BEACHES by Ian

Leaving Pleasure Island

The radio message had been their only words of hope, and it had cost two of them their lives just to get that.

Bette-Jane looked across the chaos of the terrorist's radio room. The machine guns of herself, and her colleagues in survival on Pleasure Island, had made neat holes in the canvas walls of the tent.

But not so neat holes in the bodies of the terrorists. A lithe black girl sprawled on her side, staring eyes white in contrast to the bright red that had streamed from her nose and mouth. The dark green of her tiny shorts and crop top was darkening from the torn holes across her breasts and stomach. One breast had been revealed by her fall, the nipple untouched and nut-brown.

Two blond bitches lay sprawled together on their backs, their deadly MAC-10s still gripped in their hands, their expressions of surprised pain mirroring each others, as if they had looked at the blood roses that had flowered in each other's bikini-top clad chests. Their swimwear was the same olive green that all the terrorists wore, blood brimming around it and running in thin lines down the muscled flatness of their bare stomachs. Shorts revealed long, toned legs folded under their bodies.

Bette-Jane knelt down to Jayne's body. The young cheerleader had been shot through her breasts point-blank with both MAC-10's. The once-yellow and blue Lycra top and mini-skirt had become something frayed and ruined, marked with hole after hole, sodden with dark blood. Jayne's fine sun-bleached hair was an angelic halo around her staring face. Bette-Jane carefully closed her eyes and then moved aside to her other fallen companion.

Nina had fallen to her knees when first shot, and then flopped forwards to the ground. Her rounded rear stuck up in the air, tanned flesh revealed by the white string bikini briefs she wore. The smooth skin of her back had been interrupted in a number of places with glossy, torn-flesh-edged exit wounds. Bette-Jane turned the girl over, and a swimwear-clad form flopped leaden across the floorboards. Her buxom chest was still held curvy and firm by the bikini top, but both skin and costume were now covered in slick blood. When Bette-Jane looked closely she could see the bullet holes - so precise and neat that it was hard to imagine the damage they had done.

She closed Nina's eyes and then stood up. She counted the heads of her remaining girls. Twelve in all. There had been twenty when she'd first brought her group of survivors together, all of them scared and bewildered from the terrorist attack that had massacred everyone else.

Now it was just them.

She sat at the abandoned radio, turned to the emergency channel, and made the call. It was pointless. She didn't expect to be heard, she didn't expect to be answered...

She didn't expect to hear the voice of one of her best friends.

'Bette-Jane? Is that you?'

'Yolande? Surely... Yolande, is that you?'

'Sure is! God, it's good to hear your voice.'

'Where the hell are you?'

'On a boat, just enough off shore not to be detected...'

'But... How?'

'It was two guys on a fishing trip, thought they'd land on the island and try and find a good time. Sophi and I told them about the attack, and they got us off the island!'

'Sophi's with you?'

'Yeah. We're fine. And these two guys - Jason and Ian - they've been great. Really looking after us, if you catch my drift.'

'You be careful, Yolande...'

'Hey, we're not the ones still on the island, babe!'

'I'm working on that. Could you come and get us?'

'Of course. It's the only reason Sophi and I have stayed this close - we were hoping to rescue some of the others. If you got to the north beach at daybreak - it's pretty secluded around there - we could be just off shore.'

Bette-Jane gave a sigh of relief. At last a glimmer of hope had appeared on the horizon - on the north beach of the horizon, to be exact.

'The north beach. We'll see you there. Right now we're off to lie low for the night.'

They all heard Yolande give a dirty laugh. 'Yeah, I think we're going to, too...'

Yolande stepped away from the radio, beaming with excitement. She tossed long, curled raven-black locks as she jumped up and down.

'It was Bette-Jane! She's still alive.'

Jason watched her, arms folded across his chest, a tolerant smile on his features.

'I told them we could get to them tomorrow morning, is that okay?'

Jason and Ian exchanged glances, and then nodded between themselves. Ian went back to watching Sophi, sprawled out on a sunbed on the deck, her curvacious body straining against the briefest of black string bikinis, her skin gleaming with coconut oil.

Yolande clapped her hands in happiness. 'Oh you don't know what it means, to rescue some of the others! I'd been so scared Sophi and I were the only survivors.'

'Hey, we want to help too,' Jason shrugged modestly. His words turned Yolande to him. She slowly untied the shirt that had been knotted across her breastbone. The shirt came open, revealing large breasts with small, proud nipples.

