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Island Of Slaves 2 (Miguel De Riviera)


Island Of Slaves 2 by Miguel De Riviera

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The story continues with Nansci Domokos looking around the dormitory room at her three friends. They were all young, lovely girls dressed in bright tank tops and shorts. They looked just like the thousands of tourists thronging the popular beaches of the Caribbean Island of Andalusia. The difference was the day before they had escaped from a resort on the opposite side of the island where they had been forced to work as sex slaves. Here, in the Republic of Barbanda, they had been given refuge with promises from the officials that they would be helped to get off the island. They were brought to this Barbanda Club, apparently an exclusive watering hole for the republic’s elite. The only discordant note to this situation was that the door of their room was locked, and the fifth member of their party, a gorgeous girl with a model’s angular features, had been obliged to “volunteer” to spend the night in the bed of the lesbian in charge of them.

Is this a question of the girls jumping out of the sex slave fat into heaven or more a case of jumping into the sex slave fire of hell and sexual torture?

Product type: EBook    Published by: Fiction4All    Published: 09 / 2008

We do not recommend this book for readers under 18 years of age

No. words: 40600

Style: BDSM/Bondage - Content: Moderate -    Male Dom - M/F, Fem Dom - F/F

Available Formats: Palm  MobiPocket (MOBI)  EPUB  Sony Reader (LRF)  PDF  MS Reader  MS Word  Text  RTF  This book has a format which can be downloaded to Kindle

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Excerpt..

Nansci Domokos looked around the dormitory room at her three friends. They were all young, lovely girls dressed in bright tank tops and shorts. They looked just like the thousands of tourists thronging the popular beaches of the Caribbean Island of Andalusia. The difference was the day before they had escaped from a resort on the opposite side of the island where they had been forced to work as sex slaves. Here, in the Republic of Barbanda, they had been given refuge with promises from the officials that they would be helped to get off the island. They were brought to this Barbanda Club, apparently an exclusive watering hole for the republic’s elite. The only discordant note to this situation was that the door of their room was locked, and the fifth member of their party, a gorgeous girl with a model’s angular features, had been obliged to “volunteer” to spend the night in the bed of the lesbian in charge of them.
“I’m a bit uneasy about our situation, but I don’t see anything we can do about it just now. Let’s just hope Adrienne will be back soon, and we can get out for breakfast.” Nansci said this with a brave smile of optimistic encouragement.
“There’s a lovely, huge garden out there,” Inga reported. The blonde Swedish girl had climbed onto a bed head rail and was peering out a small barred window set close to the ceiling of the room.
“This whole place is luxurious,” Debi said, pulling a brush through her shoulder length curly brown hair, “and I get the distinct impression that we are going to be stuck here as maids.” Debi was a little older than the others, and not quite as optimistic.
“Are you suggesting they are going to keep us here as slaves?” Sandra asked. She was taller than the others with waist length brunette hair and a sexy coffee-and-cream complexion.
“Not slaves,” Debi corrected her. “Barbanda has never had slavery—that’s why they always help girls like us who manage to escape from the Villalobos Estate. But that fat cow who put us in here did say we would have to work while we’re here.”
“I don’t mind that as long as there’s an end to it in sight,” Nansci declared. She could see that all the girls were running out of patience.
They were interrupted by the arrival of Adrienne. She just walked through the door. Someone outside had unlocked it. Nansci saw right away that Adrienne had come to no harm during the night, but she didn’t have the glow of someone who had spent the night in joyous sex.
“So did you have fun?” Nansci asked her archly.
Adrienne made her what-do-you-expect shrug. “I did all the work and she had all the orgasms,” Adrienne reported bluntly. They all knew that Adrienne enjoyed sex with other women, so they were able to infer from her remark that the relationship with Mistress Rosanna had been mistress to slave. They all exchanged glances of foreboding.
A moment later Mistress Rosanna herself stood in the doorway. She was a heavy set, athletic woman of middle age. She was dressed in gym shorts and a tight pullover that covered large, well formed breasts. Her legs were shapely and sturdy. Her brown hair was piled on top of her head and her features were sweaty. Dangling from her wrist by a loop was an implement that Nansci recognized as a four-rod nylon switch. It was not nearly as cuttingly lethal as the more usual tapered switch, but each of the four rods when thrashing a naked body, could produce four separate sources of impressive pain.
