I was not scheduled to interview Island Royale’s female partner, Cynthia, until the afternoon and therefore assumed I would be “on my own” throughout Wednesday morning. Greg, however, caught me as I was leaving the dining room following breakfast and suggested I accompany him for a tour of the “Ladies’ Boudoir,” located at the far northern end of the building.
The Boudoir consists of a series of connecting rooms, all visible from the Compound through the open archways on the southern side of the building, and it is in this area that the slaves prepare themselves for their next assignment. Although the rooms are rarely crowded there is a seemingly constant stream of activity throughout the day and evening hours as the females periodically visit the Boudoir facilities to clean themselves, apply fresh makeup, and receive new clothing directives.
A long tiled stall with numerous showerheads connects from a relatively small area in which the girls disrobe, surrender their clothing to an attendant, and receive towels. As Greg was explaining to me how Island Royale determines the slaves’ wardrobe assignments, two nude young women strolled by us, smiling and talking quietly among themselves, completely indifferent to our presence as they each stepped casually into the stall. I enjoyed watching these girls for several minutes as they showered before Greg finally nudged me onward.
From the shower room Greg led me to a much larger area dominated by a wall of mirrors hung behind a long narrow countertop. An assortment of combs, brushes, and small containers of makeup lay scattered all along the counter and several naked women sat or stood near the counter applying cosmetics. I guess I had not really thought about the sex slaves needing to “ready” themselves for the Guests, and asked Greg about this.
“Yeah, the ‘primping room’ is a rather inefficient part of a girl’s daily routine here. I don’t mind them showering so much – heck, who wants to fuck a bitch with somebody else’s jism dripping from her twat? But every time they shower they’ve got to brush their hair and put on their makeup again.
“We’ve been experimenting with so-called ‘permanent makeup’ for a few years now. Basically it’s tattooing. We tattoo eyeliner, mascara, and we’re now trying to permanently apply lipstick. You simply can’t imagine how much lipstick these girls go through in a month.
“Now the younger ones – the preteens – don’t really need cosmetics. They all have that ‘childhood glow’ about them, although sometimes it is a turn-on to have some sweet little baby pussy wearing a lot of heavy women’s makeup. Anyway, though, about the time that a girl starts growing some tits she starts losing that ‘childhood makeup’ and starts needing cosmetics. We buy mascara by the truckload around here! That’s why we’ve been trying this ‘permanent makeup’ experiment: To cut down on the cost of cosmetics and the time the girls have to spend here putting it on.
“The jury’s still out on it, though. It takes us a lot of time to tattoo eye shadow and such, but the main problem is that once a girl has received permanent makeup, we’re pretty much stuck with whatever we’ve done to her. And some of our Guests don’t really like the girls wearing all that much makeup.”
We continued walking across the “primping room” and stopped alongside several tables, each equipped with footrests similar to gynecological stirrups. A naked brunette in her early twenties lie calmly on one of the tables, her legs spread wide, while another woman with a towel wrapped around her hips and armed with a set of tweezers carefully plucked stray hairs from around the brunette’s vagina.
“I would have thought you would have used electrolysis here,” I commented.
“We do,” he replied. “But electrolysis takes a long time and doesn’t really result in permanent hair loss. True, electrolysis kills the particular follicle treated. But a woman is constantly sprouting new hair in her armpits, on her legs and around her pussy, so the process must be repeated periodically. I suppose if we had the manpower we could give treatments more often, but for now the women all take turns grooming each other between sessions. We have all of the girls shave their pits and legs every few days, and their pussies as we direct, but they still need someone else to really take a close look at their beavers.”
“How do you decide the hair pattern on a girl’s vulva?” I asked.
“It’s largely a matter of aesthetics, I guess, given her skin color, the fineness of her pubes, and her overall body shape. Few of us around here are really turned on by the sight of a thick bush, so we usually have the girls keep their snatch hairs pretty closely cropped. I’m actually kind of partial to bald pussies, so I tend to want to see their twats completely shaven, but sometimes it’s preferable to let her keep a little hair – especially if the girl’s got really wide hips or has a seriously discolored cunt or something.
“Some years ago, we actually tried to ‘tattoo’ a woman’s pussy to sort of lighten it up in color the way most little girls’ twats look. But the experiment was a dismal failure.”
“Well, for starters, we didn’t have a good local anesthetic available to us and had to strap the bitch down real tight because she couldn’t handle all those needles poking around her cunt. She just couldn’t keep any bladder control and pissed in George’s face more times than I care to think about before we finally decided to knock her out with a general anesthetic.
“But the bigger problem was that George wasn’t able to inject the lighter-colored ink all around her twat and still keep the color even. The bitch’s pussy ended up looking like she had a bad rash or something ‘cause it was so blotchy. We obviously had to sell her right away, but with that weird-looking snatch she certainly didn’t bring much at auction. So we gave up trying to tattoo girls’ pussies.”
“Have you tried other forms of cosmetic surgery? Breast augmentation, perhaps, or liposuction?”
“Nah,” Greg shrugged. “There really isn’t any point. All plastic surgery on a woman is performed to either correct a physical defect or disguise the onset of age. As often as these slaves get fucked, every one of them would need vaginoplasty – you, know, surgery to tighten up the pussy – by the time they’re thirty. It just makes more sense for us to simply sell a bitch when she gets too old or if she gets too fat and replace her with another girl from the Nursery. We’d be wasting our money investing in liposuction or a ‘tummy tuck’ or something and heck, even a nine-year-old with a big nose or crooked teeth can still give great head in a Burmese whorehouse. No, if a cunt isn’t good enough for us to keep, we just dispose of her.
