Irma Laloose - Vacation Sex play

All that crap, the house, the job, the cars, the wife, the kids, the social status. They weren't really his manhood. They were only extensions of his manhood. He knew that now. They were only extensions of his prick.

Cut them away. Cut away the house, the job, the cars, the wife, the kids. And when you did, all you cut away were the extensions, not the manhood. You cut away the extensions, but the prick was still intact. That was his manhood. That was his pride. That was the whole thing, baby! And it was still functional.

Hank looked down at his dong and stroked it lovingly. "I've still got you," he told it softly, "and together we'll lick the world. You'll see."

With that comforting thought, Hank and his dick rolled over and went to sleep.

At seven-thirty in the morning he was awakened by the desk clerk. At first he was angry, and then he remembered that he had left word to be awakened at that time. He wanted to be out on the beach early.

By eight-fifteen Hank arrived at the beach area, a tote filled with cigarettes, wallet and stuff and an air mattress under his arm. He also had a giant red and white striped towel. He spread out his gear on the beautiful white sand and skinned out of his polo shirt, leaving him only in his super tight, white stretch swimming trunks. He looked good.

Hank plunked himself down and surveyed the empty beach. He loved to get to the beach early, before all the mobs of people arrived. At these times, early in the morning, the beach area was so expansive, so peaceful and calm.

He really thought he would be alone, and it surprised him to see that there was another person already on the beach, one who had arrived even earlier than he. That person was a gorgeous raven-haired creature wearing the briefest, brightest yellow bikini Hank ever recollected seeing. Her long and lean body was already beautifully tanned. She seemed to be asleep.

"Maybe she'll be the one," Hank mused to himself as he drank in her taut tits and smooth hips. "It's so deserted here, I'd like to walk right over and stick it in her. Right here. Right now. It's like a desert island. Yeah," said Hank, licking his lips with lust, "just imagine being marooned on a desert island with that!"

Hank lay back on his beach towel, closed his eyes, and began to let his mind wander. "Just her and me. All alone. On a desert island…"

… Seaman Fisher became aware of several strange sensations at the same time. There was a grittiness under the right side of his face and under his palms, a feeling of heat on his head and back, the soft sound of lapping water, and the feeling that his feet and legs were totally immersed in water.

Slowly he tried to piece it all together in his mind. As the fog in his head began to clear, he remembered the ship, the storm, the rocks. He remembered the sound of the cracking and crushing timber as the ship was torn apart on the rocky reef, smashed against it time and time again, driven by the ferocious wind and waves, relentless in their fury in the midst of the storm.

He heard the screams of the men as they were killed or maimed by the flying splinters of wood, metal and everything else that went into the construction of the ship. And he remembered leaping into the churning waters, a small empty wooden keg under each arm. The rest was a blur of screams, choking on salt water, blazing sun drilling holes in his head, and an endless horizon of angry water.

Now it was all over and quiet. Very quiet. Seaman Fisher concentrated. All he could hear was the soft lapping sound of water, and far off in the distance the shrill screech of a bird.

Lapping water… a shore! seaman Fisher thought. The bird… a jungle? He flexed his fingers. Sand! And for the first time, he opened his eyes, lifted his head, and looked around.

The sun sparkled off of the sand rimming the cove. About a hundred yards back was a fringe of tropical trees. Suddenly, out of the comer of his eye, he caught a flash of movement. Tanned, naked legs. Jerking his head to the right, Hank saw a tanned girl in a scanty dress, whipping across the sand and disappearing into the trees, long black hair rippling in time to her fleet movements.

"Wait," he croaked hoarsely. "Wait!" he cried out again, dragging himself up onto his knees. The girl didn't wait, though; she had disappeared into the trees. Hank tried to struggle to his feet, but only managed to drag himself out of the water and further up on the beach before he collapsed into unconsciousness again.

When he regained consciousness he was aware of a coolness in the air and a sweet breeze which seemed to be caressing his forehead. As he focused in on it in his mind, he realized that it was a soft hand that seemed to be caressing him. He opened his eyes and found himself staring into two enormous, almond-shaped, coal black eyes, set in a fragile, beautifully tanned, oval face. The girl jumped like a startled doe and again ran off like a wild creature.

This time Hank didn't call out after her, he just watched as she disappeared into the evening shadows. When he could see her no longer, he hunched up into a sitting position and took stock of himself and his surroundings.

His red and white striped T-shirt had one of the short sleeves ripped and his black seaman's trousers were ragged at the cuffs. The right leg was ripped up to his knee. His shoes were missing. He examined his tough, lean body and found only a few minor cuts and bruises, no broken bones, no deep gashes.

Well, he thought to himself. I came through that one in luck condition. Better than most, I'll wager.

For the first time he noticed two gourds sitting in the sand next to rum. The larger one was filled with an assortment of tropical fruits. The smaller one held water. Hank tasted it. The water was fresh.

Hank ate the fruit greedily and drank the water. Then he got up and shakily walked closer to the fringe of trees. By now the sun had dipped below the horizon. Hank gathered a few branches, making himself a make-shift bed, and lay down for the night.

The next morning, the sun's rays awakened Hank. He stretched and realized his strength was back. He was feeling a little muscle sore, but otherwise all was back to normal. Sitting up, he noticed that the two gourds were once again neatly placed next to him, filled with fruit and water. Again Hank ate and drank his fill. Then he began an exploration of the cove.

By noon Hank had circled the island, arriving back at the little cove. The whole rim of the island was composed of sandy beaches. The interior, which he had not explored to any depth, was a tangle of trees and under growth. At one point he found a little stream that bubbled fresh, cool water.

Not too far from the cove where he had washed ashore, he found some driftwood, splinters of planks from his ship, and a couple of boxes. He whooped with delight when he discovered that both of them contained a full compliment of Jamaican rum. Miraculously unscathed by the storm and their journey to shore, the bottles now warmed themselves in the sun.

Here and there along the beach, and especially near the fresh water stream, he found delicate little footprints in the sand. However, he found no other prints that would indicate that anyone else was inhabiting the island except the girl who brought him food. From time to time he felt as though someone was watching him from the darkness of the forest, but despite his looking up as quickly as he could, he didn't catch sight of the wild little creature.

He lugged the boxes of rum back to his cove and the campsite he had prepared near the edge of the forest. He wasn't too surprised to see the gourds of fruit and water. He ate and then crawled into the lean-to he had improvised, and slept out of the way of the mid day tropical sun. When he awoke in the early afternoon, he felt eyes on him again. A little way off, the dark-haired girl sat cross-legged in the sand, studying him intently.