Chapter One

 

The long Pacific swell broke in a white flurry upon a sheltering coral reef that surrounded an island of jagged volcanic peaks. Within the calm waters of the intervening lagoon, a white beach of powdered coral was backed by fringing green coconut palms, through which were visible a scattering of leaf-thatched brown huts in an irregular line parallel to the shore, interspersed with pig pens and yam gardens. Fronting upon an open interval in this succession stood a much larger structure, from the shadowy interior of which came the sound of uneven but enthusiastic singing. Open-sided like the dwellings, its thick roof of thatch descended almost to the ground level, evidently brand new, as yet untouched by the weather and with a small wooden cross at the apex of the roof denoting its purpose.

In the open space before this structure, a half-naked female figure squirmed spasmodically, splayed out atop an oblong box-like frame constructed of numerous short lengths of bamboo, both she and it being lashed together with coconut fibre rope. Two disturbed holes in the sandy earth behind her and the corresponding bamboo poles having their dirty ends up in the air, indicated that the frame she was mounted upon had toppled forwards from its original position, pulling them free in the process. In consequence the pinioned woman was now resting almost upon her face on the earth, her white clad arms widely outspread, lashed at the wrists to one of the wider cross-members and her torso vertical. She had been wearing a long-skirted dress of white cotton which was now tumbled voluminously about her head and shoulders, with only a disordered spread of red-gold hair emerging from underneath. Her legs, sheathed in black stockings gartered above the knee with neat buttoned boots, having been spread indecorously wide and fastened by the ankles to either upright, were by the capsize stretched horizontally, leaving her up-thrust rump as her most prominent part. Her remaining garment, a pair of white muslin drawers, lace-trimmed, had been ruthlessly pulled apart at the seat to expose within the yawning gap the voluptuous curves of her bare bottom, once pink-skinned but since turned bright red, across which had been raised a close grid of startlingly prominent, reddish-purple weals.

The immediate cause of her upsetting had been the effect of the singing within the new church having come to a close and a bustle of movement beginning. People now came streaming out of the building, family groups of handsome, light brown-skinned, black haired people. The women, some wearing loose flower patterned gowns but most in simple cotton wraps, were casting slanting glances and giggling, the men in waist length white bark cloth were frowning or pretending to frown sternly, the children wearing nothing at all, were goggling in open excitement.

A tall youth in native dress, whose skin of a paler brown and sun-bleached hair betrayed his European origins, strode towards the collapsed bamboo frame and its upturned occupant. A slim young native girl trotted alongside him, clutching his hand possessively. The youth stooped and, with an easy heave, turned the bamboo structure with its burden back into its former position. Waves of loose red-gold hair tumbled back to reveal a face turned bright scarlet, with expressions of shame, anguish and fury chasing one another across it.

"It's your own fault, Bella!" he addressed the female victim in the vaguely cockney-like accent that was prevalent in the Sydney Cove settlement. "I heard as you had a row with the missionaries back on Feejee. The Reverend warned the King that you was a very wicked woman!"

Isobel Munro made feeble and unrecognisable sounds from behind the wooden gag that had been fastened between her jaws, which the other at least partially deciphered.

"You can't expect me to interfere!" he said reasonably. "You was like to ruin me, blowing the gaffe to old Oonoo! Good job I'm his son-in-law!" The speaker, Benjamin Bogle, was a former ship's boy who had somehow wound up here on the island and, passing himself off as a captain's son, had been taken up by the island's king. He had filled out into full manhood, married the king's daughter and then, by cooperating astutely with the visiting missionary, who had converted the islanders, functioned as a royal advisor. In the absence of better information, as Isobel knew, many such low-bred vagabonds had passed themselves off upon simple islanders as persons of distinction.

Behind the younger pair had emerged an older and much more massive couple, stately in motion, the man well over six foot and portly in proportion, crowned with a wreath of flowers and leaves. The woman at his elbow, almost as large and seeming even more massive in her billowing flowered gown, showed white teeth in a satisfied smile as she bestowed a triumphant glance upon the victim's wealed bottom. A few words emerged from the pouting lips of the man before he and his consort moved away, the people bowing in respect on either side as the massive figure passed by.

"The king says you have to stay here until sunset, so that the people can all see and remember you!" Ben supplied a translation, by now largely unnecessary to the young woman on display. His native wife interposed an urgent sentence and Ben produced a small jar from the waist of his kilt. It was a small white china jar that Isobel recognised; it contained the cold cream that her old nanny had made up from a country recipe and which she had found so effective to soothe her sunburn. She yelped from behind her gag at the first cool touch upon her fiery behind, groaned deeply with relief, then realising in further outrage that the fingers stroking coolness round the welted curves and diving into the soft dividing furrow, belonged to a man, she yelped again this time in protest. She remembered just how much of her most secret parts were visible, indeed accessible as well and repeated the sound even more urgently, combining it this time with a renewed attempt to wriggle, even though that produced a painful reaction in her swollen flesh.

