Pleasure Island [The Chronicles of Lidir]

by Aran Ashe

  They lay for a long while intertwined. Ikahiti's hand reached down between them and Anya felt a tiny stab of pain and they were separated. The woman and the girl had gone. So had the man. Ikahiti sat up. She looked anxious. It was the first time Anya had seen her that way. Anya felt very uneasy. The sun was low, a golden pillar of light striking through the long shadows of the trees. Then there came noises, low whoops and cries and higher pitched squeals and sounds of something crashing through the bushes. 'Chiriri! Rinyi!' Ikahiti hissed, her eyes now wide with terror, for sweeping swiftly towards them were many bronze-skinned men.

  [12]

  Taboo

  Ikahiti ran but Anya, not quick enough in pursuit, was tackled and brought to the ground. Her captor fell on top of her and they ploughed into the sand. She screamed and kicked his legs but the bronzed arms held her tightly, confidently about the waist. She could hear the screams of other women and from the corner of her eye, she could see Ikahiti, half crouched and backing away with her broad knife drawn. Anya shouted for help. No help was forthcoming; Ikahiti turned again and ran as other men appeared and gathered round. And once again it was clear, from the murmurs of surprise, that these people had never seen a woman like her. The man let go of her and crouched back on his haunches. Anya lay on her side, her dishevelled red hair flecked with yellow sand, her freckled black-tipped bosom swelling with her rapid breathing, while her captors murmured and stared. Hardly daring to look up at the figures towering above her, her frightened eyes darted round from one pair of legs to the next, waiting for someone to make a move. But as the conversation continued above her head, her eyes timorously moved up.

  The men were completely naked: they wore no jewellery or shells; they did not even carry a knife. She was struck not only by the bronzeness of their skin, but by the slimness of their bodies, and not all of them were young. Some had grey hair - on their heads - for, like the women, they had no belly hair. Her gaze drifted across the bareness between their legs and to the thick bronze fleshy stems that nestled against large round heavy-looking equally naked ballocks. As the men talked and shifted their stance, these fleshy appendages would move, expanding slightly or retracting and despite her fear, or perhaps because of it, her attention was constantly drawn. She began to imagine things - there seemed so many of these men. What might they make her do? What would it be like to be made to take these very large bare ballocks between her open thighs?

  One of the older men bent over her and stroked her ankle. She tugged it away, but the hand moved quickly and caught it easily. 'No!' she cried, 'Let go!' and again there was surprise, at her tongue.

  'Tirishu, sahu-lata?' said the man. 'Sahu-lata, shirin otei?'

  Not knowing what he was saying only made her anxiety worse. 'Let go of me!' she cried again. But each time she tried to pull her foot away, his naked cockstem stirred. He drew up the captive foot and touched its sole against him. When Anya felt the warm clinging skin of those naked ballocks touch her, she screamed and broke away and tried to escape across the sand. Laughing now, the man caught her again around the waist and began to rub his hand against her belly. Then he murmured in surprise. His hand moved down; she tried to close her thighs. 'Tika, shin -' he whispered, then turned to his friends. 'Shiniki!' They crowded round. 'Shiniki,' they concurred as her legs were opened. Anya tensed. His fingertip brushed the black lips, then touched the ring; again she squirmed and tried to pull away. 'Shiniki,' said the man softly, almost reverently and with Anya's leg uplifted and her ankle collared by his hand, he touched the ring again. And at that light touch, while she watched his bare stem lifting and throbbing between his legs, her belly overturned. The man stood up. Before she knew what had happened, he had swept her up in his arms and slung her effortlessly over his shoulder.

  'Tika, shirin,' he reprimanded when she kicked at first, then he held her with one arm locked firmly round the backs of her knees and the other resting over his shoulder and on her lower back. Then they were off, running quickly through the trees, with her knees against his taut belly, her bare breasts bobbing against the smooth bronze back and his short grey bristly hair rubbing against her side. And all that she could see as she looked down were the tight muscular buttocks tensing as the slim legs carried her across the sand then around an inlet and away from the village.

