George Bacchus

Pleasure Bound: Ashore

CHAPTER ONE. The Autocrat of the Island

John Tucker, ex-MD, Edinburgh, sat on the great flower-bedecked balcony of his summer palace on the island of Fleur de la Chair.

Before him, steps cut in the turf led down to a glistening white stone jetty. A few little yachts, a half-dozen motor launches, and a score or so of small boats rocked lazily on the gentle waters of the bay. The sky was a vault of pure turquoise, the sea a little deeper blue, and the undulating hills which fringed the bay made a verdant carpet studded with radiant flowers.

A soft sweet breeze from the sea lulled the fierce rays of the sun, and the regular swing of the punkah above him made John Tucker very comfortable.

John Tucker was a square-jowled man of stocky build, with determination writ large all over him. As he sat in his brilliant silk pyjamas, smoking a pipe, he looked a little out of place in this lazy lotus land.

John Tucker did not look a sensualist, but after leaving Edinburgh for an unmentionable offence in Princes Street Gardens, he had still further disgraced himself in Newfoundland, and on his departure a wag had written:

There was a young man of Cape Cod,

Who put his best girl into pod.

His name was John Tucker

The bugger, the fucker,

The bleeder, the blighter, the sod.

John Tucker had been led to the island of Fleur de la Chair by 'a set of devious chances'. Having shipped on a tramp steamer, he had blocked his Captain's wife, and then murdered the captain. Seeing retribution on board certain, and land being in sight, he had risked the sharks and jumped for it. The pursuing boat had been held off by the 'young man' who was out fishing, and who did not want any strangers messing about the island. He took, however, a strange fancy to the villainous visage of Tucker swimming for his life, and rescued him.

In due course John Tucker's powerful personality and unscrupulous business instincts brought him to the directorship of the island.

In direct contradiction to John Tucker's glowering appearance were his delightful human surroundings.

By his side, behind an up-to-date Remington-carrying typewriter desk, sat the sweetest little divinity of a flapper secretary who ever sat down to her work in the open air, dressed only in her drawers and chemise.

She was a blonde, and her hair hung rich and luxuriant over her bared and dimpled shoulders. Her eyes were as turquoise blue as the sky above, and lips as red as the strange scarlet flowers which hung in curiously wrought pots round the verandah.

She had no corsets on but her lithe little figure was caught in tight at the waist by a scarlet sash.

Her drawers were frankly open; a little golden growth showed as she sat with legs rather wide apart, and her drawers were also very short Their lace fringes finished well above the knee, and the rest of her exquisitely moulded legs was quite bare. She had no shoes or stockings. Her legs were tanned a pretty russet brown by the tropical sun, as were her bare arms. Both her fingernails and toenails were elaborately manicured. She wore for ornament a few bracelets and rings of barbaric design, and she was lazily smoking a cigarette from a richly jewelled holder. A golden snake from which hung tiny gold tassels, each bearing a different jewel at the end, clasped her left leg just below the knee, and she wore a ring bearing an immense emerald on the third toe of her left foot.

Her name was Helena McQuoid: she was half Scots, half Danish. She was only sixteen and she ruled the man who ruled the island of Fleur de la Chair. John Tucker made no attempt to be true to her; fidelity was almost a crime in the island, and she didn't mind, but he took his other carnal pleasures as he took his drinks, principally from curiosity or from lack of something to do, and he worshipped Helena.

This lovely young woman had come to the island in the same way as our captive friends of the last volume. The New Decameron had held up a small steam yacht Unfortunately the owner and friends were out on a slight filibustering excursion connected with gun-running themselves, and had shown fight. All were killed but Helena. John Tucker, in noting the girl's wondrous beauty, had thrown her into the sea to escape a chance shot and jumped after her, and with her on his arm swam to the New Decameron. It was not long before she exercised her power over this rough buccaneer of a former north-country doctor. He was not without rivals, and he killed four in fair fight before she admittedly became his own.

These two were the only white folk on the verandah. The boy who pulled the punkah was very brown, with great lazy appealing eyes. He was naked save for a loincloth, and his figure had the perfect contour of the native who can swim like a fish. His movements were full of idle grace.

