Morton's Island

Author's note: This is the second part of a two-part story. Ch II is essentially self-contained, but there are many references to events described in Ch I, which you will find in the 'Group Sex' collection. To readers who enjoyed Ch I, I hope you will find Ch II a worthy conclusion to the story of Morton and Jane. If you are squeamish, though, it's probably better to give this one a pass. If you decide to try it anyway, remember, this is sheer fantasy. Do not try this stuff at home!

Introduction:

Jane lay back on their bed, placed her hands behind her head, closed her eyes and relaxed.

She'd begun a correspondence course in marketing, made possible because of the fast internet link Morton had set up on the Island. How he'd done it, she knew not. Morton did things. You didn't ask how. By their own account, the 'sirens' had spent half their day online, though, of course, skepticism was always called for where they were concerned. They were all students from one college or another, in some country or another, they said. It seemed so at odds with their roles as ghostly apparitions, night creatures serving Morton's pleasure, and deriving much of their own. Could college students not only do this, but revel in what was, after all, sheer debauchery?

Jane sighed. Now there were no sirens. Morton had sent them away.

"You're right, Jane," he'd said. "I need a break."

She'd been surprised. Usually so sure of himself, Morton seemed dispirited.

Of course, it was typical of him to go from having sex all the time to having none at all. He took long walks on the beach.

"Let me come with you," she'd said several times.

But Morton always refused. He needed to be alone, he said.

Life on the Island had changed radically. Except for Morton and herself, only cook remained. Jane exchanged smiles with cook but never a word. They did not share a common language. Morton had not exaggerated, though. The food she prepared was exquisite. The Islanders' diet was meatless, but Jane was amazed at the variety of ways it was possible to prepare fish, crustaceans of every sort, fruits and vegetables. The Islands were not short of spices.

'How long had it been?' Jane wondered. Six months, nine, twelve? She really had not kept track of the time. There were no seasons. Each day was like its predecessor. Well, there was the rainy season, when the heavens truly opened, filling to the brim the huge tanks that kept them supplied with fresh water year around. But even then it was hot, which was no bad thing considering Morton's rule banning clothing of any sort. Barring cook, that is. She wore a long gown of light fabric, tied in a knot above her ample breasts. Jane had wondered about this exception to Morton's rule, but had never asked. She'd adjusted to the climate rapidly, careful at the start, when her body was milk white. Five minutes exposure was as much as she could take at a time. Gradually, her skin grew accustomed to the tropical sun and within a month was a universal deep brown.

Jane looked down at her body, admiring the shape of her breasts, which fell sideways just a little but were as firm and succulent as the day she'd walked through the door of that London hotel for her first meeting with Morton. What a life-changer that had been!

Below, her naked pubis stood out, shaved and rubbed with natural oils. She'd read somewhere that the finest oil is secreted by a woman's vagina, and she applied this copiously to her vulva, mound of Venus and her breasts when she masturbated. Which was quite often. Just because Morton had gone cold turkey didn't mean she had to! It wasn't the same, of course, but nice anyway. She took great care not to let Morton catch her doing it, though. She thought he would take it personally.

She flexed her feet and raised them one by one. Slender, neither too big, nor too small. Yes, Jane thought, she had been blessed with a body 'to die for', from her fine long hair, now bleached white by the sun, to the tip of her elegant toes. When she'd been milk-white the slightest blemish, the tiniest scratch showed. But brown hid all markings, the sun and the salt sea healed all wounds.

Jane adjusted to Morton's absence, in mind and body. He was preoccupied with himself. She'd noted he spent much time conversing with cook. Of course, it had not taken Morton long to learn the local dialect so he could do this without effort. Jane could not so she had no idea what the pair of them were talking about. He'd come out of his reverie in his own good time. She knew better than to hurry him, and did not fret, just got on with her correspondence course and masturbated when she was sure Morton was out of hearing. In both respects, she excelled.

But it was a bit strange nevertheless. What exactly was Morton talking to cook about? She'd have to ask him. When the time was right.

Chapter 1

"This and that," Morton had muttered.

Maybe the time was not right. They were eating sautéed conch. Delicious.

"And the other," Jane replied, lightly.

"What?"

