tagMind ControlSuch Stuff Ch. 08

Such Stuff Ch. 08

byDrmaxc©

Friday

"He was a comely, handsome fellow, perfectly well made, with straight, strong limbs, not too large; tall, and well-shaped; and, as I reckon, about twenty-six years of age. He had a very good countenance, not a fierce and surly aspect, but seemed to have something very manly in his face; and yet he had all the sweetness and softness of a European in his countenance, too, especially when he smiled. His hair was long and black, not curled like wool; his forehead very high and large; and a great vivacity and sparkling sharpness in his eyes. The colour of his skin was not quite black, but very tawny; and yet not an ugly, yel­low, nauseous tawny, as the Brazilians and Virginians, and other natives of America are, but of a bright kind of a dun olive-colour, that had in it some­thing very agreeable, though not very easy to describe. His face was round and plump; his nose small, not flat, like the Negroes; a very good mouth, thin lips, and his fine teeth well set, and as white as ivory."

Lizzie put the book down on the duvet with a smile. "That would be a typi­cal dream of mine these days, to be Robinson Crusoe, and to have Friday ar­rive. A big strong black man, taut buttocks, flat stomach, shiny olive tawny skin and a big cock hanging down. Yes that's what I'd dream. My dreams are so full of uninhibited sex nowadays. I really must find a boyfriend, I'm getting quite obsessed by sex, waking every morning all wet and bothered. Lizzie, you are getting quite a naughty girl!" Her hand idly stroked her little fair curls, a finger ran up and down her slit. She reached out and turned the light off and snuggled down in the bed. "Hate him, always suggesting books. Well I haven't read 'The Swiss Family Robinson' tonight. I've read Defoe's original, so there!" She thought back to the image of Friday and she slipped her hand between her legs, "Wouldn't it be nice not to be alone in bed?"

She had been in the bookshop again during the day. She had told her mother that she would go all the way up to town to get the books her mother had wanted but had been told not to be 'so silly' and, anyway, they needed to be posted as a present straightway. Lizzie had paused outside the shop and pretended to look at the books displayed in the window but in reality looked into the shop. Her heart leapt - he was not in there! At that very moment an ir­ritating voice right behind her said, "Didn't know you were interested in trains."

She had swung round and there he was, yellow shirt, black tie this time, right in front of her, "Huh what?" she had said.

"The window display, I did it yesterday, it's all about railways. Look there is a set on the GWR and Brunel..."

"GWR?" she had said stupidly, and then wished she had not.

"Oh God's Wonderful Railway, didn't you know? The Great Western Rail­way, best railway in the world, built by the great Victorian engineer Isambard Kingdom Brunel. Broad gauge, not standard gauge, much better idea. And see, there's a section on model railways, I used to make them before I took up writ­ing, and there's a section on American Railroads, aren't those engines enor­mous? This bit here is on BR diesels." Lizzie had stopped listening, how had she got herself subjected to this?

"Er, writing?"

"Yes, I'm writing a book. He tapped his satchel. In here. My name's Con­rad, Conrad Crowley." He opened the door. "Are you coming in, Lizzie?"

Conrad smiled his eyes looking straight at Lizzie from under his black-rimmed glasses. She had the feeling she had felt before that he was mentally undressing her, seeking out her pointy nipples on her pointy breasts.

She followed him in and began looking for her books. She spent a long time doing this, as she really did not want to go to the counter. She was intent­ly looking at a book, not one her mother had wanted but one that interested her, on the Elizabethan Stage.

"Not after railway books then?" He had come up silently behind her.

"No, not really a bit of a boy's thing I suppose."

"Yes," he had paused and then said slowly, "one of those boy's things."

"Have you read this?" He thrust a copy of 'The Swiss Family Robinson' at her. It's good, one of those desert island stories. Verne wrote several too."

"I, no, I've not read that."

"Go on, take it, read it." He walked back to the desk and Lizzie followed him and paid for her mother's books. By the till was a spiral bound A4 sized book and on it a yellow and black fountain pen. He saw her glance.

"My book, I'm writing it," he said with pride, "shall I read you some."

Lizzie declined saying she had to get back with the books to her mother. Outside the shop she let out her breath, escape, escape from the odious... Con­rad. It was only then that she realised she still had the 'Swiss Family Robin­son' with her. Well, he had told her to take it and she was not going to go back inside if she could possibly help it.

