Posted by Extranjero on November 13, 2004 at 07:36:29:
SPEAR FISH
The big launch glided to a halt a hundred yards off shore. It bobbed there on the gentle swell. The sun beat down out of a cloudless sky. The sea was turquoise and transparent, lapping at white sands. Beyond, the island was a mass of green.
It should have looked like heaven to the five girls on the boat, but they sat and stared with miserable unease. Four of them wore nothing but the briefs of their bikinis; the fifth girl had a T-shirt on as well. This morning they’d have raced each other to a beach like that. But now their hands were tied behind them, and the launch’s deck was splashed with blood.
One of the men with sub-machine guns grinned beneath his shades. “Just what you always wanted, girls. A whole beach to yourselves.”
Emma squirmed and wished that she could cover her bare breasts. Her skin still glistened from the scuba dive. She and her friends had signed up for a tour of an old shipwreck. They’d surfaced to discover that their own boat had been hijacked while they swam. The crew had disappeared, although their blood was everywhere. The girls were stranded on the open sea.
Emma was a pixie-pretty girl with dark bobbed hair. It was tangled wetly now: she shook it back. The movement sent a ripple through the plump curves of her breasts. The nearest gunman eyed them and she blushed.
“What do you want with us?” asked Danielle hoarsely. She was a slim, voluptuous blonde with green eyes and a sweetly dimpled face. Tits like melons: all her friends were envious of them. Her bikini briefs were silver-grey, and her goggles were still slung around her neck.
“Don’t complain,” a third man said. “We’re on a fishing trip.” She shuddered as he fingered her damp hair. Beside her, Susie bit her lip, her blue eyes darting round the bloody deck. She’d put a T-shirt on before the hijackers emerged, and the plain white cotton clung to her wet breasts. The areolas of her nipples showed as clear as coins. Her boyishly short blonde hair was dark and slick.
Frances shifted nervously, her own breasts quivering. She had an almost elfin look, with her wide green eyes and collar-length brown hair. A white scuba mask was pushed up on her forehead. It matched the white bikini briefs she wore. The fifth girl, Wendy, sniffed and pouted, trying not to cry. Her soaking chestnut hair hung down her back. She was petite and shapely, with a dimpled grin and freckles, but now her face was sullen with dismay.
The men ogled their captives with approval. Then one of them drew a diver’s knife that flashed in the hot sun. The girls’ wide eyes grew horrified. They bleated and shrank back. The man walked round behind them and began to cut their bonds. The other gunmen waited as he moved along the line. Danielle rubbed her aching wrists. Beside her, Emma clasped her boobs at last.
“Now let’s see you make it to the island,” leered the man. “And once you’re there, we’re coming after you.”
Emma’s heartbeat thudded as she glanced around the boat. The other guys were starting to strip off. She saw the bulge of their erections through their swimming trunks. A clammy chill suffused her sweating skin.
Then she saw the row of spear guns propped against the rail. They looked like rifles from a sci-fi film. The barbed points glinted wickedly, and Emma’s stomach clenched. Suddenly it dawned on her what kind of penetration was in store.
“Oh my God, you can’t …” she whispered faintly – then gasped as someone took hold of her hair. “Perhaps you’d rather stay where we can fuck you?” sneered the man. “At least this way you’ve got a chance, you bitch.”
She whimpered as he hauled her up and shoved her to the rail. The other girls were prodded after her. The pirates eyed their panting breasts. One patted Wendy’s arse. Another man caught Danielle’s eye and smiled. She flinched away.
Emma climbed over the rail and dropped into the water. Its pure depths couldn’t shelter her. She surfaced and struck out towards the shore. It seemed the longest distance she had ever had to swim, but eventually she reached the lapping surf. Breathlessly she floundered to the white, deserted beach. Her friends were splashing at her heels. She stumbled to her knees on the hot sand.
“Oh shit,” said Frances plaintively, “they’re coming.”
