Stranded-Closed

[Perplexia]

Brittany Winters was a princess in her single fathers eyes. He catered to her every whim. She was rich, beautiful, and had never worked a day in her life for anything. As far as she was concerned the world revolved around her wants, whims, and desires. She enjoyed the attention her looks brought her, but was never one for the word no.

Dating her was a difficulty a few men had endured. But once they found she wasn't willing to compromise, or they attempted to be a man. They found themselves replaced by a new model. She expected everyone to spoil and endure her tantrums like her father did.

Calvin was the latest attempt at a relationship. "Find your own way home" she stated after slapping him with her Prada purse. They had just been to an exclusive resort where he refused to carry her over a puddle so she didn't get her Jimmy Choo shoes wet.

It wasn't a long, wide or even deep puddle. However she was all about testing peoples limits and Calvin had reached his. If he wasn't going to obey like a good boy toy, she simply had no use of him. It was a shame though, the boy was good with his mouth.

She boarded her private jet and gave him the finger as she boarded. It was a somewhat long flight back toward civilization. "Miss Winters, there is a storm brewing in our path. We advise that we wait a few hours before take off."
"You're paid for your piloting skills not your advise. Take me home now." she said without even raising her eyes to the pilot.

With in minutes the engines revved up and they had been cleared for take off. Laying back in her recliner seat she sipped her champagne and listened to her ipod. After a few glasses and a sleeping pill, she fell asleep. A couple hours later the pilot had veered quite a bit from their original path in order to try to avoid the storm. But mother nature wasn't going to have it. The plane rocked and bounced and eventually crashed into the water. Brittany's eyes flew open as the cold water began to rush in. She had enough sense to grab a flotation device as she began climbing and swimming toward the light.

Finally clear of the wreckage she pulled herself up onto what was probably part of the wing. She was freezing, and for the first time, there was no one there to hold her hand. She looked around and all she could see was water. Daddy would find her, she told herself as she looked out to the never ending waters.

As night fell and she continued to drift she eventually fell asleep. She was parched, hungry, and in need of another vacation.

 

[AntonTovaras]

Antonio woke and reached for his axe. It was actually a hunk of rock, but it was sharp enough to cut wood. He used it each morning to make a notch on the huge driftwood log that served as the back wall of his shelter. Then he counted the notches. That took much longer. One thousand, three hundred and thirteen. It would have struck him as unlucky if he had ever been anything but unlucky.

Three and a half years on this atoll. Three and a half years since Captain Costa decided the storm would provide cover for their illegal load. Three and a half years since they had lost the rudder and been blown by the storm out into the Pacific. The Captain went overboard on the third night, but by some miracle Antonio survived. The storm blew itself out and the ship drifted, foundering but not sinking, until it ran aground here. 1313 days ago.

Antonio ate a coconut for breakfast, chopping it open with his axe, drinking the water inside, then scraping the meat until there was nothing left but a hollow shell. He set that along side the others, to catch rain. He hadn't really had to worry about water once he figured out how to open the coconuts, but there was no telling.

He fed some dry grasses to the ashes of yesterday's fire, and soon had a cheerful blaze going. He fed it carefully. Not that fire was such a challenge anymore. He'd found the right rocks to make sparks, but keeping a fire going gave him something to do. After so long, he had gotten used to life here. Providing for himself didn't take but a few hours each day, and there wasn't much in the way of entertainment. Finally, satisfied with the state of his fire, he walked down the hill to the lagoon. He had almost reached his trap when he noticed something on the far side of the stretch of still water. Something big and white. He grinned.

It took him an hour to walk around the lagoon, easily swimming the short stretches of water between the islets that made up the atoll. He knew the currents and the tides by now. It was safe. He would have to wait for the next low tide before he came back, but it would be good to spend some time on the other side of the world. His world.

As he got closer, he saw it was a wing from a small jet. He stopped. What use would a wing be? The tide was pouring out, and in a few minutes, the wing would be lifted off the rocks it had foundered on, and be swept out into the great unknown. Too dangerous, he thought. Sure enough, a wave rolled under and the wing tilted. There was something on it.

Antonio squinted. A person. A woman. He didn't decide to go to her, he just found himself sprinting across the sand. He dove into the water, his head pointed a good ways north of the wing, and he swam slowly, conserving his strength. The current caught him a few minutes later, and he swam a little harder. He barely caught the sandbar before it carried him out to the open sea. He splashed through the shallows to the wing, and grabbed the woman by the wrist. He felt for a pulse. She was alive.

