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I’ve taken Analise as far as I can. There’s nothing more that I will do for her ever—except release her from her bonds in the morning. Her limp body seems so tenuous, as if it barely holds on to its gossamer form. I think it just might disappear as I douse the torch, as if all this never really happened except in the trail of scrawled on paper that exists in my mind.
I’ll check in the morning.
The women dance on the beach, falling erotically into willing arms. The sounds of drums and flutes, and pounding surf float on the air and beckon me to join them.
I wander to the shoreline with the crime of my passions written in the mess of paint that covers my face and hands and naked torso. The dancing women take little notice of me as I make my way through their throng to the water’s edge. I see two women making love in the shallows, with the surf rocking back and forth around their clenched bodies. I pass them on my journey as I let the cold water hit me. The shock of it will bring me back to life again. I shiver when, waist deep in water, I dive inside the moving surf so that it covers every inch of me, tossing Tasia’s beads around my shoulders and making the sarong float around me like a jelly fish. The ocean washes away all traces of my vulgar evening. As clean as I become, there’s no way to cleanse my mind, or purify my soul from tonight. Though from my ocean vista, looking back on the women on the beach, I’m satisfied not to be so pure anymore. The darkness of these deeds touches me in ways I won’t be able to deny ever again.
I rise from the water and walk back across the beach where one woman tries to pull me into their fine foray. She takes my dripping body into her large arms, surrounding me with more than just her flesh.
“Dry by the fire,” she whispers to me, as she reaches around me from behind and takes my breasts into her hands. I feel her long brown hair tickle my back. Her fire warmed thighs press against my cold clammy bottom, still clad in this wet sarong. The massage of her hands reminds me of passions dormant in me. I realize how much repressed need rises to the surface when she pinches my nipples with her fingers. I lean back against her and allow her to caress me. Another woman with spiked black hair and the lines of a jungle cat painted on her face assaults me from the front. Her mouth covers mine so quickly I can’t resist. I’m pressed against the two of them as they fondle me at will, with hands that rove to every corner of my body. I’m crying happily in response.
“You wear Anastasia’s beads so beautifully, as if she had them made for you herself,” the black haired woman in front of me says. I’m surprised that she would recognize them. Has she seen Tasia wear them? Is there some charm in the intricate bead work that distinguishes them?
I smile seductively with the thought that I would like to bring her and her friend to bed with me tonight. We could have magnificent sex until morning that would wash away the dreary thoughts of Analise. The way the woman kisses me, the way the hot breath on my neck behind me makes me feel, the way their hands have claimed their territory, I know I won’t stop. I suggest in a faded whisper that we retire to the house and the privacy of my room. “Come with me, please,” I entreat them.
“Not tonight,” the brown haired woman purrs in my ear. She licks it until it’s wet.
The woman in front drops down to my cunt, and with long nailed fingers opens my labia wide so she can plant her face against my throbbing clit and hole. I stare out to the women surrounding us by the fire as they begin similar entanglements. These intimate moments become a shared orgy. I sweat from the heat and arousal, looking down to see my breasts glistening beautifully. The woman behind me provides an ample bed to rest on as I’m taken by the mouth below.
The tambourines play, the drums pound long and slow. There’s a pounding in my head now, as things blur around me. I’m aware of another woman at my feet, as the black haired woman moves off to grab someone else to fondle in the sand. I remain the center of this orgy, with one mouth after another taking turns at my cunt. The nurturing one behind me continues to make me feel safe against her hefty body as I’m made into some sexual icon around which the lusty women gather.
Somewhere in the erotic reverie, I feel a rod pressed against my as
s. I think of Analise when I realize how large this thing is, but I accommodate it well. If this be my penance for the horrors I’ve committed to Tasia’s slut, then let it be. I think there’s nothing I wouldn’t consent to.
How long it takes to thoroughly violate me, I couldn’t guess. How many mouths and tongues press their way about my cunt, I lose count after the first three.
When the mood changes and I become the servant rather than being served, I’m pushed to the sand with a cunt pressed to my face. I feel like a whore forced into sexual slavery, but it seems so natural. I lie back, doing as I’m required, while things happen to my cunt that I can’t comprehend because I’m too busy satisfying demanding lesbians and their hot juicy cunts. They use me until I’m depleted, until there’s nothing more for me to give, not to any of them or to myself.
Then, I’m aware of the women disappearing and being left by myself to recoup alone. I fall asleep with absolutely nothing on my mind.
When I wake, the night is nearly over. It might have been just an hour, or maybe more, that I’ve been abandoned on the sand. But looking toward the house, I see the sunlight approaching from the east, as if it’s sneaking up on me.
I feel chilled in the cold sand. The fire that kept me warm and the lovers that inhabited this place have for the most part dwindled away. There are still a few smoldering coals, and an occasional snap and crackle from the once roaring bonfire. A few coupled women remain, groaning at inconsistent intervals, half in sleep, half in lovemaking—though none of them are coupled with me.
Someone, sometime, threw a blanket at my feet, but so haphazardly done, it did little to keep me from the ocean air. Pulling it around my shoulders now, I sit looking out at the water, seeing an occasional glimpse of morning reflect off the soft surface. The tide is out and the sea feels much more tranquil now, though the pounding will not cease, no matter how much I wish it would. I’m desperate for just one moment of complete silence.
I’m naked except for the beads and blanket. The sarong is discarded somewhere, likely buried in the sand. I fish around for it, still harboring some responsibility for the stolen garment. Finding it, I pull the blanket tighter still around my shoulders, and make my way to the rickety staircase, where I climb to the top.
The house is quiet now.
I know Analise waits for me but I need some sleep. I drag my weary body to my room and collapse there, passed out until cawing sea gulls wake me.
Chapter Fifteen
I see the black haired woman at breakfast. A thrilling sun breaking through the window makes her hair glow lustrous. She smiles broadly at the women who eat muffins and fruit with her in an uncommon act of gentility. Is this what this is about? Is this the place where the dark and light meet, where dark takes center stage for a few decadent hours, only to be whisked away by the full sun?
The woman reaches out to me and pulls me to her side. “Rozelle,” she says introducing herself, “Sit down, Cassidy, join us for breakfast.” She strokes my thigh, her hand meandering down to the edge of my sundress, then runs her fingers up inside until she has the ring at my clit.
“You bear Anastasia’s mark well,” she says, referring to the rose petal ring she jerks mildly.
“It’s not Tasia’s,” I say offended.
“You think not?” she jibes.
The other women laugh.
“You’re her protégé, and a very good one,” another woman charges, lightheartedly.
