Paradise? : by  (c)   Hamilton Joyce  

I was hot, and my feet sank into the sandy road. I was glad I'd worn sandals 
and shorts. I pulled my tee-shirt off and wiped my face and chest. Couldn't 
be far now!

The sandy road narrowed as it passed between two massive rock outcrops. 
Lizards skittered over the rocks as I passed into their welcome shade. Two 
figures by the roadside as my eyes adjusted to the absence of glare. They 
rose.

Two young girls, and with all the wild beauty of their island. They stood by 
the road grinning happily. Their skin was, like all the islanders, burned to a 
deep, deep brown, and you would have thought they were native Polynesians 
were it not for their piercing blue eyes. Yes, that and the blonde hair, that 
straggled, childishly unkempt, down to their shoulders. They had chubby 
little breasts, crowned with hard nut-brown nipples. Everything about them 
was chubby. Even their thighs. That lovely, evocative word "nubile" might 
have been invented for them. Only their slender legs and tiny waists 
suggested other. One of them wore a pair of cotton panties that might once 
have been white. Now they were grey, and the stitching holding the elastic 
had failed, so they hung down floppily at one side. But they were pulled up 
tight, and I could just make out the shape of her cunt lips. "Camel toe" I had 
heard my German friend Fritz call that. The other girl was completely nude, 
and it was her cunt that made her seem so shockingly naked. Her plump cunt 
lips were the same deep brown as her body, but seemed swollen as if by 
desire. The silky-smooth skin gleamed in the mid-day sun as if it had been 
lightly oiled.  There was just the hint of a light blonde fuzz.

They were obviously still children, but their breasts, their plump little cunt-
mounds, and that blonde fluff, all confirmed they had reached puberty.

I was standing, dumbfounded. 

'You're new here, Mister!'

'This morning!'

'You're looking at my cunt!' She giggled, and thrust her pelvis out towards 
me in a stripper's bump-and-grind gesture. It accentuated the plumpness of 
her lips, and I thought, as they opened just slightly, I could glimpse moist and 
pink within. My cock stood, making a tent in my shorts.

Her friend, sister?, put a finger into the waistband of her panties and holding 
the material twisted it round her finger several times so the crotch came up 
tight between her cunt lips. I could see them clearly now, somehow even 
more shocking than the nakedness of her sister, as the dirty, thin material 
parted them. There was a dark spot where her moistness had now penetrated 
the cloth.

'And mine, and my tits.' With her spare hand she squeezed one plump breast 
and fingered the nipple.

'That's not surprising, is it?'

'If you want us, we know a place near here.'

Holding my hands, one each side, they guided me, almost at a run, in among 
the rocks and over a low rise. Here I heard running water, and we descended 
into a green and grassy dell, beside a running stream. High trees kept the 
withering sun at bay.

The grass was lush but short, as if cropped by rabbits. There was a bezom 
broom propped against the great tree, and one of the girls quickly swept away 
the light debris and leaves. I watched her hips swing, entranced.

'We often come her!' Again those giggles, and the girl with the panties was 
kissing me, I had to lean down to reach her, and could feel her tits firm 
against my flesh. Her friend was behind me, and now I felt her body pressed 
against my back, hard little nipples, and her lips on my sweaty skin. 'It's nice 
in the cool grass.' And we were lying  there, me on my back. 'Just lay back 
and enjoy this, stranger.

I did just that. The girl with the naked cunt was kneeling over my face. I 
looked up at those arched, plumping thighs, and the sun-bleached blonde 
fleece that scarcely covered her cunt. She may have been a child but the 
rounded mound of her pubes showed she was already a woman in that 
respect. I could just see a gleaming little pearl of a clitoris peeping out from 
her lips. She was clearly aroused. Then with both hands she parted them. She 
bit her nails I noticed! There was a momentary glimpse of scarlet and pink 
from her inner lips and then darkness as the weight of her body descended 
onto my face. I heard the two girls say something in their pidgin English, and 
then there was silence as those lovely thighs clamped tight over my ears. I 
was aware of nothing except the warm wetness of her open cunt over my 
mouth. I explored it with my tongue, holding her with one hand on each hip.

Then she was fucking my face! Her cunt raked up and down me, using my 
chin and nose to stimulate herself, as well as my willing and pointed tongue. 
I tried to get my tongue into her cunt every time it passed over me, and to 
grab her clit with my lips. Her juices flowed slick over my face as she slid 
over it. She went slower, enjoying that penetration, and I half-heard a little 
squeal the first time my pointed tongue penetrated her anus.

