Amazonia [ M/F M/f F/F ] - 1 of 2

Story #5
by Tom Bombadil  (c) Apr 1997

Disclaimer:  All the standard rules apply.  If you are offended 
by explicit descriptions of sex or the human body, if it is 
illegal to possess such materials at your location, if you are 
under-age by law in your location, or if somebody else thinks you 
might have too much fun reading it, stop right now and remove this 
text from your computer.

This is purely a work of fiction, with all characters and actions 
described by me coming straight out of my imagination.  As a work of 
fiction, it does not condone or condemn any of the activities or 
actions described, nor does it relate to any type of real events in 
my life, or known to me in the lives of any of my friends or 
relatives.

You've been warned.

I give permission for anyone to archive or share this story.

********************************************************************

********** Late afternoon, one day in October

Tom cursed the storm, cursed the plane, cursed the lunatic who'd 
gotten him stuck in this situation, and cursed his ex-wife for 
getting him into this line of work in the first place.

Sudden jolts and twists from the winds outside nearly made him 
lose his lunch, but he held it inside.  He had better things to do 
than get sick.  Like survive.  Running along the edge of the main 
cloud deck, trying to avoid the worst of the turbulence, he looked 
for somewhere to land, somewhere to ditch.  Anywhere.  He was 
running out of time, out of fuel, and out of luck.

********** Early that morning

Sixteen hours ago, some short while before dawn, he'd just started 
securing his small twin prop against the coming storm, one of many 
to ravage the small group of islands he serviced.  It was, by then, 
an almost automatic procedure, requiring little thought.  A radio in 
the background was giving out details on the typhoon's size, wind 
velocity, track, and surge height.  That's when a madman showed up 
with a big, heavy tote bag.

Like in a script from a 'B' movie, the man pulled out a rather 
large pistol and waved it around under Tom's nose for a few 
seconds.

"You can fly, no?"  Bad English, a terrible accent, and a furtive, 
glance-over-the-shoulder type attitude would have had Tom rolling 
around with laughter - that is, if one very large-looking handgun 
hadn't been occupying most of his attention.

"Ah, <gulp> well, that is, uh ..."  A simple yes or no didn't seem 
appropriate to him, at the time.  No probably would have made him 
disposable.  Yes would have made him ... something.  He didn't 
know.  In the state his mind was in, that made perfect sense.

"Get in plane.  You fly me someplace NOW!  Si?"  That last word was 
punctuated by the man touching the barrel of his pistol to the 
bridge of Tom's nose.  From that perspective, the pistol looked more 
like a small cannon.  The terrified man nodded his head - very 
slowly, and very carefully.

"Good.  We go now.  Fast!  GO!"

Tall, suave, and debonair he might be, but despite his movie star 
looks, Tom was no brave hero.  He was an ex commercial pilot who 
happened to have been roped into opening his own tiny air service, 
on a group of tiny tropical islands, by his then wife.  Now 
ex-wife.  The man with the pistol, looking just as corny as he 
sounded, with his dirty fatigues, Hispanic features, and oversized 
moustache, followed directly behind the pilot as he prepared his 
plane for takeoff.

A few minutes later Tom slipped into the pilot's seat, his 
kidnapper taking the passenger seat behind and across from him.  
That gun was still there.

"We go now.  Get plane moving.  We take off, fly north."

Tom started the plane and went through his pre-flight ritual, 
possibly working a little faster and less thoroughly than usual 
because of the urging of his passenger.

"No call anyone!"  The hijacker's screech was in response to Tom 
picking up the radio's mike.

"I have to call for permission to take off and for a time slot on 
the runway.  We can't just toodle over there and whoosh! up into the 
sky!  It's just too dangerous!"  

Apparently the man with the gun disagreed.  "You go now, we take off 
now, or I keel you and I fly plane!"  That won him the argument.  
Tom started praying.

There was a lot of cursing and yelling coming over the radio as he 
taxied onto the runway and took off upwind.  A lot.  Tom also 
noticed the flashing lights of the local constabulary vehicle beside 
the oversized hut that served as passenger area, customs, taxi 
stand, and control tower.

"Fly north" was the only instruction immediately forthcoming from 
the man in charge.  They flew across the island and towards the 
the oncoming hurricane.

********** Late afternoon again

Tom spotted a tiny swatch of non-ocean at about the same time the 
needle of his plane's fuel gauge touched 'E'.  Shock, relief, and a 
sudden rush of adrenaline flowed through his tired body at the 
sight.  He knew it would be a battle to get there, fighting across 
the face of the storm, but it was his only hope.  

Another prayer, far from the first that day and definitely not the 
last, escaped unnoticed.  He had one eye on his target and the 
other on the fuel gauge, watching the needle for his reserve tank.  
His main tank was long since empty.

