In Search of Pleasure Island:
The Manly Travails of the Masculinists
by Don Juan
 
 
 
Act Two, Scene Two   (FF, innuendo, MFMF, bi, cons, ws, fant, toys, cumshots)
 
The light of early morn scattered across the waves like wild man’s shite, 
leaving only three of those on board to witness the beginning of this new 
propitious day.  The ship had been at sea for several months without a sign of 
human contact; though the crew now knew each other a little too intimately, all 
were growing restless.  Insomnious Thordequeer maintained his inscrutable 
countenance as he and the restless Falsestaff surveyed the heaving bosom on 
which they rode.  Jacques Ouef was busy below adulterating the morning’s meal 
when the call came from above that something was afoot.  
 
Jacques wiped off his implement, replaced it, and ascended to the deck.  The 
rest of the crew slept soundly as Thordequeer related to him the cause for 
concern.  From afar, Thordequeer had espied a lonely vessel, trivially small 
though it was it somehow offered promise of what they sought.  They drew the 
ship slowly closer to the vessel with all stealth and great anticipation, yet 
what they found on board roused the crew from their fatigation.
 
From their vantage point up high on the deck Jacques and Falsestaff stood tense 
yet mesmerised as they stared down at the small ship taking in all its majesty.  
It is unknown just who they were, so for the purpose of this tale they shall be 
known simply as Laura and Hannah.  Laura was endowed with great aurulent tresses 
and as the light of rosy-fingered dawn poured down onto her head its golden 
reverence her face shone with luminescent ecstasy.  Of the other half of the duo 
only Hannah’s tawny head of hair could be seen as she was busy paying her own 
reverence to Laura.
 
Intoned Thordequeer:
 
“Beauteous undines,
Eat each other heartily.
Diving fathoms deep.” 
 
Jacques and Falsestaff, with pounding hearts and a swelling loin wasted no time 
in preparing to plunder these delightful treasures.  The ship’s concupiscent 
name was oddly enough Spunknik, which the two wondering knights took to be a 
suggestion for them to perform their humble duty.  Each grabbed a rope, 
conveniently at their side and swung clumsily to the other craft announcing 
their arrival with great thuds and heavy breathing.  While the first of the 
swingers, Falsestaff, dropped his trousers, Jacques dropped his jaw.
 
The heavy arrival of the two amorous buccaneers startled the pair from their 
consuming hobby.
 
“Close your jaw would you, Jacques.” Voiced Falsestaff.  “You’re making me 
nervous.”
“What a lovely spread.” Commented the enamoured Ouef.
“Don’t start with your fucking innuendo . . .” Began Falsestaff.
“In your end-o!  I’d love to put my meat between your buns.” Continued Ouef as 
he looked fixedly at Hannah’s ripe pear.
“Ooh! Men!” Squeaked Laura.
“Close ma’am we be pirates.” Boomed Falsestaff.
“Sigh.  It’s been so long since we’ve had the company of men.”  Gasped Hannah as 
she inched her way towards the pirates.
“Gimme some sugar baby.”  Growled Jacques as he pulled the wench toward him, 
mashed his lips into hers and tasted Laura’s sweet sweet juices.
 
Jacques then roughly fondled Hannah’s tits, broke away from her and pushed the 
two wenches over, to lean over on a large chest.  Jacques walked over to the 
pair and dived into Laura’s fish fillet.  Falsestaff having no choice in the 
matter, charged forward and impaled Hannah on his staff, and by doing claiming 
her, possessing her, staking his claim.  He had finally cracked into the chest 
of joyous wonders wherein lay all the treasures he had sought from the moment 
they had set sail.  He unsheathed his mighty weapon and with it explored its 
depths.  He ran his fingers through its jewels and showered himself with gold.
 
The strength of the feeling, like a living thing between them all, surrounding 
them, within them, penetrating them all.  For Hannah there was nothing but cock, 
nothing but the solid swollen head, deep inside the swollen depths of her pussy, 
tight and hot and hungry, hilt deep inside her.
 
Laura turned to one side, giving Jacques a good view of her modest yet 
gracefully supple pair.  “This is a meal fit for a Frenchman.”  Said Jacques as 
he threw his mouth onto her right nipple, suckling like a new-born child.
 
