Shipwreced

It had come in my dream again—the dream of the hunky yacht captain between my spread and bent legs, his muscular, naked body heavy on me, pressing me into the thin mattress of the bunk in the tiny cabin. His hands were gripping my wrists. My hands were gripping straps on the wall above the head of the bunk. His muscular, hirsute man's body was crushing my slim, young body. I was moaning, telling him I was scared and that he was heavy. He was shushing me, telling me it was all right, that he would make it all right, how pleased he was that I was taking him as my first.

I wasn't concerned that he was fucking me; I was concerned he'd squeeze the breath out of me as we rolled, fused together, with the slight pitching of the cabin.

He was inside me, thick, insistent, stretching me, causing me to pant hard. My grunts were loud, primeval. He was admonishing me to keep quiet, so that the Sylvesters, the couple I was traveling with on a university break to see my parents in Cape Town, who were in their cabin just across the wall from the head of my bunk, wouldn't hear what the captain was doing to me—what in my wantonness, need, and ripeness had signaled he could do to me.

I stopped grunting so loud. I didn't want the dream to stop. Always before it had stopped short of him penetrating me. But now, in this dream, he was thickly inside me and all of my sensations went to him deep in my gut, stretching me, beginning to move, in and out. Nothing I had felt before—pressure and pain. But pleasure too. Increasingly pleasure, the feeling of being one with a man.

I was frustrated that it hadn't happened before. It had happened now. I wanted him inside me. He was inside me. I didn't think I'd feel it in a dream, but I did feel it, filling me, stretching me, rubbing against my inner walls, sliding in and out, with difficulty at first, but more easily with each slide. Hearing myself moan; feeling myself panting lightly.

I tried to remain quiet, although I couldn't keep myself from whimpering and moaning as his pelvis rose and fell, sending his hard cock deep up into my guts and then pulling out only to slide in again, my passage taking him deeper than before. It was painful, but also so pleasuring, what I dreamed about ever since we'd left Marseilles for this journey down the west coast of Africa to Cape Town. The dream, although I'd had it nearly nightly since we'd cleared the Rock of Gibraltar and the captain had seen the looks I was giving him, looks he returned, had come upon me more suddenly and more vividly than usual. I had struggled with him at first, and the feel of him forcing himself inside me, becoming one with me, had a realism and pain attached to it as never before. It seemed so real.

I didn't want it to stop. He was so big inside me. I was fully possessed by him. I was completely his, just as I had dreamed I´d be. I had dreamed of this before, and, since Marseilles, of the French captain, moving around with the crew on deck, wearing only a slip of a swim suit, muscular, hairy chested, tanned, and so handsome—always moving like a dancer, smiling, joking—and looking at me with lust, finding moments to touch me intimately, whisper to me suggestively.

When I stopped struggling—when the dream became real to me and I stopped wrestling against what I dreamed would be—and lay back, relaxed, and, as we both could feel, opened entirely to his churning cock, the captain of my dreams let loose of my wrists and grabbed my ankles, wishboning my legs.

"Good for you to surrender to it," he murmured. "It will go easier for you now. You are so sweet."

He pressed his knees under my buttocks, elevating my pelvis. He moved deeper inside me and started to pump rhythmically. I moved with his rhythm, using my grip on the straps overhead and the leverage of my feet flat on the mattress to thrust my pelvis up as he thrust his down, reaching deep inside me. We were one glorious, forbidden fucking machine.

"

Bon. Bon. Tu es baisé maintenant

—Good, good. You are fucked now," he murmured. "

Vous êtes entièrement à moi

—You are fully mine. Take my seed. I've got your cherry."

"Yes, yes, yes," I whispered in answer. I felt like crying, though. There was nothing romantic in his victory statement. There was no doubt I'd been had—that getting his cock inside me was the main event for him.

And then it no longer was a dream. Philippe really was on top of me, in the night, in a yacht off the coast of Africa—fucking me, a nineteen-year-old, never fucked before university student.

And, despite his crass characterization of what we'd done, I was loving it. I felt him tense and jerk—and give me his seed.

