Note: This story was dynamically reformatted for online reading convenience.
 
 Author: Invid Fan
Title: No Man is an Island
Summary: He hated people, with not so much passion as resignation.Thus,
the ad for a small island, in the middle of lake, sounded ideal.  No
neighbors...Thus, the knock on the door was a bit of a shock -- 
Keywords: MF, cons, bbw, dom

   **** No Man is an Island By Invid Fan (c)2012

   Greg slowly twisted his hand, slowing the outboard motor behind him to a
stop.  The vibrations, which had been traveling up his arm and shaking his
poor middle aged body for the past half hour, eased as the ship began to
coast towards the rocky shore.

   Ship.  Really, that was a grandiose term for the "True Blue".  It barely
rated being called a boat.  Ten or twelve feet long (he'd never bothered to
measure it), the True Blue was just an old aluminum rowboat with an
outboard motor.  His father had named it, painting a wide stripe of navy
blue above the waterline on the grayish metal hull, and the craft had
served as the family fishing boat for many a year.  With three benches,
plus the small seat at the bow where Greg had set himself on their various
adventures to places like the Rideau river (where they'd rented a cabin the
first week of July for most of his childhood so Dad could fish), the small
craft had been large enough to carry the four of them wherever they wanted
to go, and dangerous enough to lead to many now fondly recalled stories. 
Memories...

   It was the Thousand Islands, though, that brought him to this place. 
They had only taken the small boat there twice, that he recalled, but his
preteen mind had been enchanted by the small, seemingly unclaimed islands
jutting out of the wide river.  So too had the slightly larger ones, almost
filled completely by summer homes, fired up his imagination.  What would it
be like, to live on a small island, isolated from the world, cut off in
winter from all supply or rescue...

   The bow of the True Blue hit the patch of rocky mud on the shore, the
traditional stopping method for this craft.  Raising the motor out of the
water and locking it into place, Greg quickly began to climb towards the
front of the boat.  He kept low, using his hands on the seats and side for
balance as the craft rocked back and forth.  A long thick tree branch stuck
out from the island next to him, and when a quick tug confirmed it was
somewhat secure he grabbed the rope attached to the bow and tied it up on
the tree.  There.  As good as a dock.  The True Blue had started to drift
back out into the lake during this, as it was want to do.  Grabbing one of
the blue wooden oars, Greg shoved it down into the muddy bottom to force
them back into contact with the shore.  Oar back safely onboard, he grabbed
a second branch and jumped onto the slippery dirt.  Knowing his craft, he
quickly turned to grab the bow as the now lightened ship began to leave
him. Pulling, he got a good four feet of the rowboat onto the shore. 
Satisfied, for now, that he wouldn't be stranded here, he turned and looked
around him.

   The listing on the realtor's website had been interesting: "Uninhabited
island on small lake.  Room for one summer cabin.  No utilities." For
someone who had money to spend, and wanted to get away from the world...

   Greg hadn't always hated people.

   He did now.  Not people, generically, as in all of humanity.  No, he
just hated every individual he came in contact with.

   Oh, the nameless ones who worked the registers and counters at the
stores and restaurants he frequented were OK, he supposed.  His contact was
brief enough that they rarely got on his nerves in any lasting way.  But,
anything beyond that, any in depth relationship, be it personal, business,
or, God forbid, romantic, led without exception to deep seated hatred.

   Honestly, Greg didn't know why.  And, really, hate might be too strong a
word...

   Naw.  He hated the assholes.

   He was a good enough guy, he thought.  Oh, sure, he liked his solitude.
Nothing pissed him off more than those who felt they had to talk to pass
the time.  He was open minded, though those who voiced opinions that were
obviously wrong made him grind his teeth in frustration.  He was fair, even
if being so meant that others felt they were being cheated.  Above all,
Greg was always honest.

   This, strangely, pissed off more people than he'd ever thought possible.

   Well, fuck them.  He had money now.  Between a very nice week in Vegas,
selling his business, and an inheritance far larger than he'd ever thought
possible, at age 45 he could retire...  provided he lived a simple life.

   He wanted nothing more than that.

   Pulling himself up the steep rocky incline, Greg found himself on the
island proper.  He had wondered, when looking at the place on the map, why
nobody had built here before given the lake itself did have some summer
cabins around it.  Now he saw someone had.  An old stone fireplace stood,
almost complete, at one end of what most likely was the foundation of some
old cabin.  Around him were trees, mostly pines of various sizes with a few
maples thrown in.  That chilly late May, the needles and leaves glistened a
bit with the last of the morning dew.  Birds chirped.  Off in the distance,
a motor boat, probably an outboard like his as the lake was a bit small for
more than a fishing boat.  Closing his eyes, Greg took a deep breath.

   It felt like home.

   A quick walk around gave him a good sense of the place.  On the opposite
side of the roughly circular island were the remains of a wooden dock, now
rotted and half gone.  A path led down, broken bottles showing the place
did see the occasional visitor.  At about a half football field across, he
could easily put a house here.  Lumber and furnishings could be brought
over on a quickly made barge, just barrels tied together.  Get a generator
or two with a good reserve of fuel, pipe in lake water to be filtered...

   ...Once winter came, he could sit in his isolated home, alone and warm.

   It was a plan.

   Grabbing some sticks, he started marking out possible floor plans.

   ****

   Not being an idiot, or all that handy with a hammer, Greg hired a real
construction crew to do the actual work.  Two months later, the house
itself was done.  By the end of August, he was ready to move in.

   Parking his pickup in the new garage at the end of his new private road,
Greg grabbed the last of his supplies and lugged them down to the docked
True Blue.  He'd be making frequent supply runs, he knew, especially until
he had a good idea exactly what would last how long, but this should be
enough to get him started.  Dropping the bags into the boat, he laughed. 
New house, new garage, new dock...  same crappy boat.  Well, the two of
them were a team.  Walking back up the path, he locked up the garage (built
to look like a cabin, the automatic door becoming a wood paneled wall when
closed), put on his life jacket, and grinned.

   Let the adventure begin!

   ****

   The sound and vibrations of the motor coursing through his body, Greg
regarded his home as the True Blue closed the distance.  Most of the trees
around the edge of the island had been left, helping to conceal the
dwelling, but it was still easy to pick out.  Built like an old log cabin,
it rose two stories above a new concrete foundation.  Coming from the south
as he was, he could see the glass wall that stretched across almost the
entire second floor, broken up by the occasional wooden support.  The old
fireplace, rebuilt, climbed the eastern side of the cabin.  Solar panels
filled the southern roof as well, hopefully easing some of his fuel needs.
New steps led down to a new dock replacing the ruins, this time running
parallel to the shore instead of out into the lake.  Next to it, a small
beach area where he could bring the boat up for the winter.

   Greg just shook his head, smiling.

   It was all his.

   Experience had shown him it was deep enough here to just bring the boat
in parallel to the shore, the reason for the new dock placement.  Swinging
the boat around, he cut the motor, grabbed the rope next to him, and with
practiced ease grabbed the deck piling to bring the True Blue to a stop.  A
few minutes later he was climbing up the steps with his duffle bags.