What was her friend up to? I felt a tiny hand invade up the leg of my shorts. I 
was naked beneath them, and that hand felt my balls, stroking them and then 
gently squeezing them. Then a hand grasping my cock. A sudden flurry of 
urgent activity as, my cock and balls abandoned, hands ripped at the belt of 
my shorts. I raised my arse as I felt them being pulled down. They caught on 
my sandals, and I felt the sandals torn off, and then the shorts away as well. I 
was naked. My cock was held again, but then the warm wetness of her cunt 
as she lowered herself onto me. Her weight finally rested on my belly, my 
knob deep within her, my shaft gripped by her muscled vagina. It was as tight 
a cunt as I had ever experienced. I wondered which way she was facing and 
felt with my hands. I found a firm belly, and knew she must be facing my 
head, and her friend.

I expected they would embrace as they fucked me, one my face the other my 
cock. 

I found it difficult to concentrate on licking at her cunt and anus while trying 
to raise my hips in rhythm with the fucking. And found it difficult to keep in 
rhythm with the fucking while enjoying sucking  that lovely cunt! In fact I 
need not have worried. The girl fucking my face was beginning to come. I 
reached up and found a firm breast, nipple as hard as a hazel nut. I tweaked it 
between finger and thumb, and this was enough to trigger her, and she came, 
rasping over my face even faster, even heavier.

She stopped, and rested, open cunt to open mouth. But her friend was still 
fucking me as she clambered off. I could see now, and the girl riding me was 
so pretty as her little, firm tits jiggled up and down with her excited 
bouncing. I reached for them with both hands, and fondled, then tweaked 
each nipple. It worked again and she was coming. I had been controlling 
myself desperately, but the sight of her ecstasy, her eyes rolling, her mouth 
open, panting and moaning, the feel of her lovely breasts under my palms, 
the feel of her vigorous young cunt grasping and releasing me as she rode up 
and down.... well, it was too much and I was coming too. I felt that near-pain 
in my balls and arse as I spurted into her, a huge, prolonged orgasm, 
matching hers with squirt after squirt.

As if it was the most ordinary and natural thing in the world, she clambered 
off me, wiped her cunt on the horrible grey panties and joined her friend who 
was picking some bright red berries.

I wiped my face and cock on my discarded shirt.

The two girls returned and sat beside me, one each side, legs wide open. To 
my amazement each squashed a few of the berries, and pushed them into 
their cunts, fingers stained red.

'Why? What is that?'

'It's mohorannah, stranger. It's good. No baby, no sickness, and a good feel. 
You try? Good for boys too.'

They did not wait for an answer, but some was pushed into my arse. It did 
feel good, warming and exciting there. The invading finger was pushing it 
deeper and deeper.  I even felt my cock stirring. I realised it must be having 
some stimulating effect, probably on the prostate. And if it explained why 
young girls could fuck without fear of pregnancy.... or of disease come-to-
that! It would be worth a fortune if it could be developed. This was the best 
feeling I'd ever had in my arse. I wondered if I would have enjoyed it more 
that evening Jolyon ...I dismissed the thought as usual. My only homosexual 
episode had been unsatisfactory. To say the least!

'What's your names?'

'I'm Ella.'

'I'm Bella.'

'We're sisters.'

'I'm Gulliver. My friends call me Gully.'

'Come with us to the beach. You won't need these.' She bundled my sandals 
up in my shorts and shirt, along with her damp panties.'

One naked nymph held each of my hands as they led me down the bank of 
the stream.

                                    ......................................................................

Sir Humphrey got up from his desk and walked over to the window. He 
looked out on the usual Whitehall scene. Tourists in their summer shorts, hot 
looking civil servants in their pinstripes. He poured himself a glass from the 
decanter on the antique table under the great sash window. Glass in hand, he 
locked the door and returned to his desk.

Secure and secret now, he unzipped his flies and allowed his hard cock to 
escape from its confinement. This was proving one of the more interesting of 
assignments. 

The diary had come to the Foreign Office by the Indonesia diplomatic bag 
about a week earlier, and had passed up the chain, nobody able or willing to 
make a decision on any action. Sir Humphrey opened the book again. It was 
a cheap, pocket-sized notebook with green cardboard covers, the sort you 
would buy at Woolworth's for fifty pence. The writing in it was untidy, 
clumsy, and used an often-blunt lead pencil.

