by Paul Blades
The lanky girl had long, graceful fingers capped by pretty, red painted fingernails. The fingers poked between her thighs and were caressing the tender skin. I could see her twin openings beckoning to me. But most importantly, I could see the telltale glistening of arousal between her flush pussy lips. Slaves did not have the right to pleasure themselves without permission from a master, and I was smart enough to know that I was not good looking enough to inspire feminine arousal on sight. The saucy wench had moistened her pussy as an enticement to me to give her another round of passionate fucking. She was gambling on my arousal overcoming my sense of discipline. It was a good gamble.
I walked slowly over to the bed, my eyes glued on the pouting lips of her sex and the moist, soft tunnel between them. I ran my hand over her pale, soft ass and slid my hands downwards to her slit. My resolve to exercise was weakening. I pressed my fingers into the tight but pliant hole and Patricia moaned.
“Ohhhh, master!” she sighed, pushing her sex back to envelop my fingers. I raised my hand to my lips, and pressed my fingers to my tongue. The unmistakable scent of female arousal wafted into my nose as I sampled the tart, pungent fluid. My mind knew that the girl was giving me a come-on, but my prick didn’t care.
My little playmate between my legs had raised its bulbous, fleshy head. My mind measured the enrapturing warmth of the slave girl’s beckoning sheath against the strain of five miles’ loping in the tropical sun. I don’t have to tell you which won.
I knelt on the bed behind the girl and stroked my hardened tool along the lips of Patricia’s well trained purse. My reward was another tantalizing moan from the girl. As I slid my cock in slowly, sheathing it in the girl’s tantalizing hole, she sighed, deep and low. “Ohhhhhh, master!” she repeated. “Fuck your little slave girl, please!”
I needed no further encouragement. I began to plough the hot tunnel with great fervor. Each time I rammed my cock deep within the girl, she moaned lustfully. The muscles of her sex grabbed my pole firmly, causing it to drag and tug at her pussy’s walls. My hands were on her the firm, white cheeks of her ass. I could feel her body’s heat. As I rocked to and fro, each time sending pulses of pleasure through my body, I slipped my hands under her torso and grabbed her passion hardened breasts. She sighed loudly as I caressed her dangling mounds. I took her nipples between my thumb and forefinger and pinched them tightly. I could feel the girl’s body energized with passion as she called out, “Oh! Oh! Oh!”
Just as I felt my fluids start to rise, Patricia called out to me, “Please master, please fuck my ass! Oh, god, please, master!” Actually, she said ‘arse’, but I was in no mood to quibble about nomenclature. I drew my throbbing cock from her hot pussy and presented it to her brown star. It eased open as I pushed forward, its hard ring pursing tightly around me. When I was able to drive my rigid piece deep into her bowels, Patricia began to moan and cry out lustfully.
“Oh, yes, master! Ohhhhhhhh, yes, master! Yes. Fuck my arse! Fuck it!”
I responded to her entireties with alacrity. My torrid passion drove me harder and harder as I slammed my cock into her tight, hot rear passage. Suddenly, I felt the girl’s long, graceful fingers grab hold of my sac and caress my balls. She had reached under herself and, stretching her arms to their extremes, was able to seize hold of my sensitive testes. It was my turn to cry out as the sensation of the hands gently squeezing my balls sent me over the top. “Augggggh!” I cried as I pumped my fluids into her bowels. I could feel the ring of flesh at her bowels’ entrance grow tighter around my cock as the girl bucked and pushed against me. I heard her groans intermingle with mine as my tool spasmed, my body tingling with delight at each spurt.
When I was done, I leaned over on the girl’s back. She nestled her buttocks against me, drawing each drop of fluid from my softening cock. I reached my hand between her legs and found ample evidence of her orgasm. It was a grave sin for a slave girl to simulate passion. At the same time, it was expected that a slave girl would respond lustfully to a master’s ministrations. It was a difficult dilemma, especially for one who was new to her chains. I would not have to punish Patricia.
I had just slid my cock from her wrinkled little hole when the telephone rang. Timing is everything.
“Wiggins,” I answered, trying to recover my breath.
