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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} [8/12]
Date: Mon, 17 Apr 2000 23:10:15 -0400
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Chapter 8:  Saved

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<1st attachment, "2jnar08.txt" begin>
Jake and the Castaway Daughters
a Novelette by Varkel
Spring, 2000


CHAPTER 8:  Saved


Naval Lt. Pierre LeContreau, commanding the French sloop of war 
<Ellette>, adjusted the focusing ring on his telescope, curious 
that the natives should try to outrun him on a day with such a 
fine, steady breeze.  The two outriggers, paddles flashing 
furiously despite well-filled rattan sails, barely overflowed the 
instrument's field of view.  They were pulling crosswind at their 
best rate, drawing away now but maintainably so for only a few 
minutes.  This maneuver was surprising, if flight was indeed their 
objective.  He would have thought that the Polynesian sailors, 
their craft fore-and-aft rigged as the sloop, would understand 
that while sailing due across the wind was the fastest tack for 
them, it was also best for his far taller sails that caught the 
stronger wind.

Lowering the telescope he gave the helmsman his new course and 
ordered the sailing master to adjust the lines.  The sloop heeled 
sharply as it turned and its master smiled, pleased as ever by its 
nimble behavior.  The new bearing gave him a better view of the 
outriggers' interiors.

"No cargo but people," he mused aloud.  He stiffened.  "But 
perhaps <that> is the contraband."

Bou-bou, hanging from a nearby stay very like a monkey, asked 
impudently, "What do you see, my father?"

"I'll treat you as a father!" the lieutenant declared.

The helmsman barked a laugh.  "As a father!"

The lieutenant smiled.  "Your father never plugged your ass, 
Carle?"

"Not my father, sir."

"Poor, lonely fellow!  As to what I see, Bou-bou my young, I see a 
boy in the starboard craft with his head resting in the lap of the 
big one who sits in the bow.  The boy, though tanned as well as 
you, is lighter skinned than all the others, and his hair is 
bleached almost light as yours.  That is a white boy!"

"A white boy, is it?  How is he dressed?"

"Not even so much as your ragged britches, my young.  As the 
others: only his tanned skin."

That news failed to please Bou-bou.  He scowled at the officer, 
his beardless face contorted, and asked, "Who needs another boy?"

"Oh, I can think of uses for another boy," the lieutenant smirked, 
"especially if the captain sends us to Papeete next week."

The helmsman grinned.  "Especially if that one is doing to the big 
one what Bou-bou so enjoys."

"I can't quite make out what he does --  Ah!  He has raised his 
head to look at us.  Brown eyes in a pretty face, Bou-bou, and 
about your age, I would guess.  My god, what a cock on that big 
one!  I would say our little one has been doing exactly that."  
The officer's mouth twisted.  "But, yes, a white boy!  That big 
cock has enjoyed its last lick."

He declared, "This has endured long enough."  He leaned over the 
poop rail and shouted, "Gunner!  Round shot in the swivel!"

Shortly a cry rang down the deck, "Swivel ready, master!"

The officer shouted back, "Put one in the water ahead of him.  
Fire when ready."

The cannon in the bow roared with a flash, belching a cloud of 
gray smoke that the crosswind blew cleanly away.  Two seconds 
later a plume of water splashed ahead of the racing outriggers.  
After an exchange of gestures their occupants deciphered the 
message.  The ragged sails descended and paddles on both craft 
sank into users' laps.

"Prepare to come about to starboard!" shouted the lieutenant.  
Acknowledgments returned from the helmsman and the sailing master.  
"Break out the accommodation ladder," he added.

When the much larger craft was nearly upon the outriggers, now 
motionless except for the tossing swell, he added the order of 
execution.  Shortly the sloop lay with her stern to the wind, 
sheets trailing before it, temporarily dead in the water.

"Marines to the rail!" shouted the lieutenant.  His squad of 
marines, deliberately visible in their gaudy blue uniforms, took 
station along the erstwhile weather rail, muskets at port arms but 
only too ready to lower upon the outriggers.

