Category: Exhibitionist & Voyeur Stories

New Purgatory 2.0

by RamonaE©

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a do-over. I wrote four chapters of the original "Castaways of New Purgatory" that you can still find on Literotica, but realized I'd gone completely off the rails from my original intent, which was to depict the erotic horror of a woman marooned naked on an uncharted tropical island with only other naked women for company. This is my attempt to recapture the atmosphere of my original idea, before I bolluxed it up. If you've read both, feel free to let me know which version you prefer.


Ocean water splashed my face and woke me up. Well, it woke me mostly up. The insidious drug that kept me docile on the ship was still affecting me, keeping me from stringing together coherent thoughts.

I sputtered and tried to rise. I was on my back, and the sun blazed murderously against my eyelids. I draped my left arm over my face, momentarily blocking the light, but the tropical heat along the length of my pale, naked body was just as sizzling. At some autonomic level I knew I'd burn to a crisp if I didn't get into some shade.

I raised my right hand, intending to clean grains of sand from my lips, but my fingertips accidentally brushed the tip of one erect nipple. Instantly a jolt when through me, running from the tip of my breast down to my clit, and making me as wet inside as the next wave did outside.

It was like a switch got thrown inside me. I moaned, and despite everything my right hand slid between my legs, my knees drew up and I began stroking myself. The grains of sand stuck to my fingers and pubic hair added a strange, gravelly sensation that, far from being painful, actually enhanced the whole experience. My arm slipped from my eyes and my left hand found and squeezed my breast. I reached orgasm after a few moments, easier than I'd ever done before in my life. And not just any orgasm, but one that seemed to rush up from my pussy and fill me with a sense of power and release stronger than anything I'd ever felt.

When it faded I sprawled limp and exhausted. Another wave cascaded over me. I began to cry; the emotions entangled with such an epic climax had no other way to release themselves.

When it subsided to a childish snuffling, I rolled onto my stomach and felt my breasts nestle into the wet, warm sand. I squinted through the glare and saw the beach up to the edge of a thick, dull green jungle. Sea birds squawked overhead. I put my hands under me and pushed, forcing myself up onto my knees. My toes dug into the sand.

That's when it hit me.

Fucking hell. I was naked on a beach somewhere.

I clamped my thighs together and wrapped my arms around myself to cover my breasts and looked around. The beach stretched in either direction, but there was no sign of anyone else, or any structure like a resort hotel or even an expensive estate. Where the fuck was I?

I tried to remember where I'd been before this, but my brain wouldn't put things in any order. I remembered dressing for the day, braving the cold Boston streets, then arguing with someone, then...lying on a smelly old mattress, naked and masturbating with a desperation I hadn't felt since I was a teenager. What the hell was THAT about?

Panic rose in me, and would've probably taken over had the sensation of my arms pressing against my breasts had not started the wetness inside me anew. This time, though, I didn't give in; I wasn't going to masturbate on the beach in full view of anyone who might be looking. Well...I wasn't going to do it AGAIN.

I got to my feet and wobbled unsteadily around for a few moments. Finally my balance asserted itself, and I headed toward the edge of the jungle, and shade. When I got away from the water, though, the sand began to burn my bare feet. I walked faster, then ran, wincing as my unsupported, tender and hypersensitive breasts bounced with every step. I was way too busty to run braless, and by the time I fell to my hands and knees in the shade, I was crying again.

What the hell had happened to me? Where were my clothes? Where was I?

More memories were coming out of the haze in my brain. The smug, sanctimonious face of Bishop O'Brien loomed before me. O'Brien...a priest who had abused teenage girls for thirty years, and was about to get caught. I represented one of his victims, and I had the goods on him. After all, I was an expensive private detective for a reason: I got results. And I had him dead to rights.

But that didn't explain why I was stark naked on a beach.

And I WAS stark naked. My wedding and engagement rings were gone, the diamond studs had been taken from my ears, and even my dainty nose ring, which I'd had since my senior year of high school, was gone. At least the Celtic knot tattoo around my bicep was still there, and I assumed the Celtic cross at the small of my back. Guess there was a limit to how naked you could get.

Okay, I'd confronted the bishop...then what? The next thing I remembered was...

"Hello," a woman's voice said.

I jumped to cover myself and turned toward the sound.