“Harry, good morning.” It was Rukimo’s deep, sing song voice. “Did I interrupt something?”
“Just finished,” I panted.
The slave master laughed. “Good, good,” he said. “I would like you to come over to my office around 11 o’clock this morning, okay?”
A request from Rukimo was an order. I hadn’t seen him since the episode with Delia some weeks before. He had his job and I had mine. I had come to understand that Rukimo mingled very little with the general population of Klitzman’s little resort.
“Sure, sure,” I answered. Patricia had taken advantage of the interruption to retrieve a hot, soapy washcloth from the bathroom and she used it to clean my cock. The heat of the washcloth made me moan.
“Harry,” Rukimo said teasingly. “Can’t you stop for even a minute?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled.
He laughed again. “See you at eleven, Harry,” he said and rang off.
* * * * * * * * * * * * *
I made my way over to Rukimo’s lair at about 10:45. Rukimo was waiting for me in his office. As usual, he was not alone, but was tormenting a small, young, brown haired slave girl. The girl was connected by her wrists to a chain which hung from the ceiling. The trick was that her wrists were locked behind her back. Rukimo was pulling on the other end of the chain. He was teaching the girl her slave mantra and every time she mispronounced a word or stumbled on a phrase, he would give a little tug on the chain and the girl would wince in pain.
“What is your purpose?” he asked her.
“To serve and obey,” was her discomforted reply.
“How is this done?” the African queried.
“With my body and my life.”
“And what is your duty?”
“To remain open to those who desire me.”
“And what are you called?”
“I am called slave.”
Simple, but effective. Her accent betrayed her non-English speaking origins, although I couldn’t place it. I watched Rukimo perform for a few minutes and then gave a little cough.
Rukimo looked up and laughed. “A man must have his pleasures,” he said. He gave the chain one last tug and released it. The girl fell to her knees. Rukimo exchanged a few words of Tomoro, the local dialect, to the guard who was standing in the room who then picked the girl up and led her back to the cells.
“I have a job for you, Harry,” Rukimo told me.
“I already have a job,” I replied. I kind of liked the night club manager routine.
“No, a real job, Harry, drawing on your specialty,” the huge black man explained. He was looking me dead in the eye, as if waiting to see me flinch.
Here it was, I thought. The thing I had been dreading. When I agreed to be a fink for the government, Bederson, my recruiter, had assured me that he could ‘fix’ anything I did by way of crimes while undercover. He had also told me that I would have a contact, a way of getting information out, and me too, if necessary. But that had turned out to be, so far, untrue. What if the rest was just as false? What if Bederson was playing some game of his own? And who was I getting set up to kill?
Rukimo rose from his chair. “Come with me Harry,” he said. “There’s someone you know waiting for you.”
I followed Rukimo from his office and up to ground level on the elevator. We walked about a half mile along the winding brick walkway until we reached a gate. It was the same gate I had come in on. It was my first time out since I had arrived and it reminded me forcefully that there was another whole world out there, where you had to ask women if you wanted to fuck them. A world where, somewhere, some cop was looking over my mug shot and hoping he could be the one to bring me in.
There was an open topped utility vehicle, what we used to call a Jeep, waiting for us. A black, uniformed driver was sitting in it and as soon as we got in, he took off. We descended the plateau on which the resort sat and passed the gated airfield. The vehicle sped off down a narrow macadam roadway. Heavy undergrowth lined both sides. We had entered the jungle that surrounded the plateau and the heat immediately became suffocating. After about ten minutes, I began to smell the salty air of the ocean. We rounded a bend and entered a vast marina.
“Look at all the boats, Harry,” Rukimo instructed me. “We do a lot of shipping from here. Often times goods come in by plane and are taken out by boat on the same day. The harbor is deep too. See the freighter? Most of the stuff necessary to run the resort comes in that way: toilet paper, soap, canned goods, towels, sheets, liquor, what have you. The fresh stuff, meats, fish and vegetables are all flown in.”
“But all those smaller boats,” I asked, “what’re they for?”
“They make runs to the mainland or to freighters out at sea. Also, some of our guests arrive this way. See that long, white yacht?”