“Join me for breakfast?” Mistress Rosanna invited jauntily.
They nosily trooped down a wide hallway to a large, sunny dining room. This was the Albion Bar. On one side there was a jungle of philodendrons and other leafy green shrubbery discreetly shielding a dozen dining booths. Two dozen tables near the center of the room were decked with white table clothes, shiny silver cutlery and purple napkins. There was a bar on the other side of the room overlooking broad windows that gave view to a huge kidney shaped swimming pool.
The pool area was covered by a glass roof. The pure green water in the pool gently steamed. Near the steps that joined the Albion Bar to the pool area was a large open space that might have been meant for dancing. To the side of this area was a beach bar made of bamboo with six stools. There were also a dozen small tables with two chairs each. Beyond the pool were a dozen or more cabanas painted in bright, playful colors: tangerine, emerald, indigo, ruby, orchid. They were arranged in a semi-circle around the far end of the pool. Strewn about in profusion outside the cabanas were lounge chairs, all painted white with multi-colored mattresses. The dark green tiling around the pool was imported marble.
Uniformed waiters served a bacon and egg breakfast with free flowing coffee and plenty of toast and strawberry jam. All this went down well with the girls, who seemed to feel they were regarded as honored guests. However, both Nansci and Debi exchanged worried glances. It was all too good to be true, they both felt.
Mistress Rosanna called for attention. She was standing in the middle of the floor a little distance from the breakfast table occupied by the girls.
“I have some disappointing news,” she announced. “We won’t be able to get you away from the island for some time. It’s a matter of finding a ship’s captain that we can trust, and who is going in the right direction. Meanwhile you are going to live in those cabanas and you will be required to continue working as sex slaves—just for a little longer, of course.”
The girls heard this announcement in stunned silence. All except Sandra who rose from her chair, hands clenched into fists, a dark scowl on her face. She marched towards Mistress Rosanna.
“We’ve done that and we aren’t doing it anymore,” she snarled as she approached the woman. With a cry of anger she aimed one of her big fists at Mistress Rosanna’s nose.
It happened so fast that no one was sure how it was done. There was a blur of legs and arms spiraling in the air, and Sandra was on her knees, her head pressed against the floor, her arms secured behind her by one of Mistress Rosanna’s powerful hands grasping her wrists together. Sandra was held in this position by the leverage applied to her secured arms now above and behind her. Rosanna locked her down more securely by stepping on her brunette hair which had spilled over the floor. She grasped the handle of the switch dangling from her wrist and swung a vicious blow at Sandra’s bare thighs below her shorts. The blow landed with a terrible smacking sound and Sandra emitted a huff of pain. Sandra was helpless to protect herself. At the point where she had been slashed, her skin immediately glowed pink. The girls looked on, shocked, and stunned to silence. They were too frightened to go to Sandra’s aid. More blows followed. On the fifth Sandra yelped. After more strokes she was crying. Another dozen hits and Sandra was squealing and sobbing, thrashing ineffectually and begging for mercy. No one had ever seen Sandra so thoroughly whipped and reduced to submission.
With a grimace of contempt, Mistress Rosanna pushed Sandra aside. The whipped girl lay on the floor bawling. “Anyone else want to protest?” she challenged.
No one did. Chastened, and terrified, the girls filed out of the restaurant to the pool room. Two male waiters helped Sandra shamble after them. The girls were each put in a cabana and chained by a wrist to a hook at the head of the bed.
Nansci understood that they had been separated so they couldn’t talk to each other. She couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong. It was still hard to believe that Barbandan officials were enslaving the girls for sex.
At least her cell was attractive and comfortable. The bed was a huge four-poster that would easily accommodate three for a ménage a trois. Ominously, each post had three sturdy rings looking like decorative details attached at different levels. There were two comfortable stuffed chairs set around a coffee table, a dresser with a large mirror, and an adjacent bathroom sporting a box shower. The wide clothes closet, doors ajar, was empty. What more could a slave girl need?

