His location was a mystery. As he huddled and shivered, eyes darting around him wildly, expecting boars and tigers, he realized he had not a clue where the ship had gone down, and only the faintest idea of where it had been heading in the first place. Two wild weeks of Spring Break, and two wild days of drinking aboard the ocean liner, it seemed, had stolen everything. He felt lucky he remembered his own name.
As he trudged through the thick wood, his arms wrapped around himself for heat, he cursed himself and he cursed the island. The sky crackled and dribbled on him from the thick canopy above. Why was he stuck like this? Why didn’t he have the slightest idea what to do? He had been stupid, he told himself. Society, cities, had made him soft. He had no idea how to survive in an environment such as this. The best he could do, he thought, was find a cave not inhabited by some wild beast, try to start a fire, and keep an eye out for a fresh water spring. He was assuming, of course, that he was the only one on the isle.
In truth, eyes were watching him; cautious eyes, eyes hiding terror behind mental conditioning. Eyes that should not have been able to understand what they saw as they peered from the dense and dark jungle bush. Animal eyes, that saw as a human’s.
Jason found a low rocky overhang by a waterfall, and assumed it was the best that he could do. It kept off the rain, and when the rain finally stopped, he thought, would be far enough up the volcano at the center of the isle to build a good rescue fire on top of. He had water, and shelter, and a plan for escape, now. All he had to do was find food that wasn’t poisonous, and couldn’t eat him before he ate it. He wasn’t especially hungry, and though his body felt strong his thoughts were thin and fatigued. With his chin on his arms, and his arms on his knees, he fell asleep.
When he awoke, the young man realized he wasn’t alone. The sun had pretty much dried off the island, and the waterfall and stream were a loud reminder of the rain he left when he started to doze. Now, however, his surroundings were difficult to notice as Jason fixed his eyes on his guest, and felt his heartbeat starting to increase rapidly. He rose, slowly, not knowing how to stop making eye contact, not knowing where to run, not knowing if he should run...
It just sat there. Like a regular house cat, not walking, not lying down. A black tiger, at least the size of him, and perfectly docile, returning his gaze with more composure than the human being could muster. It was guarding him... or imprisoning him, it seemed: he couldn’t be sure. Maybe it was just watching him, but Jason felt an intelligence radiating from it that seemed greater than animal. Jason sat back down, and just matched the creature’s soulful stare.
Before long, another tiger appeared, this one white with grey stripes. It roared mildly at the black tiger, which then stood up, and scurried back in the direction from which the white tiger had come: home base, presumably. Jason was at this point convinced that there was some kind of supernatural transference of ideas here. No felines were this organized.
“Island of Dr. Fucking Moreau,” he muttered.
The white one seemed agitated, as though it wanted Jason to know something, but it knew that it couldn’t communicate with him. It roared and rolled its head on its neck, drooling, but Jason was not afraid. Instead, he walked over to it, slowly.
“Take me to your leader,” he said in a robot voice. The tiger knew it was being mocked, but roared again, and proceeded into the bush, taking a look back to see if the young man was behind it. He was, so the two continued to walk through the jungle.
After a brief hike through some very unfriendly forest, scaring up birds and slapping mosquitoes against his arm, Jason came upon what looked like an old plantation house lodged into the volcano about a quarter of the way around it from where he had decided to make camp. His guide’s roar indicated to him he’d been staring too long at the mansion, so he trudged up onwards, and the two entered a gate in a stone wall, and proceeded into a courtyard. At this point the tiger sat down, and started panting.
“Not coming in?” Jason asked it.
It did nothing but blink as flies buzzed around its eyebrows.
“Alright,” the youth said, and walked up the steps to the front door of the mansion. He opened one of them, cautiously.
“Hello?” he called. “Anybody in here? Anybody lose a tiger?”
The house was elegantly decorated, but silent, and no humans were in sight. He went in further.
“Hello?” he called again.
(Up here.)
He started. A voice in his head. Had he simply gone crazy? Super-tigers, voices in his head? Was this all fantasy? He decided to see it through.
Ignoring the kitchen and the rest of that floor, he mounted the staircase, and felt around in his skull for the voice, for any sign of which way to go.
(Warmer,) the voice told him.
“Jesus Christ, I am going crazy,” he said, but kept following. He had to be sure.
(In this room.)
How did it know where he was, what door was in front of him? Could it see through his eyes?
(Come to me.)
He took a deep breath.
“Alright,” he said, and slowly pushed the door open.
He didn’t see her immediately, but as he entered the lavishly decorated quarters, dimmed by fine, scented fabrics on the windows, he grew aware of a massive intellectual presence somewhere near him: one that frightened him and yet compelled him to go further.
He saw her, and she smiled.
She was seated at a vanity, in a long white robe. She looks like Tori Amos, he thought.
