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From: "Taoman" <thomhobs@NOSPAMhotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Master's Island
Date: Wed, 11 Jul 2001 10:10:02 -0400
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REV Master's Island 01 {Taoman} {Mf+, oral, anal, bi, spanking}

   Master's Island copyright @2000 Taoman.  The right of Taoman to be
identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with
Section 77 and 78 of the Copyrights and Patents Act 1988

   The Master's Island

   By Taoman

   **a9** By Taoman, 2000.  All Rights Reserved.

   Chapter 1

   It is quite true that man lives by bread alone**2014** when there is
just bread.  But what happens to man's desires when there is plenty of
bread and when his belly is chronically filled?  At once other (and higher)
needs emerge and these, rather than physiological hungers, dominate the
organism.  And when these in turn are satisfied, again new (and still
higher) needs emerge, and so on.  This is what we mean when we say that the
basic human needs are organized into a hierarchy of relative prepotency. 
A. Maslow

   Author's Note: This is the complete final revised version.  I am sorry
for any reader's frustration that may have occurred due to the previous
version's many problems.  I suggest you delete any other MASTER'S ISLAND
files you have archived.  Thanks go to Morgan for his patient editorial
assistance in the completion of this.  Comments: thomhobs@hotmail.com

   ******************************************************

   CHAPTER ONE

   DAY ONE

   The fury had passed.  The gusting wind no longer screamed and howled. 
With dawn the clouds cleared and the sun warmed the sea.  Once giant
foaming crests had subsided to large fat swells, which brake languorously
on the beach.  Along the high water mark flotsam and jetsam cast ashore by
the tempest lay amongst the tangled seaweed.  A lone man clad in a soiled
and sodden flight suit walks the beach.  He stops at the edge of the green
jungle and slowly squats by a sparkling puddle of rainwater.

   * * *

   The small jet had gone down during the typhoon.  It had been a
terrifying ordeal particularly after the lightening had struck the cockpit
and all instrumentation and electronics had been lost.  For endless hours
we had been carried blind and buffeted helplessly on the crest of the
storm. When the fuel was gone I had announced for everyone to prepare for a
hard landing.  The black mass of land had appeared just as that raging
black sea seemed to be about to embrace us.



   I had attempted to land on the hard sand above the surf line and thought
we had made it with the thump of wheel contact.  Maintaining control I had
been able to just slow the plane.  Then the world had gone completely
crazy. The undercarriage had ripped away with an incredibly loud metallic
scream and the plane had twisted into the waves.  I had looked up and in a
frozen instant witnessed a towering wave, which proceeded to engulf the
world into a consuming blackness.



   That I was alive and squatting on this tropical beach seemed a miracle
that at the moment I was too exhausted to fully comprehend.  I had found a
trickle of fresh water flowing from the jungle.  It seemed as if I had
swallowed most of the Pacific Ocean during the previous night.  I splashed
the cool water on my face and let it run down my throat.  There was a
resulting pink color running between my fingers.  Feeling my face I
realized that I had some minor cuts and scrapes.  But besides some aches
and bruises I felt I was in relatively good shape.



   I stood up and shaded my eyes from the brilliant dawn sun to survey the
beach in both directions.  I wondered how everyone else on the flight had
fared.  There had been four other passengers, Mr.  Talbot, my employer, and
three women.



   Yesterday, when first seeing the boarding passengers I had decided this
trip was going to be a mix of business and pleasure for someone.  I had
only briefly seen the females before our rushed departure from Honolulu. 
My quick impression of the three girls was one of pretty faces, a lot of
hair, model-type figures, hairspray, stylish clothes and perfume.  They
consisted of Kimberly, her sister Brittany and a friend named Jennifer. 
Brittany and Jennifer were teenagers perhaps 18 or 19; it was hard to tell.
I had overhead their conversation and learned the girls had just graduated
from a high school back in the States.  Kimberly was in her late twenties
and probably Talbot's girlfriend.  One of the impressed young ground crew
had confided that Kimberly had been a "Playmate"` and "Miss Year".  He had
her picture taped to the inside of his toolbox.



   My name is Taylor, John Taylor.  I am 31 years old.  I am single having
been divorced now for about four years.  I have been flying aircraft since
I was 16.  After a stint in the US Air Force I had become connected with
Talbot Enterprises.  The money was very good.  It had to be because Talbot
was very hard to work for.  For example, this situation I was in now would
seem the logical result of his way of doing business.