"This, that and the other."

"Oh!"

Pause.

"I don't mind if you don't want to tell me," Jane said, at length.

"It's a long story," he said.

"I don't mind that. We have all the time in the world, after all."

Morton sighed.

"Oh well. I suppose you'll need to know sooner or later."

Jane wondered what he meant by this but decided not to ask directly. Instead, she said,

"You've not been very communicative for a while, have you."

"No! I suppose not. Forgive me for that. I have been a bit preoccupied."

"I'd noticed," Jane said, dryly.

"I suppose I didn't think you'd be very interested in my researches."

"Into what?"

"The culture of the islands, this chain in particular."

"It's very special, you know," he continued. "Not at all like some of them, like Tahiti, modernized, catering to western tourists. Unfortunately, this has led to decadence. Why bust a gut out fishing, or building huts when you can live well off tourists without doing anything, and hire foreign companies to do all the work. That's all very well. But what about the local culture? What happens to that?"

Morton shook his head sadly.

"What's left for young people to do, except get stoned?"

"Really? I thought Tahiti is an island paradise."

"It was, once. But now! Well I suppose the tourists think it is still an island paradise. But the locals? Once booze and drugs arrived, they didn't look back. Or forwards, to what would happen when the older folk died out and the old customs with them."

Morton fell silent. He appeared to be communing with himself. Jane did not want him to revert to his reverie of the previous days, so she prompted him.

"You say this island chain is different," she said.

"Oh Yes! Very much so. We're so far out of the mainstream here, you see. The locals saw what happened to Tahiti and took measures to make sure it wouldn't happen here. No! Here they live the life of their forbears. No tourists, no electricity even, nothing that will interfere with the way of life they've had for centuries."

"I suppose it's because it's matriarchal," Morton continued, in an undertone. "Females, you know, are cautious. Males are impetuous. They don't think ahead."

"Really," Jane said, with a wry smile, thinking to herself 'Except for me!'

A cautious woman would never be where she now was, would never have taken that giant leap into the dark that joined her at the hip to this weird man.

Impetuosity gone riot, that was! But she didn't regret it. Not for an instant. To think what she would have missed out on if she'd obeyed her initial inclination and chickened out.

"Yes!" Morton had continued. "The customs in this island chain are what they always have been. Quite strange. Utterly uninfluenced by western culture. Deliberately. They closed themselves off."

"Is that why you chose this island?"

"In part. I dare say you and I are the only westerners for a thousand miles in any direction --- now that the girls have left," he added in a more muted tone.

"Mind you, it was not so easy setting up. We're so used to our way of life, where there is nothing that cannot be bought. This is not true here. Acquiring the island and arranging everything the way I wanted was a delicate business."

"Is that why cook is allowed to wear her dress?"

Morton looked up at her. Perhaps he was surprised that she had made the connection, or had not known, or asked before.

"It is, indeed. It is," he said. "I did attempt to insist, but that was a blank No! 'It's not our custom'. I heard a lot of that."

There was a brief silence. Then Morton continued,

"And it was all I could do to prevent her from leaving when she caught you and me having oral sex."

"What's wrong with that?"

"Strictly forbidden on the islands. Well, even that's wrong. They've never heard of it. It's unknown. 'Unnatural', is what cook said. She was most indignant. I had to explain to her that in our culture it's natural. We all do it."

"Not so sure about that," Jane said, thinking back to a former life.

Morton had fallen silent again, so Jane hastened to continue the conversation.

"What about Singapore?" she said. "It's illegal there. They even have signs in hotel rooms warning you about it --- well that's what I've read," she added, weakly, thinking back to the one 'date' she'd had there years before. A native she'd 'seen' in London liked her so much he'd flown her out. She'd stayed for a week, and not even er-hem lip-service had been paid to the law of the land as regards oral sex.

"Yes! I know about that," Morton said. "I think they're beginning to relax about it. But here, well, cook said 'You will all die!'. And she meant it. She was amazed when we remained in good health. 'You still will die,' though, she keeps on saying."

"Mind you," he continued, pensively, "they do have some customs --- sexual mores, let us say --- that are foreign to London."

"Indeed," Jane replied. "Like what?"