Still the contents were unusual, and stimulating. He stroked his cock 
reflectively. He read again the note his First Secretary had pinned to the 
cover.

'Should we tell the Minister? I think not. Should we protest to the 
government of Tuesday Island? I think not. In any case it is unlikely they 
even have a recognisable government. He had been told not to go there, 
though not why, and we should consider he did so at his own risk. Further he 
is evidently a libertine. He has no family as far as we can ascertain.'

Good man, his First Secretary, Sir Humphrey smiled. Always looking for 
reasons to take no action. Sound man! Safe pair of hands!

Another minion had penned a few paragraphs of background, in neat 
handwriting. 'In 1776 (a Tuesday evidently) an East-Indiaman was wrecked 
on Tuesday Island after being blown at least a thousand miles off course. The 
island is one of the world's most remote, then as now seldom if ever visited. 
The present inhabitants believe that twenty five of the crew survived, and 
four female passengers. Of these three were of child-bearing age. The present 
population of about eight hundred is descended from these.

The island is fertile and, with fishing, easily supports the population with 
little effort from themselves. They live a life of indolence, and ignorance: 
they are illiterate. Perhaps because of their origin, twenty-five sailors and 
three bed-able women, they have no moral sense at all in the sexual area. 
Indeed their practices make the Polynesian islanders appear positively 
puritanical. It was presumably the prospect of unlimited sex that induced our 
wretched Gulliver Smith to make the journey there. We know he paid a 
Greek tramp steamer captain to divert from his route to drop him off, so it 
was no accident.

From 1776 to 1914 the island disappears from history. Probably only a 
handful of travelers ever reached there, and they are unlikely to have left! In 
1914 the Royal Navy considered setting up a coaling station, but the war did 
not impact much in those waters and nothing was done. After the war, the 
Americans insisted the islanders be given their independence, guaranteed by 
treaty. This was against the advice of His Majesty's Government. But that 
remains the position to this day.

The only reliable description is from a missionary, James Mathers, who 
visited in the eighteen eighties. I suggest you read pages 195 to 198 after 
reading Gulliver Smith's narrative.'

Sir Humphrey recognised the handwriting. Donald McNab, bright lad, but 
tending to go on a bit in his briefing.

He opened the exercise book again. The missionary narrative would wait.

                                          .........................................................

I paused at the top of the beach. There were a few dozen people, mostly in 
groups along the fringes of the forest, taking advantage of the shade. The two 
girls ran shouting over the sand to the water's edge where a couple lay in the 
wet sand, the water just lapping around them. The male stood up and both 
girls clung to him, laughing, and chattering away.

I walked towards them. One of the girls was in the water now, but the other 
was standing by the male, caressing him. I watched as they kissed, and saw 
her grasp his half-hard cock. He had one hand on her breast and the other 
cupped her lovely pert little arse. The woman lay in the surf, apparently 
taking no notice. I lay beside her, still watching the couple's foreplay.  I 
watched him part her plump cunt lips, still kissing her, and his finger slipped 
up into her. I wondered if this was the girl I had fucked, or the one I had 
sucked. If it was the one I fucked, would he notice the cum in her? He was 
fully hard now, and it seemed to be a big cock, rising from a tangle of golden 
hair.

The woman spoke. 'She is a very loving daughter, Stranger.'

Father and daughter were laying in the wet sand now, she with her legs open, 
he on top. Her legs closed over his back, and I knew he was in her. He fucked 
her gently for minutes in this 'missionary position' while we watched, me 
entranced, she perhaps slightly amused.

'Once they learned to use their cunts, both my girls have been making good 
use of them.'

'He is their father?'

'Very probably. I can't be certain of course, but everyone says so!' She 
laughed. 'Anyway he thinks so, and so does Ella.'

'And you're her mother?'

'That is certain, stranger.'

'My name's Gulliver.'

'I shall call you Stranger. It's our custom. I'm Felicity, and he is Murdo.'

They had changed position. She had come once and he was ploughing her 
harder. I watched fascinated as his huge cock went in and out her tight cunt. 
Each time he pulled out the lips of her cunt stretched outwards with it, as if 
unwilling to let go. Then they bent in again as he thrust back. It was 
delightful. And sexy. I was hard again.