   Large stones set into the ground marked the path to the front door. 
There was a covered porch, running the length of the first floor. 
Unlocking the door- yes, this was an island, but boating drunks and teens
(often both) were about- he went through, dropping his bags.  The living
room took up most of the first floor, as he expected to spend most of his
time here.  A nice couch and chair, TV (with satellite dish), large fluffy
rug, bookcases...  all you could want.  His laptop, hooked up to the house
wifi, sat on a coffee table made from half a log, sanded smooth and
varnished with a nice clear finish.  An open doorway before him led to the
kitchen, and another to the bathroom.  Waste disposal would be an issue, so
the toilet was basically a port-a-potty with a removable receptacle he'd
have to take ashore to empty now and then.  Just so he wouldn't have to do
it often, he had four of them.

   The second floor had his bed, a lazy boy for reading with the whole lake
spread out before him...  and supplies to build a kick ass 0 scale train
layout.

   Hey, a man needs his hobbies.

   Closing the door, Greg picked up his bags and went to unpack.  It was
time to get on with his life.

   ****

   There was a knock at the door.

   Greg looked up from his sandwich.  A storm raged outside.  Even as well
built as his home was, Greg could hear the structure groaning as wind and
rain pounded the island.  A mere half hour ago the skies had been clear,
but now thunder and lightning welcomed September with a rather impressive
display.  Surely, given all this, that sound had just been some random
thing blown against the door...

   The knock came again, louder this time.

   Pushing back his dining room chair to stand, eyes quickly going to the
fake Japanese sword hanging near the door, Greg made his way to the cabin
door.  Throwing back the deadbolt, mind for a moment on various horror
stories that had started this way, he pulled it open.

   Before him were two women, cold, wet, and miserable.

   The wind gusted, stalling any further observations on his part as the
two strangers were for all practical purposes blown into the house.  He
quickly stepped aside, startled.  Rain followed them, pushing them farther
into his domain.  Mentally shaking himself, with a heave (and helpful brief
slacking of the wind) he shut the door.  Re-bolting it, Greg turned to his
guests.

   They were opposites.  His eye was immediately drawn to the taller of the
two, slender, dressed in a green bikini sexy not in what it revealed, but
in how it concealed.  Maybe a few inches shorter than his own six feet, two
inches, the red hair now matted and stuck to her white skin would be a
thing of beauty when she wasn't soaked like a drown rat.  Even as she stood
shivering, arms hugging herself, something in her eyes gave off strength
and confidence.

   All her companion gave off was worry and hopelessness.  Blonde, roughly
pear shaped, her shivering form maybe topped five feet.  Large breasts were
not so much contained as restrained by her orange bikini top.  Looking at
Greg, she edged behind her friend.

   He gave a half disgusted sigh.  He hated people like her.  Looking at
the redhead, he motioned behind them.

   "Bathroom is over there.  There are towels in the cabinet.  Dry off.  We
can talk then."

   She nodded, gently taking the blonde's arm as she turned to lead her.  A
few moments later Greg was left alone, contemplating the wet trail across
his floor.

   Looking over at his half eaten sandwich, Greg gave another sigh and
returned to his seat.  Great.  Two weeks into his life of solitude, and he
had visitors.

   Recalling the reaction of the plumper one, he ran a hand over his chin
as he looked down at himself.  Being alone means grooming and proper attire
tend to slip.  If anything, they'd caught him on a good day.  His black
hair, before being attacked by the wind, had been reasonably combed given
its shortness.  Greg had shaved that morning, being lazy enough not to do
the job often but hating the itch that came with anything over ten or so
days of beard.  Having been out that morning enjoying the day, he was
dressed in clean jeans and a t-shirt covering a body that was, if not lean,
not fat.  All in all, he thought himself reasonably attractive, and unless
forced into a suit this was the best anyone was going to get.

   Not that he had any interest in impressing either of them.

   Looking at the grandfather clock his mother had talked dad into getting,
all those years ago, Greg decided that the polite thing to do was at least
offer the lake rats something hot to drink.  The storm should blow through
before dinner time.  Taking two quick bites of his ham and cheese, he stood
again and walked into the kitchen to fill the kettle.  He didn't drink
coffee, or tea, but did enjoy a good hot chocolate or cup of soup.  Not
that he wasn't a caffeine fiend: the bar in the living room corner had taps
for Pepsi and Mountain Dew.

   Greg had just sat back down to try and finish off his lunch when the
bathroom door opened.  His manhood, which had been too startled to really
take much notice the first time around, poked its head up as the two
females stepped back into the room.  Each had a large fluffy blue bath
towel wrapped around their body, coming down nowhere near their knees.  He
had no idea if they were still wearing their bathing suits, but given the
lack of shoulder straps he doubted it.  Thoughts that had not been
seriously entertained since he kicked the Bitch out returned, his eyes
focusing on the folds holding the towels in place.  Each had a smaller
towel wrapped around their hair, reminding him of nothing so much as women
from some sitcom or movie.  Kelly had never walked around the house like
that...

   The tall redhead (and if the towel was much higher he'd be able to
confirm the naturalness of that) walked up to him.  Her white skin,
freckled a bit on the shoulders, showed no sign of a tan, the hand she held
out showing short nails with no polish.  Also, no rings.  Rising, he shook
the offered hand.

   "Thank you for letting us in.  We're sorry to burst in like this.  I'm
Paula." Her grip was firm, skin smooth.  Paula's smile...  was there
something hidden behind it?  Or was that Greg's paranoia again?  Releasing
his hand, she motioned to the other one.  "This is Nelly." Nelly smiled at
him uncertainly.  That, at least, seemed an honest reaction.  "We were out
boating, getting away from the guys for a few hours, when the lightning
started.  This was the closest shelter."

   Greg nodded, regarding the two of them.  After a half second
contemplating what sort of payments he could request in return for their
rescue, he just chuckled.

   "I have a kettle on if you'd like some hot chocolate or bullion in a
bit. Meanwhile," he swept his hand towards the couch, "have a seat.  This
should blow over in a couple hours."

   After giving him drink orders for two hot chocolates, the women retired
to the couch.  Paula turned back to raise an eyebrow when Greg sat back
down at the table and proceeded to finish his sandwich with no attempt to
engage them in conversation.  As he watched, she leaned over and whispered
to Nelly.

   With perfect timing, both the kettle and his lunch were done at the same
time.  Carrying his plate in, Greg turned off the burner and got down three
mugs and the box of instant cocoa.  Grabbing napkins, he carried the drinks
out.  The women accepted them gratefully, blowing over the rim to cool the
drinks as they watched Greg settle himself in the nearby recliner.  For the
next five minutes, the sound of slurped hot chocolate rose above the howl
of the wind.

