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Island Fever 6: Sanctuary
Written by: JeremyDCP@hotmail.com
M/F, F/F and a whole lot more
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PLEASE NOTE: The following story is the sixth installment of
an ongoing series; it is a direct sequel to "Island Fever",
"Island Fever 2: Eternity", "Island Fever 3: Matrimony",
"Island Fever 4: Paradise" and "Island Fever 5: Family". In
order to fully understand this story and the (very) unique
situation that its cast of characters find themselves in, it
is paramount that you are more than familiar with the
previous five stories and their respective plot lines. In
other words, if you are not familiar with this particular
universe, please do not attempt to even bother reading this.
All five prior stories can be found on this website.
Readers have requested another sequel, so here is a quick check
into the current lives of Jeremy and his seven wives (and one
fiancee). I hope you enjoy reading it as much I did writing it.
This will also be the final story in the series.
Chapter 01: "Eros"
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-*- Saturday, September 24, 2016 -*-
-*- The Island -*-
"Wait. So the big steak knives don't go in the regular
silverware drawer is what you're saying?" Devon was trying
to take all of this in. "What does it matter?"
"Trust me. It matters," I insisted, accepting Shredder's
leash so Devon could kneel down and tie her shoe laces. My
30-year-old wife and I, along with the family dog, were in
the midst of a morning jaunt from the mansion here on the
island down to the east beach, then back again.
Although it had been well over a year since we were here
last, the island had a strong grip on our family as a whole,
continually pulling and reeling us back with promises of
incredible beauty and endless adventure. Go on, gaze into
that fiery volcano, swim in a sea of rainbow-colored fish,
hike through a rainforest to hidden waterfalls, or kayak into
the deep waters of the ocean, where whales leap out of the
water for reasons still unknown. Looking to relax? Life
moves at whatever pace one prefers here. Extra doses of sun
and sea allow both body and soul to fully recharge and heal.
This island is a sensory experience that will remain with you,
forever locked in your memory, long after your tan fades.
So, could anyone blame me for opting to bring the entire
family back to this tropical paradise for another extended
vacation from the other side of the globe? Back in our home
country (Norway), the temperature was quite chilly right now
with the autumn season in full force.
Shredder loved the island and whined out his enthusiasm as
we made our way toward a clearing up ahead in the thicket,
where the Labrador Retriever no doubt had visions of playing
his favorite game - fetch - with the tennis ball I had stashed
in my backpack. It would be an understatement to say that
Shredder pranced his way toward the clearing in front of us.
Shredder the Dancing Dog was a more accurate description.
I glanced at Devon as we walked, dodging a bumblebee along
the way. "To you and me, knife placement sounds very minor in
the grand scheme of things. And it is. But to Amy, it's her
kitchen and she prefers keeping it nice and wrapped up, but
most of all, orderly, in her own, special way."
Devon smiled. "I've always known that Amy believes that
she is the queen of the kitchen, and she rightfully is, but I
did not know the true magnitude of just how much until she
began flipping out on Thursday night after I unpacked all the
steak knives from the suitcase and put them away in the
drawer. The WRONG drawer! All I was trying to do was help."
"You have no idea," I deadpanned. "I deal with it back
home when I do dishes at night. Amy has a certain spot for
everything in the kitchen. Any little thing out of place -
a fork, a spoon, one of her steak knives - she goes nuts.
It's like the only thing that makes her go ballistic."
"I think I might have to move everything around just to
mess with her a little." Devon grinned at the thought, much
like a mischievous child looking to test her parents. The
expression upon her face was so playfully smug.
I placed a hand on Devon's forearm and glared into her
eyes with concern. "You're a braver person than me." I
could envision Amy getting all worked up and sexy-angry, using
her authoritative mother hen voice to set Devon straight.
Actually, that was not a bad visual at all...
"There's really no other way to put it," Devon proclaimed.
"Crazy kitchen bitch. That's what we should all call Amy
from this point forward. C-K-B."
"WHOA." Suddenly, I could not stop laughing. "Honey, I
don't think that's very nice..."
Devon was smiling as well. "We should swap all the steak
knives in that one, specific drawer with plastic utensils and
see what happens. Kitchen Armageddon. Attack of the C-K-B.
The Red-Head Who Kills for Misplaced Cutlery."
With tears in my eyes from laughing, I held up a hand.
"You have to stop now. My stomach hurts."
"Fine. But it was kind of cute how Amy got all worked up
and out of order over something so trivial. I was like, whoa
girl... take a chill pill. Or something."
I inhaled a deep, fortifying breath to regain my composure.
"Well, it's the kitchen. Her kitchen. Don't mess with it."
As we stepped into the clearing along the jungle pathway,
Shredder yipped and leapt vertically a couple of times in
celebration of what he hoped was about to happen. I reached
into my backpack and handed the old, battered tennis ball to
Devon. "Want to do the honors?"
"Excuse me, Shredder-the-dog? Is this what you're after?
Shredder-the-dog wants me to throw it?"
I grinned at Devon. "I think he likes it when you call
him Shredder-the-dog."
"It's his name. Duh, Jeremy."
At just the sight of the ball, Shredder nearly lost his
mind. He turned in a half-dozen frenzied, wild circles,
then shrieked loudly and wagged his tail as fast as it would
go. When Devon chose not to immediately throw it, Shredder
used his front two paws to bounce off of her chest. He kept
doing that, in fact, until Devon held up both hands. Of
course one of them contained the ball, so he came undone all
over again. "All right. All right. And... fetch!"
Like a rocket, Shredder tore off after the ball - his leash
dragging behind - as if the fate of the world depended on its
prompt retrieval. Devon tilted her head at the sight. "I
think he is getting faster with age."
I had to agree. "We should enter him in the Dog Olympics."
"He'd win," Devon said.
"All the gold medals." I waved my hand about dramatically.
"They would re-name the Dog Hall of Fame after him because he
would be the most decorated dog Olympian of all time."
"He would need a parade."
"Lindsay could organize it." Devon sipped her bottled
water. "So is it true that Trish actually dragged you out of
bed this morning at five o'clock and made you do cardio with
her?" Devon seemed to mull on this and a lazy smile took
shape. "You know, Jeremy, this daily exercise is probably
going to make your back feel much better in the long run."
"My back has been hurting for the last several years," I
frowned. I had degenerative arthritis in the lower part of my
spine. Getting older was certainly not aiding the situation
at all. "If exercise helps, then I am all for it." Shredder
had since returned and nudged the tennis ball against my foot.
Devon scoffed playfully and rolled her eyes at me. "You're
all for it? Trish said you whined and complained this morning,
Jeremy, being pulled out of bed at five. You know Trish goes
through her exercise routine early in the morning, before
anyone else wakes up. If you're truly all for it, as you say,
quit crying like a baby!"
I chuckled. "Wow, you're full of venom today."
"Time to be hardcore about getting in better shape,"
Devon advised me. "You're not getting any younger. I am in
the best shape of my entire life right now - at age 30 -
thanks to Trish and her exercise regime. I feel better than
I ever have before. I feel like a million bucks."
"Yeah, yeah... I know." I threw the ball for Shredder,
whose tongue was now hanging sideways out of his mouth from
his glory-filled exertion. But he refused to give in and
bounded back out in search of the offending tennis ball.
Devon was obviously in a very chipper and playful mood as
we enjoyed the last leg of our nature walk. As usual, my
charming bride was a sight for sore eyes in a mouth-watering
kind of way. Devon wore faded denim jeans with a hole in the
right thigh, and a white tank-top underneath a pale yellow
shirt that she left completely open and unbuttoned. And it
just so happened to make the color in her eyes pop vibrantly.
After stealing a moment to take her astonishing beauty in,
I stood up straight, trying to act tall and unhindered. "Bah,
being woke up at five o'clock doesn't really bother me."
Devon began laughing. It sounded more like cackling,
because she knew that I had just lied to her. "Yeah, right.
NOT." She shook her head and chuckled lightly. "You better
get used to it, Jeremy. Trish does exercise bright and early
every morning, well before Jackson or any of the other kids
throughout the house are supposed to be awake. Hardcore?
Talk about hardcore? Trish is hardcore when it comes to
physical fitness." Devon began cackling once again. "I, for
one, want to see Trish whip your ass back into shape!"
"You're enjoying this way too much."
"Oh, I am," she joyfully snickered.
I could smell Devon's perfume, albeit faintly. Some kind
of intoxicating strawberry fragrance was clouding my brain
and affecting my ability to think clearly. Devon rolled out
of bed every morning and transitioned into her alter ego -
fashionable billboard model - with sheer ease. Almost as if
she was a mythical superhero. It was one of the countless
qualities that made her intriguing. Not to mention desirable.
And ultra hot. She had so many delicious layers to uncover.
As we made our way closer to the house, Devon lifted a
hand to shield the sun from her eyes. "Oh, there's that poor
_Jeep_. It needs to be washed so bad." Devon was making
reference to the old, beat-up, black 1987 _Jeep Wrangler_ (it
of the 205,000 miles) that was parked just outside the
southeastern corner of the mansion. My first-ever vehicle,
this _Jeep_ had been a part of my life since high school,
although it had stayed here on the island even after we moved
and uprooted our family to Norway nearly three years ago. The
_Jeep_ was a fabled momento to me - something from the past -
though its rightful home nowadays seemed to be the island.
"Oh, it most definitely does need a wash," I agreed.
Although the _Jeep_ had been covered by a tarp since our last
visit in the summer of 2015, corrosion had definitely set in.
At least the engine and its working parts seemed to be in
decent order, although its outward appearance needed some love.
Devon trotted on ahead and circled the vehicle once. "Do
you know if we still have cleaning supplies in the garage?
Let me wash it for you, Jeremy. Just like old times?"
"What? In your bikini?" I teased her.
"No bikini today, I am afraid to admit," Devon told me.
"But... seriously. Look at this thing. It needs a wash.
Looks like there is something... growing... on the tires."
"Plenty of supplies in the garage," I offered, tossing her
a keyring. Devon flashed me a killer smile as she went over
to the garage, unlocked it, and opened the door. A few
moments later, I sat down in a folding lawn chair with Shredder
perched at my feet and took in the view.
And what a view it was.
After giving the _Jeep_ a thorough spray-down, Devon leaned
across the front of the vehicle and lathered its hood with a
healthy amount of soap and water that also covered her arms
and parts of her shirt. Her long, golden blonde hair was
pulled back in a pony-tail, but as was often the case, it
refused to hold, and loose strands fell haphazardly around
her face. My eyes drifted down Devon's tiny, yet curvaceous
frame, taking in her low-slung jeans and the hole that offered
a glimpse of the smooth, immaculate skin beneath. How was it
that a woman was allowed to look as good as Devon?
I watched for a bit longer until she turned and definitely
caught me in the act. I feigned sudden interest elsewhere.
Devon, in response, tilted her head to the side and quipped,
"Were you checking me out?"
"Uh, no, I wasn't. I was looking at the _Jeep_. Such a
magnificent... bumper, it has."
Devon stymied a giggle; that comment was pure lunacy on my
part. "You were totally checking out my ass." I then noticed
a tiny droplet of sweat make its way down her neck. So not
helping me with my case right now.
"Can you blame me?" I finally admitted.
Devon shot me a questioning glance and went back to work on
washing the _Jeep_. Ten daydream-infused minutes later, I
knew that I was about to burst if I did not snap myself out of
this lust-filled haze. I scrubbed my face in an attempt to
wake myself from the blatant desire that had overtaken every
inch of my being. And I do mean every inch. Multiplication
tables style. Six times nine was fifty-four.
But it did not work because academics just made me imagine
Devon in the sexy glasses that she wore while reading, which
simply took me to a whole new fantasy. Perhaps playing
dress-up for me in one of her naughty schoolgirl uniforms?
Time to seize control. "Want some help?" Physical labor
would be an excellent idea. A nice distraction.
"Nope, I don't have much left. All you have to do, Jeremy,
is sit back and watch. Let me do all the work for a change."
And watch I did. Devon looked like a cover model for
_Lowrider_ magazine right here on our very own island in front
of me. It was an amazing sight to behold.
