How the hell do you get into these things?" asked Kieran Thorpe; an eighteen-year old son of two young parents Paul and Karen who sat between him and the aisle of this Boeing 747 Cathay Pacific Flight 872 that had left London Heathrow and was now about three hours from Sydney in Australia.
"What's wrong darling?" asked Karen.
Kieran held up a packet of peanuts. "I just want some nuts; you'd think I wanted to get a private meeting with Jesus Christ himself."
Paul sighed, reached over his wife and grabbed the packet before opening them, taking a nut and passing them back. "Next time, ask for a chocolate bar or something."
The rustle of that packet was soon covered by an immense explosion; soundwaves and energy waves rocking the aircraft. Some people screamed, some were just left unable to breathe. Kieran looked left out of his window and saw an engine falling towards the sea below them...
For him, everything went blank. When everything gained colour, touch, sense and perspective again, he was no longer in the airplane. He heard screaming, felt sand in cuts on the palms of his hands, and he opened his eyes.
The scene was sheer horror; his blue eyes were drawn to one third of the aircraft that had just reached the sand he was now lying bloodied on just feet from the water and just far enough from the aircraft to not quite feel the flames of a burning piece of fuselage. He saw bodies all around him, and immediately thought of his parents. But they were fine; sitting together by the wreckage staring hopelessly at it and the seventeen people lying dead in the craft, on the sand and some in the water.
Paul looked right and saw Kieran there. Nudging his wife, they both sprinted to their son where they embraced and cried.
"What happened?" Kieran asked.
"Plane blew apart," Paul replied. "Don't know where the rest of it is, but four rows came down with us. They're all dead."
"Should we fetch them from the water?" he immediately asked, going to stand up. He yelped in pain and lay back down. He finally felt his legs, but they were both bloodied and bruised.
"Looks like a bad one," Paul said. "Good thing your old man's a doctor, isn't it?" he smiled; this whole thing not seeming to be getting to him too much. Mind you, he'd been through a lot, and Kieran was still a teenager, so maybe it was best his dad handle this better.
"We've got no medical supplies," Karen replied; cuts on her face and rips in her blouse revealing flesh, blood and a little naked skin. "They would have been kept at the rear of the aircraft, we were in the middle."
"Then here's what we need to do," said Paul, standing even though his leg hurt. He held his arm, which had been dislocated at the shoulder. Karen had since relocated it but it was still very painful. "Get the bodies from the water, strip the aircraft of what's on it, make shelter... and find the rest of this aircraft."
Two weeks later:
"He's not handling this, is he?" asked Karen, sitting with Paul on the beach in front of their makeshift tent shelter; an actual two-man tent that had been torn slightly by a piece of broken fuselage but was still better than the absolute open elements.
They looked about a two hundred metres left to where Kieran, still on a rudimentary crutch made from a tree stump and some twine, tended to the graves of the seventeen dead men, women and children from the crash a whole 15 days ago. "Poor kid, this whole thing's enough to make you crack. A whole fortnight, and no rescue team."
At that moment, Kieran stood, crossed himself and began making a slow passage back to his parents. "He was always the most sensitive kid in school," Karen observed. "He needs cheering up."
"Hey, we've tried the sex thing already, it was too soon. And to be honest, I've been a little caught up in the whole 'we could die any day due to lack of food and medical supplies' thing to be that horny either."
Karen sighed. "I told you, it would cheer us up. Take our minds of things."
"And I told you, we found our suitcase and your dildo, why don't you just head into the forest and fuck yourself?"
"Don't be like that!" Karen chastised. "I'm trying my best..."
"So the fuck am I, Karen!" Paul almost shouted back. Nobody saw Kieran see, and stop in his tracks. "Me and Kieran, we've been putting up the shelter, gathering food, at least fucking trying to catch a little fish or three, and you've just been sitting there flashing your knickers thinking about sex. Hello! We're stranded on a desert fucking island with no sign or hope of getting off, Karen! Get your fucking priorities straight!" he now shouted at the top of his voice. He looked down immediately, aware that that was the first time he'd lost his cool, and it actually felt pretty good. So good that he didn't call after Karen when she stood and walked off; instead bowing his head into his knees and trying not to cry.
"Dad?" he heard a few seconds later.
He looked up and saw Kieran in front of him. "Hey son. I suppose you heard that?"
