions, Pat Robertson has far too many homosexual fantasies to be healthy, and projects them out on the viewers of the 700 club.  I even suspect the butchest bulldagger probably appreciates feminine beauty combined with an understandable aversion to men.

After all, men do things like that to their daughters.

I like men too.  Not all men, but the ones that aren't too self conscious about their masculinity.  Take Jerry, for instance.

He's in great shape, but he's not vain about it.  Doesn't lean up with his elbow over your shoulder, and grin, flexing his pec so your eyes are drawn to the motion, and you smell the nice manly musk drying off the well trimmed beard under his arm.  His neat trimmed stubble brushing my cheek, my neck, his breath on my hair.


Shifts almost over, anyway.  We have a key to one of the decks you'd call a roof if it was on land.  We mostly stow the life boats, mooring lines, and bumper buoys up there so the guests don't have to look at them while we're underweigh.

Fucks like a pile driver, too.

"Hm!"  There's the next crew, to relieve us.

"Want to head up to the top deck?"  Put my arm around him, and hook my thumb in the waistband of his shorts.

"Sure." He kissed my forehead, and we headded that way...



"Huh!"  Great view, if you like water.  Miles and miles of it, but the ship glides smoothly enough over it, you have to watch it for a while to get any sense of motion.

Alone, in the middle of the Atlantic.


I could have gone on a European trip this summer, but no.  I just had to see the Riviera.  It's not the expense, daddy makes enough to send along a Chaperone.  Doesn't trust me enough on a beach somewhere, he'd send me to Stockholm, where you probably need a winter coat in July.

A big greasy Bulgarian mercenary with a thick Russian Accent, a machinepistol, and some name like Boris.  A brute of a man, broad, bearded, and scarred from wars.  Packed into a business suit, stretched over his muscular frame in a vain attempt to hide what he is.

A weapon, a blunt instrument of violence on legs.  Glancing back at the laptop, mother will probably be done changing soon anyway.

So, just the basics.  Assassins?  Obviously kidnap for ransom, but Taken has been done twice over.  Daddy doesn't have a particular set of skills, he can afford men with particular sets of skills.  I just have to wonder at the intelligence of an international kidnapping ring to go after the same man's family, again and again, after being wiped out each time.  How would they ever find enough obscure Eastern European actors to make a fourth one?

So, assassins, probably after him, but I manage to escape with my body guard, and have to survive on the run.  Together, more like Sarah Connor, and Kyle Reese without all the time travel, and cyborgs from an improbable future.  I'd like to avoid the same mistakes, never mind the paradoxes in the timeline, how did the Resistance ever hope to win a single battle, let alone a war with the whole world taken over by killing machines like that, or worse?  Air support, untiring, emotionless, calculated, probably with a chromed hydraulic piston between it's legs for when he finally caught up with her.

"Addison?"  At the door.

"Coming, Mother."

"Are you all right?"  She looks worried, kisses my forehead to check my temperature the way she had always done.  Since she married daddy, step mother, but a nice enough one.  "You seem a little feverish."

"I'm horny."  I shook my head, but she's pulled out a compact from her purse.  Checking her lipstick.  


"There's my lovely ladies." Daddy came out, put his arms around us.  "Let's go to dinner."

He'd go in hiding, so they'd send an assassin to get me.  Threaten me as leverage to lure me out, and it would be more realistic to pit my Boris against a lone assassin than wave after wave of.  Foot Clan Ninjas, or whatever.  A little cat and mouse, then he lets down his guard.  Chased to some cold dark place, where we'd have to huddle together for warmth.  Car run out of gas, so we'd have to hike through the snow, then a tender scene.  Where she finds out just how gentle he can be with those hands, which had dealt out so much death, and destruction.

Then a single shot, his head explodes, and I'm dragged out.  Still naked, no longer a virgin, and the assassin pulls out his belt.


"What's your specials tonight?"

"We have a Chateaubriand in white truffle Béarnaise with Alaskan scallops, and;"

"That's like filet mignon, right?"

"Yes, only the center cut of the loin, roasted hole.  Then cut to order, and finished in the sauce."

"That'll be fine, and what kind of wine would go with that?"  I look over the list of reds.  Pulled out my collar, to let some of the air out, while he ordered the Surf and Turf.  Again, and mother listened to the fish special.

Glance up, "Hihn!"  He's kind of cute!

Look down, and think of the thick meaty loin, covered in sauce, running over to drip in his lap and run down his thigh.

Look up, blushing.  Blink, and smile.

He put his napkin in his lap, looked over at daddy, and shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

« Last Edit: November 01, 2017, 01:09:44 AM by Psiberzerker »

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Re: Family Crews
« Reply #1 on: October 16, 2017, 11:50:59 AM »
Lap Pool


Check my watch.  Right on time, he paces over by the door to the locker room, while his wife kicks back, cracks a book.  Sets down the strawberry balsamic basil daiquiri with a sip, and a purse of her lipsick.

He looks up, and steps out of her way.  3 steps, thighs shaking in her competition suit, I would think.  Grey [Speedo] silicone haircap to contain her short brown waves, then she dives out, with surprisingly little splash, and torpedos up into a freestyle crawl.

Morning laps, you can take the girl off the track...

Olympic sized lap pool, not as popular as the family pool with the fountains, umbrellas, and slides, nor the wave pool up by the bow, which is nice.  Quiet station, "Hah!"  She pulls up on the side, kicking both legs down like a mermaid, and launches like a dolfin.

He met her on the other side, walking along like a coach, only without the whistle, claps, and words of encouragement.  He doesn't have to push her on, she's still swimming like it's a race, and the other swimmers are hot on her heels.  Wraps her in a towel.

"Jeanette, right?"

Her father goes, and talks to Jerry.

Not like it's printed on our uniforms.

"Jean."  She takes the lounger next to me.

"Off duty?"

"We get days off," I nodded.

"Hm."  He stomps off, looks back to see that the towel covers her wet suit, and she crosses her legs.  A quiet giggle.  "He looks like a model."

"He was, or is.  Says he can't decide whether he wants to go back to the business.  Every year, then inevitably does.  Still technically retired, I suppose."

She's never going to get a chance to talk to him, after all.

"Hard work?"

"For male models?"  Nod, "Well, he says it's not so much the work, as looking for work.  J.Crew has to sell swim trunks too, but they're not in as much demand as say bikinis."

"I like your bikini."

"Thanks."  An excuse to look over my body.  I'm not shy, no need to be.  Nothing to be ashamed of at my age.  Beats dancing in a night club.

"Mh!"  He jumps out, kicking water off his legs on the way to the platform.  "Gay."

"Ha!  Far from it."

"Well, he never looks at any of the women."  Turn back to her mother.  Over her shoulder.

Must be getting good.

"Huh!  He works at a pool.  Sees women in bathing suits, a lot racier than this, day in, and day out, and then does shoots on location with models.  You could streak around naked, and he'd look up long enough to see you're hairy;"  Way to work that into the conversation, but they're starting to lay back against her legs.  "They don't make you shave, on the team?"

"Oh no.  I graduated.  So, I don't feel like bothering any more, you know?  It's such a chore."

"Yes, I know."  More to prevent anything curling out the sides, so I tend to keep up to the bikini line.  Since I basically work in a swimsuit.

"You spend your days off by the pool?"

"Not usually, but.  It isn't as if I haven't seen every inch of this ship, all ready."

