The lobby was bustling with late afternoon activity as Greg and I parted company. A sizeable number of Guests had gathered over near the dance floor where two long banquet tables, draped with several white linen table cloths, had been set up closely together. Four young naked girls, each with her arms extended and her thighs spread wide, reclined on their backs amid an extensive assortment of raw vegetables, fresh fruit, sushi, boiled shrimp and other hors d’œuvres comprising the resort’s late afternoon pre-dinner buffet. The little girls had been carefully arranged to lie in alternating directions, and the placement of their bodies served as dividers between the mounds of various appetizers offered up to Island Royale guests. Over the splayed lips of their tiny hairless vaginas each child had been generously ladled with various condiments, vegetable dips, or whipped cream, and the Guests, cocktails in hand, freely brushed the little girls’ genitals as they collected sauces for their hors d’œuvres. The four children held in each hand the stem of a glass crystal goblet containing a long white lit candle, and a short tapered plastic vase filled with freshly-cut flowers had been carefully placed in each of their mouths, thus forming a living female candelabra.
I dragged a carrot stick through some vegetable dip covering the bald pussy lips of the first little girl before moving on to a raised tray of chilled shrimp stationed over another child’s belly. I playfully dipped a shrimp into the pool of thick red sauce that marginally covered the girl’s vulva, purposely snagging the small ceramic cherry ornament attached to the chain emerging from her slit, and then contemplated the mountain of freshly sliced fruit piled high between the thighs of yet another prepubescent female lying on her back farther down the table. Selecting a ripe strawberry, I collected some whipped cream as I slowly twirled the fruit across the child’s exposed sex.
The four little naked girls would remain patiently serving as delightful table decorations throughout the late afternoon and early evening, but I knew Alexis was due to arrive around six o’clock – giving me little time to shower and shave – so I circled the buffet once more for a mouthful of shrimp and vegetables and headed back toward my suite. I had not expected during my brief stay at the resort to have had a chance to speak with either of the two “Traveling Partners” about their contributions to the business, and so of course I had eagerly accepted Greg’s invitation to accompany him to the airstrip to meet Alexis and witness the delivery of the “cargo” his partner would be bringing.
Still, I thought as I cut across the lobby, I did have enough time to take advantage of some of the special “amenities” available to me at Island Royale, and so I selected Rochelle, a comely little fifteen year old French girl with blue eyes, light brown hair and small firm breasts, to accompany me back to my room.
Rochelle had been wandering through the entertainment section of the lobby seeking her next assignment when I had first noticed her slim hips and long, shapely legs. She was dressed rather simply in a thin translucent wrap-around skirt, and as she crossed the lobby heading generally in my direction, her exposed breasts bobbed slightly with each step. I could feel my manhood swelling again as I studied her soft pink nipples, and when the charming young woman had reached me I wrapped my arm around her cool bare midriff and started guiding her toward my quarters. As we walked, I slid my hand up her right side, catching the underside of her breast, and gently rolled her nipple between my fingers.
The girl must have been rather puzzled, I thought, as she sat quietly on the edge of my bed: Here I had “acquired” her to entertain me but then had declined to invite her to join me in my shower. I knew I lacked the time for an extended encounter with my new little toy, but I wanted her available to amuse me while I readied myself for the evening.
I emerged from my shower and sauntered over to the bed before removing the towel wrapped around my waist. Rochelle glanced upward to me with her big blue eyes, seeking permission to suck my cock, but I turned without speaking and walked back into the bathroom. Only then did I call to my little sex kitten, and Rochelle leapt from the bed, crossed the room, and quickly knelt before the vanity to begin caressing my dick with her tongue.
Have you ever shaved while getting a blow job? Believe me, this is the only way to shave! I must confess it was a bit difficult at times to concentrate on the safety razor as Rochelle expertly sucked me off, but I managed to finish shaving long before the girl had brought me to an explosive climax. While I stood, hands on my hips, watching in the mirror the reflection of the young woman as she tilted her head to lick the underside of my balls, I considered calling Greg and canceling my trip to the airstrip. But no, I concluded, my first priority was to meet Alexis. I closed my eyes and focused on the waves of pleasure Rochelle was generating in my groin, and when I ejaculated the girl seemed to swallow my semen without even pausing.
I would have liked to have explored Rochelle’s other talents, but I knew Greg was expecting me to join him soon, and so with a brusque wave of my hand I dismissed the lovely naked teenager from my quarters. Rochelle smiled and nodded, grabbing her flimsy little skirt from the bed as she scurried from my room.
