SEA ORPHAN Read online

  Gently he pushed on her back, afraid to break the girl’s ribs. He lifted the thin arms up, pushed again until a stream of seawater spurted from her mouth. She coughed, spluttered but didn’t open her eyes. Carefully, he picked her up in his arms. “I’ll be damned,” he muttered. The girl’s T-shirt was torn to shreds and a nipple poked through one of the holes. Her panties were torn too, and were twisted around one ankle. “She has to be in her late teens. No little girl has nipples that size.” His eyes glanced at the girl’s private parts. He guessed her to be about fourteen, just in her puberty years, or maybe even fifteen. It was hard to tell nowadays. Some girls developed early and most fourteen and fifteen year olds could easily pass for twenty. Maybe she shaved, he thought, glancing at the nipples again that were puckered from the cold seawater and contrasted darkly against her pale skin.

  Lucien strode swiftly to the rocks that hid his small cottage from prying eyes. Climbing with her in his arms wasn’t difficult, she was light as a feather. Once inside the cottage, he laid her carefully on his cot and took off the shredded shirt. She lay naked before him. He wondered if she had been alone in the dinghy, if the sea would wash up more bodies onto his beach. Soon as he tended to her, made sure she was okay, he’d go back out and would search for more signs of washed up life. Surely she hadn’t been out in the dinghy alone?

  Feeling helpless, he knew he had no choice but to bathe her and make her comfortable. The next supply boat wouldn’t come in for six months. He had no way of taking her back to the mainland, no equipment for communication. He’d isolated himself from humanity six years ago after his fiancée had left him standing at the altar. Fed up with the corporate world, the hunger for money, what was happening to humanity, he’d sold the shares he held in other companies, kept his own company and his house, left his job in the capable hands of another, and bought the island.

  And now, his peaceful existence had been invaded—but by an innocent teenager, a girl who probably had not yet been corrupted by society. He had no choice but to keep her with him for six months unless he could attract the attention of a passing boat. Where had she come from? Who was she?

  Awkwardly he washed her face and lifted her head to rinse her short-cropped hair over the basin of fresh water he’d quickly fetched from the stream that ran behind the cottage. He felt nervous as he sponged her slight body, it was an invasion of her privacy but what else could he do? He was the only one on the island and the girl was covered in sand. As he sponged her chest he saw her ribs protrude through the thin layer of skin. She was so skinny she almost seemed undernourished.

  When he washed her nipples they hardened automatically. For a moment something smoldered in his loins, a feeling he’d not had all these years. Sure, he masturbated. But only when he lay in the sun and felt the sun’s rays make love to his body. It would arouse him to feel the sun caress his penis and balls. It always caused his cock to throb and stand to attention and it had become a daily habit to satisfy his ardor this way.

  He’d also masturbate while he painted. Sometimes his artistic mind would get so carried away that the painting he was working on became an aphrodisiac. He’d stare at the shapes forming on the canvas, usually naked women from other worlds who were his fantasies of a perfect human race, and his penis would jump to attention at the thought of them being real.

  It had been so long since he’d seen a woman. But this wasn’t a woman this was a girl. He sponged her belly then parted her legs to removed the sand caked between them. He rolled her easily onto her side and placed the basin underneath her buttocks and rolled her back. He drenched the sponge and let the water run between her legs. The sand slowly disappeared to reveal soft pink flesh and just the scarcest sprinkling of blonde pubic hair.

  He gazed down for a moment at her virginal cleft before he gently parted the folds and sponged between them. To make sure that all the sand was gone, he ran his fingers through the tender folds. A clump of sand had gathered near her vagina. Gently he probed to remove it. This time his arousal was strong and he couldn’t stop it. Breathing heavily, he poured more water over the cleft while holding the lips open. Soft, moist, pink flesh gazed up at him, the inner labia that protected her vagina not yet fully developed and just barely visible. Her clitoris resembled the smallest of rosebuds. He gazed at it, longing to touch but squashing the desire.

