DISCLAIMER: The following is fiction. The characters in this story have been made up. The content of the story is not representative of the writer’s beliefs, opinions or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. All Rights Reserved © 2021 LITTLESALLY666.
AUTHORS NOTES: Vaguely inspired by the 1970’s television series by the same name — about the mysterious Mr. Roarke who runs a unique resort island in the Pacific Ocean that can fulfill literally any fantasy requested by guests, but they rarely turn out as expected. I really enjoyed the 2020 film version, directed by Jeff Wadlow — but wished it could have been a lot darker. I also notice that there is a 2021 television version with its first season released — but I haven’t caught up with that. So my thought was to make Roarke into a female figure. Maybe androgynous? And be more like an evil puppet-master drawing the unsuspecting “victims” into her own web of twisted fantasies; that the demonic forces within Island seem to be only too pleased to amplify.
STORY CODES: Supernatural, Religious themes, Transgender, Age-Play/Young, Demonic/Satanic, Abuse, Corruption, Evil, Devil Worship, Rape, Snuff, Black Mass, Cannibalism, NC, Sex Demons, Transformation.
CREATED: 27.10.2021 (V33)
Phantasy Island 1
Where only your “darkest fantasies” come true
SYNOPSIS OF PHANTASY ISLAND
Imagine a place where all your wildest fantasies could come true — this is the promise of the famed “Phantasy Island”. Now imagine, you’re one of the lucky competition winners that have won the opportunity to be invited to this luxurious, but remote tropical paradise. You will be welcomed by the exotic and enigmatic Dr. Ursula Roarke — an exotic delight that seems to be all knowing, all seeing — and like a ring-master, with the crack of her whip, the fantasy circus begins. What you didn’t know was that there’s a dark side to Phantasy Island. Are you in your fairy tale fantasy or a victim of Dr. Ursula Roarke’s twisted nightmares?
- Dr. Ursula Roarke (appears to be maybe 28, but of an unknown age) — an exotic islander, who is enigmatic, beautiful (and androgynous) — the host of Phantasy Island
- Tattoo (35) — an ugly twisted dwarf-like man that is Dr. Ursula Roarke’s assistant
- Hoku (20) — a young hostess (and a demon) on Phantasy Island
- Kai and Loni (8) — twins, islanders (demons in disguise as little girls)
- Father Tristan Moore (35) — desires to be a missionary sent to a South Pacific island to explore, discover and bring religion to a lost tribe of savages
- Samantha Lim (32) — a selfless primary school teacher and a virgin, who dreams of sharing a tropical holiday with unfortunate young orphans
- Louise (35) & William Heath (29) — a childless couple; Louise want a baby; but what does William want?
- Margot Sweets (45) — a MILF and a university lecturer who seeks to find the true God
- Hilary Rowling (78) — a devoted grandmother who wants a fairy tale
MAP OF PHANTASY ISLAND
PHANTASY ISLAND – CHAPTER ONE (2,888 WORDS)
“They’ve promised that dreams come true — but forgot to mention that nightmares are dreams, too.” Oscar Wilde.
Samantha Lim was a thirty-two year old primary school teacher. She loved her godly charity work with these poor disadvantaged orphans — wouldn’t it be great to treat these children to a holiday of a lifetime? Maybe next time.
The flight wasn’t a long one from the mainland to Phantasy Island. However it was quite remote and only accessible by seaplane or by boat. The boat ride would have been choppy because of the rough swell that seemed to break around the coral reefs that protected the island’s sandy shores. Though she wasn’t fond of small planes, she preferred it to the sea.
Actually Samantha found it difficult to contain her excitement, having been announced as one of the six lucky winners. She never won anything — ever — so this felt like the jackpot to her. She grinned happily to herself as she gazed at the glossy brochure that announced the island’s reputation of being the place “where dreams come true”. Marketing bullshit, she thought. But it didn’t matter. She was there to have a good time and to enjoy the notoriety that went with being one of the specially selected winners.
“Miss Lim, we’ll be arriving soon. Please fasten your seat belt for landing,” asked the tropically dressed stewardess, as she cleared the empty champagne flute from the armrest tray.
As the seaplane began to bank to the left, Samantha caught the first glimpse of the famed Phantasy Island. From one thousand feet, she could make out the Southern Anchorage, where they would stay in luxury. The terrain was completely tropical, with dense jungle foliage hiding the most exotic of locations. The glossy magazine showed photographs of cascading waterfalls and natural hot springs; cave formations and subterranean lakes; exotic flowers and wildlife; there were endless sandy beaches, coral reefs and the friendly indigenous tribes that inhabited this lost world.
From this height, she could appreciate the majestic beauty of the twin volcano peaks; of Mount Kapo towards the island’s Northern Bay; and Mount Laka towards the Eastern Turn. They looked breathtakingly beautiful, rising above the jungle floor. One was an open crater, while the other was still supposed to be still active. Further away over the Northern Bay there were two smaller islands, North Point and Bird Island — they were both covered in light mist that made it even more mysterious. Yes. This was going to be the adventure of a lifetime. She could feel it in her bones.
Father Tristan’s fantasy
Father Tristan Moore was thirty-five. He had joined the priesthood as a very young man to pursue his faith in the service of the Abrahimic God. He had had romantic thoughts of becoming a missionary and having adventures exploring the deepest and darkest continents to bring religion to the most savage of tribes. But, years later, being a parish priest had become his lot in life. He looked after his local parishioners; helping them with their petty everyday issues. He’d listened to all their humdrum confessions. He’d consoled them. He’d tried to be as compassionate and as earnest as he could in this mostly thankless task. He’d truly tended to his flock — but still longed for something more out there.
He looked around at the other “Phantasy Island” winners. A motley crew. There were a young couple, Louise and William Heath, who appeared to be in their early thirties. An elegant Asian woman that he knew was called Samantha Lim, as they had introduced themselves to each other. There was a University lecturer called Margot Sweets who he’d spoken to briefly about religious studies. And there was a grandmother, named Hilary Rowling.
