by Nicole Dere
The swirl of hot air and the blast of fine blown sand brought us back to our senses as the small helicopter lifted from the level stretch of short coarse grass above the dazzling white beach, and headed off, dark against the sun, back to the distant mainland.
But our gaze was drawn again to the captivating vision of the girl, and now to her pertly rolling buttocks in particular as she led the way to a huddled group of squat, grass-roofed buildings, the modest exteriors of which belied the luxury inside. She was not apparently in the least bit embarrassed by our presence or gawping expressions, or by the grinning porters who were carrying our luggage, and whose modesty was assured by the khaki shorts they wore.
And another surprise awaited us on the low veranda of smoothly polished concrete. There was another naked figure, a slim young man this time, whose hair, both on his scalp and at the base of his flat belly, though a lot darker than Sas’s, had the same sun-kissed appearance to fit with the deep mahogany tan of his skin.
But it was not all this that gripped my attention. No, it was his paler penis hanging down between his thighs, a good five inches at least in length though it was perfectly flaccid. And at the tip of its helmet, which was completely exposed, was affixed a gleaming ring of silver metal.
‘This is Pete,’ Sas told us cheerfully. ‘He’ll also help to make your stay as comfortable and pleasurable as possible. He’s available for anything you need, at all times, ladies,’ she said, her tone heavily laden with inference. ‘And I mean anything.’
I giggled like a teenager, but managed to wrench my gaze away from that impressive penis as he held out his hand. Like the girl, his brown eyes showed no trace of embarrassment at his nakedness.
‘That’s right, ladies,’ he said, smiling confidently, ‘if there’s any way I can serve you, don’t hesitate to ask.’
I giggled again rather foolishly, my mind already running riot.
‘And does that go for you too, Sas?’ Jack asked. ‘Are you available for anything we need, at all times?’
The lovely girl stared levelly at him, her look implying it was a silly question. ‘Of course it does, Mr Kinsella,’ she said. ‘Or do you mind if I call you Jack? I’d like it if we could be on first name terms from the outset.’ She moved closer to him as she spoke, so that those lovely breasts of hers were practically grazing his arm, and knowing my husband like I did, I could almost hear his cock straining to get out of his trousers.
And it wasn’t long before it made its escape. ‘When in Rome,’ Jack crowed happily a few minutes later, when we had surveyed our new quarters. The buildings were a series of bungalows; all fitted out with wonderfully furnished accommodations, including tiled toilets and bathrooms, in spite of the primitive, unspoilt surroundings. He was already throwing off his clothes, and we did the same at once.
There was a long communal dining area on the edge of the beach, with paved flooring and without walls, its grass roof supported on stout wooden pillars. The local natives, of a pleasing golden brown complexion, paler than the darker skinned inhabitants of the mainland, supplied the plentiful domestic staff.
And despite the length of time we had gone unclothed during our captivity, I found myself attacked by an awkward shyness, and I could see Jane was feeling the same way as the smiling natives gazed frankly at us. The slender men all wore cheap colourful sarongs or shorts, and the girls wore sarongs too, which dipped at the front to allow the graceful little pout of their bellies to show. They were bare breasted, and that helped Jane and I to feel a little better. It seemed strange, though, that only the white folk went completely naked here. However, there was a lot that was strange in our new environment, as we were to learn very soon, over the next few days.
After a long and excellently cooked and served lunch, washed down with small bottles of iced French beer, Jack rose without preamble and reached for Sas’s hand; she and Peter had eaten with us. It was clear that they were recognised by the servants as superiors, and seemed to be in overall charge while Lord Staith was away. ‘Let’s make a start on getting better acquainted,’ Jack said to Sas, smiling broadly.
I coloured uncomfortably at his bluntness, and was annoyed that he seemed to think, probably because of all we had been through and done together, that it was now okay to be promiscuous – or selfish, as I considered it – without consulting or considering me or my feelings. It also put Carl and Jane in an awkward position, but the experience we had all been through seemed to have changed Jack more than we three… and not necessarily changed him for the better, I might add.
