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From: Kelvar Varkel <var_kel@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Jake and the Castaway Daughters (Mf M+f MF mg hist oral rape) {Varkel} [2/12]
Date: Mon, 17 Apr 2000 21:10:13 -0400
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Chapter 2: Discoveries
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<1st attachment, "4jnar02.txt" begin>
Jake and the Castaway Daughters
a Novelette by Varkel
Spring, 2000
CHAPTER 2: Discoveries
Jake nearly jumped onto the boat's canvas cover. Restraining an
oath, he swung about to behold a young lady clad incongruously in
a bedraggled short dress and half-sleeved blouse, obviously
supported by many petticoats. Her light brown hair had been
coiled atop her head at one time; now long strands of it hung
free, fluttering in the breeze. She wore stockings to the knee
but no shoes. Two smaller girls, dressed the same even to garment
color, hung back behind this one.
"Who are you?" he asked, gaping at the bulge of modest breasts
under the wrinkled blouse. Raising his eyes, he realized suddenly
that she was beautiful.
"We couldn't get the locker open," she replied in a sternly
haughty voice that belied the unadorned innocence of her youthful
face.
The shortest girl, an exquisite blond child no older than eleven,
advanced around the tallest and pled, "Sir, may I have a drink?"
She stood close to Jake, staring up into his face, boldly
demanding the water.
"Yes, we're very thirsty," the tallest stated, reaching for the
bottle as if it were her right. The middle girl cowered behind,
peeking over her elder's shoulder at Jake, who in bemusement
surrendered the jug.
"You're from the ship," he observed unnecessarily. "Are there any
others?"
"None alive," the eldest said somberly, tilting the heavy jug for
the youngest to drink. "There are some bodies down the beach."
Jake turned to look. Much flotsam was washing in with the tide.
He could not distinguish human from artifact. Meanwhile the
tallest gave water to the middle child before bringing it to her
own lips.
When she lowered the jug, he asked, "What are your names?"
"I am Annabelle Celeste Meron," said the tallest gravely, "at your
service." She put her hand on the middle child, chubby, a dark
brunette. "This is my sister, Clister Marie." The identified
girl blushed fiercely, reddening even to the upper arms, and hung
her head. "And this is my youngest sister," -- the hand
transferred to the blonde -- "Jill Anna." Unlike her middle
sister, Miss Jill stared boldly up at the man.
Jake nodded. "I am Jacob Higgins, and I'm very glad to see you,
though for your sake I hope we find others alive."
"Daddy's still out there," Jill, the blonde, declared, her face
solemn. The middle child, Clister Marie, emitted a sob and turned
her face into the hollow of her elder's neck, where she began to
weep quietly but convulsively. The tallest regarded Jake
impassively, either in control of her emotions or perhaps in
shock.
"How in the world did you get ashore?" he asked.
"In that."
"In the lifeboat?"
"Yes. My father said that the storm was blowing toward land.
When the back mast blew away, he put us in the boat under the
cover and he climbed on top. He made the sailors lower it into
the water. When the storm died down, I was able to cut the
lashings with my little knife and we climbed out. The boat was
where it sits now."
"But your father ... wasn't with you?"
"No, sir. The boat --" She looked down at the snuffling Marie,
leaned her head closer to Jake and whispered, "The boat turned
completely over several times."
"Did it! I'm surprised you don't have broken ribs."
"Father put us between two mattresses."
Jake shook his head. "So much foresight for you and so little for
himself!"
Her eyes glinted. Criticism of her father was not welcome. "What
do you mean?"
"He should have realized he could never hold on to a boat cover in
such a storm."
"He is no sailor." She looked away and corrected herself. "Was."
A tear glittered in her eyelash.
"I'm sorry, my dear. Meron, eh? He was a passenger?"
The girl's eyes flashed upon his. "Aren't you from the ship?"
"Yes, of course." He smiled grimly. "I came ashore upon a spar."
"Then how could you not know about our father and us?"
Jake returned her stare, wondering how best to explain that, when
the blonde Jill declared, "He's the man in the little room behind
the bars. Is it truly a jail, sir?"
