Waves lapped on the shore and sent their spray into the air to chill the breeze that blew against Sean’s face as he rolled over on the bungalow’s floor. He opened his eyes to look out on the short stretch of sand that separated the back of the bungalow from the water’s edge. Sean stared out across the vast blue horizon, thinking about these past few weeks. How had he let the professor talk him into this whole thing anyway? He actually missed the screaming, whining, teasing, sticky fingered kids back at home. He rolled back over to meet Moira’s smile as she stretched her arms above her head.
“ Top o’ the morning to ye lass, how did ye sleep?”
“Fine, considering how much sleeping I actually did *Wink*” Moira finished with kissing Sean as Emma walked out into the room, her satin robe flapping slightly in the breeze. She stood braced against the door frame and sighed to herself.
“EEWWWWWW! Old people kissing...how gross.”
Sean rolled over and narrowed his eyes at Emma. “And how did ye sleep, Emma?”
“Well...lets just say I did more sleeping alone than I have been with Sean for the past few weeks.”
Moira glared at Emma with such hatred that Emma had to look away.
“Well we’d better be gettin’ everything ready if were goin t’be leavin today!”
“Aye!” Moira replied through a yawn.
Sean threw the covers off and walked for the bathroom, but not before Emma whistled at him in his boxers and sent him into a dash. Moira followed and left Emma standing alone giggling to herself.
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After he was dressed Sean walked out onto the back patio and rested his hands on Moira’s waist.
“Sean?”
“Aye?” “Would ye mind if we take a wee trip ta the island before we leave tomorrow?”
“Sure luv, anythin’ ye want.”
Emma leaned against the doorway of the bathroom, eyeing the two distastefully in her almost sheer nightie. “Oh how sweet. Senior citizens on their retirement cruise.”
“Ye’re just ravin’ like a harpy because ye’re jealous. Even half dressed ye canna get a date, senior citizen or otherwise,” said Moira.
Emma glowered at the two, opening her mouth to say something, but was interrupted by N’Gari who croaked from under the bed, “Be good!”
Emma stalked N’Gari, pulling off her high heeled bunny slipper and flinging it under the bed at the small beast. N’Gari squarked, flapping away from the furry frights. He had had nightmares about cannibalistic bunny slippers.
Sean dove under the bed and brought N’Gari out.
“Poor N’Gari,” Sean’s leathery skinned sidekick wailed dramatically, swinging his head around to rest on Sean’s shoulder. Emma mocked Sean, making sympathetic noises to N’Gari. Sean scratched N’Gari under it’s chin before sitting it on the bed and tucking it in.
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Emma swore to herself as she pushed the throttle to the max, skipping over wavelets as she strove to reach the island before Sean and Moira. The boat skid onto the sand recklessly, throwing Emma’s buxom body against the steering wheel.
Upon scouring the shoreline Emma noticed the brightly colored sacrificial masks of the long lost Ookaboonies. Emma laughed gleefully as she mentally altered her plans.
“All right, little Ookaboobies,” she said disdainfully, telepathically making them understand English, “I’m your new leader. You will do exactly what I say because I am the goddess of eternal damnation.”
The Ookaboonies raised their primitive weapons with a clatter, shouting things in Ookaboonese at Emma. Emma became utterly helpless with laughter as she reached out with her mind and made them all decide that she was, in fact, the goddess of eternal damnation. They fell to their knees, giving her the worship
she knew she deserved. “Take me to your leader,” she commanded in a vengeful voice. “We have things to discuss.”
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Moira wiped the sweat off her brow as she set the woven picnic basket onto the warm sand. She looked up and saw a group of people ornated with exotic apparel. “Ooh, Sean! Look ye at all the wee actors!”
The Ookaboonies grew fiercely agitated as she swore at them, calling them all spineless, mildew eaten, wads of wet dirt (more commonly known in the English language as simple mud).
“What sort of performance di’ ye think they’ll be givin’ us?”