"What?" Devon asked, regarding my overt, direct stare.
"Nothing. You just look..." Edible, my brain supplied,
"like the sun might be getting the best of you. Maybe you
should take off that outer shirt you have on. Just wear the
tank-top underneath. Might be... more comfortable."
Devon glanced down and grasped the front of her open shirt
curiously, almost shyly. "This one?"
"Yeah... it may help cool you off. You know, hot day and
all." I fanned myself for added effect.
"Thanks so much for being concerned with my welfare."
Devon shot me an amused smile before shrugging the shirt from
her shoulders and returning to the task at hand in her
tank-top, which did nothing but increase my libido even more.
She even made certain to _accidentally_ spray her upper half
with the water hose, dousing her breasts in the process.
Nothing in the world could have possibly turned me away.
In a last ditch effort to keep my sanity, I concentrated on
Devon's car washing technique instead of how awesome she
looked. I failed miserably at it after just a second or two.
Devon was a walking wet t-shirt contest with soaked jeans.
How in the hell was I supposed to keep my composure, my cool?
At long last, Devon dropped the sponge back into the
bucket. "That is a wrap. Care to inspect my work?"
I walked over and did a once around the _Jeep_. I planned
on complimenting Devon regardless because she put a good
amount of effort into this, but the end result was actually
quite remarkable. The _Jeep_ gleamed underneath the hot sun.
"You're good at this."
"Just like old times!"
"You did, however, manage to get about as much water on
yourself as you did the _Jeep_, but I suppose everyone has
their own method and way of doing things."
Devon gasped. "That sounds like judgment!" And with
cat-like reflexes and quickness, Devon pulled the sprayer's
nozzle and a steady stream of water hit me directly upon the
shoulder. I stood there, not moving at all, water dripping
from my shirt and down the rest of my body.
"I cannot believe you did that. You got me as wet as you."
I re-played that last sentence back in my mind. It did not
sound right. Not right at all. Devon obviously agreed,
because she was frantically giggling with a raised eyebrow.
"I meant the hose, Devon. The water you just... ahh, hell.
You look really hot right now."
A slow, sexy smile took shape on her lips. "Yeah?"
I sighed deeply. "You have no idea."
Devon set the hose down on the ground and closed the short
distance between us. With a swift, determined look, Devon
placed her hands on the vehicle's hood, on either side of me,
effectively boxing me in. We were not touching, but I could
have sworn we were from the way my skin hummed and the aching
I felt down below. Devon's dazzling blue eyes never once left
my mouth in a move that sent shock-waves all the way down to
my very core. Damn it all, she was truly captivating.
"We should go inside," I whispered, inclining my head
toward the mansion. "Much better than out here."
"Only if I get to kiss you." Devon smirked and turned
around in one, easy motion, then casually headed toward the
side entrance. Oh, what a taut, magnificent ass she had in
those tight jeans! I took Shredder's leash and followed her
in, enjoying the view (or perhaps _the show_).
I went still and stared after Devon once we both made our
way into the mansion. Who would have ever thought that a car
wash could be such great foreplay? Devon knew that I was
watching her, and it turned her on. I know it did.
When she ventured into the kitchen, I began moving again.
I found Devon at the counter, taking in a swig of bottled
water. I approached her from behind and carefully swept her
hair to the side, exposing the back of her neck. I took it
in for a brief moment, that neck, the smooth, simplistic
beauty of it. I kissed it delicately, drawn in further by
the warmth of her skin. Devon turned around, and the look
on her face caused my stomach to clench. Her eyes were
hungry and it looked damn good on her.
Devon stepped closer, with her lips parted slightly.
She cradled my face with both hands and pulled me in gently.
The kiss was equally slow, but trust me, beyond good. I
loved the way Devon kissed. It was thorough, quite
tantalizing, and tasted like a sweet slice of Heaven.
There was a large and very inviting sofa in the next room,
and I was quick to angle Devon in that direction, our kiss
still unbroken. There was no option at all to break that
kiss. I palmed Devon's left breast through the tank-top that
she wore in a move that made her gasp with hot, wanton desire.
My thumb circled the nipple; I could feel it straining against
her bra underneath the thin fabric.
At the last possible moment, Devon spun us around and
pushed me back onto the sofa and slid on top, all soft,
determined, and incredibly sexy. With each and every breath
Devon took, her breasts rose and fell against my chest.
I growled once our kiss finally ended, but Devon began to
trace circles upon my neck and shoulder with her tongue. I
reached up and pulled Devon more firmly against me, needing
so much more and not wanting to wait any longer. But Devon
gently grasped my wrists and placed them on either side of my
head in a signal that she was the one in charge, a move that
nearly quadrupled my already intense level of need.
Devon proceeded to trail her lips and tongue down my chest,
to my sternum and finally my abdomen, and then she began to
unbutton my jeans slowly, excruciatingly so.
But when it seemed as if the world had came to a screeching
halt and pure Heaven awaited, there was a reminder that, as
the proud father of a two-year-old toddler, intimate moments
like this could be interrupted at any time.
When Kaden, my oldest son (with Kristanna), came bounding
into the living room, Devon sprang up like a tigress and
landed on the floor just in front of him. She dropped to her
knees before Kaden, sat down, and hugged him to her. "Hi,
wild man!" Devon greeted him. Just like that, Devon easily
transitioned from sexy seductress to gentle caregiver. She
truly did have superhero-like qualities. "Where's Mommy at?"
"Og Mommy oh doe play," Kaden said in toddler speech.
"Oh, there she is!" Devon gushed, looking off in the
distance. A few seconds later, Kristanna came rushing down
the hallway and caught up with us in the living room.
"I'm sorry, Devvy, but Kaden got away from me," Kristanna
told her, before glancing over at me. Kristanna, of course,
was one of my seven wives. She was also married to Devon.
"Kaden, don't run away from me like that again!"
I chuckled lightly and pushed myself up, but Kristanna got
the idea I wanted to convey here. Kaden interrupted some crazy
almost-sex because Kristanna allowed him to slip away when she
had promised to keep a close eye on him so Devon and I could
enjoy some privacy this morning. Suddenly, Kristanna seemed
disappointed in herself. "Oh, I'm doubly sorry, Jeremy..."
Keeping up with Kaden was not an easy task, though, so I
really could not blame Kristanna too much for this.
"Daddy sheep?" Kaden asked, motioning toward me.
"No, Daddy isn't sleeping," Devon told him. "He is just...
resting on the sofa." She held his hands and smiled at him.
Meanwhile, I licked my own lips and savored the last remnants
of Devon's kiss. My wife then tickled Kaden's cheek. "Did
you have fun with Mommy and Amy, Dani Grace?"
"Yeah!"
"What did you do?"
"Trinkle, trinkle, willow..."
Devon gasped. "Did you sing to Dani Grace again?"
"Yeah!" Kaden answered. "Trinkle, trinkle willow swar..."
"Wow!" Devon exclaimed. "That's so good!" Kaden then
recited half of the alphabet, but I will not even attempt to
put into words the way he said it. "That's so good!" Devon
repeated. "You've been practicing!" Kaden then put his hand
on Devon's shoulder. "Yeah, my shirt is wet. Do you feel
that? Aunt Devvy has a wet shirt. I washed Daddy's _Jeep_
outside. His _Jeep_ was really icky. Kind of like how his
hair is each morning when he wakes up." I squinted my eyes
at that comment, but then stifled a laugh. Devon just took
a shot at me over bed-head? "You hungry, wild man? Want to
go into the kitchen with me and get some doughnuts?"
"Yeah."
When they went into the kitchen in search of a snack, I
was suddenly left alone in the family room with Kristanna.
"It seems you and Devvy were in the middle of something."
"It seems?" I returned with a playful grin, snapping the
button on my jeans back into place.
My eyes widened as Kristanna's denim-clad legs moved and
she took a step closer to me, her tall, slender body following
suit. Kristanna flipped her golden, long-flowing blonde hair
over her shoulder and pinned me in place with a seductive
glare, accompanied by a quick lift of a single eyebrow.
Hmmmmm, Kristanna was so insanely beautiful! Her jeans were
snug-fitting, clutching her hips and thighs gracefully. My
26-year-old wife wore a flirty tank-top as well, hers red,
and I saw the pink straps of a lacey bra stretched across
her shoulder trying to peek out from underneath.
"Maybe I can make it up to you, Jeremy?"
"How?" I managed.
Kristanna reached for my hand and those ocean blue eyes
took a slow stroll down my body, making my mouth go dry. She
leaned forward, but my own eyes quickly darted toward the
entrance to the kitchen. I did not see Devon or Kaden, but I
could hear them conversing about what type of doughnut he
wanted to snack on. Kristanna and I could not become intimate
here at all; not with Kaden closeby. I then closed my eyes
for an instant, imagining the possibilities if indeed we
actually were alone, and promptly felt Kristanna plant a faint
kiss upon my cheek.
"You look delicious," she whispered.
Delicious?
How was I supposed to respond and think clearly when
Kristanna, all of a sudden, acted like sex personified and
said things like that? Her eyes suddenly full of mischief
and delight, Kristanna was happy with herself; I was like a
dog in heat now. Which, you know, was what she wanted.
"Wow, Krissy. You look great." Devon returned to the
living room with Kaden, who was munching on a glazed doughnut,
by her side. Kristanna sat down upon the floor and nuzzled up
against me as I was still on the sofa, then pressed the side
of her face to my upper thigh and rested there like it was a
pillow. Her own personal pillow. "I really like your belt,"
Devon added. "It's pretty."
Indeed, Kristanna had a colorful belt - vibrant and popping
with flower and tropical designs - cinched around her waist.
All of my wives were very vocal and quick to throw compliments
toward one another whenever the opportunity presented itself.
And trendy fashion was one of their favorite topics.
"Thank you," Kristanna graciously returned.
"Doughnuts... yummy!" Kaden proclaimed in toddler speech.
"Uhhhhh... Gramma's house has doughnuts! And applesauce!"
"We're a long way from Grandma's house," Devon reminded
Kaden, kneeling down beside him and wiping some of the excess
doughnut from his face with a paper towel. "Remember, Grandma
is in Norway? Maybe we can hook up with Grandma and Pa-Paw a
bit later on through the Internet and _Skype_. Would you like
that?" When Kaden nodded his head, rather enthusiastically,
Devon hugged him to her. Kristanna and I simply relaxed and
looked on; she, no doubt, thinking the same, exact thing as me -
Devon was going to be an excellent mother herself one day.
"Me big, big, big, big, big!" Kaden suddenly blurted out.
"Yes, you are!" Kristanna laughed. "Hey, Kaden. Tell Aunt
Devvy about that awesome movie that you watched yesterday.
_Finding Dory_? What did you think of it? Tell Devvy."
"I finda Dory etch allpa uh procran."
Devon gasped at him. "And you had popcorn? WOW! Did you
like it? Did you share some with Mommy and Daddy? I know
they watched the movie with you."
"Yeah. Eat eh... all gone."
"Was Ariel with you too?"
"Ariel... sheep."
Devon nodded at him. "Ariel was sleeping?"
"Yeah."
"Who else watched it with us?" Kristanna asked him. "Who
else was in the home theater with us? Tell Devvy."
"Pamela and... Pie-pah."
"Her name is Pammy, Kaden," Kristanna corrected him, and
I held back a chuckle as a result. "Not Pamela, but Pammy.
Get it right. This is something you must learn."
Devon was laughing as well. "Pamela's gonna be mad!"
* * *
Alison stood and fidgeted about, inspecting herself in
front of the full-size mirror in the closet, clearly still
not pleased with her latest attempt of finding the perfect
swimsuit bikini to wear while receiving her first-ever surfing
lesson, courtesy of Trish. Behind her in the bedroom, on the
chair with the plush blue cushion, and the bright yellow and
orange throw pillows, was the entirety of Alison's bathing
suit collection; there were at least a dozen tops and bottoms
in various shapes, sizes and designs.
At this precise moment in time, Alison wore an aqua-colored
bikini scrunch bottom with a purple band made of lace around
her waist and a matching top with a lacey band over top of
each breast cup. Alison looked downright adorable in the
little, two-piece swimsuit - beautiful, smoldering, exotic -
but the problem was not the bikini itself. It was Alison.
