I originally wrote this story with a different idea and forgot to change the title.

When I posted this story, I had been getting such low scores, I was hesitant to finish it; thinking I would post part of it and see what kind of comments I got. Although the scores were still very low, a surprising number of people emailed me and asked me to finish it. This is the continuation of that story.

VACATION GONE WRONG (It was Forced Landing)

Anna Maria Munson couldn't help but feel excited as the plane circled the island. She felt like Jessica Lange, circling the desolate but fascinating home of King Kong.

The island was basically a jungle with a mountain range along one side; the ridge of a volcano. It had huge ridges and ravines running down from the top to the ocean on the steepest ridges going down to the water. On the side facing the main portion of the island, the side of the volcano had been blown off and the crater had long black streaks of lava; hardened over the centuries and starting to erode enough to have jungle growth along the sides. The main part of the crater was filled with tall banyans, and other tall trees.

Faza town, on the North Coast of Pate Island, is known by the name of Ampaza dates back to the 14th century. It was nestled into the base of the high ridges of the crater and sprawled along the flatter base of the bottom of the crater. It was a semi clearing among densely populated jungle.

Anna shivered as the small plane hit ground and coasted to a stop. So far, it had been a wild dream. The sudden slowing of the plane brought her to reality. She could feel the heat and smell the ocean. She could almost taste the salt.

There were no stewardesses to thank them for flying when they landed. There was no tunnel to guide them to an air-conditioned terminal. A tall, dark black man in camouflage pants; with the ends tucked into his high, black laced boots stood there with his arms stretched above his head. His green khaki shirt had no sleeves. His gun-metal Uzi was slung over his shoulder.

Anna was the last one out. Her husband, Ken, the pilot turned after he had gotten out and the two of them helped her step out of the plane. It was a couple feet down. Anna put her hands on the two men's' shoulders and jumped the short distance to the tarmac.

Marcel, the 6'-6" monster to her right put his left hand under her right arm pit. Ken, her husband was on her left. He took her left hand in his, with his right hand under her left armpit. As she jumped down, her husband helped soften the jump. Marcel, who had his left hand under her armpit, shifted his right hand from hers to her breast as she landed.

"Was this an accident?" she wondered, slightly embarrassed. He could have slipped. She looked up into his eyes, searching for some sign. He looked her straight in the eye and winked. There was no doubt in her mind he had done it on purpose.

"Welcome to the island, Miss Anna." Marcel said as he smiled. Ken, her husband seemed oblivious to the slip of his hand. He was relieved to have the flight over and too excited about being there to notice the faux pas his guide had made.

Anna looked from Marcel to her husband, looking for signs of whether her husband had seen what happened and what; if anything he would do about it. He hadn't seemed to notice.

In one respect, it may have been for the better. Her husband would have been no match for the much bigger, ferociously muscled savage with a gun over his shoulder. They needed him for a guide. Anna decided not to make an issue of it. If she had, maybe it could have ruined their whole trip.

They were there to relax; sort of. They had enjoyed exploring different islands throughout the world. They had explored many different regions over the years. This year, they had come to the chain of islands along the borders of Kenya, Tanzania and Somalia. Pate Island was an area surrounded in myth and mystery.

Now that her husband was eligible to retire, he wanted to try something different. He had talked her into the possibility of taking a year sabbatical to work for the Peace Corps in Kenya. It would be killing two birds with one bullet. Not only would they be doing something to contribute to society, they would also be furthering their own careers in the area of Social Anthropology. Anna had spent hundreds of hours researching the background of the area and its cultural history.

She found that Pate Island is the largest island in the Lamu Archipelago, which lies between the towns of Lamu and Kiunga, close to the border with Somalia. From the 7th century, Pate Island was an early site of Arabic colonization. It long vied as a Swahili port with Lamu and with Takwa on Manda Island and came to prominence around the 14th century, but was subjugated by Lamu in the 19th century.

