Chapter 13: Boundaries of Use
The morning light was a pale lemon slice through the fronds of the shelter. Jonah woke to weight and warmth and the distinct scent of her skin—salt, sleep, and something muskier. Before he could open his eyes, her hands were on his shoulders, pushing, rolling him onto his back. He blinked up at her, her silhouette dark against the bright entrance. Her expression was unreadable, but her movements were decisive.
She swung a leg over his chest, her thighs framing his face. She settled her weight onto his mouth, not her cunt, but lower, the heat of her ass pressing against his lips.
“Free use day,” Amy announced. Her voice was morning-rough, absolute. “My pussy’s off limits. Sore from squatting on coral yesterday. But everything else is yours. And you’re mine.”
She didn’t wait for acknowledgment. She ground down, the soft, giving flesh of her hole making direct contact with his mouth. The taste was familiar now—salt, a faint tang of yesterday’s sex, just her. He opened for her, his tongue finding the relaxed aperture without guidance. It yielded to him instantly, a soft welcome. He ate her ass with a focused desperation, his tongue spearing into the deep, slick heat, probing and licking. He heard her breath hitch, felt the muscles in her thighs tense. She rode his face, her motions a slow, grinding circle, her clit rubbing against the bridge of his nose. Her fingers tangled in his floppy hair, not guiding, just holding on.
“Yeah,” she grunted. “Just like that. Get in there.”
His world narrowed to the dark, intimate space she’d given him, to the sounds of her breathing growing ragged, to the feel of her body tightening toward release. She came with a sharp, choked cry, her ass spasming around his tongue, a flood of new wetness coating his chin. She shuddered, then lifted herself off him, panting.
She didn’t pause. She slid down his body, her hands on his chest for balance, her mouth heading unerringly for his cock. It was already hard, jutting up from his groin. She took him in one smooth, deep glide, her throat opening to swallow him whole. Jonah gasped, his back arching off the woven frond mat. The sight of her, her short dark hair tickling his stomach, her head bobbing with efficient ruthlessness, was too much. The contrast—the tender filth of where his mouth had just been to this intense, taking suction—unraveled him. He came in minutes, a weak, strangled sound escaping him as he pulsed into the tight clutch of her throat. She swallowed, milking him, until he was soft and spent.
She crawled back up his body, her eyes gleaming in the dim light. She turned, presenting her ass to him again, and lowered herself. His semi-soft cock slid into the impossibly loose, wet channel with no resistance. She sat back fully, taking him all the way inside, until his hips were nestled against her. He felt flaccid, nested in profound, damp heat.
“Rule,” she whispered, looking back over her shoulder. “You’re not allowed to pull out. Not once today.”
So began the day. He stayed inside her as they split a piece of dried fish for breakfast, his cock gradually firming again as she shifted on his lap. He stayed inside her as they walked the narrow, root-tangled path to the freshwater stream, his hands on her hips for balance, the motion of her walking creating a slow, maddening friction. Each step made her gasp softly, her own arousal beginning to drip down his shaft, mixing with the remnants of his come. When she needed to piss, she simply squatted, his cock still buried within her, the stream of her urine hitting the leafy ground just beneath them. The intimacy of it was terrifying, breathtaking. He felt her body’s most basic function around him, a hot vibration. She looked back at him, her face flushed. “See? Everything’s yours.”
By afternoon, the game had become a fever. The constant, subtle movement had worked her into a state of frantic need. As they sorted through salvaged netting near the shelter, she suddenly stopped, her whole body trembling.
“Jonah.” Her voice was a strained wire. “I can’t—I need you to fuck me. Properly. Now.”
He didn’t hesitate. He guided her down onto her stomach on the sand just outside the shelter, her ass raised. His cock, hard and slick from being inside her all day, slid back into that familiar, welcoming depth with a wet sigh. This time, he didn’t hold back. He gripped her hips and drove into her, hard and deep, each thrust a solid impact that made her whole body lurch forward. His balls slapped against her swollen, dripping pussy with every pound. The sound was obscene, flesh on wet flesh, a rhythmic slap that echoed the distant waves.