The 20-year-old felt insecure in her own skin, obviously
trying to figure out what the older (and much more curvaceous)
Trish would think was sexy on her. All Alison ever did was
compare herself to the likes of Pamela, Devon, Amy and yes,
Trish too, and promptly felt inadequate and underdeveloped
because of their voluptuous bodies. Young, sweet and oh so
pink, Alison still had yet to realize that her barely legal
appearance - the small, A-cup breasts, her drum-tight ass and
that darling, pretty face - was quite a powerful aphrodisiac
for everyone in the family. Alison was a little firecracker,
a burning stick of dynamite, that all of us wanted to finally
realize that she was absolutely perfect just the way she was.
Yet, that was proving to be an incredibly tall task.
Alison bit her lower lip and glanced at her cell phone,
then sighed and stepped out of the closet, and shut its door.
"I'm going to be late!" she whined, apparently signaling that
there would be no more bikini changing today. That was quite
unfortunate, because I had been enjoying myself for the past
60 minutes or so as I eavesdropped on her from the comfort
of my trusty, old voyeur room here in the island's mansion.
How many countless hours had I spent here in the past?
Alison went to the bed, where she had already laid out the
sandals she would wear and her cinch sack. The innocent,
demure, little blonde quickly slipped into the multi-colored
capri pants and sleeveless tank-top that she had picked out
an hour earlier and checked out her reflection once again,
this time in the dresser-drawer mirror.
Alison seemed to become frustrated, then grunted and whisked
herself away from the mirror. She stepped into her sandals and
flung the sack over her shoulder, and rushed out the door.
Earlier this morning, Trish asked Alison if she would like to
try her hand at surfing alongside the northern shoreline of the
island. Trish fully realized that Alison had never been surfing
even once in her life, but volunteered to show her the ropes and
offer her some instruction. Wanting to appease Trish, and
perhaps out of her own curiosity, Alison agreed to come along.
Still, she seemed to have a few reservations about it.
Trish knew full well that Lindsay, Alison's older sister and
mutual love interest, would never go surfing in the ocean with
her. To this day, Lindsay was _still_ afraid that a massive
shark (or _Jaws_ as she so eloquently called them) would emerge
from the watery depths and have her as a bite-sized snack. She
flat-out refused to go more than ankle-deep out into the ocean.
Only on the rarest of occasions had she made an exception.
Thus, it only made sense (since Lindsay would decline) that
Trish ask Alison to spend a few hours at the beach with her.
If Trish could not be with the absolute love of her life -
Lindsay - then her younger sister was clearly the next best
option. Especially since they were romantically linked, too.
Alison hurried down the steps and then along the pathway
that led to the northern coastline. The sun was bright on her
face as the island's surveillance system, though inactive for
over a year, proved to still be in excellent working order.
I had yet to come across a malfunctioning hidden camera or
microphone since arriving back here a few days ago.
I planned on spending time outside and being active with
the family on our vacation, but there were still going to be
times - like now - when I felt overly compelled to sit back
and simply observe from the voyeur room. I loved watching
the various women in one-on-one situations, seeing them talk
and interact; noticing the subtle differences in how they
treated each other. It was actually quite fascinating to me.
I also enjoyed hearing any comments they made about me.
Alison smiled as she spotted Trish, appearing to be a
pristine, island goddess showcasing her own lavish, sensual
gifts in a black, two-piece bikini. Physically fit and tone
in the shining sun, Trish's body was a smooth, bronze color,
and her brown hair was wet as she stood and grinned at Alison
on the beach as she quickly closed the distance between them.
"You made it!" Trish exclaimed at Alison in glee, picking
up one of the four surfboards she had brought along with her
from the portable, rolling cart. "I was afraid you would
chicken out, like your sister always does."
Alison shrugged. "I thought about it. Lindsay says this
area is teeming with sharks."
Trish laughed, as long, supple fingers dabbed at her own
chin. "Oh, don't listen to her. In all the time we have
spent here in the past, Ali, I've never once seen a shark."
Alison tied her cinch sack onto the surfboard cart. "I
was talking to Krissy awhile ago; she said she has seen a
shark from time to time here over the years. But never any
dangerous ones. Of course, Krissy has spent a lot more time
here on the island than you have, Trish, I guess." Alison
glanced all about, and suddenly appeared pensive. "Do you
think Jeremy is watching us right now with his cameras?"
"I'm sure he is," Trish nodded. "He told me earlier that
he probably would. Why do you ask?"
Alison frowned. "I don't want to humiliate myself in
front of him. You know, looking foolish trying to surf."
"You need to have a better attitude than that," Trish
advised Alison, before looking her up and down. "Be more
positive! You also need to get rid of most of those clothes.
You do realize that you're going in the water, right?"
Alison sighed and kicked off her sandals. "I know, I
know..." she muttered, shrugging out of her tank-top. I
noticed Alison's eyes flash toward Trish's much larger pair
of breasts before glancing down and frowning at her own for
a split-second. Oh, poor Alison. "Is there any chance,
Trish, that you think I could maybe wear a wetsuit?"
"Why would you want to cover up a body like that?" Trish
asked incredulously and soon, they both locked gazes, their
eyes wide and looming. "I don't get you, Alison," she then
offered, her voice soft. "You're perfect the way you are.
I don't know how many times I have to tell you that."
Alison giggled nervously, all anxious and uncertain, and
obviously confused. This girl and her 103 pound body was
stunningly gorgeous; she had taken me to Euphoria City on
several different occasions since joining our family earlier
in the year. Her figure, those smallish breasts, were made
for her tiny, flexible frame. Why did she fret over them?
"So what are we doing first?" Alison asked, changing the
subject, stepping out of her capri pants. Now standing there
in nothing more than her little, two-piece bikini, Alison eyed
Trish with raw intent. "When do I get to go into the water?"
Trish clapped her hands together. "Hold your horses, girl.
Before we begin, I want to go over a couple of simple basics
with you." Trish motioned for Alison to follow her as she
retrieved a second surfboard from the cart and laid it upon
the sand. Trish was already sweltering beneath the intense
heat of the sun, while Alison was well on her way.
"See how the board is bigger - wider - in the middle?"
Trish asked Alison, her hands going over top of it. "That
is where you want to focus your energy..."
Trish continued with the impromptu lesson, her voice soft
and soothing. It was easy to tell that Trish had a love for
the sand and the sea, and no doubt was happy that our family
had decided to take another vacation here to the island. It
was a far cry from her mindset during our last visit here, in
May/June 2015, as Trish had just lost her father in a gruesome
automobile accident. She had still yet to recover from it.
Alison seemed to fall under Trish's spell as the sun
illuminated her vibrant, healthy skin, her full lips and her
brown eyes. In fact, Alison appeared to be daydreaming while
Trish carried on with the verbal instructions and guidance.
Perhaps Alison had visions of something much more erotic than
surfing with Trish since they were alone on the beach now?
"Hey," Trish said, playfully snapping her fingers in front
of Alison's eyes. "Did I lose you? Where did you go?"
"Sorry," Alison cringed, holding back a smile at the same
time. She bit her lower lip and confessed, "Just nervous."
Moments later, Alison knelt in the sand, her taut, youthful
frame glowing with perspiration as she waxed her surfboard.
Trish stood idly by, yet watched Alison's every move, the sand
kissing her knees, the purple, lacey bikini band around her
scrunch bottom, the way Alison's chest heaved as she exerted
herself with every rub of the board, showcasing those small,
tender breasts that glistened in the afternoon heat.
Alison was insanely gorgeous; she was so sweet, so fun
to be around. No one recognized this more than Trish, who
was wildly attracted to her. Yet Alison's insecurities were
quite perplexing to Trish, as was the case for everyone in the
family. How could Alison not understand her own sex appeal?
"Oh, me? I'm nothing special," I had heard her say on several
occasions. Alison was still young and somewhat inexperienced,
so perhaps that was an issue. But I also realized that many
girls in Alison's age group were unable to grasp how amazing
and attractive they were, so it was a widespread problem.
Lindsay, in fact, had the same issue when I first met her
over three years ago. She had since moved on from it.
Trish smiled, watching Alison finish waxing her surfboard
with vigor and determination. "That's good for now," Trish
said, extending her hand outward. Alison smiled shyly and
accepted it, then rose to her feet. "Time to go surfing!"
"Okay," Alison nodded.
The island had a wide variety of terrific beaches to choose
from, but this particular one along the northern coast was
extra special. Jet-black sand was continually caressed by an
endless surf, magnificent sea arches and caves dotted the
shoreline, and a forested pathway led to a secret swimming
hole (nicknamed Kristanna Cove by yours truly in 2011).
The two ladies paused at the water's edge, Trish's
surfboard looking comfortable and natural under her arm,
Alison's appearing careless and awkward. The incoming waves
fizzled around their feet as Trish turned to glance at
Alison and noticed the trepidation in those pretty eyes.
"We can catch some waves, but you can lay on your board
instead of standing on it to start," Trish instructed her.
Trish began taking slow steps into the water - one at a time -
and Alison followed. It was as if she was baiting her out.
"The idea is, Ali, that you have a lot of fun today."
I sat back and watched from the voyeur room as Trish first
taught Alison how to ride her surfboard under, not over, a
wave. Alison hitched in a deep breath and swooped underneath
the wave, then popped out the other side glistening wet, but
also mighty proud of herself. "I did it!" she squealed.
"Awesome!" Trish swooned, nodding toward another approaching
wave. "Now see if you can do it ten more times!"
The next wave caught Alison off-guard, but she displayed a
sudden toughness and resiliency, not to mention a fast learning
curve, taking the few sets afterward easily. By the time there
was a brief lull between the stronger waves and those merely
cresting, Alison already looked like a seasoned professional.
Trish coached Alison on how to get atop her surfboard before
easing into a seated position. She quickly got the hang of it,
but not before a few slide-offs and one hilarious fall-off.
Eventually they sat there, the tropical sun serenading them
from above, enjoying the crests beneath their surfboards. "Can
we just stay out here all day?" Alison asked, her blonde hair
damp and messy on her shoulders, her body glowing and... ripe.
"We can if you want," Trish mused. "Lindsay and Amy are
keeping watch on Jackson for me up at the house." Jackson,
of course, was my seven-month-old son with Trish. He was one
of the seven children I had with six of my seven wives. The
only one who wasn't a mother by now was Devon. That, by the
way, was something that needed to change. In a hurry.
"I've missed the island so much," Trish added, gazing out
in all different directions. "Last time we were here, I did
not get to enjoy it as much because my father had just died.
My mind, unfortunately, was elsewhere." Trish paused, then
gently added, "I love the Pacific. I love this island."
Alison was frowning now, looking at Trish with sympathy as
their surfboards were so close, their knees were almost
touching. "I know all about losing a parent. My dad died in
November 2012. I was only 16. It was devastating. Still is."
Trish turned and found the perfect elixir to guide them away
from the depressing subject. In the distance, there was a
crest of a nice, smooth, soft wave coming toward them. It was
the kind of wave that Trish could ride in her sleep. "Oh, that
looks to be ideal," Trish said, but Alison had already laid
down on her surfboard and, as they had practiced during prep
time on the beach earlier, began paddling to catch the wave.
Alison missed the best part of it by a hair, but Trish
watched with pride as her student paddled furiously until the
wave caught up with her. Perhaps on instinct, Alison stopped
paddling and gripped the sides of her surfboard with both
hands and then rode the wave to shore - no issues at all -
with a happy, exuberant grin upon her gorgeous face.
Watching that wet hair fly, those long limbs flail and
hearing a mix of squealy giggles, it was if Alison had become
a child again. Good job, Trish, I said inwardly. The goal
was for Alison to have fun today, and she most definitely did.
Alison was breathless as she paddled herself back out toward
Trish. "That was a rush!" Alison erupted, full of excitement,
but her eyes were already focused beyond Trish's shoulder as
she spotted the next wave. Before Trish could say anything,
Alison was once again paddling away furiously.