Trying to stay as high as possible, just in case, he aimed for a 
spot many miles upwind of the island.  His wind gauge showed the 
outside air moving at about 160 knots.  The only bit of modern gear 
he had, the satellite positioning thing he'd won off a sailor in a 
craps game, told him he was travelling at forty knots.  He didn't 
even try to do the math.  The answer was obvious.

Abandoning his attempt to stay high, he started a long, slow, fuel-
saving descent.  Another mumble, half prayer and half curse, lost 
itself in all the rest of the noise in the cabin.  There was a 
chance to survive - he believed - if the plane stayed in one piece, 
if the wind didn't get worse, if the fuel held out, and if he 
didn't crack.  Focusing his attention back on that tiny bump of 
green, he flew on.  

********** Back to the morning

"Carlos."  That was what the man called himself.  Carlos.  Tom 
almost burst out laughing.  The situation seemed so unreal to him.  
He'd seen every bad action movie ever made, and he'd rate the plot 
and character development on this one a solid 'B-'.  Not even worth 
watching twice, since the story line was so linear and the 
characters so one-dimensional.

Carlos pulled a map from the bag which, Tom noticed, was 
otherwise filled with cash.  He began to feel trapped inside some 
mad director's nightmare.

Spreading the map out in front of Tom, Carlos pointed at a small 
island, circled in red.  It was well away from any normal air or 
water traffic, and was supposed to be uninhabited.

"We go there.  I have many friends there."

"Totally predictable," Tom thought to himself.  He set his course, 
checked his instruments, and prayed they beat the storm.

********** Late afternoon, once more

Tom looked carefully, fighting the rays of the setting sun.  "Yes", 
he thought to himself, "it's getting closer!"  That tiny bit of land 
did appear to be getting bigger.  A small piece of his mind noticed 
that the island had three big mountains, two large lakes or lagoons, 
and was surrounded by a lot of reef, if the circle of white foam he 
saw was any indication.

With more skill than he thought he had, or possibly more luck than 
he thought he deserved, he kept the plane flying.  The typhoon was 
getting worse, the turbulence was getting worse, the light was 
getting worse, and his stomach was getting worse.  A beach came 
into view, wide and silvery white.  That beach was the only 
flattish bit he'd seen that didn't have trees growing on it, so 
that's where he aimed the plane.  

It was then that both engines, one right after the other, coughed 
and died.  

He swore some more.

********** Earlier that afternoon

The island Carlos wanted eventually showed up.  The moustachioed  
man smiled, finally happy about something.  He still looked nervous 
to Tom, and that gun still looked very large when he waved it 
around.

"You fly over island, I jump out.  I take parachute!  Ha ha ha!"  
Tom had some 'chutes in the back.  They'd been left there by a 
skydiving club that sometimes hired him, and he'd been waiting 
for one of the women to pick them up.  That was another reason he'd 
been with the plane.  According to what he'd heard, the 'chutes had 
been packed by rookies, just for practice.  None of the members 
took the chance of using those specific ones, with good reason.  
Not that he was going to say anything to Carlos.

A short while later they were flying directly over the island at 
about 6000 feet.  That's when Carlos decided to jump.  His last 
words were not pleasant ones.

"You no land here.  You do, I keel you.  If I no keel you, my 
friends, they keel you.  They no like snoopy pilots!  Ha ha ha!"
With that parting comment, he jumped.

Tom circled the plane around once, just to check.  He saw that the 
'chute had actually opened.  That's when he finally cracked a big 
smile and started chuckling to himself.  "The bastard deserves 
exactly what he's gonna get.  The fuckin' idiot."

It didn't take much math for him to figure out where Carlos would 
land.  They were directly above the island, a mile up.  The island 
was only a mile across.  The actual outside air speed he calculated 
at about 85 knots at his altitude - reasonable, he thought, with the 
storm bearing down on them.  He estimated the guy would splash down 
about half a mile out to sea, down wind and down current.  It made 
him feel a little better, in a sick sort of way.

Tom thought through his options.  Returning to home base was out of 
the question - not enough fuel.  Landing on the island under him, 
where he thought his life expectancy would probably be measured in 
hours, was ruled out.  Ditching in the ocean was out of the 
question.  He had a sea survival suit, but it was army surplus, 
and he trusted it about as far as he could throw his plane.  Besides 
which, nobody knew where he'd gone, so nobody knew where to look, 
and with the storm, it would be at least twenty four hours before 
anyone else could even get airborne.  He thought his best bet would 
be to try and race the typhoon to another island somewhere.

Studying the chart, he saw there was one, perhaps three hour's 
flight away to the northwest.  It was by far the closest, and it was 
marked with an airstrip.  He thought it well within range of his 
remaining fuel.  Turning the plane, he flew off in that direction.  

