Morton's Island Ch. 02

He glanced at Jane seeking her reaction, which was of mild curiosity.

"Before he can join the elite group of 'Cavaliers' --- I was about to explain who these are, but, well, later, if you want --- a young man's cock must withstand a proscribed test. This involves, amongst other things, whipping, flogging, call it what you will."

Jane, suddenly alert, blurted out,

"What!? Whip a man's penis? But surely...."

"Yes, it hurts. It's supposed to. And initially a young man loses his erection immediately. That's where the training comes in. A young man's penis must gradually be brought to the point where it remains erect throughout the test, and he can withstand the pain. There, now. I can't be more explicit than this."

"But that's nuts," Jane said, appalled. "Bizarre. What good does that do?"

"Well it sorts out the men from the boys, for starters. And if a man can withstand a full hour's training and remain erect, it is presumed he can last a full night with a 'Chosen One'."

"What? A full hour? That's absurd. Why even you couldn't...."

She stopped herself, but too late. It was out.

"Well there you have it, you see. Tell you the truth, I have been trying it out. Cook, you know. She has some experience. Well, considerable experience, I would have to say. She arranged for the equipment to be brought over."

Misinterpeting Jane's silence --- she was speechless --- Morton ploughed ahead.

"Of course, I wanted to go over to main island, but I knew it would be difficult. Turned out to be impossible. So many islanders in other chains have succumbed to viruses and bacteria brought by westerners. These are foreign to the island chain, and great care is taken.... What?"

This in response to the look on Jane's face. She found her voice.

"You mean all this time, when you've been taking 'walks', cook has been flogging your dick?"

"Well, not all the time. There are other aspects of the test, like oils. My goodness, they have some peppers on these islands that sting like the bejesus."

"Whips, hot peppers? Morton! Are you quite mad. My God! No wonder you've lost interest....."

She was about to add 'in fucking me' but remembered in time the previous evening. No, that would not be fair. Even if the cock inside her had been flogged, drenched in hot oil, whatever unspeakable things had been done to it, she could not accuse Morton of lack of interest, or a fall-off in performance.

"Yes! Well, it is a bit difficult," he said, "when your cock is stinging like hell. Mind you...."

"Was it stinging last evening? When I masturbated for you?"

"Um. Er... Yes, actually! Cook gave it a real going over. I have to say, the fluid from your cunt was the most wondrous balm."

Jane said nothing. What could she say?

"I suppose that's the point," Morton continued. "When the Cavaliers gather for the evening round, they're only too anxious to find a juicy cunt to take away the sting. And ... er.. well you did notice. The effect is not entirely negative for the female....."

"Though of course," Morton continued, eyeing the still speechless Jane, "is enhanced even more when the Chosen One's cunt has been subject to ... er ... analogous treatment."

"What!!? They flog girl's cunts too," Jane said, now seriously disturbed.

"Certainly. Any woman of the Chosen has undergone a rigorous training, as has her potential mates."

'Holy mother,' Jane was thinking. 'He has gone nuts now. Get me out of here.'

"Of course, I would not dream of asking you to submit to such indignity," Morton continued, smoothly. "Even though I'm quite convinced it would enhance the sensation of sex substantially, for both of us."

"That may be so, Morton," Jane said, her voice suddenly adamant. "But if you think in your wildest dreams that anyone is getting near my cunt with a fucking whip, you're seriously deluded."

"Yes! I was afraid you'd see it that way, Jane."

"Well I do. And don't even think of trying to change my mind. Pain, well, that kind --- even the thought of it, turns me off, not on."

"Yes! I was afraid that would be the case."

There was a long silence. Then Jane said,

"How far are you along with this 'training' then? Have you passed the test already?"

"Oh dearie me No! I'm just beginning. To be honest, I don't know whether I'll ever get that far. Cook thinks not. She says I'm too old to start now. I'm missing more than twenty years of cock training, and there's no way that can be compensated. That's what she says, at least."

"Don't tell me, let me guess," Jane said, sarcastically. "That's not going to stop you, is it."

"Er....." Morton sighed. "You know me so well, Jane. Once I focus on a goal...."

"Yes, yes! I do know all about that."

"Yes," Morton muttered, pensively.