This time, Alison caught the wave in its entirety and rode
it sooner. But things became much more interesting when she
stood up - no, she actually wobbled precariously - on the
surfboard, but still managed to stand just the same.
Trish laughed as Alison, her body all tense as she stood,
soon lost her balance and toppled over into the ocean froth.
But still! Standing on her very first try, even if just for
a couple of fleeting seconds. Well, almost standing. It was
quite an impressive feat for a novice surfer.
"Awesome job!" Trish encouraged Alison, clapping, as she
emerged from the depths.
Full of energy, Alison bent to her surfboard and made her
way over to Trish. She clung to it as she soon faced Trish,
side by side, in the water. Alison then moved in even closer
to Trish, and sought her mouth for a kiss. Their lips pressed
together and Alison closed her eyes, willing herself to relax
and chill, while Trish seemed very surprised, but equally
pleased. Alison worked her mouth slowly against Trish's, her
tongue eventually being granted entrance. Their tongues
touched and danced in unison for a few blissful seconds.
"Thank you for bringing me out here today," Alison swooned,
forcing herself to back away from the kiss. Her grin was wide
and her eyes were totally unassuming. "I've had a blast."
Alison then motioned toward the next incoming wave with her
head. "I'm gonna try and stand the whole time." And with
that, she shoved away on her surfboard.
"Do it!" Trish encouraged Alison, holding a pair of fingers
to her very own just-kissed lips. Trish watched Alison with a
twinkle in her eyes, and hot, smoldering desire etched across
her face, as she immediately landed in the ocean with a heavy
thud when trying to stand. But Alison was not done trying.
Again and again, she went back for more. Again. And again.
Nearly an hour later, Alison had stood up and successfully
rode the wave in at least a dozen or so times. She was
becoming quite tired, though, and her shoulders were starting
to redden underneath the glare of the sun. At long last,
Alison was spent; she had enough surfing for the afternoon.
"How about we go back up to the house and get something to
eat?" Trish chuckled as she paddled out to catch up with
Alison, who had just taken another header into the incoming
tides. I must reiterate that Trish looked downright stunning
in her little black two-piece bikini, all rich, full curves
and caramel, sun-kissed skin, glistening in the blazing sun.
"Looks to me as if you're worn out."
Alison slowly climbed back atop her surfboard and straddled
it on her frontside, squeezing the excess water out of her
hair. Trish then saw an approaching wave and readied herself.
She paddled forward, just in time to catch the wave's subtle
swell. It carried Trish forward, effortlessly, as she just as
effortlessly gripped the sides of her surfboard and stood,
swooping down as the wave crested, and nearly rode it to
shore. Clearly, Trish had been surfing for many years.
"I'm going to be as good as you one day," Alison proclaimed
moments later, paddling her way to dry land as well. "I'm
going to tell Jeremy when we get back up to the house that I
want him to find me some good surfing spots in Norway."
"I already know of a few," Trish mused.
Alison tossed her surfboard onto the beach in a safe spot,
but then turned and looped back underwater. She soon emerged,
her slender, little torso shining bronze and wet, and flopped
down beside Trish in a shower of tiny, diamond droplets.
"I'm fine out here for a little while longer," Alison told
Trish. "Unless you're hungry, and want to go back up."
Suddenly, Trish was finding it difficult right now to
concentrate on anything other than Alison and her immense
beauty. Small, glittering beads of water were still adhering
to her slim, magnificent frame. Alison's sweet, wholesome
innocence was almost irresistible, and her body with its subtle
curves disappearing into the briefest of bikinis was altogether
too distracting. The beguiling sensuality that Alison radiated
was clearly causing Trish an overpowering wave of urgent desire.
I could tell just from Trish's body language alone.
That undeniable draw sucked her in, and finally Trish's arms
closed around Alison's body and her mouth sought its just
reward. A scorching, red-hot kiss ignited the emotions and
desire that had been building between them since Alison first
came down to the beach nearly two hours ago. Trish's tongue
darted out in a quest for Alison's and she seemed to lose
herself in that ripe innocence. Trish pulled her younger lover
closer, tighter, nearly into her lap, as she slipped a hand
between Alison's thighs and began diddling away on her nether
regions with a trio of skilled fingers through thin fabric.
Alison tilted her head, allowing Trish greater access to
her mouth, her own hands sliding across Trish's back,
gripping her waist. Driving Trish wild, much like her sister
had done so many times before. Wet and ready, Alison's tongue
then slipped past Trish's lips and pleasured her relentlessly.
But Trish upped the ante, tugging at Alison's hair, tilting
her head back and re-claiming control. Without warning, Trish
rolled Alison beneath her and pinned her to the sandy beach
below for an exquisite three count. Trish's mouth drifted to
Alison's throat as her hands untangled from that slick, stringy
hair to cup the back of her head, drawing her against those
magic lips. Alison arched into Trish, and a moan escaped her
throat, echoing as the incoming waves fizzled out nearby.
All at once, Trish's hands seemed to be everywhere, racing
down Alison's sides, her shoulders, her hips. Loosening up the
little bikini top. Alison's breasts popped out and Trish cupped
one, contorting herself to draw its perky nipple into her mouth.
Trish held the 20-year-old firmly in place as she pleasured her
with her mouth. Shutting her eyes, Alison let the sensations
cascade all throughout her, damp heat gathering at her center.
This time, Trish's right hand snaked underneath Alison's
bikini thong and found her folds. Experienced fingers danced
over Alison's hot, tingling flesh. Inside, out. She arched
her hips high off of the sand, reacting favorably.
Alison roared out like a lioness and opened much wider,
encouraging Trish to go deeper. Faster. Harder. Alison's
breathing was ragged as Trish drove her powerfully, expertly,
sucking at her breast, touching her intimately.
And soon, one final stroke shattered her resistance.
Alison went through the joyous progression of sweet orgasm,
crying out at the extreme level of pleasure Trish had
provided for her. Trish glared back at her, total love and
devotion in her eyes. Even as she crested downward from its
pinnacle, Alison brought her hand to the back of Trish's
neck and kissed her as if she was drowning. The two ladies
rocked together, their physical chemistry off the charts.
As if Trish had read Alison's mind, she pulled back. Eyes
steady on her lover, Trish removed her own bikini top and shook
her head quite vigorously. Her silky-smooth, long brown hair
tumbled gloriously over her breasts. Trish's nipples were
pink and upturned, her breasts full and blossoming, and Alison
could not resist as she brought her mouth to one for a taste.
Soon their lips were smashed together yet again; the two
ladies leaned into each other, pawing, groping, tasting with
wild aggression. Trish brought both hands to Alison's taut,
little ass and squeezed it harshly, wanting to claim sole
possession. But Alison's ass, I thought inwardly as I watched
from the voyeur room, did not belong to Trish. It belonged
to me. (Just ask Alison, and she will tell you.)
Regardless, Alison slipped a hand between Trish's thighs,
underneath her thong, and jammed a series of fingers into her
with the same urgent rhythm as their tongues mashed together.
Trish felt such extreme pleasure that she broke the kiss and
tilted her head back, and it was all she could do to not cry
out. Alison began sucking on her neck as she kept probing,
stroking, wanting to provide Trish total satisfaction.
Trish wrapped her arms around Alison's neck and reclined
back until she was laying upon the sand, bringing her young
lover down with her. Alison, taking the initiative, kissed
Trish on the lips and let her mouth travel south, paving the
way for her hands, lingering, exploring her breasts and what
carnal delights they had to offer.
"That feels so good," Trish sighed, holding the back of
Alison's head, her tongue flipping away at a lush nipple.
Alison then kissed a path down the flat, toned plane of
her stomach. She used her hands to help dispense of Trish's
thong bikini, both of them exchanging smiles as they maneuvered
around a bit to fully get it off. Alison then reached out and
rubbed at Trish's clitoris with her thumb, caressing it gently.
When Alison's tongue found that wetness, Trish breathed harder.
She closed her eyes and tilted her head back, her fists
clutching at Alison's hair as her hips rose off of the sand.
Trish then moved her right hand between her own thighs.
"Touch me," she begged, and Alison complied by stroking her
around that hand. Alison inserted three fingers and shifted
them about and, when she found the perfect spot, Trish moaned.
She then bit her lower lip, her face flushed, as she glared
down at Alison with hot, smoldering lust in her eyes.
But Trish could not hold out for much longer as she soon
tumbled over the proverbial ledge, riding out the shock-waves
of release until she collapsed limp and satisfied upon the
beach. Her breathing was quick and shallow, but Alison was
right there as she moved up, their lips mere inches apart.
"I love you," Trish proclaimed, caressing her hair. Alison
nodded and stared back into her eyes. She was enjoying this
moment. The way Trish's body felt against hers. The sound
of her voice. The way her eyes lit up when she looked at her.
The feeling, quite obviously, was mutual.
"I love you too, Trish." Alison gathered her in her arms
and touched the 33-year-old's forehead with her own. "I love
you more than you will ever know. And I love our family."
* * *
When I walked by the home office perhaps 20 or 30 minutes
later, I found Pamela and our daughter, Piper, seated together
on the floor inside with a video camera on a tripod in front
of them. Pamela, who was six months pregnant with our second
child (a boy!), had Piper in her lap and was directing her
attention toward the camera. Neither had noticed that I was
just outside the door in the hallway as of yet, so I thought
that I would simply stand here and see what they were up to.
"Hello!" Pamela said to the camera, waving a hand at it.
"I'm going to do an interview of Piper today. I think this
is something that I would like to do as she gets older, just
regularly, doing interviews of her on-camera so we can one
day look back and remember what she was like." Piper stood
and hopped about; she was quite antsy, as usual. "Are you
ready for the questions, honey?" Pamela then asked Piper.
"Come here," she added, pulling her back down into her lap.
Piper squirmed and clapped her hands, forever happy, as
Pamela tried to get her to focus on the video camera.
"The first question is... how OLD are you?"
"Oneta have," Piper answered in toddler speech.
"One-and-a-half?" Pamela grinned in response. "Yeah?
Well, you're actually almost two! Two more months until
you're two." She held up a pair of fingers and fluttered
them about. "You're growing up so fast! Getting so big!"
"Uh huh," Piper nodded in agreement.
Pamela had that certain, unmistakable glow to her that
could only come with being six months pregnant. Her skin
was somehow radiant, her smile bright and blushing, her
blonde hair much shinier than normal. To me, Pamela was
simply gorgeous right now. Drop dead stunning. And she
kept getting sexier the more pregnant she got.
But what made her even more beautiful to me, at least at
the moment, was that she had our little daughter with her.
Our pride and joy; the product of the immense love we shared.
"Okay... what's your favorite color?"
"Pur-pah," Piper answered without hesitation.
"Purple?" Pamela giggled. "Or are you just looking at
something purple? What's your... favorite thing to drink?"
This time, Piper was silent for a good ten seconds as she
glared into the camera lens. "Smilk," she finally said.
"Hot milk? Do you have hot milk every morning?"
"Mickey-o's."
Pamela gasped. "Mickey Mouse?"
"Mickey-o's shack."
"Mickey Mouse shake?" Pamela clarified, running a loving
hand through Piper's hair. I had the cutest and most adorable
kids alive, bar none! "What is your favorite thing to eat?"
"Hamorg," Piper replied, starting to become fidgety.
"No, that's a drink. What do you like to EAT?"
"Crack-ahhs."
"Crackers?" Pamela chirped, and suddenly Piper began to
laugh and giggle uncontrollably. She was so precious! "Okay.
And what is your favorite toy?"
"Elsa."
"Elsa? Where's Elsa?" Piper pointed off to the side.
"Do you want her? Okay, let's get her." Pamela reached for
and then gave a doll figure to Piper of Elsa, one of the main
characters in the 2013 _Disney_ movie, _Frozen_. Piper yelped
and hugged the doll to her; _Frozen_ was her favorite movie.
"ELSA!" she roared, whipping the doll about.
"Who is your best friend?"
"ELSA!"
Pamela laughed. "Elsa? Not Kaden? Or Lindsay? What's
your favorite game to play?"
"Can-lan."