Falsestaff, meanwhile was concerned with plunging his polished tool deep into 
Hannah.  He pushed and rotated his tool until it was sliding in and out of her 
like a pneumatic shaft.  Her juices poured forth from her eager love canal.  
“Why do you still fuck if you can’t feel it?” Asked the ecstatically bemused 
Hannah.  “Turn your head to me so I can see your face.”  Was all that he would 
say.  “That’s why.” Falsestaff thought to himself as he stared into her wide 
eyes, and watched as her face registered the pure euphoria of her entire being 
and the slow trail of sweat run down her back.
 
“I’m gonna dip my feengers in your chocolat pie.”  Continued the unstoppable 
Jacques Ouef before slowly he inserted a digit into Laura’s puckered anus.  
“I’ve got my French stick in your oven.”  He continued.  “I’m gonna marinate you 
in our juices.”  He drawled as he continued to pump away.
 
The great differences within the two pairs were evident.  The dashing Falsestaff 
screwed his wooden appendage into Hannah as she screamed with joy and smutty 
language, while the vulgar Jacques Ouef poled Laura with his French stick.  Just 
as the buccaneers were greatly different so were the wenches.  While the ageless 
beauty of the two was unsurpassable and quite impossible to tell which was the 
fairer, their characters were as different as can be, Laura seemed somehow purer 
and bounteous of heart, yet what Hannah lacked in generosity of spirit more than 
made up with her bountiful bosom.
 
“I’ll stick an apple in your mouth and we can give you a good spit-roasting.”
 
By now Hannah, while content with her poling, was becoming jealous of the filthy 
language that Laura was enjoying.  “Talk dirty to me.”  She ordered.  “I’ve 
always harboured a great interest for a girl like you,” wittily remarked 
Falsestaff.  “What?” objected Hannah.  “I mean, I’m going to dock my ship in 
your port,” improved Falsestaff.  “How dare you!” screamed Hannah as she slapped 
Falsestaff’s bearded face.
 
“Oh! Oh! Talk French to me,” begged Laura.
“Je baiserai vous dans le cul jusque à beaucoup de doleur vous saignez.”
“Oh! How romantic - the language of love.”
 
By now, Jacques was at his limit.  “Mon dieu.  Mon dieu.  Mon dieu.”  The words, 
a testament of passion, repeated repeatedly.  Laura’s mind, unable to form 
coherent thoughts, aware only of the thickness of his cock, and the sound of his 
breathing.  “Want a er taste of my er leequid passion?”
 
“Give it to me now!” Laura screamed, as she turned round and Jacques took out 
his blue veined custard chucker.  His sweet load slapped Laura in the face and 
seeing this Hannah climbed off Falsestaff’s false staff to taste some for 
herself.  Hannah then licked and kissed Laura, thus sharing the love.
 
“Mmmm. I love your special sauce,” cooed Hannah.
“Well er you know what dey say,” doted Jacques.  “L’amore the better.”
 
Jacques’ thick sauce was evidently, heartily devoured and with great relish.  
Not a drop went to waste and the two wenches continued to clean each other’s 
faces long after the sauce was gone.  Falsestaff soon became restless of 
watching this consuming hobby and questioned the pair about the chest.
 
“What’s with the chest?” Asked Falsestaff of Laura. 
“Well they’re not huge like Hannah’s,” replied Laura “but I’ve had no 
complaints.” 
“What the bloody hell are you talking about?”
 
Laura lifted and squeezed her melons, looking down at the moist and sumptuous 
pair and then up at Falsestaff gesturing him to look closer.  Falsestaff looked 
down briefly then up at Laura’s coy, subtle beauty not knowing where his eyes 
were better to rest.  His mind once more drifted from what he wished to think 
and instead became filled entirely with the sight of the soft-skinned small 
hands rolling across and caressing flesh.
 
“No, no . . . the box, the fucking box.”
“You don’t like my box either now?” Pouted Laura as she lowered her head and 
raised her eyes.
Falsestaff despaired at this new gesture of idiocy shrieking: “For crying out 
fucking loud, the fucking crate bitch.”  As he kicked the chest with his boot a 
few times.
“Oh that.”
“Yes that.  What’s in there?  We be pirates and we be pirating.”
“Plundering.”
“Yeah that’s what I meant. Thanks.”
“What?”
“I wasn’t talking to you.”
“What the fuck’s going on?”
“I’ll try again.”
“Yeah that’s what I meant. Thanks.” Falsestaff told Jacques.  “Better?” he said 
to Hannah.
“Much better.” Answered the confused Hannah.
 
