Chapter 5
The next morning at dawn, Bodden was still not certain how he had done it.
He had been very drunk the night before, but, somehow, he had found people who had given him supplies for his money and he had even rented the boat. Everything was ready for Gil Rogers and Ginger at dawn when they came down to the dock.
Bodden was asleep on that boat, and Gil kicked him to wake him up.
The fat man groaned with that kick and then opened his eyes. He looked up at Gil Rogers and he then looked around at the boat and the supplies.
"Holy shit," the man said, sitting up. "I did it. I don't know how, but I did it."
"Did you get receipts for this shit?" Gil asked as Ginger stepped onto the boat.
Bodden looked in his back pocket and, sure enough, the fat man found the receipts there.
"Holy shit," he said again. "Here they are, Mister Rogers."
And Bodden even had fifty dollars left over. He handed that to Rogers with the receipts. The tall, handsome American laughed and then threw the receipts overboard.
Although he was not fully awake yet, Bodden knew that he should be thankful for that.
He remembered that he had spent some of the American's money on liquor the night before.
"Come on," Gil said, putting down his two rifles and his ammunition and heading for the steering room of the little boat. "Let's get started. Where is the island?"
Bodden stood up and pointed in the direction of the little land mass.
Gil Rogers spied it. Yes, he thought, that must be it. He could just make it out on the horizon.
Gil Rogers kicked in the motor and Bodden lifted the anchor and then they were off, headed for the island.
When they were on. their way, Bodden came up behind the tall American.
"I think that we should head for the cove on this side of the island. We might be able to get in without being seen then."
"All right, Bodden," Gil Rogers said. "And you did a good job with the boat and supplies. You might just be worth something after all, fat man."
It was the kind of compliment that Bodden accepted but did not like in the least.
The fat man knew that he was worth something, but he was not sure just how much he was worth to the American.
Bodden basically wanted Gil Rogers to finish his work on the island and get the hell out of there.
The fat man could not help but believe that the tall American wanted to shame him even more. And Bodden knew that he would have to accept any shameful thing that Gil wanted to do to him.
He was too frightened of the big man to fight him.
"You deserve a little reward, fat man," Gil said with a smile as he steered the boat toward the island.
Bodden shivered. He did not know what kind of reward that American had in mind.
He thought that that sadistic killer would haul out a piece of liver, and make him fuck it.
He was really frightened!
But it was nothing like that at all. Gil turned his head and yelled at the redhead in the back of the boat.
"Ginger! Suck Bodden's cock!"
"What?" the fat man muttered. He looked at the redhead. She was beautiful and sexy. She was wearing a pair of shorts and some high boots and a halter-top this morning and she looked good in those garments, very good and very strong. But Bodden looked into her eyes and he saw the weakness there, the weakness that was like his own weakness, he thought.
When he saw that weakness, he felt sorry for the girl who sat there in the back of the boat.
But he also felt lusty, and he knew that he would enjoy using her weakness if Gil Rogers would let him.
"Go on back there," Gil said. "She will suck your cock for you, Bodden."
And the fat man walked back slowly and sat down on a little bench built in to the side of the boat.
Ginger did not protest at all. She moved her hand over the fat man's crotch and felt the hardness of his little dick.
And she unzipped his pants and pulled out his cock and started to stroke it.
The fat man was so sweaty, she thought, and she could feel the sweat even on his cock. She knew that that prick would be bitter with sweat, but she also knew that she would have to suck on it.
Her master, Gil, had ordered her to suck it, and her master would not be denied, she thought.
The fat man leaned back and moaned as the girl put her lips around that cock. Her mouth was so soft, he thought.
This was better than fucking food, Bodden thought. This was even better than the whores that he had paid for. The whores had not had this sexy weakness, this weakness that he liked immediately in the girl.
The redhead worked her mouth up and down on the rod and felt it harden in her mouth.
"Go ahead, fat man," Gil called from the front of the boat. "Curse her. She likes it when a man calls her names."
"Really?" the fat man muttered with sweat popping out of his brow.
"Really," Gil told him.
And, as the boat headed for the island, steered by the handsome, tall American, the fat man started to curse the redhead, the beautiful girl with the weakness that he loved.
"Fucking slut," he growled. "Fucking slave slut, suck that fucking cock. Suck it. Yeah, that is the way. Lick the head. Suck that cock, you fucking whore. Suck it. Suck it. Suck it."
And the redhead sucked him just as he wanted her to do. She took her mouth off the little pole of flesh and she licked the head of the prick. She tasted the stinging saltiness of sweat there too.
