Around the World: Not Alone

Chapter Three: An Introduction to the South Seas

A continuing story of depravity, dominance, submission, and erotica. Okay, thrown in are the occasional references to world locations, traditions of the sea, and sailing terminology. After all, it's just a travelogue, there is no intent to create prurient interest. And I'm a wholesome boy without a dirty mind! Now, the real question – is this a recounting or pure fantasy – or somewhere in between? It is my intent to ensure that the distinction always remains blurred. First, you have to ask yourself, the first person I've chosen to write this in, is it really me or am I retelling the stories of others? Worse, is this just all a product of some virgins imagination? Don't you love a good mind game?

It's always boggled my mind: people hire actors/actresses to give their message in advertising credibility. Most of us fall for it. Yet, if you think about it, we're expecting someone that makes a living of "playing" other people – basically, creating deception – and grant them credibility... And my cock is 24 inches long, I can orgasm 20 times a day and keep going... If that's what you want, seek other stories. I'm (according to Kinsey and other research) slightly above average (about 1.5" if all the facts are in). In most women I've had mutual enjoyment with, I've been able to at least touch their cervix. As a wonderful Tantric practitioner pointed out to me: the size of the vagina and the size of the penis is all that matters. There are, in reality, few women that can easily take something HUGE. The key is the right weapon in the right scabbard. If mutual is not your thing and you've got a three inch penis and want to be wonderman – cool. Just don't read my stories.

If you think I abuse these women, well – okay. Another way of looking at it: they take advantage of me. We both want something that the other can provide. It opens paths of growth and there is a lot of mutual pleasure along the way. I can no more explain subspace and the beauty of it than I can describe the release that comes from taking a loved one there. So, all we do is grow together. Anyone can stop any scene at anytime.

Trust me, I have created a special place in hell for rapists and abusers of women. And I've done more than my fair share to send assholes there.

Everything in these stories (and my reality) is Safe, Sane, and Consensual.

The equator crossing behind us, now the run to French Polynesia. As the Neil Young song says: "The downhill run to Papeeta Bay..." Not long before you get to Tahiti, you encounter the greater Marquesas and the outer Islands – not to mention many volcanic formations that are trying to reach the surface. In the Marquesas there are seven major island groups. The beauty of this, as CBS's Survivor series found out, there are many that aren't heavily populated. Particularly in the smaller atoll formations.

My main focus after turning the crew into Shellbacks was to find the perfect "first landfall" in the South Pacific – and set the tone for the rest of the trip to Australia. Using my personal experiences, the "World Cruising Guide", the Internet, and recommendations from friends, I decided our first landfall would be in the most perfect atoll for my purposes. A near perfect circle of some 15 islands enclosing a lagoon with a protective reef around the entire structure. Only 5 of the islands were populated, one actually had an airport (no 747 would ever land on the grass strip lit by lanterns), and a total population of about 300 people. [Sorry, I want to use this place in the future. I will not give names nor an exact location. There is a certain small island that my slaves constructed a little hut on – more later – if you find it, there is a guest book and a way to contact me directly. We've all signed it, as a few others after us have and told me about it.]

Warm water, clear in the lagoon, and privacy – on a perfect sandy beach somewhere south of the Equator. Temperatures that vary from 80-85 F in the day to 70-75 F at night. Perfect for no coverings. Yet, when we visited the islanders, I needed to make sure the girls were dressed properly and acted properly. This was their home, not ours. I needed their permission to use the lagoon and one of the empty islands. Having made these negotiations before, it wasn't hard to figure out the right strategy. Yet, I had to condition the girls to it. Ah, training time! Oh, the work. [Okay, I'll admit, I get off on it. Satisfied by now? Does that help all the strange people that want to read things they disagree with and comment without grasping the story? By the way – don't knock it until you've tried living it, and if you can't live it – either enjoy the stories of others or shut up. You ain't gonna change me.]