The island he was headed for was about an hour's flying time too far 
away.  The storm came in too fast, and Tom ended up running in front 
of it, just trying to keep the bucket of bolts he was riding in from 
being torn apart.  He didn't have much hope left because, according 
to the charts, he was in open water with no land for at least three 
thousand miles in the only direction the storm was letting him 
travel in.  That's why the sight of the tiny island had come as such 
a welcome shock.

********** Early evening

There was nothing much he could do.  Fighting the stick, he muscled 
the plane into a shallow dive, pulling up and coasting into a stall 
just above the waves.  A quick flash of whitecaps went by before he 
splashed down, creating another tiny surge of hope.  He'd cleared 
the reef.  After that, everything was a blur of water and waves and 
sky as he struggled to stay afloat and alive.

********** The next day, and so on

The sound of giggling, along with something prodding him in the 
ribs, woke him up.  The sun was high in the sky, beating down on 
him, and he felt terrible.  After a few seconds of hazy thought he 
remembered why he should feel terrible.  Tom decided to be happy he 
was feeling at all.  It took a good pinch <self-administered> before 
he admitted to himself that he was both alive and not dreaming.  
There was another prodding on his ribs.  That slight movement sent 
out small tendrils of pain and sickness which proceeded to explode 
in his head and gut.

A few minutes later, after losing his last dozen or so meals (by 
his estimate, anyway), he looked around.  The prodders were 
children.  He shook his head to try and clear his vision, and that, 
he realized almost immediately, was a mistake.  It was another 
moment or two before the pain behind his eyes died down enough for 
him to look around again.

They were still there.  Maybe two dozen or so young girls, all 
vaguely the same size, and looking like they were all about the 
same age.  He thought perhaps nine or ten years old.  None much 
older, none much younger, and all quite naked.

A couple of the girls broke away from the group and began running 
down the beach, leaving the rest pointing and giggling and gabbing 
away in some sort of native gibberish he didn't recognize.  At first 
glance he thought they were all Polynesians of some sort, since they 
were all dark skinned, but then he took a closer look.

The girls were all darkly tanned, though some were definitely 
naturally darker than others.  The majority had black hair and dark 
brown eyes.  He saw, though, that some had brown hair, a couple were 
blonde, and one was a redhead.  Looking closer, he noticed the same 
variety of eye colours, with a few pairs of hazel eyes and a few 
pairs of blue eyes mixed in with the brown, and all of them were  
focused on him.  One girl even had hair blonder and eyes bluer than 
his own.  

"Thank god", he thought to himself.  "White folk.  Civilization."  
He knew of a number of islands where the natives were very 
unfriendly to visitors.  With some obviously Caucasian children 
running around, despite their dress code, he believed that civilized 
people had to be near.  Life was slowly returning to his body, so 
he decided to crawl up off the beach and into the shade of some 
nearby trees.  He made it, but his strength gave out just as he 
leaned back against the trunk of a palm.  The last thing he saw 
before he passed out again was another group of young girls running 
up the beach in his direction.

**********

The next time he woke up it was dark.  He was on some sort of 
mat or low bed with several palm-frond blankets keeping him warm.  
His clothes had disappeared, and he wasn't alone.  After a few 
seconds just taking note of what he could in the dark, he knew 
that his bed partner was a woman.  Even he couldn't mistake the 
warmth and softness of the breasts on his arm.  A chill, the 
tightness of his skin, and the vague pain in his chest, told him he 
had a fever.  His slight stirrings woke his companion.

She whispered at him in that unfamiliar tongue, and when he didn't 
respond, she got up.  Tom lay there wondering what had happened to 
him until she returned with a container of some sort.  She made him 
drink down all of the sweet, refreshing contents, and then forced 
him back down.  After a few minutes, since he was unable to do much 
but blink his eyes, he fell back to sleep.

**********

More girlish giggling and laughing woke him.  It was daytime, but 
the sun wasn't shining in his eyes.  The insides of a hut was what 
he saw immediately.  A single room hut made from bamboo and palm 
leaves.  One door.  Two windows.  Both windows were filled with the 
heads of young girls peering in at him.  When he sat up, they all 
shrieked and ran.  He wondered if they were the same girls he'd 
seen on the beach.  They looked to be about the same age, from what  
little he'd been able to see of them through the windows.

A few minutes later, the door opened and a young woman walked in.  
She looked like a native, with the classic strong face, dark hair 
and eyes, and solid body.  Tom could see little fat on her frame, 
and admired her decidedly nice figure, legs, and breasts.  Her only 
clothing was a grass skirt, and as she moved, he could see she wore 
nothing underneath.  Her face, he realized rather belatedly, was 
also quite nice.