Everyone was very excited. It was, after all, a trip of a lifetime. To be selected as one of the lucky winners was an absolute “God send” and Father Tristan couldn’t wait to arrive on Phantasy Island.
Hilary Rowling was a seventy-eight year old mother of three; and grandmother of six; and a great grandmother of two. She’d always lived a kind of sedate lifestyle. She was tired of being devoted to her family; to being the happy homemaker and a tiger mom — in all those years, she really hadn’t had time for herself. It was always about the kids, and then the grand kids. It was their activities, their homework, their sports and extracurricular activities. Her three grown up daughters, when young, had always loved dancing and she’d pushed them to join a dancing school where they did classes in ballad, jazz, tap and hip-hop. And then the cycle began all over again. Now, she looked back and felt it was somewhat unfair — where had the years gone? — she’d wished for exotic holidays or a romantic getaway. But it never came to fruition.
Hilary smiled to herself. Being old sometimes meant that others seemed compelled to assist her. The nice young priest and the Asian lady had been so kind, helping her with her heavy bags. She did feel her years and lifting wasn’t as easy as it had been, but she wasn’t a complete cripple. It was nice to have others to do the heavy lifting. Again she smiled to herself.
Finally they were on their way.
Did she feel a little guilty about leaving her husband of fifty-five years? Yes she did initially, but as the trip neared, she longed for it — to get away from it all — and she deserved this opportunity to make her own dreams come true. She didn’t want much. She just wanted a fairy tale to come true. Yes, it sounded at bit benign. But that’s what she’d asked for. Of course it was all just make-believe, but just the trip — being on her own without any responsibilities was a real treat. She imagined how wonderful it would be, to be swept up on an exotic adventure.
Who knows what powers await in Aladdin’s Cave?
The seaplane began to descend. It had been a little bumpy and Hilary looked forward to being on the ground again. At her age, travel wasn’t exactly her forte. Even with the headset on, she could hear the deafening roar of the twin engines as the skids gently touched the tropical waters. A perfect landing. The seaplane moved majestically as it taxied towards the long wooden pier that ran out into the bay of the Southern Anchorage.
“Welcome to Phantasy Island everyone. We have arrived at your destination,” announced one of the cabin crew over the microphone, “Please check your seat pocket to make sure you have left nothing behind. Your luggage will be delivered directly to your luxury accommodation. Thank you for flying Phantasy Airlines. Your Phantasy Crew wishes each of you a memorable stay; hope all your dreams come true; and we look forward to seeing you again on your homebound journey.”
Louise and William Heath, we’re a childless couple. Louise was an entitled thirty-five year old and William was her younger husband at twenty-nine. Louise’s family were very filthy rich — and she had become the sole heir to her family’s empire and fortune. William resented the wealth somewhat, as it made him feel less of the man.
Of late, Louise had become a little overweight and had a rather chubby little face. They’d been married for five years. Louise had wanted them to have children right away. William appeared eager too. Alas they had had no luck thus far. Or so it seemed. There was no medical reason why they couldn’t conceive — they just hadn’t. Given the opportunity Louise thought a dream come true would be to have a child of her own. Was this possible on Phantasy Island? She hoped so.
William helped Louise to safely step through the hatchway and across onto the wooden decking of the long pier. A small sheltered area awaited them. A short ugly man, dressed head-to-toe in white linen, held out strings of exotic flowers as welcome gifts; while an attractive young woman, also dressed also in white, beckoned their attention, armed with a tray of sparkling champagne.
“Welcome Louise. Welcome William,” she knew them by name, “My name is Hoku and I am your host for the hour. Please leave all your luggage behind. Your bags will be transported to your accommodation by our porters. It’s your time now. Your time to relax and begin your ultimate fantasy.”
William took one of the long stemmed glasses and handed it to Louise. Then took another for himself. It tasted expensive. This wasn’t cheap stuff. He thought, for a moment, about his “ultimate fantasy”. He was a beta and bisexual by nature. He’d never disclosed his same-sex fantasies to his wife. She was simply boring in bed. In fact he secretly masturbated to a large collection of child porn and loved the idea of cross-dressing little boys sucking his smaller-than-average beta cock. Sometimes he wished they hadn’t married. But then he’d have to get a job and work for a living. And he quite liked living off of his chubby wife’s money. Fuck that. Anyway, as far as he was concerned, his wife would never know the truth about his secretive and deviant fantasies.
The sun was hot, but the breeze made the temperature more than pleasant. The host, Hoku, was busy welcoming the other guests and offering them a welcome drink, while the ugly dwarf handed out more exotic flower chains.
“It’s so perfect,” said Louise turning to her husband, William, “It’s everything I dreamed it would be. I just have a feeling that anything is possible.”
“It’s just a fucking gimmick, Louise,” corrected William, who was always the practical about these sort of things (always trying to manage her expectations), “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”
Margot Sweets was a forty-five year old lecturer from Keystone University. She was an authority on religious studies. She’d dedicated most of her adult life to her bookish research — that covertly was about proving the existence of God. It was the question that plagued her, but also drove her forward. She had playfully filled in her “Phantasy form” to say that she wanted to meet God — she knew that it was just pipe-dream — but arriving with the others to Phantasy Island, she really did feel a renewed sense of positivity in her veins. Where else to find God, if not in paradise? She laughed at her own joke.
“Thank you,” she said as the ugly little dwarf man, all dressed in white, handed her a necklace of exotic flowers.
“Welcome Margot,” said the attractive hostess, whose white blouse thinly disguised her petite and sexy tanned body. Margot resisted the urge to stare at this young beauty — instead she accepted a long stem glass filled with bubbly champagne. She gulped it down and took another. The sea was calm and the southerly breeze made the day perfect.