I looked where he was pointing. The yacht was about a half mile off shore, but I could see that it was at least 90 feet long.
“That belongs to a rather wealthy prince of a Middle Eastern country. He brings his friends and they sometimes spend months here. Sometimes they bring girls back. Sometimes they bring girls here.”
I realized that I had seen only the tip of Klitzman’s iceberg.
“We keep a fleet of ships on the mainland. It’s under government protection. We use the smaller boats to bring in some, let me say, ‘materials’ in here. The smaller boats are quicker and harder for any prying Western navies to spot or catch. Not that that’s been too much of a problem. But it pays to be safe.”
The utility vehicle ran around the outskirts of the harbor area and pulled up to a dock at the far end. We got out of the SUV and Rukimo led me to the end of the dock. There was a large cabin cruiser tied up there. As we got close to it, I saw Thorndike and Cholo sitting in chairs in the stern. A large black guard was at the helm. Rukimo patted me on the back and told me, “See you later, Harry.” He smiled his most enigmatic smile and walked away.
I had heard talk of guys being thrown to the sharks. Slaves too. It was not an end that I would wish on anyone, especially myself. But this had all the looks of a hit.
Thorndike no longer wore the bandage over his nose, but it did still look a little crooked. I had talked to him a few times since the fight and, while he did not seem resentful of my opportunistic blow, I wasn’t sure that he was 100% okay with it either. Cholo had ribbed me about it, not quite good naturedly, calling me ‘champ’ and shit like that. I knew that both of them were stone cold killers. I didn’t want to get on the boat, but what choice did I really have.
“Hey, Harry,” Thorndike called out. “Have a beer.” What was this, a party boat, I asked myself.
“Sure,” I said, stepping onto the deck from the pier. Cholo tossed me a Rolling Rock. “Well, what do you know?” I said to him as I twisted the top off of the green bottle. “A working man’s beer. Way out here.”
“Cholo’s from Philly,” Thorndike said. “It’s the only beer he’ll drink.”
“Yeah,” said Cholo.
Cholo was his usual morose self. Thorndike was taciturn. I heard the engine rev up. There was a bucket of chum on the deck.
I sat down on the gunwale, one hand holding on to the canopy for support, the other on my beer. “Where we goin’?” I asked.
“Fishing,” Thorndike deadpanned.
The boat traveled north of the island. After about an hour, the shoreline was just a little speck. I had gone through my fourth beer. I wished there was some whiskey or gin aboard. If I was going to be shark food, I wanted to be drunk. Beer just wouldn’t do it.
Neither Thorndike or Cholo spoke the entire trip out except to pass fresh beers back and forth. The sun was at or near its hottest of the day and I was sweating up a storm. My stomach was a little queasy. Had Lois, the reporter from Morianos’ way station, talked? Had Delia finally dimed me out? I had been looking for both of them for weeks. I was glad that I had gotten laid that morning. I made a note to send Patricia a thank you from the next life.
Once the island passed from sight, Thorndike got up and told the pilot to bring the boat about. The engine quieted down to a low rumble. What these guys had to do wouldn’t take long so there was no sense in shutting off the motor. My palms were wet with sweat and my throat was dry. I watched Cholo pour the chum into the water as the boat drifted to a stop.
We sat drifting for about fifteen minutes before the first shark showed up. It was a large tiger shark, with a large grey dorsal fin that stuck out of the water. Just like in the movies, I thought. I wondered how long it would take before you lost consciousness. Thorndike was now standing opposite me. He tossed his empty bottle into the water.
“Harry,” he said, “do you know what a moment of truth is?”
I tossed my bottle in too. I looked him square in the eyes. If he was going to push me over the side I was going to take him with me. Cholo produced a 9 millimeter automatic. Its business end was pointed at me.
“Yeah,” I said, “I know what it is. It’s where you find out what you’re really made of.”
“That’s right, Harry,” he replied. “And today we’re going to see what you’re really made of.