Emma twisted round. There was a dazzle off the sea. But she glimpsed the dark shapes jumping off the boat. Her heart rate leaped again and she pushed on towards the tree line. If only she was back at work and this was just another rainy day …
* * *
It had been a gloomy Sunday when they picked their destination. The sky as dirty as the city. Raindrops spattering the window pane. Emma and Frances shared a house with a view over the railway. The thought of the Bahamas had been heavenly right then.
Frances had just dumped her latest boyfriend and was drawing glumly on a cigarette. She wore a flowing skirt and floppy sweater, and padded up and down on small bare feet. Emma had been getting tired of listening to her orgasms, but Frances without sex was even worse. Beneath her chirpiness she was a spoilt little girl. “Jesus,” she told Emma, “what I’d give for somewhere warm!”
And Emma had simply handed her the brochure. “Imagine lying on that beach,” she smiled.
* * *
There wasn’t a breath of wind beneath the palm trees. The stagnant air felt liquid in the heat. Frances felt the water drying off her pallid skin; but an oozing perspiration took its place.
She nibbled her lip, her green eyes wide. Her heartbeat thudded loudly in her ears. She’d struck off on her own and now she’d lost sight of the others. It seemed she had the island to herself.
The men must have reached the shore by now. She eased into a crouch. Sunlight beat against her back. The silence magnified her shaky breaths. Part of her was desperate to believe this was a game, but she knew the hunters were in deadly earnest. Her scuba mask was still pushed up into her matted fringe. She squirmed against a nagging urge to pee.
The sandy ground sloped downward on the far side of the rise, towards the calm expanse of a lagoon. A small wrecked boat lay rusting in the shadow of the trees. She peered around, then moved to check it out.
A desperate hope had flickered, but it died as she got close. The hull was worm-eaten and full of water. Frances felt her bosom swell and sink dejectedly. She bit her lip, determined not to cry. Then she noticed something glinting in the soft white sand. There were cartridge cases scattered at her feet. She glanced towards the boat and saw the wormholes with fresh eyes. A queasy apprehension filled her throat.
Then she glimpsed a movement from the corner of her eye – a figure on the rise where she’d been standing. His head turned and his eyes met hers. She stiffened, mesmerised. Then her limbs unfroze again, and she turned and fled along the narrow beach.
He didn’t shout, but she could sense him coming. Her heartbeat thundered and her bosom bounced. It felt like she was fleeing through warm honey, but an icy fist had gripped her belly tight. And then, ahead of her, the shadows flickered and a second man stepped out into her path. She skidded to a halt as he brought up a wicked spear gun. “Oh no!” she squealed in horror, but the pirate squeezed his trigger with a smile.
Frances gave a guttural sob as the impact winded her. The spear ripped through her organs like a skewer. The barb had struck dead centre, just below her modest breasts. She clutched herself with a despairing cry.
Then the pain engulfed her and the cry became a scream. She twisted round, her face a mask of woe. The killer watched her small, hard nipples stiffening like stalks. The doomed girl teetered, grimacing, then crumpled to the welcoming white sand.
Imagine lying on that beach … said Emma in her mind. Poor Frances wriggled feebly and went limp. Her tits subsided as she slumped, a sour look on her face. She hadn’t quite imagined it like this.
Her anguished cry went ringing round the island. The other girls were petrified by it. Susie gasped and clutched at Emma’s shoulder where they crouched in the green shadows of the trees. Danielle had fled on into the forest, but the disembodied wail brought her up short. She looked round nervously, her large breasts heaving. Wendy was on her own as well, and froze amid the foliage like a deer.
The scream was followed by a breathless silence. Each girl could hear the thump of her own heart. No birds called from the canopy above them. There was just the distant murmuring of surf. Emma’s skin began to crawl. Susie’s hand was at her mouth. One of their number had been caught – and suffered an excruciating fate.
Wendy’s plump lip trembled as she listened to the hush. If the hunters had prevailed, they gave no sign. The dreamy island might have been deserted. She cowered in the undergrowth. A creek of turquoise water barred her way.