"Oh, I guess you pretty much live here, huh."

"While underweigh.  I suppose it's like the navy, we get to spend our money while you're in port, on vacation."

"So, you practically live on vacation."

"In season.  I find other work the rest of the year."

"Oh?  What do you do?"


"Oh, which troupe?  I bet I can come see one of your performances, if I know the."

I shook my head.  "I dance at a club."

"A strip club?"

"A night club, but yes.  It's clothing optional, for the dancers.  You'd have to wait a couple years to get in, without a fake ID."  Old enough to work there, ironically enough, she just can't serve alcohol.

Behind her, her mother turns the page, and takes another sip of that disgusting drink.  Honestly, I don't know what possessed someone to even try putting vinegar in a tropical cocktail to begin with, much less people deciding they like them enough to buy them.

"So, you know any gay or bisexual guys onboard?"

She just.  Blurts out sexual things like that, in the middle of the conversation.  Though I suppose we had gotten to a break in it.


She giggled, excited, "Big strong hairy butch guys.  Like him."  

Leaning over, elbows on his knees.   8)  Looking bored, I know the feeling.

"I don't know, I could ask him."

"He is bisexual."  She nodded, "I knew it.  He totally checked out my daddy."

"Uh!"  I got up, "Well, nice talking with you."

I think I need a shower.  Dove in and made for the other side. She splashed in beside me, and honestly dusted me.  Pulled up, and turned, to flop back down on the side by the time I'd caught it.

"Ngah!  Huh!"

"Here you go, princess."

The usual robe.

"Sph!"   :emot_weird.gif:

Strange girl, I do believe she likes me.



IDK if I went overboard with the similes, but I'm trying to contrast between the overwritten style of Addison, and the amateurish singlemindedness of Jeanette.  So, if that was as painful for you to read as it was for me to write, let me know, and I'll dial it back a few notches.


Javier Cruz

[Madison Astor would like to be your friend]

[Accept]  [Message]

Check her profile, the girl from the pool.  Jeane calls "Creepy."  Keeps talking about things, like sex, and rapto.

[Yes, what?]

[Hi, I don't know if you remember me from the pools, but my daddy side it would be okay.  I hope you don't mind, but I told him you were gay.  Not that there's anything wrong with it, if you were, but he doesn't trust me around men.  Straight men, so it's a little lie, so I can talk to you about maybe getting into your line of work.]

She types rapidly.  [Modeling?  I no no do that any more.]

[I know, Jean told me.  I ment working cruises.]

[Oh yes?  You are a powerful swimmer.]

[Thanks!  We went to nationals, but didn't win.  You know, I was thinking about doing the olympics?  I don't know, there isn't really much money in it, but I figure you have less expenses living on a ship, and get to travel.]

[Jeane say you say.  It is like always on holiday, but you are planning to go to University, yes?]

[ :emot_laughing.gif:  You talk British.  Say "On Holiday," and "Got to University?"   :emot_rotf.gif:]

[Yes, mostly Anglo tourist, I learn from.  Also I lived in London for several years.]

She do not type, for several moment.

[It is a summer job, however I am certified to train in rescue.  Yes?]

[And don't worry about this just being an excuse to get my hands on your hot bod.  I am, gay.  You know?]

[I have seen you.  With Jeanne, and you madre also.]

[Well, she is technically my step mom.]

I see know what Jeanne mean.  About the sex, she always seem to bring the conversation around to it.  I look up from where it is saying she is typing, to see where.

[Not that you'd get the chance to, but don't say anything about that, to my daddy.  He doesn't know.]

[You have sex with her?  Your step mother?]

[Lately, nobody else can really even talk to me, you see how he chases off Jeanne.  You want to see a video?]

[Of you, having sex?]

[Can I see your cock?  Are you circumcised.  Huh, spanish catholic, huh?]

[Video File]

[I was thinking about using it for blackmail, but I don't really want anything else from her, and he'd just get so pissed, he'd probably lock me away for years.]

[You are very forward.]

[Are you getting hard?]

[No.  I am not circumcise.  Nor am I catholic.  You are eighteen, yes?]  International waters, and I am Spanish, not American.  However, [I am not attracted to girls too young.  Or you call lesbean.]

[Nineteen, and don't worry.  It's spelled LesbIan.  My daddy doesn't know bout this account.  You're really hairy, I bet it's hairy too.  Huh?]

I am European, the video it is.  Her mother take the phone, and hold it, but I see her on the bed.  She is hairy.  American girl, pluck everything up to the eyebrows, but she does not.  Especial for a swimmer.

"Uh!  Huhhhh!"  Squeeze it out, and switch to camera, before it go soft.

« Last Edit: November 01, 2017, 01:08:24 AM by Psiberzerker »

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Re: Family Crews
« Reply #2 on: October 16, 2017, 02:11:35 PM »

Oops!  Dropped my Mastercard, pulling out my sunglasses, and kept walking.


"Ope!"  He turned, "Prin


I ran, for the crowd, and around them.  Dropping my sun hat, and flipping my hair over to pull on the baseball cap I had in my purse.  The big one, ostensibly for "Shopping," but kept my head down.  Made sure I had everything.  Traveler's Cheques, can't be traced like credit.

"Addie!  Stop playing around.  ADDY!"

He sounds worried, good.  Keep yelling over the crowd, so I know where you are, makes it easier to avoid him.

"This isn't funny, ADDY!?"

Running shoes, so clutch my bag.  It still flops a little, and the pistol i stole, and smuggled in my luggage keeps slapping my hip.  His old travel piece, I don't know from guns, the smallest, but I can still barely get my hands around it, and it probably kicks like hell too.  I need a change of clothes, cheap, but fortunately there's shopping all around the marina, and I check my phone.

"Hhih hehn huh!"  Looking through a corner of windows, swipe past my brothers, and sisters responding to my arrival.  "Huh!"

Right, I chatted with him, so just tap on that, and [Javier Cruz]

Not his real name either, well he changed it to land the J.Cew account.  Clever.  Not like he's got his phone GPS tagged.

[Primera copa en Puerto.]

"Huh!"  Took a picture of it.  Who knew you could get an Espresso in Málaga?

"Hey uh."  Show her, "Cafe' Roy's, por favor."

"Aqui," she nodded, gave me directions.  Sounded like "Royce" the way she says it, but I'm used to the Mexican Español in Cancun, or Puerto Vallarta.

Right, Europe.  Just like France, or Italy for that matter.  Sitting back on a sidewalk, under a portico, another cup already turned over on the saucer next to a half eaten pastry.

He did say First cup back in port.  Little demitasse cups, so he ordered another, turned it over on the saucer.

"Guess who?"  I covered his eyes.

Nice view, if you like traffic, and a brick wall across the street.  Palm trees in the median.


"No!"  I punched his arm, and he turned around.

"What are you doing here?"

"Hang on."  I popped the battery out of my phone, and pitched it across the street.  "Mind if I join you?"  Pulled out a red plastic chair, and put my leg up.

"Su cafe, señor.  Y por su?"

"¿un menú?"  I nodded, "Gracias."   ;D  "I know, I talk like a Mexican."  Look down, I could go for a little bite after that run.  

Where I heard about Rapto, or read about it.  Brocheurs in the hotel, alerts for American travelers about the kidnapping gangs.  Not how to find one, of course, and daddy just brought more security, but.  You know.

