Bum's Rush

I squeezed her hands and she took that as affirmation and moved off to join her husband, who was waiting - and watching our exchange.

As my queen and I headed off to our island castle, she whispered, "I hope you're ready for our honeymoon."

My cock inflated so quickly - and so fully - that I was walking like a cowboy by the time we got home.

Home.

I stopped inside the door to look around at the meager possessions we had - realizing there really wasn't much more that I needed to be happy in this world.

These thoughts were interrupted by my pants being slammed to my ankles, my nut-sack being palmed in my sister's hand, her other hand grabbing my ass, and her lips sliding up my cock until it wouldn't go any farther into her mouth.

"Fuck!" I stammered.

Megan pulled back, licking the underside of my dick as she did, and then slammed her face forward again - jamming the head against the entrance to her throat.

She repeated this whole process two more times and then - suddenly - my cock was forced into her gullet.

It was tight - even tighter than her perfect cunt.

She held me there - nose buried in my pubes - for a few seconds - adjusting to the size - and then fucked my cock with her throat - never pulling it all the way out of her esophagus - before shoving it back in again.

I really wasn't sure how she was getting air.

Thirty seconds of that and then she pulled all the way off until the head of my cock was pressed against her lips - where she gave it a little kiss - and then she drove it between her lips, over her tongue, and down her throat again.

My knees started to give out; she squeezed my ass-cheek hard enough for her fingernails to bite into the skin. I stood still.

She pulled off again - dragging her writhing, grasping tongue along the bottom of my cock - teasing the head as it withdrew - pressed her lips against it - and shoved it in, and down, again.

"Meg!"

She ignored me and continued ramming my fuck-meat down her throat.

She switched hands - between my nut-sack and my ass-cheek - and went back to sucking - and face-fucking.

Two minutes later, I was calling her name again - warning her of her impending doom.

She never even slowed down.

When she felt my testicles constrict - heralding the arrival of my incestuous seed - she shoved my cock as far down her throat as it would go.

Blast after blast of brotherly spunk fired straight into my sister's belly.

She squeezed my fun-bag, trying to coax the rest of my little swimmers to come out.

She stood, wrapped her arms around my neck, and kissed me like she was ready to be fucked. I tasted the sex-juice on her tongue. That helped explain how we'd moved from "I don't like that" to "Debbie does Dallas".

Megan finished making out with me and my cock was already having second-thoughts about taking a nap.

She grabbed me a wooden tumbler, filled it with the special sangria, and handed it to me.

I took a little sip and she wagged a finger at me.

I took a long drink and she shrugged out of her dress like it hadn't almost been skin-tight. She was, of course, naked underneath.

She took my cup and started undressing me.

Once that was accomplished, she handed me back my tumbler, filled one for herself, and led me to our marriage bed.

She shoved me down and I narrowly avoided spilling my lust-filled beverage.

The bright glow of a full moon filtered into our abode and I beheld the vision of beauty that was my sister, my lover, my bride - my wife.

She drained her glass, set it down, and slid onto my body like a river otter sliding into the muddy water.

Her arms surrounded my chest, her thighs enveloped my hips, and her heavenly gates parted and guided my man-meat into rapture.

She ground her pussy up and down on my cock as she kissed me like we'd been apart for years.

She was tensing the muscles, up and down her Tunnel of Love, and doing very bad - er - uh - good - things to my dick.

I groped her breasts, pinched her nipples, and then grabbed onto her ass to pull her as far onto my flesh-sword as I could.

Her moans, coos, purrs, and growls had my testes working overtime to try to come up with something else to give her.

Her body shuddered and she bit my neck, hanging on until her climax had finished. The feral-ness of it made my cock swell even bigger, if that was possible.

I kissed every part of her face that I could reach - still gripping her ass to pull her closer.

Her channel was gripping my penis - and she was whining - and I was quickly amassing a second barrage of sibling-seed.

I was close - so close ..

Already clasping her ass tighter than I probably should, I started fucking from below - thrusting and driving into her.

I felt her vaginal muscles tense again - and she bit down onto my throat once more.

That did it. I pulled her onto me, shoving the mouth of my seed-spitter up against the entrance to her womb.

I released her ass and drug my fingernails from her ass-cheeks to her shoulder-blades - and back down again.

She whimpered, bit harder on my throat, and hooked her feet behind my legs to try to shove my cock-head inside her Holy of Holies.

When she felt the last of my seed splash against her uteral-wall, she switched from biting my neck to French-kissing my mouth.

My hands wandered all over her body, gripping, squeezing, pinching, scratching, tugging, ..

Her kiss finally ended and I laid my head back and sucked the air into my lungs in gasping breaths.

She folded her knees in, trapping my cock inside her, and I opened my legs and wrapped them around her, holding her in place.

I pulled the cover over us and she whispered, "To be continued .." before she fell asleep in my arms.

Day 18

We woke up to discover that Heather - the sly little vixen - had somehow managed to refill our jug of sangria.