A young woman stood watching me at the edge of the jungle. She was tanned deep brown, and her dark hair was a tangled mass of half-assed dreadlocks. And she was just as naked as I was, displaying hairy legs, tufts of black hair beneath her armpits, and a thick triangle of pubic hair. Around her neck was a small cross, made of two sticks tied together, on a string. She was probably beautiful when she was cleaned up; her body was exquisitely proportioned.

"Did you just arrive?" she asked.

I couldn't respond. Arrive? Was I on vacation at some nudist resort?

"I woke up," I said at last, my voice thick from disuse. "On the beach. I don't know where my clothes are..."

She gave me a kind smile. "That's not a worry. Your sunburn is, though. You need to keep out of the light for a while, until you get a tan."

She was so at ease with her own nudity that it made me less self conscious of my own. I dropped my hands and, using the trunk of a nearby palm tree, got to my feet. I jumped back as an insect crawled over my fingers on its way to the fronds overhead.

"My name is Agnes," she said. "I won't hurt you. I'd like to help you. Will you trust me?"

"What choice do I have?" I said with a cold laugh. Sweat now poured off me, trickling down my back and into the cleft of my buttocks. The air was so humid it was like walking into a steam room, only one filled with strange bird cries and insect buzzes.

"You need to come with me. You're dehydrated, and you need some fresh water. We have plenty here, don't worry."

"Where is 'here'?"

Agnes's brown face turned serious. "No one is sure. It's probably in the south Pacific, far from anywhere else."

"So we're on an island?"

"Yes. A small one. It doesn't take long to learn all about it."

Something in those words dispelled a bit of the fog. "Wait, so...who runs it?"

"No one, I'm afraid. We're all on our own."

My mind grew clearer. "What do you mean by 'we'?"

Agnes sighed with compassion. "You might as well hear it now. There are approximately one hundred and fifty women on this island, ranging in age from eighteen to sixty. All of us are naked. There's no way to make clothes, and no need. We have plenty to eat and drink, and the climate is pretty much always like it is now."

My stomach dropped in fear. "What do they do to us?" I whispered, imagining gang rapes and other tortures.

"Nothing. We're entirely left to our own devices. This is where they send women who have offended their sensibilities, but who they don't want to murder. This is their way of taking us out of the world."

"Wh-who is 'they'?"

"The Church. MY Church," she added sadly. She touched the wooden cross around her neck. "I'm a nun."

My legs collapsed, and I sat down heavily in the sand. Somehow, Bishop O'Brien had...and my husband, what did he think parents,did they...? I wanted to cry, to scream, but I was too exhausted. Agnes knelt beside me and put one tanned hand on my pale, sun-reddened shoulder. "Let me help you," she said softly. "I know how you feel. Every woman here has endured the same things you have, including me. I was the first one they sent here, so I've had time to observe what people need when they arrive. Can you walk?"

"So...they don't even come ogle us? Or try to...try to fuck us?" The sound of the word aloud sent a sharp tingle through me intimately, and a fresh trickle of wetness. I so wanted to be fucked...

"No," Agnes said. "No men are here. I've been here for three years, and I haven't seen a single one." She stood and took my arm. "Come on. What's your name?"

I got to my feet, still wobbly. The weight of my tender, sensitive breasts pulled at my shoulders, and my nipples hardened anew. "K-Karen," I managed. "Karen Solomon."

She smiled. Her expression was kind, soft and at the same time, despairing. "It's nice to meet you, Karen. Follow me."

I did, into the jungle. I watched her hard, brown body as it moved, the muscles in her back and bottom shifting with each step. She had virtually no body fat, and her skin, as sweaty and shiny as my own, looked like it was made of some flexible tropical wood. She would look back occasionally to make sure I was there, and flash me that same warm, sad smile. She clearly knew this path by heart.

The trail was hardly a foot wide, and after a few nasty cuts from the leaves of a particular plant, I learned to walk with my arms close to my sides. I was taller than Agnes, and broader at the hip, so where she moved easily, I often had to turn sideways. One leaf left a shallow horizontal cut just under my right nipple that stung as sweat flowed over it. Another put a red line across my left butt cheek.

The jungle was thick with vines, weeds, and whatever else could grow beneath the canopies. Small biting flies swarmed around us, drawn to the salt in our sweat. I know Agnes had said there were a hundred and fifty other women here, but I saw none of them. Could she be delusional from the heat? As I wiped sweat from the cut on my breast, I had no problem imagining that. For all I knew, I was hallucinating, too.