I thought about it, anyway.

"Snh!  ¿Es ese cordero?"

"Si, señorita.  Es es nuestro mejor!"

Hand him the menu.  "Un Cafe aul lait?"

"Con Leche'."  He nodded.  

"I love lamb, is it good here?  I love it in Greece, but I've never had it in Spain before."

"It is different from Spain, but bery good.  You'll like it."

He looked at my leg.  I put it down, and the other one up to rub his leg.  

"So, you have a place here.  In town?"  She said he lives in Balencia, but has a place in Boston, where we sailed out of.

"Yes, for tonight."

"Well, what about later today?"

"Yes, I could check in early but it is not.  Bery nice, by your standards."

"Let me make this perfectly clear."  I nodded, seriously.  "I don't have my father's high standards.  Actually, my mom went nuts, and lives in a Psyche ward from trying to live like that.  I just want to get out.  I don't care where, but I have a passport.  Not a Visa, so you wouldn't happen to know any guys.  That deal with stuff like that?"

"Forging bizas?"  He's Spanish.  Shakes his head.  "Smuggler friend.  He may know somebody, but you do not.  Run away, and go back?"

"No, I'm not going back.  You know anything about kidnapping?"

"Yes, Jeane' say you speak of this.  She is no onboard with this.  Howeber, I may know someone, who know someone."

"I know how it is, make some calls, but let's have a nice breakfast, too."

I'll have to get some more money, at some point.  He'll pay, you bet he'll pay, but if not to get me back.  Then we'll have to talk blackmail.  I'd rather not, it's harder to get payments over and over without running up the risk of getting caught, but if I have to.  I think I'm worth half a $million.  He can probably handle that.



"Uh!"  The car sped up, the other side, and squeel around at the intersecion.  Good driver, pulled up.

 ::)  "No use running at this point.  Hate to stiff you with the check, but I've got to go.  I'll call you?"

"Princess."  he roll down the back window.  I no see his driver.  "You know I hate when you run away like that."

"You know I hate you calling me PRINCESS!"

"All right, Addy.  All right, I'm sorry.  Just get in the car."

"No, damnit!  I'm nineteen, and I'm never going to live a life of my own if you."

"You're making a scene."  He held the door, move over in the seat.

"You're not listening to me!  You never listen to me, and I'm never going to see anything, or do anything, or have a good time."

"What happened to your phone?"

"I dropped it.  Daddy, listen to me, please.  For once in your life."  She is in tears, and I want to help her, but he is not a scary man.

He is a man who know scary men.  I hear stories, or read them, she is to be a writer.  Say she just need a good job for the time being, like working cruises on summer, going to University, and write the great American novel.

Finally she get in and they drive off.  

"Huh!"  I do no see his driver.  he no get out, but he take that turn, at speed, like a Monte Carlo driver, or a mercenary.  He is a businessman, no a Mob businessman, like the Mafia Siceeli, but Chamber of Commerce at Hartfort.  I never been there, only Boston, our main port of call, but his family is as the Kennedy in Boston.  I hear.  

"Another Cafe`, sir?"

"No, thank you.  How much is?"

"I'll get your check."

She couldn't finish the lamb, and it is very good.  We split it, and the Cafes are no expensive.  I can cover this, and I want to help her.  She say she can no pay me, she need to save her money.  Her hairy leg brushing mine, and her buttons going down one by one.

She is desperate woman, and I no need this work.  Is nice work, I can get more, but i do this.  Not for money, not for sex, for her life.  He no kill her, he no let her live, so I do this.

Not on my phone.  "Thanks."  Pay, I can get a payphone around the corner.  I know this, like Madison Astor.  I was Antonio Ribiero.  No like Alfonzo Ribeiro.  He is Carribian, and note the spelling.  Same name, though.  Riviera, and my last name.  My new name it was news in the fashion tabloids for a month.

[Meet J.Crew's newest model, J. Cruz!]  That was me.  For maybe 6 weeks.

Is no longer useful, but he have seen me.  He know me, I have only change my name legal.

Cheap phone, no like the one she throw.  Just buttons, call.  Anybody buy one, I no have the number on me, but I get it.

I have to help her, her whole life ahead of her.


Jean (MF .txt)

[I can't help you.  She told me stories, I wouldn't have believed if I hadn't seen the video from her Birthday Party.  I don't know about her dad, but she said the worst part was being forced to go out, talk to everyone, and keeping a smile on her face after seeing her like that.  She exposed her, in front of everyone, and forced her to orgasm while they watched with a quarter horse vibrator.]

[What is a quarter horse viberator?]

[Sorry.  A quarter horsepower.  Let me look that up in.  Whatever the metric equivalent would be.]

[OIC yes.  I had think of a quarter horse.  I do no know horses.]

[373 watts.  Approximately.
Oh, Never mind, then.  A lot.  Very powerful for a vibrator.  I didn't even know they made them that powerful, but it explains a lot.]

[Explain what?]

[Have you had sex, with her?]

[No very.  She offer, but only on chat.  
She say she is lesbion, then she offer sex?]

[She is very insensitive.  It takes a lot, I don't even know how much, I tried.  She was turned on, and it turned her on even more, but I wore out my wrist, and then the other wrist before I gave up.  I didn't have any toys to work with, of course.  Thank you for playing gay, and hitting on him for us.  It was worth it for the opportunity, and.  She is very good.  Extremely good in bed, I just wished at the time I could make it up to her.
That could be many different things.  There are many reasons why a lesbian would have sex with a man, and as you said, she is a very desperate woman.]

[Then help me help her.]

[I can't.  I know you have other options, but I can't just get fired, fly home, and maybe pick up another modeling contract.  I love this job, more than anything else I've ever had.  It makes the rest of my life worthwhile, and I have never been so stable.  Financially, of course.]

[You are talking about the dancing.]

[No, I'm talking about the offers to have sex for money, and having to accept them to make enough for rent, food, gas, insurance, and maybe some clothes or shoes that aren't worn out.  I don't have your looks, or your education, I have my body, and at my age that's not enough any more.]

[Your body is fine.  I have always loved it, and I have told you this.  You are worry for nothing, you no let yourself go.]

[I'm 38 years old.  I'm almost 39, which is almost 40.  I can't take much more wear and tear, much less eat well, tan, work out, and have time enough to work, if it's honest work.  It just too much money.  Whoring, and I am a whore for whoring, but I can't do that.  I can't, full time, you don't know what it's like and I need this to make it through another year.  I don't know if I can make it another year even with this payed vacation, but if I lose it, I know I won't make it to 40.]

[Then help her.  She is nineteen years old, she has never live half as much as you, and she has the rest of her life to live.]



[I know.  You're right.  What do I have to do?]

[I have a gun.  she leave her bag with a gun in.  I do no know how to shoot.  I never have a gun, but you do.  you were in military, yes?]

[Well, I hardly think my stint in the Coast Guard makes me a Marine.  I saw a little action in Florida, but from the deck, and drug runners, moslty.  Spent more time with Cuban Refugees, but yes.  I do know how to shoot.  What kind of gun?  What caliber?]

[It say Witness.  10mm on it.  This?

I say, I do no know guns.]

[Looks like a compact.  .10mm?  I didn't know they made a .10mm compact, but is there some place to shoot?  Quiet, that's going to be really loud.]

[I will see.  My friend, he says I go see a friend.  Call him Vasquez.  The Basque, only the Basque.  No other name, but you hear what they do in Barcelona?]