  She was taken, along with perhaps eight or ten other girls who had been captured, through the arched gap in the far ridge that Miriri had pointed out that morning. Beyond it, the failing sun illuminated a cluster of huts which appeared to float in the middle of a lake or lagoon. But they could be reached on foot across a kind of floating bridge. When the party arrived, the women were distributed. There was much argument about Anya. In the end, the man who had carried her took her into a large hut which seemed to be subdivided into at least two rooms. In the centre of the first one was a bright fire and though the hut must have been built on a wooden platform, the visible floor was sand. He pointed to a heap of leaves beyond the fire. 'Lakita,' he said, but she knew well that it was a bed without him telling her and she would not sit upon it, nor even move in its direction. She stood firm. She refused. When she stared at him defiantly, his eyes sparkled and he stood before her with arms folded and head tilted to the side, then he shrugged at her and left.

  On her own now, she knew not what to do. She looked askance at the curtained outer doorway. Should she try to leave? She glanced around the room. Unlike Miriri's hut, this place was bare of any decoration; there were only the fire and the bed, some pots and some spears standing against the wall. She walked over to these spears and picked one up to examine it. Perhaps she could use it - to threaten them at least - when they returned? Then she remembered that they had carried no weapons during their raid, and she thought that rather strange. Clutching the spear, she advanced through the gap in the reed partition and into the inner room. It was dark, but it too was almost empty apart from a bed of leaves, and there was no other exit that she could see.

  She was still standing at the entrance to this inner room when the grey-haired man came back. Automatically and defensively, she turned and her hand still held the spear. 'Keep away!' She held it up, setting her jaw and jabbing the spear towards him. He said nothing in reply, but drew his shoulders back, which made his chest expand. Anya became more worried still as he stepped forwards, causing the point of the spear to press against the bare unwrinkled skin in the centre of his chest. His eyes were unflinching; hers were not. Her arm, very stiff now from fear, moved involuntarily in a tiny nervous jerk. She gasped and her mouth stayed open - she had not the strength to close it when she saw what she had done. From the indentation at the point of the spear, a thick droplet of blood welled and trickled down the centre line of his chest, towards his belly. The spear was so sharp that that one small movement had pierced him. He glanced down at the spearpoint and the welling line of blood, then again fixed her with his gaze. But he did not move back. Her arm, so stiff before, felt suddenly boneless as she stared into those dark and penetrating eyes. She had wounded him and he had let her do it, without retaliation. The spear dropped to the ground and Anya almost followed it as the blood continued welling. Her eyes alone - wide, liquefying into two thick teardrops that refused to break and run - begged for forgiveness; she could not otherwise move.

  His eyes expanded to engulf her. His lips moved: 'Aniya,' he said and his fingers lifted and touched the long red strand of her hair that lay across the upper arm that had held the spear. How did he know her name? 'Aniya,' he said again and the fingers touched the skin upon the muscle of that same arm that had now gone very limp indeed. 'Shanam,' he said and pointed to himself and smiled. But his fingertips, where they had touched his breast, were smeared with blood. He smiled again and shrugged, but she could not smile back at a man she had only just stabbed, not when she couldn't even find the strength to apologise to him.

  Then another man came in, much younger, also slim but slightly taller, with matt black hair. 'Ranil,' said Shanam. Anya looked fro
m one completely naked body to the other and watched Shanam point out, seemingly with pride, the dark red runnel down his middle. As Shanam pronounced again that word, 'Shiniki,' in a hesitant whisper which seemed to bear such considerable meaning, though Anya did not understand it, she watched the other's eyes drink her in and the thick stem thicken between his legs and she had to will her body to breathe. Her breathing was slowing to a pace where it could not keep up with her heartbeat and she felt as if her belly was turning over. Yet she did not move. She just stood there until Shanam pointed to the bed again. That brought her to her senses. He tried to take her hand.