  Trying to control himself, he rolled her off the basin and parted her firm buttocks. Sand was caked all the way to the top of the crack. He sponged it off exposing a firm, pink anus. He pulled his hands back as if burned. The girl was probably still in her early teens, just budding into womanhood. He had invaded her privacy. Quickly he rolled her back and washed her legs, then covered her with the sheet.

  His penis stood erect. No matter how hard he tried to control his passion, it consumed him with a fire he thought he only felt now beneath the loving, caressing fingers of the sun or the extra terrestrial women he created in his paintings. After Vanessa had destroyed his faith in love, he’d put all thoughts of her, women and love out of his mind—except for the fantasy women who visited him from Venus and Mars or the sun’s sweet tentacles as they wrapped themselves around his erect penis. They were perfect and satisfied his every desire. But now a real person caused that desire and she was just a young girl.

  The girl slept soundly. He pulled up a chair, sat beside the cot and gazed at her. Though her face was thin, her cheeks hollow, his artist’s eye told him it showed promise of beauty. Her blonde hair, now dried into tiny ringlets, framed her face like a halo. Vaguely he wondered about the color of her eyes as his hand stole down to his penis.

  She wouldn’t know… Carefully he removed the sheet from her body and stood up so he could look between her parted legs. His hand tightened around his penis and started to move the skin back and forth. His heart hammered in his chest as passion roared through his veins, throbbed in his ears, pounded like a hammer in his head. Faster, faster, imagining himself encased by that virginal tunnel, breaking the barrier he assumed was still there, and her full lips sucking his tongue, his ears roared with the approaching climax. He leaned forward and let the explosion of semen drip onto the wooden floor.

  He let out a long groan as the last drop spilled and his cock slowly returned to its flaccid state. For a moment he felt guilt and horror at what he’d done. He’d taken advantage of the body of an innocent girl. But he’d not really ravaged her, he’d only watched her and used his own means to release his passion, he argued with himself.

  The basin still stood on the floor beside the bed. He dipped the sponge in the water and washed the semen off the floor, then covered her with the sheet again. For a while, he sat beside the bed and watched her until he realized she could sleep for a long time.

  Glancing at her one more time, he left the cottage to go and search for other survivors and bury the debris he’d collected.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Becky struggled out of the abyss she’d fallen into. The dinghy rocked softly, the sound of the sea acting like a lullaby. The sea was now quite calm, the dinghy actually comfortable. With her eyes still closed she allowed reality to enter her mind. Her parents were gone. Paul was gone. Forever. Those bastards had killed her family, the only family she had in Australia or for that matter, in the whole world. Fire had consumed their bodies and her home, she was sure of that. She’d seen the devouring flames through the sheets of rain burning every shred of evidence, burning her parents, brother… Now she’d never be able to give them a decent burial.

  Hot tears escaped from under her closed eyelids. She felt them run down her cheeks and pool in the hollow between her collarbones. Long sobs wracked her body. When she curled into a fetal position, she suddenly realized a sheet covered her and her body wasn’t on the rubber bottom of the boat. This realization stilled her sobs and she opened her eyes.

  She lay on a bed. Above her was a rough, beamed ceiling. Startled, she sat up. “Where am I?” she asked aloud. Her eyes scanned her surroundings. She was
in a large room, a small kitchenette in the corner, a canvas in its center and a rough wooden table and a chair. The room’s furnishings were sparse. Completed canvasses graced the walls. She studied them. She loved fantasy and the paintings fired her imagination.

  Especially, the painting of a beautiful naked woman riding a unicorn caught her attention. It reminded her of her horse and the times she’d been able to ride the mare, how even through the cloth of her jeans the movement of the horse, the rubbing on the mare’s back had caused the flesh between her legs to throb in ecstasy. More than often she had climaxed while riding.

  The woman atop the horse had her head flung back, long blond hair streaming behind her as the wind whipped it, hands covering large, firm breasts. Whoever had painted it, had painted the woman without pubic hair, the cleft parted as the woman’s legs hugged the unicorn’s sides.