Walking around outdoors naked had its own disorientation. My breasts swayed, my bare feet slapped on the mud, and the breeze off the beach came up behind us, tickling the sweat on my lower back and bare ass. I realized I'd never been nude outside, not even in my own back yard. It was frightening and humiliating, but also somehow...sensual. Like Eve must've felt in the Garden of Eden.

We reached a clearing then, and I had to gasp. A waterfall fell fifteen feet into a clear pool. Moss covered rocks ringed it, and flowers bloomed on vines that crawled up the the cliff face. Agnes took my hand and led me around to a natural stair step that took us down into the water. We walked out until it was up to our shoulders. It was cool but not cold, and felt wonderful after the awful heat. I looked down, and it was so clear I could see my bare feet on the bottom.

"Relax," Agnes said with a smile. She led me close to where the waterfall hit the pool. "It's safe to drink." She caught some in cupped hands and drank it.

It tasted wonderful, not least because my throat was as dry as the sand on the beach. I drank, then leaned back and dunked my hair in the water. My head was starting to truly clear, and I was torn between relief and the horror of what had been done to me.

But before I could dwell on that, Agnes again led me over to the edge of the pool. "Have a seat," she said.

I sat on one of the moss-covered rocks. She stayed in the water, which came up to her hips. She indicated that I should lie back. It was soft and comfortable, and above me I saw what I took to be monkeys leaping through the trees. Birds fluttered as well, multi-colored feathers blazing in the light. I closed my eyes. My knees were bent and my feet still dangled in the water; I kicked them slowly, luxuriously. The fear that should have been wracking me was held at bay by the sense of my own voluptuous, unselfconscious nakedness.

I wanted to put my hands on my breasts more than anything, not to cover them but to squeeze them, hard and firm, and pinch my aching nipples. I grabbed at the moss covering the rocks to keep from giving in to that urge.

Then I felt water pouring over my belly.

I rose on my elbows. Agnes stood between my knees and picked up cupfuls of water with her hands. She poured them onto me-specifically onto my lower belly and pubic hair-and the sensation was electric. I let out a ragged erotic cry. "Wait, wh-what are you-?"

"You've been drugged," she said simply. "On the ship. It wears off eventually, but your head will be fuzzy until it does. I will help you...burn it off sooner."

She put her hands on each of my knees and pushed them further apart, exposing me to her. I wanted to fight it, but the simple touch of skin on skin paralyzed me. I realized I was still horny, maddeningly so, and the light touch of those rough-tipped fingers only ratcheted it up to eleven. She moved forward and leaned over me.

"I...I'm not a lesbian..." I said as I realized what she was about to do.

"Neither am I, Karen. Most of us here aren't. But we're all we have."

She bent forward and kissed the inside of my thigh. I cried out again.

"When they gave me the drug...on the ship that brought me here...I fought it," she said, alternating soft kisses on my thighs, each one closer and closer to my now-dripping pussy. "I prayed, and begged for God to help me, but He left it up to me. And I failed. I touched myself with abandon, luxuriating in carnal pleasures that should have been denied to me. And because of that...because of my penance is to help new arrivals."

When her tongue touched my clit, I sobbed so loudly the birds in the trees squawked back in response. My husband went down on me, but his tongue was big and clumsy, forcing its way to what it wanted. Agnes's was tiny, delicate, a feather brushing the most sensitive spot on my body. I came almost at once, a spasm pushing a surge of my juices out into her face. It did not seem to offend her. My body writhed on its own, and I was both exhausted and enervated.

I looked down at the top of her head, her hair a tangled, greasy mess. I had known her maybe half an hour, and here she was licking me. I had never been one for casual sex even with men, but my clit tingled with every stroke, with every light exhalation, and I could no more than pushed her away than I could have flown. I lay back, looked up at the sky and gave myself over to it.

I don't know how many times I climaxed there by the pool, wriggling my ass on the soft moss, my own hands crushing my aching breasts. I could barely hear my own cries over the blood thundering in my ears. She nibbled teasingly at my labia, used her fingers to spread me open and reached inside to touch my other sensitive spot. These were no casual, low-key climaxes, either-each one was a wrenching contraction, my over-sensitized body responding beyond anything I'd ever experienced.