   Finishing first, the blonde leaned forward to put her mug on the log
coffee table.  Her towel, with great effort, stayed in place.  Greg,
however, was treated to a large expanse of exposed breast.  Her skin was
dark, whether from the sun or genetics wasn't clear.  Seeing the direction
of his gaze, she blushed, the redness traveling down her neck as she sat
back up and crossed her arms to cover herself.  The lower end of the towel
now barely hid her treasures, only her closed thighs preventing him from
getting a view he hadn't seen outside of the internet in quite some time.
Biting her lip nervously, Nelly looked over at an amused Paula.

   "We should call them.  Let them know we're OK." Her voice was soft,
almost musical.  It surprised him, not that he had any preconceived notion
of how overweight blondes should sound.  His eyes shifted over to the
obviously dominant Paula.  She regarded her companion.

   "They're probably drinking too much to notice we're gone."

   "Not Butch..." The fear in her voice told Greg all he needed to know. 
These two were with two scumbags, maybe bikers.  Well, that wasn't his
problem.  He just wanted them gone.  Waving over to the end table, he
spoke.

   "Feel free to use my cell phone next to you.  You don't seem to have
yours with you."

   Laughing at the obviousness of that statement (her laughter was one of
an equal, or even his better), Paula reached over for the phone.  Her towel
started to come undone, but she paid no mind.  Only when she had dialed did
her free hand casually cover herself.  Greg mentally shook his head.

   "Are they too drunk to answer...  hey, Butch.  Yeah, it's me.  Nelly
wanted us to call just to let you two know we're OK.  We got caught out on
the lake, and found shelter in some guy's cabin.  No, he hasn't touched us.
I could take him, regardless." She gave Greg a sweet smile, but he wasn't
buying it.  She was a fighter, especially if she was talking like that to
their men.  "What?  No, like you'd go out in that storm to rescue us
anyway! We'll head back once it lets up...  How should I know?  When you
see us!  Jesus!  No, I won't promise to have her back to make you dinner...
either make it yourself, or wait!  You're a big boy!  No, I do NOT want you
to prove it to me, although I may tell Vince you made the offer.  Yeah,
that's what I thought.  Go fuck yourself."

   Turning the phone off, she put it back on the charger.  Nelly looked at
her in fear.

   "We have to go."

   "No we don't.  Grow a pair.  We'll get back when we get back.  The boys
will survive."

   Nelly shrank back into the couch, eyes sad.

   "You're not the one he gets angry at."

   Greg stood, walking over to one of the large windows.  Outside, lighting
and thunder battered the lake, each burst highlighting the pines ringing
the island.  Sighing, he tried to will an end to the display.  They weren't
his problem.  He just wanted them gone.



   ****



   Three hours later, with the sun coming through the clouds, Greg opened
the front door and stepped out onto the porch.  The house had survived its
first test.  Yippee.

   With a chuckle, he moved aside as his two guests came out behind them.
Dressed again in their bikinis, they looked around a bit unsure of
themselves.  Paula cocked an eye at him.

   "You sure it's over?"

   He nodded, and stepped off onto the stone path towards the dock.  Once
at the top of the stairs, he saw their canoe, pulled up onto the landing.
It was even turned over, so it wouldn't fill with water.  That was smart
thinking, for people surprised and panicked by the weather.  The True Blue,
tied to the dock, was about a third filled with rain.  He'd have to do some
pumping once they were gone.  With a laugh, looking back at their exposed
bodies, he realized that was going to be on the schedule regardless. 
Stepping aside, he motioned down to their boat.

   "Looks like it survived.  You should have no trouble getting back."

   Paula walked up next to him, peaked over, then turned to regard him. 
There were questions in her eyes.  Obviously, he hadn't behaved as she
thought a male in his position would.

   "Thank you." Turning, she began her climb down.  Nelly followed, pausing
on the top landing to look at Greg.  Her eyes no longer feared him,
instead...  showing something else.  She smiled.

   It was a beautiful smile.

   ****

   Greg watched the canoe as it grew smaller in the distance.  He was alone
again.

   Good.

   Maybe...

   ****

   Being alone didn't mean ignoring the world.  Especially if you have
designs on staying rich enough to not work.  Greg considered this as he
balanced the laptop on his knees, hot cocoa in one hand and piece of toast
in the other as he sat in the second floor lazyboy.  Obviously, he should
be doing this downstairs at the table, but what fun was that.  On the
screen were his various investments, the interest from which formed all his
income.  One bad year, one dip into his capital, and he'd be forced to
leave his life of luxury to replace it.

   His father, God bless his racist heart, had been a firm believer that
people who inherited their money were better than those who were self made.
The reason, beside the obvious genetic superiority inherent in such a view,
was that they were raised with more "class", knew how to handle themselves,
how to act befitting their status.  The new rich were just tacky.  Greg
thought none of that.  However, one saying of his father did still resonate
with him: "Someone who inherits money and still has it twenty years later
has done as much work as someone earning it from scratch."

   So true.

   Despite sitting in front of a stunning panorama of the late November
scenery, so focused was he on the changing numbers sent through the air to
his computer that it took awhile to notice what else was coming down into
his world.  It took a gust of wind blowing a large patch across the front
of the house for him to look up and see the falling snow.  Taking another
sip of his cooling drink, Greg contemplated the scene.

   "Huh."

   Eyes going down, it was the snow slowly building up on the True Blue's
outboard motor that finally woke him up.

   "Damn!"

   Winter was here, and he wasn't ready.

   Finances forgotten, Greg put the laptop on the floor and quickly grabbed
some clothes, shoving them on with little regard for style or matching
socks.  It was time to restock, as much as possible, and settle in for the
long haul.  The lake wasn't frozen, but who knew when it would be...

   ...Then again, it wasn't going to happen in the next couple days.  With
a chuckle, he slowed down, making sure his pants were on the right way.  He
had time.  Heading downstairs, Greg mentally went over his needs.  More
food.  Fuel.  Firewood would be good...

   A dog.  He needed a dog.

   ****

   Four days and seven boat trips later, Greg sat in front of a roaring
fire with a year old brown mutt in his lap.  Scratching Leon behind the
ears, he smiled.  NOW he was ready for winter...

   ****

   "Come on, you mother fucking..."

   Greg paused, took a deep breath, and stepped back from the train layout.
Once he started cursing at the thing, most progress was done for the day.
To keep going would just lead to sloppy work, broken trees, more cursing.

   Maybe that's why he had so little done.

   Looking over the large table, Greg was disgusted with himself.  Over
three months work, and what did he have?  The track layout, a basic
framework for the terrain, and one finished tunnel.  God, he used to do
more than that over a long weekend!  Which, maybe, was part of the problem.
When you have no deadline, no constraints on your time...  you know you can
just go slow and get to things later.  Something always comes up that, at
that moment, is more interesting.  Which probably means trains aren't his
passion the way he thought they were, given working on them so often fell
down to third or fourth on his to do list.

   Well, live and learn.

   Turning, he gazed through the windows at the lake.  This, to be honest,
was what he enjoyed the most.  Just looking out at the snowy, frozen
tundra. With the wind constantly changing the landscape, he found himself
lost in the view.  The lake had frozen in late December, earlier then he
expected, but there was no way he was walking on it.  He'd seen some
people, out at the far end, skating, and one guy came out on the weekends
to do some ice fishing, but otherwise he was alone.  Alone with his dog. 
As God intended.