Lizzie was not surprised to hear surf coming up a beach before it ran back down into the sea, only to repeat its journey again and again. She knew she was dreaming once more. She lay spread eagled upon sand. Could feel the sand all soft under her back, her bottom, and her naked thighs. The sand was warm under her and the sun beating down upon her naked skin was very hot. The light was so bright that she could see red, from the sun's light, penetrating through her eyelids.

"Where am I?" She thought, "Probably not Blackpool or Margate! I won­der if..." She opened her eyes and sat up and looked out to sea. But what a sea! Beautifully blue under a cloudless azure sky, the gentle surf washing over per­fect golden sand undisturbed by footprints. Turning she saw palm trees close on the beach and green covered hills rising inland. She stretched her arms lux­uriating in the sunshine. " I bet this is Crusoe's island. Am I alone or am I going to bump into a big naked black man?" She stood and ran along the beach for sheer joy. It was the most perfect place. Stopping she turned cartwheels, something she had not done for years, feeling the hot sun momen­tarily on her bare sex as she cartwheeled along the beach. Lizzie ran into the sea. The water was warm but still a cool relief from the sun. She swam, her lithe limbs working through the water, her pink bottom uppermost to the sun.

Lizzie strode out of the surf, shook herself and went to explore. She really needed a sun hat and perhaps some clothes. Being naked was all very well and quite fun. Skinny-dipping gives a great sense of freedom but it was easier to run if your boobs are restrained and not allowed to bounce up and down. Per­haps a skirt, after all you never knew whom you might meet in dreams and if she did meet Friday, well, she wanted to be the one dressed. He could be her servant, all naked and visible. She could pat his bottom if he was good or smack it if he was naughty or pointed his 'thing' at her!

Lizzie explored inland. She found her stockade with its palisade and lad­der. It was fun investigating what Crusoe, or supposedly she, had done. Search­ing the stores she found a great chest containing some strips of white cloth. She wrapped one piece around her as a short skirt and another thinner piece she pulled across her breasts and tied with a bow. Hanging on a peg was a wide brimmed grass hat, just the thing for keeping the sun off her and shading her eyes.

Climbing a little higher above the stockade Lizzie had a good view of the beach and sea. She immediately noticed in the distance five canoes and a fire and perhaps thirty men dancing around. "Ah," said Lizzie to herself in her dream, "this is where I find Friday but, oh dear, it means I am going to have to shoot someone with a gun." She was not sure about this. One does strange things in a dream but shooting someone with a gun is not very nice at all. "Still," she reasoned "if Crusoe hadn't done it, Friday would have died and been, oh dear worse and worse, eaten." Lizzie returned to the stockade and se­lected two guns, impressed that she seemed to know how to fire such old pieces, and headed down to the beach.

From concealment she watched one man being knocked on the head with a club and then Friday making his dash for freedom towards her. He was spot­ted but was a much faster runner than those who followed him. Having to swim across the creek towards Lizzie did seem to slow him down and, as Lizzie watched, he came near to being caught by the two pursuers who had fol­lowed him into the water. Taking a deep breath Lizzie ran out and clubbed one of the pursuers with her rifle butt and then, as the other prepared to fire an arrow at her, shot him dead. Lizzie's hand went to her mouth, "Oh what a nightmare," she cried.

Friday however was caught between terror and jubilation. What was this strange apparition who had so quickly saved him from his pursuers? A pale pink skinned woman wearing white rags and carrying a strange smoking stick. Lizzie beckoned to him and he came slowly forward scared but relieved to be safe. He knelt in front of her, kissed the ground, and laid his head upon the ground, and taking Lizzie by the foot, set her foot upon his head; this, it seems, was in token of swearing to be her slave for ever. Lizzie was rather enamoured of this, and felt better when, in the way of dreams, she turned round and saw the two bodies gone and the smoke from the campfire had disappeared.

She took a close look at her new servant. Friday was just as she had read before bed, a tall handsome fellow, perfectly well made, with straight, strong limbs, tall and well-shaped. The colour of his skin was not quite black, but a dun olive-colour shining from his recent immersion. He had a very good mouth, thin lips, and fine white teeth. Further, and Defoe had not mentioned these details, he was completely naked displaying, to her appreciative gaze, a very tight small muscular bottom, flat stomach and between his thighs a rather, to her eyes, lovely soft penis and hanging balls framed by a nest of dark hair, just visible against his skin.