"_Candyland_?" Pamela grinned. "And who plays _Candyland_
with you? Mommy? Kaden? Krissy?" Piper squeaked and nodded
her head wildly. "Yeah, we all love _Candyland_."
"Pay alsa can-lan."
"You wanna play... what?" Pamela did not quite catch that.
"Pay alsa dan-lan."
"_Disneyland_ or _Candyland_?"
"Peek... can-lan."
"You want to play _Candyland_ with Elsa? Okay. Hmmmmm...
what is your favorite treat?"
"Shacks!"
"Fruit snacks? Like apples? Apples are SOOOOO delicious!
Okay, okay. Tell Mommy... what are you EXCITED ABOUT?"
"Mer-mee toy!" Piper immediately exclaimed.
"Your mermaid toy?" Pamela returned. "The one Daddy bought
for you at the airport in England?"
"Yes," Piper said. "YES!"
"Okay, honey," Pamela mused, shifting her about in her lap.
"We're almost done. I want you to say three words to describe
yourself. So, finish this sentence. Ready? Piper is..."
"Wondah-ful."
"Piper is wonderful! What else? Piper is..."
"Terwotybal."
"What? What did you say?"
"Silly boy!"
Pamela laughed. "Silly boy? Are you a silly boy?"
"NO!"
"Who's a silly boy?"
"DADDY!" Out in the hallway, I shook my head and chuckled.
Still, neither of them had yet to realize that I was there.
This was too priceless of a moment to step in and intrude.
Keep rolling that camera, Pamela, I said to myself. I will
just stay out here in the shadows, hopefully unnoticed.
"Daddy is a silly boy?" Pamela was laughing too. "Oh, I
have to agree with you... he is. Do you love Daddy, Piper?
I love Daddy. And he loves you, too. Do you love Daddy?"
"Yes." And thus, my heart was suddenly melting...
"You love Daddy with all of your heart? Hope to die,
stick a needle in your eye?"
"Yes!"
"Okay, Piper is wonderful," Pamela continued. "Can you
think of any other words? Piper is? Any other words?"
"Wondah-ful."
"Wonderful again. Okay. Any other words? Piper is..."
"Wondah-ful."
"Piper is wonderful, wonderful, wonderful!" Apparently,
Pamela came to the conclusion that she was not going to get
two other words out of Piper. Silly boy did not count, right?
"Okay, one more question. I was wondering, what do you like to
do with Daddy? What's your favorite thing to do with Daddy?"
"Ip-in... pane."
"Oh, you like to sit on his lap on the airplane?"
"Yes!"
"Where do you want to go on the airplane?"
"Ummmmm..." Piper seemed to mull that question over for a
bit before pointing toward the left. "Dis wave!"
"That way?"
"Yes!"
"Well, maybe we'll go that way soon on an airplane when we
fly back home to Norway in a couple of weeks."
Not wanting to interrupt the ongoing _interview_, which was
being recorded, I snuck away undetected and resumed my way
down the long corridor. I did not want to ruin the video by
making my presence known. Just let them keep talking...
Past the resting room, then the boudoir and the lounge, I
happened upon the study which, as long as we were on the
island, was serving as Ariel's private nursery room. My
daughter with Kristanna, Ariel - one week removed from being a
happy and healthy six months old - was sleeping in her crib.
Ariel was born four weeks premature on March 14, 2016
amidst a lot of chaos and uncertainty, two things which our
family was not accustomed to dealing with. Kristanna's water
broke the day before and, because of a pre-existing infection
within Kristanna that could prove deadly for an unborn child
when combined with a compromised amniotic sac (the water bag),
labor had to be induced as quickly as possible.
Kristanna gave birth in the overnight hours and our
daughter, again born four weeks premature, appeared healthy
at initial glance. But the doctors and nurses whisked Ariel
away no less than a minute after she was born, allowing
Kristanna to hold her for just a few seconds. Ariel was taken
to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) where, rest assured,
every conceivable test was performed on her.
Kristanna and I did not even get to see Ariel again for
six hours, and were given very few updates. I still remember
wheeling Kristanna into the NICU for the first time and the
look - the sheer outpouring of love - across her face when the
doctor allowed her to hold our baby girl for a few moments.
And, I vividly recall the way Kristanna cried and threw an
absolute temper tantrum when the nurse said that we had to
leave the NICU and let Ariel resume her therapy.
As it turned out, Ariel was initially diagnosed with
infantile jaundice - a yellowish discoloring of her skin which
was quite common in premature babies, as well as full-term
ones. It was an easy fix, though, as _bili light_ therapy -
specialized lights being shone down upon her in an incubator -
cleared the yellowish haze up in about 48 hours.
A day after she was born, however, Ariel was then diagnosed
with a respiratory disorder called periodic breathing.
Ariel would randomly stop breathing for up to 10 seconds at a
time - almost always in her sleep - only then to exhale a
ragged breath and resume breathing on her own. It never got
to the point where the doctor(s) felt it escalated to the more
serious ailment of apnea of prematurity, which would require
Ariel to wear breathing and/or heartbeat monitors at all times,
but it was still downright scary and nerve-racking nonetheless.
Trust me, it is not easy to watch your newborn daughter
stop breathing completely out of nowhere, only then for you to
just stand there for up to ten seconds (which, quite frankly,
always seemed like ten hours) and wait for her to resume
breathing on her own. Not easy at all. If we had tried to
stir Ariel into breathing, perhaps rattle her awake during an
episode, the doctors told us that it could cause brain damage.
Thus, we always had to wait for Ariel to breathe on her own.
The periodic breathing seemed to go away by itself after
a couple of months, just as the doctors promised it would.
Two weeks after she was born, however, Ariel was back in the
hospital again - this time with a respiratory infection
(bronchiolitis) that kept her in the pediatric intensive care
unit (PICU) for several days. At the time, she was very sick.
It had been a rough and tumble few weeks for Kristanna and
I as her parents, as uncertain and as scared as we were with
the premature birth and all of these medical issues, and the
sudden hospitalization really put us to the test. Frankly, I
had never seen Kristanna so very depressed before. But we were
able to pull through all of the turmoil, as did Ariel, and I can
proudly say that our precious daughter is six-plus months old
today and as healthy and as active as can be. Ariel has
not had any illnesses since the bout with bronchiolitis, and
her doctor back in Norway says she is doing absolutely great.
Another definite newcomer to our family unit was Dylan, my
five-and-half-month-old son with one of my other wives,
Scarlett. Dylan was born back on April 5, 2016 in a very easy
and relatively drama-free birth. Two other babies (Jackson
(son of Trish) and Kaylee (daughter of Lindsay)) rounded out
the younger-than-one-year-old section of our family. Being
the father of all four, not to mention the slightly older
Kaden, Piper and Danielle (Dani) Grace, was quite the
monumental daily chore for me. But I welcomed it fully. In
many ways, these kids absolutely ran my life.
We sought out individual advice from their respective
doctors on whether it would be safe for each of them to go on
such a long and potentially taxing airline trip from Oslo,
Norway to Lima, Peru (7,100 miles). We had our own private
family jetliner and flight crew, though, and I made certain
there were plenty of pit stops along the way in case there
were any emergencies or discomfort. From Oslo, we had stops
in London, Toronto, Cincinnati, Baltimore, Fort Lauderdale,
Dallas and Bogota before reaching our destination of Lima.
The doctors said there should not be any major, serious
issues with any of the children since they were all at least
five months of age or older. They were mature and developed
enough to go on a transoceanic trip. Some did not ultimately
enjoy it, but we tried our best to keep them as comfortable
and as much at ease as possible. Fortunately, none of them
seemed to actually despise the series of flights, or have any
extreme discomfort. From Lima, we hopped on a boat and
arrived here on the island four hours later in the middle of
the Pacific Ocean. That was just this past Wednesday.
In the study - my old office here on the island - I smiled
down at a peaceful and snoozing Ariel in her crib.
"I would have given my life for your health and survival
five, six months ago if it was necessary," I told Ariel in a
quiet, hushed tone. And it was true. It was not the easiest
thing to admit or even think about, especially considering
that I had six other small children to protect and raise (and
more on the way), but I would have traded my life for Ariel's
if need be when she spent all that time in the hospital. Ariel
did not deserve to experience any of those horrible struggles
that she endured during the first few weeks of her life.
Of course, I felt the same way about all of my children.
I would sacrifice life and limb for them. As they all grew
and matured, I knew that, as their father, I would also have
an incredible influence on every aspect of their lives. My
job was to make certain that influence was strictly positive.
In my mind, a father is the fundamental role model for his
daughter regarding the qualities she looks for in a man and
the standards she maintains in her relationships. He is the
first man in her life and models how a man should treat a
woman, how a man should act, and how a man shows healthy love
and affection to a woman. He also sets the standard for how a
daughter feels that she deserves to be treated by men. He even
determines how a girl feels about herself. If a father shows
his daughter love, respect, and appreciation for who she is,
she will believe that about herself as a woman, no matter what
anyone else thinks. Girls deprived of this fatherly love and
affection make poor choices in an effort to fill that void. I
was not going to let that happen with any of my daughters.
As for my sons, I had a different, but ultimately similar
viewpoint on how best to raise them. What did my own father
teach me about being a man? About values? Love and family?
My father was my role model and someone I still admire to this
day, but he made his fair share of mistakes along the way. If
I could change the past - my past with him - would I do it?
Kaden? Jackson? Dylan? Any future boys I have? I was
going to share with them the best parts of my own childhood
and, hopefully, give them the things I never had.
My own choices, actions and values would be the barometer
that each of my sons will use to measure what matters in life.
If I worked long, countless hours back home on the farm, no
matter my reasoning, my sons will make decisions about work,
about family, and about my priorities. If I tell them that I
value honesty, but they hear me bragging about how I got one
over on someone, they will make their own decisions about
ethics - and about me. The way in which I treat each of my
wives - their mothers - would speak volumes to my sons and
demonstrate to them how a girlfriend or wife should be treated
later in life. I felt it was a huge responsibility on my part.
I always treated my wives with total dignity and class.
All of my children will be given unconditional love and the
utmost amount of encouragement and approval while growing up.
I will make mistakes along the way, as all human beings do,
but I will ultimately learn from them and become a much better
father as a result. Everything I do will center on respect
and trust, and will be in their best interests.
"Ariel is a miracle." A small smile lit up Kristanna's
features as she appeared at the doorway and then made her way
into the makeshift nursery with me. Kristanna bit her bottom
lip as she latched both arms around my right elbow and gazed
at me. "So is Kaden. Part of you, Jeremy, part of me... all
wrapped up into two amazing, little bundles. Two miracles."
"DADDY!" I heard Kaden squeal with glee, and soon I felt
him tugging and clutching at my leg with both arms. The
two-year-old had rumbled into the study shortly after his
mother did. Kristanna then loosened her grip on my elbow so
I could reach down and ruffle Kaden's hair with my right hand.
At the same time, Ariel's eyes opened and she emerged from
her slumber. She seemed confused for a moment, but then
focused on me. Ariel gently reached out with her little arm
and grasped my left index finger with a happy baby sound.
Kaden, my first-born, hugging my leg. Ariel, who once
struggled for survival, squeezing my finger. A wave of
tenderness and awe, and a million other wonderful emotions I
could not even begin to describe, overtaking me all at once.
And Kristanna, suddenly pecking my cheek with a kiss.
"I love that look on you."
"What look?" I asked, almost in a whisper.
"Your heart is all over your face," Kristanna responded.
"And it's beautiful, Jeremy. Just beautiful..."
* * *
"So is this place really yours?" Alison asked me, perhaps
still unable to believe it, as she stood in the entryway and
looked upward toward the ceiling that soared three stories
tall in the living room. It was much later in the evening
now. "And you willingly decided to leave this mansion -
this island - to go and live in Norway?"
"It was for the children," I reminded Alison yet again.
This was, after all, Alison's first time ever stepping foot on
the island. Until this trip, Alison had simply heard stories
about it. A newcomer to the family, she had never been here
in the past with us. "We cannot raise our children on a
remote island without others around." Devon, Trish and
Scarlett whirled past us, engaged in chatter about swimsuit
colors and which barbeque sauce was the most delicious.
