New piece LONG in the making... Excited about this one, and yes, there will be pics!
Stranded
By
Brimmingbelly04
Inspired by Amelia
By
PreggosAreBeautiful of DeviantArt
PART ONE
***
Scott hadn't taken a vacation in years. At least ten. Funds had never been an issue, but time certainly had, specifically his lack of it. For too long, Scott had dedicated almost all of his time and energy to his job at the expense of his social life and sometimes his sanity, but in the end, the results were worth it.
After working his ass off for nearly the last thirty years, the time had come. Scott sold his business and officially retired at the age of fifty, well ahead of most of his peers. While working so hard, he spent what he could on (very) nice, “important” things such as his home(s), car(s) and clothing, but following the sale of his company, he suddenly had more money than he'd ever be able to spend, but at least now he had the time to try.
Initially, once work was out of the picture, the fifty year old had felt rather lost and unsure. As much as he already knew it, he had to repeatedly remind himself that retiring at an early age had been the goal all along. Scott wasn't too thrilled about having recently turned fifty, so he also had to repeatedly remind himself that in the grand scheme of things, he was still (relatively) young, giving him plenty of time to enjoy all the fruits of his previous hard work and dedication.
To kick off his retirement and celebrate his (very) big financial windfall, Scott booked a long overdue vacation. Since funds now really weren't an issue and never would be, he decided to splurge, choosing the most lavish and expensive resort he could find, which could've been enough, but not anymore…
In order to get to and from said resort, the fifty year old chartered a private jet, something he’d done many times before, but never solely for his own pleasure and convenience. In the past, he'd chartered private flights to woo and impress clients but finally, the time had come for him to woo and impress himself. Just himself…
The flight to the resort was amazing, well worth each of the many, many many (times a few million) cents he'd paid for it. Scott was the jet's only passenger, and anything he wanted, the young and very sexy flight attendant named Diego, was happy to provide, including two rounds of thorough and energetic fucking in the private jet's very private “owner's suite.”
Because of how dedicated he'd been to getting to this point, it'd been longer than Scott liked to admit since he'd last had fun between the sheets. Before things got underway, he told Diego as much, which much to the older man's surprise, only seemed to further excite his personal flight attendant, and make him even more attentive.
It was while getting his senses fucked out of him some 40,000 feet in the air, that Scott realized just how fortunate he was. He liked to think that Diego was into him for more than just his money, but regardless, from then on out, he decided he was going to use his immense new wealth to its full advantage, because so far, so fucking good…
After the jet landed, as it taxied down the runway, Scott suddenly found himself conflicted. By then, Diego had gotten himself resituated and was back to “business,” but just because they'd reached his destination, that didn't necessarily mean their fun needed to come to an end as well.
Scott thought about inviting the flight attendant to join him at the resort. If they'd (him, at least) had had that much fun while up in the clouds, surely they could have even more down on solid ground, and/or shifting sand. But just as quickly, he thought otherwise…
Diego had been great, but maybe someone, anyone else at the resort, would be even better? Scott had to admit, it was a (very) slutty realization, but now that he had nothing but time and money at his disposal, he reasoned he deserved to keep his options open.
So unfortunately for him, Diego didn't get an invite. He did however get a very, very generous tip, as did the pilot and co-pilot.
***
The next three weeks were a wonderful blur. Not since when he'd been a child had Scott had so much free time. Time to do whatever he wanted, which was sometimes nothing.
For the first time in decades, he slept in multiple days in a row. Whenever he finally woke, Scott ordered room service, too relaxed to be bothered to make his way to any of the resort's dine-in establishments.
Quite quickly, the fifty year old became obsessed with his villa, as well as the stretch of private beach it offered, that only he was allowed access to, unless he granted someone else the privilege. Sometime around lunch, usually after, he'd head out there to his already set up lounge chair and umbrella.
Scott was in great shape. Back when he'd been working, he mostly spent what little free time he had in his home gym, usually trying to work out and away some of his incessant stress. The body he'd achieved (and maintained) doing so was really just a bonus he at the time, very rarely got the chance to let anyone else enjoy and admire.
But things were different now. Not that he couldn't have before, now that he had at least a hundred yards of private beach to himself, the fifty year old finally dared to don the skimpy swim wear he'd purchased for his overdue vacation.
All of his options were purple, his favorite color. The suit he liked the most just so ended up being the smallest, a thong with an almost entirely sheer pouch that couldn't quite contain his impressive manhood.
Scott truly had no reason to be ashamed, but he only wore the thong while in his villa or on his section of sand. When he did venture out onto resort grounds, he usually wore his European cut suit and paired it with a matching Hawaiian shirt he left open most of the time.
One night, he decided to go out to dinner rather than having it brought to him. Once again, he wore his small purple trunks but this time, he paired them with a blue Hawaiian shirt (which he did button) and a nice pair of brown leather sandals.
As he walked to dinner, Scott realized he was more covered than he'd been since arriving at the resort, which actually felt kind of strange. Even though he wasn't showing nearly everything, the results he ended up getting were still good.
Very good…
Not long after he was seated at a table for two overlooking the ocean, he and a handsome man seated at the bar started making eyes at one another. Scott couldn't peg the slightly younger man's ethnicity, but his thick, dark hair and beard and tanned olive complexion, had him thinking Middle Eastern or Mediterranean. Whatever the other guy was, the fifty year old liked it and fortunately, the sentiment proved to be mutual.
The guy came over and they started chatting. His name was Amir, and he was visiting from Dubai.
Amir was dressed almost exactly the same as Scott, but had left more of his buttons undone, revealing a large, firm and very hairy chest. When a waiter arrived to take their order, Scott suddenly wasn't hungry anymore. Not for food, anyway…
All of a sudden, he found himself hungry for a different kind of meat. While that sentiment also proved mutual, it turned out Amir did want to actually have something to eat before they moved onto different cuisines.
“Do you like crab?” Amir asked him after he'd ordered the two of them another drink.
“I do,” Scott confirmed with a smile and nod.
“Good!” Amir grinned before turning to the waiter and ordering “the crab, for two.”
“So this crab…” the fifty year old started as they waited for their next round and the crustaceans.
“It's amazing!” Amir practically moaned. “I've never had anything like it before!” He shook his head. “And…” he lowered his voice as he leaned in over the small table. “I was told it's an aphrodisiac,” he wagged his thick, well-manicured brows.
“Oh?” Scott raised his own.
The handsome Arab smiled and nodded. “Maybe we'll find out if that's true?”
“I think I'd like that.”
“Same. Though there is one thing…”
“Oh?” Scott repeated.
“The crab… It's a little funny looking. I just figured I should warn you because when I saw it for the first time, I almost sent it back.”
Scott shrugged. “I try not to judge books by their covers.”
Amir chuckled. “Remember you said that…”
***
A few minutes later, they were sipping on their second round when another waiter brought over a large pewter platter, on which sat two crabs. Two perfectly steamed, but very large and weird looking ones.