   Looking up at the sky, he saw yesterday's snowstorm was completely gone.
The sky was clear and blue, yellow sun shining down, its heat on his face
through the glass as refreshing as a cool breeze in August.  He probably
should go out, walk the island, see if there was any wind damage...

   Movement caught his eye on the far shore.  A figure was running out of
the trees.  Out of the trees, across the snow, onto the ice...

   Onto!

   Greg almost leapt up to the glass wall, hands pressed against it.  Some
idiot was running across the lake!  Towards his island!  That part didn't
really matter, but the ice!  God, please, let the ice hold...

   A hundred and fifty yards from shore, the figure vanished, replaced by a
dark splotch.  A moment later, its green coat reappeared, bobbing up and
down.

   Fuck!

   Greg took the stairs three at a time.  Half remembered Boy Scout
training rushed through his mind, along with old movies and badly written
books.  What the hell was the right thing to do!?  Leon followed him,
whining, as Greg quickly zipped up his warmest jacket and struggled into
the orange life jacket.  Gloves, hat, no time for boots...  he was out the
door, slamming it shut before Leon could follow.  Across, down the steps...
On the deck, he grabbed the backup life jacket (two of everything, that was
the secret), jumped off onto the ground, grabbed a long coil of rope he'd
left on the tree...  and paused.

   What now.

   He had no desire to fall into the ice himself.  Had no idea how close he
could get.  Damn it...

   Greg's eyes fell on the True Blue, lying upside down on the ground next
to him.

   ****

   The boat traveled easily over the ice.

   Greg, pushing from behind, considered that this was an incredibly stupid
idea.  Not quite as stupid as just running onto a frozen lake, but up
there. The concept was, somewhat, logical: by keeping the heavy boat before
him, that would break the ice before he did, giving him an idea of how far
from the person he had to stay.  He could also, if the ice did break under
him, climb into the boat.  What happened after that was a bit fuzzy, but
one thing at a time.  He'd burn that bridge when he came to it.

   He could hear the person's screams.  They were female.  The break in the
ice was over half way between shore and his island, the distance quickly
closed.  His feet found good traction in the layer of snow on the ice,
although the lack of boots was beginning to tell.  He hoped it wouldn't be
a fatal oversight.

   Ten yards or so from the bobbing woman, he stopped.  No reason to risk
his luck too much.  Grabbing the rope and life vest from the boat, he
stepped away from it, testing each step before committing all his weight.

   "I'm here!  I'm going to try and get you out!  Stay calm!" The yelling
stopped, the woman's face turning from the shore to him.  She obviously had
been trying to climb out, the ice breaking under her whenever enough of her
weight was on it.  Quickly, Greg tied the end of the rope through the
armhole in the vest.  Personally, he preferred the old fashioned U shaped
ones, made of cloth, but hoped this Styrofoam vest was good enough.  Let it
at least be easy to throw.  Knott tied, he held it up.

   "I'm going to throw this to you!  Put it on, if you can, then grab the
rope!"

   "Hurry!"

   The cry was weak.  Not good.  He had no idea if he could pull her out,
if he'd have the footing to get her out of there.  Well, he had to try.

   He may hate people, but he didn't wish them dead.

   The first toss not just overshot her, but landed six feet to the left.
Fuck.  Reeling the rope back in, he considered.  Really, all that mattered
is the rope end up within grasping distance.  Jacket recovered, he shifted
his aim.  It sailed over her head...  the rope landing next to the hole.

   Bullseye.

   "Grab on!  I'll take in the slack!"

   She was smart.  One arm up on the ice, holding herself still, the other
went around the rope.  Greg quickly reeled in the rope, watching at it slid
through the stranger's armpit until the life jacket bumped against her. 
Giving back a little slack, he watched as she struggled into the jacket.

   Quickly, it became obvious this woman wasn't small.  There'd be no
heaving her up by upper body strength alone.  Most of the work would be
hers.  Greg looked around.  Could he use the boat, somehow, to help?  He
hadn't brought the oars with him, which might have come in handy.  Maybe it
could help anchor him?

   Hoping for the best, Greg ran the end of the rope through one of the
openings just inside the stern of the boat.  Lying down on the snowy ice,
feet planted against the aluminum hull, he turned his head to the woman as
again he took up the slack.  She was in the jacket, although it wasn't
fastened, holding the rope.  Waiting for him.  Greg gave a quick prayer,
then yelled.

   "You're gonna have to climb!  I'll hold the rope, but it'll have to
mostly be you!  Just get up on the ice, until it stops breaking!"

   With that, he pulled.

   God!  She was heavy!  He wrapped some of the rope around his arm,
counting on the thick coat to let him keep some circulation.  The boat
moved a bit, wanting to straighten the angle the rope was now at, but
between the weight of his body and his feet on its side, they stayed mostly
in place.  He could hear the sound of ice cracking, of water splashing. 
Head turned, he could see her heaving herself up on the ice, only to have
it crack and fall away.  She kept trying, though, each effort getting a bit
more of her up on the surface.  Greg pulled back when he could, taking up
any slack, but this was all her.

   What if she got to him, but was still in the water?

   She was still over two boat lengths away from him when, finally, he saw
her entire upper body up on the ice.  He pulled harder.

   "That's it!  Get up there, but stay flat on the ice!  You're gonna have
to crawl to me!"

   A loud cry came back at him, and he saw the dark blue of wet denim.  For
a moment, she lay still, then begin to struggle along the ice.  Letting go
of the rope, Greg unentangled himself and got to his feet.  He could feel
the blood rushing back into his abused limb.  There was no time for that,
though.  He moved away from the boat, not trusting the ice to hold all
three of them.

   "Over here!  That's it!  Stay down until you're with me!  You're almost
there!  You'll be safe and inside in no time!"

   She moved with agonizing slowness, each moment freezing her body, making
survival so much less likely.  Finally, he couldn't wait.  Greg rushed
forward the final five feet, grabbing her under her armpits, drawing the
woman up.

   "Stand!  That's it!  Lean on me!  We'll go to my house!"

   She was shivering uncontrollably, conversation impossible.  Greg put one
of her arms around him, both of his around her, staggering back towards
home.  The rope, still tied to the life jacket, dragged behind them.  Each
step took all his will: not just to move one foot in front of the other,
but to pray that the ice supported both of them.  Greg was fully aware that
prayer was the only thing that could save them.

   It took ten minutes.  Ten, agonizing minutes, the poor woman getting
colder by the second.  Half way, he paused, ripping her life jacket off. 
He didn't know WHY he did it, he just had to get SOME of those wet clothes
off her and that's all he could really justify doing out here in the open.
Finally, Greg stepped onto his island.  Moving quicker, her legs also
moving as they sensed the end of the journey, he practically pulled her up
the stairs and across the yard.  Bursting through the door, the heat hit
him like a sauna.  Dog whining at his feet, he closed it.

   ****

   First things first.