Between John Tucker's legs, her shapely black-haired head resting directly on his staff of life, reclined a pretty native girl, quite naked. Her arms embraced his legs, and his fingers toyed in lazy affection with her hair.

Other native women lay about on mats, all naked, or very nearly so, and all very heavily bejewelled.

It is necessary to explain here that the island of Fleur de la Chair was immensely rich in mineral products, and especially in precious stones. John Tucker had discovered this, and the native women would clothe their lithe naked limbs and bodies with jewels that would have made a London or Paris or New York ballroom frantic with jealousy.

There were some native men, obviously above ordinary native class; their appearances were distinguished, their manners graceful and aristocratic. They all wore pyjamas of vivid hue, and lay about smoking, sipping coffee and eating the luscious tropical fruit which two Chinese boys bore from group to group. The typewriting machinery and the telephone apparatus made an odd business contrast to this scene of love and lazy laughter-for the naked girls were not left alone. No actual fornication took place, but the couples lay in soft lascivious embrace and lips met in languid tenderness.

John Tucker refused a plate of fruit, and called for a peg. The Chinese boy brought a pint of champagne and some liqueur brandy: he mixed it half and half, and drank it straight off. Then he raised the coloured beauty from between his legs, and said to her in the vernacular, 'Tanaie linga,' which means, vulgarly translated,' 'Op it'.

She kissed him softly on the cheek, patted him roguishly on me spot where one supposes his John Thomas was, and did 'op it, into the arms of a native young blood who promptly took her for a walk into the palm grove at the side of the great house.

John Tucker stood up, a grim contrast to the suave, brown-skinned love-makers.

'Helena, write this,' he said. 'Everyone to be ready for any possibility, houses and vessels to be decorated. Have that printed and circularised. You know, little one,' he continued, 'I've a funny feeling that the ship'll turn up today, it's about the time they said, and the young man's always punctual.'

Helena clicked out the message, then-

'Let's walk down to the wireless station.'

They strolled off, an odd enough couple, straight out of the pages of a naughty French picture paper.

As they traversed the glade, they came upon the couple who had just left, in violent embrace; the youth had discarded all clothing, and lay mother-naked on his back with the pretty girl in his arms, his rampant prick thrusting in and out of her ruby-lipped cunt.

Two little naked children were squatting watching, but with no apparent astonishment. They were used to this sort of thing in Fleur de la Chair.

John Tucker threw his cigar and hit the girl fair on the arse.

'Horda mirama tempe' (Here's to a good fuck), said John.

'Parana oulla tae da waraui Hota,' (May your penis never grow less, illustrious sir) was the laughing answer.

'Let's sit down a minute, kiddie,' said John.

They dropped on to the soft grass. The grim Scotsman kissed her very tenderly.

'Do you know, little darling,' he said, 'what we saw just now set me thinking. You haven't ever been screwed by one of these brown devils, have you?'

'Of course, often. You only forbade me to go with the other pirates.'

'Of course I meant all, but I suppose it's too late now,' he sighed.

'Well, I like that,' said the lovely child. 'You go through every pretty dark girl who comes near you, you even do it when I'm in the room; you are always saying how much you love me, but you hardly ever fuck me, and you expect me never to have a little fun on my own.'

'I don't love you in that way, darling.'

'Well, I like it: I'm a randy little bitch, and I Eke fucking as much as I like power, and I mean to have both. I'm far and away the prettiest girl on this island; every man, white or brown, is at my feet, and, by God, some of those beautiful brown boys are loving. You think of your business in the middle of it: you even dictated a letter to me when you were pretending to fuck that pretty little Noisoia, and you had the damned cheek to tell me there was a flood in the east mine when you were having me last night. It's bloody well mockery; you might as well be had by a piston rod. And I will have my brown lovers.'

John Tucker began to think: he must show his manhood. He pulled her over him as tenderly as he knew how, and swept his strong hand over her deliciously rounded breasts to the opening in her drawers. He knew all the time that he was thinking about the boat coming in, and he knew that Helena knew it, but his penis stiffened automatically.