He dragged her into the water, holding her under her arm with one of his arms, kicking powerfully, swimming across the current as well as he could. It was a near thing. They were carried out into the open ocean before he got clear of the current, and it took a long time for him to get back close to shore. Then he had to wait for a lull in the surf. Alone, he could manage the waves on a day like this. Dragging another person, trying to keep both heads above water, it was impossible.

By the time he dragged her out onto the sand, he was exhausted, and the sun was high overhead. The sun could be as deadly as the sea, and though she was nearly as tan as he, he couldn't risk it. He hauled her into the shade of the trees, and then he collapsed, laying down on his side in the shade, looking at her. He hadn't noticed until now that she was beautiful. He felt an unfamiliar stiffening between his legs. Three and a half years since he had seen a woman. He rolled onto his back and looked up at the sky. Another couple of hours until the tide was right to go back to the islet where his shelter was. No point in moving until then. He turned his head to look at her, watching her perfect breasts rising and falling as she breathed.

 

[Perplexia]

A couple hours after her rescue Brittany awoke crying out in agony as her head throbbed with such veracity she thought it would explode. She squinted her eyes as she saw the sea in the distance. Her hands felt the ground and the coarce sand flowed through her fingers.

She was lightheaded, dizzy, and nauseous. The signs of sunstroke overly apparent. It didn't surprise her considering how long she had been on the sea. She turned her head and dry heaved toward the ground. It was then she noticed a slight movement to the other side of her. She jumped slightly as she took in the man next to her watching her with what appeared to be a curious gaze.

"I need water" she said to him. Not a hello, or thank you for saving me, but I need. He still looked at her with no response. "Agua? eau?" she tried both Spanish and french since those were the only words she really new in either language.
Trying to move she gripped her stomach and turned to dry heave once again. She hadn't realize she had been injured in the crash until now. Her body had stayed relax through it since she was sleeping. But she could have possibly cracked a rib.
Collapsing back to the ground she placed her hand over her eyes to shield the light. Her head showed no signs of letting up and her body wasn't willing to cooperate in figuring out what was what. It was okay though, she was use to depending on other people. At least she had someone on this island here to cater to her.

 

[AntonTovaras]

He didn't understand her words. He understood her tone well enough, though. She was a gringa, one of the rich, spoiled cunts that came to the resorts along the coast and barked orders. He had only seen them when he was working on tourist boats, but they made an impression. They were so beautiful to look at, but so ugly.

The dry heaves told him what she needed, though. The sun. The salt. She needed water. The sun was low in the sky. The worst heat was over. The tide was right. He took her by the arm, pulled her to her feet. She was so weak, he had to slip his arm around her waist to hold her up. Her soft body pressed against him, and he was hard again, under the tiny scrap of rags that he wore out of some habit of modesty.

For a moment, he forgot about how weary he was, how thirsty she must be. All he knew was the sweetness of her smell, and the way her body felt in his arms.

"Hats’uts iim," he murmured softly. His hand cupped her breast for a moment, and he smiled. Then he scooped her up, carrying her down the beach.

 

[Perplexia]

Brittany protested as he pulled her to her feet but was too weak and exhausted to throw a tantrum or even slap away his hand when he cupped her breast and said something she didn't understand. Then he scooped her up and carried her like the princess she believed she was.

She laid her head against his hard tan chest and closed her eyes once again. She wasn't sure how long it was before he stopped and placed her on the ground. But it did give her sometime to ponder over her situation. They were obviously in the tropics some where. She had never bothered with geography, she just knew the words credit card and take me there.

Her survival skills only applied to shopping. She had always found camping and such primitive. When would she ever need such things? There was nothing that money couldn't buy her or get her out of. Well at least until now. The worse case scenario was that they were on a out there in the middle of no where island. The best case, she washed up on the shores of some foreign country and would just need to find an embassy.

This man that was carrying her at least wasn't a barbarian. He could have raped her on the beach and let her die. Though the grasp of her breast was a bit brutish of him. She was way in over her head, and needed to figure a way out of this. But how? Her savior didn't even speak English, and she sure in the hell didn't speak whatever mumbo jumbo he was talking.