Friday again put his head on the ground and her foot on his head. This time she was not so sure, as he had seemingly recovered from his terror, that his purpose was not to look up her skirt. The white cotton was comparatively thin and the sunlight would penetrate it and not hide her sex in shadow. An up­ward glance would display all.

After the excitement she felt like swimming and taking Friday by the hand she pulled him towards the water where she made swimming gestures to indi­cate what they should do. Friday nodded vigorously. Lizzie took off her hat and plunged into the sea closely followed by her servant. They swam happily around splashing and playing. Lizzie could see below the water fishes darting this way and that. She could also see, as Friday swam, his strong brown limbs in motion and occasional glimpses of his cock bobbing and floating between his thighs. Friday revelled in the exercise and the play and, like Lizzie, was evi­dently a strong swimmer.

As she strode out of the water Lizzie looked down at her white cotton skirt and top and realised that the water had made the white cotton almost com­pletely transparent. Turning to Friday, who was following her, she saw that he had certainly noticed this as his, until then, flaccid cock was beginning to thick­en and rise. Friday was clearly embarrassed by this show to his new mistress. Lizzie was, however, delighted with what she saw but pretended not to have no­ticed.

She walked on, Friday following behind her, to where the sand finished and the rocks started. Turning to Friday she saw he was now relaxed, his penis hanging properly downwards. He smiled broadly and Lizzie beckoned. She pointed to the many fishes swimming. Friday nodded enthusiastically and ran off towards the trees, re-appearing soon afterwards with some makeshift bam­boo spears. Diving into the water he soon speared a number. Lizzie motioned that she wanted to learn too and dived in with him. They spent a happy time swimming about underwater and hunting the fish. Lizzie enjoyed learning Fri­day's technique, the thrill of the catch, the diving, not to mention, watching Fri­day's athletic body moving through the water, his slim buttocks and his soft penis and balls moving this way and that, pushed either by the movement of the water or his own movement. Lizzie found it difficult to keep her eyes off them.

They cooked the fish over a fire on the beach. Fish should be fresh and these fishes were certainly just caught and as fresh as could be. What better way to cook them than on a beach fire made of driftwood? The meal was deli­cious.

For a time they lazed on the sand, replete from their meal. Lizzie mused that this was simply a wonderful dream. How she wished she could come here and dream about this island whenever she desired. It was so perfect, so tran­quil and, not least of all, there was her servant, Friday, stretched out on the sand with his cock properly lying at rest on one thigh. As she watched he rolled over onto his stomach and Lizzie could now see his tight buttocks. She got up onto her feet and playfully slapped one buttock meaning for Friday to follow her. She heard him move but, after walking a few steps, she realised Fri­day was not following and turned to see why. It had happened again, her slap had had an effect on Friday, a stimulating effect, causing his cock to rise.

As Friday's cock grew, and having Lizzie looking at it did not in any way stop its progress upwards, the foreskin gradually pulled back by itself expos­ing a light coffee coloured head. The head actually seemed to have a slightly greater diameter than the shaft, "a plum on the end of a stick" thought Lizzie, she came back to take a closer look. Friday was clearly embarrassed by the close examination of his cock; but there was nothing he could do; clearly his new mistress wanted to look at it. Not only had it a large plum like head but also it stood straight up, not straight out, not angling forwards but really straight up against his stomach. Lizzie thought that if he bent suddenly down­wards, and was not careful, he would fuck his tummy button. She giggled at the thought; her dream was getting very erotic.

Lizzie knelt and looked even closer at Friday's penis. Friday moved uncom­fortably, he did not like having his manhood scrutinised, it was his place to be in control, he liked to closely examine his women and touch them in their se­cret places. He could not do this with his mistress, she owned him. Nonethe­less she looked so desirable with her strange pale skin and so very different fair hair, even near her own secret places. The thoughts made his cock ache and stay rigid when he wanted it to subside. Why was she looking at him so carefully, what was she doing with her hand, she wasn't going to touch him was she? If she did then what should he do?

Slowly Lizzie reached out and cupped his balls. The weather was hot and Friday's scrotum was very relaxed and wrinkled. She lifted the balls and weighed them in her hand. She was amused to see the cock twitch.

