Morton's Island Ch. 02

"What?"

"It's so embarrassing. When she came, or simulated orgasm, I could not at that time tell the difference, she wanted to 'do something nice for me'...."

Jane understood, suddenly. This was the source of Morton's transformation --- from financial guru to sex fanatic. He'd never told her, she'd never asked.

"And you ran away, Morton, didn't you?" she said, softly.

"How did you guess," Morton said morosely. "Yes! To my shame, I ran away. The desire, Oh the desire, but firmly locked in my brain. I was ashamed, you see, that Elektra would find beneath my clothing an organ that refused to respond to her ministrations. It was as though my brain was about to explode. I'd never experienced anything like it."

"A life-changing experience?"

"Indeed!"

"Like mine, when I responded to your ad."

"But you were well-versed in matters sexual, Jane. Indeed, that was the point, wasn't it. Nothing new for you, surely."

"Sure. I was not innocent," Jane said in massive understatement. "But sex like I've had since, with you, well, I truly did not know this was possible. So Yes! Life changing for me, too."

"I hope in a positive sense?"

"You have to ask?"

"I suppose not. You adapted to this lifestyle even better than me."

Morton sighed.

"I know you've been masturbating on the sly," he said. "I don't mind. I've decided on a period of self-denial but it would not be fair if I were to require the same of you."

There was a long silence.

"Would you like me to masturbate for you?" Jane found herself saying.

"Oh No!" Morton replied. "That might turn me on. I made a promise to myself and, as you know, I keep my promises."

"But Morton," Jane said, in a firm tone. "This is a matriarchal society. 'A male must never refuse the request of a female.' You said it yourself. Now sit in that chair and watch. I'm going to take my time, but I'm going all the way, and, as you well know, one is never enough ......"

'Oh dearie me,' Morton thought.

But he did what Jane asked.

Chapter 3

"Keep your eyes on my fingers," Jane said. "And your hands off your cock. Y'hear?"

She half-lay, half-sat on their bed, her legs spread wide, her full, ripe cunt lips, enlarged by the ministrations of Morton's fingers, his tongue, his lips, his teeth, his cock, now not a yard from his eyes as he sat in the chair Jane had placed at the foot of the bed.

Morton struggled to keep his gaze high, though the way Jane was stroking her breasts, brushing casually across a nipple, reminded him that these orbs were, of themselves, well worthy of contemplation. Jane seemed to think so, too, because her eyes were down, watching her breasts vibrate as an absent hand pushed upwards slightly, then released. She did this several times with one breast, then switched to the other, then back again. She kept this up for quite a while before switching to a circular stroking motion with her finger tips, starting at the outer edge of her breasts and moving in towards the nipple, which stood out in an areola bed that had begun already to swell and spread.

Morton's eyes followed Jane's fingers as they explored towards the nipple, then switched to her other breast, stroking, caressing. The areolas puffed up rather nicely, highlighting their focal points.

Jane's breasts were truly a wonder of nature at any time, and when she was aroused, they acquired a beauty that would take away the breath of any male, that would arouse desire in all --- even one who had committed to a period of self-denial! Morton's brain was struggling mightily to deny nature.

Jane placed a fingertip in her mouth, covering it with saliva which she then transferred to a nipple and rubbed in, squeezing gently. The stiffening nipple now gleamed up at Morton in the dim light of the hut. Soon there were two.

'Oh dearie me!' he thought. He kept his promises, he repeated to himself. No harm in looking on, though, even if danger signals in his brain had begun to register alarm.

Jane squeezed harder, trapping each nipple between forefinger and thumb and moving one against the other. No less than her cunt lips, Jane's nipples filled out quickly, stood out ever more prominently. They seemed to just grow and grow. She removed her fingers and began to flick the stems of her nipples with her middle finger, quite hard. Moving always with deliberation, she repeated, squeezing and flicking until both nipples along with the areolas in which they were embedded were engorged, a bright pink ambience setting off dark stems. Admiringly, Jane's glance remained focused as her fingers massaged the tip of each nipple, then its stem, then tip, then stem....

Morton could not resist a glance down, registering the hint of moisture along the line between Jane's cunt lips. He knew so well, how her body reacted ...