I started to say something back to him, probably something stupid like, ‘so’s your old man,’ or ‘fuck you’. But I heard a commotion from below decks. A man was being dragged up the stairway by the guard. I heard his body thump along on the stairs. The tall black guard dragged him back to the stern and dropped him in front of me. It was Morianos.
“Morianos!” I thought. Was that it? Was I supposed to ice Morianos? Well, it would be a pleasure. God knew how many women he had sent on their way to Klitzman’s island. I bet that the natives of that little village where he had his airfield wouldn’t be sorry to see him go, either.
“I think that you two have met,” Thorndike said as Morianos rose to his knees between us. He was gagged and trussed up like a holiday turkey. He eyes were aflame with anger and fear. There was a bruise on his head and blood had trickled down his brow and over his face. In spite of being on the verge of a violent death, he was challenging and unrepentant.
“I know him,” I told Thorndike. I looked at Thorndike. “Is this why I’m here. You guys want me to do the job on Morianos. To make my bones, is that it?”
“Well, sort of,” Thorndike replied. He nodded to the guard who pulled Morianos to his feet.
“Morianos has been saying a lot of nasty things about you, Harry. He says you’re a plant. He says the two reporters were there to see you. He says that you wouldn’t fuck the one girl because she was on your team, or you on hers, one or the other. What do you say to that, Harry?”
My stomach grew cold. “He’s full of shit,” I said without hesitation. “I never saw those girls before in my life. I’ve been in prison for almost four years. Your guy recruited me. I wasn’t looking for anything.”
“Then you won’t mind doing the job on him. And the girl too.”
The guard dragged a frightened, naked Lois from below decks. She was gagged and bound and her eyes darted around fearfully. She had to know that being tied up and brought out on a boat ten miles from shore was not a regular routine of slave life.
I didn’t want to kill the girl. I looked at Thorndike and then Cholo. Maybe if I got the gun I could make a run for it with the boat, I thought. But who was I kidding? I had no idea where we even were. I had no idea how much gas we had. And I would have to kill Cholo, Thorndike and the African or somehow get them all overboard. The odds weren’t good. I looked at the girl. I didn’t want to do it, but it was her or me.
“Give me the piece,” I said to Cholo.
“Fuck you, gringo,” Cholo said. “That’s the easy way. Spies and traitors
get tossed overboard.”
Morianos had known it, but the girl became frantic at the news. She started to whine and wail behind her gag, struggling in the arms of the African. She looked at me, pleadingly. This is what Thorndike meant by moment of truth. Did I have the cruelty and hardness to throw a pretty, defenseless, young girl over the side into a nest of ravenous sharks? Could I do it to Morianos?
I looked Morianos in the eye. He was a skunk. But did he deserve to die this way? Well, as a movie cowboy once said, “Deserving ain’t got nothing to do with it.”
“No problem,” I said.
I grabbed Morianos by his shirt and dragged him to the side of the boat. When I looked over, there were now at least four or five sharks cruising through the chum filled water. The boat was gently rocking and I had to spread my feet for balance. I looked Morianos in the eyes. He glared at me with hatred. “Sorry, fella,” I said to myself. Without warning, I lifted Morianos up by his arms and tossed him over the side. He kicked and flailed his legs as he plunged into the deep green water. There was a fulmination of sharks. The water churned and deep red streams flowed to the surface. Since Morianos was gagged, he made no noise. But I could see his head pop up out of the water as he tumbled and turned in response to the large chunks of flesh that were being torn from his body. It only took about a minute and the commotion stopped. I watched while Morianos’ torso drifted away, jolted by the occasional impact of a shark’s tearing bite.
Lois was hanging limp in the African’s arms. She was whining and crying. I looked at her forlornly. I had never done a woman before. I looked back at the water. What a way to go, I thought.
Thorndike’s words came back to me. It was a moment of truth. How far down the evolutionary ladder had I fallen? Was I so corrupted, so fearful of death that I would do something that would haunt me the rest of my life? I looked at the naked girl. I had fucked her, used her against her will, yes. But I could rationalize that. I didn’t bring her to Klitzman’s island. I hadn’t enslaved her. My only hope of life was to play Klitzman’s game. But, I wondered, if I did this, would I have a life I wanted to live?