[No, but I can look it up.]

[I must go.]


"Huh!"  What have i gotten myself into?

« Last Edit: October 16, 2017, 04:57:58 PM by Psiberzerker »

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Re: Family Crews
« Reply #3 on: October 16, 2017, 05:42:55 PM »

So, I watched the door.

"Ha Bier!  Ha Bier!"

Certainly popular around here.  

Signing autographs.

"A la verga!"

All shouting over the music.

"Le dije que, me pagas!"

One of them pulled out a wallet.

So, "¿Qué te trae," he looked up.  "A la Riviera?"

As pickup lines go.  Well, I didn't come up with it, myself.

"Vete chicos mi cita está aquí!"  he waved them off.  "Aquí!  Aquí!"

He yelled in my ear.  "Why a gay bar?"

"Loud music, 2 men can talk to each other.  You'd be recognized any where else.  Great entertainment?"

Local celebrity, he's not even from the Riviera, but.  It was kind of cute watching him squirm.

"I like pretty men.  Manly pretty men."  Great dimples.  Even with his signature neatly trimmed stubble shaved clean, I'd recognize him anywhere.  "Snh!"  I can smell his aftershave, to shout in his ear, get his autograph later.

"You are."  He frowned.




There's those dimples.

"All right, but I know a lot of Basque."  There goes the air of mystery.  "Spent a lot of time as a child in their beautiful country, and what with the mess in Barcelona, I thought it would be the best cover for the job."

"I know a little."


"Not as a native, but.  What is your plan?"

"Wear masks, yell a lot in Basque, make a dirty getaway?"

"How dirty?"

I pulled out a photo.  

With her father, "Seen him?"  Set it down, he turned it over.  

Look at the chaps on stage.  And what's in the chaps.  And the chap with the chap in chaps.

"Huhn!"  Problem is, when you get to know them, it's like fruit punch.  You think it's Sangria, and why would you not?  Then you take a sip, it's coyingly sweet, and there's no wine in it.  Or worse, too much!

"Yes, I think this is his driver."

"I have to kill him."  Hold up a finger.  "1 shot, on the move, very difficult.  He Is their security, then we can take them.  If not, then it gets very very dirty."

"You have done this before?"

"Rapto?"  Shake my head.  "Counter-terrorism, hostage extractions mostly, but I am not a negotiator.  We are not here to negotiate."

"Yes, good."

"We'll need masks.  I don't know if he."  Tap the photo, and slip it off the table.  "Would recognise me from Afghanistan.  I don't think he saw me, but his company may have photos of me."


"Ex-CIA.  Now working private security, but you have to understand.  This is all sensitive."

"Yes.  Do you think you can rape him."

"The target?  Yeah, no problem."  That's something I have done before.

"well, you know all male models.  We are."



"Uh?  Ah, hahahaha!"

"I know why I do this, but why do you do this?"

"Huh!  Save the princess?"

He shakes his head.

"No."  tuck it back in my jacket, "Pay back a debt."

He looks uncomfortable.  "Would you want to get out of here?"

"Yes, let's go."  I have a safe house.



I guess the casting would be Alexis Denisov for the killer that doesn't look like a killer.  So, by process of elimination, her father looks like Joss Whedon.



"Zhenette', you are French?"

"Duboise."  I nodded.

"Du Bwah!"  He corrected.

"French American."   ::)  "What are you doing?"

He held the dropper carefully, and I covered my nose.  A little smoke curled out of the circuit board, then he set it aside on a saucer, with a clink.

"Corrosion."  He cooked too.  "Nitro/sulfuric acid.  So it won't go off."  Nitrocellulose, packed into pipes.

"You don't want it to go off?"  He sat back, turned on a fan, and pulled down his mask.

Not Jean Reno, but the sort of man that would be played by Jean Reno.  That's probably who she would cast for him.  Big, French, old, scarred.

"I had this friend.  Childhood friend, before he became a seperatist."

"The Basque."

"Yes, he will take credit for this, but I do not want to bomb the Riviera.  So, accidents happen.  He may have spilled a drop of acid on the circuit."

It smells horrific.  I stepped back, and sat on the cot.  The springs squeeked.

"You were lovers."  Jerry nodded, his hand up on his cheek.  Cleenshaven, he looks strange.  Like someone taking off glasses, when you've only seen them wearing them.

"Huh!  You guys mind if I get some sleep?"

I just have to drive, pilot the boat, but.  They need someone on the wheel, because there's 2 of them.  One for Addison, and one for her father.



I have to wonder about that man.  This morning, their Driver showed up for practice.  In the deep end, her arm around me, and.  She is such a powerful swimmer.  Jerry was busy of course, which is better all things considered.

They caught up, smoking in the corner, but I suppose that driver is where she got the idea for Boris from.

Didn't catch his name.  Sat with his back to the wall, constantly looking around, watching everything, and everyone.  Short sleeve shirt untucked, like a jacket.  Floral print to blend in, he does not blend in.  I didn't see a gun or anything, just how he sat back.  Leaning the pool chair up on 2 legs, scooted out so his back wasn't against it.  

To make room for something.  The lap/practice pool is deep in the ship, secure on dock, most of the guests and families out enjoying the Riviera, he probably wasn't even armed, but force of habit.  Like looking around constantly, I can't imagine living like that.  Never being able to relax, because one moment with your guard down could cost you your life.

That scar on his forearm.  Or around it, don't ask him where he got it, but it twisted around like a rope, or someone tried to peel the skin off his arm with a knife.

This is a man who has been tortured, and survived it.  Ask me why Addison is attracted to men like that.  The rest of her story, the adventure.  Running, and holing up.  Huddling together for warmth, and the hard lethal man becoming gentle, loving.  I can understand that, but the way she describes him, it's almost as if she wants him to sound disgusting.  

Anything but attractive, but I suppose that's just not my type.

I have a man, a good man, I would even go so far as to call him the perfect man.  He's beautiful.  That's what you notice first, and you would expect a man like that to be conceited.  Arrogant, swaggering prick that thinks himself God's gift to women, but he's not.

I love him.  I suppose I've been fighting it for a while, lying to myself, as if I had only gotten the Spanish magazines sent over to keep tabs on him.  A friend, with benefits, but I missed him.  I missed my job too, but now that I know he won't be there.  I won't see him smiling, happy to see me.

I need this job, but now I'm starting to believe I need him.  He's not planning to run away with her, is he?  He likes her, and he says he Needs to help her, but he doesn't need her.  Romantically, does he?


"Hm!"  Blink?  "Mh?"

Roll over, but I can't unsee that.

I knew he was gay, didn't try to hide it, but.

How could he?

« Last Edit: October 17, 2017, 09:38:13 AM by Psiberzerker »

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Re: Family Crews
« Reply #4 on: October 17, 2017, 08:35:18 AM »

Sorry it's taking so long folks, but I had to sleep on it.  Got a little too ambitious with the setup, so it's almost impossible to write without being anti-climatic.



"Uh!"   ::)  "Forgot my purse."

"Again?"  Who else would go back for it?  My father?  No.  He didn't think about going back for the Master Card yesterday, because that's money.  Send Westly back for it?

"Got a smoke?"

He nods, pulls out the cigarette case, and hands me the lighter.  I light it, and hold up the flame for him.

He leans down, focuses on the flame, reflected in his glasses.

