Date: Sat, 14 Feb 2015 22:45:49 -0500
From: Milford Slabaugh <tommyhawk1@aol.com>
Subject: Island of Lost Boys

                     ISLAND OF THE LOST BOYS
                      By Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
                   WWW.TOMMYHAWKSROGUEMOON.COM

[While I have taken out explicit references to age here, the reader who
objects to men having sexual encounters (of any nature) with underaged boys
should skip this one.  My obvious inspiration here was "Lord of the Flies"
though I took its basic premise in my own perverted direction.]

     Tyler Galim swore as the engine on his biplane sputtered,
dying. Clogged fuel lines or bad fuel or both. And him way out over open
water too, for crying out loud! "Shit!" He concluded after describing in
rather vivid detail the plane's ancestry, chosen profession and activities
with its maternal line. Then, with the pragmatic frame of mind that had let
him flee Alaska for the South Pacific after the bombs had fallen and
nuclear winter began to hold sway over the Northern Hemisphere, then let
him scrounge both gas/oil and parts for his airplane in the years following
that, he turned his mind to how to get both himself and the plane down
safely. On second thought, write the plane and its cargo off as a lost
cause, how to get his own ass down? On third thought, he could live off
that cargo until rescue came, if it ever did, and it would be invaluable to
building a camp. Better try a belly-landing on the beach.
     First, though, he needed an island! Any kind of island, preferably one
with flora and fauna. His eyes peered out of his face, handsome if lined
and browned with far too much sun for far too long, scanning the
horizon. Not that an island on the horizon would be reachable from the
sounds of his sputtering motor, but he could at least know which way to
swim and... "There!" he said in satisfaction as he looked
northeast. Smaller than he'd like, but it held trees aplenty and birds
seemed to roost there, he'd live off of seagull meat and fish until he
could either be rescued or die of old age. At least the fish wouldn't be
nibbling at his bones and coral building homes upon him, not today at
least. Even though the island reminded him of the island in the book "Peter
Pan" and his island of lost boys.
     He would be hard put to make the island at this rate. Every updraft he
could, he made use of, even when the engines died out entirely and he was
flying a dead piece of metal. He had momentum, he had headwinds thank God,
he might make that small strip of beach. The fact it wasn't long enough to
let him land didn't matter any longer, he'd put it down and hope for the
best.
     He landed on the sands with all the grace of a hippopotamus suffering
a heart attack and the wings scraped, broke off, then the fuselage cracked
in half and he was spinning about, no control, nothing to do but close his
eyes and hope for the best. And when something clonked him on the head and
knocked him out, he practically welcomed it, if death came, he would at
least be spared the worst of it....
     There followed a time when he knew little or nothing. He had a vague
sense of being carried, of voices around him, young voices, as of children,
speaking English. But he'd come to the South Pacific, those who didn't
speak indigenous languages usually spoke French, a language he'd had to
learn piece-meal while eking out a living. His brain playing tricks on
him...and he slept again. Awoke again to being given food, which he took
gratefully, food taken from the canned goods he'd had on his own plane and
not even reheated, but most canned food, that was academic. He gulped the
cold spinach and peaches and slept again....
     After some time, he didn't know when, he awoke entirely. Smoke was
making his eyes tear up, and he thought, the plane's on fire! And he jerked
awake with a start!
     He was in a hut, of a sort. No native hands had woven this place
together, it was the sort of place children would make into a clubhouse,
odds and ends propped in place, sometimes tied but more often holding
together by sheer gravity and angles of force. Which suited, because he was
being looked at by several young boys! They wore a travesty of mismatched
rags of clothes and attempts at native clothing (or were they playing at
being cowboys and Indians without the cowboys?)
     "He awakes!" one of them intoned.
     "Good morning, sleepyhead!" another said, but not in tones of
derision, but as if reciting a religious ritual. "Time to get up!"
     "Time to get ready to go to school!" the first agreed.
     "Where am I?" Tyler moved, moaned. His head still throbbed. He caught
his head with one hand, and that made him look down. Shit, he was naked!
"Where are my clothes?" he demanded. Not even a blanket over him, not that
you needed it for warmth in this climate, but for sheer decency! In lieu of
clothing, he grabbed for his ballsac with both hands, covered himself like
that, inadequately.