The woman brought him another container of that sweet tasting drink 
he remembered having before.  "Or was it twice?" he thought aloud.  
Despite his long sleep, he still felt sluggish and rather cottony.  
The world seemed just a bit too sharp, a bit too bright, to be 
real.  He wondered if he really was caught up in an old movie plot.  
After finishing the drink, he was pushed flat by the woman.  He sat 
back up.  She pushed him down again.  He sat back up again.  She 
spoke sharply and quickly at him, and pushed him down once more, but 
left her hand hovering just above his chest.  She stared hard at 
him, almost daring him to try and get up again.  

"Just like nurses everywhere," he chuckled to himself, as he 
drifted off to sleep.

**********

It was very early morning when he woke up again.  He knew the time 
only because a few faint red rays of sunlight could be seen outside 
the windows, and it wasn't hot enough to be evening.  His fever had 
broken, he knew, and he believed himself to be on the road to 
recovery.  He was hungry, he was thirsty, and he had to relieve 
himself.  That last item was probably the most urgent just then.  
When he sat up, the woman lying beside him, the same one he'd seen 
before, also woke up.  Tom tried to make his needs known while 
looking around for his clothes.

The only thing of his that he saw were his were his pants, and they 
were hanging on a peg on the far side of the hut.  The woman got 
up, seemingly unconcerned with her nudity, fastened a grass skirt 
around her middle, and beckoned him to the door.  Despite his 
gesturing and his exclamations of embarrassment, she simply stood 
there and waited.

Feeling weak, run down, and rather silly, he went over and pulled on 
his jeans.  They were a little tattered, a little worn, and still 
had salt crusted on them, but they were his, and they provided some 
much needed psychological comfort.  He certainly didn't need them 
to keep warm.

Before he ended up embarrassing himself, she showed him the communal 
latrine.  Afterwards, he looked around to see what he could of his 
surroundings.  They were standing at the edge of a grass hut 
village, containing maybe fifteen or twenty small shacks about the 
same size as the one he'd woken up in, along with two or three 
larger structures.  The only other person he saw in that faint 
morning light was another woman, one considerably older than his 
nurse.  Aside from some birds, himself, and the two ladies, the 
place appeared deserted.

The first woman walked him back to the hut he'd woken in and made 
him strip and get back into bed - or rather, back onto the mat and 
under the palm blankets.  She busied herself for a few minutes, 
ignoring him, before bringing over some sliced fruits and more of 
the sweet liquid he'd been getting.

After he finished, despite the fact that he didn't think he was 
tired, he fell back to sleep.

**********

It was the giggling again.  That sound brought him back to 
awareness.  They were back, staring through the windows.  Only a 
few started to move when he sat up this time, stopping when the 
rest didn't budge.  His pants were hanging up on the far side of 
the hut, and he had some urgent business to attend to.  After a 
loud "Shoo" and a wave of his arms, he was alone.  The shrieks and 
giggles retreated into the distance.  Just after he'd managed to don 
his modesty, three women walked in.  One was the woman who'd been 
treating him, whose bed he'd apparently been sharing.  The second 
was somewhat older than his nurse, but looked quite similar.  The 
third made him stare, open mouthed.

She was almost as dark as the others, but with tan, rather than a 
naturally dark skin.  Her hair, highlighted by lots of sun and wind 
and ocean, was a pale blonde, and her eyes were a pale blue.  She 
was a Nordic beauty by any standards, with a trim figure, moderate 
sized breasts with large, upturned, coral nipples, and gorgeous 
legs.  She was dressed, like the others, in a simple grass skirt.

It took a moment before he realized he was staring.

"Hello!  Am I glad to see you!"  Tom was looking straight into the 
eyes of the blonde woman as he spoke.  Her lack of comprehension 
snuck up on him, then hit him over the head.

"Do you speak English?"  Nothing.

"Parlez vouz Francais?"  No response.

"Sprechen sie Deutsch?"  He was desperate, trying for anything she 
might recognize.  Tom even tried the two different native dialects 
he'd picked up a little of.  Absolutely nothing.  The three women 
spoke excitedly to one another, looking and sometimes pointing at 
him and making no effort to try and communicate at all.  Finally, 
they stopped for a moment.

"Tom", he said, pointing to himself.  When they still stared, he 
repeated himself, speaking very slowly - "T-o-m."

"Tom", said the younger brunette.  The older woman repeated the 
word, pointing at him, and then the blonde did the same.  All three 
then repeated his name several times.

When there was a pause, he tried the same thing everyone in all the 
bad movies do.  Pointing at himself, he said "Tom", and then he 
gestured towards the blonde, looking as questioningly as possible.  
All three looked at him, then laughed.

The blonde pointed at him and said "Tom", then pointed at herself 
and said "Marilyn".  The name was slightly mangled by her accent, 
but it was unmistakable.

The older woman performed the same ritual, except for calling 
herself "Elizabet".  The young brunette, the one who'd been nursing 
him, called herself "Raquel".