The lieutenant leaned over the rail and pointed down at the white 
boy, huddled wide-eyed against the big native, who held him 
securely with a muscular arm around the chest.  He shouted one of 
the few native phrases known to him, the one that meant "Come 
here!" and made sweeping gestures toward the Ellette's main deck 
with the pointing hand.  "Here, here!" he added, reinforcing his 
motions.  The natives had necessarily learned a bit of French in 
the six years since France had invested these islands.

The big one's face twisted.  Obviously the prospect was less than 
favorable to him.

The lieutenant barked to his own crew, "Lower the ladder."

Deckhands sent it over the side with a rattle.  One of the natives 
dipped his paddle, turning the outrigger and pushing its bow 
against the side of the larger vessel.

The big one released his captive, pointed towards the dangling 
ladder and made climbing motions with his hands.

"Curious," observed the lieutenant.  "They don't speak each 
other's language."

To the watchers' disgust the white boy threw his arms around the 
big man's neck and kissed his mouth.  Apparently he wanted to be 
rescued no more than the big one wanted to lose him.  Meanwhile 
the bow of the canoe was scraping up and down on the Ellette's 
side.  His eye locked with the lieutenant's, the big one looked 
over the boy's head and spread his hands apart, clearly signaling, 
"What can I do?  He doesn't want to go."

Lt. LeContreau drew his sword.  He had often seen how the length 
and glitter of the well-polished blade affected native attitudes.  
The big one's eyes widened satisfactorily.

He said quietly to the nearest marine, "Sergeant, take a bead on 
the forehead of that big one but hold your fire."

With the sergeant's musket following the big one's face as it rose 
and fell with the swell, the man sighed visibly.  He took the lad 
by the armpits, forcibly removed the clinging arms from his neck, 
lifted the smaller body against the ladder and when it cleaved on 
automatically, slapped its bare bottom stingingly.  Up the ladder 
came the boy.

Watching from his position beside the rail, the lieutenant noted 
how the body exerting itself on the accommodation ladder was still 
unmarked by muscle lines, how girlishly wide and round were the 
buttocks, and smiled, glancing at Bou-bou, now leaning over the 
rail himself.  The youth was scowling fiercely.  Obviously he had 
noticed the same qualities.

The two nearest marines caught the lad's arms when he reached the 
rail, helped him to stand on the deck and turned him to face the 
commander, who noticed their gaping mouths and wide eyes before he 
understood the reason.

The lieutenant's mouth also fell open.  This was hardly a lad!  
Conical breasts larger than oranges thrust toward him above a 
split female groin mature enough, despite thin pubes, to exhibit 
from this angle the slightly protruding labia that are the mark of 
womanhood.  "Name of God!" he cried, aghast.  But as a commander 
must be, he was quick with his decision.  He snapped to Bou-bou, 
"Take her into my cabin and wrap her in my bed sheet."

Bou-bou recognized the baleful look and jumped to obey.  The 
officer turned back to the outriggers and raised his sword.  He 
found that the natives had anticipated his reaction.  Both boats 
were already twice their length away from the sloop, occupants 
paddling like madmen.

To the sergeant still holding his bead, the lieutenant shouted, 
"Kill the big bastard!  Now!"

The marine fired his weapon, but the target was already removed 
beyond reliable musket accuracy.  Water splashed behind the man, 
who immediately ducked into the bottom of his craft.  The paddlers 
all sank lower on their knees but churned the water to froth 
beside the boats, which shot away as if borrowing from the 
strength of the sergeant's gunpowder.

"Sir, should you order a volley?" asked the sergeant.

The lieutenant sighed.  "I should, but to wound several might 
spark another uprising.  Perhaps the right response should be to 
unlimber the main battery and blast them to splinters.  But then 
I'd have to write reports for both the captain and the admiral.  
No, this is their lucky day.  Let them go for now, but when I next 
see that big one, he had best again be running away."

He raised his voice in a shout.  "Marines, secure from quarters!"  
To the sailing master he ordered a course for Timuata, waited to 
see the ship appropriately trimmed, then repaired with 
anticipation to his cabin.

* * *

When Bou-bou had conducted the strange girl into the lieutenant's 
cabin and closed the door, he stripped the top sheet from the 
officer's bunk, which he himself had put there that same morning, 
and held it up to the girl.  She adopted a sneer, however, and 
struck it out of his hands, while protesting in some foreign 
gibberish.

