Seductive Lonesome Island

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Lonely man on an island advertises for female helper.
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Gail King, a natural blonde with a figure sculptured perhaps by the sculptor's gardener employed to shape shrubs rather than by the sculptor himself was deposited on rickety jetty on Kismet Island where there was a small roof on four poles for shelter.

"Don't worry love," said the deckhand with an unusually soft Aussie accent as she steered the inflatable away from the jetty ready to roar over the reef to return to the mother boat, a rusting tub that looked ready to sink. "He'll come along later or perhaps sooner as he's probably on the windward side of the island beachcombing. We'll pass by tomorrow so if you are stranded just raise the flag and if we spot it I'll come in to retrieve you. Remember, these are shark infested waters."

"Help, come back!" Gail squeaked in terror, but not loud enough. The woman had gunned the outboard and was away in a roar and flurry of spray.

Gail sat shakily on the only chair. It collapsed, tumbling her on to its pieces. She reassembled it and sat down gingerly and safely and had her best cry in years.

The victim of two loveless relationships that had swallowed up ten years of her child-production life, Gail (36) was a partner in King, Kingston and Elk of Kansas, specialists in family law. Oh she'd been so brave sitting in a bar with her two senior partners Bess Kingston and Sally Elk -- those two also partners in bed -- planning her three-month sabbatical in seeking an unusual job in an unusual location with a touch of mystique attached. They had gotten drunk as they pawed through 'Unusual Jobs for Folk with Unusual Expectations' magazine.

Sally's pick was, "Big spender Sheikh Abdul Kabardino-Balkaria seeks American Blondie to tend to his personal garden. Six-month contract; satisfaction guaranteed.' According to Sally that was about as far away as an attorney in Kansas could get from her groove.

Gail rather fancied, "Mining community in Patagonia requires a temporary mayor for three months while its mayor tours Europe; only females need apply as it's traditional for our First Citizen to be a woman. The Mayor also acts as Chief Judge and head of the community's jail.'

But then after first selecting what obviously was a call girl opening in Egypt for 'a White America Woman of Mature Age' Bess found, 'Custodian on a island off the North Queensland Coast, Australia, requires female personal assistant of 40-plus -- i.e. past her use-by date -- interested in bird life, observing turtles and unafraid of sea snakes and sharks when bathing. A 3-month trial is mandatory. Must be expert in mixing cocktails.' Replies were directed to a postal box number in Cairns.

Gail was drunk enough to promise to apply for that position and promising to immediately begin night classes on bar tendering. Two weeks later she received a letter of rejection but continued with her bar tendering studies; she cancelled her sabbatical. Six weeks later it was all on again when she received the offer of the job from the island custodian because the successful applicant had resigned, unable to stand the isolation.

"And probably fearful of a cock up her ass that appeared riddled with STD's," cackled Sally. It was Friday night so the three partners we well away on cocktails again. Bess was adamant Gail should accept and they waited breathlessly as Bess tossed a coin; it deflected off Gail's ample shirt-front and spun madly on the table before rolling over to confirm Gail should accept. They laughed madly and Gail was allowed behind the bar to mix the three of them a cocktail called Whatwasthat! It was next afternoon before their headaches cleared and any of them could correctly focus again. Now Gail was in tears on a chair that would collapse any moment, sweating like a pig and with sharks swimming around the jetty piles hopefully waiting for a piece of Gail.

"Did the chair put you on your ass?" called a twangy comedian with absolutely no sensitivity in his voice.

Gail opened her tear-encrusted eyes and said, "Hi. I trust you are the custodian?"

"Yeah, that's me blondie but your hair needs a bit of bleaching -- the sun here will do that. You're somewhat overweight but the daily sweat will take care of that. But you don't look forty-five -- you've lied about your age, you're nearer fifty."

"Oh God, I'm going home," Gail said, collapsing the chair as she rose and walked blindly away from him to plunge into the temid water. She came to the surface spluttering and her heart stopped as she spotted a dorsal fin slicing through the water towards her.

"Don't worry," called the comedian. "It's just a courtesy visit but as a prudent precaution never go into the water beyond ankle depth between dusk and an hour past dawn otherwise known as feeding time."

