Chapter 6: Castle of Secrets & Spoons
It started with a dare.
“Well,” Michelle said as she flicked her phone screen, “if
we’re still chasing adventure… there’s an old stone castle just outside
Loughlár that’s supposed to have secret tunnels, underground chambers, and even
a hidden treasure.”
Salty raised an eyebrow. “Treasure, huh? What kind?
Emotional closure or actual gold?”
Sarah leaned in, her bust practically spilling from the
scoop neck top she barely squeezed into after last night’s seaside steam fest.
“Only one way to find out. Grab your torch, Indiana.”
The drive to Loughlár Castle took them inland, winding
through roads flanked by gnarled trees and lazy sheep. The castle loomed in the
distance like something from a gothic romance: ivy-choked towers, broken
battlements, and legends clinging to every stone.
When they arrived, there was no tourist crowd — just
silence, mist, and the promise of secrets.
“I don’t like how quiet it is,” Michelle murmured, slipping
on her leather jacket.
Salty chuckled. “Quiet usually means good things are buried
beneath.”
They followed an old map Sarah had downloaded, winding
through ancient hallways and eventually finding a false wall in the wine cellar
that creaked open with the pull of an iron ring.
Behind it? A spiral staircase, leading down… and down… and
down.
The air was thick and cool. Lanterns flickered on the stone
walls. Sarah clutched Salty’s arm as they descended, while Michelle moved ahead
with feline confidence, flashlight in hand.
At the bottom, a vast chamber opened before them, covered in
cobwebs and glinting with something too shiny to be legend.
Gold coins.
Antique jewelry.
And — no joke — two glittering crown-shaped diamond
tiaras nestled in a velvet-lined chest.
Salty whistled low. “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Sarah blinked. “This is real?”
Michelle laughed, eyes wide. “We’re rich, b*tches!”
They didn’t loot the place like pirates — no, they were more
elegant than that. They took just enough to live lavishly for a little while
without alerting half the Irish government. A bag of coins, a few sparkling
rings, and one tiara each.
Back on the surface, Salty announced it was time for a
celebration. “Ladies,” he said, climbing behind the wheel, “let’s eat like
queens and shop like we’ve lost our minds.”
And that’s exactly what they did.
First stop: Dungarvan's finest boutique.
Michelle emerged in a tight emerald green dress that hugged
every curve like it was sewn on her body. Sarah twirled in a wine-red gown with
a plunging neckline that should’ve come with a warning label. The shopkeepers
were stunned. Tourists stared. Even Salty dropped his phone at one point.
“You two are walking chaos,” he said with a grin. “And I love
it.”
Second stop: food.
But not just food. A feast.
They went to a countryside manor restaurant with a
Michelin-starred chef who nearly fainted when Sarah flirted her way into a
private room.
They started with truffle risotto, then devoured wild boar
in berry glaze, followed by duck-fat potatoes, crusty bread dripping in garlic
butter, creamy gratins, and enough wine to drown a sailor. For dessert, there
were three options — so naturally, they ordered six.
Sarah leaned back in her chair, stomach gloriously full, her
cleavage even more pronounced from the sheer volume of food and tight dress
pressing against it.
“I can’t move,” she groaned.
Michelle burped gently, then whispered, “I think my zipper’s
giving up.”
Salty smirked. “You two look like goddesses. Full, fabulous
goddesses.”
Michelle waved a dessert fork. “You fed us like royalty. How
do you expect us to behave?”
“Recklessly,” he replied. “That’s the plan.”
Later that night, in a five-star hotel suite with a view of
the moonlit river, the three of them lay tangled in silk sheets.
Sarah rested her head on Salty’s chest, her belly softly
rising and falling, delightfully bloated from the day’s indulgence.
Michelle, curled on his other side, traced her fingers along
his arm. “If you keep spoiling us like this,” she said with a smirk, “we might
never leave your side.”
Salty kissed Sarah’s forehead, then Michelle’s shoulder.
“That’s the idea.”
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