“All of our girls are completely ‘natural.’ Some of course have very small knockers, but there’s no point in giving them a boob job because many of our Guests prefer to fuck a girl with tiny titties. There’s really no motivation for us to spend time or money altering a girl’s rack. For every Guest who might like the result, another would be disappointed.”
We walked on past the “primping room” and entered a large dressing area with a number of full-length mirrors on the far wall. A man sat on a stool behind a counter in the corner, and as each naked girl approached he would consult his computer screen before issuing her clothing. Some would be assigned dresses; others would receive a skirt or perhaps merely a blouse. Often he would simply shake his head and the girl would walk away: Management had dictated that she remain nude for awhile.
The dressing room constituted the end of the tour and we walked outside. Several Guests stood waiting impatiently for the girls as they exited, each eager to claim his next sexual conquest fresh from her shower. Greg confirmed that Cynthia would be available for me to interview later in the day, but indicated he had other business to which he needed to attend and promptly departed, heading back toward his office.
I gazed out over the Compound, contemplating a return to my suite to review for my upcoming meeting with Island Royale’s female partner, but as I started to leave a beautiful young girl of about sixteen years, naked except for a thin translucent scarf wrapped loosely around her hips, emerged from the Boudoir.
Her name was Piper, and as we walked I asked her if she was in session. “No, Master,” she replied. “I believe you are now,” I said. She smiled, pressed the button on her amulet, and stepped closer to my side. I lightly massaged her small right breast as I guided her away from the pool and down the long pathway leading to the beach. Her skin was incredibly smooth, and her firm upturned nipple felt good between my fingers.
I slid my hand down her side, glided over her hip, and firmly took hold of her taut right buttock. The girl reacted by lunging forward, her tits bobbing delightfully, but she soon regained her stride and together we strolled to the beach. She untied the thin makeshift skirt she had only recently received in the Boudoir and, tossing it to the side, gracefully dropped to the sand and opened her thighs. Neither of us seemed at all concerned as the flimsy scarf caught the breeze and went sailing into the late morning ocean air.
* * * * * * * *
I will admit I was apprehensive about meeting Cynthia.
It was intriguing to me, of course, that for years this woman had so actively and enthusiastically participated in the sexual exploitation of others of her gender, and there were a thousand or more questions I wanted to ask her, but I had rather suspected Cynthia to be a real “ball buster,” openly contemptuous of men, who would receive me with obvious loathing and disgust. Earlier in the day Greg had arranged for me to interview her in a fourth floor conference room in the northern wing of the hotel, but at the last minute Cynthia had insisted instead that we meet in her private office – on her “own turf” so to speak – and therefore as I was being led across the field and into the Nursery I braced myself for what I had expected to be a very chilly reception by Island Royale’s female partner. I was once again clad in my familiar khaki trousers, dress shirt and loafers rather than a robe or toga – no use feeling any more vulnerable than absolutely necessary, I had reasoned – and was grateful Management had thoughtfully arranged to have my clothing freshly laundered during the morning, for I of course had no other “regular” apparel to wear on the island and by this time my shirt in particular had become rather dirty and wrinkled. Nonetheless, as I entered Cynthia’s office I still felt quite nervous about our impending interview.
As it turns out I was completely wrong about Cynthia, as her demeanor is that of a calm and gentle school teacher even when no children are present. She cordially greeted me from behind her large and tastefully organized dark mahogany desk, uncluttered with but a laptop computer, a telephone, two matching antique Tiffany table lamps and a delicate clear crystal vase filled with freshly cut flowers, but she quickly invited me to sit with her for our discussions in a pair of charming and comfortable “ice cream parlor” chairs placed closely by a small round mahogany table on the near side of the room. These pleasantly informal surroundings, possessing a decidedly feminine touch, stood in marked contrast I noted to the comparatively Spartan accommodations I had observed during my earlier interview with Greg in his office.
Cynthia is a slim and still rather attractive middle-aged woman, and in her younger days had undoubtedly turned quite a few heads. She always dresses in loose-fitting jumpsuits while attending to her duties as caretaker of the Nursery, seldom wears makeup, and generally keeps her shoulder-length light brown hair tied securely in back with a plain elastic band. Although she is fluent in English, Cynthia is Austrian by birth and still speaks with a noticeable accent despite her many years of having lived and worked on the island, and it is perhaps in part because of that distinctively Aryan accent that I had been caught a bit off-balance by her warm and friendly nature.
Much like her two other “resident” partners, Cynthia seldom leaves Island Royale, preferring instead to focus on the seemingly countless details associated with the day-to-day management of the resort’s decidedly unique school for young girls. Cynthia has but one hobby, or at least only but the one to which she would confess to me: A passionate love of light classical music, particularly the 17th and 18th Century compositions of the Baroque period. While she is a voracious reader as well, she seldom reads anything except books relating to early childhood development or those that explore the latest theories in teaching methods, and she could not even recall for me the last novel she had picked up. As the only female on the island who does not serve as a submissive sex slave, although she is in frequent telephone contact with Greg and other resort managerial personnel Cynthia tends to remain physically to herself for the most part, sometimes going for days at a time without visiting the main hotel complex. She even maintains her own private quarters immediately adjacent to her office, complete with an outdoor patio and hot tub all enclosed within a tall privacy fence, and usually she has her meals brought to her rather than dine with the other administrators. For all of these seemingly reclusive traits, however, Cynthia does not appear in the least to be a lonely person and she assured me she socializes with others of the managerial staff on a regular basis, although for obvious reasons she avoids direct contact with the guests and is never seen in the Compound or recreational center of the resort except while in disguise. “It could be a bit awkward,” she told me with a slight smile.