“Are those coconut crabs?” Scott asked as he tried not to frown at their unusual appearance.
“You've had them before?!” Amir asked excitedly.
Scott shook his head. “No, but I remember learning about them way back in high school. I remember thinking how weird they looked, like some combination of a regular crab and a hermit,” he said with a slight wince. “I don't remember learning about how they taste, or that they're an aphrodisiac…”
“Well they may look weird, but they taste amazing! I've been ordering them every chance I've had ever since getting here,” Amir said.
“And have they worked..?” Scott raised his brows again.
“I'm here talking to you, aren't I?” The younger man winked.
“Touché.”
Amir took one of the crabs off the platter and placed it on his plate. A moment later, he was ripping the big left claw off and then further breaking its shell.
“Mmm!” He moaned as he popped meat into his mouth. “So good!”
Scott smirked. He took the second crab from the platter and did the same, trying not to pay attention to the crab's odd tail. He also started with a claw. There was butter and lemon available but he decided to take his first taste “raw,” hoping he wouldn't regret it.
He didn't. The crab tasted amazing. It was sweeter than regular crab, with more of a lobster-like texture. All of a sudden, he was moaning too.
“Good, huh?” Amir asked through another mouthful of claw.
Scott nodded enthusiastically. “Great!”
“Wait till you get to the tail. It's even better than the claws!”
The tail was even better. It contained a lot of meat, as much as a lobster, if not more. Before Scott knew it, there was nothing but empty shells sitting in front of him and Amir.
“Should I order another round?” The handsome Arab asked.
Scott eyed his drink and nodded. “One more for the road would be nice.”
“I was talking about crab,” Amir chuckled.
“Oh! No,” he shook his head. “It was great, but I'm stuffed and well you know… It's not too fun to get stuffed when you are stuffed, so…” he trailed off.
Amir understood. “Say no more. Another round of drinks and then we can head back to your place.”
“Sounds perfect,” Scott grinned.
As soon as their drinks arrived, Amir settled their bill then they walked back to Scott's. As soon as they arrived, they shed their clothes and started making out like teenagers before spending the next few hours “getting to know” one another in every way physically possible.
Amir's cock was just as thick and impressive as Scott's, making it a tight fit at first, but the sexy Arab made sure he got the older man as ready as he could. He was very thorough with his fingers and tongue.
Amir fucked Scott twice, cumming inside him both times. The fifty year old loved the sensation and was glad that before the trip, he'd gone to see his doctor to get on Prep and the pill, so assuming Amir was clean (which he said he was) he had nothing to worry about.
Scott couldn't tell what if any effect the crab was having, all he knew was that he was having a very good time. Following their second round, Amir sucked him off, letting him blow in his mouth. As he swallowed his load, the fifty year old was left in a haze of fucked out bliss when all of a sudden, Amir said he had to go.
As he quickly got dressed, he mentioned his new wife was probably wondering where he was. Amir was at the resort on his honeymoon. Oops.
Scott felt bad for all of a second but then quickly went back to enjoying himself, because why not? He deserved it.
He and Amir hooked up two more times, always following a quick crab feast. The last time they got together, it was out on the beach under the full moon. After, they went out into the ocean to cool off and rinse off some of the sand.
As they headed back to Scott's villa, the mood was bittersweet. Amir was married (to a woman no less,) so Scott didn't expect anything further to happen between them, but he'd thoroughly enjoyed their time together and was a little sad his new friend was leaving the following day.
They exchanged numbers and promised to keep in touch. Now that Scott had nothing but time on his hands and the funds to make whatever happened, whenever he wanted it to, he and Amir agreed to meet up again, next time without his wife around to have to worry about.
A few days later, Scott's trip came to an end as well. Before he left, he booked his next stay at the resort, choosing the same villa, which next time, he'd stay in for a full month. As he packed up his things, he was already looking forward to coming back.
The fifty year old was also already looking forward to his flight home. Why? Because he'd have a private jet all to himself again, but more so because he'd made the necessary arrangements to be sure Diego would be his (very) personal flight attendant again, meaning the trip home would most likely be just as fun as the one there.
***
The flight home got off to a good start. A great one, actually…
Take off was made all the more enjoyable thanks to the champagne Diego provided, but even more so by the blow job the sexy flight attendant surprised Scott with as the plane ascended to cruising altitude. Everything was great until it wasn't.
All of a sudden, something was wrong. Just as he was about to reach climax, the plane, not Scott, shuddered, and quite violently at that. Quick as he could, Diego straightened back on his knees.
He wiped his mouth as he stood, then braced himself on the back of Scott's seat before staggering towards the cockpit to see what was going on. Safe to say, this was not turbulence.
Scott didn't know it, but Diego's back was the last he'd see of him. As the flight attendant disappeared into the cockpit, the plane continued to shudder, the sensation and noise becoming more violent as it suddenly stopped ascending and started rapidly losing altitude.
They were only a few minutes into the flight… Obviously things weren't going well but surely the pilot could turn around and get them back to the airport for an emergency landing. As Scott stuffed his cock and balls back in his shorts and fastened his seat belt, he sure hoped so, because if not, they were probably going to end up in the ocean!
In a matter of seconds, things went from very bad to even worse. When the jet started to wildly pitch from side to side, Scott knew they weren't going to make it back to the airport. They were going down…
Obviously, he was scared, but more than that, he was disappointed…
At fifty years old, now that he'd come to terms (and then some) with retiring, he felt as if his life was just getting started! Till less than two minutes ago, he'd been thinking of nothing but his future, and how good it was going to be, but no, it didn't seem he'd get to be that lucky.
Now, the only luck Scott could hope for was a quick and painless death. As the plane continued to shake and pitch now obviously out of control, for what little it was worth, he tried to remember all the safety videos he hadn't paid attention to on countless previous flights, instructing him what to do in a situation like this.
He was already buckled, so that was good. Or was it..?
That Scott had remembered to do but now that he had, now that he was locked into his seat, it suddenly didn't seem right. Something he couldn't finger told him it was wrong, so as the plane continued to lose altitude at a disturbingly rapid rate, he unbuckled himself with shaking hands before returning them to his armrests, which he gripped as tightly as he could as something else clicked and he remembered to lean forward and brace.
That was the last thing the fifty year old remembered before the plane slammed into the water and everything went black. Black and wet…
***
Scott had no idea how long he'd been out but all of a sudden, he was awake, limbs already kicking and flailing to keep him afloat. Evidently the plane had broken apart when it hit the water. As he coughed and sputtered, forcing saltwater from his lungs, Scott watched in confusion as the tail of the plane slowly sank beneath the waves.
As it disappeared from sight, while still desperately treading water, the fifty year old looked around and saw almost nothing but blue. Blue sky and blue water. As he looked up, Scott noted that same as when they'd taken off, there wasn't a cloud to be seen, indicating weather hadn't brought the plane down.