The fat man seemed to be one huge sweat gland, she thought.
But she did not let that keep her from doing her duty. Her master had given her an order and she just had to obey that order.
She put her mouth around the fat, sweaty head of the prick and worked her mouth slowly down to the man's damp pants.
And she heard the fat man moan and she knew that he was going to come at any moment.
The redhead wondered if his come would taste like sweat too, as she listened to the fat man curse her.
"Fucking slut. Worthless piece of shit. Oh, suck that cock, you cunt. Suck it, you red-haired cunt."
And Bodden felt the spasming in his own body and knew that he was about to come, and he thought that he would give anything to be the master of a girl like this.
She had such a sexy weakness, Bodden thought. In many ways, she was just too fucking good for a bastard like Gil Rogers.
Rogers could get all the slaves that he wanted. He would never be able to appreciate this girl in the way that Bodden could.
And Bodden moaned and put his hand on the girl's red hair and he started to come right in the girl's eager, slave mouth.
"Take it, slut," he snarled. "Take that hot come in your mouth."
But the come was not really all that hot, the girl thought, just a little warm. And it did taste like sweat, salty and stinging in her throat. But she took it. She took it because her master had told her to take it and her master controlled everything in Ginger's life.
When they got to the island Gil Rogers picked up one rifle and an ammunition belt. He handed the other rifle and ammunition belt to Ginger. Then he picked up a pistol.
"You want to use this, Bodden?" he asked the fat man.
"Oh, no," the man muttered, putting his hands up and backing away. "I don't like guns."
Gil just sneered at him and put the pistol in his own belt.
"Okay, Bodden," he said. "You go with Ginger and head that way."
Gil Rogers pointed to the east.
"I will go west," he said. "If you find Brooke, don't kill her. Fire a shot into the air and I will head for the area where you are. Okay, Ginger?"
"All right, Master," the redhead said.
The search party split up and Bodden was happy as he followed Ginger up a path. He watched her fine buns in her shorts and he thought that she did belong to him in a way.
He would be able to appreciate her, he thought.
And then the fat man started to have other ideas, ideas about Gil Rogers and the tall American's tragic demise.
If Gil was shot here on the island and left to the vultures, then Ginger could stay with the fat man.
Yes, Bodden thought, there was a chance that he might get more than money out of this little adventure.
He might get a real and sexy slave, a redhead who would follow his orders just as she followed Gil's.
He smiled as he followed the girl and he dreamed of what could happen if Gil Rogers would only turn up dead.
With this redhead, Bodden thought, his life would be complete and he would never have to be ashamed of himself again. He would be able to work out his shame with his slave.
By working with her shame, he thought, he could rid himself of his own shame and his own memories of whores and food and things that disgusted and frightened him.
Brooke walked down to the beach and sat down next to Gabriel, the silent one.
At first, the dark boy did not even seem to notice her. He just stared at to the sea.
Then Brooke spoke to him.
"Sometimes I think that it would be nice to be a creature of the sea, Gabriel," she said.
The youth just turned toward her and smiled and nodded his head.
"Sometimes," she continued, "I think that it would be nice just to swim out there and never come back, just to spend my life frolicking in the water until I sank to the bottom of the sea and then was no more."
The girl was naked there on the beach. The boy looked at the thin, beautiful body that he knew so well.
Gabriel wondered if she needed some torture this morning, and then he remembered that she always asked for the torture when she needed it.
It was obvious to the silent, dark youth that she needed some companionship this morning, not torture at all.
Ernesto was out hunting and Gabriel thought that it would nice to be alone with Brooke, to be her lover and not her master on this soft and sexy early morning.
The silent youth turned in the sand and moved up on his knees. He was wearing his shorts, his ragged, cut-off jeans. Brooke saw him move and she moved to face him, on her knees in front of him.
The beautiful girl remembered that, usually, when they were in this position, Gabriel would work on her nipples with those pliers.
But, this morning, he just touched the nipples with his fingers and his touch was soft.
She threw her head back and moaned. Her full, red lips came open with that moan and Gabriel thought that she looked dreamy, like a beauty who was at ease with herself at that moment.
He knew that that ease did not come very often with Brooke, and the dark youth could not help feeling sorry for her in a way.
He tortured her because she demanded it, but he would rather touch her like this. She was the most beautiful girl that he had ever seen and he worshipped her in a special way.
But he had never been able to speak, to tell her how much he admired and worshipped her, how much he cared for her.
Gabriel took his hands off Brooke's tits and felt a little sad when he thought about his own inability to tell her about himself.