* * * * * * * *
I knew I was running late for my appointment. Wearing once again my khaki slacks, dress shirt and loafers, I charged down the hallway, into and out of the elevator, and met up with Greg near the front desk where he had been waiting patiently for me. Greg had also dressed casually, in a polo shirt and dungarees, and upon my arrival we left immediately, walking briskly through the galley, past the storage rooms, and out across the large outdoor playground area of the Nursery to where a late model Toyota minivan sat parked near a lonely double-wide gate in the far rear of the resort complex. An old faded yellow GMC school bus, still faintly lettered in English for a particular school district, sat idling noisily on the other side of the fence.
I remained standing near the minivan as Greg approached the unlocked gate. He exchanged a few words with the bus driver as they each pushed open a gate panel, then returned to the Toyota. “Listen,” Greg said as we climbed into the vehicle, “let me get us through here. Then, if you don’t mind, can I get you to get out and lock the gate?” Soon we were following the cloud of dust generated by the school bus as it staggered along ahead of us.
What appeared to me to be the same Boeing 757 jetliner that had brought me to Island Royale had already landed by the time we arrived at the airstrip, with only a handful of new Guests still waiting to board the second of the two large transport buses. The school bus parked near the tail section of the aircraft, parallel to a nondescript panel truck, and Greg rolled to a stop some distance from the near wing. I noticed that although the cargo bay doors were open the rear cabin door remained closed. Either Alexis had already disembarked, I surmised, or he had not been seated on the flight along with the other Guests.
After the two transport buses had left for the resort, the boarding staircase was moved into position and shortly thereafter the airplane’s real cargo, a number of frightened little Caucasian girls clad in tattered dresses, emerged from the rear cabin door and began descending the staircase under the direction of one of the flight attendants. I recognized Cynthia standing at the base of the stairs along with the school bus driver and another male aide, and I watched as she greeted each child with a hug and a small bag of candy.
I counted nine little girls all huddled around Cynthia and her assistants. She spoke in soothing tones to the children, but none appeared to understand English. No matter. Her reassuring voice, coupled with the candy, had noticeably relaxed the youngsters. Taking one of them by the hand, Cynthia led the giggling little ones to the faded yellow bus for their ride back to the Nursery, and as I watched Cynthia’s young charges disappear inside, Alexis walked up to us carrying a black carry-on handbag and dragging a large shabby brown suitcase on rollers.
Alexis is shorter and quite a few years younger than Greg, but his leathery skin and sunken blue eyes – by-products, no doubt, of his constant traveling – and his decidedly receding hairline make him appear considerably older than his partner. He embraced Greg, and the two men strolled away to talk in private. At one point I saw Greg gesturing in my direction and Alexis shook his head, but then after a long pause he offered a conciliatory shrug of his shoulders before returning to retrieve his luggage. I stepped inside the minivan and sat in the back. The two men wrestled the large suitcase into the rear and Alexis collapsed into the front seat, mumbling words of greeting to me in a thick Russian accent, as Greg climbed in and started the engine.
“Sorry about the sudden visit, Greg,” said Alexis as we threaded our way along the dusty dirt road leading back to the resort complex. He glanced at me before continuing. “I got a pretty good deal in Odessa for those two old cunts we want to dump, but I had to get this bunch out fast, if you know what I mean.”
“No problem,” replied Greg. “It looks like you got a really good crop this time.”
“I think so, too. Most of ‘em are Hungarian, but there are a couple of Czechs and a German thrown in. They all should be OK if we can keep ‘em from getting too fat in the ass. I tell you, that bastard Sasha drives a hard bargain, but he really knows his baby pussy.”
I sat quietly during this exchange, mesmerized by the casual manner in which these two businessmen discussed the purchase and sale of human female flesh. In a different setting, I thought, they could just as easily have been discussing the cattle or soybean markets, as the tired and confused little children in the bus ahead of us were merely commodities to them. These professional “livestock brokers” were simply comparing notes on current market conditions.
By the time we returned, the school bus had already passed through the gate and all nine little girls had exited and stood in a tight circle around Cynthia. Greg passed through the open gate and continued on toward the main resort building, and I turned my head to watch as Cynthia shepherded her new charges toward an open door. The little girls obediently filed into the Nursery to begin their new careers as sex slaves to the Rich and Powerful.
Island Royale had successfully harvested its latest crop.