  'Tika! No ...' she said and stretching both hands out, fingers spread, backed away. Shanam smiled disarmingly and Anya became afraid that the word she had shouted might have been wrong or incorrectly applied in this context.

  'Lak -' he began.

  'Keep away! No!' she snapped, trusting her grasp of native words no more. The younger one folded his arms. Shanam took another step towards her and she backed through the doorway of the partition and stood shaking in the half-darkness. She could hear voices outside the hut now, laughter - women's laughter, not screams of terror or pain - and that only added to her consternation. Why were they laughing, when the men had attacked the camp and when Ikahiti had run away in such a state of fear? When Anya glared at Shanam, he shrugged again and turned, tapped his companion on the shoulder and both men went away, murmuring to each other.

  And now she felt quite terrible. The spear had been so sharp - she could have killed him. Yet she felt certain they would return; it seemed to be a game to them. Again she wondered how he had known her name. It could only have been gleaned from the other women, she decided; they had probably told him all about her. But why were the women laughing when Ikahiti had been so afraid? Anya wished she had paid more attention to what Miriri had been trying to explain that morning - had she known the men would come? Anyway, game or no, Anya would not acquiesce in what Shanam and his friend wanted. She marched to the curtain in the main doorway, flinging it aside, expecting to see the camp fires and people dancing round. But all she saw was a heavy wooden batter blocking the way. It would not move. She was a prisoner after all. She retreated into the smaller room, sat on the pile of leaves, then got up again, retrieved the spear and hid it behind the doorway. Why the spear should reassure her, she did not know, because she could never use it now that she had seen what it could do. She felt exhausted; her eyes smarted; she needed sleep, but she could not risk letting her eyelids close.

  It was much later when they did return and Anya already felt very hungry. As soon as she heard the obstacle being moved aside, she was standing by the inner doorway with one hand round the shaft of the spear, waiting. Shanam glanced in her direction, but neither man approached her; they now had another guest who had commandeered their attention.

  The village girl looked small beside Ranil; her wide eyes stared around the hut as if she found its meagre contents totally absorbing. Her eyes met Anya's for a second, then slid away as if she found her less interesting than the patterns of the reeds matted into the wall. Shanam placed sticks upon the fire and the smoke billowed up through the narrow vent in the middle of the roof, she seemed to find that simple action quite intriguing too, commenting to him, presumably about it, raising her head as she stood above him and drawing her shoulders back until her small round breasts pushed out between the crosswise necklaces of shells. And from behind, Ranil also watched her. She looked over her shoulder, addressing him now, then raised herself on tiptoes, so her bottom pushed out roundly and the bronze skin on one side reflected the firelight, then she overbalanced and Ranil caught her - or she fell into his arms. They laughed and began to kiss.

  Anya looked towards Shanam, who continued to tend the fire. She gripped the spear tightly, for he was looking at her, she was sure: though his head was down, she could see his eyes glinting, as if he were waiting to make a move. Then he sat up on his haunches, looking at the couple above him and there was something about his posture, his bearing and his looks - he was attractive; Anya found him so; she admitted this to herself: There was a confidence in his slimly muscled body, a calmness in his gaze and a memory in her mind - of the way he had looked at her when that accident had happened, of the way he had touched her hair. He had not forced himself upon her. He looked at her now; she saw again the cut on his chest. Again she began to tremble; she wanted to heal this cut; she wanted him to hold her. She knew that she would not refuse him again. And that thought - that she would give herself willingly, that she would hold this person in her arms and take his flesh inside her body - made her shudder. Her hand released the spear. He was coming over to her, closer and closer, while she could not blink now, could not lift her arms. But he took them - each of her hands - so tenderly and held them while he stared into her eyes. She moved her head back slightly, parted her trembling lips and closed her eyes. Her breasts and belly tingled with delicious anticipation. 'Aniya ...' he whispered. In reply, she pressed her cheek against his breast. He had not kissed her. She kissed the place that she had wounded. Then she opened her eyes. 'Shirin - sitika, tika-sin,' he murmured and again he touched her hair.