I looked at Felicity. She had the same blonde hair and blue eyes as her 
daughters, and the same deep brown tan. Her cunt was shaved smooth. As 
she lay there, I could see her tits would be as firm as the young girls', and she 
was slender-waisted and broad hipped. She seemed to be made for sex!

And she was!

'If my daughters have left you with any, I should like some of this, Stranger.' 
She leaned towards me and grasped my cock. I was silent. This was what I 
had made the difficult journey for, but I was still astounded by the directness. 
'This.' She leaned over me and took me in her mouth, swallowing me deep, 
licking my shaft and then sucking at my knob. She was cradling and tickling 
my balls. 'Mmmmm tastes of cunt. Ella or Bella, or both?' She returned to 
sucking.

'I can't tell one from the other.'

'That's nice. So few of our men allow the hair to grow there. It's exciting! 
But I want you, Stranger.'

Her tits were as firm as her little daughters', but bigger. I sucked and kissed 
them as she took hold of me, pulled me onto herself, and slipped me into her. 
I worried a moment, wondering if I would be able to cum a second time, so 
soon after that balls-emptying orgasm. She was doing most of the work, and I 
felt my buttocks sinking into the wet sand as she fucked me, bouncing up and 
down. I still had that strange warmth in my arse from the berries, and the 
soft, wet sand under my buttocks added to the sensuousness of it all. Then 
she was coming, and I was moving my hips in rhythm, still tweaking her 
nipples, squeezing her breasts. She finished, and rolled me over on top of 
her, inviting me to do my bit. And I rode her hard, making sure my cock 
rubbed well against her clit with each thrust. Still I was nowhere near 
coming, though it was good. She came again.

Perhaps realising my difficulty she whispered in my ear. 'You like arse, 
Stranger? You like to fuck my tight little arsehole?'

Would I not! That would make me cum all right!

She knelt and wriggled her bum at me. My cock was still moist from fucking, 
but I slid some spit into her crack with my left hand, holding my cock with 
the right. I found the place with my knob, pushed, and was in. She leaned 
back towards me, and I slipped in the full length.

'Now! hard as you like! I love it!'

It didn't take long, and was the sweetest arse-fuck I ever had. I came, and we 
collapsed together into the soft sand, wavelets rippling round us.


After our exertions we retreated to the fringe of palm-trees at the top of the 
beach. The cool and shade was welcome and I fell asleep.

I dreamed of Jolyon, and his bungled attempt to fuck me in the arse. But this 
time it was all right. He was in me. He was fucking. And it felt good.

I awoke, and found that I had a springy young cock in my mouth. More to the 
point, another boy had his cock in my arse and was successfully doing what 
Jolyon had so abjectly failed at that drunken night. And it felt good. Ever 
since that night in Hampstead I had been afraid of the pain of being fucked in 
the arse, and had never really fancied having a man fill my mouth with cum.

That was all changed now. I grasped the youth's slender, bronzed hips and 
pulled him onto me so his cock was deep in my mouth, and his fleece tickled 
my nose.Then he was fucking my mouth as I gobbled him.  His companion 
was fucking my arse as I lay on my side between them, using long, slow 
strokes, sliding his full length in and out. In fact, I could feel the knob forcing 
in every sweep. There was no pain, just a warmth, fullness, and that feeling 
in my arse so like the feeling just before you come. He was stroking my back 
and shoulders, licking and kissing my neck. I caressed the boy who was 
fucking my mouth, stroking his naked chest and hard belly. I smiled as my 
eyes met his, which seemed to be laughing with joy, blue, clear, young, 
honest, direct.

His face darkened under the tan, beads of sweat stood out on his clear brow, 
and his smile turned to a grimace almost of pain. I knew what was about to 
happen, and astoundingly wanted it. My mouth was filled with his cum. I 
swallowed, and it was filled again. I swallowed, and sucked even harder as 
he groaned. His thrusts stopped and I let his cock rest in my mouth.

Almost unnoticed in the pleasure of my first taste of young cum, his 
companion was reaching his climax. I felt his thrusts increase in urgency, his 
thighs now crashing into my arse, his arms around me holding me in place. I 
was excited, too, close to coming without even having touched my cock.

Then that pretty cock slipped from my mouth, only half-hard now, gleaming 
and wet. And the boy's mouth closed round my cock. As his companion 
pumped his cum into my virgin arse, his friend accepted and swallowed my 
cum.
                                                           ................................................

