Buck's Photo Tales


Written by Uncle Buck

Illustrations Provided by

Ms Nombe Zulu @ Sexyamazons.com

Nombe served as the muse in this small tale of land and sea-faring females. Now, the only water I come in contact with on any regular basis is a bath on Saturday night, so you will find that there is a distinct lack of nautical terms as I barely know one end of a boat from the other. I guess it was the 45-odd year old recording of Johnny Cash doing Supper-Time that provided the 'hook' that I like to have to wrap up these tales of mine.

Nombe won't recognize her concept in this story, but that's just as well, because that leaves her free to come up with a story of her own. In the meantime, feel entirely free to visit her site at Erotic Peril, and, we'll see you in the movies!

While you're here check out the SpookyCash Gallery

There were others who would say otherwise, but she preferred to think of herself as being naught but a simple sea captain.
She and her associates did not traffic in narcotics, nor did they deal in armaments, or at least not to any significant extent.
Still, it must be admitted that theirs was a clandestine operation best attended to in secrecy.

But since so many of the leading citizens of Hog Wallow had invested in the Captain's cargoes at one time or another,
one might perhaps expect it inevitable that word of their transactions would get out sooner or later.

The Warlord called the captain and her kind smugglers, you see.
And while she never had anything on which to base her suspicions,
the captain was quite certain that her financiers would be the first to disavow any knowledge of her,
or of the women who made up her crew.

Smuggling, if you insist upon referring to their importation business by that name,
had been going on ever since there was any form of organized government in need of revenue.
This revenue was, and still is often raised, among other ways,
through the imposition of taxes and tariffs placed upon various trade goods.
It seemed but natural to the captain that in the interest of a free market economy,
this type of taxation was to be avoided whenever possible.

Unfortunately, the Warlord of Hog Wallow did not always share a similar point of view.
And from his perspective, the captain and her crew were but common outlaws and were to be dealt with as such:
all of which leads to a most unfortunate state of affairs.
But we are getting ahead of ourselves.

The ship was a bireme that had been so heavily damaged during the course of some forgotten conflict
that the price of its purchase was within the Captain's means, which in truth were rather limited.
Paying for the necessary repairs used up nearly all of her remaining available capital.
And so the Captain found herself with a seaworthy craft,
but without the ways and means to either purchase a cargo nor to assemble a crew.

There may or may not be truth in the expression that it's a Man's World,
but it certainly was in the immediate vicinity of Hog Wallow, for in seeking a crew and cargo,
being a woman did little or nothing to further the Captain's cause.
She was having visions of her boat rotting at its mooring while she languished in debtor's prison,
for it seemed to her that she had exhausted every avenue.
But then, it was the proprietor of the Hog's Breath Tavern, and a man, of all things, who introduced her a woman called Foxxe.

Foxxe was only one of the Amazon women who eked out a living fishing, pearl diving,
and working as a day laborer at one thing or another around the waterfront.
Dante, the tavern keeper, knew of a group of merchants who had goods in need of transportation,
and Foxxe assured the Captain that she would shanghai a crew to man the oars of the bireme if need be.

If the captain had any misgivings at first about the ability of any group of women to crew her bireme,
those doubts were dispelled almost from the minute Foxxe and her women appeared at the mooring.
Some were notably more formidable looking than others, but all were broad of shoulder and deep of chest;
particularly the ones who Foxxe said were the pearl divers.
Taken all in all, they looked to be a group of tough Amazon warrior women to her and the captain must have said something to that effect which they, fortunately, took as a being complimentary.

Foxxe assured the captain that they would all have been placed among the ranks of the Amazons, except that being of humble birth,
none of them had the price of bronze armor and weapons.
They all had to earn a living and could not dedicate the time it took to train as a soldier or marine,
and so they were here to offer their minds as well as their strong, loin cloth clad bodies to the cause.
Any cause; in this case, the cause was that of their Captain.

It was Foxxe who put the women through a series of rigorous training sessions at the oars of the bireme.
All of them were competent both on and in the water,
but it took practice to develop the teamwork neccessary for the oarswomen to function as a single well coordinated unit.

Thinking it best to be honest and aboveboard with these women right from the first,
the captain told them in no uncertain terms that the mission that they were about to embark upon was outside of the law and so might well be dangerous.
But the women laughed at the suggestion that any unpleasant things could happen to them should any of them be taken prisoner.
But then they sobered and the captain could see that the women were well aware of the situations they could face.
But while they realized that it could be dangerous,
at the same time it was apparent that no single individual came aboard expecting to die.

