sss Island

sss Island by Lance Edwards ISBN: 978-1-942331-55-1 A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication Copyright © 2015, All rights reserved With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers. For information contact: Pink Flamingo Publications www.pinkflamingo.com P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083 USA Email Comments: comments@pinkflamingo.com Prologue The Chase Begins “Run, sacrificial one!” The voice of the High Priestess is raised in a terrifying shriek above the excited buzz and babble of the mob. “Run for your balls, your prick, and your sinful life, until the best of us claim them from you! Then enter the eternal service of Gora shriven and impotent!” Hardly needing such encouragement I break into a shambling, half-crippled stride. Yet I’ve barely taken half a dozen steps before I’m tripped by an outstretched foot. Naked and emaciated, exhausted and covered with horrific welts and brands, I sprawl full length, skidding skin from both elbows and knees. A chorus of cruel laughter greets this and I scramble back up, blood running down my limbs, to start again. The surrounding female crowd has drawn back a bit, opening a narrow aisle toward the interior of the island. As I pass through the proffered corridor it immediately becomes a gauntlet of jeering cries, raining spittle and pelted stones. One of these strikes me hard above the ear, again bringing blood and causing me to stumble with the stunning pain. Still I labor on, hit several more times on the back, arms and buttocks. Cutting my bare feet repeatedly on the stony ground, I at last break free into the open. Panting already, terribly weakened by sleep deprivation and inanition, I know I’ll be lucky to last an hour before being brought down by exhaustion if nothing else. Nevertheless I make it into the jungle at last, slipping into a maze of rampant undergrowth beneath towering, primeval trees. Barely a few feet into this wilderness I spot a cunningly laid snare. At the last second I leap clumsily over that loop of vine, falling to my bleeding knees on the other side. There I have no choice but to pause gasping a bit to recover. Apparently this island is scattered with traps. Whether these are intended to capture quarry like me or more mundane game is immaterial. Either way they pose yet another danger to avoid. As if poisonous snakes, spiders, fearsome predators and the pursuit of my bloodthirsty captors weren’t enough. Shuddering with reaction I regain my feet. Then I push doggedly on, dodging trunks and dangling vines, pushing through leafy fronds on which I unavoidably leave crimson smears and trying not to trip over creepers and outthrust roots. Oh, I’m so weak already, and so desperately hungry and thirsty! What the hell am I going to do? Briefly I consider climbing a tree to hide – surely I can’t run far in my current condition. But that’s an all or nothing kind of gambit. Once discovered up there the game is up. No, if I’m to go to ground, it has to be in a place that provides an avenue of retreat in case of emergency. Continuing on, I once again barely avoid another trap – this one a stony-bottomed pit set with spikes and imperfectly concealed by foliage – and begin to despair. Then sooner than I can believe I hear the echoing blare of a hunting horn and a roar of excitement behind me. The chase is already underway; my head start even more meager than I was led to believe. For a moment I almost crumple in defeat. What’s the point of running anyway, when they’re sure to catch me eventually? Why not deny these bitches their sadistic sport? Then I remember the red-hot blade, the pointed spits and glowing coals prepared for me, but especially the huge phalluses girded about every groin. Terror seizes me again, and with a renewed spurt of energy I hurry on. Soon the tangle of plants thins a bit and I’m able to increase my pace. I cover at least a mile this way before slipping again into denser cover. Already I can hear the sounds of pursuit behind me. The chanting and singing of women having a high good time is counterpointed by the crashing and crackling of branches and bushes incidentally trampled rather than easily avoided. With this as a goad I press hurriedly ahead until I happen upon a boiling creek perhaps a dozen yards wide. I drop to my knees immediately for a long overdue drink. The water is simply delicious, and keenly restorative. Despite my dehydration I force myself to partake only sparingly though. Being struck by cramps would quickly lead to an unspeakably grisly death – not to mention the fabled fate worse than. Panting raggedly I wipe my chin and pause briefly again to consider my options. It seems unbelievable to think only a week ago I was afraid of such piddling things as a depraved and mutinous crew, drowning and man-eating sharks. The doom facing me now is horrific beyond compare. And my chances of escaping it are far worse than those I’ve already improbably avoided. I was mad to ever sign onto this voyage: besotted by my wife’s contagious perversity. No search for knowledge, riches and glory could be worth this fate.