  Her grief forgotten for now, buried in a dark corner of her heart, fantasy took over and Becky’s hand stole down to her own crotch, feeling, probing, imagining herself to be that woman.

  For moments she was lost in other worlds, escaping from the grief that had settled in her soul and heart, until a sound outside caused her to yank her hand away and jump off the cot. She was sore all over. Every muscle in her body felt as if it had gone through a meat grinder. Stiffly, she walked to the window above the sink and looked out.

  What she saw caused her to gasp. Surely her hero had rescued her and she was in his holiday cottage? A tall man was busy tending a vegetable garden. She spotted several ripe watermelons, some pumpkins and toward the back rows of green bean plants and corn. The man plucked a ripe tomato and placed it in an already full basket that stood on the path between the plants. She could only see his shoulders and head. The rest of his body was hidden behind the foliage. His hair was long, honey blond, wild and unkempt, just like his beard. He oozed masculinity.

  Suddenly, he threw the rake, or whatever it was he was using, aside and picked up the basket. Now she could see the rest of him. He was naked. With the basket in his hand he started to stride toward the cottage. Mesmerized she watched the muscles ripple under bronzed skin, his wide shoulders, long muscular legs, then her eyes rested on a bed of dark curls and his soft penis surrounded by dark pubic hair and a firm sack. She’d seen Paul without clothes on, but never had she been able to study a man’s cock at her leisure.

  As he neared the door, she suddenly realized she was naked herself. Her eyes searched the room for her shirt but she didn’t see it anywhere. When the doorknob turned she flew to the bed and ripped the sheet off to cover her body, at the same time realizing that the man must have removed her shirt. A ripple of excitement tore through her loins at that thought, interrupted by the man’s entry into the cabin.

  “Well, you’re awake,” he said. “I’m Lucien Moore. What’s your name? Can you tell me what happened to you?”

  “My name is Becky Ferguson. I—I…” she hesitated. Could she tell him about what happened at the house? What happened to her parents and her brother? The pain was too great yet and she didn’t want to talk about it. “I ran away from home,” she lied while swallowing hard to get rid of the lump in her throat. It didn’t matter. She had no one left to go home to. She gazed at the man who stood unabashed, facing her in his entire glorious, naked splendor. Her first impression, that he resembled her hero, was wrong. He looked to be in his early thirties. His face was strong, chiseled, from what she could see of it. He had sensitive lips and appraising brown eyes. She wondered what he looked like without the beard, would he still be as wildly sexy?

  “I picked some tomatoes,” he said, holding the basket out to her. “Your parents must be worried sick. Were you alone in that dinghy? What were you doing playing around in such a storm?”

  “I don’t have parents and I was alone,” Becky told him in a trembling voice. A thought suddenly occurred to her. What if Lucien Moore was one of the burglars? Had they followed her somehow? Did they have a boat and had hauled her out of the water?

  Stepping backward she asked, “Were you on the mainland recently?”

  Lucien wondered at the question. “No, I haven’t been back to the mainland for months. Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered. I don’t have anyone,” she said relieved that Lucien wasn’t one of the burglars.

  “I’m sorry. You must have some family? Where did you come from?”

  “From the sea.”

  “Obviously. It’s not often the sea washes young girls up on my beach,” he smiled. “I’ll have to get you back to the mainland somehow. You can’t stay here.”

  “Do you have a boat?”

  “No. I’ll have to signal a passing tourist boat or something. Or I can build a large fire to attract the coast guard’s attention.”

  “How do you survive if you don’t have a boat?”

  “I don’t need much, Becky. A supply boat brings me groceries and painting supplies every six months. It’s a standing order. As for the rest of my food, I catch fish and I grow my own vegetables. I can do without the trappings of society.”

  “I saw your paintings. They’re beautiful and intriguing. Do you sell them to survive? You surely need money for some things?”

  “I’ve got all the money I need. I’m not a poor man, young lady. I suppose you could call me rich as I own a mansion, limousines and everything a person could want and I’ve got plenty in the bank. I use some of the interest whenever I need money, though I don’t know why I’m explaining all this to you. You’re just a kid.”