     As if that motion were the sign, the boys before him (no girls at all,
he noted) all knelt and bowed their heads. "The Headmaster returns!" one of
them declared (he seemed to be the leader, if that headgear he was sporting
were any guide, a pair of flight goggles busted out on the remnants of a
headpiece. "He was dead but now he returns to us again!"
     "I wasn't dead, just knocked out...." Tyler droned off when he
realized that they weren't speaking to him. Damn! This WAS some kind of
ritual! "If I'm your Headmaster, could you get me some clothes?"
     "We must show him to the tribe." the leader intoned. "All must see
that the Headmaster has returned." The boy was somewhat taller than the
others, black haired and round-faced, he was cute as a button with that
turned-up nose of him, but he still carried an aura of authority that was
the hallmark of a natural-born leader.
     "Not everyone will want to believe." a third boy warned.
     "This Headmaster is alive, the old one is dead." the leader
said. "They will believe."
     "Look, fellows, could you take me to your parents?" Tyler asked. "I
need to speak to an adult here."
     The leader looked at him for the first time with a modicum of
humanity. "You do not know? There are no others. Only us, since the
Headmaster died." the boy informed him.
     "What happened here? Are you boys here all alone?"
     "Come with us, Headmaster. The storyteller will explain everything
when they install you as the new Headmaster." the leader told him.
     By now, Tyler had given up on getting clothes. These boys wanted him
naked, from the sound of things. They were going to make him their
"Headmaster" which sounded like he would be garbed in some sort of royal
robes. If you got to be marooned on an island with nothing but young boys
for company, being their ruler by divine right was worth a short stint of
nudity. These boys had rather spotty notions of modesty as it was, more
than a third of the boys he'd seen were sporting their family jewels in
clear view of everyone else. Those that didn't seemed to favor some sort of
loincloth. Still, why should kids worry about decency if they were here all
alone?
     Tyler got to his feet, and other than some wooziness, felt about
right. The blow to his head had probably bruised his brain, and like any
hematoma, the blood was breaking that bruise down a little at a time, he
ought to be back to full mental faculties in a week or so. If it hadn't
been a week already!
     Well, the throne they had waiting for him looked more like an altar,
if a low, long one. A couple of feet high, a stone slab bearing on top a
padded mattress salvaged from who-knew-where, Tyler was led up to the altar
by the leader and at a gesture from him, sat down on the slanting side of
the slab "altar." "The Headmaster has returned!" he proclaimed.
     Tyler, from his seat of authority, got his first good look at this
tribe. Ye Gods, there must be a hundred or more young boys here! They were
cheering like mad for him. For him! God, Tyler sat naked on this stone and
felt like a god!
     "Do we welcome the new Headmaster, third in his line?" the leader
called out.
     Third? Tyler blinked.
     "We do!"
     "Tell the tale of the Headmasters!" a boy in the crowd called out.
     "Tell the tale!"
     "Tell us of the Headmasters!"
     "Bring up the Storyteller!" the leader called.
     The boy who stepped up was, like the leader, a bit older. He stood
with a book in his hand that Tyler saw with amusement was an incredibly
grimy version of "The Little Engine That Could." But the boy, while he
opened it, was obviously not reading the story from the book or even
anything which might have been written inside it. Rote legend.
     "In the beginning." he chanted. "We were the School."
     "The School!" the crowd's more eloquent members called out.
     "The School had the Teachers, and the School had the First
Headmaster."
     "Headmaster!"
     The Headmaster ruled the Teachers, and the Teachers ruled us." the
Storyteller went on. "And we lived and were fed and clothed and housed, and
all was good."
     "Then came the Fires!"
     "And then came the Fires." the Storyteller agreed. "And the Fires
bloomed like roses all around us. But the Headmaster was ready!"
     "He was ready for the Fires!"
     "The Headmaster took us all to the Plane. And the Plane picked us up
and it carried us to this place."
     "Tell of the Landing!"
     "The landing of the Plane was bad. The trees reached up and caught the
Plane and yanked it down onto the ground."
     "We were shaken about like rocks in a can!"
     "Like rocks in a can we were shaken about. The Plane landed and it was
so hard that some of us were hurt and the First Headmaster was gone."