“God, yes!” she screamed into the sand, her fists clenching. “Fuck my ruined ass! Claim it! It’s yours, it’s only ever gonna be yours!” Her words were a ragged litany, each one driving him harder, faster. The loose ring of muscle gripped him not with tightness, but with a voracious, sucking hunger, as if her very body was trying to draw him deeper, to keep him. Her climax ripped through her, a series of violent convulsions that clenched around him in rolling waves. He followed, his own release a blinding white explosion, pumping another thick load into her already-fluidslogged depths.
Spent, he began to soften, to pull out. Her body clenched down, a sudden, deliberate contraction.
“No,” she gasped, the word muffled. “Stay. Just… stay.”
So he did. He lowered himself onto her back, his cock still sheathed inside her, both of them slick with sweat and sex. They lay there as the sun began to dip, their breathing slowing into sync. The wind picked up, cooling their skin. The inside of her was a warm, messy haven. Exhaustion claimed them, a deep, bone-level fatigue. Jonah’s last conscious thought was not of the shipwreck, or survival, or the world before. It was of the perfect, ruined heat he was buried in, and the feel of Amy’s heartbeat against his own, as they slipped into a dark, dreamless sleep, still joined.
He woke to the faint, fleshy scent of their shared sleep and a pressing, urgent fullness in his bladder. Amy was still beneath him, her breathing deep and even. His cock, semi-soft and still nestled inside her, felt swollen and sensitive.The inside of her ass was a warm, liquid cradle. Dawn was a gray suggestion at the shelter’s edge.He shifted minutely. The movement made her sigh in her sleep, a subtle clench around him. The pressure in his groin intensified, a blunt, undeniable need. He tried to disentangle, to slide out and relieve himself outside, but her earlier command anchored him.You’re not allowed to pull out.Not once today. It hadn’t been rescinded.“Amy.” His voice was gravel.He brushed her shoulder. “Amy, wake up.”
She stirred, a slow roll of her hips that sent a confusing spark of pleasure through his discomfort.“Mmm?”
“I have to piss. Really badly.”
She was quiet for a moment, her body awake but still. Then she pushed back slightly into him, her hand reaching behind to grip his thigh.“So piss.”
The statement hung in the damp air. It was casual, absolute.He understood. The rules of the day, the ownership she had declared, it all funneled into this one permission. There was no disgust in her voice, only a flat practicality that was more arousing than any lewd suggestion. His body responded, his cock stiffening further within her despite the bladder pressure, a confused knot of sensations.
“In there?” he whispered, as if for confirmation.“Where else?It’s a container. And it’s mine.So do it.”
He hesitated, a final fragment of a civilized instinct. She pressed back more firmly, impaling herself on him, and the pressure became a sharp, painful throb. The need overrode everything.He let go.It was a slow, hot release. He felt the internal trickle begin, a strange, separate warmth spreading into the channel that held him. The sensation of pissing while embedded in her body was profoundly alien, a violation of every physical law he knew. It was a deep, filling heat, a pooling expansion. He heard a soft, wet sound from where they were joined.Amy gasped, her body going rigid.
“Oh, fuck,” she breathed.Her hand tightened on his thigh, nails biting in.“God, yes. It’s so deep. I can feel it.”
He emptied himself completely, a long, steady stream that flooded her innermost space. The relief was immense, a physical unclenching that morphed into a different kind of tension. He was rock hard now, his swollen cock trapped in a newly warmed, liquid-filled sheath.He felt utterly depraved.He felt more connected to her than ever before.
When the flow stopped, there was a profound, saturated stillness. He was buried in a warm, secret pool of his own making. Amy slowly rocked against him, a experimental movement that sloshed faintly inside her.A low, ragged moan escaped her lips.“You feel that? You’re swimming in there.”
She began to move in earnest then, not letting him withdraw, fucking herself back onto his cock with a new, desperate hunger. The wetness was exponential, a slick, hot mess that made the slide effortless and obscenely noisy. She chanted filthy, beautiful things into the mat, her words half-swallowed by the fronds.“Your piss is inside me. Your come’s in there.It’s all mixing in my shit-hole. It’s your fucking cistern, Jonah. All yours.”
Her orgasm was swift and violent, a series of clenching shudders that milked him relentlessly. He followed, his own climax wrenched from him, another pulse of fluid joining the chaotic cocktail inside her. They collapsed, spent, his deflating cock sealing nothing in. A slow, warm trickle escaped the overfilled O of her asshole and ran down her inner thigh.They lay in silence for a long time. The gray light brightened to gold. Finally, Amy spoke, her voice quiet and clear, stripped of all its earlier harshness.“You can pull out now.”