I had a generous supply of Indian Silk onboard, over the week plus it took from the Equator to this island paradise, I pulled it out and taught the girls to create wraps of the material that would satisfy the local customs. Our first stop was the most populated island (the one with the alleged airport). All our passports were in order and we needed to clear immigration and customs into French Polynesia. When I pulled out the girl's passports to put together the arrival package of documents, I inserted a folded $US 50 bill in each right after the id page. Amazingly, when we anchored in the lagoon, raised the quarantine flag and went ashore to process the documents, no customs search was needed. Plus, we were cleared to anchor and stay near the island I had selected and given promise that unless we called in, everyone would leave us alone. I took back the document pack and was unsurprised to find that all three $50's were missing. I guess they fell out on the floor and were overlooked.

I further cemented relationships with the islanders by offering to trade books and DVD's. When I was done trading, we had fresh fruits, fresh fish, a different collection of DVD's, and new recipes. As well as a promise to come by at an exact time every day and trade more (right after lunch, which meant anywhere from noon to sometime in the afternoon). The 300 pound Tuna we had caught as we were coming in made an excellent bargaining point that secured more fresh provisions. After three weeks, we were all looking forward to fresh food. I now have 14 copies of "Captain Rob" in my inventory!

The girls were big hits wrapped in the Indian silk, exposing almost everything, with a hint of what was underneath. They were amazed that the children ran around nude and the women, for the most part, were topless. Yet, all adults covered below the waist – ah, the product of Christian Missionaries. Introducing guilt into a pure society of love and compassion. They grasped the lessons I had been teaching about different cultures, good. They were all impressed at the bargaining I had done. I had previously explain that to not make a counter-offer was an insult, yet to dismiss the value of anything offered was worse. They easily got into the game and began trading the Indian Silks they were wearing for locally died and decorated materials – which made huge hits both ways!

Ah, a private island. Palm trees. Sandy beaches. Lots of places to play away from the boat. I love living on board, but after nearly three weeks, a little dry land under my feet felt good. It was the second longest haul we would have. Fortunately we had many months – if not a year or more - of short hops before we faced the Indian Ocean crossing.

A local fisherman guided us through the lagoon to the perfect spot near the island I had selected. Claude was the same one that had won the lottery to lead us through the reef in the first place. I had made sure that when he or one of his extended family were trading with us, they got a slightly better deal – thus sealing our relationship that he was our host during our stay.

"My new friend, tell me about the lagoon. Good fishing?" I asked as we motored through the lagoon towards my little island.

"We don't fish the lagoon, if you want to take one or two a day that would be okay, but no more." I was amazed that he was allowing me to fish the lagoon at all and filed this fact away. Also, the promise to self not to abuse it.

"How about sharks?"

"We see them every now and then, but they leave us alone. There are enough fish that they don't want humans."

"Anything to eat on the island?"

"Plenty. Just watch out for the purple berries. I can teach you later about how to make them into a wine, but other than that, they are no good for you."

"Claude, tell me about the people here."

"Ah, we are a good people. Four extended families." I knew he meant tribes in our way of thinking. "We fish, we trade with the occasional boat, supplies come about every three months. Can you ask more cruisers to stop in and visit with us? When they come, tell them to ask for me, I will take care of them!"

"I'll spread the word, carefully. Some people that cruise aren't so nice."

"We know. About two years ago," time is a very relative thing in the islands, "we had one that drink too much of the berry wine and raped a little girl. The authorities were okay with us killing him, but didn't think much about our claim on his vessel and all it's possessions." He said this very matter-of-factly. I took the hint.

"My new friend," he asked carefully, "I am curious about your three wives. Is this normal where you come from?" Danger, Will Robinson. The wrong answer could have either the missionaries praying for me or every single male on the island over here shopping for a new wife. Not what I wanted.

"Claude, are you married?"

"Yes, I am. That's why I ask. One woman is hard enough. With all her sisters and other female relatives around, it's really tough. I couldn't imagine dealing with three wives!"

"Is it a problem if I have three wives?"

"No, my new friend, not at all. The missionaries come here, try to teach us things that would spoil our happiness, so we tell them to go. It is your choice. I am just curious how you manage!"