"Yeah," he replied, and painstakingly lowered himself to sit next to his father. "You were right, though."
"Doesn't make me shouting at your mother right, though," he replied, bowing his head a little once more. "It's still morning; did you want to have another go at catching some food?"
"Maybe in a minute, I'm exhausted."
"Tending to seventeen graves will do that."
Kieran almost laughed, but couldn't quite find the inclination to do so. "If I don't, who will?"
Paul sighed. "Good point. Well, next time, ask and I'll help."
"That's cool. It keeps me going, you know. I think just thinking about us would be selfish. Those seventeen people had families, you know, and they're back in England wondering what's happened, not sure if they'll ever see their mothers, fathers, sons, daughters, brothers or sisters ever again."
"What about our family?" Paul asked. "They're wondering too, and I'm only thinking about us because if we don't, your mother's thinking about sex and you're tending to those graves and we go hungry and die, with nobody to give us a dignified burial. Sorry, son, but I've got to keep this family going so that if rescue does come, they've got someone to rescue. And you can see Harriet again."
Kieran smiled, thinking about his girlfriend back home in London. "I do miss her."
"I know you do." He sighed again. "Look, son, your mother's right. Sex would take our mind off things. I know it doesn't seem right to think about fucking when we're in this situation, but it would be good for morale. Your mother's hanging on barely, so are you, and to be honest... so am I."
It was a pretty shocking confession, yet understandable. Kieran had been relying so much on his father to keep the family going under such tragic circumstances, he'd forgotten about his emotional sacrifice. "I've never seen you cry, dad," Kieran said.
"Oh, I've cried, son," Paul confessed. "I'm out in the forest, looking for other survivors, and when I can't find any, I just find a fallen tree, sit down and just cry. This hurts so much to be out here, but I have to keep it together because if we don't, we all die. If we're not going to get rescued, we might as well do what we can to make our lives here. It's better that than death. I would anticipate your agreement on that."
Kieran nodded. Tending to those graves had given him an added sense of mortality most kids didn't have. And he did feel kinda guilty that his dad was doing most of the work; something he conveyed to his father.
"Don't be silly, I'm fully mobile so I can do all this stuff. You're on crutches, and will probably need to be for another fortnight or so. You're doing a great thing in tending those graves, son, I'm incredibly proud of you."
Kieran smiled, almost coyly, and looked away to the crashing waves. "Thanks, dad. Maybe I should grab the spike and go fishing."
"Good plan. I'll go find your mother."
Paul found Karen quickly; in a little clearing three hundred yards away was where she sat on the foot-tall stump of a fallen and long rotten tree. "Hey sweetheart, what are you doing?" he asked.
"Nothing," came the simple and pretty obvious answer. "Just thinking about sex, as usual."
"Baby, I'm sorry about that, it just came out. Look, Kieran and I really appreciate what you're trying to do to raise morale, it's just there are other things we need to worry about sometimes."
"I know! But I don't know what else to do!" she shouted back, not in anger but in pure, unadulterated frustration.
"Catch food?" Paul suggested rather loudly, but pointedly quieter than his wife. "Offer to come with me into the forest to find other survivors? Kieran comes, and he can barely walk. If we can survive, we can get off this island and then we can have all the incestuous threesomes we like. It's just that loads of people died, and I'm trying to keep this family alive, and you're just not helping." His voice had got quieter, but he still stopped, pressed a finger to his lips and then spoke. "Sorry, I came after you to make up, but I just can't. Not until you pull your socks up. This has gotta be a team effort, Karen. Kieran's fishing, I suggest you go give him a hand. I'm gonna grab some water and head into the forest."
"What do you think?" Karen asked her son as they dealt with scorching hot temperatures of around 110°F and no fish by sitting on some rocks in their underwear.
"About what?" Kieran replied, glancing at his mother's large, beautiful breasts sitting in a white bra and feeling his bulge expand as he thought of the last time he'd had sex; his mother and him romping about in his bed a day before flying out from Heathrow.
"Sex. Me, you and your father, like before in London."
"I dunno, mum, I'm horny as hell looking at your tits right now, but I really think we should make ourselves a bit more comfortable. I'm tending to graves and I've got no energy to catch fish sometimes, so I'd have no energy to fuck you."
"But I haven't been helping," Karen replied apologetically. "If I do my fair share, then things should be easier."
