Spirit Lovers 2

by Giselle Renarde

  She looked down at the thin grass and mushrooms below the tree and waited.

  Smack! He spanked her right buttock, fairly hard.

  ‘Ow!’ she yelped, not too loud. Probably no louder than the fairly loud smack.

  Smack! He spanked her other buttock.

  ‘Oh.’ It hurt, but not a great deal. She could put up with a lot of this, she thought ... It also pleasured her in a strange way.

  He spanked her some more.

  She was very wet when his fingers probed her ... Then his cock. Clearly she had experienced the maximum amount of Viking foreplay.

  She tried to straighten up as he started to penetrate her but his roar of anger and the shove of his hand in the small of her back made her bend over again – in fact she stuck her arse out invitingly, realising that she wanted this as much as he did. Maybe more.

  He slid right in.

  Ohhhh.

  This feels so good – after so long.

  He fucked her hard. He didn’t seem to bother with her breasts or anything else, he just wanted to come as soon as possible it seemed.

  He came – crying out with long groaning thrusts – way before she was anything like ready herself.

  Wham bang, thank you ma’am. Must be the Viking way. Pity ...

  But he had not finished. He tied her down to the tree with leather thongs around her wrists. Then he looped some twine through her waist belt and tied that hard down to the bough.

  Shit, that makes my arse stick up even more!

  ‘What the hell are you playing at? You got what you wanted, didn’t you.’

  I didn’t.

  He laughed at her and showed her a large horn that had been stashed across his back.

  ‘Shit, you’re not going to poke that in me ...’

  No he wasn’t. He put the horn to his lips.

  The ear splitting sound was like the horn of a ship.

  The tree above them began to shiver.

  He was summoning his men! That’s why the bastard had tied her up.

  She was not sure where the falling bough came from. Maybe it had been perched up in the tree – broken from before – but it clubbed down on his tousled blond head with a sickening thud.

  Rolling face up, he sprawled among the crushed mushrooms, the leafy bough beside him.

  There was a smile on his face as before but she knew he was just as dead.

  Then his men arrived in the glade.

  That was when she tried to wake herself up.

  She awoke normally. It was daylight. She checked her body over. No bruises on her bottom, no semen, just a very wet pussy.

  ‘Hell! That was bloody scary!’

  Had it been real?

  ‘Of course not, silly bitch.’ But if you know you are dreaming, you can normally wake yourself up …

  She burst into tears and wept for a long time.

  She threw the remaining mushrooms into the sea.

  Now she concentrated on rescue. She tried to keep a bright beach fire going most of the night and a smoky one all day. It took a lot of extra work collecting dead wood and driftwood. After an exhausting week she gave up.

  She went back to the glade. As soon as she saw the tree she could see something was different. Approaching the tree she experienced a profound shock as she saw the mushrooms. There were hundreds of them. Some very big; some very ...

  ‘Well, boys, there’s not much doubt about what you’re pretending to be! Let’s see if you react the same way.’

  She slowly stripped for them. They really did seem to grow a little taller and stiffer as she bared and flaunted her arse and jiggled her breasts at her audience.

  She had the distinct feeling that she was being watched.

  ‘I’m a sad case. It’s been such a long time I even think you guys are noticing me.’

  Leaving her hat on, she crouched down among them. Under the wide brim it seemed very private and intimate amid these phallic growths. They filled her hands, touching her breasts and brushing against her belly.

  She found a magnificent specimen and singled him out. Close up he was not quite so realistic, but she licked and then sucked a little bit, holding him deep in her mouth; getting herself in a dreamy mood, thinking of Bork. That first time ... Why had she run away? He would have just enjoyed her alone, maybe. But that second time, lashed to the branch. My God!

  She concentrated on the member deep in her mouth, imagining another one coming up behind her, opening her knees a little wider.

  She could see herself at the foot of the tree among those growths sprouting up all around her, wearing only that ridiculous hat; very vulnerable to the rear with her thighs parted and her bare, open behind framing her dark, open pussy.

  She resisted the urge to look behind her and imagined Bork kneeling naked, just behind her, his cock horizontal, lined up for penetration. She squirmed back a little, guiding one of the big, pointy heads into her, just as before. Squat down a bit ... And Oooh, that felt good! Be very gentle so it doesn’t break off this time. ‘I’ve always wanted to try this, one man at the front, one at the back.’ She tasted the mushroom in her mouth ... And also, strangely, in her ...

  ‘Are you OK?’

  She jumped, but she knew that deep voice.

  She looked back. It was Bork, squatting down naked behind her, biceps bulging, his cock swaying heavily as it saluted her nudity. She was so glad to see him there, ready for action. Thank God he was speaking English this time – albeit with a heavy Scandinavian accent. She told him what part of him she wanted.