'All this bravery can make a girl real horny,' Yolande smiled. She padded slowly over to Jason, leaving Ian to admire her neat rear in tiny cut-off denim shorts. She kissed Jason hungrily, then lifted herself up onto him with her impressive legs scissoring around the small of his back. As laughter escaped between the two of them, Jason looked apologetically at Ian and then carried the girl away into his cabin.

Ian moved outside. Sophi stirred, lifting a tendril of red hair out of her eyes. She looked confused, as if she'd just woken up.

'Awwww, the sun's gone in,' she complained. Then: 'Where's Yolande?'

Her answer came before Ian could speak - a throaty laugh from Jason's cabin and then a long, pleasurable sigh.

Sophi rose off the sunbed - it was like watching a beautiful piece of machinery unfold. Ian couldn't take his eyes off the magnificent cleavage. Sophi followed his eyes and stroked innocently at her breasts.

'Did I ever thank you for saving my life?' she asked distantly.

'Um, several times,' came back an honest answer.

Sophi tugged at the strings of her top and it fluttered to the ground.

'Well, I want to thank you again,' she stated as a calm fact. Her nipples were already hard and erect. She folded to the floor and widened her legs, pulling him towards her with her feet.

'Come here now and fuck me under the stars...' she said, arching her back and stroking her hands through the long mane of auburn hair.

The sun rose bright and clear, amber light streaming across the dark waters to the east, a gentle breeze carrying just a whisper of the heat that the day promised.

Bette-Jane stepped out from the tree-line, crouched down, nervous and furtive, hardly daring to look at the sea in case they weren't there. Supposing it had been a trick, supposing Yolande was dead now? Just supposing the rescue was going to be nothing?

A fishing boat - smooth-lined, clean and expensive - bobbed just off the shore, as close as it dared get without grounding in the sand. It pointed away from the island, ready for a fast escape. Mounted at the very rear was a winch or something, covered in blue tarpaulin. A radio aerial glinted in the morning light.

Bette-Jane glanced over her shoulder to her companions' faces that haunted the gloom of the tree-line. She did not give the all-clear yet. She couldn't be sure.

But then Yolande stepped out from the boat's interior, arm in arm with some young man. She waved towards Bette-Jane, looking like some holidaymaker in her white bikini top and Daisy-Duke shorts. Behind her, Sophi emerged, wearing nothing more than a man's shirt, open to the navel, her hair tousled with a "just fucked" look. A second man was behind her, and he playfully tweaked at her rear, making her yelp with surprise.

'Come on!' Yolande yelled across the gentle waves. 'Let's get moving.'

As the man beside Yolande sat down behind the tarpaulin - why should he do that? - Bette-Jane signalled to her companions. They emerged from the forest like Amazonians, still clutching the various rifles and guns they'd stolen, half-dressed in costumes and swimwear similarly liberated. Quickly they moved across the sands and towards the water.

Jason turned from his seated position and nodded to Ian.

Ian slid a hand around Sophi and put it inside her shirt. A warm breast curved under his fingers. She smiled at him, half-frowning.

'Not now, Ian, okay?'

'I was just saying goodbye.'

'What?'

It was then that his other hand lifted up, holding a pistol to which had been fitted a broad, heavy silencer. The tiny hole in the front of it levelled inches away from her right breast, half-revealed by the unbuttoned shirt.

'Oh Jesus-' she began, but it was too late.

Tewp! Tewp! Tewp!

His careful, professional shots took her in the left breast, then the cleavage, then the right breast. Each impact punched her back a footstep, fresh, dark, viscous blood staining out across crisp white cotton. Her arms flailed away. Red clouded the air behind her, spattering across the paintwork of the boat.

Sophi fell to her knees, arms stretched out, looking down in horror at the puckered holes in her chest, revealed by a shirt that had now fallen off one brown shoulder. The shirt was marked with three broad circles of red that grew larger and larger.

She looked up at Ian and he put a last bullet into her forehead. Her eyes rolled upwards as her head snapped abruptly back and she flopped dead across the varnished deck.

It had only taken an instant, and Yolande was only beginning to turn when Ian's silencer moved to cover her too.

Tewp! Tewp!

The white left cup of her bikini changed colour. Yolande winced, pushing her hand to the wound, blood streaming through her fingers. She staggered backwards as if she was drunk. She half-turned to Jason beside her, but he was otherwise occupied.

