Ginny's Witnesses Ch. 01

"JJ...Mr. Smith, sweetie...please fuck me," I whined, pulling off, looking up at him, and snapping a picture of my face with strings of saliva looping to his throbbing cock.

"Ungh...Gaawd...yeeaah...honey," he grunted, kicking away his loafers and peeling off his socks before dropping to his knees between my spread legs.

We didn't have to prepare. My pussy was open to him like a moist flower in front of his pulsing cock head, and my legs were splayed at right angles to my torso. I started to reach for him but didn't need to as, with one slow, practiced plunge, he filled me to my cervix.

"Yeeeaaahhh, JJ!" I cried, and threw one arm around his neck to draw him to me, snapping both cameras with the releases in my other hand. I tried to keep my wits about me, and click them at opportune times, but lost myself in our passion, revisiting in my imagination those earlier days when we'd rutted like animals. After several minutes of mewling and moaning, I gasped in his ear, "The cameras, darlin'...the cameras," coaching him as he'd done with me earlier. JJ grunted, moved his legs, and leaned back so that both cameras and the videocam could record our full bodies and the excited meshing of our organs.

I lifted my legs high and relaxed totally inside so that he could slip past my cervix, but was content just to feel his spastic drilling into me in his quest for an orgasm. I knew it would be good for both of us, but wanted it to be truly superb for him. So, as I ground up against him I began whispering sporadically, "Cum in my mouth, honey...wanna taste your cum. Please cum in my hot mouth...in my hot mouth...wanna drink your cum...in...my...mouth," at which he groaned continually as he watched us to the side on TV.

Then I came, howling as my fingers closed on the camera cable buttons, their flashes matching those behind my eyelids, as I had the best climax I'd had in months. When I ceased thrashing, JJ froze, pulled out of me, and looped an arc of cum up at my head, with the video camera catching it in mid-flight, which landed on my face. I quickly leaned forward and gulped down two mouths full of his steaming semen – clicking as I did so – then grabbed his cock, as he growled in completion, to play its spewing contents over my face, down my neck and all over my breasts.

JJ collapsed on me, limp, and I took one more picture from the lower camera of our panting, cum-laced bodies. The batteries in both cameras were now almost dead, but the video was still running, and I'd finished my first photo essay. "And that's the story of Mr. Smith and Miz Jones," I whispered, to his sated grin. I said a quick, silent prayer to Lee as I wiped off my face, hoping that she'd witnessed us and approved of the way that I'd cared for her husband.

When we'd settled down, JJ reviewed the pictures and said, "Gawd, I love to watch you fuck, Ginny...whether it's in person, on TVor in pictures. Wish we'd had another couple with us! With me such a voyeur and you such an exhibitionist – I mean, if lecherous old Smith and slutty little Miz Jones act this way at home – how do you suppose we'll be when we get to the South Pacific?"

I ignored the question, not even considering what the future might hold. I was very pleased, though, that we'd finally enjoyed ourselves privately...without any other people. And, I was also happy that he'd popped a tab of Viagra. We'd have to be careful that he used it only moderately on vacation.

Part 2

Our vacation started two weeks after JJ and I had revived our dormant sexual relationship, with the help of taking dirty pictures of ourselves fucking, as well as Viagra. Our outlooks on life generally had improved as well, three months after my loving mother-in-law and JJ's wife, Lee, had died. It was as if we'd been liberated from the past, and were experiencing a new beginning.

We flew to Honolulu, spending two glorious days and nights of shopping and fun before catching a flight to the island of Saipan in the Western Pacific. We traveled lightly, with just two nice evening outfits and casual wear, since we planned to buy clothing in the islands. Our photo and video equipment, though, filled several sturdy cases. I hadn't read a guidebook on Micronesia – I'd only found it on a map – so JJ filled me in on details about Pohnpei as we took a small, two-engine prop plane from Saipan to Kolonia, the island's main town. The co-pilot and crew chief, Tony, a cute Mediterranean-looking guy about my age, spent some time with us and provided stories of local color. I'll bet these pilots lead exciting lives, I thought, as I checked him out, dressed as he was in navy blue shorts and a short-sleeved, white pilot's shirt with insignia. Our three-year-old daughter, Andi – born from my incestuous coupling with JJ – had been a dream child during the entire trip, unlike other kids on the flights whose parents found discipline hard to impose, and was now being bounced on Tony's knee as he talked to me. Of course, JJ and I had been proper parents and had abstained from sex, since Andi had been with us constantly since San Francisco. My body reminded me of that abstinence with a few horny pulses as I looked over at Tony's glowing smile and healthy, tanned body.