The next thing he noticed when he lowered his gaze, was one of his bags floating back up to the surface. He didn't notice (or care) which bag it was, just that it was there and it was buoyant. Instinctively, he swam towards it.
Once he'd worked its strap over his left shoulder, Scott went back to treading. By some miracle, he'd survived the crash, but as he looked around his immediate vicinity again, he realized he seemed to be the only one.
Diego, the pilot and co-pilot, were nowhere to be seen, leaving Scott and his one bag, seemingly the only survivors left out there in the ocean. Still treading, but now slightly less frantically, the fifty year old let out a mournful groan as he slowly spun around in place, aside from where the current gently took him.
As soon as he was facing the same direction as the current, his burning eyes widened in surprise before suddenly squinting again, sure they weren't actually seeing what lay ahead of them in the distance. Scott blinked a few times, holding his eyes tightly shut during the last before opening them again while praying they weren't playing a trick on him…
He couldn't say for sure they weren't but not too far ahead of him, he still saw what he had after turning around: land.
An island.
Knowing full well it could be (and probably was) nothing more than a cruel mirage his frazzled brain had conjured up, Scott started swimming in that direction at a doggy paddle. The “island” seemed so far away and might not even exist, but it was his only option, so he tried his best to keep focused and calm as he headed towards it.
As it turned out, the island did exist. After a calm but grueling swim, Scott finally found himself emerging from the ocean back onto dry land. After trudging several yards away from the surf, the fifty year old dropped to his knees and burst into tears.
For the time being, he was safe. For the next several minutes, he just sat there on all fours, sobbing and hyperventilating as he tried to comprehend all that'd happened and his new reality.
He'd made it, but now, he was alone. A literal castaway, which hardly seemed like much of a reward. Everyone else was gone, presumably at the bottom of the ocean by now, (hopefully) at peace.
After a few more minutes of crying, Scott forced himself to stand. For the next several seconds, his entire body shook, making it feel like he'd never been on dry land before, or at least hadn't expected to ever be back on it… Clutching his bag in front of him, he began to explore the island, hoping against hope he'd find some sign of life. Human life, but after just a few minutes, he came to the realization he was there by himself, aside from the plethora of sea birds, bugs and surprisingly, an abundance of crabs. Coconut crabs.
At least it didn't seem likely he'd starve while he waited to be rescued. For all he knew (and hoped,) rescue might come before his first meal because surely someone had seen the plane disappear from the radar.
Even down, the plane had to have a beacon of sorts and hopefully, it was still transmitting its last known location. Rescue would come. Scott was sure of it.
In the meantime, he just had to wait. Wait and figure out what he was going to do till he was found.
He was fine. He'd survived the crash miraculously unscathed. He could do this.
***
A small stand of palm trees and other random foliage provided Scott with shelter from the sun, firewood, and the materials to fashion a couple makeshift spears. Scared, shocked and everything else as he was, the fifty year old finally put the boy scout training he'd never had to to use and soon, had not one, but two fires going.
The first was at his humble start of a camp. The other was larger and close to the shore, more out in the open, where its flames and smoke could be better seen by any passing planes, helicopters, ships or boats. Seen by any of the many people he knew for sure were already out looking for his doomed flight.
Scott spent the next several hours on the beach, tending to the bigger fire. He kept his eyes constantly moving, looking for someone or something, but didn't see anyone or anything.
Late that afternoon, dark clouds quickly rolled in and suddenly, it was raining hard. Much to his chagrin, the downpour quickly extinguished the beach fire, but he hardly had time to worry about it.
It suddenly dawned on Scott that he needed to figure out a way to try and collect the rain water, because during his brief exploration of the island so far, he'd yet to find a fresh water source. At the time, he still didn't think he'd be there long, but just to be safe, he rushed back to camp, opened his bag and dumped its contents.
While not entirely waterproof, he knew the bag was buoyant, which (hopefully) meant it would be able to retain (some) water. The fifty year old hurried back out into the open with it, leaving its contents (which he'd yet to even look at) under the protection of the palms.
Scott held the bag as wide open as he could, sighing in relief as it quickly started to fill with rain. He groaned when he realized that just as quickly started to leak. That meant that even if he didn't plan on being a castaway for long, he either needed to find a source of fresh groundwater, or come up with a better system for collecting (and keeping) rain.
By the time the fifty year old returned to camp with his loaded but leaking bag, he was once again soaked to the bone, same as he'd been after coming ashore following the crash. Wet as he was, fortunately, he wasn't cold, but before he could think about trying to dry off, he had to decide what he was going to do with the precious rain water he'd collected…
The answer was as simple as it was obvious: he needed to drink it. As much of it as he could, while he had the chance.
Scott wasn't particularly thirsty at the moment, but since he had no clue where he, let alone his phone was, he also had no clue as to when he could expect it to rain again. As such, kneeling, he dipped his head down and started to drink.
After drinking as much as he could, he felt bloated and waterlogged, but at least now he was thoroughly hydrated. The fire at camp was still going, which meant he had one less thing to have to worry about at the moment, so finally, he paused to take better stock of his situation and surroundings.
As he stood, Scott noticed a pile of rocks at the foot of one of the nearby palms, and saw that rain water had pooled in it. He also noticed how rain had pooled in one of the shorter palms’ lowest leaves, which reminded him of some more of his scout training…
Not only would the foliage be another (menial) collection source, he could use the leaves and fronds to line his bag to keep the rain from leaking (so quickly) from it. Good. Not great, but good.
As the rain started tapering off, instead of its pounding, the fifty year old heard a strange, unexpected clicking sound, which caused him to naturally look around to try and locate the source. It only took a brief visual sweep for Scott to realize there were many sources…
Coconut crabs. Lots of them.
Following the rain, they were suddenly everywhere, presumably driven out of hiding to drink the fresh water they too needed to continue to exist. Scott took that as a good and bad sign…
Given their sudden abundant exposure, he realized if the rain had driven them out, there was a reason… Maybe rain was their (and now his) only source of fresh water on the island? Wonderful…
Now that he was seeing the coconut crabs live and in action, Scott realized how unusual they looked and how big they were. They were massive compared to a “regular” crab, each one probably weighing somewhere around 9 lbs.
Watching them made him feel a little queasy, like he knew he wasn't supposed to see this part of “the show.” The good news was Scott knew not only could he eat them, but that they were delicious. And on the subject of eating…
Full of water as his stomach was, that didn't keep it from growling. The fifty year old was hungry because he hadn't had anything to eat prior to taking that fateful flight.
Keeping a watchful eye on as many of the odd, oversized crabs as he could, Scott slowly reached for one of his new spears, hoping he'd whittled its tip to be sharp enough. A few seconds later, as he stabbed the closest crab in the head, killing it, he had confirmation that he had.
As he pulled the spear out, reached down and picked the crab up, he was surprised by its weight. It had to weigh at least 10 lbs. Scott knew not all of that was edible weight, so just to be safe, after checking the spear's tip to make sure it could handle another use, he went after a second crab, which was even bigger than the first.
