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Subject: Title story: "Fantasy Island Revisited" Author: Gregory Daniel Nikolic 48544562
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Date: Mon, 11 Jul 2005 01:16:07 +0000
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Fantasy Island Revisited
"Tattoo! Dammit, Tattoo, where are you?"
The richly accented voice boomed out into the lush underbrush of the Island. Its
cultured resonances caused a small flock of tropical birds to explode in a pack
from high trees. Scattered droppings assailed him from high above. Mr. Roarke
swore up a storm in Spanish before subsiding into the Island patois.
"When I find you Tattoo..." Mr. Roarke promised darkly, his beautifully
accented words ripe with aristocratic wrath. He pushed his way through the
undergrowth until he reached a wide clearing. Roarke was dumbfounded by the
sight before him.
Tattoo was frolicking happily in the laps of two native girls. The girls were
bare except for strategically placed leis. He was so engrossed with his
surroundings that he failed to notice the presence of the one man who struck
fear in his tiny heart.
"Tattoo!" Roarke roared incredulously. Tattoo jumped half out of the two girls'
laps. His small face was a comical mix of terror and startlement.
"I _cannot_ believe this, Tattoo. I simply cannot. What have I told you
before about..."
While Roarke lectured, insensed, the two girls bounced up and ran out of the
clearing, breasts jiggling aplenty. Roarke memorized their behinds' ID tattooes
for later punishment. Eidetic memory was only one of his many talents.
After a five minute tongue lashing Tattoo looked throughly chagrined and put
out. Roarke gained measured control of himself and tapered off his fiery remarks
with a forgiving smile.
"But it's alright, Tattoo. I understand you, too, have your own... little...
needs which must be met." Roarke chuckled at his bon mots while Tattoo fumed
silently. A wave of churlish anger dissolved his guilt like acid.
"Come to the house tonight. I'll assign a serving girl or two for your personal
enjoyment. Perhaps you'll get to enjoy one of your own fantasies, eh, Tattoo?"
_Yeah_, Tattoo thought spitefully, _You extradited to the US for trial_.
Instead, he smiled excitedly for Roarke's benefit. "Could I, boss? Oh, thank
you, thank you!"
Roarke smiled indulgently at the man he practically considered his pet. This
contemptuous dismissal was not lost on Tattoo. "It's nothing, Tattoo. Now, run
along. You have house duties to perform."
Tattoo picked himself up off the ground and ran his naked little body off into
the jungle. Watching the small penis flap in the wind, Roarke mused, _Much like
my favourite boy's_. He strolled out of the clearing with a deeply self
satisfied smile.
* * *
The plane was circling now. Tattoo excitedly shouted out his familiar spiel:
"Boss boss de plane de plane!!" The white craft circled once more
before touching down in the clear lagoon with a faint splash. Roarke put on his
best, most handsome smile for the guests.
This week's honoured guests stepped out one by one as usual. Pretty native women
handed out leis to each visitor as they set foot on the Island. One of the
smiling women hid a very red behind behind her grass skirt, courtesy of Mr.
Roarke himself. The master of the island believed in personally administering
discipline himself, and at times that discipline took on wildly bizarre forms,
as even he would admit.
Roarke knew which people would play the main parts in his twisted little schemes
that week. Oh yes. Lise, the wealthy European heiress from Lichtenstein.
Professor Malmstrom of a Sioux Falls, South Dakota college's English department.
Hot young Amy, the Professor's suspicious "travelling companion". Tall Kirk, on
R&R from the US Marines, still outfitted in his combat fatigues. And of course,
the delicious blonde, Samantha. Why she was here, only Roarke knew, and Roarke
wasn't telling.
"Well," Roarke remarked affably, "I'm glad to have you all here. Tattoo will see
you to your rooms and go over the week's itinerary after dinner. To preserve the
island's quaint charm, we have installed outhouses in lieu of indoor plumbing.
Behind the servants' quarters and to the left."
Roarke flashed them one last smile, and strode away amidst surprised murmurs.
"Hey, that wasn't in the brochure."
* * *
_This is odd_, Amy thought, staring blankly at the pair of leather restraints
she'd found left on a chair in her room. Other than that the room was impeccably
clean, so it couldn't have been an accident.
Professor Malmstrom walked out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry. "What's
odd, hon?"
Amy held up the restraints. "These. What're they, Josh?"