The other guests had already started to walk slowly down the three hundred meters of wooden pier. The sandy shoreline of Long Beach, with its crystal clear waters, looked like a postcard. Untouched. The giant palm trees swayed gently and in the distance Margot noticed the colonial style lodge that stood at the edge of the tropical landscaped grounds, framed by the emerald green jungle that covered the island interior. What mysteries lay here? She thought. What fantasies could come true? Would she find a God? Or maybe a Goddess? Her eyes momentarily looked back at the delicious young hostess. The hostess smiled back, invitingly.
The exotic and enigmatic Dr. Ursula Roarke stood completely naked. Her thick black succubus cock, that moments ago, was dropped with spent semen, retracted inside her tight little hairless cunt hole. The doctor was a changeling — with the ability to be both female and male in the same body. Once again, she looked so deliciously feminine; her beautiful copper-colored skin shimmered with sexual perspiration.
She lazily played with her small fist-sized breasts and twisted her elongated nipples. Dr. Ursula looked petite. But it wasn’t her size that gave her stature. Her eyes blazed with an evil and perverse passion — how she loved the smell of piss, semen and sweat.
She stared momentarily out of the large panoramic windows of her third floor, a place she called The Hall, above the Phantasy Lodge. All around her, the walls of her private lodgings were adorned with highly pornographic murals — which, at that moment, paraded dark and provocative image of red-skinned she-devils with their impossibly long cocks buried in the mouths, anuses and vaginas of small naked children. The frieze began to blur out as twisted figures constantly morphed from one evil scene to the next. Perversion after perversion. Blasphemy after blasphemy.
Impossible? Not in Phantasy Island — here, anything was possible.
A young native boy whimpered as he lay face down across the cushioned floor of Dr. Ursula’s boudoir. His defiled ass was still gaping and bloody from being painfully sodomized only moments earlier — Dr. Ursula seemed distracted, maybe just a little bored.
There would be a new batch of visitors arriving soon. She could see the silhouette of the small seaplane as it banked against the small fluffy white clouds that looked like cotton wool in a sea of endless azure blue. A perfect day. But then again every day was perfect on Phantasy Island.
Was she its custodian, the caretaker, the overseer? No, she was more like its ring master. She made bad things happen. She picked up the semen stained manila folder that contained the cheerless hopes and dreams of her so-called new recruits. Victims? Did she enjoy her work? Yes, but most of their fantasies were so pedestrian — so bland — but occasionally there were interesting little surprises. Did she like the process of peeling back the layers of the onion? Yes, there was a distinct pleasure to be found in taking their seemingly vanilla thoughts and exposing the darkness of what potentially could lurk just beneath the surface.
She knew. The Island knew. She could read their wicked thoughts. And the cherry was always finding the true evil hidden beneath their candy-coated desires. It was true. Phantasy Island was a farce. It wasn’t about their wishes, hopes and dreams at all. More like their worst nightmares. It was intrinsically evil. A cesspool parading as paradise. It welcomed deviants, perverts, pedophiles and devil worshipers. It fed on the worst kind of carnality — on the innocent victims, on the naive, on those saints and martyrs. She would separate the wolves from the sheep. She would feed the hungry depraved wolves. And the pathetic sheep would never return home. They were fodder for her and the demon spirits that inhabited Phantasy Island.
The guests entered the lodge.
“Please help yourselves to refreshments and our freshly prepared fruit platters. Your mistress-of-ceremonies, Dr. Ursula Roarke, will be joining us shortly,” announced Hoku, “The good doctor will talk to each of you individually. She is, of course, the maestro of magic and has reviewed each of your individual “fantasies” and will oversee your stay here on Phantasy Island. We’re expecting good weather, but like most tropical islands, we do occasionally see storms at this time of the year and the rainfall cools down the tropical heat. I am sure you’ll all find your accommodation to your liking. Each of you will have your own private villa — that you’ll find to be secluded and quiet — the perfect place for you to begin your fantasy adventure.”
It all had a Disney kind of tone about it. Choreographed and practiced. But none of the guests seemed perturbed. They were all having too much fun and were all busy, wrapped up in their own dreams, hopes and aspirations.
One of the dark-skinned porters rang a little triangle. Ding! Ding! Ding!
Everyone looked up from whatever it was that they were doing. An elegant woman entered the lodge. She was dark-skinned with long ebony hair. Dressed in pure radiant white, she commanded immediate attention. All the staff stopped, as if standing to attention.
“Good afternoon everyone.” Her accent was unexpectedly British with perfect diction, “Welcome to Phantasy Island. A paradise on earth. Where all your wildest dreams can come true. Let me introduce myself, I am Dr. Ursula Roarke, the custodian of Phantasy Island; and you will all be my honored guests for as long as you are here.”
Her movements were almost “cat-like” as she stepped around the room.
“I hope that you all had a pleasant flight. I know it can be a little rough up there with the turbulence and all. Nothing that a little more champagne won’t fix … And of course, I have read all your questionnaires. Thank you for being so … candid. We look forward to making them all come true,” she paused as Hoku handed her a tall glass of champagne, “But, you are all here now,” she added, holding up her glass, “Please, charge your glasses. And join me in a toast … may you all find that which truly impassioned you on Phantasy Island!”
PHANTASY ISLAND – CHAPTER TWO (2,941 WORDS)
“I believe in everything until it’s disproved. So I believe in fairies, the myths, dragons. It all exists, even if it’s in your mind. Who’s to say that dreams and nightmares aren’t as real as the here and now?” John Lennon
Some of the guests had left the lodge in search of their villas. Others sat eating and drinking at the bar. Samantha and Hilary clinked their half empty champagne flutes together. Both had had far too much to drink and in the lazy evening dusk, lounged together on one of the day beds on the lodge’s wide veranda. A young porter appeared, as if on cue, and filled both their glasses and then discretely disappeared again.
“It’s so strange you know,” said Hilary as she sipped her champagne, “I thought I was going to miss my family. I thought I would feel lost without them and their constant demands … but I don’t. Being here in paradise is so liberating … I feel anything is possible!”
“I know what you mean,” replied Samantha, “But honestly I do miss my orphan children. They’re my extended family. I secretly wished that they were here too, so they could have their dreams and wishes come true too.”