He did, slowly. The release was accompanied by a soft, guilty gush of fluids onto the mat beneath them. He expected revulsion, a collapse of the strange spell.Instead, she rolled onto her back and looked at him. Her eyes were dark and fathomless, but not cold.“We should wash off in the stream,” she said. It was just a statement of fact. She stood, unconcerned with the mess, and offered him her hand.
He took it.
The stream was a silver gash through the emerald riot of the jungle, its water clear and shockingly cold over smooth, multicolored stones. They waded in without ceremony, the residue of the morning sluicing from their thighs in milky, dissipating clouds. Amy sighed as the water hit her, a genuine sound of relief, and she sank down until it lapped at her collarbones, her short dark hair floating around her face like seaweed.
Jonah watched her, the water magnifying the faint bruises on her hips, the tan lines that were now just memories of another life. She was so profoundly unselfconscious in her nakedness now, a practicality that had become its own form of beauty.He moved closer, the current tugging softly at his legs. “Let me,” he said, his voice low.It wasn’t a question.
She nodded, turning her back to him, bracing her hands on a submerged rock. She spread her legs, the water eddying around her thighs.He knelt behind her, the pebbles pressing into his knees. The sight was familiar yet endlessly new: the dark, relaxed O of her asshole, water beading on the swollen pink rim. He cupped his hands, bringing the cold stream water to her skin, letting it cascade over the cleft. He used his fingers not as tools of penetration, but of careful, thorough cleansing, tracing the outer folds, rinsing away the physical evidence of their earlier acts.
“Inside,” she said, her voice carried off by the gentle rush of the stream. “It feels… messy.Clean it.”
His breath caught.This permission was different. He pressed a single finger against the opening, and it welcomed him without resistance, slipping into a deep, liquid warmth. The channel was impossibly soft, a sleeve of satin heat. He moved his finger slowly, in and out, allowing the fresh water to follow its path, rinsing the internal mess he himself had created.The intimacy was surgical, devotional.
“More,” Amy whispered, her forehead resting on her stacked hands.“Use your hand. Really clean it out.”
Jonah’s heart hammered against his ribs.He withdrew his finger, coated in a faint, pearlescent sheen. He looked at his hand, fingers together, then slowly, carefully, pressed his thumb against his palm, forming a loose fist.He brought his other hand to her ass, spreading her wider. The water swirled around his wrist as he pressed the blunted tip of his knuckles against her.
“Relax,” he murmured, more to himself than to her.
“I am relaxed,” she said, a hint of her old sarcasm threading through the words.“It’s fucking relaxed. Just do it.”
He pushed. The outermost knuckles, slick with water and her own secretions, met the yielding ring. For a moment, it held, a final boundary, then it softened, dilated, and swallowed the thickest part of his hand. Amy’s back arched, a sharp inhalation hissing through her teeth. It wasn’t pain; it was an overwhelming fullness, a stretch that went beyond sex into something profound and reclaiming.“Oh, god,” she choked out.“Fuck. All of it.”
He pushed further, his hand sinking in to the wrist, her body accepting him with a wet, hungry sigh. He was fisting her ruined asshole in a clear jungle stream, and she was pushing back against him, demanding it. He could feel the internal walls, hot and velvety, conforming to the shape of his clenched hand. He moved slowly, a gentle pistoning, letting the clean water circulate inside her. Her cries were not of pleasure in the simple sense, but of a cathartic emptying, a purification that was itself a new form of possession.
“It’s so deep,” he breathed, awestruck by the sheer physical reality of his hand inside her, by her total, shameless acceptance. “You take all of me.”
“I know,” she gasped, her body shuddering.“I know I do.Now pull it out. Slow.”
He obeyed, withdrawing his hand with a slow, deliberate drag. Her asshole gaped widely for a long, exposed moment, water flowing from the dark pink depth, before it gradually, lazily, began to close back into its resting state—that soft, permanent O. She turned in the water, her face flushed, her eyes bright and clear.She placed her hands on his shoulders. For a minute, they just stood there, the current wrapping around their legs, two survivors breathing in sync amid the green and the silver.