"What's the matter with you?" demanded Bou-bou.  "Didn't you hear 
the master's order?"

She crossed her arms over her plump belly and stared down her nose 
at him.

Bou-bou, though the cabin boy on a French warship and therefore 
expecting to accommodate those above him literally and 
figuratively -- potentially everyone in the crew -- was in fact as 
lustily enamored of female flesh as any other male, a fact already 
proven among the young girls of Timuata and proven now as he 
stared at this one's prominent breasts.  His lips parted and he 
needed to lick them.  He also felt an increasing tightness in his 
britches.  Her eyes dropped to that region and rose again.  A grin 
stretched her lips and she spoke anew in her meaningless rattle.

Bou-bou shook his head.  "I have my orders," he declared 
resolutely.  He took up the muslin sheet and pressed it upon her 
with a grip sufficient to withstand the renewed resistance.  But 
she simply transferred the battle to another front:  his.  Her 
hand popped loose the single button that restrained his waistband 
and forced his britches down to his knees.  He succeeded in 
sweeping the sheet around her shoulders by hugging her within it, 
but his victory applied only above the waist.  Below it her hand 
caught his half-erect manhood in an ominously tight grip.

He froze, eyes and mouth wide open.  Her other hand promptly 
slipped past the sheet and clutched his testicles.

Retreat seemed to be his only option.  He backed away, letting the 
sheet fall to the side.  She followed, demonstrating a firm grasp 
of the issue.  His legs struck the bunk and down he sat.  Again 
she followed, dropping to her knees, plunging into his thighs and 
sucking fully into her mouth the small morsel of his pride.  
Clister Marie Meron had learned very well how to pacify a choleric 
male.

"I can't believe this," he said without conviction as her head 
began to bob.  But his penis believed it.  This was the first 
female mouth to touch him there.  Somehow, perhaps due to this 
one's lack of authority over him, it was instantly stimulating.  
The night before no one had returned the several favors he had 
distributed, leaving him even readier than the usual adolescent 
hair trigger.  Though not quite at full erection, he spurted the 
first dribble.

At that moment Naval Lt. Pierre LeContreau threw open the cabin 
door, drenching the scene on the bed in afternoon sunlight.  The 
girl's head pivoted in startlement toward the interruption.  Bou-
bou's second and most generous squirt laced her eyebrows, 
eyelashes and cheek, while its producer groaned in frustration at 
the loss of contact.

"My God!" exclaimed the officer, hurriedly pulling the door shut 
behind him.  The girl released Bou-bou completely, leaving him 
squirming and dribbling on the bunk.

The lieutenant leaned forward with fist raised against the lad.  
"You snake!  You little waterfront bastard!  How dare you force 
yourself --"

"I didn't!" the lad cried, scurrying to the far end of the bunk.  
"I swear I didn't!  She wouldn't have the sheet.  See it?  I tried 
to put it on her but she pushed me down."

The officer paused, recalling the big one's very erect penis, upon 
which the girl must have been sucking or at least licking before 
the Ellette closed with the outriggers.  Had the natives perhaps 
<trained> this young woman to greet men so?  He'd heard of similar 
cases among black slaves in Haiti.  If it were so, what remedy 
might one adopt?  And how soon?

He waved his hand at the lad.  "I understand."  To the girl he 
raised a corner of the sheet.  When she drew back, he said, "Hold 
still, miss."  She froze inquiringly at his tone of command and he 
wiped Bou-bou's leavings from her face, but not before her curling 
tongue had tasted the dribble from her cheek.

"How are you called, my dear?" he asked kindly, but she only 
stared.

"Don't you speak?"

Bou-bou sniffed.  "She speaks, all right:  gibberish."

"You don't understand French, is that so?  Well, perhaps English?"  
He delved into his memory of diplomatic duty in London and essayed 
in that language, "You speak ze anglais -- ah, Engleesh?"

* * *

Was he asking if she spoke English?  "Of course," Marie answered, 
standing straight before him, not yet remembering that her 
nakedness should be cause for embarrassment.