Hilary spilled her drink.
“Sorry, I must sound selfish and I’m a little tipsy,” added Hilary.
”No, you’ve done your part. And Yes, I’m a bit tipsy too,” replied Samantha, “So, what’s your fantasy?” She asked.
”Oh, don’t laugh right … I asked for a fairy tale … to find Aladdin’s Cave … it’s kind of childish and selfish … I know, but it’s like finding what’s at the end of the rainbow … It’s what I grew up with … somethings I don’t know …. if I had the power … would I be the fairy godmother or the wicked witch?” answered Hilary, her words were slightly slurred in her alcoholic haze.
“The wicked witch?” said Samantha, surprised at the seemingly mild-mannered woman.
“Only kidding my dear,” she lied.
“Dr. Roarke said that I should think about what matters to me; and stop thinking about everyone else. She said — being selfless leads nowhere — without our own needs being met … but … I still don’t know?”
Just as Samantha spoke her mind, Dr. Roarke appeared.
“Speak of the Devil and he shall appear,” jested Dr. Roarke, as she approached the two women.
The exotic doctor stood with two young islander children. They looked almost identical. Maybe eight or nine years old. Dr. Roarke looked directly at Samantha as she presented the two young girls.
“This Kai and her twin sister, Loni. Kai means, of the sea …” said Dr. Roarke, “And Loni means, of the sky. Beautiful aren’t they?” She did not wait for an answer. “Would it be too much, if I could ask you to look after them for a while, Samantha? Just for a while. They’re orphans and they need a little bit of your “motherly” attention. I hope you don’t mind, but I immediately thought of you and your ‘wish’ to bring your orphan children with you to Phantasy Island?”
Samantha looked at the two young girls. They looked so sweet and delicious. They were both dressed in nothing more than little grass skirts, with tiny white flowers in their hair. Their tiny breast bumps were crowned with coin sized areolas. Their skin was dark copper — much like Dr. Roarke. They both looked a little forlorn and needy of love and motherly attention.
“Of course. It would be my pleasure,” Samantha answered.
Her head was spinning from all the drinking as she got up from the day bed.
The two little girls immediately rushed to her side. Each clutched hold of one of Samantha’s hands. Samantha shrugged. She looked almost dreamy, caught up in the moment, feeling their little fingers curling around hers.
“Can we go to your apartment … Mommy?”
Samantha took to her new duties, like duck to water. She seemed very pleased to be of use and had no idea of what the two little sexual demons had in mind, once they got Samantha alone in her apartment. Maybe she did, but never expressed it. Maybe her dirty secret fantasy had already begun.
Dr. Roarke watched the two little girls leave with the Asian woman in tow. She smiled to herself knowing all that was about to unfold behind closed doors. Just as she had planned it. She turned her attention back to Hilary.
”Walk with me Hilary. I want to talk about who you’d like to be; and our trip tomorrow to Aladdin’s Cave.”
Father Tristan’s fantasy
Father Tristan Moore was brought to his apartment by one of the young sexy porter-boys. The good Father wanted to stop the boy, but he replied that it was not necessary on Phantasy Island. The priest hid his private thoughts well hidden. He found his bags were already there, together with, yet more welcome drinks. Everything they had said was true. Each apartment was completely isolated. It felt peaceful. So private.
The sun wasn’t far from setting over the ocean and he slipped out of his robes and into one of the white sheer gowns provided in the room. The huge flat screen television was big enough to fill an entire wall. The place was so spacious and luxuriously appointed with everything one could imagine. He picked at the bowl of juicy grapes and poured another glass of champagne. A far cry from his austere accommodation as a parish priest. Sometimes he hated it. Listening to all their petty confessions. Forgive me for this. Forgive me for that. The business of sin could be very uninspiring. But this wasn’t the time to think about such mundane things. No, tonight he was “strictly off duty” … his parishioners and even God could wait.
Just then, there was a soft knock on the door. The priest opened the door.
”Father, may I come in,” said the enigmatic Dr. Roarke, “I hope you find everything to your satisfaction?”
“Ah, Dr. Roarke,” the priest answered, “So glad to finally make your acquaintance. I have been hearing so much about you and your exciting island paradise.”
They shook hands formally and Dr. Roarke motioned for Father Tristan to sit together with her in adjacent lounge chairs. He sat down.
“Please, call me Ursula, Father” replied Dr. Roarke as she studied the lean priest.
“Tristan then,” the priest chuckled along, “I’m officially off duty and plan to stay that way.”
“Well, Tristan,” she began.
Dr. Roarke referred to her notebook (where she recorded each and every fantasy). She evaluated them, much like a medical doctor would review a patient’s case notes for diagnosis. And strangely enough it seemed that there were many parallels between the two.
”I see you have an eye for adventure, Father? The jungle wilds await? To find a lost tribe and to bring them religion?” she read verbatim and out loud, “… Such a noble quest?”
Yes, she knew from vast experience that fantasies had many layers. Fantasies within fantasies. On the surface, a noble cause was a smoke screen to cover a more devious intent. Sometimes even the “dreamer” was not completely aware of their real intent. What did the priest really want? Was this about power over the weak? Or corruption of the innocent? She grinned at the thought of the pious priest getting off on those old yellow framed ‘National Geographic” magazines that showed heathen tribes women, naked and vulnerable.
“My assistant, Tattoo, will take you to the Eastern Turn tomorrow. It’s a bit of a hike, but Tattoo knows the island like the back of his hand. He told me that there is a peaceful tribe of indigenous people living in a remote fishing village there. They have never encountered “white” people and have never heard of Christianity.”
“Sounds perfect.” His voice sounded a little joyless.
“But stay near the shore area, Father,” added the doctor, as she watched the priest intently, “You should not venture too far inland. Especially near the foot of the active volcano. I have heard that sometimes members of another tribe have been sighted lurking in the jungle fringe — a tribe of fierce cannibals — who worship the cave demons and have been known to take many captives to use in their obscene rituals … before killing and eating them.”