How many hours had he spent teasing that cunt, parting its lips with his tongue, then sliding it up and down the outer walls. Strange, though, he'd never thought to begin by teasing her nipples. That came later, when she was on top and he'd take them one at a time into his mouth, sucking, then biting down gently and pulling as her groin gyrated over his, each soaked in the juice that flowed out of her.....

What a cunt! What nipples! What a gorgeous torso! Morton registered stirrings.

'Oh my Lord!'

Jane's voice, soft and sultry, reached his ears.

"I'm going to play with my cunt, now," it said. "You like my cunt, don't you."

A hand strayed down. A fingertip brushed gently across the tips of lips whose coloration already indicated significant arousal.

"So do I," she sighed. "I'm going to use both hands. You can choose which fingers to watch."

The hand that hadn't gone down to her cunt went to her breasts, stroking and squeezing nipples that seemed fully erect, yet stiffened and lengthened even further as Jane squeezed harder, massaged more firmly.

But this Morton noticed only via a casual glance. His eyes were riveted on the other fingers, the ones that stroked swollen cunt lips, parted them briefly --- a hint of luscious pink --- slid up and down their insides, then spread the accumulated moisture over their outer walls.

"I hope you're sitting comfortably," she said in that sultry tone. "I can do this for hours."

Morton groaned inwardly. The pollen had risen. A promise is a promise, he repeated to himself. But his resolve was beginning to weaken. Only with firm restraint could he resist the temptation to lunge forward, press his mouth over that luscious cunt, caress every part of it, tease its lips, flick the stem of its clit with the tip of his tongue.

Two fingers now spread Jane's cunt lips, caressing their inner walls, before squeezing them tight and teasing them, spreading more juice. Her cunt now gleamed in the dim light in the hut; as her nipples still did, Morton's eye registered via an occasional, brief glance.

A millimeter at a time, Jane's cunt lips parted again, her fingers exploring deeper, into the lighter pink that led the way towards the tunnel, dark, but glimmering in the flickering light from the lamp. Gradually, those succulent lips filled out, engorged with the red cells of arousal, like thick petals on a flower, though no flower compared with this, in sight, taste or scent.

Morton squirmed in his chair. Memory of the taste of those gorgeous petals that spread out so awfully slowly, teased his tongue, his nostrils.

'Hours? OhMiGod!'

It seemed Jane was not exaggerating. A third finger joined the other two, darting in and out now of the dark opening, the petals pressed back. The finger left vaginal walls and moved up to tease the sensitive membrane beneath a clit-tip that peeped out from beneath its hood.

She'd seemed engrossed in herself, as Morton was, and it came as a surprise to him when she stilled her hand for a moment, looked up and said,

"Are you enjoying this?"

"Well are you?" she repeated interrogatively, over his silence.

"Er... Yes! I am. Very much, in fact."

"I bet you'd rather be doing this to me than watching me do it to myself, though" Jane continued, casually. Her hand had resumed action, but her eyes now fixed Morton's.

"Er..." he began.

"Well you can't, can you," Jane interrupted, in a gruff tone of finality. "You made a promise. And you always keep your promises. Anyway, you have to do it my way, don't you. The rule of the islands."

She was looking at him so wickedly it was as much as he could do to restrain himself from falling on her, plunging his now erect cock into her vagina and fucking her senseless.

"You'd like to fuck me, wouldn't you," she said. "I can tell. I can't see your cock, but I bet its straining at the leashes."

Another wicked look.

"Well you can't," she continued, firmly. "Not until I ask you to. Remember? Matriarchal. The female decides."

Jane's voice was low, calm, seductive but controlled. Inside herself, though, she felt neither calm nor control. She'd never masturbated for a man before --- well, not like this --- and found it now delightfully arousing. Even as she said again,

"And that could take a while,"

her brain was instructing her hand to get on with it. An orgasm was beginning to build and it would not be long before it took control of her limbs, her thighs would spread wider, her hand would no longer tease. Two fingers would penetrate her vagina, out and in, faster and faster, while the other hand would leave her breast, go down to massage her clit hood.

Jane was determined to hang on for as long as she could, to string Morton out, so that when she came and called out for his thrust, he'd come immediately himself. This would prompt her second orgasm, and it would surely not stop there.