   Holding the woman up, Greg quickly stripped her.  First the coat, which
fell to the wooden floor with a splat.  Hat, still somewhat dry, came off,
freeing her long blond hair.  Sweater, shoes, jeans...  she was down to a
bra, holding in large breasts, and panties around a rather large waist. 
Those were wet, so had to go too.  The bra fastened in the front, much
easier than the last he had dealt with (and the poor woman was putting up
much less of a fight).  As the wet panties fell around her ankles, Greg had
the shaking girl step out of the growing puddle and over to the fireplace.
Leaving her, hoping to God she could stay upright, he grabbed the lighter
from the mantle and tossed some more logs into the fireplace.  He had a
cheater installed, a small gas line for quick starts, quickly turning the
knob he ignited the small gas jets running along the bottom of the
fireplace.  He'd turn it off once the wood caught.  Turning to the woman...

   ...he noticed, finally, now that she was nude, that it was one of the
two he had sheltered all those months ago.

   What the fuck?

   "Can you keep standing?  Good!  Get close to the fire!  I'll get
towels!"

   He was off, not waiting for answers, trying to remember how the hell you
dealt with hypothermia.  Dry her off, yes, right...  get her warm,
naturally...  but, warm the core!  Her body, not limbs!  Right!  So, get
something warm into her!  Once in the bathroom, he grabbed a handful of
clean towels, wondering at this woman who was always showing up in need of
towels and cocoa.  Back out in the living room, he tossed his load over
towards the couch (one made it) as he dashed into the kitchen.  Kettle went
onto the stove, which was turned on (he almost dashed out again without
doing that), then back to the woman, picking up a towel and beginning to
rub her shivering body vigorously.

   She stood there, letting him do what he wanted with her.  Greg ran the
towel down her back, kneeling to get her legs.  He rubbed as hard as he
could, trying to get her circulation going.  Her skin was cold, clammy. 
The towel went over her butt, Greg spreading her ample ass to dry inside.
He told himself this was needed.  He wasn't taking advantage of her.  The
proof of this was the fact his manhood was as small as could be. 
Naturally, part of the reason for this was he was still cold himself, balls
not yet daring to come back from their withdrawn hiding place.  And, he was
just rubbing her with the towel.  Not his hands.  He thought this even as
one hand dropped down to run down her leg, checking to see how it was
doing. Her legs, really, despite her weight, were nice, shapely...

   He was on his feet, going to her front, drying her large breasts,
stomach...  she looked at him, teeth chattering.  Her eyes....  they were
blue...

   "I'm sorry," he said, rubbing the towel against her as hard as he could,
"I'm trying the best I can."

   She was as dry as he could make her.  What now?

   Grabbing a new towel, he pulled the throw rug over in front of the fire
and pulled the woman (damn, what was her name again?) down a foot from the
fireplace.

   "Here, wrap this towel around you...  good!" He was interrupted by the
whistle of the kettle.  Running back to the kitchen, he grabbed the biggest
mug he had (a large beer stein, which had been his fathers and now was used
for Pepsi) and tossed in a few spoonfuls of chicken bouillon.  In went the
boiling water, almost to the top.  This should warm her up...  Back out, he
knelt down next to her, handing over the stein.

   "It's hot, drink slowly..."

   He helped her raise it, hands so cold under his that he was surprised
steam wasn't rising from where they touched.  She had the presence of mind
to blow on the broth, then took a gulp.  Then another.  She paused, seeing
how it went down, blew on it again and began to drink.

   Greg let go, her grip strong enough to do the job, and stood.

   Now what.

   There had to be more he could do.  A better way to warm her.  Something
hot he could...

   A memory.

   He had been in scouts for a couple years.  In middle school, the start
of high school.  It had been OK.  He liked the campouts.  Except for one:
it had been late fall, cold, and rain had destroyed their camp that night.
All the tents had leaked, the boys forced to sleep under the tarp put over
the cooking area.  Greg, for whatever reason, had started shivering
uncontrollably.  Even once dry and under blankets.  The adults, with no
other resource, had told those on either side of him to close in, heating
Greg with their bodies...

   Greg began stripping.  Leon, now thoroughly confused, walked up to the
woman and sniffed at her.  She ignored him, eyes closed, as if focusing all
her strength on the warmth now running down into her.  Deciding this was
all not worth the effort, the brown dog turned and made his way over to his
bed.  Settling in, he watched his insane master remover the last of his
clothing.

   "I'm sorry," Greg said to the woman before him.  "You don't know me, and
I hope you don't take this the wrong way, but I don't know how else to get
you warm." Removing the towel from around her, he slowly sat down behind
her.  Spreading his legs, he pushed himself forward until his body pressed
up against her cold skin."

   "Ah!"

   It was the first thing she'd said, since coming inside.  Her legs were
crossed in front of her, and he pressing his own against them.  His hands
went around her, going to her large breasts, rubbing her skin.  His
genitals, which had been trying to decide if it was warm enough to come
back out, ran back into hiding.  Her body shook against him.

   "Shh...  it's OK...  we have to get you warm..." He moved his rubbing
hands down to her tummy, rubbed her legs, then back up.

   "Th-th-thankyou."

   Her voice was soft, as he remembered, and he also remembered her name.
Nelly.

   "You're welcome, Nelly." His hands returned to her breasts, rubbing the
sides of the large orbs.  She said nothing, but he could feel her lean back
against him as she took another drink.  The fire, now roaring, threw enough
heat to cause his face to start sweating even as his chest started to copy
her shivering.  Closing his eyes, he willed his heat into her...

   ****

   "I...I have to go to the bathroom."

   She almost whispered it, sounding embarrassed.  Greg, wondering how long
they'd have to stay like that, couldn't help but chuckle.  Removing his
hands, once again having wandered up to those now almost room temperature
breasts, he pushed himself back on the rug and stiffly climbed to his feet.
Stepping around, he held a hand out to her.

   For the first time, Nelly saw him nude.  Her eyes widened, and if her
face wasn't already red from the fire she probably would have blushed. 
Instinctively glancing down, to see if everything was where it should be,
Greg saw he was half hard.  Her eyes, though, were on his face.  He had no
idea what she saw there, but after a sharp intake of breath, her eyes
dropped submissively as she took his offered hand and struggled to her
feet. She was unsteady, gratefully accepting his help as he offered his
body for her to lean on.  Slowly he led her to the bathroom.  At the
doorway, he paused.

   "Do you need help in there?"

   With a shy smile, she shook her head.  He released her, closing the door
once she had walked far enough inside.

   Well.

   Dropping his shoulders in emotional exhaustion, he let out a breath. 
That crisis seemed to be over.  Turning, he looked back to the fire. 
Realizing he had never turned the gas off, he walked over and did that. 
Well, with luck he hadn't wasted too much.  If that was the difference
between survival and freezing to death, he had been cutting things way too
close.  While he was there, he tossed another log on, grabbing a metal
poker to stir up the coals.  Her clothing was still there, staining his
floor.  He picked them up, shuddering as the still cool former ice dripped
on him, and walked into the kitchen.  Opening the door to his right, he
entered the laundry/utility room which separated the kitchen from the
bathroom.  Into the drier went everything.  He didn't turn it on, just in
case something in there wouldn't like that treatment (not that she was in a
position to complain about something shrinking).  Returning to the living
room, he picked up a towel and mopped up what water he saw.  It didn't look
like it had done too much damage.  Naturally, being male, he didn't care
too much, but this WAS a new house.  It shouldn't look lived in quite yet.