“Sounds horrific. I have heard about evil tribes like this. Yes. Barbaric. What kind of sinful obscenities do they perform upon their victims? I mean, if … if you know?”
Dr. Roarke saw the twinkle in his eye. There was sometimes akin to sexual excitement at the suggestion of something so profoundly evil. An evil fantasy of rape and torture? Necrophilia? Murder? Demon worship?. She liked this priest. Her changeling shecock thickened inside of her — pressing against her vaginal opening. This was making her horny.
“Well Father … It’s quite shocking really. I mean, we don’t like to mention such dark and wicked things … this being Phantasy Island and all … but not everything is within my control,” she lied, “They prefer the young ones you know … they love tiny children … their meat is sweeter and leaner (not so chewy), I believe. They partake in homosexual orgies while they offer sacrifices to their demon gods.”
“Oh … shocking. Such heathens! So blasphemous!”
She could see the tenting of his cock beneath the thin material of the gown.
“Yes Father they are. Evil and depraved. They rape and murder the small children, Father. Sodomizing them and each other before their phallic effigies! They castrate the older ones and wear their severed genitals as demonic symbols of initiation.”
Dr. Roarke could see that he was getting off on this.
“There are a few DVDs,” suggested Dr. Roarke.
“Yes, documentaries of course. They do capture some of these awful rituals, Father. They are rather explicit. I would warn you, not to watch them, if you have a weak constitution. They leave nothing to the imagination.”
”And … And I can view these?”
“Yes, of course. That’s why I had arranged for them to be placed in your bedroom. Some midnight research maybe? Just to warn you, of course …”
The priest was salivating. His cock throbbing at the thought of witnessing such atrocities. He was virtually stroking himself in front of her.
“Well tomorrow will be a long day. I suggest you get some rest,” said Dr. Roarke as she got up to leave. Her own cock would soon need attention. “They’re very graphic — so I wouldn’t share them with any of the other guests. We’ll keep this a secret between you and I? Don’t want to scare anyone? Right?”
”Of course not,” agreed the excited priest.
Dr. Roarke could sense the priest’s eagerness to view the vile DVDs. Perversely masturbating himself to the atrocities of rape, ritual slaughter, and cannibalism. Yes, this priest was one of her kind. Tattoo would, of course, take him to the “wrong” village. It had all been arranged. They would believe him to be a “white” devil — more than worthy of worship and an honored guest at their perverted sex orgy and cannibal feast.
”It’s so romantic,” said chubby little Louise in her usual whiny tone. She turned three hundred and sixty degrees in their huge apartment, “Look, we have our own indoor jungle pool. It’s so beautiful.”
And it was. The luxurious apartment combined inside and outside areas with an amazing rock pool that looked inviting and sensual — all private and secluded — like a honeymoon suite made for romantic lovemaking. Even William felt sexually aroused. His cock stirred even though he would have preferred some anal sex with a young femboi, rather than having to bother fucking his annoying wife.
Louise was about to get naked and go for a swim, when there was a soft knock on the door.
“I hope I haven’t disturbed you two young love birds?” It was Dr. Roarke, “I promise not to be too long …”
“Come in,” said William, glad for the distraction.
“Just doing my rounds before sunset,” she glanced down at her notes, “Now I see that while you are here on Phantasy Island, Louise, you’re hoping to conceive … to become pregnant? Such a lovely gift for your husband? He must be so elated?”
”He is … ahhhhhh … we are!” Laughed Louise.
William didn’t answer. Dr. Roarke felt a twinge in her stomach.
“A boy or a girl?” Dr. Roarke asked.
“A girl,” answered Louise — “A boy,” answered William at the same time.
They both laughed, but Dr. Roarke saw something contemptuous in William’s expression.
“I think you need to use the bathroom, Louise,” suggested Dr. Roarke. It sounded almost like a command. Louise didn’t register Dr. Roarke’s words … but instead she just said.
“Would you excuse me a moment, Dr. Roarke. I think I need to use the bathroom.”
With those words, Louise turned and headed off to their private ensuite. The door closed behind her. She was gone. William turned to Dr. Roarke in complete surprise. He looked puzzled.
“I wanted to talk to you alone, William,” explained Dr. Roarke, “Your darling wife has a very susceptible mind. It can be manipulated quite easily. As you can see. Now, she believes that you are both here because of her baby dreams … but I am here for your fantasy …”
Again William looked puzzled. ”But I didn’t write anything on the damn questionnaire?”
“You mean you didn’t write that you wanted to your fat-assed-wife to be gang-raped by niggers, while you watched? The fantasy where you don’t have to put up with her incessant whining — because she is strangled after the rape — and you get to walk away with all the family fortune? And you live happily ever after with your ass filled with young boy cocks?”
William looked horrified.
He saw the words written on the page in front of him. Yes, he’d thought exactly those words … but had never actually written them down — but there they were in his hand-writing. Fuck! He was done! Caught out, like a rabbit in the headlights of an oncoming car. What was he going to do now? How could this have happened?
“I … I … don’t know what you mean? You must be mistaken?” He lied.
Dr. Roarke smiled and closed her notepad.
“I am not mistaken, Mr. Heath … As I said, I am here for your fantasy. There will be no fucking baby. Your fat fuck of a wife will die. Your fantasy will play out, just as you described it. It will happen. And it will happen, very soon. It’s all arranged. Don’t get cold feet … just imagine — this island is filled with many pretty young boys who love anal sex and golden showers … yes … soon, your bed will stink of hot salty boy piss, semen and sweat … I promise you.”
Margot Sweets sat on the soft golden sand of “Long Beach” at the edge of the lapping warm waves. She stared out to the distant horizon, beyond the coral reef, where she could observe the waves foaming white as they broke across it. It was a serene and sedate evening. Was this one of God’s creations or designed to tempt by the Devil?
