by Paul Blades
I had truly had enough. My body was limp and my mind began to fog with exhaustion. I ordered Mary to wash her hands and to get a washcloth to clean me off. I told Carol to dim the lights and to return to the bed. I reinstalled Mary’s gag, clipped the girls’ arms behind their backs and fastened one ankle of each of them to rings on the foot of the bed. They would sleep with me tonight. After extending the blond girl’s legs to allow her to lie flat on her belly, I lay back amidst a sea of soft female flesh and was soon asleep.
When I awoke, later than usual, my companions were still asleep. A faint light was shining in through the window. Mary was pressed against my back. I had ended up on my right side, facing Cindy’s pulchritudinous flesh. Carol was on the other side of her, snuggled up against her. I hesitated before disturbing any of them. Last night had been an almost magical interlude, my girls performing as acolytes to my worship of the beautiful body of the newly enslaved young girl. I looked down at her smooth right buttock, the place where she would soon wear Klitzman’s fiery mark. I would be one of the last to see it unblemished.
Today, Cindy would have to face the reality of her enslavement. I had brought her pleasure, as unwanted as it may have been, in order to smooth her way into her new duties. Hopefully, she would open herself as pliantly to Rukimo’s trainers as she had to me.
I shifted my body and gently waked Mary. I released her wrists and ankle and instructed her to wake and release the other girls. When I returned from the bathroom, they were all kneeling expectantly on the bed, Cindy in the middle, their hands open palms up on their thighs, their backs straight. I assumed that Cindy had received instructions from Carol on how to deport herself. I gave them permission to use the bathroom and told them to return to the bedroom for further instructions.
When they came back, I ordered my girls to lock Cindy’s arms behind her back and for them all to kneel on the floor before me. I ordered Cindy to edge herself closer so that her head was between my outstretched knees. I leaned over and removed her gag. She looked up at me expectantly.
“You’re going to suck my cock now, and then I’m going to take you to the training center. If you fail to please me, I’m going to whip you. Do you understand?”
Cindy nodded her head, tears forming in the corner of her eyes. This time yesterday she had awoken as a free woman. Today, she was on her knees and bound and about to perform an intimate service to a stern stranger. No matter how kindly I had treated her last night, my order and threat brought home to her the miserable fact that she was a prisoner and no longer in charge of her own destiny. She had been whipped mercilessly the previous night. And then I had raped her, twice, one of the times using her as she had never been used before. And as pleasurable as I had made it for her, it was rape. You couldn’t call her impassioned surrender to my demands on her body consent.
The pretty girl leaned over and parted her trembling lips. I motioned to Carol and Mary that they were to stay where they were. I didn’t want them helping the unhappy young girl. She would have to do this all on her own.
My cock was slightly tumescent, but still soft as Cindy shyly took possession of it with her lips. I looked down at her, naked and trembling between my knees as she gave my tool a gentle suckle. She passed her tongue over the underside of my cock’s fat helmet and I felt my tool begin to harden. The girl tightened her lips and pressed them down my shaft, transferring the heat of her mouth to me. She worked slowly, but determinedly. Tears flowed down from her eyes and over her bulging cheeks. I placed my hand on her blond head and stroked it, giving her encouragement. When I felt my essence boiling over, I instructed her to swallow it and to not spill a drop.
My orgasm was slow, gentle and pleasurable. My cock spurted its load lazily and warmth encompassed my body. It was not the frenzied, passionate orgasm of the night before. It was relaxed, easy, not matter of fact, but, rather, delightful. As my spasms faded, I looked into the face of the slave girl who had pleased me. She was still working my tool gently and I noted that not a drop of my cum was on her lips or her chin. She had obeyed me, something that presaged well for her future. I took her head in my hand and eased her off of my softening tool. I tilted it back and placed my lips upon hers, running my tongue into her mouth, kissing her tenderly. She gave a bittersweet smile of gratitude when our lips parted.