Even chubby Marie, still clinging to her elder, ceased snuffling
long enough to stare over her shoulder at him. He noted that her
eyes were so brown as to be almost black, where the other pairs
were bright blue, all inspecting him as if he were a gaffed shark.
But these were only young girls. "Yes, it is," he admitted
calmly. "Or was."
"Are you a very bad man?" asked Jill avidly.
He smiled at her. "The captain thought so."
"Captain Norris was a fine seaman," the tallest declared, haughty
tone returning. "Our father said so many times."
Jill asked curiously, "What did you do to him?"
"Jill!" snapped the eldest, but she, too, awaited his answer.
He maintained his smile. "I hurt his pride. It is a dangerous
thing to hurt a captain's pride."
Jill was fascinated. "Is that like mashing his <klung>?"
"His what?"
"Jill!" The tallest shrugged out of Marie's arms, caught the
blonde by the neck and pulled her away from the man. "You will
not speak of such things," she ordered fiercely.
Jake asked, "What does it mean?"
The blonde twisted easily away from the restraining hand. "It
means his grapes," the child explained. The eldest lunged for her
but she evaded, adding, "Wu Fong said they're not really grapes,
even if they do feel --" She had to leave off and break into a
run. The tallest chased her toward the tree line. Marie was left
to stare at him alone.
"Are you truly a bad man?" she whispered, eyes huge.
"No. What language is <klung>?"
"The Hanchow dialect. We didn't study Mandarin yet." Blushing as
if two successive sentences exceeded her limit, she spun away
after her sisters, running in the jerky manner peculiar to
pubescence.
"Hanchow? Where in China is that?" When he received no answer,
he raised hands to either side of his mouth and yelled, "I'll go
look for other survivors."
He set off down the beach. The enormity and horror of the
disaster weighed on him at last. Away from the charm of their
female voices and dress, he could contemplate what finding these
girls likely would mean to him. They constituted a responsibility
that no man of self-respect could ignore, not even one freed from
prison and saved from the storm by nothing more than fickle fate.
He passed three corpses, sailors known to him, one of which bobbed
in the surf, and waded into the water to pull that body onto the
beach also. He would have to bury them, he knew. He walked on
for several hundred yards but discovered nothing more than
scattered debris, the only consequential piece being a small cask
of rum.
Rounding a sand spit, he came upon a cove formed of tall rock. A
narrow strip of sand penetrated to its depth only on the nearer
side. The waves dashed directly on the opposite rocks. They
formed a natural cut sloping steeply up the hill, huge boulders
interspersed with green vegetation. The cut was oblique, so that
the surf broke only upon the outer perimeter. At its deepest
recess the sunlight, slanting over the slope that would soon shade
the whole beach, glittered on falling water.
He hurried at an easy trot along the narrow beach and found a
burbling stream dancing down the rocks into the sea. The flow was
copious today after the storm but seldom ever dry, according to
the mossy evidence. He cupped his hand under the cool flow and
tasted it. Fresh water!
He looked around, studying the site. Part way up the slope was a
level space among the palms. The ground was studded with fallen
coconuts. He recognized breadfruit and banana plants from his six
months stranded once in Hawaii. With tools he knew he could feed
a small group, and the boat's two lockers were supposed to contain
tools. Here was the place for a camp. It had food and water and
was high enough for a fire to attract rescue.
Oh his way back to the boat he reached the rum cask sitting in the
sand just as a dying wavelet splashed against it. Stupid, he
thought, to let it wash out to sea with the rising tide. He took
it up under his arm and walked on. It gurgled pleasantly.
Ahead of him the shade of the huge hill was beginning to darken
the white beach. The boat was a speck high and dry above the
strand. Its lightly loaded hull had been enough of a sail for the
storm winds to push it higher than the ordinary tide could reach.
The huge jumble of rocks glowered offshore to his right. Just as
well, he thought, that the girls could not imagine the doom their
fragile boat had so narrowly missed.
Jake undid the bung absently and took a long draught. The fiery
liquor was welcome in his gullet. Though he reminded himself that
it was too early for drinking, he took another swig. Why not?
Who could possibly be offended?
When he reached the lifeboat, he saw the girls in their colorful
clothing under the palm trees at the edge of the beach. They
seemed content to watch him remove the lacings at the stern of the
boat.