I close my eyes.  Did my part.  He holds his head still.


"Uh!"  My cigarette tumbles from my mouth, and I wipe my face.  "UH!"  Fall down, looking at my hands.  Smeard with blood.  "Oh my god, Westley!?"

I used to call him Vestly.  Sometimes he wore a vest, but mostly because of the way he says it.  Not a German accent, sounds more like British English, or maybe Australian, but he swears in Russian, and some other language I never heard anywhere else.

"Princess, we have to go.  Get in the car we have to get out of here, now!"

"Ez mugitu!"  No, not that.  "Eman autoa!"  That's Basque.  "Azkar!  Azkar!"

Dragging me back, across the back seat, and the door slams.  Another, and I look up at the gun.

His gun, machinepistol.  Skorpion, he called it, the magazine pulled out from the side.  The section of rubber hose, cut from an inner tube snapping off, and falling in the wheel well.

The mask.  Like a ski mask, only just cut open in a ragged slit around his eyes.

Squinting, I recognize them.  Jerry's eyes, telling me it will be all right.  He doesn't say a word, just sticks the magazine in the action, and pulls back the handle on top.

"Don't move."  He nods.

I shake my head.

"Let her go.  I'll give you anything you want, just pull over and let her go."

"You are in no position to negotiate."

The new guy.  Never met him before, The Basque.  E.A.A. witness I stole.

"You will give us what we want.  That is not a question, it is an order.  If we want her, we take her too."

The car lurched, squeeled, around the corner.

The gun moved.  It didn't swing, it just stayed pointed at daddy.  Steady as can be.  Almost as if it was locked on, a machine, a robot was holding it instead of a human arm.

"Slow down, we don't want a car chase."

"Yes sir."

Jeane?  She had a mask too, but Jeane is driving?  What's she doing here, this is no place for her, I expressly didn't want her involved, she's just a lifeguard.  She could be killed!  

We slowed down, and I started crying.

I knew it was going to happen.  I even held the lighter so he would hold his head still.  Now I have his blood on my hands.  It's one thing to read a story, watch a movie, or even write about hitmen, and mercenaries.

It's another thing all together, to be there, when a bullet goes right through his head, and have his blood on your hands.

I didn't kill him, but I conspired to kill him, and he was right in front of me.  I didn't see it, but I felt it.  The hot spray of blood.  I have known him for years, trusted him with my life, and now he's dead.  I betrayed him.

By far the worst thing I have ever done.

Now I just want to die.



I could have planned it better, had I known where they would have breakfast.  When is easy, the ship sails in under 2 hours, but I pull my sleeve out from under my watch.

Someone pulls money out of the bank machine, leaves me a bill, and walks off.  

"In position."  Over my earpiece.  

"Yeah, me too."  The American woman, I do not know much about her.  Part of the plan, she is American.  Knows how to handle a gun, 10mm.  A lot of gun for a woman, but unloaded it, and gave it to me, then the magazine.  Compact, empty chamber.  

"Use this."

When you have done the kinds of jobs I do, enough you get to be a judge of character.  She is an amateur, but the man.  He is an FNG.  Fucking new guy, last night.

He had never been with a man before, but he picked it up easily enough.  He had to know, he could do what needs to be done.  He does it well.

She wants us to rape him.  Her father, that is the job.

"Here they come."

I do not need to know what for.  I have heard enough, getting up, and rolling down my knit cap, turning my head so that I can see through the slit.  Improvised Balaclava, rolled up it just looks like the sort of hat a vagrant would wear to keep warm, huddled on the sidewalk.

Leaving the satchel against the bank machine.

¡Él tiene un arma!  Ignore the sound of them running.  Behind me, focus on the scope.  

"Hhuh!"  Hold my breath, listen to my heart, 75 meters.  He leans in, holding his cigarette up to the flame.

Between beats, arms, and knuckles rested on the bonnet of a nearbye car.  There they are, standing up, rolling down their masks...


"C'est pour l'Afghanistan."

I didn't come for her, I came for him, but now I have a job to do.  Transition to the compact.  Crossing the street.  10mm is a good round, but not a long enough sight line for a shot at that range, nor an easy way to mount a scope to it.

"Eman autoa!"

He dragged her back, into the back seat.  I got in up front, she took the driver's side.

Good, she did not break down, freeze up under pressure, and the model.  His first firefight, or no fight.  A man like that.  Viseli, Serbian war criminal, wanted by Interpol, but I would not arrest him.  I owe him, would have liked to taken him, raped him, make him pay, but C'est le vive.

The best plan is the simplest.  Don't fight, kill.  Get away, and blame the Basque.  He will take credit for the attempted bombing.  His bomb design, just needed a getaway car, how was he to know he would take his daughter, and take cover in the back seat.

All we wanted was the car, of course.  That will be the determination, wrong place, wrong time.  How would he know what Eman autoa means in Basque?  He doesn't know any Basque.

Good job, it could have gone better, but it could have gone much worse.

"Slow down."  Don't want a high speed chase.

"Yes, sir."

Was she in a military?



She asked me.  Where's your sense of adventure?  Once, I had thought I'd gotten it out of my system in the service, but this.

This is exciting!

"Slow down."

"Yes sir."

Stupid, he told me this.  Don't run, walk.  If we run, they will see us, if you walk, you can blend into traffic.

"Right."  No need for the mask any more.  Deep tinted windows, like mirror shades, but a masked man driving a car makes it look like a getaway car.  Shake out my hair, and unzip my jacket.  The baggy stained jacket he loaned me, in a camo pattern I don't recognise, Alpenflage he called it, but calm down.

I had lost this, sense of adventure, but I was finding it again.  All the leadup to this, right past the main marina.  The spit NE of it for the deep draft ship.

Not Princess Cruises, Celebrity, but.  I suppose Princess was ironically too cheap for his expensive tastes.



He never suspected, pulling up to the light, he must have recognized my hair.

"What is this?"

"Don't hurt me!"


She's not much of an actress.  Sounds like a line, I suppose she thinks that way.  Having never lived, I thought I had, but only ever really watched the action from the deck.  Or in movies, I guess Ronin is about the closest I've ever seen to this.  Heist?  Gig?  I don't even know the terms, but it's an easy one for me.  Whatever you call it, I just have to drive.

What's the speed limit here?  I can speed up without it turning into a high speed chase.  I don't have any vehicular combat training, and I wonder if they have a helicopter?

"Give me this."  The light changed, but I saw them switch guns.  

The professional, not the movie, but by far the most experienced on our team.  Or is it Crew?  He doesn't look like Jean Reno, honestly more like Sean Bean, but sounds like him.

"Huh!"  Makes sense, the longer machinepistol.  Not at all like I imagined it from the story.  I was thinking more like an Uzi?  This looked like a toy assault rifle, with a wire stock that made this TING!  Sound when he unfolded it.  To lock, and hold in his shoulder, steady as.  A laser?  

I don't know, I'm not the writer, I just have to drive.  Adjust the mirror.

"Mh!"  Her bloody face, caked in her hair too, I'd seen men get shot before, but not that close.  Maybe that's what the red patches in the camoflage is for?  Is that brains?  Brush it off, but heading out of the city.  Or town, I don't know it's all a strip, with hotels, and motels.  Resorts along the beach, and lots of piers.  

Here's my turn, check my blind spot, they have a bag over his head, so he'll know we turned.  Right, but not when.  Not where.