First meal of the day secured, he set to stoking the fire, wanting the flames as big and hot as he could get them since he'd never cooked crab, let alone any other meat, in such a manner, and the last thing he needed now was to make himself sick.
As he let the fire grow, he looked around camp again and noticed two coconuts that had fallen during the rain. Since aside from getting sick, the last thing he needed at the present was any more water, after cracking them open, Scott let as much as he could drain from the fruits, then set them shell side down in the fire to roast before doing the same with the crabs.
Despite its lack of proper cooking technique, the crab was still delicious. Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said of the coconut, which was only just edible as Scott had greatly overcooked it.
Only because he was so hungry, Scott ate all the coconut first, mixing its burnt “meat” with some from the crab (that he'd somehow managed to cook to perfection.) After “dinner,” his gut was super stuffed and visibly bloated, so he moved slowly as he started preparing his camp for his first and hopefully, only night on the island.
The sole survivor of the crash made a bed of palm fronds and other vegetation, doing his best to make it as cushy and supportive as possible. His clothes still wet, Scott stripped down to nothing after gratefully realizing that this island seemed to be missing something else aside from human life: bugs.
Needless to say, the day had been exhausting, so Scott was “in bed” totally naked, watching the sunset at the horizon. Sad and tired as he was, the fifty year old suddenly felt something he most definitely hadn't been expecting. He felt horny. Very much so…
He reasoned it must've been a lingering result of the adrenaline rush from the crash. His body wanted to reward itself for its efforts and/or felt the need to suddenly procreate to insure the continued survival of its bloodline. Too bad the latter wasn't possible. But not really, actually…
Scott had never wanted children. Previously, he'd been too busy to even consider them as his job had been his baby.
But now as he tugged at his erection, thinking about Diego and Amir, he wondered if that had been a mistake? It was definitely something he probably needed to take the time to reconsider after he got rescued, but not now.
It didn't take long for him to reach climax. The sun was just setting over the horizon as he finished. Brief as his session had been, its results were bountiful, notably more so than they typically were when he only had his imagination and hand at his disposal.
Scott didn't bother cleaning up. He could literally remake his bed the next day if he had to but again, hopefully, this would be the only night he spent on the island.
After his large release, the fifty year old felt completely spent. He closed his eyes and listened to the waves and the sound of crabs crawling around nearby. The latter was a little unnerving, but also strangely comforting when coupled with the gentle waves. Before he knew it, Scott was asleep.
***
As soon as he woke, Scott set to work. The first thing he did was take his still wet clothes out to the beach and lay them out on the sand under the slowly rising sun to dry. Next, still naked, he went off on another search for more firewood and hopefully, a source of fresh water.
He found plenty more wood but no water, which already had him hoping for more rain. Even more so, the fifty year old hoped for rescue, but in the meantime, he set to tending his fires and making improvements to his camp, just in case.
While out exploring, Scott found a banana tree so a few of the fruits had been his breakfast. For lunch, he tried his luck at spear fishing. It took a few tries but eventually, he caught two which he cooked over the beach bonfire.
After lunch, he gathered more wood, palm fronds and other foliage and rigged up an awning for his bed. It was basic, but it would provide a little more shade and cover from the elements, including the rain he was still hoping for. As he worked, Scott kept an eye on the sky and the ocean, but by the time it rained again, he still hadn't seen any sign of rescue.
Before the rain came, he'd lined his bag as best he could with leaves, which did as he hoped and really slowed down the leaking.
His awning was doing the trick too. Between it and the trees overhead, Scott barely got wet.
As he waited out the rain, the fifty year old finally took stock of what his only remaining bag had contained, the contents now spread out on the “bed,” next to where he'd slept. It was mostly clothes, specifically his swimwear and a couple of shorts, but there was also a towel from the resort he'd accidentally grabbed, and a couple pairs of his sunglasses. Unfortunately, there was no footwear and he'd lost the sandals he'd been wearing out in the ocean, but at least the sand was soft, he now had some more things to wear and a towel to dry off with.
Once again, the crabs emerged from wherever they lived during the rain. Scott watched them for a while and got the sense they were doing the same to him, but overall, the crustaceans didn't seem interested or concerned by his presence. That was good because it made hunting them all the easier.
After all the hard work he'd put in throughout the day, the fifty year old was hungry. Very hungry, so for his second dinner as a castaway, he speared three crabs, all of which were just as large as the bigger one the day before.
30 lbs of crab was a lot, but again, not all of it was edible… Of course there were all the shells, and the upper bodies, but there was still a lot of claw and tail meat. Too much, really, but what was edible was just so good and after all he'd been through (so far) Scott deserved some good.
After gorging himself, the fifty year old felt tired and horny. As he started to get settled for the night, he remembered Amir talking about the crab being an aphrodisiac. Whether it actually was or not remained unknown, but that evening, Scott certainly felt the need to “tend to business,” so he did and once again, the results were plentiful.
***
As soon as he woke the following morning, Scott knew something was wrong. He groaned quietly. His stomach hurt. It felt like he'd eaten too much, which in fact, he had.
He knew he'd cooked the crab thoroughly enough, so his stomach was just probably still adjusting to more regularly consuming it and to such a degree. Scott assumed the rain water was clean, but perhaps not as clean as his insides would've liked.
He could adjust his intake and preparation methods, but till he was found, his options were obviously limited. His body was going to have to adjust. Scott knew it would if it had to, he just hoped it wouldn't take too long.
He wasn't worried. All in all, everything was still fine. As fine as it could be, anyway.
Once his stomach felt a little better, Scott sat up and looked around. The sun was just beginning to rise and he didn't see any crabs around. He needed to find a place to use the bathroom.
The fifty year old winced as he stood. His back hurt. His bed left much to be desired, especially after having spent three weeks in the lap of luxury at the resort.
Scott found another small crop of palm trees and used his hands to dig a hole at the base of one before squatting down with another wince and doing his business into it. His stomach was not happy, but that was just a temporary inconvenience. He felt a little better once he'd finished.
After carefully burying his business with his foot, Scott went and collected more wood for the fire down on the beach. He got it started again then decided to go into the ocean to wash off.
The surf was calm and the water temperature was perfect, refreshing but not too cold. Following his quick dip, he returned to camp to get that fire restarted and to think about breakfast.
Once the fire was going again, since he still didn't see any crabs around, he took a spear and headed back to the ocean for some more fish. Again, it took a few tries, but eventually he caught something. This time, he decided one fish was enough.
The fish was tasty, but nowhere near as much as the crab. Scott shook one of the palms and got a couple more coconuts to fall. Using a rock, he cracked one open and slowly drank its water, not wanting to upset his stomach. After breakfast, he did a little more exploring, venturing further from the shore and camp, but never too far, just in case.
He found a few more rock pools, another banana tree, a couple of bird nests and more wood he could use for his fires, but that was it. Scott went back to the beach to tend to the fire and look up and out for rescue. As he stared out at the glistening water, he was glad he'd found his sunglasses. Now if only someone would find him.
