New story by me... usual mature content.
Honey's Island by PM2K (2013)
Honey splashes slowly through the shin deep surf along the beach, bare hips swaying in time to her long strides and gently swinging arms. She closes her eyes as she walks, savoring every moment, every sensation... the heat of the sun on her brown skin, the wetness of the ocean and how it clings in countless droplets to the thick curly masses of black hair on her head and framing her exposed groin, the way the tropical air caresses her breasts, the salt content in the soft breeze making her dark nipples tingle.
The sand under the warm shallow water is firm under her feet, and Honey imagines herself resembling some sort of nude goddess of the islands, patrolling her domain. If there was anyone around to witness her walk, they could have been easily persuaded of this fancy; she has a stature of Amazonian proportions, an athlete's body towering six feet six of well toned muscle and flesh, defined by soft curves, and the grace and strength to use it all to full advantage.
Her belly is flat and hard, her legs from hips to ankles long and shapely, her feet narrow and elegant, her ass tight and firm and her pelvis is pleasantly rounded.
Her arms are solid and muscular, a good match for her legs, as are her swimmers' shoulders, marking her for an all-round athlete.
Honey's form is topped by a model's face of strength and beauty capable of making the Queen of Sheba jealous, with a strong jaw, slightly oval dark eyes which missed little when open, and full lips. Long, naturally kinky hair spills down to her shoulders and past her generous, round and firm breasts.
A thin gold chain glints around her neck, two solid rings hang from it and nestle in her cleavage. It is the only thing she wears.
Honey opens her eyes, not surprised to find herself half way around the coastline of the small island. She feels a sigh escape her, and stops, standing still to take in the surroundings. It remains a lovely looking place, no matter how many times she sees it; wide sand beaches circle about two-thirds of its coastline, with rougher uprises of rock forming the rest of the perimeter. The center of the island is a rich green of palm trees, grasses, vines, broad leafed plants and the source of a minor miracle; a dependable supply of clean fresh water, which trickled out into the Pacific through a cluster of small streams skimming across the beach, close to the rocky part of the coast.
Further out, past the beach and its gentler waters near it is a solid ring of low lying coral reefs, forming a natural breakwater. Rougher seas crash against it constantly, forming a steady mist on the horizon of this side of the isle.
The impact had torn the sea plane to pieces. The aircraft was gliding in at full speed, one engine out, shattered by police bullets. The man at the controls was dead, drowned in his own blood after several rounds had torn into his side, ripping his innards to shreds. Yet he had never complained, flying on until the aircraft began to shudder, and he slumped over.
Jazz was in the copilot's seat, fighting his late brother for control of the plane, yelling at her to get in the back... for Christ's sake, strap yourself in... Honey... please....
Then she caught a glimpse of green slashing past the window as the plane went lower... lower... she sees water now... calm... blue... filling the windscreen...
Then, Jazz yells... Honey sees a strange shimmering white streak on the water... Oh, God... Honey... Honey... I'm sor...
Standing on the beach now, she stares out at the ocean, remembering. The plane had broken apart when it hit the reef, and by a fluke the section she was in separated from the rest of the wreckage and was flung backward, off the coral and into calmer waters.
She had come to, slowly, and found herself floating inside the rear part of the craft. Looking around, clad then in a yellow t-shirt, denim cutoffs and sandals, she tried to spot Jazz and the airplane, and caught a glimpse of the wing assembly being torn apart on the razor sharp reef, driven by the wave action. In a heartbeat, she knew there was no hope of survival for her partner... not in that lethal surf.
Somehow, Honey had made her way to shore, and kept enough presence of mind to haul the self inflating life raft with her. It took the better part of a day to build up the nerve to approach the wreckage again, a resolve strengthened by a dreamless sleep sheltered under the raft.
By dawn's light she had paddled out and stripped the plane of everything useful she could see, making several trips. She left the firearms behind; the submachine guns and the sawed off were already gone, lost in the crash, but the pistols were still there. Unfortunately, they and all remaining ammunition was waterlogged and useless.
Instead, she piled the raft high with emergency rations and other materials they had brought with them, shuttling them to the beach.