{The Mayor}

Any doubts Nansci had that she was once again enslaved for sex were dispelled a short time later when the mayor of Barbanda, Bashar Assad, entered her cabana. He was a large man, a huge mound of flabby white meat. His jowls gave him a jovial look. His thin white hair was combed down over his forehead. The mayor’s dark brown eyes regarded her with a twinkle, like an oversized, lusty gnome
When he saw she was chained to the bed he gave her a wolfish grin. “I have never been able to get you out of my mind since you pleasured me at that resort banquet.” As he spoke he approached her and cupped his hand on her T-shirt over her breast. Nansci remembered the banquet held at the Villalobos Estate resort hotel when she had mounted him like a horse and bounced up and down on his mound of flesh until he spurted his come deep inside her. “Now I want to repeat that delightful experience. Be so good as to take off your clothes.”
Nansci resigned herself to pleasuring him. She knew any hint of resistance on her part would probably result in a whipping like Sandra had suffered. She set her mind and feelings to the neutral position she used as a shell to the humiliation of being forced to sexually pleasure a man. She removed her skimpy tourist clothes, pushing the blouse and bra along the chain out of the way, and watched, with her show time lascivious smile as the mayor removed his own garments. His brown, dark eyes never wavered from her body. She could see by his fixed stare that he was a breast man. For his delight she cupped her breasts in her palms underneath and bounced the soft globes up and down. He gave her a lecherous smirk of appreciation, and then as a further reward he drew her to him and licked and kissed the nipples of each breast
His breathing was becoming heavy. “I would love to play with you, Nansci, but your beautiful body inflames me. Pleasure me, you delicious slave,” he commanded.
He lay back on the bed and she dutifully mounted his thighs. She licked his knob until it glistened with her saliva. Then she gave the tip a puffy kiss. His rod twitched and he moaned in delight. She gave him a naughty grin.
“Skewer yourself, you saucy tease,” he mewled.
She obediently moved herself higher up his body, maneuvered his now rigid rod between her pussy’s lips, and then slowly rocked up and down, enveloping his twitching member until the length of it was all the way inside her warm, tight passage. She began humping up and down and gently corkscrewing, at the same time twitching her abdomen like a belly dancer. He moaned and gasped in pleasure, grasping her pendant breasts, fondling and squeezing them, sometimes painfully. She increased the rhythm of her efforts to bring him to orgasm as quickly as possible. He kept grunting his satisfaction and mumbling her name. Finally he huffed; his great body arched and froze and he squinched shut his eyes. She felt his rod spasm as his come spurted into her. He made a sobbing sound of a man finally released after a long period of abstinence. The pinnacle of his pleasure seemed to last for ages. She waited patiently. Finally his body relaxed. His eyes were still tightly shut as he placidly stroked her hips and legs.
She thought now that he was sated, he would leave her. But instead he turned on his side, gathered her into his arms facing him. He kissed her lips, her eyes and her cheeks, almost reverently. He pressed her against himself so her breasts rubbed hard against his chest.
“I realize that I have raped you, Nansci,” he said in a languid voice, surprising her with his candor. “But I am unrepentant for the despicable and selfish reason that I have needed a girl like you to relieve my sexual repressions. I needed a poor victim like you who can’t say no, can’t put me off because you have a headache, can’t deny me because you are piqued at me. You are a treasure, Nansci, because there is nothing more precious than a woman who is willing—for whatever reason. You know,” he sighed, “I’m in an ironic situation that many men must endure. You see, years ago I married a woman whom I loved partly—women never realize how great a partly it is—so I could have sex with her whenever I wanted. Ah, the convenience and delight of built-in sex! The wondrous gratifications of performing sex to make a child! Those conditions more or less provided sufficient satisfactions for a number of years. But women loose interest in sex far sooner than men. And we end up with a woman we still love, who doesn’t want to have sex at all, but still wants to control her man’s sex. Even though she no longer wants it, it is infidelity if he gets it somewhere else.” He made a long sigh. “How sorry I feel for myself, my despicable, depraved self.”
Mayor Bashar Assad ended his discourse. Nansci, still enfolded and locked in his embrace, realized he had fallen into a contented sleep.
He did not awake until the next morning when the sun shone into the cabana through the narrow window over the door. Shutters on large windows on either side of the door were closed. Bright morning light was already filtering into the cabana from the skylight.
Nansci was still locked in his embrace. He had not moved all night. Nansci’s body ached from the enforced position his arms held her in like bonds. He roused and immediately found enough space between their bodies to fondle one of her breasts.
He gazed into her face. “What a delightful way to wake up. You are inflaming me again. Be a treasure and do me once more, please.”
It was phrased politely, but obviously he did not expect her to decline. She dutifully mounted him, worked his hardened cock into her pussy. It took only a few minutes to bring him to orgasm. When she dismounted, he wrapped her in his arms once more and began kissing her face and cheeks.
“What a treasure!” He chuckled contentedly, running his hand up and down the length of her naked body..
Nansci felt the mayor was now mellow enough to answer a question she had wanted to ask him the previous night. “Mayor Assad, why have you enslaved me and my friends? I though the Barbandans rejected slavery.”
He made a long sigh of regret. “I know we are treating you and your lovely friends unfairly, Nansci. It was a long and difficult discussion that led us to change our policy on slavery. Probably we would not have involved you girls except for the matter of the murder of Rafa Delaforme. At least one of you girls had to be responsible, in the professional opinion of Chief Gonzalez. Someone crammed her throat with chocolates until she gagged and expired. You are all suspects in her death, you know. So there we were, five escaped slaves, murder suspects, and the Villalobos Estate screaming at us to return you to their custody. It was Eduardo Blanco, my son-in-law, who told them you had left the island. So there we were stuck with a lie. It naturally followed that we had to keep you hidden for a period, and then, well, the idea developed to keep you here as sex slaves. The deciding element in that decision was purely business.”
The mayor regarded Nansci with a genuinely regretful expression. “I am truly sorry you have been caught up in this, Nansci, but there is nothing I can do about it. I am really just one member of the City Council, you understand.”
Nansci decided to risk asking for one concession. “Can you at least free us from being chained to our beds? We can obviously do you no harm.”
With a wave of his hands he indicated that he did not wish to discuss the matter further. He rolled off the bed, dressed himself and waddled out of the cabana.


Excerpt..

Nansci Domokos looked around the dormitory room at her three friends. They were all young, lovely girls dressed in bright tank tops
and shorts. They looked just like the thousands of tourists thronging the popular beaches of the Caribbean Island of Andalusia. The
difference was the day before they had escaped from a resort on the opposite side of the island where they had been forced to work as sex
slaves. Here, in the Republic of Barbanda, they had been given refuge with promises from the officials that they would be helped to get off
the island. They were brought to this Barbanda Club, apparently an exclusive watering hole for the republic’s elite. The only discordant
note to this situation was that the door of their room was locked, and the fifth member of their party, a gorgeous girl with a model’s
angular features, had been obliged to “volunteer” to spend the night in the bed of the lesbian in charge of them.

“I’m a bit uneasy about our situation, but I don’t see anything we can do about it just now. Let’s just hope Adrienne will be back
soon, and we can get out for breakfast.” Nansci said this with a brave smile of optimistic encouragement.

“There’s a lovely, huge garden out there,” Inga reported. The blonde Swedish girl had climbed onto a bed head rail and was peering out
a small barred window set close to the ceiling of the room.

