The Island, Chapter 28

Chapter 28


Morning dawned cool and clear, no sign of rain yet. I stretched mightily, rolling onto my back and contemplating the palm trees. Birds were whizzing around already, calling to each other loudly. Even as I was pondering the amazing string of events that had led me here, thanking fate for bringing me some of the most amazing experiences of my life, Gabrielle’s sweet face appeared above me.

“Bon matin, Dave’” she whispered. “It is time for petit dejeuner—breakfast.”

She must be adjusting to island life, as she seems to be getting up earlier every day, I thought as she lay down next to me and I rolled onto my side, my back still pressed against Janie’s sleeping form. I accepted her nipple in my mouth, closed my eyes, and started the day off right.

After draining her right side, she shifted forward slightly and gave me access to the left. I was sporting an enormous woody by now, and she must have seen the tent in my shorts, for she reached down and freed my cock and began stroking it slowly as I suckled her. Jets of sweet, warm milk squirted out of her firm young breast into my mouth, and I breathed a sigh of contentment as she jerked me off. I wriggled away from Janie slightly, so as not to wake her as Gabrielle’s hand job became more aggressive. I slid my hand between my milky maid’s thighs and caressed her warm mound through her thin shorts. It was apparent she had nothing on underneath, and I quickly worked my way under the damp cotton and buried my fingers in her dripping snatch. I frigged her pussy furiously, trying to catch her up to my advanced state of arousal quickly. I ground the heel of my hand against her hairy mons, feeling the nub of her clit rocking side to side as I stuffed two fingers in and out of her warm snatch. She was moaning softly as I gently chewed on her teat, and an answering moan of my own escaped my lips as I began jetting streams of white semen onto the sand next to my blanket. Her whole body shook as I strained to reach her G-spot with my flailing fingers, succeeding in bringing her to climax even as I drained the last of her milk from her now-empty tit.

The lovely Frenchwoman rolled onto her back, gasping for breath as her heart rate slowly returned to normal. “Ahh, Mon Dieu! she groaned hoarsely. “I never tire of that feeling. L’orgasme, c’est plus merveilleux!” Her hand was still stroking my softening prick slowly, milking the last drops of jizz onto the sand. She gave me one last squeeze as she got to her feet, pulling her shirt down over those succulent, dripping melons. She blew me a kiss and walked away, hips swaying seductively as she smiled at me over her shoulder.

I smiled myself, thinking: Life is good, n’est ce pas? I sat up, stretching again, and brought my glazed fingers to my nose, inhaling the sublime scent of pussy. Better than coffee to wake up to! I licked them clean, savoring every drop of her feminine ambrosia. When I was finished, I stood up, looking down at the still snoring Janie. Her arm was around Jared, her hair tousled and covering half of her face. I remembered her promise of more excitement to come, and chuckled fondly. What an incredible woman!

I decided to make a karma deposit, and took the raft out into the lagoon for some fishing. I enjoyed the solitude for an hour or so, returning with a bucket full of fish, of which there seemed to be an endless supply. Beaching the raft, I was greeted by William and Brandon, who helped me pull it up onto the sand.

“Are we going to have a class today?” William asked eagerly, flipping his blond hair out of his eyes.

“Absolutely,” I said. “How about just before lunch?”

“Sounds good,” agreed Brandon.

“How about I show you guys how to clean fish? Would you mind helping me?”

“Sure,” Brandon agreed, William nodding assent. The two of them carried the bucket of fish down to the end of the beach where the reef started, and I met them there with several knives. It was fortunate that one of the passengers—one of the late resisters of the hijacking—had been into knives. He had packed an arsenal, along with a couple of whetstones to keep them sharp. Harking back to some of my dad’s lessons from childhood family camping trips, I showed the boys how to clean and gut the fish. They were fascinated by the entrails, and I had to restrain them from getting into a fish-gut fight.

“Hey! Save those!” I laughed. “We use them for bait to catch more. You want to eat, don’t you?” They apologized and returned the offal to the bucket. I returned to the mess hall and dumped the guts into a plastic bag kept for the purpose, that we stored in the shade, tied off tightly. The boys washed our fish filets and brought them to the cooking area, while I started the fire from last night’s embers.

William tried to force a hunk of raw fish into Brandon’s mouth, shouting “You know you want sushi! It’s in your blood!”

“You idiot!” the other boy yelled. “I’m Chinese, not Japanese. Anyway, my parents are white. I’m adopted and I grew up in Maryland.”

I broke up the good-natured scuffle and collected the fish from them. One of the hippies had fashioned a wire grill out of metal, and I cooked some of the filets on this with a little garnish of mango and coconut, and some of Anjali’s herbs. I left most of them uncooked, for the next group to wake, and served the boys their food. I carried two plates and a shirt full of fruit over to Janie and Jared, and we ate together happily, planning the day’s events.