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From: Kelvar Varkel <var_kel@yahoo.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Jake and the Castaway Daughters (Mf M+f MF mg hist oral rape) {Varkel} [3/12]
Date: Mon, 17 Apr 2000 22:10:23 -0400
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Chapter 3: Remorse and Caution
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<1st attachment, "5jnar03.txt" begin>
Jake and the Castaway Daughters
a Novelette by Varkel
Spring, 2000
CHAPTER 3: Remorse and Caution
Before nightfall the girls checked on the unconscious man, Belle
armed with the large knife and Marie with a coconut. They
lingered over the half naked body longer than was really
necessary. Jill stared unashamed at Jake's now flaccid penis,
which lay along his upper thigh, impressive even in repose. The
other two stole glances at it again and again.
"Are you certain I didn't kill him?" asked Marie, biting her lip
apprehensively.
"No, dear," Belle assured her again. "He is breathing and his
bleeding has stopped."
The eldest knelt beside the man and rotated his head enough to see
that a scab was forming where the coconut had struck. She also
saw another scar from an earlier cut and released the unresisting
head distastefully.
"He's passed out from the drink, I suppose," she snarled, rising
to her feet and pushing at the torso with her stockinged foot.
She was furious with the man. Because of him, she reminded
herself with bitterness, she was no longer a virgin. She
separated her knees once again to ease the soreness. She had long
dreamed of being taken for the first time in a much different way,
entwined with a loving husband on her wedding night.
"I thought my coconut did it," observed Marie with a frown.
"It did," the eldest agreed, "but the rum he drank is what keeps
him asleep. Do you remember old Tai-lo after he found Father's
medicinal whiskey?"
Marie thought about it. "Why would anyone want to do that?"
Belle grunted. "You'll have to ask someone who does. <I>
certainly wouldn't!"
Marie accepted that, but Jill had a question. "Why did he hurt
you, Belle? He made you bleed!"
"He was crazy, dear. Crazy drunk."
"Will he be crazy when he wakes up?"
"I don't think so, unless he finds more rum."
"We won't tell him where we hid it, will we?"
"No, dear. Jill, you must promise me not to tell him about any of
the things we hid. That is what we have to bargain with."
"I won't tell him, Belle."
The sunset that evening was astounding in its beauty, even though
the heights that shaded the beach obscured the Sun itself.
Dramatically painted clouds, piled high toward the south,
threatened a storm. The sisters had constructed a rude shelter of
fronds amidst a grove of palms, located up the beach from the man
who lay on the sand like a corpse. They huddled under it
together, savoring the light breeze, and unwrapped crackers of
hardtack salvaged from the boat. It was hard chewing but all
three girls enjoyed sound teeth. Nearly tasteless, it
nevertheless swelled with saliva and, along with draughts of water
from the jug, filled their stomachs.
Darkness fell quickly, as it does in the tropics. Soon the three
girls could see each other only by starlight, in a world utterly
empty except for themselves. Marie snuggled to Belle, snuffling a
bit but determined not to cry. She tried with all her mental
energy to wish herself and her sisters into the past, back to
Hanchow where they had been so happy. Jill, too, thought of
Hanchow and their expansive home, large enough for secret places,
in one of which Belle had discovered her naked with Wu Fong before
he could more than touch her, before he could teach her the
naughty things that she somehow knew were deliciously sweet. Jill
dozed off with her face nuzzled into Belle's neck and a hand on
the eldest's breast.
Belle's eyes were wide open, staring into the blackness above her.
She felt a worry too large, too all-encompassing to allow more
than a single, desperate solution: she must tame that awful man,
that Higgins. She knew herself incapable of saving the girls in
their present situation. Only he could, if he would. She
suddenly felt old, although she was not quite fully grown.
* * *
Torrents from the storm lashed the beach and the man lying upon
it, awakening him suddenly. It tasted sweet. Only rain? His
first sensation was relief for a dry throat, the second was
nausea. Up came his gorge, irresistible and massive. He turned
his head quickly and vomited powerfully to the side, onto his
cheek, onto the sand.
His head was splitting. A hammer pounded his temples with every
heartbeat. Thinking himself still in the sea, he flailed out with
his arms to swim but ground them unmistakably into wet sand. No,
by god, he was lying on his back on a beach! The nearby thud and
hiss of surf made that clear. And he was naked. No, not quite.
