sss Island

Chapter Two-1

Chapter Two

Predisposed

Seized

It is either later the same afternoon or possibly even the next day that I am shaken from my stupor. Whichever it is, the clouds are gone completely and the sun is strong and hot. I’m lying half in the water with the surf washing up dangerously close to my face. Still battered, weak as a newborn and now maddened by thirst I’m jerked into an awareness of my many miseries by rough hands that suddenly grab me all over and drag me away from the waves. These are accompanied by a gabble of excited voices.

In my sludgy semi-consciousness all I perceive of the former is that they are uncommonly large and strong – and utterly devoid of any tenderness. Likewise the voices that are raised at my discovery lying here half-drowned and helpless, though seemingly all female, are not informed with care and solicitude but with a savage exultation.

In my muddled state I can make no more sense of them than that. Nevertheless I recognize that the tongue spoken is a dialect of one of those I’ve studied in preparation for this venture. Perhaps it is a variant descended from the original after a long period of separation. Hopefully when I’ve recovered some I will be able to communicate my benign intentions – or at least forestall any violence. As I’m dragged further up the beach I at last manage to blink my bleary gaze clear. The first thing I focus on is the forest of legs surrounding me.

As befits the tropical climate these are brown and mostly bare. The feet (uncommonly large like the rough hands grasping me) are shod with sandals. The leather straps securing these continue past the ankle and well up the sturdy calves in crisscrossing fashion. From their tops below the knee dangle decorative, brightly colored feathers, the plumes of local birds presumably. Though heavily muscled and much larger than my own, something about the shape and set of those hairless legs suggests they indeed all belong to females.

Suddenly I’m dropped with brusque disregard on a stretch of turf between the sandy beach and the first fringe of a looming jungle. Then straightaway those rough hands begin tearing at my garments, painfully wrenching my emaciated limbs in the process.

My once fine clothes are little more than wet rags by now and give way easily. With a purr of ripping cloth my gaunt body is quickly bared. Only my belt remains intact, and in the process of worrying it free (and finishing unceremoniously stripping me completely naked), my rescuers – or perhaps captors – finally roll me over to face them.

At the moment they’re examining my finely wrought and elaborately worked belt (a parting gift from the previously peerless Lady Abigail) with overlapping exclamations of appreciation. I might well add my own to the chorus – were I not struck speechless. Fear, amazement, intimidation, perplexity, unwilling arousal and a further related emotion I’ve only just learned to admit to are suddenly combining to absolutely stagger me. From a ship full of filthy men of the most scurrilous sort, from the salty doom of a sea crowded with sharks, I now find myself lying naked at the feet of the most astounding group of aborigines.

There are half a dozen of these natives, all female as I’d suspected. Yet these are females like I’ve never dreamed of seeing. For starters they are all of simply monstrous stature.

Towering above my prostration like animate colossi, these savages are to a woman at least seven feet in height. Yet not only are they amazingly large but as brawny and sculpted as gladiators. Bronze statues come to life, their brown-skinned musculature is revealed nearly in its entirety. Girt only with scanty leather loincloths, they are shaved bare everywhere, even to their gleaming skulls, giving a bizarre but powerfully compelling purity to their perfection of form. Their faces are just as exquisitely molded, their fearsome loveliness accentuated by the barbaric jewelry adorning them. Beyond the heavy gold bracelets or armbands encircling their wrists or bulging biceps, they all sport gem-encrusted collars about their necks. Gold rings glitter on nearly every finger and hang from each earlobe and even the septum of a few proud noses. Furthering the intimidating spectacle they make are the weapons they carry: knives and bolas dangle from each hip and each free hand clutches an enormous spear: feather-decorated, iron-bladed, nine feet long and as big around as my wrist. Had these warriors possessed only one breast each I might fancy I had fallen into the clutches of that mythical race of Amazons. Yet these bare-breasted behemoths are all fully, even hugely endowed. Each twinned teat is as large as my head or more. Despite my desperate straits I feel myself twitching toward tumescence.

It is not just the universal beauty and gratuitous endowment of these women that stirs me. The depredations of my suddenly tame-seeming wife have uniquely primed me to appreciate strong, even dominant females. Against my every natural inclination I find I have come to crave being subjugated by such, to treasure the humiliation and belittlement she so relentlessly forced upon me. This was my epiphany during that plunge toward the sea of course. Now, finding myself meekly prostrated naked and consummately vulnerable at the feet of so much glorious feminine pulchritude, these depraved yearnings suddenly surge forth like never before. By the time the distraction of my belt has passed my member is thrusting rigidly up.

I make no baseless boast when I report that I am splendidly endowed myself.

No less demanding an authority than the Lady Abigail (whose experience is regrettably extensive) has repeatedly praised and gloated over my length and girth. She has even credited it with her insatiability in the marital bed. Now every impressive inch stands forth from my thatch like an emphatic salute to the glories of womanhood. Indeed it quests so urgently up toward the dreadfully attractive epitomes of that far fairer s*x surrounding me that it aches with a fierceness of need that brings an additional heat to the flame of mortification coloring my cheeks. Rather than the flattery it is however, this is unfortunately construed as the worst kind of offense. Any delusions about the possibly benevolent intentions of my rescuers are immediately dispelled.