Cynthia had not been one of the original partners, but had joined the group only a few years after the business had moved to West Africa. She had met and befriended John-Boy while in Great Britain as a student attending the prestigious London School of Economics, and had increasingly become interested in what the American had initially termed “a theoretical male-dominated society.” Only after several months of her persistent questioning did John-Boy finally reveal to her – “like peeling an onion,” as she put it – the actual existence of the brothel. Cynthia was fascinated with his description of the resort and immediately became an enthusiastic supporter of the enterprise. Following the conclusion of her classes for the year she agreed to accompany John-Boy to West Africa, initially intending only to serve as a short-term supervisory “Madam” to the sex staff before returning to the LSE, but upon her arrival Cynthia soon began to critically assess overall resort operations, within weeks had emerged as an active full-time managerial director, and she never resumed her university studies back in London.
Cynthia had astutely recognized that the chronic administrative difficulties the Three Partners had been experiencing in those early years stemmed principally from their erroneous belief that the females employed at the resort should all be young, physically attractive, but nonetheless sexually mature professional prostitutes who would simply play the role of “sex slave” while on duty. This fundamentally flawed premise, according to Cynthia, generated a myriad of recurring managerial problems: Jealousies among the women, persistent complaints about their wages and working conditions, a constant turnover in personnel, and – perhaps above all – the frequent refusal of many members of the sex staff to submit to some of the resort patrons’ more “unusual” sexual demands.
Cynthia changed all of that. She persuaded her male colleagues to discharge all of their prostitutes and instead acquire much younger females who, under her direction, could be appropriately educated and trained to actually become submissive and willing sex slaves. Upon Cynthia’s recommendation, the Partners reluctantly closed their profitable West African brothel, converted a portion of the prostitutes’ dormitory area into a “Nursery,” and over the course of several months obtained – through abduction and purchase – a dozen or so female children between the ages of four and five years who were immediately placed in her care. “There were a few lean years,” Cynthia recalls with a smile. “And at times the guys really weren’t sure it would all work out. But gradually, as my girls grew up a bit and learned what was expected of them, the guys saw I was right.”
The first practical demonstration of Cynthia’s teaching methods came almost three years after the Nursery had been created, when she and the other partners presented to a carefully selected gathering of invited male clients a bevy of naked little seven and eight year old girls, each willing and eager to skillfully perform fellatio as often as requested.
As more children were procured the Nursery was enlarged, and in time Cynthia’s initial “class” of young female sex slaves attained early adolescence and became available for vaginal intercourse. From that point on, resort patrons were able to use and enjoy the bodies of both prepubescent and sexually mature females – and profits soared. The enterprise continued to expand, eventually exceeding the capacity of their facilities, and after sixteen years of operation in West Africa the partners – once again at Cynthia’s urging – directed construction of the present resort complex in the South Seas, and the business once more relocated.
The overwhelming success of Island Royale is due in large part to Cynthia’s profound understanding of how, through proper indoctrination, a woman can be taught to believe that her only function in life is to sexually service men. How Cynthia has reconciled her participation in the training of human females to accept their existence as mere sexual playthings presented an appropriate opening for my interview.
* * * * * * * *
Question: You have made a career out of training young girls to become docile and obedient sex slaves. Does it ever both you, as a woman, to see your gender reduced to this?
Answer: Not a bit. Women around the world are by and large nothing more than whores.
Q: But there are, and have been, many women who have achieved greatness.
A: Sure, some women have. Madame Currie, Joan of Arc, Margaret Thatcher, perhaps. And there are others, of course. But there aren’t really all that many women who have gone on to become something other than the mother, wife, or mistress of a great man. On the whole, far more men have made significant contributions to mankind than have women.
Come on, be honest. Other than to birth Jesus, what else did Mary do?
Q: Even so, that’s quite a stretch to label all women as prostitutes, don’t you think?
A: But in the final analysis, isn’t that true?
Q: I hardly think the average suburban American housewife would consider herself a whore.
A: But isn’t she? Distilled to its essence, what is a whore? A woman who rents the use of her body for profit.
A prostitute is really being more honest. Pay her enough money and she’ll agree to let you fuck her. Your “average suburban housewife” does the same thing: She trades the use of her body in exchange for food, shelter, and an occasional gold or diamond trinket. Money is exchanged, whether it’s “up front” or hidden. At least a prostitute doesn’t try to hide the transaction.
If you stop and think about it, what else is a woman good for except to fuck, breed, and raise children? Everything else can be done by a man, and generally a man does a better job.
Q: You’re being awfully hard on your own gender.
A: Not hard, just realistic. Look, I can’t help having been born female. But that doesn’t mean I must resign myself to accepting nothing more than a traditional female role.
Look at Stephen Hawking. A brilliant mind, tragically trapped within a useless, quadriplegic body. Does the fact that he lacks the ability to function as a normal man stop him? No, of course not. He long ago accepted the limitations imposed upon him by his handicap and moved on.
I’ve merely accepted the handicap of having been born female, and I’ve moved on.
Q: You mean you have no interest in sex?
A: Of course I do! And when I want to get laid, I get laid. But I have the ability to do other things as well. I have chosen to be more than just the simple, fucking, baby-producing machine that most other women are.
Q: And is that, then, how you reconcile your role as the enslaver of females?
A: “Enslaver?” You make it sound as if these women are being abused. These girls are pampered!
They don’t need to cook or clean. They don’t need to change any messy diapers. Heck, they don’t need to worry about anything in life except to make sure their masters are sexually satisfied.