I brought the girl to her feet and escorted her out into the living room. I wanted her departure to be swift so that there would be no chance for her to wallow in her unhappy projections about her near future. I took a black cloth hood from the cabinet in the hallway and placed it over her head. There was no sense in intensifying her alarm by exposing her to the sights of the numerous inmates of Klitzman’s Isle hustling to their posts for the day, or the coffles of tired, abused females trudging their way back to their dorm, the marks of their night’s ordeals evident on their bodies.
I left the girl standing in the hallway for a moment as I went back to my bedroom, donned a flesh, clean, brown robe and locked Carol’s and Mary’s ankles in place. They were looking at me forlornly, evidently commiserating with Cindy’s upcoming fate. “I’ll be right back,” I told them. “We’ll have breakfast together and then we’ll fuck all day.”
My pets’ eyes brightened at this news. They had not been permitted satisfaction of their passions the night before and their frustrated lusts undoubtedly still burned. And they would not have to go to the slave dorm today and suffer whatever random acts of violence they might experience there. They would have their master all to themselves, have an opportunity to prove their worth to him and their gratitude for being kept out of the general stream of commerce on the island.
Carol pursed her lips as if eager to speak. “Yes?” I inquired.
“Will you bring her back, master? I mean, later?”
“We’ll see, Carol,” I replied. There was no telling what the girl’s fate would be. For all I knew, Klitzman or Rukimo might have already have plans for her. “If I can, I will,” I added.
I attached Cindy’s leash to her collar and, taking hold of it just below her chin, escorted her from my cottage. I was right about the sights that she would have witnessed, as lovely, naked young women, gagged and bound, hurried to their assignments. We passed two coffles of girls prancing along on their bright red, high heel shoes, their bare breasts dancing at every hastened step, returning to their dorm. But the morning was bright and cool, at least as cool as mornings get in the tropics. The sun had risen an hour or so ago and the sky still had lingering hints of the daily, bright orange sunrise. Birds chirped merrily in the bushes and trees. It was a good day to be alive and free.
The walk took less than ten minutes. Two of Rukimo’s black clad guards were standing at the entrance to his underground warren of cells, cages and training rooms. I handed Cindy’s leash to one of the guards who pulled at it gruffly, causing the girl to stumble forward. He took hold of the leash beneath her chain as I had done, but whereas I had led the girl as gently as I could, he pressed his large, black fist upwards, raising her chin and tilting her head backwards. I heard her give a little squeal of discomfort from behind her gag.
I felt sorry for the unfortunate girl. But she was going to suffer what hundreds of pretty young females had suffered before her and what hundreds more would suffer later. I watched the guard pull her lovely, helpless, naked and bound body to the shiny steel door of the elevator. I could see her beautiful bare breasts in the glimmering reflection. When it opened, the tall guard entered, pulling her forcibly in behind him. I watched until the door closed. When her hooded, curvaceous form had disappeared, I shook off my melancholy at her fate and returned to my cottage.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THE DOOMED MEET THEIR FATE, THE LUCKY LIVE
All in all, the week went pretty quickly for the boys. Not so for the four guests they had delivered to the island. Miriam did get her chance to fuck and suck all the members of the band and so did Roxanne. The black haired beauty cried for an hour after her session with Sla
ughter. He left her pretty breasts bruised and glowing red from his abuse. Max only beat her once, when she hesitated to couple with a small, blond, Danish girl he had brought back to the mansion from the resort. But five strokes with a riding crop across the back of her thighs were enough to convince her to cooperate.
After the first day, the three groupies ceased to be the center of attention for the rock and rollers and their use became more of an afterthought. The three musicians had to wait 8 hours after their arrival for their blood tests to prove out, certifying them free of sexually transmitted diseases. Until then, they were forbidden to partake of the island’s fruits. When the phone call came in, Slaughter gave a loud, “Woo hoo!” and the band was off to enjoy the cornucopia of female flesh that the island offered. Other than when the boys returned to the mansion for refreshing, at night when they were ready to settle in and in the mornings when their lusts were new, the girls were kept in tiny cages, their physical needs serviced by the African servant.
