tagErotic HorrorTo Serve All His Days

To Serve All His Days

byNakod Apa©

The warm sea gently laps the storm tossed figure on the sand until it stirs; opens salt encrusted eyes; licks dry thirsty lips; lets go of the spar it is resolutely clutching; struggles to its knees and mentally offers a prayer to its deity. Later the shipwrecked sailor will wonder why his god has decided that he should be saved and all his shipmates on the caravel drowned, but for now all he can conceive of is an urgent need for water.

Gathering his strength he stands. Upright, he can see nothing but golden beach stretching away to left and right, backed by thick, menacing jungle.

Conscious of the weight of his wet sailcloth breeches and wool shirt, weakly he strips and wrings them between calloused fingers. Unclothed his vigorous and athletic body belies the white of his hair and beard, and a witness might well remark the size and robustness of his manhood peeking from its nest of luxuriant, curly hair.

His garments still damp, he dresses again and laboriously starts along the shore, the sand striking hot on the bare soles of his feet. His search soon becomes increasingly desperate. There is no gap in the jungle. No sign of any natives - though whether that is good or bad, given the shipboard tales of cannibals, he is unsure. But, more importantly, nor is there any sign of fresh water. Is he to be saved from the sea only to die a lingering death from thirst? To be on land yet cursed with "Water, water, everywhere, Nor any drop to drink".

Finally, staggering, he can go no further. He must rest. Seeking a modicum of shade under the foliage edging the beach he falls exhausted and soon sleeps.


High, laughing, joyous voices wake him. Opening his eyes he stares to where three young, graceful, desirable maidens are cavorting naked along the foreshore. Has he already died? Is he in the Musselmen's heaven to be eternally serviced by nubile virgins?

Hoarsely he shouts; waves urgent arms; stumbles after them. They appear not to notice but dart toward the wall of foliage and vanish. Frenziedly he lurches toward the spot. There is a gap, a narrow path leading into the jungle. How has he not seen it before?

Part way along the path two of the maids dance on while closer the pale skinned blonde waits, arm outstretched, beckoning him to follow. Thankfully he shambles forward only to see her skip merrily after the other two.

Another faltering hundred yards and the brown haired, coffee coloured maid pauses and waves encouragement to him. Hands on knees, chest heaving, he regains his breath and once more follows.

Again they gambol ahead, breasts a bobbing, limbs gleaming in the sunlight. This time it is the third, the ebony maid, who tarries to urge him on. Are they playing with him? Teasing him? He has no choice but to struggle along in their wake.

Abruptly the bushes fall away and he emerges into an immense clearing with a wide lake in the middle, fed on its far shore by a stream tumbling out of a low cliff. Happily the maidens dive in, joyfully splashing each other as they swim toward the falling water.

Water! He almost falls into the lake in his hurry to taste it. Fresh! For several minutes he gulps until his thirst is satisfied and his stomach distended. Raising his head he sees the maidens have reached the far shore and are climbing the rocks below the waterfall. Suddenly they disappear behind the curtain of spray.

Anxious to find the village, but since, like so many mariners in this Year of Grace Fifteen Forty Nine he is unable to swim, he desperately stumbles on around the edge of the lake in pursuit. Finally he reaches the far side and drags his exhausted body up the rocks.

Behind the falling water is a small opening. Reeling with fatigue he staggers through to find himself in a short rocky passage leading into a largish cave. It is bright and well lit, though he cannot see by what means. In the middle is a smaller pool edged with sand, beside which stands an ornate table. On the table are bottles of wine and baskets containing fruit, bread rolls and cooked meats.

The three maidens are nowhere to be seen. Later he will search for them but now, thankfully, he drinks the wine straight from the bottle then, ravenously, sets upon the food. It melts in his mouth with tastes and flavours beyond any he has known before.

Hunger assuaged at last he determines to explore but, overcome again by fatigue, lies down on the sand and sleeps.


He awakes to find the air cool with the freshness of dawn. He feels fit and strong again, filled with an energy he has not known since his youth.

The table has vanished. The pool is still. Looking at his reflection in the waters he at first does not recognize himself. His skin is clean and unblemished; the lines of age gone; his hair once more thick and red.

