The lagoon water was as warm as blood, crystal clear, and utterly silent, except for the splashes of naked bodies and bursts of breathless laughter.
Suyash floated on his back, letting the gentle current rock him, while his women swam around him like a pod of sleek, happy seals. Komal's large breasts bobbed on the surface as she did a lazy backstroke. Babita floated nearby, her long black hair fanning out like spilled ink. Daya splashed Anjali, who squealed and splashed back. Madhavi, usually so reserved, did handstands in the shallows, kicking her toned legs at the sky. Anita climbed onto the submerged wing of the plane and sunbathed like a goddess, water streaming down her naked body.
For a long, suspended moment, there was no fear. No "stranded." No uncertainty. Just the sun, the water, and the simple joy of being alive.
But the sun climbed higher, and reality—such as it was on an island Suyash had created from stolen fiction—began to creep back in.
"We should explore," Madhavi said, wading toward the beach. Water sluiced down her brownish-pink skin; her big breasts glistened. "Find water. Shelter. See if anyone else is here."
"There's no one else," Anita said flatly, sliding off the wing into the shallows. "That plane was empty. The cockpit was empty. We're alone."
"All the more reason to get organized." Madhavi was already walking up the beach, her bare feet leaving prints in the wet sand. The others followed, dripping and naked, their earlier panic fading into something more purposeful.
Suyash watched them leave, a small smile tugging at his lips. Good, Madhavi's practical nature was asserting itself. It would make his role as the "knowledgeable survivor" more believable. He had planted everything they needed, of course: There was the freshwater spring, the fruit trees, and the hidden cache of supplies in an "abandoned" hut further inland. But they didn't need to know that. Let them discover it. Let them feel resourceful.
He waded ashore and joined them.
—
The beach stretched in both directions like a crescent moon, backed by dense jungle. Palm trees leaned toward the water, heavy with coconuts. The wrecked plane sat half-submerged on the reef, its tail jutting toward the sky like a monument to their "accident."
"First priority: water." Suyash's voice was calm and authoritative—the voice of someone who knew what he was doing. "We can survive weeks without food. Days without water. We need to find a fresh source."
"There." Anjali pointed toward the edge of the jungle, where a dark opening in the vegetation suggested a path. "That looks like a stream."
They followed her lead, pushing through the undergrowth. The jungle was alive with sound—birds, insects, and the rustle of unseen things. But nothing threatening. Suyash had made sure of that. No predators. No poisonous plants. It was just a curated paradise: safe and bountiful.
Five minutes in, they found a spring bubbling up from a rock formation and feeding a small, clear pool. The water then trickled away toward the lagoon.
"Fresh water." Madhavi knelt, cupped her hands, and drank. "It's sweet. Really sweet."
"Lucky," Komal said, but her eyes flicked to Suyash, conveying either suspicion or simple appreciation. "Very lucky."
"Tidal pools," Suyash said, changing the subject. "We can catch crabs and shellfish. Easy protein." He gestured back toward the beach. "I've watched a lot of survival shows. Boredom mostly. I never thought I'd actually use any of it."
"Thank God you did." Daya squeezed his arm, her naked body pressing against his. Their contact was casual and affectionate, but her eyes held a deeper hunger. "You're our hero, Suyash."
He smiled modestly. "I'm just trying to keep everyone alive."
They spent the next hour scavenging along the tide line. The beach was littered with flotsam—plastic bottles, a torn fishing net, and a battered cooler that had washed ashore somehow. All of it was useful. Suyash had seen each item in a survival documentary and placed them on the beach while the women were swimming. They had no idea.
"Look!" Anjali held up a plastic bottle triumphantly. "We can use these to store water."
"And this net." Komal dragged a tangled mass of nylon from the sand. "We can fish with this. Or we can trap crabs."
Babita found the cooler half-buried near the tree line. Inside were a six-pack of bottled water, miraculously intact, and a sealed plastic bag containing a lighter and some basic first aid supplies. "Someone's looking out for us," she said, grinning.
"Or someone was here before." Anita's voice was sharp. She was staring at the edge of the jungle, where a narrow, barely visible path led deeper into the vegetation.
The women fell silent.
"Should we check?" Anjali asked nervously.
"I'll go." Suyash stepped forward. "Stay here. If I'm not back in twenty minutes—"
"We're coming with you," they said. Babita's hand closed around his wrist. "We'll stay together."
The others nodded. United. His harem was protective and possessive, even in the face of uncertainty.
---
The path wound through the jungle for about ten minutes before opening into a small clearing. In that clearing stood a hut.