   A muffled flushing sound, followed by an opening door, had his attention
once again on his guest.  She had combed her hair a bit, not that it had
been that bad.  Her large breasts hung down, gravity hating those blessed
with that gift.  A thatch of curly blond hair could be seen between her
legs, half hidden by her belly.  She paused in the doorway, eyes once again
widening at his attention, then with eyes lowered she slowly walked up to
him.  He waited.

   "Thank you."

   He had felt her up for the past half hour, and was being thanked for it.
Well, maybe he could justify it as his payment.  He chuckled.

   "You're welcome.  My name's Greg.  I'm not sure I mentioned it last
time." She shook her head, biting her lip.  "You hungry?  Tired?  If you
need anything, tell me.  You're not out of the woods yet."

   "Tired..."

   He nodded.  He surprisingly found his body aching for sleep as well.

   "Not surprised.  Same here.  We'll put you up in my bed- the only bed-
and you can sleep as long as you want.  I'll probably join you soon, after
I've fed the dog and done other minor jobs.  It's big enough we can each
get a side." Her eyes lifted to meet his, once again causing him to get
lost in their blueness.

   "I don't mind, if...  you keep me warm."

   ****

   "I," Greg told himself, and the world, "am an idiot."

   Dressed again in his winter gear, with boots, he was tramping over the
ice once more.  Leon was at his side, barking and exploring happily.  Greg
wasn't happy.  There was a nude woman up in his bed, one seemingly more
than willing to have him join her, and here he was out in the cold.  Did he
have reason?  Yes, but that's not the point.  Sex should, in a normal male,
override reason.  God, he was getting old...

   The reason he was here, and not with a plump sexy female, was the damned
boat.  He had left it out on the ice, and the LAST thing he needed was for
someone to see it, the broken ice, and think there was a guy under water
and call in rescue teams.  That would do his world of solitude no good what
so ever.

   Neither would the naked woman.

   True.  But, that was a problem for another day.  THIS, however, was one
he could solve in the here and now.  He'd go out, bring the boat back, and
no one would be the wiser.  Even the hole in the ice would close up soon...

   Greg reached the discarded lifejacket, bending down to pick it up almost
without breaking stride.  He'd done good.  The woman was rescued, and
alive. Two for two.  Who could ask for...

   He saw the black object on the snowy ice, almost lost among the earlier
footprints.  Stopping, he cocked his head.  No...  no, it can't be.  His
gaze traveled up, around the horizon, then back.  Still there, and with no
other footprints leading up to it.  It hadn't been in their path the first
time, either, which means...

   Kneeling down, shifting the life jacket to his left hand, Greg reached
down towards the gun.  His gloved hand stopped just above, hesitant.  He
had shot rifles, and shotguns.  Never, in his life, had he touched a real
handgun.

   His fingers closed the distance, wrapping around the grip and bringing
it up.  Keeping it pointed down, he examined it.  The safety, so far as he
could tell, was on.  It had a clip, which came out like...  so.  The black
rectangle came out into his waiting hand, much to his relief.  There could
still be a round in the chamber, but he wasn't going to play around to try
and find out just now.  Putting the clip in his pocket, he held the gun
before him pointed at the ice and went on towards the boat.

   The gun had to be hers.  It was next to her tracks.  Probably fell out
of her coat pocket.  Why would a woman be running, across the ice, with a
gun...

   ...because she had used it.

   He stopped again.

   Fuck.

   She hadn't been coming to kill him.  You don't race towards someone in
broad daylight if you're going to murder them.  No, you do that if you're
fleeing to safety.  She'd killed someone, maybe that biker guy she was
with, or, hell, her female friend, and run to someone she kinda knew in a
place nobody would look.

   Well, didn't that make him feel special.

   And, he was stuck with her till spring.  He in no way was going to
attempt to cross the ice to the shore, especially knowing that there were
thin spots.  He had a killer in his house for the next two months, at
least.

   A sexy, naked, killer.

   With big boobs.

   Were there any buttons of his she wasn't pressing?

   Once at the boat, he tossed the lifejacket, rope and gun in and began
pushing it home.  He'd hide the gun, and the clip, outside.  She'd be
disarmed, and if found by the authorities he could claim the killer must
have disposed of it there.  Once the thaw came, he'd take it out into the
lake and drop it in.  Problem solved.

   Well, one of them...

   ****

   Greg woke to a sensation he hadn't felt in years.

   Something warm, wet, and wonderful was flicking up the length of his
cock.  It was so strange, something out of his half remembered past, that
Greg stayed still, eyes closed, trying to identify it.  He hoped to God it
wasn't Leon, turned gay.  The mystery licking reached the head, running
softly around it.  There was a kiss, then a moment later his cock was
engulfed.

   Nope, that wasn't the dog.

   Greg opened his eyes.  Nelly had his manhood firmly in her mouth, taking
him all the way in as she bobbed up and down.  Her large naked body was on
the bed next to him, smooth and tan.  There were no marks on her, which
given what he assumed about her was unusual.  He would have expected a bad
tattoo by some domineering boyfriend, or even bruises.  Then again, he
thought, groaning as the woman focused on sucking his sensitive head, any
woman who could do this could control any male.

   He could feel himself building.  Seeing he was awake, Nelly moved her
hands to caress his body.  The soft touch was enough to push him over the
edge.  With no thought of warning her (it had been so long, protocol was
long forgotten), Greg groaned again as he felt himself release.  Nelly
moaned, but that was her only sign.  He closed his eyes, reveling in the
feeling.  God...  After a few moments, he could feel her mouth slowly rise
up his cock.  Her tongue, at the head, licked a few more times, causing him
to gasp before she released him.  Opening his eyes again, he saw her sit
up, licking her lips.  Her gaze caught his, and lowering her eyes she
smiled.

   "Thank you," she said, softly.  He was speechless.  Grabbing the covers
she had removed, she pulled them up over him, up to his neck.  "Stay there.
I'll bring you breakfast." The bed creaking under her, Nelly slid off the
mattress onto the cold wooden floor.  Nude and barefoot, she walked towards
the stairs.  Mouth open, Greg just watched her jiggling flesh until it
descended out of view.

   Letting his head fall back onto his pillow, he closed his eyes.

   "What the fuck..."

   ****

   He must have dozed.  When next Greg opened his eyes, a still nude Nelly
was placing a baking pan with a plate of scrambled eggs, formerly frozen
waffles, and sausage next to him.  There was also a glass of orange juice,
and silverware.  Nelly took her own tray and walked around to the other
side of the bed.  He had no idea how she managed the stairs carrying both
of them.  Slipping up onto her side of the king sized bed, an operation he
was enjoying, her body twisting in interesting ways, she was followed by
Leon.  The small brown dog hopped up by her feet, walking over to Greg. 
The two males looked at each other, then at the female.  Neither knew what
to make of it.  With a laugh, and a quick scratch to Leon's head, Greg sat
up against the headboard as he put the tray on his lap.