"Pohnpei has been occupied by Spain, Germany, Japan and the USA for over 400 years," he informed me. "The gene pool, blended with all those strains, has produced some indescribably beautiful people, as you'll see."

"Besides building canoes and boats, what do they do?" I asked.

"You ought to visit the two cultural centers to get educated. But, there's a lot of traditional dancing, singing, handicrafts, weaving, fishing, drinking and eating," he said.

"They're also among the most physically sensuous people on earth," JJ chimed in.

I hoped that I wasn't going to have to act as JJ's chaperone while we were there, but I put the thought out of my mind. "Is it like Saipan? That place was depressing...barren and rocky," I asked.

"No, it's like Paradise," said JJ. "We'll be staying in the Chief's village, 45 minutes outside Kolonia. It's been kept very traditional, but everything runs by electricity, and they've got all the modern amenities. Otherwise it's got mostly thatched roof bungalows, garden showers, fantastic views...you'll love it."

"What about Andi?"

"She'll have about fifty baby sitters," he said, smiling. "It's a matriarchal society, with kids raised communally in their own compound. The men and women stay apart during the workday, but get together at night to eat and party. It's a hierarchal social order, with canoe builders at the top tier. In the Chief's village, the last queen – a white American woman – died many years ago. She'd been there since World War II, so when he dies I assume they'll select another queen."

"Is there...marriage?...as we know it?" I asked.

"In a loose kind of way," he responded. I got the uneasy feeling that he wasn't telling me everything. "The Chief has several wives."

Great, I shuddered to myself...a man's dream. How was I going to keep old JJ from "going native," with Andi and me being treated as loose change?

The small puddle-jumper in which we were flying did a sudden banked turn and I looked out the nearest window. Below us was a green, almost circular, island dominated by a single, verdant mountain, with a river running down its slopes and a small town accompanied by an airstrip at its base on the shore of a lagoon. "Is that it?" I asked. "It's so small!"

"It's thirteen miles wide, Ginny, and 2900 feet high, with everything you'll need for the next couple of weeks or so!" said JJ, excitedly.

We bid Tony goodbye, told him we'd see him in a couple of weeks, and, as the plane's door swung open, I was hit by a sweet and sour stench and a blast of humid heat that I'd never before experienced. "What's that smell?" I asked JJ.

"The jungle, babe, mixed with the salty trade winds...the smell of Paradise!"

Thank God I'd dressed appropriately, given the heat...just shorts and a halter top. As we descended from the plane, a shiny red, crew cab pickup was racing toward us, its sides custom-painted with pictures of exotic, brown-skinned women rising from the sea. On each door was an over-large painting of an older, Polynesian-looking man, perhaps in his sixties. It looked as though someone on the island was a superb portrait painter. In the back of the truck there was a motorcycle.

"Here's the royal chariot! That's the Chief's face on the doors," said JJ, as the vehicle skidded to a stop next to the plane.

A handsome young man, over six feet tall with dyed blond hair, naked to his brown waist and covered only with a flowered wrap from low on his hips to his knees, called out, "You're Jay?"

"That's me!" said JJ.

"I'm Sam, the Chief's driver," he said, shaking JJ's hand and grinning broadly down at me. His eyes quickly scanned my body in an appreciative way. "Your stuff?" he asked, pointing to our bags and equipment cases.

"That's it," said JJ. At that the boy, perhaps twenty years old, began loading our baggage. I was amazed at the way he effortlessly lifted the heavy equipment cases, showing rippling brown back and shoulder muscles on his vee-shaped torso as he loaded the pickup's cargo bed. When he'd finished, he opened the truck's rear passenger door and bowed dramatically for Andi and me to enter. I scooped my daughter up and sat her on the back seat, then stepped on the running board. The flip-flop on my foot slipped and I almost fell to the tarmac, but Sam caught me around the waist with his strong hands and lifted me up onto the seat. I immediately noticed that his hands lingered on my tummy, then slipped slowly away, as I reached for the seat belt.

"Thank you," I muttered, impressed with his manners but uneasy with his caressing touch on my flesh, as JJ got into the front passenger seat. Sam's dyed blond hair and light eyes made him look very unusual, but what did I know of people from the Pacific islands? Such rich, dark, unblemished skin, I thought. Must be a blend of the island's German genes.

After customs and document stamping, on the way back Sam kept up a running conversation with JJ. "Where're ya from?" he asked.