When he raised the canvas cover, letting the wind hold it back
above the still fastened part, he was greeted by the sickly
pungent odor of vomit. He found the two mattresses and, releasing
additional lacings, brought them out onto the high sand to dry.
Their condition did not surprise him. It must have been horrible
indeed inside the small boat as it rolled on its beams in pitch
darkness. Even people inured to ship motion by a long voyage
would have been sickened. He wondered whether the girls' quick
recovery of good spirits indicated strength of character or merely
the resilience of children.
Indeed this was a sailboat! The sectioned mast lay clamped along
the sides, with mainsheet and lines folded and stowed just ahead
of the centerboard box. The shippable tiller was clamped in the
stern. The survivors of Fleeting Star would not have to endure
this unnamed island for long!
He leisurely examined the boat's provisions from both bow and
stern lockers, finding another jug of water, several pounds of
hardtack, a sewing kit, a water-tight tube of lucifers, a sealed
box containing a Colts cap-and-ball revolver with the ammunition
for several reloads, a shovel, hammer, handsaw and, most
immediately impressive, a snicker snee. He held up the long knife
to see it glint in the sunlight. He smiled. With this boat and
its treasures he felt himself both fortunate and rich.
The girls gazed apprehensively down at the man near the water's
edge, watching him rummage through the lifeboat.
"Is he going to help us?" Marie asked with a nervous quaver in her
voice.
"I don't know," Belle, the eldest, replied slowly. "There's no
one else to help us, but remember what Father said. Sailors can
be trouble."
"I want my daddy!" Ready tears overflowed Marie's cheeks. She
bawled until Belle quieted her with a hug. The eldest found this
behavior curious, though she refrained from comment. Their father
had shown Marie the least attention of all.
"What kind of trouble?" asked Jill.
"I think you know the answer to that," Belle retorted. "Mash his
<klung>, indeed!"
"That's trouble for the <man>," the blonde suggested.
"Have you forgot what Wu Fong wanted to do to you?"
Jill retorted in the dialect of the Hanchow district that Wu Fong
had promised to ride her to the heavenly world on his rod of love.
Belle's eyes flashed. "Speak English. You know what Father said.
We must still obey him."
"It doesn't sound nearly so sweet in English," Jill grumbled.
"Is Father not coming back?" asked Marie piteously.
"I don't know, darling," replied Belle, hugging her again.
They watched the man sit on the sand and play ominously with an
enormous knife. For more than an hour they observed him
repeatedly loft the cask and drink from it.
Jake got gloriously drunk, although before every drink he reminded
himself that he had to take charge of the disastrous situation and
see after the girls. He began to hum a tune popular in the
waterfront saloons. The words soon came back to him. He sang
loudly and joyfully.
The wind blew his song, only slightly garbled, to the fascinated
audience under the palms.
"Oh-h-h, I've been there and I've been told
"That the Boston lass is mighty bold.
"If the fire is low and the money bright
"She'll dock your sprit throughout the night."
Marie had a question, but held it to listen more closely as the
distant singer attacked the chorus:
"The Boston lass, the Boston lass
"Will pinch your boodle and spank your ass.
"The Boston lass, the Boston lass
"Will lick your doodle and drain you fast."
The song ceased. "'Dock your sprit,'" Marie repeated. "What does
that mean?"
"I don't know," responded Belle, making a face, "but it's probably
indecent."
"I know!" Jill insisted. "The sprit is that long pole at the
front of the ship. I think it means what Wu Fong wanted me to
do." Her lip curled and she glared askance at the tallest. "If
you hadn't got Daddy to run him off."
"I saved you from a lot of trouble," Belle responded with some
heat. "The day will come you'll be grateful. Father said so."
"What trouble? Why will nobody say?"
Belle held her peace.
Shortly the man's voice arrived again, bearing a second verse.
"The Boston lass has a tight little cunt
"That pinches your doodle and makes you grunt.
"But for him who brings her even more gold
"She'll boot your ass out in the cold."
"Oh, the Boston lass, the Boston lass," etc.
"What's a doodle?" asked Marie during the repeated chorus.
Jill answered with a word of Chinese. Marie blushed. Belle
raised a punishing hand but relaxed with a sigh.
Jill frowned. "Then a cunt must be a hand."