Faza town, on the North coast, known by the name of Ampaza by the Portuguese dates back at least to the 14th century. In 1587 Faza was destroyed by the Portuguese as the local Sheikh had supported Mirale Bay, a notorious privateer who had earlier played a key role in ousting the Portuguese from Muscat. The Portuguese arrived from Goa with some 650 men on their punitive expedition, and unleashed their fury on Faza. Everybody they could find was killed, including the local Sheikh. The Portuguese preserved his head in a barrel of salt for display in India.

After 4 days of looting they invited Fazas arch-rivals from Pate town to take away anything that they liked from Faza. Faza was later resettled. The Portuguese in Faza constructed a chapel there. However, nothing remains of it. In the 18th century Faza again fell into decline due to the rise of Pate

Pate Town is situated on the South-West coast of the island. The town of Pate was founded by refugees from Oman in the 8th century and re-founded by members of the Nabahani family, also from Oman, in 1204. In the 14th century Pate was so powerful that it had conquered most of the coastal towns of East Africa.

The 18th century was known as the "Golden Age of Pate", when the town was at its height of powers and also prospered in fine arts. Builders constructed some of the finest houses on the East Africa coast, with extensive elaborate plaster works. Goldsmiths made intricate jewelry, fine cloths (including silks) were made by Pate's weavers and carpenters produced fine wooden furniture. The use and production of the musical instrument known as Siwa were most famous.

They were here to spend a few weeks vacationing in the islands and try to decide if they would actually take the next whole year off and spend it with the native people. Anna wanted to study their languages, dialects and customs. Her husband, Ken wanted to document as much as he could for a book.

"Anna, honey, why don't you have Marcel take you and the luggage to our hotel. I will need to check some things on this plane before I tie it down. He can come back for me later." Her husband said as he took the bags out of the six-seater and placed them on the tarmac.

"That's okay, Ken, I can wait for you." Anna said; uncomfortable with the possibility of being alone with Marcel with the way he had handled her when she got out of the plane.

"No; you need to check in with the hotel people; get our stuff stored, and make sure everything is okay." He wasn't looking at her, but he was pretty firm with his instructions.

Anna practically threw the bags into the back of the Hummer. It was a military surplus vehicle with no top. She threw the bags over the side; not caring how they landed or if anything broke. She was more angry than scared. She didn't think Marcel would dare do any more than he already had. They would be driving down the main road to the hotel and stopping at the main office.

Marcel went around to the passenger side to help her in. Anna was wearing a short, green wrap-around sundress, high-heeled cord sandals, a large straw hat and Dolce Gabanna sunglasses.

The floor of the hummer was about waist high for her. It would be awkward for her to stretch out in that dress and try to step up to get in. She had almost no choice but to accept Marcel's help. She didn't quite know what to do or how he was going to help.

Before she had a chance to react, Marcel put his left hand around her back and his right hand under her legs, like a husband carries his wife over the threshold. He picked her up. With his height, she was easily level with the opening on the passenger side. There was no door; just the opening.

It happened pretty fast. Anna had no time to protest or resist. In fact she was powerless to do anything. When he picked her up, about all she could do was hold her dress down in a presentable manner. She tried desperately to keep the bottom of her dress pulled up against her. It was a pretty short dress anyway, so there wasn't much room for it to ride up and keep any modesty.

Marcel was close enough to just put her on the seat, but he didn't. He picked her up and watched her struggle with her modesty. He had his right arm against the bare skin along the underside of her thighs.

"These Hummers are pretty high off the ground. They also have a lift kit that makes them a little higher." He said with a grin. Marcel could feel her creamy smooth legs under the dress. He shifted his grip. He slid his hand off of her left leg and slid his hand between her legs.

She felt him shift his left hand from behind her back. He slid it around her side to cup her left breast. Anna's mind was screaming: 'Put me down you cocksucker!" It was silent of course; she didn't want her husband to be in a position of having to do something if he knew.