He was wearing a soggy undershirt.
He sat up and his head seemed to explode. He groaned aloud
at the overwhelming pain. Where was he? Opening his eyes
revealed nothing: absolute blackness. He was blind, then.
Oh, no, he wasn't! A streak of lightning zigzagged across the
sky, accompanied by a soul shaking crash of thunder. For an
instant clear as day he saw a narrow beach and wind-torn white-
caps nearly reaching his own position, a ship's lifeboat poised
among them. Automatically he determined to reach that boat and
rolled forward onto his knees. His head protested in agony. It
felt as if a horse had recently kicked it. He continued forward,
over onto his face in wet sand.
The rain stung the back of his head now. He put up a hand and
discovered hair and sand matted into a thick scab. The area was
tender to the touch.
Suddenly his gorge rose again, even more powerfully, but he could
raise his head only enough to keep the vomit off his shirt. God,
he was sick! The unspeakable flavors in his mouth included the
taste of rum. Rum! Where in hell might a prisoner find rum?
With a rush the memories came back: the shipwreck, the night in
the water, finding the boat, meeting the girls -- good god, where
were the girls in this storm?
The wind increased, driving the rain up the beach so hard as to
sting his exposed skin. The boat, their passage back to
civilization -- he <had> to save that boat! But where was it?
His orientation was gone. The wind howled even above the crash of
surf. He rose to his knees, awaiting the next lightning flash.
When it came, the boat was gone! Stunned, he jumped to his feet,
the sinking in his heart momentarily more powerful than the pain
in his head and the nausea in his gullet. Blind, he took several
cautious steps forward, nearly knocked down by the wind, until he
found himself wading in the surf, warmer than the rain.
Another deafening flash revealed the boat, now well beyond the
shore, heading before the wind directly toward the rock pile
offshore. He stared in its direction forlornly. He knew with
certainty that he had awakened too late, that he could never save
it now.
How bad was this new storm? On the next flash he was already
looking upward, ready to apply an experienced mariner's eye to the
organization of storm clouds. He easily recognized the one-sided
configuration of a mere squall -- a dangerous one for small craft,
he noted ironically, but soon to pass over any particular point.
He trudged into the tree line and sat down, leaning back against a
slanted palm bole to wait it out.
Memory returned of the equipment removed from the boat. He sighed
again, thinking it all lost, the floating items blown out to sea,
the weapons and tools buried in the sand. At first light he might
find the shovel, if he had any luck left. The water bottles! He
started to get up, meaning to form a bucket of large leaves, then
sank back as he recalled the cove and its falling stream that this
squall could only enhance.
A drink! The rum, too, must be gone. Ah, that was it. His last
memory was of swilling rum betwixt verses of the "Boston Lass."
That explained the head and the nausea, perhaps ultimately even
the scab in his hair. But when had he removed his britches?
"What a goddamned fool!" he said aloud.
The wind was dying. Not three feet away a feminine voice asked
clearly, "And who is the fool?"
He put out a hand and felt a yielding shoulder that immediately
snatched itself away. "Don't touch me!" its owner commanded.
"Which one are you?" he asked after clearing his throat of phlegm.
"Are you still crazy?" the voice asked.
"Crazy?"
"Belle said that you were crazy."
"Where is Belle?"
"In the trees."
"Trees! Are you girls all right?"
"Yes, we're safe. Belle let me come to see if <you> are all
right."
The girl's voice paused and then asked diffidently, "Do you still
want to do ..." Her voice died away to inaudibility.
"Do what?" he asked.
"Wh-what you did to Belle?"
"What was that?"
She failed to answer. With a sense of foreboding, he asked again,
"What did I do to Belle?"
"You don't remember?" The tone was incredulous.
He explained sheepishly, "I think I was drunk."
"You put your thing into her. Do you want --"
"Oh, my god! I did <what>?"
"You knocked her down and got between her legs."
Jake shuddered. "Oh, no!" His head sank into his hands. "I
didn't rape her, did I? Please tell me she said, 'Yes!'"
"She said, 'No, no!'"
He sat silently, horror stealing over him. The girlish voice
added, so softly that he barely heard, "But I wouldn't."
