Karen Kaminsky and her twins have adopted the sexual mores of the South Pacific islanders in 1938.
All people engaged in any sexual activity are at least 18 years old.
Chapter 01
Karen Kaminsky's smile widened as she stepped out of the jungle's dappled sunlight and into the enchanting islander's village. The huts, adorned with thatched roofs made of sweet-smelling pili grass, stood on the sand-covered scrub grass. They faced the deep blue lagoon, making the village seem like a slice of paradise.
Karen felt comfortable in her South Pacific haven. Despite being born in America, her heart belonged to the vibrant lands she had called home since saying "I do" to her beloved husband. In 1938, when Karen was 34 years old, she could claim that half of her existence had been spent basking in the wonders of the South Pacific, and a remarkable 17 years had woven their tapestry into her very being, shaping her perspective and nurturing her spirit. Here, amidst the turquoise waters and lush tropical landscapes, Karen found comfort, a place where she truly belonged.
Her memories of living in a White society were limited to the years spent in the home of her fundamentalist preacher father. Her father married her to her husband when she was 18 years old. She went from sucking her father's cock while he railed against the sins of Eve with her mother kneeling next to them praying to sucking her husband's cock while he delivered the same sermon.
As she strolled through the village, she nodded and smiled at the villagers, acknowledging their presence. Their hale noho, or sleeping houses, stood proudly, each a testament to the tight-knit community she had become a part of.
With her limited medical knowledge, she did what she could to care for her friends, treating their ailments with compassion and understanding. There was no room for judgment in her heart, for she had embraced their way of life wholeheartedly. With open arms and an accepting spirit, she had found her place among these villagers, and they had found their trusted healer and confidante.
In the vibrant and bustling houses of the extended native families, sleep and lovemaking intertwined like the branches of a blooming tree. Children raised amidst these intimate encounters naturally grew aware of the mysteries of sex at an early age. They embraced their sexuality as something healthy and normal.
Their sexually open lifestyle contrasted with Reverend Kaminsky's vehement sermons on abstinence. Despite his fervent efforts to reform the villagers, they stubbornly clung to their traditional ways, much to her secret delight.
At some point, she couldn't pinpoint the exact moment when she realized that the natives, with their raw authenticity, were more honest about their lives than her father or husband. It was a bittersweet revelation, as she cherished her love for both of them dearly. Yet, deep down, she couldn't escape the truth...they were both hypocrites.
In her mind, an uninvited image emerged...that of a colossal Polynesian warrior she had once encountered on a distant island during their early ministry. Towering at an impressive 6'5" with a formidable presence, he exuded an aura of strength and power. The length of his member hanging inches beneath his lava lava left an indelible impression. Despite her husband's best efforts, his attempts to impart a sense of decency and a more refined view on sexual matters proved fruitless among these islanders.
As she made her way through the jungle back to the church, the imposing figure of the man-mountain accosted her. He nonchalantly caressed her behind using a mix of Pidgin English and suggestive gestures to suggest that she have sex with him and his lady friend. Surprisingly, his companion, whether wife, concubine, or some other role, stood by his side, sporting a smile that seemed to hold its secret.
As her mind replayed the incident, a flurry of nerves danced within her abdomen. The towering man held her hand as they went into the lush undergrowth, the woman trailing closely behind. He skillfully untied the knots of Karen's simple sarong and halter top, allowing them to fall to the forest floor.
She stood stolidly embarrassed but aroused as he roughly played with her tits while the woman knelt between her legs and ate her pussy.
The sensation of having her pussy eaten was one she had never felt. Her total sexual experience consisted of sucking her father's cock and occasional anal sex with him and doing the same for her husband. They both preached against such perversions. She held the woman's head, her hips thrusting as the woman expertly made love to her.
The warrior pushed her in her back, making her bend over while the woman repositioned herself between Karen's legs. She took the man's cock, sucked it briefly, then guided it into Karen's pussy.
It was the first cock other than her husband's to enter her. The native was huge, and his entrance was initially painful. Then, she began feeling unfamiliar sensations as her body reacted to the wantonness of the act. He pumped into her as Karen balanced herself against the tree trunk.
The warrior's companion said something in her native tongue. The man grunted and slowly withdrew his cock. The woman pulled at Karen's arms, urging her to lie in the soft, fragrant grass.
Karen was having an out-of-body experience as she lay on her back. She didn't know what to expect or do when the woman squatted above her face. Her aroma was overwhelming, causing her head to spin. She raised her head to better inhale the intoxicating fragrance. As she did, her lips touched the native woman's pussy. The taste was equal to the scent, and Karen wrapped her arms around the woman's muscular hips and pulled her to her, and ate her first pussy. The taste was exquisite and would become an addiction.
The warrior knelt between her legs, raised her legs like a wishbone, and reentered her cunt. She looked up to see the two islanders kissing as he fucked Karen and his woman ate her.