They live the carefree life the suburban American housewife secretly dreams about. And, they get to live that carefree life in a beautiful South Pacific island setting.
Q: At least while they’re here. I gather most of these girls will die within a few years after they have been discarded by the resort.
A: Well, all life ends. And for many people – both women and men – the end can be rather painful indeed. That’s been true ever since life began. I can’t change that.
Granted, the life expectancy of one of our women is only about thirty years if she leaves Island Royale, but until very recently the average life expectancy of all women had only been about thirty-five to forty years.
Q: But the average life expectancy of a woman, at least in the developed countries, is now well more than twice that. Dr. George tells me these women will all probably die from some highly preventable disease within a few years of their departure.
A: So? What’s your point? A woman’s ability to bear children still basically ends when she turns thirty-five or so. By then her role has shifted to providing support: Support for her man, during his most productive years, or support for her daughters who are by then raising their own children.
We don’t need women to bear children here, and all of our guests have already achieved great success and fortune. A woman in her late twenties, leaving our resort, has already fulfilled her life’s mission. She’s done all that is expected of her.
Q: Still, I consider that a rather cold way of looking at things and I would think that you, as a woman, would feel differently. Does it really not bother you to treat your fellow human females as … well, animals?
A: Do you mean, “There but for the Grace of God go I?”
Q: Ok, yes.
A: To be honest with you, sometimes I dream of changing places with one of these slaves. No worries; no cares. To live only to fuck, and to fuck incessantly, without fear of shame, pregnancy or disease.
Actually, once (smiling as she leans back in her chair) – oh, gosh, this was years ago, back when we were still in Africa – I did put myself “in service” for a week, just for the fun of it. I couldn’t let the women see me, of course, so I didn’t hang out naked around the swimming pool or anything, but….
(Still smiling as her voice trails off, Cynthia sighs and silently gazes out the window for awhile before continuing.) Well, anyway, back in those days we didn’t have a computer directory but we did keep a card catalogue of the sex staff up at the front desk. If he wanted to use a particular girl or woman, a Guest could pull out her card and reserve her rather than have to wait out in the courtyard for her to become available. I had a picture taken of myself in the nude and a card made up, and we stuck my card in the box right along with the others. The Guests never knew I wasn’t one of the “regular” sex slaves.
(Laughing now.) I still have that card around here somewhere.
Anyway, while I may not have been the most requested girl at the resort, I did get summoned over thirty times during the week my card was in the box, and I just had a blast serving as a submissive little sex slave, fucking and sucking off different men all day and night. It was exhilarating to be placed completely under the control of a man and to function as nothing more than a mindless sexual plaything!
And, believe me: I worked hard while I was “in service.” Mind you, most of the guys that screwed me were good-looking enough and were reasonably… well-endowed, if you know what I mean, but I did have to service some rather disgusting-looking men and a few real “pencil dicks.” A sex slave must treat all of her masters with proper respect, of course, but sometimes it’s difficult for a girl to get enthusiastic about being laid by some fat slob with a tiny cock.
But, oh, it sure was a lot of fun serving as a sex slave….
Q: You “served” only that one time, then?
A: Yes, just that once, regrettably. But I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.
And so, no, to answer your question, I don’t have any qualms whatsoever about what I do. At times I actually envy these girls.
Q: Well, Ok then. Let’s move on. I gather you are in charge of the Nursery.
A: That’s right. From the moment we receive a new crop of girls until the time they are ready to be released into the Compound, I’m responsible for them.
Q: You serve as both “mother” and “teacher” to these children.
A: (Smiling) Yes, I suppose that’s true. The girls, especially the younger ones, tend to want to embrace me as their mother surrogate.
Q: And do you welcome that embrace?
A: Of course I do. Little girls are little girls, regardless of whether they are being trained to become engineers or sex slaves. They look to me for both guidance and comfort, and I try to be a loving, caring adult for them throughout their stay in the Nursery.
Q: And are you sad, then, when they leave the Nursery?
A: Oh, heck no! By the time one of my girls is ready to join the others in the Compound, she’s eager to leave and I’m equally ready to see her go. I have my hands full just dealing with the younger ones, believe me.
Q: Obviously you don’t behave like the other women in the Compound, though. How do you explain to these girls – who you say view you as a “mother surrogate” – why you wear clothing and they don’t, or why you are not expected to perform sexual services upon demand like they are?
A: Well, the term “mother surrogate” may not have been completely accurate. Maybe “gentle, adult authority figure” is more like it. The girls never see me without clothing, never see me engage in sex, and sometimes I even join the guys in fondling the little ones out in the playground. As far as the slaves are concerned, I’m just one of their many “masters.” In fact, all of the girls refer to me as “Master” or “Master Cynthia.” They never call me “Mistress.” They don’t realize that I’m female.
(Laughing) All they know is that I’ve got a high-pitched voice and have never had them suck my cock!
Q: These girls are certainly being trained to provide men sexual pleasure, but they also spend a lot of time around the other females. How do you handle a girl who seems to be…
A: Attracted to other women? We haven’t really had any significant problems with Lesbianism over the years.
Oh, I’ve seen some of the Nursery girls petting and fondling each other, exploring each other’s bodies and so forth, and usually most of the youngsters will try a little cunnilingus shortly after they’ve given their first few blow jobs. But I think that’s more a phase the girls go through as they learn about their genitals rather than an indication of a girl’s sexual orientation – and so that kind of behavior doesn’t bother us.
Over the years, I guess we have had a couple of handfuls or so of girls who clearly demonstrated lesbian tendencies as they attained early adolescence – and who knows? There may be a number of dykes out in the Compound right now! But female homosexuality really hasn’t been a problem for us.