Even though I was pretty sure we were close to breaking my dick in half at this point, another tumbler of fuck-juice led to another bloated nut-sack, engorged penis, and cream-filled pussy.

We took a short nap - during which Heather dropped off lunch - fucked again - napped - drank more Love Potion #9 - fucked again - and then headed to the lagoon to skinny-dip - I mean - bathe each other - and then headed home to get ready for dinner.

My dick was definitely struggling.

We arrived at the evening meal to be greeted by Joshua and Heather.

Megan got a hug and I got the tribe's standard version of a fist-bump or handshake.

Dinner choices were pork-stew or leftover crocodile stew.

Knowing my preferences, Megan brought me the peppery dish - but chose the blander one for herself.

After dinner, we followed Joshua & Heather to the stony lookout, borrowed the field-glasses, and checked on the ship. It was still sitting where we'd left it - with no signs that anybody had visited.

We bid our friends good-night and headed to bed.

Megan stripped naked but didn't ask me to fuck her again.

She rubbed my weary dick like she felt sorry for it and then fell asleep, leaning on my chest.

I kissed her forehead and quickly joined her.

Days 19-25

Our one-day honeymoon was over. Who was I kidding? Every, single day here was like a honeymoon.

Megan had said that she'd always dreamed of a destination wedding - maybe on a beach somewhere - and we'd ended up getting married in a tropical island paradise.

We settled into the routine of daily life in a primitive island village - contributing to the tribe - and sharing in the blessings of communal living.

Megan had about two weeks of birth control pills left but she was pretty convinced that the village girls had something that was almost just as effective.

Regardless, she was working on me to agree to let her try getting pregnant - even without a modern hospital around.

A couple days later, Heather's older sister gave birth and Megan got a first-hand look at some of the in's & out's of the process.

Mother & child were both healthy but, over the following days, Megan was less demanding about the issue.

She still coaxed me into filling her to overflowing with danger-seeds every night - but - since we still had pills left - there wasn't an immediate need to decide.

Day 26

The scout from the lookout came running up to the council fire - another ship had pulled up to the abandoned one - and men had boarded the vessel to search it.

The chief sent for me and my weapons-team to assemble.

Joshua and another dozen warriors were our backup.

We headed to the lagoon and waited for our visitors to arrive.

Even without the field-glasses, I could tell it was some kind of police boat.

They launched a rubber raft - with a small outboard motor - and joined us on the beach.

The chief, the elders, and most of the rest of the village were assembled behind Joshua's team.

"¿Hablas español?" their leader asked.

"Un poco," I replied, "¿Hablas ingles?" I asked.

"Un poco," he responded, chuckling.

Megan slid up beside me and handed me my phone. I nodded to her. She went back to stand with the others and I looked back to the investigator.

Over the next several minutes, we employed both of our native languages to communicate.

He, of course, asked about the ship - at which point, I shared the story of our visitors, their actions, our response, and the results - showing him the pictures on my phone - and the weapons we now carried.

Obviously, he could see that I was not native to this island and asked about my involvement.

I called Megan up and we shared our story with him.

Megan also had a picture of the now-abandoned vessel on her phone from when she & I had originally boarded to come to the island. The timestamp on the picture confirmed our story about the timing of our arrival.

Meg ran back to the hut and got the photocopies of our passport pages. We gave these to the investigator, telling him that he could confirm our identities and arrival time at the US Embassy.

Before taking his leave to go do that, he informed us (the chief & elders now standing beside us) - so that I could translate for them - that messing with island tribes was strictly prohibited by Panamanian law.

As such, we were free to keep the weapons we had captured - and the attackers' deaths would not be investigated further.

The officer, however, did keep the copies of our IDs - as well as the notes he had written - and said he would be following up on the registered owner of the vessel - and informing the embassy as to our location.

His expectation was that his superiors would decide that the ship was now the property of the tribe as well.

When I informed him that none of us knew how to operate it and had no use for it, he offered to negotiate with a ship-buyer to sell it for us.

I conferred with the elders and they agreed - although none of us were sure what we were going to do with the money.

I tried to give the officer the keys to the boat but he told me to hang onto them - since - in effect - that was my proof that we owned the ship.

I doubted, very much, that he was being this nice because I was an American.

I was pretty sure his comments about Panamanian law in regard to indigenous tribes were a very serious thing.

I almost felt sorry for whoever owned the boat - assuming we hadn't already killed them.

We watched as the rubber raft carried the officers back to their ship.

Once they were away, the majority of the villagers went back to whatever they'd been doing when the scout had called out the warning.

Once the patrol boat was heading off, I turned to the elders.

The chief clapped me on the shoulder and grinned, "Well done, my son."

I almost started crying.

It's one thing to be accepted into the tribe - but - for the chief to basically name me as a beneficiary of his inheritance..

I dropped to my knees in front of him.

"Get up," he laughed, "you're not getting out of work that easily."

I stood to my feet and dabbed my eyes dry.

The weapons-team & I returned the guns to my rustic armory and we headed back to what we'd been working on.

Joshua clapped me on the shoulder as he passed to return to his work.

Life was so different here.