But those maidens, where have they gone? There is no way forward, yet they couldn't have gone back past him in the narrow passage. He turns and strides back toward the entry. Except for the rush of the waterfall all is quiet. Mystified he returns to the pool.

Half submerged she lies at its rim, delicate arms draped along the edge, full, coffee coloured breasts floating teasingly, gently rising and falling with each breath. A small smile creasing her lips.

They stare at each other for several long moments, a sensual appetite building between them.

At last she holds her hand out to him, her voice husky and seductive. 'I'm Dawn. Come, time to perform your duty.'

He doesn't stop to enquire what that could be; urgently his hands pull on the draw string of his breeches. Wordlessly he lowers them and steps out to stand with feet apart, his body firm all over with the strength of youth. Looking down at her, he wonders at the smoothness of her mound and the way her clit is already showing its head.

Her smile deepens and she sighs in admiration of the beauty and thickness of his ample meat that stands erect, waiting for her to taste. Lithely she climbs from the pool and kneels before him to worship his rampant manhood.

Hungrily her lips close around his thick and veiny weapon, tongue caressing its broad, purple head. Full and rigid it waits as eager lips run up and down its length and her hand toys with already aching balls.

He groans and clutches her wet shoulders. 'Turn around,' he says.

He kisses her neck; closes his eyes and slides his fingers along her shoulders; pushes her forward until she is on hands and knees; runs his rope calloused palms down her smooth back to her buttocks to thrust strong fingers between her thighs. Spreading her wide he drives deep into her waiting cunni.

She gasps. Cries, 'Yes! . . yes! . . harder! . . faster!'

He uses her strongly, furiously, hammering in and out of her soft tunnel with a need grown overpowering from months of shipboard abstinence. His hands slip from her hips and push round to her chest to seek, grasp and maul the firm softness of her pendant breasts.

She moans, she cries out with pleasure, she pushes back at his bludgeoning tool. At last he feels the strong grip of her shuddering cunni muscles as she cums and he explodes to fill her.

Easing his softening cock from her, he turns to the pool and lowers his head to relieve a parched throat. He drinks deeply, sighs and turns back to resume his assault of her fair flesh.

She's not there.

Where is she? How has she vanished without him being aware? Has she gone to the entrance?

Jumping to his feet he rushes along the narrow passage to the waterfall. No sign. Beyond the falling water. No sign. He gazes at the lake, inspects its surrounds. Still no sign. The only indication that she has ever existed is the flaccid softness of his spent cock and his feeling of sexual satisfaction.

Slowly, confused he walks back to the pool. The table is there again, covered with plates of steaming meat and flagons of wine.

Mystified he breaks his fast then, his inner man satisfied, dresses and sets out to explore the borders of the lake and the path to the shore. Except that there is no path to be found. The lake continues placid and disturbed only by the water gushing from the rocks - yet where is the outflow? Although the water keeps falling there is nowhere for the extra to go, and yet it seems the lake grows no bigger or deeper.

Around the sandy shore the forest is as impenetrable as that on the beach. He is trapped in a wild, natural prison. Yet there must be a way out. Where is the path by which he entered? Where have the maidens gone?

The sun now high in the heavens he thoughtfully makes his way back to the cave and sits before the pool to ponder the problem.

His reverie is broken by a soft gurgle. The water in the pool splashes and churns; then a parting; then a head; then a torso; then the naked figure of the dark, ebony skinned maiden appears from the depths. He gasps as, breasts softly swinging, she walks toward him across the surface of the water.

As her toes touch the ground she smiles alluringly, 'I am Midori,' she declares. 'I come for you to satisfy my need.'

Stepping close she also drops to her knees before him. 'We are three. Dawn, the maid of the morn you have already served. I am the flame of the middle day. Eveline the nymph of the night will allow you little rest. You are for us. Each day you will take us, serve us, pleasure us as you would the women of your dreams.'

Forcefully she grasps his breeches and rips them from him, exposing the length of his again rigid tool, for as her luscious, beguiling body first broke the surface he had once more become hard and ready.

Hands on his thighs to support her weight she leans forward and touches his tip with full red lips, runs her tongue around its broad head then slides down its full length, gently raking him with even, pearl-like teeth.