“This whole place is luxurious,” Debi said, pulling a brush through her shoulder length curly brown hair, “and I get the distinct
impression that we are going to be stuck here as maids.” Debi was a little older than the others, and not quite as optimistic.

“Are you suggesting they are going to keep us here as slaves?” Sandra asked. She was taller than the others with waist length
brunette hair and a sexy coffee-and-cream complexion.

“Not slaves,” Debi corrected her. “Barbanda has never had slavery—that’s why they always help girls like us who manage to escape from
the Villalobos Estate. But that fat cow who put us in here did say we would have to work while we’re here.”

“I don’t mind that as long as there’s an end to it in sight,” Nansci declared. She could see that all the girls were running out of
patience.

They were interrupted by the arrival of Adrienne. She just walked through the door. Someone outside had unlocked it. Nansci saw
right away that Adrienne had come to no harm during the night, but she didn’t have the glow of someone who had spent the night in joyous
sex.

“So did you have fun?” Nansci asked her archly.

Adrienne made her what-do-you-expect shrug. “I did all the work and she had all the orgasms,” Adrienne reported bluntly. They all
knew that Adrienne enjoyed sex with other women, so they were able to infer from her remark that the relationship with Mistress Rosanna had
been mistress to slave. They all exchanged glances of foreboding.

A moment later Mistress Rosanna herself stood in the doorway. She was a heavy set, athletic woman of middle age. She was dressed in
gym shorts and a tight pullover that covered large, well formed breasts. Her legs were shapely and sturdy. Her brown hair was piled on top
of her head and her features were sweaty. Dangling from her wrist by a loop was an implement that Nansci recognized as a four-rod nylon
switch. It was not nearly as cuttingly lethal as the more usual tapered switch, but each of the four rods when thrashing a naked body,
could produce four separate sources of impressive pain.

“Join me for breakfast?” Mistress Rosanna invited jauntily.

They nosily trooped down a wide hallway to a large, sunny dining room. This was the Albion Bar. On one side there was a jungle of
philodendrons and other leafy green shrubbery discreetly shielding a dozen dining booths. Two dozen tables near the center of the room were
decked with white table clothes, shiny silver cutlery and purple napkins. There was a bar on the other side of the room overlooking broad
windows that gave view to a huge kidney shaped swimming pool.

The pool area was covered by a glass roof. The pure green water in the pool gently steamed. Near the steps that joined the Albion Bar
to the pool area was a large open space that might have been meant for dancing. To the side of this area was a beach bar made of bamboo
with six stools. There were also a dozen small tables with two chairs each. Beyond the pool were a dozen or more cabanas painted in bright,
playful colors: tangerine, emerald, indigo, ruby, orchid. They were arranged in a semi-circle around the far end of the pool. Strewn about
in profusion outside the cabanas were lounge chairs, all painted white with multi-colored mattresses. The dark green tiling around the pool
was imported marble.

Uniformed waiters served a bacon and egg breakfast with free flowing coffee and plenty of toast and strawberry jam. All this went down
well with the girls, who seemed to feel they were regarded as honored guests. However, both Nansci and Debi exchanged worried glances. It
was all too good to be true, they both felt.

Mistress Rosanna called for attention. She was standing in the middle of the floor a little distance from the breakfast table occupied
by the girls.

“I have some disappointing news,” she announced. “We won’t be able to get you away from the island for some time. It’s a matter of
finding a ship’s captain that we can trust, and who is going in the right direction. Meanwhile you are going to live in those cabanas and
you will be required to continue working as sex slaves—just for a little longer, of course.”

The girls heard this announcement in stunned silence. All except Sandra who rose from her chair, hands clenched into fists, a dark
scowl on her face. She marched towards Mistress Rosanna.

“We’ve done that and we aren’t doing it anymore,” she snarled as she approached the woman. With a cry of anger she aimed one of her
big fists at Mistress Rosanna’s nose.

It happened so fast that no one was sure how it was done. There was a blur of legs and arms spiraling in the air, and Sandra was on
her knees, her head pressed against the floor, her arms secured behind her by one of Mistress Rosanna’s powerful hands grasping her wrists
together. Sandra was held in this position by the leverage applied to her secured arms now above and behind her. Rosanna locked her down
more securely by stepping on her brunette hair which had spilled over the floor. She grasped the handle of the switch dangling from her
wrist and swung a vicious blow at Sandra’s bare thighs below her shorts. The blow landed with a terrible smacking sound and Sandra emitted
a huff of pain. Sandra was helpless to protect herself. At the point where she had been slashed, her skin immediately glowed pink. The
girls looked on, shocked, and stunned to silence. They were too frightened to go to Sandra’s aid. More blows followed. On the fifth
Sandra yelped. After more strokes she was crying. Another dozen hits and Sandra was squealing and sobbing, thrashing ineffectually and
begging for mercy. No one had ever seen Sandra so thoroughly whipped and reduced to submission.

With a grimace of contempt, Mistress Rosanna pushed Sandra aside. The whipped girl lay on the floor bawling. “Anyone else want to
protest?” she challenged.

No one did. Chastened, and terrified, the girls filed out of the restaurant to the pool room. Two male waiters helped Sandra shamble
after them. The girls were each put in a cabana and chained by a wrist to a hook at the head of the bed.