At times, he hated Ernesto because that dark, young man could speak, but it never seemed to Gabriel that Ernesto said anything worth saying at all.
Gabriel was certain that, if he could speak, he would be able to define everything in his system.
He would be able to find the words, the poetry, to tell Brooke just how beautiful she was when she was at ease with herself.
But Gabriel knew that his own tragedy was his silence, and he knew that he would never be able to tell Brooke anything, to speak out in poetry to her. He would just have to touch her and do the best that he could with her that way, try to communicate as much as possible with her that way.
So, when the girl looked at him with those soft, dark eyes, he ran his fingers through her long, dark hair and he pulled her to him and he kissed her.
Her full, red lips were soft and cool and seemed newly made in the early morning sun.
And she smelled of wild flowers, the silent youth thought.
When the kiss was over, Gabriel kissed her soft, dark face lightly. He kissed her eyelids.
And then the naked, beautiful girl moved back on the sand and spread her legs and showed him that sweetness that lay there waiting for him.
Her bush was dark and soft and to his touch and her pussy was wet and warm. Gabriel ran his finger over the lips of that cunt and she sighed.
"Oh, fuck me, silent boy," she said. "You are a hero of the revolution. Fuck me."
Gabriel smiled. He did not think that he was really a hero of the revolution. There would be no books written about him, he thought.
But there would be books written about Brooke Hutchinson, the Miss America Rebel, the beautiful woman of the masses.
Perhaps there would be a mention of him in those books, he thought.
And, thinking that, he lay down on the sand and opened his shorts and pushed them down his long, dark legs.
Brooke watched with eager eyes as the boy's cock came out and moved up on his body with that first bit of hardness. She thought that they had never really done it like this before, not like lovers. They had always been master and slave, surgeon and patient. And Ernesto had always joined them.
But this time was going to be different and Brooke knew that this time was going to be special too.
As the dark youth lay naked beside her, Brooke closed her eyes and remembered that other dark youth, the one that she had never fucked.
Luis had been shot in a riot in the bad section of town, the part of town that Brooke never went into. There was nothing there for her.
But Luis had gotten into a car and had driven back to Brooke's home, bleeding from his gut and gasping for breath. By sheer will-power, he had made it back to that mansion.
And then he stumbled out of his car and dropped onto his knees and called out for her.
That call was like the cry of a wounded animal, piercing in the stillness of upper class life.
"Brooke! Brooke!"
And she came to the front door and opened it and she saw him bleeding there.
When he saw her, he smiled at her, actually smiled while he was bleeding to death in front of the house.
"Brooke," he said, "I have always wanted you."
And then he toppled over onto his face and gasped one last time.
The dark-haired girl just stood there and looked at him and then she started to cry.
But she did not move near him. She knew that he was dead, and she thought that that deadness in him might be contagious. She thought that, if she touched him, she would wind up dead and bleeding too.
She had never seen anyone die before.
And then the police had come and they had told Brooke and the rest of the family the story, the way that Luis had tried to rouse the passions of the youths on the street, the way that he had said that they should kill cops. It would be merciful, he had told them, to kill a policeman. A pig.
And, when the riot had started, Luis had been one of the first ones shot. The police had followed him to the mansion, but had not been able to catch him until he was dead.
And that story—that meaningful story-gave Brooke her ideas.
She left home soon after that and went to that bad part of town and offered her services to a leader of the urban revolutionaries. She had held up banks with those revolutionaries and she had been there when policemen were shot.
When she was with the revolutionaries, she finally found something that was worthwhile, something that made her feel alive, strong, willful. She knew that, if she was ever shot, she would have the will-power to drive somewhere and tell someone that she had always wanted him.
But she could not think of anyone that she would drive to, because she had always gotten everything that she wanted. When she thought of that, the guilt had set in and had driven her almost insane. She had finally escaped the urban life late one night as the cops closed in on the revolutionaries.
She had come to this island with Ernesto, an illegal immigrant in the United States, a boy who had been a major part of the urban war. And then she had met Gabriel too, and she had come up with ways that those two young men—working together—could help her overcome her guilt.
But she thought about Luis now and she felt cold in the warm morning light. She moved close to Gabriel and the silent youth put his arms around her and held her.
She did not want to be tortured this morning. She just wanted to be held.
And she ran her soft hand down the dark boy's body and grasped his cock tenderly in her fingers.
Gabriel's prick responded to her touch with a manly hardness and she sighed and kissed his cheek as she worked him up with her hand.
Then she thought of something else that she could do for the young man.