"Ah, but, yes!  Are you English, then?  Or perhaps American?"

Marie found that if she strained, she could understand him.  
"American?  Yes, sir, <I> am, but my little sister is both 
American and Chinese."

"Ah, yes.  Your sister ... she is not with you.  I am sorry."

"So am I.  She would love it, too, I know.  Another whole ship 
full of men!  Well, this time I know what to do."

The bearded man in the resplendent uniform blinked several times, 
studying her.  Then he gestured to the boy with the small cock and 
said something incomprehensible.  The boy replied in a manner that 
Marie recognized from her sisters' behavior: calculated impudence.  
The man raised a hand as if he would strike the lad but smiled 
instead.  The boy jumped off the bunk, scooped up his britches and 
flew out onto the deck without bothering to don them, but not 
failing to close the door behind him.

The man took her arm and led her to stand beside the bunk.  
"Please sit," he told her.

She complied, crossing her hands in her lap and looking up at him.  
"I like your side whiskers," she remarked.  "I'll bet they 
tickle."

He leaned closer to her and touched the side of his beard.  "Side 
whiskers?"

"Yes, sir."

He nodded and said with a grin, "Then I comprehend 'tickle.'"

He removed a gaudy coat and hung it on a rack attached to the 
bulkhead.  Under it he wore above the waist only a wide cravat of 
bunched silk that he quickly unwound.  Even so Marie was surprised 
that he could tolerate his coat in such a warm climate.

"We must find out about you, miss.  What do you call yourself?  I 
mean, what is your name?"

"Clister Marie Meron."

He smiled at her as he unfastened the many hooks on his waistband.  
She noted that she would have never found them all.  "Please, not 
all that!  What does your mother call you?"

"Marie.  Sometimes Pumpkin.  Before she went to heaven."

"Ah, to heaven!  I am sorry.  Then I shall call you Marie, if you 
please."

She shrugged.  The motion caused her tiny nipples to bounce 
charmingly.

He added, "You may call me Lt. LeContreau, or Pierre, when we are 
alone."  At the close of that announcement he hopped on one foot 
while removing the opposite boot, then switched to hop on the 
other.

Marie had to laugh at his antics.  But she remembered a small part 
of her manners.  "Pleased to meet you, Pierre."

"At your service."  He clicked bootless heels and winced.  "You 
are sharming, Marie."

Sharming?  Did he mean "charming?"  The thought that he did made 
her smile.  No one had ever called her charming before.

He peeled his white uniform britches down his legs, looked up at 
her and asked, "How did you come among the indigenes -- ah, among 
ze brown men?"

"Indigenes?  Is that what they call themselves?"

"No.  They say 'Hivans.'  How did they take you?"

"Belle ran Jake off with her gun and I had to go with Jake.  The 
brown men killed Jake and maybe Belle, too.  I didn't see.  Tu'a-
po threw me over his shoulder and carried me off and made me fuck.  
I think Belle killed one of them.  She shot three times and hit at 
least two."

"The brown man ... Tu'a-po?  Made you ... fuck, you say?"

"Oh, yes.  Many, many times!  Every day in the morning after 
breakfast and the evening after supper."

The lieutenant, all under- and over-indicators of his rank now 
consigned to hooks and shelves, stood in full hairy nudity before 
the seated girl.  She looked knowingly at his drooping manhood.  
It twitched slightly upward.

"Tell me what this Tu'a-po did to you."

She grinned at him.  "Everything you're about to do."

"Ah, Marie, I must know exactly for my report to the captain."  He 
took one of her hands from her lap and placed it on his penis.  
"Did he make you do this?"

She grasped him gently and withdrew the foreskin with a chuckle.  
"No.  I was the one who thought of <this>!"

"Indeed! ...  How about this?"  His fingers tweaked her nipple.

"Oh, they did that, all right -- with their teeth, even!"

"They?  My English is so poor ...  Marie, do you mean more than 
one, ah, fucked you?"

"I'll say!  All of them."

"My god!"  His hand dropped to her thighs and probed into her 
labia.  "Here, too?"

"Everywhere.  Well, no, not quite everywhere."

"Are you not sore?"

"I was at first, but I toughened up."