On the run for a string of violent robberies in the States, they had met up with Jazz's brother who flew all of them out to southeast Asia, where he said he had connections. Honey had been excited by the prospect; revolution was in the air, the war in Vietnam continued nearby and the region seemed a perfect place to make some additional cash.
But the connections the brothers had disturbed her. Heroin. Easy to transport and worth many times its weight in gold. She didn't like it, didn't like drugs, but kept quiet.
They did several runs, with Honey helping to provide security, and did well. Then, Jazz's brother lined up his big score, and needed capital. And Jazz provided the last job to get it; an isolated branch of the Royal Bank of Thailand, located within a short drive to the pier where the sea plane was tied up...
"It's simple," Jazz had said. They were both still slick with sweat from a vigorous bout of lovemaking, and he continued to fondle her right breast as he spoke. "One last job... like we did in San Fran... then we vanish. Find an island somewhere... hide out for a few years..."
"Or maybe live there..." she replied. "Use it as a base... I mean... you always promised you'd get me my own island..."
Honey finds herself smiling at the memory. That was one promise Jazz managed to keep. Her own island...
The plan fell apart like the plane would later. They had gotten in okay, but a sharp eyed Thai patrol spotted them before they could secure the building.
It ended bloody, with the trio dashing through the streets, exchanging gunfire with police as they ran for the plane...
And now it will end here, Honey thinks, looking out to sea and towards the place where the aircraft's tail section used to be. A typhoon had taken it away a month or so after it had come to rest, leaving no traces anyone had ever crashed here.
She had managed to find a place to rig up a shelter using some of the army gear Jazz had obtained in Thailand, which included a well worn but sturdy drab green colored canvas tent, and set up a place for the boxes of army rations and a few gallons of water they had brought with them.
The days and weeks went by. She passed the time making improvements to her campsite, and exploring the island's coast, but she really was feeling around in the dark. She was no Green Beret. Honey knew all about surviving the mean streets of Philly, and coping with the fugitive life, but living on an island?
Her one triumph beyond living through the crash and setting up camp was finding water, and that adventure cost her the sandals and nearly her life... scaring her enough to avoid the area ever since, and to figure out another route to the spring.
That memory has been getting stronger of late, and wouldn't leave her mind.
Finding that water had been essential for life, but now Honey had to deal with her dwindling supply of food. That didn't go so well.
She wasn't a fisherman, and with the coral ring around the island, few fish were able to venture in close enough anyway. The native species of fruit and plants did not agree with her... one set of berries in particular nearly killed her, leaving her sick and doubled up for a week before she slowly recovered... and the edible ones were getting harder to find.
Over time, she stopped wearing her shirt, tired of trying to keep the disintegrating cloth together. Allowing her breasts to swing free in the tropical air gave her a surge of pleasure the first week, but the novelty wore off soon after.
When her denim cutoffs fell apart, so did any remaining sense of modesty, and she remained naked. After all, who was there around to see? She had to laugh at that. Who indeed? This place didn't even have any animals.
For a while she felt like Eve, reclaiming a mad, unjust world which had finally ended, ready for her to rebuild a better one. But without an Adam... it seems pointless.
Now, this morning, she had her final breakfast. The last of the rations, washed down with island water. And then she began her walk.
It wasn't dying which really bothered her, Honey thought. She has been alone for so long, without any human touch, without Jazz, death would be a welcome release.
What haunted her is being found, a bag of bones lying bleached in the sun, sprawled across the sand.
When she had first begun her explorations, Honey half jokingly thought it would be funny if she came across the remains of that lady pilot Amelia Earhart, solving the mystery of her disappearance, but having no way to let others know.
Her illness with the berries made that idea far less amusing. She was helpless then, unable to move because of the pain, lying in her own filth because she couldn't even make it to the latrine area she had dug out. She believed she was going to die, and was haunted by the thought of some future explorer coming across her skeleton lying in such an undignified manner.
That idea bothered her ever since, especially as her rations began to run out. Starving slowly to death didn't hold any appeal to her... neither was the slim chance of being discovered and rescued, not with all those warrants and death sentences waiting for her in the world.
So she decided it is better to end things now, while her stomach is full and she still feels good.