Sean’s eyes widened as the Ookaboonies charged towards them, spears brandished. Without further delay Sean grabbed Moira by the waist and bolted in the opposite direction. One group of Ookaboonies, however, had already reached the boat and were currently dismantling it.
Emma laughed as she perched on the shoulders of the most bucksome men in the tribe as her plan began to unfold. “Now,” Emma said, imperiously, “Hurry up and catch them, you lazy slugs! Then tie them down to those stakes and bring them back to camp.” Emma smiled down at her new boytoys and said, “All right, you big hunks of succulent muscle, let’s go to your little shack in the jungle.”
Moira fell to the sand in exhaustion, only to be hauled to her feet by two Ookaboonies. “Sean, ye get that sorry Irish tootie back here this instant!” Moira demanded as the two Ookaboonies bound her hands around a stake.
Sean reluctantly slowed to a stop on the beach and turned around, saying, “Just let the lass go, and I’ll go with ye peacefully.”
They answered Sean with the new one fingered hand sign their new goddess had taught them. As Sean stood there dumbfounded the Ookaboonies grabbed him and tied him up.
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Emma smiled as her Hunks of Succulent Muscle caressed a wide variety of sweet smelling oils on her body. She was distracted by her Ookaboonies as they dropped Sean and Moira at her feet.
“Sean, darling, kiss my feet.”
Moira started blubbering in anger as Emma mentally ordered the Ookaboonies to gag her.
“Ye must be outta yuir mind, ye no good limey!”
Emma dug her fingernails into Sean’s chin, tilting his face up to meet her eyes. “Listen here, loverboy, you’ll do exactly what I like. Otherwise you shall be tied to a tree, have molasses poured over your body as ants climb all over you and bees buzz around.”
Sean found his head moving closer to her exotic smelling feet against his apparently not indomitable will.
Moira couldn’t watch as Sean’s lips made contact with Emma’s brightly painted tosies. Emma grinned with such utter maliciousness that had he seen it, the Devil himself would have been jealous.
“Get used to this, it will be quite a while before I get tired and leave.”
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“WHAT DO YOU MEAN THERE’S NO PLUMBING?!” Emma screeched, kneeing the Hunk of Succulent Muscle.
Sean, outside, snickered at the former White Queen, the richest woman in the world, who now had no plumbing. Emma stormed out of the love shack, kicking over her other Hunk of Succulent Muscle before stopping and turning back. “Why am I walking?” she cried. “You should be carrying me.”
The Hunks of Succulent Muscles rushed up, bowing their apologies and begging for forgiveness before sweeping her off her feet.
“All right, carry me back to my boat. I have to use the bathroom back on the mainland.”
Sean struggled against the Ookaboonies, only to have his face slammed back into the sand once more.
“What aboot us?” Moira cried.
“You see that hunky chunk of manly flesh to your left? Just smile at him. He’ll take good care of you. You won’t even need Sean anymore.”
At that Sean wrenched his wrists free of the ropes which bound him. In one fluid motion Sean hoisted Moira over his shoulder, running after the British telepath. By the time he caught up to Emma, the Hunks of Succulent Muscle were rowing away while Emma watched muscles work under glistening skin.
“Ta ta!” she called over the sound of lapping waves on the shore. “You know, Sean, the hunk of steaming flesh to your right will take care of any needs you might have after Moira leaves you! Since, after all, I’m going to be . . . busy . . . myself.”
With a large burst of panic generated adrenaline Sean leapt into the air, forgetting that he was still carrying Moira and sailing out across the water, determined to get off the island.
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Six hours later, with a very sore throat, Sean stumbled into the bungalow, gasping for a drink of water and still carrying Moira.
“Sho,” croaked N’Gari, “How wuz yer day, Sean m’boy?”
“Dinnae even ask.”
N’Gari snickered and said, “by the way, Emma’s in the bedroom drinking a martini with two guys she’s calling Hunks o’ sumpthin’. Know anything about that?”
One day left...
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