Besides the sound of the breaking waves, it was quiet. Burning torches lined the exit from the beach, up to where her luxury accommodation was. It felt good to be out watching the sunset. The lecturer’s quest seemed distant in her mind. As she sat, she failed to observe another solitary figure approaching along the beach.
Hoku knelt down on the soft white sand next to the forty-five year old lecturer. Margot smiled. Though this moment was lovely, seeing this beautiful young girl again sparked her sensual arousal.
“Beautiful,” said Hoku, looking out at the golds, oranges and reds of the fiery sky.
“Yes you are,” answered Margot.
“Why thank you Margot. Flirting are we? Not so bad yourself,” replied the cheeky young hostess as she first removed her top, revealing her tiny “A’ cup breasts; and then her pants, showing off her tight buttocks and proportioned thighs. Completely naked, she knelt down next to Margot.
“My nani (cunt) is so wet. It needs your tongue, Margot.”
Hoku’s slender body was perfect, without a single tan mark or blemish. Her cunt was hairless, but heavily tattooed with the face of what appeared to be a horned demon; where her cunt lips formed the obscene shape of its evil mouth; and her penal-shaped clit stood vulgarly upright; like the devil’s tongue sticking out from between her open labia.
”Mmmmmm … I came to Phantasy Island in search of God … and it appears I have found something else?”
Hoku smiled. “Gods. Goddesses. We have many here, Margot. Why limit yourself? Dr. Roarke gave me my name … ‘Hoku’ which means ‘Night of the full moon’ … and tonight is my night …”
“You are a moonlight goddess worthy of adoration my dear … my nani (cunt) is wet just looking at you.”
They tongue-kissed roughly. Hoku held the back of Margot’s head, twisting her fingers in the Milf’s shortly cropped hair. Hoku groaned into her open mouth as Margot’s fingers firstly groped at Hoku’s little coned breasts and then began to vigorously finger-fuck her oily cunt lips.
”Aaarghhhhhhh … Fuck yer … Now, kiss the Devil … and drink my dirty champagne …” demanded Hoku, pushing Margot’s face downwards against her itchy, juicy cunt, “Dr. Roarke says you’re a shit-eater? A filthy fucking human toilet who dreams of molesting little girls? Under your guise of religious goodness — and a secret devil worshiper — hiding behind her mask of intellect and decency?”
PHANTASY ISLAND – CHAPTER THREE (3,124 WORDS)
“She is a sly one. Mostly at night we commune. Night. Harbinger of dream and nightmare and bearer of omens which defy the music of words. In the morning the fear of her going is very real and very alarming. It can make one tremble. Not that she cares. She is the muse. I am the messenger.” Edna O’Brien
Samantha was still a little tipsy from all the champagne that she’d consumed.
She had brought the two young girls, Kai and Loni, back to her secluded apartment. They seemed to have boundless amounts of energy. And both insisted on calling her “Mommy” — which at first, Samantha, had found a little awkward — but they were both so cute and adorable that she soon accepted it. She even found it endearing as she allowed herself to think of them as her own daughters.
Once Samantha brought them inside, they immediately discarded their rough little grass skirts and started to leap around the apartment completely naked. Samantha assumed it quite normal for island children. They seemed to have no apprehension about this behavior despite Samantha’s presence.
“Mommy … can we go in the spa? … please! … can we? … can we? … please Mommy, please!” They talked fast and both at the same time … neither of them hardly taking time to breath between their constant chatter.
What had she got herself into? She laughed nervously as she thought to herself. She was used to incorrigible young girls, but there was something very different about Kai and Loni. Maybe it was the effects of alcohol? Samantha couldn’t put her finger on it. It felt as if they knew more than they should. Their nakedness was not just childish playfulness? There seemed to be some kind of game involved here? It was in the way they moved, provocatively? Dare she say almost sexually? No, It could be? Samantha dismissed the thought immediately.
Now both girls were jumping in and out of the bubbling spa water. They splashed each other playfully. Their high-pitched voices were full of mischief.
“Mommy … come in … come and play … it’s so hot and bubbly … please Mommy, please!” They both called out as Samantha gathered up their discarded grass skirts from the floor.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” she said straightforwardly, “Maybe next time.”
“Mommy, you don’t need clothes … it’s like a big bath! Come on! Come on, Mommy!” They both insisted.
“Okay, just for a while,” she agreed reluctantly, but not wanting to disappoint her two new daughters.
As Samantha undressed, for some reason unbeknown to her, she suddenly felt very exposed and a little vulnerable. Another stupid thought? Maybe it was all the defects of the champagne? Once naked, she quickly slipped into the relative safety of the bubbling spa and soon found the two girls next to her. As she sat on the seat that ran around the edge of the spa, the girls immediately came and sat with her … next to her … sitting across her legs. They were all over her, pressing themselves against her — skin against skin.
Samantha didn’t mind their small nubile bodies, in fact it felt nice. Nice … but again, it felt as if she shouldn’t be enjoying it … she unexpectedly felt a sudden arousal. A sexual arousal. Their childish hands were all over her — touching her breasts and their tiny fingers probed her, even between her legs — it felt inappropriate … yet she did nothing to stop them.
“We love you Mommy,” said Kai, “Do you love us?”
Samantha said nothing, she just nodded affirmatively.
“Can we all play in bed?” Asked her sister.
Again, Samantha numbly nodded as they all climbed out of the water. Neither of the girls bothered to dry off, as they immediately jumped onto the huge king sized bed kicking off the bedclothes, as if preparing for something.
“Can we play the game, Mommy?” Beckoned Kai.
“Sure,” she answered, but it was as if she was on autopilot.
“Can we play a game called incest, Mommy?” Asked Loni as she pouted.
Incest was such a grown up word. It sounded strange coming from the mouth of one so tiny. But Samantha’s body moved to join them, even as her mind screamed no. The thought of the twins committing incest with each other was having a profound effect on her. And her … if she was to be involved … it would be pedophilia? Sexual abuse? Molestation? Rape? This was perverted. It ran completely against everything that Samantha held sacred.