"Near San Francisco," replied JJ.

"Yeah? Know anybody in L.A.? Reason I ask is, I wanna go there 'n' try to get into movies!"

"Tough to break into," said JJ. "You from Pohnpei?"

"Yup, born in the college clinic in Kolonia. My mom was a hippie chick who came here in the eighties, fell in love with the place, and got knocked up! Oops, sorry," he said, looking back at me. "Never knew who my father was. She stayed 'til I was 18 – I'm a half-breed – then moved back to Hawaii. Too primitive for her here."

"What do you do?" asked JJ.

"Go to the college, majoring in art...and girls, mostly," he beamed, laughing loudly as JJ smiled at the remark. "I painted the Chief's truck!" he said proudly. "Do artwork for the tourists, work in the video rental store part time, and run errands for the Chief, 'cuz he can't drive. When I'm not drivin' I'm ridin' my motorcycle...the one in back."

"You're an entrepreneur," said JJ.

"That's me!" Sam replied, as we sped away from the airport, down a two lane road into the dense jungle.

It was mid-afternoon when we arrived at the village – a stroll away from a beautiful nearby beach – after a harrowing ride. I thanked God under my breath that we'd made it alive, given Sam's crazy driving. The whole village, a couple of hundred people it seemed, had turned out to welcome us, all arrayed behind the beefy Chief, who stood at the central apex of the throng. Sam unloaded the truck, winked and gave me a flirty "thumbs-up," and left us in the center of the village.

The Chief had raised his large arms when JJ had gotten out of the truck, and they'd embraced in a gesture of true, though comical, affection, since the Chief was many inches the shorter of the two...about my height of 5'4". They said a few words that I didn't hear and JJ gestured for me to come forward. I pulled Andi by the hand toward them and the entire crowd of people reacted with a low, murmuring moan. I self-consciously flipped my long hair back over one shoulder – I'd let it grow so it was now down past the middle of my back – and again the people gasped. They must not see many strawberry blondes down here, I told myself, feeling their curious eyes.

The Chief watched me approach with an unblinking stare, his hands on his hips, and I did a small curtsey before him, still holding Andi's hand. "This is Ginny...and her daughter, Andi," said JJ.

The Chief approached me with open arms and I expected a bone-crushing hug such as the one he'd given JJ. But, instead, he clasped both of my hands in his rough palms – extremely gently – and said, "Audra."

"It's Ginny, Chief," said JJ, which was ignored.

"You...Audra," he said, looking deeply into my eyes. Then he turned to the crowd of villagers and said loudly, "Audra!" and pointed back to me.

The entire assemblage of dark-skinned men, women and children sighed a breathy, collective, "Audra," and swept around us as if they were currents eddying around a rock on the seashore, touching, stroking my hair, arms, even between my legs...any part of my pale white skin that was bare. I didn't notice anyone of mixed blood here, and had never felt so overwhelmed, even when I'd been applauded by an audience of hundreds, years before in the Ice Capades. For some reason these native people liked me...a lot. Was it because Andi's so cute? I wondered. She was now hoisted on the shoulders of a young teenage girl, giggling, or perhaps they revered JJ's architectural genius. I just didn't know. In any case, I was tired, needed a shower, and both Andi and I needed a nap. I told as much to JJ, who muttered a few words to the Chief.

We were housed in a small two-room bungalow, made of thatch on a mahogany frame. There was a garden shower and toilet out back, enclosed on three sides for privacy. All the furniture was raffia or bamboo. The beds were huge pallets covered with raffia mats, on which Andi and I napped for a couple of hours while JJ relaxed with the Chief. After a shower I put on new clothing I'd bought, an aqua, clasp-backed bra top with spaghetti straps, with a flowered, sarong type skirt that opened quite high in the front. JJ had advised well when we'd shopped in Honolulu, since the costume seemed to blend right in with those worn locally. Being a toddler, Andi didn't need a top, so was free to run about in a pair of shorts like the rest of the little kids. On our feet were typical flip-flop sandals.

I was curious about JJ, so decided we should look for him. Sweeping aside the mat that covered the front door opening, I almost ran into a boy of perhaps twenty – or young man, since age seemed so difficult to tell with our hosts – who was standing outside. I said, "Oh, excuse me," and walked around him.

