What the Islander Did to Me After the Shipwreck

To this day, no one knows what happened to me on that island. I’ve spent two years avoiding the subject, but some confessions eventually come out on their own, even if they’re written down and use no real names.

I was twenty-seven, worked as a travel photographer, and had accepted an assignment in the Colombian Caribbean. The magazine needed pictures of catamarans for a luxury-tourism feature, so I boarded one with six other people. The plan was simple: three hours of sailing, snorkeling at a reef, and a return to port before sunset.

There was no return. In midafternoon, an engine failure combined with a stronger-than-expected current left us adrift. The captain asked three of us to climb into a lifeboat while he tried to contact someone by radio. I got in, and no one else managed to, because another current swept us away before they could load more people. I watched the catamaran recede while I, alone in an orange raft, waved my arms like an idiot.

Hours passed. The sun was sinking, and I had gone from fear to resignation when I saw land to port. It wasn’t a large island, barely an atoll with palm trees and white sand. I rowed as best I could until I ran aground.

The beach was deserted. I walked without really knowing what I was looking for, until I spotted two well-built dark-wood cabins among the coconut palms, with palm-thatched roofs. I knocked on the nearest door without much hope, and a huge man opened it.

He must have been easily six foot three, with broad shoulders, very dark skin, and a short beard. He spoke Spanish with an English-Caribbean accent, dragging out his r’s and swallowing the endings. I hurriedly told him what had happened: the shipwreck, the raft, the catamaran. He listened calmly, without interrupting, and finally nodded.

—Easy, brother. No boat is getting here for the rest of the day. My name is Tariq, and I live here six months a year, looking after the atoll for a foundation. I have a radio, food, and water. We’ll notify your bosses, then tomorrow we’ll wait for the supply boat. It usually comes every three or four days.

—Three or four days? —I felt my legs give way.

—It could be tomorrow, or it could be Friday. Time is measured differently here. Come on, come in.

He gave me dry clothes and a towel and pointed out the other, smaller cabin so I could rest. I showered with rainwater collected in a tank and, for the first time in six hours, stopped tasting the sea on my lips. When I came out, Tariq had prepared grilled fish and rum with lime. I sat across from him at a wooden table beneath the porch.

I should clarify something before I go on, because without it the rest won’t make sense. At twenty-seven, I had always been very open-minded in bed, but only with women. I liked being dominated, though: having them take control, tell me what to do, climb on top of me, and use me as their toy. But only women. I had never been with a man and had never seriously considered it.

That night we drank. More than I should have. The rum went down smoothly in the heat and the relief of being safe, and Tariq knew how to pour a drink. The conversation began with the usual questions: what I did for a living, where I came from, what kind of pictures I took. But after the fourth glass, the questions began to take a turn.

—Do you have a girlfriend? —he asked, without taking his eyes off me.

—I did. Not for a few months now.

—And do you like dominants or submissives?

I laughed awkwardly. I told him I liked dominants, but it wasn’t something I went around telling people. He nodded as though he already knew.

—How big do you think I am down there? —he suddenly asked.

—What?

—Guess. Compared to you.

I laughed harder, nervously. I joked that, with the reputation men like him had, he was sure to have me beat. Tariq stood up slowly, walked around the table, and stopped beside me. Before I could react, he had pulled down his shorts.

What was hanging there wasn’t human. A cock as thick as my wrist, long and dark, with its purple glans showing beneath the foreskin, and enormous balls hanging below it. It was only half-hard and already reached almost halfway down my thigh.

—Let’s see yours —he said—. But whoever loses gets punished.

—Are you serious?

—Brother, I gave you shelter, food, and rum. The least you can do is play along, don’t you think?

I was drunk, far from everything, and felt indebted to him. I got to my feet unsteadily and pulled down my pants. My cock is average, neither big nor small, and at that moment, soft and compared with his, it looked ridiculous. Tariq gave a low chuckle and ran his tongue over his lower lip as he stared at my crotch.

—You lost, sissy. The punishment is shaving yourself completely. Like an initiation.

I thought it was a stupid joke. He gave me razors and cream and pointed toward the shower. Laughing nervously and quite drunk, I went, thinking it would be just another anecdote, something to tell when I got back. It took me well over half an hour to remove all the hair from my body: chest, armpits, legs, groin, scrotum. I’m slim and fit because I run three times a week, and when I looked at myself in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. My bare skin gave me an ambiguous air, almost adolescent but still in my twenties, with my clean-shaven cock and balls hanging between pale thighs that seemed to belong to someone else.

I left the bathroom with the towel around my waist, and that was when I saw Tariq.