Almost petrified Gail put her face under water and attempted to yell "Boo!" The hysteria in the call worked wonderfully -- the beast of the deep took off away from her like a rocket.

"How did you manage that?" enquired the custodian. "Did it smell an ejaculation loaded with fear?"

She climbed out up the slippery steps, shaking and feeling like sticking the guy's fishing rod up his ass.

"Nice tits," he said.

She burst into tears again, saying that was the first kind thing he'd said to her. She looked down and saw her white shirt -- recommended for the tropics -- had become transparent.

He offered her a dirty handkerchief.

"No thanks," she said, using her palms. "Sorry about this -- I'm tired from the long travel, the uncertainties, your unwholesome reception and guilty at lying about my age; I'm thirty-six with presumably my reproductive system still in working order.

"I thought as much," he grinned, holding out his arms.

She ran into them, almost smiling.

"Are you sure you're an attorney?" he asked seriously. "It was my understanding attorney's were the killer sharks of America's legal system."

"I think that's a matter of perspective depending what side of the transaction you are on and whether you are American or not."

"God, what an answer. You are an attorney all right. Lean against the shed post while I catch dinner. It will take less than five minutes."

In less that five minutes he's caught two sizeable fish with only a little triangle of red cloth as bait on the hook.

He pulled out a knife and she looked away. "You better look at what I do because from tomorrow part of your duties will be catching and preparing the fish and on other days netting and killing a small pig or if we want omelet finding gull or infertile turtle eggs; I'll show you everything -- once."

"Yes sir."

"Oooh, I like that tone of obedience. It's good that you have it because right now I'm the only thing standing between you and survival."

They had lightly barbecued white-fleshed fish for dinner, rice and two kinds of green vegetables that were unknown to Gail. She asked was their desert.

Digger (Duncan) Colby, custodian, pointed to a bush knife. "Go out and get yourself a pineapple but beware of the snakes fattie."

"S-s-snakes?"

"Well the last pair were trapped in 1988 -- supposedly the last pair. There are carpet pythons but they are more interested in rodents than you, not life-threatening if you keep preventing them from wrapping into squeeze mode."

"I'll skip dessert," she whispered.

They read by the kerosene lamps, Gail began reading Digger's first draft of a book called 'Lonesome Island' while he devoured two performance motor vehicle magazines she'd thoughtfully packed for him along with a monster jar of vegemite. She wasn't surprised to learn from him that it was not usual for custodians to be taken off the island and admitted to an institution for the insane while two had committed suicide by going swimming at night and one had been eaten by wild pigs, the theory being he'd became convinced he'd become one of them.

She decided he had a smooth and interesting writing style with considerable insight but his spelling, sentence construction and grammar were an editor's nightmare. She thought if she stayed beyond tomorrow she'd started editing his work if that's what he wanted. She looked at him -- knobby knees, flat stomach, lightly haired narrow chest, lantern jaw, stupid beard, incredibly blue eyes and abundant hair falling below his shoulders. Apparently he wore only khaki shorts and sunglasses and read without glasses. She figured he was thirty-six and probably homosexual which was a pity.

She was almost asleep in her chair when he dropped down his magazine and said thank you, she couldn't have brought him better gifts. "I better check through your bags now."

"You keep away from my bags."

"Sorry, in the powers vested in me I have to check any arrival for unlawful weapons, banned substances and place a levy on any alcohol."

"Oh."

He pulled out packs of batteries -- 100 in all. "What are these for?"

"For my laptop and my vibrator."

"We're putting these batteries in the communal store. Your vibrator is confiscated as an unnecessary drain on battery stocks. Next time the monthly provisions arrive I'll order you a couple of dildos; in the meantime tap me on the shoulder when you require release."

"As you say so," Gail sniffed. "Where do I sleep?"

"In my bed if you wish or else anywhere in this raised area but beware of ants."

"I'll think I'll sleep out on the beach."

"Good thinking -- sometimes scorpions roam the sands, seeking a rest place in a bed conveniently placed on the sands."

Gail thanked him for the information.

"Ah, more about sleeping outside. We are raised here to inhibit access of assorted critters there's the odd chance of being taken off the beach by a saltwater crock but the last reported case of that happening here was 1934."

"Er, your bed you said?"

"Yes, I don't snore and if I need to pass wind I'll ensure my ass is facing away from you."