So it went on for nearly a month. With the help of the wonderful red berries, 
and of course the great beauty of the islanders, a tonic for even the most 
jaded of palates, I fucked and was fucked, sucked and was sucked, by and 
with women, men, girls, boys, and, yes I admit it, children of both sexes. It 
was as if every islander wanted to have The Stranger. And my guess is, by 
the time of writing this, every islander had enjoyed me!

How lucky I was to have found this place, amid my wanderings!

About five weeks after Captain Basiliklos had left me at the island, there was 
talk of a great ceremony, for the Full Moon. I knew little of their gods. I 
knew they had some system of belief, but it was seldom referred to. I knew 
only that I was to figure in it in some way.

Anyway, the ceremony is tonight, and I have just been bathed and completely 
shaven. Smooth and clean, two young people, a boy and a girl, have oiled 
me, and massaged me. Very sensuous. I imagine  the ceremony will be 
sexual and enjoyable, as red berries have been put in my arse. I must admit 
I'm looking forward to it!

I hope tomorrow to have a new episode of my adventures to add to this 
record!

                                                       ...................................................

Sir Humphrey wiped pre-cum from his knob, closed the exercise book, put it 
down on  his desk and reached for the tattered copy of James Mathers' 
'Twelve Years among Savages', published by the Society for the 
Promulgation of Christian Knowledge in 1886. The handwritten note paper-
clipped to the cover instructed him to turn to page 195. He did so.

"It was in the third year of my Mission I recognised why I had so little, nay 
no success at all, in converting these savages to the Lord, so deep were they 
in Satan's maw.

In the month before these events I shall reluctantly depict, the island received 
a visitor, a mariner. Perkin Warwick had been marooned, abandoned on the 
island by shipmates doubtless unable to further tolerate his mischief on board 
the ship. I did not see it myself, but was told they heaved him overboard, 
leaving him to swim to shore, the ship scarcely halting in its progress past the 
island.

On shore, wet and bedraggled as he would be, I have little doubt he would 
immediately have found some girl or matron eager to satisfy his lust. Indeed, 
for the next month the 'Stranger', for that was how every inhabitant referred 
to him, would spend many of the daylight and night time hours indulging his 
lusts with islanders, male, female, old, young, yea even children.  I found 
occasion to remonstrate with him, reminding him of our Christian duty, our 
obligation to uphold the reputation of our nation, even his duty of respect to 
his own soul. But in vain. Indeed, his opposition to my blandishments 
frequently took the form of foul obscenity directed at my person, the Cloth, 
indeed even Holy Church.

Five weeks after Warwick's arrival preparations were in hand for some great 
festival. It was to be at the full moon, but the trigger for it was the arrival of 
'The Stranger.'

Their religion and religious practices, if such savage, primitive beliefs may 
be dignified with that flattering terminology, were seldom spoken of. And it 
was only by occasional and oblique references I was able to establish the role 
of 'The Stranger' at the core of them. I also ascertained that I was spared the 
usual fate of the visitor to this place only because of my chastity. Had I 
succumbed to the manifold temptations of the flesh, had I even once indulged 
my lust (and being a man I did sometimes lust), licked a hairless c**t, 
allowed a young p***s to enter my virgin mouth, penetrated a tanned male or 
female body, or allowed my more ignoble orifice to have been invaded by 
one of these handsome but evil savages, then I should have been entirely 
undone. Sent to meet my Maker with the stain of sin upon me.

Through the day of the ceremony there was a tension of expectation. 
Islanders from other settlements had walked the ten or so miles to this 
principle village. There was no public fornication, and it was strange not to 
have my eyes and ears assaulted by these commonplace activities. Many of 
the men walked around with erect p***ses, unused to such abstinence even 
for a few hours. Ah! If they only comprehended the nightly struggles of this 
Man of God to maintain his purity! If they only knew the shameful effusions 
that sometimes accompanied his base dreams.

Towards dusk, Warwick was led to a clearing, and some scores of islanders 
watched as he was shaved, body and face, washed, perfumed, his skin oiled. 
The red berries I had seen used so often, were crushed and introduced into 
his anus. The erection was as usual immediate. It looked the larger for being 
now naked of all pubic hair. Now black berries were crushed, and these too 
introduced into his anus. The next morning I had the opportunity to inspect 
some of these which had not been used, but rather discarded. They seemed to 
be related to our belladonna, the deadly nightshade, and explain his docile 
mien in the ordeal to come. He was drugged.