I heard the grinding noise and felt the lurch of the ship. The sickening sound of wood and metal being torn asunder brought me fully awake. With the exclamation of "

Merde! Putain

!—Shit! Fuck!" Philippe was pulling out of me and leaving the bunk, racing for the door to the cabin. I heard the sounds of people screaming, having been abruptly awakened. I watched Philippe go, scrambling uphill on the decking because of the list of the yacht. I heard another crunch and was being drenched with water. I turned my head to see that there was a gaping hole in the side of the ship and water was rushing in and then, as the ship rolled in the other direction, rushing back out again—taking me with it.

I don't know how long I was out or how I got to the beach, but I slowly drifted into wakefulness, coming back through the same dream I had left, of Philippe on top of me and inside me, pumping. But then that turned out not to be a dream, didn't it? I reasoned. I certainly was sore enough in my gut for a man to have been there. Than what was this? He was inside me still, thicker and longer than ever, heavy and hard bodied, taxing the stretch of my passage, the muscles of which were spasming, rippling on his throbbing, insistent, possessing cock.

I opened my eyes. It was still night, but the moon was out. I could see the man on top of me. He wasn't tan. He was ebony black. He was muscular, but more so than Philippe—much more so. He was looking down into my eyes with primitive, primeval want. His probing cock was stretching me, reaching far up into my gut.

It wasn't Philippe. This wasn't a dream!

His cock wasn't a dream, though. It was deep inside me, hard, throbbing, thick, and long. Stretching, stretching, stretching me. Sliding in and out, in and out.

I came awake enough to struggle with him—but ineffectually. I was too weak. He was too strong. I beat on his chest with my fists, although "beat" was too strong a word for the energy I could muster. He laughed, grabbed my wrists, forced my arms over my head and picked up the pace of his massive thrusts inside me. When I surrendered to him and relaxed, collapsing back on the sand, he laughed again, a deep, guttural laugh, shoved his knees under my buttocks, grabbed my ankles with his hands, and wishboned my legs wide—just as Philippe had done earlier in the yacht.

Lost to him now, I arched my back and thrust my pelvis up as he thrust his down, fucking me deep in my core, my passage yielding to him, blossoming open for him, the muscles of my inner walls undulating over his throbbing, insistent shaft. I cried out when I felt the gush of his cum inside me. "Yes, yes! Give it to me! Fuck me!" I had already come.

He laughed, pulled out of me, picked me up, and tossed me over his shoulder. He was a monster of a black man. I already knew that from feeling the size of him inside me. He was well over six and a half feet tall, sturdy and impossibly muscular. I hung bent over his shoulder, one of his massive hands palming my buttocks, his index finger buried in my anus as he sauntered up the beach and into the night-time dark jungle foliage.

I could feel his cum dripping out of my ass as he walked—no, strutted—into the jungle.

Exhausted, I blacked out.

* * * *

I don't know how long I was down with the fever, drifting in and out, but I think it must have been three or more days. My system apparently didn't like swallowing a lot of seawater. I was on some sort of wooden platform high in the trees. There were other platforms off in other trees, connected to this one by a rope ladder-like walkway. I was lying on my back a pallet formed out of large palm branches. I was naked. My legs were splayed open, my knees bent. I was aware of a soreness—and wetness—in my passage. I was moaning in a low, intermittent tone that I sensed had gone on forever.

I woke up occasionally to having the black man—I came to know of him as Big, because he was big in every way—down on his haunches beside me, cooling off my brow with a wet cloth, the cloth looking suspiciously like a strip of material from the sleeping shorts I had been wearing when I was sucked out of the hull of the yacht. He wore a primitive loincloth, made out of a strip of material draped in front and back over a rope around his waist. His body was huge and magnificent in every way—and ebony black. Other times he was lifting my head up, helping me to sip water from a hollowed-out coconut shell.

Still other times, in the dark of night, he was between my legs on his knees, with his torso´s weight supported on his hands, pressed on either side of the pallet by my arms, hunched over me like some sort of gorilla, making low, humming, snuffling sounds. His cock was inside me and he was fucking me in shallow strokes. He never went deep during these couplings following his full taking of me on the beach, as if he had some regard for my feverish state. But he fucked me nonetheless, probably determined to get his rocks off while I was alive in case I didn't make it. I wasn't so far gone, though, that he wasn't able to pull a climax out of me and before exploding inside me with a series of prodigious blasts of warm cum before withdrawing.

