Maybe a safer topic?

"How do you know how to do all this?" It is not really the question you want to ask, but it is safer and, under the circumstances, probably more important than asking about the dead men anyways. Amala straightens up and buts her hands on her hips as she considers you.

"I grew up on the coast of southern India; it wasn't all that different than this." Her smile is a little sad, but she tells you a little more. "My family was poor, if we wanted to eat fish, my brothers and I to catch them ourselves." She rests her hand on your shoulder for support at the same time pushing you to the bank of the stream as she follows carefully. "It wasn't until I got older, and my body started to fill out that men started giving me gifts." The feeling of her warm hand resting on your shoulder is once again making your cock stiffen, as is her nonchalant acceptance of what men want from pretty young women. "You'd be surprised at how much easier my life got once I developed some curves, but I'm afraid I got a bit of a reputation too."

"Wait, what?" You stop so suddenly that her thigh presses against the back of your leg and her she has to cling to your shoulder to keep her balance.

"Keep moving, you big idiot." Amala leans into your back to get you going. "Don't act surprised, John. You know how men are. It didn't take long for me to learn that a smile and a flash of skin could get a returning fisherman to share a fish or two from his catch. After that, there wasn't much need to make my own traps."

"You were just a big teasing flirt then!" It is not hard to imagine this dark-haired beauty as a teen teasing the village men with her hot body.

"I guess, but the other women didn't like it much. That's why when Jake showed up looking for a new bedmate my family was pressured into accepting his offer. Me in exchange for a future for my two brothers - an old boat and nets that they could use to join the village fishing fleet." On the rocky bank of the stream, you silently pull on your pants and shirt as you consider what you just heard.

"Your parents sold you to the captain?"

"Well, call it an arranged marriage for a price, if you like." Amala is also covering herself, but she looks no less beautiful, "It wasn't bad, John, Jake was a better match for a free spirit like me than any of the men in my village. He showed me the world, helped me lose most of my accent and taught me how to sail ..." she pauses to run her hands over her hips, "and unlike the men in my village Jake didn't want me dropping babies every year." Her lips tighten just a little, "He just wanted a pretty young Hindi girl to cook and clean during the day and to make him feel young again in his bunk each night."

"Did you love him?" You're not even sure why you ask the question. Less than two days ago this woman lost her husband, but for some reason you really want to know. Amala thinks for a second or two but then just shrugs her shoulders.

"Get your boots back on, John. I want to show you the waterfall." It's not an answer to your question, but what did you expect?

The two of you return to the base camp long enough for her to pick through the supplies left there. She hands you one of the chef's knives as she tucks another into her belt. "Bring the water cooler, if we fill it from the source there'll be less chance of contamination." With that she picks up the rescued boathook and turns into the leafy jungle.

The walk up from the beach takes only a little more than fifteen minutes, and you are starting to realize just how small this little South Pacific Island really is. Along the way you hear the calls of the large flightless birds, and you start to salivate as you consider how good one of them would taste roasting on a spit.

The other thing that has your attention is the lush body of your companion as she leads you up the small trail. There is something about the graceful motion of her body that once again brings back the memories from the night before. She seems to like you well enough and now that you better understand the dynamics between her and the deceased captain ... well ...