Chapter 3

Three and a half weeks on, the tanned sailors were padding about the hot timbers of the decking as the sun beat down when Bardolo yelled from up in the rigging.

'Ghost Islands ahead!' The others clambered up to vantage points and spied through the haze at the misty apparition in the distance; the constant shroud of mist was just part of the reason the mysterious isles had earned their name, a dangerous archipelago, the islands had claimed the lives of many. Ventee had ventured here several times however and had studied aspects of the coastline that most other seaman had simply skirted, leaving the crew astonished when he headed straight for one of the larger land masses that now loomed before them. Granbone looked toward Ventee with mouth agape as The Cresta entered a swirl of mist.

'Cap'n?' Ventee smiled as the small vessel was dwarfed by a huge rocky crag it passed as the mist lifted a little; the crew quaked as they passed a thunderous waterfall cascading close by, one of the reasons behind the misty conditions.

'I been down 'ere 'alf a mile or so afore; had to turn back due to the weather on that occasion, but today is fine. I could see what looked like a clear path through but a squall descended and I chickened out! Not today though lads, eh?' Bardolo gave a grim smile and kissed the mast as the boat heaved up and down in the turbulent strait between two islands, barely room to turn round and go back. Faro forced a grin as he looked at Bardolo, but both were secretly terrified. Ventee steered the craft perilously close to another descending cascade at one point, then gestured to the other side of the boat; the crewmen held their breath in unison as the dark image of submerged rocks passed by. Ventee smiled again and pointed to the clearer water and breaking sunshine ahead.

'Virgin territory for us all when we reach that water, never went past there last time!' All on board sighed with relief as the sea opened up again before them, revealing the strange beauty of the islands, some densely carpeted with jungle, others issuing sulphurous jets of steam from newly formed barren rock; their volcanic nature responsible for the shroud of mist on the other side. They tacked between the myriad of islands for the most part of the day, looking for the best passage south and beyond, eventually finding themselves behind the southernmost where they dropped anchor. After a night moored in the lee of the island they lowered the cutter which hung from the rear of the schooner and went ashore to take advantage of the fresh water; a cascade was clearly visible with the spyglass. As this island was covered in greenery, they would also see if any fruit was available. Faro, Granbone and Prento, one of the other hands, rowed over to shore, each finding the feel of the soft wet sand very pleasing to stand upon having been on board so long. They dragged the boat up the sand, left the water containers by the waterfall, and made their way through the undergrowth looking for fruit. After struggling uphill for about a quarter of a mile, they reached a plateau and were astounded to find that it had obviously been cleared of trees sometime within recent years, though saplings of several feet tall and various grasses were beginning to recover from what had been cut down.

They froze when they saw the remnants of a makeshift shelter up against a rocky outcrop; but moved across to it on realising it had been derelict for some time. Granbone pulled off what remained of a primitive door fashioned from sticks and the three stood speechless for a moment on viewing the bleached bones of a human skeleton. Prento's eyes looked up to the smooth rock face which it leaned against.

'Look at this.' The three could make out a picture scraped into the surface, it was apparent that the poor wretch could not read or write, there were no words. The depiction was of a figure, breasts and shape with long hair making it obviously female, standing over a kneeling figure, obviously male; a line was etched from one crudely drawn hand of the woman to the neck of the man, her other hand held a stick or cane, his hands clasped together before him as though in prayer ... or begging. Above the figures an arrow pointed out to sea, in the direction the schooner would soon be headed, and just below the arrow an odd shape, possibly the crude outline of an island; carved in the middle of it was a strange symbol, an oval shape split through the middle like a coffee bean.

Granbone smirked grimly at the strange image.

'Must have been off his head, poor bastard!' Prento never gave the etching a second glance and poked his head into the derelict shelter to look at the bones. Faro though, looked long and hard at the image, his cock swelling; was this just a random sketch brought on by boredom, or was it truly pointing to something? The three had a quick search around the bones of the unfortunate man but found no clues as to who he was or how he had arrived there; a rusting machete explained the clearance and the remains of an oar used as a rudimentary spade showed he must have arrived on a boat of some sort. They had no time to bury the wretch, even had they a decent spade; the ground being rock hard and strewn with sapling roots. They gathered fallen undergrowth to cover the bones, then pulled the makeshift shelter down to entomb the remains. Scuttling down the hill they found some rudimentary fruit, small and not worth collecting; this meagre diet would have been just about all the mysterious soul would have had to survive on.

Having filled the containers with water, they rowed back to The Cresta and gave an account of their find. Ventee shrugged his shoulders dismissively on their description of the etching, which brought no more than smiles from the other men as they unfurled the sails and headed the boat south. The image stayed strong in Faro's mind though, and as soon as he finished his watch he made himself comfortable in his berth, sniffing at Serena's panties and enjoying a generous wank with the delicious scent of the dominant woman's pussy so strong in the gusset; his hot seed shot freely as his mind thought of the etching, was this something the castaway had simply yearned for, or was it an account of something he had experienced? Faro grunted with pleasure as he milked his cock and squinted through the porthole at the Ghost Islands fast disappearing behind them.

Another three weeks passed of seemingly endless ocean, the crew now deeply bronzed and finding the shadier places on deck, hanging their lines over the side to catch the plentiful fish from the blue waters rolling by. It was Ventee himself who saw it first.

'Land ho!' Faro and the others skipped across the hot deck to the bowsprit and clambered up to peer at the horizon. Sure enough, beneath a small halo of white cloud, they could just make out what was obviously a sizeable island; they would be there in a day or so. Faro seemed to sense something as a breeze fanned their faces from the direction of the island, his cock erected unexpectedly as the air blew up, fresh and somehow invigorating; he turned and went back to his line, leaving the others cackling amongst each other about untold treasures.

Five hours on from when the crew had first viewed the island, a woman's eyes peered at the vessel through a large telescope atop a vast temple, her face grinning with pleasure.

'So it is true. We shall have sport of new flesh.' The tall woman's nipples poked excitedly from breasts adorned in black lace as she toyed with her whip; her red lips puckered and moved to a cruel sneer at the naked eunuch who knelt cowering before her. Two other women placed their heels on his back, both equally excited, their sport would begin immediately. The black haired woman's pussy tingled to match the excitement of her nipples as she asserted her supreme authority over the hapless slave at her feet.

'You know the price for sighting the approach of newcomers. I take it you came straight here and told no others?' The eunuch had his head lifted by his hair by one of the stern women who attended him so that he may address the woman in lace properly.

'I told no others Mistress.' The dominant woman smiled wickedly as she savoured announcing his fate.

'Good boy, you will now be sent to the place where your balls are.' She clicked her fingers and the quaking male was lain over an elevated stone plinth by the two female attendents who bound his ankles, and then his wrists behind his back. She clapped her hands and held the wretch's head up by his hair so that he may witness fully what the women would enjoy. He saw a huge door open in the temple, some fifty yards off, a smiling woman in a white silk robe stepped out; she carried a wooden block with an indent which into which his neck would be placed. He whimpered with fear, his anus tingling and his useless cock making a futile attempt to erect as he squirmed on the plinth. Had he still retained his balls the next sight would have had him shoot his mess in total submission; a huge woman in skin tight black leather followed, her head was masked completely with just her wicked eyes visible. The leather was like a second skin and expressed her full feminine curves so beautifully, her large breasts jutting and her round hips and large thighs displaying her magnificence. An imposing figure over six feet in her heeled boots, she carried a three foot bladed scimitar with which she would take much pleasure in removing his head.