The hut was simple with bamboo walls, a thatched roof, and a wooden door that hung slightly ajar. It was not new, nor was it ancient. It was weathered, as if someone had built it years ago and then simply left.
"Someone lives here," Madhavi breathed.
"Lived," Suyash corrected as he pushed the door open. "Past tense."
The interior was dusty but intact. It was a single room with a raised sleeping platform, a rough-hewn table, and shelves carved into the walls. On the shelves were clay pots, wooden bowls, and a rusted but functional cooking pot. A small cabinet stood in the corner.
Komal opened it. "Dishes, Pots. And—" She held up a plastic lighter, her face breaking into a delighted grin. "Fire!"
"Water containers, cooking supplies, and fire." Anita ticked them off on her fingers. "This is too perfect.
"Or just lucky." Suyash met her eyes, calm and unreadable. "Someone built a shelter, stocked it, and abandoned it. Maybe a castaway. Maybe a recluse. It doesn't matter. It's ours now."
Anita held his gaze for a long moment. Then her lips curved. "Ours. I like that."
The tension broke. The women began exploring the hut with renewed enthusiasm, claiming corners, examining pots, and planning how to make the space livable. Suyash watched them, his secret safe. The hut was his creation, pulled from Swiss Family Robinson and seeded with supplies from a dozen different survival films. They would never know.
By late afternoon, they had set up camp. The hut became their base. The spring provided water. The tidal pools yielded crabs and small fish, which Komal, surprisingly adept, cleaned and prepared for cooking. Madhavi started a fire with a lighter and dried palm fronds. Daya organized the plastic bottles and containers. Anjali gathered fruit from trees that Suyash had made sure were loaded with ripe mangoes and bananas. Babita and Anita, who were less inclined toward domestic tasks, explored the perimeter and returned with armloads of soft leaves and vines that they said would make "bedding."
As the sun began to set and paint the sky with shades of orange and pink, they gathered around the fire. The crabs roasted in their shells, filling the air with a rich, savory scent. Fruit was passed around. Someone found a half-bottle of rum in the plane's galley. Suyash hadn't planted it; the AI must have stocked it. They shared it in careful sips.
"We're really doing this," Daya said, her voice full of wonder. "Surviving on a deserted island. On a deserted island."
"Thriving," Komal corrected, cracking a crab leg with her teeth. "I haven't eaten this well in months. Hathi always wants dal chawal. Every. Single. night."
"Bhide lectures about 'simple living,'" Madhavi added with a rare note of bitterness. "Simple means boring. Sexless. And joyless."
"Vibhuti can't even boil water." Anita laughed sharply and scornfully. "He'd die in three days without me."
"Jethalal would try to sell the coconuts," said Daya, and everyone burst out laughing.
"Taarak wouldn't even notice if he was stranded," Anjali added quietly. "He'd be too busy composing mental columns about 'The Existential Isolation of the Castaway.'"
More laughter. But beneath the laughter was a shared understanding: They were free here. No husbands. No society. No expectations except the ones they chose.
Suyash sat at the edge of the firelight, watching his women relax. The fear of the crash had faded. Their uncertain situation was becoming an adventure. As the rum warmed their blood and the fire crackled, their attention began to shift.
To him.
Babita moved first.
She rose from her spot across the fire and crossed to where Suyash sat against a palm trunk. The firelight danced across her naked body. She hadn't bothered to dress after their swim, and no one had suggested she should. Her full, firm breasts swayed with each step, her nipples tightening in the cooling evening air. The triangle of dark hair at the junction of her thighs was still damp from the lagoon.
"We could have died today," she said, lowering herself to straddle his lap. Despite the others watching, her voice was soft and intimate, meant only for him. "When the plane was going down, all I could think was... I didn't get to touch you one more time."
His hands found her hips automatically, his fingers sinking into her warm flesh. "We didn't die."
"I know." She leaned in, her lips brushing his. "But I don't want to waste another second."
She kissed him deeply and hungrily, her tongue sliding against his with desperate urgency. The other women watched, their breathing quickening. Daya's hand found Anjali's thigh. Komal bit her lip. Madhavi traced her own collarbone with her fingers. Anita simply observed, her eyes dark and knowing.
Babita broke the kiss, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes. "I need you. Now. Here. In front of everyone."
Then take what you need."
She smiled—a wicked, grateful smile—and reached between them to free him from his trousers. He had been hard since she'd settled into his lap. Her fingers wrapped around him, stroking once, twice, before she positioned him at her entrance.
She was wet. Soaking. The anticipation, the near-death experience, and the freedom of the island had all built up to this moment.