“We love to play with our little pussies, Mommy,” added Loni.
”We love to lick each other … Will you lick us, Mommy? … Lick our baby cunts? Please, Mommy? … Incest is so much fun! Lick us and make us cum hard?”
Samantha’s mind was whirling. She felt sexually overheated by these two little harlots — it was too depraved! How could she allow this to continue? She knew it was wrong, but felt powerless to stop herself. How could she enjoy this wickedness? Why was her cunt on fire? So fucking itchy with lust — as her hands pulled their naked eight-year-old bodies close to her.
“Mommy has nice tits!” said Kai.
“I like Mommy’s big nipples.” replied Loni.
“Look how hard they are!”
“Mommy wants us to suck them?”
“We need to be fed, Mommy …”
Samantha’s nipples ached and throbbed for their hungry little cute mouths to wrap around them. Both eager to suck her elongated nipples. She felt so wet. Her pussy was literally dipped with her oily cunt nectar. As these strange feelings manifested, she began to lactate … droplets of creamy white breast milk formed at her nipple tips. It was impossible? She wasn’t pregnant? How could she lactate? In fact she was a thirty-two year old virgin. None of this conjecture seemed to matter as the greedy twins began to immediately feast upon her small but suck-able breasts, drawing upon her milk ducts and swallowing the warm creamy fluid as they both fingered Samantha’s needy cunt.
Hilary accompanied the enigmatic Dr. Roarke. Hilary had dressed conservatively for their excursion in a long summer dress, a light scarf and open sandals. Dr. Roarke seemed to be satisfied with only a pure white slip that appeared almost translucent in certain light conditions. Hilary pretended not to take any notice — though she did envy the doctor’s youth and athletic slenderness. It seemed a long time ago that she’d been an attractive catch. Outside, the jungle seemed to come alive with all manner of strange and exotic animal calls. Hilary thought that the doctor seemed to move like an animal predator herself, stalking her prey — so beautiful, yet very dangerous.
It was only minutes after sunrise. The warm rays of the morning sun twinkled through the canopy of trees that covered the morning sky. Overhead monkey chattered. Unidentifiable birds lifted from the undergrowth with wings fluttered, as they once again, blended into the surrounding foliage. They continued to walk at a brisk pace in the direction of the twin peaks.
On the left was the towering crest of the volcano they called Mount Kapo. Hilary had heard that “Kapo” meant something like the “Goddess of Evil”. The volcano, though it appeared benign, was supposedly still active and the name sounded apt as it could erupt at any time. On the right was what remained of an extinct volcano that was more like a crater filled at its base with a small (but deep) lake. They called it Mount Laka — the so-called “Goddess of Fertility”.
Dr. Roarke has described the place that they affectionately called “Aladdin’s Cave” as one of the most beautiful and serene parts of the island, where natural rock formations, created from a combination of volcanic action and a millennium of water erosion, had left breathtaking caverns that looked like a subterranean paradise.
Hilary had resigned herself to the fact that it wouldn’t be exactly her “fantasy place”, where she’d rub a lamp, a genie would pop out and grant her three wishes — but it was still an opportunity to experience something incredible. Finally they reached a small grotto that formed the entry to the cave network. It was almost invisible, covered with lush vegetation. If she’d been on her own, Hilary would never have seen it.
“We’re here,” announced Dr. Roarke.
Inside the temperature was cooling. The sound of running water echoed against the rock formations. Stalactites and stalagmites made of the slow dripping of water bound calcium glittered magically in the caves twilight. The cave floor was a little uneven, so Hilary, who wasn’t firm of foot, had to take care as she followed in the doctor’s footsteps. Light pierced the cave roof in frequent locations, so there was no need for torches or artificial illumination.
They approached the edge of a large subterranean lake. From a source high above them, water cascaded down into the rippling pool. The sound was soothing. There was a small boat moored to the water’s edge. Dr. Roarke helped Hilary climb inside. She was still breathing heavily from the length of their walk. She sat down at one end of the boat and was glad of the rest for her tired legs. The doctor used a long pole to push the wooden craft towards a central island. Hilary was in awe at the beauty of the place. A magical feeling swept through her as the cave roof sparkled like fairy dust.
”It so beautiful,” Hilary said, “Is this where I will meet my genie?” Asked Hilary.
“Some may call it that.” Replied Dr. Roarke as the boat reached the island shore.
“So it grants wishes?”
“Yes,” she said with a surety that was quite profound.
“If you had three wishes Hilary,” asked Dr. Roarke, “What would they be?”
“Well, I would love to be young again,” she replied, “I know it’s not possible, but …”
“Young and sensual?” Dr. Roarke asked.
“Oh, that would be nice. It’s been such a long time.”
“You’re a bit of a dark horse? Aren’t you?”
The boat came to the shallow waters of the shoreline.
“Now, this is your fantasy and you must go the rest of the way on your own …”
Hilary was unsure about it, but stepped out of the boat anyway. She hesitantly walked up the subterranean beach. Old wooden caskets, like treasure chests lay half buried in the volcanic black sand. From the light that descended from the holes in the rock ceiling, she saw that there were many discarded maritime objects. Maybe a ship’s wheel, some fishing nets and an anchor — she recognized. There were other things that she did not. It was a treasure-trove that had all seen better times. Now beaten into decay or rust by the salty sea and unforgiving sun.
A dark horse? She thought about the many fantasies that she had suppressed over the decades. All the taboo things she had imagined from her younger days. If only she had the opportunity to do it all over again — how differently she would have been — not the sedimentary housewife. Maybe she would have been an exotic dancer, a stripper, a prostitute, a high priestess at a secret black mass … sampling her desires for both men and women and everything else in between.
Hilary stopped and turned around, but Dr. Roarke and the small boat were gone. She was truly alone.