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes. Fuck me with it.’

  She was so wet.

  He pushed in, fully penetrating her in a heartbeat. She sighed as she felt him go deep inside. While she moved in exquisite counter-rhythm to his long thrusts and felt his hands catch her swinging breasts, she reflected on the difference a mild dose of the mushrooms made. This Bork, though every bit as big and strong as his previous incarnations, was decidedly more civilised. He caressed her body beautifully, savouring every curve, squeezing her breasts gently, sliding strongly within her but never hurting her.

  Unlike his earlier incarnation, he was an expert lover. She turned her body and turned her mouth and tongue to his stout mushroom, rapidly rediscovering all the manly features that she had so missed these long months.

  She even got the man to spank her a little, smacking her broad bottom cheeks as she lay over that branch until her arse stung.

  Her hat came off for that.

  They fucked some more while she held on, bent over the bough.

  Finally she made him come inside her, squatting down on his vertical cock with her hat back on. She leaned over him while he lay on his back in the grass, his hands deeply fondling her heavy breasts. He cried out, just as before, shooting up inside her. She howled along with him, squirming her arse around, milking every drop from each culminating thrust, grinding her pussy against his body.

  Dreamy in the afterglow, she saw his khaki shorts lying at the edge of the glade, along with his Australian-style bush hat.

  ‘Is that your hat?’

  ‘Sure.’ Like many Scandinavians, he spoke American English. ‘I almost left it on like you did, but I guess a gentleman always takes his hat off for a real lady.’

  ‘You’re not Bork, are you?’

  He laughed. ‘If you want, I can be Bork.’

  ‘Who are you?’ He still had his cock a long way up inside her. The reality of the situation had been with her a long time, but for the first time she wondered about all that unprotected sex. She could feel its oozing reality, loads of it, his semen waiting to leak out down her thighs the moment the lovers un-coupled. She could have got herself impregnated.

  ‘My name is Roald. So, who are you?’

  She told him her name and, still joined at the hip, they shook hands.

  ‘Can you be Bork for me – from now on?’

  He chuckled in his disarming way. ‘Ah – a Viking name. Sure!’

/>   She said goodbye to the island in less than twenty minutes, gathering up her scant belongings in a blue holdall and throwing it into the inflatable boat beached only half a mile from her camp. She glanced back over the roaring outboard tended by Bork’s broad arm, and just made out the faded fronds of Number Ten as it disappeared around the headland.

  Roald was a botanist researching for his PhD, as it turned out. He’d been dropped on the island for a day to collect samples. They hadn’t seen any fire or smoke; the whole thing had just been a lucky coincidence.

  And there she was, just as he’d said she’d be: the New Zealand Hydrographic Service vessel, with a diagonal orange stripe down its silver, slightly rust-stained side. She was an ancient, ex-US Navy corvette, converted to civilian sea-life. Not a big craft as warships go, but she looked enormous as they came alongside and Roald handed her up the ladder.

  A few soft whistles as she came aboard, self-conscious of her breasts wobbling under her T-shirt, and lots of male chatter – mainly in New Zealand and Ausie accents. She even got a ‘G’day.’

  She made sure they got on the radio quickly to tell the authorities and her parents back in England that she was safe and sound. Later, on the satellite-phone, with its lags and pauses: ‘Dad? Yes it’s me. Yes it really is! I’m OK. I got way off-course but found an island before my fuel ran out. Landed on the beach and tipped over!’

  Tears were shed on both sides of the world. They’d long given her up for dead – Her remembrance service had been four months ago – but they had her bike OK!

  Then she showed her breasts to another man: ‘You seem reasonably healthy – maybe just a trifle undernourished,’ observed the vessel’s young doctor touching her noticeable ribcage and the underside of her left breast. ‘Nothing a week on shipboard food won’t fix – and get all the sleep you can.’ He handed her a small box. ‘You’ll find that these work better than mushrooms.’

  How does he know about the mushrooms?

  As the only woman on the boat they gave her a single cabin. Having thrown her kit in a corner, she took her sleeping tablets, stripped and jumped between the clean white sheets.

  She began to doze off.

  Who would’ve guessed that Bork would be my Barnacle Bill?

  The ship sounded its horn as they pulled away from the island, a sound reminiscent of that Viking horn.

  The porthole was open, and a few drops of sea spray splashed in to settle on her lips as the ship got underway. She licked her lips.

  Strange, they don’t taste salty ...

  She awoke under the tree, still naked among the mushrooms. A few more drops of water splashed through the foliage onto her face.

  It had started to rain.

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