The man had incredible stamina, and she was never sure how long they had sex. Periodically they would switch positions, with Karen squatting over the woman's face, or the big native mouth fucked her while the native woman lay between her thighs licking her.
It was late evening by the time she returned to the parsonage. Her life was forever changed. She paid lip service to her husband's preachings about the evils of sex without marriage while she indulged herself in the sexual lifestyle of the natives.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting a warm glow over the parsonage, she finally returned home. Her once predictable existence had been irrevocably altered, forever marked by her clandestine adventures.
She adeptly navigated the delicate dance of maintaining appearances. Dutifully echoing her husband's sermons on the sanctity of marital intimacy, she secretly reveled in the forbidden pleasures of a different world.
She knew the hypocrisy of her actions. Yet, the irresistible pull of the native lifestyle beckoned to her, tempting her to indulge in its pleasures. The vibrant colors, pulsating rhythms, and uninhibited sexuality became her clandestine refuge, a hidden realm where her desires could roam free.
She mastered the art of paying lip service to her husband's teachings, skillfully concealing her secret life beneath a facade of righteousness. However, in the native grass huts, she shed her inhibitions, surrendering herself to the exhilarating embrace of this forbidden world.
The nights became her sanctuary. Most nights, she had sex with multiple natives, both male and female. The intoxicating scent of sexual freedom mingled with the seductive whispers of temptation. Each clandestine rendezvous with the natives became a thrilling rebellion against the suffocating constraints of her married life.
In the hushed darkness of the parsonage, she found solace in her duality of existence. Her heart was torn between the moral obligations imposed upon her and the exhilaration of following her desires. It was a delicate balancing act, a tightrope she walked with grace and irresistible playfulness.
She was forever changed. The allure of the native lifestyle had woven its spell, forever altering her perception of right and wrong. As the moon bathed the parsonage in its ethereal glow, she couldn't help but wonder how long she could continue this delicate dance, straddling the line between the life she was expected to lead and the one she had secretly embraced.
Old Kinipela waved for her to come over. She squatted wide-legged, her sarong pulled up around her sinewy thighs as she prepared fish and poi for her family. The grizzled forest of ebony pubic hair covered her moist thick purple vaginal lips. Her muscular sinews corded as they supported her large frame. Her breasts were enormous, sitting on her chest like blue/black melons, with her large nipples hard and wrinkled like the vine stump protruding from a gourd.
At this moment, as she prepared sustenance for her loved ones, Old Kinipela embodied a powerful feminine, unapologetic, and unrestrained femininity.
They estimated her age to be well past 70. Yet she had the vitality...and virility...of a White woman half her age. The old question of nature versus nurture raised its head. Was it the environment or heritage that gave her vitality?
Karen and Kinipela were sometimes lovers, sharing and being shared by the tribe's warriors.
"La ora na, hello, Little Mother, come sit with me."
"La ora na, Mama Kini. I can't stay long. I need to see Moke. She is close to delivering her baby, and I wanted to check on her."
Moke, a stunning 18-year-old tribe member, stood out among her island group's typically more robust women with her petite frame reminiscent of Karen. Moke weighed around 115 pounds and had a unique feature...her ample and alluring breasts. As she approached the final weeks of her pregnancy, eagerly anticipating the arrival of her second child, Moke's beauty and grace radiated from within.
Moke and Karen's son, Harold, and his twin sister Helen were in a long-term relationship in the fashion of the islanders. Both of Moke's babies were Harold's. The three planned to construct their own hale noho and begin their life together.
Reverend Kaminsky preached futilely against the promiscuity of the islanders. They listened solemnly and ignored him.
"Moke! The Little Mother is here."
Moke stepped from the cool darkness of the hale into the bright sunlight. Like pregnant women throughout the ages, she gently caressed her distended belly with one hand, comforting her unborn child. She smiled shyly when she saw Karen.
"How are you, Moke?"
"I'm well, Little Mother! But the baby is restless. He moves all of the time."
"That's normal in your last trimester. It means the baby is healthy. Let's go into the hut so I can examine you."
Karen shivered as she prepared to give Moke a vaginal exam. Her sex life with the natives awakened a hunger in her; Moke was one beneficiary of that hunger.
She helped the young girl onto the makeshift examination table. She helped her spread her legs and then squatted between them. As usual, her pussy was moist and fragrant. To Karen, the aroma was like an intoxicating drug.
"Relax, Moke! We have done this before."
Karen held Moke's vaginal lips open with one hand while probing for the baby's position with the other. As always, the young woman secreted copious amounts of fragrant lubrication. She had difficulty holding on to her slippery vaginal lips.
Moke's vaginal lips were like a tiny blossom with its petals just opening. Her secretions were the nectar dripping from that flower. Having succumbed to their allure many times before, Karen leaned in and kissed her swollen petals like a bee, stealing some sweet nectar.
