Educating Kaila

I hadn't thought much about any of this the previous night. I had, indeed, barebacked Maria—the woman who had visited me in the night was I found when I woke up embracing her in the morning was Maria—but I had satisfied myself that she already was pregnant.

As I was walking through a grove of palms on the way to my hut for the camera, I heard them and the mystery of who had entered Kathleen's hut the previous night was solved. She was reclining in a thick-mesh hammock, tied between two palm tree trunks. Her son, Rod, was straddling the hammock at her pelvis. His feet were on the ground, and he was using them for leverage as he fucked his mother, pressing her down into the hammock with his hands gripping her. Her legs ran up his torso. Her pendulous breast jiggled in the rhythm of his deep thrusts. The palms of her hands were plastered to his pectorals, the heels of the hands rubbing on his nipples. They were so similar in the darkness of their beauty that they looked to be one organism, one natural, swaying, sighing sculpture.

Looking up and seeing me, Rod smiled and gestured for me to come over.

"I'm happy to share," he said. "And mother is happy to be shared. She told me last night that you were a hunk. Michelle told her you fucked great, and Mother is interested too."

Michelle said I fucked great? That was some vindication for having seen her thrash about so passionately under her father.

This was the exotic, sensual South Pacific island of Kaila, not New York City. I had left my inhibitions back on the pier to the island, where I had been standing with the supply steamer's captain, a man who seemed to know far more than I did at the time concerning the reception that the island would give me—opening its arms and its cunt to my hard cock.

I took up the position Rod had been taking, my dick up Kathleen's channel, enjoying the experience of what a mature woman had learned to do with the muscles of her passage walls in caressing and milking a man's cock. She had buried the heels of her feet in the webbing of the hammock on either side of my buttocks and was thrusting up into me as I thrust down into her. Rod stood at the side of the hammock, tipping it over slightly, away from him, finding an opening big enough in the mesh to work his cock through and into the ass of his mother.

His hands went to my chest, pulling me toward him, seeking a kiss. That, though, was just a bit more than I was prepared for, so, with all the politeness and civility I could muster, I pulled out of Kathleen, stepped over the hammock, and moved slowly away, in the direction of my hut.

I turned before the hammock was out of sight. Showing no hard feelings, lost only in themselves for the moment, the two fucked on. Rod had twirled the hammock, encasing Kathleen's body entirely in its webbing, facing down toward the earth. He straddling the hammock again above her hips, his bare feet flat on the ground, using them for leverage as, with hands gripping her waist, he continued pumping her in the ass.

Michelle was waiting for me in my hut, her back on the pallet, her legs bent and spread, the fingers of one hand working her clit and of the other hand working a nipple, watching me with slitted eyes as I entered the hut.

"I saw you watching Daddy and me through the window last night. I was hoping you'd join us." It came out in a hoarse in a hoarser whisper.

I was still throbbingly erect from the interrupted mining of Kathleen's talented passage, so when Michelle then murmured, "Don't make me wait," I was upon her with ravenous hunger, going down between her spread thighs, plunging an arm under the small of her back to raise her pelvis to me for a straight shot, thrusting deep inside her, and starting to pump hard.

She arched her back and her head and cried out a passionate, "Yes, yes, yes," to the back wall of the hut

This was nothing like the Michelle of New York. She was wide open; lustful, meeting me thrust for thrust; and begging for everything I could give her and more. This was more like the Ruth I imagined taking but, as yet, had been too timid, conscious-driven, and society whipped to do so. This was a primitive, primeval, lustful, uninhibited, natural exploding of two young, ripe bodies against each other—a gift to us both from the island and free-life of Kaila.

I was fucking Michelle in the hut, but I was fucking my sister, Ruth, in my imagination.

And a very, very good fuck it was.

Afterward, both of us regaining our breath, my hands gliding over her body as we lay stretched out beside each other, one of her hands stroking my cock, bringing it back to life for the next round, my thinking process—and my newspaper assignment—clicked in.

"There's something I don't understand about this project of your family's, Michelle," I said.

"Asking me anything. I'll tell you anything for another fuck. That was dreamy."

"Better than your father's?"

"My father is in another league altogether. Your fuck was dreamy, though."

A bit stung, I continued with my line of reporter questioning. "I don't understand what is being taught here that is special in terms of education. I mean, I attended your father's lecture today. It's all very basic. Certainly not something that someone like Santos needs to learn. Some of these people have been off the island. Santos went to college."

"I think we're teaching them something quite fundamental, something that enriches the life here and will keep this island alive."

As if I hadn't heard her, I added to my challenge. "In truth, it seems like your family is picking up more from them than you are teaching them. Walking around comfortably and without embarrassment almost in the altogether. I know your family—and not one of the islanders I saw—has anything to be embarrassed about in being seen in the nude. But it's gone further than that. Your father fucking you; your brother fucking your mother . . ."

"My brother fucking me too," she interjected, with a giggle. "Of course Rod is only hung. You and Daddy are horse hung. And Domingo is twice the man of any of you." She sighed but didn't lose a stroke on my cock.

"OK, too much information," I muttered. But what she'd said and remembering what I myself had seen of Domingo's cock had the knuckles of my fist at her cunt. A brief snatch of wondering if I could get my whole fist in there—how passionately she would react to that—ran through my mind.

"I mean, it seems you've gone native more than civilized anyone here—which is all to the good, mind you. I like what they have here."

She laughed. She was holding my fist close to her cunt. And, by god, I think I could get at least three knuckles in there.

"What's so funny about what I said."

"The fucking. The father-daughter, mother-son, sister-brother thing. That wasn't here when we arrived, Ryan. That's what we're teaching the islanders. We are erasing their inhibitions—even to other members of their families. And you can see how well they've learned."

"I don't understand," I murmured.

She continued. "Daddy picked out a culture, an isolated and insular island that was dying. It was taboo here for family members to couple. The island was dying. Everyone here was a family member of some sort. A few had brought back mates from other places. Santos' wife is a Maori from New Zealand, for example. But it wasn't enough. The island couldn't survive. It was dying. Daddy, Mother, Rod, and I brought what we had to do among ourselves in secret here from New York. Here we could fuck each other in the open and teach the islanders to do so as well—to eschew all of their inhibitions, make life happier, repopulate the island."

Oh, shit, I thought. there goes my feature for The Times. A much more interesting and exploding article, but not for The Times. Not in a long shot. But, who the fuck cared right now? I'd opened up those three fingers in her twat from the knuckles and was pressing her walls, opening her wide. She'd arched her torso and head back and was panting hard.

She did manage one question, though, before I fucked her again. "And what do you think of our educational program to Kaila now?"

I showed her what I thought, rolling over on top of her, thrusting inside her, starting to pump her hard and deep.

* * * *

Three weeks later, my sister, Ruth, was waiting for me there at the arrivals hall of JFK airport, all atremble and shyly smiling, even though I'd told her nothing of my experiences—which where nothing like the tame, pussy-footing-around-the-issue series of articles I'd batted out for The Times during my week layover in Sydney.

She knew nothing of the new, uninhibited, happily free of taboos me. And yet she was waiting there, shy, hopeful.

I took her home to the brownstone and fucked her six ways to Sunday. Outside these walls lurked the murky world of New York and Western civilization. Inside our brownstone, this would henceforth be the white sands of the island of Kaila.