"You're so kind," Gail said. "I must point out I sleep in the nude."

"So do I," he yawned.

"Will I be in danger of...you know?"

"Not while you are packing that blubber or else tap me on the shoulder. Do you have the perfect understanding?"

"Perfectly. Just keep me protected from strange noises in the night Digger."

"I will Gail although I can't offer much protection against cyclones and a tsunami."

"Oh God -- your advertisement made no mention of that."

"Of course not, I wanted to attract applicants who wish to come here, not to scare them shitless. But keep calm -- cyclones tend to hit the far side of the island and the cliffs offer protection. The last devastating Tsunami swept over the island around 1910."

Gail awoke to a brilliant golden dawn and a cacophony of bird calls and badly rehearsed choruses. She stood up stretching just as Digger walked in with pineapple, paw paw -- or what some people know as papaya -- and what appeared to be huge passion fruit and wild strawberries.

"Lovely sight," he said. "I love the cunt left natural."

What a horrible man using that word, she thought, then yelped and placed her hands over the said piece of anatomy; she'd forgotten she was starkers. He just grinned.

"Eat as much fruit as you can comfortably manage; in other words pig out. You'll crap all day for at least three days, your body will adjust and you'll begin the weight loss to your natural level; the day's sweat from 11:00 to 3:00 will whittle away the remainder. Chasing pigs will help with your fitness -- go for a swim now and stroke until you tire."

"But it's not one hour after dawn -- the s-sharks."

"Okay, I'll come with you. I always swim with a knife strapped to my leg -- we sometimes will knife a big fish that's almost stranded. The sharks in the lagoon are sand sharks that don't mind coming in. The killer sharks are content to stay outside the outer reef almost two miles out where the real food is and they know there's no danger of them being ripped open on the reef in crossing at high tide and risking being stranded; sharks are not totally dumb. A Grey Nurse reportedly came over the crossing on a spring tide in 1914 but was reportedly back on the other side again in less than an hour.

"What about all these dangerous incidents when no-one is observing?"

"They remain unreported of course."

"Oh."

"So that means..."

"Don't even think about it," Digger warned. "Becoming nervous is to invite madness."

Later when Digger took off his shorts to go swimming with her, Gail thought it wouldn't be too long before she would be tapping him on the shoulder at nights; it appeared to be the size that would fill her needs exactly.

That night Gail was awaken by a tap on the shoulder.

"Y-e-s?" she inquired sleepily.

"How about it?"

She simply remained facing away but snuggled right into him, delivering a clear message, and a hand snaked over her hip to rest on her belly button.

"What velvety skin."

Her eyes flew open in wonderment. Was this guy sensitive or not? Usually the pre-penetration comment was a pathetic 'I love/adore you' lie or at that early stage an unflattering 'God you're big.' This hermit was kind and polite but still a little strange -- he could easily have misgivings and back off; she decided to suck him into her while given the chance. A regular daily fuck would make her day. She lifted her uppermost leg and Digger's cock that she could feel hardening against her flank responded instantly and became a lance; she moved her butt slightly and it was positioned to enter.

"Are you on the pill?" Digger asked hoarsely.

"Yes -- you are welcome to push in -- not my butt-hole."

For a moment she thought she'd been pushed too fast; there was silence, no movement. Then he asked, "No foreplay?"

Being an attorney she knew the dramatic effect honesty could have so she said honestly, "This time I just want you in me."

Well, talk about holding a tiger by the tail: she unleashed a tiger. She heard him spit to wet the end of his dick: instead of sending out an exploratory finger he shuffled forward to adjust to the right angle and slid it in with a heart-warming groan that almost made her ejaculate -- in fact the way little waves were fluttering up her body she probably did crack off a minor one. Yes her breathing rate was racing and heart thumping.

She didn't have to say 'Go man!' He slammed his lower leg against hers, pushing it into the position he wanted and was away to the pace of a phantom up-rhythm jungle drum. God he was good, amazing for someone who hadn't had it live in-the-flesh since at least when the last supply boat called and that woman in the rubber dinghy stopped-over on the jetty with him for half an hour or wherever they did it. Perhaps being alone and from it for so long he may have required only five minutes.