There was now a very long silence indeed as both parties contemplated the inevitable. Jane could not believe it. Morton did not want to believe it. They had come so far together, traveled such a long and strange path, scaled the pinnacles of sexual ecstasy. 'It can't end like this,' Jane was thinking. 'Because he thinks there is a pinnacle yet higher than he's already reached, one that can be surmounted only via physical pain?'

"It does seem to work, you know," Morton said weakly. "When a Cavalier and a Chosen One retire to her hut they rarely emerge for 24 hours. A week is not uncommon. No food, water only. Sex and sleep. That's it..... Well, of course," he added, "they do have the appropriate implements available....."

"What? You mean they flog each other!?" Jane said incredulously.

"No! Not necessarily. I mean, nobody knows. Only the two of them. Maybe, maybe not. It's up to them, well, it's up to her --- to flog or not to flog, as it were."

"And when they emerge, the Chosen One reports to the clerk," Morton continued blithely over Jane's shocked silence.

"If she is pleasured according to her expectations, it's neutral. Above expectations, a star. Below a cross. After his first year, a Cavalier is allowed to display his star rating via a necklace. The number of beads on his necklace equals the number of stars minus the number of crosses. Obviously, a Chosen One is influenced by this when she chooses her next mate."

"She is allowed a days rest after every encounter," he continued, as though this would have a mollifying effect on Jane. "Though a Cavalier is not."

Jane maintained her silence, even though inside herself she was seething.

"And I'm sure I don't need to tell you what happens to a Cavalier with a net negative rating."

"Returned to the ranks, I suppose," Jane said, sarcastically. "To resume 'training'."

"Yep! You're getting the hang of it. But," Morton hastened on, "there is no stigma attached to it."

"Oh! I'm sure there isn't," Jane responded with even heavier sarcasm. "Manly pride has been abolished from the islands, I suppose."

"You're probably right. I'm sure the Cavaliers are proud of their star rating, though this is known only to the Chosen Ones and the Cavaliers, and the Clerks of course. And no-one goes without a fuck for the night, if you think that. The would-be Cavaliers --- they call them Warriors, a sop perhaps to maintain dignity --- form a second pool available to young women seeking to gain or re-gain Chosen One status. Or to older women if a Warrior, or a Cavalier for that matter, remains free once the young have made their picks. It's all very organized."

There was another long silence. Gradually, the chasm that separated Jane from Morton opened up further.

"You realize, Morton, that this is quite ridiculous. It's barbarous!"

"That may well be so, Jane. But, you know, it does seem to work quite well. I assure you, every Cavalier performs at a level I certainly have not yet attained, and every Chosen One ....."

He stopped himself in time, and eyed Jane.

"Are you sure....?" he continued, breaking off as Jane butted in,

"Don't even go there!"

Her tone was dark.

"You've been so far with me along the road, Jane, it seems, almost, well, destiny."

"To you, perhaps. But if the next twist in the road requires me to lie back while some female ape from the stone age whips the hell out of my cunt, then it's a road you must travel alone."

"Well," Morton began, "not entirely alone," he added, his voice barely audible.

"If you mean cook, then good luck to you. MiGod. You reject me in favor of a woman who weighs 300 pounds, with monstrous sagging tits and a hanging belly....." Jane laughed, cruelly. "Just because she flogs your dick. Do you flog her cunt perhaps?"

Jane's voice had gained in volume. Bitterness was not far beneath the surface.

"Of course not," Morton said, scornfully. "Only women may administer treatment, whether to males or females. Good Lord, the idea!"

"No-one is rejecting you, Jane," he continued, as she seethed in silence.

"I would of course prefer it if you were to accompany me on this next step of the way. But if you decide not, it does not mean you must leave the island."

"And what shall I do? What will be my role? To watch, while that woman flogs the shit out of your cock? No thank you."

"It would not only be cook," Morton muttered in an undertone.

"Who then? Some other matron from the islands," Jane said, her tone now openly bitter.

"No! That is not possible. Nor desirable. You know, Jane, my taste in women. It does not extend to the islanders, however nubile and insatiable they may be. Besides, this is my island, not theirs. The rules here are set by me, not by the Council. The young women of the island would never accept that I, not they, exert control."

"So who, then? If not the Islanders, which women did you have in mind?"

"I believe I did mention to you," Morton said, in a subdued tone, "that Madam Sharapova is a lady with much experience, and many talents. There is, I'm sure you are aware, a thriving S&M scene over there. I've already put out feelers. It should not be difficult."