You see, our slaves view providing sex as simply their function in life – their sole function in life – and so sex isn’t really an intimacy issue for them. Although they of course feel pleasure while being laid, they don’t acquire any personal or romantic attachments while they are in session, and since they each will have already been fucked thousands of times well before their sixteenth birthday, they get no special enjoyment from simple sexual arousal. A slave may on occasion turn to another female for some sexual gratification, especially if she’s been in maintenance service for a few days and hasn’t been mounted in awhile, but none of them really have the time to develop any serious relationships with one another and they get no unique “thrill” from having another girl lick their pussy or anything.
Heck, most of these girls – especially the younger ones – get their pussies licked several times each day by our guests!
No, almost all of our slaves display absolutely no particular personal sexual orientation. If a girl turns out to be a true Lesbian, it will become pretty obvious to us once she has completed Graduate School because she will resist having sex with our guests. If that happens, we simply have her shipped out, just like we do if a slave is not physically attractive or whenever she gets too old for us.
Q: Let’s talk about the training these girls will receive. I gathered earlier from Greg that formal training doesn’t begin immediately.
A: No, it doesn’t. When the girls first arrive, they all tend to be very shy and scared, of course. Those first few days, after we’ve taken away their clothing, tend to be the hardest on them – especially if they don’t speak English. But they calm down soon and since all of the other little girls are naked as well, they get over their shyness pretty quickly.
The next step is to see Dr. George for a complete physical examination in preparation for their surgery. George tries to have each new slave sterilized within the first two months or so of her arrival. The sooner that can be done, the sooner she’ll begin to heal. A slave will start her training once she has recovered from her surgery.
Q: Please describe the training a girl will receive.
A: Well (inhaling deeply) it’s quite a rather long process.
For the first six months or so after they’ve been spayed, we really don’t do much of anything with them. We just want the girls to become comfortable being naked around men. Greg, George, other administrators, and sometimes even a few Guests will spend time out in the playground area with them. No sexual activity at first, but later on we’ll start touching them, rubbing their little pussies and such. Basically desensitizing them and “un-doing” any residual reluctance the girls might have to having their genitals fondled.
Formal classes won’t begin for almost a year following the girl’s arrival, but by then she will already have learned quite a bit of English and will have become acquainted with both the Nursery and with the other girls in her “class.” And most importantly, by the time she is ready to begin her formal lessons she will have learned that men are her masters and that she must obey them at all times.
Q: I’ve seen some of your classrooms. For the most part they look remarkably like any other grammar school classroom.
A: And so they are! Each day, we have the same lessons in reading, writing, and arithmetic you’d expect to have in any other early grammar school class.
Q: Except of course none of your students attend class wearing much clothing.
A: Many schools require that their students wear approved uniforms to class. (Smiles) Our school uniform is simply a little girl’s “birthday suit.”
Q: In addition to the traditional lessons in “The Three ‘R’s,” what other subjects do you teach?
A: Well, that’s where our curriculum differs from that of a typical grammar school, I suppose. We obviously don’t spend any time at all on history, geography, or other non-essential subjects. We do spend a lot of time teaching the girls oral sexual technique.
We’ll start with showing them pictures of naked men. Pictures of both flaccid and erect penises. Circumcised and uncircumcised. Big fat cocks and little “pencil dicks.” You name it.
Q: How do the girls react when they first see pictures of male genitalia?
A: Oh, as you would expect, at first there’s a lot of nervous giggling. After all, most of these girls will probably have never even seen a penis before. But we emphasize the importance of the penis and teach them to love, respect, and desire to service the penis.
We keep a number of accurately molded plastic phalluses the girls can touch, hold and examine. We’ll start with teaching them how to stroke the penis and especially how to be gentle with the testicles. In time, we’ll invite Guests to the classroom to be masturbated by the students. A girl must of course learn what happens when a man climaxes before she can be taught anything else.
Q: How do the girls react when they touch a man’s penis for the first time?
A: Well, obviously a plastic dildo is not a real penis, and most of them at first just want to hold it in their hands and look at it. (Laughing) They’re all amazed at first with how the penis swells and hardens! They seem to have little trouble getting used to dealing with a man’s dick, though, and once a girl has given a few hand jobs, we can start teaching her how to use her mouth and tongue.
Generally, a girl is a bit tentative the first time she puts a man’s penis in her mouth. But they all get used to it very quickly and we can get on to more advanced lessons.
Q: Such as?
A: Well, I gather you visited the Nursery yesterday morning. In the class you visited we were working with some of our six-year-olds on licking testicles and stimulating the base of the penis. It’s very important for a young girl to learn how to provide a man pleasure in ways other than simply sticking his cock in her mouth.
And we teach other things as well. Despite what they seem to always want to show in the porn flicks, most men don’t want to shoot their wad all over a girl’s face or breasts. Most prefer to climax into her mouth. So we teach the girls how to deflect a man’s semen away from the back of her throat as he discharges. Nothing turns a guy off more than to have a girl gag while he’s ejaculating!
But the girls all need to know far more than simply how to swallow cum without choking. A girl needs to know, for example, how to pace herself so that neither her head nor her tongue gets tired. Or how to handle a Guest who is prone to premature ejaculation – or the opposite: How to be patient with a guy who’s slow to “get it up.”
Oh, there’s quite a lot a young girl needs to learn about in order to give a man a quality blow job. We teach all of that to these girls.
Q: You don’t actually instruct them in sexual intercourse, though.