That's how I figured I was weak with fever on the pallet for three days—the nighttime copulation. I would be awake long enough after he had lifted my head and ladled some sort of delicious soup between my lips and picked off chunks of meat from banana leaves along with bits of other fruit, putting them in my mouth for me to chew and swallow. For a time after that, I'd be more lucid than at other times. As it grew dark up in the eerie on the platforms under the heads of the towering jungle trees, he'd crouch on his haunches on the platform next to my pallet. His loincloth would be gone, and he'd be fisting an enormous erection. While I was still somewhat awake, he would reach over with his free hand and move in on my body, gliding around, paying attention to all of the curves and crevices there are on a young man's body. While he did so he grunted in some primeval expression of satisfaction.

Big would take my cock in his hand and stroke me as, involuntarily at first but hungrily by night three, I would engorge and then ejaculate for him. Then he would cover me and fuck me to his release. As I drifted, feverish, through the days, I increasingly looked forward to the intimacy of the nights, with Big holding me close, entering me, and becoming one with me. It wasn't like the sex had been with Philippe. Big was more intimate, entering me in peace rather than anger and expending more effort to take me with him to the heights of pleasure.

On the third night, he held my cock loose and, feeling stronger, I moved my hips, fucking up into the sheath he made with his cupped hand. He laughed and made a guttural sound I took to be some variation of "good" when I came. My response had assured him that he no longer was assaulting me—that we were now making love.

After I had come, he would move over on top of me, parting my thighs with his hands, coming down between them on his knees, his gigantic erection standing up proud out of his black-haired pubic bush. He'd cup my buttocks and raise and part them with his hands. I'd give a little cry as he forced his cock inside me, this being progressively less of an effort on his part and less pain on mine. On the third night he slid right in, my passage beginning to meet his requirements—me already becoming his. Then he fucked me in shallow slides to his finish.

He was training me to take all of his cock. I was assuring him that I wanted to take his cock.

By the third night, I was placing my hands on his plump buttocks as he stroked me, his buttocks tensing and releasing in the rhythm of his slide inside me. I was sighing and moaning rather than whimpering and sobbing as I had done on the first night. He fucked me deeper that night. From the size of him, I surmised that he could fuck me much deeper than he had as yet.

On the fourth day, I was up and off my palette and he was down on his haunches—in his loincloth—beside me, showing me some of the implements of his daily life. He had various fruits, roots, and seeds on a crudely woven tray. There were two other trays, and he was showing me, through sign language, grunts, and gestures, which were edible and which weren't. As he held them and let me try them out—or not—they went to either the "edible" tray or the "not edible" tray.

I followed this tentatively, still confused and not sure where I was and how and whether I was going to get away from here. It had been three nights, though, and I already was beginning to feel a willing slave to the huge cock Big had between his legs. I was beginning to fit him like a glove and to look forward to the next sheathing. Each time he took me, I willed him, in my mind, to take me deeper yet.

His training of me wasn't just physical; he was training me emotionally to be his mate. He was going to keep me.

* * * *

It was late in the afternoon when I heard them, alerted first by Big giving a frightened expression and looking in every direction—and then up. He let out a deep grunt. I'm sure he didn't know what the sound was nor was he even sure where it came from precisely or what it portended. I knew what it was, though. I'd heard the sound of helicopter blades before. Instantly I knew the shipwreck had been found—and probably that everyone aboard but me was accounted for and had conveyed I was missing. They were coming for me. I was being rescued. Instinctively, I stood, began waving my hands, and yelling as loud as I could.

Of course they couldn't see me through the foliage or hear me yelling above the sound of the helicopter blades. But I didn't think of that, and Big didn't know that.