"I'm just really happy to be here," Alison told me.
"Of course. I'm happy you're here, too," I assured her.
Although she and Lindsay were actually going to marry each
other in a small, quaint ceremony at the end of our island
vacation, I still felt Alison was trying to find her way -
her niche - in our family hierarchy and structure.
"Don't be a cheater," Kristanna warned Lindsay. "You're a
serial cheater. I know this because I'm married to you."
Lindsay narrowed her gaze and made a face at Kristanna.
"Please. What I am is very good at this game, and you are
terrible. You just don't want to admit that I'm better."
Pamela seemed to be following the ensuing showdown with
mild concern. "Krissy, why don't we let Lindsay and Amy
have the good room? We will be happy no matter where."
"That's really not the point," Kristanna whispered back.
"You should listen to your wife," Lindsay told Kristanna,
whispering as well.
Devon glanced over at Kristanna with both palms up. "I
really don't care what room we sleep in to be honest."
Pamela bumped Devon's shoulder with her own. "That is
because you are low maintenance in the best way possible."
"Why, thank you," Devon responded, grinning.
"Shhhhh," Kristanna insisted, reaching back and squeezing
Pamela's hand. "This is important and requires intense focus.
Keep an eye on Lindsay. She is just itching to cheat."
"I am not!" Lindsay squealed in return.
I watched both ladies face off in a fun, spirited game of
Rock-Paper-Scissors to determine who got the master bedroom
to sleep in for the evening. It no longer had the bed that
could comfortably fit all of us - it had been shipped off to
Norway last year - so we were forced to break off into groups
and use guest suites for sleeping arrangements. Kristanna was
really intent on securing the master bedroom for her, Pamela
and Devon, however. It had a breathtaking view facing the
ocean and a jacuzzi to die for. And there was pride at stake.
Round one went to Lindsay, who trounced Kristanna's scissors
with a rock. Kristanna came back with full force, though, and
tossed paper over Lindsay's rock, securing a point.
"Way to change up your strategy, Lindsay," Kristanna said
in a sarcastic voice, clearly in competition mode. "A little
fixated on that rock, aren't we? How incredibly boring."
Lindsay met her gaze with a gleam in her eyes. "Don't be
jealous. At least I have a strategy."
"Shock! Gasp! Horror!" Kristanna exclaimed, her jaw
falling open in offense. Finally, in a dramatic tiebreaker,
Kristanna lost when Lindsay stayed true to her rock-throwing
form and once again smashed Kristanna’s scissors, sending her
falling backward onto the couch in dramatic defeat.
Typical Kristanna.
“I can’t believe I lost to a rock. This is totally tragic.
And a great injustice. I shan’t recover.”
Pamela glanced down at Kristanna and grinned. "You're so
cute when you're tragic and say shan't."
"Oh yeah?" Kristanna pushed herself up on her elbow,
moving closer to Pamela's mouth. "I shan't help it," she
added, which earned a chuckle and tender kiss from Pamela.
As Kristanna and Pamela entered the land of goo-goo eyes,
Amy clasped hands with Lindsay and declared, "Good job! I am
glad you won us the master bedroom, Lindsay, but maybe Krissy,
Pamela and Devon should get it instead." Lindsay shot her a
surprised glare as Amy went on, "You know, with Pamela being
six months pregnant and all. That bed is probably a lot more
comfortable to her than any of the ones in the guest suites."
"Oh, I'll be fine wherever, honey," Pamela told Amy, running
a hand over her blossoming baby bump. My next child - a boy
named Peyton - was growing inside of Pamela right now. In
about three months, we would finally get to meet him. "Don't
worry about me. Thank you for offering, though, Amy."
Trish nestled up behind Alison and lovingly embraced her
with both arms. "That means you get to spend the night with
me and Scar-Scar, baby." Alison smiled and blushed at the
mere idea as Trish added, "Jeremy is staying with Lindsay and
Amy tonight, I hear. It's their turn to have him." Trish
turned and focused her gaze upon me, her eyes twinkling with
erotic mischief. "Tomorrow night, Jeremy, you're mine." And
I felt an immediate, hot shiver travel right down my spine.
"I heard you went surfing today with Trish," Kristanna
said to Alison, although she was still snuggling with Pamela
on the sofa. Kristanna picked up several strands of Pamela's
hair, but then dropped them. It was a very simple gesture, but
spoke volumes about their strong love and togetherness. "Did
you have fun, sweetheart?"
"Lots," Alison assured Kristanna. "Trish and I spent a
good two hours at the beach, surfing and enjoying ourselves."
"You're lucky _Jaws_ didn't have you for lunch!"
Kristanna made a sneery face. "Lindsay. Hush."
In the background, Amy debated with Devon and Scarlett
whether it was better to have their volleyball game in the
morning once the kids were down for their early naps, or wait
until the evening when they were actually in bed for good.
The current time was 9:00pm and all of the children were
actually in bed sleeping, but I knew any of them could wake
up and start screaming at any given moment. Such was the
life of being a father. Especially with seven kids.
I excused myself to one of the side rooms and checked both
my e-mail and stock reports via my laptop computer. All
seemed well, so I opened the window and inhaled some of the
glorious seaside air. Alone with my thoughts, I reflected on
our amazing family and how most of it came together on this
very island back in the summer of 2013.
Kristanna and I brought the original six - Pamela, Devon,
Trish, Lindsay, Amy and Camille - yes, the forgettable and
loathsome Camille (remember her?) - to the island well over
three years ago. The idea was for me to find a wife out of
those six - a lone wife, of course - but things sort of began
happening rather quickly, and suddenly I found myself engaged
to none other than Kristanna herself.
Kristanna developed much grander ideas, however, and the
thought of a three-way marriage involving Devon was tossed
about. Soon, with Camille now banished from the island (my
last words on her), Trish was added to the mix. Then Amy.
And then Lindsay. Suddenly, the idea - crazy as it sounded -
of me having up to five wives was a distinct possibility.
Kristanna had slowly but surely orchestrating everything.
After my initial wedding - the one with Kristanna - Pamela
finally came around (to her senses, as she would tell you)
and decided to join the family. I married Amy, then Pamela.
It was like a line of dominos falling. Lindsay was next,
followed by Trish and Devon. Eventually, Scarlett came into
our lives, and I married her earlier this year. Scarlett has
since married four of the seven other ladies in the family.
The only one who was left for me, personally, was Alison.
Having any sort of intimate relationship with my wife's
sister, let alone marrying her, still did not seem right to
me. But Lindsay was happy. Alison was happy. Our entire
family was happy. And this was what everyone wanted. They
wanted Lindsay and Alison to wed and get married because the
two of them were madly in love together. And after that,
the ladies wanted me to tie the knot with Alison as well.
"Put a baby in my sister so I can watch her belly grow,"
Lindsay literally begged me on several occasions.
But I digress. The reason for this little vacation to the
island was that it would culminate with Lindsay and Alison's
wedding. The ceremony would be very small, very intimate -
and there would be no prying eyes, no unwanted visitors or
gossipers. Lindsay and Alison could celebrate their incestuous
love, their devotion for each other, without fear or ridicule.
That was why we chose the island for the wedding's location.
When I re-entered the central room a few moments later, I
felt that familiar warmth in my soul as I glanced around at
Lindsay and Alison snuggled together in their chairs and
Pamela leaned back against Kristanna's front from her spot
on the floor. The other ladies were all present as well.
Apparently, they were having a discussion about television
and what a guilty pleasure it could be.
"All I'm saying," Trish proclaimed, "is that modern
television pales in comparison to the great shows of the
1960s. Give me _I Dream of Jeannie_ over _The Bachelor_
any day of the week."
"Thank you!" Pamela said in solidarity. "Precisely!"
Lindsay sat a little taller. "You're entitled to your
opinion, of course, but I'm still going to watch every new
episode of _Game of Thrones_ when it comes out next year and
love every minute of it. I refuse to feel guilty about that.
I cannot wait until Queen Cersei gets what is coming to her."
Alison stared at her sister. "You're a mystery to me, you
know that? That show is so... wretched. And evil."
Lindsay leaned over and nuzzled Alison's cheek. "You love
it that I keep you guessing."
Alison surrendered into a dreamy smile. "I do. Oh, I do."
"Marshmellow me," I said to Scarlett, who promptly tossed
the bag of delicious treats my way as I sat down upon the sofa.
"So you and Trish had sex on the beach earlier?" Amy chimed
in, her gaze focused upon Alison. The 20-year-old hesitated,
but then nodded shyly in response. "Hmmmmm," Amy added. "The
beach. The beach is SOOOOO incredibly sexy. Tell us about it."
"Did you share sexy, sandy kisses?" Kristanna teased her.
"Was there tongue involved? Like this?" Lindsay boldly
placed her hands upon Alison's waist and crushed her mouth to
her sister's. There was no delay, no teasing, no working up
to it... no soft, light touches. Lindsay simply took what she
wanted most, a full-on kiss, a ten on the seismic scale of
lip-locking, and Alison melted under its significant power.
One sister madly kissing the other.
Alison's entire body went limp and numb as Lindsay's tongue
slipped inside her mouth and found hers. All eyes were on
them as the temperature in the room seemed to rise tenfold.
Lindsay plundered what was hers, she devoured, she owned her
sister's mouth. But before I knew it, the kiss was over.
Lindsay released Alison and met her eyes, then bumped
noses with her. "Sorry, but I had to do that."
"You're kind of gorgeous when you get all flustered and
caught off-guard like that," Pamela told Alison, offering
the sweetest smile. "Has anyone told you that before?"
"She's just like her sister that way," Trish agreed.
"I think we should pass Ali around like a party favor and
take turns kissing her in our laps," Kristanna beamed.
I felt a soft, manicured hand palming and then caressing
the growing bulge within my shorts. I glanced downward, then
turned toward the right as Scarlett, seated beside me, did me
the honor. Off to the side, Kristanna massaged Pamela's baby
bump and tenderly kissed her from behind. Scarlett smiled
at them, then me, and her green eyes soon danced with an
even mixture of total contentment and undying devotion as I
sighed, tossing my head back in the process. Oh, what a life.
Seven extraordinary wives that I had such a bond with that
I could hardly imagine any other man in history had enjoyed.
A fiancee; my wife's younger sister, the ultimate forbidden
fruit, on the side. The nine of us, together, enjoying our
lives in a way none of ever thought possible, taking care of
each other, playing with each other, loving each other.
However, I would be remiss if I did not mention the fact
that a big portion of my daily routine is spent doing dishes,
cleaning up spills, changing diapers, breaking up toddler
fights, and picking up the many toys and clothes that are
constantly strewn throughout the house. Although I may not
elaborate on that aspect of my life in the story, trust me
when I tell you, it is not all fun and games around here!
* * *
I was drowsed in a peaceful slumber, interrupted a mere
three times throughout the night by the sounds of an upset
Dani Grace or Kaylee via their baby monitors, when my eyelids
began to flicker. All of the other children had been tended
to by his or her respective mother throughout the night, but I
shared in the responsibility for those two. At least tonight.
The curtains in the guest bedroom rustled above my head and
warred with the crashing ocean off in the distance. There
was the sensation of something all too familiar closeby, but
downright scintillating nevertheless.
"Lindsay?" I grumbled. "Honey? What... are you doing?"
Looking down my body, Lindsay was hunched over my naked
pelvis on her knees, her little hand wrapped around my hard
cock and her lips pursed, barely encircling its tip. Even
better, Lindsay was in all her glory, completely nude.
"Lindsay is horny again," came Amy's voice from elsewhere
in the room. "She woke me up earlier too, with that pretty,
little mouth of hers. Going through one of her wild phases."
Lindsay giggled. "It's not a phase! I'm always wild!"
I turned and found Amy, leaning in the doorway, fuzzy pink
slippers on her feet, impeccably perfect legs drifting up
toward the frayed bottom of a faded black concert shirt.
Amy's luxurious red hair was up, piled on top of her head and
held in place with two vibrant pink chopsticks. I tried not
to let my eyeballs burst from their sockets, but it was
quite challenging. Amy was like a centerfold come to life.