If it wasn't for his urgent business, he might have stood there for 
hours with his mouth open.  As it was, he just managed to make it 
in time.  He had an audience for his task.  None of the arm waving 
and shooing he did made them go away, so he ended up just barely 
being able to go.  He felt humiliated.

The feeling he'd had back when Carlos was waving that gun at him 
came back.  "This can't be real," he said to himself.  "Somewhere 
out there is a camera, and someone's having an absolutely hysterical 
time at my expense.  These kind of things don't happen to Tom 
Largent.  They don't even happen in the movies - at least not in any 
self-respecting movie.  So just go with the flow, for now.  Later, 
when you're feeling better, find a way out."

When he made it back to the hut, all three women met him outside 
and guided him to a soft mat under an awning.  He sat there with 
them as they fed him a meal of fruits, vegetables, nuts, and some 
sort of flat bread, along with more of that sweet drink.  He knew 
he'd been put out there on display, but figured gawking worked both 
ways.  It gave him a chance to study the village and villagers.

He saw women and girls.  The younger girls all looked around nine or 
ten years old, the older girls all looked around fifteen or sixteen, 
though it was hard for him to really tell, and the women were all 
either in their early twenties or in their middle thirties and 
older.  There were no young children, no boys, and no men.  He 
didn't remember seeing any either.

Marilyn, the blonde woman with him, began to talk excitedly after 
a while.  Tom paid little attention to her and the other two, since 
he was mesmerized by the sights around him.  All of the younger 
girls were running around quite naked.  He saw one or two who might 
be just starting puberty, but the rest were definitely still 
children.  Some of the older girls were also wandering around 
without skirts, showing off everything.  Almost all the women wore 
skirts, but nothing else.  Almost all, because he did see the  
odd one heading for the beach wearing nothing but a tan.  

His earlier observations about mixed races turned out to be valid 
for the entire village, or at least the women of the village, which 
was all he'd seen.  The majority had black hair and showed a 
distinct Polynesian heritage.  The rest were a mixture of brunettes, 
blondes, and redheads, with the same proportions of different eye 
colours.  Body styles also differed, ranging from slender to solid.  
None were actually fat or obese.

Before, when he'd dealt with native villages and tribes, all of the 
women he'd seen naked or near naked had been dark-skinned natives, 
and he'd learned not to react to them.  Now, faced with cuddly 
blondes, statuesque redheads, and daring brunettes, all showing off 
at least their upper bodies, his cool demeanour vanished.  That's 
what had excited Marilyn, and brought him the attentions of the 
other two as well as a scattering of nearby people.  She was 
pointing at his crotch, where a distinct bulge was forming.

There wasn't much for him to do, except grin and bear up under their 
scrutiny.  Trying to avoid thinking about what he had been thinking, 
he began wondering what he'd landed in.  If there had been any 
records of a village like that within five thousand miles of where 
he lived, he knew he'd have heard of it.  "Besides," he thought to 
himself, "I've seen this movie before.  The only thing missing is 
an angry volcano waiting to devour my helpless self."  

Half-expecting to see a nasty looking plume of smoke and ash, he 
looked around, and failed to find even an innocent looking white 
puff.  Feeling guilty about the relief he felt, he examined the 
village.

Jungle hemmed it in on three sides.  Through a line of trees on the 
fourth, he could see sand and sea.  The sun was nearly overhead, and 
even in the shade it felt hot.  A light breeze from the ocean helped 
keep things from becoming like an oven, and a steady supply of that 
sweet drink staved off dehydration.  He heard all the noises from a 
busy, thriving little community, heard the booming of the surf, and 
heard the laughs and shrieks from many girls coming from the 
village, the forest, and the beach.  About the only sound missing 
was that of a male voice.  That lack disturbed him.  He wondered 
what was going to happen when they came back.

His day went quickly, especially since he had a nap.  After a dinner 
of fruit, vegetables, nuts, fish, and flat bread, he slept.  His 
nurse slept beside him, and for the first time, to his knowledge 
anyway, the other two slept in the hut as well.  It surprised him 
that they shared a mat, but he fell asleep before he could pursue 
that line of thought.

**********

It was late morning when he woke, and the entire village was up and 
about by then.  He quickly acquired his retinue of young voyeurs 
when they noticed he was awake.  Relieving himself was definitely 
a chore.

Breakfast was the same as dinner, except with different fruits, and 
no fish.  Feeling much stronger, he walked down to the beach.  It 
was beautiful - as nice as any he'd seen in real life or on 
postcards.  The sand was almost white and hot enough to burn, the 
ocean a brilliant blue, the sky devoid of clouds, and the surf mild 
because of the surrounding reef.  A short walk down to the shore and 
back tired him out, so he lay down in the shade for a nap.  