   They ate silently, Leon settling down near their feet waiting for
dropped goodies.  All through breakfast, Greg could feel her eyes rise to
glance at him, quickly looking away.  She wanted him to be the one to ask
the questions.  He knew that.  Nelly was waiting, story at the ready. 
Well, he wasn't going to ask.  He knew, and the only question was if she
was going to lie or not.  He didn't want to find out.

   He was down to just two sausage links before she spoke.

   "Thank you for saving me."

   She had barely touched her food, which consisted of just eggs and one
waffle.  Greg was impressed that she had found the carton of liquid eggs,
and hadn't confused it with the orange juice.  Then again, maybe she had.
Mistakes that never leave the kitchen are usually considered to have never
happened..

   "You're welcome."

   He could read in her an expectation that, now, the questions would come.

   Instead, he speared another sausage with his fork and took a bite.  A
bit overdone, but not worth mentioning.

   Silence.

   "I...  I'm sorry for running here to you."

   Looking down at the one remaining link, Greg decided he was done. 
Picking it up, he "accidentally" dropped it off the side of the bed onto
the floor.  Leon jumped off in a flash, rescuing the fallen sausage.  Greg
turned to the woman.

   "Look, what's done is done.  You're here, and will be till the spring
thaw.  Whatever the reason was won't change that.  We have to worry about
the here and now." Her eyes narrowed a bit.  Interesting.  There was some
depth there.  He pushed the tray off his lap.  "I will thank you for
breakfast, and for earlier.  Neither are required for you to stay here, but
both are more than welcome." This brought a smile to her face, and a
lowering of her eyes.  He was back on script, apparently.  "Let me give you
a tour of the house, and we'll take stock of the situation.

   ****

   Nelly refused his offer of some clothing, preferring to stay nude. 
Given the house wasn't kept THAT warm, this was a questionable decision but
Greg didn't press the point.  He tossed on some boxers.

   The tour, naturally, didn't take too long.  With only a half dozen
rooms, if you include the pantry, there wasn't much to memorize.  Leading
her into that small room, he motioned at the shelves.

   "I stocked up quite a bit, just in case, but with two people here things
might get a bit tight.  At least you didn't show up at the start of winter.
We SHOULD have enough food without having to eat the dog, but there will be
no Presidents Day feasts or the like."

   She nodded.  No cracks about how she needed a diet anyways, no flirting
about surviving on his cum.  Just a serious acknowledgement of their
situation.

   Damn it, he was starting to like her.

   Leading her back into the living room, Greg sat in the recliner,
motioning her to the couch.  Leon came over, putting his head up on Greg's
knee and receiving an absentminded head rub.  Nelly looked at the couch,
then moved in front of Greg.  His eyes widening in surprise, she knelt down
on the rug before him.

   The two looked at each other, moments passing by.  Her blue eyes... 
mesmerized him.

   "Is this what you want?" He almost whispered it.  This went beyond being
submissive, at least to him.  What had her life been like, that she chose
this...

   "Use me." Her soft voice echoed in his head.  "Let me serve you.  I'll
never say no..."

   He wanted to refuse.  She was better than that.  HE was better than
that. He didn't need charity.  He would NOT take advantage of a woman
like...

   But, God...  he had been alone so long...  and he wanted her so badly...

   Temptation won.

   "Get on your hands and knees."

   She smiled, as if she had won a prize.  Nelly turned and dropped on all
fours, large breasts hanging down.  Sliding off the chair onto his knees,
Greg's eyes bore into the expanse of ass before him.  His hands, shaking,
grabbed her tan cheeks.  Not bothering to remove his boxers, he slipped his
now hard cock out the opening, felt with the tip for her wet opening... 
and thrust.

   Groaning, Nelly thrust back at him, taking all of Greg in one movement.
Oh, God...  it had been years, since the divorce...  no, damn it, since
four months before that.  She wasn't tight, no, but Nelly was wet and hot
around him.  His cock quivered insider her, excited almost to the breaking
point.  He wouldn't last.  He knew that.  The body had to be trained for
good sex, trained to postpone relief, to withstand the pleasure.  Greg felt
like a teen, a virgin.  Slowly, he backed out and thrust.  God...  One hand
caressed her smooth back.  He could see, now, why some men wanted a woman
with a tattoo here.  Something to focus on...  his other hand held her
hips, thrusts becoming more frantic.  She groaned, her muscles contracting
against his cock...

   That did it.  He came, with a growl.  For the second time that morning
he released into her.

   He felt no guilt.

   ****

   That evening, he took her again.  With Nelly spread out on the bed, Greg
attacked those wondrous breasts.  He sucked, chewed, nibbled, every scrape
of his teeth causing her to gasp and hold his head tighter against her. 
She came, or at least faked coming, just from ten minutes of that, as his
teeth nipped a nipple.  Lifting up, Greg spread her legs and fucked her. 
Her fleshy body, flattened a bit by gravity, spread underneath him even as
her shapely legs came up and crossed behind his ass.  He lasted a bit
longer this time, but when he felt it coming he did nothing to try and slow
his release.  He just wanted to come, and come...

   ****

   They fell into a routine.

   Every morning, Nelly woke him with a blow job, getting a start on
breakfast.  She'd then descend and cook them both breakfast, sometimes
served in bed, often with him not waiting and coming downstairs to sit at
the table.  He'd then spend some time on the computer, getting caught up on
financial business or checking the news.  She'd do some minor cleaning, or
dress to go outside for firewood.  One back, she'd strip again.

   Afternoons, they'd read, listen to music.  Fuck.  Evenings maybe a movie
or some TV.  She insisted on sitting on the rug at his feet, body pressed
against his legs.  Often he'd reach down with one hand to pet the dog, and
the other to caress her blonde hair.  If she noticed him getting hard in
his boxers, all he now wore, she'd bring a hand up to help matters,
eventually leading to another release into her.

   He was happy.

   They didn't talk much.  He was not a talker, to begin with, and Nelly
would not talk unless spoken too.  Greg did ask her about whatever book she
was reading, now and then, always surprised at the intelligence and depth
he found.  He did notice, though, that if conversation started moving in
certain directions she'd begin to caress him.  Not really caring, he let
himself be distracted.

   There was nothing in the news about a murder.  Greg began to wonder if,
really, he was wrong about the entire situation.  Wrong about WHY she was
here.  Now and then, he'd catch her gazing out the window at the shore with
such...  longing, that his heart broke.  But, she never spoke of wanting to
leave.  Every other sign from her seemed to say this was where she wanted
to be.

   Which part of her was lying...

   ****

   It was the last week of March.  The two were out, walking the perimeter
of the island as they often did, enjoying the sun and an unusually warm
day. Greg held her hand, as he often did of late.  If it was love, he
wasn't admitting it to himself.