Despite having certain misgivings, the captain had to admit that their first trip was an unqualified success.
The captain received the amount of compensation that had been agreed upon by a representative of the Consortium and,
once her oarswomen had received their portion,
it gave rise to a celebration. And in case you didn't know,
let it be known by all those present that whether she be listed among the ranks of the warriors or not,
any Amazon worthy of the name has the capacity to party heartily, and party they did.

As the celebration was winding down later that evening, and after a bit of quiet conversation,
Foxxe suggested to the captain that they might spend some time alone and she glanced significantly
at a flight of stairs leading to chambers on the upper floor of the tavern.
The inkeeper gave Foxxe a nod and a knowing wink as well as a key,
and the two women repaired to one of the upper rooms of the building.

Foxxe gave the ticking a thorough inspection and, finding no bedbugs in the immediate vicinity,
she and the captain proceeded to do that which women do who have chosen to come together.
The captain asked Foxxe whether a man would better suit her purposes and she said yes, upon occasion.
But tonight there had been none that had aroused her interest.
"And besides," the woman added,
"Every oarswoman worth her salt knows that there are different strokes for different folks!"

Dante's group of merchants, who preferred to refer to themselves as a Consortium, were at first, and perhaps understandably,
inclined to be more than a little bit skeptical
when they learned that the benches of their ship were to be populated by a crew of women.
But as one successful landing followed another,
they overcame whatever reservations they may have had at first,
and the captain's boat and crew shipped a goodly number of cargoes,
and all this time there had been not so much as a word of protest uttered by the Warlord.

Foxxe found that a number of the women were quite proficient with the sling,
a leather contrivance in some ways similar to a sling-shot,
except that the stone is whirled as it is fired.
The women used them primarly for hunting small game,
but the slingers kept themselves in practice so that they would be ready to help discourage
an invading force should the occasion arise.

Too, the captain found that each of the oarswomen were proficient with the short stabbing spears
that had been requsitioned and stowed away for ease of access in racks among the rowing benches.

It was while the other women were away distributing a portion of the merchadise
that Foxxe and the captain took the opportunity to paddle off alone,
to size up a place that was to become a storehouse for their next cargo.

It was perhaps an unusual location on which to build a church,
for it stood well away from any immediate population center.
But of course that was the idea.
The men who donated the money to build what was ostensibly a church stood high in the local society;
it only stood to reason that they would wish to be viewed as pillars of the church
and that the edifice should meet both their secular needs as well as spiritual.

The captain had received a key to the rather large padlock that barred entrance.
She and Foxxe agreed that the crypt in the cellar would make an excellent storehouse
for their cargoes until they could be distributed.

"If our loads get any bigger," Foxxe quipped,
"The parishioners will have to share their pews with whatever goods won't fit in the crypt!
It likely wouldn't trouble many of them in the least!"

Having completed their tour of inspection, they were paddling their way back to Hog Wallow
where they would rejoin the others of their band.
The surrounding area was dotted with small islands and the captain asked Foxxe which one of them she might call home.

"I feel quite at home with you at the moment, Capt'n!"
And the woman turned and grinned back at her companion without missing a stroke with her oar.
The captain was flattered and said so, but then Foxxe continued in a more sober tone of voice.

"We Amazons are always at home with our sisters, Capt'n!
But if you are asking from where do I hail,
all I can say is that it is so far from here that I don't know if the place still exists.
There's nothing there for me to go back to anyway!"

The captain thought that she might have perhaps asked the wrong question.
It could be that Foxxe was an exiled criminal and the captain thought it best
to make no reply and to let the woman continue, which she did a few moments later.

"My people were all simple fishermen.
I was hardly more than an infant when our island was struck by a tsunami
which swept away most of our village as well as many of its inhabitants.
My father was lost at sea for he had been out fishing with the men of the village.
My mother and I survived, but we were left with nothing.

"Eventually the sea calmed and the water subsided.
But it was then that we were beset by a gang of pirates
who were out to loot whatever there might have been in the way of easy pickings.
Finding no men to stand in opposition, they set about rounding up the female survivors to be sold into slavery.
My mother would have no part of that and protested vigorously.
She and several others were butchered before my very eyes.

"The others fell into line after that and the slavers took them away to their ship.
Being but an infant, I was left behind as I guess that I was considered to be more of a liability than an asset.
I crawled to my mother's body and curled up there with her for I don't know how long.

"But at last I was taken in by a group of women who called themselves 'sisters'.
They are a restless and rootless lot who wander about, seeking I am not sure just what.
I have become one of them, I guess. But in my heart I would like to find a 'home' one day."