  “But I’m not a…” she started to say but got no further.

  “I suppose I’d better find you a T-shirt. Does my nakedness offend you? If it does, I guess I’ll have to wear shorts while you’re here. Hopefully a boat will pass by soon.”

  “Doesn’t anyone ever come here?”

  “This is private property. I own this island.”

  “I see. I don’t care if you want to walk around naked, but I’d like a shirt if you don’t mind.” She studied him thoughtfully. Lucien thought she was still a kid, a teenager in her beginning puberty years. Perhaps it was better to let him think that. After all, he was a total stranger and if she admitted to her real age, heaven knows what could happen. That thought caused butterflies in her stomach. Maybe she wanted something to happen… ”Where is my shirt? Did you take it off?”

  “Do you think the sea undressed you?” He watched her face turn scarlet at this question and felt regret at his sarcasm. “You’re just a kid. No need to worry,” he told her. Now that she was awake and resembling an urchin, he wondered how he could have ever felt such desire before. But, for a moment her virginal softness entered his mind, and he fought to control his rising cock.

  Becky noticed the movement of his cock. She gazed at it with interest as it swelled and rose. Her years in the hospital had never allowed her to experiment with boys like her friends did. She’d seen Paul’s penis, but never had she seen one erect. Expectantly she waited for it to rise fully to the occasion but to her disappointment it went limp again. She felt like asking him to make it stiff, but he’d find that strange coming from such a young girl. If she could only touch it…

  “Are you hungry?” he asked while putting the basket on the table.

  “Those tomatoes look delicious,” she said looking longingly at the bright red fruits.

  “I’ll get you a T-shirt and then you can help yourself.” Lucien walked to the far end of the room and picked up a duffel bag. He rummaged around in it and produced a white T-shirt. “Here you are. It should be big enough to hide all of you,” he said with a grin.

  Holding the sheet with one hand, she pulled the shirt over her head with the other. He wasn’t joking when he said it would cover all of her. The shirt hung to her knees and was wide enough to fit three of her into it. She let the sheet drop to the plank floor.

  “You’re quite small,” Lucien commented.

  “I’m five feet tall,” Becky defended her stature.

  “Compared t
o my six feet, that’s small. That’s okay. Good things come in small parcels, they say.”

  Becky threw the sheet on the bed then headed for the table and the basket of tomatoes. She picked out a large red ripe tomato and bit into it. Its juices ran down her chin and instantly stained the shirt.

  “That’s it!” Lucien shouted, startling the girl.

  “What’s what?” she asked in between bites.

  “That’s how I want to paint you. Will you pose for me, Becky?”

  “If you like. But I notice you only paint naked ladies,” she said in her most innocent tone while wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

  “And that’s approximately how I want to paint you.”

  “Naked?” Thrill upon thrill invaded her body at the thought of him painting her in the nude.

  “Why not? You’re just a kid after all.”

  “Yes, I guess I am,” she agreed softly. “When do you want to start?”

  “Now. While I’ve got the picture I want to paint of you fresh in my mind. Follow me,” he told her while gathering his easel, canvas and paint box. “Here, you carry the turpentine and the tomatoes.”

  Becky followed him out of the cottage. She noticed the neat gardens around it, the array of flowers and shrubs he'd planted and stopped for a moment to examine the place she’d be staying at for a while. The outside of the cottage was painted a bright white; the shutters and roof were forest green. It looked cozy, picturesque. Tall gum trees and palms flanked the sides of the cottage and towered at the back. It looked like a cottage out of a fairy tale.

  “Are you coming?” he stopped to call back to her. “Or maybe you’re too tired?”

  “No, I’m fine,” she said and quickly caught up to him. She wasn’t fine. Her heart was breaking but having him paint her and allowing her fantasies to overpower the heartbreak would help. Her destiny was now in the hands of a complete stranger, but one who was so sexy he could have stepped out of the pages of Playgirl.