He was sitting on the bed in the main cabin, not mine. In his hand he held a fine chain and a pink leather collar with a metal tag. Carefully folded on the bed were a black lace garment, another in pink, and a long wig of the same color.

—What is this? —My voice came out thin.

—This can happen the easy way or the hard way, but it doesn’t matter which you choose: you’re going to be here with me for several more days. Better for us to get along, don’t you think?

I stood motionless. He spoke without raising his voice, almost gently.

—The rule is simple. You put that on, do what I tell you, and address me as sir. Is that clear?

***

I don’t know what happened to me. I don’t know whether it was the rum, the exhaustion, the fear, or that part of me that had always wanted to be dragged along by someone stronger. I know I heard myself say “yes, sir,” and that a strange warmth rose from my stomach to the nape of my neck.

I put on the lace without looking at him, as if on autopilot. The pink panties, which looked ridiculous against my shaved cock, outlining a timid bulge; the thigh-high stockings, held up by black garters; the padded bra, giving me fake teenage breasts; the pink wig falling over my shoulders. He put the chain and collar on me himself, fastening it two fingers behind my neck with a calmness that made me tremble.

—Come on all fours. Over here.

I lowered myself to the floor. The rug smelled of salt and tobacco. I moved forward slowly, knees apart, feeling the cool air against my freshly shaved skin and the lace rubbing between my buttocks. Tariq was naked on the bed, sitting against the headboard, his enormous cock resting on his belly like a third leg, watching me crawl as though he had been waiting years for that moment.

—That’s how I like it. Look at that nice, clean little ass. When I’m finished with you, you’ll be begging me to be your daddy.

I sat on my heels at his feet. He leaned over, pulled my panties down to mid-thigh, spread my buttocks with one hand, and smeared a cold stream of lubricant over my hole. Then he plunged a thick finger inside without warning, up to the knuckle. The hot slickness and the sudden stretch made me arch my back and release a high-pitched moan I didn’t recognize as my own.

—You’re tight, sissy. Like a little virgin. We’re going to fix that.

He inserted a second finger and began prying them apart inside me, twisting and searching. When he brushed something deep and electric, a long gasp escaped me. He smiled without saying anything, continued hammering that spot with his fingertip for a full minute, and I felt my cock, trapped inside the pink panties, begin to swell treacherously against the lace. It was the first time anything like that had entered me there, and I was surprised that I didn’t want to run.

—Well, aren’t you an obedient little slut? Come suck me.

I crawled toward him with his fingers still inside me. When I drew close, he pulled them out with a wet sound and slapped my cheek with his cock, once, twice, three times. It was heavy. He rubbed it over my closed mouth and nose, leaving a shining trail of pre-cum across my lips.

—Open.

I opened. The purple glans entered first, salty and enormous, filling my tongue all the way to my molars. I tried to close my lips, but I couldn’t. He pushed farther in, and when he reached the back of my throat, my whole body arched and I coughed, tears filling my eyes as a string of saliva ran down my chin to the fake breasts. He held the back of my neck with one hand and gripped the wig with the other as though it were reins, setting the pace himself. I didn’t have to do anything but let him.

—Swallow, bitch. Swallow and breathe through your nose.

He pulled it out and shoved it back in, each time a little deeper, until I felt his fat balls strike my chin. My throat burned, my jaw ached from being stretched so wide, and yet my own cock began wetting the lace inside the panties with pure pre-cum. He spat on my face and kept fucking my mouth without mercy, pulling out only to let me breathe before sinking it back down to my uvula.

—Turn around —he ordered when he was fully hard, a shining trunk slick with my saliva—. The punishment for losing doesn’t end here. I have to impregnate you. It’s the law of the biggest man. Or did you think a man with this between his legs would ever be the bottom?

He took me to a strange chair beside the wall, anchored to the floor, with leather restraints. He tore off my panties, tied my ankles wide apart, and fastened my wrists to the armrests. I was left exposed, on all fours, my ass in the air, my cheeks spread by the position, my hole gleaming with lubricant and saliva, and the pink wig falling over my eyes.

—You won’t be moving like that, little bitch. You’re going to find out what’s good for you. You’re going to beg for more.

He put a ball gag in my mouth.

—Resist me. It turns me on when you resist.

I heard the crinkle of the condom wrapper behind me, followed by the sloshing of extra lubricant. I felt his big hands spread my cheeks as far as they would go, and the tip of that monstrous cock, covered in slippery latex, settle against my hole. He pushed. At first I didn’t give. He pushed harder, driving forward with his whole hip, and when the glans forced its way in, I screamed into the gag, a muffled cry that made him laugh against the back of my neck.