She was afraid to move, but knew she had to. The sunlight reached her through the leaves, so watchful eyes could too. The trees on the far bank looked dense and gloomy. If only she could lose herself in there …
Wendy was nineteen and worked as a receptionist, her voluptuous figure squeezed into a suit. She’d revelled in the chance to sunbathe topless, but now she felt unbearably exposed. Forcing herself to move at last, she slithered down the bank and slid into the water like a seal. The muted splash attracted no attention. She waited, then began to wade across. The water came to just above her navel. Her breathing quickened and her heartstrings tensed.
She glanced over her shoulder. There was nobody to see her. The trees ahead loomed closer with each stride. Then a shape erupted from the water right behind her and seized her in a muscular embrace.
Wendy gave a panicked squeal and tried to wriggle clear, but the figure had a grip like a steel trap. Her big tits joggled ripely as she squirmed to free herself. The man let her writhe, enjoying it, then drew his diver’s knife across her throat.
Wendy’s brown eyes widened as her windpipe was sliced through. Her mouth gaped open, pink tongue poking out. A pint of blood spilled from the cut to soak her heavy breasts. She gagged and gurgled as her brain was starved. The last thing that she felt was his erection through his trunks, and then her damp head drooped over the knife. Her buttocks rubbed against him in a last convulsive spasm. With her lolling tongue, she looked about to lick the scarlet spill off her own tits.
The man eased back and down into the water, and drew the girl’s loose body after him. Wendy’s bosom bobbed and then subsided. In moments there was just a bloodstain spreading on the surface of the creek.
Danielle heard a distant squeal of fright, or thought she did. She cringed against a tree trunk, peering round. A parakeet called gratingly from somewhere overhead. She flinched and pressed her cheek against the bark. Apart from the birds, the humid glade was silent. The sweat of heat and terror greased her skin.
This morning she’d been on a lounger, topping up her tan: her shades perched coyly on her nose, and her green eyes on a dishy surfing type. For Danielle, holidays meant lots of sun and guilt-free sex. She promised herself a long, slow fuck as soon as she had got away from here.
The foliage rustled, somewhere close. She sank onto her haunches. A figure moved between the trees; she glimpsed his speargun and his muscled chest. Danielle chewed her lips tight shut in case he heard her breathing. If caught, she knew she would be raped – or murdered.
Which was worse?
The man went prowling on and she lost track of him once more. Her breasts swelled as she breathed again. Her goggles were still hanging on her chest. As she straightened up, there was a gassy belch behind her. She felt a blow between her shoulder blades. The solid impact made her grunt, and then she mewed in horror. The barbed point of a metal spear was suddenly protruding from her chest.
At that range the harpoon had punched right through her. Her bosom quivered, flecked with vivid red. As she stared with disbelief, blood oozed into her cleavage. She felt it like a warm and slimy worm.
Danielle gurgled thickly as her torso filled with pain. Her tongue thrust out and curled onto her cheek. She tried to reach behind herself, but the effort ruptured something. A stab of anguish choked her and she groaned and fell tits-first onto the sand.
The man behind her watched as she squirmed vainly, grinding her crotch against the sandy earth. A doomed, convulsive parody of when she’d last had sex. She arched her spine, then whimpered and went limp.
Emma and Susie didn’t sense that they’d outlived their friends. The stillness of the island didn’t change. But three of the girls who’d giggled over breakfast were now dead, their naked bodies being poked and pawed. The two survivors waited with a growing sense of dread. The island seemed absurdly small, with nowhere they could run, no place to hide.
But Emma was a feisty minx, not ready to give up. “Come on,” she whispered, grasping Susie’s hand. The blonde girl pouted wretchedly but followed where she led. They tiptoed through the creepers, crouching low. Emma cursed the skimpy scarlet briefs which she was wearing: a glimpse of those would give them both away. Susie’s white T-shirt was still transparent, too sodden to reflect the filtered light.