As Yolande coughed, and a thick line of blood dripped down the side of her mouth, Jason was pulling the tarpaulin off the object at the back of the boat.

Not a winch. A belt-feed machine gun.

Tewp!

Ian's last shot took Yolande in the exact middle of the back. Her bikini-tie snapped and as her back arched with her "hup!" of pain, her breasts came free, bloodied and shining with liquid. She span gracefully down to the floor, like a clockwork-toy unwinding, ending up on her back, arms and limbs crooked, head to one side trying to stare-out the sun. Her left breast was studded with two precise holes. The right one had been opened with a broad, ugly exit wound. Her chest looked as though she wore a deep-scarlet bib.

Bette-Jane felt the cold water chill up her shins as she waded forwards. It was then she heard noise from the boat and looked up to see Yolande stretching up to the skies for a moment, her swimsuit suddenly red and white. The tarpaulin had come off the winch.

And now a broad, horrible muzzle was being swung down towards the shoreline.

She felt the chill on the outside of her legs suddenly stream through her, ice water in her veins.

'Oh Jesus, it's a trap...' she realised, not knowing if she spoke or thought the words.

It didn't matter.

Jason settled in his chair, feeling the heavy mass of the gun before him as he altered his aim just a little. The girls were all out of the woods, either in the water or moving through the white foam.

The trigger felt hard and sharp under his finger.

And then he pulled it.

The world exploded in vibrating noise.

Thunka-thunka-thunka-thunka!

Kay had been furthest to the left of the girls making for freedom, and with Jason starting his scything attack on that side, she was the first to die. And she didn't even know it.

The blue-green waters in front of her spouted several times, and then the stream of lead was lifted slightly. The top of her thigh, then her stomach, then her left breast, then the side of her head, all spurted sticky black holes the size of quarters. Gore drew long threads behind her as the bullets sped on in their journey to bury into the woods.

Kay managed a "unnnnnrrrgghhhh!" of pain as the wounds opened in her thigh-hugging leather mini-skirt and her sleeveless office blouse and then she went silent and dropped. The water splashed up around her as she disappeared below the surface for an instant before coming up again, looking more like flotsam than a young woman.

Jason moved the gun slightly. Empty cartidges were spinning up in the air, flashing in the sun, and then dropping down across Yolande's sprawled form.

Thunka-thunka-thunka-thunka!

'Noooo! Ugh!'

Janine's yellow bandeau bikini top suddenly kicked open in five separate places across her small, pert boobs. She was snapped around by the impacts to flash a smooth back suddenly ruined at Jason. The top dropped from her as she fell face-forwards into the waters and floated beside her dead, topless body.

Thunka-thunka-thunka-thunka!

Sylvie never even made it to the sea. She had been lagging behind, pulling her pink, one-piece costume out of her ass, altering its neckline so that the two rescuing hunks would prefer her over Yolande or Sophi.

And suddenly the well-endowed brunette was pushed even further back, puzzled, confused, with the sense that bees or hornets had been buzzing around her.

'Oooohh...'

The terrible numbness then began to spread across her body. She looked down to her impressive neckline, and her dazed expression faltered.

Both her nipples had been replaced with holes in the streched Lycra. Blood was feebly spurting out of them. Her blood. She tried to push her hands to the wounds but she couldn't move.

There was something streaming down her back too, something warm but going cold in the morning breeze.

And then her legs stopped being able to keep her upright and her vision swung from sea to sky as she collapsed backwards into the sand. Blood stained across the fine white grains as she trembled and bled her life away.

It didn't take long.

Jason glanced over his shoulder at Ian, who was watching approvingly, never taking his finger off the trigger for a moment.

Thunka-thunka-thunka-thunka!

Cynthia had started to turn back as the shooting starting. Her long left leg drew out of the waters as she made her first step towards escape. Her naked breasts swung with her, and then Jason's bullets found her.

They smashed straight through her shoulder blades, then her heart and lungs - driving blood out of her nostrils like mustard at a hot dog stand - then out through her large boobs. Her chest all but disappeared, breasts exploding like water balloons to pour blood down her bare stomach.

'Aaaaaaaarrrrrrggggghhhhh!!!' she screamed as her whole body arched as if electrocuted. She could see gore flying through the air in front of her and then she was tumbling forwards into it, her long blond hair streaming behind her like a comet. The surf surged around her dead body, turning the white foam pink. The black of her bikini pants was almost the same colour as the dark blood whispering out from the exit holes all across her back.

