Klitzman's Paradise (The Klitzman Stories)

by Paul Blades

  Slaughter finally was ready and the men opened the heavy door and filed out of the plane.

  Roxanne, who was nearest the door, felt the blast of moist, hot air when the door opened and closed. She had tried to look out to see where they were, but her sight through the doorway had been blocked by the bodies of the men and then the door had been slammed shut. She thought about Max’s promise to her. She cringed at the thought of him fucking her again. But at least it meant that they weren’t going to kill them. Not yet anyway. And the longer she lived, the longer she would have to escape.

  Jana, the only one of the women who was not gagged saw the men departing. She immediately called out to the other women. “Is anybody untied? We’ve got to get out of here before they come back! Hurry, see if you can get free!”

  Roxanne, realizing the truth of the woman’s words cursed herself for not doing more to try and loosen her bonds during the night. She didn’t know who the woman was. She vaguely remembered her coming onto the plane, but that was all. Frantically, she twisted and turned her wrists to try and get free.

  Daphne and Miriam did the same. The large cabin was filled with the grunts and groans of the girls as they strained at their ropes. They worked strenuously for about ten minutes. Suddenly, Daphne felt the rope on her wrists begin to slip. She cried out in victory through her gag and pulled her arms wide with all of her might, trying to get the cord which bound her wrists to slide another inch or so over the bony edges of her hands.

  Just then, the door to the plane swung open again. Two large black men wearing high topped combat boots, camouflaged army fatigues and round, matching, flat topped, black brimmed caps entered. One of them was carrying a large box. The women froze when they entered. Were they here to help? Were they saved? The actions of the men were not calculated to reassure them.

  The first one looked around the cabin and laughed. He said something to the other in some strange language. Daphne and Miriam had their backs to the door and couldn’t see who they were, but the sound of the men’s amusement at their predicament was not comforting. Roxanne and Jana saw them and their hearts fell. They certainly did not have the demeanor of rescuers.

  The second man dumped the contents of the box on the floor in front of Roxanne. She gasped when she saw its contents. There were gags and what looked like thick leather bracelets and collars. They had gleaming steel rings on them. She was familiar with the miscellanea of bondage, having seen the ads for fetish gear on the Internet. She had thought it odd that people would be really in to that kind of thing. She had never thought that she would be wearing any.

  The two men knelt in front of her. They surveyed her exposed flesh admiringly. One of them, the first one who had entered, took possession of Roxanne’s defenseless breasts with his large black hands.

  “These melons are ripe,” he told in friend in the local dialect.

  “Let me feel,” the other responded. He inched himself over and his hands replace those of the first man’s. “Nice!” he agreed. He dropped one hand between the unhappy girl’s widespread thighs. He began to tease the little bud at the apex to her sex.

  Roxanne was appalled that the men were handling her so casually. She moaned in protest when she felt the fingers rubbing over her love bud. “Nooooo!’ she tried to call out through her gag. The men just laughed.

  “I’d like to taste this little crack,” the second man told the first. The men laughed again.

  “Maybe you’ll get your chance,” the first one said. A loud female voice came at the men from the back of the plane. Jana could not believe that the men weren’t there to help. They looked official. Maybe the men outside had been arrested. She could only see the men’s backs and couldn’t tell what they were doing with the young, black haired girl.

  “You’ve got to help us!” she yelled out to them. “We’ve been kidnapped and raped! I’m a reporter! I was drugged! Please untie me, please!”

  The men turned and looked for the source of the noise. They both spoke English, albeit haltingly. They had just enough to be able to instruct white slave girls. But they understood the import of the frantic woman’s words. While the second man continued to massage Roxanne’s pussy, the fist one picked up one of the objects on the floor and walked over to the noisy female. Jana looked up at him. “Please untie me, please. I have money! I can pay you! My paper will pay you!”

  The tall, broad shouldered African looked down at the trussed woman. She was a little old to have been brought here. But his bosses had their reasons and it was not for him to question them. Standing between her outstretched legs, he waited for her to speak again.

  Jana wasn’t sure she was getting through to the man. His face was cruel looking, with a big, broad nose and scarred cheeks. There was a certain nobility in his demeanor and it gave her hope. “Please…” she began to say.

  Having silenced many a white woman before, the African took the opportunity to dart forwards and push the business end of a thick, leather gag into the open mouth. She protested and struggled as he sank it home. He quickly had it buckled behind her head. “No talking,” he said to her in a deep, fear inspiring voice. He turned to rejoin his companion.

  As he knelt down so that he could join in the fun with the pretty, black haired girl, another man stepped into the entranceway to the cabin. They had left the door open and his appearance surprised them. He gave a curt order and the men returned to their work.

  At this stage of their new careers, the women were not well trained enough to always submit meekly to the application of bindings to their bodies and it was protocol for two men to handle them. The first man picked up a collar from the floor and, while the other lifted Roxanne’s long black hair, affixed it around her throat. Roxanne was happy to have the men stop tormenting her pussy. She had felt herself grow wet and the beginnings of unwanted lust in spite of her abhorrence at their touch. But she was dismayed at the application of the leather ring around her throat. The collars did not have buckles, but rather its ends were designed to slide into each other and the collar closed with a metallic ‘click’.