Eventually she crawled up me, one knee pressed to my pussy, and began sucking on my nipples. I moaned and sobbed, rolling my hips to grind against her knee as my hands clawed her slick, sweaty back. I was helpless, a slave to my demanding pussy, and her mouth and teeth on my nipples was torture and ecstasy. I could smell her rank, unwashed body, my own seething juices on her face, and the scent of our mingled sweat; all sent fresh carnal urges through me.


When I woke up, Agnes was gone.

I sat up, suddenly clear-headed, the effect of the drug completely gone. My memories sorted themselves, and the reality of my situation hit me anew.

I'd confronted the Bishop with my accusations, attempting to force a settlement with the clients my lawyer boss represented. I kept my rage in check as he just sat there smiling, refusing to even deny that he'd fondled, undressed and raped the girls. Then the Bishop gave me a cup of coffee, which I drank...and subsequently passed out.

I awoke some time later sprawled face-down on a smelly, damp mattress. I was locked in a small windowless room on what felt like a large, industrial ship. Except for the mattress and the dim bulb overhead, there was only a grimy toilet. And I was naked.

Which didn't matter, because I was also awash in sexual arousal, so that I was masturbating before I even realized it. I came over and over, never stopping to wonder why I felt this way, or why I couldn't seem to stop. I humped my own hand lying face down, I fingered myself splayed open on my back, and I even rubbed my clit along the edge of the mattress, sliding up and down like some wanton horizontal pole dancer.

All of this was uncharacteristic. I mean, I was 32 years old, a married woman and a former police officer. I liked sex, but it was never a priority. Yet now, it was the only priority.

Even then, I wondered why no one came to rape me. I would've given in easily, taken them in my cunt or my mouth or even my ass, which I couldn't tolerate normally. Anything that meant a hard cock in my body would've been fine.

And then I woke up on the beach.

I began to tremble with the shame of my conduct. What the hell had gotten into me? Or more appropriately-what the *fuck*? It was a drug, Agnes said, but how could any drug make me feel like that? I curled up, my knees drawn to my chin, and wrapped my arms around my legs. Despite the overbearing heat and humidity, I began to shake. I was going into shock.

"It's called," Agnes' voice said, "the 'Sleep of the Magdalene.'"

I jumped. Agnes stood at the edge of the jungle. The sight of her hard, exquisite body now made me ashamed, and I couldn't meet her eyes.

She continued, "It's a substance that induces extreme sexual arousal in all women past puberty. It's impossible to resist, as I'm sure you know. It's named after the prostitute in the New Testament."

"Mary Magdalene wasn't a prostitute," I said in weak protest.

Agnes smiled sadly. "But the men who developed the drug believed she was. Hence the name. No woman under its influence is likely to cause trouble by resisting or trying to escape." She paused, then asked, "How are you feeling?"

"Ashamed," I said honestly.

"Don't be. It wasn't your fault."

Suddenly I began to cry. The weight of reality hit me all at once. "Oh, my God, I'm really here, aren't I? I'm really naked, I'm really lost, I let you fuck me, oh, my God..."

"Yeah, you're here," a new voice said, hard and humorless and without even a shred of compassion.

I turned. A half-dozen other women, all completely naked, stood across the pool, having emerged from the jungle. Two were black and one was Asian; all gleamed with sweat, their bodies lean and tan. None of them smiled; all had the same blasted, numb look as natural disaster survivors. Which, in a sense, they were.

As was I.

I balled up my fists to fight the urge to cover myself. None of them seemed self-conscious about their nudity. I'd have to get used to this, to my tits showing and my pussy exposed and everything just out there for people to see.


"So," I said, hoping I sounded more certain than I felt, "I supposed I need to learn all I can about this place so I can help us get out of here."

One of the black woman, her afro wide and choppy, began to laugh. It made her breasts bounce. Soon the others were laughing as well.

"I'm sorry," Agnes said. "We are, as you can see, totally helpless. No tools, no shelter, no clothes. No way to contact the outside world. It's even too damp to build a fire. And we'll die here, this way. All we can do is try to make the rest of our time...bearable."

The women continued to laugh. A couple of them touched each other, draping arms over shoulders or putting hands low on another's hips, displaying the relationships that must've developed. When no men were available, would any woman become a lesbian? Would I? I suppose I'd find out.

Category: Exhibitionist & Voyeur Stories