Yet my entire body flinched and I was reminded that Amy
was not the only woman with me in the bedroom when Lindsay
gave the underside of my shaft a long, thorough swipe with
her wet, velvety tongue. "Oh, Lindsay," I moaned in pure
wanderlust as my 21-year-old bride offered quick licks and
subtle kisses inbetween nuzzling my cock with her lips.
Those blue eyes of hers - so beautiful - fixated on my face.
She let out a little, satisfied moan of her own, as if
throating my cock tamed an unquenchable appetite.
"Suck it, baby," Amy encouraged her. "Suck it like the
good, little girl you are."
Lindsay swirled her tongue all over the head of my shaft,
bathing it in her saliva, then slipped half of it into her
mouth. I gasped in delight and moved my hands down to cup the
back of her head in an effort to show my appreciation. What a
way to be lulled out of my sleep so early in the morning!
Again, Lindsay had her way, sucking and swallowing me down
at her own leisurely pace. It was beyond heavenly. Her lips
soon formed a tight circle around my pulsing erection, her
blonde head bobbing up and down, her tongue gliding along its
delicate, ultra-sensitive underside. I tossed my head back
onto the pillow and let the sensations just cascade over me.
Lindsay would perform fellatio on me all day if she could.
"It's four-thirty in the morning and Lindsay cannot control
herself," Amy observed, easing into the guest room, those long,
coltish legs of hers seeming to glide, as she sipped a cup of
coffee. I admired the way the lower curves of Amy's flawless,
round ass appeared from underneath her _Guns 'n Roses_ t-shirt
with every step that she took. "Lindsay must want to give you
your morning cocksucking, Jeremy, before Trish comes calling
for you in 30 minutes to begin your exercise routine."
"Climb up and ride me, sweetheart," I instructed Lindsay,
kicking the blankets away from our prime bodies. But I also
had another idea in mind for the impish nymphomaniac.
Her submissive tendencies set in immediately; Lindsay
withdrew my cock from the luscious grasp of her mouth and
throat, then moved up and slowly impaled herself upon me.
She had always been very attentive and eager to listen to me.
The look of pleasure etched across her lovely face was simply
irrefutable as she then eased and lowered herself onto my cock,
its length sliding and disappearing between her tender folds.
Her tiny, 95 pound frame felt just right atop me.
"Amy," I said hoarsely, glancing at my other wife. "Get my
belt from the chair. You are to use it on Lindsay."
"Belt?" Lindsay asked, her eyes popping with excitement.
"Yes, the belt," I clarified for her. "Lean forward so
Amy can get some good shots on you."
"You don't think it's too early in the morning for that?"
"It's never too early to give you a spanking," Amy advised
her. "Or, even better yet, a whipping. Now, lean forward
just like Jeremy says so I can punish you."
Lindsay cried and whined out her discomfort as the first
lash of the thick belt made contact upon her tight, upturned
ass. She clutched me with her arms and hands, her little
body shuddering. "Not so hard, Amy! Not so hard..."
"You be quiet, focus on fucking Jeremy and pleasing him,
and let me do my job," Amy ordered, slicing the cruel belt
through the air for a second time.
"It hurts!" Lindsay squealed after the heavy thwack of
leather-meeting-ass echoed loudly throughout the bedroom and
bounced off the walls.
"You like it when it hurts," Amy admonished Lindsay, and
it was true. But she also liked to whine and complain. It
was part of _the game_ and added to her pleasure, as well as
ours. "The more I punish you, the more turned on you become.
And if you truly are a good girl this morning, maybe Jeremy
will let me join in so he and I can double-fuck you together.
Now be quiet; don't make me gag you with Jeremy's sock again."
I winced as Amy drew her arm back and the sound shot through
the air yet again, pausing in my motions as Lindsay cried out
in pain. The trust that I had in Amy's vast skills and
experience in delivering a proper punishment did not completely
eliminate my instincts to protect myself from the harsh leather
that was landing only a few inches from my embedded cock.
Lindsay yelped; the whipping hurt her, no doubt, but she had
the innate need to sometimes be forced, be controlled, to be
made to have her body be used strictly as an instrument for the
enjoyment of others. Moments like this definitely qualified.
She had all of the qualities that one looked for in a true
submissive. Lindsay's hips began to rumble and churn about as
she rode my cock, buried in her pussy. She glared at me, a
pretty pout upon her lips, tears streaming down her cover-girl
face. And mad, wanton lust in her eyes.
"Use your hand, now."
Amy tossed the belt elsewhere at my command and lifted her
right hand. She brought it down in three sharp slaps to right,
left, and center of Lindsay's ass. The center one, the hardest
of them all, caused her to cry out at the pain, the indignity.
"Lindsay is already very wet," Amy informed me. "Can you
feel it, Jeremy? Can you feel how wet and slippery her pussy
is around your cock?" As a matter of fact, I could. There was
a good amount of moisture. Amy then focused her attention
upon Lindsay. "You're a girl who needs to be punished and
fucked on a daily basis. Aren't you? AREN'T YOU?"
"Yes, Amy," she whispered. "Oh God, yes."
I held Lindsay in place, my twitching cock still inside of
her, as Amy laid four more exacting swats across the span of
her ass. The sound was enough to even make me flinch. More
tears began to form in Lindsay's eyes and she whimpered once
again. Amy then roughly pushed her forward, onto my chest,
and placed a single finger against her tiny, puckered anus.
"I'm going to use the pink strap-on dildo that you like so
much," Amy said. "How hard do you want me to fuck you?"
"As hard as you can!" Lindsay begged in response. "Use
lots of lube, please." She dug biting fingernails into my
shoulders, preparing for Amy's invasion of her rectum. Along
with my cock in her pussy, Lindsay would be double penetrated.
Not many things in this world made her happier than that.
Amy disposed of the old concert shirt in short order. She
then stepped out of her G-string panties and now, totally nude
as well, went over to her legendary bag of sex toys upon the
dresser and promptly retrieved the aforementioned strap-on
dildo. Amy quickly slipped it around her waist and thighs,
tightening to fit with a few tugs on its long straps. The
dildo itself, pink in color, protruded outward from Amy's
pelvis in a most obscene, yet highly erotic manner. Amy then
added fuel to the proverbial fire by stroking and frigging
its full length with her right hand as if it was a real cock.
Her eyes then focused squarely on Lindsay's ass; her anus.
I stole a moment to gaze upon the length of Amy's body,
admiring its flourishing beauty and voluptuous curves. While
some women lie about their actual age, Amy was proud to be my
oldest wife at 34; she was a _MILF_ reveling in her sexual
prime who knew what she wanted, and was not afraid to take it.
With bright green eyes, an hourglass figure and fiery red
hair, Amy truly was like a centerfold pin-up come to life.
Lindsay moaned as Amy applied a generous helping of
lubricant to her anus with a pair of fingers. She also made
sure the dildo itself was well coated, then pressed its hard,
unforgiving tip to Lindsay's rectum and entered her there.
When Amy pushed harder, Lindsay gasped and cried out.
"Look at me while your wife fucks you!" I demanded, my
own eyes flaring, as I held Lindsay in place by the hips. I
had to exert a certain level of dominance over her too, right?
Tears still streaming, she glanced at me and nodded her head.
The expression upon her face, being so stuffed, was priceless.
Amy pushed again, this time deeper, and Lindsay emitted a
groan of satisfaction. I could feel the pressure of the dildo
between the thin tissue that separated the two orifices,
resulting in a sensation of extreme tightness that was nearly
unbearable to withstand. I gave Lindsay's ass an open-handed
slap for good measure, then started to bounce her about upon
my cock as Amy caught a nice rhythm and busily humped her from 0
behind. Lindsay screeched out and rolled her head in response,
her blonde, swishy pony-tail whipping about wildly, as the
double penetration picked up steam and tempo in a hurry.
"Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!"
"Such a good girl!" Amy complimented her.
Lindsay's cries awakened my dominance even more, as her
pussy gave my shaft the utmost in pleasure. I could feel the
orgasm swelling within my testicles almost from the beginning,
and the lewd, degrading manner in which Amy pumped and filled
Lindsay's anus was downright monstrous. Regardless, Lindsay
had no complaints. She rode me like a champion, continually
plunging herself up and down upon my cock, squirming like mad,
so wet, so horny, so completely erotically undone.
Amy quickened her thrusting, deepened it. Lindsay wailed
out at what we were doing to her. Amy leaned all the way
forward, trapping Lindsay's body between us, and began kissing
me flush on the lips. My left hand moved to the back of Amy's
head as I slid my tongue between her lips and seized control.
Lindsay glanced sideways at us, her mouth hung open a little,
and her breathing came very quickly and shallowly.
Together with the feeling of my body beneath her and Amy's
above, all along her back, my cock jammed in her pussy and
Amy's dildo violating her ass, Lindsay's arousal exploded as a
powerful orgasm overtook her all at once. Full and squirming,
Lindsay was literally red as a turnip as I held her hips still
with a single hand so Amy could keep pistoning in and out of
her ass through it all. In the process, my cock violently
erupted inside of her and Lindsay gasped, gripping my shoulders
so hard that it actually hurt - a sensation that I adored,
because it meant that she was experiencing pleasure of her own.
When Amy withdrew her lips from mine, I smashed Lindsay's
mouth with a kiss, driving my tongue far and deep as she
crested down from her orgasm. At the same time, I pumped the
final remnants of my seed into her pussy. Amy pulled back
and loosened the straps of the dildo, letting it slide from
her hips and thighs, and then flicking it onto the floor.
"Oh, Lindsay," Amy said, kissing her neck, her disheveled
hair. Amy easily transitioned from bossy taskmaster to sweet,
loving wife at the appropriate time whenever I allowed her to
showcase her dominant skills over Lindsay. It was really not
that often, though, because I still preferred Amy to act and
feel quite submissive herself. "Oh, sweetheart, you are so
incredibly awesome. I'm sorry - I know that whipping hurt,
and you must be sore - but I just had to fuck your ass."
"I'm glad you did," Lindsay murmured, breathless, breaking
the kiss with me. "You can fuck my ass whenever you want. I
have told you that for years, Amy."
"Good girl," Amy grinned. "Did you like being fucked that
way? Double penetrated, squished between me and Jeremy?"
"Yes, Amy." Lindsay took hold of her wife's right hand and
brought it to her lips for a loving kiss. Amy then pushed her
long, supple fingers between Lindsay's lips and made her taste
her own juices from her pussy. Lindsay pretended that Amy's
fingers were my cock, yielding her lips and tongue just the
way that I preferred her to - reverently and respectfully, so
that her mouth became a soft, wet place for me to enter.
I let out a deep, satisfied growl at the mere sight and
felt my cock, still inside of Lindsay but soft now, give a
little movement, as if it were coming back to life. Lindsay
giggled at the feeling, her lips pursed around Amy's fingers,
which now began to slide back and forth ever so gently. At
the same time, Amy nuzzled my neck and splayed kisses along it.
I took a deep breath and glanced at my two amazing wives.
God, how I loved them both. "I am going to lie back in bed now,
girls, and you're going to lick and worship each others' pussy
in the _69_ position. Whenever Trish shows up for our morning
exercise, maybe 15 minutes from now, she can join us."
"Can I help put your cock in Trish's pussy?" Lindsay begged.
"Yes, honey," I smiled at her. "Of course you can."
* * *
From the very moment I found Pamela in the kitchen earlier,
preparing a lunch for three, to right now, watching her chase
around an elusive mango chunk in her bowl of tropical fruit
soup with a fork, I had been given constant reminders of why I
was so attracted to her in the first place. With every word,
every look, and every funny, playful moment between us, it
just reaffirmed my notion that Pamela had evolved, over time,
into the ideal, picture-perfect wife.
It wasn't just the thick, silky swirls of star-gold hair
that cascaded over Pamela's shoulders, her suntanned skin,
or even her heavenly curves that made my head swoon. It was
a thousand intangible things, from her reserved, unassuming
nature to the way Pamela pressed the tip of her tongue against
the inside of her cheek whenever she was lost in thought. I
was a total sucker for Pamela's luminous, chocolate-brown eyes
and the keen intelligence they conveyed, their pure warmth and
devotion, and the way she literally hung on every word that I
said. I felt the exact, same desire; I would like nothing more
than to continue talking with Pamela until the end of time.