Anna tried desperately to straighten her legs and jump out of his grip, but she also had to keep her dress over her. It was an impossible situation. Her face reddened as she struggled over what to do.

"You put me down; immediately." She whispered to him.

He had won. He knew she was reluctant to let her husband in on what was going on. She was indignant, but unwilling to endanger their dependence with the only guide they knew about.

Anna reached out for the top of the seat and pulled herself indignantly over on to it. She starred daggers at him as she pushed her dress down around her. Marcel smiled as he brought the fingers of his right hand up to his nose. He inhaled slowly, like somebody with a fresh rose.

"You need to take me to our hotel." She said indignantly. She stared straight ahead; unwilling to look at him. Marcel stepped effortlessly into the Hummer. "You're going to like your hotel." He said as he pulled out onto the main road.

They couldn't get there soon enough to suit Anna. The roads were not paved. They had huge rocks used for gravel to keep cars from getting stuck.

As most people know, the earth plate moves over thousands of years. When the island was first formed by the original volcano, the eruption formed the base of the island, which broke the surface of the water. Through the centuries, the source of the eruption moved. The present island with its incredible peak which rises above the clouds, had moved. The original crater had eroded and formed the cove. The cove had access to the ocean, but had enough of a ridge to also form a breakwater; shielding an inland bay from which boats were protected. It had filled in to a depth of about forty feet; making it nice for fishing and swimming for tourists.

The ridge which was a spit had palm trees and huge boulders that stood fairly high above the water. The cove was a deep emerald green. The water in the cove where the huts had been created started out shallow and gradually sloped to about twenty feet deep.

There were about eight thatched huts on stilts about the length of a football field from the shore. Each hut was a several feet above the water and had a boat moored to it.

Marcel took Anna to the main office, which was a small building with clapboard siding and low pitch corrugated metal roofing. There were screens on the windows but no glass. Marcel waited outside while she went in to take care of the paperwork. When she came out, Marcel had their bags on a small boat with an outboard motor.

Now she was terrified to have him take her out on the water and be alone with him in the hut. "I can take it from here", she said. "Alright; no problem." Marcel said with a smile. "When you get there, make sure there are no scorpions in the rooms. Here; take a newspaper. You can swat them. That should do it." He said as he turned to walk away.

"Wait a minute." Maybe you can help me with the bags. It's pretty high from the boat to the floor of that thing." She said. "I didn't think you would be able to start the outboard either." He said as he turned and came back to the boat.

"Please, Marcel. You've got to stop what you've been doing to me. Anymore, and I will absolutely tell my husband." She said; imploring with desperation in her voice.

"No problem; Miss Anna." He said as he tugged on the cord to start the outboard. Anna struggled again with the wind to keep her dress down.

When they got there, Anna realized there was a hole in the floor, with a ladder going from the water up into the room.

Before Anna left the boat, Marcel showed her how to start the motor. He showed her how to push the little red button to force air into the carburetor. He showed her how to choke it before pulling on the rope. He made her start it a few times. He showed her how to drain the line in case there might be water in the gas. When he was done, he motioned to the ladder for her to go up into the room

"You go first, and I can hand you the bags." He said.

Anna went first. Marcel stood close to steady the boat as she went up the ladder. He also stood close to the ladder to watch her go up. Marcel watched as her bare legs exposed themselves to him as she went up through the floor.

He handed the bags up through the hole to her. He barely fit through the 24" square hole. First came the Uzi. Then his hands came through. Anna thought she should grab the Uzi and point it at him, but was too scared to try.

Anna couldn't believe their living quarters. There was no bathroom or kitchen. They would have to go to the main compound to eat or use bathroom facilities. The room did have a shower which emptied through the floor.

This was not their living quarters. This was the central hut, which was about twice the size of the other huts surrounding it. The middle had a sort of clear story. The center part was higher with windows encircling a higher roof. The center of the hut had a stone ring around a central fireplace. The floor was made of hewn planks on large timber beams. It was covered with brick pavers. Around the central fireplace, was a semicircle of logs set up for seating. It seemed like it was more of a ceremonial hut or a central meeting building.