     "He died saving us!"
     "We were boys lost without a Headmaster. But the Second Headmaster,
the man who flew the Plane for us, he was here, and he became our new
Headmaster, and he tended to our injuries, helping us to heal and helping
us to learn to hunt and to live and to build this place."
     "The Second Headmaster!"
     "But then, in the second year of our life on this island, there came
the fevers."
     "We were all so sick!"
     "We fought the fever, and some of us died, but the rest of us lived."
the Storyteller went on. "But the fever was hardest upon the Second
Headmaster, and he was gone."
     "Gone, the Second Headmaster."
     "And so now we are alone, and it has been a time, but we remember."
the Storyteller concluded and closed the little book as if closing a bible,
solemnly.
     Tyler realized then, what had happened. The war these boys called the
"Fire" had been over three years ago. Now, their memories were nothing but
the confused comprehension of children and nobody to teach them what was
right and what was wrong, except that one man. They must have worshiped him
like a god! And in the mists that closed in after his death, the likeness
became a reality and these boys were now seeking a new god made flesh to
replace their old.
     The leader stepped up. "We remember the Second Headmaster." the boy
said to all of them. "We loved him and he loved us all. He taught us and
cared for us, and we cared for him and we remember. But now we are
fortunate enough to have a new Headmaster to come to us. We can love him
and he can love us as the Second Headmaster loved us."
     "But will he love us like that?" a boy in the crowd called out. Tyler
saw that this boy was both of an age with this tribe's leader and obviously
something of a troublemaker. "What if he is a false Headmaster? Remember
the warnings of the Teachers!"
     "The Teachers warned us to be careful!"
     "We must test this new Headmaster." the leader agreed. "And that is
why we are here, now." He turned to Tyler. "We are boys alone on this
island but for you. But we would be better off alone as we were, if you
will not love us. Can you love us as the Headmaster should?"
     Tyler considered this. Of course little boys couldn't know everything
there was to know about survival, despite a year's teachings from another
pilot. Pilots all had survival training and, living in Alaska, Tyler had
more than most applicable to this wilderness. "I can love you as a
Headmaster should." he agreed. "I can teach you to survive and help you to
live here. Your last Headmaster taught you much, but there is more to
learn. I can teach you."
     And the boys, cheering, promptly swamped him, dashing up to crowd
around him. Tyler blinked, but he had promised to love these boys, they
must be starved for adult affection, he let them hug him and he hugged them
in return. There were hands tugging at him in all directions, pushing him
over onto the throne and pushing him into a lateral position, so that he
was lying on it. He wrote it off to boyish enthusiasm and hug-hunger, he
didn't notice at first that some of those hands were pulling his arms and
legs into...manacles? Manacles!
     "What? What is going on here?" he gasped when he realized that he was
well and truly captured. Both legs and one hand were trapped, the one he
had left was unable to tug his captured hand free.
     He was lying at about a forty-five degree angle, spread-eagled, in
full view of the boys in the crowd. His one arm was pulled up over his head
so that his hand was above his head, his feet were resting on the ground
now. With the padding behind him, this was not an uncomfortable position,
save that manacles on ankles and one wrist are always unpleasant. He
writhed in the manacles, and the boys oohed and ahhed as they watched him,
a big, strong, hairy man with broad shoulders and bulging biceps, all in
his nude beauty, squirming in the shackles before them, helpless. "What the
hell are you boys doing?"
     This was fodder for the boy who had protested before. "See? He is not
the new Headmaster! He doesn't want anything to do with us!"
     "We shall test him and we shall see what we shall see." the leader
declared.
     Test? That word had taken on a more ominous tone all of a sudden,
especially given his naked and manacled state. Tyler raised his sole hand
toward the leader as he approached. "Now wait a minute here, just what sort
of test are you looking at here?"
     "The test of the Second Headmaster. By this, he showed his choices as
to who would lead for him, and he showed his love for us." the leader
said. "As leader, I am the first to test you, to see if I am the one you
will trust, the one you will want to be your voice in this tribe."
     That didn't sound like any form of torture about to happen. Tyler's
arm lowered slowly from its defensive pose. "All right." he said, taking a
deep breath. "Go ahead and test me."