By midday, no one had. Scott hadn't spotted a single plane, helicopter, ship or boat. Nothing.
Even though he was just sitting there, the fifty year old was sweating. The sun was strong there and he needed to be mindful of his exposure to it since he didn't have any sunscreen. Scott was bored, hot and frustrated, and his stomach was still a little sour. He went back into the ocean to help cool off, then headed back to camp to lay down.
He woke to more stomach pain. Thankfully, it wasn't as bad as that morning, but it was uncomfortable. As Scott got up to go use the bathroom again, his right hand instinctively went to his stomach. As soon as it touched down, something didn't feel right… He looked down and what he saw caused him to frown. Hard.
His midsection was usually flat, impressively so for someone his age, but now towards the bottom, right above the elastic waistband of his suit, there was a bulge. It wasn't prominent, but it was definitely noticeable. Gingerly, Scott pressed the tips of his fingers against it and noted how firm and tight the mass was.
Maybe an allergic reaction? He wondered. Or maybe it has to do with all the stress and “excitement?”
Either option made sense. Whatever the cause, it didn't seem too big an issue. Not yet, anyway…
He felt a little better after going to the bathroom again, but considering how much he went, Scott thought he would've felt more relieved. Also that the bulge low on his middle would've diminished more (if not entirely) but it remained just as “big” as before.
He was definitely concerned, but what good was worrying? There was nothing he could do about it, so he tried not to think about it, which was easier said than done seeing as he was currently without a shirt.
He pulled on one of his remaining t-shirts which at least made the bulge a little less noticeable. But as the day progressed, so did the small bulge's expansion…
Late that third afternoon, there was another heavy shower. Fortunately, the fifty year old was a little better prepared for this one, and collecting (and retaining) as much fresh water as he could, required his focus, at least for a while. But after the shower had passed, Scott looked down and got worried all over again.
By that point, the small bulge had become an undeniable mound, large and prominent enough to make his already tight t-shirt ride up some. Even though there wasn't anyone around to see it, Scott couldn’t help but feel disgusted. He'd always expected himself to look a certain way and this wasn't it.
Had there been someone, they would've said he still looked great. Even with a bit of a belly, the fifty year old still looked better than the majority of his contemporaries, gay or straight. Almost any one of them would've taken his recently augmented body over their own. As much as he knew that, it did little to console him. He knew what would though…
Crab.
Following the rain, they were out and about again, lazily clacking and scooting around over the rocks and sand. They moved slowly as their small, simple brains used up all their narrow bandwidth searching out food and fresh water. Honestly, he could've just reached down and picked them up one by one if he wanted to, but he didn't. After making sure it was still nice and sharp, Scott elected to use one of his spears, preferring his next meal already dead when he started cooking it.
His stomach grumbled with hunger as he performed his easy hunt. He killed another three crabs, knowing that would be enough but then about halfway through their roasting, he grabbed his spear and killed a fourth. As its shell was still in the process of cracking, Scott felt bad.
He hated to waste. Always had, but especially now as be begrudgingly came more to terms with the fact he might need to be more mindful about how much he ate. He was fairly certain he was the only human on the island, but also that he wasn't supposed to be there, meaning its presumably already limited resources would (eventually) only go so far with his presence added into the mix.
He still hoped and thought he'd be off the island before that happened, but just in case he wasn't, he needed to do better. Better safe than sorry, right?
In order to prevent waste and to maybe better prepare himself for that possible “extended stay,” Scott really gorged that night. He ate all of the crabs, sucking all the meat from every leg, tail and claw, washing it down with reasonable sips of rain water he'd collected.
Following dinner, his belly ached again. It was so full…
Unquestionably, he'd overdone it. The fifty year old promised himself then that until he got off the island, he wouldn't be so greedy. He couldn't risk it. As such, he stripped back down to nothing and went to “bed” that night actually somewhat enjoying the fullness he was experiencing, sad to have to admit it might be the last time he'd get to for a while.
Quick as sleep proved to be taking Scott, something else did before it could: need and desire. He was so full and tired, so what more could he want?
Given the erection he was suddenly sporting, the answer was fairly obvious: he needed to jerk off again. Really needed to, so he did.
Same as the night before, not long after starting, Scott found himself cumming in buckets. Too bad he didn't have one, not that his spunk was what he needed to worry about collecting… Gathering fresh water remained a concern, but now that he'd lined his bag, so long as it continued to rain every afternoon and he maybe started utilizing the rock pools, he figured he'd be OK.
***
He wouldn't remember it come morning, but the first dream Scott has that night was off Amir fucking him. The second dream he also wouldn't recall was of Diego finishing the blow job he'd started in the plane which this time, didn't go down.
The third and final dream, which he would end up remembering, was of rescue…
Scott dreamed that a team of hunky Navy Seals found him after seeing his bonfire. They just so happened to arrive shirtless, in just the briefest of shorts, which clung to their thick and muscular legs as they slowly emerged from the water onto the sand. The bugles in their clingy shorts showed that the Seals were all just as “excited” to see him, and they all proceeded to celebrate the successful rescue mission with Scott at the center of attention.
It was a very nice dream. When woke, the fifty year old was sporting some serious morning wood. Not one to waste, Scott had every intention of putting his erection to good use, only problem was he couldn't…
When he reached down to grab his meat, he was met with a different kind he hadn't been expecting. For the moment, he'd forgotten about his unusual belly bulge but instantly remembered it as soon as his hand made contact. What he didn't remember was it being so big…
Gone was that “small” bulge and in its place was a belly that looked like it belonged to someone who was at least five months pregnant!
“What the fuck?!” He gasped in alarm.
What the fuck, indeed.
There was no way he was pregnant?! OK, yes, technically, it was possible if the pill hadn't done its job one of the times he'd been fucked by Diego or Amir, but even if that was the case, that put him at less than a month along, meaning he shouldn't have been showing yet, let alone to such a sudden degree?!
Something was obviously wrong. It had to be more than an allergic reaction or the result of stress, but what?
Unfortunately, Scott couldn't grab his phone and question the internet. Needless to say, his morning wood quickly went away, his excitement replaced with anxiety and concern as he forgot all about his sexy dream.
***
The fifty year old attempted to go about his day as normally as possible. That proved easier said than done considering by sunset, it looked as though he was full term. But he wasn't even pregnant, was he?
Maybe he was, but not to this degree?! There was no way!
Despite the look of it, Scott continued to doubt his belly contained a baby because he'd yet to feel anything move but his stomach when it grumbled. Maybe he'd caught a parasite from the fish or crab?
Speaking of the crabs, Scott couldn't say why, but he kept thinking about them and how they maybe somehow had something to do with his condition, whatever that was… As such, just to be safe, they weren't on the menu that evening. He planned on having fish again, but then he saw something he hadn't since leaving the resort.