Morton glanced up at her. The meal was over. Usually, at this point, he muttered something and left her to take off on one of his walks. But this day was different. He sighed, and said,

"Well I suppose you'll need to know soon enough."

Again, Jane wondered what he meant by this, but she held her peace.

"Are you sure you have the time?" Morton said, glancing into the corner of the hut, where Jane's laptop was open, ready. "It will take a while."

"No problem," Jane replied. "Take all the time you like. My course can wait."

"If you're sure," Morton stressed. "People have been known to fall asleep when I launch into one of my monologues."

"If I do, I'll let you know," Jane replied, laconically.

Chapter 2

"As you know," Morton began, "this is a matriarchal society. Everything is decided, ultimately, by a 'Council of Elders' composed solely of older women. Now by old ........"

Morton droned on for a while. Jane half-listened. Lunch had been as scrumptious as always and she had grown into the habit of taking a brief nap while Morton was out on one of his walks. Well, after she'd brought herself off once or twice.

"Now some of these customs, Jane, I have to tell you, we might regard as, well, er, barbaric, so prepare yourself......"

Jane's ear caught the word 'barbaric', and pricked up. 'This was where it's going', she thought and listened for a while. But Morton meandered away and she soon found herself having to head off a yawn at the pass. Her attention focused again on Morton's monologue only when that word was repeated.

"It's not as barbaric as one might think, though," Morton was saying, "because the social order is not based on the nuclear family. 'That's ridiculous,' cook said, when I explained our customs. 'One man and one woman, for life. How utterly absurd'."

He broke off.

"Are you listening, Jane? I mean, stop me if this is boring you,."

"No! No!" Jane lied. "Fascinating."

"Children, you see, are reared in a collective. The birth mother stays with her baby while her breasts are engorged with milk. As soon as the supply tapers off, as it were, she returns to the wider community where her body is trained to recover its youthfulness. The training is quite rigorous, I understand, and includes, if you pardon my bluntness, special exercises to tighten up her cunt walls, to restore their responsiveness. Only when she has undergone training successfully is she allowed to return to the so-called 'Chosen Ones', I suppose would be a rough translation."

"Though," he muttered, parenthetically, "a more literal translation would be 'she who is groomed for sex'."

"Of course," he hurried on, "Women of all ages can have sex whenever they like. But the 'Chosen Ones' have first pick, as it were. Every young woman wants to be 'chosen', but not all are.

"How does a woman become 'chosen'?" Jane asked, absently. She didn't really care, but thought she should say something.

"We'll get to that," Morton replied, casually.

Jane sensed suddenly that 'getting to that' was the key to where Morton was headed and thought of asking Morton to cut out the sociology and get to the point. But she didn't. She held her peace.

"Interesting customs, don't you think," Morton continued. "Children raised in a collective, no child knowing who is its mother or father."

"But that's awful," Jane said, suddenly. "A child needs a father, and a mother. What a strange way of rearing children."

"Well you may think so, Jane," Morton continued, in his matter-of-fact manner, "but is our way better? A child does not get to choose its parents. Some are lucky, some are not. In the islands, every man is the father of every child, every woman its mother. Think about it. It's different, surely, but is it worse? I mean, child molestation, abuse is unheard of in the islands. From what I glean off the web, it's practically an epidemic in England."

Recalling her own father's feeble attempts to 'feel her up' even in her early years, Jane pondered on this one. Her father was a weak man, in every respect. His attempts to manipulate her were transparent and easily countered. Not every young girl was so fortunate.

"And there are other advantages," Morton had continued. "In our society children are sired by husbands who help rear them --- well, they used to be. Things seem to be changing, but that is the way it was for a long time. A woman must choose a husband who is good at both --- siring and rearing. Now relax the second criterion. Take away the 'husband'. What do you get?"

He was looking at Jane intensely now, but did not wait for her to answer.

"The fittest and the best, that's what. In fact, I've done some research on this and it's not awfully uncommon in England for a woman to marry a man who will be good at rearing children, but to have them sired by other men. They separate the siring part from the rearing part. It makes sense, you know, because a man with the genes a woman wants passed on to her child is not necessarily, or even likely, to hang around for the long haul."