Nansci understood that they had been separated so they couldn’t talk to each other. She couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong. It was
still hard to believe that Barbandan officials were enslaving the girls for sex.

At least her cell was attractive and comfortable. The bed was a huge four-poster that would easily accommodate three for a ménage a
trois. Ominously, each post had three sturdy rings looking like decorative details attached at different levels. There were two
comfortable stuffed chairs set around a coffee table, a dresser with a large mirror, and an adjacent bathroom sporting a box shower. The
wide clothes closet, doors ajar, was empty. What more could a slave girl need?



{The Mayor}



Any doubts Nansci had that she was once again enslaved for sex were dispelled a short time later when the mayor of Barbanda, Bashar
Assad, entered her cabana. He was a large man, a huge mound of flabby white meat. His jowls gave him a jovial look. His thin white hair
was combed down over his forehead. The mayor’s dark brown eyes regarded her with a twinkle, like an oversized, lusty gnome

When he saw she was chained to the bed he gave her a wolfish grin. “I have never been able to get you out of my mind since you
pleasured me at that resort banquet.” As he spoke he approached her and cupped his hand on her T-shirt over her breast. Nansci remembered
the banquet held at the Villalobos Estate resort hotel when she had mounted him like a horse and bounced up and down on his mound of flesh
until he spurted his come deep inside her. “Now I want to repeat that delightful experience. Be so good as to take off your clothes.” />
Nansci resigned herself to pleasuring him. She knew any hint of resistance on her part would probably result in a whipping like Sandra
had suffered. She set her mind and feelings to the neutral position she used as a shell to the humiliation of being forced to sexually
pleasure a man. She removed her skimpy tourist clothes, pushing the blouse and bra along the chain out of the way, and watched, with her
show time lascivious smile as the mayor removed his own garments. His brown, dark eyes never wavered from her body. She could see by his
fixed stare that he was a breast man. For his delight she cupped her breasts in her palms underneath and bounced the soft globes up and
down. He gave her a lecherous smirk of appreciation, and then as a further reward he drew her to him and licked and kissed the nipples of
each breast

His breathing was becoming heavy. “I would love to play with you, Nansci, but your beautiful body inflames me. Pleasure me, you
delicious slave,” he commanded.

He lay back on the bed and she dutifully mounted his thighs. She licked his knob until it glistened with her saliva. Then she gave
the tip a puffy kiss. His rod twitched and he moaned in delight. She gave him a naughty grin.

“Skewer yourself, you saucy tease,” he mewled.

She obediently moved herself higher up his body, maneuvered his now rigid rod between her pussy’s lips, and then slowly rocked up and
down, enveloping his twitching member until the length of it was all the way inside her warm, tight passage. She began humping up and down
and gently corkscrewing, at the same time twitching her abdomen like a belly dancer. He moaned and gasped in pleasure, grasping her pendant
breasts, fondling and squeezing them, sometimes painfully. She increased the rhythm of her efforts to bring him to orgasm as quickly as
possible. He kept grunting his satisfaction and mumbling her name. Finally he huffed; his great body arched and froze and he squinched
shut his eyes. She felt his rod spasm as his come spurted into her. He made a sobbing sound of a man finally released after a long period
of abstinence. The pinnacle of his pleasure seemed to last for ages. She waited patiently. Finally his body relaxed. His eyes were still
tightly shut as he placidly stroked her hips and legs.

She thought now that he was sated, he would leave her. But instead he turned on his side, gathered her into his arms facing him. He
kissed her lips, her eyes and her cheeks, almost reverently. He pressed her against himself so her breasts rubbed hard against his
chest.

“I realize that I have raped you, Nansci,” he said in a languid voice, surprising her with his candor. “But I am unrepentant for the
despicable and selfish reason that I have needed a girl like you to relieve my sexual repressions. I needed a poor victim like you who
can’t say no, can’t put me off because you have a headache, can’t deny me because you are piqued at me. You are a treasure, Nansci, because
there is nothing more precious than a woman who is willing—for whatever reason. You know,” he sighed, “I’m in an ironic situation that many
men must endure. You see, years ago I married a woman whom I loved partly—women never realize how great a partly it is—so I could have sex
with her whenever I wanted. Ah, the convenience and delight of built-in sex! The wondrous gratifications of performing sex to make a
child! Those conditions more or less provided sufficient satisfactions for a number of years. But women loose interest in sex far sooner
than men. And we end up with a woman we still love, who doesn’t want to have sex at all, but still wants to control her man’s sex. Even
though she no longer wants it, it is infidelity if he gets it somewhere else.” He made a long sigh. “How sorry I feel for myself, my
despicable, depraved self.”

Mayor Bashar Assad ended his discourse. Nansci, still enfolded and locked in his embrace, realized he had fallen into a contented
sleep.

He did not awake until the next morning when the sun shone into the cabana through the narrow window over the door. Shutters on large
windows on either side of the door were closed. Bright morning light was already filtering into the cabana from the skylight.

Nansci was still locked in his embrace. He had not moved all night. Nansci’s body ached from the enforced position his arms held her
in like bonds. He roused and immediately found enough space between their bodies to fondle one of her breasts.

