1. The Island, Chapter 9


    Date: 11/17/2017, Categories: Fiction, Erotica, Exhibitionism, Voyeurism, Young, Author: Paperbackwriter, Rating: 90.3, Source: sexstories.com

    Chapter 9 I took the game trail back through the jungle to the pool, pondering the bizarre turn my life had taken. Milk and nookie for breakfast two days in a row. I guess it beats coffee and a Danish, anyway. I rinsed off with a quick dip, and then made my way back to camp. Joelle was sitting in the infirmary gnawing on a mango, and I sprang my idea for Dkembe on her. “Really?” she said. “An honest-to-God wet nurse? I thought that they went out in the Victorian era.” “Apparently not. Anyway, that’s her job and I think it would help him.” “It’s sure a lot better than dripping coconut milk in his mouth. I guess the morning would be good. It’s quieter around here. Did she want to start today?” “No, I think she already emptied herself today,” I managed with a straight face. “She said tomorrow would be good.” “OK. I can be here to make sure the first time goes well.” I stopped by the Boy’s Town and made sure they were still on for our demo today. I suggested we meet in about an hour to do some warmups, and asked one of the boys to alert the girls. I took some fruit over to the prisoner and dropped it next to her without a word. She ignored me, but I heard slurping as soon as I got out of sight, indicating that she wasn’t planning any hunger strike. I spotted Sharon and Rodney by the life raft, and walked over to say hi. “What’re you guys up to?” I asked. “We thought we’d try fishing out near the reef,” Sharon said. She was wearing a skimpy green bikini with an oversized tank top ...
    over it. I watched in appreciation as the tiny scrap of fabric rode up her ass as she loaded some water and fruit into the raft. Of course, the spectacle was lost on Rodney, who was wearing a garish Hawaiian shirt in orange and purple, and what looked like designer sunglasses. “Do you have any experience with fishing?” he asked. “We really don’t know what we’re doing.” “Sure,” I said. “I don’t do tournaments or anything, but I’ve fished a little. I can give you a hand. Did you bring any bait?” “I thought the fishing hookss were all you needed,” Sharon said with a puzzled frown. “No, things will go much better with bait.” I thought for a moment. “We can bring some of the pig guts.” I collected some of the offal, which had been saved in a plastic bag by the African ladies. God, I hope they weren’t planning on feeding us this shit , I thought. Then again, maybe they had the same thought I did and saved it for fishing. The three of us shoved off and paddled across the lagoon. Tossing out a makeshift anchor of rope tied around a rock, we each got out hook, line and sinker. I showed the other two how to bait their hooks (both were pretty disgusted while handling the putrid entrails), and after tying the line to thick segments of stick we dropped our lines. Fish were teeming below us, and I only got to sneak one squeeze of Sharon’s ass (getting my hand slapped for my trouble) before she got the first bite. “I got one!” she squealed, yanking on the line and jerking the hook right out ...
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