She noticed a large antique mirror that had been laid almost upright against the rock wall. It was very dusky. She removed her scarf from around her neck and rubbed its surface until she clearly saw her own reflection. She looked old and tired — a bit like the discarded objects that filled the cave floor. She skin was wrinkled and her sunspots were plentiful. Hilary’s grey hair no longer cascaded around her shoulder, now it just looked straw-like and unkempt after the jungle hike.
“Take them off,” said a darkly voice that appeared to come from the antique mirror.
Hilary looked around. Was she hearing things?
“Take off your clothes, Hilary … look upon thy self.”
Hilary hesitated, she wasn’t quite sure why, but still did exactly as the mirror said. The long summer dress, her old fashioned bra and wide comfortable panties — even her saddles. She stood and looked back at the mirror. Now fully naked, she stared at her own reflection again.
Was it her? Yes, it was her, but a much younger her. The reflection appeared as she’d looked in her twenties maybe or maybe even younger. Her saggy old breasts and flattened nipples now appeared firm and perky … the whitish stretch marks on her wriggled flesh had changed … those big blue veins had all disappeared … in the mirror her skin was flawless and looked so tight; her face looked fresh and vital; and she no longer stooped with rounded shoulders.
Was this some kind of trick? She thought. Was it really her? How was this possible?
“Your first wish was to be young again,” said the darkly voice.
“Yes,” she answered, still feeling a little foolish; thinking it was all a fancy trick.
She looked at her hands. They were no longer knobbly and crooked. Hilary’s fingers touched her sensitive young breasts. Her nipples instantly hardened. Her cunt felt a youthful urge of sex. Her vagina was incredibly wet. She never remembered being so horny. She looked at herself. Young and promiscuous.
“Your second wish was to be sensual,” said the mirror.
“Yes, but …”
“Go ahead … I know you want to … touch yourself,” ordered the mirror.
She fingered herself in front of the mirror.
“Yes. Yes … You’re beautiful … touch yourself …” groaned the voice of the mirror, seemingly impassioned by the woman’s wanton display.
Hilary’s appetite seemed to get the better of her. She felt a heat between her legs. An itch that must be scratched. Her fingers pressed deeper and deeper; as she fingered herself faster and faster. Her youthful body seemed to demand it; as she shamelessly performed before the antique mirror that only encouraged her masturbatory urges.
“Lick your slutty fingers … taste your cunt juices … finger your anus!”
And Hilary did without another thought.
“Aaaaarrrghhhhhh …” she moaned.
Her legs felt like jelly as her body quivered in orgasm. She dropped to her knees in the soft black sand. Her vaginal juices ran thickly down the insides of her thighs. She quivered over and over … but within a minute of what had been one of the best orgasms she could remember, her young body demanded more.
“Yes, you dark horse. You whore. You wished for a demon lover … a succubus …” announced the mirror.
Hilary turned slowly and saw the distinctive silhouette of Dr. Roarke standing on the beach.
Father Tristan’s fantasy
It was in the early hours of the morning that the ugly little dwarf man, Tattoo, came to collect the wayward priest from his apartment.
Father Tristan looked tired as he hadn’t slept much. Spending most of the night watching the DVDs that Dr. Roarke had left for him. They had been profoundly explicit. Though Dr. Roarke said that they were purported to have been recorded as a kind of documentary — somehow it didn’t feel that way — in fact they had shamelessly shown all the most gory of details — that left nothing to the imagination.
He had tried hard to resist the urge to masturbate at the sights and sounds of the disturbing footage — but had failed spectacularly. His heart rate had soared. His priestly cock had been so hard it ached between his legs. In no time he was naked. His precum leaked copiously, over his eager fingers, lubricating them as he jacked off faster and faster — only stopping to rewind the most sick and perverted parts of the footage — as his sticky cum flew across his chest and face.
Dr. Roarke had talked about a friendly tribe of natives that lived off the spoils of their sea, catching fresh fish and living a natural life without any kind of mortal sin. They were naive but wholesome. How could he help people like that? What good would religion be to them?
But, these heathens in the documentary were evil and depraved. Their rituals were an affront to God himself — Thou shalt not worship graven images. Their gods were phallic. Their gods were devils — You shall not lie with a male as with a woman; it is an abomination. Their rituals were blatantly homosexual. They sodomized young boys dressed like girls before their demon gods — Thou shalt not kill. They had slaughtered innocents (the ones that they had abducted from the other villages). They fucked them, drank their blood, and ate their flesh.
Maybe he shouldn’t be so ambitious? What if something went horribly wrong? He didn’t want to end up being their supper. No. Maybe the “peaceful” tribe would be more than enough of a challenge. He could at least baptize them as it was the gateway to a life-after-death in God’s hands.
He felt a great shame in his arousal. What was wrong with him? The guilt welled up about taking pleasure from these evil acts. He pretended to himself that he hadn’t — it was just a momentary slip. He promised to God to make it right. If he could take these evil creatures and make them see the Abrahimic light … He would save their souls from eternal hell and save himself in the process.
“Priest,” said Tattoo, “Stay close to me. The jungle is full of danger. Everything here wants to either kill you or eat you. Understand?”
The priest nodded.
Tattoo, despite his reduced stature, moved through the jungle with a practiced ease. The boy servants he’d hired, did the heavy lifting, carrying the priest’s personal efforts (Bibles, crucifixes and other religious adornments) as well as their food supplies.
They had started off traveling north east from the Phantasy Island Lodge, heading along Snake River, but their journey had now taken them into thick jungle where the light found it hard to penetrate to the jungle floor. In the gloom, the priest notices totems, skulls on sticks at intermittent intervals. Ugly things. There was a bad smell in the air. Burnt things. Maybe they marked grave sites? He wasn’t sure. There was the faint sound of drums. A wild rhythm that seemed to maybe be another warning sign? Tattoo seemed to be moving towards the sound.
“Are we on the right track?” he asked Tattoo.
“Yes,” he answered plainly.
But the priest wasn’t convinced. The sounds of the drums just got louder. More insistent. The frequency of skulls and bones seemed to mark a territory? Had they taken a wrong turn. Tattoo made no adjustments to the direction.
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