“Who is Tori Amos?”
“Excuse me?”
Suddenly, her eyes grew large, and dark, and wrathful, and she stared into him. She didn’t look like Tori Amos anymore.
“Oh,” she said, calming down again. “A pop-singer. I should be flattered. Please don’t be afraid of my appearance. It’s been a while since I’ve had to read a human.”
“Uh...” he said.
“Silence,” she commanded, apparently angry again.
This chick’s got mood swings, Jason thought.
(Don’t remind me why I left the civilized world. I’d done, up until now, a very good job of forgetting all about it.)
“How do you do that?” he stammered.
(Do the dishes.)
And so, he was standing beside a great wooden barrel, larger than anything he’d ever seen in a kitchen, washing pots and utensils, wearing his pants and nothing else, the cuffs rolled up under the knees now.
He enjoyed the visitations the animals made to him as he worked, his consciousness now no more than that of a child’s.
(Come to dinner.)
He was sitting in his rolled up pants, and still nothing else, when the Lady of the house joined him. She sat at the head of the table, a monkey with a large head on a coatrack beside her chair, and with a wave of her hand she welcomed her assorted guests to eat, and they did so, enthusiastically. Jason was the only human, but he grinned moronically at the donkey lapping food up off of the table beside him, and the monkeys and birds sitting across from him as he enjoyed the delicious food that had been put out for him.
“What are you going to do?” the monkey beside her chair asked.
“Are you jealous, Felix?”
“Jealous of what? Look at him. You’ve made him a grinning imbecile. Hey, idiot! Good food, huh?”
Jason raised his fork in celebration and smiled, bits of chewed vegetable falling out of his mouth onto the table. He and the donkey then had to argue over whose the bits were.
“Disgusting.”
“I imagine it reminds you of your own fate.”
“I still have a mind,” Felix said, hunching miserably.
“And for that you are most welcome.”
“You witch. I should have murdered you when I had the chance.”
“When was that?” she asked him, and enjoyed a sip of red wine.
“So, tell me, what are you going to do? Wait until someone comes looking, and then mesmerize the whole crew? Ha! That’s beyond even you, my scarlet dear.”
The Lady’s eyes were now fixed on the idiot boy.
“I’ll go out riding,” she said, concentrating on her plans as they unfolded to her. “I’ll see the situation first hand, and decide from there where to go with him.”
“Yes, and I suppose it’s Felix who’s stuck babysitting with the idiot child. And won’t that be just darling. Let’s just see, if...”
“I’ll take him with me,” she said. She resumed eating in a manner which told her companion the discussion was over. It was alright with Felix: he was out of complaints, anyway.
The next morning, the Lady came to Jason personally. She had not made him so stupid that he couldn’t recognize her though her hair had been tied down her back in a huge braid, and all she now wore was a loin cloth, a bikini top of the same leathern material, and a leather headband. He sat up on the straw on which he’d slept in the filthy corner of the kitchen she’d given him, and smiled idiotically. Her dark eyes flared as she tilted her head back and smirked just a little. For the first time in years, she felt desire. She tossed him a loincloth and mentally commanded him to change, and he did so obediently. He had no resistance to her.
When he found her outside she was brushing the mane of big white steed. She mounted, and then rode up to him. She held out her arm, he took it, and she pulled him up.
They rode along a rocky ridge. Her muscles were not huge, but they rippled impressively as she controlled the horse with physical signals. She preferred not to use mental commands on her rides; she thought of horseback travel as an art form, and she enjoyed performing it.
Her pussy bucked repeatedly against its back as it transported them, with only the thin leathern cloth between her and the animal, and the boy held her stomach from behind to keep from slipping, with a helplessness she enjoyed tremendously. Sometimes, playfully, he would place his bare feet over hers, and let her hair swing back and forth on his nose. He watched her buttocks bouncing, firm and powerful like the animal itself, and occasionally looked up at the sides of her tan back with a confusing and desirable awe. When it became too much for him, he buried his face in her back, because she wouldn’t permit him erections, since she was still not sure of what she was going to do with him.
They rode down a green hillside he had not seen, the kind that was rarely seen by anyone outside of Wales, though there were many in Hawaii that resembled it. When they reached the beach an irony tried to flicker into existence inside Jason: something to do with role-reversal and a planet of the apes, but the Lady’s gentle finger stubbed out the cinders of his personality before they could flare up, and of course for that he was grateful. He hugged her, and purred. When they reached the wreckage of the ship, she dismounted. The boy traced furry contours on the great white steed’s back.
“What happened, here?” she wondered, as she walked through the debris, careful not to cut her bare and delicate feet. “Jason?”
“It was a terrible storm,” the boy said, his mind suddenly restored. “The boat didn’t stand a chance, it didn’t last very long.”