He gazed into her face. “What a delightful way to wake up. You are inflaming me again. Be a treasure and do me once more,
please.”

It was phrased politely, but obviously he did not expect her to decline. She dutifully mounted him, worked his hardened cock into her
pussy. It took only a few minutes to bring him to orgasm. When she dismounted, he wrapped her in his arms once more and began kissing her
face and cheeks.

“What a treasure!” He chuckled contentedly, running his hand up and down the length of her naked body..

Nansci felt the mayor was now mellow enough to answer a question she had wanted to ask him the previous night. “Mayor Assad, why have
you enslaved me and my friends? I though the Barbandans rejected slavery.”

He made a long sigh of regret. “I know we are treating you and your lovely friends unfairly, Nansci. It was a long and difficult
discussion that led us to change our policy on slavery. Probably we would not have involved you girls except for the matter of the murder
of Rafa Delaforme. At least one of you girls had to be responsible, in the professional opinion of Chief Gonzalez. Someone crammed her
throat with chocolates until she gagged and expired. You are all suspects in her death, you know. So there we were, five escaped slaves,
murder suspects, and the Villalobos Estate screaming at us to return you to their custody. It was Eduardo Blanco, my son-in-law, who told
them you had left the island. So there we were stuck with a lie. It naturally followed that we had to keep you hidden for a period, and
then, well, the idea developed to keep you here as sex slaves. The deciding element in that decision was purely business.”

The mayor regarded Nansci with a genuinely regretful expression. “I am truly sorry you have been caught up in this, Nansci, but there
is nothing I can do about it. I am really just one member of the City Council, you understand.”

Nansci decided to risk asking for one concession. “Can you at least free us from being chained to our beds? We can obviously do you
no harm.”

With a wave of his hands he indicated that he did not wish to discuss the matter further. He rolled off the bed, dressed himself and
waddled out of the cabana.


Excerpt..

Nansci Domokos looked around the dormitory room at her three friends. They were all young, lovely girls dressed in bright tank tops

and shorts. They looked just like the thousands of tourists thronging the popular beaches of the Caribbean Island of Andalusia. The

difference was the day before they had escaped from a resort on the opposite side of the island where they had been forced to work as sex

slaves. Here, in the Republic of Barbanda, they had been given refuge with promises from the officials that they would be helped to get off

the island. They were brought to this Barbanda Club, apparently an exclusive watering hole for the republic’s elite. The only discordant

note to this situation was that the door of their room was locked, and the fifth member of their party, a gorgeous girl with a model’s

angular features, had been obliged to “volunteer” to spend the night in the bed of the lesbian in charge of them.


“I’m a bit uneasy about our situation, but I don’t see anything we can do about it just now. Let’s just hope Adrienne will be back

soon, and we can get out for breakfast.” Nansci said this with a brave smile of optimistic encouragement.


“There’s a lovely, huge garden out there,” Inga reported. The blonde Swedish girl had climbed onto a bed head rail and was peering out

a small barred window set close to the ceiling of the room.


“This whole place is luxurious,” Debi said, pulling a brush through her shoulder length curly brown hair, “and I get the distinct

impression that we are going to be stuck here as maids.” Debi was a little older than the others, and not quite as optimistic.


“Are you suggesting they are going to keep us here as slaves?” Sandra asked. She was taller than the others with waist length

brunette hair and a sexy coffee-and-cream complexion.


“Not slaves,” Debi corrected her. “Barbanda has never had slavery—that’s why they always help girls like us who manage to escape from

the Villalobos Estate. But that fat cow who put us in here did say we would have to work while we’re here.”


“I don’t mind that as long as there’s an end to it in sight,” Nansci declared. She could see that all the girls were running out of

patience.


They were interrupted by the arrival of Adrienne. She just walked through the door. Someone outside had unlocked it. Nansci saw

right away that Adrienne had come to no harm during the night, but she didn’t have the glow of someone who had spent the night in joyous

sex.


“So did you have fun?” Nansci asked her archly.


Adrienne made her what-do-you-expect shrug. “I did all the work and she had all the orgasms,” Adrienne reported bluntly. They all

knew that Adrienne enjoyed sex with other women, so they were able to infer from her remark that the relationship with Mistress Rosanna had

been mistress to slave. They all exchanged glances of foreboding.


A moment later Mistress Rosanna herself stood in the doorway. She was a heavy set, athletic woman of middle age. She was dressed in

gym shorts and a tight pullover that covered large, well formed breasts. Her legs were shapely and sturdy. Her brown hair was piled on top

of her head and her features were sweaty. Dangling from her wrist by a loop was an implement that Nansci recognized as a four-rod nylon

switch. It was not nearly as cuttingly lethal as the more usual tapered switch, but each of the four rods when thrashing a naked body,

could produce four separate sources of impressive pain.


“Join me for breakfast?” Mistress Rosanna invited jauntily.


They nosily trooped down a wide hallway to a large, sunny dining room. This was the Albion Bar. On one side there was a jungle of

philodendrons and other leafy green shrubbery discreetly shielding a dozen dining booths. Two dozen tables near the center of the room were

decked with white table clothes, shiny silver cutlery and purple napkins. There was a bar on the other side of the room overlooking broad

windows that gave view to a huge kidney shaped swimming pool.