It was then that Foxxe lent her rich alto voice to the verse of a chant that the captain was to hear thereafter again and again.

Many years ago in days of childhood,
I used to play till evening time would come ...
Still winding down that old familiar pathway,
I'd hear my mother call at setting sun ...

Come home! Come home! It's supper-time!
The shadows lengthen fast!
Come home! Come home! It's supper-time!
We're going home at last!

Some of the fondest memories of my childhood are woven around suppertime,
When Mother would call from the back porch of the old home place,
'Come on home, now, Foxxe! It's supper-time!'
My, how I'd love to hear that once again ...
But you know time has woven for me a realization of the Truth that's even more thrilling ...
That someday we'll be called together around the great supper-table up there ...
For the greatest supper-time of them all ... With Our Lord!
I can almost hear the call now coming from the portals of heaven ...
'Come home, Foxxe! It's supper-time! Come on home!'

Come home! Come home! It's supper-time!
The shadows lengthen fast!
Come home! Come home! It's supper-time!
We're going home at last!

There happened to be a school of fish running not far to our starboard
and the Foxxe suggested that they might do well to catch some.
"Our crew could likely do with some supper!" she declared. "I know that I could!"

The fish were more than welcome when they rejoined the others.
The fish were cleaned, fires were started, the fish cooked,
and they were all sitting about enjoying their meal in almost less time than it takes to tell about it.

By now their illicit activities had become almost a matter of routine.
They were of course careful and most of their movements took place under the cover of darkness.
But after nearly a full year in operation and nearly two dozen cargoes transported without so much as a hint of trouble,
it is quite likely that all concerned were becoming somewhat lax.

The Warlord was a man in his dotage and, during the course of a long career he had amassed more wealth
than he now had life left in which to enjoy it.
Coupled with that was the fact that at least half of the members of the Consortium were in some way related to him.
He was not the individual who,
of his own volition would do anything in the way of damage to the Amazon Smugglers,
as they had come to be called.

The ladies were quite capable of aquitting themselves well in any dockside brawl
and they felt that they had little to fear from any other quarter.
Still, their boat represented a valuable prize.
They carried neither gold nor silver, but it was not so much the cargo that was craved as it was the women themselves;
for oarswomen were a valuable commodity and often brought a good price when sold into bondage.

"What we have here," Foxxe expounded one day,
when she herself had sampled a noggin of the rum that was the main constituent of their latest shipment,
"Here we have what has become a prime crew of oarswomen!
Strong, healthy, accustomed to hard work and danger, and used to working as a team!
They could be of use aboard any ship!
And barring that, they could be sold to fight in a Roman arena!"

"It sounds as though an oarswoman is offered not much in the way of consideration as a human being, let alone a woman,"
The captain replied.

"No more than any other piece of livestock!" Foxxe snorted.
"Oarswomen can consider themselves fortunate that they are usually not killed outright!
If the ship is captured, then who is going to row it?"

But unbeknownest to either Foxxe or the Captain, other powers were at work.
The Warlord was being prevailed upon by those who served at Court to
do something about the intolerable smuggling situation in Hog Wallow.
It may well have been that the Captain and her crew of Amazons were seen as being entirely too successful
as they went about unmolested in their operations of shipping and distribution.
The Consortium was called together and during the course of the meeting the Warlord's representative
stated in no uncertain terms
that steps were to be taken to bring the smuggling operations to a halt in short order.

It was agreed that they wanted no part of any classic sea battle.

"Were their ship boarded, argued one individual, "The oarswomen may, in desperation,
swarm out and possibly overwhelm the boarders by sheer force of numbers."

"But at least a great many of these poorly armed and near-naked women will be slaughtered in the process!"
Argued one in favor of decisive action.

"Now see here," declared another.
"We are all well aware that it takes a certain level of mass hysteria to turn any group of women into a maddened mob,
careless of the lives of the individual!"

"But such an outbreak is a fearsome thing should it be allowed to occur!" insisted another.
"Once those women become willing to throw themselves upon spears of our marines there will be no stopping them!"

"This situation must be prevented at all cost!" inserted another.

"Gentlemen! Gentlemen! Please!"
The Warlord decided that it was high time that he bring some of his considerable experience and expertise
to the floor of this meeting.
"It would seem to me that you are all begging the issue!
Can we not at least agree that the women are at the bottom of what has become an intolerable situation,
and as such must be eliminated?"

The members looked about among themselves with a collective sigh of relief;
then one of them requested the floor in order to express his opinion.

"I, for one, feel that the best way to defeat these miscreants is on dry land!
A few good men could initiate an assault as they store away the illicit goods on the island!"