Moon-rise was about nine of the evening, and with the first light of the full 
moon a procession formed and walked the mile to their place of assembly. 
The crowd was unusually quiet, and the music of their pipes was mournful 
and melodic, unlike the customary wild and uncontrolled tunes. Unusually, 
too, they were not handling each other, even the men with their evident 
erections. The women, too had taken of the red berries, as was evidenced by 
their swollen pudenda, some even glistening with their unnatural lust.

The Place of Assembly was a natural amphitheatre below the central 
mountain, a grassy bowl, ample to accommodate all islanders. A roughly 
squared grassy mound rose in the centre perhaps two fathoms high, and it 
was here the ceremony took place.

The music ceased, and there was total silence as a naked boy and an equally 
naked girl, each holding one arm of 'The Stranger' led him to the top of the 
knoll. He was dazed, drugged, and grinning inanely. I have seen that look on 
faces in the Bedlam Hospital, the antics of whose unfortunate inhabitants are 
at least explicable by the curse of insanity. There would be no such excuse 
for these benighted heathens. All three were clothed in long, white robes of 
some thin stuff.

The children pulled Warwick's robe from him, and then in an almost balletic 
motion, pulled their own robes over their heads, casting them to the ground. 
There was a sudden intake of breath, a hissing sound as eight hundred 
mouths expressed their admiration of the perfection of these bodies. And 
they were perfect: in a place where all are beautiful, where deformity or 
infirmity leads to the unfortunate being 'returned to the gods', murdered, 
these were the most tempting of all. I must admit to a stirring in my own 
loins, and I had to pray silently for the strength to overcome this temptation. 
The children had scarcely reached puberty, I guessed. The boy had an erect 
p***s of course, like every male in the place, and the girl had nascent 
breasts, her nipples with the puffiness of early adolescence. Her c**t, like the 
boy's c**k, was either shaven or not yet valanced with the fleece of more 
mature years.

I have hesitated long before describing in this journal the events that 
followed. I have decided so to do to exemplify how far these Heathens had 
fallen, how firm was Satan's grasp upon their souls. It shall be a warning to 
more Polite and Christian folk who will read this.

The girl knelt before Warwick in the attitude of prayer. But that holy act was 
far from her intent, as she leaned forward and kissed his naked balls. They 
had shaved him very smooth, oiled him, and enclosed his c**k and balls in a 
device of two leather rings. I had observed the islanders use these rings, I 
assume to help maintain the virile erection during orgiastic intercourse. They 
also served to accentuate the size of the naked shaft. In the moonlight, his 
shaft and balls shone, glistening with oil, the skin of his scrotum pulled tight 
over his stones. I watched in disgust as she introduced first one gleaming ball 
into her mouth, then the other, and then both. She grasped his hips and 
released his stones, her tongue now tracing a delicate pattern on the front of 
his c**k.

It was in some ways a tender scene, I am forced to admit. The dusky child, 
her figure made mysterious by the feeble light of the full moon, introduced 
the tip of his shaft into her mouth, and allowed the whole to slip between her 
lips till her face rested on his belly. I wondered how so small a mouth could 
accommodate so large an engine! Her lips hollowed, and I could imagine the 
suction she was applying to him.

I put all thoughts of beauty from my mind as, obscenely, his hips began to 
move and he was indeed f**king the child in her mouth.

However, I am forced to confess my own lust was aroused by the scene, and I 
felt my Manhood harden within my black breeches. Beside me a young boy 
felt down for his p*nis, his soft brown hand enclosing that hard, little organ 
for a second before, perhaps remembering the rules for this ritual, letting go 
of it. In front of me a young woman was breathing heavily, and over her 
shoulder I could see her nut-brown nipples were hard with lust. 

On the grassy knoll, the boy had been watching, but now he advanced behind 
Warwick. He grasped the mariner's hips and placed his hard c**k in the 
crease of his buttocks. Slowly, as Warwick pushed and retreated from that 
welcoming mouth, the boy gained inch-by-inch possession of his anus. Now 
the man was sandwiched between boy and girl. His climax could not, I felt, 
be long delayed.

At the moment this thought crossed my mind, corrupted already by the 
Devilish Ritual, he must have taken his pleasure of her, for his hip 
movements increased in speed and power, and then slacked off to nothing. 
The men and women here take a great and perverse pleasure in receiving a 
man's seed into their mouths, and I have never seen anyone one spit after that 
unnatural act. The girl swallowed and from the smile on her face as she stood 
again, was well content with the offering.  