The wealthy, beautiful girl moved down his body and kissed the tip of his hardening spear with her red lips.
The young man jerked when she did that, and she knew that, if he had been capable of sound, he would have told her that her kiss on his prick had felt good, very good.
Brooke opened her mouth and took that cock into her. It was so hard and so long in there. And she seemed to be able to taste the power in that rod. She sucked on it with her soft mouth and she ran her fingers down the boy's dark, muscular legs.
She pressed her face close to his body, so that she could feel the soft cock-hair under her cheek.
She massaged Gabriel's balls with her fingers and the boy jerked there on the sand.
She took her mouth off him and looked up at him. Gabriel's face was twisted in ecstasy and he was running his fingers through the sand of the beach.
Brooke liked the way that he looked at that moment, like a little boy who did not even know to express his satisfaction. She knew that the passion was so great in his body that it was almost pain. And she thought that, feeling that, Gabriel might really understand why she asked for the pain so often herself.
And then she pressed his hard cock back against his dark, muscled stomach and she licked the underside of the shaft with her warm, wet tongue in slow and sexy movements.
When she moved off Gabriel and onto her back in the sand, she spread her legs and she sighed to him! He knew what she wanted, but she wanted to tell him, she wanted to tell him just how much this meant to her.
"Fuck me, Gabriel. Fuck me, my revolutionary hero. Fuck me with that hard cock of yours."
And the boy smiled and moved over her in the sand. He paused for a second when he was in position over her and he listened to the waves of the ocean behind him.
Then he lifted her ass out of the sand with his hand and he felt the little grains of sand under her ass, sticking onto her soft and dewy flesh. He worked his cock into her just as a lover would.
There was no brutality on that morning. She did not need it, and the silent boy determined that he would fuck her just as a lover would fuck her.
He wondered if Brooke had ever had a real lover, a tender and masculine lover who could please her without the pain.
And he wished again that he could ask her questions about her past that came to his mind.
But he could not ask her questions and he thought that he might write those questions out in Spanish and let Ernesto read them and translate them and ask them of Brooke.
But that would come later, Gabriel thought. That would come later in that day when Ernesto was back from hunting. Right now, the most important thing that he could do to Brooke did not involve words at all.
Right now, the most important thing he could do for her was fuck her, and that was what he meant to do at that very moment. He moved his cock deep into her snatch and then he churned his hips a little as Brooke lifted her legs and moved them around him and then they started to fuck.
It was an easy, slow fucking. Brooke sighed as Gabriel worked his cock in and out of her pussy.
And she rocked with him and felt her body lowering into the sand. She would not have cared if he had buried her alive in that sand with that fucking motion, she thought.
"Oh, Gabriel," she moaned. "My silent, sexy hero of the revolution."
And she lifted her hands to his face and she touched him softly and she was almost on the verge of tears as she felt that good, warm fucking motion in her cunt.
She had never experienced anything like this before, she thought, and she knew that if she could experience more of this kind of fucking, she would not have to have the pain at all.
This fucking was as good for her rich-bitch guilt as the pain was.
She knew that and she sighed and felt the pleasure of the fucking in her cunt, felt her pussy muscles tighten around the cock as it went in and out of her, back and forth in her warm, damp hole.
If she could only fuck like this forever, she would never again feel like a rich bitch, she thought.
Now, with Gabriel, there was no question of class or money. They were just two, beautiful, healthy young people rocking on the sand and fucking with delight.
And, then, when the fucking increased in speed and vigor, she liked it even more.
She moaned and thrashed about on the sand and she knew that she was going to come with Gabriel.
As they climbed together toward their climax, she heard the one shot echo from the other side of the island and she grinned at Gabriel.
"Ernesto has gotten us some meat for dinner," she said.
And the silent, dark youth fucked away with her and nodded his head.
And then the morning air was filled with the sounds of moaning, wet and lustful moaning, and the sound of the waves of the ocean, the roar of that peaceful place.
They fucked there on the sand and Brooke felt something like she had never felt before, the warm peace that came to a girl when she knew that she was about to come with no pain at all, and she wished that she could fuck like this forever and ever and ever.
She closed her eyes and felt the warmth explode in her and she felt the cock go deep into her and she knew that Gabriel was coming too.
This, she thought, was what sex was supposed to be, lively and young and silent.
And there was no pain at all.
No pain, only warmth, only lust. And there was no guilt either. She fucked like a common girl, giving no thought to her money or her riches or her guilt. And she was happy with Gabriel on that beach that fine and beautiful morning.