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“Oomph!” she grunts, her curls bouncing wildly. “What was that for?”
“For being a pain in the ass,” I hiss. “What else?”
She doesn’t respond immediately, instead taking her time to push her hair out of her face before straightening her clothes. Unbidden, I notice that she’s got a generous bust, a narrow waist, and wide hips, even if she’s covered in dirt at the moment. In fact, it’s kind of cute. She has a smudge of dirt on her cheek, and my hand rises of its own accord to caress the smear away. But then I stop myself because this woman was spying on us, and has no reason to be on Deux whatsoever.
“What’s your name?” I demand.
“Why does my name even matter?” she sasses right back. “It’s clear you’re going to do whatever you want.”
“You’re right,” I rumble, staring at her impertinent features. “Fine. If you won’t tell me your name, then I’ll call you Strawberry.”
“Strawberry?” she asks, scrunching her nose. “As in Strawberry Shortcake?”
“Not as in the cartoon character,” I say, rolling my eyes. “As in the color of your hair. Or has no one ever told you that you have red hair?”
To be honest, the shade of her particular red entrances me. I stare helplessly, watching as gleaming bits of gold shine through shimmery strands of crimson, interspersed with a few locks of deep auburn, and even some strands of a gorgeous chestnut color. But the girl sees me staring and immediately sweeps her hair up into a bun onto her head, tying it with an elastic on her wrist.
“I’ll have you know that I’m very aware that I have red hair. In fact, everyone in my family has red hair.”
“Good,” I say in a dry tone. “Then you know you weren’t adopted.”
Something sweeps through Strawberry’s eyes then. They flicker a bit as she looks down at the cave floor, biting her lip, but then the moment passes and she looks up again, her gaze filled with fire.
“Besides,I’mthe one who should have questions foryou. What’s your name?” she asks. “And why in the world do you and all your friends have … well, youknow,” she says helplessly, gesturing in the general direction of my crotch.
Her cheeks flame and it’s endearing. She’s tomato colored by now, and I can tell by how her eyes slide to and then away from my privates that she’s trying not to stare, and yet can’t help the curiosity raging inside.
After all, most of the time, my brothers and I wear loincloths when we’re on the island. We could wear boxers, or briefs, or boxer-briefs, or yellow banana hammocks made of satin, but it wouldn’t be right. We’re on Deux to celebrate nature, and as a result we cover ourselves using tiny flaps of leather strung together bound by strips of rawhide. It works, and we have long rawhide jackets for when the weather gets cold.
But sometimes, a special occasion calls for fancy clothes. Today we had a drum ceremony, so I decided to put on my double-holed loincloth. It’s a piece of pure white animal hide with two holes cut into the cloth, one on top of one another. You guessed it: my two cocks poke through the holes, only semi-erect at the moment, thank fuck.
Meanwhile, Strawberry’s given up any pretense of indifference.
“So tell me,” she murmurs, staring at my groin. “How did you get those? How didallof you get those?” she asks.
The top cock twitches a bit, making her gasp as her eyes grow round like saucers.
“You mean, you don’t care about my name?” I drawl. “I thought you were all about names and getting to know each other. Or are you only interested in my anatomy?”
She swallows thickly, still staring at my members.
“I mean, of course I’m interested in your name,” she says in an annoyed voice. “But I’m also interested in what you have going on here.”
I let out a bark of laughter.
“Ah. I see the true source of your fascination. Well, I’m flattered, Strawberry, but that information is top-secret. We definitely don’t just hand out answers to young women caught spying on us.”
She swallows, looking up to meet my eyes.
“Okay fine,” she says. “I know I was spying, but it was an accident. I was hiking, and I saw a path that led to this island. I didn’t expect to find you guys. I wasn’t expecting to find much of anything actually. So I wasn’treallyspying. I just happened upon your drum circle and … well, thenyouattackedme!”
I chuckle.
“So it was my fault?”
“No!” Strawberry blushes. “I’m just saying I didn’t mean to spy on you, that’s all.”
“Spying is spying is spying,” I growl. “But I’ll have to talk to Joey. That teenage schlub is slacking on the job and deserves to get his ass beat. He was the sentry stationed at the path,” I explain. “No outsiders are allowed to use the causeway when the tide is low.”