The giggling woke him up again.  His three protectors, or keepers, 
he thought, since he really didn't know what they were, led him 
back to the hut for dinner and another nap.  His nurse crawled into 
bed with him after stripping him down.  None of them seemed to care 
much about what he wanted at that point, so he went along with their 
urgings.  He still felt weak, and believed himself to be at their 
mercy, so acquiescence seemed the way to survive.

**********

A touch woke him up.  It was a touch he hadn't expected.  Rather, 
it was in a place he hadn't expected.  He could still see, so it 
was daylight, and a quick look out the window indicated early 
evening.  That touch turned into a caress, and he felt himself 
respond.  Without really wanting to, he opened his eyes, and saw 
that Raquel, his nurse, was stretched out beside him, pressing her 
whole body into his.  Her hand, though, was what had disturbed his 
sleep.  She was stroking and fondling his cock.  That was *not* the 
same kind of treatment he'd received from the other nurses he had  
known.

She treated him to a whole body rubbing - her whole body against 
his - for several minutes while he got hard.  Opening his eyes 
again, he immediately went soft.  The other two women were sitting 
just on the other side of the hut, watching intently, as were a full 
complement of faces at both windows.  He pulled up the blankets 
immediately and turned away from Raquel.

A few seconds later he found out that he didn't have much choice 
in the matter.  Two sets of hands pulled him onto his back and held 
down his arms, while his nurse threw back the covers.  She began 
working on him again, this time by sitting on his legs and rubbing 
the head of his cock against her labia.  She, he could tell, was 
hot and ready to go, if the wetness between her lower lips was to be 
believed.

There wasn't much Tom could do against their strong arms, as weak 
as he still felt, so he closed his eyes and tried to relax.  He also 
tried not to get hard, but failed.  His rapists, as he considered 
them at that moment, didn't stop.  The wonderful sensation of having 
his cockhead sliding up and down inside the labia of a good looking 
woman was simply too much for his animal side to ignore.  Despite 
having his arms held down, despite feeling the stares of all those 
eyes, he started to respond.  His hips began moving up and down in a 
slow, steady rhythm, almost by themselves.

At a signal from the older woman, Raquel knelt up over top of 
Tom's cock, positioning it at the entrance to her vagina.  His 
thrusting stopped as he opened his eyes to watch.  He almost felt 
like a spectator as the young woman slowly slid down onto him.  She 
was tight, very tight, and he could feel every tiny movement she 
made - up and down, forward and backward, and side to side.  She 
took her time, working her way down slowly, letting off tiny gasps 
and whimpers each time she was stretched a little more.

That's when Tom felt it.  The pressure wasn't much, and it 
disappeared quickly, but a faint popping sensation on the head of 
his cock, accompanied by her slight squeal, told him that the woman 
had been a virgin.  

"Holy Jesus H. Fuckin' Keerist.  A Goddamn Cherry!"  Tom couldn't 
help saying that out loud, surprised as he was.  That thought put a 
new stiffness in his manhood, and he began staring into the eyes of 
the former virgin now bottoming out in his lap.  She was watching 
him, and he could see every tiny twinge, every ripple, every naked 
emotion as she continued on with something she'd never done before.

Raquel was as tight, as hot, and as wet as anyone he'd ever done it 
with before.  That didn't mean much, since he'd only ever bedded 
three women in his life, including the one currently straddling 
him.  He didn't care anymore.  He started a slow grind, and she 
quickly learned to match the pace.  He could feel when she was sore, 
because she rolled with him, and when she was ready for more, 
because she rolled in counterpoint.  He watched her eyes as she 
neared what he thought of as her first real orgasm.  She was slow 
and methodical, angling herself to get maximum stimulation of her 
clit and rolling around to feel him all through her insides.

When she went over the edge, she took a few deep breaths, stiffened, 
and sat completely still for a moment.  Then she began to seriously 
bounce up and down.  Tom's rod was as stiff as it had ever been and 
he was tuned completely in to what she was doing to him.  Forgotten 
were the women holding his arms.  Forgotten was the audience at the 
windows.  All that existed were the two eyes looking at him, and his 
cock.  The feelings, the sensations, the knowledge that the woman 
was a virgin, overcame all his reluctance and inhibitions.  

Raquel climaxed again, this time with a great deal of noise and 
movement.  She continued to slide up and down, even while her vagina 
was contracting on Tom's cock.  The increased pressure and 
stimulation caused him to lose control.  He had been holding off as 
long as possible, waiting for her to join him, enjoying the sweet 
agony of denial, so his release was wonderful.  He spurted deep 
inside, as deep as he could reach.  Then a second time, and a third, 
followed by some slow oozing.

There was nothing left in him by the time she stopped moving.  He 
felt quite drained, sexually, physically, and emotionally.  With a 
very satisfied sigh, he let his head fall back and he relaxed.  