"How long had you been among them?"

She paused in retrospection.  "I think three days."

The man nodded.  "So.  But they fucked you every day, is that 
right?  All of them?  Two at the time, perhaps?"

"Oh, yes."  She chuckled reminiscently.  "And three.  Once I took 
two in my mouth together."

"Is that right!  In the mouth like this?"  He leaned forward, his 
nearly erect member touching her chin.  For answer she simply 
lowered her mouth and accepted him, pushing back his foreskin by 
skillfully tightening her lips on the partly exposed tip as it 
entered, then letting them expand around the entire knob.

The man noticed.  "Ah, a lady of experience, aren't you!  You did 
this often for Tu'a-po?"

She nodded without releasing him.  With her mouth full she could 
not tell him how Fu Wong had held her hands and taught her that 
trick.

"Just before I saved you, you did it for Tu'a-po, didn't you?"

What did he say?  She withdrew from her mouthful, eyebrows rising.  
"<Saved> me?"

The lieutenant chuckled.  "Doesn't it seem that you are saved?"

"I didn't want to be saved.  The brown men were ... very nice."

"How many years do you have, Marie?"

"Years?  I'm not sure.  Jake said I was 13.  What is the date?"

"29 September."

"Oh!  Then I <am> 13!"

"Is it true?  You seem much older."

She smiled.  "You're nice, too, but I'm only 13.  Do you think I 
am charming?"

"But certainly!  Lie back on the bed, Marie, and open the legs.  I 
must see how they have harmed you."

She did as she was told.  At least she could understand this one.  
Almost.  He talked funny but it was better than Tu'a-po's growls 
and gestures that sometimes meant the opposite from what she 
thought.

She let this hairy fellow poke his fingers into her pussy, as Jake 
had named it, and was pleased to feel no soreness at all.  His 
fingers strayed below and entered her again.  She twitched.  "That 
tickles!"  But it was not so unpleasant.

"Did the brown men fuck you here, also?" he asked.

"No.  Only Fu Wong."

His eyebrows rose inquiringly.  "Did you say, 'Only for once?'"

"No.  Only when I had my curse."

"Your ... curse?"  He shook his head.  "That is the puzzle we can 
solve another time.  Now we must make the deep test."

He rose to his feet, took her ankles and pulled her hips to the 
edge of the high bunk.  She felt his manhood touch her nether 
lips.  He brought her feet up to either side of his head and 
leaned further forward, resting some of the weight of his chest on 
her calves and of his belly on her thighs.  The obvious prospect 
before her and the work of his fingers had somewhat prepared her.  
He entered her with only a little difficulty, merely requiring two 
or three shoves for full penetration.  At least his was slimmer 
than Jake's, but then so was everyone's so far.

This way to do it, with her legs up before him and bearing some of 
his weight, allowed him to push very deeply.  She arched her back, 
rolling her hips in counterpoint to his thrusts and was rewarded 
by thrills both deep and shallow.  She moaned as the separate 
thrills merged into a rising wave of pleasure.

"This one truly loves it!" the man breathed in French and 
increased his efforts.

A head appeared, inverted, in the top of the stern porthole:  Bou-
bou, dangling curiously from the flagstay, but neither man nor 
girl noticed.  When their moans rose to crescendo and the man fell 
back dripping and panting to take a seat in the desk chair, Bou-
bou discretely withdrew.

That night Marie found herself in a hammock, legs raised in the 
identical manner against Bou-bou's chest while he straddled the 
cloth and pounded her internally with enthusiasm but far too 
briefly.  The off-duty helmsman, however, and the several others 
in the funny tapered room at the front of the ship proved more 
than adequate compensation, though they nearly persuaded Marie 
that such "underneath" fucking was all the French knew how to do.

One of the sailors spoke her language clearly.  In their brief 
moment together he told her that 106 men occupied the ship, all of 
whom loved her -- or at least hoped to do so.  She decided that 
she was saved after all.

Then shortly after daybreak they sailed into the harbor at 
Timuata.  First bathed by many hands and wrapped in the 
lieutenant's bedsheet, she was handed over to the care of women.  
Her life had changed forever.

<1st attachment end>


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