"Well Friday, you seem to have a problem here, shall we run along the beach or would it help if I eased this swelling first?" Friday of course did not answer, he did not move, he did not know what to do; he did not know what Lizzie was saying. Lizzie liked seeing him erect. She thought about how she might keep him in that state. Raising her hand she encircled the head with her fingers and lifted the foreskin up and down a couple of times. She heard Fri­day take a sharp intake of breath. Lizzie let go of his cock; stood and motioned they should continue walking. Friday did not really like walking when he was so hard but he was under her control.

They walked on a while, Lizzie apparently unconcerned looking this way and that, whilst Friday was very concerned indeed. Lizzie paused and glanced down at Friday's cock. It had not subsided. Lizzie shook her head and once again lightly took hold of his penis by encircling the head with her fingers. She then began to walk forcing Friday to follow. Her fingers were only lightly hold­ing his penis and, as he walked, the bounce of his step caused Lizzie's encir­cling fingers to move up and down. This stimulation was distressing for Fri­day; if he was not careful he would explode all over his mistress' fingers and that would not do at all!

They continued to walk on with Friday gritting his teeth. Suddenly he stopped, he was breathing hard and was only just able to re­gain control: he had nearly come, nearly spurted his seed over the sand in front of him, over his mistress' hand. Lizzie knew just what was happening. Re­ally she was being rather cruel exercising her control over him. He looked re­proachfully at her and she felt ashamed.

Once again she got down on her haunches in front of him and looked at his rigid cock. The foreskin was well back and the light coffee coloured head shiny and smooth. Lizzie looked up at Friday and very slowly put out her tongue and licked the end. Friday's eyes opened really wide. Lizzie smiled, wet her lips and slipped them over the end and took it into her mouth. The feel of Lizzie's wet mouth on his cock was wonderful to Friday. His mistress was real­ly doing this to him!

It was almost as good for Lizzie, the smoothness of the plum on her tongue, its soft hardness. She licked around it, teasing it, exploring its shape with the tip of her tongue, thinking how good it would be to have it poking be­tween her legs, pushing into her, opening her. Lizzie's thoughts were very erot­ic and her tongue matched her enthusiasm but it was all too much for Friday.

What he had tried to avoid happened. With a groan he began to shoot into Lizzie's mouth. A pulse of warm semen propelled with some force hit the back of Lizzie's throat. Friday was coming, freely and copiously; emptying the balls that Lizzie had been weighing only minutes before into her mouth. The energet­ic pulsing could only last a short time and, all to soon, it stopped. Lizzie held the cockhead in her mouth a little longer, softly caressing it with her tongue be­fore releasing it from between her lips. She looked up at Friday. His eyes were almost comically wide, as he looked down thunderstruck at Lizzie's upturned face. She casually licked a stray drop of semen from her lips with her little pink tongue. An erotic sight that burnt itself as a memory into Friday's mind.

Lizzie laughed, slapped Friday playfully on the bottom again and ran off along the sand as free, and happy, as a bird. After a moments hesitation Fri­day ran after her, his subsiding penis swinging right and left as he ran.

They spent the afternoon exploring along the beach as it curved around the island. Swimming across creeks, sometimes venturing a little inland. Slak­ing their thirst on exotic fruits or drinking from the clear water flowing down from the inland hills. It was a long and magic afternoon.

As the day wore on Lizzie's thoughts returned to Friday's hanging cock. She had avoided thinking much about it earlier in the afternoon once he had come. Lizzie knew he would need to recharge, so there was no point thinking about it, and it was best to enjoy the beach and their companionship.

They had been playing by a creek and, by mistake Friday had knocked her into the water. Lizzie had come up spluttering to see Friday laughing at her and pointing. She had surged out of the water, also laughing, and smacked him on the bottom three times by way of punishment. He had laughed again and put on a contrite look but Lizzie also noticed a stirring in his loins—his cock had begun to rise. Lizzie had pointed in mock horror and smacked him again, only causing Friday's cock to rise the further, his foreskin once more sliding back preparing the cockhead for activity. Lizzie loved the look of the light coffee coloured plum shaped head. Fully erect now, Lizzie put out her hand, grasped it by the shaft and pulled it well away from the vertical, as far as it would go before the resistance got too great, and she then let go. The penis slapped back to the vertical against Friday's stomach. The 'slap' of flesh on flesh sounding quite loud across the beach.

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