Banana Split


Caution: This Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, .

Desc: Sex Story: DG and Cindy from 'The Call of Desire' are back. This time we're stranded on a tiny tropical island. Instead of worrying about being rescued, we decide to just relax and enjoy the setting. An afternoon snack turns into a sex orgy involving several different types of fruit. This story is hot!

"DG? Deej, honey? Are you awake?"

I slowly opened my eyes. Cindy was crouched over me, her face framed by the waving fronds of a palm tree, the glossy sheaf of her hair brushing softly against my cheek. There are much, much worse sights to wake up to. I was napping, or had been napping, on the warm sands of a remote tropical island. Cindy and I were stranded in paradise, you see.

"What is it, babe? Headhunters? A tiger?"

"I want a coconut."

"So have a coconut."

"I can't find a nice one on the ground. Can you climb up and get me one?"

I sat up with a sigh, and found myself facing a stretch of ocean so blue it should smell like chlorine instead of brine. It wasn't easy working up any sort of indignation in this setting, but I gave it a shot, just for forms sake.

"You want me to risk my neck climbing up into a palm tree like a giant monkey, when there's fruit all around us? You can't walk ten feet without tripping over a kumquat. You could swing a dead cat anywhere on the island and knock down a week's supply of bananas."

She wrinkled her nose in that adorable way that she has. "But I'm thirsty. I've got this wild craving for coconut milk. Come on, you did it yesterday."

This was true. Like a big show-off, I had demonstrated the proper technique for clambering up into the dizzying heights of a coconut palm. My fellow castaways - writers, pleasure seekers, and various hangers-on associated with the esteemed Guild of Internet Erotica Writers - had been duly impressed. They had enjoyed the coconuts I cut down, anyway.

I stood up and stretched, casually surveying the picturesque little inlet we had discovered. Sheltered from the steady pounding of the big Pacific rollers by a crusty wall of coral, shaded from the strong tropical sun by overhanging palm trees and mangroves, it was a quiet little slice of heaven. We had taken off on our own after lunch to do a little exploring, just wandering aimlessly, and had chosen this secluded spot for a swim, and that had segued quite naturally into a siesta. Now it was late afternoon, and I realized I was hungry.

I said "All right, I could use a snack too. You go pick us some of the easy stuff, and I'll go after that most dangerous of all prey, the coconut in its lair."

"You won't regret it," she said with a smile, bumping her warm hip against mine. "I'll make sure of that."

Cindy was wearing my white cotton undershirt, and nothing else. I was wearing silk boxer shorts and a dress shirt with the sleeves ripped off. One problem with being a castaway is that you don't get to select the outfit you're going to wear.

When the whole ruckus had started, we had been enjoying a formal dinner on board our cruise ship. Cindy had dressed up in a tight little black sheath that was totally impractical for rowing a lifeboat, or for any activity more vigorous than lifting a fork to her mouth. I had been wearing a beautifully-cut gabardine wool suit that made me feel like James Bond. I could cry to look at it now - you don't want to know what sea water does to gabardine.

Anyway, Cindy has a talent for making any outfit look terrific, and my undershirt was no exception. I was particularly fond of the way her perky nipples poked against the soft, sheer fabric. The fact that it just barely covered her ass was nice too. I watched her fondly as she strolled off into the jungly undergrowth, admiring the way her slim, tan legs and dark hair contrasted with the white cotton. Cindy was one delectable female, unless you happen to prefer the full-figured type.

I grabbed a short length of rope with a loop on each end and found a palm tree that looked promising. The trick, which I picked up from the Nature channel, is to put your wrists through the loops with the rope around the tree, as if you'd been arrested by the beach patrol. Then you can easily hold yourself in position by putting your bare feet against the trunk and leaning back against the rope. You climb the tree by sliding the rope up the trunk in quick little twists as you take small steps. Just don't look down, and don't do it on a windy day.

I made it to the top of the tree and managed to hack off several ripe coconuts with the knife conveniently supplied in our lifeboat. Then I took a moment to enjoy the view and get my bearings. Shading my eyes against the glare, I spotted the larger cove where we had made our landfall and set up camp, a few miles away. Here and there along the ribbon of white beach were little groups of people chatting and relaxing, playing in the surf, and generally enjoying themselves.