Gail was gently rocking back against him, adjusted to his timing and could tell by his breathing rate than was now changing into gasping that he was tiring. She lowered her upper leg a tad and tightened. He began gasping more heavily and crying, "Oh fuck, oh fuck -- how glorious" over and over and that sent her away. The cotton sheet had been kicked off from the outset so he pulled away from her with a huge 'plop' and pulled her on to her back. She knew what was coming -- a spray of cum. She rather liked this as it changed men into smiling little boys once the agonizing look of immediate pre-ejaculation left their faces. She'd lifted her closest leg up and thrown it around his far leg so he was now in the place where a man was meant to be -- between the woman's legs.

A spray of cum? He hosed her, massively in comparison with most deliveries she'd received like this. The first shot flew over her sweaty tits and over her face to land in her hair and on to the pillow; most of the second projectile landed on her left nostril and left eye and then the weaker shot landed on the usual target -- her tits. Obviously the supply vessel lady hadn't come ashore for quite some time and nor had the artificial vagina she's found against a pile of girlie magazines when he was away making a plywood seat for her over the 'latrine' as he called it; apparently he'd become used to just squatting on his heels -- the primitiveness of that hadn't been mentioned in the advertisement either or his subsequent two letters.

"God, you can use that cunt of yours," he said, drenched in sweat as they also had the tropical heat to contend with. She took that totally crude remark as a compliment. He jumped up, pulled her to her feet and they both went off, dripping in cum-laced sweat, for a swim. "You better mop the floorboards as soon as we get back," he said. "We don't want to slip on goo and break an ankle."

"Aren't you supposed to go down on your knees and lick it up and dribble it into my mouth?"

It was a joke but the look on his face was one of horror or disgust or both. Then he smiled so perhaps he was just getting used to the idea?

Gail quickly settled into a daily routine and the custodian adjusted to his expanded lifestyle. They'd wake at the arrival of dawn -- Digger seemed attuned to the color change on the eastern horizon as darkness began to recede. Quite often within the hour the island would received a 15-20 minute drenching; abundant rain comes with living in the tropics. But many days would be all-day sun and often completely cloudless and a heavy shower or two would fall early in the night.

They'd cuddle but the routine was not to fuck; they'd go down for a frolic in the water, taking a squeeze bottle of biodegradable liquid soap with skin moisturizer which they would used sparingly -- only to clean themselves. Between 6:30 and 7:45 while Gail washed the soiled bottom sheet, mopped and dusted, Digger would go up on to the highest peak -- only seventy-five feet above sea level -- to the radio shack, take the weather recorder readings to add to the sea temperature he'd taken earlier while bathing and send it off to Townsville. On the way back he'd gather the fruit breakfast.

After breakfast Digger would take the shotgun -- Gail would often accompany him -- to check the three beaches favored by turtles to deal with any predators such as goannas, pythons or pigs. Digger kept a record were turtles laid their eggs so was able to monitor progress and the information was documented on-shore when he transmitted it twice-monthly. He ate only infertile eggs which were found at the time of hatching.

At 10:30 chores were finished and they retreated inside as most days it was the place to be under the relentless sun and quite uncomfortable strong breeze. They'd lie on the bed and soon would be more than cuddling and after Gail's usual scream into orgasm -- she knew he liked that noise -- they'd shower outside with the header-talk filled from an uphill spring. He'd work on his observation data, read or doze listening to short-wave radio or work on his novel. Gail read for most of the first few days and then offered to edit his draft, an offered that was accepted with delight.

On her second week on the rarely visited island, Gail waited all-week with a sense of excitement -- the monthly supply vessel was due. The little-known island of Kismet is around 150 miles from Cairns while Townsville is much farther south and surrounded by a coral shallows apart from the narrow trench leading into the 200 yard wide by 2 miles long lagoon proper, which makes it hazardous for boating.

They waited on the jetty at 7:00 as the woman who'd landed Gail two-weeks earlier timed her crossing of the laden inflatable on a surge at the gap in the inner reef. The way Anna and Digger kissed confirmed Gail's theory that Anna had been Digger's source of live sex, but she didn't mind, telling herself than man cannot live on bread alone. Anna hugged and kissed Gail and laughed, "Desperate to come off the island with me? God -- you've lost weight already and are beginning to look great; I wonder what you have been getting?"

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