Over her silence --- Jane still was unwilling to accept the finality of it --- Morton said, again,

"Are you sure...?"

"I told you not to go there."

"No! I mean, not active, but passive. We'd keep our hut. Just you and me. We'll still have sex....." his voice tailed off. It was the expression on Jane's face.

"If you think I'd be content to wait around until a bunch of Dominas get done flogging your dick, and a gaggle of Subs having you fuck their ravaged cunts, Morton --- assuming this is what you have in mind --- you really have not understood much about the female psyche."

"No! I suppose not," Morton sighed. "Though, in fairness to myself, I did suspect you'd see it this way. It's just that I don't want to lose you."

"Nor I you, Morton. But this? If this is the route you're taking, it will have to be a parting of the ways."

"I'd hate that," Morton muttered. "I really would."

"Don't think it's easy for me either," Jane replied, her voice now calm. "I've followed you along the way and enjoyed every minute of it, up to now. But the world you are determined to enter is not for me. I don't need to try it to know that."

Morton just shrugged helplessly. He couldn't think of anything to say.

Jane stood at the rear of the boat as the oarswomen prepared for departure, Morton on the makeshift jetty. He waved weakly, then looked away. It was not manly for tears to run down a man's cheeks.

Both had kept their emotions in check. Only now, as the island gradually receded did Jane lose control. Her eyes welled up and erupted, drenching her cheeks.

'Goddamn the man,' she said to herself, repeating it until the tears stopped flowing, her emotions had stilled to the point where she felt able to turn and sit, watching, as, slowly, but inexorably, Morton's Island slid beneath the horizon.

Chapter 5

A huge half-sun peered reluctantly upon the island. There were no clouds, no back-lighting. The light began to fade as the sun sank slowly into the sea.

From the fringe of the jungle emerged a man, barrel-chested, flaxen-haired, sturdy thighs, his penis proudly erect. The man halted on the beach and stood in front of a wicker table bestrewn with implements of various sorts and bowls whose contents were hidden by their rims. His back lit by the final embers of the waning sun, the man stood to attention, hands at his sides.

Two females emerged from a different part of the jungle fringe and walked imperiously towards the man. They were naked, bronzed. Long, flaxen hair flowed down their long, elegant backs, breasts bobbled with each step, mounds of Venus, oiled and shining in the dim light, stood out prominently. The females stood before the male and looked him up and down. One hand grasped his penis, squeezing hard. A second hand followed suit. The females circled the man slowly, then took up position, standing motionless by his side.

The sun was now gone, the moon not yet up. In the twilight that remained, four bodies appeared, walking in single file along the jungle fringe. They stood out white against the darkness of the thick foliage. They were frail, wraith-like. Around each neck studded collars were attached to leashes. Two further females entered view. They were also naked, but burned so dark their bodies were almost invisible against the backdrop. Mistresses to the Slaves, these woman carried in one hand the end of two leashes which they used to jostle the Slaves into line. They stood, one on each side of the line, opposite the three silhouettes. In their other hands, the Mistresses carried implements with handles, and tails that were very thin and tapered almost to a point.

The man barked a brief command, prompting the first Slave, prodded by her Mistress to step up a yard and take a stance in front of him, her eyes down. Her Mistress allowed the leash to fall to the ground and stood by the side of her Slave, perhaps a yard away.

Another command.

The Slave arched her back and thrust out her breasts, which were diminutive, firm, pear-shaped, yet succulent enough to bob just slightly as she moved into position. Prominent nipples, disproportionate, pointed towards the man, whose eyes fixed on them. The Slave's eyes remained down, but her head was raised.

A nod from the man, and the session began.

The Doms to his left and right drew from the table whips with handles round and short, and tails flat, about an inch long, perhaps a quarter thick. Embedded in the tails were studs that protruded slightly on both sides. Standing by the man, one on each side, one Dom laid her lash on the tip of the man's penis, pressing down slightly so that this attained the horizontal. The Dom on his right side swung her lash a few times in the air, then landed a firm blow expertly on the shaft of the man's penis. His intake of breath coincided with that of the Slave, as the thin tip of her Mistress' whip-tail landed on her left nipple.

A second blow from the lash, a second from the whip-tail followed: a third, then a fourth, each aimed with great precision. The night chorus was interrupted by the thwack of the lash on the man's cock-shaft, the whistle of the thin whip tail, the occasional cry as a particularly vicious blow cut into the flesh of a nipple, a grunt as the lash landed ever more firmly on a penis.