She, always all readiness, guided his great prick, not without some difficulty, into her moist little cunt. She wriggled delightedly, closed her eyes, and bit him savagely on the cheek. Then she flung herself violently up and down on his vibrating cock uttering little cries of joy. Her fingers dug into his ribs, her naked legs clasped in a vice-like grip round his, her little tongue darted in and out of his mouth, and together they spent voluminously and savagely. For those few seconds all thoughts of mines and dividends had fled from John's brain; he saw only the lovely angel face pressed close to his, felt only the vicious clasp of her cunt muscles. It was the first time she had been so madly passionate with him. Perhaps, he thought, that little talk had done good. He made up his mind to keep her straight.

'Promise me, little angel,' he whispered as she slowly raised her cunt from off his cock, and looked down with those lovely turquoise eyes into his, 'promise me to be true.'

'If you can always do it like that, I'll think it over.'

They strolled on, hand in hand, the lovely, semi-naked girl, and the brutally strong-looking buccaneer, through the soft groves.

It all seemed to be lotus land. Couples, naked or semi-naked, wandered in lover's fashion. There was no sign of work save the distant incongruous clang of a hammer. They met a few white men, all with pretty dark girls. What a life of semi-somnolent ease!

The wireless station, coming suddenly into view, made an oddly out-of-place impression. John hastened his footsteps. He was thinking solely of business now.

A man swung round a wooded corner on a native pony and reined up short. Excitedly he told John Tucker of a mine flooding, and that worthy, with a hurried apology, left little Helena, swung himself on to the pony's back behind the rider, and disappeared.

Helena stood idly gazing out to sea. She felt discontented, and when she heard a soft 'Hara da see', seemingly from the centre of a bush of ferns, a thrill came to her heart.

A slim, graceful young islander pushed aside the foliage, and stepped lightly over to Helena.

She answered the salutation in the soft vernacular, and then both lapsed into English.

He was very handsome, in a delicate style, and was fully dressed in white ducks. His hair was jet black and crisp, and he swung a great panama hat in his hand. His tie boasted a scarf-pin which would have made a Piccadilly blood green with envy, and his red morocco belt was fastened by a clasp of twin golden snakes with emerald eyes, and tiny slips of ruby made the tongues which darted venomously at each other. In feet, he looked like a god of the woods got up for Henley. 'Shall we go to the little pavilion in the woods, my sweet one?'

'Not today, Samura, my own,' she answered. 'The ship will, I think, be in soon; just kiss me and wait another time.'

Their full red lips met in a loving embrace. Samura's arms twined round the girl's slim waist, his jewelled fingers toying in her scarlet sash, making vivid contrasts of colour. Her fingers toyed with his crisp curls. It was a pretty contrast; the golden-haired northern girl, and the handsome brown-skinned native.

'Let's go down to the cafe by the quay and wait for news,' suggested Helena.

They strolled down.

It was an ideal cafe. Set back from the shining white quay was a great verandah, some twenty feet deep and about sixty feet in length. It was dotted with little tables, set not too close together, and at one end were large and small tables, where meals were served at all hours of the day and night. Within was a large room, similar to any Parisian cafe, save that the decorations were, if anything, more pricelessly gorgeous than could be found in the cafes of any of the great cities of the world. A little of the famous Reisenheimer collection, for which there was no room in the young man's house, figured there. There were statuettes in plenty, and magnificently framed mirrors reflected a brilliant scene when the room was full of elegant diners.

Behind that, led on to by French windows, was a tropical garden, radiant with flowers. That ran back to the slope of a hill, up which there were winding paths. Above the great salon were dining-rooms, public and private.

The front terrace was very full when Helena and Samura, acknowledging greetings on either side, found a table. The elite of the populace of Fleur de la Chair were there.

It is now necessary to digress a little and explain the constitution of this delightful island.

To go back to the original cruise of the New Decameron. After they had swept the Atlantic and set all the world astounded at the daring of their exploits, and the fleets of eight nations at their heels, by the greatest good luck they came upon an island where no island should be. It was uncharted, and the only possible theory was that in the far past it had been brought to the surface by a volcanic eruption, and had always escaped the attention of map-makers.

There in simple idle bliss lived a placid, lotus-eating folk, singularly good-looking and utterly ignorant of the outer world. They knew of no other land but their own; they had rough boats, but never ventured far from shore. They knew nothing of their origin, which must have dated back to some castaways from a far distant island. It had never occurred to them to attempt to discover any other land, and when the young man and his pirates arrived they were worshipped frankly as gods.

