Morton's Island Ch. 01

But she attached no significance to it. What was wrong with 'cunt'? It was a word guys used, wasn't it?

"Serves you right for stringing me out," she said, at length. "You wait 'til I get at your cock," she added wickedly.

Touche! Cunt, cock.

"You'll have to wait your turn," Morton replied.

"What? Already?"

"Yes! I suppose I did overdo the 'stringing out' a bit," he replied, casually.

"How long?"

"Oh, what does time matter. On our island," he replied.

Suddenly, Morton grasped Jane with arms grown powerful by months of training. He threw her on her back, spread her legs and without further ado, plunged his cock into her cunt, right up to the hilt.

"Ohshit!"

It was the wildest fuck Jane could recall. She came, then came again and still Morton was pounding her into their bed of palm leaves.

"OhMiGod! You're killing me," she gasped, as she felt her body shake its way to orgasm number three.

Outside the hut, it was growing dark. The sirens would soon be in position in their shells, legs parted, six pink roses awaiting attention.

But this night, they would have to wait. Morton was so into it, there was no stopping him. One last frantic series of thrusts, a mighty exhalation of breath announced his release. Semen shot up into Jane's womb, spurt after spurt after spurt.

Of course, Jane came again along with him. Their bodies writhed in unison. Jane's cunt walls contracted around Morton's cock, milking it of the last drops of fluid, draining it.

Finally, they were still. For a long while, Morton lay prone on Jane's body, which had adopted a star-like shape, her arms and legs pointing to the four corners of the bed.

"Fucking hell," she heard herself say.

Slowly, Morton disengaged, and slid onto his back beside her. There was an extended silence. Then Morton said,

"Now look what you've done!"

He was referring to his limp dick, which, fully milked, had shriveled up into a stub.

'Serve you fucking right,' Jane wanted to say. But utterance failed her. She was too exhausted even to speak.

But exhaustion like that she'd take any time it was on offer. What exquisite pleasure lay dormant in a woman's body. How many, she wondered, had scaled the heights she had with Morton. She would never have believed it possible, that her body could even withstand, day in, day out it, such punishment, that her vagina could respond as orgasm followed orgasm, its walls vibrating, humming, vibrating again ever more vigorously until her entire body was bathed in a glow of ecstasy. Paradise itself could not be better than this.

And Morton, she thought, as she eased her head on his stomach and began to fellate his cock to life: 12 hours a day had been his goal. He'd achieved this and more, serving not only her, but six nubile, delectable sirens through the hours when the sun was down. That a mere man, even as single-minded a one as Morton, could perform like this was surely unimaginable.

But all things come to an end. Unbeknown to her, Jane had reached a stage of sexual elysium that could not be sustained. Slowly, but inexorably, it all began to fall apart.

"It doesn't matter," she said to Morton one day, when he returned to her at dawn, his penis limp, his spirits limper. It did matter to him.

Two days later, it happened again. Jane tried her best.

"Maybe you need a break," she said. "Hell, what you do is superhuman. You're not. That's all. Take it easy for a while. Give yourself a break."

But Morton was not mollified. He sensed that a 'break' would make it worse.

'No man can do that, day in, day out,' Jane had said, so long ago.

Perhaps she had been right, after all. Gradually he'd come to accept the truth; that however gorgeous his sirens were, however delectable Jane's body, however strong her desire, his brain was becoming impervious to their charms. The sight of perfectly formed torsos, stiff nipples, pink luscious cunts with full and extended lips, no longer aroused him as they once had. He had begun to go through the motions. It was only a matter of time.

Something had to happen, one of two things. He could admit his goal was, as Jane said, unattainable over the long term, settle into a more placid life-style.

Two sirens instead of six. Or none perhaps. Jane alone was becoming as much as he could comfortably handle. She'd told him upfront that she was not a nymphomaniac. But what had happened to this? Every time he tested, with fingers, mouth, or cock, her cunt was dripping wet. She was always ready and more than willing. But, as wet as her cunt was, as sultry the expectant gaze in her eyes, he was losing the ability to keep up even with her.

He could, of course, scale back. Jane would adjust. She responded to his desire, not the reverse. She'd said as much. An island paradise, the two of them, and cook. On the other hand, perhaps there was some new way of revitalizing his sexual desire, that would set the hormones coursing again through his body, as Nina and Neda had once done when even the delectable Jane, alone, was not enough.

As he lay on the sand, the sun beginning to burn, with Jane stroking his chest fondly, Morton was considering his options. Scale back, or explore further?

*

Author's note: If you've followed the story, you'll have guessed which option Morton chose. The curious will find the nature of his 'further exploration' spelled out in Morton's Island II. This, however, is not for the squeamish. You have been warned!