The pace was measured, steady, but, gradually, the force of the strokes increased, eliciting more audible grunts from the man, less muted cries from the slave. No other utterance disturbed the night chorus of the dark jungle behind. The lash explored the shaft of the man's penis, moving from base to tip, and the whip-tail followed suit, moving in the opposite direction, from outer edge of the slave's nipple inwards to where the dark skin entered its pink areola. The nipple swelled with each stroke, growing even more out of proportion to the young Slave's breast. After perhaps ten minutes, perhaps twenty, the slave's legs began to buckle as the whip-tail cut into her now engorged and inflamed nipple. Even as lash after lash tortured the shaft of his penis, the man's eyes remained fixed on the Slave's ghostly shape.

The Slave's Mistress paused from time to time, and began to tweak her Slave's nipple causing her to cry out in agony. During such pauses, the Dom's ceased swinging their lashes, allowing the man's penis to bob free. Their hands reached into bowls set on the table and withdrew. Taking turns, they grasped the man's penis, squeezing hard so the hot fire from the peppers penetrated through the welts created by the studs in the whip tails. The man's head went back. His teeth were set. His penis was aflame, to a point, almost, beyond endurance.

But the man endured, as did the slave. The whip whistled again, its tail biting into a tortured nipple. Lash descended on cock, the fire from the peppers increasing the agony of each blow. The man gritted his teeth, summoned reserves of resolve.

The Slave's cries were constant now. Her legs buckled. A command from her Mistress:

"Present!"

brought her pain-wracked body upright. The Slave arched her back, thrust out her breasts, awaiting the next blow. They fell now in rapid succession, as the lash descended faster and faster on the man's penis. His head went back.

Suddenly, the torture ceased. Her Mistress had decided. It was enough. She moved regally to stand beside her ward, give her nipple one last vicious tweak, then strolled regally behind her to take up stance on the other side. During the pause, fresh peppers were crushed into the shaft of the man's penis. Rough hands squeezed, massaged the shaft cruelly, as though restoration of erection were necessary.

"Present!"

The Slave struggled to comply. Her breasts thrust out to receive the lash. The whip swung through the air and struck the first blow on her second nipple. Concurrent with this came the first blow of the lash on the underside of the man's penis. The female to his right had placed her lash on the tip of the penis as the one to his left thrashed the underside of its shaft, using an underarm motion, at which she was clearly expert. The whistle of the whip-tail and the thwack of the lash joined again the night chorus as whip-tail tortured nipple, lash cock.

Another ten minutes went by, maybe twenty. Thwack, whistle: cries were now coming with every blow of the whip-tail, grunts accompanied every ascent of the lash, which explored the underside of the cock from stem to tip. The man's head went up, teeth were tightly clenched. Yet his eye watched in fascination as the slave's body gradually lost its composure, her rib-cage, standing out, began to heave.

"Present!"

The Slave re-gained her stance, but slowly now. A flurry of blows from the whip drove her to her knees, though even there, her breasts were thrust forward, ready to receive. Twenty blows in rapid succession struck the kneeling Slave's nipple. Then her Mistress crossed over and laid another twenty on her other nipple, eliciting unmuted screams of agony from the Slave, which echoed from the dark fringe of the jungle.

The whip ceased falling, the lash was still. The Slave fell forward, supporting herself with her arms, her body shaking. She rolled onto her back and lay flat, her ribcage heaving, bright red nipples beaming out in the moonlight like torches.

Her Mistress stood over her with arms folded. She retreated to the edge of the jungle and returned dragging something behind her. During the pause, fire was massaged cruelly into the man's penis, miraculously still proudly erect.

With deliberation, the Mistress hauled into place a frame, three lengths of bamboo forming a rectangle, their uprights embedded in the sand. She dragged her Slave by her arms into position, affixed to each ankle a rope woven from fronds that hung in two strands from the horizontal beam of the frame. Carefully, she pulled on the ropes so that the Slave's body gradually attained the vertical. Her thighs were spread wide apart, her shoulders rested on the sand. At the fulcrum of the flat 'V' formed by her stretched out legs, cunt lips glistened in the moonlight. Large, luscious lips, contrasting incongruously with the Slave's slight, milk-white thighs. Her Mistress stroked gently the soft flesh of those thighs, causing the Slave's body to shiver. Anticipation.