"All right, Bella! Ben chuckled. Isobel set her teeth at the familiarity, blushed as she recognised that her position hardly aided respect, then blushed deeper than ever as she recognised that, secretly, she had rather regretted his desisting. His fingers had been so extraordinary, well soothing was not quite the word. "Oonea'll do it for you!" he conceded. "And none of your girl tricks!" he said severely to his teenage consort as she took his place, her small fingers stroking gently, making clucking noises as the well thrashed young Scotswoman gave way to renewed sobs.

Miss Munro had been stranded on the island much more recently than Ben, landing there in the course of searching for her phrenologist father who had gone missing while travelling among the South Sea Islands to investigate head shapes of their various inhabitants. Highly educated for her sex, she had been encouraged by her father, a militant Atheist whose eager student she had ever been, to be strong in her opinions. She had indeed eventually clashed with some of the missionaries on Fiji, where she was studying the local languages, intending to assist her father in his research. Sidney Cove had been a surprisingly civilised town with some quite dignified buildings and Suva had been a port busy with European ships. Assured that all the Polynesian islanders were now peacefully inclined towards strangers, she had taken the opportunity of a visiting trading brig to move to an outlying island where that language could found in a more pure form. Captain Jones had promised to return for her within the month. She had been obliged to lodge with someone on the island and its native king had assigned her to share the house of his daughter and his adviser. As she now knew, he had been forewarned and intended a close eye to be kept upon her, but conscious of his frequent scrutiny, Isobel had merely assumed that the primitive potentate was fascinated by her appearance, probably the red hair as usual.

Evidently some marine casualty had intervened to prevent the ship's return as promised so she had spent more time with them than expected. The native houses were flimsy airy constructions, almost wall-less, mere raised platforms with slatted floors and stout corner posts supporting a thatched roof over. The pigs that lived underneath cleared up most of whatever rubbish fell through the gaps in the flooring. Though the king had apparently prohibited the selling of sexual favours to visiting sailors, the inhibiting progress of religion had not yet affected the natives' own intimate lives to any great extent. Of course, Isobel understood the facts of sexual intercourse and upon the excuse of improving her knowledge of the language, had read French novels in an effort at further understanding, but she found this sharing of an open house with an amorous young married couple a continual embarrassment. However, if she tried to evade this practical demonstration by taking a walk, the other dwellings were as likely to provide a similarly shameless display.

Lying upon her pallet in the warm night, guiltily straining her ears, Isobel could decipher most of the couple's endearments in either of their languages. She had pretended to be asleep, secretly spying upon her hosts whose marital bed was just the other side of a thin partition. Slipping down her bed a little she could see through a gap in the dry leaves the moonlit figures in silhouette. Benjamin, whose towering height and filling muscles had produced shameful weakening of her limbs beneath her modestly concealing dress, was stretched horizontally on the pallet with the slender figure of his wife crouched over him. At first she saw Oonea kissing what she took to be a raised fist, then with a flood of embarrassment guessed to be the young husband's stiffened penis. It seemed very large; her fingers crept between her legs, almost involuntarily wondering how it would feel. Perhaps it was the effect of the shadow. At home she had experimented upon her own sexual orifice with a number of implements, experiencing strangely stimulating effects with a smooth handled wooden hairbrush which rested in her luggage right this moment.

On the far side of the partition, Benjamin gave a soft groan and Isobel heard Oonea giggle softly, her silhouetted figure rising and moving forward. Isobel almost sat up in her urgent desire to see what the native girl was about. She told herself that it was a matter of the scientific study of native marriage customs, an anthropological investigation with which she could usefully occupy herself, though of course she would hardly dare to publish it in her own name. Oonea had been busy for a few moments, head bowed and hands between her legs, straddling her husband's loins. Then she rose vertically, back curved, her neatly conical breasts thrusting forward, tossing her head up. Isobel heard Benjamin emit a long low groan as Oonea's silhouette perkily breasted, pertly bottomed, sank down again. Murmuring, the young wife began to move up and down in that position with a smoothly flowing motion, her husband responding with short appreciative gasps. The scientific observer found her own breath coming with the same rhythm and, clenching her straying hands, set herself to count seconds and note the movements of the pair in a properly scientific manner.

Oonea rode Ben to the point where his rhythmic gasps gave way to a deep-throated ejaculation, "Yessss..." Oonea sobbed out in similar fashion, sinking onto her husband's heaving body. The flimsy hut positively shuddered and the creaking of its components covered Isobel's trembling.