"Very well, actually!" We both smiled and laughed. We went back to talking about the four families, the local conditions, weather patterns. Eventually, we made it to the perfect anchorage. He helped me set the two anchors (just in case and to control the swing of the boat). As he departed in his fishing boat, that we had been towing, he promised to come by tomorrow around lunch time, until then, he would make sure we had some quiet time. Then he laughed and headed off. Almost 24 hours in paradise, alone with my three slaves. Oh, the possibilities.

We cleaned the boat, stored the deep water gear, brought out the stuff we needed for lagoon life. After a careful inspection, I decided that the girls had definitely learned a lot in the short time they had been on board. Everything was done to perfection. Damn. I gathered everyone in the cockpit and gave them a rundown of local wildlife and the warning on the berries. I also let them know that we would have peace and quiet for the next 24 hours or so.

"Plus, my lovely slaves, you cleaned the boat so well and put us in anchored mode so perfectly, I have no punishments to hand out. This upsets me so much, that I've decided to give you 4 hours of absolute freedom on the island to swim, explore, and relax." I was descended on my three delightful, warm bodies – all in naked. Tits flying everywhere. I never knew from one second to the next who was kissing me, who was fondling my balls, stroking my cock, or sucking on it. At the same time, I was barely aware of whose tit is was fondling or whose pussy I had my fingers in. Given the last few hours of imposed sexual repression, I was still shocked at the reaction. I must have cum twice. I'm sure the families heard every one of the many orgasms each girl had.

I took them over to the island in the dingy, checked it out for myself that they would be safe, then headed back to the boat to prepare my "Welcome to Polynesia Party" I had been thinking about since the Equator crossing. Palm Trees, sand, crystal clear water – perfect for playtime (okay, training – right. Today was playtime for me). I also made sure I loaded up on Burdock Root, Ginger, Saw Palmetto, and a few other herbs that would help my no longer young body with stamina and energy! Who needs the little blue pill when diet, exercise, and herbs (plus a healthy sexual appetite) will keep you potent into the later years of life – plus the wonderful stimulation of three willing, lovely slaves. The one thing I always looked forward to the jump into the South Pacific is leaving land-habits behind. No drinkee-poos every day, the occasional cigar replaces other bad habits, the constant physical exercise, the fresh sea air, and eating very healthy foods. Yea, I know all the arguments about self-control and discipline, but I've always found life more fun when I give into temptation. Out here, the temptations change.

As I returned to the island (we could easily swim, but I needed to teach them about swimming with sharks, first) in the dingy, I considered my three lovelies and finalized my plans for their first evening in Polynesia. Tribal rites in the vain of Survivor was going to be the theme. Had there been a virgin among them, it might have been interesting! Yet, having personally explored every possible virginal passage in each, I knew there was no chance of that! Okay, here I am, guiding a 16 foot boat across a perfect lagoon to the perfect beach and the perfect island. There are three wonderful, sexy, and submissive ladies frolicking nude on that island. I'm nude. I have an erection that would easily chisel steel. Ain't paradise grand? Picturing this will sitting in that little cubicle without the view, not that you'd miss it anyway – just another bleak winter day of snow, sleet, and such. Amazing, people still ask me how I could have walked away from a successful corporate career in my forties!

After making landfall, pulling my equipment and supplies out of the dingy and hiding them in strategic locations – easy to do, since all the girls were over on the ocean side of the island, I knew I needed sexual relief. Holly, Terry, or Andrea – or should I just do it myself? Okay, rule out option four. What about option five? Go back to one of the family islands and see what trouble I could get into with something fresh and new? Easy – it would be trouble, as Claude had pointed out already. As I crossed the island, I was careful to be as stealthy as possible. Most people are surprised that with my size and bulk I can be quiet waling through the woods. Yet, all the years of perfecting walking down leaf covered trails without making noise was paying off, again.