He was up and had grabbed me in an instant. He manhandled me over to my pallet, dropped me down there on my back, and landed on top of me. His giant's body covered my slim, youthful body completely. He was heavy on me, making no effort to take any of his weight upon himself, and I was having trouble breathing. He pressed me to the pallet, his head raised, wildly looking through the foliage overhead, craning to see what manner of bird was up there, instinctively aware that it related to me and to someone looking for me.

Or maybe he didn't know it was a rescue helicopter. Maybe he thought it was some giant predator and that he was protecting me by covering my body under his.

His way of training me was with the fuck—controlling and subduing and then fully possessing me, working me until he knew I was responding with want and surrender. He reverted to that now.

He was in massive erection, his cock having slipped out of the side of his primitive loincloth covering. I slipped into heat and he knew it. The thought of rescue receded behind the need to be fucked. "Fuck me!" I called out.

He obviously was in heat as well. I involuntarily moved my body against his, pulling his erection in place. He was moving on my body from above as well. I arched my back, he placed his big hand on the small of my back and his cock bulb was just breaching my hole and, then, suddenly, swiftly, he pulled my body into his, penetrating me deeper than he ever had before.

I started to scream as he thrust deep inside me. "Oh, fuck yes! Like that. Fuck! FUCK!" He was quick, though, covering my mouth then with one hand, holding me to the pallet with his other arm encasing my neck. He didn't speak my language. He couldn't have known that I was crying out for him to possess me rather than for some unknown force overhead to save me from him. His hips rose high and then descended like a sword cutting through the air, his cock slicing into my passage hard and deep. The hips went up and thrust down again and again and again. Clutching at his shoulder blades and then his buttocks with my hands, I went with him.

He must have known now that I wasn't resisting him but was going with the fuck. He grunted and set up a rhythm of the thrusts, which I met with up thrusts of my own.

He was fucking me hard and deep, giving me all of his cock, sinking deeper inside me than ever before, fucking the danger from overhead away, and I was going with him, the two of us rocking against each other and getting everything we could get from each other. For the first time, he lowered his face to mine, pressed on my lips with his tongue, and I opened to him, letting his tongue invade my mouth cavity and swab my inner cheeks, and stroke down into my throat. I sucked on his tongue, surrendering even that completely to him, as the black brute continued to fuck me. We fucked like animals and climaxed together like champions. Then we both lay there, still fused by his cock inside me, panting and listening—listening for the sounds of helicopter blades.

But the helicopter no longer was above us.

Big rolled off me onto his back and I turned my body, coming on top of his. With a moan of pleasure, understanding that I was going to perform the ultimate surrender to him, he held my chest suspended over his belly, as I took his cock in my mouth and he did the same to mine and we sucked each other off to another climax. He reversed me, pulled my body into his, and we slept the rest of the afternoon that way. Until then, Big had slept on a different platform. After that he slept with me, holding me in his embrace, and sometimes waking during the night and slowly penetrating me with his cock and slow fucking me.

One thing was clear to me now. Big had no intention of letting me go. He was teaching me the ways of the jungle for me to remain here as his sexual slave.

That night when he came to me, he made his intentions completely clear. He ravished me totally, taking me in several taxing positions, leaving me with my legs spread and me unable to close them—and purring. The days of pandering to me because I had been feverish were over. In the morning he came to me again and repeated the ravishing. He then, gesturing for me to stay where I was, went off, down his rope ladder, on a foraging mission, leaving me moaning and smiling. I was still smiling when he returned and fucked me again.

We had reached a certain level of higher trust. The platform I had been sleeping on was higher in the trees than the main platform where Big had been sleeping and where he had been setting his pallet across the opening of the rope ladder from my platform to his. Only this platform, the one he guarded, as far as I knew, had a rope ladder down to the ground. It was too far down for me to safely drop to the ground. After the afternoon of the helicopter, though—of its first appearance—when I had so totally surrendered to Big sexually, he moved up to my platform and my pallet for the night. He came to me at dark and fucked me. We slept for a while and he woke and then woke me fucking me again. We dozed and then he fucked me again. We slept, and then it was light and he was gone. He was fucking me so much that my passage didn't really close back down now. I was reamed to his specifications. We didn't require much preparation now for him to slide inside me. We were a unit now when we were fused. I was trained to be his mate.