She sank down onto him, gasping, and it turned into a moan.
"Yes."
The other women exhaled collectively. Daya's hand slipped between her thighs. Komal's fingers found her nipple and rolled it slowly. Anjali pressed her legs together and squirmed. Madhavi's breathing was ragged. Anita traced her lower lip with her tongue.
Babita began to move, slowly at first, savoring the stretch and fullness of him filling her completely. Her hips rolled in a rhythm older than the island itself. Her breasts bounced with each motion. Her head fell back, exposing the long line of her throat.
"You feel so good," she gasped. "Always so good. I'm never—ah—never getting enough."
Suyash gripped her hips tighter, guiding her pace and pulling her down harder onto his shaft. The wet, rhythmic, obscene sound of their joining filled the clearing. The fire crackled. The waves whispered in the distance.
"Harder," Babita begged. "Please. I need—"
He gave her what she needed. His hips snapped up to meet her downward thrusts, driving deeper and hitting that spot inside her that made her see stars. She cried out, her nails digging into his shoulders and her inner walls fluttering around him.
"I'm close—I'm—Suyash—"
She shattered. Her violent, consuming orgasm ripped through her body, arching her back as she screamed his name to the uncaring sky. The other women watched raptly as Babita came undone—her thighs trembling, her breasts heaving, her cries echoing off the jungle walls.
When she finally collapsed against his chest, panting and spent, Suyash was still hard inside her.
"My turn," Daya said, already rising.
—
The night became a blur of bodies and pleasure.
Daya took Babita's place, lowering herself onto Suyash with a throaty moan. She was thicker and softer, and she rode him with joyful abandon. Her laughter mixed with gasps as she chased her own release. "Finally," she breathed. "A man who sees me." She came with a shout that scattered birds from nearby trees.
Next was Anjali—tender and emotional, her eyes wet with more than just physical pleasure. "Make me forget everything but you," she whispered. He laid her on the soft sand and worshiped every curve of her body, making love to her slowly and deeply until she cried out and clung to him as if she were drowning.
Madhavi surprised everyone. The usually reserved woman pushed Suyash onto his back and climbed on top of him with fierce determination. Her brownish-pink skin glowed in the firelight. "Bhide never made me feel this way," she said, her voice rough with desire. She rode him hard and fast, chasing a pleasure she had been denied for years. When she came, she screamed loudly enough to echo off the distant cliffs.
Komal demanded creativity. She positioned herself on all fours on a flat rock near the fire, her large breasts hanging heavily and her ample rear end presented to him. "Harder," she commanded. "I'm not made of glass." He gave her what she wanted, pounding into her while the other women watched, their hands wandering over each other's bodies. Komal came with a guttural cry, her body shuddering and her fingers digging into the rock.
Anita was last. She waited until the others were sprawled out in a satisfied heap, then she motioned to Suyash. "The lagoon," she said simply.
They walked to the water's edge under the high, bright moon. The lagoon was silver and black and warm as a bath. Anita waded in until the water reached her waist. Then she turned and pulled Suyash to her.
"I want to feel alive," she said in a low, intense voice. "The crash. The fear. I want to turn it into something else."
He entered her in the water; the salt and her arousal made the glide effortless. She wrapped her legs around his waist and let him take her. Her head was thrown back, and her moans were swallowed by the gentle lapping of the waves. The danger—the unknown depths and the distant possibility of sharks—only heightened her pleasure. She came with a sharp, almost pained cry, her body convulsing around him.
Only then, after all six women had taken their pleasure, did Suyash finally allow himself to be released. He was with Anita when it happened; her name was a groan on his lips as he came inside her. She held him close, her fingers threading through his hair.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For su—"।
He kissed her shoulder. "Always."
—
Later, they lay entwined on the beach as the fire burned down to embers. The stars blazed overhead, impossibly bright without city lights to dim them. The women were quiet and sated, their bodies pressed against Suyash's and each other's.
"This is insane," Madhavi murmured, smiling. "We survived a plane crash. We're on a deserted island. And we just...all of us..."
"Had the best sex of our lives?" Komal finished. "Yes, we did."
"Is it wrong that I don't want to be rescued?" Daya asked, her voice dreamy. "I could stay here forever."
"Me too," Anjali agreed softly.
"Same," Babita added.
Anita remained silent, but she took Suyash's hand and squeezed it.
Suyash stared at the stars and let the silence stretch on. His secret was safe. The island was his gift to them—a paradise where they could be free and be together without reservation.
And the adventure was only beginning.
—