Jane had discovered early in life that she could not have children, so she'd never wondered about such things. She didn't now.

"On the islands, women do not have this problem. They choose their mates for the sole purpose of, well, to be blunt, sexual performance. And being matriarchal, of course, it's the females who choose the males, never the other way around. I mean, think what would happen if this were introduced suddenly in England. MiGod! There'd be no procreation at all. Well, probably after a while, females would discover their natural capacity for sex and things would change. On the islands, though, it's always been that way. Females have sex all the time. A male must never refuse the request of a female, and their problem is not to find a willing female, but to keep up with them, fulfill their obligations, as it were. And it's carefully regulated, too. All sexual encounters are recorded and clerks enter the mark the female assigns to the male according to the degree with which he pleased her. Any male receiving poor marks must undergo re-training to improve his performance."

"Training? What kind of training?" Jane asked, suddenly, honing in. This is where Morton was headed. She knew it.

"Oh! We'll get to that," Morton replied, maddeningly. "A male who is unable to perform even after repeated bouts of training must wear a collar. This indicates to females that he is not available for sex. I suppose you would say in our culture he has become impotent. However, on the islands this is not a stigma. It is accepted as natural that some males will suffer this fate, just as some females are destined to remain barren. People get sick, some die prematurely. It is accepted that life is not fair."

"Quite unlike our culture," Morton continued, pensively. Then in a sense of wonderment, "D'you know, we actively encourage impotent men to drug themselves so they can perform."

Jane smiled to herself. Morton had probably learned this where he learned almost everything he knew --- from the web. And his tone implied she may not know. As if every client she'd 'entertained' had not pumped himself full of the stuff!

Morton glanced at her.

"I see you know that," he said. "Personally I think a man should accept his fate, like a man."

"Except you!" Jane had blurted out before her mouth consulted her brain.

"What d'you mean by that?" Morton replied, sharply.

Jane gulped. Oh well. She was in it now.

"First me, then, when I was not enough Neda and Nina, then, when they and me weren't enough, the island and six bloody sirens --- and now it appears even that is not enough and you're looking for something else to enhance your performance."

That stopped Morton cold. For a moment he was silent. He appeared to be communing with himself. Eventually, he said,

"D'you know, I'd never thought of it that way. But now you mention it, I have to say I see a difference between attempting to maintain, enhance if you will, desire by natural means, and stuffing pills into your head to fool the body into simulating desire where there is none."

"But Morton, think back. What was the first thing you asked from me, way back then, when we first met. Wasn't it to connect the desire in your head to the reaction of your ... er ... your dick? That's what the pills do. They don't create desire, merely translate desire into the ability to fulfill it."

Morton did think back, and appeared taken aback. After a long pause, he said,

"I'd forgotten that," he said. "You're quite right. I have read that this is what the pills do. And you're right about me, too. That was indeed my problem. Oh dearie me, now I recall my horrible embarrassment that night in Budapest....."

He fell silent.

"Go on," Jane said, now fully into the conversation. "I know we agreed not to talk about past life. But do, if you want to."

After cogitating briefly with himself, Morton did.

"It was a sex club," he said. "Esterhazy tricked me into it. I was not prepared. There was this girl ...."

While he was searching for the name, Jane said,

"Club Venus?"

"Yes! Of course. You met Madam Sharapova. I'd forgotten."

"A true 'Romanov'," Jane said. "Who could forget?"

"Is that what she said?" Morton laughed, lightly. "Well, maybe it's true. I didn't check on her before her time as an upmarket whore in Moscow. Well, actually, she is a woman of many talents and of some interest. But we'll get to that. Where was I?"

"You were being disparaging about men who take pills to help connect the desire in their brains to their ... er ... dicks," Jane said, tartly.

"Ah! Yes! Well I admit there may be a parallel...... Hah! Now it comes to me. Elektra, that was the girl's name. Exquisite girl. Made me perform oral sex on her."

"Made you!!?"

"Well, not exactly. Enticed me with feminine wiles, maybe. D'you know it was the first time I'd ever seen a live cunt. And there I was lapping away on one, a most delectable one, I may say, almost as juicy and succulent as your own.... And Oh dearie me....."