"Do you mean at the church?
Why, that hardly seems proper!
And only a relatively small number of the smugglers land there!"

"Yes! My point exactly!
Divide and conquer, Sir!
Divide and conquer!
Ah! I can see them now in my mind's eye!
The fleeting looks of terror that cross their features!
Their screams of rage as they know that they are undone!
The way that they grunt as arrows are sent plunging into their bodies!
The way that they continue to struggle futilely with the feathered shafts that protrude from their bosoms and bellies!
And finally, the way they fall to the ground, to lay in magnificent heaps with spears and arrows protruding from their bodies;
their life's blood draining away to mingle amid the silent sand!

"You paint quite a rosy picture, Sir!
But may I remind you all that our mission is to eliminate this scourge in its entirety?
It is my own feeling that we are given no choice but to attack and board the ship!

"Once aboard, the tactic generally used is to block the ramp from the rowing deck with a wall of interlocked shields
bristling with spears and backed with archers as quickly as possible.

"It is a rare woman, or man for that matter, who can coldly charge into the certain death of cold steel!
But if the first bold spirit among them was to suffer a blade in the gut,
she would tumble back down the ramp, pierced and dying at the feet of her sisters!
This would tend to dampen the ardour of the rest of them.
For let me remind you, that once the spark ignites and their blood is up,
nothing will stop these women from retaking the ship, even though most would perish in the process!"

"Yes! Yes! I concurr!
But in this instance there is no thought to make the Amazons captive!
Is this not so? True! So then!
I feel that the unpleasantness arising from a direct confrontation might be obviated
were we to resort to a subterfuge of some nature!"

They were to spend several hours more working out the details,
but the upshot was that several days later,
a number of posters were printed and discovered tacked up in various locations about the village.

Come Ye One and All!
Join Your Friends and Neighbors and Help Us Celebrate
Hog Wallow Days

Feats of Skill and Daring * Competitions * Cash Prizes
Games of Chance
Tree Felling
Log Rolling
Wood Chopping
Axe Toss
Knife Throwing
Sword Fencing
Wrestling Matches
Boat Races

The Amazons gathered around the Captain as she read them the details.
A good many of the women were eager to participate in the individual events,
but Foxxe prevailed upon the oarswomen to save their energy for the boat race that was to be the culmination of the festivities.

It takes a certain amount of time and effort to marshal the resources required to put any organized event together.
And so it was some six weeks later when the village turned out for the First Annual Celebration of Hog Wallow Day.

There were suprizingly few casualties among the contestants.
An occasional black eye, sore muscles and bruised egos were about the extent of their hurts,
and so all were on hand to get a view of the boat races as best they could.

When the Warlord's ship came into view, the first reaction of the oarswomen was one of awe mixed with the bravado of contempt.

"Gadzooks! Do you mean to tell me they intend to race us in our boat in that monstrosity?"

"That monstrosity, as you see fit to call it, is a trireme
and the very latest thing in Greek warships!" Foxxe offered in mild reproof.
"But you are right," she added.
"I shouldn't think that we'll have any trouble beating them in a race!
We shall soon see!"

The smaller craft raced in a series of short heats during the course of the afternoon.
But the main event was of to be the contest between the Warlord's trireme and the smaller bireme crewed by the Amazons.
The entire population of Hog Wallow was gathered along the coastline of the designated racecourse
and there were a fair number of small boats in the water seeking no doubt to avail themselves of a first-hand view of the affair.

There were the usual number of catcalls and insults hurled back and forth between the two vessels
as they jockeyed into position at the starting line.
This was serious business after all, and the women all became intent upon their oars.

The two boats got off to a clean start, and, if the truth be told, the Warlord's trireme,
though bigger and heavier than the craft rowed by the women,
did not do at all badly and it seemed at first as though they might give the Amazons a serious run for the money.

But at the finish line, the women had rather easily outdistanced the trireme
and all the crew climbed up on deck in order to better celebrate their victory.

"Had the Warlord wanted to stack the deck," Foxxe spoke to the Captain, "They would have done well with a shorter course.
They surprized me! Frankly, I thought that we'd leave them further behind than we did!"

"And they're coming on strong now!" The Captain pointed out as she gazed at the rapidly approaching trireme.
"Why is the Warlord working his crew so hard now, when the race is clearly won?"

"By the Gods!" Foxxe exclaimed.
"To your oars, ladies!
To your oars!
Turn this boat about!
To the oars!"