A: No, there isn’t really any need to at that stage. A girl will leave the Nursery when she’s seven or eight years old – far too young to safely engage in vaginal sex – but by the time she’s eleven or so she will have been in the Compound for quite a while and will have seen women being mounted hundreds – if not thousands – of times, so by the time George decides a girl’s old enough to provide full service to our guests, she’s already pretty knowledgeable about sex and extremely anxious to get laid. (Chuckling) I sometimes tease Greg that the only reason the Graduate School program lasts as long as two weeks is because he and George get off on fucking eleven-year-old girls.
Have you had a chance to screw any pre-teens while you’ve been here, by the way?
Q: No. Dr. George told me there aren’t any girls in the Graduate School at the moment.
A: That’s a shame. (Chuckling again) To hear Greg tell it, nothing beats fucking a little pre-teen with tiny tits and a tight little bald pussy. Those girls are all so eager to get laid!
Q: Who decides when a girl is ready to leave the Nursery?
A: Well, I guess I do. But it’s not really a difficult decision. The girls have all been trained to provide quality oral sex long before they’ve completed their education in the more traditional subjects.
It’s funny, in a way. It takes far longer to teach a little girl how to read and write than it does to teach her how to suck a man’s dick.
Q: And so she’s released from the Nursery then when she’s seven or eight years old?
A: Yes, usually when she’s seven; sometimes a bit later if she’s not particularly bright or mature for her age.
The main problem is that a girl is just not emotionally mature enough to serve effectively in the Compound until she’s at least seven years old or so.
Q: She objects to performing fellatio multiple times a day?
A: Oh, no, no. Our girls are all fine with that. No, the problem is that a girl usually hasn’t acquired the social skills she needs until she has reached that age.
Very young children – girls and boys, for that matter – all tend to be rather self-centered. They tend to have a very short attention span, lack any sense of responsibility, and are prone to periodic “temper tantrums” if they don’t get their way or if they haven’t had their afternoon nap or something. Very annoying.
Furthermore, a girl doesn’t seem to be able to develop adequate verbal skills until she’s about seven years old. During the latter part of a girl’s Nursery training, we probably spend far more time on grammar, diction, word pronunciation and so on than we do on oral sexual technique.
We teach all of our girls to speak proper English, but many of our Guests are only marginally proficient in the English language. The Guests need to be able to communicate their needs and desires to these girls, and it would be a real problem if the girls were still talking “baby talk” or couldn’t enunciate clearly and distinctly.
Q: I can certainly understand that. I have difficulty at times understanding what my five-year-old nephew is saying.
A: Exactly. Now, think about the added problems you’d have if you yourself didn’t speak English all that well.
But it’s not just the language problem. Remember that our Guests are all extremely wealthy and influential men, and they expect our sex staff to be polite and submissive at all times. We simply cannot tolerate a young female throwing a temper tantrum out by the pool or somewhere!
Fortunately, girls all tend to acquire the necessary social skills at a much younger age than boys do, and that’s why we can feel comfortable releasing a seven-year-old female into the Compound. We don’t keep boys here, of course, but if we did I doubt that we could trust a boy to behave properly at that age.
Q: Tell me about the group of girls I visited yesterday. Where are they in terms of your training schedule?
A: Well, let’s see. You visited one of our younger classes, didn’t you? At this time I’d say they’re all about a third of the way through their training.
The girls are already well into their reading and writing lessons, but they still have quite a lot of arithmetic left to learn. At this point that class is just beginning on the “social graces” portion of the curriculum, while of course continuing to practice their fellatio skills on a regular basis.
And, as you know from your visit, while the girls are all now quite comfortable servicing a man’s penis, they still have a lot to learn about technique.
Q: I guess you heard about the little “accident” my girl had yesterday?
A: (Smiling) No, but some mistakes at that age are to be expected. And I’m sure she was far from alone. A lot of girls have trouble handling her Master’s climax at first. But they learn.
Actually, I think the most difficult lesson a girl must learn when giving a man a blow job is to always know his state of arousal. She’s got to feel it with her tongue as well as with her hand. Generally, a man won’t verbally tell a girl when he’s approaching his climax, and often he’ll ejaculate in spite of himself. But all men send signals of impending orgasm: Rapid breathing, a slight thrusting of his pelvis, a few involuntary muscle spasms in his groin, perhaps, and of course a little pre-ejaculate liquid. The girl must learn to identify all of these signs in order to make sure she’s ready, with his penis in her mouth, when his orgasm occurs.
And I think the second hardest lesson for a girl to learn is how to dispose of that ejaculate properly. I’ll bet that was the problem your little girl had yesterday, wasn’t it? She wasn’t ready for your climax and forgot to block the tip of your cock with her tongue, and so she gagged on your cum. That threw her off even more, and you ended up spraying all over her face. Am I right?
Q: Well, yes, exactly.
A: It’s to be expected.
(Smiling again) But remember, of course, she’s only six years old and she probably hasn’t given more than a few dozen blow jobs yet. She’ll learn. They always do.
Q: Do you have an estimate as to how many times a girl will perform fellatio before she’s released into the Compound?
A: Oh, well, I’d have to think about it. Let’s see: A girl will give her first blow job about a year after her arrival, and during the rest of her time in the Nursery she’ll be giving head on average twelve to fourteen times a week. What does that work out to be?
Q: Well over thirteen hundred, I would guess.
A: Mmm, probably closer to fifteen hundred, actually. During her last few weeks or so we’ll try to have her suck off eight to ten different men each day, just to make sure she’s ready for life in the Compound.