  The fateful sound sent a wave of misery through her. The men loosened her wrists from her ankles and freed them. Before she could lean back and stretch her aching muscles, they quickly applied bracelets to her wrists. She tried to get up and push the two large men away, but, before she knew it, they had pushed her over onto her stomach and forced her hands behind her back, locking the bracelets together. Firm hands held her legs down as another set of hands tore off her high heeled shoes and bracelets were applied to her slender ankles. They too were connected and a black bag was pulled over her head. A draw sting drew it closed around her neck.

  Miriam was next. The soggy underwear was first pulled from her mouth, a thick, leather gag taking its place. After she was collared and braceleted, hooded and bound, it was Daphne’s turn. Roxanne could hear her friend struggle and whine behind her gag as the men dealt with her. There was deep, male laughter at her fruitless antics. Finally, the men turned to Jana.

  The naked, spread-eagled reporter had watched the men’s doing with increasing trepidation. This systematic, methodical treatment of the naked young girls bespoke some kind of sinister organization. This wasn’t the random, casual kidnapping of young women. This was more than that, much more!

  Jana tried to fight off the determined men. She managed to get one arm loose while they were untying her and punched and slapped at the men. The first man who had entered the cabin, the one who had gagged her, easily captured her arm, laughing at her feeble efforts. He was taller and a bit more broad shouldered than the other man, and he assumed an iron grasp of the woman’s thin wrist. She was shortly trussed and hooded like the other women. The men connected her ankles together with a chain and pulled her to her feet. It was time to leave.

  One by one, the pretty, naked, young women were stood on their feet and escorted to the door of the jet. Each man had two of the females by the arm, one on each side, as they carefully ushered th
em down the stairs.

  The heavy, humid, heat of the air outside the plane was oppressive after the girls’ long, air conditioned ride. Jana, who had visited the Bahamas many times knew that they were somewhere else. The air just felt different. Roxanne, her body trembling at her unknown fate, stepped down the stairs gingerly, afraid of tumbling headlong down them. The other girls docilely followed suit.

  When they had been brought down the stairs, the girls felt hot macadam underneath their bare feet. They were tugged a short distance until they stood side to side in a short line. The man who had commanded the other men back to their tasks walked the assembled line of fine female flesh, checking that they were all properly attired. He had a long riding crop in his hand. Knowing that the women had been trussed all through the night, he had a good idea what their most basic need was now. He knelt down and released the manacles from one ankle each. He then stood.

  “Squat!” he bellowed out to the women. They were taken aback by the fierce, strange command. They hesitated, not knowing if the man really meant it or if they had heard him properly. “I said squat!” the man spat again. This time he gave Miriam, who was on the right end of the side to side group of naked women, a sharp blow from his riding crop. “Ooooo!” Miriam yelled as she felt the effect of the unanticipated blow across her thighs. All the women had heard the tell tale ‘swish’ of the crop’s movement, the ‘thud’ as it struck Miriam’s thighs and her painful ejaculatory response. Clumsily, making sure that they did not fall over, the women all bent their knees and lowered their torsos.

  “Spread your legs,” the man commanded. His voice was deep and melodic, not a native English speaker, but rather someone who had learned it secondary to a more musical, vocally expressive dialect. With difficulty, the women spread their legs, hopping from one foot to the other as they moved their feet, until their thighs were spread widely.

  “Pee!” the man ordered. The women were both shocked and grateful for the command. Nature’s call was urgent for all of them, but the idea of peeing on the ground in front of God knew how many other people were disconcerting. But it was clear that they were under the power of cruel determined men and they would have to do what the man ordered. The four black hooded, naked white women made an amusing sight to the men as they watched them, crouched with their pale, white thighs spread, their pussies revealed for all to see, straining to produce the demanded fluid.

  It was somewhat difficult, even when the need was urgent, to piss in front of unknown onlookers. There was a moment of silence as each woman prepared her body for the release of their water. It helped somewhat to be hooded and not have to watch the faces of the men watching them. Roxanne had a humiliating picture of herself in her mind as her flow started. She could hear its patter on the hard, tarred surface beneath her and feel the splatter on her legs and feet. Hearing Roxanne’s flow begin triggered Daphne’s, who was next to her on her left, and then Miriam’s. Jana, who was on Daphne’s left, was last to begin.

  The men watched the hooded, naked, peeing women. Natomo, who was the officer in charge of this little operation, enjoyed the sight of the delectable white women emptying themselves, satisfying one of their most basic and private needs in front of him and his men. Their naked breasts swayed and jiggled as they tried to keep their balance. He had worked on the island for many years, earning his way to his current rank by utter loyalty to his employer’s organization. The pay was good; he had a large, modern bungalow on the other side of the island with a wife and three children. And the fringe benefits were great. The officer’s club was well stocked with white females who had passed their peak of desirability but who were still comely and compliant. The smooth skinned, slender, older woman on the far left end looked like she might be there soon. And all the men spent some time on a regular basis in the island’s training facility. He was due for a session in a couple of days and the younger, more appealing white girls might still be receiving their introductions into their new responsibilities. But if not them, there would be others.