The foliage thinned out and they glimpsed dazzling sea again. Emma went ahead on hands and knees. Her firm breasts brushed her inner arms as she peered into the open. They’d come upon a sheltered cove, and their launch was anchored fifty yards away.
Shading her eyes, she studied it. The vessel looked deserted. She guessed the pirates had all joined the hunt. Susie crept up next to her and stared uncertainly. Emma turned and clutched her arm. “Come on,” she said, “we’ve got to go for it.”
“We can’t …” said Susie faintly. Emma hauled her out of cover. The two girls skidded down onto the beach. Emma glanced round nervously then sloshed into the water. “Wait for meee,” gasped Susie, following.
They swam across the clear blue cove into the launch’s shadow, putting the hull between them and the shore. The boarding ladder was still in place and Emma clambered up it with water dripping off her lissom curves. She peeped over the side. The deck and cabin were deserted. The sun had dried the splashes of dark blood. Taking a breath, she slid over the gunwale, her bosom dangling as she craned across.
The boat bobbed gently, up and down. At another time, she would have found it soothing. She helped her friend over the rail and they hunkered down together. It seemed that there was no-one else on board.
“I’ll get on the radio,” Emma whispered. “You have a look round down below – they might have left some weapons lying round.”
Susie hesitated, then went over to the steps. She chewed her lip, descending cautiously. Emma crossed the deck and ventured into the main cabin. It was dim after the glare outside, and as spooky as the bridge of a ghost ship. Despite the sticky heat, she almost shivered. The vanished crew had left their blood behind. But there was the radio, mounted by the compass. She swallowed hard and picked the handset up.
“Hello?” she said in a low voice. “Er, Mayday? … Please, can anybody hear me …?”
“I can,” said a voice from right behind her.
Emma turned and saw the silenced pistol. Her hazel eyes grew wide in shocked dismay. Before she could speak, it spat at her, the bullet plucking at her plump left breast. The blow sent Emma arching back. A lacerating pain shot through her tit.
“Ngh!” she gasped and clutched herself, her pretty face contorted. The killer fired twice more into her breasts. One shot pierced her nipple like a bull’s-eye and took a chunk out of her racing heart. Emma bucked in agony, then slumped against the bulkhead, her dark head nodding as she slithered down. Her bulging bladder emptied as her buttocks hit the deck, but her tight bikini briefs absorbed the pee.
Susie didn’t hear her die, or realise they had walked into a trap. She kept on searching for another minute, but the hijackers had left no guns behind. Dispirited and queasy, she came padding up the steps. “Did you get through, yet?” she whispered anxiously. Her nervous face grew horror-struck at the sight of her friend’s body. She flinched back with a little squeal of shock.
“Over here,” called someone and she turned instinctively, to find a speargun levelled at her breasts. The soaking T-shirt clung to them, transparent in the sunlight. Susie whimpered, saucer-eyed. The gun erupted with a high-pitched cough.
The three-pronged missile struck her in the chest with numbing force. She gave a guttural squawk and arched her spine. Her round breasts strained against the clinging cotton. The buried points bit deep, and Susie screamed. The sound carried for miles across the emptiness of sea: it was a total waste of her last breath. The stricken girl convulsed like a stuck piglet and crumpled loosely to the bloodstained deck.
The boat kept undulating on the gentle turquoise swell. The men proceeded to display their catch. A cable had been rigged, from which big fish could be suspended. The steel hooks were meant for sharks, but they proved ideal for hanging up dead girls. A prong between the shoulder blades took each young victim’s weight. Emma and Susie dangled limply, bosoms wobbling as the vessel swayed.
The other pirates swam out to the boat with their own victims. Frances, Wendy and Danielle were soon suspended too. Their bare breasts hung like ripened fruit; their wet skin glistened sleekly. They bowed their heads as if in sleep. Each girl’s bikini briefs bulged temptingly. The launch’s engines started up and it cruised out of the inlet. The dangling bodies nudged each other as it steered towards the open sea.