As it turned out, 'as long as she could' was not very long. Her breathing became erratic, two fingers went in, then out, then up, then in, then out again and up. Her body began to shake,

"Fuck! Fuck! Fuck Oh Fuck!"

her lips mouthed involuntarily. Her head went back. The orgasm broke.

"Shit! Ohshit! Fuck. OHSHIT!"

Her eyes were closed, her cunt was still vibrating from the aftershocks when a familiar cock entered her and began immediately to thrust. Her hands went up, her legs; she clung to him as he fucked her like a dervish, their bodies driving into the bed of leaves, until a second orgasm wracked her body, and his, the pair of them writhing in mutual ecstasy......

When she could, she panted,

"But I didn't give permission."

Morton's cock, which had spewed the massive load that days of self-denial had stored within him, remained rigid. It was sliding in and out of her, picking up steam.

"Can I fuck you, please," Morton pretended to beg.

"Oh Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes! Fuck, fuck, fuck.... OhMyJesus..... Don't you dare stop!"

Morton didn't.

It was quite like the old days, in the lavish suite in the London hotel. Just the two of them, locked in interminable union --- the hidden signals rolled them over effortless so Jane could take her turn on top, then rolled them back when her muscles began to give. Jane's world evolved into the celebration of orgasm, one following the other in more and more rapid succession until they became practically continuous, her cunt walls vibrating to every thrust. Cries, muted, not so muted, presaged, then joined the night chorus and the occasional screech of a sea-bird.........

They lay side by side, Jane laid out, still out of breath, Morton's hand stroking her breast gently. Eventually, she said,

"What the hell was wrong with that?"

"Nothing. Nothing at all. It was splendid."

"Splendid!?" Jane said, more forcefully, still from the prone position. "Splendid? Is that the best you can come up with? It was fucking fantastic, fucking splendiferous!"

"Yes! I suppose it was," Morton said, a shade pensively.

Jane was too exhausted to commit to further utterance.

Some time later, Jane disobeyed the signals from her brain, ignored the ache in every muscle in her body, and edged into a half sitting position. Morton joined her, at her side.

"You broke your promise," she said.

"Promises, they say, are made to be broken."

"I hope it was worth it."

"Oh Yes! It was worth it all right."

"Is that all you can say, after the best fuck of my life?"

"You say that all the time."

"It's true all the time. That's why I say it. I dare you to say it wasn't the best fuck you've ever had either."

"It was, indeed, right up there. Along with the best. There've been so many."

"There, you see. And why not more?"

Jane edged further into the sitting position.

"Morton, I don't understand what's bothering you. I mean, what do you want? All night with six sirens, all day with me. No other man on earth could do anything like as much. It's no wonder you went into overload. It had to be."

There was a brief pause.

"Look, Morton. What's wrong with a life together, on this island. You and I, and cook. No sirens, no --- whatever crazy notions are going through your head now. Just me."

Morton maintained a pensive silence.

"D'you know how long we've been fucking?" Jane continued in a demanding tone.

"Er... No! Tell me."

"I can't. I don't know. A fucking long time. I lost count of my orgasms. At the end it's all orgasm, continuous, until my cunt gives out on me. You came, what, at least three times, and you stayed hard the whole time. Tell me, I dare you, that any siren ever gave you a better fuck than that?"

Morton didn't answer immediately. When he did, it was in measured tones. He wanted to be considerate of her, he tried to be. But he wanted also to explain. He was not like other men, this Morton Henry Stanley. There was for him no plateau on which he could comfortably remain. It had always to be forwards, upwards, striving for something that may not be there, but then again may be. How would he know if he hadn't tried?

"You're quite right, Jane," he said, somewhat morosely. "I'm sure there is no woman alive who can fuck like you can. You told me you were no nymphomaniac, but you are always ready. I'm sure our sex life together is as good as it can ever get between a man and a woman."

"There, you see. You've admitted it."

"But," Morton continued, firmly, "if you boil it down, sex is about sensation, isn't it. Sensations you create for me, and I for you. Surely, you and I create for each other sensations that are as good as a man and a woman can ever achieve."

"Well I'm glad you finally admitted it."

"If I've been negligent in this regard, I apologize. I thought you knew, that it was obvious."

"Even the obvious needs to be spoken out from time to time, between a man and a woman," Jane said, in a slightly irritated tone.