The reaction of his partner was quite different.  She stood up, slid 
one finger between her legs, and pulled it back out coated with her 
juices, his semen, and a pink tincture of lost maidenhood.  She 
looked at her finger, tasted it, and got quite excited.  Everyone 
else, inside and outside the hut, was silent.  The older woman stood 
and slid her finger into Raquel's slot, tasted what came out on her 
finger, and got excited.  That got everyone going.  Marilyn slid her 
finger in and retrieved her own taste.  

All three went outside, totally ignoring Tom, so he pulled the 
covers over himself and tried to figure out what was going on.  He 
had no success at that whatsoever.  Outside, the excited babbling 
never slowed down, and he could hear the occasional smack of a pair 
of lips, so he figured that the tasting session, or whatever they  
were doing, was still going on.  He thought their actions the oddest 
he'd ever heard of.

***********

The next morning he awoke to the same sort of touching and 
fondling.  He opened his eyes, expecting to see Raquel again, and 
got another shock.  It was Elizabet, the older woman, trying to 
coax him back to life.  A quick glance let him know that both Raquel 
and Marilyn were watching avidly, but there was no audience at the 
windows.  It looked to him like they were ready to use coercive 
methods again, if necessary, so he decided to enjoy himself, despite 
the fact that he still considered it a form of rape.

Willing himself to ignore everything else, he concentrated on what 
she was doing to him.  In spite of her years, she was still a good 
looking woman - possibly in her middle thirties, solid but without 
excess flab, nice legs, a pretty face, and still respectable 
breasts.  They were sagging a little, and he guessed that was 
because she'd never even seen a support garment, but they still had 
a pleasing shape.  His caresses came as a surprise to them both, and 
seemed to be welcome.

Despite his half-suspicions, Elizabet was not a virgin.  She was, 
however, still very tight and very wet.  Unlike Raquel, the older 
woman took her time throughout, using him for every last bit of 
sensation and pleasure.  He felt her climax at least three times 
before he could no longer hold out.  At the critical second he 
closed his eyes and simply exploded.  His face twisted into a mask 
resembling agony, but the sounds coming from both their mouths were 
those of the highest pleasure.  She screamed when she felt him 
pulsing and climaxed again, milking him for everything he had.  The 
three women then repeated their tasting ceremony.  He fell back to 
sleep.

After breakfast, he decided to go exploring.  None of the women in 
the village had shown the slightest desire to communicate, despite 
his earnest attempts.  Other than his three keepers, all they did was 
stare, or make incomprehensible comments, or, for the younger ones, 
giggle.  He felt like a pet of some sort.  So, he wanted to see if 
there was any real civilization on the island.

They stopped him about a quarter mile down the beach.  His three 
keepers caught him and tried to drag him back.  Since he was still 
not fully up to par, he let them.  They put him back on display 
under the awning.

After lunch, Marilyn pulled him into the hut.  They were followed by 
the other two.  She wanted the same as Raquel and Elizabet, 
according to her actions.  Since she was by far the best looking of 
them, by his standards, he was quite accommodating, especially since 
she let him touch and feel every part of her body.  When she 
realized that he wanted to taste her essence, she lay back and 
spread her arms and legs wide in an open invitation.  

He found her slightly tangy, slightly musky, and very, very wet.  
She was also quite eager.  When he inserted a finger, he got another 
small shock.  She was also a virgin.  He licked her through two 
small orgasms before sliding up her body and preparing to deflower 
his second maiden in two days.  His cock was more than ready and was 
dripping with excitement.

One more surprise for him was her unwillingness to do it in the 
missionary position.  She practically threw him off, then rose up 
to straddle his crotch.  The sight of that gorgeous blonde beauty 
willingly impaling her virgin self on him almost made him lose it 
too early.  He fought down the impulse, not wanting to waste himself
on her lower lips and stomach.  With only a little difficulty, he 
managed to hold off until she was bouncing up and down with a good 
rhythm.  When he finally peaked, he felt like he was being turned 
inside out.  His lower groin ached with the sudden release.  She, 
like the other women, climaxed when she felt him pulsing inside her 
vagina.  By his estimate, her scream of completion could be heard 
from the forest side of the village right down to the beach.  The 
tasting ceremony followed, and the three women left the hut.  

This time, after dressing himself, he followed, curious to see what 
happened outside.  To his surprise, though he didn't think he should 
be surprised by anything at that point, everyone participated in the 
tasting ceremony, including the children.  He wondered how she felt, 
standing there with her legs apart while over a hundred people stuck 
their fingers into her pussy, one at a time.  He thought he saw her 
climax at least once during the process.  A number of the women, and 
a few of the children, slid their wet fingers into their own vaginas 
while walking away.  That act also baffled him.