Chewing a bite of pineapple from my own bowl of soup, I
lifted my gaze and smiled at Pamela. She wore faded jeans
and a snug, short-sleeved maternity scoop-neck purple blouse
that had her radiating color and energy. Seated closeby at
the small, circular table, I then traced gentle curves along
her abdomen and nuzzled her neck. "You're so beautiful."
Pamela giggled and arched back, allowing me full access to
her throat. "Let's see if you're saying that when my belly
is blown up even more, like a beach ball, in three months."
"You'll be even more beautiful."
Pamela stifled a laugh. "Oh, I forgot. You're Jeremy."
That's right; I was Jeremy, of the pregnancy fetish. And
nothing would ever change my fascination with pregnant women.
I used my fork to spear a piece of kiwi fruit from the
soup bowl. "Krissy and I had lots of fun earlier. Ariel
had her first swimming experience at the indoor pool a few
hours ago. It wasn't like a crazy experience..."
"Uhh pool," Piper, my 22-month-old daughter with Pamela,
interjected. Piper was at the table with us as well, a
plate of diced flounder and green peas in front of her.
Unfortunately, she was being very finicky about eating it.
"Yeah, you were at the pool with us too," I told Piper.
"Kwissy pool."
"Krissy came too?"
"Yes! Hup Kwissy!"
Pamela laughed. "You want to hug Krissy?"
Piper tossed her arms up and began singing incoherent
toddler babble, signifying that she would indeed love to
give Kristanna a hug right now. Piper was so precious.
"We made sure the water was warm at the indoor pool," I
said to Pamela. "Ariel seemed to enjoy it. She was happy,
playing, laughing. Six, seven months has proven to be a
good age for most of the kids to begin to learn how to swim."
I turned toward Piper and mused, "Tell Mommy what you did
earlier when Ariel tried to steal your necklace."
"NO!" she countered, defiantly.
"You tell Ariel no?"
"Ariel loves to grab at your clothes, your necklaces,"
Pamela grinned. "So does Dylan. You don't like that."
"Ariel was babbling earlier, as she tends to do, with a
couple of consonants... which was really fun to listen to.
Ariel mostly says..." I again focused on Piper, diverting,
"Honey, tell Mommy what your sister was saying earlier."
"Bah-bah-bah," she answered, extending the words out.
"You need to take another bite of your fish, sweetheart,"
Pamela then told Piper. "Come on, one more bite for Mommy.
You can't have your chocolate chip cookie for dessert unless
you take another bite of your fish."
"That fish looks yummy!" I nodded. "If you don't hurry up
and eat that fish, honey, I may have to eat it myself! I LOVE
fish." I gave her a leery, sideways glance. "You would finish
off that whole plate if it was corn dogs, wouldn't you?"
"CORRRRRN DOGSSSSSS!" Piper exclaimed, referencing one of
her favorite foods (at least for the moment). "Crack-ahhs!"
"Corn dogs and crackers," I chuckled. "What a combo."
"Take another bite of your fish," Pamela reiterated. "No
chocolate chip cookie, Piper, if you don't." She pointed at
me. "Daddy will eat your cookie right up."
"NO!" she huffed, glaring at me menacingly.
"That was awfully mean," Pamela admonished, frowning and
shaking her head. "Why did you yell at Daddy like that? I
think you need to apologize. Say you're sorry. Tell Daddy
that you're sorry for being so mean. Look at him. He looks
so hurt. You really hurt his feelings. Aren't you sorry?"
"I sowwy," Piper mumbled at me.
"Eat your fish like Mommy says," I instructed her. When
she finally took another bite, I clapped my hands and did a
little cheer. "Good job, Piper!"
Pamela handed her the cookie as a reward and offered up a
big smile. "Thank you for doing what we asked, sweetie."
"Yoo belcome," Piper acknowledged, taking a quick bite.
Now, she was happy. "I love cookies, Mama."
"I know you do," Pamela nodded. "Did you help Amy make
them yesterday in the kitchen? Did you make them together?"
"I help."
"You helped?"
Piper's eyes suddenly went wide. "Come see my roo! Come
see my roo..."
"I'll come see your room later," Pamela advised her. "But
Daddy told me it's a VERY BIG MESS. Daddy said you and Dani
Grace made a BIG MESS when he was looking after you by himself
this morning." Indeed, it appeared as if a tornado had ripped
through the room that Piper shared with another sister of hers,
Dani Grace. Pamela was a bit upset at me earlier, as was Amy,
for allowing that to happen. "Did you make a big mess?"
"No," our daughter said, her attention suddenly shifting
yet again - just like that - to her favorite doll. This was
typical behavior for her. Piper pointed at Elsa, and Pamela
promptly handed the figure to her. "She is wondah-ful."
"She is wonderful?" Pamela gushed.
Piper clutched the doll tightly. "I love her."
"Oh... Elsa is such a great singer," Pamela swooned. "Isn't
she? What else is she?"
"She... ELSA!"
"She is? She is so... so... so... brave? Strong?"
"Yes."
"Smart?"
"Yes."
"She's a good sister? At the end of the movie?"
"Yep!" Piper tugged at the doll. "Elsa's pony hair."
"Pony hair?" Pamela laughed. "It's a braid, honey. One
day, I'll do your hair in a braid like that, maybe, if I ever
let it grow out long enough." She patted Piper's head with
her hand. "I like your hair being short. You look so cute."
What had been a very touching and special few moments with
my wife and daughter was interrupted and brought to an abrupt,
screeching halt, unfortunately, when Kristanna suddenly burst
into the sun room with a distressed look upon her face. In
fact, it appeared as if Kristanna had been crying.
What was wrong? This was not like Kristanna at all. She
was not joking around; this was not one of her famous pranks.
I could tell by her uneasy demeanor and body language. Oh
no... what if the past had returned, and something horrible
happened with Ariel? Or one of my other children?
"Jeremy, you have to come with me now!"
"Why?" I quickly stood up from the table, demanding,
"What's wrong? Tell me!" Piper began crying immediately.
Oh, something was definitely wrong. Horribly wrong.
"It's Devon... Devvy," Kristanna shrieked. What? What
was wrong with Devon? Was she injured? Did Devon fall and
hurt herself in the jungle? My mind began to race with the
possibilities. What if Devon needed immediate medical help?
At least Scarlett, a nurse back home in Norway, was here...
Kristanna held up a cellular device that I recognized as
Devon's pink _iPhone_. She was trying her best to keep her
composure, her calm, to tell us exactly what it was that was
going on at the moment. "I was with Devvy earlier, and she
got like five calls in the span of seven, eight minutes. It
was her younger brother from Pennsylvania, Seth. But, you
know, Devvy is not on the best of terms with her family and
did not want to answer it, but finally did on the fifth call."
Kristanna took a deep breath, a tear streaming down her face.
"What is it?" Pamela wondered, hugging Piper to her.
"Her brother left a few voice messages on the early calls,"
Kristanna frowned, tapping the _iPhone_. "Here is the first.
I'll put it on speakerphone for you."
"Devon, Denise said to call you." A man's words - Seth?,
her brother? - came out in a rush; the panic was evident in
his voice. "The ambulance just left and they said they're not
getting a response. The sirens are on and they're hurrying.
They think it was a massive heart attack or something. We
are driving there now. We were out for dinner and it just
happened all of a sudden."
"Devon, you need to get here!" came another upset voice
from the background. "Your mom is in that ambulance!"
Oh, Christ. A million thoughts raced throughout my mind in
succession. Seth? Devon's brother? Devon's mother just had
a heart attack, it seemed, and was being taken to the hospital?
I had never even met Devon's mother. In fact, I had never even
met anyone from Devon's family. None of us had.
How many times over the past several years had we taken
vacations to visit Trish's family in Toronto? Pamela's
family in Baltimore? Lindsay's, Amy's, my own, in Cincinnati?
Yet during all those trips, despite Philadelphia being just a
short flight away, Devon adamantly refused our countless offers
to go there so we could meet and greet her own family.
Devon had always been very secretive concerning details as
to why she had such a disdain for her mother, father, sister
and two brothers in Pennsylvania. I knew of an incident from
her high school years that she shared with me shortly after
arriving on the island in 2013. It involved a horrible
lapse in judgment on Devon's part - drug use at a party - and
led to the subsequent death of her best friend at the time,
who had an adverse allergic reaction to the substance.
But that happened on January 19, 2002. Almost 15 years
ago! How could Devon's parents possibly still hold a grudge
against her for that one mistake as she claimed they did?
According to Devon, her parents still wanted nothing to do
with her to this day because of that one night 15 years ago.
But I always knew there was more to the story; something
Devon was not telling me. Or perhaps a lot of things. What
was the real reason for the feud with her family? The rift
with her parents? How could Devon refuse to see them, even
once, during all of the vacations we had taken to Canada and
the United States in the past? If we pressed her, tried to
prod her, Devon would invariably become horribly angry and
snap at us, insisting that we not even consider going there.
Apparently, Devon refused to even speak with her family on
the telephone, which was why it took five tries in a row
before she finally accepted Seth's call just moments ago.
I was not on the best of terms with my own brother and
sister from Ohio, Dan and Di, but I would never outlaw them
and refuse to even acknowledge them as my own flesh and blood
as Devon had done with her own family. Plus, this was Devon.
Dear, sweet and lovable Devon; the woman with a heart of pure
gold, the biggest smile, the willingness to look after and
take care of any of the children in the family on a moment's
notice. Always happy. Always cheerful, a wonderful influence
on the kids. Devon, the total sweetheart. My wife. Our wife.
And the same woman who could become downright hateful if we
tried to convince her to finally go home for a visit. I had
been with Devon for over three years now, yet knew no one in her
family. Never met them; never even spoke to them. Nothing.
"Lehigh Valley Hospital," the original voice said - Seth? -
on the recorded voice mail. "Devon, we need you here. Mom
needs you. Please, I'm begging you. I know what happened
between you and Dad in the past, but you need to get here for
Mom. PLEASE? Call me when you get this."
Tears in her eyes, Kristanna tapped the message off. She
looked at us as Piper now sniffled away in Pamela's arms.
"Where is Devon now?" I simply asked, my voice calm.
"In the recreation room," Kristanna said. "Crying."
My whole world went white. Feud or not, this was Devon's
mother, and her life was at stake. She may already be gone.
Family disputes and squabbles like this always seemed to be
set aside in times of a medical crisis.
"You need to go to Pennsylvania with Devon right now,
Jeremy," Kristanna proclaimed. "She doesn't want to go there
alone. She wants you to go with her."
"WHAT ABOUT US?" Pamela asked, her tone shrill, suddenly
upset. "I want to go there with Devon, too!"
Kristanna was crying now. "We can't, Pamela. The kids.
The babies! We just got here. I don't want to take them
another 3,500 miles in the air after touching down here just
four days ago. We have to stay behind with them. And you..."
Kristanna pointed toward Pamela's baby bump. "You don't need
to go, either. Last week's flight was uncomfortable for you.
You don't need another airline trip until we go back home."
"But I love Devon!" Pamela suddenly sobbed. "I LOVE HER!"
"Kristanna," I announced, gaining her attention. "Tell
Devon that I will get on the phone with our pilot, Mike, and
ask if he can fly us out of Lima later tonight. He won't tell
me no. He and his crew are still visiting and touring the
city, I think. Tell Devon that I will help pack her things,
too. We will be at the hospital first thing in the morning."
Suddenly, I had an even better idea.
"In fact," I said, already leaving Kristanna, Pamela and
Piper behind in the sun room, "I will tell Devon myself."
And I went running off toward the recreation room, ready to
console my wife and tell her I would get her to her mother
as soon as humanly possible.
<<<- End of Chapter 01 ->>>
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"Island Fever 6: Sanctuary"
(c) 2016 JeremyDCP
- JeremyDCP@hotmail.com
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