Primitive

Primitive by Lizbeth Dusseau ISBN 13: 978-1-936173-03-7 ISBN 10: 1-936173-03-4 A Pink Flamingo Ebook Publication Revised Edition Copyright © 2016, Lizbeth Dusseau Original Copyright © 1997 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 Media www.pinkflamingo.com P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083 USA Prologue She climbed the dune and ran like an ocean breeze down toward the water’s edge. The beach was pristine, the water turquoise, the sky a wide open blue with wispy clouds that followed the breeze through the air. She wore just a simple white shift that barely covered her plump bottom, and covered nothing at all when the air rose up underneath as she ran, leaving the shift to trail her like a sail. He stood at the top of the dune, wearing a pair of swim trunks – bowing to modesty, only because they’d be nearing civilization on their weekly excursion to town for supplies. With eyes riveted on the slender beauty, he watched in awe as she turned toward him. She waved, smiling brightly. She’d won the race to the beach because he rather liked watching her sexy, playful dance along the sand. Her long, dark curls billowed about her radiant face as she moved in and out of the water. He swore he’d never seen anything as beautiful as Adelaide on this beach – their beach they liked to call it, since its secluded location on the island was rarely visited by any human soul, including the native population. After sailing half the globe in their rebuilt schooner, they arrived on the island nearly three years ago – at the time, it was just another way station on their adventure around the world. But that was when their plans for the ambitious journey went awry. Adelaide tripped as they were hiking the tangled jungle, spraining her ankle enough that she would barely be able to walk, let alone be first mate on the schooner. A week or two on shore while the ankle healed was actually a welcome change for them both after so many days at sea. The weather was ideal. The views magnificent. The natives friendly. And the jungle like a place they could enjoy the rest of their lives. And so, they never left. What could be better than this exquisite paradise? He watched her shed the shift, and dangle it behind her to finally drift toward the dry sand as she let it go and headed toward the water. He felt his c**k stir. They’d f****d at daybreak, mid-morning, and just after lunch. And he wanted to f**k her now. He wanted to use her, because she loved to be used. She loved being tied to trees, staked to the ground, whipped with young slender tree branches that would mark her skin. As she swam through the clear water, he thought of the marks he’d laid on her breasts early that morning, when a playful scuffle between them led to him taking her down with the vicious ruthlessness they both loved. He marked her first. Then as she lay back against the sand, he sank his c**k into her wet, warm home and f****d her hard. Till she was crying for mercy – that was the joke between them. She didn’t want mercy. She wanted to be f****d till she screamed in mock distress. Never had he known a woman so sexually wild and unfettered. This was why the island suited them. The hut they built, with the big beautiful bed in the middle was enough comfort to make this savage jungle their home forever. They could play out their s****l wickedness without restraint and love each other the way they desired to be loved. Llewellyn scooted down the dune in seconds, stripped away his trunks and joined her in the water. Within minutes, he had her captured, his arms going around her wet body, his c**k planting itself inside her for a fourth time that day. “You can’t act like the wicked slut that you are and have me ignore you, wench!” he exclaimed, as he slowly moved inside her wet s*x. “Is that so?” she bantered back, wiggling her ass into his groin. “Yes, that’s so!” His c**k filled her full and seemed to be expanding inside her. What heaven this was for them both. He moved in her more forcefully, but the position behind her was all wrong. Turning her around, he bent her over and shoved his c**k back in her steamy cunt. The surf reached their knees, her hair in the water, her face nearly immersed. She came up sputtering several times to catch her breath before Llewellyn finally reared back, grabbed her hips in his tight grip and came. She cried as he spent his seed, grunting with every thrust. Then they both fell to the water, embracing. They never did get to town that late afternoon. Instead, they retreated to their little hovel, naked arm and arm. There they made love, Adelaide getting off several times before she finally lay back on the bed, while he took to his palette of colors and began to render her image in oil on canvas. Their love might have lasted a lifetime in this island paradise if it hadn’t been for Adelaide’s unnerving cough. It sprung up one spring day, after five years of unspoiled bliss. Despite a lengthy stay in an Australian hospital, the cough never got any better. She died in the fall. He scattered her ashes on the beach. After Adelaide’s passing, Llewellyn returned to the jungle hut. He had no plans to leave; he couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. For the next twenty years, Llewellyn made friends with the natives, gained their trust, and f****d their lovely bronze-colored women, who eagerly offered themselves to his savage brand of sexuality. He needed nothing more than to live out his life in this place, painting native women, just as he’d painted Adelaide. His paintings of Adelaide he’d never part with. But those of the native women he sent to a gallery in New York where they fetched hefty sums that went directly to his bank account. He needed nothing more than this simple life. Or at least he thought so, until he caught sight of a ship that arrived in port one sunny afternoon, and spotted the two young beauties, one blonde, one brunette, disembark alongside perhaps the whitest white man Llewellyn ever laid eyes on. He had no interest in the man, but the girls? With memories flooding into his mind in a bruising torrent, his c**k leapt to life in way it hadn’t since Adelaide died.