The exterior walls were thatched up to about three feet. Above that, the walls were mostly windows with screens; basically a Mongolian Yurt on stilts over water.

When Marcel got in, he rolled up a newspaper and held it in his right hand. He used his left hand to brush the grass thatch at the floor line; looking for scorpions. She saw him swat and a scorpion fell out of the reeds and flailed its legs frantically. A couple more big swats stopped the wiggling.

Marcel showed her where to look when she came in by herself. He assured her that being out in the water; it was unlikely that there would be any more. Anna thanked him nervously and was anxiously waiting for him to leave.

"My husband has had time to check out the plane and tie it up now. Perhaps you can go get him and bring him back." She said; anxious for him to leave. She turned to face the hole in the floor; hoping she would see him head for it.

Instead she felt him behind her. She felt him wrap his arms around her and hold her against his abdomen. He had a scorpion in his right hand. She didn't know if it was dead or alive. She stood there; petrified.

"We haven't completed looking for scorpions yet." He said. Sometimes these little critters can crawl up in your clothing and you might never notice." He said as he laid the back of the scorpion up against her left breast.

"Oh, Miss Anna; look what I found. I want you to meet the Deathstalker. It is known for its venom. A sting from most scorpions is very painful, but normally would not kill a healthy human. This is the most deadly scorpion in the universe. It is the most feared because it will kill; not immediately, but painfully and slowly. There is no known anti-venom." He said as he held it by the meat just below its stinger. Its claws and legs were flailing frantically, trying to free itself and was clearly agitated.

In truth, it was a Wind Scorpion. These aggressive hunters cannot sting and despite their impressive jaws cannot bite people and have no venom. Never-the-less, Anna did not know this.

"I think I saw it fall from the hem of your dress. I think maybe you better remove it for your own safety." He said; breathing into her ear.

"I think I'll take my chances with the scorpion." Please let me go, she said with her whole body trembling.

Marcel brought the flailing creature to the edge of her bodice. Anna screamed for all she was worth. Her legs and arms flailed like a chicken with his head cut off. He was too big and strong to budge. She was about as effective trying to free herself as a rag doll duct taped to a bronze statue.

She felt the legs and claws trying to crawl between her cleavage. Anna froze; afraid to speak, scream, or struggle. "Okay, okay, okay" she whispered, afraid the scorpion might hear.

"Take off your fucking dress. Let's see what's underneath." The voice against her right ear whispered.

Anna reached to the cloth tie at her waist; moving slowly as though afraid to agitate the scorpion. The tie was the only thing holding her dress closed. Anna sobbed as Marcel used the scorpion like a lever to pull the dress open. She felt the Goosebumps wash across her body as the dress opened. She wasn't sure which was the bigger threat to her life; the scorpion or the monster holding it.

"Everything seems okay so far. No scorpions that I can see." She heard the voice behind her. "There could be something dangerous under that bra. You better unhook it. I wouldn't want you getting killed by one of these creatures." He said.

Removing the bra was a ridiculous exercise. Her bra was made of the translucent stretch fabric like pantyhose. It was so sheer; there was almost no purpose for it. From behind and above, Marcel could see that her melon sized breasts had no sag to them. The bra was useless. She had small pink areolas and incredibly long pink nipples. They were oddities that a black man from Kenya was not used to seeing.

"Marcel, you know there are no scorpions in there. Please give me the dignity of not doing this." She sobbed.

"Miss Anna; I'm only thinking of your safety. I am going to send this scorpion into the bra to look for more scorpions. They make a high screech and fight each other if they find each other. Then we will know." Anna felt the legs on her exposed skin.

Marcel could tell by the way she exhaled that she had capitulated. There were no words. He felt her body shudder as she reached for the clasp. Her head arched back a little. Her shoulders arched as she reached behind her. He saw the straps streak around her as the clasp came loose.