Malmstrom carefully kept his expression neutral. They were a pair very much like
the ones he'd brought from Illinois with him. He'd intended to introduce this
aspect of sexuality to his eager young pupil, but it wasn't he who had left
these particular restraints out.
Josh didn't think it was the right time to explain bondage to Amy. He took the
leather restraints from her and tossed them into a wastebasket with a shrug.
"Probably nothing, dear."
He walked over and wrapped his big arms about her. Amy felt the polyester-
cotton blend shirt press against her sensitive skin. The hair on the nape of her
neck twitched. "Josh..." she squirmed within his arms as he planted kisses on
her neck and breasts. "I feel like we're being watched."
The professor ignored her pliant complaints, unbuttoning her silk blouse with
solid white teeth. He cupped her breasts, savouring the feel of the sheer bra.
"Nonsense. No one can watch us here." He found the buckle to her belt, stripped
it off, and unzipped her jean shorts. _My god she's got a
tight ass_, he thought.
"But Josh," Amy protested half whiningly. In some ways she was still a little
girl. Malmstrom pulled down her white panties. In others....
"Mmmmm you look good enough to eat," he chuckled. His tongue flicked out to seek
her clitoris. Amy closed her eyes above him and held his thick white head of
hair. She began moving her hips in a slow rocking movement as her older lover
sucked. Climbing, climbing... "Uhhhhnnnn.... That's soooooooooo good, Josh....
Oh..... Uhn.... Josh."
_I know dear_, Josh thought. _I know._ His tongue paddled her clit furiously.
The girl was getting very wet.
* * *
Roarke's footsteps echoed hollowly as he moved down the dripping stone corridor
beneath the hotel. Rats scurried somewhere in the darkness. Roarke tossed them a
bucket of KFC extra-crispy wings and left them to scurry over the fast food
garbage. In his other hand he carried an alligator skin briefcase filled with
his own special implements...
The maze seemed to go on forever but he knew every step by heart. He had traced
this route many a time before, here in his own personal, secret dungeon. The
pleasantly smiling, handsome man contained a hundred hidden passions. Tendrils
of hot white mist curled and drifted on the slick floor; he was careful with his
footing. The mist grew thicker as he proceeded, billowing white clouds
illuminated by flickering torches.
Roarke rounded a corner and entered a world of steam and heat and cold stone.
The women cried out when they saw him. "Please master!" "Us, come to us," a pair
of buxom white twins cried out with strange, slurred speech. Their bodies were
unusual: too thin, with improbably large breasts that swayed pendulously.
Drool spittled their cheeks as they reached out to him. Manacles chained their
legs to a wall, but they reached anyway as he passed, scrabbling for purchase
but grasping only air, crying his name: "Please! Please! Oh please master we
need you." Each licked her lips lewdly and thrust a bare pelvis at him. Chains
clanking slightly as he halted. They grew frenzied with encouragement.
"Oh yes... Come to us master," they murmured seductively. They stroked each
other's breasts and bodies, fingered erect clits and sopping vaginas. Gyrating,
their manacles clinked sharply. "Ohhh... it's so nice, master...
mmmmm....wet....touch us...." The women kissed without ever losing eye
contact with him.
The larger breasted twin began finger fucking her sister. She leaned towards
Roarke and smiled, licked her lips, nodded at him. Her hand began squeezing her
twin's clitoris forcefully. She gasped. The force increased to
elicit grunts, but neither minded.
"Yes?" the girls smiled at him.
Roarke made as if to turn. They panicked. "Oh no! No don't go! Look!!" The tall
twin abruptly forced her entire fist into the other's vagina. Chains clinked
with the abruptness of the move. Her twin tensed as the fist drove up but made
no other complaint.
Roarke stopped and walked slowly towards them. "Yes!" they hissed ecstatically.
He looked at them with hooded eyes. Extending a finger, he rubbed it against the
girl as she groaned ecstatically, the taller twin watching raptly.
Roarke felt the inside of her vagina and let out a long, slow whistle.
"Like fine Corinthian leather," he murmured remarkably.
He drew back and smiled broadly, with compassion. "Are you thirsty, my
lovelies?"
They whipped their heads up and down fast enough to suffer whiplash. They
dropped promptly to their knees. With their long slim legs folded beneath them,
their bushes were prominent with moisture. The twins stared at him belt level
and salivated hungrily.