How do you work this thing?  I don't know guns, but the bullets stick out the bottom of this box, the thick black rubber band fell off, and I lined it up with the bullet facing forward.  No slide on it, but the knob on the top has a slot.  


There, it's loaded.

"Don't hurt me!"


This is a performance, all a show.  Of force to get money.  She could give it away, but I have tape.

"Give me this."

Oh good, let him handle the big one, his hands are steadier.  The compact is a little easier to handle, I never held a gun before.  The other day, hard to believe I never have seen one before, in real life.  


I have a job to do.  I do this for her, to live.  For us, to live the rest of our lives, so I can make her happy, just cover her mouth, so that she does not have to act.


"Give me your hands."


I look up.  "What is this?"

"Bag him."

Nod, it is good, to have someone to know what to do.  To tell me, as I know not what to do.  What needs to be done, so we may live together.  On the run, I can do this.  Always like to travel, and we will have to look over our shoulders.

It is hot in this mask.  In this car, he recognized Jean, and he can not see.  It is not far, I just want to get there.  Get the money and go.  I want this to be over so our life can begin.

« Last Edit: October 17, 2017, 04:59:30 PM by Psiberzerker »

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Re: Family Crews
« Reply #5 on: October 17, 2017, 12:44:00 PM »


He taped up my hands, and I braced myself.  I knew this was part of the plan, I wrote it, I had to be tied up for it to be convincing, but I didn't think I would like it.

Too much like Discipline, but I found myself, drifiting on the seat.  Just the motor, and faraway voices.

In English, I don't care what they're saying.


The tape feels, sticky, and clingy.  I know I'm going to lose some hairs when it's pulled off, but my fingers just slip together.


How is this any different?  The same way, I had to hold my hands behind me.  Or behind my head, don't let go, or it just made it worse.  Sit up straight, don't slouch, I could remember my hair pulling, my arms getting tired, shaking, and falling exhausted, panting for breath even as the powerful vibrations stopped, leaving me shivering, and quivering inside.

I feel, comfortable?  Okay, the armrest, I can feel it in my back, and I know if I scooch, but I don't want to.  For some reason, I like feeling it with my shoulder blades, my hands in my lap, the tape, and even the hairs sticking to it, I feel almost free?

How is that possible?  How does bondage make me feel free?  Why does the stink of the tape smell so good, the crust of blood on my forehead, drying, and on my knuckles.  I can feel, everything?

The only time I ever felt free was when I ran away.  Yesterday, has it even been 24 hours?  Feels so long ago, but when I got around the corner, and looked through the glass, I knew I had made it, and I could see them coming, but I didn't.

They weren't right behind me, I was free, and that's the closest thing to this feeling I remember.  Of course, I wasn't.  I held onto the phone too long, when I knew better, I just forgot to ditch it when I saw him.

Just sitting there, not a care in the world.  Ordering another cup, so I could sneak up behind him.  Maybe that's what I like about him, he didn't live in fear.

"SNHHHHH!"  Blink.

I'm not free yet.  I'm being kidnapped, and I'm supposed to act, like I'm being kidnapped, but I didn't have to act when we killed Westly.  "Huh."

There's a bag over daddy's head, so the show's over, and there's the boat.  


It's so much like I imagined, and yet so different at the same time that, I almost know how mother felt.  Going insane.  I know exactly why he did it.  Locked me up with armed guards to protect me, after what she'd done.  Now she's locked up in a psyche ward for raping that guy.  Yeah, he's a total asshole, but all he did was talk to me.  Say I looked better naked, and.  "Snh?"

"Get out."

Just get on the boat.  Jean slams her door, that's Jerry leading me.  So gently, I'm glad he was in the back with me, I know he'd never hurt me, and the new guy is so scary, I know I'd be terrified if he bound me, but why oh why did I just melt when he did that?

Oh, there he is.

"Watch your step."

Throwing a gas can in the back.  KUNK!  Sounds like an empty one.

Tink!  Flick.  WHOMPH!

Now he's running, and the boat is rocking, but Jean starts it up.  Watching him, and holding the throttle until he jumps on board, rocking the boat.

RHNNNNNNNN!  He just puts his hand down.  On the back of the seat, turns, and sits down.

Kept his mask on, looking around like Westly.

A lot like Westly, he doesn't move like a model.  Nor a dancer, a runner, or anyone.  They both run and walk with this efficient grace, like a killing machine.

A man, who had killed enough to have lost all emotion, or go insane.  Ultra sane, an uncaring robot.  A tool, a weapon.

He checks his watch, and I see a scar on his wrist.  A nasty one, looks like a cut, but deep, and either it run all the way around under the bezel, or that's another one that disappears under his cuff.

He's not even breathing heavy, just calm.

One step closer to freedom.  All that's left is getting the money, and making daddy pay.

He has no idea what I've been through.  He's never been tortured, never been raped.  Not yet.

I loved him once, then he left me alone with that monster.



We got them on board, and I just have to drive the boat.  That's my job, I don't have to be down there, in the hold, just cast off the tender, winch up the anchor, and go up to the bridge.

Nice boat.  Beat up, rusted, registered out of Marsaille, of course.  He's not French, either.  I've been to France, many times, and not on European Holiday, work trips.  The only vacations I could ever afford, I've heard French accents in the seediest wharfside dives imaginable.  If he's French, then I'm Mary queen of Scots.  Doesn't tell me what he is, but I doubt he's Basque, either.

Too good at languages, even better than me, but than I'm not a spy.  mercenary, assassin, spook, whatever he is.  I'm going to settle on "Spook."  Ghost in the night, the kind of guys mobsters tell their boys about to keep them in line.  The boogyman.  Just killed another boogyman, and said that was all the pay he needs for this job.

Now, he's downstairs torturing her daddy for her inheritance.

That one, I don't know.  I don't want to know him too well, and obviously he considers me some sort of sub-human, but it still bothers me.  The mystery I suppose.  He drove his wife, her mother insane, I've seen video, but what does a man have to do to a woman, for her to lose it, and do that to her daughter?  Okay, he drove her nuts, but what kind of insanity leads to that?

Not only did she expose her, force her to orgasm in front of the men she gathered to marry her, then force her to talk to them rather than cry, like I would have wanted to sob for days after something like that.  "Snh!"  How could she be so blatantly sadistic?  She recorded it!  or she had it recorded, and it sounds like one of those fantasies you read about.

Mother catches her daughter with her vibrator, I'm no detective, but setting up a camera, pointed up at the railing, so you can't even see any of the ViPs, or at least prestigious men's sons but exactly what they saw.  That is what they call premeditation.  She planned it, and saved evidence to threaten her.  If you step out of line, then this video will be your debut on the internet.

Imagine that!  Would have gotten away with it, too.  If she hadn't raped the son of the wrong man.  She raped a man!  How the fuck does a woman rape a man, any man?  A quarter horsepower is like an angle grinder motor, no way that would fit in the body of a pocket rocket, but exaggerations aside, she raped a man!?

He must have raped her.  Her husband, I was kind of on the fence about the possibility of Marital Rape before, but now I have to admit that I was ignorant.  A stripper, I thought I knew what suffering was, but I never got a glimpse into their world before.  The rich, and powerful, you watch the soaps, and shake your head at how fucked up the stories are.