The face of the first woman to notice my erection is immediately disfigured by fury. She draws the attention of the others to it, and it’s clear by their reaction that this is nothing less than monstrous effrontery. Their outrage is universal, and I’m immediately assailed by kicks and cries of anger and condemnation. Among the shouts of vehement detestation I at last begin to recognize and translate words: disgusting, arrogant, insolent, brazen, and finally punish.

Indeed this last verb is repeated with increasing emphasis. One hulking brute with feathered plumes dangling from her ears as well as sandals and spears even draws a knife, which naturally makes me quail and grovel more shamelessly than I already am. Fortunately this enraged sss (I know she isn’t truly of that mythical tribe but the appellation is too apt not to use) is restrained from taking action. The tallest, haughtiest, most decorated and enormously endowed warrior, whom I gather is the captain or leader of this group, intervenes. My comprehension improving by the moment, I follow her admonishment that they must not irreparably damage me.

She, the leader, will exact retribution for them before they deliver me to the High Priestess. She reminds her followers of the rare preciousness of the opportunity my finding presents. They must restrain themselves or suffer the wrath of the entire people. And will not the wait, proper preparation, appropriate ceremonies, great sport, celebration, retribution and feast be so much more enjoyable than a quick and wasteful amputation? All agree, with a disconcerting return of the savage exultation that greeted my discovery. By the time the leader reclaims my belt from one of her soldiers I’m able to almost completely understand her words despite the dialectical differences from the language I’m familiar with.

“I, Moba, claim this pretty weapon, along with its first use. Stretch this loathsome specimen of the banned gender out before me. I will show it what we think of its ridiculous appendage, and the sinful use to which it would put it!”

Appallingly tall and brawny, all sculpted musculature and gratuitous womanliness, exotically beautiful beyond the ken of civilized minds and exuding both a terrifying barbarism and distinctively erotic sadistic zeal, this largest, most bosomy authority figure among the women now in possession of me wraps a loop of that belt about one huge fist, grasps the trailing end in the other and cracks it experimentally between them – just as Lady Abigail did upon presenting it to me. Of course after that she’d bent me over the bed and belabored me exhaustively. This time however I have no doubt the flagellation in store will prove far more challenging than anything my merely playful wife has ever even considered inflicting.

Punished

Straight away four gorgeous warriors lay hold of my limbs. Their bellies are so flat and defined; their breasts so contrastingly bounteous, their bald beauty so eerily alluring and their righteous fervor so thrillingly intimidating that I can’t dream of resisting them – futile as that would be. Their arms are as large as my legs after all, and so Herculean that thick veins protrude through the skin, marbling the hard muscle below. Each beautiful brute must be nearly double my weight, and all are burgeoning in the peak of robust young health. Even were I not half-starved and dreadfully debilitated by my struggle with the sea I would be no match for one of them, to say nothing of half a dozen. Their grip on me is more implacable than the most fiendish bondage my wife has ever subjected me to. Gods, my erection throbs on with the most perverse insistence just at their touch, yet most especially at this irrefutable proof of their power over me.

Lifting me bodily up is the next thing to effortless for these Amazons, as is stretching me tightly spread-eagled. Whimpering with dread and yet shivering with unconscionable arousal I hang splayed out helpless between them. Immediately Moba steps up to the almost perpendicular spread of my legs and the exquisite vulnerability of my proffered crotch.

Unlike Lady Abigail when introducing me to my latest accoutrement she clearly has no intention of using that belt on my buttocks. Still transfixed between terror and an utterly unholy excitement, anticipating agony of a magnitude previously unprecedented, I’m nevertheless powerless to affect the grossly swollen and visibly pulsating insult of my manhood. More discontented grumbling greets this persistent sinfulness, and the tension in the air grows unbearable. Then with a snarl of eager intent and a grunt of concentrated effort the captain of my captors swings her powerful arm through a roundhouse arc. At its culmination that heavy leather strap slashes viciously down onto my offending organ.

The detonation of excruciation in my genitalia is unsurpassed: every bit as intense as I expected and so much worse. Yet fortune favors me in one crucial respect. Through chance or intent that blow falls almost entirely upon my p***s, sparing my far more susceptible testicles. Still I scream and wrench helplessly against the hold on my limbs, only dimly aware of the exultation of my captors. Then another blow falls, and another and another. Before the unbelievable agony of each can begin to dissipate it is almost instantly redoubled by the next.

This is a torture worthy of the Inquisition. Yet unlike the victims of Torquemada I seem congenitally incapable of renouncing my heresy. Despite the astronomic agony climbing ever higher in my member, this merely burns hotter, throbs harder, and raises itself ever more demandingly to meet each horrific slap of that strap. Clearly my newfound perversity is more than a match for even this ever escalating level of torment. In fact, it even seems to feed on it.

Some sick part of me actually craves this pain as the ultimate confirmation of my subjugation. The mere trifles my wife habitually subjected me to may have unearthed this perversity in me, but obviously never came close to realizing its potential. Now I writhe and scream and revel in each explosion of agony, spurred to even further fulfillment by the combination of my complete helplessness and the unbridled savagery of the excitement surrounding me. Being the object of such communal contempt and lust for my suffering thrills me in direct proportion to the depth of my debasement. Yet even this is not the sum of my exaltation. I also have a far more traditional source of s****l arousal to wallow in.