A bird. He'd seen nests, but no birds till this one… A big seagull of sorts, with a black head.
He watched it come in for a landing on the beach, where it proceeded to lay down and fold its wings, presumably in need of a break following its journey across the ocean. Spear already in hand, before he even realized what he was doing, Scott was “rushing” the bird, his rapid weight gain and new center of gravity making doing so awkward, but fortunately not unsuccessful.
The spear easily penetrated the gull's ribcage, instantly killing it. The now heavily pregnant looking fifty year old took his surprise dinner back to camp, got the fire going again, then started plucking. He saved all the feathers he could so he could try his luck at making a pillow. At least then maybe his neck wouldn't ache so much in the morning.
The gull's meat had a strong flavor, fishy and gamey, its texture tough and lean. It wasn't very enjoyable but it was something different. For “dessert,” Scott treated himself to a couple of bananas, then washed everything down with water he'd collected during that afternoon's rain.
The bananas were tasty but nothing else on the island could come close to beating the crab. As he sat there digesting, Scott looked down at his belly.
“What the fuck?” He said for what had to be the hundredth time that day.
He sat there a little longer before going back down to the beach to rinse off and load the bonfire with more wood. He'd let it go out the night before which he now realized could've been a mistake. He'd yet to encounter any predators on the island, but better safe than sorry.
Scott assumed the island was charted. There was no way it couldn't be by now, but he needed to let people know he was there, day and night.
He also needed to sleep though, so he returned to camp and laid down. As he did, he tried not to look at or feel how much his belly stuck out in front of him but regardless of how hard he tried, he noticed both to a disturbing degree.
Come his next morning as a castaway, the fifty year old looked like he was overdue with a large pair of twins. The only reason he didn't completely lose it then and there was because over night, his chest had notably grown as well, losing definition as it increased in size, further adding to his fecund appearance while simultaneously taking some attention from his belly.
Despite the way he now looked, Scott continued to doubt he was pregnant. If he was, there was no logical explanation as to why his condition was progressing so quickly? But if somehow he actually was as pregnant as he looked, he would've felt the baby (babies?) moving, right?
He'd never pregnant before so he couldn't say for sure, but he knew enough about the condition to know none of what he was experiencing made any fucking sense.
Was he worried and scared? Hell yes! Was there anything he could do about that? Unfortunately not.
As his belly continued its rapid expansion, everything Scott had to do became more difficult. Despite his trepidation, he went back to eating crab most of the time because they took the least effort to catch.
Because the island didn't offer any refrigeration, Scott could only kill what he was immediately going to eat. Whatever was growing inside him was making him more and more hungry, so despite the promise he'd made himself about not gorging, he was eating more, not less.
The fifty year old was also thinking ahead… Due to the crabs’ “limited availability,” he was forced to get creative. Literally. He collected a bunch of small rocks and wood and made a pen of sorts to house his live crustacean “surplus” till it was time for his next meal.
***
By day six, he was up to four crabs per meal, breakfast, lunch and dinner. His belly had bloated to the size it could've contained a chubby preschooler, which was quite disconcerting to say the least.
And yet somehow, Scott still didn't think he'd be on the island much longer. Given the odd severity of his situation, he decided to enlarge the crab pen that afternoon, just in case.
Whatever he collected required more trips now as he wasn't able to carry as much as he had been even the day before. When not gathering one thing or another, or struggling to shake coconuts from trees, Scott tried to keep his mind off his predicament.
He was managing to survive, but that didn't mean things were good. Yes, he'd “lucked out” and ended up somewhere “hospitable,” but the longer he was forced to stay there, the more Scott wondered if he really had?
Was the island helping or hurting him more? Was his condition a result of him being there, or some (added) fluke the universe had tossed at him to make him try and prove his worth?
Whatever the case, it wasn't fair. Scott wasn't a bad guy… Far from it. Had his priorities been slightly out of whack before retiring? Maybe, but he'd never purposely hurt anyone, so why was he being punished? And yes, that's what it felt like, and rightfully so, because by day seven, his belly looked like it contained a preteen.
His chest had grown more too. For the time being he still had pecs. Now though, they were strangely bloated and increasingly tight, even as they continued to lose more and more definition.
Finally, for the first time since arriving on the island, to “celebrate” a full week there, Scott returned to the shoreline and allowed himself to lose it again after (slowly and awkwardly) dropping down to his knees facing the sea. He screamed and cried. He repeatedly shouted every curse word he could think of, clutching the sides of his huge gut as he did.
From close behind, he felt the heat from the bonfire licking his back. As he hysterically sobbed, for the briefest of moments, the fifty year old considered getting back to his feet and then tossing himself into the roaring flames.
The only reason he didn't was because he was too scared to find out how much it would hurt. Roasting himself and whatever was growing inside him alive wasn't the way he wanted to go. Till just a week ago (which now seemed much, much longer,) Scott had had so much to live for.
Yes, he was fifty, but in many ways, his life had just been getting started. The good part, anyway.
So he didn't do it. Not yet. That said, sad as it was to admit, Scott couldn't help but keep ending things an option not too far back in his mind.
***
Following three weeks at the resort, plus a week almost constantly spent in the sun (without sunscreen,) Scott had never been more tan. Tan as he was when he swam ashore, he was admittedly surprised but relieved he hadn't burned. More relieved…
Why? Because his now huge belly was itchy enough as his skin stretched to cover it. His bigger pecs too.
Incredibly, his tan skin remained free of any blemishes, aside from where it got red from when he couldn't stop scratching. Whether the stretching was visibly evident or not, it was happening.
On night eight, Scott sat facing the fire, the flames licking the right air casting a golden flickering glow against him. For some reason, his belly hadn't grown much if at all that day. Whatever the cause, the “break” was appreciated because it was already big enough.
More than big enough…
Scott had his legs splayed out in front of him, parted wide to try to accommodate his gargantuan orb, the bottom of which rested on the sand. Left hand behind him for support, he slid his right over the warm, smooth expanse, and expansive it was, especially after adding another four crabs into the equation.
To be fair, he hadn't had much time to even try to adjust (mentally or physically,) but he still couldn't get over how huge he was. Looking down at his massive, shiny, tan belly, the fifty year old let out a small, dry chuckle, the first time he'd made such a noise in days.
Why? Because the current sight of his own body reminded him of something he'd seen earlier in the day. What?
A whale.
Scott had been looking beyond the waves at just the right moment to catch not the ship or boat he'd been hoping for, but a humpback breaching the surface. The unexpected sight was breathtaking. It caused him to smile for the first time since Diego started (but didn't finish) blowing him.
The whale, the actual whale, had been huge. The biggest thing he'd ever seen in real life, with his own eyes.
Now he was too. His belly, anyway. Speaking of which, all of a sudden, it got his attention again. Considering its size, that wasn't surprising. What was however, was the reason….
A kick.
Aside from a few to the shins and once to the balls, which were both different in their own way, Scott had never experienced one before. Certainly not one like this, but already, he knew. Not by a long shot did he know or understand all the hows and whys, but he knew then and there that without a doubt, he was pregnant.