The young man saw at once that this place was Heaven-sent.

It was quite self-supporting. All kinds of vegetables and fruit flourished in abundance, and the crops were plentiful. With the exception of oxen and cows, the edible animal kingdom was well represented.

The island's fertility was clearly the result of some long ago Swiss Family Robinson, who had not only themselves conscientiously obeyed the divine command, 'Be fruitful and multiply', but had distilled that doctrine into their animals.

Friendship between the marauders and the placid inhabitants was quickly established. There were some very able minds among the pirates, and out of the wooden village presently grew an idyllically beautiful little town. The natives took to work as a new pleasure in life, and were as delighted as children to see the beautiful palaces arise.

But it was with the advent of John Tucker that the place really began to hum.

He it was who discovered the mineral, and especially the precious stone treasures of the island. At his advice the piracy was only carried on as a side issue, and the development of the island seriously attended to.

The young man had always had an agent in Paris, through whom, and his friends in Amsterdam, Vienna, and 'Frisco, all pillage could be disposed of.

A yacht would pick up a pirate or so from the New Decameron, at a given spot, and get them into Europe. Once in, all was simple. There was an amateur thespian among the pirates who evolved miraculous changes out of the emissaries. If you had seen the young man entering Amsterdam as a perfectly made-up Shylock, you would never have recognised him.

John Tucker, when the vast stores of precious stones began to be worked, centupled the business, and yet no one, bar a few trusty agents who were rapidly becoming millionaires, had any idea where the stones were coming from.

Gradually a civilised and very contented community arose. The natives took readily to European habits, and a class distinction among them arose, a distinction based on no rank or holding, for the island had been common property, but solely on ability: the cleverer and the more attractive rose, thus forming a little aristocracy. Of such were the elite, whom I have mentioned, who, with the whites, thronged the terraces of the Deux Races.

Though clothes were not insisted on throughout the island, it was an accepted etiquette that some, at any rate, should be worn in a cafe. The 'some' was an easy-going measure. It meant filmy draperies for the women, pyjamas, as a rule, for the men, and a loincloth for the waiters.

Helena lazily sipped some native wine, and her eyes wandered from Samura's to the sea. Both were beautiful, the blue and the black. She had some sort of determination to be true to John Tucker, but-she was a bundle of buts and ifs-but, if he should go back to his mechanical copulation, and if she was to lose outside joys because of a rash promise of fidelity-well-she didn't quite see it.

Samura had conquered. Taking a key, with a roguish wink, from the maitre d'hotel, Helena had slipped upstairs. Samura soon followed. The little cabinets particulim were very dainty. A table, some chairs, a profusion of flowers, and a great luxurious couch formed the furniture. A curtain-hidden alcove held all necessary toilette requisites.

Helena lay back on the couch, her knees up, her little hands clasped behind the golden sea of her hair, as Samura entered and turned the key behind him.

'Your eyes are more blue than the sky where dwells the great God you ivory people worship,' he began; 'your hair is as the sea of gold on the tables of the money changers; your breasts are like the twin snowy volcanos of Toisaro when the beacons kindle at the peak'

This was better than John Tucker, with his, 'That damned mine's stopped again.'

'You may kiss me, Samura,' she whispered.

Gently and long he kissed, and while their lips were one, deftly rid the girl of the little clothing she wore. She looked at him languorously as he stripped, as the young blood of Europe changed into the wild god of the woods.

They melted into each other's embrace.

'Thy breath is the scent of the wild honey,' he told her.

'And yours that of the flowers when the dew has kissed them.'

She thought of John Tucker's powerful whiskey blast, and shuddered.

Gracefully, oh, so gracefully and tenderly he slipped upon her. Their hearts beat fast in unison, their twining fingers, the collusion of their knees, the heave of their close-pressed stomachs, the soft courtship of their cheeks seemed to bring a love that was not love, and a lust that yet was not wholly lust into being in every part of their bodies.

Samura slipped his phallus into the throbbing vagina. The great nature joy, the dominant passion of the beast en rode was there below their bellies, but both Samura and Helena would have found it difficult to say whether there was greater ecstatic thrill in the communion of their natural organs than in the touch of foot to foot, of nipple to nipple, navel to navel, and, especially, of hair to hair.