Morlock

Prolog A genuine slave ship - a wooden sailor, at that - was something that a person wouldn’t expect to see in the first half of the twenty-first century. But here was one, sails set and cruising along on the empty sea toward some unknown destination. A week ago I would never have believed the story under any circumstances. Even now, the reality hadn’t really sunk in. There were some considerable differences between our vessel and those that plied the trade two hundred years ago, hauling half dead unfortunates across the Atlantic toward a life of bondage. For one thing, this one was spotless and the air below decks was fresh and cool. The food was good and no bodies were thrown overboard in the mornings. ...

Author's Note: Long winter nights for fun and profit. Prolog I’m not sure who I am writing this for, but up here, the nights are long and the entertainment is strictly whatever a person can come up with. Like most Sourdoughs, reading is popular to fill up the hours so I am not completely uneducated, although I have to say that my attention span in school was not the best in the class. Of course, the preferred entertainment to fill up leisure hours is to lay on top of the opposite sex, doing - well, whatever comes natural. Or, sometimes, in my case, unnatural. Of course, even for a young person - ok, I’m not quite yet in my 30’s - that can’t be the only entertainment. Eventually, the stream runs dry for the day. ...

“Better to reign in Hell, than serve in Heaven.” Milton, Paradise Lost. Chapter the only. I looked out my office picture window and at the huge vista beyond. Another beautiful day, blue sky, blue water, probably up to maybe 75 degrees today. But of course, that was the norm in this part of the Pacific - the only bad days were during the monsoon. Of course, even the bad days were like nirvana compared to the interminable cold where I grew up - Montana, USA. If I ever left here permanently - and I wouldn’t unless it was just ahead of the law from somewhere - I wouldn’t even fly over my old freezing hell hole. ...

Author's Note: This is version 2 - A rewrite of the original to address the valid comments given about the story. The story line is about the same, but the details are considerably fleshed out and the last half is a major rewrite. The official positions and the historical events discussed in this story may exist or have existed, but the story characters are not based on, nor do they represent any actions by any actual official. ...

Author's Note: A young man’s encounter with a violent situation leads to a lifelong hobby. The beginning of a plan It all started with a trip to visit an elderly colleague with whom I had worked for a few years. He lived by himself at the far end of rural dirt road, which was little more than just a track through the woods. Turning into his gate, I noticed an old extended cab pickup parked beside the house with at least two persons inside. But that fact was ignored immediately as I exited my vehicle and heard definite cries of pain coming from the other side of the house. ...

Author's Note: A young woman’s journey from being a wallflower. Prologue A bookstore. The clock on the wall behind the counter tinged five times. Quitting time for the day, and the beginning of a long weekend. As the remaining customers queued up at the register, Susan checked them out, confidently stacking and sacking whatever the customer had selected. Totally at home with literate people, she kept up a friendly stream of conversation… ...

Author's Note: A young biker, not completely on the right side of the law, finds an unbelievable situation in the wheatfields of Kansas. “Some people worry about The End of the Dream. All I cared about was the Dream of the End.” Anonymous - WWII concentration camp survivor. I had been an outdoors type all my life. Given any set of mountains or wilderness, I could survive most comfortably with just a knife as a tool. Some of that was learned in childhood in the wilds of West Virginia, the rest with the Special Forces in the US Army. ...

Author's Note: A 6 part series about a young man who expands his hobby into a lifelong career and makes a fortune with it. Chapter 1 - The Mountaintop My new guest was due any time. I insisted on a strict timetable, so that two clients never saw each other. Discretion was at the top of my guaranteed services. She had just five minutes left to get here, or I would push the button that would close the electric gate. If that happened then she would have to explain, by secure email, just why she was tardy, then accept a reschedule. Fortunately, that would not be the case here - on the security monitor, I saw a car pull into the driveway and start up the steep hill - that had to be her. ...

Author's Note: This story is a minor offshoot of The Hotel. This story will stand alone, but will have more context if The Hotel is read first. Prelude My name is Fatimah bint Mahmoud bin Abdulaziz Al-Fulan - my Master calls me Teema. I was his ward until I reached my twentieth birthday. The reason that I actually reached that date, is due to his kindness in keeping me safe from a certain set of relatives in my native country. My parents were fairly important government employees in the foreign service, and we spent most of our lives living in some embassy somewhere in the world. During that time, I picked up fluency in almost a dozen languages. ...

Author's Note: A little story that I whomped up to pass the time while at the mercy of the airline industry. About a girl who loves self bondage and collects equipment to satisfy her needs. I have a tip for you girls who like toys - forget the boyfriends who are investment bankers, lifeguards or the like. All you get from them is money or big dicks. Get yourself an engineer. ...