Her wet warmth draws him in as she gently sucks him, lashing his shaft with long, firm strokes, torturing him, preparing him to fill her with his seed. He gasps. His vision dims as he experiences once more that supreme joy he found inside the tight, virgin sheath of his first woman.

'No! Not that way.' He pushes her away, his weapon springing from her lips with a plop as he falls back.

His hands grasps her dry, soft and black hair and draw her head up to eagerly take her lips. Tongues dancing they drink the passion of their emotions. She pulls away allowing his gaze to feast on her well-muscled calves, slender thighs, tight arse, swelling hips, slim waist and to pause at her thrusting breasts with their long, hard nipples.

She gives a quiet laugh, 'It's yours, all yours, every day. So come, let me feel you inside me.'

Hands on his chest she pushes him flat and straddles his hips. Settling her body above his she impales herself slowly onto his shaft; grinding her hips into his; sliding her sheath down the full length of him; taking him; feeling him deep in her; enjoying him.

As he writhes beneath her she leans her chest forward allowing, urging, demanding, he delight in her tits. Willingly he props himself on his elbows; trails his lips along the undercurve of her smooth, lush mounds; slowly circles her areola; feasts on her turgid buds. As he tastes her flawless flesh his fingers pressed hard into her firm buttocks guiding her rise and fall.

Lost in a mist of delight he forgets his problems, sensing only the sweetness of the breast filling his mouth, the thrilling grip of her cunni on his fecund tool.

As she again and again slams down upon him, driving him to the brink, he fights to hold back his seed and prolong the joy of her assault. But at last he can delay no more and with a deep groan he explods deep inside her, filling her to the brim, triggering her climax. She arches her spine, throws back her head and cries out her release.

Panting she collapses on his chest; her muscles slacken allowing his softening tool to slip from her clutch; she rolls to one side and together they lie exhausted. He closes his eyes.

Slowly he returns to the day-to-day world. His problems again fill his mind. 'Where is the path to the shore?' He asks. 'Where is your village?'

He raises his head looking for her reply. She is not there. Once more he is alone by the pool with the tables groaning with food and drink.


The light is fading. Dusk is upon him as he searches and searches for a gap in the vegetation surrounding the lake. Tired more from frustration than exercise he makes his way back down the passage to the pond, no longer surprised that the hidden source of lightway keeps the way bright.

She is waiting for him, her hair still dripping, her white skin glowing in the occult light. Pearls of water cling to the curve of her hips, and the swell of her firm rounded breasts. She smiles, her full lips parting to show even teeth.

He lowers himself on the soft sand, registering the flatness of her belly above strong thighs as she arches her back invitingly.

'You are Eveline,' he states.

'Who else.' Her voice is a low, sultry whisper. Her smile broadens.

Sinuously rising she closes the two steps between them and kneels before him. Grasping his wrist in her fingers she carries his hand to her parted lips. Folding them around each digit in turn.

He pushes his index finger in deep, exploring her teeth, finding her tongue. She purses her lips, holding him, then with a nodding head sucks him in, lets him out, sucks him in.

Running her hands up his legs she finds his cock striving to break free of its covering. It takes but a moment to remove his breeches. He pulls his finger from her mouth and with its wet tip circles her hard nipples.

'Down,' she says and he obediently sits.

She pushes his chest, forcing him to his back on the soft, fine sand. Knee walking she moves up his body until she is straddling his hips. Reaching for her shoulders he pulls her down until her ripe breasts hang ready above his covetous mouth. Taking one he sucks hard and she moans. He switches from nipple to nipple, sharing the pleasure between her tender tits.

Raising herself, she reaches for his cock and, holding it upright, positions the tip at her entrance. Suddenly he realises that, like her sisters, she is taking charge. 'No,' he mutters and summons his strength to roll them over. Once on top he grasps her wrists, stretching them above her head.

Lowering himself onto her, he grinds his loins against her, pinning her to the sandy floor. His head falls forward to assault her neck and clavicle. Passionately he kisses her lips. Despite his previous enjoyment of her sisters a surfeit of lust impels him to possess this nymph. He needs satisfaction and release. His cock is like iron.