Just as she thought she was beginning to get somewhere, Kieran's eyes pricked wide open and he moved stealthily over some rocks to throw his spear-like implement into the water to pierce a large animal.
Karen screamed in delight, cheered and then helped her son pick up the huge fish and put it on the sand. Paul, who had been preparing for another journey into the wilderness, saw and ran down to the water.
"Fucking hell, son, good work, this'll keep us going for days. Come on, let's get it up to our tent and make a fire."
"Hey son, check this out," Paul called from behind the tent as Karen cooked part of the fish and Kieran hungrily ate another small part. It was a big fish, but parts could be kept chilled in a cool box that was slightly dented in falling from the aircraft. He peeked over the tent with a grin, and out of a suitcase he pulled a lacy vest top. "Look good on your mother," he grinned.
"Maybe she should try it on tonight."
Paul chuckled and saw Karen smiling at the pair of them. "How about now?" he said, tossing the material to her.
Karen was a beautiful woman; black hair, great body, fantastic tits and this tremendous ass that just stuck out, always begging to be fucked. Her bra exposed a lot of cleavage, and one little tear in the cup exposed a bottom of a pert tit; just below the nipple.
It came off and Kieran instinctively reached a foot away to stroke her naked tits and rub a nipple. On top of her beautiful 32D breasts she pushed the material on until it fitted her perfectly. Kieran felt a stirring in his pants, and saw his father adjusting himself.
"Paul?" she asked.
"Yeah?"
She stood and moved in front of the slow-burning fire. "Got some panties to go with it?" she asked, undoing her battered jeans by the belt then the buttons. She pulled them down to reveal a perfectly shaven cunt. "Kieran's got mine in his pocket."
Paul looked to Kieran, who grinned and pulled a red lacy thong from his pocket before holding it up and grinning. "Had these in here since I fucked her on the flight," he confessed willingly. "Gotta admit," he added, "she looks better without it on."
Paul chuckled and moved a few feet to his wife who pulled him in for a kiss. He put his tongue in immediately and groped a tit. Karen kept her eyes open long enough to beckon her son to him.
He hobbled over and groped her other tit whilst stopping his father from kissing his mum so he could slip her his tongue instead.
Paul wasn't prepared to hang around; the two weeks so far had been so traumatic and he needed therapy badly. With nobody around to see, he undid his trousers and dropped them to the floor whilst removing his jacket and torn t-shirt. Kieran was kissing his mother passionately, and removed her newest piece of clothing before letting his mum undress him.
Now naked, Paul helped Kieran expose his handsome naked body; as handsome but perhaps a little bit better toned than his fathers, and directed him around the back.
Karen screamed as her husband revealed his eight-inch dick and slid it unprotected into her dripping wet pussy, and then screamed some more as her son exposed his nine-inch dick and pushed it into that amazing ass of hers. Paul began to kiss her again as Kieran kissed the back of her neck, moved up and down and rubbed her naked breasts.
Almost immediately, she found herself moving closer and closer to orgasm, and she just needed one extra stimuli to tip her over the edge. Her two male lovers' simultaneous climaxes -- two loads of hot cum spurting inside her -- brought out an extra scream... and she came. Very. Loudly.
"Do you really think that we're alone here?" Kieran asked Paul, as he was the last to enter the tent. Kieran and Karen were already naked and cuddling up.
"What do you mean?" asked Karen, who was stroking her son's bare chest.
"The only survivors. I mean, there's two-thirds of an aircraft in there," he said, gesturing into the wilderness outside the tent.
"I think so, and I'm sure we'll find it," said Paul. "We just have to wait until morning. Maybe other people survived. And maybe they're not as lucky as us to have the food we had earlier."
"Lucky?" Kieran said, and laughed. "Ha! Enough food to last us three days only, no medical supplies, no signal flares... yeah, we're stuck on an island where nobody knows where we are and we're lucky..."
"Hey, come on," Karen castrated, "don't be like that. You gotta stay positive. The pilots would have called out a mayday, the radar would have been tracked; we'll be found soon, I reckon."
"Rosie!" someone called. "Rosie! Wake the hell up!"
A stunning young girl of all of eighteen years old as of yesterday awoke from a strangely deep slumber. Last night had been punctuated by unseasonal rains that had saturated the ground around where she and her family were staying, but inside the shack the rear of the fuselage of Cathay Pacific Flight 872 had landed metres from in landing amongst the canopy of a million trees, she was dry and warm: even if the warmth was borne from the ambient temperatures other than the modern central heating system that didn't exist.