(Smiling) And we have this exercise – this game we play – using the girls just getting ready to move into the Compound. We invite a dozen Guests to sit down in two rows and have a couple of the girls suck them off, one by one, as fast as they can, using only her mouth and tongue. It’s a race, you see, between the girls as to who can satisfy her line of six Guests first, and the winner gets a “special” dinner and a private session with a man for the night. The girls in the Nursery all look forward to this contest, rooting for their favorite girl, and hope someday to be selected to participate in the game.
As a pre-teen in the Compound, a girl’s only good for playing with a man’s dick and mouth-fucking. Guys really like to get blow jobs from very young girls, so a preadolescent female’s mouth will be kept rather busy here on the island.
Q: How busy?
A: Well, you’d really have to ask Greg. He keeps track of those sorts of things. But I’d guess the average seven to eleven year old girl will suck off eight to ten men each day, not counting the nights she sleeps with a Guest. If she spends the night alone with a Guest, she’ll probably service him a few more times, but if she’s up there with an older female or two – which is more typical – she may only suck him off once more or so.
Q: I gather these girls spend all of their time right here in the Nursery until they are ready to be released into the Compound. How do you handle getting them acquainted with the rest of the resort?
A: Oh, well, it’s not all that difficult a transition for them really.
As the girls approach the completion of their training in the Nursery, we’ll go on some “field trips,” and walk them around the complex a bit to familiarize them with all of the various places here. They’ll eat with the older girls, take showers with them and so on, maybe even orally service some of the Guests out by the pool while we watch them. By the time we release a girl into the Compound she pretty much feels comfortable out there.
Actually, the biggest problem we have here with a new girl in the Compound seems to be getting her to remember to reset her amulet every time she starts or finishes a session. We’ve had little girls summoned right in the middle of giving head because she forgot to signal that she was engaged. She can’t break off her current assignment, obviously, yet her new Master is expecting her to report immediately. We’ll apologize when that happens, of course, and usually the Guest will be understanding about it – but not always.
And sometimes we’ve had to track down a new girl to find out why she hadn’t made herself available for a long time, only to discover that she’s out playing somewhere and forgot to reset her amulet. The computer thinks she’s still in session!
It’s a problem we can’t seem to solve, but fortunately the slaves all seem to “get the hang” of the amulet thing within a short time. We rarely have any troubles in this area after a girl has been in the Compound for a few months. Resetting her amulet becomes more-or-less second nature to her.
* * * * * * * *
Upon the conclusion of our interview, Cynthia offered to me a brief tour of the Nursery. We walked quietly together down the long central hallway leading from her office, passing several small classrooms on our left and right filled with young children receiving their daily lessons. But for the fact that most of the seated pupils wore no clothing, I thought, we could have been visiting any one of a number of the small private “all-girl” grammar school academies found throughout the United States and Europe. In one classroom, for example, the children were all reciting a series of short poems they read aloud from a primer, while in another, a fair-haired little girl wearing nothing but a short open-fronted skirt stood in front of the class before a large chalkboard, performing a simple arithmetic exercise under the watchful eye of her adult male instructor. In still another, a group of children sat at their desks, pencils in hand, carefully spelling out on paper the words dictated to them by their male teacher.
We turned a corner and walked down another corridor, passing yet more rooms to either side filled with young female pupils receiving their lessons. Cynthia stopped before the open door of a classroom near the end of the hall and, placing her index finger to her lips, gestured for me to follow her inside. We quietly walked in upon a dozen or so naked little Asian girls all sitting at their desks, each carefully licking the anatomically correct plastic replica of an erect penis held gingerly in her hands. A few of the children looked up as we entered, but most remained focused on their exercise as their teacher calmly offered words of instruction and encouragement. He paused briefly when he saw us, but Cynthia shook her head and he soon resumed his lesson. We stood near the door for several minutes, watching as these very young girls received one of their first tutorials in the art of performing fellatio, before Cynthia signaled to me that it was time for us to leave.
We retraced our steps up the hall and turned yet another corner. A stream of giggling little naked girls filed past us, their bright red cherry ornaments swinging between their legs and bouncing off their thighs as they headed through a door and out into the large field beyond. I smiled. It was recess time and the little ones were anxious to go outside and play.
Half way down the hall Cynthia turned left and, opening a set of double doors, led me into the large Nursery cafeteria, vacant now but for a small staff of bustling green-clad women still wiping down tables and straightening chairs from the noonday meal. Two tall stacks of clean yellow plastic trays were in the corner near a conveyor belt leading through a window into the kitchen, and the room still retained the faint aroma of macaroni and cheese from the children’s lunch. Like the resort’s Guests, the Nursery girls also eat in shifts and the staff was working diligently to ready the cafeteria for seating the first dinner group of the evening.
From the cafeteria we descended yet another hallway and entered the children’s dormitory area. A large open shower and toilet facility, much like that which one might find in the locker room of a girls’ middle school gymnasium, led to a series of other rooms, each lined on either side with bunk beds arranged neatly in rows like an antiseptic army barracks. The rooms remained quite bright from the many “institutional” lighting fixtures hanging from the ceiling, and I commented to Cynthia that I had rather expected the bedroom area of the Nursery to have been more intimately outfitted with the sort of children’s things little girls would like, such as teddy bears, lace curtains, or miniature tea table place settings.
“Oh,” laughed Cynthia, “we don’t go into any of that here. We are training these girls to become sex slaves, not debutantes! The girls don’t play here. All they do here is sleep. We don’t want them to have any personal belongings or even to come to think of the Nursery as their ‘home.’ They are housed here to be educated and trained to serve their male masters. We want them to understand that their ‘home’ is wherever their Master might take them. This area is simply a way station for them.”