"Wouldn't what?" he asked hoarsely.
"Say, 'No.'"
He took a deep breath. Which of the two was she? Jake wondered.
Certainly not Belle! "Is she hurt?" He rose impatiently on a
knee. "Give me your hand."
"Why?"
"To lead me to your sisters."
He heard a swish of leaves but no reply. After a moment he leaned
toward the girl's position and felt around but encountered only
wet fronds.
"Hey!" he called. "Jill! Isn't that your name?" Or was it the
middle one, the plump little girl whose expression was so much
like that of a frightened doe.
Listening closely, he heard no response. The wind was still
rustling in the wet foliage, enough to mask foot noises. But how
could she make out her path? Was a child's night vision better
than a man's? Apparently so, he decided, if the man was afflicted
with a raging hangover.
Groaning, he sagged back against his palm trunk, head sunk in his
hands. Crazy, was he? Had he actually raped the girl? His cock
had no memory of it. In the morning light he would get to the
bottom of the matter. He knew that a man is always accountable
for his acts, one way or the other, however much he might himself
despise them. But he had done it before, raped a girl, he
recalled in anguish, in Santiago. She was so cute, and he so
drunk. Christ! The little thing didn't even have tits. And now
he had done it again, evidently. He didn't remember it, although
the guilt pressed upon him.
The rain had ceased. A star appeared in the opening above him,
then a rush of others as the obscuring clouds moved on. It was
enough for him barely to make out the white breakers, even around
the rocks offshore, but he saw no sign of the white lifeboat.
* * *
It was a glorious morning, fresh and clean. Jill was up with the
Sun. Only she had managed to sleep through the horrid storm. Her
sisters slumbered yet, Marie cupped behind Belle. Jill took a
drink from the water jug and removed a single chunk of hardtack
from its oilskin bag, then put it back distastefully. She was
hungry, but her clammy wet clothing was of more immediate concern.
She stood facing the beach and pulled layer after layer of damp
garments from her slight body until she was clad in a petticoat
and nothing else. Her graceful arms and slender shoulders were
bare, open to the sun as were her lovely knees and calves. Her
tangled hair, as golden as the dawn itself, lent her the
appearance of a wild child, but her exquisite oval face that of an
angel.
Jill raced onto the beach in search of the curious man who had
hurt Belle, the man who possessed such a large penis. She saw him
in the far distance, naked, emerging from the heavy surf of the
storm's aftermath. She slowed her advance, suddenly cautious.
She stopped and watched him pull on his shirt as the water lapped
at his ankles. He turned his head and looked at her. She would
go no closer. He was a bad man. He started towards her, but she
ran into the trees on a different line than the direction to her
sleeping sisters.
The Sun was well into the sky before Marie and then Belle came
awake, much to the relief of Jill, who had been fidgeting around
the makeshift camp for at least an hour.
"He's alive!" she announced to her groggy sisters, rushing up to
them as they stretched and yawned, Belle twisting her neck because
of a crick.
"I'm hungry," complained Marie, whose well rounded body required
more calories than her slender sisters.
"Here." Jill passed her the bag of hardtack. Marie made a face
but took out a cracker and bit off a piece. Jill said to the
eldest, "Won't we soon get something better to eat?"
"Yes, of course, we shall," Belle responded soothingly, getting up
to stand at her full height, somewhat taller than Marie and much
more so than little Jill.
"You're almost naked!" she admonished the youngest when her eyes
adjusted to the day. "Did you let him see you like that?"
"I didn't come close to him," Jill replied defensively. "What
would happen if I did?"
"Don't try to find out!"
Jill turned away with a sniff.
Belle murmured in reflection, "Well, I suppose we'll all have to
adjust to our new circumstances." She began herself to shed some
layers of clothing in the breezeless morning. Marie, usually so
shy, was quickly clad like her younger sister, in just a petticoat
that draped her body more tightly than did Jill's, suggesting
small breasts and a solid mid section. The middle sister's limbs
were ample, but well proportioned and shapely. Though pleasantly
rubenesque, she was not truly a fat girl.
Belle smiled at her younger sisters, shrugged and likewise
stripped down to her petticoat. Belle was gorgeous. Her garment
concealed the torso of a young woman with generous hips and almost
mature breasts. The graceful line from ankles to upper thighs was
exciting even to little Jill, who appreciated such things.
