I fucked Lydia twice more that night. She didn't resist. Didn't protest. Just took everything I gave her and asked for more.
By morning, she could barely walk.
But Isaac — Isaac had vanished.
Throughout the whole day, we hadn't seen him.
I walked out of the cabin, adjusting my sweatpants. My cock was already half-hard from thinking about Lydia's face last night.
Martha was sitting on the porch, pretending to fix a fishing net. But I saw her eyes flick to my crotch the second I stepped outside.
"I'm going to find Isaac," I said.
She looked up, her face tight. "Please be careful."
"I'm always careful, Martha."
"You're never careful," she said, but her voice wavered.
I stepped closer, crowding her. She didn't move. Her chest was rising and falling faster now.
"I won't die," I said, my voice low, "until I've tasted your pussy."
Her breath hitched. For a split second, her thighs pressed together.
"Get lost," she said, but it came out breathy, weak.
I laughed and walked away, knowing damn well she was watching my ass.
---
The jungle was hot and thick, the air heavy with moisture. I let my instincts guide me, following the faint sounds of movement deeper into the vegetation.
Then I heard it—muffled voices. Struggling.
He was tied to a tree with strips of vine, a rag stuffed in his mouth, eyes wide with panic.
I pulled out the Glock I'd taken from him yesterday, keeping it low. Took my time walking over to him.
I ripped the tape off. He gasped, gulping air. "A woman—she thought I was attacking her son. Jesus Christ, Jack, there's a bear out here, a fucking bear, you need to—"
"Who's there?"
A woman stepped out from behind a cluster of palms, a sharpened stick gripped in both hands like a spear. She was maybe late thirties, early forties—dark hair pulled back in a messy ponytail, sun-damaged skin, but still attractive. More than attractive. She had curves in all the right places, hips that flared out from a narrow waist. Her tank top was too tight, her shorts too short. Practical for the heat, maybe, but my cock didn't care about practicality.
Behind her, a boy stepped out. Skinny, pale despite the sun, nervous energy radiating off him. His eyes went wide when he saw me.
Then they dropped.
Straight to the bulge in my sweatpants.
He stared for a full three seconds before jerking his gaze back up, his face flushing deep red.
*Interesting.*
"We don't want trouble," the woman said, but her voice shook. Her eyes flicked to the gun, then to my face, then—just for a second—down to my crotch.
I smiled. "Then don't give me any."
"There's a wild bear," she said quickly, her words tumbling out. "It's been hunting us for days. We had to tie him up because—because he was going to leave, and I can't—" She stopped herself, biting her lip.
"Can't what?" I asked, stepping closer.
She took a step back. "Can't let my son go out there alone."
The boy's jaw clenched. "Mom, I told you, I can handle—"
"No, you can't," she snapped, her voice sharp. Then softer, almost pleading: "Please. Just stay with me."
The way she said it made my cock twitch.
Not "stay with *us*." Stay with *me*.
I glanced at the boy. His fists were clenched, his face red. But not just with anger.
With jealousy.
"You can come with us," I said. "We have shelter. Food. Protection."
"No," the boy said immediately, stepping in front of his mother. "We're fine here. We don't need your help."
I looked past him, straight at the woman. "What about you? You want to stay out here with the bears? Or do you want to survive?"
She hesitated. Her eyes darted to her son, then back to me.
"We'll stay here," she said quietly.
I shrugged. "Your funeral."
Then we heard it.
A low, guttural growl that seemed to vibrate through the ground.
The woman's face went white.
---
The bear came out of the tree line like a tank—massive, dark brown fur, small eyes locked directly on us. It had to be seven feet tall standing on its hind legs.
"RUN!" the woman screamed.
But I didn't run. I raised the gun, aimed at the sky, and fired twice.
**BANG. BANG.**
The shots echoed through the jungle. The bear's head swiveled toward the sound, confused, angry.
"Get to the shelter," I said calmly, not taking my eyes off the animal. "Now."
Isaac shoved past Rachel to get to the shelter first, nearly knocking her down. The coward.
I fired once more into the air, and the bear turned, lumbering back into the jungle with a huff of frustration.
For now.
I jogged after the others, finding them huddled around a small structure—barely more than a lean-to made of palm fronds and scavenged wood. Crude, but functional.
"Get inside," I said.
We crowded into the tiny space—barely big enough for two people, let alone five.
The woman was pressed against my side, her chest heaving, her body warm and trembling. I could feel her heartbeat through her thin tank top. Feel the softness of her breast against my arm.
"Thank you," she whispered, looking up at me.
Her lips were inches from mine. Her breath was warm. Her eyes were wide, pupils dilated.
I didn't move.
Neither did she.
The boy cleared his throat loudly. "Mom. Move."
She flinched like she'd been slapped and stepped away, but I saw the flush spreading down her neck, disappearing beneath her shirt.
Isaac was sitting in the corner, staring at the floor, useless as always.
The boy was glaring at me, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles were white.
And I was hard as a fucking rock.
---
The hours crawled by. The bear circled the shelter twice, snorting and scratching at the supports, but it never tried to break in. Eventually, the sounds faded into the jungle.
Night fell fast.
We had no fire—too risky with the bear nearby. The shelter was cramped and dark, lit only by slivers of moonlight filtering through gaps in the palm fronds.
"We should introduce ourselves," the woman said quietly. "I'm Rachel. This is my son, David."
"Jack," I said. "That's Isaac."
Isaac didn't look up.
Rachel wrapped her arms around herself. "How long have you been on the island?"
"Three weeks," I said. "Give or take."
"And you've survived this long?"