The pool area was covered by a glass roof. The pure green water in the pool gently steamed. Near the steps that joined the Albion Bar

to the pool area was a large open space that might have been meant for dancing. To the side of this area was a beach bar made of bamboo

with six stools. There were also a dozen small tables with two chairs each. Beyond the pool were a dozen or more cabanas painted in bright,

playful colors: tangerine, emerald, indigo, ruby, orchid. They were arranged in a semi-circle around the far end of the pool. Strewn about

in profusion outside the cabanas were lounge chairs, all painted white with multi-colored mattresses. The dark green tiling around the pool

was imported marble.


Uniformed waiters served a bacon and egg breakfast with free flowing coffee and plenty of toast and strawberry jam. All this went down

well with the girls, who seemed to feel they were regarded as honored guests. However, both Nansci and Debi exchanged worried glances. It

was all too good to be true, they both felt.


Mistress Rosanna called for attention. She was standing in the middle of the floor a little distance from the breakfast table occupied

by the girls.


“I have some disappointing news,” she announced. “We won’t be able to get you away from the island for some time. It’s a matter of

finding a ship’s captain that we can trust, and who is going in the right direction. Meanwhile you are going to live in those cabanas and

you will be required to continue working as sex slaves—just for a little longer, of course.”


The girls heard this announcement in stunned silence. All except Sandra who rose from her chair, hands clenched into fists, a dark

scowl on her face. She marched towards Mistress Rosanna.


“We’ve done that and we aren’t doing it anymore,” she snarled as she approached the woman. With a cry of anger she aimed one of her

big fists at Mistress Rosanna’s nose.


It happened so fast that no one was sure how it was done. There was a blur of legs and arms spiraling in the air, and Sandra was on

her knees, her head pressed against the floor, her arms secured behind her by one of Mistress Rosanna’s powerful hands grasping her wrists

together. Sandra was held in this position by the leverage applied to her secured arms now above and behind her. Rosanna locked her down

more securely by stepping on her brunette hair which had spilled over the floor. She grasped the handle of the switch dangling from her

wrist and swung a vicious blow at Sandra’s bare thighs below her shorts. The blow landed with a terrible smacking sound and Sandra emitted

a huff of pain. Sandra was helpless to protect herself. At the point where she had been slashed, her skin immediately glowed pink. The

girls looked on, shocked, and stunned to silence. They were too frightened to go to Sandra’s aid. More blows followed. On the fifth

Sandra yelped. After more strokes she was crying. Another dozen hits and Sandra was squealing and sobbing, thrashing ineffectually and

begging for mercy. No one had ever seen Sandra so thoroughly whipped and reduced to submission.


With a grimace of contempt, Mistress Rosanna pushed Sandra aside. The whipped girl lay on the floor bawling. “Anyone else want to

protest?” she challenged.


No one did. Chastened, and terrified, the girls filed out of the restaurant to the pool room. Two male waiters helped Sandra shamble

after them. The girls were each put in a cabana and chained by a wrist to a hook at the head of the bed.


Nansci understood that they had been separated so they couldn’t talk to each other. She couldn’t imagine what had gone wrong. It was

still hard to believe that Barbandan officials were enslaving the girls for sex.


At least her cell was attractive and comfortable. The bed was a huge four-poster that would easily accommodate three for a ménage a

trois. Ominously, each post had three sturdy rings looking like decorative details attached at different levels. There were two

comfortable stuffed chairs set around a coffee table, a dresser with a large mirror, and an adjacent bathroom sporting a box shower. The

wide clothes closet, doors ajar, was empty. What more could a slave girl need?





{The Mayor}





Any doubts Nansci had that she was once again enslaved for sex were dispelled a short time later when the mayor of Barbanda, Bashar

Assad, entered her cabana. He was a large man, a huge mound of flabby white meat. His jowls gave him a jovial look. His thin white hair

was combed down over his forehead. The mayor’s dark brown eyes regarded her with a twinkle, like an oversized, lusty gnome


When he saw she was chained to the bed he gave her a wolfish grin. “I have never been able to get you out of my mind since you

pleasured me at that resort banquet.” As he spoke he approached her and cupped his hand on her T-shirt over her breast. Nansci remembered

the banquet held at the Villalobos Estate resort hotel when she had mounted him like a horse and bounced up and down on his mound of flesh

until he spurted his come deep inside her. “Now I want to repeat that delightful experience. Be so good as to take off your clothes.”
/>

Nansci resigned herself to pleasuring him. She knew any hint of resistance on her part would probably result in a whipping like Sandra

had suffered. She set her mind and feelings to the neutral position she used as a shell to the humiliation of being forced to sexually

pleasure a man. She removed her skimpy tourist clothes, pushing the blouse and bra along the chain out of the way, and watched, with her

show time lascivious smile as the mayor removed his own garments. His brown, dark eyes never wavered from her body. She could see by his

fixed stare that he was a breast man. For his delight she cupped her breasts in her palms underneath and bounced the soft globes up and

down. He gave her a lecherous smirk of appreciation, and then as a further reward he drew her to him and licked and kissed the nipples of

each breast


His breathing was becoming heavy. “I would love to play with you, Nansci, but your beautiful body inflames me. Pleasure me, you

delicious slave,” he commanded.