She pulled the thin quilt from her near naked body and stepped from the bed she hadn't slept in alone last night, before moving to the door in just skimpy panties, picking up a tight top for her E cup breasts and a clip for her full red hair on the way before stepping out into the main room. There was a little puddle, and she looked up to see a slight crack in the ceiling. It wasn't surprising; this place was far from luxurious despite having some kitchen facilities, running water (to a point) and a roof that was 99% intact.
"Morning," she was smiled at by a cute boy who was sitting at a splintered and crooked dining table. "How did you sleep?"
"Very well thank you, brother," she smiled back, before sitting next to him and placing a well measured kiss on his lips. He was called Harry, a twenty-one year old guy on holiday with his family to visit an auntie in Canberra when the plane went down. He was dressed in short trousers and nothing else; happy to flaunt his muscles in front of his family. "Why did you not wake me up?"
"You looked great right there, I could have just slipped into you..."
"Like last night," she giggled, and kissed him again. "Losing my virginity yesterday was so worth the wait. Thanks for fucking me. You too dad."
"My pleasure sweetie," called over the bald and incredibly virile Jack Warner; married man of four children. He turned from the tiny stove where he and his bikini-wearing redheaded wife Jenny cooked a little breakfast from the food stores they'd found in the basement. Fuck, he thought, looking at his daughter in her skimpy clothing kissing her brother like they'd been lovers for more than twelve hours, she was so fucking gorgeous and he'd loved fucking her last night; only law had meant he'd had to wait so long. Even if the law when it came to incest was easily ignored.
The other two members of the family were nineteen year-old Emma and twenty-one year old Megan: Harry's twin. They were sitting opposite Harry and Rosie in their bikinis. Jack, dressed like his son in just short trousers and nothing else, dished up on the convenient but rather less than attractive crockery and helped his wife move to the table.
"So, what's the plan today dad?" Harry asked, ceasing his kiss with his baby sister even if he was enjoying it and beginning to feel a stir in his pants. Jenny smiled at him and touched it before continuing.
"Same as every day so far, son," he replied. "We gotta find those other survivors. Me and you gotta use our marine corps skills to track down whoever survived from the other two parts of the plane. We should take food and medical supplies just in case."
"And what about us?" asked Megan, keenly eating the far from haute cuisine offering before her.
"You girls need to get us settled here. We had the only rescue flare and it failed. We'll need to rely on someone finding us, and in the middle of this island, that's far from likely. Don't use too much water, shower in pairs or more if you have to, but not for long and only once every couple of days until we know we've got a more reliable water source."
"Thanks for coming to find me earlier," smiled Emma, who was now walking out of the shack with Harry behind her. "I know you wanted to wake Rosie up, but..."
"It's cool, I figured dad was gonna fuck her, but hey... besides, maybe sex isn't quite as important as it used to be right now," he said pensively, looking up to the canopy.
When he looked back down, Emma -- with her C cup boobs and lovely red hair (all the women in the Warner family had red hair, and beautiful breasts to boot) -- had removed her bikini top to reveal her pert charms to her brother for the second time today. "I beg to differ."
"Your sister's right, Harry," said Jack, exiting the shack as well with two rucksacks full of equipment. Jack was trim for a man of his muscular abilities; he was tall but pretty compact given he could bench press Harry, who was himself not exactly weedy. "In a situation like this, morale is important. And sex is good for morale. But right now, Emski," he spoke apologetically, holding out a rucksack to his son, "I'm afraid carnality will have to wait. But I know Rosie is dying for her first taste of pussy."Emma sat down on a log that had been sheltered from the rain last night by a built-in wooden awning off the side of the tiny three-bedroom shack (about the size of a normal two-bedroom apartment in their home city of London), and about a fifth of the size of their five-bedroom home in Chelsea, and watched her sexy father -- all dressed up and looking like an army guy for yet another day -- direct his son to walk in one direction and he another.
Off they went; neither sure what they would find, and neither sure whether they wanted to find it. All any of them wanted to do was just get off this island, go home and have a big freakin' orgy with tits and cocks flying all over the place. But as Rosie leaned out of the shack to catch Emma's attention with not a stitch on, and requested Emma's presence in a four-way lesbian shower orgy, she knew she didn't need cocks right now. Tits were just as good.