Anna's shoulders sagged in defeat as he pulled the garment from her and tossed it onto the floor. "Go ahead and look; you miserable fucker." Her mind screamed. She was indignant but more afraid for her life at the moment.

"Now the panties." He said; no longer using the pretext of safety in mind. They both knew what it was about. She knew he was determined to fuck her. Anna swallowed, searching desperately for some way out of this.

"Please; Marcel. Please get that creature away from me. I'll do it. Just get that thing away from me; please." She begged through her sobbing. She felt Marcel release his grip. He went over to the wall; pulled out a tan denim pouch and put the scorpion in it. He had stashed a bag of them in the wall.

He turned and looked at Anna. They were about four feet apart. Anna looked like a deer in headlights. She knew she could not make it to the hole through the floor. She probably couldn't start the motor on the first try.

Marcel knew that he had won. He was in no hurry to put her out of her misery. He wanted to prolong it. He pulled a chair over and sat down. He took a long relaxing stare at the woman. Her almost transparent panties were made of the same transparent stretch fabric as her bra. The front and back tabs were almost to her navel. The sides were high rise, with just two wispy strands of elastic holding them together. Her already long slender legs seemed even longer the way the panties were cut. He took in a slow breath and then nodded to her.

"I've got no fucking choice." She said to herself as she stuck her thumbs between her thighs and the thin elastic bands on the sides of her garment. She blushed as she bent over to push the garment down over her thighs. She felt weight of her breasts swing free of her body and dangle as she brushed her last item of clothing past her knees. The willowy garment puddle around her feet like a falling maple leaf in the autumn breeze.

Anna couldn't help but to put her left hand over her crotch and her right hand across her breasts. The natural length of her upper arm made it anatomically impossible for her to cover both breasts and nipples with one arm. Her right hand covered her left breast and nipple. Her alabaster right breast and nipple were erotically framed in the crook of her forearm and upper arm. Anna's long, curly red hair cascaded over her right shoulder to hide that.

"Pull your hair back behind you and put your fucking arms down; cunt." The words hurt. The command hurt more. Anna tried not to think about what was happening or might happen as she flipped her head and let her arms drop. Her hair swung out in a long arc and landed behind her. She stood at attention, with her blurred eyes focused at a spot on the wall behind him. She swallowed and tried to quell the shaking in her hands.

"Closer." He said.

Anna struggled to make her feet move. She felt she was mired in quicksand as she forced herself to take the few steps to stand in front of him. Marcel was stupefied. Is this the way white women look, or had she done something to herself?

With Anna standing about a foot away, he gazed at her like a starving lion looks at a gazelle on the other side of a zoo fence. The patch of pubic hair above her labia had been shaved to a narrow band. Below that she was bare. The reddish golden thatch was thick, curly and short. Going towards the outer edges, it was thinned in length and color so that the outer curls were an almost transparent blonde that faded into the tanned portion of her abdomen and thighs. Her alabaster white cleft smelled like fresh orchids that had just been watered; like roses after a soft rain. Her shy pink clitoris seemed to peek inquisitively out at the commotion; not understanding what was going on. It wiggled like a manometer to echo Anna's shuddering of humiliation.

He could see that Anna had spent a good time in the sun. Her long-stem, coral pink nipples were framed magnificently by her alabaster white breasts. It was a small patch of white; further framed by her tanned and toned torso and arms. It was like getting a few extra seconds to gaze at the Hope Diamond in the Smithsonian, or run your hands through the original bible in the Vatican.

"When wills this end?" she thought as she sobbed. "How will this end?" she thought as her breasts bobbed in humiliation.

About that time, Marcel's cell phone went off. He flipped the thing open and held it to his ear as he curled his finger and wagged it at her; gesturing for her to step closer. Anna raised the back of one hand to wipe the tears away as she took the step to stand almost against him.