     The leader's response was to untie the strand that held his loincloth
about his waist and let it drop off, this left him with only his head-gear,
a band around one bicep, and similar bands around the calves of both legs.
     One side of this elevated altar had step-like blocks on it, they had
looked like a triangular decoration to the back of the throne before. Now
they showed their purpose, the leader stepped with his slender legs up the
first few steps and this brought the lad up to where his shoulder would
just fit under Tyler's armpit on his captive arm's side. The leader lifted
a leg up to rest against Tyler's thigh and put an arm over onto Tyler's
chest. "Mmmm, Poppa!" he murmured.
     "Do you love me, Poppa?"
     How do you answer that question, tied up and naked in front of a crowd
of watching boys, to a strange naked boy now cuddling up to you? "I have to
get to know you first, wouldn't I?" he demurred.
     "Yes, Poppa." the boy responded and the hand on his chest slid down
and down.
     Tyler realized where it was heading. "Now, just a minute, Son."
     "Son!" the boy sighed in satisfaction. "Yes, Poppa, yes!" And the hand
finished its trip and grasped Tyler's prong. "I'll be your son, a very good
son, you will see."
     Tyler gasped and his hand reached down to take the boy's hand away
from his prod, but the boy had him stroked and up to full mast before he
could get hold of the small wrist and pull it away. "Stop that! That isn't
right!"
     With one hand pulled up and away, the boy quickly replaced it with his
other. Tyler groaned and tried to puzzle out how to deal with two busy
hands on a child when he only had one of his own. He settled for taking the
hand on his cock away but of course the boy immediately resumed with his
first hand, and by that time, he had made enough strokes on Tyler's prong
to put his erection beyond any hope of redemption. He was at full
attention, and a rope of precome leaked out to make a greasy-looking rope
dangling down from his glans until the blob at the end found and attached
itself to his balls.
     "See, the Headmaster accepts me!" the boy/leader called out.
     "Yes, yes, the new Headmaster!" the crowd cheered raggedly.
     "Make him our leader!"
     "Make your choice known!"
     "Annoint your chosen leader, Headmaster!"
     "Make him your own!"
     Before Tyler could muddle out the meaning of this tirade from so many
mouths, he found out what these boys were talking about, for the youngster
stepped down onto the ground again, and grasping Tyler's prong again, this
time leaned over slightly and took Tyler's cock into his mouth, sucking up
the precome that still hung there like so much syrup leaking from a snow
cone!
     "Oh, Lord!" Tyler moaned prayerfully as the boy took his dong easily
down his throat. That Second Headmaster, oh, he'd been a crafty bastard,
hadn't he? Alone on an island with only boys for company, how long had it
taken him to decide that he could turn their worshipful devotion to his own
ends? How long before these boys would give themselves to him in a fierce
competition for his attentions, and this boy the one who pleased him best!
And now, that pleasure was his! His hand, his one free hand, that could
have pulled that boy's head off his cock, instead went down and rested
lightly on top of his bobbing mop of hair, threaded itself into the mass,
and began to gently guide him on his path.
     "He accepts Johnny as the leader!"
     "The new Headmaster!"
     "We are saved from the darkness!"
     "He will guide us all!"
     Oh, God! Tyler's eyes closed tight and he grunted in his pleasure at
the boy's moist, suckling mouth on his dong. Stuck here on this island, it
had been years since they'd been here and nobody but him come along. He'd
be stuck here with these boys, all these boys, all vying for his
attentions, his pleasure, his desire! He'd own them all, a harem of boys,
all his!
     The thought of that ignited his desire and he moaned. Like a signal,
the boys all crowded close around him again, pressing as close as they
could get to Tyler at his moment of ecstasy, and in the midst of this mass
of eager young faces peering at his groin intently, Tyler hit his climax.
     "Ah-ah, AH-OOH-OOH-AH-UH, GUHHHH!" He held back as long as he could,
relishing the height of his orgasm, then when he ejaculated, it was at an
intensity of sexual height that he had rarely reached before.
     And just at that moment, the leader boy, Johnny, Johnny let go of him
and his hand replaced his mouth and he pumped Tyler's dong as it
ejaculated.