In spite of their cruel treatment, there was, as Max had anticipated, sobbing and crying when the girls were told that the band was leaving the island without them. At least from Miriam and Roxanne. Daphne was too far gone from her abuse at the hands of the demonic drummer to do much of anything. Roxanne's pleas were especially piteous. She tearfully promised to be Max'x whore forever, to fuck all of his freinds, to do anyhting he wanted. Max just laughed.
At the band’s special request, they had missed out on it last time, Rukimo had permitted the girls to be branded with the distinctive ‘k’ right there in the mansion just before the band departed. The girls were draped and secured firmly over special frames that the guards had brought up and made to watch while the irons were heated in the brazier. The boys had never heard women scream so loudly as the red hot iron was put to their flesh. Deke actually felt a little sick as he heard Miriam practically pour out her soul when the iron kissed her. Once the band had gone their way, the antiseptic salve containing the red dye that would color the brand permanently was applied and the girls were transported down to Rukimo’s for their formal training.
Jana had spent an hour or more being abused by the guards after Creeper left her with them the first day. Once he had gone, the men released her from the ottoman and turned her onto her back, her rear collar ring affixed to the ring in the ottoman and her ankles raised and fastened on either side. To her surprise, the first order of business was not the plunging of the guards’ thick black cocks into her pussy. After running his hands over her body, caressing the insides of her bruised thighs, the first guard, Jana thought of him later as ‘Scarface’ since he had a long, thick scar down his right cheek, knelt between her outstretched knees and lowered his face to her loins.
She shuddered when she felt his thick tongue run the length of her slit. The other guard, who had a neatly trimmed beard on his prominent chin, played with her breasts, massaging and caressing them while Scarface enflamed her lusts with his tongue and lips. Jana resisted as long as she could, but the efforts of the two large, broad shouldered men soon had her panting with lust. She cursed herself when she came, screaming her passion through her distended, rounded lips. It was after that that the men fucked her. She came three more times before they were through.
The experience stayed with her a long time. It wasn’t the fact of being fucked by black men. She had had two black lovers in her day, gentle, considerate lovers, and she had been excited at the contrast between their dark flesh and her coffee colored skin. But as she gazed back at the leering faces of the guards while they thrust their thick, hard cocks deeply inside her, she could not but associate their strange black forms with demons who had emerged from the primordial jungle to take possession of her, to drag her into hell. The fact that they could so easily drive her to sexual ecstasy made them seem possessed of the ability to cast an evil spell on her body and her mind.
Jana took her branding relatively well and spent the next three weeks training underground. Twice, she had the opportunity to meet up with the girls from the plane. She had watched once when the big breasted blond girl they called Miriam had, in a joint training session with three other frightened young girls, been beaten by one of the guards. Not that she had done anything wrong, it was just her turn. And later, while several black guards watched, she had made the two backed beast with the girl with long, black hair that she had seen raped by Max on the plane. Obediently, she lay atop the pale skinned, young girl and, placing her lips between her thighs, sucked her pussy until she came. The girl serviced her from underneath and Jana was the beneficiary of the girl’s developing cunnalinguist skills.
True to his word, Creeper had visited her every day of his stay, piling further abuse on her, and had had the word ‘slut’ added to her tattoo. She carried that denotation of her proclivity to passion on her belly from that time onwards. Not many of the slave girls were tattooed on the island and she did garnish extra attention because of it. After a year of service at the resort, she was purchased by an Egyptian and served out the rest of her useful days in a posh Alexandria bordello catering to the extreme peccadilloes of the upper crust in a converted hareem.