Falsestaff in trying to retrace in his mind, his thoughts, in order to figure 
out exactly what it was that he originally asked concluded that it was the box 
he wanted to look at.  He stared at Laura’s treasures for a short time before 
forcing his eyes away once more to focus his mind on piratical cogitations.  He 
questioned once more about the chest of his original intent to which Hannah and 
Laura unlocked and opened the chest.
 
What was revealed to be inside did not glitter as gold but shone like polished 
alabaster stone.  Monetarily the treasures inside were little worthy of any 
effort, though practically they could afford a great many hours entertainment.  
Shining brightly in the rising sun of dawn the four of them admired the sleek 
design of the implements and the exquisite flowing designs.  Aesthetically the 
dildoes were quite magnificent, yet Falsestaff and Ouef knew nothing of their 
practical value.   
 
On noticing the great significance of the phallic substitutes, Falsestaff 
quipped: “So you love each other as men never could?” To which Hannah and Laura 
replied the only way in which they could have, with song. 
 
“We love each other as men never could.
Consumed with passion for each we love.
And dotingly,
By false means we share.”
 
The high-pitched fluty voices enraptured the buccaneers who simply stared as 
Hannah climbed daintily into a patent leather harness and attached a 
particularly impressive looking phallus of the same colour.  After this brief 
respite, the song continued thus:
 
“We feast upon the vigil.
Crying only songs of love.
And tenderly,
We have each other so.”  
 
Laura was by now on her hands and knees, her golden tresses slung over one side 
allowing all to witness the other side of her delicately smooth skin.  Just as 
Falsestaff had wasted little time when initially poling Hannah with his false 
staff, so Hannah now fell to her knees and dexterously placed the head of the 
implement at Laura’s waiting hole before plunging deep and driving home her own 
satisfaction.  
 
Laura rolled her hips and bucked her body in response, though not in unison with 
Hannah’s determined drilling.  Falsestaff could only look on with great awe 
while Jacques was pumping away himself, with the aid of nobody.
 
“Ready for the second course?” Threw Jacques, which though not up to his normal 
standard was the best he could manage in the height of his second great heated 
passion.  He threw his, smaller though still mightily substantial and highly 
worthy, second course at the strumpets.  This time he simply sprayed them and 
gave the pair a light glaze of love-honey.
 
What followed then surprised Ouef and Falsestaff and at first seemed to register 
as pure fear and anxiety in Hannah and Laura though revealed itself shortly to 
be only anticipation, which grew to great delight.  It was clear from their 
shining, giggling countenances that Laura and Hannah were enjoying the sensation 
that coursed through their bodies.  Hannah wriggled quickly from the harness and 
hurried to the edge of the boat to where Laura was waiting, perched seductively 
upon the port side with crossed legs and rippling flesh.  The pair hugged each 
other gently as they each experienced a painless metamorphosis from ravishing 
wench through a pseudo- metempsychosis into seductive mermaid.
 
Though now with not so many holes to plunder or orifices to explore they lacked 
in practical allure, at least for the pragmatic Falsestaff, they were still 
possessed of astonishing beauty.  They then each pulled the other over the side 
of the boat and left a pair of stunned pirates alone on Spunknik.
 
The two beauteous undines gracefully leapt from wave to wave, diving into the 
water and leaping out again to bask momentarily in the light.  The cool 
salt-water only served to tauten their skin and make their well-placed nipples 
stand out more greatly upon their magnificent chests.
 
“Yarr how this vain travail hath wearied me so sore.  When shall the day come 
that the gods shall say ‘Jack, you shall seek no more’?”
“How now Sir John,” quoth he, “what man, be of good cheer.”
“Yes, you’re right Jacques.  You may be French, but you are right. Let the 
mermaids lure, let the winds of never before blow.”
 
Jacques and Falsestaff then stuffed the contents of the plunder wherever was 
possible about their person and managed to find a way to swing back up to the 
higher plain constituting the deck on the Sexy Muthafucka.  The contents of the 
chest were handed over to Jizelle and Quickly who were delighted to find amongst 
the horde a pair of French maids outfits.