Many long time followers know that, every so often, I like t..

Many long time followers know that, every so often, I like to dabble in fiction that’s firmly rooted in my own depraved little fantasies. I’ve recently been jotting down some thoughts about a story involving an NFL team owner, his wife and their adult daughter who become stranded on a deserted island with a recently signed free agent defensive end. Here’s the somewhat rough initial installment. Please let me know if you think it’s a complete dud or if you’d love to find out how our fat-titted protagonist deals with her little situation involving Jamarcus. Either way, I’d love to know😊 By my best estimation, it’s been 8 weeks and 3 days since our yacht, the Rebecca Mae, went down in the Mediterranean off the coast of Spain. Little did we know that the explosion occurring in the engine room had taken the vessel so quickly that the crew, god rest their souls, never even had the opportunity to send out a distress signal. Whether any search and rescue efforts continued on at this point remained a complete mystery to us. So here we were, stranded on a deserted island, desperately hoping and praying for discovery. But that hope was diminishing ever so slightly with every passing day on the island. It had all been meant as a little celebratory cruise to Ibiza to blow off a little steam that had built up as a result of the tense negotiations that had finally culminated with the signing of Jamarcus Rambo to a five year $129 million contract with my husband’s NFL expansion franchise, the St. Louis Bison. My husband John and I, along with our 28 year old daughter Steph (the team’s general counsel) and her husband Martin had flown into Portugal the day before with Jamarcus, his agent Vincent Maxwell and Jamarcus’s little brother, Thomas. We’d spent the night drinking and partying at a place we leased at the Dunas Douradas Beach Club. Our 190 foot yacht, the Rebecca Mae (named after my husband’s saint of a mother), was docked not far away at the Marina de Vilamoura. In our minds, we were all about to have the time of our lives. Little did we know that things would end so unbelievably tragically. Fortunately for us, the island that makes for our current home teems with animal life (so far, none of the predatory variety), and possesses both an abundance of fresh fruit and streams swollen with fresh water that trickles down from the gently sloped peak that crowns the center of our prison. For the time being at least, the satisfaction of our basic needs has not been overly problematic. Unfortunately, all that remain of the 21 souls that had embarked from port a mere 8 weeks and 4 days before were myself, John, Steph, Martin …. and Jamarcus. There’s so much more to our sordid family history and life of privilege that I could brief you on. But, for now anyway, I believe this adequately explains who we are and the necessary facts surrounding our unusual predicament. All of which brings me to the present day, and an extremely uncomfortable conversation that I’m about to have with my husband. A conversation about an incident that my daughter and I had in the shallow, crystal clear cove that we use to bathe. An incident that involved Jamarcus. My daughter and I had stolen away to a small, protected cove along the shoreline that was about a 15 minute walk from out encampment. It was an incomparably beautiful gem that we’d discovered during our second week on the island, and its crystal-clear, warm shallow waters and rocky coastline that guarded its far end, coupled with the high banks that partially shaded its western edge in the late afternoon, made it a perfectly serene and placid location to get away to for a refreshing bath after a morning spent working in the hot sun. Which, as it turns out, is precisely what Steph and myself were in the midst of when Jamarcus stumbled upon us from the palm grove lining the small beach at the cove’s northern edge. At that particular instant, my daughter and I were chatting with one another about 15 feet from the shoreline as we let the warm Mediterranean breeze air-dry our nude bodies. I vividly recall the sensation of the cove’s gentle waves rhythmically lapping at my ankles as I saw a completely naked Jamarcus appear from the angled palms no more than 30 or so feet away. Up to this point, the normal barriers of appropriate decorum had been adequately maintained. To my knowledge, Jamarcus had not yet seen either of us bare-breasted or witnessed with his own eyes our matching thickets of jet black pubic hair that sprung from our feminine regions (a trait that no doubt lingered from my Italian ancestry). Nor, for our part, had Steph or I yet seen the physical wonder of Jamarcus in all his nude glory. The three of us appeared to be equally startled by his abrupt and seemingly unintentional intrusion, which elicited swift and immediate reactions from both my daughter and myself meant to preserve a modicum of our modesty. As I instinctively worked to conceal as much of my soft, round breasts and bikini area as I possibly could, I reflexively apologized to Jamarcus for having dawdled in the cove as long as we had and let him know we were finished and would immediately be on our way. If, that is, he could please turn around just long enough for the two of us to collect our things. Jamarcus, for his part, made no effort whatsoever to conceal himself and his manhood, and the beast that hung low between his powerful thighs was unlike anything that I or my daughter (I assumed at least) had ever witnessed. My jaw fell slightly ajar as I stared transfixed. Just being in its presence left me with an acute awareness of my own abject vulnerability. And though he literally did nothing more than stand motionless while steph and I quickly made our way to shore, I couldn’t help but feel threatened by his imposing y0ung penis, and my cheeks flushed a bright crimson as I realized that he’d taken clear note of my locked gaze. And while Jamarcus, a 6’5 defensive end with a 50 inch box jump and almost zero body fat, made absolutely no attempt whatsoever to impede our egress, it was abundantly clear what the effects of the presence of two amply breasted petite females were having on this hormone-fueled specimen. With surprising rapidity (and no external stimulus whatsoever), his massive penis was engorging itself entirely of its own accord, gently twitching and pulsating as it made its way toward its full penetrative capabilities. Time, I feared, was of the essence. After gathering our personal items, I firmly grabbed my daughter by the elbow and led her from the beach to the small path back to our encampment that had been forged over the prior weeks. On our return, my daughter and I agreed that there was absolutely no reason to alert either of our husbands to what had happened at the cove. And fortunately, the blush had somehow managed to completely leave my cheeks by the time we arrived back at the camp. That night, however, as I lay unable to sleep next to my husband, I couldn’t help but reflect on what has transpired earlier that day at the cove. How the mere presence of two nude females instantly sparked desire in the belly of the magnificent beast with whom we share this island, and how sooner or later (most likely sooner) his need for pussy would undoubtedly become overwhelming. And I greatly feared that, unless something were to be done, Jamarcus’s need would be primarily focused on the female closest to him in age, our pretty y0ung daughter, Steph.