Roarke stepped forward and put his hands on his waist. "Dinner is yours, my
dears," he whispered softly. "All ready to be served."
They shook tremulously as they unzipped him to extract a hardening organ. The
twins gasped with pleasure as they saw it grow, the deliciousness overwhelming
them. When they reached out and touched it with their hands it was fully erect.
The two stroked its smooth surface.
"Ours," they moaned with desire. "Tasty good, yum." They put their lips around
his member and sucked feverishly. Wet slurping noises filled the air as white
mist drifted around them. The taller girl squeezed her tits against Roarke's leg
as she swallowed the head of the penis in one gulp.
Her sister teased the balls with her tongue. The smaller girl pulled at soft
testicle skin with her lips, pushing the sacs with her tongue. An inexplicable
hunger struck her as she licked down to his perineum, then moved to his
asshole. She thrust her tongue all the way in, feeling him shudder as she
cleaned his butt.
Her sister moved down the cock steadily until the whole engorged thing was
lodged comfortably in her throat. She rotated her neck around the tool and
started humming, vibrating the whole surface of it. Roarke pushed her head very
strongly against the surface of his groin as he thrust into her. Her smaller
sister followed motion, sucking deep into his asshole. The blowing twin moved
back off the cock to the glans and started jerking Roarke as she sucked.
Her twin moved from his butt and returned to licking and kissing his shaft with
her sister. They moved in unison, kissing each other, frenching about the
thickness of his shaft. Roarke grabbed their hair with each hand and shoved his
dick between the two of them. They grappled with their tongues and lips for it,
sucking and blowing and nibbling between them.
The twins gulped him down, switching positions. Squeezing his shaft lovingly
with tight little fists, letting him titfuck each of them, they worked and
salivated constantly. The twins couldn't get enough of the sucking and groaned
when he clutched their large fleshy cups and squeezed.
They divvied his cock in two halves and moved up and down the both of them with
suctioning tongues, up and down quickly. Roarke looked down and saw the girls.
Their mouths were amazing, and so thirsty for him... He thrust forward, pushing
them back against the cold, wet walls.
His cock pulsed and spit gobs of white liquid over their faces as he groaned
loudly. They sucked greedily, draining him of the orgasm. They licked the little
bits that had escaped them off each other's face, and licked the floor and walls
for tiny specks, kissing each other, fondling each other's heavy breasts.
They started fucking frantically. In their delirious thirst for more
ejaculate, they began tonguing each other and humping mindlessly. Shouts of
female pleasure echoed in the mist. Roarke wiped his limp cock against their
writhing bodies and stroked them as they fucked each other heedlessly with
fingers and mouths and joints. He tucked his manhood back in his pants and
zipped up. He watched them move like animals in heat.
Standing back, he looked thoughtful. Conditioning.
Roarke strode off to find the surface and rejoin the outer world, leaving behind
a sussuras of orgasmic cries.
* * *
Kirk was an all-American boy from Iowa. High school quarterback, life of every
party, young Kirk grew up tall and straight. The patriotic man attended West
Point right after graduation. Within a year Kirk was an elite marine fighting in
far off places: the Balkans, St. Pierre and Miquelon... and the girls of course
loved him.
Samantha sat opposite him, gazing seductively into his eyes as the bright eyed,
bushy tailed blond boy spoke up excitedly: "And then we rode the convoy from
Skopje straight into an ambush! Boy was that dangerous." Kirk giggled. Samantha
wondered brain damage.
The young man's abdominal muscles rippled as he spoke, Samantha noticed. What a
fine six pack he had, if unfortunately the boy was as mentally agile as a three
toed sloth on valium. She decided she was getting nowhere fast.
"Kirk," Samantha said firmly with a lilt of her head and toss of her blonde
tresses. Kirk stopped in mid-sentence, his piercing blue eyes assuming the
same blank look that could very easily be taken for thoughtful introspection
from a distance.
Samantha stood up, swept back her skirt, and walked around to Kirk. She leaned
into his face: "I...want....YOU." She licked her lips and smiled to demonstrate.
"Oh!" Kirk said, and smiled eager as a beaver, for beaver. "You wanna do it?" he
asked boldly, with a touch of the machismo picked up in the Marines. Samantha
nearly changed her mind on the spot. But he *was* awfully cute, and there were
sacrifices to be made. Times of war, and love, necessitated it.