But Belle's face quickly took on her usual, stern expression, as
she looked from Marie to Jill. She paused thoughtfully before
speaking.
"We need that <Higgins>." She pronounced the man's name with a
sneer. "But we can't let him take charge of us. He's a beast,
you know."
Marie looked up at her older sister with an open mouth, nodding
slightly. Jill wrinkled her face, not understanding.
"We need him because he's strong and because he knows a lot of
things." She paused to study her audience. "But he's a man, and
you know what they're like."
Marie blushed deeply, but Jill asked, "What are they like?"
Belle looked at the youngest with an expression of exasperation.
"Just don't let him touch you."
"Even if I want him to?"
"Especially then!" Belle retorted.
"May I touch him?"
"No!" Belle shouted, almost out of patience with the child, whom
she knew to be sexually precocious despite her size. She would
never forget bursting into the attic chamber and finding Jill
naked with Wu Fong, the sixteen year old house boy, whom she
herself secretly loved.
"Listen to me," Belle began again. "We need Higgins, but we don't
need him to be one of us. We must keep him in his place.
Whenever he's around we'll speak Chinese to let him know that."
"Doesn't he speak Chinese?" asked Jill.
"Have you forgot? He doesn't know the Hanchow dialect, at least."
"Father told us to quit speaking Chinese," Jill reminded her.
"We shall, except when Higgins can hear us."
"But what if he then just goes off by himself?" Marie asked
sensibly in a low voice.
Belle realized that Marie had just found the flaw in her plans,
but a brilliant insight occurred to her. "He won't go away
because he's a man and we're women. He'll always be hoping."
"Hoping for what?" Jill chirped with a knowing smile.
Belle stared at the girl and threw up her hands. "Have some hard
crackers," she suggested, not wanting to continue this
conversation. "Then come and sit in front of me while I plait
your hair."
Later, as her hands wove among Jill's golden strands, she murmured
pensively, "One of the first things we must get from him is better
food. We'll have to give him something, too."
* * *
Jake had retreated into the shade as the rising sun tingled on his
reddened arms. He was sunburned there, on the tops of his feet
and on his face, all of which had been pale from weeks in prison.
He shook his head. He had slept the previous afternoon in a
drunken stupor! Had he not lain in the shade, purely by the
accident that the girls were there, he would probably be sunburned
all over, including his cock!
He looked up suddenly when he heard a soprano shout and saw the
blonde girl staring at him from a hundred yards away. That's the
small one, he thought, as pretty as a porcelain doll. And no more
sexually attractive, he would have added, had he not been filled
with remorse and a sick headache. He had vowed the night before
never to even think about sex again. It was his penance for the
awful sin he had apparently committed.
At dawn, when he realized that he would continue to live, he
thought of leaving the beach and losing himself in the interior of
the jungle island, to be away from the girls and their temptation.
But then he acknowledged that they needed him, his strength and
skills, possibly for the rest of their lives unless he could
somehow build a replacement for the lost sailboat.
He had searched the strand and found nothing. All the litter from
yesterday, the tools and food from the boat, was of course blown
away or buried out of sight. As best he could he had located the
spot where the boat had stood by the remembered angles of certain
palm trees. He had dug in the sand desultorily, hoping to find a
few tools, the long knife, anything -- to no avail.
Every thought of losing that boat induced another paroxysm of self
reproach: He was a sailor, a first mate who had hoped one day to
become captain. But instead of pulling the fucking thing higher
onto the beach, he had gotten drunk and raped a young girl! In
the bright light of day he had to face the enormity of his guilt.
They would be marooned on the island for years, he concluded,
because a ship had no reason to come so far off the shipping lanes
and discover them. He knew about dugout canoes and had once
studied the sturdy Polynesian outriggers, but without tools how
might he even attempt to construct one?
Staring at his toes, he resolved to build them a house somehow,
provide them with food and protect them from whatever. But he
could not live with them. Another violent rage suddenly festered
his brain. He would cut off his cock, had he still possessed the
knife ... but then, no. He could not do that, because he would
bleed to death and not be able to serve the girls.