She tried to listen and understand his mixture of Lamu, French and Swahili. All she could understand was that it was something about her husband. Her blood chilled as he ran his free hand across one of her nipples. It was a kind of absent minded caress on his part. He may have been focused on the conversation on the phone, but she cringed as he ran the back of his hand across her. She bit her lip and tried not to cry or recoil as he turned his hand and rolled the tip of her nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

He closed his eyes and extended his tongue as he listened to the voice in his ear. He inhaled the smell of her. He seemed to nod as if the person on the other end of the conversation could see him. In another time or in another place it might have been funny to listen to the conversation in another language end with "bye-bye."

He was humiliating her and had the audacity to end a conversation with "bye-bye." Anna was so humiliated on so many levels; she didn't know where to start.

"Your husband has been arrested." He said as he flipped the phone closed and slipped it into his shirt pocket. Anna didn't know how to respond.

"Evidently he had finished inspecting his plane and was tying it up. A small group of young boys had gathered to beg for money. He showed them a trick. He gave one of the boys a dollar and then turned it into a ten." He said.

"How is that a crime?" Anna replied; forgetting for a second that she was naked.

"Her on Pate Island, people are very superstitious. In Haiti, and even in your country, there are groups that feel magic is the work of the devil. Everybody knows not to do magic in Haiti; they will kill you. People from your country are not so much aware of this. It is posted by the U.S. Embassy under things not to do here. He must have missed that."

"Please; Marcel. You have humiliated me beyond all standards of fairness. Can't you do anything to get us out of here? We came to these islands to help. Is this fair for us to be treated this way?" she sobbed.

Anna dropped to her knees. He had her hands over her eyes and her head on her knees. She was devastated. First she had been humiliated; now her husband might be killed.

"They're bringing him here. We will decide what to do with him then," he said as he turned Anna around and sat her down in the chair.

Marcel went down through the hatch in the floor to the boat. He came back up with several lengths of rope. The rope was about 20'-0" of 3/8" nylon. He tied one end around one of Anna's wrists. He looped it around the other wrist and then laced it back and forth; almost weaving some kind of intricate pattern up her forearms and upper arms. It wasn't a painful tight lashing; it was more ceremonial. It had the effect of pulling her upper arms and shoulders back; lifting her breasts so her long-stem coral pink nipples pointed skyward.

She could not drop her head. She could lean it to one side in despair, or back; but not down to dangle her long hair in front of her.

Marcel fished through her purse and found a series of thick rubber bands. He got behind her and combed her hair out. Anna was past caring what was being done. She allowed him to lay her head over the back of the chair. He brushed her blunt cut, waist length red hair out till it shined. He braided her hair, starting at the top of her head. He braided it; adding in more hair until he reached the start of her neck. From there, he wrapped rubber bands about an inch or so apart to form a thick red plume down her back away from her beautiful alabaster breasts.

He was going to make her a presentation to the torture/execution party that was bringing her husband. With her alabaster white bikini areas framing her nipples and cleft, they would be powerless to resist the erotic creature in the chair.

Marcel picked her up and sat her in his lap. They waited for the locals to arrive. Anna sobbed as he pushed her left leg down off of his lap and over his left leg. She was powerless to prevent him from parting her legs and exposing her. She groaned as she felt his right hand snake along her thigh, searching for the opening. She knew it was probably inevitable. She didn't resist. She groaned silently to herself as she felt the first finger explore and eventually enter. Marcel had taken his time; rubbing the finger slowly up and down the slit; not in any hurry to bury itself.

Anna laid her head against his shoulder and groaned as he entered. It was not a groan of passion. It was a groan of agony. It was a groan of despair. It was a groan of humiliation. She had no choice. She parted her legs a little further to reduce the pain. It was ironic that any reduction in pain was an increase in humiliation as she realized she was partly cooperating.

Her mind was racing; trying to balance her abhorrence to what he was doing with trying to with the hope for a solution to her husband's danger. It was the old "Fuck or Walk." Dilemma many women face at some time or another.