He was maybe 5'10" tall, well muscled, very brown, with a shock of straight, well-trimmed black hair. One could almost swim in his deep brown eyes. He backed away and bowed slightly, seeming almost to blush when I spoke to him, as he averted his eyes shyly from mine. Slung low on his hips was a black wrap that showed a yummy taut abdomen, the skirt-like material extending to his knees but scooped up in front, as with all the villagers. He was strikingly handsome, with a finely cut facial structure and narrow nose, and I must admit to a quickening of my pulse as I glanced over his chiseled build. Then he smiled and...I felt light-headed at the gorgeous white-toothed grin that split his features. "I am Leiuanu," he said, "son of Chief."

"Ginny," I said, stiffly holding out my hand for him to shake. He looked like a dark, Asian/ Spaniard mix.

"Audra," he said, bowing again and grasping my small hand softly in his much larger ones. "I guard you."

"Oh, thanks," I said, distractedly, and walked toward where JJ and the Chief were relaxing in hammocks a hundred feet away on a lanai in front of the Chief's bungalow, tended by a handful of beautiful island girls in skimpy traditional dress. I glanced over my shoulder at the boy I'd just met as we walked, and his eyes were all over me. He bowed again slightly. On our way, six little girls between the ages of about ten and fourteen came up, grabbed Andi by the hand, and ran away, all of them giggling her name. It would take a while for me to accept so many baby sitters, but my daughter wasn't at all shy.

As I approached the Chief's lanai, a beautiful teenage girl brought a bamboo raffia chair on which I sat, as JJ and the Chief complimented me on my costume. The girl was stunningly gorgeous, with straight black hair to her waist – perhaps sixteen I thought – her willowy curves covered by a single, orange and white flowered sarong, clinging to prominent breasts and scooped up high in front like mine. She brought me a mahogany cup filled with something.

"It'ssakau, Ginny, the traditional Pohnpeian drink made fromkava. It's pretty strong, so be careful." His words were slurred and eyes slightly glazed, testaments to what he'd just said. I took a small sip, which warmed my insides immediately. It tasted...green...and peppery, not at all like other liquors I'd had. I flashed back to when I'd had drunkabsinthe, which had driven me sexually crazy during an orgy in California a year or so before, and vowed to heed his words.

The chief was expansive. "Audra!" he said with laughter, "you teach me Mer'kuh!"

English was obviously his second language, so I didn't know what he meant immediately, but surmised that it had something to do with the States. Anxious to be agreeable, I nodded and gushed, "I'd be happy to, Chief!"

He looked at JJ and laughed broadly, "Happy! She happy!" and dissolved into tipsy giggles.

Then, he looked at the seashore and saw something he didn't like. Grunting, he got up, excused himself by putting his hand on JJ's shoulder, and paced with authority to where some young men, including his son, Leiuanu, my "guard," were working on a canoe. He upbraided them for about five minutes about something.

In his absence I asked, "Who's Audra, JJ? Everyone calls me Audra."

"Lieutenant Junior Grade Audra Jones, U.S. Navy flight nurse," he replied. "Sole survivor of a plane crash here in 1943, when the Japanese controlled Micronesia. The Pohnpeians patched her up and hid her in a cave on the mountain 'til the end of the war. She stayed after that and became their queen. Never had children of her own. The Chief – who's over 60 – is one of her adopted younger 'cousins'."

Miz Jones? What a coincidence, I thought, wryly, having the same last name as the one I'd chosen when JJ and I had photographed ourselves fucking a couple of weeks previously. "But why do they think of me as 'Audra'?" I asked.

"Because you're the spitting image of her, you little devil. And you told me you were half Greek," he said, teasingly. "When the Chief gets back, he'll show you some pictures."

I spent the next few minutes snapping shots with the digital camera I'd brought with me, and took one of the Chief as he was returning. When he reached us he invited us inside and led us to a shrine-like display on one wall. In the center of the display there was an excellent, large, painted portrait of a white woman in her early twenties, with full, naked breasts and a petite build, with strawberry blonde hair and dark brown eyes.

"Audra," said the Chief, reverently, gesturing to the pictures, and put his palms together, bowing slightly.

I was stunned. The face looking back at me from the portrait was a mirror image of my current self, right down to the dozen pin-sized freckles scattered across the bridge of my nose. "Ooohhh, JJ," I gasped, grabbing his forearm. The Chief then pointed out many framed, black and white snapshots, all yellowed with age. They showed the young woman in various garbs, a few in regulation khaki with her silver bar of rank, coupled with shorts, and several others with her in native dress, accompanied by Pohnpeians of the time. There were also pictures of her as she aged, the final one showing her gray-haired and in her sixties.