The shout came again, ruffled by a rising onshore breeze. The
girl was jumping up and down on something in the sand at the edge
of the trees. She wanted his attention, did she?
He got up and walked out onto the sand, his hands concealing his
manhood. The girl was hardly clear of the trees herself. She
stood still when she spotted him. She must be hungry, he thought,
and thirsty, too. Her golden hair was plaited behind in a single
long, thick braid. She was wearing only a white, knee-length,
sleeveless but full-shouldered petticoat. He thought to warn her
of sunburn, but even at a distance he could see that her arms and
legs were a golden tan. From playing on the ship's deck across
the Pacific?
When he had reached half the distance, she cupped her hands around
her mouth and shouted, "Bring us food."
"I mean to," he shouted back.
Immediately she spun around and raced into the trees, bare legs
flashing white half way up her thighs where daylight seldom
penetrated.
"You don't have to run away," he shouted after her, but she had
already disappeared.
He continued to the point where she had called him and found two
things atop a small natural rise in the sand: the long knife and
his britches. Of course! He must have had them in his possession
when he sought out Belle. Someone had brushed off the sand and
folded the garment neatly. Quickly he stepped into it and closed
the waistband, surprised at the improvement in confidence afforded
by covered genitals.
He took up the knife to an even greater lift of feeling, and
turned into the tree line himself. Almost immediately he came
upon a freshly fallen coconut. A few slashes of the sharp blade,
knowingly applied, split the husk away. The hairy nut yielded to
a single chop. He licked out the unspilled milk and pried up
chunks of the white meat. How welcome and sweet it was in his
mouth! But his stomach convulsed in warning when he sought to
swallow.
Shortly he found three other coconut specimens, one larger than
the first, and brought them out into the sun on the mound. In
short order he freed the nut in each, then cupped his hands around
his mouth and facing the forest, shouted, "Come and eat! Come and
eat!"
The three girls stepped out onto the sand nearby. Obviously they
had been hiding behind the leading palms. Not that he could blame
them. They approached cautiously and hesitantly, watching him
narrowly, each with braided hair, wearing a white petticoat and
apparently nothing more. He studied Belle closely. Yes, her pace
was slightly less graceful than yesterday, the knees held farther
apart. Her eyes narrowed under his scrutiny. He stared at her
breasts, which filled the wrinkled petticoat. Suddenly two sharp
points appeared in the full chest. He dropped his eyes
immediately, ashamed of himself, ashamed for her, that he had
glimpsed her covered parts before. He wondered if she knew how
exquisitely desirable she actually was.
He knelt and laid the three nuts each on its husk. The girls
stopped about ten feet away, staring at him, clearly ready to
spring back into the trees. They jumped as the heavy knife fell
upon the first nut, separating it into halves and of course
spilling most of the milk. He quickly opened the other two
similarly.
With a deep sigh, he got to his feet and backed away. At ten feet
distant from the little offering he asked, "Are you familiar with
coconut? Drink what milk is left first, then pry out the white
part, the meat, with your fingernails. It's sweet and tasty.
You'll like it."
The girls edged nearer, watching him closely. He sighed and
backed farther away.
"You can get all the milk out without splitting the nut if you
have a small enough blade. Belle, you have a pen knife, don't
you?"
Instead of answering, the tallest asked, "If it's so good, why
don't <you> eat it?"
He shook his head. "Because I'm sick to my stomach. But it's
good, and good for you." He sighed. "I know you have reason to
doubt me, but I promise you I'll never again do anything to hurt
you -- any of you."
Belle said something in Chinese. Jill came slowly forward, took
up a coconut half and cautiously sipped the liquid. Her eyes
widened. She cried out a word, then turned the object up,
draining the remaining juice into her mouth. The other two also
came forward and took up nuts, but glanced away from Jake only
briefly.
He raised his hands. "All right. I understand that you hate me
this morning. If I did what I fear, I guess you have good reason.
I'm sorry, Belle. I would hang for that if we were in port, but
if I hang myself I can't help you live here.
"Right now I'm going to take this knife and hack out graves for
the bodies down the beach. I'll bring you back some bananas and
breadfruit I found yesterday."
With that he turned on his heel and plodded away, angling onto the
cool strand to spare his feet from the sand already heating in the
Sun.
<1st attachment end>
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