Our minivan stopped before an unmarked garage door near the far southern end of the hotel, and Greg waited while the sectional panels crept upward. He drove in and parked, and soon two young women dressed in green jumpsuits began retrieving Alexis’ luggage from the back of the vehicle.
“Greg says you want to interview me,” Alexis growled in his thick Russian accent as we exited the Toyota. “But, man, I’m fucking exhausted. Can we get together sometime tomorrow?”
“Sure. Anytime you say.”
“Fine. How about ten o’clock tomorrow morning, then, at my apartment?” Without waiting for my reply, Alexis turned to Greg. “How’s that Swedish bitch with the big tits working out?”
“Really good. I’ll have her sent to your apartment in a couple of hours.”
“Great,” said Alexis, swinging his handbag across his shoulder as he entered the elevator. “That will give me enough time to shower and shave.” The elevator doors silently closed upon Alexis, his suitcase, and his two female bellhops.
“I’ll see ya tomorrow, Alexis,” laughed Greg as the elevator doors met. Motioning to me, Greg led us through another door and out into the central passageway near the Dungeon. I heard the crack of a whip and a high-pitched muffled scream from behind the closed door.
“Sounds like the Dungeon is booked for the evening,” Greg said with a mischievous wink as we passed.
* * * * * * * *
Dr. George had alluded to the existence of some actual sex torture movies within the resort’s library of recorded video “entertainment.” Quite frankly, I felt a bit queasy as I sat at my computer terminal to access these disturbing images. The thought of watching as a dispassionate voyeur the slow painful death of a woman was both loathsome but intriguing. I justified my actions as the requirements of my journalistic profession.
The computer library contained quite a few entries, I found, cross-referenced by the age and nationality of the victim as well as by the length of the film. Most of the victims were Asian women in their late twenties or early thirties, but several videos featured Caucasian females and the library had three offerings involving teenagers – including one five-hour video of a 14-year-old Italian girl. Each title consisted of a series of one to two hour “chapters” depicting the separately recorded and chronologically ordered sessions of the grotesque torture of a captive human female. Generally the videos contained four or five such segments; one feature, I noted, had twenty-seven “chapters.” I could not even imagine the horrors that poor girl must have suffered before she was finally put to death.
With great trepidation I selected a relatively short feature consisting of but three chapters, each approximately seventy minutes in length, documenting the slow torture and painful death of a 28-year old Armenian woman. I skipped the first segment and selected the second.
Soon the large flat screen television mounted on the wall to the side of my bed glowed with the image of a well-lit but windowless room with rough concrete walls and a badly stained concrete floor. Along the far wall had been hung various chains, clasps, and other instruments and equipment, and in the center of the room were two tall thick wooden pillars stationed about five feet apart, each equipped with a series of metal rings running down the sides.
The camera patiently recorded several minutes of inactivity, but in time I heard an off-camera door open and the victim, wearing only a loose-fitting red-stained faded yellow smock, was seen being dragged into the room by two large hooded figures dressed entirely in black. The woman was screaming and she struggled desperately against her muscular captors, but despite her efforts she was soon bound by the wrists and ankles to the heavy wooden columns. In short order one of the hooded men roughly stuffed a black ball into her mouth and secured it with a strap around her head, muffling her screams. She was completely immobilized but continued to twist and writhe in her hopeless attempts to escape.
A hooded figure appeared from the left, holding a knife similar to a stiletto but quite a bit longer. He stood before the terrified woman and slowly cut her garment, starting from the bottom hem, exposing her as the knife sliced through the thin fabric upward toward her neck. He cut the shoulder straps and the simple dress fell to the concrete floor, leaving the woman naked and sobbing as he kicked the tattered cloth away. The camera remained focused on the nude female as the hooded figure departed from view.
She was a rather plain-looking woman, perhaps slightly overweight, with dirty matted black hair that fell across her face and down over her bare shoulders. Her dark brown eyes were filled with terror and I could see from the numerous cuts and bruises to her face, cheeks and naked body that she had recently been severely beaten and whipped. Countless deep red lines criss-crossed her breasts, belly and thighs, and the dark brown aureoles framing her small, beet-red nipples evidenced the special attention her tormenters had earlier bestowed upon those particular parts of her body. Her vagina remained largely obscured from view beneath a thick unkempt forest of black pubic hair, but that would soon change.
The hooded figure returned holding a lit candle and, as she stared at him in horror, he squatted before the squirming naked woman. Slowly he drew the candle up and beneath the splayed lips of her pussy and amid her anguished screams set her pubic hair on fire. Twice in her agony she urinated, extinguishing the candle, but twice a freshly lit candle was quickly brought on camera and the terror resumed. The gag in the woman’s mouth did little to muffle her blood-curdling screams as the flame licked at her tender exposed flesh. I muted the sound.