Thunka-thunka-thunka-thunka!

Brittany had the long legs and glossy features of a beauty queen. Even the one-piece stars-and-stripes swimsuit belonged to some pageant. Her blond hair was still teased out into a cloud of yellow-white and her lips shone full and wide.

And then the half-revealed breasts were shaking and kicking out as Jason shot her full in the chest. Brittany gave a big bellowing cry of terror as she jived backwards, out of the sea and onto sands spotted already with her blood. She was blown off her feet and came to a halt at the end of a trail of sand, over which her slumped head stared down at the ruined body of which she had been so proud. Her endless legs were stretched apart in a useless, obscene invitation to her killer.

Thunka-thunka-thunka-thunka!

Lita saw too late what was happened. She tried to lift her Uzi to shoot at the man half-hidden behind the juddering machine gun, but then its strafing fatal line had sought her out.

Her champagne-coloured cheerleader costume burst open in eight places, each hole oozing thick gore down the nylon material. She gave a long, long scream, each fresh impact making her raise its pitch as she staggered back even further as if someone was punching her.

For a moment she flew through the air. Home in Millerstown she'd been reknowned for her high kicks that lifted her team and flimsy skirt in equal measure. Now she jumped for one very last time, screaming and shaking and bleeding and crying.

Her body fell limp across damp sand, her eyes still and unseeing, her mouth bloody and open, threads of black hair stuck to her forehead, and her costume a spreading net of red holes.

Jason and Ian were watching with excitement as the belt snaked into the machine gun with violent, lashing movements. The deck was littered with warm casings. Yolande's body had all but disappeared beneath them.

Thunka-thunka-thunka-thunka!

Bette-Jane was next, killed in the middle of the girls she had lead to their brutal deaths.

Her eyes met those of Jason as the lead line pointed next to her.

Bullets tore through the top of her PVC trousers, ripping open the smooth material tight over her buttocks.

Bette-Jane's teeth gritted as a desperate sound was torn out from deep inside of her. Her shattered hips began to drop her into the sea, forcing the bullets up across first her bare stomach and then the purple Wonderbra she wore. It felt as if she were being pushed inside out, as pressure thudded across her front and escaped out of her back.

Large holes spurted left, right, centre, left, right centre, tugging her this way and that like a child being shaken by a grown-up. Her once firm, rounded breasts were now punctured and loose. Blood streamed from six different belly-buttons.

Her bottom touched the sea as she crumpled as a fallen tree. Through the cold-steel taste of the blood, a despair was welling inside her, stronger than even the pain.

All dead. They were all dead, and she had led them to it.

The water kicked and splashed around her as a final burst ripped into her chest and chin. She thrashed automatically with the kinetic energy ripping into her, and then when stopped moving as soon as the bullets stopped.

Bette-Jane's body floated in the rippling sea, as fluid and boneless as seaweed. Her hair hung half across her face, as if hiding her from the accusing dead stares of her colleagues.

Ian grabbed Sophi by the ankles and dragged her - a slimy red trail pooling out from under her - to the side of the boat. Her body was limp, almost as inviting as it had been during their many couplings the previous night.

As he pushed her over the railings, down to splash into white, foaming water, all he could hear was one sound.

Thunka-thunka-thunka-thunka!

Louise saw Bette-Jane fall and knew that she was next. She frantically waded backwards and to her right, getting behind the panic-stricken shape of Jacklyn who had just frozen, hands pressed to her cheeks in dumb terror, her breasts heaving for breath against the tight strings of a blue and white bikini.

But Jason's bullets simply saw Jacklyn as a brief diversion, speeding through her one after another on their way to Louise's naked boobs.

Both girls made exactly the same movements, just an instant apart in time. First the arching of the spine and the "uuuunnnngggh" orgasmic cry of pain. Then the juddering as breasts kicked and shook under messy impacts. Then the wailing of death-cries, gargling on blood splashing at the back of throats. Then the slow drop, a slumping into the shallow waters of pink forms lined with lightning forks of glossy red trickles.

Jacklyn floated with her arms out wide, the blue-green waters changing colour in a cloud that bloomed around her. Her bikini top was being constantly rinsed by a lapping wave, but it only cleared the material for a second before fresh blood stained it anew. The edges of her ruined breasts gleamed in the sunlight.