—That’s it, sissy. Open up for Daddy.

He fed it in inch by inch, you son of a bitch, feeling my ass stretch impossibly around him. Every time I tried to pull away, he yanked the wig backward and drove in another couple of inches. When I finally felt his fat balls crushed against my shaved perineum, I knew he had buried himself completely, and I began to cry from sheer overload.

He began thrusting slowly at first, pulling almost all the way out and burying himself again to the hilt. Within a minute he was fucking me at a normal pace, and every thrust reached deep inside, striking that spot he had found with his fingers earlier. Each blow drew a muffled moan through the gag and made my hard cock bounce against the leather of the chair.

—Here you go, sissy —he said against my ear, fucking me at an increasingly brutal pace, his hips smacking against my buttocks—. I like grabbing little faggots like you and turning them into my bitches. If you obey me, I’ll treat you well. If you really resist, I’ll crush your balls. You decide.

To prove it, he slid a hand between my thighs and squeezed my testicles just enough to make his meaning clear. A dull pain rose into my stomach, but at the same time my cock throbbed so hard that I released a stream of pre-cum onto the leather. I began to move, pushing my ass backward, seeking him, impaling myself on that shaft. The humiliation was burning me from the inside, but beneath the humiliation was something else I had never felt: a filthy, animal, liberating arousal. For twenty-seven years I had carried the idea of who I was, and that man was ripping it away in one pull, one cock, one thrust at a time.

He pulled his cock out suddenly, undid one ankle, and turned me onto my back on the chair, my legs folded against my chest, the stockings still on, the wig askew, and the fake breasts rising and falling. He buried his entire shaft inside me again with a single thrust, and I screamed so loudly that the gag fell from my mouth.

—Look at me while I fuck you, little slut. Look me in the eyes.

I looked at him. His huge face sweating above mine, his hips pounding my ass with a wet, solid smack, his balls bouncing against my buttocks. He grabbed my cock over the stockings with his huge hand and began jerking me in time with his thrusts.

—You know the best part? —he murmured without stopping, without stopping jerking me—. I lied to you. The boat could arrive tomorrow. The coast guard won’t take more than two days. But you’re not leaving. You’re staying here as my bitch until I say so.

By then I couldn’t speak. I didn’t want to speak. I heard myself say something I had never thought I would say.

—Yes, Daddy. Please. Leave it inside me. Break me, Daddy, please, break me.

His laughter rumbled through my chest. He sped up until it became a bestial pounding, the bed creaking, the chair shaking, my emptied balls bouncing with every blow. I felt his cock swell inside me and empty into the condom with such force that the walls of my rectum opened as if they had never been closed before. It throbbed. I felt every jet of his pulse against my insides. I came at the same time, barely needing his hand, shooting four or five thick streams of semen across my own belly, the fake breasts, and my chin, moaning like a bitch in heat with his cock still buried inside me to the balls.

***

He collapsed on top of me for a moment, crushing me beneath his weight, and licked the semen from my face without pulling out. Then he withdrew slowly, and when his thick glans slid out of me, I felt an enormous emptiness and a thread of lubricant running down the cleft between my buttocks to the stockings. He released my wrists and ankles calmly, almost tenderly. He laid me facedown on the bed, put one large hand on my back, and let me breathe. The pink wig had twisted sideways. My ass throbbed, left open. I couldn’t stop trembling.

—That’s how I like it —he said—. You’re going to leave here well-fucked. I’ll give you some of my rations and let you live peacefully, but only if you agree to be my slave while you’re here. Is that clear?

—Yes, Daddy. Whatever you want.

Then he dropped a small, curved metal object onto the mattress, with a tiny padlock.

—Good. We’re going to turn you into a real whore.

—We are? —I asked hoarsely.

Tariq smiled in a way that sent a shiver up the back of my neck.

—The biologist who oversees the atoll is coming in two weeks. I’ve already told her about you. She can’t wait to meet you. Don’t get excited; she isn’t interested in men. But she loves having fun with little faggots like you. She’s fifty, has plenty of experience, and a collection of toys you’ll remember for the rest of your life.

I fell silent, feeling the cold of the chastity belt brush my thigh.

—Are you ready to be chemically castrated for a few weeks? It’s only a cream. It’ll do you good. When you leave here, you’ll be a different person.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t have to. When he lay down behind me, slipped his soft cock between my buttocks again without penetrating me, merely settling it there as if putting away his toy for later, and wrapped an arm around me, I was already wondering whether the biologist would arrive before or after the boat.

To be continued.