  When the women had emptied themselves, their urine pooling around their naked feet, the supervisor ordered them to stand and take two steps forward. Now the women wouldn’t piss in the van when they were transported to their next stop. His men reattached the short links of chain between their ankles. Leashes were attached to the collars of the three young girls. A large, black van had backed up to where they stood and they were loaded into it, strapped into seats and driven away.

  Only Jana remained standing, gagged, hooded and bound in the harsh tropical sun. She heard the younger girls marched off and the sound of the van door opening and closing. As she heard the van pull away, her heart darkened. Whatever fate had in store for the young women, hers seemed to be more particularized.

  While the boys were limo’d up to the resort proper, Creeper had been supervising the unloading of the crates that had been transported in the large, rear compartment of the jet. A tow motor inserted its long, steel teeth beneath each crate and carried it over to a large, open air hanger about thirty yards away from the plane. As each of the three crates was gently lowered to the concrete floor, black uniformed men began to crack them open.

  Creeper watched as the top and sides of the first of the three crates were removed. They were connected by large, heavy, industrial sized screws that had to be loosened by a pneumatic drill. The drill made a high pitched whine as each screw was turned. When the sides were all removed, the treasure was revealed.

  Four scantily clad, shapely young women sat in chairs bolted to the floor of the crate. They all wore masks covering the bottom part of their faces connected by rubber hoses to a tank that sat in the middle. Their bodies were strapped tightly to their chairs and their limbs were locked into steel hasps on the arms and legs. Creeper, otherwise known as Jon Pennington, otherwise known as Reggie Glasser, otherwise known in the nefarious community to which he belonged as “the Snatcher,” looked on the sight of the bewildered, bound young women with satisfaction.

  As the next crate was lowered to the concrete floor, he congratulated himself on the successful operation. It had been a year in the planning and execution. He had wormed himself into the management of the band and, after setting up the European tour, had made arrangements with the local ‘k’ organizations for support. There had been six concerts in Britain and the men were unloading twelve young beauties who had been fooled into believing that they were going to spend some time with the band, two from each concert. The fact that the Day-Glo Dreams jet was coming to Klitzman’s island anyway made transport of these dozen unfortunate victims easy. Somewhere out at sea was a Malaysian freighter in whose hold was the harvest of the concerts on the European mainland. Four from Madrid, two from Hamburg, three from Berlin. They had spent three days in Paris and six pretty, little French girls had excitedly accepted his proffer of their life’s dream, meeting real, honest to god, rock stars. Five in Rome, two in Athens, and so on. The Warsaw concert was the most profitable. Eight delightful, little, blond Polish sluts had been taken.

  Strict orders had been given that none of the girls should be abused until the reached their final destination. He had required that they remain attired in their enticing miniskirts and/or tight fitting jeans while in transit to discourage tampering. Once secured, the girls were transported by various means to a warehouse in Naples. When the freighter arrived, right on schedule, they were secured in a sealed trailer and loaded onto the ship via a large crane.

  The ‘k’ organization was very strong in the Naples area, cooperating with some of the local Mafia, and it was an easy thing to obtain the necessary seals and paperwork to have the shipment of fifty or so young females cleared through customs. In a couple of days, the freighter would be met far out at sea in the South Atlantic where its female cargo would be transferred to one of Klitzman’s boats and brought to the island. Ironically, the British girls, who had been captured last, were the first ones to arrive.

  An SUV pulled up outside the hanger and a l
arge, brown robed African got out of the driver’s seat. He walked determinedly into the large open air structure and, when reaching the Snatcher, held out his mighty right hand.

  “Congratulations Reggie,” Rukimo said, flashing a bright, beaming smile. Reggie shook the huge man’s hand happily. The second crate was being disassembled and four more sets of disoriented, pretty eyes blinked out at the sudden illumination of their small prison. It was better to transport the females awake to avoid health complications. They would be tired and thirsty and hungry and very afraid. The third box was set down next to the others and the sides removed.

  “It’s a real coup,” Rukimo said admiringly. “Our training cells are going to be full to bursting when the others arrive. I’ve made arrangements to ship off a number of them raw to our Macao facility. And I’ve contacted our “A” list of major buyers. It’ll be a lot of work, but we should be able to handle it. It’s a problem I’d like to have all the time.”

  Creeper smiled. Visions of the small fortune that was coming his way danced in his head. He would spend the next week or so on the island, picking out the cream of the crop for his personal enjoyment. But first, there was the nosey reporter to deal with.

  Jana did not have long to stand in the open air of the runway before someone attached a leash to her collar. She felt herself being tugged along, to where she did not know. Her bound ankles permitted only baby steps and it took a long time to cross the hot tarmac and reach the hanger building. The smoother concrete was cool on her burned feet. She heard the distinctive sound of the small engine of the forklift and then a voice that she recognized.

  “Jana, how nice of you to join us,” she heard the Creeper say. His voice was somehow different as if he had acquired some degree of self assurance and hardness that he didn’t have before. She was brought to a halt and her leash released. She could hear the creaking of straining wood. Her hood was removed.