But without hesitation, Sas rose with alluring nubile grace, letting him lead her back up the short sloping beaten track, through the tall coconut palms, towards our designated bungalow.
Jack then turned at the top of the track, and called back to our male host. ‘Help yourself, Peter. Feel free to entertain them as you like.’ He nodded carelessly at the three of us trying to relax on the low sun-loungers, and my blood boiled. An angry retort sprang to mind, but it did not pass my lips. One thing I had learned during my long stint as a hostage and a sex slave was self-control.
Peter was smiling, looking at us politely, waiting, and in a daredevil mood that was part defiance at Jack’s careless proprietorship, I got up off the lounger. ‘Yes, I think I’d like you to “entertain” me a little, Peter,’ I said daringly. Well, if it was good for Jack, it was good for me! ‘And why don’t you and Carl come along?’ I said to Jane, but she just looked back at me, her brown eyes wide and troubled as she tried to shade them from the sun with her hand.
Peter stepped smoothly into the moment of awkwardness. ‘Come on,’ he urged Jane warmly, ‘it’ll be fun.’ Then smiling with undeniable charm he offered his hand, and Jane reached up to take it, letting him lift her up from the recliner. His invitation was also extended to the silent Carl, and all four of us headed up the track – not, I observed with satisfaction, to our bungalow, where Jack had taken Sas, but to an identical one across the sparse, cropped lawn.
And Peter was right; it did turn out to be fun – immense fun – and certainly different. Peter proved to be an accomplished lover; an ability he ably demonstrated several times to both Jane and me during the hot, passionate hours of the afternoon, which did not exclude Carl, despite the noticeable contrast between his average penis and Peter’s lusty member. For the moment Jack was forgotten, and the sun had long disappeared into the ocean before exhaustion brought our fun to an end.
‘Ohhh…’ I groaned when Peter had departed and Carl, Jane and I were lying in companionable weariness in a bath full of fragrant foam. ‘What a way to go! I am well and truly shattered!’
So it was not really surprising that, after a wonderful dinner, we lay under the stars – Jack had rejoined us by then – too pleasantly worn out to do anything except talk idly and drink exotic cocktails. Sas and Peter told us some more about our host, which only added to our intrigue, and nervousness, at the prospect of our imminent introduction to him.
‘He’s a fine master,’ Sas declared easily, though I’m sure she was well aware of the verbal bombshell she had tossed with that last word. We echoed it in astonishment, and she gave a seductively musical chuckle. ‘Oh yes indeed, we belong to him,’ she confirmed mischievously, ‘don’t we, Peter?
‘That’s exactly what he is,’ she went on without awaiting his response, ‘our master. And you’ll find he has a number of others like us. He owns us all. We’re his slaves, you see.’
At that moment, hearing her innocently silky voice declare such things, and gazing upon the equally innocently beautiful visage from whence the words came, I felt my naked body tremble from head to toe. It was a shiver of… what, exactly? Was it fear? Yes, I think it certainly was. But it was something else too; something deep, a purely instinctive reaction, a frisson of excitement, of something lodged deep inside my core.
Chapter 22
‘I think his lordship would rather see you as nature intended, babe. After all, you’ve got nothing to be asha
med of. Has she, Sas?’
My eyes widened at Jack’s careless words, and I gazed at the steady features of the lovely girl as she agreed wholeheartedly with him. He had spent most of the three days we had been on Kendu closeted away with her, and already there was an exclusive intimacy between them that stung me with a combined sense of resentment, jealously, and injustice. But then there would be, I thought, because he was my husband and he was effectively being unfaithful to me right under my nose, and somehow using our predicament and what we’d been through as justification for his behaviour. At least, he was justifying it to himself, if not to the rest of us.
Her sparkling blue eyes slid away from mine diplomatically, and I knew she was well aware of what was going through my turbulent mind.
‘You too, Jane,’ Jack said, with that beaming grin of his which did not disguise the baldness of what was clearly an order.
Jane blushed, but to my discomfort she reached back and groped for the zip fastener on the flowered sundress she was wearing. Carefully she removed the garment, easing it from her breasts, which were already acquiring a pale creamy tan. The white triangle of her thong briefs just covered her mound, and I could see the misty shadow of her pubic hair through the fine material.