"Yeah. I do." She picked him up off the chair and led him to the queen sized
bed. She had specified that her room have a large bed. Samantha was just that
kind of girl. They stripped quickly and efficiently, like good young American
couples are wont to do. The loss of the art of undressing would have deeply
disturbed Casanova and other members of that uniquely European pantheon.
Propped back on her elbows, with the twin barrels of her breasts aimed at the
ceiling, her folded knees revealed a full, thick bush. Wetly she watched the
muscular young blond waddle forward awkwardly on his knees, dick guiding his way
unerringly to her muff like a divining rod.
Kirk reached out with his strong right hand and touched Samantha. The pink lips
of her sex spread easily, as if flapping loosely in the wind. He massaged her
clitoris between his middle and fourth fingers. It fit snugly, wetly, like a
small, fleshy button. Samantha's throaty moans sounded out aggressively as he
stroked her in her most sensitive spot.
Kirk, being the dull, incredibly horny boy he was, soon dropped his manual
manipulations for more immediate pleasures, moving cock to cunt. Without further
adieu he slid in, buttocks clenched tightly as the two of them joined in sensual
union. Samantha caressed the soldier's cheek as he thrust deeply.
"Ugh," he moaned. "Gurgle, ptaa...." He pumped away with military abandon, the
regular discipline ingrained in him from parade drills and forced marches. One
two one two, steady as she goes. Chanting voices filled his head: "I don't know
but I been told..." Thrust, thrust, thrust...Right, left...in, out... ten-hut!
"Oooohh." The boy from Iowa groaned softly and spilled his seed deep inside the
girl from California.
Meanwhile, the virus from Arizona happily continued on its own journey, an
inexplicable RNA voyage of love and self replication.
* * *
The tap on Lise's door came quietly but firmly.
The Countess of a small Lichensteinian region made a moue with her lips and
approached the door in a long black silk nightgown. She opened the door. Roarke
was standing there, with Tattoo at his side.
"Yes?" she asked with the common courtesy one member of royalty traditionally
reserves for another.
Roarke smiled, a brilliant edge of white in the darkened hallway; it was late.
"Ahhhh...Ms. Von Gyros-Al-Bretain de Pont du Fanastra...may I call you Lise? And
may I come in?" The Countess nodded haughty assent. She was a
beautiful, dark haired woman in her twenties, and yet she had already mastered
the pompous bearing some people took a lifetime to acquire, if ever.
"Well..." Roarke said, stopping himself. "You may go, Tattoo." The little man
scurried off.
He turned with a fresh smile for the Countess. "Well my dear, how are you
adjusting to life on our Island?"
The Countess scowled like a woman waiting to be dominated, to Roarke.
"It's hot, I'm fast running out of water purification tablets, and these
*people* don't even speak French or English very well. AND room service still
hasn't sent up someone with my pina coloda."
Roarke raised his hand; lo and behold, he had a very faintly bubbling pina
coloda with him.
"Bubbling?" The Countess frowned.
"Yesss -- it's carbonated. Try it, you'll like it." She took a sip of the drink
and smiled.
"Hey, not bad. Very much like--" *thump* Out like a light.
* * *
The room was pitch black. The Countess struggled to move before realizing she
was bound and gagged.
"Mfffflllfllaffl!"
She sensed his smile. "Yes, Lise. I know. You must be quite indignant."
Lise felt the nightgown lifted off her body. Her panties gently tugged down past
her ankles.
"Grrrrrrrmmffft!!"
The man ignored her and began stroking between her legs in little circles.
Touching the outer lips of her sex, he pulled lightly and moved his finger just
slightly within her silky entrance. He smoothed her vulva with his palm and
pushed lightly against it.
"Hmphtllahmph? Mfflthapth?"
His other hand lightly raked downy pubic hair. Without difficulty he found her
clitoris and touched it, once. The Countess stiffened perceptibly. The shadowed
figure touched the rest of her sex's triangle, grazing the thighs, encountering
the belly as he caressed slowly.
Lise felt him insert a finger and unconsciously moved against it, body
temporarily overruling mind. She regained control of herself and made a muffled
plaintive noise.
"It'll feel better in a while," his voice whispered to her.
She felt herself lubricating a little with a sense of despair. He pulled his
finger out and rubbed it against the lips of her sex. The finger was wet.
Chuckling, he moved his hand over her clitoris and tickled it.