We left the children’s dormitory and returned to the central hallway leading to Cynthia’s office. I mentioned that I was to contact Dr. George following the conclusion of my visit and Cynthia offered to accompany me back to the resort complex.
Together we strolled across the wide expanse of the sunny playground area. In the distance I could see a small crowd of robed men near the rear of the hotel building climbing into the Nursery shuttle for their next visit to the classrooms, and to my right were several groups of little girls, many engaged in some sort of game with a big multi-colored plastic beach ball, while others amused themselves on the swing sets, “monkey bars” and other playground equipment. Suddenly Cynthia veered off in the direction of the children, inviting me to join her with some of her students during their recess, and as we approached a couple of naked little girls stopped playing and ran smiling to her side.
Cynthia and I sat down together along the edge of a low, manually-propelled children’s carousel and, following her lead, I picked up one of the girls – a cute little Afghan child with jet-black eyes and hair – and sat her on my lap. I curled my arm around the girl’s shoulders and she parted her legs slightly as she leaned backward, melting in my embrace.
“What did you learn in school this morning, Dominique?” asked Cynthia as she gently brushed her hand back and forth across the bare chest of the little Caucasian girl sitting in her lap.
“Oh, nothing, Master Cynthia.”
“Come on,” she continued. “You must have learned something.”
“Well, all we did was read! Out loud. And Teacher kept stopping us ‘cause we weren’t saying the words right.”
“What words did you have trouble with?”
“I got them all right, but stupid Celina kept saying ‘teeesticles’ when she should have been saying ‘testicles.’ She was so silly.”
“Well,” replied Cynthia with a soothing tone in her voice, “I’m sure Celina will get it right soon. But are you sure you said all of the words correctly?”
“Teacher only stopped me once. I said ‘wibbon’ when I meant to say ‘ribbon.’ But that was because my tongue got stuck. I got it ‘wight’ – I mean, ‘right’ – all the other times.”
Cynthia smiled knowingly, turned her head in my direction and nodded once. Not sure what to do, I read the name on the amulet of the little girl perched on my lap.
“And what did you do in school this morning, Sonali?”
“We did some ‘rithmatic and read out loud a lot, too,” she replied with a sigh. Then her countenance brightened. “But then, we had a visit from some masters and we all got to service them! I swallowed all of my Master’s candy,” Sonali said proudly, “without spilling a drop! Teacher said I was the best in the class!
“Would you like me to show you how I did it?”
I glanced to Cynthia and she laughed. “Uh, no, Sonali,” I answered sheepishly. “I don’t think so… not right now. Maybe later.”
The little girl hugged me and then swooned as I ran my fingers over her smooth bald labia. Cynthia too had by this time moved her hand down to Dominique’s vulva and had been gently caressing the lips of the child’s tiny vagina while she listened to my exchange with the young girl seated on my lap. But in time a bell rang and the children’s recess ended. Cynthia and I stood and watched as the little naked girls all scurried back across the field and into the Nursery for their late afternoon classes.
“I find them to be so charming at that age,” remarked Cynthia as we resumed our walk toward the hotel. “So sweet and innocent. Oh, sure, they all tend to get a bit sassy when they get to be 9 or 10, but that’s long after I’ve released them from the Nursery. The
older women in the Compound won’t put up with it for long, though. They’ll make sure the youngsters behave properly, believe me."
* * * * * * * *
Cynthia said good-bye and departed for the service elevators before I passed through the swinging doors and out into the lobby. I stopped by the front desk to ask for Dr. George, who had earlier offered to allow me to tour the “Graduate School,” but Greg joined me shortly instead to show me the fourth floor “classroom,” explaining that the good doctor was engaged elsewhere.
Dr. George had been right: There really is not all that much to see. The room itself is rather small and lacks windows, but remains reasonably well-lit from a set of recessed fluorescent lighting fixtures installed in the ceiling panels. The sole furnishing is a standard full sized mattress and box spring supported on a common metal frame – no headboard – outfitted with clean white sheets and a few randomly scattered pillows of various sizes. A narrow pathway around the foot of the bed leads to a modest stainless steel sink in the far rear corner of the room, mounted much lower than is usual and formed rather oddly in the shape of a violin. Above the sink there is a small shelf, barren when I visited except for a toothbrush and a half-empty bottle of mouthwash, and below that shelf are the customary faucets for hot and cold water; however, instead of a spout, a thin white plastic hose about three feet in length snakes from the wall and had been carefully coiled and hung on a hook above the sink.
Greg anticipated my curiosity about the unusual plumbing arrangement. “For cleaning her snatch between lessons,” he explained with a smile.
We left the Graduate School “classroom” and walked down the hall to a bank of service elevators. One of the elevators opened upon two women, each dressed in a green jumpsuit, standing to either side of a multi-shelved cart loaded with towels, toiletries and assorted cleaning supplies. We stepped inside and I started to ask Greg a question, but his stern glance in my direction, accompanied by a raised index finger, reminded me that around the slaves discretion must be observed at all times.
The elevator opened and Greg and I exited into the service area behind the concierge. As we walked through the swinging doors leading into the lobby I glanced behind and saw the two cleaning women slowly negotiating their cart out of the elevator cabin.
“Sorry about that, Greg. All I had wanted to ask you, though, was if you had heard anything further from Dr. George. He told me he thought he might be having a candidate for the Graduate School in the near future.”
“Well, you understand, we believe it best not to discuss any business around the bitches. It would just confuse them.
“No, George hasn’t said anything to me about getting a new girl up there, but I’ll check on it for you.
“Oh, but I did hear from Alexis. He’s coming in this evening on the shuttle with a fresh crop of baby pussy. You want to go out to the airstrip with me and meet him?”