I was sickened, but continued to watch as the hooded figure completed the horrific removal of the woman’s pubic hair. He then stood, seized her right breast, and slowly brought the flickering flame of the candle to the woman’s chest. She arched her back and her head jerked repeatedly as the flame roasted her small red nipple, but she slumped over and passed out as her left nipple in turn received the same treatment. With this, the hooded figure backed off and departed, leaving the poor girl hanging lifelessly from the pillars.
Several minutes more passed while the camera remained stationary, dispassionately chronicling the listless female. The woman’s vagina and breasts had been badly burned and their deep red color stood in marked contrast to her otherwise pasty complexion.
A shower of water from an off-camera garden hose awakened the girl to the next round of her torture. A hooded figure soon returned, holding this time what appeared to be a surgical scalpel, and he positioned himself in front of and just to the side of the tightly shackled woman. Reaching down with a gloved hand, he pinched her labia and methodically sliced off a thin layer of her flesh. Blood spewed everywhere, and I was glad I had muted the sound.
From a jug labeled “VINEGAR” in English the hooded figure soaked a small white cloth and pressed it to the girl’s badly bleeding vagina, immediately turning the rag pink with the diluted blood of her mutilated gender. Blood still oozed from her wounds and trickled down the poor girl’s inner thighs as the hooded figure removed the wet rag and walked off-camera, but by then she had again mercifully fainted.
And still the camera watched. After several minutes the limp female, blood still slowly dripping from her damaged vagina, was again awakened by a powerful stream of water, and the hooded figure returned, still carrying his scalpel. Again he grabbed the soft flesh of her labia and again sliced off a thin layer of her nether lips. She had stopped resisting by this time and appeared to have accepted her fate, but with this new assault upon her genitals she threw her pelvis back, sending blood streaming onto the bare concrete floor beneath her. The hooded figure departed but the camera remained focused on the screaming, tormented female. He soon returned, though, to spread her bleeding pussy lips with his gloved hand, and with a swift turn of his scalpel carved off her clitoris before walking away. The poor woman remained shackled to the pillars, bleeding profusely, twisting in agony.
After what seemed an eternity, the hooded figure returned again with his knife. This time, though, he moved directly to his victim’s head and quickly sliced off her ear lobes before departing off-screen. Blood now poured down the woman’s shoulders and across her breasts as well as from her cunt, collecting in a red pool on the concrete floor. She was still conscious, but this time the shower started immediately, blasting her face and chest with water. She was fully awake now, in intense pain, twisting her head wildly to avoid the water assault to her face. The shower ended abruptly and the hooded figure returned, this time carrying in his gloved hand a long metal rod, about two inches wide and with a brightly glowing red tip. He applied the tip first to the woman’s inner thigh, then to her badly mutilated gender, before plunging it deep into her vagina. Her fingers straightened and her head fell back in indescribable pain as the hooded figure worked the hot metal rod in and out of her pussy, cauterizing both the exterior and interior of her womanhood. Abruptly she collapsed and her head fell forward. The hooded figure slowly withdrew the steaming hot metal phallus from her cunt and departed. The camera stoically remained fixed upon the poor girl as she again hung lifelessly between the two pillars.
But she was not dead…yet. The video chapter, I noted, continued for another twenty-four minutes, but I felt too sick to the stomach to continue. I debated briefly ordering up the third installment of this horrifying feature and skimming ahead to the “final scene,” but I could not bring myself to do so. I turned off the television and left the room for some fresh air.
It was still quite early – not even 8:30 p.m. – as I strolled past the pool and headed toward the beach. I steered away from the “pool party” for the recent arrivals but noted it was winding down, with only four young naked women still standing before the seated Guests, presenting themselves and the room card each held lodged in her vagina. Most of the girls were either kneeling between the legs of their “date” or had already been escorted away, presumably in search of a more secluded setting. I looked for but failed to locate the attractive young brunette I had received as my “prize” during the pool party Sunday evening. Perhaps, I thought, she was not participating in the game this evening. Or maybe she was indeed there, already on her knees and with her head buried beneath the terry cloth robe of one of these new arrivals, welcoming him to Island Royale by sucking his cock. No matter. At least she was enjoying herself somewhere, unlike the poor wretched female in the video I had earlier been watching in my room.