  Lifting her, he carried her and placed her on the bed of leaves. Languorously, she stretched. He turned her on her side, to face the wall; she felt the backs of his fingers brushing against her lower back. She curled her head down and wrapped her arms about her breast. Her heart was thumping slowly, holding itself in reserve, waiting to quicken when he took her. He whispered to her, 'Tika,' over and over; her heart slowed; she was soothed. The tickling became gentler; she could hear the sounds of lovemaking next door; they stirred her in her belly. Encouraging him now, her upper leg crooked and lifted up the bed and across the soft leaves. The fingertips stroked down her newly exposed inner thigh, crept beneath and touched the ring with a lightness that was delicious, then moved back to brush more faintly still, upwards on her back. She heard another murmur - her own, though she did not know it - then everything dissolved in blackness and the fingertips were gone.

  When she opened her eyes again, all was silent; when nothing happened, she turned over to find the room empty. She must have dozed. Then the sounds came again from beyond the partition. Slowly, Anya lay down again and waited, and thought about it - had he wanted her to sleep? - and listened to the soft low musical sounds of pleasure, but listened now with an analytical ear, dissecting every composite note for the number of musicians. Eventually, she could bear it no more and crept to the doorway, then stood like a statue watching the figures bathed in the continuous glow of the remaining fire and illuminated by occasional flickers as the half-burnt logs flared anew.

  The movements were smooth and slow, almost dreamlike, for the bodies were heavy with pleasure - the men kneeling, their slimness counterweighted by the curving thickness of their stems; the girl, beneath them and between them, on her side, her breasts looking fuller now, the nipples looking thicker, the belly pushed out harder. Ranil, at her head, was lifting her breasts, cradling them and gently playing with her nipples. They were wet, as was his stem, which her fingers continued to touch; a band of shiny slickness coated its underside and had spread across his ballocks. Shanam touched the hard white bone projection between her open legs, which at one point moved involuntarily as he petted. He turned to stroking the insides of her thighs. When they had steadied, he lifted her upper ankle to make her turn on to her back then, placing both of her feet down flat, he pushed her ankles back until her knees were bent so tightly that her belly formed an arch above the bed. Again he massaged the bone; it now pushed out rather further from beneath its fleshy hood, which, like her nipples and the paint-pricked naked flesh lips flaring out and down to either side, shone with a wetness as of oil. But Anya knew the wetness was not oil. Shanam rolled the bone very slowly between thumb and finger, then waited, holding it still, and watched the pushed-out belly swell as if the girl were with child then wane again as she regained control and her breathing ste
adied and slowed.

  Her heavy necklaces lay by Anya's feet; they had been dropped on the floor where Shanam had joined Ranil and the men had finally stripped her before lifting her in their arms and carrying her to the bed of leaves where she lay now, bare-sex naked apart from that small piece of polished bone secured by a thread of wire through her nubbin. And Shanam, a look of concentration on his face, touched this bone again; the finger, rubbed it as if it were a cock and the girl responded as if the rubbing of that cock would make her come. So Shanam now desisted and cupped his palm upon the surface of the belly that had pushed again until it looked as if it were pregnant and, slipping his other hand beneath her bottom, turned her on to her other side. Ranil moved round and her small hand closed around his stem again near its base. Shanam turned his attentions to her back. His fingertips moved in a circle on the smoothness near the base of her spine - the small flat place where Anya loved to be tickled - so Anya could almost feel that tickling too, and she could feel the wanting very much more surely. Still they had not seen her; she dared not move lest she should interrupt them, but she could smell their body scents - the girl's and much more strongly, the men's - she had smelled the milt when first she had stepped into the room and now that the girl had been turned, she could see its slickness on her belly. For how long had this been going on while Anya was asleep? She looked again at the large full bag between Shanam's legs as he climbed behind the girl. The girl's free hand reached back, searched down his belly, slipped under his cock and took this full bag lovingly, weighed it in her small cupped palm and squeezed it, making Anya shudder. She stayed very still and watched.