"Why?" asked Belle curiously.
"Because it pinches."
Marie smiled secretly. "Not a hand," she murmured.
* * *
"By God," Jake exclaimed drunkenly, eyes wide in sudden
realization, "I'm a sheik on my own island and I have a lovely
harem."
He had consumed almost half the cask. His mind had become
confused and his lips numb. He was close to vomiting. His first
attempt to rise failed pathetically and he fell into a sprawl.
"Girls," he called from a stooping position, "your master is
coming to get you."
He struggled to his feet, pulled off his britches and staggered
toward the tree line clad only in the sleeveless shirt. His
penis, more nearly erect than his body, waggled back and forth as
he stumbled toward the girls. Spittle drooled from his mouth,
open to gasp for air as he lurched onward with bleary eyes, the
long knife still in his hand.
Belle watched the man approach with horror. She pulled Jill and
Marie behind her, then leaned down and collected a handful of
sand. Marie blubbered with quivering lips at the sight of the
oncoming monster. Jill peeked from behind the eldest in open-
mouthed fascination at the size of the exposed "doodle," so
incredibly larger than Wu Fong's!
"So, you pretty," Jake slurred, staggering up to the girls and
confronting Belle, who stood ready for combat, her body bent
slightly forward. "Do you want me first? I have enough for the
lot of you."
With a calculated flip of the wrist Belle threw the handful of
sand into his face. Though he dodged too late, his blink reflex
was still able to save his eyes. He fell back, caught himself,
pawed the air and staggered even farther forward, stumbled and
collapsed, his swinging arms knocking all three girls to the
ground.
"Hurrah!" the drunken man exclaimed in triumph, throwing Belle's
many skirts above her hips, exposing pale thighs and a modest
pubic bush. He crawled upon her before she could twist away,
easily fending off the blows of her fists with his arms. His
knees forced hers apart.
"No, no!" she screamed, trying to reach his eyes with her
fingernails. Lying heavily upon her, he wrapped one arm about his
face, using the other hand to guide his manhood. Marie, seemingly
overcome, dashed away into the trees. Jill hovered close, fist
balled and extended tentatively toward the man's head. Instead of
striking, however, she leaned around to see what he was doing with
the hand between the pairs of legs.
His fingers opened the tender flesh. Positioning himself, hand
assisting his stiffness, he pressed into it irresistibly, once,
twice. On the third thrust the barrier gave way. The girl
screamed in pain and fear.
"Don't hurt her!" cried Jill and struck Jake's back ineffectually
with both fists.
Marie returned suddenly from the underbrush, a freshly fallen
coconut, still in its husk and twice the size of her head, held
aloft. She brought its narrow end down with all her strength on
the straining man's head.
His body stiffened. He flopped over reflexively onto his back
beside his victim and lay still with mouth wide, breathing
hoarsely.
Blood spread quickly in the sand behind his head. Marie lifted
her weapon to strike again.
Belle interposed her own hand over his face. "Don't hurt him!"
Marie stared at her and said with a strange certainty, "Then he'll
only hurt you again."
Jill, eyes round, said, "You're bleeding, too, Belle."
The eldest got to her feet and pushed her skirts down. "I'll be
all right. We need him, Marie. This place is wild."
"I want my daddy," declared Marie, letting the coconut fall to the
sand. But this time she didn't bawl.
Jill leaned down to inspect the man's still erect penis, reaching
out and enclosing it with a diffident hand.
"Jill!" Belle screamed at the youngest, slapping her painfully on
the back of the head. "Get away from him!"
The youngest lurched erect and stood rubbing the back of her head,
wide eyes on her sister, who retrieved the long knife from the
sand where it had fallen and gestured to the others. "Come on
quickly, before he wakens."
They ran together down to the shore. Under Belle's direction they
secured the cask of rum and all the items Jake had earlier taken
from the boat, removing the lot in three trips deep into the
shelter of the trees, while Jake remained unconscious on his back.
Belle segregated the water and hardtack. The girls carried it up
the beach in the direction from which Jake had first appeared, to
a point where the tree line extended further out. There they
rested in the shade and took nourishment for the first time that
day, while keeping an eye on the fallen man.
<1st attachment end>
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