Daphne, the slender delicate beauty who had been unfortunate to draw Slaughter on that first day in the limo, had in fact suffered too much abuse at his hands to be considered prime island material. The cruel drummer had scarred her rear end and breasts and she was never able to generate sufficient enthusiasm for her new profession. She was sold to a whorehouse in Mombasa where she fell under the tutelage of a 250 lb, broad faced, cruel African madam. She ran a saloon on the outskirts that catered to the many gangsters and white adventurers who pervaded the city. It was a real bucket of blood kind of a joint and one night, while standing by her customer, a grizzled Belgian mercenary who was playing cards with an African bad boy, a dispute broke out over whether a deck of card should have four or five aces. The men leapt to their feet at the same time, drawing their weapons. The Belgian was just a little faster, and as his bullet pierced the throat of the African, the other fellow’s shot went wide just a little to the right. Daphne was struck in the center of her chest and flew back. She was dead when she hit the floor.
Miriam and Roxanne trained well and, being delectable beauties, were assimilated into the resort without any problems.
Many weeks later, the band was at the end of its Scandinavian tour. Things had not gone well for them since their visit to the island. Their new album was not selling as briskly as expected and the persistent rumors regarding the disappearance of young girls after their concerts were becoming a problem. They had all, including Creeper, received subpoenas to testify before a Spanish magistrate in Madrid in a few days. Creeper assured them that all would be well as he ushered them onto a small two engine prop plane at a remote Narvik airport, selected in order to avoid the hoard of reporters that was hounding them with inconvenient questions. Creeper told them that everything would be taken care of. He would meet up with them later. He had twelve young, blond Nordic females to see to, waiting in cages below the decks of a large fishing trawler in Oslo.
The plane took off almost immediately, and, an hour later was miles above the North Sea on its way to an airfield in Scotland. It was a boring flight with no groupies to abuse and there were no amenities on the plane. Slaughter got fed up and knocked on the door to the pilot’s cabin. There was no answer. After banging repeatedly, he forced the door open. He turned to his fellow band members in surprise. “There’s no fucking pilot!” he yelled out frantically. Max and Deke had just sufficient time to react with shock and disbelief when an explosion shook the tiny craft, blasting it into a thousand pieces. No bodies were ever recovered and the band went down in rock and roll fame as having ridden the Buddy Holly Express.
Roxanne was in one of the guests’ lounges servicing one of a party of Germans when the news came over the large plasma TV screen. Her long, black hair, they had let her keep it, was draped around her face like a curtain. She was kneeling over on a large hass
ock, her wrists locked behind her, not because of any need to control her, but for the titillation of the guest who was using her. Her breasts were crushed against her thighs and a blond haired Teutonic looking man was easing himself in and out of her rear opening. The broadcast was in German and she was paying no attention to it. She was concentrating at bringing pleasure to the huge cock that was filling her and deriving some for herself. She had learned quickly that the only way to preserve her sanity was to wrest what satisfaction she could from her constant sexual abuse. And she had become somewhat enamored over the past few months of having her anal opening plowed. The guards at Rukimo’s had taught her to enjoy it.
But when she heard the words Day-Glo Dreams in the harsh, guttural accent of the announcer, she looked up to the TV. There was a publicity photo of the depraved band members on the screen. It was immediately followed by a video of men pulling airplane wreckage from a choppy sea. A sensation of glee went through her at the demise of the men who had kidnapped her and had treated her so cruelly. The video footage was followed by a picture of the band manager, Creeper, who had so evilly enticed her and her two friends into the limousine that night. Good, she thought as the cock in her rear began to drive her to the point of climax. They’re all dead. They got what they deserved. And then she came.
But in fact Creeper, alias Jon Pennington, alias Reggie the Snatcher, true name Reggie Glasser, had not been on the plane, although a dozen witnesses said he had. He was on the deck of the Norwegian fishing trawler, standing by the rail, anticipating his friendly reception by one of Klitzman’s boats somewhere off the Canary Islands. The pretty young blond girls were all properly stored below, anxiously pondering their fate. It had been a good run. Two dozen Americans, more than 50 Europeans and now these 12 Scandinavian beauties. He was up more than two million dollars, much more than he had ever been able to amass during his days as a freelance snatcher for the ‘k’ organization. He had, of course, managed the considerable funds of the now defunct band, and their heirs would find that most of that money had disappeared.