The Captain was dumbfounded.
"Get down, Captain!" Foxxe exclaimed.
"And brace yourself!
We've been played for a ship of fools!
He means to ram us!
Take your positions!"

The Warlord's vessel continued to make its approach and the women below pulled vigorously at their oars
in an attempt to turn the bireme in an effort to avoid being struck broadside.
On the deck above, other brave women whirled their slings to shower their foes with stones.

It seems likely that the Warlord's marines considered their opposition to be little more than a dangerous nuisance.
But being struck with a stone is no joke,
even with the shields and bronze helmets they wore for protection,
and so the first priority of the Warlord's archers was to clear the deck of the slingers.

The slinger had what was perhaps a somewhat superior rate of fire, but the archers had more range,
and being hit by an arrow generally did more permanent damage than being stuck by a stone.
And what was most unfortunate, the neear-naked bodies of the women made easy targets for the Warlord's archers.
And, possessing neither shields nor armor of any kind, these brave women were cut down with relative ease.
Many was the archer who had the satisfaction of seeing a targeted female clutch frantically at the shaft
as it protruded from some part of her body before she pitched over the side of her vessel,
or fell down among the oarswomen, which could only add to their distress.

With a valor born of desperation, the women who had survivied the initial onslaught of the arrows that descended upon them,
kept at their oars and managed to avoid being struck broadside.
But even though they did manage to lessen the severity of the impact,
their brieme was rammed at the stern with such force that their vessel was heavily damaged and so began,
first to capsize and then to sink.

One can but imagine the scene below decks as the water rose and the terrified oarswomen fought madly in their attempts to escape.

The Captain had lost sight of Foxxe as she ducked and dodged about
trying to maintain some semblance of discipline during the arrow barrage.
When the collision occured, the Captain lost her footing and fell,
to be battered roughly about the deck before tumbling into the water.

The sea seemed to be filled with the bodies of her crew.
Some of the women were thrashing about while others floated quietly.
The Captain managed to grasp the section of a broken oar as it floated amid the sea of corpses and it served to help keep her afloat.

The bireme slipped quietly beneath the water and the Warlord's vessel rowed away to port
where any damages it had sustained would be repaired while the crew celebrated their victory, such as it was.

Survivors were a precious few in number, but in her dazed state,
the Captain noted that one of the oarswomen had somehow commandeered a small boat and was busily engaged
in picking up those who could clamber over the side. Filled to its capacity,
the boat moved away and the Captain was left to her plight.

The minutes seemed like hours to her aching arms.
She had no idea how long,
but it was some time later that the captain felt herself being drawn away from her precious oar.
She struggled in her attempt to hold on but she lost her grip as the wet wood slipped through her numb fingers.
She might have screamed in her distress,
but it was then that she heard a voice say,
"There now, Captain!
Just let it go!
I've got you now!"

Foxxe in a boat!
Foxxe had found her!
She was saved!
And so it was with a sigh of relief that she passed out to collapse in a heap in the bottom of Foxxe's boat.

How long she remained unconscious and how far their boat drifted, the Captain was never to know,
but she came awake gradually to see Foxxe slumped over at the oars.

"Foxxe! You're hurt!"

"Aye, Capt'n!
I fear those lubbers have got the best of me!"

"Let me take the oars!"

"The tide is carrying us toward that island!
If you can keep 'er headed in that direction ...
I'll just rest here for a while ...
If you don't mind ..."

"Save your strength, Foxxe!
I'll get help!"

"Help ...
Yes ...
Help ...
Do you hear that voice calling for us, Capt'n?"

At first she thought that her friend was becoming delusional, but then ...
She did hear a voice calling from afar ...

Come home!
Come home!
Heave to with that boat!
Come along now!
It's supper-time!"

As the boat bottomed on the sand, her mother waded into the water to help drag the small boat ashore.

"I see you caught us a nice big mess of fish for supper, Capt'n!
There's a full moon tonight and the tide is apt to be high!
So you see to it that your boat is well up the beach while I head for home and get these fish cleaned and frying!
Don't be too long now!
Supper will be in the pan directly!"

"Yes'm ... I'll be along - directly!"

The Captain secured her boat and then paused to reflect upon the body of her friend as it lay in the boat.
There were to be no final dramatic parting words.
The sand in her glass of life had run out and Foxxe had died with the quiet dignity of her race.
Sadly, the Captain looked down at her fallen comrad,
and the closing lines of the song Foxxe had sung so often ran across her mind ...

Come home! Come home! It's supper-time!
The shadows lengthen fast!
Come home! Come home! It's supper-time!
Yes, Foxxe ... My good and dear friend ...
We're going home at last!