She ruled out swimming out to the reef to join Jazz... being torn up on the razor sharp coral would be a horrible way to go. She didn't have a knife or machete to open her veins with, and hanging herself was out too, as becoming a macabre wind chime is a worse idea to her than just lying down under a tree.
She is still thinking about this as she resumes walking, then finds the stream, really a thin skin of water skimming the sand.
The memory of her near-fatal water search comes back to her with force. Yes... yes, that could be it...
A shudder of fear runs through her at the thought, and yet there is an undeniable thrill mixed in there, too. It is certainly worth checking out.
Honey's eyes scan the shallow water course as it snakes into the interior of the island, and proceeds to follow it, splashing through the cool water.
It proves to be a pleasant stroll. The air feels cool against her bare skin, shaded by the thick canopy of trees and plants arching overhead, and there is little undergrowth covering the stream to snarl her progress. The memories get stronger and her heart beats faster as she recognizes landmarks - that rock in the center of the stream, this tree stump, that tangle of branches, those vines with the bright red and orange flowers.
Then, the trees fall back, and Honey stops, the water trickling happily over her feet and ankles. A clearing spreads wide before her eyes, split by the ribbon of water she is standing in.
The ground is nearly level with the stream, and is a light brown color, dotted with clumps of grasses and low lying plants. Bright red, yellow and orange flowers appear at random on some of the plants, making it a rather pretty looking place.
Yeah... she thinks, shivering. A pretty looking trap...
Honey recalls when she first saw this place, and decided to check out the flowers on her way upstream.
She remembers wading out of the stream, and taking maybe a half dozen steps forward before she squealed in surprise as the warm, sandy earth melted wetly beneath her feet. Quicksand!
She had sunk to her knees in moments, and in a panic fell backwards, watching the whole area wobble in response. It turned out to be a fortunate accident, and she was able to wiggle backwards into the creek, where the sand was firmer. Her legs and feet popped free, without her sandals which were lost to the sand bog, but she was more interested in getting away from there than trying to retrieve them...
Now, looking over the same area, Honey feels the tension rise within her. All she knew of quicksand was what she had seen in the movies, and as a kid it had terrified her, the idea of being devoured by liquid earth. Encountering it for real gave her a nasty start, and it took her ages to figure out a way around it to find the spring feeding the stream.
Still... as scared as she was by the incident, she couldn't quite get it out of her mind. The more she thought of it over the weeks and months afterwards... the way it had warmly encompassed her bare legs, sucking hard on them... the wet slurp the quicksand made as it reluctantly released her limbs... the sense of hunger the mire seemed to have for her.... she realized it sounded and felt incredibly sexual... like sinking into Mother Nature's hot, wet pussy.
At night, alone, she found herself rolling the memories of it over in her mind, and was surprised to find herself becoming more and more aroused at the thought of being swallowed up by the warm, slimy sand...
In the morning, such thoughts were quickly banished as suicidal foolishness. But that was back when she still had food.
A flush of warmth through her groin and pelvis forces another shudder through her, and she is surprised by how slippery she is getting between her legs. Running her right hand gently over herself and the mass of pubic hair, Honey finds her clit has stiffened, and moisture is oozing freely from her pussy's outer lips.
God, I'm soaked... she thinks, bringing her fingers back up to examine the juices glistening on them. Her knees wobble a bit from the excitement.
I'm craving this, aren't I? Her left hand rises to fondle her breasts, and she is not surprised to find her nipples are hard as rocks and twitching.
Looking over the expanse of treacherous ground, Honey sees the area where she had first sunk, noticing few traces of that encounter remain. Thinking carefully, she decides to walk around the edge of the boggy area, then work her way towards that spot from the forest side.
Should be deeper over there, she reasons, still not entirely believing she is thinking this way. It would be a real pity to go through all of this, and only sink up to my ass...
Honey makes her way to the far side of the quicksand bog, treading the edge as marked by the trees crowding around it. The ground here is wet, but firm, and she can feel a thin coating of mud on the soles of her feet.
Reaching the midpoint of her orbit, she proceeds forward, walking carefully, stepping from grass clump to grass clump, thinking they would be firmer and make it easier to get to the center of the bog.
Honey nearly makes it, until one tussock dissolves under foot... plunging her into the waiting quicksand.