     Hot spears of jizz flew from Tyler's cock as he spewed his load, the
wads flew heavy and wide and plentiful. The boys congregated before him
bore the brunt of it with a delight that approached ecstasy, they cheered
and yelped in their delight as the hot salty spunk peppered their faces and
bodies all about. Johnny's hand was jacking him hard and fast, and every
last jet of his spunk flew out, all but a few final dregs that leaked out
and Johnny took these as his just due, he took Tyler's prick back into his
mouth and sucked on it blissfully, draining Tyler utterly dry.
     "Ah-huh, ah-huh, ah-huh, a-huh!" Tyler panted huskily. "God, kid, that
was a terrific damned suck-job you gave me." The benevolent lord of his
domain, ruler of all he surveyed, he looked out over his new kingdom. "So
now I'm you're new Headmaster, am I?"
     "You are the Headmaster." the leader agreed as he stood erect, a boy
handed him his loincloth and he tied it again about his waist.
     "So how about untying me and letting me assume my duties?" Tyler
said. "And how about some clothes for me while you're about it?"
     "The Headmaster is ready to assume his duties." Johnny told his
tribe. "The next one in line may now approach."
     "Me, me, I'm next!" the boy was the one who had protested Tyler's
ascension to the post of Headmaster.
     "All right, Doug, you're next." Johnny seemed resigned to this, though
it was obvious that this Doug boy was skipping over several other boys in
this "next" whatever it was. Surely these boys didn't intend....
     But Doug pressed his way through the throng and got up next to Tyler
and lifting up Tyler's spent and still-wet prong and slipped it into his
mouth. Again, Tyler was treated to a well-trained and well-energized
sucking by a young mouth; the second time around though, the prospect was
distinctly less charming, marooned on an island without hope of rescue or
not.
     Still, he rose to the occasion and when Doug had him well-slicked and
well-standing, he let go and said through spit-slicked lips, "Now, I'll
show you something your leader hasn't yet learned about."
     Doug scampered up the blocks like Johnny had, but instead of cuddling,
he threw his leg up higher and around and locked his lower body around
Tyler's waist. His feet managed to meet around Tyler's body, lifting him up
away from the mattress of the "altar." Then he gasped, "Okay, someone guide
it in for me."
     "You're not going to do that, are you?" Johnny gasped out, not leader
now but a startled young boy, unsure of himself.
     "I sure am." Doug exclaimed a confederate of his moved in and held
onto Tyler's dong, and Doug's asshole and Tyler's prong got better
acquainted. "I been practicing ever since this guy showed up. He'll make me
the new leader in no time, you'll see."
     "I don't believe this." Yep, Johnny was knocked aghast by this.
     Tyler wasn't sure he did, either. Doug had gotten a good start on
taking his prick, but the going was hard. Doug was grunting and moaning
like any virginal ass. "Sure you been practicing?" Tyler groaned through
gritting teeth.
     "Yeah, I have. Not this big, of course, but I can do it. You'll see,
you'll see." And the boy persevered. Tyler wondered if Johnny would order
Doug off his cock, but he wasn't doing anything. Maybe he couldn't. Every
kid got his shot at the "Headmaster" for the chance to please him more than
the other, and Johnny had made his chances easy by being the first. But
with Doug upping the ante by taking Tyler's cock up his ass...damn, that
might let Tyler appoint him the new crown prince after all!
     Doug was grunting and moaning like mad by the time he got Tyler's
prick into him well enough that the boy felt entitled to stop. He'd only
managed the head and a couple of inches, but Tyler wasn't protesting, he
had a boy hanging onto him, the youthful face inches away from his own,
pretty enough, Doug was a blond-haired, blue-eyed boy of Scandavian stock
at a guess, and his little mouth pursed up in painful intensity made him
about the prettiest boy Tyler had ever seen! If he could make good on his
promise and made Tyler come again, maybe he OUGHT to be leader!
     Doug was bobbing up and down on him, Tyler in his pent-up state
couldn't help in any significant way, but this boy was doing it for him all
by himself! "Ah, yeah, kid, ride my cock, ride it, ride it!" he grunted as
Doug bounced on him. "Prove you'd make a good leader to me, prove it, prove
it!"
     Doug moaned and bobbed faster, and Tyler realized this boy was coming,
just from the act of being fucked by Tyler. "Yeah, come on, kid, get off on
me, get off on my rod, make it squirt, make it cream in your ass, come on,
come on!"