That's just what you show on Daytime TV.  You can't imagine, what depravities men, and even women get into when they have that much power, but that's far enough.  I'm well out into international waters, and I better stop while it's still shallow enough for the anchor to reach.

There's only way to find out.  I never wanted to look in a place so dark.  Even the night clubs I found myself in desperation, but I have to, or I will never know.  How a man makes a woman do something like that.

« Last Edit: October 17, 2017, 01:21:56 PM by Psiberzerker »

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Re: Family Crews
« Reply #6 on: October 17, 2017, 01:53:18 PM »

"You know who zis was?"

He looked at it.  "You took that at my house?"

"Non." He has been under surveillance for quite some time.  Walk back, and tuck it away, take off my jacket.  "You know, who he was?"

"My head of security."

"Yes, the man you had watch over your daughter.  Her brozers, and sisterz, eh?"

"Ex CIA.  I assume Westly was an alias, but he came highly recommended."

"Bojan Vesili.  Was his name."


"Serbian.  A high ranking Serbian officer.  Director for the general  Ratko Mladić."

"And Milosovich."


"The genocide."  He shook his head.  "No, I didn't know about that.  But your accent is slipping."

I unbuttoned my cuff, turned around rolling up my sleeve.  "I don't want to torture you, but no.  I am not French.  I am Croatian."


"You have seen this."  I unbuckled my watch.  "Before, yes?"

He nodded.  

"Well, he changed his name, to escape the war crimes tribunal, and then I caught up with him in Afghanistan.  Now, you are a low level bureaucrat.  City council, so someone of your level only gets the loyalty of a man like that, by dealing with criminals.  International criminals."

"You know what they will do to me if I sell them out?"

I held up my arm.  "Yes."  Turned it in his face.  "This is how it starts..."  Gripping his hand, taped to the arm of the chair, so he could imagine it.
 Remembering the sharp wire, cutting into my wrist, the darkness, my screams loud in the bag, and his voice.  I don't know who you are, and I don't care, I just need some information...  

There are many many more men like Vesili in the world, but I have rid it of one.  "Now."  I let go.  "Chamber of Commerce, this means finance, which means I know why you deal with these men."

"Money."  He nodded.

I shook my head.  "Power, but to you these are the same things.  You are not a Mayor, like your uncle.  A Representative in the House like your aunt, nor a Governor like your father.  You are a failure, when it comes to power in your family.  This is how I know that you have money.  A lot of money, illegal money, to make yourself feel better about being a lowly bureaucrat.  That is what I am interested in.  Not your inheritance, not the money you claim, and get tax breaks on.  Your security blanket, the money you have hidden, so no on else but you know about it.  The secrets you keep with your banker.  Where is it?"

"The Caymans."

"Now, you are going to tell me, everything I need to know to empty that account."

"You're not going to torture me?"

"Not if I don't have to."  I lied, got out my notepad, and tapped the point of the pencil on my tongue.




"Hah!  SPH!  Huh!"  No, don't splash me with water!  "Huh, somebody want to scrub my back?"  I shivered, it ran down from my shoulders.  I had to shake wet hair out of my eyes, and it started soaking through my underwear.

"MH!"  Daddy closed his eyes.

The masked man hung up the phone on the wall.  "Two point seven Million."


Okay, daddy was doing a little better than I thought, but I think I have it figured out.  First of all, that guilt for helping him kill Westly?  Well, that's a weight off my chest.  Think you know somebody, but speaking of which, my nipples are popping out the front, and this wet dress is clinging to me.

"Ngah!"  The bondage?  This time it's pretty not bad, probably beacuse i'm in on it, and they never left me alone.  I have the best view from here' it's all for me, and that sick fucker's already dead.  I can struggle, in fact it's fun!  I don't have to worry about letting go, I can shake as hard as I want, "NAHHH!"  Scream as loud as I want, I've never felt so free, and I was just too afraid to try it.  

It's not like Discipline at all.  It's like the opposite.  "Hih hihn nih!"  



"Don't hurt her, I gave you everything, just let her go!"  

When did they take the tape off?

Jean, tried to pull it off her fingers.  I bit my lip, watching it stick to her other hand, until finally she figured out how to stick it to his shoulder.  

"NAHHHHH!"  If I scream, then I won't giggle, and ruin everything.  It's just so funny!

"What I want to know is what you did to her."  


Woah!  Jeanne the dominatrix?  I never really thought I knew her, but still.


"Answer me!"  She socked him right in the jaw!?

I chucked my head, at Jerry.  While daddy's not looking.


Waved him over with my head.

"No, don't!"

He grinned.

"I never touched her, I swear!"

"It's true, he never, nhm!"

"Like this?"

"Mhmn!"  I shivered, and just closed my eyes.  Tried to cross my legs, wishing I could clamp his hand in there, but couldn't, and tried not to moan.

"Look at me."  She turned his head, so I closed that eye again.

'tear off my dress.'

"What did you do to your wife!?"




"Hahn!"  They shook with the front tearing open, then his hands felt hot.  Strong, and his face was in my neck.

"No, nothing!  I never did anything to her, I loved her!"

"Is that why you left her?  Drove her mad, until she did this?"

'hang on.'

She held up my new phone, and he looked at it.

 :emot_weird.gif:  "No, dear god.  No!"

'kiss me!'



If I didn't do something, I don't know if I'd laugh or cry.

I could hear him, sobbing.  "I knew she was sick, but if I had any idea she would do that to her own children, I never would have let her have custody.  I'm sorry, oh god, WHY!?"

"Mwah, hahn!"  I gasped, 'hang on.'


"Oh bullshit."  She paced, "You mean to tell me your wife was abusive?"

"Yeah, she raped me too."


"GUHN!  Uhuhuhuhn!"

"Look what your overbearing, overprotective psychotic bullshit has done to her, LOOK AT HER!"

"Oh god, sweety, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

"How does a woman rape a man?  How does a wife rape her husband?  Try to make up a believable story to justify your sick twisted fantasies!"

"Jean?"  Turn to Jerry.  "Hold up."  He backed off.  My face softened.  Seriously, if you ever find a guy, that will go that far, with you tied up, and soaking wet, and then just stop when you tell him too?  Don't let him go.  "It's true.  She blackmailed him.  She threatened him, punished him, accused him of cheating on her, tied him up and beat him until she didn't have to any more."

"Have to what?"

"Tie me up."  He nodded.  "HhuhHhuh!"  His head fell.  He shook it.  "I don't know, why it took so long to find the strength to leave her, but.  She didn't have to tie me up.  She told me to hold still, and I did."


"Because if i knew i didn't, she'd hurt me worse."

"Then, you left me with her!"  I screamed, "You coward!  You left me alone with that monster, and she did it to me too!  RahH!  NRAUGH!"  

Oh yeah, and sent a war criminal to rescue me.

Well, now he's going to find out what that feels like, and I get to watch!



I cut him free.  Still sobbing, looked over at the lovebirds making love.

"Ahn, hahn!"

"Nh hn hm!"  His shoulders shook, but I brought his hands together.  Pulled the tape out of a cargo pocket, and he just held them.  In front, like he was praying.

Broken, but from what I just heard, long ago.  I've been around, the world.  In search of something, I thought would make me feel better.  it didn't, after all those years bent on revenge, especially for my failure, and the humiliation that he didn't even see my face.

"Huh!"  I know this.  Women are every bit as capable of unspeakable evil as men.  I have heard of tortures, worse than even I have endured, and in some circles the worst most terrified rumors are about women.