   They had come back around to the dock side, looking out over the lake.
Greg stopped, squinting.  Something was...

   "Look."

   Nelly followed his gaze, face puzzled.  Looking at her, he grinned.

   "It's a bit hard to tell, I know, compared to yesterday, but...  I think
the ice is gone enough to make it to shore.  See, there's a clear path, if
a bit twisted, to my dock." He could see her eyes widen.  For a moment, he
saw joy there.  Then...  sadness.  Her hand squeezed his.

   Fuck.  Now what.

   "Tomorrow," he said, almost stammering like some teen, "we can go into
town and get some supplies.  Restock.  Then...  we'll talk about what
happens next."

   She looked down, then across to the shore once again.  After a moment,
she nodded.

   "OK..."

   ****

   That night, she made him come twice.  His skill with her had improved
tenfold, but she was an animal, giving him pleasure as never before.  She
even insisted he take her ass, something he'd never done.  It was dry, and
hot...  he wasn't sure how far he actually went in, between the added bulk
of her ass cheeks and his not all that impressive size, but the change
brought a release he didn't think his middle age body had left in it.  He
collapsed next to his lover, quickly falling into the deep sleep of the
content...

   ****

   Greg awoke the next morning not to a blow job, but to a sound.

   It was a familiar sound.  His mind knew that, even as it struggled to
wake up enough to identify it.  It was something manmade, loud, although
moving away from them...  maybe a motor...

   A boat motor.

   His eyes shot open.  Jumping out of the bed, he ran to the window. 
There, in the bright morning sun, moving away from the dock...  was the
True Blue.  Nelly sat in the back, hand on the outboard's control handle.
She was dressed in her only outfit; the jeans, sweater, and winter coat she
was wearing he had fished her out of the ice.

   "What the fuck..."

   Running down the stairs, Greg saw Leon busy eating a fresh bowl of food.
He wasn't bothered by anything.  Greg's eyes canvassed the room.

   The cell phone was gone.

   So was his laptop.

   Quickly going to the end table, he pulled out the drawer.

   The paper with his passwords was also gone.

   Standing there, still nude, sunlight coming in through the picture
window...  he closed his eyes, and laughed.

   ****

   The practice had paid off.

   Nelly, before winter had set it, had managed one day of trying to steer
a boat like this.  Paula had somehow managed to talk a weekend fisherman
into teaching Nelly the basics.  The hardest part, really, was learning not
to let go as the vibrations shook your body to pieces, but today she hardly
noticed.

   She was going to see them again!

   The path through the ice was a bit twisted, especially for one not
really used to steering by what, really, was a rudder.  A rudder with a
propeller on it.  Still, she only banged into thin ice four times, and was
now aimed at the dock.  Her heart was beating a million times a second. 
Where were they!?  She wanted to see them!  It had been so long!

   Cutting the motor, the dock was coming up very fast and still there was
no sign.  Fear hit Nelly.  What if they didn't come?  What if she was now
all alone?  What would she do?!?

   The metal bow of the True Blue banged into the dock, causing her to
wince, then began to slid along it.  Grabbing one of the piers, Nelly
struggled to her feet and pulled herself up onto the wooden dock.  The boat
had begun to move away before she remembered you have to tie these things
up.  Quickly kneeling down, she reached out and barely caught the side,
pulling it back.  Grabbing a rope tied to the stern, she fastened it to the
dock.

   "Slave Mommy!"

   Nelly bolted to her feet, spinning, eyes wide.

   There, at the end of the dock...  was Mistress Paula, and their two
babies.

   Her face exploded into a smile.  Little Cathy was jumping up and down,
the five year old as always a bundle of energy.  Mistress, with a smile,
kept one hand on her shoulder to hold her in place.  Little Nathan, as
slippery as any three year old, broke away from Paula's grasp and began
running towards Nelly.  She quickly moved to close the distance, as much to
keep him from falling off the dock as from her joy at seeing her son. 
Scooping him up, she showered kisses on his laughing face.  In a moment
Cathy was hugging her as well.

   "Slave Mommy!  We missed you!"

   "And I missed you two!" She knelt down, depositing Nathan on the deck as
she kissed and hugged her daughter.  A shadow fell across her.

   "And what about me?"

   Grinning, Nelly looked up from her kneeling position.

   "Oh, Mistress!  I missed you most of all!  Thank you for coming for me!"
Grabbing her right hand, Nelly gently kissed all five fingers.  Paula
looked down amusedly.

   "You gave us quite a scare with the ice.  I was getting ready to come
get you when we saw him charging out."

   "I'm sorry!  That was my fault!"

   "That's OK," she chuckled.  "Stand." Nelly did, children happily
clinging to her legs.  Mistress Paula leaned forward, giving her a gentle
kiss.

   She felt herself shudder, cumming slightly.

   Pulling back, Paula gave her a serious look.

   "How did it go?  Are you OK?  Did you get everything?"

   Nelly lowered her gaze, grinning.

   "Thank you for asking...  it was good.  He was kind to me, and we may
even have another child coming.  And, I have everything!" She looked up
into her lover's green eyes.  "I have his laptop, passwords to all his
accounts, and his cell phone!  You'll be rich!" Doubt suddenly came to her
eyes.  "He'll be OK, this way, right?"

   Paula patted her blond head, smiling.

   "Oh, he'll have to go back to work, after calling to a passing boat to
rescue him, but he'll be OK.  Don't worry..."

   Music suddenly came from Nelly's coat pocket.

   Cathy looked up, surprised.

   "You're coat is singing, Slave Mommy!"

   Hesitantly, Nelly reached in, hand closing around the small rectangular
object.  Pulling out the cell phone, she looked at Mistress, confused.

   "He never got a call, once, while I was there..."

   Paula held out her hand, taking the phone.  Looking at the display for a
moment, she hit a button and held it up to her ear.

   "Hello."

   Nelly watched, a feeling of dread coming over her.  Her hands went down,
caressing her babies, eyes never leaving her Mistress.

   "Oh, I'm fine.  How are you?...  That's good to hear...  Really..."
Paula looked down at Nelly, eyes widening slightly.  "Well, that was
forward thinking of you...  yes...  yes...  Hmm, well, that's a considerate
offer.  Do you mind if we think about it?  Thank you." She turned off the
phone, put it in her pocket, and laughed.  Nelly nervously smiled, waiting
for an explanation, if Mistress consented to give one.

   "I'm starting to like that man..." Paula shook her head, then regarded
her slave.  "He has two of everything, including boat, cell phone, and
laptop.  He's already changed all the passwords on his accounts..." Nelly
put her hands up to her mouth, shocked.  She'd be punished for this!  Paula
put a hand out and caressed her head reassuringly.  "However, he REALLY
enjoyed your company.  He did keep the password to one bank account the
same, and if we agree to leave the boat and truck here, he'll put $20,000
in it for us."

   Nelly's eyes widened.  She wouldn't be punished!  She rubbed her head
against Mistress's hand, eyes closed.

   "He also asked if he could rent you again next winter.  Would you like
that?"

   "Yes, Mistress..."

   **** Edited by SciFi Nut

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