Not that he needed it, but another kick occurred, further confirming it. This one came from the other side of his belly. His pregnant belly. It made no sense whatsoever, but it made him smile for the second time that day.
Scott wondered how many there were? Obviously, more than one, which should've (further) worried and scared the shit out of him, which it did, but it also… Well it also sort of enchanted him.
For the first time in over a week, he knew he wasn't alone. That was exciting and unnerving.
It was only going to make things harder, physically while Scott remained otherwise alone, and then more so once he was rescued, which he still very much wanted, but yeah… Significantly harder!
But now he wasn't alone. Now, it was confirmed that he wasn't the only person on the island. Now, there were others. How many was unknown, but there were others, and regardless of if he wanted it to be the case, they were relying on him.
At least that made all the (increasing) challenges Scott was facing a little more worth it. It was something anyway, and he needed something to keep himself going.
***
Previously, Scott had never wanted kids, but now that he knew he was having some, he was kind of excited. Excited as he could be given the circumstances…
That said, as his now confirmed pregnancy continued to progress, so did the difficulties associated with it.
Such an unusual pregnancy would've been difficult to manage anywhere, but would certainly be far easier back on “actual land.” Following his brief respite, Scott's growth resumed. Over the course of the next week, he got bigger and bigger, becoming less and less mobile by the day.
The ocean became his savior. The buoyant salt water did wonders for his aching back, which was struggling to support his rapidly ballooning mass. When on land, Scott practically had to drag himself along to get around.
Not being able to see one's feet while walking in sand wasn't safe for anyone, let alone someone pregnant to such a degree, but the fifty year old adapted as best he could. It sucked, but the important thing was that he and the babies were still alive. Hell, the babies were thriving.
Hunting and gathering were becoming exponentially more difficult, and the timing couldn't have been worse as Scott finally experienced another pregnancy first: cravings. The good news was he craved something he had (relative) access to: crabs. The other good news was that he hadn't seemed to make a dent in the island's supply of crustaceans.
Yet… Hopefully, that would continue to remain the case.
The bad news was that he was now slower than the crabs, who weren't exactly svelte speed racers… No longer able to catch them by hand, Scott had to go back to hunting them by spear. His technique had definitely improved, but because he had to instantly kill what he was to eat next, the crab pen remained empty, forcing him to increase the frequency of his hunts.
At night, the crabs still pretty much came to him, but during the day he had to go further inland to search them out. Aside from his belly blocking much of the view in front of him, it hadn't been difficult for the fifty year old to find where the crabs nested. But small as their brains were, the crabs finally caught on and realized there was a predator amongst them.
This forced Scott to have to resort to awkward, sometimes precarious, but always very tiring ambushes. On top of hunting for crab, he still had to gather rain water, coconuts and bananas, and tend to two fires.
Simple and easy as they'd previously been, all these chores now took a lot out of him. Scott tried to keep his spirits up by talking to the babies, especially when their excited kicks, punches and rolls got to be too much. Sometimes, the babies’ movements could be as overwhelming as his hunger often was.
When he talked to the babies, even though they weren't capable of answering any of them, he mostly asked questions, of which he had a lot.
“I wonder who your other daddy is?” He pondered aloud one afternoon as he slowly and carefully made his way back to camp, following his most recent extended dip in the sea. “Diego or Amir? Maybe both of them?” He shrugged. “Or maybe…” he trailed off.
A strange thought had recently come to Scott's mind, which he hadn't been able to shake, crazy as it was. He'd had it a couple days prior while sitting next to the beach bonfire, looking out at the water.
Aside from suddenly surfacing and swimming to the island, he couldn't remember any of his other time in it. He had no idea how long he'd been submerged, or what'd happened while he was beneath the waves? Again, he knew it was crazy to think, but his condition was too, so maybe his pregnancy was a result not of the sex he'd had with Diego and Amir, but something else…
Maybe a merman had saved him, and as payment for their assistance, impregnated him with their offspring? Scott was all but certain merfolk didn't exist, but he was also one hundred percent certain a pregnancy such as his had never been known to either.
So maybe..?
If somehow that proved true, he wouldn't be very surprised. In some ways, it would even make more sense.
Increasingly, as they grew and their movements increased, the fifty year old wondered how many whatever he was carrying there were? He wondered how much longer he/they had before they found out?
Sometimes, Scott couldn't help but wonder if he would?
Dealing with a pregnancy like this on his own was one thing. He was still managing, mostly anyway, but how was he going to handle labor and delivery if the time came before he was rescued?
The babies were getting so big now. Like really big…
Somehow, probably thanks to their high-quality lycra, most of Scott's swimwear still fit. His shirts were a different story… He still wore them sometimes for what little coverage from the sun they now provided.
***
The fifty year old was up to six or seven crabs per meal. He probably could've eaten more but couldn't say for sure because by the time he caught that many, the rest had scuttled away. Painfully tight as his middle most often was, he gorged himself at meals before falling into an almost drunken-like stupor from all the delicious crab.
Following his latest feast, not only was Scott's belly remarkably firm, so was his cock. It was constantly erect to some degree now, but always reached its full potential following another nearly gut-busting meal.
And speaking of bust…
The fifty year old pretty much always wanted to bust a load now, but sometimes didn't have the energy. His belly was so large and obstructive, it made jerking off extremely difficult and caused his back to ache even more. When he did release, the results were epic…
Huge as his belly had gotten, he still coated its underside. Absolutely coated it, and usually then some.
Scott started to spend more time out in the water. He would've spent all his time out there, but even as a castaway, there was much to do “at home” and only him there to do it. That and buoyant as he was, he genuinely worried about accidentally falling asleep and drifting away from land.
That would make things a lot worse, very quickly.
He would've liked to move his camp closer to the shore, but due to the tides and lack of coverage, convenient as it would've been, it didn't seem like a good idea. That and quite possibly, not even feasible.
When he wasn't hunting, gathering or floating, Scott lay in “bed” at camp, looking and feeling like a beached whale. After two weeks on the island, the bottom of his belly reached his knees when he was standing.
It was close to going beyond them… Thankfully, while the fifty year old hadn't woken up again to find it had doubled in size, it was still growing a lot faster and more than he would've preferred.
He still carried the weighty orb mostly in the front, but it was starting to widen. It would probably only be another day or two, three, if he was lucky, before it'd grown to be as wide as his shoulders. Despite the fact its bottom extended to his knees, for all intents and purposes, Scott was still carrying quite high, it was just that big.
The strain his skin was under was evident, countless veins starting to show through but incredibly, still no stretch marks. The fifty year old appreciated that, but not as much as he could because before he knew it, there was another new problem he had to deal with…
The “lazy” crabs were now faster than him. Not only that, but now that they seemed to have associated him as a predator, they were doing all they could to avoid him.