"I accept that," Morton said, flatly. "And I apologize if it has seemed otherwise. Now you mentioned the sirens, and you are quite right that no fuck I had with any of them even approaches you and me."

"It's good to hear you say it."

"I thought it would be obvious to you --- that the sirens had nothing to do with getting a better fuck. No more were Neda and Nina. It's not about getting a better fuck. It's about sensation, Jane. Sensation."

"Think about it from a man's perspective. The sight of six svelte sirens lined up, their white bodies glistening in the moonlight. One woman, however gorgeous and desirable she may be, cannot give this sensation to a man. Neither can she give him the delight of stimulating six different cunts, each with its individual dynamic, different vibrations: each siren approaching and achieving orgasm differently. This did not interfere with you and me. We continued as before. The sirens served as stimulants, of my desire. They enhanced my ability to please you, and myself, of course. I truly thought you understood."

Jane was silent for a moment. Of course, she did understand this. What she did not understand was Morton's desire always to be reaching out, always moving forward. Even when he'd reached his goal, 12 hours of sex per day, day in, day out --- a goal she had stated bluntly was not attainable --- it was not enough. He had to go further, until there was no hour of day or night when he was not having sex in one form or another, pausing only for a brief meal, or to catch a few hours sleep.

What she had said was true enough. He'd kept this pace going for an amazingly long period of time. But it had to end. No man could perform like that indefinitely. He'd over-reached, gone into overload. Why not scale back, to a goal that was not only reachable, but comfortable? Even that would be far beyond the capability of any other man --- even if he stuffed himself stupid with daily doses of Viagra!

Eventually, Jane said, in a tone that was remarkably even, given her internal state of frustration,

"I do understand this, Morton. What I don't understand is your inability to accept limitations. I think we could be truly happy here. It's not natural to have sex all the time. It's obsessive. Find something else to do, like I found my marketing course. Something you enjoy. And you can still have as much sex as you want and can handle. You know I willingly, gladly, match your appetite. Scale back, and I'll scale back. Dial it up, and I'm with you there too."

"But we tried that, Jane. In London. It wasn't enough. That's why we went on to Neda and Nena....."

"And when they weren't enough, to this island and the fucking sirens," Jane said, losing patience. "We did this only because of your goddamn obsession. 12 hours a day, day in, day out. You and I can't do this, not on an ongoing basis. This we did establish in London. But only the 12 hours a day bit. 8 hours a day we managed, and that's a damn sight more than any other man could achieve. We did not try then to be happy and content with what nature allows us to enjoy, comfortably. Why not try now?"

Her voice tailed off. It was no use. She was wasting her breath.

After a pause, she said,

"Ok, Morton. I can see you're not persuaded. You've got something in mind, some new 'sensation', I suppose. What is it?"

"You're right Jane," Morton responded, after a pause of his own. "I do have something in mind. It would be an experiment. To explain it to you, though, I think it's best if I complete my monologue about the culture of the islands."

"Oh pu-lease," Jane said, crossly. "Tomorrow. I can't take it tonight. After a session like that one my cunt is not the only part of me that's gone dead."

Chapter 4

"Boys assist the elder males in performing their duties, but of course do not participate in sex. Likewise girls. They assist with the young children. Boys and girls are raised together but sleep in separate dormitories. No form of sexual interaction besides the visible is allowed. It seems there is a belief that teenage celibacy stores latent desire, which is expressed by enhanced performance when they come of age. Now comes the really interesting bit."

'Really interesting?', Jane thought, only half listening. She'd been quite surprised to wake and find Morton's head was not between her legs. For some reason this upset her more than was reasonable. He'd been out for an early walk and returned only for lunch, over which he resumed his monologue.

"When a boy reaches the age of 17, he begins his training. This consists initially in tasks which require speed, strength -- manly attributes. Likewise, when a girl reaches 17, she begins her training. All training is supervised by females over 40....."

"Morton," Jane interrupted, in a tired voice. "I'm not really following this. Why don't you cut to the chase. What you have in mind. It has to do with the training, doesn't it. You've been putting it off, but I'd really appreciate it if you would get to the point."

Morton looked a bit startled. But he got the message, and moved swiftly to the point.

"If you insist, Jane. It's this. An essential part of training involves the ..er .. cock, and the cunt."