   We had flown from Honolulu to some obscure South Sea island three days
before.  Talbot had some oil drilling concessions there.  The remote
unmapped landing site was a WWII relic.  The sole standing structure was a
battered Quonset hut.  No sooner had we landed than Talbot and the females
had disappeared in a waiting humvee.  I had bunked down in a dingy flight
crew quarters for the duration.



   I was dismayed to find the only available local satellite communication
system was down.  Several days previously I had seen a posted weather map
that showed an ominous front brewing and moving north.  Knowing that it was
mid-season for typhoons I had wanted to chart the front's progress.  I had
been unable to get any current data.  The short wave gear on the plane only
issued a roar of static.  The problem was compounded by the fact I had not
filed any flight plan in Honolulu that reflected our current position. 
Part of my specialized job description involved doing my part in keeping
these little drill- site sightseeing trips undocumented and untraceable. 
No one had any idea where we were.



   Talbot and his female entourage had come roaring back to the plane at
dusk on the second day.  Talbot was ready to go despite my stated
misgivings.  He gave a disdainful look around the Third-World airport and
flatly told me his plane was leaving now.  His eyes shifted as he watched
Kimberly mount the boarding ladder.  I turned my head to see what had
caught his attention.  Her high shorts hugged a simply outstandingly tight
female backside.  His voice changed and he said, "We need to get back to
civilization as soon as possible.  I need to get those youngsters on a
plane back to their mothers." I shrugged and figured in a worst-case
scenario I could track any weather with my on-board radar.



   Within in an hour I was convinced I had made a deadly mistake.  The
on-board radar displayed an all-encompassing solid mass of impregnable
front.  I had initially attempted to skirt it.  Within minutes the monster
swallowed us.



   Right now I had no idea where I was, besides somewhere in the South
Pacific.  But I was alive, the sun had warmed me from the coldness of the
ocean and I was hungry.  I decided to walk the beach with the sun behind
me. Within a mile I found floating debris from the plane.  Finding a small
floating sealed survival kit with some ration bars, matches, first aid, and
a Swiss knife filled me with a hopeful perspective.  Within another mile I
found Talbot.  He hadn't made it.  I examined his body and determined that
either drowning or a broken neck had killed him.  I had not liked the man
but he had courage.  He had ridden with me in the cockpit on that final
attempt at a landing approach.



   "I hope the crabs and rats don't get you till I can get back and bury
you, pal," I told him.  "There might be people still alive that need me
more than you do at the moment." I dragged him above the high-tide mark and
marked his location with a large piece of upright driftwood stuck in the
sand.



   When I saw the tail assembly in the distance I picked up my pace to a
slow run.



   The three girls were sitting in the shade under a wing of the wreck. 
They were all miraculously unharmed from the ordeal, despite some evident
hard exposure.  Three excited females clamored around me.  Immediately the
older, Kimberly expressed bitter disappointment at the realization I was
not leading a rescue party.  After we compared recollections of the crash
and our individual ordeals I broke the news about Talbot's demise.  I
passed out the ration bars I found to the three hungry survivors.



   The plane was nearly torn in two and partially buried upright in the
sand.  The fuselage appeared as if had been disemboweled by a monstrous
beast.  The plane's cockpit, cabin and underside cargo bay were awash.  I
could see the vestiges of civilization bobbing and floating along the beach
far into the distance.  I watched with a sudden hopeless despair as the
ocean greedily claimed its bounty.



   I had passed a large fresh water stream back up the beach and I
suggested we make a base at that point.  I spent the rest of the afternoon
using loose palm fronds and lengths of bamboo to construct a crude lean-to
on high ground under the palm trees.  The women did not offer much
assistance.  After spending an hour attempting to show each girl
individually how to weave the vines, bamboo and palm fronds, I realized it
would be quicker to focus on that job aspect myself and let them salvage
from the plane.

   The two teenagers were easily distracted doing this task.  After being
gone an hour and a half they returned with some soaked blankets, seat
floatation cushions and various carry-on bags.  They said they had found a
pool upstream and had washed.  The older Kimberly was not much help either.
She had stated the hut and "collecting trash" was "a waste of time" as we
would soon be rescued.  On hearing about the pool Kimberly said that
sounded "wonderful!" and the three all disappeared.  By dusk I had
completed the crude shelter.  I spent the next several hours dragging
anything I could find from the surf to above the high water mark.



   When I wearily returned to camp, the first drops of rain began falling
and within minutes the full force of a tropical gale was on us.  We huddled
miserably under the leaking cover of the flimsy lean-to, which only
slightly diffused the full force of the driving rain.  The girls formed
together in the center and I found my outside position caught the blunt of
the storm.  I spent that first cold night soaked and shivering in a
wretched tight ball.







   5











   

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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