Castaway Island
Copyright© 2025 by Taoman
Chapter 9
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 9 - 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
The tide was dead low at dawn, exposing the reef like a jagged scar across the lagoon. Taylor had watched it for days, timing the sets, mapping the channels where bigger fish hunted. Today, the sea was glass-flat and the sky the color of a robin’s egg. Perfect.
He stood waist-deep in the shallows, homemade spear in one hand—a straightened piece of fuselage lashed to a hardwood shaft—mask fashioned from airline goggles and a strip of inner tube. The girls waited on the sand, silent.
Three days of decent meals had put color back in their cheeks, but the fear was still there, raw and close to the surface. They knew the traps were only half the answer. The reef was the difference between surviving and living.
He looked at them.
“Rules,” he said. “You stay in the shallows. You do not cross the drop-off. You see a shadow bigger than you, you scream. Clear?”
Three nods.
Kimberly was the slowest. She’d barely spoken since the fish. Her eyes followed him everywhere now, wary, measuring, ashamed of how often they followed.
He waded out. The water climbed his chest, his neck, then he kicked off and swam.
The reef exploded into color beneath him: coral heads the size of cars, clouds of silver baitfish, a moray’s evil grin from a crevice. He dove, lungs burning, speared a fat grouper clean through the head. Surfaced. Threw it to Jennifer on the sand. She caught it like it was made of gold.
Again and again. Snapper. Another grouper. A lobster the size of his forearm. Each time he surfaced, they were waiting, hands outstretched, eyes shining with something that went beyond gratitude.
By the time the sun was overhead, he had eight fish and two lobsters piled on the sand. Enough for days.
He walked out of the water dripping, spear across his shoulder like some primitive hunter returning to the tribe.
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