Louise lay so close to her that her half-curled fingers trailed through the other girl's hair. Her silk panties had become transparent and showed off a stripe of hair a different colour to her short blond crop.

Her lips gleamed bright red, but it wasn't lipstick.

Thunka-thunka-thunka-thunka!

Kathy was curled up, intent on the sights of her AK47. She could just see the top of the killer's head as it bowed intent over the chuggling shape of the machine gun. Her finger tightened on the trigger-

And then the first of Jason's shots found her right above the nose.

A broad hole opened up a third eye which cried down her face as she span around. The AK47 tumbled through the air and disappeared into the sea. More bullets came, streaking into Kathy's dark-haired form, rupturing out of the front of her half-undone wet-suit.

She mechanically gasped with each fresh wound smashing into her lungs, sagging but unable to drop as if held on strings like a puppet, her arms raised above her head in an accidental - and futile - gesture of surrender.

The rubber of her clothing was parting in long tears as holes opened in its tight surface. The revealed flesh was a mixture of creamy white and strawberry red. Only slowly did she slump into the waters, though she was already long dead.

Her neat, rubber-clad rear shone in the sun and water as if it had been polished.

Ian looked over Jason's shoulder, reaching for a walkie-talkie as he admired his colleague's handiwork. The rasping metal line sped across the small bay and found more victims.

Thunka-thunka-thunka-thunka!

Alice, in her sexy-schoolgirl costume, had already hit problems before the others moved towards the boat. For one thing her heels just sank into the sand. And her stockinged legs were just so hot. She lifted up the short, flared blue skirt and started to unpop the suspender belt.

That was when she heard the shooting begin. She looked up-

-And in the time it took, Jason's bullets were smacking into her.

Alice gave a wail of shock as her white, well-filled blouse suddenly quaked with motion, little volcanos erupting across her proud breasts. Her straw hat flew into the air as she shook, two blond pigtails whiplashing the air around her in her violent throes.

'No, no, no, oh nooooo' she gasped, as if the appeal would even be heard. Her hands pushed to the wounds, a futile attempt to keep herself together. But life was already leaving through her back, and soon she fell to stockinged knees. Two more bullets exploded out of the back of a red blouse and then she was dead, her body folding backwards.

The blood from her nose ran up her face and rivered around her eye as it went on to stain through her hair.

Ian received an answer to his call.

'Hello? Control? Just to let you know that the north beach situation has been dealt with. With extreme prejudice? Er?'

Jason was still firing, the machine gun spitting out death across the sea and sand into defenseless victims. Those girls already dead still received attention from burst after burst, their bodies juddering with the impacts before lying unmoving again.

'Extreme prejudice? Oh yes, I think so.'

Thunka-thunka-thunka-thunka!

Freda looked in horror at her fallen friends. Limbs floated bent and folded as discarded toys. Faces stared, splashed with blood, the look identical on every one - the shocked pain of brutal sudden death, above lips and cheeks rouged with real red. The only movement was of those girls who'd been shot in the waters, their bodies rippling with the sea. Those on the parched white sands lay still, even their death throes over now.

The machine gun sped around to cover Freda, the smoking barrel watching her. There was no sound. It was as if even the sea had stopped moving.

Freda put her hands up.

'Please...' she called. She reached behind her back and undid her bikini top. The black strings and triangles dropped into the water. 'Please, I'll do anything you want... You don't want to kill me.'

The gun flared and Freda squirmed and flinched. The sea to her right splashed and spurted even as she cried out in horror. In the next silence, she gave a huge sigh of relief at her deliverance.

'Thank you,' she said, and took a step forwards.

Jason's next burst was short and sweet, and left her untouched.

Apart from a bullethole just above each nipple.

'Oh no...' Freda murmured, as if being told there was no favourite cake left in a cafeteria. She took a step back, looked down at her breasts.

The holes were sharp-edged, the skin slightly bruised around them. The blood pumping down them was heart-blood - she could feel each pulse of the liquid matched by a pressure in her temples. The trails worked their way down her flat stomach and soaked into her bikini briefs.

Her back felt cold, as if liquid was trickling down it. Then she realised that it was.

Jason and Ian watched in poised silence at the figure of the last girl. They had seen the broad trails draw out behind her, and were now watching the two rosettes Jason had placed on her chest.

'Shall I shoot her again?' Jason began to ask.

The girl dropped to her knees and then flopped back to splash into the shallow sea.

'Nope,' Ian replied, 'Mission accomplished.'