Warwick leaned forward, his hands on his knees to enable, I assume, deeper 
penetration. Then the boy too reached his climax, pumping his seed deep into 
the man's entrails, in that forbidden and ungracious act. Seldom in his years 
as a mariner can he have had such a pretty and vigorous b*m-boy among all 
the lads who, to their own perdition, take to the life of the sea, with all its 
perversions and deep mortal sins. How many country squires, how many 
polite matrons, send their boys to sea, ignorant of the dreadful peril that 
attends upon a twelve year-old midshipman below the decks? How many 
handsome young boys have been perverted and ruined by those unnatural 
acts so prevalent in our Cursed Navy? How much exterior blonde beauty 
hides a soul blackened and damned by those forbidden pleasures?

As he withdrew, I thought how innocent he looked, cherub like. And yet his 
c**k, still hard and glistening from the oil which had eased his penetration  
and I imagine from his own Seed, bespoke of less than angelic practice.

It was at this moment I became aware of the presence of their Gods. I knew 
too it was indeed Lucifer and his Fallen Angels they worshiped. Perkin 
Warwick had been found acceptable by their Master: He was virile but could 
also act as a passive sex-object for the Legion of Devils. Around me naked 
men, women and children fell to their knees, as did the trio on the knoll. A 
murmur as of prayer ran through the congregation. I recognised the word 
'Lord'.  A cold sweat broke out on my brow and I trembled, and I too fell to 
my knees.

In that moment, I fear I Damned myself.

Two muscular men emerged from the crowd ... I hesitate to say congregation 
... and seized Warwick. Four others, huge men, with massive erections, were 
carrying a heavy wooden cross to the grassy mound. I watched in horror. 
They were going to add blasphemy, perhaps murder, to their sins this night.

There were no protests from the drugged sailor as they laid him on his back 
on the cross. None, too, as they hammered a nail though each wrist and both 
ankles. With great speed the six men raised the cross, and its base slipped 
into a slot prepared for it.

Now Warwick screamed, a long and shrill scream, echoing round the 
amphitheatre, echoing into the hills. The weight of his body on those thick 
iron nails had broken through the drugs to give him great pain.

I felt the frisson, the inhalation of breath through clenched teeth as the crowd 
watched, kneeling still, silent. 

The tallest and broadest of the men then took up a spear, placed it under the 
rib-cage of the martyred man, and with a sharp upwards thrust, ended his 
brief agony.

Hell broke loose that instant! The boy beside me, leaped on the nubile young 
woman, who opened her legs for him. As he lay on top of her, about his 
business, a long, lean man, shaven-pubed, rolled them on their side, and got 
his p*nis into the boy's a**e. Two boy's rolled in the grass, mouths round 
c**ks , two girls, hardly more than children, brushed against my feet as they 
writhed, mouths glued to vulvae. All around was adultery, fornication, and a 
multitude of unnatural acts.

I rushed to my hut, to pray, to fast, to mortify my body, in the first of those 
many nights in which I tried to save my immortal soul, which I much feared I 
had forfeited.

                                               ........................................................

Sir Humphrey closed the book. He wiped up the cum with a silk 
handkerchief, which he threw into the waste-paper-basket. Some had spilt 
onto his suit. 'Bugger,' he thought. 'I'll have to change and get it dry 
cleaned'. White splash marks on trousers or waistcoat were a real give-away. 
He took the cum on the tip of his finger, and transferred it to his mouth. 
'Funny,' he thought, 'how I really enjoy a boy's cum, yet don't often eat my 
own.' He shrugged.

What to do about Tuesday Island, and its happy but murderous heathens. He 
walked to the window and looked out at the tourists photoing and filming the 
ceremonial horse-guard sentries outside the Ministry building. He came to 
his decision. Why interfere with their mostly innocent pleasures ... nubile 
girls, young boys, willing women, athletic and welcoming men! He could do 
with some of that himself ... but not as a Stranger! He shuddered at the 
thought.

Back at his desk he put the cheap diary and the gaudily bound book in a stout 
brown envelope and that in its turn in the back of his safe. He shut the door, 
and turned the combination lock.

He scribbled a brief note for his First Secretary. 'Tuesday Island affair. It 
never happened.' he initialed it and put it in the out tray. Nigel would now 
remove all memos and other traces of the story, shredding all record of the 
demise of Gulliver.

                                   ....................................................................... 