Her thumbs hooked into the bootlace thin straps at her hips and slipped the tiny cover down her shapely legs. They tangled in the light sandals, which she also slipped off as she flipped the knickers off her feet. ‘Is that better?’ she asked uncertainly, yet she had not even hesitated to carry out his command. What on earth, I wondered, was happening to us? I hurried to strip off the dress and knickers I had chosen with such care only minutes ago to meet Lord Staith for the first time.
‘What about Carl?’ I asked maliciously, and immediately regretted my wickedness, especially when Jack glanced across at the silent figure, who was wearing a smart, short sleeved shirt and white linen slacks. My husband’s wolfish smile broadened.
‘Sure. Come on, buddy boy. Get your kit off and let’s feast our eyes on that cute little dodger of yours.’ I choked back my protest as Carl swiftly divested himself of what little clothing he had on and came and stood close to Jane and me. ‘That’s better. Let’s go.’ Jack slapped playfully at my behind, and Jane’s, and then threw his arms about our shoulders and led us into the blazing sunshine, and down onto the hot white sand. The planks of the short jetty were equally hot beneath our bare feet as we stood nervously and watched the dazzling white hull of the yacht approach.
Any discomfort or embarrassment was quickly forgotten as we gazed open-mouthed at the spectacle that presented itself. As the elegant vessel nosed alongside, we saw that its crew consisted of five beautiful white girls, all as naked as we were. Except that they weren’t white, but a subtle variety of richly tanned shades as comprehensive as that of the lovely Sas, and equally entrancing to behold. They skipped lithely about the deck, and two leapt ashore over the narrow gap between the boat’s side and the quay and made fast the mooring ropes. The only male member of the crew appeared to be the grizzled face we could see at the window of the neat bridge, who nodded with curt satisfaction at the able performance of his exotic subordinates.
With the boat safely docked, all five girls sprang ashore and stood in line, like a guard of honour, all smartly at attention, arms rigidly at their sides, eyes staring straight ahead. My gaze travelled with rapid appreciation over their differing but attractive proportions. Then I stared in fascination as the sun sent a twinkling, identical sparkle from the neat tufts of pubic hair, and I saw five small silver rings fixed through the upper folds of their labia. I was still gawping when I heard a rich, plummy chuckle and our host came into sight and stepped over the short gangplank.
What first struck me about this legendary figure was the boyish twinkle of mischief in the grey eyes, the exuberant, roly-poly joy of life he exuded. There was an air of innocence about him, a childlike enthusiasm which belied his obviously mature years. His ruddy features were plain and rounded, his grey hair was cut extremely short, and so thin on top that the pink of his scalp showed through. But his skin was smooth, fragrant, witness to the extensive grooming it habitually received, from the elite corps of retainers he took around the world with him. He was short, only a couple of inches taller than me, and plump. He made no effort to hide his less than athletic shape. Rather, he seemed to derive much pleasure from it. His belly thrust out like a woman in an advanced stage of pregnancy, contrasting with the small daintiness of his limbs, his perfectly tended hands and feet.
And it was all on show, for, beneath an ornate cloak slung loosely over his shoulders, held at the front by a gold chain and clasp, and reaching down at the back to just below his chubby buttocks, he wore nothing but a pouch, just fitted snugly over his genitals – a tiny cache-sexe of the softest leather and studded with sparkling points of light we discovered later really were diamonds. A black string at his hips secured this miniscule cover over his penis and testicles, joined by another at the back that hid deep in the crack of his backside. The cloak was a rich reddish brown colour, with intricate designs sewn into it. We learnt that it was woven by the islanders, and was the symbol of his authority as a paramount chief over them. Apart from these two items, the only other clothing he wore was a simple, very cheap pair of rubber thonged sandals, flip-flops you could buy at any street stall for a few cents.
