Castaway Island
Copyright© 2025 by Taoman
Chapter 15: The Rock
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 15: The Rock - Three women and a man are castaways on a Pacific Island after their plane crashes. This is a redo of my work, Master's Island, which I posted 25 years ago. The younger girls are both 19 now, and I have changed the pirates to a no ethnic specific description. The story has also been expanded and rethought.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/ft Coercion Reluctant Slavery Heterosexual Fiction DomSub MaleDom Humiliation Harem First Oral Sex Big Breasts
Taylor stood naked on the sun-blasted slab, water still beading on the ridges of his chest and stomach, cock half-hard from the sight below. He raised one hand and crooked two fingers: come.
The waterfall roared behind him like distant applause.
Jennifer appeared first. A small, slick hand gripped the rock edge, then her head rose above the lip—wet hair plastered to her cheeks, eyes wide and pleading. She scrambled up the last foot and knelt immediately, thighs parting on the hot stone, voice tumbling out in a rush.
“Taylor, I’m so sorry. Kimberly’s lost it. She’s not thinking straight. Please don’t be angry with us. We’ll do anything, everything you say from now on. Just don’t leave us again.”
Her words spilled over each other, frantic, earnest, the taste of salt on her lips from the pool. She knelt close enough that he could feel the heat radiating off her skin, smell the faint chlorine-sweet scent of fresh water mixed with the sharper note of her own arousal.
Brittany followed more slowly, cautious, every movement betraying how painfully aware she was of her nakedness. Her full breasts swayed as she climbed; droplets raced down the curve of her belly and disappeared between clenched thighs. When she knelt beside Jennifer, her gaze flicked—unavoidably—to Taylor’s lap. His cock had thickened further under their scrutiny, resting heavy against his thigh. Brittany’s cheeks flamed crimson; she jerked her eyes up to his face and fixed them there, trembling.
“I ... I gave Kimberly some of my fish,” she whispered, voice small and earnest. “She’s starving, Taylor. Please don’t be mad at us.”
Taylor let the silence stretch just long enough for the heat of the rock to brand faint pink lines into their knees.
Then he smiled—slow, warm, merciless.
“Well,” he said, voice low and rough from sun and restraint, “a good kiss from both of my new possessions might help with that.”
Jennifer moved first, no hesitation. She crawled forward on her knees, the stone scraping softly, until her small breasts brushed his thigh. Her hands settled lightly on his hips; her mouth found his without asking permission—warm, open, tasting of salt and desperation. She kissed him deep and thorough, tongue sliding against his, a soft moan vibrating in her throat as if the contact alone fed the hunger that had gnawed at her for days.
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