"Mmmmmfmmmm..."
Slowly he began stroking the erect little clit. Every now and then he would dip
his fingers back inside her to moisten them, returning to stroke her steadily.
His finger strokes were light as feathers and constant.
"Mmmmmmmmmm." She felt a stream of warm air pass over her clit and sighed.
Gradually he increased the speed of his manipulations as he moved the other hand
into play.
Soon her gag was muffling moans. Her pelvis arched, straining to get closer. His
hands moved at a quick, certain pace. Suddenly her dark shape jerked and froze
in silent orgasm. The fingers kept working. Lise was still, hips thrust out.
Suddenly she collapsed on the bed. Limply, she felt her bonds being removed one
by one and the gag removed.
The Countess was dimly aware of the lights going on. When she opened her eyes,
the room was empty.
* * *
"Something's going on here!" Professor Malmstrom insisted. Kirk, Amy, Samantha
and Lise were gathered in his room.
"This Roarke, I don't trust him," said Kirk as he ran a 14-inch serrated knife
against a whetstone.
Lise blushed mysteriously in the corner. She had been seated there since the
beginning of the meeting, staring out the window at a beautiful Island evening.
Samantha nodded reluctantly. "He does seem a bit odd."
"Yeah!" Amy perked up. "And he probably left these." She triumphantly dangled
the leather restraints in front of everyone. Josh Malmstrom stiffened
perceptibly, taking them from her.
"We have to get away now. Besides, the package deal explicitly states that if we
cut short our trip we get a 50% rebate."
It was shortly agreed that the party would be leaving.
"No!" Everyone's head turned to crane at Lise, the European heiress. "I'm
staying here. Don't try and make me go."
Having all had a taste of her former arrogance, no one put up an argument.
Frankly, she was hurt.
Malmstrom stared icily at Lise. "She's on *his* side. We have to go
immediately. Stop only to pack the things you need." He moved to collect his sex
toys and related paraphernalia.
Kirk stood up. "There's a few things I gotta do first..."
* * *
Roarke looked around the hotel lobby in dawning horror at the array of
explosives set in classic textbook formation. Anger quickly replaced his horror
as he realized who was responsible for this...this...
Roarke clenched his fists and stuck out his face.
"K-iiii-iiiiiii-irrrrrrr-rrrrrkkkkkkk!!" he shrieked. "Kiiirrkkk, I will crush
you. Destroy you. Utterly. You will RUE the day you met me on the field of
battle, Kiirrrk. Kiiirrrrk, do you hear me?! Do you hear me Kiirrrk?!"
The cry echoed through the jungles, toppling a mating pair of red-chested
thrushes, three coconuts, and a Good Humor ice cream cart and its vendor. Kirk
heard the last faded shout and gulped.
"Boy I'm gonna be in trouble now," Kirk grinned as he pressed the
detonate button.
The Island blew up in an enormous gout of flame.
* * *
"Phew," Samantha and Amy sighed in relief on either side of Kirk's rugged,
relaxed frame. One of the Island's catamaran makers was expertly flying the
Apache AH-64 they'd scavenged from the air base. The women's hands strayed into
their hero's lap as he directed the native pilot to the mainland based on the
position of Polaris and a two-year-old Farmer's Almanac.
"Gosh, girls," Kirk grinned, "keep that up and I'm gonna spoo right here and
now."
They kept it up. And so did Kirk.
* * *
Somewhere in the Pacific.
The tall man leaned back against the dingy's stern. He smiled at a peaceful
dark haired woman while their diminutive companion struggled with a pair of
old, plastic oars. Two small boxes were tucked in a corner. Filled with gold
bullion, they were marked "Island National Treasury" and stamped with the seal
of the Roarke administration. The tall man took in a deep, contented breath and
sighed happily.
"Ah, this is the life, is it not my old friend?"
The tiny man grumbled something and continued to struggle with the oars.
"What's that, old friend?"
He piped up, "Nothing boss", and fell silent except for ragged breathing.
"Ah, yes. That's what I thought."
There was a moment's silence as the sun beat down heavily and waves lapped
hypnotically. The tall man opened his mouth, and began to sing in his
melodic voice:
"Row, row, row your boat, gently down the stream. Merrily, merrily, merrily,
merrily, life is but a dream." He chuckled quietly to himself.
"Or, perhaps, a fantasy."
THE END
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