     Doug groaned, shuddered as his climax wracked him and then he was
exhausted, sobbing. "Ah, yeah, boy, that's it, made you come, didn't I? You
love this big, hard dong, don't you?"
     "Oh, yeah, yeah!" Doug moaned.
     "Next one." Johnny announced triumphantly.
     "Huh?" Doug turned, sweat-slicked and spent, to look at Johnny.
     "Everyone gets a turn. Your time is up."
     "But, but...." Doug grunted as he was pulled bodily off of Tyler's
waist and the ass released his prong with a "pop" feeling.
     "Okay, Tony, you go next." Johnny breathed a sigh of relief as Doug
was ferried away.
     Tony was eager to get a whack at Tyler, and "whack" was right, he was
busy with his hand in no time. Not even his mouth. Tyler was worn out and
with this boy pumping his pud, he was able to compose himself enough to
look over at Johnny and ask, "How many of these boys get a chance at me
before this is over?"
     "Over?" Johnny looked puzzled. "But you are the Headmaster."
     "Yeah, I know." Tyler grunted. Handjob or not, he was getting warmed
up again! "But when do I finish this initiation and get to the business of
running things here?"
     "I am the leader." Johnny pointed out.
     "Yeah, I know, but I'm the grown-up here."
     "You are the Headmaster. The Headmaster must care for all the boys. He
appoints those who will work in his name. We show you our love in our
unending devotion."
     "Unending...devotion." Oh, God, he was getting close! He couldn't come
in a boy's ass, but this young hand was getting him? Or was it the fact he
was learning the fact that he wasn't in charge of these boys, he was going
to be their living toy. An eternal line of boys coming at him to play with
him, jerk him, suck him, a few fuck him. And as the years wore on, more and
more would ride his prick. He could milk these boys until they hit their
own puberty, and even after due to their worship of him.
     "You are the Headmaster, and all will get their turn with you." Johnny
went on implacably. "You love all of us and we all love you. And we will
each show you our love and you show your love for us."
     "All of you." Over a hundred boys. God, even on his best day, he
couldn't come more than four or five times. And they'd keep on coming and
coming and coming at him, so many hungry boys, all of them, eager to play
with his cock, eager to jerk or suck him, eager to make him come, make him
squirt, make him. "Oh, God, I'm coming again!" he moaned out.
     "Your time's up, Tony." Johnny spoke up. "Dylan, you get to take him
this time."
     Dylan was one of Johnny's "henchmen" from the looks of him, and Tyler
judged that Johnny was cementing his loyalty by giving him a chance to
catch a wad hot off his cock. Dylan ran forward, grunting, and dove onto
Tyler's prod, sucking at him hard and fast.
     Tyler moaned and jerked, his cock was an agony of ecstasy, he shook,
groaned and thrust his hips up into Dylan's mouth and squirted a second
load. Dylan slurped it all down eagerly, grunting like a pig at his
slop-trough, and even when Tyler was done, exhausted, limp, Dylan kept on
sucking at him. "Oh, oh, I'm done, I'm done, enough, stop already!"
     "Let him go, Dylan. Okay, Jimmy, your turn."
     Tyler felt Jimmy's hands on his prick with a moan that was from the
very heart. A hundred boys. Every one of them wanting their turn. Johnny
walked off with his buddies in tow, satisfied that his leadership was
re-established firmly. While he, Tyler, who'd thought he was to become
ruler of all he surveyed, found instead that he was going to spend the
remainder of his days like this, facing an endless line of boys, all hands
and mouths and asses, and by giving them his come over and over again, he
was confirming Johnny's leadership, like a king ritually confirms the Prime
Minister who actually runs the kingdom while the king does nothing but be a
symbol.
     Figurehead! He was nothing but a fucking figurehead on this island of
lost boys! Tyler moaned, his cock rose up again, and Jimmy gleefully sank
his mouth onto the prick and sucked at him. More boys were behind him, each
waiting for their chance to make the big strong man shudder and come.
     Just a fucking figurehead. And the fucking was going to go on forever.

                             THE END
               Comments, complaints or suggestions?
             E-mail the Author at Tommyhawk1@AOL.COM
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