"Obviously."
She nodded slowly, her eyes lingering on me. On my chest. My arms. The gun tucked into my waistband.
David noticed. His jaw tightened.
"We should sleep," Rachel said. "It's safer to move during the day."
She lay down on one side of the shelter, and David immediately lay down next to her, his body pressed against hers, his arm draped over her waist.
Isaac was already snoring in the opposite corner. I lay down against the opposite wall, the Glock within easy reach. From here, I could see all three of them.
I closed my eyes.
But I didn't sleep.
---
It was past midnight when I heard it.
A soft, wet sound.
I opened my eyes just enough to see through my lashes.
David was sitting up, his back against the wall. His shorts were pulled down to his thighs.
And Rachel's head was in his lap.
Her lips were wrapped around his cock. She was bobbing her head slowly, mechanically, her hand gripping the base.
David's head was tilted back, his mouth open, his hand tangled in her hair. Not gently. He was *gripping* her, holding her down.
"Mom," he whispered, his voice shaking. "Faster."
She obeyed.
My cock was rock-hard in seconds.
I should have been disgusted. Should have stopped them.
But I didn't.
I watched.
Her technique was sloppy—too much teeth, not enough suction, no rhythm. She was doing it out of obligation, not desire. A chore. A duty.
David came fast, his hips jerking up, his hand forcing her head down. She gagged but didn't pull away. When he was done, she swallowed, pulled off, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.
Neither of them said a word.
She lay back down, and he wrapped his arm around her, possessive, satisfied.
That's when I made my move.
---
"I see why you didn't want us around," I said, my voice cutting through the silence like a knife.
David shot up like he'd been electrocuted, eyes wide. Rachel gasped, her hand flying to her mouth.
"How long have you been awake?" she whispered, her voice shaking.
I stood up slowly, letting them see the massive bulge tenting my sweatpants. "Long enough."
David scrambled to his feet, pulling up his shorts. "What did you see—"
"Your mom on her knees, sucking your cock like a good little whore?"
"Don't call her that!" he shouted, but his voice cracked. He sounded like a child.
I looked at David. "Sit down."
"No. Fuck you. You can't—"
I pulled out the gun and pointed it directly at his chest.
"I said. Sit. Down."
He froze, the color draining from his face.
"Sit down," I repeated slowly, "or I put a bullet in your knee and fuck your mother while you bleed out on the floor."
Rachel sobbed. "David, please. Just do what he says."
He sat.
I turned to Rachel. She was still on her knees, her whole body trembling.
I pulled down my sweatpants, and my cock sprang free—thick, veined, already leaking pre-cum. It stood out from my body like a weapon.
Rachel's eyes went wide. She'd had a cock in her mouth twenty minutes ago, but this was something else entirely. I watched the realization cross her face — the understanding of what was about to happen to her throat.
"Open your mouth," I said.
She hesitated.
I grabbed a fistful of her hair and yanked her face toward my cock. "I said open."
Her lips parted.
I shoved my cock into her mouth, hitting the back of her throat immediately. She gagged violently, her hands flying to my thighs, trying to push me away.
I didn't let her.
"Look at your son," I said, pulling her head back just enough so she could breathe. "Let him see what a real man's cock looks like."
She tried to turn her head, but I held her in place, my cock stretching her lips obscenely wide.
David was staring, his face bright red, his fists clenched so tight they were shaking.
And there was a bulge in his shorts.
I saw it. He saw me see it.
"You like watching, don't you?" I said to him, thrusting deeper into Rachel's throat. "You like seeing your mom's mouth stretched around my cock."
"Fuck you," he spat, but he didn't look away. He couldn't.
I started fucking Rachel's throat in earnest—long, brutal strokes that made her gag and choke. Spit ran down her chin, dripping onto her chest. Her eyes were streaming tears, her face turning red from lack of air.
"This is what a real blowjob looks like," I said, looking straight at David. "Watch closely. You might learn something."
Rachel's hands had stopped pushing. They were just resting on my thighs now, limp, accepting.
I felt my orgasm building, pressure coiling at the base of my spine.
"I'm going to cum all over your face," I told Rachel. "And your son is going to watch."
I pulled out of her mouth and stroked my cock twice.
Then I came.
Thick ropes of cum splattered across her face—her cheeks, her lips, her forehead, her hair. She gasped, squeezing her eyes shut, her mouth open, her body shaking.
I kept stroking, milking every last drop onto her.
When I was done, she looked like a painting. A fucking masterpiece.
"Clean her up," I said to David.
He stared at me, horrified. "What?"
"I said clean her up. With your tongue."
"No—"
I pointed the gun at him again.
"Do it. Or I'll make sure the next load goes down *your* throat instead."
Rachel sobbed. "David, just—just do it. Please."
He crawled over to his mother on his hands and knees, his whole body shaking.
He hesitated, staring at the cum dripping down her face.
"Do it," I said.
He leaned in and licked a stripe across her cheek, tasting my cum.
His face twisted in disgust, but he kept going. Licking her clean, swallowing every drop.
And his cock was rock-hard in his shorts.
I watched the whole thing, stroking my cock slowly, getting hard again already.
When he was done, Rachel was sobbing silently, her face clean but her eyes broken.
David sat back, wiping his mouth, unable to look at either of us.
"Good boy," I said.
I pulled up my sweatpants and tucked the gun back in.
Isaac was still snoring in the corner. He'd slept through the whole thing..
I lay back down, putting my hands behind my head.
"Get some sleep," I said. "We're leaving at first light."
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them spoke.
But I knew—they were mine now.
Both of them.