As I expected, they had separated and were enjoying just being away from each other and everything that resembled a boat. I carefully climbed a palm tree that would give me a view of each, even though they had found places they could not see each other. This was okay, since I pronounced the island safe. I watched as each played in the sand, the sun, and the surf. Gathering information about each for the future and just letting my mind eventually settle on which one to relieve the really tight erection I had going. Shit, the fluids were leaking enough already that any good tracker could have easily found me. Each was so unique, so appealing, and I was holding myself to enjoying just one at the moment. I finally decided on Holly. All were perfect in my mind. All were willing, there was no doubt. Yet, I knew if I took Holly first in the "free" period, there would be no jealous reactions from the other two, considering how much she had suffered during the crossing. Just as everyone remembers who bought the first round of drinks, this would be like that.

I carefully lowered myself to the ground, walked back into the middle of the island and "accidentally" arrived on the section of beach that Holly was enjoying by herself. She was in absolute, blissful joy frolicking nude on the perfect beach. She hadn't seen me yet.

"Hi, sweetness, where are the others?" I asked innocently, yet my diamond-cutter erection leading me onto the beach should have been a dead give-away.

She dropped to her knees in supplication, presenting herself to me, hands behind her neck, knees spread. "Master, they are down the beach, we decided to enjoy some alone time, did we do right?"

"Holly," I rarely used their proper names, but this was time, "I gave you guys absolute freedom for four hours. Has this time passed?"

"Ah, oh... I don't know." She stammered, confused, not sure.

"Holly, it has not, it's only been an hour." She took a minute to process this. I watched the changes in her face, her energy. It was really obvious when her eyes rose up and fixated on my cock. It took less then a quantum unit of time before she was off her knees, covered the distance between us, and we were wrapped up in a massive hug. The unbridled kiss began a moment later – at her instigation. It was break time for me too, remember? I totally allowed her to be the sexual aggressor.

As we lipped-locked, tongues exploring deep into each other's mouths, she managed (without a lot of resistance on my part) to push me onto the sand on my back. Suddenly, she broke lip contact, turned around on top of me. As I felt her sweet, soft, moist mouth descend upon my cock, her delicious, wet, pussy descended on my mouth. Time went away. All I recall is her ability to take me all the way into her throat, do some interesting swallowing thing along with her attempted vocalizations that sent vibrations through my cock directly into the center of my being. In the meantime, I had worked one hand up to her nipple and began to caress and tease it. While my other hand I worked around and used two fingers, to start with, to invade her pussy while my tongue feasted on her lips and carefully teased her ever enlarging clit.

God, she tastes wonderful. As many times as I've directly and indirectly tasted her, she has that edge of sweetness, almost like pure clover honey. She rode my mouth to at least two orgasms. Somehow, I managed not to explode in her mouth when she screamed full force into my dick when it was completely engulfed into her throat when she came. Thankfully, for me, she managed not to bite me either!

As I was enjoying the excesses from her sweet cunt from the last explosion, she suddenly pulled off of me. Not turning around, she just scooted down my chest and belly, positioning her vaginal flower to the head of my cock. In one swift move, she buried me all the way to my pubic bone, yet she stayed laying down. Shit, her pussy was tight in this position. As I was trying to regain control, she started pumping in and out, leaving the rest of her body in position, she was just raising and lowering her hips. I had the perfect view of my cock sliding in and out of that tight, sweet pussy. Oh, god! How could I last? Her hip motions increased to the point that I could watch to the tip of my prick almost pop out, then her sweet sheath would engulf me all the way down again so I couldn't see anything of myself. Her copious juices were leaving trails like a good wine does on the glass when you swirl it. Legs, they are called.

Just before the point I couldn't hold out, with the physical stimulation, the forced denial all day, and the erotic display in front of me, she stopped. Sat up on top of me, did this really strange split thing and rotated herself – while buried in me to the hilt – and turned to face me. She lowered the upper half of her body so I could suckle her tits and began a new motion that was so powerful, yet so different, I had to start my cum cycle all over again. She drove into me with everything she had. I had already lost count of her orgasms – I think we were approaching 20. How was I lasting through this? Age, experience? Nope – her perfect control of me. Just as I started to cross the bridge again, she pulled off me, but slowly stroked me with her hand.