Message-ID: <31374asstr$994860601@assm.asstr-mirror.org> Return-Path: <news@nntp9.atl.mindspring.net> X-Original-Path: not-for-mail From: "Taoman" <thomhobs@NOSPAMhotmail.com> X-Original-Message-ID: <9ihaum$uao$1@nntp9.atl.mindspring.net> X-Server-Date: 11 Jul 2001 10:48:54 GMT X-Priority: 3 X-MSMail-Priority: Normal X-MimeOLE: Produced By Microsoft MimeOLE V5.50.4522.1200 Subject: {ASSM} Master's Island Date: Wed, 11 Jul 2001 10:10:02 -0400 Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org> Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d X-Archived-At: <URL:http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/Year2001/31374> X-Moderator-Contact: ASSTR ASSM moderation <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Story-Submission: <ckought69@hotmail.com> X-Moderator-ID: kelly, RuiJorge 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. +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ | alt.sex.stories.moderated ----- send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com> | | FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderator: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+ |Archive: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org> Hosted by Alt.Sex.Stories Text Repository | |<http://www.asstr-mirror.org>, an entity supported entirely by donations. | +---------------------------------------------------------------------------+