A secluded cove on the main island

You think it takes about an hour to make the trip to the main island. You aren't sure what country it belongs to or even where in particular in the Pacific you are—you weren't paying all that much attention when your father explained the details. All you heard was, "Remote location … hard to get to … good tax breaks …" before tuning out. All of these pluses for your father and the company were minuses for you right now. Even assuming Tautoru and Ikaroa made good on their promise, you weren't sure how you would get off this island. You literally had the clothes on your back and some food, and that was it.

The dinghy's outboard motor purrs softly as Ikaroa brings it into a narrow bay. A narrow dock juts from the beach, and further up stands a small house. As the boat approaches, Tautoru makes a signal with his flashlight. In response, lights in the house come on.

"This isn't the main port," Christina says.

Neither of the men reply as they come up alongside the dock. Tautoru hops out and loops a rope around one of the dock's posts, securing the dinghy to it. He holds out a hand, and you gratefully accept his help out of the small craft. You don't exactly have sea legs, and you're feeling a little queasy after the journey. Ikaroa and Christina disembark. The former stays with the boat to begin unloading what cargo they had managed to squeeze aboard after taking on the two of you. Tautoru escorts you up the dock and towards the house.

"What is this place?" you ask.

"It's my home." And the door to the house opens, revealing a petite Polynesian woman. She wears only a tied-off, orange skirt and sandals. Traditional tattoos cover most of her arms and snake over to one breast. A large, silver ring hangs from each of her dark brown nipples. She smiles and runs out to hug Tautoru, pressing her slim body against his larger one.

Christina pokes you in the arm, and you turn to her. "This is their hideout," she says.

It all clicks. Tautoru and Ikaroa are smugglers—that much is obvious—in addition to the former's day jobs of ferrying foreigners around the archipelago. Over the years they've apparently built a small house in this secluded cove.

Tautoru introduces you. "This is my wife, Vaitea. Vaitea, this is Ally and Christina. I have brought them to stay with us for a while."

You balk. "What do you mean, a while?" At the same time, Vaitea moves to embrace each of you in turn, saying in very broken English, "Wel-come. My home yours. Pleased meet you."

"You want to flee this island, flee Mr. Cartwright, yes? Well, he's a very powerful man. The moment he realizes you've escaped and made it here, he'll just have all the airplanes grounded. Don't look at me like that—you obviously don't know what kind of reputation your father has around here."

"So what do you propose?" Christina asks.

"You can stay here. I have an understanding with the authorities. They don't ever come out here; they won't dare search this place. We will wait until the search for you dies down, then we will sneak you into town and find a way to get you off the island."

You have to admit, it actually sounds like a good plan. And you have nothing better in mind. So you acquiesce, allowing Vaitea to lead you into the house. It's a simple affair, simpler even than the cabin on your vacation island. The interior appears to have three rooms: bathroom, office/storage room, and a combined kitchen/living/sleeping area. A large but squat bed dominates one corner, which also has a TV and a beaten up couch. These amenities, along with the cooking appliances and kitchen equipment are anachronisms out of place against such a primitive construction.

"Tautoru likes traditional life," Vaitea says, gesturing at the room, then herself. "He keep with old ways."

The two men leave the three of you alone to get settled while they haul out the cargo from the boat. Vaitea shows you the facilities, and you take the opportunity to splash water on your face. She gives you some food and drink—some kind of foul-but-pleasant native concoction that produces a pleasant tingle in your extremities.

Then the men return. They take a seat on the couch—you've been sitting on cushions on the floor nearby, and now you understand why. Tautoru switches on the TV. Without a hint of self-consciousness, Vaitea crawls up to him and undoes the fly on his trousers. She retrieves his big dick and starts to stroke it, then proceeds to give him a blowjob in front of you and Ikaroa. For his part, Tautoru rests a languid hand on her sleek, black hair but does nothing to encourage or discourage her attentions.

You watch with somewhat more rapture than you'd care to admit—your pussy is tingling, and it's not just the ****. Ikaroa has pulled out his cock as well now, and is stroking it in time to Vaitea's movements along Tautoru's length. No one else seems to think anything is amiss, so you have to conclude that this is a regular occurrence. Sure enough, after Tautoru finishes and cums in his wife's mouth, she obediently swallows the load and proceeds to go down on Ikaroa until he climaxes. With the men thus satisfied, she crawls back to the cushions.

Your faces must have betrayed your shock. Vaitea gives a reassuring smile. "My husband like to keep happy."

"Uh-huh," you nod, not sure how else to respond.

A few more hours pass; it's starting to get light out. Eventually the TV goes off. The men strip down, as does Vaitea. She turns to you, "Bed now?"

You blink. "What?"

Tautoru comes up behind her and wraps his arms around her body. "Ikaroa and me, we share everything. Even her."

You get the idea. The two men climb into the bed, Vaitea in between them. She straddles Tautoru and slides herself onto his shaft. Ikaroa grabs her small tits and begins squeezing them.

"Oh boy," Christina says.