Shortly after dinner, which consisted of some different types of 
fish, fruit, vegetables, nuts, flat bread, and that sweet drink, a 
new woman approached him and tried to pull him to his feet.  When 
his keepers stood and motioned for him to do likewise, he did.  In 
the hut, the other woman, who identified herself as Jane, dropped 
her skirt, then pulled his head down to her crotch as she fell back 
onto his mat.  There was no doubt in his mind as to what she was 
after, so he slithered out of his jeans while keeping her occupied 
with his mouth.

The woman was about the same age as Elizabet, with a slightly 
better figure.  He thought she tasted somewhat musky but otherwise 
fine.  He wasn't going to turn down something that good.  When she 
rolled him over and mounted him, Marilyn came over and started 
rubbing his stomach, chest, legs, balls, and anything else she 
could reach.  She let him touch and fondle her anywhere he wanted, 
but strangely, to his thinking, she totally refused any sort of a 
kiss.

He heard some strange noises, so he looked around.  The usual 
audience was at the window, but his other two keepers weren't 
watching.  They were heavily involved in a pairing of their own, 
with twin mouth-to-lower-lip locks.  The sight of them intertwined 
in such a lewd display, along with feeling up the blonde and the 
sensations generated by the older woman bouncing up and down on his 
cock, set him off.  He groaned and slammed his hips up into the 
brunette, sending forth several streams of semen followed by a few 
feeble trickles.  Tom lay back, spent and totally out of energy.

The usual tasting ceremony took place, but without the participation 
of the two women still held in each other's grasp.  Marilyn and Jane 
went outside to the waiting crowd.  Tom pulled up his blankets, 
closed his eyes, and fell asleep.

**********

It was Marilyn who woke him the next morning.  She was straddling 
his hips, leaning over, and watching his face as she tickled his 
penis with her bush.  The blankets were lying in a tangled mess to 
one side, and Raquel, his usual bedmate, was lying right beside them 
watching the proceedings.  The older woman, Elizabet, was lying on 
her bed mat on the other side of the hut, also watching.  He was 
quickly learning to ignore all the eyes, as he was beginning to like 
being shipwrecked (planewrecked?).

With her careful and gentle teasing, he was ready quickly.  It 
didn't take him long, either, to learn that she definitely liked her 
thighs and waist caressed while things were getting heated up.  

If anything, Tom enjoyed himself more than he had the first time 
with the blonde beauty.  She had learned from her first experience, 
and was moving with more authority and determination, which provided 
him with a great deal of welcome friction.  Marilyn was also 
learning to control her vaginal muscles, generating more tightness 
whenever she wanted the stimulation.  Their activity seemed geared 
towards her pleasure rather than his.  "Appropriate", thought Tom, 
as that last thought flitted through his lust-clouded brain.

All too soon, at least for Tom, their pleasure ended in a groaning, 
gushing, few seconds of heaven.  Marilyn and the other two once 
again held the tasting ceremony.  He was thoroughly baffled at what, 
if any, significance the act had, especially since both of the other 
women rubbed their fingers through their own crotches while still 
wet from his and Marilyn's spendings.  Forgoing thinking after 
developing a headache, he got up, donned his pants, and went about 
his morning business.

After lunch, another woman, one he hadn't seen before, pulled him up 
and into the hut.  She was a dusky-skinned beauty, looking more 
African than Polynesian, with a dark complexion and somewhat kinky 
hair surrounding an oval face.  She also had the fullest bush of any 
he'd yet seen.  That didn't stop him from using his fingers, hands, 
lips, and tongue to get things rolling.  He found that she was ready 
and willing immediately, but since he got almost as much enjoyment 
from the foreplay and oral action as the woman on the receiving end, 
he went ahead anyway.  His wife (EX wife - sorry) - had rarely 
allowed him the 'privilege' of going down on her.  It was only after 
meeting and dating Leiana, his sometimes girlfriend, that he 
learned how truly wonderful both giving and receiving oral attention 
could be.  He noted that this woman was also a virgin.

Linda, for that's what she called herself, surprised Tom by lying 
along side of him and cuddling afterwards, rather than immediately 
jumping up and starting the tasting ritual.  He figured they lay 
there caressing and holding one another for about ten minutes, with 
her talking nonstop the whole time, before she went to meet the 
impatient villagers outside the door.

Tom was becoming rather alarmed by the number of women who seemed 
to be using him for their own pleasure.  When he tried to think 
about what was happening, his mind wandered, remaining unfocussed.  
That scared him even more, since he considered himself a fairly 
intelligent person.  Vague thoughts of lingering illness or injury, 
or possibly something sinister, filtered through.  He decided to 
forgo dinner and get some sleep.  There were difficulties in 
getting the idea through to his hosts, but they did seem to 
understand something, and he hoped it wasn't that he wanted someone 
else to join him in the hut.

In the end, they left him alone with his thoughts.  Despite his 
ability to perform over the prior days, his body was still somewhat 
weakened, and he ended up sleeping for what he estimated as sixteen 
hours.  

<End of part 1>
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