The twinkling gaze passed over Jane and me like a caress I could almost feel. He came towards us with outstretched arms and hugged us to his body. His belly was like a tight drum against me. His hands slid down, clutched at my bottom, massaging each cheek with cosy intimacy. His lips brushed mine and his tongue flickered swiftly between my teeth and was gone again just as quickly.
‘Delighted to meet you at last!’ that rich voice welcomed us, with apparently sincere warmth. He turned to Jack and gripped his hand firmly. ‘Your girls are absolutely exquisite,’ he beamed, and my gaze flicked over to Jane in silent comment at our relegation to collective ownership.
‘Oh, I say!’ Another of his deep chuckles diverted my thoughts. His lordship was staring delightedly at the white figure of Carl, who for once looked a little discomfited. His hands twitched, and I thought for one second he was going to close them over that sweet cock of his, but they clenched into fists, and he kept them stiffly at his sides, rather like the female boat’s crew still standing waiting to be dismissed.
I was nonplussed. We all adjourned to the open dining area and began a splendid lunch in what seemed to be jolly camaraderie at the long table, with his lordship at its head, Sas and Peter, ourselves, the naked girls from the boat, and the male skipper and engineer. Yet it was clear from the first that Staith considered Jane, Carl and me, as subservient to Jack. I wanted to say something, to speak out, to correct him of this misconception, yet some instinct warned me to keep quiet. Not here, I reassured myself, accustomed to keeping silent and doing what I was told to avoid potentially unpleasant repercussions. And this place was a whole new enigma. Everything seemed nice enough on the surface, but I had learned to mistrust appearances. So I held my tongue. I would not confront Jack about his behaviour yet, not yet, not in public like this. But later, in private, I would let my husband know in no uncertain terms that we would not be treated like this.
I felt tense, even a little faint and sick inside, despite the splendid food and copious amounts of drink. I found I was keeping silent, responding only to the questions directed at me, letting Jack do all the talking for us as though he really did own us. And Jane was no better. She was letting him get away with it, too. He was like some cocky pimp and we were his girls, helpless to do anything about our situation.
And then I discovered that I had drunk a lot more wine than I realised. Without warning, I could feel my face glowing and my head spinning, and it added unpleasantly to the slightly nauseous sensation in my stomach. So I reached across and tapped Jane’s arm. ‘I need to go to the bathroom,’ I whispered. ‘Come with me.’
But as we rose, some
what unsteadily, Staith glanced up with that beneficent, rosy smile. ‘Girls, take Moira and Jane over to your quarters,’ he said to his collection of attentive beauties. ‘Have a good old chat. Get to know each other a little better, and we’ll see you later.’
We had been dismissed, I thought haughtily, but found myself being led away, surrounded by all that lovely female flesh, with much giggling and bumping of hips against hips and breasts against arms. The girls took us to a building right at the edge of the beach.
‘I – I wasn’t joking back there,’ I said. ‘I must have a pee. I’m bursting. I – I need a pee before I have an accident.’
‘And you’re not the only one,’ giggled one of the girls, ‘so do I!’ And amidst chirpy laughter, we were hustled to the bathroom, and then stopped, staring in wonder from the doorway. There was a row of lavatory pedestals along one wall, and along another a row of bidets. Several washbasins, in the same pristinely shining porcelain, stood in snug neighbourliness under the wide expanse of a mirror. At the other side of the room were three bathtubs, then a tiled recess with a row of showers. And, most significantly, all this had been built with not one compartment or dividing screen between any of the sanitary facilities.
Mags, who was apparently the senior member of this unique crew, made straight for the nearest toilet and sat down upon it, with an inviting wave. ‘Come on, help yourself,’ she beckoned, and then sighed blissfully, and I heard the strong hiss as she urinated. She was the tallest and most statuesque of all the girls. Her breasts were full, ripe with promise, and her shoulders square, the muscles outlined on her arms and her firm thighs in a way that reminded me of Nicky. I paused, glanced helplessly round at Jane, but then realised I was now in dire need to relieve myself. Beggars could not be choosers, so I hastily sat on the lavatory next to Mags, and thankfully did just that. In a second Jane was next to me, and then all seats were occupied as we squatted companionably.