The Fisherman's Answer

By The Marquis


As usual, the dazzling white beach was vacant except for a single olive-skinned beauty. She was certainly no older than twenty, and her sculpted body had a certain kinship with the ancient statuary for which this island was justifiably famous. Indeed, she could very well have been one of these statues, quiet and still, unmoving, frozen in time. A minuscule red bikini concealed her secret parts, but the rest of her was spectacularly evident: firm high breasts, hard flat belly with a delicious navel indentation, sleek firm thighs, long athletic legs. Her waist-length brown hair was arrayed neatly about her head. Her oiled skin glistened in the morning sun.

But on this particular morning, it turned out that the beach was not quite as vacant as usual. She heard nothing, but felt a sudden sharpness at her throat. She opened her eyes, inhaled sharply. She made no overt movements, but now her luscious body displayed a certain tightness.

"Please don't hurt me," she whispered.

"Hurt you?" the man with the knife replied. "No. No. Nothing that easy."

"I know you," she murmured. "From the village..."

"That's right," the man admitted. He was heavy, dark, covered in wiry black hair. "Every day you come down here, with that body, showing it off. On my beach. You don't fuck me, that's fine. But you don't fuck anybody. You show that body, you don't fuck anybody."

Page 1



"Don't go for men. I know. That's OK. We have some fun anyway. Come on, get up. We go back to my boat. Have a little fun."


He left her unbound while he tied the noose. He wanted her to see what he was doing. She eyed the knife. It was right by his side. If she dove for it, could she grab it before he did? Probably not. It wasn't worth a knife in the gut if she was wrong; she'd take her chances with the rope.

"Please," she whispered, "don't do this."

"Been waiting to do you for a long time," he replied, tying off the knot. "Watching you. Planning it." He confronted her, his massive bulk dominating her, overpowering her. The noose was over her head before she knew what was happening. It took him a minute or two to get her endless brown tresses through the loop. And then the bright white nautical rope was tight against her throat.

A tear trickled down her cheek, hot and desperate. Was he really going to kill her, just because she was a lesbian? "Please," she whimpered. "I'm begging you...please don't hang me..."

He shook his head. "Not gonna hang you. Noose is just to get you started." As if to prove this point, he attached the line to an overhead winch. The motor hummed to life, pulling her feet off the deck. Her hands flew instinctively to her throat. As he swung her hanged body out over the railing, she dug her slender fingers under the rope. Her lean, strong biceps flexed as she fought the noose. She discovered that if she devoted all of her strength to the project, she could keep the rope loose enough to allow minimal breathing.

Her endless, olive-hued legs kicked impotently above the crystal-blue Mediterranean water. "Please," she gasped, and that was all. Her plea had no content beyond that simple word.

"Better. You look good like that," he decided. He let the young beauty kick and squirm for several minutes, admiring her movements, enjoying her helplessness. At last he retrieved the knife.

The blade flashed towards her lean, naked belly, but her reflexes were good: she twisted away from his thrust. He laughed and stabbed at her again. Again she dodged. And so began an elaborate dance. Her motions were conditioned, in part, by the noose and by her fight against it. But the blade added subtle complexities to her movements. Her slender body twisted and writhed its way through contortions which would have put the most brazen temple prostitute to shame. Firm, melon-sized breasts jiggled and bounced beneath her red bikini. Her infinite brown tresses flew about her like a dark tempest. Gagging and choking, she squirmed in desperate, helpless panic.


Page 2


At long last the blade found its mark. She gasped as the steel point thrust home. His aim was perfect: the blade neatly perforated her navel, calling forth a tiny rivulet of bright red blood. The thin line of crimson trickled lazily down her taut belly. It pooled at her g-string, then began to fall, one drop at a time, into the clear blue water.

And at last his plan was revealed to her. The water began to churn with activity. Her nubile body tensed with terror as she realized the horrible truth: these waters were infested with sharks, and she was to be their next meal!

She tried to force herself to be still as he lowered her into the sea. She knew that her motions would only attract them. But it was impossible. The horror overwhelmed her. Her long, muscular legs kicked their way into the Mediterranean. And nature responded: a single massive beast separated itself from the rest and opened its jaw wide to receive her. She saw an immense double row of brilliant white teeth. She saw her legs vanish into the shark's maw. And then she went quite blind with pain.

When she regained her awareness, she was hanging over the water once more. Or rather, what was left of her dangled above the surface. The shark had severed her body just below the navel. Legs, cunt, g-string--her entire lower half was gone. The pink tendrils of her intestines swung lazily beneath her gaping abdominal cavity.

She realized that her hands had left her throat. She no longer had the strength to fight the noose. And yet she could still breathe, a little. She simply no longer weighed enough to hang fully. Had he planned it that way? She looked up to find him laughing. Yes. Yes. He left her like that for a few minutes. And then he lowered her once more.

The shark came for her again. She felt the huge, powerful jaws close over her breasts, her shoulders, her neck. Darkness engulfed her, and she expired.


Page 3

Back to Table Of Contents