He lay back on the bed and she dutifully mounted his thighs. She licked his knob until it glistened with her saliva. Then she gave

the tip a puffy kiss. His rod twitched and he moaned in delight. She gave him a naughty grin.


“Skewer yourself, you saucy tease,” he mewled.


She obediently moved herself higher up his body, maneuvered his now rigid rod between her pussy’s lips, and then slowly rocked up and

down, enveloping his twitching member until the length of it was all the way inside her warm, tight passage. She began humping up and down

and gently corkscrewing, at the same time twitching her abdomen like a belly dancer. He moaned and gasped in pleasure, grasping her pendant

breasts, fondling and squeezing them, sometimes painfully. She increased the rhythm of her efforts to bring him to orgasm as quickly as

possible. He kept grunting his satisfaction and mumbling her name. Finally he huffed; his great body arched and froze and he squinched

shut his eyes. She felt his rod spasm as his come spurted into her. He made a sobbing sound of a man finally released after a long period

of abstinence. The pinnacle of his pleasure seemed to last for ages. She waited patiently. Finally his body relaxed. His eyes were still

tightly shut as he placidly stroked her hips and legs.


She thought now that he was sated, he would leave her. But instead he turned on his side, gathered her into his arms facing him. He

kissed her lips, her eyes and her cheeks, almost reverently. He pressed her against himself so her breasts rubbed hard against his

chest.


“I realize that I have raped you, Nansci,” he said in a languid voice, surprising her with his candor. “But I am unrepentant for the

despicable and selfish reason that I have needed a girl like you to relieve my sexual repressions. I needed a poor victim like you who

can’t say no, can’t put me off because you have a headache, can’t deny me because you are piqued at me. You are a treasure, Nansci, because

there is nothing more precious than a woman who is willing—for whatever reason. You know,” he sighed, “I’m in an ironic situation that many

men must endure. You see, years ago I married a woman whom I loved partly—women never realize how great a partly it is—so I could have sex

with her whenever I wanted. Ah, the convenience and delight of built-in sex! The wondrous gratifications of performing sex to make a

child! Those conditions more or less provided sufficient satisfactions for a number of years. But women loose interest in sex far sooner

than men. And we end up with a woman we still love, who doesn’t want to have sex at all, but still wants to control her man’s sex. Even

though she no longer wants it, it is infidelity if he gets it somewhere else.” He made a long sigh. “How sorry I feel for myself, my

despicable, depraved self.”


Mayor Bashar Assad ended his discourse. Nansci, still enfolded and locked in his embrace, realized he had fallen into a contented

sleep.


He did not awake until the next morning when the sun shone into the cabana through the narrow window over the door. Shutters on large

windows on either side of the door were closed. Bright morning light was already filtering into the cabana from the skylight.


Nansci was still locked in his embrace. He had not moved all night. Nansci’s body ached from the enforced position his arms held her

in like bonds. He roused and immediately found enough space between their bodies to fondle one of her breasts.


He gazed into her face. “What a delightful way to wake up. You are inflaming me again. Be a treasure and do me once more,

please.”


It was phrased politely, but obviously he did not expect her to decline. She dutifully mounted him, worked his hardened cock into her

pussy. It took only a few minutes to bring him to orgasm. When she dismounted, he wrapped her in his arms once more and began kissing her

face and cheeks.


“What a treasure!” He chuckled contentedly, running his hand up and down the length of her naked body..


Nansci felt the mayor was now mellow enough to answer a question she had wanted to ask him the previous night. “Mayor Assad, why have

you enslaved me and my friends? I though the Barbandans rejected slavery.”


He made a long sigh of regret. “I know we are treating you and your lovely friends unfairly, Nansci. It was a long and difficult

discussion that led us to change our policy on slavery. Probably we would not have involved you girls except for the matter of the murder

of Rafa Delaforme. At least one of you girls had to be responsible, in the professional opinion of Chief Gonzalez. Someone crammed her

throat with chocolates until she gagged and expired. You are all suspects in her death, you know. So there we were, five escaped slaves,

murder suspects, and the Villalobos Estate screaming at us to return you to their custody. It was Eduardo Blanco, my son-in-law, who told

them you had left the island. So there we were stuck with a lie. It naturally followed that we had to keep you hidden for a period, and

then, well, the idea developed to keep you here as sex slaves. The deciding element in that decision was purely business.”


The mayor regarded Nansci with a genuinely regretful expression. “I am truly sorry you have been caught up in this, Nansci, but there

is nothing I can do about it. I am really just one member of the City Council, you understand.”


Nansci decided to risk asking for one concession. “Can you at least free us from being chained to our beds? We can obviously do you

no harm.”


With a wave of his hands he indicated that he did not wish to discuss the matter further. He rolled off the bed, dressed himself and

waddled out of the cabana.



Best Selling Books This Year By Miguel De Riviera

Island Of Slaves 2

Island Of Slaves 2

Island Of Slaves 2

Island Of Slaves 2

Island Of Slaves 2

Best Selling Books This Year By Miguel De Riviera

Island Of Slaves 2

Island Of Slaves 2

Island Of Slaves 2

Island Of Slaves 2

Island Of Slaves 2

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Affiliate Program

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Terms and Conditions

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