Scott continued to hear them be most active at night, but now, almost none of them ventured close enough to camp for him to be even more of a remote threat than he already was. During his daytime hunts, most of the crustaceans either wedged themselves deeper between the rocks between which they nested, or left the area in general, doing so in no evident hurry at all.
He still usually managed to spear a few, but never enough. Adding insult to injury, none of those he killed were as big as the crabs had previously been, likely meaning they were younger ones who'd yet to catch onto him being a threat.
As a result, Scott was forced to go back to hunting fish and birds.
The good news was that evidently, it was nesting season. Many more birds had arrived on the island in the last couple of days. The bad news (because there always seemed to be some) was the island's newest inhabitants didn't taste good either, and their nests were too high off the ground for the fifty year old to even think about trying to retrieve any of their eggs.
Oh well. It wasn't as if he had a pan to fry them in anyway.
***
Whenever Scott moved now, he did so very slowly and deliberately. Simply continuing to exist was becoming increasingly draining, and yet there was still so much he needed to do.
While his “chores” remained the same, they were getting more and more difficult to complete, and not just because of his still increasing mass… By then, he'd nearly exhausted all his sources of firewood in the immediate vicinity.
From all his previous treks, he knew there was plenty left, so he wasn't concerned about running out anytime soon, but most of what remained was further inland. Now almost too far.
As a result, Scott made the decision to go down to just maintaining the bonfire. He'd also decided to not keep it as big as he had been, so could he really even call it a bonfire anymore?
In a process that left him almost entirely drained for the rest of that day, the fecund fifty year old made himself another bed closer to the shore. He kept his sorry excuse of “belongings” back at his original camp, but at least now he had somewhere else to lay and nap while he waited for whatever was to come next.
Increasingly, he didn't know how much more he was going to be able to handle…
How and why had no one managed to find him yet?! Scott really needed a win, and soon! Not that he hadn't been already, but now, he was really, really getting worried.
No matter how much he slept, or how long he dared to float out in the ocean, he was always exhausted and achy. Walking from the shore back to camp was now enough to leave him breathlessly panting for at least half an hour.
Scott was talking to the babies more than ever. He'd mostly stopped asking them questions, not because he still knew they wouldn't respond, but more so because doing so made him consider the “answers” more, and he didn't like them. Not any of them.
***
One night as he lay sprawled on his side back at camp, as he was plucking meat from another gull's bones, Scott made a surprising discovery. All things considered, it really shouldn't have been so surprising, but when he looked down at his bloated right pec, he noticed something (else) different about it aside from its larger size.
Sitting at the tip of his nipple, about to tumble off it, was moisture. Even in the dim light provided by the moon and the fire near the shore, he could tell right away it wasn't water, sweat or grease from the meat of the fishy and gamey gull.
It was milk. He was lactating.
His chest had been at work for some time by then, but now it was actively producing. Not much, not yet anyway…
Scott knew that when experiencing a normal pregnancy, the person's milk came in as they neared their due date. While he'd only been pregnant for weeks, it was beyond safe to say his carrying wasn't going to last a full nine months.
At least he hoped to hell it didn't.
Now that his milk was coming in, that probably meant the babies would be coming soon! It had to, right?!
Was he ready?
Physically, yes. Well, mostly…
Mentally, no. Not even close!
The more he thought about it, the worried and concerned he became. The thought of birthing whatever and having to give birth however many times, all alone was nothing short of terrifying!
The thought of being rescued beforehand was as relieving as it was mortifying. Scott wanted rescue more than ever, but he also didn't want anyone seeing him now.
What would they think? How would he explain it?
He was just as clueless as his potential rescuers were going to be!
If they found him “in time,” would they even attempt to get him off the island, or make him stay there till he went into labor and gave birth? With or without help, would he even be able to birth all inside him?
Would he survive? Would they?
For now at least, they all remained relatively safe. Following dinner, the babies also remained annoyingly restless. Kicks, stretches, punches and craniums littered the upper side of the fifty year old's massive middle, causing him to repeatedly grunt and groan.
Scott groaned again, this time in frustration, when he felt something knock against his belly from the outside. His cock. He was hard again. Very hard.
He was also very tired, but since he knew there wasn't a chance in hell he'd get to sleep before the babies calmed down, he figured why not try again? The last time he had,earlier that day after lunch, despite his valiant efforts, he hadn't been successful.
With a low grunt, he tossed what remained of the full aside. He'd clean it up later. No, he wouldn't. Who was he kidding? Other bones and rotting meat already littered the camp and it was starting to smell. He didn't care. Didn't have the energy to.
Even though he would've been better served conserving it, Scott focused what energy he did have on arduously getting himself into a better position to take care of business. Still on his side, he curled himself up more around his massive middle, grunting again in the process.
Doing so made him feel like he was going to pop. Doing so put even more pressure on the orb, as well as his pecs, which pushed up against his chin as he fumbled around beneath his pregnancy with his right hand, in search of his cock.
Big and hard as it was, it wasn't difficult to find. Huge and unyielding as his belly was, it was difficult to take a hold of but this time, with equal parts discomfort and determination, he succeeded.
“Ahh…” Scott sighed as he got to it.
His hand didn't have much room to work its magic, but that was actually OK. Now that the fifty year old had gotten it where he needed it, he just needed to get himself to completion, then things would be better, if only for a little.
The engorged head of his cock rubbed against his belly, generously streaking it with pre. As he jerked, Scott looked out at himself and saw his belly being littered with fetal movement. Felt it too, but of course…
Not always, only sometimes now, did the fifty year old still enjoy feeling the babies moving around. It and their growing weight were the only reminders he had that he wasn't all alone out here in the middle of the ocean, but now wasn't one of those times. Now, Scott wanted to be alone, or at the very least, not have to see all the changes that'd come over him, so he closed his eyes and focused on his pleasure.
Eyes closed, he thought of Diego and Amir. Of sexy Navy Seals as well. Scott imagined himself getting fucked by any and/or all of them. For some reason, he also found himself thinking about the crabs and how fucking delicious they were. How much he was craving them… That last part annoyed him, so he tried not to dwell on it.
Fortunately, he didn't have to. He was so hot and bothered (literally) it wasn't long before he felt his next release rapidly approaching.
With a guttural roar, the fifty year old came. Cum blasted out of his cock like water from a firehouse. Some shot far off into the sand while most of it slammed against the underside of his belly, coating it again as his bloated body languidly jerking, Scott's eyes rolled back behind his closed lids.
Finally, relief. Not much, but some.
Scott let go of his spent cock, his hand working from it up to his belly. Seeing as he didn't have the energy to clean up camp, he didn't have any to clean up himself. He just lay there panting for the next several moments, trying to steady his breath.
The sun had yet to set, but already it was time for bed. What else was there to do? He was full (for the moment,) relieved (for the time being,) and the babies had calmed down (for now.)
Not even a few minutes later, the fifty year old was asleep, once more dreaming of crabs and rescue, even though both were only getting further out of reach.