This Jeanne, she has never done this before.  I can tell, having seen her handle a boat I suspect she may have been Navy, but her first time.  She did not hesitate.  She is not as strong as a man, but power does not come from your hand.  A man would have knocked him out.  She just hurt him, mercilessly, and left him broken, but she was not his first.

The men I have spoken to.  They have been tortured by other men.  To be tortured by a woman is something all together else.  Indescribably worse, it took something out of them, the same thing that was gone from him.  His soul, his spirit, I am not a man of faith, but I have seen it happen enough time before.  men who will lose a comrade, to something as random and meaningless as a mine, an joke about it later.  Around a fire, I have done it, it is how we grieve.  How we honor the dead.

These same brave men.  She called him a coward, but every man I have ever seen, that I would call a coward were made that way by a woman.  Usually their mothers, but even grown men, heros, and villains can be broken by a woman.  

Now, I look at this girl.  The bar between her feet slapping the backs of his legs.  yanking on the chain to pull herself up for another hard thrust behind her.  He is strong.  Muscular, powerful, beautiful with that body that only comes from meticulous work in the gym.  He was never mine, i only had him that one night, but I have what's left of a man here, and a job to finish.

Taping the 10mm in his hands, holding up to my chest, over my heard, and pushing his limp finger into the trigger guard.



I feel down, to his pants.  Undo the buckle, and force my finger in there.  Roughly pull them to snap the button, and my gloved fingers slip out of the zipper.

He nods, knowing what's coming.


"PTOO!"  Slap it in his cheeks and wipe it up.  Tap his pucker with my fingertip, but he's not resisting.  He can't, it's been taken out of him, long before Vesili started working with him.  Before he got on my radar, before I ever saw them together in their fine Conneticut home.

"NGH!"  He grunts, tightens.  "Huh!"  Nods.  He's ragged, long healed, but I felt it.  He's been fucked before, by his wife.  I don't even have to hold his arms up, under his chin.

"You know, there is only one way to end this pain."

Pulling back the slide.  

"One bullet."  I let it go, and close my eyes.



« Last Edit: October 20, 2017, 04:38:29 AM by Psiberzerker »

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Re: Family Crews
« Reply #7 on: October 17, 2017, 04:01:53 PM »

"Where's your sense of adventure?"

I heard it, from the bridge.  The muffled shot, I think even something smacking the sloped lid of the loading doors, and ricocheting off the other.  Not the most ideal bullet trap, but by the time it flattened off one, bounced off the other, then probably hit the wall.  Steel, covered in dirty planks, for some sort of cargo to bash against on a swinging gantry, loading a moored cargo trawler.  

Little more than an enclosed barge, single bay, 110' long by 26' wide at the deck.  60-70 tonne empty, probably carry another 20 without getting too low.  

I should feel something.  They just raped, and tortured a man.  I, tortured him.  At first I thought he was an abuser, he somehow found a way to make her like that, but now.  I know, a woman can rape a man.

Disappointed?  It wasn't part of the plan, but.  There they are.  Carrying him, wrapped up in a tarp, with cables secured around it.  Banding, those metal ribbons clipped together, and heavy duty chains they're locking to something heavy and rusted to.  Looks like some sort of axel.  Not to a car, no gearing in the middle, or an oversized barbel.

I tortured him, then they killed him.  He admitted he was the victim, of a woman.  A man of power, not enough power, took money to compensate himself for it, but she had taken that from him.

I should have asked him.  How does a woman take a man like that, strip away his power, and force him to stand there, while I rape him.


I'm thinking about that now.  I tortured him, and enjoyed it.  My knuckles are going to bruise, but I look at them on the wheel, and I feel something.  

Pride?  You know, I haven't lived enough myself, and I'm not barely 20.  I'm almost 40, so it's about time I figure out what I want to do with my life.

Nice boat.  Not too big, but large enough to stay here, if he would have me.  He's not my type, but then neither am I his.

There she is.  The men finally roll the axel up, with the body handing over, so it can fall.  Sink.  Looking west, i can't even see the sure from here, and she runs up.  Looks over the side, but he's already gone.


I wonder if I should say something?


So, this is what it feels like.  Nothing.  I'm probably going to have to find another man, to torture.

I like that.  I wonder if she knows how?

"Hihihn!"  At the door.  "Let me guess, you work alone?"

"No, I just wonder if any of you have any useful skills."

"A little.  You think you can get me a PB?"

Tucking something back in his pocket.

"What was that?"

"A Beschumnyj Pistol."  She nodded.

"What for?"

"I'm comfortable with it, and Westly didn't have his on him.  What's that?"

"Just turned my hearing aids back on."

"Oh, and so I don't have to wear ear protection.  I'm young, and I have a great body?"

"I do."  Shake my head.  "Have some experience."  She's young, and overconfident.

He looks at me.  "Take the helm."  I take her hand.  "How do you feel?"


"Come on."  I sit down, feel her freshly shaved legs.  

"Maybe a little horny?"

"I don't, but I have contacts, and I would like to learn."  He puts his hand around his lover's waist.

"I was thinking of retiring anyway."

"Have you considered piracy?"  She giggled, "You'd make a wonderful dread pirate Roberts."

"It's a quote."

She nodded, "The Princess Bride."  and kissed my neck.



He pulled up, or his driver did.  Opened up the back door.  "Amateur night?"

"Did you get it, or not?"

"Of course, I wouldn't come empty handed."

"Neither would I."  I got out the money

"I'll take that."

"Cute kid."

"Mh," she grunted, turned the can, and wiggled it out.  "Good fit.  Snh?"  Smelled the muzzle end.  "Never been fired?"

He shook his head, surprised when she ignored him, pulled the trigger guard, and turned the other half of the canister.

"What is this for?"

"I'm comfortable with it?  Has it ever been fired?"  She pulled off the brass ring, and the port shroud.  Bent over to look through it at the dome light.

"No, it hasn't.  Where did you pick her up?"

"The Riviera."

"Which one?"

"Doesn't matter, they didn't make two of her."

"In answer to your question," she put it back together, just as quicly, the retaining ring still on her pinky.  "I'm compfortable with it, and I don't want to blow my eardrums out like the old man here."  Hooked her thumb, then stuck her pinky in the muzzle to slide the ring on.

"I have the box for it."

"Good.  Nm!"  She turned the can back on.  "I'm going to need some non-corrosive ammo, too."  Aimed, tried the hammer, and decocked it.  "Hm!"  Nodded.  Pulled up the back of her jacket, and tucked in.

"I brought 500."   :emot_weird.gif:

"That'll do to get her sighted in."

"It's all there."  he finished counting, and tucked it back in the envelope.

"Oh, and some spare vz 64, or 65 magazines, if you can get them."  She nodded, and zipped back up.

"I'll see what we can do."

« Last Edit: October 20, 2017, 04:56:23 PM by Psiberzerker »

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Re: Family Crews (Fin)
« Reply #8 on: November 21, 2017, 09:04:08 AM »

Adding a Prequel.  Background/motivation for one of the characters.  Namely why he doesn't trust gays, and transsexuals.  No reason to fear us, unless of course you have an experience like these.  It's a common fear, the "Trap," so I like to play with it, but it's unfounded.  It's not like we truly try to trick cistraight men into bed, IRL, but this is all Fantasy/Horror.