He runs his hands through her golden hair. He moves his hands to her tits, grasping and hurting them. Blindly he stabs her with his weapon until it strikes her entrance and rams into her, making her yelp with joy. Then with his gaze on her perfect face; his fingers rolling her stiff nipples; his cock buried deep in her wet, warm and gloriously tight cunni; slowly he starts to drive in and out.

Her hands caress his chest and the strong muscles of his back. Her eyes closed, her back arched she forces her hips up into him. Softly she moans with delight. 'Yes . . . yes . . . harder . . . faster.'

Little by little he increases the pace. She opens her eyes and stares blankly into his, lost in a blissful trance. Her moans grow louder as she tosses her head from side to side. Lifting her smooth legs onto his shoulders he hammers into her depths, balls slapping against her arse.

Suddenly she spasms, tossing her head back and letting out a high pitched shriek.

Her cunni contracts hard around his cock and he starts to sweat until, with a loud grunt he shoots his seed deep inside her. Slowing down he comes to rest, lets his tool slide from its home, rolls off her and rests contentedly beside her.


Once more it is early morning when he wakes. Once more a naked Dawn comes to him that he might mate with her. And so the day progresses - a repeat of the one before.

And so it comes to pass on the next day. And the next. And the next.

For several days he happily revels in the joy of freely offered female flesh. Then the sameness begins to pall for each houri demands he satisfy her in a manner similar to that of the first day. What of his will? Is he to be just a machine providing for their pleasure? It seems he is. It seems this is to be his life - feeding and fucking. Fucking and feeding - and sleeping

Beholden and grateful for his rescue though he is, he will not blindly submit. He feels he is being used. The more he thinks about it the angrier he becomes, sex should be based on respect and mutual desires. He resolves to make a stand, to choose and follow his own path.

The next morning, when Dawn appears, he grasps her shoulders and, forcing her to the sand, kneels between her legs. He kisses her breasts hard; chews her nipples; works his way down her stomach to the dense hair of her bush.

'No, no, not like that,' she tries to take charge, furiously attempting to pull away and turn him behind her.

But he uses his restored strength to keep her supine while his lips and teeth ravage her labia. His tongue forcing its way into her soaking hole.

Lifting her legs he sets his weapon at her entrance and brutally rams inside. After pausing a moment he starts to pump hard, slamming his body onto hers, shaking her tits with the force of his thrusts.

Angrily she groans and yet also whimpers with pleasure at his angry sadism.

Suddenly his strength is gone. His muscles ache. He feels he is shrivelling up. Only his cock stays hard and firm.

She pulls away from beneath him and rolls over. She has him supine and, raising onto hands and feet, straddles him. Her hips wriggles, her arse rolls until his cock slides up into her. Rocking too and fro she proceeds to satisfy herself with him.

Finally he feels her cum and, slipping from beneath him, dive into the pool and disappear.

For an age he lies, too weak to rouse himself. Gradually a semblance of his strength returns and he sits up and looks for the food which normally appears as his reward. All the table carries is a few hunks of dry bread and a pitcher of water.

It seemed he will only eat well if he performs to order.

But what if he doesn't perform at all?

He gnaws on a hunk of dry bread until his belly is full then, grasping the few remaining crusts, makes his way out of the cave and around the margin of the lake.

Without any great expectations he carefully inspects the containing jungle for any gaps or weaknesses that might have appeared. Around and around, it is as impenetrable as before. Finally deciding he has done his best he settles on the small rise over the waterfall to await events.

Nothing happens.

The sun moves slowly across the sky. He nibbles on the remaining crusts and eases down to the lake edge for a drink. He briefly dozes.

Abruptly it is short tropical twilight. Should he remain for the night, or return to the cave? An empty belly suggests he return to the cave.

The passage is as before, bathed with light from an unseen source. The pool is mirror calm, the sand around the edge smooth and unmarked. Once more the tables are there, but bare; mocking him with their emptiness.

The message is consistent. How well he eats depends on the level of his obedience. Total refusal means starvation. But does it?

Would they allow him to die and deny themselves even a minimal relief of their obvious need? He doubts it. But does he have the strength of character to expose their will? He can but try.

Leaving the cave again he gropes his way through the moonless night to a soft spot midway between the lake and the all encompassing wall of vegetation and settles to await the dawn.

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byNakod Apa© 0 comments/ 6753 views/ 1 favorites

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