The Guild's annual Spring Workshop is really just an excuse for a bunch of hedonistic friends to get together and party, and we're not about to let a little thing like being stranded on on a tiny island interfere with our fun. As my buddy Bear put it, people pay through the nose for adventure travel these days, and we're getting to experience the real thing for free.

Officially we're still lost and awaiting rescue, but I don't think anyone is in a big rush to be found. No ragged "HELP" signs are laid out on the beach with rocks. No towering bonfires are waiting to be lit at the first sight of a ship. I overheard Taria talking furtively on a cell phone yesterday, rescheduling her Lit. 101 class, but I'll bet she hasn't called the coast guard. A plane flew overhead this morning, and from the way people ducked out of sight you would have thought it was a Japanese Zero making a strafing run.

As I was preparing to climb back down, I noticed some strange activity in a nearby clearing. What appeared at first glance to be the death struggles of a huge, fleshy insect turned out to be one of my male colleagues engaging in an athletic, sweaty bout of our favorite recreational activity with two of the nymphomaniac cheerleaders Bear had invited along. I made myself more comfortable and tried to pick up a few pointers.

My eavesdropping was rudely interrupted when Cindy called up to me. "DG! Come on down, I got us all sorts of stuff. What are you looking at?"

"Non-indigenous wildlife," I said as I shimmied back down the tree. "Here's a riddle for you: what has twelve tangled limbs, four bouncing breasts, and lots of school spirit?"

"Ah yes, the cheerleaders," she said, raising an eyebrow. "Don't they ever sleep? I have no idea how they manage to keep their grades up." I couldn't tell whether she disapproved or not - Cindy can be hard to read at times.

I looked with interest at the piles of freshly-picked fruit laid out on the sand. Ripe bananas, tender kumquats, furry little kiwis, luscious mangoes, and various other juicy delicacies that we haven't quite identified, none of us being a botanist or a chef.

"Check out those bad boys," said Cindy, pointing proudly to what looked like bananas fed on Miracle-Gro.

"I think they must be plantains," I said, examining the bunch. Each shiny, yellow-green fruit was easily twice the size of an average banana. "Not good eating unless you cook them. I can certainly see how they might catch a young woman's eye, though."

"Hah. How about these?" She pointed to some oval green fruit with a dull, waxy skin.

"Pussyfruit," I said with a lewd grin.

"Exsqueeze me?"

"You heard me - pussyfruit. That's what Kim calls them, anyway. Go ahead and cut one open, they're yummy."

Cindy took the knife and sliced the end off one. The inside meat was a lovely, dark pink color, with a moist, rubbery texture. The open fissure running down the center of the fruit added to the resemblance. Cindy laughed and scooped out a glistening glob with her finger. "Mmm, it is good. Tastes a little like watermelon."

"I always knew you'd like pussyfruit."

"OK, wise guy, lets eat."

I punched holes in a few of the big hairy coconuts, and we settled down to our high-fructose picnic. Cindy put a coconut to her mouth and tilted her head back for a long drink. Milk dribbled down her chin and throat. "Ahhh," she said finally. "That hits the spot."

"Careful of my undershirt," I said around a big mouthful of mango. "I'm thinking of dressing up for the big luau tonight."

She giggled fetchingly and then, after delicately licking her fingers clean, she peeled off the t-shirt, folded it neatly, and set it aside.

"Much better," I said, suddenly a little hoarse. Despite the fact that we had been skinny dipping together just a few hours ago, the sight of her naked, loose-limbed form sprawled casually on the sand made my chest tighten and brought a familiar straining feeling to my loins.

As she daintily stuffed juicy mouthfuls of fruit into her mouth, she gazed knowingly at my shorts. "Whatcha thinking about, big guy? Those naughty cheerleaders?"

"Nope. Actually, I had this sudden mental picture of your cute little face all flushed and contorted with the joyful confusion of lust as I reamed your tight, hot cunny with one of those plantains."

"Is that right?" Cindy's used to me blurting out stuff like that. As a writer, I try to get overripe baloney like that out of my system quickly so it doesn't end up in my work.

"Yeah, pretty silly. Sorry."

"Hmm," she said noncommittally. I saw her steal a glance at the plantains.

"I mean, being so petite and all, you couldn't really handle something that big, it would spread you open like a..." The metaphors never come fast enough when I really need them. " a chicken laying a goose egg."

"Shows how much you know. Just because you're not hung like a plantain, don't think I wouldn't enjoy it."

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Story tagged with:
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