In moments, her brown skinned legs glide down quickly into the thick, sucking mud. Out of reflex, Honey struggles as if to escape, but only succeeds in sinking faster, as the quicksand eagerly ripples around her trapped limbs.
Beneath her feet, she feels nothing solid to stop her descent into the hungry sand... no matter how deep her toes quest for one.
Looking around, she sees nothing nearby to grab onto... guess I'm committed now, she thinks... as her thighs are consumed.
Honey's eyes bulge in surprised reaction as her bare groin and hips press into the quaking muddy slurry, and finds herself wiggling her pelvis in response. The warm quicksand is stimulating, tickling her innards as it oozes slowly inside her... its thickening surface presses against her clitoris, rubbing it with each movement she makes as she squirms against the sensations.
Oh... Jesus.... this... this is... incredible!
Honey is breathing heavily now, her hips moving in rhythm against the sandy bog. She can't stop now, even if she wants to... her body is in charge, vigorously humping the quicksand to satisfy its own needs... and each movement draws her deeper and deeper into the bubbling, gritty slime...
Sweat streams down her exposed skin, drawn out by her movements against the heavy jungle sand, and Honey gasps aloud in reaction to the hot jolts of pleasure shooting wetly through and out of her body. She feels the churning quicksand engulf her bare hips, oozing up to lap at the small of her back, surrounding her waist...
On impulse, Honey plunges her right hand deep into the quaking mass and pushes through to her groin, now desperate to get as much quicksand inside her as possible. Her fingers spread herself wide, and with a shuddering groan she pushes her hips down hard, as if straddling a lover.
God.... Jazz loved it when I did this to him....
Honey's left hand scrabbles over her slick skin to play with her breasts, which bounce freely in response to her passionate movements. She alternates between the two, pinching and squeezing her nipples until they hurt, while beneath the quicksand's surface her right thumb presses hard against her swollen clit, rubbing it in a series of rapid circles.
The quicksand, loosened by Honey's movements, sucks her naked body down eagerly and swiftly, lapping over the rest of her flexing belly, and in no time her breasts are pressing into its surface. Lost in lust, she is concentrating on climaxing as many times as possible before the end....
So close... so close...
Focussed on her pleasure, Honey is barely aware when her breasts, nipples stiff as bayonets, are consumed by the mire. When it rolls over the top of her shoulders, she is teetering on the knife edge of orgasm...
As the quicksand reaches her lower lip, Honey through gritted teeth begins uttering a series of short grunts, her buried body being lashed with sensation as the warm, sloppy sand swirls thickly around her. She bites her lower lip as her mouth submerges, her nose begins to fill with the rich wet odors of the jungle floor as the gritty mire swallows her up....
Honey climaxes hard, its sensation making her trapped body thrash violently against the heavy slurry. The surge of pleasure forces her to scream beneath the surface, causing quicksand to flood into her open mouth and pushing out the last of her breath. It bubbles vigorously atop the deadly bog, as it closes over the top of her head. A mat of curly hair floats for a moment before vanishing in a swirling froth of liquid sand and mud, which shudders in pleasure at the luscious meal it has just consumed.
Deep beneath the dark and quiet of the quicksand bog, Honey is vaguely aware of the warm sand flowing thickly around her, filling every crevasse, every hole, every curve of her writhing body. Her still open mouth is full of quicksand, which presses her tongue down... Her nose is stopped up, and thick sand oozes down her throat, filling her belly and her lungs... Her pussy and rectum are crammed full, and pulse with awareness... her clit is rubbed almost raw, every movement causing flashes of sensation... her breasts are squeezed and massaged by the wet sands, her legs and arms held and massaged as she slowly moves them through the thickening mire.
She is smothering in gritty muck, and yet she still shudders with pleasure, even as her senses slowly shut down.
Jazz... Honey thinks, and a brief flash of memory allows her a glimpse of his face before everything fades to darkness...
Above, the quicksand's surface stops churning and calms. A shallow dent remains behind to mark Honey's passage, which fills with water and slowly melts out of shape, much like her footprints, which are slowly erased by the shifting sand.
Soon, no trace of her remains, save for a campsite and a heap of empty ration tins, left abandoned now on the far side of the island.