The rumble of the waves rolling up along the shoreline provided the only sound as I distanced myself from the Compound and walked down the long graded pathway leading to the beach. During daylight hours this area of the resort could at times become quite crowded with Guests and their temporary paramours, but now it was deserted but for myself and a couple of naked teenage girls wading in the ocean. Both paused and looked at me as I crossed the sand, but as it was clear I had no interest in acquiring either of them, they soon resumed their slow walk through the shallow waters washing at their feet. The cool breeze that swirled around me was exhilarating; however, I could not escape the image of the poor Armenian woman, lashed between the pillars, being slowly and systematically tortured to death. Western Society tends to view the public display of most casual nudity as morally offensive, I thought, but what I had just been watching in my room had been scenes of true pornography.
I removed my sandals to feel the soft white sand between my toes. I considered removing my toga and taking a brief swim but elected instead to simply skirt the shoreline, allowing the waves to repeatedly lap at my feet. It was low-tide, I noted, and the beach stretched long and wide. My thoughts were still occasionally drifting back to the image of the poor tortured female in the video when I suddenly realized the lights of the Compound had become quite distant. Reluctantly I retraced my steps and returned to the resort complex. The two naked teens I had seen earlier on the beach were gone.
A lively game of “Twister” was in progress as I sought refuge at one of the interior bars of the recreational center. There were still quite a few patrons, but soon an attractive young bare-breasted woman accepted my drink order and I turned to watch the progress of the “Twister” competition while she prepared my cocktail. A small gathering of Guests dressed in robes and togas cheered as eight naked pre-teens jostled for position above the multi-colored dots on the floor. Another cheer erupted when one of the girls fell to lie spread-eagle on the floor, laughingly displaying a thin pink line between the lips of her smooth bald pussy. Unlike the other females participating in the game, I noted, this young girl had no gold chain or cherry ornament dangling from her vagina, and I figured it could only have been but a few weeks ago that she had been kept sequestered in the Graduate School classroom, receiving into that deliciously small slit the hard cocks of almost two hundred different men during her final days of training as a sex slave. I wondered how many more men had already fucked the cute little blonde since Dr. George had authorized the use of her body for “general sexual service” in the Island Royale Compound.
A Guest stood over the naked young girl and offered his hand to her, and I watched as she left with him, undoubtedly to be mounted yet again.
It was getting late now. I had finished my vodka tonic and had ordered another when a sweet little girl in her mid teens, with bright blue eyes and silky auburn hair still slightly damp to the touch, approached me from behind. She was dressed in a long, loose-fitting peasant-style blouse that fell from her neck, exposing her left shoulder and small firm breast. Her name was Anya, and from the anxious look on her face I surmised she had recently concluded a session with one of the Guests – possibly at the “pool party” earlier – and was earnestly seeking to be acquired by another in order to avoid having to spend the remainder of the night alone in the Compound.
“May I be of service to you, Master?” she asked hopefully. She had had me with her bright blue eyes and alluring figure, I must confess, but I felt a bit mischievous and wanted her to “work” a bit more to earn her shelter for the night. Without answering, I casually reached out to roll her small button of a nipple in my fingers. The girl smiled and leaned forward to allow me easier access, and I gently pulled her tit forward and kissed her.
I sent my left arm downward, but Anya had anticipated my destination and raised her blouse to expose her smooth hairless vagina, wordlessly inviting me to explore the soft contours of her gender as she stood on her toes before me. I was soon inside her, sliding two fingers deep between the folds of her tight wet pussy, teasing her clitoris, and she smiled back at me. She remained standing this way, submissively accepting my fondling of her cunt, even as the bare-breasted bartender returned with my second vodka tonic. With a hint of an approving smile, the barmaid turned to resume her other activities; Anya gently took hold of my right forearm to steady herself and stared intently into my eyes while I continued my assault upon her unprotected womanhood.
I withdrew my fingers from her pussy and turned to take a sip of my drink. A look of disappointment flashed across her face as she assumed I had rejected her as my overnight amusement toy. The young girl looked down and started to turn, but by then I figured I had teased her enough and reached out and grabbed her exposed left breast. She glanced hopefully over her shoulder and smiled again.
“Where do you think you’re going?” I asked. “You’re in session for the night.” She answered by hugging me, pressing her bare breast to my forearm. Only as an afterthought did she remember to touch the amulet around her neck, signaling that she was now unavailable to others. I finished my drink and escorted my pretty little bedroom playmate across the lobby and up to my room.