“Storms like that occur rarely.”
“Yeah, well, that’s what happened. What the hell am I wearing?”
Something stirred, in a trunk a bit down the beach.
A survivor, thought the Lady. A child, perhaps locked in a trunk by parents who knew that they were going to die?
“What’s that?” asked Jason, and dismounted. He walked up to her. He stayed behind her, for protection. “What is it?”
The Lady began walking towards the rattling luggage, and the boy timidly followed behind her. She stalked like a jungle cat, he noticed; cautious, but ready, muscles taut.
When they reached the box, it flew over, and a wild boar leapt out at them. Jason’s lady fell over, and hit the back of her head lightly on a part of a door, sending her into unconsciousness. The boar, which seemed rabid, or merely crazed, targeted Jason, and ran up at him. He yelped, and began cutting into the forest with wild, jerky strides, the boar refusing in its anger to give up the chase.
When Jason came to the campsite he’d chosen after arriving on the island, he jumped up onto a wet, rocky climb, and he slipped. He fell down badly, pushing the skin from his elbow against a rock, and hurting his back in the process. The beast closed in on him.
It snarled once, upon sighting him, his blood, and then charged.
From no where, the Lady of the Island flew from the bushes, dagger drawn from the hilt on her loincloth, and the two flew into a rolling tumble down the face of the rocks, a furious storm of growling and grunting, bestial and feminine, and they stopped.
The lady rose, wiped blood from off her mouth, as though she had killed him with fangs and was satiated, and she looked at Jason.
“Oh,” he cried, suddenly feeling his wound, and she bade him sleep with a mental command.
He was awake long before his conscious mind realized it, enjoying the rocking of the horse trot, and the warmth of his Lady’s back as his head rested upon it. His wound was dressed. His arms ensnared her tightly, and she smiled. As the horse mounted the crest of a green ridge from which they could sight the house of the Lady, Jason finally drew his dazed head up, and looked at their surroundings. This was paradise, even he, with his idiot mind realized. A natural pleasure land. Feelings of gratitude overtook him, though he knew not why, and he stared with a love that hurt him at the back of the one who had saved him. His Lady felt his pain, and her flustering was evident as the horse shifted its feet on the stable ground. Her breathing increased, and the boy watched it curiously, not understanding anything, but knowing that this was what he was here for. She was moved by him.
Reaching down to the horse’s neck, she patted its great muscles gently, commanding it silently, not to move. Jason’s penis finally swelled with blood. On his basic mental level, he almost couldn’t comprehend it, but when she pulled her loincloth up and to one side, the thought came easily enough. He slid himself in, and the horse whinnied, and his Lady exhaled heavily through her nostrils, closing her eyes, and petting the great steed’s neck for support. The boy moved very little, but soon ejaculated, and wanted her to sit upright again so he could hug her and against her fall asleep. She obliged him, and then, in the silence of the countryside, they rode down the green ridge, to home.
The next time he awoke, he was lying on the dining room table, surrounded by burning candles. It was night. She stalked towards him, dagger still in its hilt at her side, still only wearing the leather bikini, headband, and braid. He sat up on his good elbow, curious about what she desired. She walked to him, put one arm under his bent knees, and the other supported his back, and like that she lifted him, effortlessly, and began to carry him down one of the corridors of the house. He let his arm find its way around her neck, and let his head find repose in her breast. She looked down, momentarily, and then back to the path she was walking through the mansion.
When they reached the bedroom, she nudged the door open with his feet, sideways, and he smiled. She carried him in, and placed him gently down upon the bed, which was covered with rose petals, and also illuminated only by a great number of candles.
She stood before him, now, as he waited, blinking alertly, though through eyes still too accustomed to sleep to form visions. She disrobed, finally shaking loose the headband, and climbed onto the bed with him. His breathing was deep, but wild, he noticed. She looked at his loincloth, and then back up to his eyes, and he quickly discarded the covering. They were both naked, and she claimed him, swinging a strong leg over his lower abdomen.
Perhaps it was his nervousness, but he was flaccid. She injected the erection into him telepathically, and he stiffened into steel. She mounted, and she rode, and by the morning, he was drained completely.
“Is your name ‘Jason’?”
He turned over, groaning, as though only suffering from a bad hangover.
The rescue team scurried around the beach, frowning and head-shaking with their hands on their hips.
“Well, well, looks like we got a live one. Welcome back, Cousteau.”
He was assisted into a life raft from the beach, given a blanket, which in the heat he didn’t want, and he sat down on the inflated rubber structure.
“Nice find, Captain,” a crewman said passing by him on his search for valuables in the rubble of the cruise ship.
The captain was about to turn back when a pair of yellow eyes caught his from the jungle bush. A black tiger.
“Thank God we’re just here for a visit,” the captain said, and ordered his men to leave.